by A. E. Wasp
He would, however, be the last. He had too much of his own shit to deal with to be able to baby anyone else through some kind of sexual crisis.
Skating back to the bench on trembling legs, the pain behind his eyes threatening to break free of its chemical chains, Robbie prayed for a quick, easy win.
Sadly, that wasn’t meant to be.
As the final minutes of the grueling game dragged on with the Beavers down three goals, the coach pulled the goalie, leaving the net unprotected but giving the team an extra man in position to score.
At the line change, Robbie hurtled over the wall onto the ice, blood pounding at his temples in time with the seconds ticking down on the timer.
With the curses and labored breathing of his teammates in his ear, Robbie flew through the neutral zone towards the blue line.
A heated battle for possession of the puck surged in front of and then behind the net. When the Bemidji forward lifted his stick and sent the puck flying across the ice towards the boards, Robbie raced into position in the high slot to catch the rebound.
The puck slid towards Robbie like it was on a track. Winding back, he slammed the blade of his stick to the ice and then, a microsecond later, into the puck, sending it flying towards the net with the thwack of a perfect slap shot.
Robbie heard the roar of the crowd and caught a flash of white and blue out of the corner of his eye right as he was knocked off his skates and hurled into the boards so hard his helmet went flying across the ice.
“Faggot,” a familiar rough voice spit out. He had just enough time to recognize Dyson’s face before his head slammed down onto the ice.
By the time his concussion check was done, the game was over. Despite Robbie’s highlight-reel worthy goal, the Chargers had lost, five to four.
“Happy New Year,” Robbie called across the parking lot of the Stanford Center to a couple of his teammates.
He’d begged off any and all invitations to celebrate New Year’s Eve. His head was killing him, everything ached, and he was exhausted. All he wanted was a horizontal surface in a dark room and ten hours of sleep.
His Outback sat alone under a parking lot light. As he got closer, a flash of light from something hanging from the door handle caught his eye.
“Shit,” he said, reaching out to unwind Paul’s Saint Sebastian necklace from the door. He looked around the parking lot for Paul, though he knew it was pointless. A cold breeze fluttered the edge of the napkin stuck under his windshield.
Paul had written I’m sorry and thanks in blue ink on the brown napkin. What the hell was Robbie supposed to make of that?
Sighing, he stuffed the napkin in his coat pocket. Inside the car, he started the engine and cursed his past self for leaving the radio up so loud.
He turned Paul’s necklace over in his hands a few times as he waited for the engine to heat up, flipping from saint to saint. An amulet of protection for traveling athletes. Well, if things went the way they seemed to be going, Robbie would certainly be traveling a lot.
Shaking his head, he hung the necklace around the rearview mirror. “What do you think I should do, boys?” he asked the necklace. “Drop out of school and take the Thunder up on their offer, or turn down lots of money and finish my bachelor’s degree and be one step further on the illustrious road to gym teacher?”
He flicked at the pendant, setting it swinging. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He put the car into gear and headed out of the parking lot. “Now, which one of you is going to tell my parents?”
Present Day
Two years later and there he was in a different parking lot, in a different state, with a brand new car and a different pendant hanging from the mirror. A tiny glass God’s Eye his parents had bought him in Turkey took the place of the necklace, catching the light and banging against the glass when he stopped too short.
He listened to Paul’s story about what his father had had to say to him after Robbie had dropped him off at the hotel. What a shock. A religious homophobe. Wasn’t that new and special? It sucked for Paul though.
“So, your dad is some super homophobic religious fanatic?” Robbie should have realized there was something like that going on back then when Paul was being so weird about being gay. In his defense, he’d been exhausted and focused on other things.
“Yeah, exactly,” Paul said, voice flat.
“What about your mother? Would she support you?”
“She died fourteen months ago.”
Shit. Why did every conversation with Paul go this way? Not that there had been many of them. Three? Three conversations and three disasters. Robbie was suddenly exhausted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Why would you?” Paul shrugged. “It’s not like I texted you about it.”
“Yeah. Well, listen. You don’t worry, I won’t out you.” He signed promise with a small smile. “Besides, you’ve had girlfriends. I’ve seen.”
Paul smiled the first real smile Robbie had seen from him yet. “You been keeping tabs on me?”
Robbie had. But he wasn’t going to give Paul the satisfaction of knowing it. “Not really. I just hear things. It’s a small world.”
The tension between them had lessened. Robbie was tempted to leave it, but there was something he had to say. Something that was at the heart of the anger he couldn’t let go.
“Look, I don’t want to keep beating a dead horse, but you really hurt me that night. And not just physically. That was the first and only time I’ve ever been gay bashed. You are the only person in the world who ever hurt me for being gay.”
Paul looked away, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. “Well, like I’ve said before, you’ve been lucky.”
Really? “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? That’s your justification?” The urge to hit Paul grew stronger.
“No.” Paul inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “I hit you because I was angry and terrified of how I felt, how you made me feel.” He looked at the pavement. “I can’t be gay,” he muttered to himself. Taking a deep breath, he looked Robbie square in the eye. “I’m not gay.”
For Chrissake, Robbie thought. Enough.
He grabbed the front of Paul’s shirt. “If you’re not gay, then this shouldn’t bother you.” Not sure why he was doing it, beyond the fact that he hadn’t stopped thinking about Paul in the last two years, he hauled Paul in for a kiss.
It was an angry kiss, a hard kiss.
Paul’s whimper fueled the fire in Robbie’s veins. His hands fluttered around Robbie’s hips as if he wanted to touch Robbie but was afraid.
Robbie groaned at the thought and flipped them around, pressing Paul up against the side of the Prius.
Paul opened his mouth on a moan, and Robbie pushed his tongue between his lips. He slipped his thigh between Paul’s legs.
“Oh, fuck,” Paul gasped raggedly, thrusting against him. He latched onto Robbie’s arms.
Robbie pulled away abruptly, leaving Paul gasping and hanging onto his arms with both hands.
“Fuck.” Paul rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes darted around the garage, checking to see if anyone might have seen them.
“Don’t worry about it. No one saw, so it doesn’t count. It’s not gay if no one ever knows about it.” Robbie’s voice was hard.
Paul drew a ragged breath. Rubbing his hand across his mouth again, he took a few steps back from Robbie. He cleared his throat. “What do you want?” Paul asked. “From me. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. I don’t want you to do anything. I’m sorry I kissed you. Forget it even happened.”
“What if I don’t want to?” Paul whispered.
“Too bad. You can’t always get what you want.” Robbie turned away and got into his car. “See you tomorrow. It’s your first game. Don’t fuck it up.”
He couldn’t resist stealing a look in the rearview mirror as he drove up the ramp. Paul was watching him. Robbie resisted the urge to bang his head against the steering
wheel. At the next stoplight, he gave in and dropped his head to the steering wheel, banging lightly until the car behind him honked to alert him to the green.
Why had he kissed Paul? Why?
8
Paul
What the hell had that been about? Paul ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Robbie’s kiss had stirred up the undercurrent of arousal Paul had been feeling since he laid eyes on the other man earlier that morning.
He wanted to forget that Robbie had ever kissed him. Or that he had kissed Robbie. Or done the other things they had done.
If only there were someone he could talk to about, well, about everything. Changes kept coming at Paul so fast and furious; he couldn’t keep on top of them. He had a feeling his strategy of avoidance wasn’t going to be viable in the long run.
He walked slowly over to his car. Trailing his fingers across the dark green metallic paint, Paul felt the mix of love and loss the 1976 Stingray always pulled out of him.
There was no way to avoid thinking about the past as long as he drove that car.
He’d lusted after the dark green 1976 Stingray his whole life. The car had belonged to his neighbor Pops Franklin for years.
The old man had been raising his only grandson, Eubee.
Back when everyone had called him Chip, Paul and Eubee had been friends in the way only kids who grow up on the same block and ran around the fields together could be friends. Inseparable since they could toddle, people spoke of them in the same breath as if their lives were extensions of each other’s. When he was very little, they’d spent a summer only answering to the name Chippeneubee.
Pop had let the boys sit in the Corvette, and help him wash it, though Paul had a feeling their help had been more of a hindrance than anything else. Still, the old man seemed to love having them around. He made sure they both knew everything about taking care of the car, inside and out. Paul could trace the wiring in this car with his eyes closed.
When he’d given the car to Eubee as a graduation present, they’d felt like the kings of the road. They’d driven miles and miles down the Alabama roads, including one unforgettable trip down to the Gulf. That summer before Eubee joined the Army was the best summer of Paul’s life.
The day they got the news Eubee had been killed in a training accident was the worst.
Pops had covered the Stingray up that night. When Pops died two years later, Paul discovered he had left the car to him. Paul spent a lot of time not thinking about what, exactly, he and Eubee had been to each other.
Top panels off despite the chill of the early December day, Paul threaded the car through downtown Seattle traffic and tried not to think about Eubee or Robbie or anything but hockey.
Paul slid the Stingray into the private garage that came with his apartment. A safe covered space had been his main requirement for a place. He put the top panels back on and pulled a canvas cover over the car. The salt air wasn’t the best for the finish, but Paul was willing to risk the car a tiny bit in exchange for the view.
He loved everything about this place, from the private elevator to the glassed-in room the realtor had called a solarium. But the best thing about it was the fact that it was 2,500 miles away from Huntsville.
He climbed the stairs to the solarium and dropped into the padded lounge chair that came with the place. His new pillow top mattress was all he owned outside of the random bits of furniture that the last owners had left behind. He’d ordered the mattress and set of sheets and pillows before he’d left Bakersfield, and they’d arrived the same day he had.
There hadn’t been a lot of time to shop since he’d been called up from the Thunder’s AHL affiliate team. They’d given him twenty-four hours to move. He’d only needed ten. He couldn’t get out of Bakersfield fast enough.
He’d rented the place based on the pictures alone. Luckily, he’d been able to sign the lease yesterday. If it looked like he’d be staying, he would ask the realtor if he could buy it.
Of course, all he had with him was what could fit in a Stingray. So basically, not a lot.
As if to remind him how much better his life was now than it had been three days ago, the sun set over Elliot Bay in a riot of colors from palest rose to an almost blinding neon pink. Paul pulled out his phone and sent a picture to his sister with a message.
Sunset from my place. Beats the heck out of Bakersfield. When are you coming to visit?
The five years between Paul and his sister had felt like an unbreachable gulf when they were younger, but their mother’s death had drawn them together. Now that Sissy was in college, and out from under their father’s thumb a little bit, it was time to see if they could be friends.
On a whim, he looked up Robbie’s contact information. What were the chances he still had the same number he’d had two years ago? What the heck? He had nothing to lose, and Robbie was the only person he knew in the entire state.
Before he could change his mind, he sent the picture to Robbie with a short message.
The next incoming text wasn’t from his sister as he’d expected, but from Robbie.
Robbie: Nice. Where are you living?
Paul: Alki Beach.
Robbie: I have no idea where that is, but I’m going to assume on the waterfront.
Paul: Yeah, check this view out.
The solarium was basically a glassed-walled party room with an amazing view across Elliott Bay. It had a wet bar and everything. He couldn’t wait until he made some friends and could have them over for dinner or something. He probably should get some furniture by then. He snapped a few shots of the view from different angles and sent them to Robbie.
Robbie: Wow. That’s gorgeous. I’m jealous.
Paul: Where are you living?
Robbie: I’m like one block down from the arena.
Paul: Convenient.
Robbie: Yeah. But the view isn’t nearly as nice. Mine looks like my apartment in Bemidji.
He’d sent a picture along in illustration.
Sure enough, the only piece of furniture in his living room was that old futon. Paul would bet his last dollar that was the same comforter too. A shiver caught Paul by surprise as he imagined having a replay of their last encounter on that futon.
I think it’s smaller than your old place, he replied steering his mind away from the past.
But that kiss Robbie had given him, that wasn’t in the past. What was he supposed to do with that? Should he apologize again for hitting Robbie, or should he not mention it since they seemed to be having a less-than-hostile conversation at the moment?
How could he possibly explain everything he’d been feeling that night? Crushing grief over Eubee’s death. Shame and guilt for what he’d done with Robbie, combined with a burning urge to do it again as soon as he could. Fear for himself.
It had taken him years to untangle all the emotions, and Paul kissing him today had kind of re-tangled some of those things, loosened the lids on some memories and emotions he’d worked so hard to repress.
Part of his anger had been over knowing that he wouldn’t be able to keep in touch with Robbie, let alone see him again unless it was across the ice. His dad would be scrutinizing his interactions with guys even more than he normally did.
If his father had found out Robbie was gay? Well, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he’d try to make an issue of it, maybe even try to get Robbie kicked off the team. He wouldn’t be able to do it, of course, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t suck for Paul and Robbie if his dad made a stink about it. And who knows how it would have affected Robbie’s professional career?
No, back then it had been better for both of them if Robbie thought Paul hated him.
That wouldn’t be possible now, of course. Paul would have to find a way to earn Robbie’s friendship while keeping him out from under Stoney’s radar. If Stoney found out Robbie was gay, he would one hundred percent out him as publicly as he could. If he found out Paul was friends with a gay man, he would throw Paul under th
e same bus, get him kicked out of the church, and he could kiss goodbye his chances of ever seeing his little sister again.
Sighing, he checked his phone. Robbie hadn’t responded to that last text, so Paul wandered back downstairs to flip through the menus the realtor had left him to find some kind delivery person to bring him food.
Paul looked around the mostly-empty apartment and contemplated going out into the world and getting something to eat. The night was gorgeous, and it would be nice to be able to go out with someone. Maybe take a walk along the waterfront and find a cool looking restaurant. Not like a date, obviously, just as friends.
Maybe he and Robbie would be able to be friends. One day. Though the fact that Robbie still hadn’t responded to his text made that seem unlikely. He had probably just remembered he hated Paul.
Paul’s phone vibrated on the kitchen counter.
Robbie had sent a photo of the view from the middle of a small, tree-lined street. The newly-renovated Key Arena was visible at the end of the street. My view, Robbie texted.
Oh crap. There it was. The place where Paul was going to be playing his first professional game in almost exactly twenty-four hours.
I can’t believe I’m going to be playing there tomorrow, Paul texted back. Why does it feel so weird to get something you’ve been working for your whole life?
9
Robbie
Laying on the futon and staring at the ceiling, Robbie tapped the phone against his teeth and considered Paul’s question.
He was probably the worst person in the world to answer that particular question. He was living his dream, the same dream shared by thousands of kids playing hockey. Though it was early in his career and anything could happen, he could tell everyone had high expectations of him. There was a buzz in the air.
He loved it. So why did it still feel like he wasn’t doing enough?