by RJ Scott
The second time he had me in the corner he’d learned to steady himself to the point he was immoveable. So I went limp, loosened every muscle, and he fell forward, and again I shuttled the puck, this time to Henry, who did this awesome tape-to-tape pass to Sam, who then passed it back, and Henry got the gray team’s second goal.
Meanwhile I was floundering in the corner, stuck under a fallen Vlad, who rolled free. Thank fuck it was Eli, Vlad’s D-partner, who focused on me next, but he was easy to get away from, only of course that left Vlad to intercept my pass, and it was the white team who got the next shot, although we had Colorado in net and he swatted it away like he would a fly.
We switched to line changes, moved some things around, and the two hours seemed to rush by. Through every moment of it Vlad wasn’t the consummate professional where nothing touched him. He was edgy and crabby, and wouldn’t meet my eye, and temper snapped in his icy eyes. It wasn’t only me that noticed the change in him today.
“What crawled up Vlad’s ass and died?” Ryker faux-whispered to Sam.
“Maybe his parrot is ill,” Sam suggested with a shrug.
“Frank is fine,” I defended, and Sam sent me a look that spoke volumes.
“So he’s just in a mood for no reason,” Sam pushed.
“You’re up!” Coach called, and when no one else moved, I assumed it was me. “I want to see you get past Vlad to Colorado, work the edges.”
I got past him easily; he wasn’t even fucking trying.
“Stop me,” I snapped at him, and he skated backward and into position, this time fighting more, but I had him on the ropes, and if Colorado had been a shit goalie I would have gotten another goal.
I faced up to Vlad, caught his gaze, stared at him hard, daring him to fight. I was pissed now. I didn’t care what he thought was happening with us fucking, but messing with the game, that wasn’t on. I shoved him with my stick, caught him off guard, and he stumbled. The puck was on the ice between us and I shoved him again, and again, and each time he pressed back harder, until at last we had a battle to get the puck, and this time I had to work every muscle to get past him. With a last ditch poke of his stick he saved the puck and iced it to the other end where the team stood in clusters.
We were face-to-face, him staring at me impassively.
“Fuck you,” I said, although I kept it low enough so only he would hear. “Don’t you dare do this shit with me, okay?” I was defying him, telling him how angry I was, and there was nothing in his expression.
“Maybe you should stop staring at Tennant Madsen-Rowe then,” he bit out with unleashed fury, and then I could see him shut down, the temper subside, the control come back with a vengeance. Then he stared back at me, and god, I wanted to shove him again.
“What?” I honestly wasn’t sure I heard right.
“I won’t be second choice when I have so much to lose,” he murmured, as if it meant nothing to him that he was breaking my heart in the middle of the rink. He brushed past me and headed for Colorado who fist-bumped him and then, heads together, they chatted. What was Vlad saying to Colorado? Was it about us? I thought we were on the down-low?
Were being the operative word.
I skated back to Alex who stick-tapped my shin.
“Nice battle.”
I heard a couple of the other skaters wondering about what the hell was going on with their captain, and all I could feel was anger, misery, and guilt. It took me showering, then dressing, before I calmed down.
“Coffee?” Ryker asked.
“I’m okay—”
“Coffee,” he repeated, and I realized belatedly that this was some of messed-up intervention when Henry, Alex and Sam walked up to stand by me as well.
I gave in and we headed for The Coffee Bean, a local place with hidden corners and a ton of discretion, and I thought of anything to talk about that wasn’t Vlad, inevitably leading to the kid I’d met this morning.
“It was so cool, he was a huge hockey fan, says his favorite is Ryker.”
Ryker buffed his nails on his T-shirt. “Kid has good taste.”
Alex shoved at him. “Whatever, dude.”
“He plays as well.”
“Cool, we should go see his team, give them a few jerseys with a decent name on it,” Ryker teased, which this time earned a kick from me, under the table. At least Ryker was interested in knowing more and there was something intriguing about Lucas with his bright blue eyes and his excitement for hockey. “We do all kinds of outreach with kids’ teams here.”
“Yeah, we used to do that in Dallas.”
“This isn’t Dallas,” they all chorused, and then sniggered as if it was the funniest joke on the planet. I couldn’t help smiling, but shook my head as if it was too stupid to rise to it.
“Which team does he play for?” Alex asked
I couldn’t recall at first, “Something with slide in it?”
Ryker exchanged a look with Henry. “Mini-slide-Eagles maybe?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s a sled team,” he said, and smiled broadly, “such a good bunch of kids, all with their own issues, most of them unable to walk or with other disabilities but all hooked on hockey, I know that Coach Carmichael does some work with them.”
I didn’t know how to feel. The words sled hockey conjured up so many images, of bravery, and excitement, and finding new ways to play hockey. Was I sad that Lucas was maybe sick? Or unable to walk or—
“Stop thinking about the bad shit and come and see it for real,” Ryker murmured. “I’m up for a visit with Coach, getting involved, wanna come with me?”
I thought about my visits to the cancer ward, the ones no one knew about, where I tried my best to be what they needed me to be. But I had more time; in fact, outside of hockey I had all the time in the freaking world.
And right now, this sounded like exactly what I needed to do.
Chapter Twelve
Vlad
It seemed as if the Rowe-Madsen men were determined to poke this grumpy bruin.
After my nonsense with Tate, and yes I knew it had been nonsense but yet it had bubbled out of me like pus from a gangrenous wound, I’d planned on distancing myself from Tate for a few days, or at least a few hours. My life was out of control. I was out of control. Anxiety gnawed at me as I made my way out of the barn, eager to go home, sit and think, plan, plot, and try to find a path back to my once orderly life. Instead Ryker Madsen cornered me as I was leaving and snared me with the one thing that I could never say ‘Nyet’ to—children in need.
I, of course, had many charities in Tucson that I donated my time and money to, as we all did. Penn spent a goodly amount of his free time helping to raise funds for the local domestic abuse shelter, one of the few responsible things he seemed capable of doing. I helped raise funds for cancer victims in memory of my cousin who had died at eighteen from that terrible disease. I’d even had my agent set up a fund to help children who survived cancer go onto college by paying tuition for one child per year. I donated to animal rescues, and several bird rescue and avian sanctuaries in the state. Back home, I sponsored youth hockey teams and sent money to orphanages. Still, this sled hockey team was not one that I was familiar with, but if they needed help, I would be there. My tangled feelings for Tate would be pushed aside. Or so I thought.
But I’d been played for an idiot. Because Tate was right there and I couldn’t back out now. One word from a child getting excited as I arrived was more than enough to have me stay.
During the next two hours, my head became more chaotic as I watched Tate interact with the children on the mini-sled team. I’d heard of sled hockey, of course, and had even written a few checks to the Tucson league, but this was my first hands-on experience. It was beyond moving to see all the children, and adults, with disabilities hitting the ice. And Tate…
Well, Tate was incredible with children. His genuine goodness and warmth drew the children to him, as well as the adults involved in the league. I fou
nd my gaze moving to him time and again, his smile stirring up the mess of confusion in my heart and head. Finally, after a photo-op with the director of the league, Jonas McKenzie, a strikingly handsome ex-Army captain who’d lost a leg serving his country in a faraway desert, I managed to break free. Ryker and Tate stayed behind to talk with Jonas. I needed distance.
Once I was home, and Frank was seated on the windowsill calling “Suka! Suka! Suka!” at my neighbor as he washed his car, I pulled up Facebook, hoping to get lost in the mundane mindlessness of social media and funny parrot videos.
“Frank, come have a grape,” I called in Russian. It was a blessing that no one in my community spoke my native tongue. I was sure Phil next door would not appreciate being called a bitch for hours on end. The bird ignored me, happier being crude at the moment, it seemed. There were no funny parrot videos to watch, so I visited the Russian chat group the NHL players had.
I was pleased to see that Stan Lyamin was online and talking about socks with holes in the toes and a puppet he was trying to make for his youngest son. I smiled at the discussion, keeping mostly to myself, and wondering how it was that Stan had managed a marriage with one of his teammates. True, he was not a team captain but he was the goalie, which was just as important a role in the locker room dynamics of a team. Had he and Eric had troubles with loving and playing together? Or was it me making the problems? He too had family back home to be concerned about, or so I thought.
I sent him a private message and we were soon talking to each other with no other loudmouthed Russians interfering.
“Zdravstvuy, drug moy,” I opened with once we’d moved into our own space.
“Hello, my friend back for you. Please, we must speak in English for my glowing improvements in the language is making big hits,” Stan replied, holding his phone upward so that I was looking down at him. “Is making good selfie position for to talk. My neck is making like a turkey my children say.”
“Your neck is not a turkey at all,” I replied, pushing to my feet to go to the kitchen. I passed Frank tormenting my neighbor through the screen.
“Your bird has big bad mouth!” Stan roared at the filth coming from Frank.
“Yes, I have given him a wide vocabulary of dirty words,” I tossed out, trying to ignore the cussing as I padded to the fridge for a bottle of water. “I wished to speak to you of private matters. Are you childless at the moment?”
“Yes, I am home alone like that movie with the two bandits who get paint cans in the forehead.”
“Ah, good.” I had no idea what movie he was speaking of. I pulled out a bottle of lemon-lime sparkling water, shut the fridge, and sat at the island. Perhaps I needed to watch more mainstream movies. Maybe if I did things that others did—like watch silly movies—I’d not feel so left out and upset about Tennant Rowe. Which was stupid. Tate and Tennant were friends, that was all. Yes, he had been attracted to him, but now he was my lover and I was sure he was well pleased. Wasn’t he?
“Vlad, do you wish to speak soon or should I go make a sock puppet as you stare at water bottle?”
My attention snapped back to my phone resting on the countertop. “Sorry, I am…there is this thing that I am wrestling with. A…sort of attraction to someone on my team.”
Stan’s gray eyes flared. He glanced at the sock on his hand, then back at me. “I did not know you were gay.”
“Mm, well, it has been a secret. My family back home…”
“Ah yes, I know that worry well. Say nothing more. So, you are mad worried over the press people finding out and the news going back to Russia?”
“Yes, that, and the…” I glanced from the phone to the bird in the window. “I have…forever I have always been in control of my life. What was said about me, what I projected, what I let the world know, what men I had relations with. Then Tate…”
“Ah yes, then Tate. I understand. Mine was “then Eric” although Eric and I had known each other previously but still when he came to Harrisburg things went flopsy and mopsy for a bit.”
“How do you do it? How do you play with a man you’re in love with?”
A moment went by as I listened to that word bouncing around my kitchen like a fly trying madly to find an open door. Love.
“You find way. If you love him, then you find way. Is simple, no?”
“No, it is not simple. It is complex.”
“Only because you make it confused. Love is not complex; we people make it so. Love is easy and freeing once you stop seeking to control it. We humans cannot control love. We must just ride along on it, hands in the air, like big roller coaster ride with many shouts of joy and tears of upset. Maybe you need to let go of the bar and throw your hands in the air?”
I sat back in my stool, gaping at the man with the warm gray eyes and his hand inside an old sock. Let go of the bar. That was simple to say. I had held the bar tightly my whole life. What if I let go and fell out, plummeting to my death as Tate rode another ride. Like that tilting whirly thing. Tate seemed a tilting whirly sort.
“Vlad, you are staring Superman holes in water bottle again,” Stan said, pulling me from the amusement park setting up inside my head.
“I am sorry. My mind is tangled. You have given me much to think on.” I paused, still lost in thought. “Tell me of how you managed things back home. Is your family safe? Has your marriage come back to harm them? I fear that if I am forthcoming with my sexuality that it will hurt my loved ones.”
Stan sighed as if he carried the weight of the world on his wide shoulders. “Yes, it is a concern that makes me heavy sad. So far there has been no large problems but I do not go back often now that Mama is here. You go back yes? Every summer?”
“Yes.”
“Mm, then perhaps you will face more hostility. I cannot tell you which path is less rocky road. Each man must choose his own way, but I do know that I could not imagine my life without my husband and my children. Please, my friend, be mindful of caution. Is there a way to bring your family over here?”
“No, I do not think so. My brother Dimi, you know him, he plays for the KHL and is soon to be engaged to a lovely girl. My parents…I cannot see them leaving their home for America.” My head was beginning to ache a bit, as it always did when I tried to juggle who I was with where I came from.
“Ah well, then you will have to be making a walk on a tight rope. Do you love Tate deeply?”
“I…my feelings are deep, yes,” I confessed.
“Then it is a hard pick to make, not like picking nose which is easy. Please, if you wish more talking time, call me. I will send you my cell phone number. I am always loving to talk my Russian brothers.”
“Thank you, Stan. I will let you go now. Finish your puppet before the children come back home.”
“Do you wish more help on love and marriage and family? I can show you how to make puppets from old socks. I have buttons and ribbons!”
“No, I am…I do not need puppets. But thank you for taking time to speak with me. You are a good friend. Give your family and husband my love. They are lucky to have you.”
“Please to let me know how things with Tate go?” The puppet was speaking now. I shook my head, chuckled at the sock pressed up to the camera, called Stan a foolish ass, and we said our goodbyes.
Long after the phone call ended I sat in the kitchen, staring at my untouched bottle of water, thinking. Frank flew in to join me. Landing on the island, he began mouthing the cap on my water bottle. I reached out to stroke him. He lowered his head to allow me to rub his neck, petting against the lie of the feathers which was opposite of how one would pet a dog. He loved to be scratched behind his ears, and so I sat there stroking him as I mulled over Stan’s wise words. Perhaps, just perhaps, I did need to throw my hands into the air. Just this once…
I glanced at Frank. He gave my hand a kiss, opening his beak and touching his tongue to my finger. I smiled at him, called him to my hand, and carried him to his crate. He was happy to settle into his pen, as hi
s feed dishes were full. As he feasted on fruity-flavored pellets, I went back to the kitchen, found my phone, and sent Tate a text.
I want to ride with you. Please, come to me so we can talk. – V
It seemed to take forever for him to reply but it was perhaps thirty minutes or so.
Sorry, phone died. Got a charge from Ryker fast to reply. Ride what? Where and when to talk? – T
My place. Soon as possible. Please. -V
Be there in thirty. <3 -T
He arrived in twenty. It was far too long and far too short.
I let him in and he went right to Frank, who showed off, called Tate a fucker in Russian and then asked for a grape. Tate looked over his shoulder at me, seeking permission to feed the bird. I nodded and went off to find some grapes in the fridge. Plucking a bunch free, I then walked back to the cage, planting myself beside Tate. He smelled fresh and citrusy. I yearned to pick him up, carry him to my bed, and lose myself in him.
“You said something about a ride with me?” he said as he pulled a fat red grape from the stem and held it between the wires of the cage. Frank hustled over on his perch, wings out, head bobbing, and took the grape with a cry of joy.
“Yes, I want to ride with you. On the rollercoaster of love.”
“Is that like the freeway of love?”
“I get that joke,” I said and he gave me a nudge of his elbow. “It was a song, I know songs, movies not so much.”
He gave the parrot another grape, his jaw firming up a bit. Then he turned to look at me, really look at me, into me, boring deep.
“There’s nothing between me and Tennant, it was just a stupid crush. I wish it had never come out, I should have never told anyone but I thought…well, what I think about her isn’t important to talk about now. Now I want to talk about us. Are you saying you want to date me? Come out? Be seen together in public? Make a statement? Forgive me being dense but I’m all sorts of fucked up at the moment.”