Shots on Goal (Stick Side Book 3)

by Amy Aislin

  He’d sent Roman one text per day since Friday. One. He didn’t think that was being too pushy. He’d be happy with a simple Hi in return, and instead, all he got was radio fucking silence. Mostly he wanted to make sure Roman was okay; partly, he wanted Roman to own up to the fact that he was no longer interested, if that was the case.

  Cody was stuck in limbo, in that uncomfortable, murky area where he didn’t know if they were friends or more than friends or nothing at all. Why couldn’t Roman just come out and say what was on his mind? Even an I think we should just be friends or I need some space would be better than this not knowing. He felt like he was being strung along, and if they didn’t clear the air between them soon, Roman was going to be the recipient of what was on Cody’s mind, whether he liked it or not. Roman ignoring him made him feel like he was a kid again and waiting for his dad to come home. Different circumstances, obviously, but the same result—like he’d done something to make them go away. Like he wasn’t worth the time and effort.

  Maybe Roman’s silence was an answer in itself. A clear Leave me alone.

  Wow. Okay. That was a soul-crushing thought.

  Cody stared at his phone, a lump growing in his throat, heart sinking to his feet. Briefly considered a final text to Roman, except he didn’t know what to say. And if Roman truly didn’t want to hear from him again, then nothing Cody said would make a difference anyway.

  Don’t let a maybe stop you from going after what you want.

  The “maybe,” in this case, being grad school. Mitch made a lot of sense. In his own way, he’d been telling Cody that he’d either be accepted or he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t put his life on hold while he waited to find out. Cody was ready to set aside that uncertainty for now and go after what he wanted—Roman.

  But if Roman was no longer interested, the entire point was moot.

  Pocketing his phone, he stood and left the admin offices, weaving his way through the library shelves for the attic door on the far side, eyes on the hardwood floors. A familiar voice stopped him and he whipped his head around. There, not ten feet away in the children’s section, sat Roman, back to him, facing a group of kids. His voice ebbed and flowed while he read, thickened and rose when he did the voices, pausing only once in its cadence as Cody moved closer. Whether he sensed Cody’s presence or saw him out of the corner of his eye, Cody couldn’t guess. Roman’s shoulders hiked up and he ran a hand over his shaved head. Not once did he look over in Cody’s direction.

  Cody wasn’t normally one to let something like this lie. He’d learned enough in his psychology courses to know that talking helped and that letting things fester didn’t. The problem was that Roman’s body posture told him everything he needed to know.

  Unwilling to appear any needier or pushier than he already had, he made an about-face and escaped to the attic.

  If there was a part of him that hoped there was still something left between them after all, it shriveled when storytime came and went, when another half hour passed, and Roman didn’t seek him out. And when Cody went downstairs half an hour after that on the off chance that Roman had gotten sucked into a conversation with some of the parents or with Eileen, and instead he found Roman’s SUV gone, it died completely.

  Two hours later, after a productive late-afternoon where he’d forced himself to concentrate on sorting books, Cody dragged himself through the front door of the townhouse, towed off his boots, thudded upstairs with heavy footsteps, removed his glasses, and fell face-first onto his bed. Mitch’s bedroom door was closed, but Cody could hear him through the walls, laughing and talking. Probably on the phone with Alex.

  Fuck, he was tired. And hungry. Mostly tired, though. Emotionally exhausted more than anything.

  Could he rewind a few days? To when he’d opened Roman’s door and stepped out? In this new version of Friday, he kissed Roman inside his apartment, thereby eliminating the encounter with Kasper Kowalski altogether. Not that it would’ve made a difference in the long run, with Roman and Kowalski being on the same team and all.

  Everything sucked. Even his phone, ringing away in the pocket of his coat he hadn’t bothered to remove. Huffing into the pillow, he considered not answering but . . .

  What if it’s Roman?

  It wasn’t, he discovered upon digging his phone out. It was his mom, and if there was anyone he wanted to talk to right now other than Roman it’d be Mitch—who was otherwise occupied—or his mom.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, sweetie. Got a second to talk?”

  She always asked. As if he was ever too busy for the woman who’d raised him. “Yeah. What’s up?”

  “Your dad just called me with the details of his retirement ceremony. Thought I’d pass them along.”

  Why didn’t he call me himself? “Okay,” Cody said instead of what he was really thinking because he didn’t want to make his mom feel bad.

  She gave him all of the details—day, time, location—and finished with, “I’m assuming you’re still planning on going?”

  “Sure. He spent years fighting for our country; I should be there to support him.”

  A brief pause. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my son?”

  Cody rubbed his cheek on the pillow. “Huh?”

  “You can’t bullshit your mother. Tell me how you really feel.”

  Snorting a laugh, he rolled onto his back and stared blindly at the ceiling. “I feel like . . .” Like an afterthought. “Like it’d be a dick move if his own son didn’t show up.”

  “Cody.” Her voice took on that soft concerned-mom tone. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  He didn’t want to. He didn’t know anything about the army or about retirement ceremonies or what to wear to one or how to act. However, if he wanted his dad to make an effort with him—and it was clear his dad was trying based on his recent visit—Cody needed to make one in return.

  “I’ll go,” he told his mom.

  “Okay.” She still sounded skeptical. “I’m going to book you a flight that has a layover in New York so I can join you on the second part of your flight.”

  “Sure.” You couldn’t fly anywhere direct out of Burlington. “You don’t have to pay for it, though.” Not that Cody could afford it, but he’d find the money somehow. Possibly by not eating for a month.

  “Oh, I’m not,” his mom said with a bit of an evil cackle. “Your dad is.”

  “Well, in that case . . .”

  She giggled, making him smile for the first time in hours, and he suddenly missed her, missed home, so much that it sent him down memory lane.

  “Hey, Mom, do you remember that time the car ran out of gas in the McDonald’s drive-thru?”

  “Oh, man!” She laughed outright. “Thank god for that Good Samaritan with the full canister in his trunk.”

  They chatted for a bit longer, catching up until there was a lull in conversation into which his mom said, “Cody, is everything okay?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “You sound . . . off. You had some tests last week, right? Did they go okay?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “They were fine. It’s not that. It’s nothing really.” Not anymore. “Just tired.”

  “You know if you ever need to talk about anything . . .”

  “I know, Mom. Thanks.”

  They hung up a few minutes later. Cody stared into the blurry dark, the only light coming from the red numbers on his childhood clock radio on the night table. It was after seven. He should eat something. All he wanted to do, though, was wallow. He was allowed a few hours of wallowing, wasn’t he? A few hours to mourn. To be sad. To wonder what he’d done wrong.

  This was why he didn’t take risks. Didn’t put himself out there. It hurt too much when rejection reared its fugly head. He’d learned that a long time ago, but Roman had seemed worth it. In fact, Cody still believed that. Just because he was harboring unrequited feelings didn’t mean he’d wasted his time on Roman. He wasn’t the first boy in h
istory to not have his feelings returned. He’d survive.

  But maybe tomorrow. Tonight was for thinking blue thoughts.

  Still in his winter coat, he maneuvered himself underneath the covers, rolled over, blinked unseeingly at the shadow of his color-coordinated bookshelf against the wall, and wallowed.

  Five minutes later, he rolled back over. God, wallowing was boring. Why did people do it? It was entirely unproductive. Rolling out of bed, he left his coat behind but took his phone and glasses and walked the few feet from his bedroom to Mitch’s, the door of which was now open. Mitch sat at his desk, typing into a laptop.

  Cody laid on his side on Mitch’s bed. “Can I hang out in here?”

  “Of course.” Mitch turned in his chair, narrowed eyes on Cody. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How’d it go with Roman?”

  Cody sighed. “It didn’t.”

  “Oh.” Those narrowed eyes went sad. “I’m sorry, Codes. Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay.” Squeezing Cody’s foot, Mitch went back to his work, knowing that Cody didn’t want to talk but that he didn’t want to be alone either.

  As scary as it was to put himself out there, especially when the object of his affections wasn’t being forthcoming, Cody wasn’t ready to give up on Roman. Doing nothing and later regretting not trying one last time wasn’t something he was willing to live with.

  Rolling onto his back, he opened his text messaging app, clicked on Roman’s name, and spent ten minutes composing the perfect message, one that told Roman how he felt without sounding like a desperate fool.

  As they said: once more with feeling.

  The Trailblazers won their next two games. It was like Roman scoring the winning goal against Colorado had lit up the team, made them realize that they could win. Made them eager to win. Roman didn’t take any of the credit for helping them win even though he scored a goal in each game; it was a team effort. But he couldn’t deny he played better when he had something to prove.

  It was quiet inside the Sport U Arena on their off day. No games. No practices. No teammates to ask about food. Not that they were asking, not since Roman had snapped at Zanetti. Seemed word had gotten around that he was no longer interested in cooking for them. That was fine. He had more time to watch tape and read and cook food to fill his own fridge with.

  The treadmill slowed as it came to the end of the preprogrammed set. Covered in a sheen of sweat, heart pumping, he stepped off and reached for a towel draped over the neighboring treadmill, wiping his face. For a minute, he stood with the towel pressed to his face and breathed in the smell of crisp laundry detergent and pungent sweat. This was normal. This was all he needed.

  A week after Kas had joined the team and he still hadn’t outed Roman. Anybody else in Roman’s situation would think Kas wasn’t going to out them; Roman, on the other hand, knew Kas was waiting for just the right moment, whatever that happened to be. Roman had a stress headache that was threatening to split his skull in half and no amount of chiropractic adjustments or massages or over-the-counter pain killers helped. The run had distracted him from it for the last half hour, but now that he was no longer moving, it made itself known by shooting arrows of bright pain all the way into his jaw.

  Felt like his brain was going to leak out of his ears.

  He walked out of the workout room massaging his temples with one hand, teeth gritted against the little guys with pickaxes in his head, and bumped into Coach Donovan on his way to the locker room for a shower and change.

  Of course. Because Coach Donovan didn’t appear to have a life outside of this team. Roman should’ve expected to find him lurking, although why he was prowling the hallways of their arena and not ensconced in the office Roman knew he had in the club’s office building down the street, Roman couldn’t begin to guess.

  “Kinsey.” Coach’s hand landed on his shoulder, not gently. “Thought that was your car in the parking garage. Come with me.” He steered Roman onward. “Let’s talk.”

  “Uh, I really need a shower, Coach.”

  “It can wait.”

  Not a request.

  Okay, then.

  They reached the locker room, and Coach’s office a few paces beyond it, where Ritz and Honeybun were loitering outside the door. Ritz, winter coat draped over one forearm, leaned back against the wall, one foot braced flat against it. Honeybun was holding his toque but otherwise remained bundled up while he poked Ritz in the shoulder, mouth moving. Whatever he said made Ritz laugh.

  “Guys,” Coach said. “Right on time.” He unlocked his office door and waved Ritz and Honeybun inside. “Come on in. You.” He pointed at Roman. “I’ll only be a minute. Don’t move.”

  Roman could smell himself and it was becoming unpleasant. “Can I just—”

  “Not a muscle, Kinsey.”

  Jesus, fine then. If Coach didn’t care about him stinking up his office, so be it.

  Ritz ignored him completely on his way into Coach’s office. Not surprising given that Roman had been ignoring everyone for the last week. Honeybun shot him a tight-lipped smile, and then he too disappeared inside, shutting the door behind him.

  Roman took Ritz’s spot propping up the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, sweat towel dangling from one hand, and mapped out a mental to-do list for the rest of the day. Shower, change, go home, eat some leftover chicken and veggies for lunch, make some homemade jam with the strawberries he’d bought that weren’t exactly in the best condition, relax with a book, cook dinner, eat dinner, walk to his new favorite coffee shop to pick up some coffee beans to replenish his dwindling supply, and finish the night off with whatever Friday night movie was on TV or with more reading.

  It didn’t sound overly exciting, but it was a typical off day for him. If he missed having someone to spend his evenings having dinner with (Cody) or someone to text about nonsense stuff during the day (Cody), that was fine. This was better. Healthier. Less likely to get his heart crushed.

  Hell, not only were his teammates ignoring him, but so was Cody. The last text Roman had received from him was Tuesday evening. Roman had known that he was being an asshole that day when he’d disappeared from the library after storytime without even talking to Cody, so it was his own fault that Cody was no longer speaking to him. He should’ve expected it; he hadn’t. Cody wasn’t a pushover. He’d only take so much before he called it quits, and Roman ignoring him while they were in the same building must’ve been the end of his rope.

  Roman didn’t blame him. But he did miss him. More than he thought possible for only knowing each other a month.

  Really, though, what did he think would happen when he ghosted Cody for days? Not only that, but he’d shut the door in Cody’s face.

  He’d done to Cody exactly what had been done to him so long ago. It made his stomach curdle unpleasantly, his back cord itself into tense muscles, to know he’d done to Cody what Kas had done to him.

  Leaning his head back against the wall, he brought up a mental image of Cody’s final text. He’d read it so many times that he knew it by heart.

  Hey. Just wanted to say thanks for coming for storytime today. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us. I like you a lot and it was fun hanging out and getting to know you, but I get that you probably have a lot going on with the team right now. Anyway, good luck in your upcoming games.

  Whether Cody really believed Roman had a lot going on with the team didn’t matter. He’d given Roman an out and Roman had silently taken it. He rubbed his chest and swallowed against the memory of Cody’s bright eyes and happy grin last week, the soft I’m gonna kiss you now, okay? whispered against Roman’s lips. That moment where Roman had let someone in for the first time in years. Where it felt like the whole world was there, at his feet, and he could do anything with it.

  And it occurred to him, suddenly and ferociously, like Jack popping out of his box—as much as he’d dreaded Kas eventually outi
ng him, knowing to his marrow that it was going to happen, he’d never, not once, thought Cody was a threat to him. Never considered that Cody might out him.

  Roman launched off the wall, straightening so fast his spine popped. What did it say about him that he still wasn’t worried about Cody outing him even though he’d been the biggest bag of douches ever?

  The door to Coach’s office flew open and a grinning Ritz and Honeybun appeared.

  “See?” Honeybun was saying as they walked out. “Told you it’d be fine.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ritz said, his smile fond.

  They turned out of the office, walking right past Roman, not bothering to spare him a second glance. Once, the three of them had been on their way to being friends. Now he felt their silence in his chest as if they’d punched him right in the solar plexus.

  He opened his mouth to say something—apologize, explain, he didn’t know—when Coach’s voice came from inside the office. “You better still be there, Kinsey.”

  Roman grunted his reply and watched Ritz and Honeybun move farther and farther away from him. Just before they turned the corner into the hallway that would take them to the parking garage, Ritz bumped their shoulders and Honeybun stuck his hand in the back pocket of Ritz’s jeans.

  “Kinsey!”

  He scrambled into the office with a “Sorry, Coach,” and took a seat in the chair in front of the desk. Coach regarded him over the top of it and tapped his pen on a small pile of papers.

  “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?” he asked.

  “Just that I need a shower.”

  Coach tossed his pen aside and sat back. “I mean in a broader sense, Kinsey. What’s going on with you?”

  Roman ran the towel through his hands. There was a lot on his mind, none of which he wanted to speak to his coach about. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Really?” Coach leaned forward again, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled. “You were all emo when you first got here last month, then you finally lightened up and I thought—” He made a tch sound. “‘Here’s the guy I want on my team!’ But then you went all emo again. What’s going on? Talk to me.”