Once, I thought about getting an eight ball or something and letting fate make my decisions for me. It’d probably do a better job. I swear, it doesn’t matter what I do; the choices I make in life are always the wrong ones, according to my father and my agent.
And sometimes everyone else around me.
You should have stopped that puck.
Why didn’t you attend that charity event?
I know you can lift more than that.
Closing my eyes, I shut everything out and search the quiet sounds for the whispering notes of my wind chimes. It’s not windy right now, so there’s only a hint of their hushed melody drifting through the air.
After allowing their sweet voices to wipe my thoughts clean, I throw the blankets off and sit up. My room is just how I left it. Kind of bare with my clothes from the previous day strewn all over the floor.
I rub my hands over my face, trying to dislodge the sleep and then push myself up to my feet. Instead of bending over, I pick up each article of clothing with my toes and try to kick-toss them into the air for me to catch. As a goalie, I should have superb reflexes. A single sock goes errant, but that’s because I may have almost tripped over the rug next to my bed.
How did you get hurt again?
I was trying to kick a sock into the air and lost my balance.
The imagined conversation makes me smirk. I dump my clothes into my hamper and pull on a pair of shorts over underwear, and grab a hoodie with my phone in my hand. Iremote start my car from the app on my phone so it’s warm by the time I grab a bottle of water and get my sneakers on.
Days without hockey are very long for me. There’s too much time, too much silence, for me to think. I used to fill those days with my ReachMe account and content. I’m really not sure what I did before that. Now I don’t even dare log in to any of the accounts I’ve subscribed to. What if someone found me there? Would I end up on the internet again as some sick gay guy who subscribes to porn?
People spend far too much time caring about what others do with their life. Although it’s almost always my father’s voice in my head that’s berating me, I can’t always block everyone else out.
I head to the arena for conditioning. When we don’t have practice during the regular season, we’re required to concentrate on other areas. Sometimes through conditioning and other times through skill drills. I did skills for the last few non-practice days, so I decide to focus on my legs today with weights and strength training.
There are a few players in the gym by the time I step inside. They acknowledge me with a nod of their head and sometimes an absent smile. I know them not giving me much attention isn’t a reflection of me.I know that. They’re focused on what they’re doing. There are times the voices in my head try to convince me otherwise.
Taking a deep breath, I hop on the treadmill for a warmup. It’s not about cardio so much as it is getting my muscles ready.
I stay for three hours as I watch my teammates come and go. There’s no reason for me to stay, but there’s also nothing to look forward to when I get home. Unconsciously, I’m likely waiting for Ren. Which is probably pretty stupid since he is the early morning type. He’s probably already come in and left before I even got out of bed.
Just as I’m about to give up, Dasan walks into the room with Coach Shively. I don’t know what they’re saying, but Dasan is grinning with our coach shaking his head.
Dasan looks up as he approaches and grins when he sees me. He changes his trajectory and heads for the bike next to the one I’m on. Grabbing the hem of his tee, he pulls it up over his head and drops it on the ground beside the bike before climbing on.
Coach stops by me. “You okay, Felton?” he asks.
I smile and give him a nod. “Yes, Coach.”
“You’ve been here a while.”
Sighing, I shrug. “I’m bored at home. Decided to entertain myself here for a bit.”
He studies me as he nods absently. “Okay. Don’t overdo it. I don’t want you to be so overworked tomorrow that you’re exhausted in the net.”
I nod. His eyes glance to Dasan before he moves on, stopping at the weights where Marion is benching.
Looking at Dasan, I find him lazily pedaling as he’s messing with his phone.
Not going to lie… I’d had a crush on him when we first met. He’s got this perfect body—all tight and shaped to perfection. There’s muscle, but he’s not bulky. The V of his hips pointing south is so damn pronounced and I can’t stop myself from staring sometimes. Especially since he has his belly button pierced and his pants are almost always riding low on his hips.
And his dick is pierced too, though I haven’t spent a lot of time looking at that either. But fuck, I’m a gay guy and when there’s something shiny on someone’s cock, I can’t stop myself from sneaking some peeks.
He has this really masculine jawline that I love. His hair is black as night, as are his pronounced eyebrows, and his eyes are just as dark. He’s got his ears pierced, though for obvious reasons, there aren’t always earrings in them, but when thereare, they’re usually studs of some kind. Today, they look like diamonds.
His long hair is pulled back in an elastic. About an inch over his ears, the bottom half of his head is shaved. Well, it’s usually shaved. But it’s been growing in for a few weeks now.
