The Ashwell University Krakens were known for their fast, aggressive style of play. The Bellford Ravens regularly faced off against them in the conference. The games during the season were often the highlight of each college’s winter sports, and the pre-season scrimmages were well-attended, too.
When Bash got out onto the ice, he didn’t know where to look for Adonis in the stands. He didn’t know if heshouldlook for Adonis in the stands.
It was nice of Adonis to surprise him. Did it mean anything? Was Adonis showing up because he cared about Bash in a way that was more than sex? Bash doubted it. He liked Adonis in the sense that he liked the figure skater as a person. But he didn’t think helikedAdonis. Feelings and sexual attraction had always been easy for Bash to understand.
Why did it seem to be getting harder?
He wasn’t on the starting line during the scrimmage. Cort played, and played well, and Bash went in later. He got a few shots in, didn’t score any goals, and managed to cuss out only two of the Ashwell players. A brawl broke out between the teams’ enforcers, and the fans were roaring.
Bash, sitting on the player’s bench, squirted water into his mouth.
Robbie came off the ice and sat next to Bash. He was breathing heavily. “I saw him in the stands,” he said, panting. “He’s with Clarisse.”
“Where?”
Robbie pointed.
Bash looked, but couldn’t make out any faces. His heart pounded.
When he was back on the ice, a flow state came over him. Before his injury, he had always felt most himself when he was playing hockey. It was the closest he thought he could ever get to a sort of transcendent inner peace. Time slowed down, and his mind cleared. The only thing he had to worry about was the game.
And he was good at the game.
Now, months after the injury, he found that state again. Knowing Adonis was there, watching, didn’t make him nervous.
It made him better.
He got the puck, and he was unstoppable. His skates cut along the ice. He dodged Ashwell players, passed the puck to a teammate, and then was open again.
He shouted, and his teammate saw him. An Ashwell defenseman did, too, but he was too late. Bash’s teammate passed him the puck, and Bash shot.
The Bellford fans erupted at the goal, and Bash cheered.
“BASHER! BASHER! BASHER!”
He laughed, hearing his nickname echoing from the crowds.
When he looked up into the stands, that’s when he saw them: Adonis and Clarisse, waving their arms and screaming. He was too far to see Adonis’s eyes, but he felt that they were making eye contact.
Breathing heavily, he bowed and then skated off the ice.
——
The text from his sister was simple and aggressive:
Lotte: bel me, klootzak!
Call me, asshole!
The Bellford Ravens had won the scrimmage against Ashwell, and the team had taken over a local pizza joint in celebration. Some of their fans were clustered at neighboring tables and booths. Bash had noticed Adonis and Clarisse huddled over plates of pasta in a corner, shooting looks in his and Robbie’s direction.
They weren’t watching now while he looked at the text from his sister. They talked relatively regularly, but it was rare for her to send him a message like this.
He excused himself from the guys and walked out of the restaurant. It was a cool September night in the small Rhode Island college town. He stood outside the restaurant, beneath the lights and the awning, and called his sister.
“You didn’t need to be so aggressive with your text,” he said in Dutch when she answered.
“You weren’t answering my calls, asshole,” she replied. “I called you three times.”
