“Don’t thank me. Just get out of my sight.”
Box in handand heart in a million pieces, I slink through the corridors of Conte Arena. A million arguments race through my mind. I could have argued that technically, I too, am a student. That the balance of power between Cory and I is equally distributed. That he is a man and made this choice with a full and clear knowledge of what was at stake. But ultimately, I come to a decision I hate with every fiber of my being.
Cory deserves better than this. Better than a life spent with someone the world will undoubtedly view as his mentor does. As a predator.
As expected he’s waiting for me in the parking lot at the rear of the complex, on what is an unfairly crisp and clear day. Leaning against my car that’s parked squarely in front of the door I emerge from, he sweetly but unnecessarily waves and hollers, “James. Over here.”
“I thought we could ride together,” he says as I arrive by his side, open my squeaky car door and slide my belongings inside. “Maybe we could get some food?”
“Don’t you have class?”
“I do, but I’m not going. This … figuring out what we’re going to do is more important.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” I slam the door then turn to face him. “Harris will be watching every move you make, Cub. You have to go to class, and maintain your average and work your ass off to show him you deserve that captaincy.”
“I will do all that. But Mom and Cherry are at work and I thought we could go home and talk and–”
“I’m not coming home with you, Cub,” I say a little too curtly. “And before you ask, no you can’t come home with me. Coach is right, I should never have let this happen. We can’t do this anymore.” The hurt in his eyes is more damaging than if I should stare directly at the sun above.
“But we’re free now. We can be together. I’ll help you find a placement. I … I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you. I love you with all my heart, Cub. That’s why I have to let you go. It’s your time. Your moment. Cubby Season, if you will. Your future lies here as the captain of this team and then in Montreal, and mine,” I pause, sucking in a painfully sharp breath, “And mine is here with Dylan and Faith.”
He throws himself into me. Arms sliding around my back. Legs wrapping around mine, hoisting himself up ‘til his eyes are at my chin level, wide and staring up at me. I should remind him of where we are, of our audience. But I don’t because I don’t because I’m a selfish bitch and I can’t let him go. Not quite yet.
“ThenI’llquit. I don’t want that future if you’re not in it.”
“You’re not quitting, and you will want it in time.”
Cory buries his face deep into my shoulder, and shakes his head. So fucking cute. “That’s not true. All I want is you.”
“I want you too, Kid. But you have to trust me on this. I’ve walked away from this world in order to please someone else, and the regret I felt soured me on the inside. I don’t want that for you. I want you to take all this pain and passion and funnel it into your game. Kick ass this year. Take home the Hobey Baker and the Frozen Four, and do it knowing I’ll be cheering you on through every damn second.”
“I don’t want that.”
“You do. I know you do, and you do too.”
He shakes his head again but makes no further argument and neither do I. Instead I grip him even tighter, kiss the top of his head and let myself feel the weight of him one last time.
I’m not sure how long we stay that way, but it comes to an end via the whispered words of Sam. “Boys, Coach was heading this way when I left. You might want to end this before he sees it and ends you.”
“Thanks Sam,” I say as politely as possible without lifting my head. Cory takes a different approach.
“Get fucked, Sam.”
Laughter bubbles from me and I use the jiggle it causes to relax my hold and let Cory slide down my body. Hands still locked, he stares at me. Rivulets of tears descending his cheeks, and mine. He looks so fucking sad, and selfishly, I’m tempted to take it all back. To take him in my arms again and never let him go. But this is the right thing to do. I know it is. It’s just really fucking hard.
Palms sticky with sweat, I make an attempt to slide my hand from his and am almost successful, but he hooks his pinky and latches it around mine.
“Guys he’s coming,” Sam repeats, tapping me on the shoulder before making a hasty getaway.
Unable to summon the strength to look into his beautiful blue eyes again, I focus on our entwined fingers, the last part of us connected as I slide away.
“Goodbye, Cubby.”
Routine. I hate that mother fucker. My brain, though. My brain thrives on it and suddenly in the space of twenty-four hours, the safe and predictable life I’d crafted for myself fell apart.
I have no job.
