I’m not going to make it through the day. I don’t even want to get out of the bed, not to mention the room hasn’t stopped spinning and my legs feel like flimsy sticks. Coach Lein preaches about not drinking during the season and fuck if I don’t understand why now.
Drinking never leads to anything good. Christmas break proved that.
Come on, Blake. Get it together. Take the medicine, get a shower and some food to soak up the alcohol still sloshing around in the pit of your stomach.
If I miss a practice, I’ll be sitting on the bench and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let that happen. Then, when I have my head screwed on right and thinking properly, I’m going to devise a plan to spill my guts to Chase and pray that he doesn’t hate me. It needs to be me to tell him, not Carter.
I take hold of the comforter and toss it off of me. Sitting up, I swing my legs off the side of the bed at the same time, fighting to keep the vomit down that’s threatening to break free. I pause for a moment, my hands resting on the bed, as my toes move along the carpet. My head needs to calm before I attempt to stand or else me and the floor are going to be on a first name basis, up close and personal.
Sighing, I stand, my legs trembling beneath my weight. The world tilts, spinning violently, throwing me off balance. I close my eyes tightly, willing the dizziness to subside. Each breath is slow and deliberate as I wait for the nausea to pass. Gradually, the spinning slows, and I begin to feel steady, as if an invisible anchor has dropped, weighing me down.
When I finally open my eyes, the room is still, no longer a rocky amusement park ride and I take a cautious step forward, then another, repeating the process as I move across the room toward the ensuite bathroom, the promise of a hot shower pulling me onward.
As I step through the doorway, I flip the switch, wincing as the bright lights flicker on. My eyes draw upward toward the mirror and I catch my first glimpse of my haggard appearance. My hair is a ratted mess, half of the tendrils hanging loose from the hair tie. My eyes are bloodshot, with dark circles underneath them, my skin pale.I look like pure shit!
My clothes from last night hang on me like a grimy second skin, reeking faintly of alcohol and stale smoke. One by one, I peel the layers away, each piece landing on the tile floor with a lifeless thud, until I’m left bare.
Turning away, no longer wanting to see the sight reflecting back to me, I face the shower and step inside. I take hold of the knob, twisting it as far as I can go, not even caring that it’s cold when I step underneath it. I stand there, shivering, until steaming water cascades down my back, eliciting a hiss of relief. The water pounds comfortingly against my shoulders. I close my eyes, letting the warmth seep into my muscles, loosening the knots of tension.
Each droplet feels like a cleansing wave. Too bad it can’t wash away the mistakes I’ve made. I squirt some body wash in my hand, the minty smell a welcome contrast to the sour notes of regret that cling to me. Knowing I can’t hide in this fortitude of solace for long, I quickly spread the soap on my body, washing away what I can while coming to terms with what I can't.
I stand there long after the water has gone frigid, before finally twisting the knob off, plunging the bathroom into silence. While it’s a blessing to the pounding inside my skull, it only leaves room for my mind to race, dwelling on thoughts that only cause more pain.
Inhaling and blowing it out slowly, I step out of the shower, pulling the towel hanging on the rack off. I take my time, drying every inch of my body before stepping over to the sink and brushing my teeth, hoping like hell it eradicates the taste of cardboard and stale beer in my mouth.
I make a mental list for the day: get dressed, eat, then go to practice.
Those are the three main things I need to do. In that order. Chase. My sweet baby, I need to work on how to handle the situation with him. I have a mountain of explaining and a hellof a lot more groveling than that to do. Now that I’ve had time to think, I know I’m more at fault than him. I sometimes forget what it’s like to come out as bisexual to the world—the vulnerability, the uncertainty that can come with it. Everyone’s experience is different. Mine was easy, something I embraced with grace and confidence. But that doesn’t mean it’s the same for Chase. I didn’t take the time to truly understand or respect that. I know I need to finish getting ready, I can’t keep putting it off. The only way I’m going to get anything done is if I leave this room. Hiding isn’t going to accomplish shit. God, just let me make it through the day.
Chapter 7
Chase
My heart races asI sit in my truck outside the rink, the engine humming quietly as the weight of my thoughts presses down on me like a heavy fog. Carter should be with me, helping me through my pending panic attack. Instead, he left a note saying he caught an Uber to get in some early practice on the ice.
I still can’t believe it. It’s over.
Blake made it abundantly clear last night. It’s what I get for putting my heart out on the line. Letting myself be vulnerable. A part of me wants to scream at Carter, to hate him for pushing me to do this, but another part, a larger part, is happy he did. I’m free. No longer hiding behind a mask, pretending to be someone I’m not. Now, I can be the real me, the one hundred percent genuine Chase Olsen.
The sharp, icy air of winter nips at the windows, but I don’t make a move to get out. Doing so will only bring me face to face with Blake, and I’m not ready. Not just yet. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, turning my knuckles white, as my mind churns with emotions that refuse to settle.
Dread curls low in my stomach, a cold knot that seems to tighten the closer it gets to practice time. With each of my teammates I see enter the rink, I know my time of hiding outside is coming to an end. The thought of seeing Blake again, of pretending everything is normal in front of our teammates and I didn’t just have a meltdown in front of them yesterday, makes my chest ache.
I don’t want this—this hollow hole in my heart where hope of us being a couple used to live.
Now, there’s no longer hope, but anger quietly burning beneath the surface. Blake not only cheated on me, but he gave up on us. After all the late nights and whispered promises during Christmas, he’s just going to walk away. No fight. No effort. Questions circle my mind like vultures on dead prey.Why didn’t he even try? Was I not worth it? Were we not worth it? Why did he cheat? Why didn’t he just stay that night and work through it?
Questions I’ll never know the answers to, and I’m not sure I even want to. It’s not like it would make a difference. I love him, but he didn’t love me enough to not cheat. Yeah, I fucked up. I know asking him to keep us a secret was wrong, but I just needed time to come out.
Sadness, sharp and biting, creeps in at the edges, filling the cracks that anger left behind. I love Blake—even if he doesn't love me back like he said he did. What makes me so angry is that I want to fix things, to work through our issues, but Blake doesn’t; he just slammed the metaphorical door in my face. And I hate that I want to lash out, to make him feel the pain that I’m carrying, to show him what it’s like to have your heart ripped to shreds and thrown away as if it doesn’t mean anything. But can I do that?
In just a few minutes, regardless if I’m ready, I’m going to have to get out of this truck and head inside. What am I going to do?What am I going to say? Do I confront him? Stay silent? Act like nothing’s wrong? The very thought of having to decide makes my chest tighten even further, and I gasp, barely able to breathe.
I slam my hands against the steering wheel. “Get it together, Chase,” I mutter.
How am I going to focus on hockey with all of this hanging between us? How am I supposed to skate alongside someone who doesn’t want to fight for me, for us? And worse, how am I supposed to act like I am okay when every fiber of my being is screaming that I’m not?
A banging on the window causes me to jump, letting out a scream to rival any by Jamie Lee Curtis. My hand goes to my chest, trying to hold my heart inside that’s trying to escape as I try to calm my breathing.
