Like Mom, a toxic mix of booze and bitterness pumped through their veins, and releasing their anger onto me was a welcome relief for them.
Living in that place was like walking through a minefield; I never knew what would set off her or one of the assholes she kept around.
What I hated the most was that they were right.
I am gay.
It wasn’t that I hated being gay. It was a part of me, and someday I hoped to have the freedom just to be myself. But, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times when I wished I weren’t gay. Then, maybe Mom and her drug-dealing boyfriends would leave me alone. Maybe I could have a friend without the fear of them hating me once they figured out my truth.
I wanted to be left alone, yet yearned for connection so bad it hurt. I wanted someone who could understand how hard it was to hide everything. How tiring it was. It left a queasy feeling in the pit of my gut that I could never shake.
Stop thinking about this shit.
I shook my head, freeing myself from my crappy thoughts. Hockey was my escape, and I wasn’t about to let the bullshit at home fuck it up. Home didn’t exist when I was playing. It was just me and the game.
Braxton, a twenty-year-old burnout who worked at the Shake and Shimmy in town, served as the ref. He was terribleat it. He lived for the fighting, so he’d be the last person to stop a brawl, but he was so fucking jazzed by it all that we didn’t have the heart to tell him to leave.
Braxton held the puck about three feet off the ground. I took one last look at Cody before focusing on the puck. Braxton released it, and the world moved in slow motion as my teeth ground together, waiting for it to land.
It hit the ground with a thud. Players around me screamed while our sticks clashed, smashing against each other with a cracking sound that echoed off the surrounding trees.
Damn, it felt good. The jitters consumed me. The good kind, not the shitty kind that happens when you don’t want to go home.
I maneuvered my right hip against Cody, trying to shield the puck from him. Eventually, I had him blocked, my back to him as he tried to poke the puck away from me. His body enveloped me, pressing against my back as we scuffled for the puck. I managed to slap it to Tony, our right winger, who raced toward their goal, but Zed, their defenseman, was on his ass in a heartbeat. They battled at the edge of the court, where the asphalt met grass, and Tony landed on his ass as Zed shoulder-checked him. We had no boards since we were playing on an old basketball court, so falling into the grass or down the hill on the opposite edge of the court was a common occurrence.
Zed slapped it to Cody, and I took off like lightning, sliding in front of Cody as he approached our goal, and kicking the puck to the right. Roger, our defenseman, snagged it. The jagged asphalt tore up my leg, but there was no time to nurse my wounds. I was back on my blades, and Roger passed it to me. I could see our left winger, Jake, in my peripheral vision,so I reeled my stick back and slapped it to him.
Jake received the pass, but the defense was immediately on him. I pumped my legs to the offensive zone, thighs burning as I raced forward. I threw my body into the scuffle and battled alongside Jake.
I managed to poke the puck out of the skirmish, and it went skidding across the court. Cody raced for it, but I pushed through the other players and met him at the puck. I threw my shoulder into him as he smashed his body against me. His musky stench slapped my senses as our bodies pressed together. My teeth clenched as I repositioned myself to secure my balance. With a hip-check, I sent him falling back a few steps, which was just enough time for me to take a shot. I raised my stick, making it look like I was going to take a slap shot and aim for the upper left corner. The goalie took the bait and raised his arms to catch it, which left the lower right corner open.
Goal.
The guys surrounded me, hugging me and patting my back.
Yes! Fuck, yes bitches!
I looked at Cody and saw his sly smirk. I didn’t know why he seemed so amused, but I went over and high-fived him for being a good sport about it.
“Let me introduce you to someone,” he said.
I cocked my head to the side. Who the hell would he want to introduce me to?
“Okay,” I said as I caught my breath and wiped the sweat off my brow.
He led me to a red Bronco parked in the lot adjacent to the court. A man with muscular arms and brown hair, gray at the temples, leaned against the diver’s side door. People passingby sometimes watched our games, so I thought nothing of it when I caught him laughing at some of our more questionable moves. I liked to call themcreative.
It was street hockey after all.
His lips curled in a smirk, and he looked at me with warm, hazel eyes as I approached.
Cody motioned to me and said, “Coach Hughes, this is Asher Lachlan, the guy I was telling you about.”
The man pushed himself off the car and held out his hand. “Lachlan. Nice game out there. Bramble told me a lot about you, and he wasn’t wrong.”
I had no idea who the fuck this guy was or what anyone was talking about. “Um…thanks,” I stuttered out.
“I’m the head coach for the Vipers, and I was hoping you’d come to our tryouts next week.”
