“Captain,” Coach whispers in my ear as everyone drops onto the bench by their stalls. “Some words before the press come in.”
I nod. The last fucking thing I want to do is speak, to anyone, but this is my job. I clear my throat and stand beside my stall. Everyone has their head hanging, staring at their skates, but they're listening. "There is not a fucking thing I can say that makes this better. Because words don't matter right now. Words won't sink in. But I'll say them anyway. We gave them the best battle this sport has seen in a long time. Luck is when preparation meets opportunity. We were prepared, but we didn't get the opportunities we needed. I'm still proud of us, somewhere inside, behind the raging disappointment. One day, when the sting wears off I'll feel pride. You will too. And it will drive us to do it again. And we will. We'll get it next time. Believe it boys."
They start to clap. It’s not boisterous, but it’s something.
I sit down and pain radiates through my ribs. I have three broken ones. Baxter has a torn muscle in his groin. Noah has a broken ring finger he has to tape and inject freezing into every game, and a nice new scar that will develop when the stitches come out just above his left eyebrow. But that's how playoffs end. In a heap of broken and torn parts. It's the same for the Comets only we all have one injury they don't yet – a broken heart. They might avoid that one entirely if they win the next and final round.
I glance over at Noah who is grimacing as he unties his skates and the media starts to pour in. It hits me that my heart was already broken before the loss. Who knew you could break an already broken heart?
The media is painful but quick, and then we’re all stripping down to shower and change back into street clothes as fast as possible and get the hell out of here. It’s easier for me than the other guys who all have friends and family waiting for them. Guess that’s a bonus to having your family disown you. Lucky me.
I don't see Noah in the locker room when I get back from the showers. He must have already left and joined his dad and Justin in the family lounge. I shrug into my dress shirt, not bothering to button it all the way up, put on my pants, socks, and shoes, but shove my tie in the pocket of my suit jacket, which is over my arm as I head out of the changing room. I only make it a few steps down the hall when I hear my name and turn to see Justin.
He's got his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his pants, his shoulders, which are covered in a Vipers jersey are hunch forward, and his friendly face sports a sympathetic smile. "Were you going to take off without even letting us console you?"
“There’s no consolation for this,” I tell him and scratch the back of my head, my hair still damp. “Besides you should be there for your brother.”
"I was hoping to be there for both of you," Justin says and something is being implied there… I think. Or am I just so emotionally fucked right now I am making shit up? "But since that's not possible, my dad is consoling Noah and I'm with you."
“I don’t need?—”
“The fuck you don’t,” Justin says crossing the short distance between us in the hall. He pushes his shoulder into mine, giving me a gentle shove. “Let’s go find a drink.”
Forty minutes later I'm nursing a vodka soda on my back patio, shirt undone, and an ice pack on my ribs. Justin is beside me with his favorite drink from college, a Vodka and Red Bull, which I remind him I still think is gross. He just smiles at me.
“I’m not taking advice from a dumb ass. Not on drinks or anything else.” Justin quips and I quirk an annoyed eyebrow at him.
“Why am I a dumb ass? Because I lost our chance at the Cup?” I doubt that’s why he’s calling me names, but I have no idea what I could have done to deserve even the gentlest of ribbing on the worst night of my life.
“Of course not because of the Cup. Fuck the Cup. You and Noah will both get one before you hang up your skates. I would bet my life savings on it,” Justin says with a confidence I hope I feel one day soon. Right now it’s just pure, painful failure pumping through my veins. He lifts his drink and swirls the ice. “You’re a dumb ass because you fell in love with my brother and then broke your own heart by dumping him.”
It's like the world is suddenly thrown in a vat of glue. Everything slows down from my heartbeats to the breeze rustling the palm trees to the clink of the ice cubes. My whole world just grinds to a halt. I can't even move my head to look at him. God, please may this whole horrible night just be some sort of hallucination. He can't know. My best friend can't know I have been sexually involved with his little brother.
“Are you going to bolt? Because you look like you’re about to run like a robbery suspect or something,” Justin notes, his voice still devoid of anger or disgust, which is good, I guess. “Remember you have broken ribs so running probably isn’t a smart move. Also, this is your house. So just, like, be a man and talk this out with me.”
“I don’t know what to say. I think you’ve lost your?—”
“Do not fucking lie about it, Luke,” Now his voice is hard. “That’s the only thing about this I won’t be okay with.”
Finally, I look at him. He’s staring ahead, at the water in my pool as it lazily slaps against the cobalt blue tile wall. His expression is relaxed. And when he does turn to look at me, his eyes are soft and he quirks the smallest smile. “I figured out you were gay, or at the very least bi, in junior year. I waited patiently for you to tell me, but you didn’t, which is fine.”
“I… it’s not because I thought you would care,” I finally manage to sputter out. “I just don’t tell anyone. Straight guys don’t have to go around announcing their sexuality so why should I have to?”
“You don’t,” Justin agrees. “And I’m sure your profession is why you don’t date, publicly.”
“Yeah.” I take a big swallow of my drink. Liquid courage. “And it isn’t my place to comment on anyone else’s sexuality. Ever. To anyone. For any reason.”
Justin nods. "I agree. I'm not asking you to confirm or deny if my brother is bisexual. He told me and Dad he was a couple of months back."
“Oh.” This is still as surreal as an out-of-body experience. I think I’m in shock.
Justin runs a hand through his dark hair. “He didn’t mention you. He just said he’d been involved with a man, but it was over and he wished it wasn’t.”
“Oh.”
"I had a hunch it was you," Justin goes on pausing a second to sip his drink. "I mean you two were suddenly close. And when Dad and I came to Vegas for Easter it was… well it was ridiculously obvious. You two were mooning over each other like love-sick teenagers. The looks you gave each other when you thought no one was watching. The inside jokes. The nicknames. FYI Alexander, no guy calls another guy Bambi unless he's seen his dick."
“I can’t have this conversation with you,” I choke out because I was mid-drink when he dropped that last line and the liquid went down the wrong pipe. “You’re his brother.”
