Well, that was humiliating. And exhausting. And completely unexpected. Coming out to Brandon’s parents was supposed to be easy. Brandon was the one freaking out. I’d assured him it was going to be fine.
So why the fuck did I have a complete emotional breakdown?
That’s not how this is supposed to work. Brandon is the one who’s prone to freaking out. He’s the one who gets overly emotional. He’s the one who needs reassurance. Not me. I’m fine. I have been for quite some time.
But maybe I haven’t. Maybe all this time I’ve spent betting on myself, thinking I could go it alone, was all a lie.
And maybe, because of that, I can lie here and let myself be the little spoon for once in my life. Brandon doesn’t seem to mind. Or at least he hasn’t tried to switch our positions yet since we got into bed after our three-one loss to Dallas tonight. For the first time during these playoffs, we’re in the hole and it’s all my fault. I skated like shit tonight. There was no life in my legs.
Brandon’s arm curls around me a little tighter. “I’m glad Coach gave us tomorrowoff.”
“I’m not. We sucked tonight. He should bag skate us.”
“Or… we can take advantage of the gift he gave us and rest. We need it.”
I can hear what he really thinks; thatIneed it, but he’s too nice, or more likely too nervous to say that out loud.
He’s probably right, though. And to Coach’s credit, he didn’t even seem mad about our loss tonight. It’s like he could sense from the start this just wasn’t our night. Whether or not he realizes it was because I lost control and had a full-on emotional meltdown three hours before puck drop is anyone’s guess.
Brandon kisses my neck. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I think I’ve done enough talking today.”
“So no talking.”
“None.”
“I can take your mind off it instead?”he says suggestively.
For the first time in hours, a chuckle escapes my lips. “Is that your solution?”
“No,” he says and buries his nose into my hair. “Well… sort of.”
“Not one for uncomfortable silence, are you?”
“Are you?” he asks, sounding slightly aghast.
“Nope,” I laugh. I hate silence like this. I like content silence. I like dozing-on-the-couch silence. I like having-the-ice-to-yourself silence. But this. This is terrible.
That said, I’m also not naive enough to believe a blow job will fill this empty hollowed-out feeling I have in the pit of my stomach. Honestly, it would probably make me feel worse. But it is sweet of Brandon to offer.
“I don’t need a blow job,” I say. “All I need is you.”
“You have me,” he says. “And honestly, now you’re kind of stuck with me. My mom and dad won’t have it any other way.”
I smile at the thought. “I guess they won’t.”
Brandon
The sound of someone banging their fist on our hotel room door like they’re the cops startles me awake. I look at the bedside clock. It’s not even five a.m. on Sunday morning.
“Who the fuck is that?” Ryan mumbles into the back of my neck. I guess at some point while sleeping we shifted to make me the little spoon again.
I get out of bed and pull on my UDub sweatpants, then make my way to the door. When I swing it open, I find Danton on the other side holding a bundle of hockey sticks, a bucket of pucks, and wearing a goofy-ass grin.
“What’s all that for?” I nod my chin at everything he’s holding onto. “Coach gave us the day off.”
“Get dressed and come down to the lobby,” he says. “Team building exercise starts in twenty minutes.”
