let’s just say (walk with me here) let’s just say that eric bennett, nervous and new and barely-graduated from harvard, gets assigned a room on a road trip with detroit with a second-year forward who was in his place last year, a kid who was drafted at 18 and went to the ahl and did his time there instead of in an ivory tower, and he’s funny and calm and smart and tactical, but there’s something different about him, something that piques eric’s interest in a way he doesn’t have words for, and the boy is so unnervingly kind that eric doesn’t think twice when he pulls out a handle of rum in spite of the coach’s orders to get rest before the big game, to not fuck it all up, to prove that a college boy has the grit to handle the big league
and then they’re drunk and the shadows cast by the dim hotel lamp seem to make the boy’s dimples deeper and his eyes brighter, and then they’re kissing and kissing and kissing and eric is breathless and the boy is moaning and they’ve both lost their socks, their shirts, their pants, and they’re just in their boxers, grinding against each other on eric’s bed until they both come with a gasp and then the boy with the dimples goes back to his own bed so coach doesn’t kill them for oversleeping and eric listens to him snore while he thinks and thinks and tries not to think
because — well — he likes girls. eric knows he likes girls, he dated girls all through college and never had any issues finding them attractive. and this boy is his friend, and sometimes friends fool around, and that doesn’t mean anything, right? it’s the early 2000s and bisexuality is still something that’s barely more than a joke on tv, nearly fucking unheard of in hockey, so as long as eric likes girls, whatever he does with his buddy doesn’t mean anything. can’t mean anything.
so they do it again and again, nothing super far, nothing too far, nothing that would be gay, just some drunk kissing, grinding, and hand stuff in the darkness of a hotel room, never somewhere that they live, never somewhere that is too real, and they make it through most of the season like this, laughing and whispering in the shadows as eric’s heart swells and swells, and it’s okay because it doesn’t mean anything, it isn’t really real
but then that boy — god, that beautiful, kind, funny, compassionate boy with eyes that peer into eric’s goddamn soul — he says the words that make it real, he makes those feelings tangible, makes eric taste them in the space between their lips as they gasp into each other’s mouths, and something deep inside eric twists up, and he tries to let him down gently, means to break it off as friends, but what he does is shove him aside and call him a word the next day that tastes as bitter as the word “love” tastes sweet
(both words burn his throat in a way that reminds him of taking a shot)
and he tells the team at least part of it, not on purpose but in the way that word spills out of his mouth, in a way that has other boys approaching him in the locker room with lowered voices asking do you think he really is? and hey bennett, i thought harvard was full of those fuckers, aren’t you used to it by now? and i heard he made a pass and eric doesn’t confirm anything, he doesn’t say just last week, he shouted my name when he came and I jerked off at the sound, but that doesn’t matter because they know now and the brightness in the boy’s eyes fades away before the end of the season
and then rumors say the boy is headed to ahl because nobody wants to deal with the gossip and eric is traded to new york because nobody wants to deal with him, so he packs his bags and leaves detroit behind, leaves behind the memories of the boy’s laughter and his smile and his dimples, and he decides that he doesn’t like drinking all that much anymore because every taste of alcohol reminds him of the word “love”
and he meets his wife and he loves her and he’s attracted to her because he likes girls, and so it’s no problem if he used to get off with a friend, and then he wins a cup and his teammate comes out and it’s wonderful and freeing and happy, and he keeps up with the boy’s career, sees him bounce around from team to team, wonders if he ever finds a place where ugly words don’t have a home like eric has
and then he gets divorced and then he’s getting old and then he hears that boy is grown and married and coaching in ottawa, where dreams go to die, and he feels a pang of what could have been, a pang of what if we had worked out, a pang of what if i had not been afraid, and he does not drink because he thinks it will remind him of the taste of the past
and then, then, eric meets a younger man who makes drinks that taste like love without booze, drinks that feel warm and sweet going down without any of the burn, and when eric touches him, it truly feels like the first time he’s been with a man because the eric of so goddamn long ago hadn’t thought it was real, hadn’t been able to process that, hadn’t wanted to process that
and then two nhl players are outed and eric watches with pride as one team supports their player, and he watches with shame as the other team abandons theirs, and he just knows what type of team he used to be part of
so, he volunteers his summer at the irina foundation in spite of retirement, sure that they need more goalies on their team, happy to bring kyle on a trip to some local museums and hikes, happy to show off how goddamn happy he is
and when that boy — that man, fully grown, married with children now — walks into the rink on the first day of camp, all eric can do is smile and remember
and brandon wiebe’s eyes still sparkle
(wiebe’s post/story can be found here)
