5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

“What the hell, Faulkner?” Ramsey called out from behind Brody’s right shoulder. “You totally just fucking missed the puck.”

Sure enough, there it went sliding by, right across center ice, because Brody hadn’t caught it on his stick, and shot it over to Finn.

That was a rookie mistake. An issue he and Ramsey hadn’t had since they first started playing together. It would’ve been bad in a game, but this was just practice.

Of course, with Coach B in charge, practice was no longer just practice.

“You distracted?” Zach skated over, concern etched across his features. “That’s the second puck you’ve missed today. Is it your knee?”

“No, I’m fine,” Brody said, waving away his worries. “Knee’s fine.”

He didn’t want to talk about why he was distracted.

It wasn’t just adjusting to this new reality where he was undeniably into guys—into Dean— but also the new reality where he saw his roommate even less than he had before.

As he’d lain in bed two nights ago, he’d finally heard the shower flip on and then five minutes later, shut off. Dean’s door shut behind him.

The next day when Brody had stumbled out of bed, Dean had already gone. At least he’d thought he was. His bedroom door had stayed shut, but there’d been evidence that he’d been up early and left already, dishes rinsed and stacked in the sink.

They hadn’t even seen each other since it had happened, and Brody kept trying to pretend he wasn’t going out of his mind with the fact Dean was clearly avoiding him now, but he was . There was no denying it, considering that it was now Monday afternoon and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Dean since Friday night.

Not only had his absence been even more glaring than before, Brody had an uncomfortable inkling that part of the fault lay with his freakout.

“Alright,” Zach said, nodding. “Let’s try this again.”

They ran through the power play kill play Zach had outlined, and this time Brody forced his attention onto the ice—away from all the shit that was bothering him.

“Better,” Zach called out from his spot near center ice. He was standing with Coach B, whose expression was opaque and unreadable. He didn’t offer much in terms of feedback—he seemed to rely on Zach for that, instead—and Brody thought maybe that was what made the team feel different this year.

Coach’s stoic blankness.

Sometimes Brody felt like he was the same, a mirror that everything just reflected off, and nobody saw what was roiling away underneath.

“Again,” Coach said with a sharp clap. And then, after they’d run through it, Brody’s legs and lungs burning with exertion, he said, “Again.”

Nothing else.

It didn’t seem to bother anyone else, this difference. Just him.

The Evergreens were still good; they had to be with the stacked roster they carried. They’d still won all but one game, but it felt different.

Maybe it wasn’t the team; maybe it was him .

Brody pushed the thoughts away, because this wasn’t the time or the place for them, but just because he didn’t think about it didn’t mean that those thoughts didn’t still exist, lurking around his brain, and the moment he came off the ice, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face, they came rushing back.

He wasn’t having the same kind of time he used to have on the ice. That much was obvious to him.

It had used to be his sanctuary, and now he couldn’t stop himself from agonizing over all the uncertainties, even when he skated.

“You. Me. Sammy’s,” Ramsey threw over his shoulder as he finished getting dressed after showering.

“I’m—”

“You. Me. Sammy’s,” Ramsey repeated firmly. “Then you can go off and do whatever it is your head’s into.”

Brody wanted to claim it was homework and classes, but he knew that wasn’t all it was.

Still, he had no intention of discussing what had happened on Friday night with Ramsey. He’d go and they’d eat and then he’d retreat back to the apartment with an excuse he had homework to do, and maybe then . . .maybe he’d finally see his roommate again.

"You’re being super weird, even for you,” Ramsey said, as they sat in Sammy’s, drinking protein smoothies and eating Italian subs after a long, wretched practice.

Brody knew he should deny it, but he was tempted, even for a half a second, to confess why he’d only been paying half-attention to anything for two days now—because the other part of his stupid brain was still stuck, back on the couch in his apartment, watching as Dean shuddered to orgasm under his hand.

And the part that wasn’t obsessing about that? Was obsessing about all the questions he couldn’t seem to stifle about his future.

“I’m not,” Brody said.

But he’d known Ramsey would bring it up, especially after practice.

“You totally are, and I just can’t figure out why. It can’t be your knee. It seems to be holding up just fine. You told Zach it was fine.”

“It is fine,” Brody said, realizing that he’d barely even considered his fucking knee in the last two days. Practice had come and gone and he’d only thought about it when Zach had brought it up.

Between that fact and his lack of focus during his classes today, maybe that should’ve been enough to convince him that Dean’s absence was a good thing.

But it wasn’t, because Dean’s silence was driving him crazy.

It wasn’t fair of him, because they’d certainly never promised each other anything, even friendship, nevermind anything else, but he wanted Dean to feel the same way he did. Like his skin was too tight for his body.

“Then what’s up, man?” Ramsey questioned, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “Is it Dean?”

“No . . .no . . .of course not . . .why would it be Dean?” Brody stuttered. “I barely see Dean.” Which is at least half my fault.

“Just wanted to make sure I don’t have to kick his ass,” Ramsey said.

“For being a shitty roommate?”

Ramsey nodded.

“No, he’s actually—” Brody cleared his throat. “He’s great.” So fucking great.

“I thought you barely saw him,” Ramsey said shrewdly.

“Exactly.” That was the safest answer Brody could give.

Ramsey nodded absently. “You left the party early on Friday.”

Brody wasn’t sure if this was Ramsey’s attempt to change the subject and catch him off-guard or what, but he couldn’t possibly know that he hadn’t changed the subject at all.

Right?

Right.

“Yeah, we did,” Brody said, attempting a very casual tone.

Nobody knew what had happened between him and Dean. He couldn’t imagine Dean talking out his mouth about it, and well, Brody certainly hadn’t told anyone about it. He could tell Ramsey about it; he couldn’t say he hadn’t considered the possibility.

He was one of his best friends and he was proudly pansexual. But Brody wasn’t particularly proud of the way he’d panicked in the aftermath and then chickened out again when faced with the possibility of talking to Dean about his freakout. He didn’t think Ramsey would be hard on him about it, or give him shit, but he might be conciliatory. Patronizing. Ultimately disappointed. And Brody didn’t want to face any of that. His own thoughts were bad enough without adding Ramsey’s to the mix.

“We? Of course you left with Dean.”

“I didn’t leave with Dean . . .uh . . .like that ,” Brody clarified before he could snatch the words back.

Ramsey leaned in. “Oh? Is that the way the wind’s blowing? You’re into Dean?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Brody complained.

But Ramsey wasn’t stupid, not nearly as stupid as he let a lot of people believe, and he’d scented blood in the water.

“You’re crushing on Dean.”

“No,” Brody said, and he was fairly certain that wasn’t a lie.

“You had sex with him, then. How was it? Is he—”

“No,” Brody repeated. Trying to convince himself that wasn’t a lie, either. After all, he hadn’t seen Dean naked. He’d seen more of Dean coming out of the shower before that night than he’d seen that night. He hadn’t even touched Dean’s dick, not really.

It wasn’t sex. It had just been . . .an experiment.

That was all.

“Oh. Well, damn. I was so sure that was it. You had sex with Dean and it fucked you up.” Ramsey sounded disappointed.

A different kind of disappointed than Brody had expected.

He felt a pulse of guilt because he had kind of lied. Sort of, anyway.

He’d certainly misled Ramsey, whose only crime was being a good friend to him.

“I . . .ah . . .well,” Brody admitted. “We might’ve . . .had a bit of a thing. Not even a thing. A thing implies that it was something , like an actual official occurrence and it wasn’t. Not really.”

Ramsey raised a blond eyebrow. “Then what the fuck was it?”

“An experiment,” Brody proclaimed and then realized how stupid that sounded.

Ramsey must’ve agreed, because he rolled his eyes. “So y’all were just experimenting? Two bros wondering what it feels like? Must’ve been pretty earth-shattering ’cause you’ve been wandering around with your head in the clouds, like all your brain molecules are still lost in Dean’s dick.”

“That is absolutely not true,” Brody said.

Ramsey grinned and made a little bit motion with his fingers. “It’s alright. He’s hot. I can’t blame you for picking him to ‘experiment’ on.”

“I didn’t pick him , it just sort of happened.” Except that it hadn’t really happened like that at all. Brody had been thinking about it—and specifically related to Dean. But Ramsey didn’t need to know that, because he’d be insufferable about this, anyway.

“No? You sure about that?”

“Mostly.”

“So,” Ramsey said. He flopped back against his chair and shot Brody a knowing look. “You liked it. Liked him. Liked fucking around with men.”

“Those are three things that are not necessarily true. I said it was an experiment, and that’s all it was,” Brody retorted, hating how defensive he sounded. Just like how he’d sounded the night it had happened.

He kept thinking he should apologize to Dean, but the first problem with that was he had to actually see the guy to do that, and the second was that he didn’t actually know what he’d be apologizing for. Not the during , that was for damn sure. But the aftermath? That was a different story.

“Listen, we don’t have to talk about it,” Ramsey said, all casual and friendly, like he didn’t care either way.

“Good,” Brody said shortly, “because I don’t want to.”

Brody knew that neither of those things was really true—they should talk about it, and part of him did want to talk about it. And of course, he didn’t really trust Ramsey to leave it alone, but he didn’t know what else to say right now, either.

He had friends who were queer. Elliott. Mal. He had his suspicions about Finn, too. And then there was Ramsey . He was one of his best friends and he was out and proud and had probably never shirked from the truth in his whole goddamn life. Ramsey.

It had just never been him .

Brody squirmed in the booth.

Hating this. Kind of hating himself, right now.

How could he be such a fucking coward?

It was just sex.

Unlike some, his parents weren’t going to disown him. And these days, if he did decide to go into pro hockey, his sexuality probably wouldn’t destroy his career.

There were a number of “out” players in professional football now, and a few teams that it felt like were full of them, like the Los Angeles Riptide or the Miami Piranhas. Even the owner of the Charleston Condors was gay and dating an ex-player.

Hockey hadn’t quite followed suit, but it would probably be okay. Ramsey certainly didn’t seem worried about it. Neither did Elliott. And it was clear both of them were going to make it to the NHL. Ramsey had been drafted high and continued to perform as expected. Elliott wouldn’t be drafted until next year but there was already chatter about the forward.

“Well, you wanna talk about what’s had you so distracted on the ice, then? It was like you were in your own world out there today,” Ramsey questioned, still casual and friendly.

Ugh .

“Classes?” Ramsey continued. “Your knee? No, you said your knee was just fine.”

“It is just fine. You’ve been on the ice with me. You saw it for yourself.”

“Then it must be your classes. You ready to give up on that ridiculous major yet?” Ramsey teased gently.

What would Ramsey say if he knew Brody was actually, in the dark of night, when he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror and see the uncertainty in his eyes, contemplating doing more with his degree than just bragging about it?

“No,” Brody said. “But yeah, it’s tough right now.” Not any tougher than normal, but then Ramsey didn’t need to know that.

“Mine too.”

Brody laughed. “What, now you’re struggling with what to say to those hot twins you keep propositioning?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me that they keep ghosting me. It’s a real fucking ego killer,” Ramsey said, his eyes twinkling.

“Uh-huh. Sure it is.” Ramsey’s ego was titanium-plated, and Brody couldn’t help but envy him for that.

Maybe if he was more like Ramsey this thing with Dean wouldn’t have thrown him the way it had.

“Seriously, though,” Ramsey said, “ are you okay?” His tone still held that friendly casual, we’re just chatting and bs-ing vibe, but the words were unexpectedly serious.

Very unlike Ramsey.

“I’m . . .” Brody swallowed hard. Told himself it was just the last bite of his sandwich, but it was more than that.

He’d started this year a few weeks ago very sure that he’d figure his shit out sooner rather than later.

But he was as conflicted as ever about his future, and now there was this thing with Dean. Of course, it wasn’t just Dean . Dean was just the person Brody had experimented with. It was the fact that he’d wanted to experiment at all.

He didn’t feel found; instead, he felt more lost than ever.

“It’s okay to not be okay, you know,” Ramsey said, voice still even.

That was the one thing about Ramsey; he could be a remarkably judgment-free zone. He’d come here intending to not tell Ramsey shit, but the temptation to confess everything was strong.

“I’m going through some shit,” Brody admitted.

“Yeah, you are,” Ramsey said, and suddenly his hand was clasping Brody’s, his grip a reassuring squeeze. “But you’re gonna be okay in the end. I know it.”

“I don’t know it,” Brody said and laughed because that was better than crying. Especially over the remnants of an Italian sub in Sammy’s. “I don’t know who I am anymore. What I want. I get on the ice, and it’s good, but it’s not the same. I feel . . .different.”

“Your injury,” Ramsey said.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s part of it. But then I go to class, and we’re doing these medical case studies and I think, God , I could do that, too. I love doing this. I could get lost in it. Sometimes I think I want both—but we know that’s not how it works, right?” Brody laughed again, because fuck , this rest-of-your-life shit was hard .

“I think you could be or do anything you wanted. Anything you decided on.” Ramsey paused. “Are we still not talking about Dean?”

“No, we’re not talking about Dean.” Because Brody knew it wasn’t really about Dean. He was a symptom of a larger situation. “We’re talking about me .”

“Your parents are gonna be just fine, and the rest of us are gonna be just fine, with whatever you want, with whatever direction you decide to swing. You know that, right?”

Brody nodded. He knew it. But the words burst out of his mouth anyway. “But am I gonna be fine with it? I don’t know. I don’t know fucking anything anymore.” And there it was.

Everything he’d thought he was. Everything he’d thought he wanted. Everything he’d worked for. It was all a mess, shattered on the floor of his mind, and Brody didn’t know how to put it back together again. Or if he even should.

“We all go through this,” Ramsey said quietly.

“Not you,” Brody retorted.

“Especially me,” Ramsey admitted. His blue eyes were shadowed now, like he was thinking about it. Like Brody’s confession had forced him to revisit it. Brody almost wanted to apologize for sending him there.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh . And you don’t gotta hide this shit, Faulkner. We’re friends. We’re teammates. We’re there for each other. You know Mal’s got his big four-year plan. Talk to him. Talk to Finn, who’s only ever wanted to play hockey, even when the whole world seems either set against him doing it or waiting to see how fucking amazing he’s gonna be. Nobody says you gotta take his path. Or your parents’ path. Or that you gotta decide right now.”

“Yeah.” He knew Ramsey was telling the truth, but it still didn’t help.

“I know you know all that though. So it’s just . . .sometimes you gotta go through it before you get it.”

“Did you?”

“When I kissed my first guy in high school? Yeah, I sure did. Didn’t think that was me, but it is. Took me time to embrace it.”

“Really?” Brody couldn’t help the skepticism in his voice. Ramsey Andresen was the most unashamed person he knew.

“Really,” Ramsey said warmly.

“Okay.”

“And anytime you need to talk, I’m here. We’re all here.” Ramsey picked up his smoothie and sucked noisily on the straw. “Now, I’m sure you were about to tell me you’ve got some crazy hard bio shit you gotta do, so I’m gonna take off.”

Brody rolled his eyes. Except Ramsey was right. “Yeah. And thanks, actually.”

“Anytime,” Ramsey said.

Except the “crazy hard bio shit” wasn’t the only reason he was wanting to go home. Maybe he’d see Dean. This was usually the hour they did meet up, or at least they had pre-Friday night.

They’d sometimes sit on the couch in the living room, shooting the shit for a few minutes, sometimes reading in companionable silence as ESPN played low on the TV.

Brody knew Dean was avoiding him, but he knew it when he came home and the living room was empty.

Knew it with even more certainty when he looked at Dean’s door and saw that sliver of light underneath it.

He’d already retreated to his room. Maybe if he hadn’t gone with Ramsey for food after practice, he’d have caught him . . .

But did he really want to catch Dean if he didn’t want to be caught?

No. No, he did not.

Angry frustration surged through Brody as he stared at the door.

Let Dean fucking hear him, just standing here in the hallway, not moving.

Let him hide and pretend that what happened the other night hadn’t happened at all. That they hadn’t been all over each other. That they hadn’t kissed like the world was going to end tomorrow. That they hadn’t gotten hard and come their brains out just from touching each other.

Brody’s blood quickened again, just thinking about it.

Though frankly, it felt like he’d barely stopped thinking about it.

He glanced down at his half-hard cock tenting his gray sweatpants. He’d gotten off twice since the “experiment” and both times he hadn’t had a fucking hope or a prayer of not thinking about Dean as he wrapped a hand around his dick.

It hadn’t been as good. Not even close.

But he still knew what he’d be doing when his own door closed behind him.

Trying to recreate that fire that had surged through him.

He turned away, clearly heading to his room, but then Brody hesitated.

Why should he let Dean just keep hiding?

If he was going to drive Brody nuts, then he sure as fuck wanted to drive him nuts right back.

And after the way they’d come together on Friday, it had to be some kind of fucking mutual.

Brody waited a moment, until his erection died down a bit, steeled his nerve and knocked.

For a long second, there was only silence.

Then he heard the creak of a chair and Dean’s footfalls as he walked across the room.

Finally, he opened the door.

“Hey,” Dean said. His voice was a study in neutrality and if Brody had thought Coach’s face tended towards blankness, then Dean’s could give him a run for his money.

“Hey,” Brody said back.

Before, when they’d just been hanging out—not friends but not really only roommates either—there’d always been this frisson of something in the air.

He hadn’t known what it was, then. But now, after they’d kissed, after they’d touched each other, now Brody knew.

It was sexual tension, crackling in the air between them. In the way Dean’s gaze dipped down, for a split-second, catching on Brody’s lips. In the way his biceps in that tight, worn T-shirt, flexed.

Goddamn. Brody remembered what all those muscles had felt like. They’d been fucking devastating.

“Did you . . .uh . . .need something?” Dean asked awkwardly.

“Just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” Brody paused. “You know, after the other night. Haven’t seen you since then.”

’Cause you’ve been freaking avoiding me.

“Oh yeah. Um. Sure. Of course. We’re good.”

“Good,” Brody said, raising his chin. Maybe he’d freaked out a little bit during the aftermath but he wasn’t the one freaking out now. He’d been the one to knock on Dean’s door, after all. Make him face him again.

“You need something else?” Dean didn’t say it rudely, but it was clear he wanted to be done with this conversation. And Brody wasn’t sure he could blame him for that.

After all, the last time they’d seen each other, he’d been in full panic mode.

“Listen, I just wanted to say . . .uh . . .sorry if I freaked out a little bit.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“I just haven’t seen you since,” Brody added, hating how petulant he sounded now.

“I’ve been busy,” Dean said defensively.

He didn’t have to say, you knew I was super busy when you decided to hook up with me because his meaning was clear enough.

Message received. Loud and clear.

Well, Brody had a message of his own to deliver.

He leaned in. Not quite as close as they’d been the other night, but close enough to bring all those memories, still red-hot, right back. Watched as Dean’s breath caught and his knuckles gripping the edge of the door went white.

For a single moment, Brody remembered how it had all felt. Dean’s mouth on his, fierce and undeniable, the firm grip of his big hands, and the way his hips had stuttered, searching for his, wanting more than either of them knew how to give.

It turned him on. And Brody was pretty goddamn sure he wasn’t the only one.

“I’ve been busy too,” Brody murmured. The arousal he felt, just thinking about how it had been, roughened his voice.

The wood under Dean’s grip creaked ominously.

“Yeah?” Dean asked. His voice had softened, but he still seemed apprehensive.

“Yep,” Brody said, nodding. “Have a good night.”

But as Brody returned to his own room, shutting the door behind him with a long, heartfelt sigh, he realized the only problem with teasing Dean was the knife cut both ways.

Now he was really horny, with nothing to do but to take care of it himself and hope that his orgasm might even come close to how good it had been with Dean.