“I’m dating a James,” Jade says. “I have to survive a lifetime surrounded by you sports fiends.” None of us can argue with that.
As soon as we get to the driveway of the lax house, there’s the sound of muffled music and shouting. The smell of weed gets stronger the closer we get, until we find six people leaning over the railing on the back porch, passing a vape pen back and forth. A few of them look over their shoulders at the creak of our footsteps on the rickety wood. One of them calls out Bailey’s name, long and slow.
“Save some for me,” she says just before we go in the house.
We step right into a mass of bodies, people yelling and laughing in every room, the smell of liquor almost overwhelming. The bass makes the air vibrate around us, the music is so loud. One of the lamps is blown out, giving the living room this lowlight, dingy club feel.
The whole house is packed with both the men’s and women’s lacrosse teams and some of their friends. Delilah and Jade push their way toward the kitchen, but Bailey sticks with me, introducing me to her teammates and the guys. I’ve met some of them around campus, and they slap me on the back and offer me drinks. They have my sister on a pedestal as the captain of the women’s team and a two-time Tewaaraton Award winner, so hockey fans or not, I’m nothing more than Bailey’s brother to them.
I have this light feeling in my chest. A rare happiness that comes from seeing one of my sisters be given the respect and recognition she deserves.
After a couple hours, I end up squished between Delilah and Jade on a couch that sinks so low, we might as well be on the floor. It smells like it’s been soaked in alcohol and scrubbed down at least a dozen times over the years. I run a finger along the rim of an unopened beer can while one of my sister’s boyfriends, Sidney, leans forward to spread a deck of cards facedown around a Black Panther collector’s cup, explaining the King’s Cup house rules. Bailey and Karim whisper to each other behind his back, all smiles and heart eyes. The three of them are squeezed onto the love seat across from us, and a bunch more people are on the floor around the table, a few lucky ones snagging an armchair for themselves. This isn’t even half the people at this party.
But even with this crowd, I can’t stop looking over at Bailey, Sid, and Karim. They’ve been together since their freshman year, and they’re still going strong. Not Bailey and Sidney and Bailey and Karim. Bailey, Sidney, Karim. Sid and Karim show each other just as much affection as they do with Bailey.
It’s so natural and easy with them, and that’s the reason they’re the only ones I’ve come out to besides Nova. Not even Delilah knows I’m bi.
Sid and Karim got lucky with the Royals. Lax bro and hockey culture are notoriously homophobic, but the entire Hartland athletics department is super vocal in their support of You Can Play and puts up a zero-tolerance policy for any kind of bigotry. Almost makes me feel like I could be open about myself one day.
Except when the hockey media caught wind of Bailey’s polyam relationship, it was the most they’d ever talked about her. Everything she’s done on the lacrosse field, all her awards and championships meant nothing. It was only a matter of time before Delilah got outed, too. She got a single sentence in an article about college hockey when she led the NCAA in points last season, but when they found out she’s a lesbian, suddenly people knew who she was. Bailey and Delilah, the James family scandals … for now.
When Dad jumped in to defend them, it was the closest I’ve ever felt to him.
I crack open my beer and take a gulp. Then I lower my head and watch Karim lean forward to whisper in Sid’s ear while Delilah and Jade flirt back and forth over my head, and take another one.
I swear I’m not jealous. I pretty much have a girlfriend. Kind of. I mean, Nova and I promised to marry each other if we’re still single by thirty. It’ll never happen, what with Nova being a supermodel with actual celebrities sending her roses and taking her to dinner in different countries every week. But she’s my favorite person in the world. I don’t deserve her and I’d be beyond lucky to have her.
I take out my phone and send Nova a picture of the table covered in facedown cards and beer cans as one of Bailey’s teammates, Marcie, flips over an eight. “Mate,” she says, and immediately looks at me. “Mickey James.”
Everyone in the room’s got something to say about that. I just lift my drink and reach across the table for a cheers with my new mate. Marcie’s a sophomore attacker who won rookie of the year last year and will probably take over Bailey’s captaincy when she graduates. She’s a damn good lacrosse player, and she’s got dimples when she smiles at me.