Cauler’s leaning against a stack of washing machines, arms and ankles crossed, not looking at me. I lean against the door with my hands behind my back and wait. Looking him up and down, the first thing I notice is that he’s not chewing any gum. His jaw is clenched tight and he keeps swallowing like he’s nervous, which just makes me even more uneasy. My mouth dries out and then I have to swallow, too.
I watch him stare at his own feet, the rushing water of a rinse cycle droning in the background for a solid minute before I can’t take it anymore.
“You okay?” I ask.
He startles like he forgot I was here. He uncrosses his legs and shifts his weight and my nerves are crackling. Is he about to cut me out?
“Yeah, just…” He takes a deep breath, and on the exhale says, “Where do we go from here, Terzo?”
Oh. That was not what I was expecting. Like, at all.
My breath is audibly unsteady, completely outing the nerves I’d rather keep hidden. This asshole has totally ruined me. Eighteen years and no one could ever figure out who I really was. A couple months on a team with Jaysen Caulfield and I can’t hide for shit.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Cauler scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. I want to know where we stand.”
“And it’s all on me?”
He pulls both hands to his chest and leans forward into his words. “I know what I want. I need to know what page you’re on.”
With two sentences, he’s pushed me to the cliff’s edge. I can either turn around and walk away, keep Cauler at the distance he should’ve been this whole time, protect myself and my name and my future. Or I could let myself fall, just a little, and hope there’s a branch to catch myself on before I hit the rocks.
Or I could do neither. Just keep doing what we’re doing, keep emotions out of it, and go our separate ways in May.
I take a step forward. Scrub a hand over my mouth, keeping my eyes locked on his. He straightens up and lowers his arms. I back him up against the washers just like he backed me up against the boards. Wrap an arm around the back of his neck and pull him down to me.
And I kiss him.
Hard.
Hard enough to make him feel all the anger and jealousy and want I’ve held for him for years. Hard enough that it hurts when our teeth clack together.
His arms slip around my waist and pull me tight against him, curving my spine when he leans farther into me. I bite his lip, feel his piercing between my teeth, and his tongue catches my own.
He pushes a hand into my hair and pulls me back with a fistful of it, just enough that he can say, “I hate you.”
“Prove it.”
I make this startled, totally not sexy sound when he hooks his elbows under my knees and lifts me right off my feet, and god, for once in my life I am thankful for my height. He sets me down on the folding table, pressed up against a pile of clothes someone must’ve pulled out of the washer and dumped here. They’re cold and damp against my back, but that’s the last thing on my mind when Cauler kisses me again.
I’ve given him a total non-answer. I just gotta keep him distracted enough that he doesn’t question it.
FOURTEEN
People aren’t letting go of this rivalry thing.
There’s this hilarious tweet where someone got a picture of me right after sniffing smelling salts, so I’m making this totally disgusted face, and I just happened to be looking at Cauler at that exact moment. Fans are having a field day with that one.
I send it to him. More fuel for our internet rivalry.
My family’s coming to my and Delilah’s game this Saturday. It’ll be the first time I’ve been with all of them at once in forever, and all I can think about is coming out to them. Social media is still all over Aaron Johansson coming out, and I’m still stuck on Delilah calling me hetero. If I’m gonna live a lie the rest of my life for the sake of hockey, I can at least be real with my sisters.
I stay up the night before the game agonizing over it and scrolling through Twitter till I find another picture of me and Cauler. He’s got a fistful of my jersey, as he tends to, bent down so our cages are pressed together, looking like he’s bitching at me when really we were probably talking about some sick play he wanted to try.
I send that one to him, too, and he responds with:
Jaysen: Big party after the game tomorrow
Ready to get drunk and tolerable again?
Mickey: Depends how the game goes
If i need to drink myself into a coma or not
Jaysen: Bro.
This is gonna be a rout