TRIGGER WARNING: use of homophobic slur
Landon Reilly
My stomach was turning as I stepped foot in the locker room the next day. Playing against Fox hadn't been a huge concern of mine until last night's shit storm. Now I knew he would be targeting me, but I didn't know how I would react. I didn't know if I truly had control over my anger when faced with something like this. But I did know that if things did go badly with Fox today and I retaliated and ended up hurting him, I would have to say goodbye to Wren forever.
It wasn't like Fox had no reason to hold a grudge against me. In fact, he had multiple reasons, all of which were valid. I didn't even think his biggest problem with me was anything I'd done to him, but everything I'd done to Elijah, starting with the way I'd treated him when he came out.
*
"Landon," Micah hissed, grabbing my attention away from my hockey gear.
It was the end of practice and I was exhausted and ready to go home. I would have to sit down with my father for God knows how long to talk to him about everything we worked on, so the last thing I wanted to do was stick around too long after practice. But as the person who would undoubtedly be the captain for senior year, I needed to show leadership and talk to my teammates when they needed me.
It was the end of the season, I was practically the captain already. These practices were essentially just preparation for the next season since we didn't have any games left this year. There was only a couple weeks of school left, and then I would be doing summer hockey camp with most of my team as their captain.
"What's up?" I asked Micah, hiding my annoyance.
Micah motioned for me to follow him toward the back of the locker room near the showers. Everyone had already finished showering and the area was deserted.
"I need to tell you something," Micah started. "I don't know what to do, or what the right thing to do is."
I had no idea what made Micah think I would have any idea of what the right thing would be, but I listened anyway. Surely I could ease his mind if he was about to confess to me he was doping or something. Half the guys on the team wouldn't pass a drug test.
"Okay, what's going on?" I asked.
Micah looked around, assuring himself that we were alone, then he moved closer to me, his eyes wide with worry.
"It's about Elijah," Micah whispered. "He... he came out to me. He said he's gay."
A range of emotions raged through me. I clenched my jaw so hard I could've broken a tooth. This was the last thing I expected. I'd have rathered Micah tell me he was on steroids than to hear this tidbit of information about Elijah Ellis.
The same Elijah I had a crush on when we were kids, the one my father knew I had a crush on years ago. The very same one that was the reason my father knew I was gay, because I couldn't keep my crush locked down and hidden. The reason why my father was so hard on me, why he hated me.
"And I don't really know what to do," Micah stammered, looking nervous. "I don't know what could happen if this got out. I don't want him to lose his position on the team or anything."
Micah. Stupid, stupid Micah had no idea what he'd just done.
He had no idea what his confession had done do Elijah, what it had done to me. Because there was no way I could let this slide. If my father ever found out I was hiding this secret for Elijah, there was no telling what he would accuse me of or what he would do to me. He would probably assume I was with Elijah. He'd kill me.
My hands were in fists by my side. Before Micah could say anything else, I turned and threw my fist at the wall, my knuckles splitting and Micah letting out a loud gasp.
I let out an angry, strangled groan before turning to Micah again.
"There's nothing we can do for him, Micah," I said through gritted teeth and stormed away.
I was so angry it was like I was walking with flames in my wake. The team parted for me as I made my way to Elijah. He looked at me with those kind eyes filled with confusion.
Then, he looked behind me and his face filled with horror. Micah chased after me, trying to stop what I was about to do next. Elijah could put two and two together. He knew what Micah had told me.
I grabbed Elijah by the front of the shirt and yanked him toward me before throwing him up against the lockers.
"When were you going to tell us all that you're a faggot?" I hissed. I removed one hand from his shirt and punched him in the stomach. "Huh? Answer me!"
Elijah didn't answer as he hunched over at my blow, gasping a deep breath.
"I think it's fair for everyone in here to know that they play hockey with a fag," I spat. "That they change in front of you, shower with you."
Still, Elijah said nothing. I punched him in the stomach again and he let out a whimper, tears streaming down his face.
"You're disgusting, you should be ashamed," I told him. "After today, when Coach finds out, you'll never step foot in this locker room again."
With that, I shoved him against the lockers one last time before grabbing my stuff and storming out of the room, catching the betrayed look on Micah's face as I left.
I let out a loud curse as I stepped outside, pulling at my hair as I made my way to my car.
Nothing could have prepared me for this.
I threw my things into the car and then got in the driver's seat, pounding on the steering wheel and letting out a strangled yell.
I now had to face my father and convince him I had nothing to do with Elijah Ellis.
*
"You okay, Reilly?" Rojas asked, standing in front of me and pulling me from my thoughts.
I blinked a few times, letting my eyes focus on his face.
Guilt was overwhelming me at that moment. I couldn't forget the way I had treated Elijah. It would haunt me forever, and I knew I deserved whatever Fox threw at me.
I tried my hardest to never think about my past, but there were times like this where memories came rushing back as if they were taunting me and letting me know they would live within my mind forever.
"I don't think I can go out there," I admitted. I felt sick. I would only bring the team down.
"Sure you can," Rojas said, patting me on the shoulder. "Everyone gets nerves from time to time."
I didn't know how to explain to him that this wasn't just nerves; it was something else entirely. It wasn't nerves that made me want to hide from Fox. It was shame, guilt, and dread of what would happen if we did have an altercation.
Rojas didn't have much time to give me a pep talk or convince me everything would be alright. A few moments later, we would be going out on the ice for warm ups, so I let him finish getting ready.
I went to my things and checked my phone. I had three texts from Wren, all of which I left unanswered.
From: Wren
Don't let Fox make you feel bad. He's dramatic.
Seriously Lance, it's not worth getting worked up over.
Good luck tomorrow. I'll be there.
I didn't know what to say to him, so I said nothing. I was embarrassed, and I felt strange about causing tension between Wren and his brother. Wren would only tell me how ridiculous I was if I told him that.
I put my phone in my bag and the headed out to the ice for warm ups with the rest of my team.
Usually skating freely like I did in warm ups could calm me down, but not this time. Not when I knew Fox was on the other side of the ice, probably scowling at me, telling his teammates about everything that I had done.
I couldn't even look to the other side of the ice. I was sick to my stomach.
My teammates skated circles around me all throughout warm ups, so I was relieved when I could finally go sit on the bench. Coach was starting the first line, which I was no longer on because Shea had been back, but I knew it would only be a matter of time until I was put on the ice. I could hope all I wanted that I wasn't put out there at the same time as Fox, but we were both freshman, probably both second or third liners, both centers. We would be seeing each other.
Too soon for my liking, I was instructed to go out on the ice. The play was blown dead shortly after I stepped on, and now I had to take a face-off in our defensive zone against Fox. I skated up to the face-off dot, Fox already hunched over and ready for it. He didn't even look at me, which I preferred.
The ref dropped the puck, and Fox won it cleanly, shooting it off to one of his teammates. My team sprung into action, but it wasn't enough. A teammate passed the puck back to Fox and he immediately shot it into a wide open net, giving Northeastern a 1-0 lead. As they celebrated, I went to the bench with the rest of my team.
It was hard to even be frustrated at allowing Fox to score because the longer I was out there, the more I realized I shouldn't have been playing. I was a bundle of nerves and there was nothing I could do to make it better. I would just keep making mistake after mistake, ruining the team's chanced for victory and probably ending up getting called out by Coach.
In between periods I couldn't even focus on what the coaches and Rojas were saying. All I could do was wait for the other shoe to drop with Fox.
The whole game so far, Fox had been tame. The two of us had barely even interacted on the ice, but he wasn't targeting me, and neither was anyone else on his team. All that did was stress me out even more because now I was waiting for it. Maybe this was what he wanted to do. Maybe he was trying to make me think nothing was going to happen so that he could get to me when I wasn't expecting it. Or maybe he was just trying to fuck with me mentally and make me think for the whole game that he was going to come after me.
And that was working. I hated the anticipation of it, the dread. I didn't want to fight Fox, didn't trust myself to fight at all anymore. It felt like it would erase all the progress I'd made since going back to therapy.
It was the third period now, and I was zoning out on the bench. Rojas sat down beside me and nudged me in the shoulder.
"Are you okay, Reilly?" he asked. This was the first time he spoke directly to me during the game. I wished before he would have taken me seriously when I told him I couldn't go out there. I needed to sit out and get out of my own head.
I didn't have time to answer Rojas because at that moment, Coach was ordering me out onto the ice. That was when things started to really go downhill.
I had been shaky the whole game, anybody could have seen that, but it had gotten worse somehow, and now I was feeling nauseous. I could barely follow the play, and when one of my line mates passed me the puck, I just froze.
I saw Fox coming for me, but I still didn't move.
To his credit, he did try to slow down. No one expects the player with the puck to just stop, but I couldn't move. And seeing him coming for me made it even harder to move. I heard some shouting just before Fox finally collided with me, knocking me down, my head bashing against the ice.
The play continued. The play wouldn't stop just because someone got knocked down, but it did eventually stop when I didn't get up.
I hated myself in that moment. I was humiliated and tired and sick of being around all these people. I spent this whole game worried about what was going to happen with Fox just to freeze up and let him hit me. Maybe I wanted him to hit me. Maybe I wanted him to do more like fight with me, punch me until he knocked me unconscious. Because then I would feel like I at least got some payback from him for everything I'd done. Maybe then he would hate me a little less and not make things so difficult for Wren and me.
So I froze, hoping what? Hoping that he would bash my head in? Hoping that Fox would get his revenge on me and it would suddenly make everything better, take away all my guilt, anger, and shame?
One of my teammates stood over me, looking at my face as if trying to figure out if I was concussed. Then the team doctor was out on the ice and I was even more embarrassed.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," I said, sitting up. I stood up on my own, not allowing my teammates or the doctor help me stand. I locked eyes with Fox for a moment to see he was glaring at me and then I skated off the ice and went back to the locker room.
The team doctor looked me over and made me go though concussion protocol, but left me alone after determining I wasn't concussed, just an idiot.
I was furious with myself, and with the situation. I pulled my jersey off and threw it at the locker, then threw off the rest of my pads and threw them down too. It took everything in me not to punch something. I took deep breaths, calming myself down as best as I could
The game could have gone so much worse. I could have fought with Fox and made Wren hate me forever, or I could have just let Fox beat me up. What happened was truly one of the better scenarios, but I was so fucking angry and embarrassed that I couldn't even be relieved that that was all it was.
The rest of the team came into the locker room a few minutes later, each of them giving me stares. We had ended up losing by one goal, but I couldn't find it in me to really care. I sat there and listened to what the coaches had to say, and as soon as we were dismissed, I was gone, opting to shower back at the dorms.
What I didn't expect was for Fox to be waiting for me by the exit with an angry look on his face. He caught me off guard and grabbed the front of my shirt, pushing me up against the wall.
All I could think was: this is it. This was what Fox wanted. He didn't want to fight me on the ice with an audience. He wanted to fight me while we were alone where there would be no consequences like there would be during the game.
"Listen to me," he seethed. His voice was low but ferocious, like he didn't want anyone else to hear but he wanted me to know how angry he was. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing with Wren, but if you hurt him, I'm going to make you wish you never even looked at him."
Fox still gripped the front of my shirt. I wanted to shove him off, let a little bit of my anger out, but I stayed put.
This showed how little Fox knew about our relationship because I was convinced I was the one that was going to end up hurt.
"I'm not-" I started, but he quickly cut me off.
"Listen," Fox hissed. "Because I want to make this very clear. If you lay a hand on him, I'm going to come here and beat you so bad that you're going to forget your own name."
That was what he meant. He didn't think I would hurt Wren emotionally, but physically. He didn't want me hitting his brother. It made me feel awful when I realized I already had hit his brother before we were really together.
I felt sick all over again. Here was Fox, warning me against hitting his brother because he didn't want me hurting him, and it was something I had already done. I had bruised Wren all because he made me angry and I couldn't handle it like a normal person. Maybe I wasn't right for Wren, he deserved better.
I could try all I wanted to convince Fox that I was a changed person, that I was truly sorry for what I had done to him and Elijah and that I would never treat Wren that badly, but it would be a lie and he wouldn't fall for it.
"What's this all about?" Wren asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He had a troubled look on his face, a glare fixed on his brother. He stood there wearing my hockey sweatshirt, his hands in the front pocket.
Fox let me go and walked over to his brother, looking at my sweatshirt on him with disgust.
"Fuck you," Fox spat, bumping Wren's shoulder as he left.
I couldn't face Wren. I needed to go back to the dorm and be alone like I had planned on since the beginning of the year. I wanted to mind my business, keep my head down.
I started to walk away, but Wren easily caught up to me.
"I wanted to make sure you're okay," he said, matching my brisk pace.
"I'm fine."
"Okay, if you say so," he replied. "Do you want to go-"
"Wren, I want to be left alone," I snapped, stopping in my tracks and turning to face him.
He, of course, didn't seem to let my outburst bother him. He kept his face neutral, his hands in his pockets.
"Well, alright then," Wren said. "Will I see you tomorrow?"
"I don't know. Maybe." Probably not.
Wren pressed his lips together. "Okay."
Without saying anything else, I turned and walked away.
**
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