Page 11 of Until He Scores

The short hairs on the back of my neck stood at the mention of him being forced into medical retirement. Then I shrugged it off. Not my concern anymore. There’d been too many years between us now. That day in his basement stuck with me, though. He’d been my first kiss. I could never get that back. What’s worse, I never forgot the shame coloring his cheeks and eyes when he stared at me with a mix of fear and something else. I didn’t know whether I should’ve said something at that moment, or if I let it go and never mentioned it after the fact. He’d been my wingman, after all. The one person I could count on when I needed him most.

Then he retreated from my life.

Or maybe I’d been the one to pull back.

I couldn’t remember.

The bell over the door of the shop jingled, and a familiar face stepped over the threshold.Wes.My anytime client had arrived. I placed the iPad on the counter in front of me and stood, extending my fist in greeting. “What’s up, man? I was just finishing the drawing. You ready?”

Wes grinned, fist bumping me. “Damn straight. Let’s get started.”

I enlarged the artwork I’d been working on then showed him. When he gave his approval, I printed the piece before I made the transfer. “Give me a minute to set up then we’ll get going.”

Wes bobbed his head. “No problem.”

My area of the shop wasn’t overly large, but it was mine. I didn’t have individual rooms, so everything was done out in the open. The chair I used sat in the back corner, allowing the other artists who paid me rent to be closer to the front, drawing curious onlookers on busy Friday nights. Right now, I was renovating the two display windows on either side of the door. When I finished the areas, I thought the guys could use them. Might be cool for people to stop to watch. Obviously, the customer had total control over whether they wanted to participate or not. So, I’d add curtains to the areas, just in case.

Once I had my station set up like I wanted, I waved Wes over. He pulled off his shirt as he crossed the shop, exposing his inked flesh. Turning away from me, he took a seat on the inkbed designed for occasions like this one. Being here with him was like second nature for us. We’d been best friends for years, but lately it was beginning to feel like there was something missing or the chasm between us was widening due to the one person who’d held us together being absent. Maybe the divide between all of us had been there all along, and I was too stupid to recognize the signs.

I couldn’t say.

The second graduation was over, I ran from this place—Murfreesboro. I had to. The small community walls seemed to always feel like they were closing in around me. I couldn’t make a move without it being criticized. The first time I ever recognized the weight laid upon my shoulders was the year after my mother passed away. The women’s league and all those stupid ladies’ groups from the surrounding community churches, made sure to remind me at my mother’s funeral, I needed to help my dad more. Be the “man” he needed. Not a little boy all of six years old, who still couldn’t comprehend what happened to his mother.

Thankfully, my grandparents and in someways my father, saw how much their words affected me, putting me into a space I couldn’t articulate as a child. (Though it wasn’t the only time or even the first time that had happened) It was as if I’d been thrown into the deep end of life with no skills or knowledge on how to not only tie my shoes, but also tread water. Grandpa and dad took me to the local rec center that weekend and signed me up for team sports because, at the time, it was the only thing grandpa could think of to do.

I’d been the biggest kid there that day, so I was given the goalie gear. People must have paid attention to me, because the next thing I remembered, I was playing for the junior league. Never asked where the money came from or how hockey came to be the sport I played, instead of football or baseball or even soccer, but I’d been grateful.

At the time, I loved being a goalie. I was in my own world, protecting something bigger than me, without the pressure of performing for my dead mother or a father who didn’t seem to see me anymore. The sport allowed me to burn off excess energy and release the anger and pain over losing my mom to the big C.

Cancer.

Then I met Thierry.

There was something about him that reminded me of, well, me. However, his parents were alive and well. He was just a lost puppy in a world ready to eat him up and spit him out. The kid had no sense of self-preservation, yet when he was on the ice, his whole personality switched the second the whistle blew, and the puck dropped. Whereas my grandparents and dad put me into the sport to help me cope and deal with the loss of my mother, Thierry was out there to prove he belonged, and people should be looking at him. I could never compete with that.

Nor did I think I should.

Then something changed between us. That night he kissed me, felt like it came out of left field. Sure, I’d felt his gaze on me at awkward moments, but I didn’t think anything about it. I figured we were getting older, and our dynamics changed. Still, when he stared at me with those deep, unfathomable gray eyes of his and the moment expanded between us, well, I guess I should have figured it out.

Still, even as his lips pressed to mine and a snap of something arced across my senses, I couldn’t put my finger on what the event meant or marked for us. After that night, we didn’t talk as much. I blamed our lack of friendship on not playing hockey anymore, but that was a cop out. We had P.E. together. He ran track during the spring when we started practice for the coming football season.

Wasn’t like we couldn’t talk…

Suppose I didn’t make that easy either.

Obviously, there were rumors about his sexuality, but it wasn’t my business. If Thierry was gay like they claimed or bisexual, it didn’t matter to me. It never mattered to me. He was still Thierry. Anytime I overheard someone talking shit about him, I squashed it. Plus, there was Lily-Mae who seemed to be head over heels for Thierry. She was a good match for him.

Just the right speed.

Heard she eventually married Rick Bashir, starting quarterback for theTennessee Raptors, though. Crazy how life turned out.

On the other hand, Thierry kept his head down and put one foot in front of the other. He went on to win several youth championships, played for the US team and went to the Olympics—three times. A small piece of me had been jealous of his success. If I’d kept at the game, perhaps I could have been as good as him. Then again, his talent was natural. Effortless. Hecut across the ice reading plays better than most, even when we were kids.

Over the years, I’d heard bits and pieces about Thierry’s success and the gossip about his private life. I didn’t pay any mind to the gossip. All that mattered was he’d honed that natural ability of his, leading the NashvilleThunderbirdsand the CincinnatiGolden Raysto two Stanley Cups and the US team to Olympic Gold and Bronze and a Silver for the U18 World Hockey Championship.

“All right man,” I said, peeling the transfer off Wes’ back. “Why don’t you go take a look in the mirror and let me know what you think of the placement. We can adjust if you don’t like it.”

Wes grunted as he stood, before strolling over to the full-length three-way mirror. The piece wasn’t overly huge, but it did take up a good portion of open skin and connected to other work he’d had done over the years.

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