Page 17 of Good Vibes Only
I snickered. “C’mon, Rust. Did you really drag me out here to gossip?”
“I’m not interested in gossip.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because I’m the captain, Brett. And I gotta look after my players. Which means understanding them first.”
I laughed. “What’s there to understand? We’re all just a bunch of guys, fuckin’ around, havin’ the time of our lives. You know?”
Rust stared at me, his head tilting, nonplussed. “But I’m curious about the real you.”
“The real me?” I snickered. “This is the real me. What are you talking about?”
“You’re always playing a role, aren’t you, ‘Showtime?’” he said, sounding suddenly serious. “I understand that you say and do a lot of stuff for laughs. I get it. The team loves you for it. The locker room lights up when you walk in. But the thing about this character you play? It’s like a mask that you wear. To hide your true self. And if you’re not careful, the real you can get lost under there. I just wonder who the real Brett is.”
I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say. I felt exposed, somehow. The scary part was I didn’t even notice it myself until he’d pointed it out. But his words had the ring of truth to them.
“So why didn’t you invite her?” Rust asked. “The real reason. Not the clowning-around bullshit reason.”
“I don’t know.” After a long lull, I sighed. “I guess because then I’d have to tell her I’m a hockey player.”
“And that’s bad … because?” he asked, spreading his hands.
“Because that’s when all the fun gets sucked out, Rust.”
“Hm.” He leaned back and let that info soak in. “Seems like, for most guys, the funbeginswhenthey play the athlete card.”
I nodded. “Right. Because as soon as they find out you’re an athlete, they wanna fuck you.”
“And why does that scare you?” he asked.
“It doesn’tscareme. It’s just fake.”
“How is it fake?”
I scoffed. If he couldn’t understand that, it was pointless to try to explain any more. “Listen, Rust. I appreciate you looking after me, but I didn’t sign up for therapy.”
I turned to leave, but Rust grabbed my shoulder and stopped me. “Talk to me, bud. I’m just trying to understand.”
I took a breath. If he wanted the truth? Fuck it, I’d give it to him. “Rust, when I walk up to a girl and try to strike up a conversation, nine times out of ten, she tells me to get lost because I’m not tall enough for her. Sometimes politely, but a lot of times, not so politely.”
His brow grew heavy. “Really? C’mon. It can’t be that bad. You’re a handsome guy.”
“I’m telling you, I’ve had random girls straight-up tell me to kill myself because I’m short.”
“What the fuck? Seriously? You’re not eventhatshort. I mean, no, you’re not tall, but …” he trailed off.
“No, but it’s open season on short guys right now. No one gives a damn about us,” I said with a laugh. “But I wanna make one thing clear. I’m not complaining. I’m not a victim. I’m actually gladI’m short because it’s showed me how shallow people are. Because the instant one of these girls finds out I’m a hockey player?Boom,suddenly she doesn’t give a shit how short I am. She’s attached to my hip for the rest of the night, begging me to take her home, and making it clear she’s willing to dowhateverI want to have my attention for as long as she can keep it.”
“So … you’re saying you’d rather a girl hate you than wanna sleep with you?”
“No. I’d rather a girl love me for who I am. But that’s not going to happen, so what are ya gonna do? Might as well have fun in my own fucked-up way.” I laughed. “Y’know, this pro athlete thing, it’s almost a curse.”
“How’s that?”
“Because how am I ever supposed to trust these girls, Rust? How am I supposed to know when it’s real?”
Rust was at a loss for words. So I answered the question myself.
