Crack In The Ice - Chapter 21: Chapter 21

The time says the text came through at four-thirty-four in the morning. I expect Liam to be asleep now, so his reply to my text back is a surprise.
I smile at my phone before setting it down. I get up from my bed and go knock on Dean's door. When the door opens, I have my second surprise of the morning.
"You're up early," I tell the fully awake Dean holding his bedroom door open in front of me. Usually it takes a couple of knocks before he rolls out of bed.
Dean chews on his bottom lip through a nod. "Didn't sleep very well."
I frown. "All good?"
"Yeah."
"Don't forget we need to pack later. To leave for Boston tomorrow."
"Already packed."
That's my third surprise.
"When?" I ask.
Dean shrugs. "Last night."
I need a second to react. "Okay."
We linger by his door for a couple more seconds, before parting awkwardly.
It's a strange morning after that. Dean's on time and I'm the one who has to run back for my wallet when we're almost at the station. Our morning skate is the same as it's been lately and I can feel Coach's eyes burning into my back every time I miss a pass that should be natural. He doesn't say anything to us today, not after yesterday's loss, but I can feel the pressure.
I need to get my head in the game.
I need to get over my shit with Dean, whatever it is.
He knows.
We go home after lunch with the team so I can pack. Dean sits on the couch in silence the whole time. It takes me a while to figure out why it feels so uncomfortable. And then it hits me. Dean's been sitting still, without making a sound, for nearly half an hour.
Dean never sits still.
That has me worried. All this time, I've been concerned with whether or not Dean is onto me in some way. But maybe I should be checking if there's anything wrong with him.
I take a seat next to him on the couch. "Everything alright, buddy?"
Dean releases the lip he's been chewing on. "Is it?"
I smile. "That's what I was asking you."
"Yeah, I got that. And I'm asking you."
I frown. "What do you mean?"
He looks at me, eyebrows drawn in. "Are you mad at me or something?"
"Why would I be mad at you?"
He shrugs. "You seem a little off. Since Olie and Nat came to visit. I thought maybe... I thought you could be feeling a little weird after finding out I've been talking to Nat."
"What?"
"Owen said I was probably being stupid, but..." He trails off, and my brain registers as a sort of afterthought that this is something Dean has discussed with Owen. For weeks, we've been living in the same house, sitting on this growing tension, while Dean was talking to Owen, who's miles away.
"Is it weird?" Dean asks, like he just got himself to rip a bandage off.
I take a moment to process this situation. "Are you and Nat, like... going out?"
"I mean, she's back home and I'm here. But." He looks down at his hands, twiddling his fingers on his lap. "We talk. A lot."
"Are you into her?"
He bites his lip. "I am." Then he looks at me. "We didn't really... We just hung out when they came to visit. Neither of us really... I just wasn't sure if it would be weird with you. You never really told us much about the breakup. I had no idea how you would feel about it."
I nod slowly.
"I should've talked to you sooner," he says.
"Is she into you?" I ask. I kinda know the answer already. I've known since they were here to visit, but I wasn't focusing on it.
"I think so. Yes," he says.
"Is this you asking for my... blessing or whatever?"
Dean shrugs. "It's just... If it's weird, or if it makes you... I don't know, uncomfortable... I just don't want it to be weird with us."
I take another moment to process. Is it weird? It feels weird to be having this conversation, to hear Dean talk about feelings for Natalie, even if I did pick up on what's probably been going on for a while. Somehow, the idea of Dean and Nat together doesn't feel as wrong in my head as perhaps it should, but I'm also not as indifferent as maybe I expected.
"Dean."
He looks at me. Waiting.
"If you like Nat, and she likes you," I say. "I mean, we broke up five years ago. I don't think there's much I can say against it even if I wanted to."
"So. You're okay with it?"
"Yeah. You shouldn't worry about me so much. If Nat makes you happy..."
A smile slowly takes over his face and, fuck, that feels right. It's hard to notice how much Dean's genuine smile is a part of my daily life until it's been gone for a while.
"I worry about you because you're my friend," he says.
"Yeah, I know." I smile.
"I shouldn't have been so worried, though, right? I just thought you felt a little off lately and I felt a little guilty about not telling you, so I kinda projected that on you and got into my head that you were mad at me." He laughs. "At least, that's what Owen said."
"Right."
"Owen said you probably just felt off because... I mean, you have some off moments since... you know. Sometimes it comes with stress, like the beginning of a new season."
"Right."
He shrugs. "I shouldn't have, like, assumed. And just convinced myself that you were mad or whatever. I'm sorry. I just never kept anything from you before, and I spiraled a little."
My throat squeezes around a verbal reply, so I just nod.
"Glad we got it out of the way before Boston." Dean grins. "We still got a few pre-season games to show off."
I nod again. The tightness in my throat is making it hard to breathe. I can feel it stretching to my chest, pooling into my stomach.
I need to sit down.
Except I'm already sitting down.
I'm only vaguely aware of Dean's frown in my line of vision. "You okay?" Something warm rests on my knee. I think it's Dean hand. I feel sick. "You look a little pale. Did I freak you out talking about Boston?"
I shake my head, but that makes it worse. I feel light-headed, like all the blood flowed away from my brain. I put my head between my knees, trying to breathe through a wave of nausea. Dr Wooding taught me how to do this.
"Wait."
I hear him walk away as the room spins a little around me, then back into the living room. I feel a hand on my back and another one take one of my hands. Dean puts a cool glass against the back of my hand. I take it.
He gives me a moment to slowly sip it. He doesn't speak until I'm breathing normally again.
"Feel any better?" He asks. "I can call Coach and say you're not feeling good and we're staying home for the rest of the day."
"I'm fine." My voice sounds almost as steady as I meant it to be.
Dean doesn't seem any more convinced, though. "Was that all stress?"
"I guess."
"Does it happen a lot still? Have you talked to Dr Wooding about it?"
I close my eyes. I still feel a little sick. "I have. Kind of," I say.
"Sorry."
I open my eyes, looking at him. "For what?"
"I started going on about showing off in the pre-season, right after we talked about you getting stressed."
"It wasn't your fault." I can see him open his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "It wasn't. It's my fault."
I let my head fall forward onto my hands, elbows propped up on my legs. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to take a couple of deep breaths.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I'm aware this is one of those crossroads moment. A part of me wants to tell him. Here it is, I've been keeping it from you to, no more secrets.
But that other really loud part of me I got used to listening to over the years is saying, You can't take it back.
Telling Olie felt like sharing a secret. Whispering it to a friend and asking them to keep it safe. Because I knew she would. But telling Dean would be letting it out to the world. Because telling Dean is telling my partner on the rink. And everything I've done so far was to keep this part of myself from ever seeping into hockey. My career. The career I'm bow finally starting to build.
A part of me knows I have to do this. Because I want to.
So why do I feel like I might die?
"I have been hiding something from you," I speak into my hands. "Kind of. And I sh- I should have told you this before, but..."
My hands are shaking now, I think. I set them on my lap, looking at Dean.
"Remember that Instagram model you wanted to go out with a while back? She wanted to bring a friend and you asked me to go as the fourth person. And I told you to ask another one of the guys instead."
He looks confused. "You said she wasn't your type."
"She wasn't."
"Okay."
"She's not," I say. "And neither was her friend. Because I don't really like girls that way. Never have."
Dean frowns, like he's loading the information. "But Natalie..."
I purse my lips and shake my head.
Dean nods. "So. If you don't like girls... Does that mean you like... guys?" He says that last word slowly, almost like he's afraid it might offend or scare me.
"Yes."
Dean nods and looks at the floor. My heart is currently trying to break out of its bone cage now.
Dean stands up suddenly and goes to the kitchen. I don't really know what to do with myself while he's away.
When he comes back, he brings a glass of water in his hand. He sits down where he was before and drinks it all in one go. Then he sets the glass on the coffee table.
He looks at me. "So you're gay." It's not a question. But the way he pronounces the word makes it sound almost foreign.
"Yes."
"And no one on the team knows?"
"No."
"Just me?"
"Yes."
"And no one at home knows?"
"No..."
"Just me?"
"Yes. And Olie."
"Owen?"
"No."
"Your brother?"
I gulp. "No."
"And you didn't tell Zoey either when she became our agent?"
I put my face in my hands again. "No."
"Or Coach?"
"No."
"How long...?"
I look at him. "How long have I been waiting to tell you, or how long have I been gay?"
"Both?"
"Five years ago, I had this idea that I'd never tell anyone ever until I was done with hockey."
"What changed?"
I met Liam.
"Realized that's not really an option," I say.
"Okay." He nods.
"Are you..." Angry? Disappointed? Repulsed?
He shakes his head. "Not sure what I am." He looks at me through a frown, before his features soften with something like understanding. "I don't care, Eli. If that'swhat you're asking. I'm just trying to put the pieces together inside my brain. Like, did I miss something? Was I supposed to have noticed?"
I snort, rubbing a hand down my face. "No." I shake my head. "I put a lot of effort into making sure no one would know."
He nods. "Right. Thanks for telling me, I guess."
"You're welcome," I say, letting out a long shaky breath.
"Was this... Is this the reason you freaked out before? Were you afraid... I would react... badly?" He frowns.
I take a moment. "Yes and no."
Dean looks at me for a little too long for it to be comfortable. A crease deepens between his eyebrows.
"I'm going to hug you now."
"What?"
"You can get a little weird with hugs, so I'm giving you a warning," he says.
"I don't need a hug."
"I do."
There's a pause, like he's giving me time to bolt, then he wraps his arms around me. It's light at first, but he increases the pressure gradually until he's squeezing me tightly. I let myself relax into it.
After a while, Dean laughs.
"What?"
He pulls back a little, grinning. "Damn, I was just so inside my head all this time, thinking maybe you were mad at me for trying to get together with your ex-girlfriend... And now you're telling me you're gay and that's just such a U-turn."
I snort, making Dean laugh again. I don't know for exactly how long we sit there laughing, but we're late to meet the team. And it's at least a couple more hours after that until the nausea fully goes away.
But it does go away.