Crack In The Ice - Chapter 35: Chapter 35

I'm the one who gives Dean the idea.
Or at least that's how I want him to feel.
The two of us are a success at the All-Star. We have never been more in synch than ever, on and off the ice. Seattle gave us the perfect opportunity to show that off.
He and Nat keep talking, but they seem to want to take it slow. Painstakingly slow. I just wanted to make sure I was not a factor in that decision.
So, when we returned to Calgary, I told Dean he could invite Nat to visit.
I heard them mention it briefly in hushed tones back in Seattle, but I wanted to make sure Dean knew it was fine by me. Even if Dean knows I'm gay now, Nat and I were still together. And we shared a lot of firsts.
And yeah. Maybe Nat coming to visit is a distraction from the last time I saw Liam back home.
My intention was to see him for a clear, honest talk. For maybe the first time since we came into each other's lives. I don't regret ending the conversation the way we did, but maybe I should. Jumping into the physical without any regard for anything else is what got us neck deep into this mess in the first place. But a part of my brain keeps telling me I'm an idiot for not taking the chance he gave me to be with him like that for one last time. In case it was the last time.
The bigger, more rational part of me is glad I had that moment of sobriety. Because I know it would have sucked to see him move on from me after rekindling that.
Having Nat around will give me something else to think about. Like how to get her and Dean to see I'm completely okay with their relationship.
What wasn't in the plans was Gus coming along.
When Dean first asked if Gus could come with Nat, I was confused. Dean said he was going through something and Nat wanted him to get out of town for a bit, so I said yes. Because saying no felt weird. Plus, one more person means one more distraction, right?
They come on a Friday afternoon, in early February. Dean and I have a game on Saturday, so he suggests we all go out today. Nat's on board, but Gus says he's tired. It takes some gentle nudging from Nat for him to finally agree, on the promise we'll be home early, since Dean and I have to be at the rink in the morning.
When Dean decides to take us all to an outdoor public skating rink, I mentally curse myself. Watching everyone put their skates on reminds me that, just under five hundred miles away, Liam is preparing for his first winter Olympics.
So much for distractions.
I regret those thoughts as soon as I see Dean's huge, stupid grin as Nat pulls him onto the ice. This was supposed to be about Dean. And if he's happy, I need to find a way to deal.
I look over at Gus, who's just sort of sitting on the bench, skates on, eyes out on the ice, fixed yet unfocused.
I'm suddenly reminded that the two of us have never really sat together alone before. Have we ever even talked?
Maybe I'm staring, because he turns his head to look at me and I feel my face heat up a little. Not so much for staring, but because I really don't know what to say to him.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm aware that the lack of interaction between us was more than just a consequence of belonging to different circles. In Brunson High everyone sort of knew each other, even if they weren't from the same groups. Even if you weren't from the same year as someone, you'd cross paths. With Gus, I'm not sure whether it was ever really conscious, but I used to avoid him.
Avoiding the only openly gay guy in town is sort of Being Closeted 101.
"Sorry you didn't make it to the Olympics this year."
He jumps a bit like he didn't expect me to talk to him. Then he shrugs. "Been there, done that."
I arch my eyebrows.
"I'm not sure skating is as much my thing as it is Liam's and Chloe's," he says like he feels the need to explain himself.
I frown. "Really?"
Gus looks at me with a strange look in his eyes I don't know how to interpret.
"I mean." I rub my neck. "You just... always seemed pretty at home on the ice. To me, at least."
Gus snorts. "Noticed me much?"
"Sometimes."
He raises his eyebrows skeptically.
I shrug. "Small town."
He rolls his eyes, directing them at the grown.
"Plus," I add, "you're really good. It's hard to miss."
He seems surprised. In an unguarded way. Like he has no self-deprecating reaction on the ready. Watching him shift uncomfortably on the bench, I wonder if maybe I'm making it weird.
"It's not that I don't like skating," he says. "I just feel..."
There's a too-long moment of silence after he trails off. Like he forgets to finish his thought. Or gives up on it.
"Yes?"
He shrugs. "We don't know each other this well. Don't think we ever really talked."
And, well. Yeah.
"We can talk now," I try, not sure I sound too convincing.
He eyes me, unsure. I don't know exactly what ultimately makes him say, "I feel... stuck?"
He says it almost like a question. Like he's waiting to see if I contradict him. Or maybe just to see if I understand what he means. I nod to show I do.
He still looks a little reticent, but continues. "I love skating. But the Olympic thing... That was more my parents' thing."
I nod again, hoping that works as the universal sign of encouragement to continue.
"I never had the impression my parents like me much," he mumbles to the floor, like saying that out loud embarrasses him a little. Maybe it does. "When I won medals. Those were the only times they ever looked remotely proud. So I kept doing it. And then I made it to the last Olympics. And then I won bronze. And it should've been like a dream come true. But for me it was just... I don't know."
When he looks up at me again, there's something like hesitation in his eyes. Like he's trying to decide whether he said too much already. Then, probably figuring there's not much of a difference between saying too much and saying a little more, he continues.
"It should have felt like finally reaching the end of a line, and it didn't. I just... I can't really explain it."
"I get it."
I didn't plan on saying it, but it comes out nonetheless.
He lets out a cynical laugh. "Do you?"
"Yeah," I say, maybe a little too earnestly. "Being in Brunson made me feel stuck too."
Gus frowns, looking at me like he's trying to see something different than what was there before. It makes me shift in my seat.
I look out at the ice, breaking eye contact. "I know you might feel like it's not the same, and maybe it isn't. But I just knew if I stayed there I'd suffocate."
"Yeah. Something like that," he says.
I look at him. "Then why did you stay?"
"Where would I go?"
I shrug. "Where would you wanna go?"
He laughs, like that question is outrageous. "I don't know. The truth is. As much as I'm more miserable back home with every passing year, I'm kinda scared to leave. I don't know where I would even go. And I don't even know how I would survive on my own. I've never been alone."
I can see his cheeks redden as he looks away, probably assaulted by the feeling of saying too much once again.
"Maybe that's part of your problem, you know."
He looks at me, frowning. Or maybe even glaring.
"You can tell me to fuck off if I'm way off. Or out of line," I start. "But the idea I get is that you've been lonely all your life, but never actually learned to be alone."
Gus shifts in his seat, twisting the hem of his sweater in his hands. "So you think I should move away from everything and everyone I know to learn how to be alone?"
"That's your call."
"What if I move away, and then I'm alone and still lonely, and I learn nothing but life still sucks?"
I smile. "You don't really need to move away to learn how to be alone. But you could if you wanted too."
He frowns. "No offense, but if you're trying to draw some parallel between you and me, I don't think it applies. You have Dean."
"You have your friends too. When I say learn how to be alone, I don't mean isolate yourself. It's more about trying to find a way to be okay in your own skin." I shrug. "And if you did leave. You could always come back and try again, if it didn't work out. But feeling miserable without doing anything to change your life and just hoping it will go away doesn't work. I tried it."
He pulls his sleeves down to twist them inside clenched fists, then lets the crumpled fabric go.
"I wouldn't even know how to start." He looks at me, shaking his head. "Changing my life. I have no fucking clue what I would even do. My grades were shit and I don't actually like studying. I have no skills. All I can do is skate and I don't even like it much most of the time now."
"Don't you?"
"Not like this. Not the competitions and stuff," he says. "But that's the career."
I shrug. "People are allowed hobbies."
"Yeah. But they still need jobs."
I smirk. "Most of us, yeah."
Gus rolls his eyes. "I know it sounds bratty coming from me, but trust me. My parents would absolutely not fund a life of fucking around if I quit skating professionally."
"There are jobs people can get in the in-between moments of life," I say. "They're not glamorous, but there are options. That's all I'm saying. Maybe what you're lacking is a broader perspective."
"Perspective?"
"Sometimes we don't leave the patterns that make us miserable, because the unknown of making a change is a scarier prospect than living in familiar unhappiness forever."
Gus blinks at me.
I snort. "That's something my therapist said to me. Just thought you might want to hear it too."
"Damn," he muses.
"Yeah." I smile, standing up. "Well. That was definitely weird."
"Yeah. Kind of. But not really."
I raise my eyebrows, looking down at him.
He shrugs, standing up. "It's kind of a lot easier to talk to a stranger than to your friends about some things. Not that I'm saying we're strangers. Not really. But maybe, like, a little."
"Maybe a little." I nod.
"This part now is definitely getting weirder."
"Yup."
"Right. Yeah. So I'm just gonna." He points awkwardly at the ice before taking off.
I follow after a while, when he's already halfway across.  I see Dean and Nat nearby, laughing as Dean seems to be urging her to do something. Eventually she does, gaining some momentum for something like a layback spin, which ends a little too abruptly and non-too-gracefully. Dean catches her with his hands on her hips, probably unnecessarily, but she sets her hands over his, smiling as they keep gliding in my direction.
Nat spots me first. "Not as flexible as I used to be," she says.
When Dean sees me, there's a split second in which I think he's going to take his hands off of her, but then he keeps them there.
"You're definitely more flexible than I'll ever be," I say.
She laughs, keeping her hands over Dean's. "Where's Gus?"
I look around and quickly spot him, just as he starts a sequence of too-fast movements that are beyond my vocabulary, even after years of catching onto a few terms from Liam. Even as Gus moves on the ice like a bullet with impressive elegance, I catch the smile on his face.
"Showing off," Dean says through a smile.
"Good." Nat smiles. "That's Gus's ideal state."
"What's up with him? You never actually said," Dean says.
Nat shrugs. "I've been trying not to pry too much, but I also couldn't really see him looking so sad for much longer." She twists her neck to meet Dean's gaze. "Hopefully your cooking will help his mood."
Dean smiles an impossibly sweet smile. "You said his favorite is veggie lasagna?"
"Yeah."
"I got all the ingredients at home."
As their eye contact remains unbroken for that whole interaction, I start to feel uncomfortable. Like I'm one too many spectators in this moment. So I skate away to run slow circles around the ice.
I see a group of teenagers who stop to whisper to each other in hushed voices while they stare at me and I think they might be Calgary Flames fans. Or at least hockey fans. But neither of them approaches me or tries to interact, so I ignore it.
Unfortunately, skating around lazily has the opposite effect of a distraction, and I find myself stewing on thoughts of what I wanted to avoid thinking about.
You've kind of completely hijacked my thoughts, Liam said to me. Is he also thinking about me right now? Or is he focused? Keeping his head on the goal.
I thought about moving on. That one was stuck in my chest. Jammed right in between my ribcage. It echoes inside my head whenever I close my eyes to sleep. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Beg him not to? Do the right thing and let him go?
You're always the first person I want to talk to. I can't stop thinking about you.
In a better world where I would be a better person, I could just look at him and say it back. Me too, Liam. I can't stop thinking about you either. You're always the first person on my mind too. I can't move on from you either. I'm not even trying anymore.
Telling Liam everything I did on that night was a huge step for me. It took more preparation than coming out to Elliott. But every time I take a step forward with Liam, he one ups me and gives two more, and then I'm back to feeling like a weight on whatever this is we're doing. Like I'll always be behind. He will always be willing to give me more than I can give him.
And what's worse. We might both be fine with that.
I said I can't bring myself to keep doing this, knowing I'm hurting him. Hurting us both, really. But it's hard to stay away from him.
I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, rubbing, trying to stop my thoughts from going around in circles. Leaving the rink, I take a seat on a bench.
Immediately ahead, in my open line of sight, I see Gus. With an older man. A tall, lean guy with dark hair and square, thick-rimmed glasses. The man is smiling, but Gus is not. At first I think he looks uncomfortable, but after a second take he looks more like he's embarrassed. Shy?
The man extends his hand and Gus takes out his phone to give it to him. The stranger dials something in - his number, I assume - and returns Gus's phone.
Dean and Nat sit down next to me, drawing my attention away for a moment. When I look back, Gus and the man are gone. A few seconds later, Gus is with us. We all change back to our shoes, ready to go back to our apartment.
On our way to the subway, I eye Gus, wondering if I should ask.
He sees me looking. "What?"
"Who was that? With you on the ice just now?"
He blushes. "No one."
Easier to talk to almost-strangers, but maybe not about everything.