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Xander

The day after the almost-kiss with Ry, my mind was a whirlpool. Sleep? Forget it. My mind kept replaying the moment over and over again. What had happened between us wasn”t clear, but I knew it was significant.

The thing about me was that I”d always known when someone was attractive, regardless of gender. I could appreciate their looks, their charisma, but it never went beyond that. I”d never felt the flutter of excitement, the goosebumps, or the sense of awareness that I felt with Ry. It wasn’t just about him being handsome; it was about the little things – the way he furrowed his brow in concentration, his soft smile when he thought I wasn’t looking, the warmth of his presence.

I’d never had this kind of reaction to anyone before. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand attraction. I knew what it was supposed to feel like. I’d just never felt it. Sure, I’d had urges, like anyone else. I’d even self-pleasured, but it was never about someone else. It was just a physical need, not a longing or desire directed at a person. While my teammates were busy hooking up after games, I was more interested in going over the match footage.

With Ry, it was different. It wasn’t just physical; it was deeper. It started when I was with him at the oncology ward, his guard down, his vulnerability laid bare. Skating together that night, sharing hot chocolate at the café, fishing, and then making dinner – I was seeing and feeling things I hadn’t before.

I wanted – needed – to know what made him tick. What was the significance of the tattoos on his pecs? Why those flowers and a clock with a date on it? What was his love language?

It wasn”t about needing to put a label on it. I was just me, feeling something new and unexpected. Maybe it was about finding the right person, the right connection. Ry made me see things in a way I hadn”t before, and maybe that was enough.

Now, on the plane heading to St. Louis, I hoped to find some clarity, to figure out if Ry felt the shift in our relationship like I did. I know, I know… this wasn’t the time or place for a heavy conversation. But I was like a kid in a candy store, eager to discover if Ry was open to talking things out. Was it just wishful thinking? Ry was so guarded, and I feared he might retreat back into his shell.

When Ry boarded the plane, I noticed the dark circles around his eyes, the telltale signs of a sleepless night. Usually impeccably dressed, he was vaguely disheveled, not in an obvious way, but enough to catch my attention. His appearance mirrored my own restless state. For a moment, hope flickered within me. Maybe we were both struggling with the same thoughts and feelings. Maybe we could find some common ground.

As he walked down the aisle, my heart raced. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept his gaze firmly fixed on anything but me. Still, I hoped he would sit next to me, that we could talk and sort through whatever was happening between us. But he approached, and my heart sank when he bypassed my row without a second glance, heading straight for Maestro”s aisle.

I swung my head around, watching him take a seat next to our teammate. My eyes met Maestro”s, who raised an eyebrow in a quizzical look. I forced a smile, but it was hollow. The disappointment gnawed at me, an ache deep in my chest.

I tried to stay optimistic, thinking that maybe Ry would have a change of heart by the time we got to the hotel in St. Louis. Maybe he just needed some time to process everything. But it was hard to hold onto that hope when he seemed so determined to avoid me.

Throughout the flight, I kept glancing over at Ry and Maestro, trying to catch any sign that Ry might be willing to talk. He never looked my way. but he was engrossed in conversation with Maestro. It felt like a punch to the gut, and I struggled to keep my emotions in check.

By the time we landed in St. Louis, my resolve was starting to waver. I wanted to believe that we could work things out, but the more Ry distanced himself, the more uncertain I became. Still, I held onto a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to bridge the gap between us.

When we finally landed and reached the hotel, I caught up with him. We were roommates, after all. This was my chance to talk things through, to figure out what was going on between us.

”Hey, Ry,” I said as we entered our room, my voice barely above a whisper. ”Can we talk?”

He barely glanced at me, busying himself with his bag. ”Not now, Xander. I”m tired.”

I felt a pang of hurt at his dismissive tone. ”It”s important.”

He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. ”We need to focus on the game tomorrow. We can talk later.”

But later never came. He kept himself busy, avoiding any meaningful conversation. That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling a growing sense of unease. The connection we”d shared seemed to have shattered overnight.

The next day, our team hit the ice against St. Louis, but our performance was dismal. The tension from the previous day carried over, and it showed. We barely won, 2-1. It was a win, but not a good one; we played badly. I could feel the frustration and disappointment hanging heavy in the locker room.

Despite the win, I tried to find a moment to talk to Ry, but he brushed me off again. The coldness in his demeanor cut deep, leaving me questioning everything. Why was he pushing me away without giving us a chance to talk things out?

We had another game the following day, and things didn’t improve. Ry was distant, and our team’s performance suffered. We lost. 3-0. And the winning streak that had brought us so much joy and camaraderie had come to a sudden, crashing halt. Coach was furious. Not because of the loss per se, but because we made the silliest of mistakes on the ice.

As we packed up to leave St. Louis, I couldn”t shake the feeling of disappointment and confusion. Ry”s coldness was a barrier between us, and I didn”t know how to break through. The connection we”d started to build was fragile, and I was terrified it would shatter completely.

Back on the plane, I stared out the window, lost in thought. The thrill of our almost-kiss had turned into a painful memory, overshadowed by the distance Ry had placed between us. A storm of emotions was swirling inside me. I wanted to fix things, to find a way back to the easy camaraderie we’d had. But with Ry shutting me out, I didn’t know where to start.

The plane touched down in LA, exhaustion etching deep lines into everyone’s faces. Ry looked especially worn out, his usual energy replaced with a muted tension. There was no doubt that as captain of the team, he carried the weight of our defeat twofold.

Ry wasn’t the only one I’d noticed during the flight. Coach had been unusually quiet, a stern look on his face as he reviewed the game footage on his tablet. As we disembarked and headed towards the buses waiting to take us home, he finally addressed us.

“Everyone, straight to the rink. We need to debrief and work this out now.”

There were a few groans, but no one argued. We all knew we hadn’t been playing our best, and Coach’s decision, while harsh, wasn’t entirely unexpected.

As we filed onto the buses, I glanced at Ry, hoping for some acknowledgment, some sign that we could talk about what had happened between us. But he avoided my gaze, sitting next to Maestro again, his body language closed off and distant.

When we arrived at the rink, we were ushered straight into the locker room. Coach wasted no time, launching into a critique of our performance. His words were sharp but fair, pointing out where we’d gone wrong and what needed to be fixed.

“We’re better than this,” he said, his voice resounding in the silence. “You’re better than this. I expect each of you to show up and prove that in our next game.”

After the meeting, we were given a choice: stay for an optional light practice or head home to rest and recover. Most of the team opted to stay, not wanting to let the sting of defeat linger longer than necessary.

I hung out near the entrance of the locker room, watching Ry as he gathered his gear. My heart ached with the need to bridge the distance between us, but I didn’t know how.

“Ry, can we talk?”

He looked up, his expression guarded. “Not now, Xander. I need to focus.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah, okay. I understand.”

He walked away, and the gap between us felt wider than ever.

I turned my attention to the ice, deciding to join the optional practice. Skating laps and shooting pucks helped clear my mind, the familiar rhythm of the game grounding me. But no matter how hard I tried to focus, thoughts of Ry kept creeping in – a constant undercurrent of confusion and longing.