Page 21

"Has Nate said anything to you?" I asked, watching Lucas flip through his textbook with the distracted air of someone whose mind was elsewhere. We were curled up on his couch, theoretically studying, but mostly finding excuses to kiss between highlighted paragraphs.

"About what?"

"About Zach," I clarified. "They've been hanging out a lot lately, but Zach's been weirdly quiet about it."

It was true—my best friend, who typically had no filter about his social life, had been suspiciously vague about his increasingly frequent "coffee meetings" and "casual hangouts" with Nate. Something was definitely developing there, but neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge it.

"Nothing specific," Lucas admitted, setting his book aside. "Just that they've been getting along better. Watching games together, texting. You know, friend stuff."

I raised an eyebrow. "Friend stuff?"

"That's what he calls it," Lucas shrugged. "Who am I to question his categorization of his own relationships?"

"You, who interrogate people professionally?"

"That's different," Lucas protested with a laugh. "That's for journalism. This is delicate."

Before I could press further, the apartment door flew open with a bang. Nate stormed in, his face a thundercloud of emotion. He barely acknowledged our presence as he dropped heavily into an armchair across from us, glaring at the coffee table as if it had personally offended him.

Lucas shot me a concerned glance before addressing his friend. "Nate? Everything okay?"

"Absolutely peachy," Nate replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just another wonderful day in paradise."

"That bad, huh?" Lucas set his book aside completely. "What happened?"

Nate sighed dramatically, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Nothing important. Just your typical case of expectations versus reality."

"Does this have anything to do with why my phone has been blowing up with texts from Zach for the last hour?" I asked, pulling out my phone to show the stream of increasingly desperate messages from Zach. "He seems to think he's ruined everything, but won't tell me what everything is."

Nate's expression darkened further. "Of course he thinks he's the victim here. Typical."

"Want to tell us your side, then?" Lucas suggested gently. "You look like you need to vent."

For a moment, I thought Nate might refuse. Then his carefully maintained anger crumpled, revealing the hurt beneath.

"We had plans," he said, his voice smaller than I'd ever heard it. "Nothing fancy, just watching the Bruins game at his place. The third time this week he's invited me over, which seemed like... I don't know, progress? But then he canceled. Again. Last minute, with some vague excuse about a team thing ."

"There wasn't a team event tonight," I frowned. "At least, not one I knew about."

"Exactly," Nate jabbed a finger in my direction. "Which means he lied. Again. Just like the last two times he canceled on me."

Lucas leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "Did you ask him why?"

"Of course I did," Nate scoffed. "That's when it all blew up. I asked if he was embarrassed to be seen with me around his teammates, and he got all defensive, claiming that wasn't it at all. But he couldn't actually explain why he keeps our... whatever this is... separate from his precious hockey life."

I found myself in the strange position of understanding both sides—Nate's sense of rejection, and Zach's likely internal struggle.

"It's not about embarrassment," I said quietly. "At least, probably not how you think."

Nate's gaze shifted to me, wary but listening.

"Athletes compartmentalize," I explained, searching for the right words. "We divide our lives into neat boxes—hockey, school, family, social—and we work really hard to keep them separate. It's a control thing, I think. A way to manage the pressure."

"And that's supposed to make it better?" Nate challenged, though with less heat than before. "That he's fine spending time with me as long as it's hidden away in the 'not hockey' box?"

"No," I admitted. "It doesn't make it better. But it might help explain it." I hesitated, then decided honesty was worth the risk of exposing my own vulnerabilities. "It was the same for me with Lucas at first. Not because I was ashamed, but because merging those parts of my life felt dangerous. Like if one area went wrong, everything would collapse."

Lucas's hand found mine, a silent acknowledgment of how far we'd come.

"It took me weeks to let Lucas into my hockey world," I continued. "Even though I cared about him, even though the team was obviously going to be fine with it. The fear wasn't rational, but it was real."

Nate seemed to be absorbing this, his anger gradually giving way to thoughtfulness. "So you're saying it's not about me, it's about him?"

"I'm saying it's probably about him struggling with something new and scary," I clarified. "Which doesn't excuse him hurting you, but might help you understand where he's coming from."

Lucas nodded, picking up the thread. "And you know, your immediate retreat to sarcasm when he upsets you is its own kind of defense mechanism. Just as strong as his compartmentalization."

"Excuse me?" Nate looked affronted. "I don't retreat to sarcasm."

"You absolutely do," Lucas countered gently. "The minute anything gets emotionally risky, out come the jokes and the cutting remarks. It's your shield, just like Zach's strict separation of his worlds is his."

"That's completely different," Nate protested, though with less conviction. "Making jokes is not the same as consistently canceling plans and lying about why."

"No, it's not," I agreed. "What Zach did was worse, and he owes you an apology. I'm just saying, maybe understanding why he's struggling might make it easier to have that conversation."

Nate was quiet for a long moment, fidgeting with the frayed edge of his sweater. "It's not like we're even dating," he said finally, his voice smaller. "We're just hanging out. Being friends, or whatever. It shouldn't be this complicated."

Lucas and I exchanged knowing glances. The "or whatever" was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

"Maybe that's part of the problem," Lucas suggested carefully. "Maybe the ambiguity is making it harder for both of you to know where the boundaries are, what expectations are reasonable."

"There's nothing ambiguous about expecting basic courtesy," Nate muttered, though he looked less certain now. "And anyway, defining things would just make it weirder."

"Why?" I asked simply.

"Because!" Nate threw up his hands in exasperation. "Because we spent weeks hating each other, and then suddenly we're texting all day and watching games together and he's remembering what kind of coffee I like, and it's confusing and messy and I don't know what any of it means."

"Sounds like something worth talking about," Lucas observed.

"With Zach? Mr. 'I Have The Emotional Intelligence Of A Hockey Puck'? No thank you." Nate stood abruptly. "I'm going to bed. Thanks for the amateur psychology session, but I think I'll stick with my original plan of righteous indignation and eventually getting over it."

As he disappeared into his room, Lucas sighed, leaning against my shoulder. "They're so stubborn."

"Takes one to know one," I teased, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "We weren't exactly models of emotional maturity ourselves."

"True," Lucas conceded. "But at least we figured it out eventually."

"They will too," I said with more confidence than I felt. "Zach's been talking about Nate constantly at practice. He's clearly into him. He's just never liked someone this much before and has no idea how to handle it."

"Nate's the same way," Lucas revealed. "He acts all cool and detached, but I've seen his face light up when Zach texts. It's just scary for him, I think. Opening up to someone when you've been hurt before."

My phone buzzed again with another text from Zach: Do you think he hates me? Because I'd understand if he does. I'm an idiot.

I showed it to Lucas, who smiled sympathetically. "Maybe we should help them out a little," he suggested. "Not interfere exactly, but nudge them in the right direction?"

"What did you have in mind?"

The next day after practice, Zach arrived looking unusually subdued, dropping onto the couch with none of his typical bravado.

"I screwed up," he announced without preamble. "Massively."

"With Nate?" I asked, handing him a beer.

"Who else?" He took a long swig, then set the bottle down with more force than necessary. "I don't know what's wrong with me, man. I like hanging out with him. A lot. And then I panic and ruin it."

"What are you panicking about?" I kept my tone casual, non-judgmental.

Zach shrugged, picking at the label on his beer bottle. "Everything? The team. My family back home. What it all means." He glanced up at me. "How did you do it? Balance hockey and... you know, Lucas?"

"Badly, at first," I admitted with a wry smile. "I tried to keep everything separate, remember? Hockey Sean and Lucas Sean. Like I could be two different people."

"And that didn't work out so great," Zach recalled.

"Not even a little," I agreed. "The harder I tried to keep those worlds from touching, the more miserable I was. The more I lied to everyone, including myself."

Zach nodded thoughtfully. "But the team was cool about it. When they found out about you guys."

"They were," I confirmed. "Turned out all that fear was for nothing."

"Yeah, but..." Zach hesitated, his typical confidence nowhere to be seen. "You're you, man. Star defenseman, team leader. I'm just... Zach. The loud one who makes bad jokes and occasionally scores goals."

"You're selling yourself short," I said seriously. "The team respects you. They'd have your back, whatever's going on with you and Nate."

"If anything is going on," Zach muttered. "He probably hates me now."

"He's hurt," I corrected. "That's different."

"Because I keep canceling on him," Zach acknowledged. "And then lying about why."

"Why do you keep canceling?" I asked, genuinely curious. "What's really going on?"

Zach was quiet for a long moment, seemingly wrestling with whether to answer honestly. Finally, he sighed, setting his beer aside.

"I'm terrified," he admitted, the words coming out in a rush. "Of messing it up. Of the team looking at me differently. Of my family back home finding out and freaking out. Of Nate deciding he just wants to be friends. Of him deciding he doesn't even want that."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "And mostly, of not being good enough for him. He's so smart, you know? So passionate about everything. And I'm just... me."

The raw honesty seemed to surprise even Zach, who immediately tried to backtrack. "Which is stupid, because we're just hanging out. It's not like we're a thing."

"Aren't you?" I asked quietly.

"No! Maybe. I don't know." Zach groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "See? I can't even figure out what we are. How am I supposed to handle all the rest of it?"

"Maybe start with an apology," I suggested. "And then try something radical—tell him what you just told me. About being scared, about not knowing what you're doing, about caring enough that it freaks you out."

"That sounds horrifically vulnerable," Zach grimaced.

"It is," I laughed. "Welcome to actual human connection, man. It's terrifying."

"So what, I just bare my soul and hope he doesn't laugh in my face?"

"Pretty much," I nodded. "But also, maybe take a concrete step. Something to show him you're serious about changing things."

"Like what?"

"Like bridging those worlds you've been keeping so separate," I suggested. "Tristan's having people over this weekend, right? The end-of-semester thing? Invite Nate. Not as Lucas's flat mate, but as your guest."

Zach looked simultaneously intrigued and terrified by the suggestion. "You think that would help?"

"Can't hurt," I shrugged. "Worst case, he says no and you're exactly where you are now. Best case..."

"Best case, he says yes and I have to introduce him to everyone as my... what? Friend? Date?" Zach's expression was panicked.

"How about just as Nate?" I suggested. "The rest will sort itself out."

Tristan's party that weekend was exactly the kind of relaxed gathering our team needed after weeks of intense practice and games. The atmosphere was casual—music playing at a level that allowed actual conversation, various snacks scattered around the living room, people moving in and out of different groups as the evening progressed.

Lucas and Nate arrived together, scanning the room with slightly wary expressions. I waved from my spot near the fireplace, feeling a surge of happiness as Lucas's face brightened at the sight of me.

"Hey," I greeted him with a quick kiss. "Glad you made it."

"Wouldn't miss it," Lucas smiled, glancing around. "Nice turnout."

Nate, beside him, was doing his best to appear indifferent, though I noticed his eyes darting around the room as if searching for someone specific. "Great party," he said flatly. "Very athletic."

Before I could respond, Zach emerged from the kitchen carrying two drinks. He froze momentarily when he spotted Nate, then visibly gathered himself and approached.

"Hey," he said, his usual confidence notably absent. "I, um, made you this. That cocktail you mentioned liking—with the lime and the mint thing."

Nate stared at the offered drink, clearly caught off guard by the thoughtful gesture. "You remembered that? I mentioned it weeks ago."

Zach shrugged, aiming for casual but landing closer to nervous. "Yeah, well, I pay attention sometimes."

The moment stretched between them, laden with unspoken tension. Finally, Nate accepted the drink, his fingers brushing against Zach's as he did.

"Thanks," he said, his voice softer than usual. "That's really nice of you."

"No problem," Zach replied, a tentative smile forming. "Want to see the backyard? Tristan's got one of those fire pit things set up."

"Sure," Nate agreed, following Zach through the crowd.

Lucas turned to me with raised eyebrows as they disappeared. "Did you have something to do with that?"

"Maybe a small nudge," I admitted. "Nothing manipulative, just a suggestion that actions speak louder than apologies."

Throughout the evening, I kept an eye on Zach and Nate, noting with satisfaction how Zach made a visible effort to include Nate in conversations, introducing him to teammates not as "Lucas's flat mate" but as "the friend I've been telling you about."

During an increasingly competitive game of charades, they were paired together by chance. To everyone's surprise, Nate seemed to decode Zach's minimal, somewhat chaotic gestures with uncanny accuracy, correctly guessing "The Godfather" and "ice fishing" from the barest of clues.

"How did you get that?" someone demanded after Nate instantly identified "quantum physics" from Zach merely pointing to his head and making a small explosion gesture.

"We speak the same language of idiocy, apparently," Nate replied dryly, though the smile he directed at Zach was anything but sarcastic.

Their team won handily, celebrating each point with increasingly elaborate high-fives that seemed to involve more and more physical contact as the game progressed.

"Look at them," I murmured to Lucas as we stepped outside for some fresh air. "They fit together so well when they stop fighting it."

Through the window, we could see Zach and Nate in the kitchen, standing close as they washed dishes together—Zach washing, Nate drying. Even from this distance, their body language told the story: the casual way they bumped shoulders, the lingering glances, the way they leaned toward each other as they talked.

"Five bucks says they're still arguing about something totally inconsequential," Lucas laughed.

"No bet," I replied. "That's just how they communicate. It's weirdly sweet, actually."

As the night wound down, the four of us ended up walking back to campus together. Lucas and I deliberately fell behind, giving Zach and Nate space to talk privately. From our position a few yards back, I could see Zach gesturing animatedly while Nate listened, his arms crossed but his expression open rather than defensive.

"Think they're working it out?" Lucas asked quietly.

"I hope so," I replied. "Zach's been miserable all week. He really likes Nate, even if he's terrible at showing it."

When we reached Nate and Lucas's apartment building, Zach surprised us all by leaning in to press a quick but deliberate kiss to Nate's cheek before stepping back with a nervous smile.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked, trying and failing to sound casual. "For coffee?"

"Yeah," Nate nodded, a blush spreading across his face. "Tomorrow."

As Zach and I continued toward our place, he maintained a studiedly neutral expression until we were out of earshot. Then he turned to me with wide eyes.

"I kissed him," he whispered, sounding shocked at his own actions. "On the cheek, but still. In public. In front of people."

"I saw," I confirmed, fighting a smile. "Very smooth."

"Was it weird? It felt weird. But also good?" Zach's usual eloquence had abandoned him completely. "He didn't run away, so that's something, right?"

"Definitely something," I agreed, clapping him on the shoulder. "And for what it's worth, I think you're good for each other. When you're not being idiots about it."

Zach's expression turned serious. "I told him I was sorry about canceling. Explained that I was freaking out, not because I'm ashamed of him or anything, but because I've never felt like this before and it scares the hell out of me."

"And?"

"And he said he gets it," Zach replied, a note of wonder in his voice. "That he pushes people away with sarcasm when he's scared of getting hurt. That we're both disasters, basically, but maybe we could be disasters together."

"That's oddly romantic, in a very Nate way," I laughed.

"Right?" Zach grinned. "We're taking it slow. Figuring it out as we go. But at least now we're actually talking about it instead of pretending it's not happening."

The things worth having rarely came easily. They required courage, vulnerability, the willingness to risk failure and rejection. To let someone see the parts of yourself you usually kept hidden.