The Play: Chapter 14

“Dude! It’s been ages!” Dean looks insanely happy to see me.

Dean took me under his wing when I was a freshman and he was a senior, and I think part of him still views me a bit like his protégée. To be honest, he’s the one who taught me the bad habits that landed me in trouble last season. “How To Pick Up Chicks” by Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis should be a prerequisite course for all horny college boys. The guy knows what he’s doing.

Of course, it helps when you have supermodel-chiseled features, golden hair, sparkling green eyes. Summer is like the girl version of Dean, which is a bit unnerving considering I’ve jerked off to fantasies of her before.

“It’s good to see you,” I tell my old friend. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty damn good. My roster is killer this year.” Dean coaches a girls’ hockey team at a private school in Manhattan. He’d actually gotten into Harvard Law, but at the last moment accepted a teaching position instead. I guess you could say he’s a high school gym teacher, but he also coaches hockey and volleyball, and coaching is where his true passion lies.

“Nice. I should try to catch one of your games if they don’t conflict with my sched. Do you ever have road games? Anything in Boston?”

“Actually, there’s a tournament here next month. I’ll let you know the dates. But you should definitely come. Allie showed up to the last game and the girls lost their shit. They love her show.” Dean’s girlfriend, Allie Hayes, is an actress on a popular HBO show. It even won a bunch of Emmys recently. Allie wasn’t nominated for her role, but they won for Best Drama, which is impressive as fuck.

“Is Allie here?” I ask, searching for her blonde head.

Dean nods. “She’s up in the box with Grace, chatting up a storm. All the girlie talk got too much for me, so I said I’d wait for you out here.” He gestures to the front entrance of the massive arena behind us.

The air is electric tonight, as it always is for a home game. All around us are black-and-yellow jerseys, interspersed with the red-and-white ones worn by the fans representing Detroit, tonight’s opponent.

It’s utterly surreal to think that I’m friends with not one, but two of the men on the ice tonight. Garrett Graham is the star of the team, the leading scorer in the entire league, and arguably one of the greatest hockey players of all time. I can’t believe I played one year of college with him.

The other friend is John Logan, another college legend. It’s Logan’s rookie season with the team. Before this, he was playing for the Bruins’ farm team, so this is like his big promotion. So far, he’s done well in the first few games of the season, and I’m excited to watch him and Garrett play live again. These days I catch their games on TV, but it’s not the same.

“Is Fitz still staying with you guys in Manhattan?” I ask Dean as we head inside.

“Not at mine and Allie’s place. He’s at my fam’s penthouse, doing work for that Brooklyn game studio. He has the whole penthouse to himself this time, which I think is a huge relief for him.”

“Oh, it is. He told me he was staying there with your dad last month.”

Dean chuckles. “Yup, the two of them living it up in the bachelor pad, while Summer’s in Boston and Mom’s in Greenwich. Jesus. I can’t imagine having to shack up with Allie’s father. He’d probably murder me in my sleep and bury my body in a block of cement under their brownstone. No one would find it until years later, when someone decides to rebuild the house and jackhammers the foundation.”

“Oh come on, I thought you and Allie’s dad were cool.”

“For the most part. But he still calls me ‘rich boy’ and always asks me what designer I’m wearing.” Dean sighs glumly. “So now I just wear rags when I’m there so that I don’t get made fun of.”

I swallow a laugh. Stories about Allie’s father never fail to entertain me. I haven’t met the man, but he sounds hilarious. “Does your dad like Fitzy?” I ask curiously.

“Are you kidding me? Dad will love anybody Summer brings home. She’s his princess and can do no wrong. She could legit bring home a serial killer and Dad would be sitting there asking to see pictures of the victims.” Dean imitates his father’s voice. “Oh, you used a hacksaw to chop off the head? Neat! Can you show me how to do that?”

This time I can’t contain my laughter. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Not exaggerating in the slightest, dude. Remember that guy in high school? You’d know him—you were in the same year. Rickie? Ronnie? The one with the face tattoo?”

“Lawrence,” I say with a groan.

“Man, I was way off.”

“That guy was such a loser. Summer went out with him?”

“It was during her rebellious stage. Mom told her she couldn’t do something, I can’t remember what, so Summer got all huffy and that weekend she brought Face Tattoo to our family picnic. Mom almost died. Meanwhile Dad’s asking him about the inspiration behind the face tattoo.”

“It was…stars?” I ask, trying to picture Lawrence’s tats.

“Birds,” Dean corrects with a snort. “Winding around his neck and going up to his cheek and forehead.”

“Sounds hot.”

Snickering, we take the escalators up to the private boxes reserved for VIPs. I flash the guest credentials Dean handed me downstairs, and the guards wave us through. Our box is the one for Wives and Girlfriends. I love it. We’re considered WAGs tonight, but the only actual girlfriend present is Grace Ivers, a senior at Briar. She and Logan live together in an apartment between Hastings and Boston.

I don’t know Grace very well. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation. But she greets me warmly and gives me a quick hug.

I know Allie a lot better because of Dean, and her hug is tighter and lasts much longer. “Hunter! You’re looking so good! You’ve gained like fifty pounds of muscle.”

“Not quite.” I smile. “You look great. I’m digging the shorter hair.”

She smooths a hand over her blonde bob. “Really? Dean says it makes me look like a pixie.”

“So? Pixies are hot. Did you guys take the train in from New York?”

“Yeah. We were both free tonight and decided, what the hell. Might as well support the boys.”

“Good call.” I wander over to the massive window overlooking the rink. The players are warming up at the moment. I search the ice for Garrett’s and Logan’s jersey numbers. I spot Logan first. Grace’s eyes are glued on him too, as she comes up beside me.

“How’s he doing this season?” I ask. “I haven’t studied his stats line too closely.”

“He’s doing well. Not as well as he’d like to be doing, but he got two assists in the game against Philly. Boston has some pretty amazing defensemen already, so John’s not seeing as much ice time as he wants.” Grace sounds unhappy. I’m not sure if it’s on Logan’s behalf, or if there’s more to it.

“Uh oh, is he taking it out on you?” Allie demands. Evidently she glimpsed that same flicker of discouragement in Grace’s eyes.

“No, not at all. But he’s just a bit on edge. And I’m busy at the radio station, so our schedules often conflict.” She shrugs before offering a halfhearted smile. “Every relationship has its speed bumps in the road. We’ll be fine.”

“True,” Allie agrees. “But if you need me to knock some sense into him, let me know. I’ll get my boyfriend to beat him up.”

“Wait,” Dean balks, channeling Mike Hollis. “I’m your boyfriend.”

I snicker.

Dean sets his jaw. “I’d never beat up Logan for you, Allie-Cat. He’s my BFF.”

“I thought Garrett was your BFF,” she taunts.

“I thought I was your BFF,” I whine.

He sighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re all my BFFs, okay?”

“Hey, where’s Hannah?” I ask, referring to Garrett’s girlfriend, Hannah Wells. The last time I was in the WAGs box, she was also present.

“Holy shit, did you not hear about Wellsy?” Dean demands.

“What about her?”

“You know how she’s been working with that famous producer? The one who’s also worked with Rihanna and Beyoncé and a bunch of other huge names?”

“Yeah, but I thought she wasn’t making her own music. Isn’t she writing songs now?”

“She is,” Allie confirms. “And one of her songs is going to be performed by—get this! Delilah Sparks! They’re in the recording studio as we speak, laying down the track. Hannah says it might actually be the single on Delilah’s next album.”

“Wow. That is impressive.” It’s really cool seeing what everyone’s been doing after college. Dean teaching and coaching. Allie on TV. Hannah rubbing elbows with superstar recording artists.

But…and maybe this is just the little boy in me…for me, watching Garrett and Logan skating in a packed TD Garden, representing our city, trumps everybody else’s careers.

All I ever wanted was to play professional hockey. It was my childhood dream. When I first told my parents that dream, I think Dad was pissed, because in his mind he’d been grooming me since birth to work for his company and eventually take it over. But when it turned out I was really damn good and had a more than realistic shot of making a shit ton of money as a pro hockey player, suddenly Dad was on board, encouraging my budding career.

So, yes, I wanted it. Badly. But then… I changed my mind. I realized that the NHL lifestyle is not for me. It’s too decadent, too destructive if you’re not careful, and I truly don’t know if I trust myself to be part of it.

Still, knowing I won’t be down on that ice one day doesn’t take away from the excitement of watching my friends skate. Everyone in the box is cheering their lungs out, and a wave of screams rocks the room when Garrett creates a rebound that lands on Logan’s stick. Logan snaps it up and scores his first goal of the season. Grace is on her feet, screaming herself hoarse, her face shining with pride.

I wonder if I’ll ever find a woman who looks at me like that. A woman who, when presented with “speed bumps” in our relationship, works with me to smooth them out instead of simply driving away. I might not want a girlfriend this very second, but I can’t deny that I hope to find something—no, someone—real in the future.

On the other hand, some relationships are total shit. I mean, look at Demi. She’s head over heels for her boyfriend, and he’s going around getting his dick wet at frat parties.

And I still haven’t told her the truth. I had all day to do it, for chrissake. We sat together in Abnormal Psych this morning. We spent an hour in the car together on the way up here. Yet every time I opened my mouth to tell her, I couldn’t get the words out.

I’ll say something on the drive home tonight. I have to.

I’m just going to suck it up, blurt it out, and let the chips fall where they may.

Like a coward, I wait until the last possible second to broach the subject with Demi. After picking her up from her parents’ house, I let her chat for the entire drive home, nodding and smiling while internally gathering my courage. The last time I found myself in a situation like this, it blew up in my face like a grenade. Every fiber of my being wants me to keep my mouth shut, but I like this girl, and I think she deserves to know.

I guess I’m not a great actor, because Demi finally calls me on my behavior as I turn onto the main road toward campus.

“Okay, what is up with you?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

“I’d think I was boring you, but I know for a fact that I am not boring. I’m a fucking excellent conversationalist and I just told you a story about the time I met Gigi Hadid in South Beach AKA the best meet-cute of the century.”

I crack a smile. “You’re certainly not boring,” I agree.

“So why are you acting weird?” Demi sounds aggravated.

“I…” Inhale. Exhale. Here goes. “I need to tell you something, and I’ve been debating all day whether or not to do it.”

“What is it?”

“Uh.”

Silence commences.

“Okay. Cool. Great chat, bro!”

I quickly backtrack. “You know what, it’s not important.” It’s none of my business, I tell myself. Whatever Nico’s doing is his own business.

“I’m joking,” she insists. “Tell me what going on.”

“Uh.”

Silence recommences.

“Come on, Monk, am I going to have to beat it out of you?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I’m a lot stronger than I look.” She frowns. “Are you really not going to tell me?”

“Nico,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

And I instantly want to punch myself in the face, because Demi is like a shark that just caught a sniff of blood.

“What about him?” she demands.

“Nothing.” Goddammit, why did I even bring it up? And why is it taking so long to reach Greek Row? I need an escape plan, ASAP.

“Hunter,” she says sharply.

“Fine. Just…don’t shoot the messenger, okay?” I release a quick breath. “I ran into him at a party this weekend at the Alpha Delta house. Saturday night?”

Demi toys with one of her hoop earrings as she thinks about it. “He went out with his work friends Saturday night. I thought they were in Hastings, but I suppose they could’ve gone to that party.”

“They were definitely there. I don’t know if it was with the work buddies or not, but Nico was there. He and I even spoke.”

“Okay. So he went to a party. Big deal.”

“That’s not all he did.”

Her features sharpen again. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I saw him upstairs with some chick.”

Once again, silence falls over the car. Shit. I should not have brought this up at all.

“All right,” she says slowly. “You saw him with a girl. What were they doing?”

“They were exiting a bedroom.”

“Were they naked?”

“Well, no, they were both fully clothed. But…” I don’t want to say it, but I force myself to spit it out. “He was zipping up his pants.”

“Oh.”

“Obviously that doesn’t mean they were doing anything,” I add hastily. “Maybe they both needed to use the bathroom and he forgot to do up his fly after taking a leak. But, speaking as a guy—”

“As a fuckboy, you mean.”

“Whoa.” I’m taken aback by the verbal assault. She must really hate me right now. “Should I remind you I haven’t been sexually active in months?”

“Should I remind me how sexually active you were last year? You said so yourself, remember? So maybe you’re just associating your own behavior with whatever you think you saw Nico doing.” Her lips tighten. “Maybe they were using the bathroom. Maybe they were hanging out or talking or whatever. You don’t know for certain that something happened.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying to you,” I grumble. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

We reach the fork in the road that leads to Greek Row, and I eagerly flick the turn signal. I’ve never been happier to see a sorority house and I’m not even banging anyone inside of it.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Demi doesn’t answer. Her profile is as tense as the current state of my shoulders.

I stop in front of the Theta house. I avoid her eyes as I put the Rover in park. “But I figured I should tell you. You know, just in case.”

“Tell me what? That my boyfriend was talking to some girl?”

“No, that he went upstairs with her, that they were alone in a bedroom, and that he walked out zipping up his pants. Get your head out of the sand, Demi. Men in relationships don’t do that kind of shit.”

I instantly regret my harsh tone. But rather than go silent or meek, Demi’s eyes turn molten. “You don’t know anything about my relationship, Hunter.”

“I know that you already suspected him of cheating on you once.”

“Yeah, when we were kids. He’s matured since then.”

Has he? I want to challenge. I keep quiet, but the unspoken question hangs in the air, and Demi hisses in response to it.

“He has,” she insists. “And you know what? I don’t appreciate you jumping to conclusions, and I don’t appreciate all your fear mongering!”

“Fear mongering?” I can’t help but snicker. “Jesus Christ. All I’m telling you is that I saw the dude zip up his pants. Do with that what you will.”