Final Breakaway

Chapter 1

Etna Yreka

I don’t know why we were so lucky to have fourteen consecutive away games, but we’ve only just finished the first in DC and I’m already exhausted. The anticipation of knowing I won’t be home for a month is daunting.

Falling into my seat on the bus, I pull out my phone and open my ShareIt app to doomscroll mindlessly. We just landed in Buffalo and are loading onto the bus to head to the hotel. It’s early in the day, so we have some time before the need to turn in for the night hits. I try to be a responsible adult, sometimes—usually the night before a game, at least.

We won the first game in this fourteen-game stretch, so at least we’re getting off to a good start. Hopefully, the win sets the tone for the entire trip. Our current standings in our division aren’t the best, but they’re not quite the worst either, so… there’s that.

I’m seriously just mindlessly scrolling without pausing to really look at any posts as my teammates load on the bus. It’s constantly rocking from the big guys climbing on.

Owen Vincent posted about a gala event he’ll be attending for a good cause. Like. Scroll on.

Toby Eads’—a hockey enthusiast now working for Sports Spot with his scarily accurate predictions—post about current standings is next in my feed. I pause long enough to find our little log on his graphic. We’re under ‘doing better than expected, but still not great.’ I snort. Yeah, no kidding. Like. Scroll on.

An ad about a weight loss shot. Sighing, I hit the three little dots, choose ‘Not Interested,’ and then follow up with ‘Irrelevant.’ It disappears with the message telling me I will see fewer of those ads for the next thirty days.

If I’m blocking an ad, it should be indefinite. Fucking bots forcing their bullshit down my throat.

I scroll on quickly for several seconds until I see an all-too-familiar clip. It’s always curiosity that makes me stop. It’s Keno and me on the beach. I’m sitting on the sand and he’s kneeling over me, one of his legs between mine as he kisses me, pushing me back in the sand.

It’s a short, three-second GIF. This one says, ‘When he won’t give the bubble gum back.’ I snort and scroll on. I don’t even bother to stop and read the post to see why it’s relevant.

Keno and I have been inseparable from the moment he was traded to Arizona. We were instant best friends. Like, immediately. As if we’ve known each other our entire lives.

So, over the summer, we hung out. While we were in Myrtle Beach, we got absolutely hammered and apparently made out on the beach. Someone caught eighteen seconds of that, and it went viral.

Mind you, neither of us has any recollection of it. Like, none. Which is a little scary. We were at the fucking beach. We could have drowned! Seriously, one of the most irresponsible things I’ve ever done. Needless to say, we’ve drank very little since then. The video is nothing, really. It’s whatever. But the fact we could have drowned? Yeah, that was a life-changing moment.

Anyway, as soon as we heard about the video, we searched until we found the full clip. There’s not a whole lot to it. I’m sitting on the beach. Someone recognizes us and starts filming as Keno walks toward me. He stands over me, drops into the sand so one of his knees is between mine, and then kisses me.

It’s like… filthy kissing, too. He kisses me like that for a good eight seconds before pushing me back into the sand, where we kiss for a few more seconds. Just as nasty. Just as needy. Then I push him off me and he rolls away, both of us laughing about it.

The entire video makes it insanely clear we’re drunk out of our minds. There’s nothing more obvious than that. However, the backlash was the constant allegations that Keno is gay. Or bi. Or pan. Or, or, or.

The very first person who confronted him about it, he told them the truth. He was drunk and didn’t even remember it. He’s straight.

Well, their argument? There’s video evidence of the contrary. So Keno didn’t bother correcting anyone after that. He simply doesn’t respond when someone comments on his sexuality. What’s the point? They’re going to believe what they want.

Including the rest of the players on the Arizona team. No one bothered to ask him. They just started including him in the Gays Can Play agenda and Keno, finding it amusing, goes along with it. He’s convinced most of the guys in the gay club know it’s just shit and they find it as amusing as he does.

The last time we talked about it was when he came home from one of the Gays Can Play youth events. I’m not sure what went down, but I could tell as soon as he walked in the door that it had affected him.

“You know, there are worse things than being called gay,” he said. “So I’m mislabeled, but today, I could see just how much it meant to some of these kids to see people like them—gay and a minority—playing hockey. If they need that role model so it inspires them to keep fighting, I’m not in a hurry to prove I’m straight.”

I guess as a straight white guy, I can’t relate all that much, though I’d like to say I’m an avid supporter of equality for everyone. Opportunities should be based on talent and skill alone. Nothing else. I will scream this until the day I die. Most of the charity I do is fighting for equal rights for everyone. I don’t care if it’s based on gender, ethnicity, sexuality, or whatever. No one class is better than another. I will die on this hill.

The thing that always gets me is that I was bypassed with all the accusations. Keno came on to me. He ‘overpowered’ me. He pushed me back and pinned me down.

I pushed him away.

I mean, it’s a load of shit. Yes, I pushed him away, but no matter how many times you watch the video, none of the other shit is true.

Well, except him coming on to me, maybe. I suppose that might be the one truth. Not that we could hear what I said to him leading up to it. Maybe I was actually coming on to him.

The only things circling us now are the new questions about Keno because we’re always together. Which is true. He’s my best friend. Ride-or-die, best friend. So yeah, we’re together all the time. But it’s not romantic. Nothing we do is romantic. Or sexual.

We’re just best friends. The world needs to find something better to do and mind their own damn business.

It doesn’t matter, though. Seriously. The entire thing is stupid. I admire how Keno has stuck with the Gays Can Play initiative and become a loud advocate for it. The day he came back from the youth event truly changed his outlook on the whole thing. I’m pretty sure he was indifferent before.

He used to cover his stick with pride tape in November and donate whatever he could to charity auctions and whatever. But it was passive support. As was my activity. I suppose the true importance of it never hit him until that day.

I can’t say I’m quite as active as he is, but I tag along when he asks me to. Whether it be to events or the obligatory meet ups with other Gays Can Play guys when it comes around.

Why does loading always take forever? I glance at the time and realize I’ve only been sitting on the bus for eight minutes. I guess it just feels like an hour.

Clicking off my phone screen, I drop it to my lap and lean my head back to stare out the window. Lots and lots of traffic at the Buffalo airport. I absently wonder how many people traveled here just for a hockey game. Are there people arriving today for the game tomorrow?

Keno drops into the seat beside me, phone out as he’s scrolling. “You hungry?”

I shrug. My stomach growls as if in answer. “I could eat.”

“Are we talking huge meal starving or just something to hold you over till morning?”

“I think lighter fare is fine.”

Keno nods. “Feeling anything specific?”

Am I? I’m not even sure I’m truly hungry. I shake my head. “No.”

He nods.

Finally, the bus pulls out and I sigh. Soon, I can crash on our bed. “You brought the game system, yeah?”

“Yep. A year of traveling? 100% necessary.”

I snort. “Exaggerate much?”

He smirks. “Play alone or want to ask the guys over?”

“Dunno. Let’s see how we feel after we eat.”

Keno hums. A minute passes and then he leans in. “Oh, I wanted to show you this. It’s on marketplace, so I’m hesitant, but I like this style. Maybe this is what we’re looking for?”

We’ve been looking to buy a jet ski since summer, but I’m gonna be honest: finding ones we like hasn’t been easy. You wouldn’t think it was a big deal, but it’s proved to be more challenging than either of us thought. Not because we can’t agree, but there are things we’ll like about one and things we hate about it, too.

For now, we’re only in the market for one. We want to see if it’s something we’re going to enjoy and, maybe more importantly, make time to do. Keno’s house, which we’re at sixty percent of the time, is right on the lake that is fed by the Salt River. We have a private dock and a pontoon boat already, but we’ve been thinking about either getting a boat with some oomph or a jet ski.

“It’s got the speed and the style we like. I’ve looked to see if I can find a new one direct from the maker but apparently, it’s a model that they stopped producing two years ago. I mean, of course it is because I like it.”

I laugh. “Maybe we just need to think of other fun additions we can bring to the pontoon. Like one of those big blow-up couches, and we can drag people around in it. It definitely goes fast enough for that. Maybe some tubes and knee boards or whatever.”

Keno hums as he leans back into his seat. “Yeah.”

“I think we should also get one of those big blow-up living rooms to put on the water. We can tie it to the dock with a long rope.”

He looks at me with a brow raised. “That was so incredibly clear, I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

Laughing, I pluck his phone from his hand and type a quick search into the browser. The one I click on to show him can hold six to eight people. There’s a raised daybed couch on one half and the other half has two two-person seats where people can sit upright comfortably, with their feet flat on the bottom. There’s even a little dock over the side to jump from and climb back on.

Handing it back to Keno, I watch as he examines it. “This is cool as fuck,” he says. “Why didn’t you bring this up before?”

Laughing again, I roll my eyes. “I just saw it for the first time in my feed the other day. I don’t know where you were, but I forgot about it until just now.”

“There are much simpler ones that look just like a kid’s inflatable pool—round and boring. There are ones with canopies. Ones with sunken areas for water, which I find funny since it’s floating in the water already because it’s a pool within the water. There are even bigger ones, too. Pretty cool though, no?”

“Yeah! We’re buying one whether we get a jet ski or not. Maybe like… eight or nine. All different. There’s no way I can decide which one I like best.”

“Good thing we have a boathouse.”

Keno looks up, perplexed. We don’t have a boathouse. When he sees me smirking, he slaps my leg and turns back to his phone. “We can build one. Oooh, we can build a really cool one with ample storage for all the toys we get, but also maybe some indoor/outdoor living, kitchen area, and a bathroom.”

I tilt my head. “Yes.”

He grins. “Awesome. Your house or mine?”

This time, I roll my eyes. My house isn’t on the lake. Fucker. I should just sell it. Keno’s house might be a bit smaller than mine—by more than two thousand square feet—but we have a lake and toys at his house. Besides, who needs more than a single guest room?

Although, my backyard is better for parties. And it’s not like I don’t have a pool. We could totally put a float on it. The super large one that he paused on might take up the entire pool, but hey, we could still use it.

The bus pulls up to the hotel and we start unloading. By the time we get our bags and keys, Keno pockets his and says, “Food is just around the corner. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

I grab his bag from him and flash him my room number. 

As I get into the elevator and listen to our teammates talk, I wonder about how much the world would truly push the whole gay thing if they knew we typically shared a room when we traveled. Never because we have to, but because we usually hang out until we fall asleep.

It’s not like we touch in bed. There’s nothing going on. Not even accidental cuddling. It’s even rare that either of us cross the middle of the bed when we sleep.

There’s just so much focus on shit that’s not important in the world. Like who’s sleeping with who and whether they’re having sex. Friendship is friendship. We don’t need to defend it to anyone. We don’t need to explain why we buy shit together or why we opened a bank account together a couple of months ago. Obviously, it made it easier to buy shit together.

I’ll never understand why so many people need to share their unsolicited opinions. I recently read about a trainer who told her students that those who share their unsolicited opinions are always critiquing the other person. Always. Half the room looked horrified and opposed. The other half enthusiastically cried, “Yes! Exactly!”

The first half claimed they’re just trying to be helpful, but I’m sorry Karen and Chad, if someone wanted your help, they’d have asked for it. If they wanted your opinion on anything at all, they’d have asked.

Mind your own damn business. We didn’t ask for your critique, and we’re probably living much happier, more fulfilled lives than you, so go the fuck away.

I smirk as I push open the hotel room door. Even in my mind, I go off on tangents. Maybe I’m hangry after all.