The Understatement of the Year (The Ivy Years, #3)

by Sarina Bowen

Graham has always blushed easily. In time I realized how easy it was to make him do that. All I had to do was hold his eyes a little longer than necessary, and pink spots would appear on his cheekbones. I liked that. So I did it all the time.

It was then that I realized Graham was on top of me. Finally. And without thinking, I put my free hand on his chest. I’ll never forget the wild jerk that his body made under my hand. And then he was staring down at me, cheeks flushed, breath coming fast. I lifted my chin an inch, and that’s all it took. Graham dropped his mouth onto mine. Our first kiss was hot and sloppy, and it lit my body up like a flare.

“‘The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming. And who, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat!’”

She said she didn’t take me for the homophobic type. But that was dead wrong. I was the most homophobic person alive. Because “homophobic” means “afraid of homosexuals.” And I was pants-shitting terrified of myself.

I liked cities. I liked their busy sidewalks and their anonymity. Where I grew up in western Michigan, there was only a taste of the city life. Most everyone favored the dull suburbs. When I moved to Vermont for tenth grade, I thought I’d hate the rural atmosphere. But it actually grew on me, because it was more honest than the aggressively tended lawns of my youth. There were ragged meadows, with cows munching them. There were miles of pine forest, and the outline of the Green Mountains everywhere you looked. Still, I preferred the city. Especially a good, old one.

Graham reached up and caught my retreating hand by the wrist. Awkwardly, he pulled the back of my hand tight against his forehead, trapping it there. He closed his eyes, and heaved out a breath that had the weight of the world in it.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. I cleared my throat. “For what?” He gave his head a single, violent shake. “For everything. The whole frickin’ thing. It’s way too late to say it. But I am. Sorry, I mean.”

“Fine,” I said. “So this is how you’re going to make it better. You’re going to stop looking like you want to puke every time I walk through a door. I didn’t come to Harkness to wreck your life. I came to play hockey. There’s a lot of guys in that room who’d like to toss me out on my ass, so you can try to stop being one of them.”

“I’m not expecting you to stick up for me,” I added quickly. “Just chill the fuck out. Can you do that?”

What I hadn’t wanted to face at sixteen was the fact that my phone made outgoing calls, too. I was looped up on pain meds for a few days — not a few years. Even after they shipped me off to Vermont, I could have sat myself in one of the wicker chairs on my grandmother’s porch and called him. I didn’t, though. Because I was scared to hear that he didn’t want me anymore.

Talking to Rikker in his room had been the most vivid ten minutes of my week. Naturally, I vowed never to go back there.

I drank too. The tequila stung the back of my throat. At least I hoped it was the alcohol, because it very well could have been Graham’s gesture. Here he was, in his own fucked-up way, offering me support. Of course, it was Graham’s version of support — strong drink. But at that moment, when I was literally friendless, it meant everything to me.

She grabbed a coat off the back of her chair and shrugged it on. “And take care in all the usual ways, boys. Say no to drugs, and drinking and driving. Yes to seat belts and condoms.”

I jerked my thumb toward the entrance. “Because we’re outside the gayest place in Vermont right now. And you can’t even say that word out loud.” But his gaze was steady. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could say it.”

“Interesting that you’d say that. Because I think your teammate Mike is as gay as a Judy Garland sing-along. You should see his face right now. He looks like a kid getting his first look at the presents under the Christmas tree.” Skippy’s gaydar was rock solid. Always had been. “Go easy on him, okay? He’s kind of a wreck.”

“Come here,” I whispered. He gave a slow shake of his head. “Bad idea.” But it wasn’t a bad idea. It was a powerful one. Five years ago, two boys had kissed in a car. And a bunch of assholes turned that moment into a life-altering disaster. But right now, two grown men could kiss in a car. And then go home to play one more game of RealStix like it was no big deal. I stretched one hand across the seat to take Graham’s. But he wouldn’t look at me, even when I gave his arm a tug. “Come here,” I said. “Or I’m coming over there.” The truck had a bench seat, so it would be easy to make good on that threat. He looked at me then, a warning on his face. “It’s just a kiss,” I whispered, rubbing his big hand in mine. “Do this for me.” I pulled him toward me again. He came almost willingly. Slowly, we eased closer, our eyes locked on one another, until I could feel his breath on my face. I closed the final inches between us, just ghosting my lips over his on the first pass. I saw his Adam’s apple bob nervously. So I was gentle when I cupped the back of his head, pulling him in. I pressed my lips to his, tasting musk and beer. Mmm… My kiss was slow. Appreciative. After several beats of my heart, he relaxed into the kiss, melting for me. I licked into his mouth then. If I was only getting a kiss, I wanted to make it a good one. On the first wet slide of tongue against tongue, Graham made an achy little sound in the back of his throat. Heaven.

This kiss was all about heartache. It was deep and sweet and sad.

“We’d better go in,” he said. “Your grandmother is going to wonder why we didn’t come inside.” Slowly, I passed my palm over the whiskers on his cheek. “G, if she’s not asleep, she’ll just assume we were making out in the truck. And she won’t think less of you for it.” But we both already knew that didn’t matter to Graham. Without another word, he opened the door and got out. The idea of someone suspecting us was a barrier that he simply could not get past.

I couldn’t help but wonder how Rikker did it. “How do you walk into that locker room every day knowing what they say about you?” Rikker didn’t move his eyes off the road. “I dunno. I just do it. Because walking in is better than not walking in, I guess.”

know I’m not a good advertisement for the product.” “What?” “I don’t make being ‘out’ look like fun. On the other hand, I don’t worry anymore if people are going to find out, you know? I don’t ever do that crazy math I used to do. If I left my fuck buddy’s room by eleven, I figured people wouldn’t assume we were hooking up. But twelve-thirty seemed risky.” He laughed. “None of it makes a difference if the guy emails your picture to the coach.”

I hope I meet some girl who really does it for me, you know?” God knows I’d been auditioning them the last three years at Harkness. There was just one girl who had always been able to make me hot for her. And that was only because she was game to do some things with me that most girls didn’t like to do. And that meant that I’d had to stop sleeping with her. Because my enthusiasm for her extra-credit activities gave away more clues about me than I was comfortable revealing. My phone chimed with a text from Bella. Where R U? Think of the devil, and she appears.

took me more than a few strokes down the rink before I noticed that there was something odd about the crowd. In the first place, they let out a whoop of excitement when we skated onto the ice. If this were a home game, that would be perfectly normal. But how many fans could we have this far from home? And the cheers and hollers did not let up. The clapping and stomping actually escalated as we skated, as if The Rolling Stones were due to follow us out for a command performance. Raising my head, I tried to make sense of it. The first thing I saw was a sea of color. Some of it was on the people. Quite a few of the fans were wearing… were those rainbow hockey jerseys? What the fuck? I whizzed past the student section, which was full of Vermont’s green and gold. No surprises there. But elsewhere, especially behind the visitors’ net, spectators were holding giant rainbow banners. “EVERYONE CAN PLAY,” read one banner. “BIGOTRY IS FOR SISSY MEN,” read another one. And “WELCOME BACK TO VERMONT.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” he said into the silence. “Don’t make me beg.” I cleared my throat. “Have you ever…?” “Only with toys.” Damn. I didn’t know what to do. So I made a joke. “G, that’s pretty pervy for a straight guy.”

Most gay men who’ve been around the block a few times will tell you that it’s a bad idea to be with somebody who won’t acknowledge you in public. Was I willing to be with Graham if I had to sneak around? Actually, it was a pretty easy decision. “Does this mean tonight isn’t just a one time thing?” Graham buried his face in my neck. “It’s always been you for me. Always.”

“I gotta clean myself up,” he said eventually. “Hang tight. I’ll bring you a Zamboni.”

His smile was rueful. “You could have outed me your first day on campus if you felt like it.” “Never,” I said. “Even when you wouldn’t look at me, I never wanted to do that. I’ve been outed, G. Nobody deserves that.”

A little later, I set my phone to wake me up at five in the morning. Then, for the first time in my life, I fell asleep in Graham’s arms.

I was in love with Rikker, and had been forever. I didn’t tell him, though. I mean, this is me we’re talking about here. The usual coward. Rikker would have liked to hear it, I’m sure. And I would have liked to hear it back. But me being me, that wasn’t going to happen.

In the locker room he ignored me, as I needed him to. And — this was my worst sin — when someone made a fag joke, I said nothing at all. That’s how I repaid Rikker’s nighttime affection during the daylight hours. With my silence.

If ever there was a holy shit moment for me, it would be that one. Because you can’t bend over in the shower for your gay boyfriend and pretend that your life hasn’t totally changed course. But did I freak out just then? No.

Fucking Graham. Why didn’t he just tell me?” Because he couldn’t even tell himself. “You’ll have to ask him.” We sat there in silence a little longer. “You and Graham,” Bella said under her breath. “Damn. I don’t suppose you’d let me watch? That would be pretty hot.” I choked on my last swallow of coffee. “Didn’t think so,” Bella mumbled.

Just then, Bella waltzed into the room, sipping from a Starbucks cup. “Give us a second, sweetie,” the doctor said. “Oh, I’ve seen it all before,” she said, parking herself against the wall and taking another slug of her coffee. “Huh,” the doctor said, probing my groin with gloved fingers. “Y’all seem to have more fun in college than I ever did.”

“We have to talk,” he said eventually. “About how I made a complete fool of myself last night?” He didn’t say anything for a moment. I opened my eyes, and found his unhappy ones looking back at me. “Okay. How about we just skip over the part where I get offended at the idea that your wanting me nearby makes you a…” he made quote marks out of his fingers, “complete fool.”

“Somehow, I’d sort of forgotten that you were there too, in that alley five years ago.”

See, I always thought that I was the only one who got hurt that day. But that isn’t true, is it? Yeah, the cracked ribs really sucked. But they healed.”

“Didn’t have to,” I said. My silence had been a choice. And I made that choice out of pure cowardice. He began massaging my temples again. “You were sixteen, G, and you’d just been jumped. I never realized how much that fucked with your head.”

That scene in the alley had scared me silly. But admitting it now wouldn’t help. Those old fears had crusted over into something more like disgust. And I’d been trapped in it from the moment I left Rikker alone there to fend for himself.

“Hockey, John. He never mentioned playing hockey until you wanted to try out in the eighth grade.”

Even worse, I’d made it to age twenty-one without ordering a cappuccino. Because at some point during my ignorant youth, I’d heard somebody say that it was a girly drink. And I’d crossed cappuccinos off the list without a second thought. That’s how I’d always done it. There were a thousand little decisions I made in service to hiding something big. All my clothes were blue or gray or black. (Except my hockey jacket. And there could hardly be a manlier piece of clothing.) My backpack was a plain color. My bedspread was regulation navy blue. I lived by a weird, self-imposed aesthetic, focused on never appearing gay. The result? Not only did Rikker not know my taste in coffee, I didn’t either.

My mother didn’t breathe for a long time. And when she finally did, it was in one great gust. “Michael,” she gasped. Her eyes began to fill with tears. “How long have you held that in?” “So damn long,” I said immediately. “Oh, Sweetie,” she said, pulling me to her. “My poor boy. So hard on yourself.”

“…But your father loves you. So much, Sweetie. He will always be proud of you. Always.” “I don’t want to tell him,” I said. Mom studied me. “But how does not telling him feel?” “Awful.” She gave me a watery smile. “Rock, meet hard place.” “We are already acquainted.” At that, my mother actually laughed. “Oh, Mikey. Just breathe. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

I didn’t want people to see me as a stereotype. Faggot. Queen. Fairy. I didn’t feel like any of those things, and I didn’t want to be called those names. I just wanted to be Michael Graham. It’s just that Michael Graham was attracted to men. And always had been.

Looking at my mom’s face right then, I saw a lot of hurt. And here’s the crazy thing — I knew without a doubt that her sadness had nothing to do with the fact that Rikker was my boyfriend. And it had everything to do with my not telling her sooner.

“You know what I mean. With always beating yourself up over the past. Something happened a long time ago that you regret. And you’re still dragging that around with you. Set that shit down, man.”

And I don’t have a clue why you’re still here.” His hands slid up to his forehead, revealing his eyes. “You don’t?” I shook my head, which had just begun to throb. With a look of utter exasperation, he sat up. “Because I love you, you stupid fuck. And I always have. It’s not always so convenient, loving you. But when you climb out of that thick blond head of yours for a few minutes, you’re a hell of a lot of fun. And you’re loyal, too, in that tortured way of yours.”

“No, G. Not ugh. You need to stop thinking that way, for your own sanity. I mean, Hartley is good to me. And also to you. He knows, and just doesn’t care.”

“That’s right. He’s a guy who doesn’t care who you get naked with. He doesn’t give a damn what people think. That’s a real man right there. And a real friend. You don’t have to wonder how he’d treat you if he knew. Because you already have the answer.” I closed my eyes, exhausted. “It’s just so hard for me to get there.” “I know,” Rikker said. “The thing is, each new person who learns the truth lets you breathe a little easier. And then the one after that is a little easier. And so on.”

There was a pause, and then his mother said, “I think I’ll pick up coffee and muffins.” Graham sat up and looked at me, and I waited for the inevitable look of panic to cross his face. But it didn’t. Instead, there was just a rumpled, sweet expression that made me want to reach for his naked body. “Hey, Mom?” he called, his voice still thick from sleep. “Can you grab a cup for Rikker too?”

When it shut behind me, I heard her voice. “I just love that boy.” “He’s taken,” Graham replied.

For a long second, I just went still. It occurred to me that I could jerk my hand off of Rikker. Any other day, I would have done just that. But for once in my sorry life, there were more important things to worry about. So I took a long breath in through my nose, and left my hand right where it was. “We need to borrow a car,” I said.