Icebreaker

by A.L. Graziadei

So, being both depressed and anxious at the same time is absolutely wild.

There’s a flash of something hot and dangerous through my chest. I feel my eyes widen, my heart stutter. Jaysen makes being violently pissed off look good.

He’s just hot And infuriating

It feels like the wrong thing to say. This is why I usually don’t talk. Nothing I say is ever right.

I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out in a huff before looking back at Jaysen. He sniffs, scrunches his nose, and keeps his eyes on the ground between our feet when he says, “Your eyes are a nice color.”

And Jaysen likes the color of my eyes, and my haircut, and my voice. Now I’m gonna be thinking about that all day.

Sometimes I even sit there and tell myself I am way too privileged to be depressed and that I need to suck it up.

His smile has never been more beautiful than it is now. Shy. And genuine. And at least in part because of me.

It’s so obvious. I’m so obvious. Why can’t anyone see what’s really going on? I love hockey. I do. I swear. My brain just doesn’t let me show it or feel it or … or …

Of course I like to have fun. It’s just that sometimes my brain doesn’t want to let me.

Jaysen: To be fair I do find you pretty okay to look at That whole dead inside thing you got going on? Right up my alley

Every time I score and Cauler puts a hand on top of my head and pulls me in for a hug, I feel my heart stop.

“You looked like a Chihuahua taking on a mastiff,” Cauler says. “Like an angry little puppy. Adorable.”

page?” he asks softly, a slight tremor in his voice. “Same page,” I almost whisper.

“You don’t need a reason to be depressed,” I say automatically. “It’s chemistry.”

“I’m bi.” It comes out blunt, all the nerves wiped out by his grin. “That’s great, Terzo.” He twists his hand to grab my forearm and haul me to my feet. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Depression doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve been through, she said. It’s an illness that can happen to anyone.

It makes me miss him.

“Then there’s this,” Dad adds, quiet and cautious as he reaches out to tug on the sleeve of my hoodie. But it’s not my hoodie. It’s big enough to engulf my hands and hang halfway down my thighs. Because it’s Cauler’s.

“Nothing makes me happy. Not really. It’s not even that I don’t like hockey, it’s just … I don’t like anything. Not enough to matter. All I ever wanted with hockey was a choice.

“But what if I take too long and miss the cut? What if I never figure it out?” “You will,” Dad insists. “The most important thing is taking care of yourself.” “We’ll get you through this,” Mom adds. She kisses me on the shoulder and presses her face against my back, both of them holding me together as I fall apart.

doesn’t erase the years of absence. But in this moment, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Cauler just looks at me for a long moment before he says, “What can I do?”

MY HEART.

“Hey.” Cauler raises a hand to my face, letting it hover near my jaw, not quite touching. He waits for me to look him in the eye. “Can I?” I swallow hard. “Yeah.” He traces his cold fingers along my jawline, pushes them into the hair at the nape of my neck, and pulls me against his chest. I melt into him, wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him tight.

“I don’t wanna be just another one of your former teammates,” he says into my hair. “I wanna be able to call you after your games and make fun of the faces you made on the bench or freak out about a sick play you made, and I want you to call and ask about mine and I want to wake up to texts from you. I want to be the one you call when you’re having a rough time.”

He smiles, so soft and beautiful it makes my heart stop for a second or two. I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me like that before.

“Then let’s do this right,” he says. He steps back enough to hold my hands between us. He lifts one up to brush his lips against my knuckles. My knees feel weak. “Mickey Liam James III. Will you be my boyfriend?”