Howdy. I know this has been a long time coming. I hope that this is a fitting end to the story. I'm excited for this year. I hope to publish as often as possible. We all could use a little more love. So, with all the love, Artie
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Long tan legs maneuvered carefully around the brush and loose rocks in the dim pre-sunrise haze. Jake had taken off his sweats, complaining that he was getting overheated an hour ago. I wasn't complaining about seeing more of my boyfriend. In fact, I preferred seeing him nude. Ignoring my own discomfort, I kept on my loose fitting Coyotes sweatpants. I was thankful for the exercise though Jake joked that I clearly needed to do more cardio and elevation training if I was sweating from our easy hike. No, the hike wasn't the difficult part despite what felt like a fifty-pound weight nestled in my pocket.
My phone buzzed quietly and my eyes flicked back up to Jake. He had cycled through a hundred different haircuts through the years, but he had never dyed it. The sun would break soon I would get to see the honey blond streaks that I loved to run my fingertips through. As if he could feel my gaze, his body turned and there he was. The smile was the one he only gave to me, wide and gleaming. The first time I saw that smile, I could barely breathe. The effect was no less devastating now.
"We're going to miss the sunrise, slowpoke."
I shrugged, "That's okay, I already have a pretty good view." I smirked at the way his exaggerated eye roll but I didn't miss the slight color that hit his cheekbones or the extra bounce in his step.
His concern was unfounded. There was no way we were going to miss the sunrise. I had carefully planned this day for months. I had hiked to the Piestewa Peak twice to ensure I knew exactly how long it would take to get there. I had factored in Jake wanting to stop and look at animals and flowers and his slightly shorter legs. The summit climb was labeled as a difficult hike and not for the first time, I wondered if this was a good plan. I had signed so many forms and had to pay a nearly prohibitive amount of money in permits to have the trail to ourselves. The pre-dawn hike was treacherous but Jake had handled it like it wasn't a big deal, smiling and joking the whole way.
He had been shocked I was willing to go for a hike at four in the morning, citing my inability to wake up before noon. Little did he know that I hadn't slept. There was no way I was going to sleep through my proposal or forget the ring. No, I lay beside him satiated just to be near him but my anxiety kept me alert throughout the night.
My phone buzzed again and I snuck the device out:
Good luck Holtsy.
Mikhalov, the media portrayed him as a monolithic defenseman without morals or empathy but he as just a big Russian softie. He had helped me shop for rings, I've never seen a store clerk so traumatized as two giants started quizzing her on clarity and karats.
Eventually, I had decided on a ring. I would have wanted the largest stone that the jeweler could get their hands on. But in deference to Jake's pitiful sense of decorum, I opted for something that I would make him happy. The band sported smaller diamonds that would wrap around his finger proclaiming him officially mine— if he said yes.
The peak looked different this time. The rocky outcropping had the first rays of sun caressing them. I heard Jake's soft exhale. Casting an eye over at him I was reminded how beautiful he was. Five years since we had met and he had only gotten more handsome. At twenty-three his jaw line sported a faint scruff, giving him a masculine air. He stood taller than he used to, more comfortable in his body.
This was it. I could keep my heart beat at 160rpm for 17 minutes on a bicycle but right now, I could feel it speeding out of control. I hadn't felt like this since the first time we met:
Five Years Ago
I groaned as I tried to escape the blare of the alarm clock. I resisted the urge to chuck the aggravating device across the room. I had shattered a few phones that way when I used the alarm app. Now I used a military grade metal plated one.
Six AM. There shouldn't even be a six in the morning. For half a second, I indulged in the thought of rolling over and going back to sleep. My alarm hadn't turned off, instead growing in pitch and increasingly frantic. Sighing, I pushed myself up and slapped the off button, throwing the room back into blissful silence.
Stretching out my muscles, I went to the dresser to pull out my workout gear. My clothes and hockey stuff were the only things I had unpacked. I wasn't going to waste my time moving everything around only to move it somewhere else in a year. Buffalo itself was just an unfortunate detour. My room was wrong, the house was wrong, all of Buffalo was wrong. I scrubbed my hand over my face. One more year. One more year until I could get away, get out of high school and play in the NHL.
I was over my canned responses that I was excited that I got an extra year to train. I was done with all the bullshit. High school was definitely bullshit. What was I going to do with my knowledge of the noble gasses while I was skating? Or the geography of Africa? Nothing. This was a time suck.
Brushing my hands through my hair, I pulled on a ratty tank top and a pair of basketball shorts. One more year, I repeated underneath my breath as I tied my shoes, of six 'o' clock mornings to fit in some semblance of a workout.
Stepping out into a brisk morning, I grimaced at the general gray hue of the city. It was the end of Summer for fuck's sake. It shouldn't already look like February. I had liked Minnesota, even though their winters were pretty dreary. Moving had been my dad's idea. Apparently, Minnesota's hockey hadn't been competitive enough, that was what we told everyone.
I had grown out of doing clinics with the Wild. I was too good for them and my protracted affair with one of their bright young stars had put a sour taste in my mouth—several times a day. My welcome was worn with the Wild and I suspected that Reese had been the catalyst for my dad moving us out of town in a hurry.
We hadn't spoken a lot since we moved. We had movers pack up the house and we drove. Luckily we both had cars so we didn't have to sit in silence. Dad wasn't pissed about me being caught with a man. Nope, he was pissed it might jeopardize my hockey career. Hockey was both of our lives. It might seem a little mercenary but my dad stood to make a lot of money when I got signed. We both knew it; he deserved it after raising me alone.
He had paid for the skates, the lessons, the leagues, the ice time, more food than most families could hope to eat. He did it for me. He had been the man to lace up my skates when I was younger. The first time my blade slid over the ice, I knew that was going to be what I was going to do for the rest of my life.
I started to run faster, letting the speed and miles bleed together: not quite anaerobic but pushing my comfort level.
I had been smaller than the other kids when I was growing up, strange as it seems now that I towered over everyone. But when I was small, I got pushed around on the ice. My father told me to be faster. He dad timed me as I sprinted up the ice and back, blue line to blue line. I got better, stopped letting them take the puck from me. Started making plays and making better lines and team. I practiced surgical hand training to teach myself precision. When I eventually hit my growth spurt I wasn't just relying on my size. Hell, I even took figure skating: I could three turn with the best of them.
It was in figure skating that I realized I was gay for the first time, one of my dorky friends had been exclaiming how lucky I was to get to lift up the girls. I hadn't even thought of that and then when I did—nothing. The prospect of executing a difficult lift was way more interesting than that my hand was several inches away from her crotch. It didn't bother me much—being gay. By the time anyone would have had something to say, I was way too big for them to say it to me.
Eminem blasted in my ears as I turned the last corner before my house. Slowly decelerating, I walked stretching out my hamstrings. Whipping off my shirt, I scrubbed the fabric over my torso, drying off. My phone kept my stats and as I opened the door, I was impressed at my pace. 6: 51 average was pretty respectable, with a fastest mile of a 6:22.
