Chapter Text
Summer’s Killing Us
A time for more to happen sooner, a time to be a person you still know.
To float a while on your sure power, 'til you say "Canada lost, go home".
Summer exists in a doorway.
Summer exists at the fair.
Summer is forever changes.
Summer's taking me all the way.
Summer was endless, and it had only just begun. The heat seemed to have settled on the entire lower mainland like a blanket, temperatures uncharacteristically high for so early in July. Or anytime, in BC. Marcus wiped the sweat from his brow as he hauled his gear from the back of his pick up, eager to get inside the arena, back to a more respectable temperature.
The arena delivered as promised, he breathed a sigh of relief once the doors closed on the stifling heat. Here it was bearable, although the chill calm of the ice beckoned. No matter the weather outside, he always loved being on the ice, everything else seemed to fade away with the sound of his skates and a stick in his hands.
“Hiya Jeff,” he said, waving to the rink attendant.
“Hey Marcus. Still hot as shit out there, eh?” Jeff asked as Marcus approached him.
Marcus laughed. Talking about the weather was a provincial pastime. “Sure is,” Marcus replied. “How's the hockey camp going?”
“Great,” Jeff said. “My little guy has finally figured out that the puck goes in the net, pretty soon he'll be giving you a run for your money!”
Marcus laughed again. Jeff's son was 4 years old, he and his hockey camp age-mates hardly constituted a threat. “I'll keep an eye on him.”
“You do that,” Jeff said. They stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the Zamboni clear all signs of the kids from the ice, leaving it smooth for the afternoon sessions. Marcus had lucked out, finding the 45 minute slot between mini hockey camp and the summer figure skating class. Summer ice time was at a premium as only one ice surface was maintained in the heat, but fortunately for him he was willing to take a shorter slot, and he had the money to pay for it.
“You mind sharing the ice a bit, toward the end of your slot?” Jeff asked after the Zamboni had made its final turn, heading back into the bowels of the arena.
“What, with the figure skaters?” Marcus asked, surprised. The kids who practiced after him were hardly training for the Olympics, he couldn't fathom why they would need the time so badly.
“Not the kids, they've been pushed back a half hour,” Jeff clarified. “Some kid from England, real talent, or so Andrew tells me. Has taken some time off this year and needs the practice before the competitive season, and you know how tight the schedule gets around here. Thought maybe you could share the ice for a few minutes, if it's no trouble.”
“Just the one skater?” Marcus asked and Jeff nodded his confirmation. Marcus shrugged, it was a fair sight better than the usual half-dozen giggling twelve year old girls. They often came early and watched Marcus finish his drills, big eyes staring at him incessantly until he wanted to aim a slap-shot right into their little group.
“Not a problem,” Marcus said. “I'm glad to help out.”
“You're just glad all your little groupies won't be around to make doe eyes at you anymore,” Jeff said shrewdly, smirking at Marcus' best innocent face.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Marcus said quickly. “But you're wasting my ice time. Later.” Jeff laughed as Marcus turned, heading along the boards toward the doorway that led down to the changing rooms. He didn't need his full kit for solitary drills and practice, but it was more comfortable to lace up his skates there. He used the quiet to focus his mind, going over the drills in his head as he taped his sticks, gathering up his bag of pylons and pucks and a water bottle before pulling on his gloves and leaving the dressing room.
He dropped the bag and bottle, choose a stick and then stepped out onto the freshly resurfaced ice. There it was, that feeling he always came back for, the blades on his skates scratching the ice rhythmically as his strides lengthened until he was whipping around the rink, the chill fading as he pushed himself faster and faster. A sense of freedom came over him then; a freedom he had never felt anywhere else, the smell of the ice, the familiar feel of the stick in his hands, shifting his body so that he was skating backwards, then forwards, then backwards again, figure-eighting his way around the surface until the peace had settled into his bones and his breath began to come harder.
Suddenly he threw all his weight to the side, sending a spray of ice onto the rubber mat where his bag and bottle sat, coating them with a layer of white crystals. He grinned to himself, he'd always liked stopping as hard as he could, seeing how high he could get the ice to spray. Perhaps it was childish, but it made him happy.
He took a few swigs of water before grabbing the bag, taking it onto the ice and laying pucks along the blue line as well as in random spots in the face off circles. Jeff knew his habits well enough to have only pulled the one net onto the ice, so Marcus set up pylons throughout the neutral zone as well as the opposite end.
Once he was done he tossed the bag to the side and grabbed a stick, building speed once more, skating deftly around the pylons before picking up a puck and doing the whole thing again, the route made more difficult by all the stick handling needed to carry the puck along with him. It was one of Marcus' strengths, in some part due to his constant practice, adjusting the pylons to keep him from becoming accustomed to their positions, laying the pucks in random places so he wouldn't become complacent. He always had the advantage over his teammates once training began, and this was the reason why. He knew he was lucky, not many of the other boys could afford to purchase consistent ice time, especially during the summer, but Marcus didn't let it bother him. He had the advantage and he wasn't ashamed to use it. Besides, none of the other boys wanted, needed a place in the NHL as much as Marcus did. Very few of them had a shot anyway, unlike him.
This would be his final year of high school and, he hoped, his final year playing for a junior league. He knew he'd been scouted before, he couldn't help but be. There was talk of sending him to the draft the following June, he'd be eighteen the August following the draft, only just meeting the age requirements. He was determined to win a spot, so he practiced every chance he could get. Summer did not equal vacation time, not to a young NHL hopeful.
That day, as always, the time passed quickly, and before he knew it, he heard the tell tale sound of another pair of skates on the ice. He ignored it for the time being, focusing instead on the left top corner of the net, where he was attempting to place the pucks he'd laid out in a diagonal line from the blue line to the bottom of the face-off circle. It took skill and concentration, getting all his shots in the same spot, the angle steadily decreasing as he made his way further into the zone. It was worth the practice, his unerringly accurate wrist-shot was spoken of in hushed whispers and feared by every goalie in the league. Constant practice had made finding the right shot second nature, he rarely failed to place the puck where he wanted it, goalie or not.
He let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding when the last of the pucks joined its predecessors in the empty net, skating over to gather them together for placement on the opposite side of the rink for his next series of shots. He'd almost forgotten about the figure skater, until a voice called out.
“Oi, hockey boy,” it said in a crisp British accent, and Marcus stopped in shock, spinning around. He had been expecting some too-thin, snobbish, pampered girl, but the voice that called him was decidedly male. When he saw the boy it belonged to his mouth dried up and his jaw dropped open.
Skating toward him was the exact opposite of every expectation he had. The guy was short, lean, topped off with a messy patch of dirty blond hair. He wore loose stretchy pants not so different from Marcus' own, into them was tucked a tight black t-shirt, accenting every muscle of his chest and highlighting the wiry strength in his arms. The guy's posture was perfect too, back straight, shoulders held back, making his chest look more defined, giving him an aura of readiness. He coasted smoothly across the ice, coming to a stop in front of Marcus who, having finally catalogued the rest, lifted his gaze to the boy’s face.
Marcus swallowed thickly, willing his tongue to work and respond, but it refused. Atop that damnably attractive body was a face with well defined features, high cheekbones, a straight nose, broad forehead and thin lips set in an exasperated line. His eyes were clear and grey, shrewd, raking over Marcus' features quickly. Added together, he was stunning, hard and beautiful and deadly as the ice.
“Hey,” Marcus croaked out, finally able to coax a sound from his slack jaw. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, hi. I'm Marcus.” He pulled off a glove and held out a sweaty hand for the figure skater to take, but he didn't offer his own, looking down at Marcus' outstretched hand with barely veiled revulsion.
“Lovely,” the bloke said, crossing his arms over his chest and holding his shoulders straighter, if such a thing was possible. “I was just wondering if you're done with the pylons. I'd like to get warmed up before Andrew gets here.”
“Oh,” Marcus said dumbly, dropping his hand and then running it through his hair in a nervous gesture. “Yeah, I uh...I'm done with them. Just practicing my wrist-shot, you know.”
“I'm sure I don't,” the boy said, lifting an eyebrow. “And I don't particularly care. You don't mind if I pick them up then?” he asked, although it was more like a statement of intent as he turned on a toe pick and skated toward the other end of the rink.
Marcus watched him go, stunned, unable to tear his eyes away from the long lines of his legs as they propelled him forward, his ass firm and perfectly framed in those pants. He was much more elegant in his movements than Marcus could ever dream to be, skating effortlessly, bending down to pick up one pylon after another with no break in movement, one leg extended as he turned from one to the next, fluid, graceful.
Marcus swallowed again, giving his head a shake and turning away. He skated over to where the bag lay, picking it up and turning in time to see the other boy coming ever closer, gliding across the ice on one blade, his hair ruffling in the breeze he had created. Instead of coming to a sudden halt as Marcus would have done, he spun quickly and looped around, slower this time, coming to a precise stop right in front of Marcus.
They just stared at each other for a moment, Marcus was having a hard time finding anything to say, his brain had quite forgotten why he was even there until the guy held up the pylons.
“You want these in there?” he asked, with a look of disdain, perhaps wondering if Marcus was simple. He certainly felt so, this guy tied his tongue and caused all brain function to cease. And he didn't even known the guy's name.
“Yeah, I, thanks,” he managed to get out, opening the bag and letting the other guy drop the stack of pylons in. “So, you're new here,” Marcus began, but the glare he received cut off that line of questioning. Marcus found himself wondering why he was bothering, but his mouth had other ideas.
“Uh, what's your name?” he tried again, this time getting a long suffering sigh from the other.
“I'm not here to make small talk, so what does it matter?” he replied, shaking out his arms and then reaching back behind his neck to stretch out his shoulder.
“I just thought that since we'll be sharing ice time, you could at least tell me who the fuck you are,” Marcus bit out, suddenly annoyed with this prickly, difficult Brit. “Or does my ice time mean so little to you?”
The guy glared at him again before shaking his head and responding. “Look, I'm sorry, I've just had a shitty year and I'm in a new place, it's too hot, I can't get ice time and nobody talks properly around here. I really just want to get on with my life, alright? I'm here to train, I'm not here to make friends.”
“Fair enough,” Marcus said, nodding. “But we're pretty friendly around these parts, so you'll just have to adjust.” He held out his hand once more, meeting the guy's eyes with a glare of his own. “I'm Marcus.”
The other looked down at Marcus' outstretched hand again before meeting his gaze once more. “I'm Esca,” he said at last. “But I'm not shaking your hand. You've had it inside that sweaty thing,” he gestured to the gloves that Marcus had abandoned at the edge of the rink, “and I can smell you from here. Cheers, mate.”
He turned without another word and skated across the ice, turning gracefully once more, building speed as Marcus had done, but with much more style. His skating wasn't powered by brute strength but by determination and skill. Marcus watched him for a moment until he came around again, glaring at Marcus as he passed by. Letting out a sigh, Marcus reached for his gloves, unable to stop himself from taking a sniff. They were musky with the smell of use, sweat mixed with leather producing a not so pleasant aroma. It wasn't all that bad, really.
Marcus pulled the gloves on and picked up his stick, heading back to his corner of the ice without a backward glance, though his thoughts never left the boy gliding around the ice behind him.
He missed half his shots, that round.
**
By the time he headed out of the dressing room, Marcus spied Andrew Parker on the ice with Esca, talking him through what appeared to be choreography of some kind and he paused to watch as Esca performed the moves, ending with a spin that had him rotating so fast it made Marcus' head spin. He turned away quickly, before he could get too involved in watching. The move wasn't the only thing about Esca that made Marcus' head spin.
**
The next day Marcus spent his ice time on edge, unable to focus and jumping at every sound, hoping and dreading that each one would herald Esca's arrival. Despite having told himself there was nothing to worry about, no reason to be interested, he couldn't stop his mind from replaying their interaction over and over. He was left confused, frustrated and, above all, almost desperate to see Esca again.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, he caught sight of Esca, pulling off his blade guards and tossing them aside before he slipped onto the ice with the same grace he had shown the day before. He gave Marcus a curt nod and glided past, stretching as he went, an act that did nothing to quell Marcus' interest in him.
On the next pass Marcus gave him a big grin, calling out, “hi Esca,” as he skated by. Esca turned around fluidly and raised an eyebrow before spinning once more and continuing his warm up, not sparing a word or another glance in Marcus' direction.
Marcus decided it was high time to practice his slap-shots.
**
Fifteen minutes later he packed it in, gathering his pucks and piling them all into the bag, daring one last glance at Esca before he went. He was surprised to see the other boy staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Thanks for picking up the pylons,” Esca said as he passed by, turning to meet Marcus' gaze, holding it until Marcus was certain he was going to crash into the boards. He didn't however, spinning at the last possible moment, moving toward the net at the other end of the rink.
“You're welcome,” Marcus called back, unable to keep his face from splitting wide into a smile of pleasure, pulling his gaze away again before he stared too long. He collected his things and headed down to the dressing room, nodding absentmindedly at Andrew on the way.
He still refused to acknowledge the feelings Esca provoked in him. He promised himself long ago that he could control them, that those feelings would do him no good in his life or career. Besides, Esca didn’t seem to want to give him the time of day, it was safe to assume he was definitely not interested in getting to know Marcus better.
Marcus told himself that it didn’t matter, and he almost believed it.
**
The rest of the July passed with more of the same, and continued into August. Esca slowly warmed up to Marcus' presence and with every encounter Marcus became more adept at hiding his responses, schooling his features into friendly enthusiasm instead of slack jawed gaping. Esca never ceased to be beautiful though, and it was a challenge for Marcus.
Soon they were speaking more than two sentences together, and once Esca even laughed at something Marcus had said, not that he could remember the words after they slipped off his tongue. All he remembered was Esca's mouth grinning widely, his teeth straight and white, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He'd given Marcus a pat on the shoulder before gliding off to continue his warm up, a gesture that had left Marcus frozen in place, trying to memorize the sensation. It was the first time they'd touched, though Marcus discouraged himself from hoping it wouldn't be the last.
The day that Marcus thought of as the day they became friends was just another stifling Friday. The heat spell had not lifted, if anything it had gotten hotter. Three weeks had passed without rain, and the word drought was being thrown around, something that made Marcus chuckle and roll his eyes in turn. Only in BC would three short weeks without rain be considered a drought. Seriously, he'd thought everyone would be thrilled, given how much they complained when it rained for three weeks straight.
It was the weather that Esca eventually used as a conversation starter, finally coming a little way out of his self-imposed shell. Marcus was sitting on the edge of the ice, re-taping the grip on his stick when he felt someone approaching. He knew it was Esca, the rhythm of his strides, awkward in his skates, was unmistakable. For one as short as he, he possessed remarkably long legs. Marcus struck the thought from his mind, it could only lead to more thoughts that would lead him into trouble.
Unexpectedly, Esca sat beside him, propping his feet up on the ice close enough that Marcus could smell his shampoo. His hair was most often messy, sticking up at random angles or falling into his face and Marcus found himself wondering if he'd ever come in contact with a hair brush, though the haphazard style did nothing to discourage his growing obsession.
“Just what is up with the weather here?” Esca broke the silence first, shocking Marcus, who turned to look at him in surprise. Esca wasn’t looking at him, staring out into the rink instead.
“I thought it rained here as much as it does back home, but I've been here for six weeks and I've yet to see it.”
“Oh, it rains,” Marcus replied, and turned his gaze back to the stick he was wrapping. “You just wait, you'll see rain.”
“Hmm,” Esca hummed, letting the silence fall between them again. Marcus was afraid to break it, certain that if he spoke Esca would get up and begin his warm up, ending any chance at further conversation. He could almost feel the heat Esca's body was producing, their shoulders almost touching.
“So do you play hockey for real, or do you just like to dick around?” Esca asked, and Marcus looked at him again. This time Esca was looking right at him, his gaze direct and unflinching. Maybe he had developed that stare as a way to compensate for being so small, or maybe it was just his personality, but Marcus couldn’t help but find it intimidating.
“I play for the Bruins,” he replied, holding Esca's gaze for a long moment before turning back to his stick. He'd basically finished, but he didn’t know where else to look.
“And they are?” Esca prodded, uncharacteristically.
“The local team, junior league,” he said, laying the stick beside him and leaning back against the open door, facing Esca, “We're not pro, but we're scouted often enough for the NHL. I'm hoping to get picked up in the draft next year,” Marcus volunteered, hoping Esca would keep talking with him.
“I don't understand anything you just said, then,” Esca said, and Marcus couldn't help but laugh.
“So you've never heard of me, then? Marcus Aquila?”
“No, should I have?” Esca responded, scrunching his brow.
“Nah,” Marcus denied. “Not really, not if you don't even know what the NHL is. I'm pretty well known around here though, been playing my whole life. I'm pretty good, so I've been told.”
“Are you now?” Esca said it with a smirk and Marcus wondered wildly if Esca was flirting with him. It was an insane idea so he put it out of his head as fast as it had come in. “I couldn't tell.”
“You'll have to come watch a game then, when the season starts up,” Marcus said, grinning back. “I'll show you just how good I can be.” Something flared inside Esca's eyes, something Marcus wanted to see more of, but it was gone before he could blink.
“Perhaps I will,” Esca replied, turning back toward the ice. It was quiet in the arena, muffled sounds coming from the front area beyond the rink but it was still and silent where they were. Marcus felt at peace again, for the very first time in the presence of another person.
Esca broke the silence once more, and Marcus was certain they'd shared more words that afternoon that they had the entire previous month. No complaints, though.
“You'll have to teach me the rules, then, or I won't have a clue what's going on,” he said, and Marcus' heart skipped a beat.
“You're on,” Marcus replied, almost unable to believe that not only was Esca talking to him, he was suggesting they spend time together. Outside the arena. Marcus' heart was pounding furiously. “You should come over and watch a game on the tv, and I'll tell you all about it.”
“Alright,” Esca said and they fell to silence again. It remained unbroken until Andrew arrived, at which point Esca demanded a pen and took Marcus' hand, scrawling a number across his palm and giving Marcus a cheeky grin.
“Call me, hockey boy,” he said. He pulled himself up and slid onto the ice, moving as if he was born there. Marcus stared at him for a long time before he found the will to get up. After he retreated to the dressing room, he made sure to enter Esca's number into his phone immediately, unable to stop himself from choosing a sound bite from ‘Everytime You Go’ as a personal ringtone. Which was crazy since Esca didn’t even have his phone number.
**
Marcus' phone burned a hole in his pocket the entire night. Every time it rang he jumped, half expecting it to be Esca, although he knew that Esca didn't have his number. He had to stop himself from calling right away, it wasn’t like Esca was a girl who he was trying to date. He had plans on Saturday anyway, so he told himself he'd call after that, and invite Esca over on Sunday. Yes, that's what he'd do.
Saturday dragged by, kicking and screaming, or so it seemed to Marcus. Usually he looked forward to hanging out with his friends, most of them had to work and a few were even in summer school, so he rarely saw them during the week. Saturdays were set aside for hanging out, playing video games, swimming, hiking, baseball, soccer, football...the guys always wanted to play something other than hockey, which annoyed Marcus a bit. He would play nothing but if he was given the choice, but it wasn't only up to him. Besides, Saturday was booked solid at the arena, and road hockey didn't cut it. Marcus loved the ice, the freedom he felt when he was on it, the sounds and the smells. He'd play road hockey, sure, but it just wasn't the same.
It was a moot point anyway, and that day the other guys wanted to play the latest video game, some big thing, newly released and all the rage, but Marcus couldn't bring himself to care. He'd never been one for video games, he'd always wanted to be outside doing something, mostly hockey. He was often mocked for his single mindedness, but he didn't care. At least he had a direction, which was more than he could say for most of his friends.
“Earth to Marcus!” someone called, jarring him out of his reverie.
“What?” he said, looking around, noticing belatedly that the machine was off, the game over, apparently. He'd been too busy staring at Esca's name on his contact list to realize that his friends were gathering their things.
“Dude, what the fuck is up with you today?” Dale remarked.
“Yeah, you've been playing with your phone all day,” came another voice, belonging to Luke Torus, one of his teammates and probably his best friend. “He must have a new number, boys!” Luke hooted, and Marcus hated him just a little.
“Ooh, got a new girl, have you?” Dale said, trying to grab his phone. Marcus locked it quickly, pocketing it and pushing himself into a standing position.
“Not at all,” he said, brushing himself off and looking around. “We going for lunch, then?” he said in an attempt to change the subject. He was in no such luck, apparently.
“It's dinner time, actually,” Dale said and the others laughed.
“He's definitely got a girl, boys!” called Robert, another teammate. “'Fess up, Marcus, who is she?”
“Yeah, are you gonna share or what?” Luke said, closing the distance between them and narrowing his eyes at Marcus. Luke was pretty observant actually, and he could usually read Marcus like a book. If anyone was to figure out his little secret, it would be Luke.
“No, I'm not, actually,” Marcus said in his firmest tone. “Besides, there's no girl, I'm just thinking about the draft, that's all.” He knew they'd never let it go unless he gave them something they'd believe.
“You and the fucking draft!” Dale said, laughing along with the rest. “The draft isn't until next year, give it a rest, will ya?” He smacked Marcus on the shoulder, not as hard as he'd probably wanted to, but then Dale was several inches shorter and not built anywhere near as solid as Marcus.
“Let's go to dinner, eh?” Luke said, redirecting everyones attention to their stomachs, a tactic Marcus had employed in similar situations in the past. It never failed to work. The guys all headed for the door, jostling each other as they went, calling goodbyes to Dale's mother, who must have been thrilled to see them go.
Marcus headed for the door as well, followed closely by Luke, who put a hand on his shoulder, letting the others get a bit ahead of them.
“Seriously though, what's up today?” Luke asked, giving Marcus a concerned look. “You've been a bit off for a few weeks, but today you're completely out of it. And it's not the draft either, so don't try that on me. Is your uncle okay?”
“Yes, my uncle is fine, thanks for asking,” Marcus replied, shrugging Luke's hand from his shoulder. “And I haven't met a girl, I've just been thinking things over, you know? This is a big year for us. Graduation and the draft, the whole ‘getting a real life’ thing.”
“Yeah, it is. Especially for you,” Luke agreed and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. He just couldn't think of a good way to tell his best friend that he was trying not to have a crush on an impossible British figure skater, never mind a male one. Luke would not understand, no one would. It was best left hidden, he was just going to have to get a better handle on it, that was all. He determined to put Esca out of his mind, for now at least, and to stop mooning over the guy like a bloody ninth grade girl. He was better than that.
“Yeah,” Marcus said, turning his attention back to his friend, picking up his pace to rejoin the others.
**
He didn't make it home until late that night, too late, he thought, to call someone, especially someone whose habits he was unaware of. So he collapsed onto his bed after stripping out of his dirty clothes. They'd ended up playing some football after dinner, until it got too dark to see the ball, and then they went to Robert's house, where he produced a case of beer and another of the guys had pulled out a bag of weed. Which of course made it officially 'pick on Marcus' day.
He rolled over onto his back, scrolling through his contacts again until he found Esca's name, staring at it as he remembered the ribbing he'd taken that night for refusing to partake in either. He'd never been one for indulgence, always having been a serious child, even when he was very young. He wasn't certain if he'd always been that way, but losing one's family at a young age and being raised by a very stoic uncle would do that to anyone, he thought.
At any rate, Marcus was an athlete, more dedicated than the others could understand. Getting stoned or wasted wasn't going to help him improve his skills on the ice, never mind increase the chances that he would get drafted next year. It certainly wouldn’t help his intelligence, either.
His friends called him stiff-necked, stuck in the mud, party-pooper, pussy and a whole range of other names meant to bully him into following their dubious lead, but Marcus wasn't a follower. He was coming to realize more and more that he was nothing like his friends and never would be. They didn't understand that hard work was its own reward, it increased strength, stamina and intellect, it gave him insights they'd never attain. They disdained his practice schedule and mocked him for his single minded pursuit of his goal, but Marcus didn't let them get to him. Much.
Besides, none of them had any real aspirations, and Marcus couldn't imagine living that way. Even Luke, though he wanted to play hockey professionally, didn't take the game as seriously as Marcus thought he should. He'd be lucky if he was taken higher than the fourth or fifth round in the draft, if at all. Marcus wanted to go in the first. The first.
So he'd spent the evening picking up after his friends, ignoring the sometimes good natured ribbing and imagining what Esca was doing. Esca who worked as hard as Marcus did, Esca who knew what it was like to have a goal and what needed to be done to reach it. His thumb traced Esca's name a few more times. It was still too late to call. With a sigh he put the phone on his bedside table and threw an arm over his face, pushing the day out of his mind, wishing he could forget the whole thing. Tomorrow, he hoped, he'd get to hang out with Esca instead. He smiled at the prospect and, before too long, drifted off to a much needed sleep.
**
It was almost 9am when Marcus woke up, the sun was high in the sky and heating his room far too much for comfort. He dragged his sluggish body out of bed and to the toilet, imagining how much worse the others must feel. It had been months since he'd slept so late, practice was always at the crack of dawn and Marcus got up early enough, even during the summer. He knew he'd get the best sleep with a proper schedule, so he kept to it, no matter what. He may have gotten up late, but there was no reason to waste the day, so he began some stretches, working his body through his usual routine, stretches giving way to push ups, sit ups, lunges and then to the chin up bar his uncle had installed for him.
He was covered in a light sheen of sweat before he was done, but he skipped the shower, heading downstairs for a light breakfast instead. After breakfast he usually spent some time in the pool, not only doing laps for stamina, but weight exercises, made more difficult with the resistance of the water. By the time he was done, it was just after 11am, so he had a shower before heading down for Sunday lunch with his uncle.
But first, he sat on his bed and picked up his phone, trying to psych himself up to call Esca. It was a good time, he thought, and he had no real plans for the afternoon. If he was lucky, neither would Esca. Only one way to find out, so he found Esca's number and pressed send, taking a deep breath before lifting the phone to his ear.
Shit, he really was like a little girl. The other end was picked up after the first ring, and Esca's voice answered.
“Hello,” he said and Marcus could hear some music in the background.
“Hi, Esca, it's Marcus,” he said, clearing a sudden lump in his throat. “I was wondering if you're free this afternoon.”
“Yeah,” Esca said, and suddenly the music was turned down. His voice was clearer, more intense. Marcus shivered. “You gonna teach me all about hockey, are you?”
“Sure, if you're up for it,” Marcus said with a grin, laying back on his bed. “After lunch?”
“I'll have to take the bus, still don't have a license here,” Esca replied.
“I can come get you, if that's alright,” Marcus volunteered. He wanted to know everything about Esca, including where he lived. His heart beat just a little bit faster, thinking about Esca in his truck.
“That's fine. I'll bring a tape too, perhaps I can teach you something as well,” Esca said, and Marcus' heart skipped a beat at the teasing tone in his voice.
“I'm sure you could,” Marcus said with a chuckle. 'In more ways than one,' his traitorous mind provided. He sat up and fumbled for a pen and paper. “Give me your address, then.”
**
Esca lived downtown, way too far away for him to take the bus for Marcus' patience, so, as soon as his uncle was done giving him the third degree over his new friend, he grabbed his keys and headed out. He spent the drive downtown in a state of nervous anticipation, having to wipe his sweaty hands on his jeans more than once or risk losing his grip on the steering wheel.
He pulled up to Esca’s building and found a spot close to the front door before calling Esca again, as he’d been instructed. Esca was brief, picking up with a rushed, “I’ll be right down,” before ending the call, leaving Marcus staring at his phone in surprise.
Sure enough it was mere moments before he came out the front door of the building, dressed in loose fitting cargo pants and a baggy t-shirt, carrying a beaten up satchel. Marcus found himself bemoaning losing the view of Esca’s fine ass under those baggy pants, but he shook himself back to the present and grinned as Esca opened the passenger door and climbed in.
“Nice truck,” he said as he fastened his seatbelt. “I just can’t get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, though.”
Marcus laughed, guiding the truck back into traffic, on the right hand side.
“It’s not the wrong side over here,” he said, shooting Esca a grin. “Guess you’ll have to get used to it if you’re gonna get yourself a license, won’t you?”
“I suppose I will,” Esca said, crossing his arms over the satchel and staring thoughtfully out the window. Marcus forced his eye back on the road.
“Do you mind?” Esca asked a few moments later, gesturing to Marcus’ iPod, which was piping The Tragically Hip through the truck’s speakers.
“Sure,” he said, grinning again. “If you find something you like, go ahead.”
Esca grinned back, picking up the iPod and flipping through, checking out Marcus’ playlists. “Who is this?” he asked as he browsed, gesturing to the speakers.
“Only the best band ever,” Marcus replied. “The Tragically Hip. They rule Canada, basically, and they earned it.”
“Cool,” Esca said. “I’ll have to give them a try.” But he switched it anyway, and the first few bars of 'Falling for the First Time' blared through the speakers.
“Ahh, another great Canadian band,” Marcus remarked, shooting a glace at Esca from the corner of his eye, wondering if there was any significance in his song choice.
“I've grow quite fond of them in the time I've been here,” Esca said, beating the rhythm on the dash. “A lot of fun, aren't they?” Marcus agreed and they launched into a discussion of which music they did or didn’t like, making the ride seem faster than usual, and soon they were pulling into the drive of the house Marcus shared with his uncle.
“Wow, this is where you live?” Esca asked, taking in the house with awe filled eyes. “It's huge.”
“Yeah, it's pretty big, alright. I guess I'm used to it, I've lived here since I was three,” Marcus said, trying to see the house as though for the first time. It was rather large and impressive. “Come on, I'll show you around. You'll have to meet my uncle, good luck with that.”
Marcus and Esca climbed out of the truck, heading for the front door. “Why would I need luck?” Esca asked.
“He's an original. And not to be taken too seriously,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes. “He's really great, raised me by himself, but now that he doesn't need to be the parental figure so much, he's a little less likely to curb his tongue.” Esca furrowed his brow and Marcus just chuckled. “You'll see.”
Marcus opened the door, gesturing Esca into an impressive foyer, with a set of wide stairs leading to the upper floor. To the left it opened into a formal living area and to the right there were several doors in a hall leading to the back of the house. Marcus kicked off his shoes and Esca did the same, following Marcus to the first door on the right side, waiting as Marcus knocked, then opened the door to a murmured summons.
“Uncle, I'm back,” Marcus said, moving aside to let Esca into the room. It was a large space with minimal furniture, displayed on the walls were pictures of various properties and landscapes, framing a seating area in the corner. At the L shaped desk adjacent to the door sat a silver haired man with a wide, welcoming smile, Marcus' uncle.
“Come in, come in,” he said, standing and moving around the desk to shake Esca's hand. Marcus watched closely, seeing how his uncle looked Esca up and down, seeming to take his measure in seconds.
“Uncle, this is Esca MacCunoval,” Marcus said. “Esca, my uncle Francesco Aquila.”
“Call me Frankie,” his uncle replied, dropping Esca's hand. He stepped back and looked back at Marcus. “You never told me he's such a wee little lad, did you?”
Marcus rolled his eyes, but his uncle was undeterred. “So you're the figure skater. Marcus has told me you've been practicing with him these last few weeks. Why he waited until today to tell me, I've no idea, but then, he's reticent like that.”
“He's been sharing his ice time with me, so I can warm up before my coach arrives,” Esca said, provoking another wide smile from Marcus’ uncle.
“And a Brit too,” he exclaimed, giving Marcus a shove. They were of a height and although his uncle had grow soft over the years, he possessed the same build Marcus did. They were often mistaken for father and son, not that Marcus minded. It was basically the truth anyway.
“I spent quite a lot of time in England when I has a young man, lovely place. Wonderful accents, all over. Where are you from?” he asked, staring avidly at Esca's face, gauging his responses.
“Billingham,” Esca said, giving Marcus a look that conveyed his understanding of Marcus' warning. His uncle was rather talkative and inquisitive. Marcus had learned how to deflect him, mostly.
“Ahh, a northern boy, good for you. What made you decide to forsake the land of your forefathers to join us here in the frozen north?” Marcus snorted at the last statement, earning him another shove from his uncle and a smirk from Esca. Marcus liked his smirk.
“Rainy north, more like,” Marcus commented. His uncle rolled his eyes, turning back to Esca.
“Training,” Esca answered simply. “I needed a coach who could keep up with me.”
“Modest too,” Uncle said, beaming at Esca again. “Well, you're welcome here, at any rate. And much more polite than Marcus' other friends, unruly ruffians that they are.”
“Uncle, please,” Marcus said. “Leave them out of it, will you?”
“Yes, yes, fine,” his uncle said, rolling his eyes and waving off Marcus' concern. “We won't discuss how there's not a single one with any real ambition or work ethic, and we certainly won't mention how many of them haven't mastered the art of basic sentence structure.”
“Uncle,” Marcus tried to interrupt, but his uncle waved him off once more.
“Now Marcus, you know I adore those boys, which is why I have such high standards for them. But this lad, now here's a boy who I'd like to get to see around more often. You two go along and do...whatever it is you're going to do-” Marcus groaned as his uncle winked at both of them in turn. “-and I'll leave you to it. Good to meet you, Esca, I hope to see you again.”
He took Esca's hand and shook it again before giving Marcus another shove and sitting behind his desk, immediately picking up a pen and writing on the pad in front of him. Marcus gestured at the door and Esca needed no further cues, darting into the foyer again with Marcus right behind him.
“Oh boys?” came his uncle's voice from the room, just before Marcus could pull the door shut. “Dinner is at six.”
“Yes, uncle,” Marcus said, closing the door firmly and leaning against it with a huff.
“I see what you mean,” Esca said, his eyes wide with amusement.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Actually, you got off pretty easily, dinner might be another thing altogether.” Marcus headed down the hallway, calling over his shoulder, “come on, I'll show you the rest of the house.”
The tour didn't last too long, though they stopped in the kitchen for drinks, where Marcus introduced Esca to Sassy, their cook and housekeeper, who patted Esca's cheeks and pronounced him acceptable.
When they finally made it up to Marcus' room, Esca closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Marcus laughed.
“They can be a bit much at times,” Marcus agreed, searching through his collection for the game he wanted to play for Esca.
“Wow, your room is great,” Esca remarked, looking around. “It's like your own little suite up here.”
“Yeah, all I need is a kitchenette and I'll never have to leave,” Marcus agreed. “Sassy used to bring me meals up here while my uncle was off working, but he put a stop to that right away. He insists we eat together, or at least I eat meals downstairs.”
Esca nodded, dropping his satchel by the door and flopping down on the couch behind Marcus. “Are she and your uncle...” he trailed off, his meaning obvious.
“No,” Marcus said quickly. “Hell no. My uncle hired her shortly after I came here, to help him out since he's often busy in the evenings and to cook for us. He's a shit cook, though she's been able to teach me a thing or two.”
“Ahh,” Esca said. Marcus had found the right disc and popped it into the player, grabbing the remote and sitting beside Esca on the couch.
“Besides, I still think he's got a thing with his business partner,” Marcus commented while waiting for the game to start.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, they're a little too close for just friends, if you know what I mean. Stephan is alright though, I'm sure you'll meet him later.” Marcus found the right entry on the disc and started it, glancing sideways at Esca to judge his reaction to the possibility of his uncle being gay. Esca didn't even bat an eyelash.
“Right, so what do you know about hockey?” he said as the game began, the announcers voices droning on in the background.
“I know you play it on ice. With sticks. And you fight a lot,” Esca said and Marcus laughed.
“Well, we have our work cut out for us, don't we?” Esca gave him a friendly shove and Marcus' stomach gave a little flip. “Alright, so the game is played in three periods, each lasting twenty minutes.”
**
After they were done with the hockey game, during which Esca asked dozens of questions, he pulled out a dvd from his satchel and put it in, giving Marcus a lesson in figure skating, from moves to judging to politics. Marcus' head was spinning by the time 6pm rolled around, and his stomach was growling. Learning was hungry work, it seemed.
They made their way down to the kitchen, joining Marcus' uncle at the table. Sassy gave Marcus a kiss on the forehead and patted Esca on the cheek again, before calling her good byes over her shoulder as she headed for the door.
“Right then, let's eat,” Marcus' uncle said, picking up a dish and leading the way to the table. The boys followed his lead to the dining room where the table was already set.
“So, did you boys have a good afternoon?” Uncle.
Marcus nodded his response, his mouth full of wild mushroom risotto, one of his favorites. Sassy was a genius in the kitchen.
“It was enlightening,” Esca said. “I never realized there was so much involved with slapping a puck around the ice.”
“And we didn't even get into the strategy much,” Marcus added with a grin.
“Indeed,” his uncle agreed, nodding sagely. “Hockey is more complex than it seems to the casual observer and it's taken very seriously around here, especially by this one.” He pointed his fork in Marcus' direction.
“This is wonderful,” Esca remarked, taking another bite of the risotto.
“Marcus’ favorite, Sassy spoils him too much, I think,” Uncle said, shaking his head. “She says it’s to make up for him not having a mother, but I think she just likes to spoil him.”
“What happened to your mother?” Esca asked Marcus solemnly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“No, I don’t mind,” Marcus said. “It was a long time ago, I don’t really remember her. She died in a car crash.”
“Drunk driver,” Uncle added, his face grim. “Marcus was not even three, and his father brought him here shortly after. He was on the road all the time, so he couldn’t take care of the boy on his own.”
“You didn’t mind, did you?” Marcus asked, wondering for not the first time if his uncle held any resentment at having had to raise his nephew alone.
“No, not at all,” Uncle said, giving Marcus a fond smile. “I’d often complained I didn’t get to see you enough, and I knew I wouldn’t have a family of my own, so it was ideal, really. I’ve valued having you here all these years, and I’m not looking forward to you leaving. It’ll be lonely here all over again.”
“Sorry, Uncle,” Marcus said, patting him on the arm. “That’s the way life goes, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed, mores the pity. If I had a choice I’d keep you a fourteen year old forever. Just old enough to pick up after yourself and not need a baby sitter, but young enough that I didn’t have to worry about you driving that truck around town at all hours.”
“When have I ever done that?” Marcus asked, indignant.
“You haven’t, I admit,” Uncle answered with a smirk. “But you could start anytime. I’m not sure my ancient heart could handle the worry.”
“You’re not that old,” Marcus said, laughing. “Besides, I go to bed earlier than you, most nights.”
“Yes, you are as regular as the sun,” Uncle agreed, turning to Esca before continuing. “He’s a very self motivated young man, this one, sets himself a schedule and keeps to it. Up at dawn doing laps in the pool, in bed when most kids his age are just getting up.”
“Hey!” Marcus objected. “I’m not that bad.”
“If you insist,” Uncle said, with a wink at Esca. “It’s an admirable trait, Marcus, truly. I wish I was half as fastidious as you.”
“Well, I must have learned it somewhere,” Marcus said.
“Your father was a lot like that too, before,” he was interrupted by a loud knock on the front door, then a voice calling, “hello?” from the doorway.
“We’re in the kitchen!” Uncle hollered, making Marcus and Esca wince. Soon another man entered, as silver as Uncle and with a smile as wide.
“Good evening boys,” he said, pulling out the only remaining chair, opposite Esca, and sitting.
“Let me get you a plate,” Marcus said, standing up and padding into the kitchen.
“Esca, this is Stephan, my business partner. He’s an excellent asset, there’s no better eye in the real estate business, but he’s irredeemably late. This is why I see the clients and he does the paperwork.”
“Only if I must,” Stephan said with a cheeky grin. “It’s good to meet you, Esca. Do you play hockey with our Marcus?”
“No,” Esca said as Marcus set a plate and cutlery in front of Stephan. “I’m a figure skater.”
“And a British one, at that. You remember our trip to Britain, Frankie? Good time that, we should do it again soon.”
“We should,” Uncle agreed. “Before we get too old.” They shared a laugh, but Marcus just rolled his eyes at Esca.
“Oh, come on Frankie, these young lads don’t want to hear us reminisce about our glory days. They’re living theirs, aren’t you boys?”
“I can only speak for myself, but I have far too much practicing to do,” Marcus said, provoking a loud guffaw from Stephan.
“Soon then,” he said. “After you’re drafted you should take some time off to have fun.”
“If I am drafted I’ll have to work even hard to prove myself,” Marcus said. “You’ll just have to have some fun for me.”
“If you insist,” Stephan said, giving Marcus a hearty slap on the shoulder. “It’s a dirty job, but someone has got to do it.”
“You really should make some time to enjoy yourself, Marcus,” Uncle insisted. “You and Esca should go for a swim after dinner.”
“I swim every day,” Marcus said, looking at his plate.
“Laps,” Uncle said, shaking his head. “You swim laps, Marcus.”
“I have to keep in shape,” Marcus said.
“You don’t have to work that hard to keep in shape,” Stephan commented. “I’ve never seen anyone as fit as you are, especially at your age.”
“Esca’s as fit as I am,” Marcus pointed out and all eyes turned to Esca.
“And do you ever indulge yourself with fun, Esca?” Uncle asked.
“Occasionally,” Esca replied cautiously. “But Marcus is right. If I want to reach my goals, I have to work harder than everyone else. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for fun.”
“They spent the afternoon going over Marcus’ stash of games,” Uncle told Stephan. “No time for play, even at leisure.”
“Oh, what a pair these two make!” Stephan said with a laugh. “Both trying to out serious each other.”
“No telling who the victor will be,” Uncle joined in enthusiastically, laughing.
“Alright, alright,” Marcus said, standing up, clearing his dinner dishes. “Are you done?” he asked Esca.
“Very much,” he replied, following Marcus’ lead and clearing his dishes.
“Behave you two,” Marcus called back, leading Esca into the kitchen where they cleaned up their dishes and grabbed some pop from the fridge.
“Do you want to go swimming?” Marcus asked, trying not to look too hard at his motivations for asking.
“Sure,” Esca said. “Why not? Although it will play into their little game, you realize?”
“We’ll try not to have too much fun,” Marcus said with a laugh.
“You’re on.”
**
“There’s towels out in the cabana,” Marcus said as he led Esca out the the pool area. “Sassy usually keeps some trunks out there for me...wait, you don’t have anything to wear. I’d lend you mine, but I doubt they would fit.” He stopped and turned, but Esca went right past him, carrying on toward the pool.
“No problem,” Esca said, shooting a cheeky grin at Marcus over his shoulder. “I’ve got my skivvies.”
Marcus stood frozen for several moments before forcing one foot in front of the other and following Esca to the cabana to change. When he arrived he found Esca shirtless and undoing his pants. Marcus watched, dumbfounded as he bent over to push them down, pulling his socks off as well.
Marcus was only able to tear his eyes away from Esca’s barely covered ass when tempted with the sight of his long, muscular legs.
“Are you getting changed?” Esca asked, straightening and folding his pants, laying them on the bench atop his shirt. Marcus pulled his gaze away and pulled his own shirt off, turning away as Esca faced him again.
“I’ll only be a minute,” he said, grabbing his trunks from a shelf.
“I’ll meet you out there,” Esca said, and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief as he was left alone in the cabana. He was regretting having ever opened his mouth. He took a few extra minutes getting changed, convincing himself that he could handle this, that he had to handle it. He’d have no career if his secret got out, and all his hard work would be for nothing.
When he thought himself calm enough, he left the cabana, only to lose his cool once more at the sight of Esca crouching over the pool, using the net to drag a few leaves out of the water. He then lifted the net up, swinging it in an arc over his body to dump the leaves over the fence onto the grass.
Marcus was transfixed once more as drops of water spattered across Esca’s chest and shoulders. He forced himself to look away, calling, “you all set?” when Esca put the net away.
“You have a diving board, I can’t wait to try it out!” Esca said enthusiastically. “I haven’t been on one for months.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a diver too,” Marcus said, pushing aside his preoccupation to focus on what Esca was saying, not on what he was wearing.
“Don’t be ridiculous, hockey boy,” Esca said with a laugh, climbing up the ladder and then walking out onto the diving board. He bounced a little, testing out the tension before jumping, once, twice and launching himself into the air, twisting his body lazily in two full rotations before gravity kicked in, pulling him down into the water with surprisingly little splash.
By the time he came back to the surface, Marcus had climbed out onto the diving board. “You’ve never taken diving lessons, have you?” he said, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head at Esca, who was pulling himself out of the pool, no ladder needed. Marcus swallowed, focusing on his own dive, though it wasn’t near as showy as Esca’s.
When he resurfaced, Esca was sitting at the edge of the pool with his legs in, grinning at Marcus.
“I haven’t,” he said. “My old coach had me train on the diving board, to help me with jumps and spins. All the rotations, you know.”
“Ahh,” Marcus said, reaching the edge of the pool, crossing his arms on the deck and looking up at Esca, who was thankfully shielding him from the sun. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“It helped a lot, actually. It’s easier to train your body to do the revolutions when you give it a boost, and from there it was easier to get the jumps right. On the other hand, it didn’t help me learn how to stick the landings.” Esca was smiling down at him, his hair looking almost gold, silhouetted by the late evening sun. Marcus smiled back, his breathing growing heavier rather than lighter, the moment stretching impossibly.
Marcus had to do something to break the tension that was growing between them, so he reached up, letting his hand slide up Esca’s arm, his callused fingers catching slightly on Esca’s smooth skin. He shivered as goosebumps popped up under his fingers, but he kept going until he had a grasp of Esca’s elbow, then pulled with all his strength. It had the desired result, as Esca tumbled into the pool with a shout.
Marcus climbed out quickly, leaping onto the diving board and canon-balling into the water, splashing Esca just as he resurfaced.
“That does it!” Esca hollered once he’d pulled himself out of the pool again. He padded over to a bin on the poolside and pulled out a ball. “This is war, Aquila!” he said, tossing the ball at Marcus, who had just pulled himself up out of the pool. The ball hit him in the stomach and he fell back into the water with a laugh.
**
Once they’d exhausted themselves, they lay side by side on the deck chairs, soaking up the last of the day’s sunlight. Twilight was falling, and Esca looked as amazing in its light as he did in any other. Marcus sighed, wishing not for the first time that his life were less complicated, although he’d never before wished so hard that he could let go and just be himself.
Although, even if he could, there was no guarantee that Esca would be agreeable, so perhaps things were better the way they were.
“What time is it, do you reckon?” Esca asked, scratching his flushed shoulders.
“Time to get inside, by the look of you. You’ll probably have a bit of a burn, you pasty thing,” Marcus teased.
“I’ve never tanned well,” Esca remarked. “It won’t be the last time I’ve burned.”
Marcus twisted around to look at the clock his uncle had installed on the side of the house several years ago, so Marcus wouldn’t spend all day in the pool. “It’s almost 8:30.”
“Ahh, I’d better get going, then,” Esca said, standing and stretching. Marcus looked away, getting up as well.
“Your grandma worry about you out so late?” Marcus said with a smirk, earning a flick from Esca’s towel. He’d managed to get Esca to tell him a few things, namely that he’d moved in with his grandmother on his father’s side, admitting that he was lucky to have someone living in a place where he had located a coach who could help him progress in his skating.
“Knowing my Nan, she’ll probably be out when I get back,” Esca said, padding alongside Marcus toward the cabana. “Always out with one friend or another. It’s sad when your grandmother has a more active social life than you, you know?”
“Well, you’ve just moved, so it’s understandable,” Marcus said, nudging Esca’s shoulder with his elbow.
“I try and remind myself of that every time she heads out for another night on the town.” They shared a laugh as they entered the cabana, each grabbing their clothes and retreating into the changing stalls.
When Marcus had finished changing he pulled back the curtain on his stall to see Esca squeezing the water out of his briefs. Suddenly it occurred to Marcus that Esca was holding his underwear and therefore could not be wearing it. His eyes dropped to the top of Esca’s pants where they hung low, his hipbones visible under the waistband. He was unable to stop himself from imagining if the skin under that one flimsy layer of fabric was as soft as the skin on Esca’s arm had been.
He shuddered again as he had when he’d felt that skin first-hand, turning away to drop his towel in the hamper, looking up again only to be smacked in the face with Esca’s towel. As he peeled it from his head, he decidedly was not thinking about what part of Esca’s body it had recently dried. Esca laughed at him as he pulled on his t-shirt, and Marcus couldn’t help but grin back.
His denial was hanging by a thread and had been since he’d met Esca.
**
The drive back to town was quiet, in a comfortable way, which was nice. When he dropped Esca off in front of his building he said, “see you tomorrow.”
“You will,” Esca told him with a smile that Marcus returned, their gazes holding again as it had in the pool. Finally Esca broke the silence, saying, “goodnight, Marcus,” in a quiet, intense voice.
“Goodnight,” Marcus replied, swallowing thickly.
And Esca was off, disappearing into the building as Marcus leaned his head back and closed his eyes, breathing as heavily as if he’d just played a shift on the ice. He really needed to get a handle on this thing, before it spiralled out of control. He knew that distancing himself from Esca would help, but he really doubted he could do that and more importantly, he didn’t want to.
**
It was full dark by the time Marcus made it home, but he’d taken a few detours to try and clear his head. He hadn’t had much success, but he’d needed to try.
When he got inside, Marcus could hear muffled sounds from the tv room, so he padded down the hall and went in, slumping down on the couch beside his uncle. They sat in silence for a long while, watching the program Uncle had on. It was something about Ancient Rome and how they conquered Britain, historical clap trap that Marcus was usually more interested in.
Finally Uncle spoke up. “Took Esca home, did you?” he said, not looking away from the tv.
“Mmhmm,” Marcus hummed.
“He’s an awfully nice boy, Marcus,” Uncle commented.
“I know,” Marcus said, trying hard not to think about how nice he was. How nice he looked. How nice his skin had felt under Marcus’ hand. He shifted on the couch, suddenly restless, uncomfortable.
“I’d like to see him around more,” Uncle said, glancing over at Marcus, no doubt because of all the fidgeting.
“I hope you will,” Marcus answered simply. Uncle sighed and changed the subject.
“So your birthday is coming up pretty fast,” he said, and Marcus hummed his agreement. Uncle continued, “I was wondering what you wanted to do this year. I wasn’t sure you’d want to have a party after what happened last year.”
“No thanks,” Marcus said vehemently. Last year he’d invited all his friends over for a pool party, he’d thought it a good idea at the time, but some of his friends had invited their friends and before long it had degenerated into a free for all. Some of the uninvited guests had brought various kinds of alcohol and began distributing it from the cabana, hidden from the ever more watchful eye of Marcus’ uncle. Many dishes and a deck chair had been destroyed, the pool needed to be emptied and refilled on account of several people using it as a vomit receptacle, and the cabana had smelled like alcohol for several days, even after a thorough cleaning by the less than pleased Sassy.
Marcus shuddered at the thought of a repeat. “I was thinking more along the lines of dinner in town. We can go early and hit a few of the sporting goods stores so I can get some new equipment for the season,” Marcus suggested.
“Do you need new equipment?” Uncle asked, and Marcus shrugged.
“It can’t hurt,” he said. Uncle snorted, amused.
“Nothing I buy you will equal last year’s gift, I’m warning you now,” he said, giving Marcus a smirk.
“Nothing could top it,” Marcus said. “I love that truck.”
“I know you do. And unlike many of your ruffians, I know you’ll care for it, even if you didn’t have to work for it,” Uncle said. “You work hard enough for everything else.”
“Thanks, Uncle,” Marcus said, smiling at him.
“Dinner in town then. We can pick some ridiculously expensive restaurant and make fools of ourselves in front of all the pretentious snobs and the people they’re trying to impress,” Uncle said, his smirk widening.
“Sounds great,” Marcus agreed. “I’d like to invite Sassy and Stephan, if that’s okay. We don’t have to bring any of the ruffians if you don’t want.” Marcus knew his uncle would agree, which was fine with him because he didn’t particularly want any of his friends to come anyway. He was feeling increasingly distant from them, anyway.
“We could bring Esca, if you like,” Uncle suggested, watching Marcus out of the corner of his eye.
“Yeah,” Marcus said, his cheeks flushing slightly at the thought of Esca dressed up for dinner. “Yeah, sounds good.”
“It’s settled then. Your birthday is a Thursday, but it would work best for Stephan and I to go on the Saturday. Alright?” Marcus nodded.
“We’ll make a day of it, then,” Uncle said. “I’ll let Stephan and Sassy know, you invite Esca. You’ll be seeing him tomorrow, I assume?”
“Yeah,” Marcus confirmed. “I’ll see if he’s free.”
“Good, good,” Uncle said, turning his attention back to the tv.
“It’s getting late, I’m off to bed, then,” Marcus said, standing. “Goodnight, Uncle.”
“Goodnight, Marcus.”
Marcus went upstairs, but he didn’t go to bed just yet, dropping onto the couch instead. His body was tired, it had been a late night and a busy day, but his mind was whirring with all that had happened. With Esca. He groaned, lying back and stretching out his legs, head resting on the armrest that Esca had propped himself on for most of the afternoon, arguing with Marcus about the little rules of hockey and how figure skating was so much more elegant and much more interesting than watching large men with no front teeth slap a piece of rubber around the ice.
Marcus smiled at the memory, he’d argued right back, insisting that it took skill, strength and plenty of quick thinking, awareness of one’s team and the opposing players, unlike sliding around the ice on one foot looking like some kind of malformed bird. They had both ended up in heaps of laughter, nudging each other in mock annoyance.
Suddenly a different picture of Esca flashed through his mind, from later in the evening. Esca on the edge of the pool, smiling down at him, all glowing hair and soft, smooth skin and white, straight teeth. Esca in the cabana after, wringing out his drenched briefs, all sharp hipbones and effortless grace. Esca, standing with one hand on the door of Marcus’ truck, staring at him with intense, unfathomable eyes, wishing him a good night in that low, intimate voice.
Marcus realized that he’d been stroking himself while the memories flashed through his mind, rubbing his now hard cock while visions of Esca danced in his head. He stopped, putting his hands behind his head and tried to will down his arousal, but it wasn’t working. He gave in with a groan, unfastening his jeans and pushing his underwear down enough to free his aching cock.
He wasn’t one for jacking off, generally, but then he’d been suppressing his sexual urges for so long that not doing it had become part of his routine. He only succumbed when his body insisted, but he kept it short and sweet, and tried not to think of anything but the touch of his hand around his swollen flesh.
This time, that was out the window. His mind was crowded with memories of Esca, in the pool, the cabana, the truck. In the rink, even at the dinner table, laughing with his uncle. Esca in his room, sitting in the very spot where Marcus lay working himself with fervour, faster and faster until he came with a shout, his whole body reverberating with the shock of the hardest, longest orgasm he’d ever had in his life.
He lay panting in the aftermath, his t-shirt and belly, not to mention his hand, covered in spunk. It was uncomfortable as it cooled, but Marcus couldn’t bring himself to care just yet, too overwhelmed with what he had just done to move, his body boneless from the release. He closed his eyes, thumping his head on the arm rest a few times in frustration.
He was royally screwed.
**
Esca had smiled widely when Marcus had invited him to go to the city with them, and accepted immediately. Marcus felt his stomach flip at Esca’s delight, and he found himself grinning like a loon for the rest of the day.
Until he’d got a phone call from Luke.
“Hiya, Luke,” he answered, still not down from his mood.
“Marcus, what’s up? You still skating circles around that rink, or what?” Luke teased.
“With my phone? Nah, all the calls would ruin my concentration, not that you’d know what that’s about,” Marcus teased back.
“Right, right, you’re ever so much more focused, I get it,” Luke said and Marcus could almost see the eye roll.
“Anyway, the lads and I were wondering what the plan is for your birthday this week. Gonna bust some more heads like last year, then?” he asked.
“Hell no,” Marcus said, repeating what he’d told his uncle. “No way am I doing that again, you can forget it.”
“Ahh man, that’s no good. What fun’s a birthday if you can’t party?” Luke said.
“That party was a disaster and you know it, Luke,” Marcus insisted. “Besides, I’ve got plan to go to Van with my Uncle on Saturday, he’s gonna drop a mint on a new kit.”
“You must be jizzing just thinking about it,” Luke said with a laugh.
“You are one disgusting bastard, Torus,” Marcus said, grimacing. He pointedly did not think about what he was had recently jacked off over.
“You love it, Aquila,” Luke said. “Fine, fine, no party this year. I guess we won’t see you until school then, eh?”
“Nah, although I guess I should pick up supplies while we’re in town,” Marcus said, not looking forward to shopping for school. He wanted the year to be over already, studying would only distract him from his practicing. He kept up straight A’s, mostly because memorization and regurgitation came easy to him, but he didn’t enjoy it.
“You should, that’ll be fun, eh? Shopping with Unc, just like when you were a babe,” Luke laughed.
“Ahh, fuck off, mate,” Marcus swore. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”
“Yeah, alright. Have a good week,” Luke said before hanging up.
Marcus sighed, thinking about school, and it occurred to him that Esca would be going too. His stomach clenched at the idea of sharing Esca with anyone else, with his team mates. They wouldn’t see Esca for what he was, they would only see the skates.
This year might be the best of his life, but it could just as easily be the worst.
**
Saturday came quickly and before Marcus knew it, he was in the back of his Uncle’s suv, pressed between the door and Esca. He hadn’t thought this part through properly. Esca was warm and firm against him, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. Marcus had to concentrate hard in order to focus on something, anything else, especially when Esca leaned closer and breathed onto his neck.
“Are they always like this?” he asked, in reference to the banter being tossed around between Sassy and Stephan.
“Pretty much,” Marcus said, trying to shift away slightly without looking like he was. “Sometimes Uncle breaks them up and sometimes he joins in. Today it seems he’s just going to let them go at it.”
“Well, at least it’s entertaining,” Esca said, smiling widely. Marcus couldn’t restrain his smile, so he nudged Esca with his elbow.
“Ahh, enough of this shitty music,” he said, digging out his iPod and giving Esca a headphone. “I’ll teach you all about The Hip.”
**
The day went surprisingly fast and, for once, Marcus didn’t hate it quite as much as he usually did. He was sure it was Esca’s presence that did it, made everything better. By the time they made it to dinner, choosing a more relaxed atmosphere after all, Marcus was as happy as he’d ever been.
Until, just outside the restaurant, waiting for Sassy and Stephan to bring the car back, seeing as Uncle had enjoyed the wine a bit too much, they ran into an old friend of his uncle’s, Claude Marcel.
“Claude, my old friend!” Uncle said, reaching forward to clasp hands with a man Marcus recalled only vaguely.
“Ahh, Frankie Aquila, it’s been far too long, far too long,” Claude said, shaking Uncle’s hand excitedly.
“It has,” Uncle agreed. “You remember my nephew, Marcus?” Marcus stepped forward and grasped the man’s hand, shaking firmly.
“I do, I do,” Claude said. “He was just a wee little thing, last I saw him. You’ve grown up well Marcus, very well indeed.” Claude reached up and patted Marcus’ cheek, running his hand along his arm on the way down. Marcus heard snort from Esca’s direction, that turned immediately into a cough.
“My friend, Esca MacCunoval,” Marcus said, gesturing at Esca, who took Claude’s hand briefly, shooting a highly amused look at Marcus.
“Lovely to meet you, and how wonderful to see you again Frankie, it’s been far too long,” Claude repeated, getting another snort-cough from Esca and making Marcus hold his hand up to his mouth, faking a cough as well. Clearly Claude had been as fond of the wine as Uncle.
A throat cleared from beside Claude, and he turned around, remembering his companion, a tall, still-faced man, dressed in a pretentious suit. Marcus thought briefly of his uncle’s words about people wanting to impress the rich snobs and had to suppress another laugh.
“Ahh, my assistant, Galen Placyd, a fine lad by all accounts, isn’t he now?” Claude said, as Placyd shook their hands in turn. Marcus pulled his away quickly, Placyd had a handshake like a dead fish, heavy and limp.
“A pleasure to meet you all, I’m sure,” he said, smiling smugly at them as if it wasn’t a pleasure at all, looking down his nose at Esca’s battered leather jacket. Marcus’ jaw tightened, and he clenched his fists. He thought Esca looked amazing in that jacket, it was worn and soft and made him look a bit like James Dean, though Marcus would deny it if pressed. And here was Placyd, looking down on him, as if his prissy suit was so much better.
“Aquila? I recall that name,” Placyd was saying, his voice full of smarm. “Have we ever met?” he asked Marcus, looking at him as if they shared some great secret. “I’m sure I’ve seen you before. Perhaps at Club Tribune? I play a wicked round of golf, if I say so myself.”
“He does, best putter on the green,” Claude was saying to Uncle.
“No, I don’t think so,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “I don’t play golf, I prefer hockey.”
“I thought all hockey players played golf,” Claude remarked. “Gives them something to swing at during the off season, eh?” He and Uncle shared a laugh, but Marcus was not particularly amused.
“Hockey, that’s where I’ve heard it,” Placyd broke in, a triumphant smirk on his face. “Are you any relation to Flavian Aquila, who played in the NHL? Wonderful goalie he was, so I’ve heard, until he let in the goal that lost the Canucks the Cup back in ‘94. Do you remember that, Claude?” Placyd looked imploringly at Claude who nodded along.
“Indeed, indeed, who doesn’t remember? Died not long after, didn’t he?” Claude said solemnly, patting Uncle on the arm consolingly.
Marcus bit back a curse and uncurled his fist. “He was my father,” he said, his voice like steel. He felt Esca put a hand on his arm, restraining.
“A shame he died in such an undignified way,” Placyd said, oblivious to Marcus’ rising ire. “Did irreparable dishonour to the family name, didn’t he?”
“Galen, I hardly think-” Claude attempted to intervene, but Placyd stupidly continued anyway. “Just a junkie in the end-” he stopped suddenly, unable to speak further with Marcus’ fist in his mouth.
“Marcus!” shouted Esca, who leaped in front of him, both hands on his chest, putting steady pressure on him to hold him back. Marcus could have broken free, gone after Placyd again, God knows he wanted to, but Esca, so close, his face inches from Marcus’, was an effective distraction.
“Right then, time to be off,” Uncle said, stepping between Marcus and Placyd, who was holding his bleeding jaw in one perfectly manicured hand.
“Go on boys, I’ll meet you at the car,” Uncle said, waving them off. Marcus gave in to the pressure on his chest, his breathing slowing as Esca’s presence calmed him.
“Let’s go Marcus, he’s not worth it,” Esca said, meeting Marcus’ eyes, his face set, hard as stone.
“Fine,” Marcus said, shrugging off Esca’s hand and storming away from the restaurant, not stopping until he was a few blocks away, where he braced his hands on the brick of a nearby building.
“Marcus,” Esca said softly, leaning a shoulder against the wall beside him. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“It’s alright,” Marcus said, waving a hand. “He’s right, my father was a junkie in the end. He turned to alcohol and cocaine after my mom died, he just couldn’t handle it.” Marcus turned toward Esca, his eyes damp with tears of sorrow and frustration.
“He must have loved her very much,” Esca said, putting a hand on Marcus’ shoulder, squeezing gently.
Marcus nodded, overwhelmed with memories, the few that he had of the time when they had been a family, whole, together. His sudden grief fell on him, and he stumbled clinging to Esca in an attempt to stay upright. He breathed heavily, his nostrils flaring with the force of his despair, but Esca held him up, sure and strong, far stronger than he looked. He had a will of iron, and Marcus admired him greatly.
Finally he was able to pull back, brushing himself off and setting his jacket to rights while Esca did the same.
“That’s why,” he said suddenly, staring into the road but not really seeing anything. “That’s why I have to play in the NHL. Not just because I want it, but for him. To regain the honor of my name, his name. He was a great goalie, the best, there was none like him. I’ve seen the tapes, I’ve watched him play.” He took a few deep breaths, calming himself, steeling himself for the task ahead.
“I have to do it, don’t you see?” he continued. “If I go first in the draft, if I play better than anyone has before, I can restore that honor to my family’s name. I have to.”
“Marcus,” Esca said, but Marcus just shook his head, turning to look at Esca again.
“I can’t let anything distract me,” he said, his gaze burning into Esca’s. “No matter how I feel about-” he trailed off, took another breath and went on. “No matter what. I’ll do it, you’ll see. I’ll regain our honor.”
“I believe you,” Esca said softly, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding. He seemed to read between the lines, taking meaning from Marcus’ words, meaning that was not spoken aloud.
“I’ll do him proud,” Marcus said, holding himself even straighter, then, pushing past Esca, walked away.