Revenge of the Gay Scare
As Brendon watched Ryan and Spencer’s retreating backs he slumped over, the facade of arrogance and aggression dissipating from his body like steam. Most of his teammates were already in the lobby, but he didn’t approach any of them, instead choosing to return to the bench where he’d dropped his bag. He pulled out his phone from his back pocket but didn’t even look at it, rather using it for the false illusion of preoccupation as he waited for his father.
Dallon walked into the lobby and headed straight for Brendon. His hair was wet from the shower he always took after games, and he was wearing his Hurricane's jacket from the year before.
“Is my dad gonna be out soon?” Brendon asked quickly and Dallon frowned.
“I dunno, probably. I was the last one out,” he said. “Listen Brendon as I was leaving I heard-”
“Dallon, please,” Brendon said sharply. “It’s fine, I’ll hear about it on the drive home.”
Dallon looked away uncomfortably.
Brendon sighed and ran his hand back through his hair, “So I heard you scored another goal? Serves Smith right. Bastard didn’t deserve a shutout.”
“He seems like a nice guy,” Dallon offered.
“Yeah well, whatever,” Brendon snapped. “You don’t get to the NHL with attitude like that.”
Dallon nodded slowly, “Good thing I’m not going to the NHL. Your Dad tell you that?”
“He didn’t need to,” Brendon muttered, twiddling with his phone.
Dallon bit his lip and glanced toward his family motioning him over, “Listen Brendon, I gotta go now. But text me when you get home if you need to? Please?”
Brendon nodded and waved Dallon off. Dallon stood stiffly next to Brendon for a second, as if wanting to say something else, but then he shook his head and walked off, with one last look back at Brendon as he went.
Brendon turned his phone on again to check the time and sighed loudly. He just wanted to go home and shower, and then dick around on his phone for a couple of hours. He normally thrived in social situations but between his exhaustion from the game and the dread of the car ride home, he could think of nothing he would like more than to be alone.
The lobby was busy, and Brendon hoped that he could disappear behind the curtain of the crowd, the cloak of all of the voices around him.
His father walked into the lobby followed by the rest of the coaching staff. His head coach, Pete Wentz saluted him and then left the arena cackling to himself. Brendon’s dad motioned him over, and Brendon slowly hoisted his hockey bag onto his back and trudged over.
“Can I get something from the snackbar?” he asked.
His father glared at him, “Do you have money?”
“I don’t have a job.”
“Well then there’s your answer,” his father replied. “Now let’s go.”
Brendon frowned and then followed his father out to their covered pickup truck. He opened the back and swung his hockey bag in.
The parking lot looked empty, probably because almost everyone was already home. Brendon looked out the window, the sky was starless. He hated the fact that light pollution remove the stars from the sky. He debated whether he wanted to sit up in the front with his father or to sit in the back. He wouldn’t be able to ignore him either way, but at least by sitting in the back it would be muffled.
Brendon wished his mom had been able to come to the game or even one of his siblings, but none of them had been able to. Sometimes if they were with him then his father would be less aggressive and loud.
He chose the front, better to face it and get it over with. The muffling wouldn’t change the impact.
They sat in silence as his father pulled the car out of the parking lot, but Brendon felt tense as he braced himself.
“So,” His father said slowly. “How did you feel about that game?”
“Fine up until I got kicked out,” Brendon said, crossing his arms over his chest. His leg started bouncing from habit and nerves, and he didn’t bother trying to stop it.
Brendon’s dad turned to look at him and raised his eyebrows. “Really? Well that makes one of us.”
“It’s just an exhibition game, Dad.”
“‘Just an exhibition game?’” his father asked in disbelief. “Every game counts. Every single one. This is draft year, Brendon. You can’t fool around any longer.”
“I’m not fooling around,” Brendon retorted.
“Oh yeah? How many times did you ice the puck today? Five?” his father snapped. “And how many times did you lose the puck because you didn’t pass? I can’t even remember the number is so high.”
“Nobody else on this stupid team can play, okay?” Brendon whined. “We would have lost possession anyway.”
“Obviously not because Dallon scored two goals today,” his father shook his head. “You’re not playing by yourself out there. You’re not good enough to.”
“You’ve told me before.”
“And you never listen! I’m trying to make you better. I know what it takes to make it as a professional hockey player and the way you play just doesn’t cut it.”
“I’m trying, isn’t that enough?” Brendon shot back.
“You call picking a fight with the other team’s centre ‘trying’? You call your two offsides ‘trying’? That’s not trying, that’s poor hockey playing,” his father’s voice was getting louder the more he talked and Brendon cringed. Brendon’s heart was in his stomach by now, he felt guilty. His father always had a way of making it seem as though everything that happened to the team was all Brendon’s fault.
“He punched me first,” Brendon mumbled.
“After you provoked him! You always pick fights. You think that any team in the OHL is gonna want to take you if you keep picking fights and getting kicked out?” his father laughed bitterly. “Grow up. This isn’t house league hockey. You’re ruining your own future.”
It took everything Brendon had to stop tears from flooding down his cheeks. That was the last thing he wanted his father to see.
“Fine. Fine, I got it,” he said, forcing his voice to be steady. “Did I do anything right today?”
His father snorted, “Honestly, nothing I can think of.”
Brendon looked quickly away from his father as the hollow feeling in his stomach welled up through his chest, threatening to overwhelm him. He clenched his fists, and focused on stopping his leg from bouncing. He counted slowly to ten and then repeated it again and again, while his father droned on about poor plays he had made, poor decisions he had made and of course, poor decisions he had yet to make but his father was sure he was going to anyway.
It was only a ten minute drive from the Huskies home arena to his house, but it dragged on for eternity as Brendon watched the buildings fly by and tried to make his father’s criticisms as ineffective as one of Ross’s checks.
Ryan hadn’t played badly, not really. Brendon had been a little harsh. The guy had gotten a hat trick, after all, and he could win a faceoff like it was nobody’s business. He was the best player on the huskies, not that Brendon would say that outloud to him or anyone else.
It was unfair that Ross had everything: he was good looking, had a bombass girlfriend, got good grades, was the best player on his team, had a good team at all, when everything Brendon did was mediocre or subpar. He wanted to amount to something, but as long as there were assholes out there like Ryan Ross, with their natural talents and holier-than-thou attitudes then Brendon didn’t stand a chance. He was doomed to become another member of the nameless majority, forced to grovel in Ross’s dirt for the rest of his life. His father knew it and he was starting to believe it himself.
As they pulled into the driveway and into the garage, Brendon’s father finished his rant about Brendon’s terrible positioning throughout the entire game, and stared at his son knowingly.
“You’re just not working hard enough, son. You need to stop wasting your time on things like music and video games and social media,” he said sternly. “You have a big future ahead of you and it would be a shame for you the throw it away already.”
“Gee thanks Dad,” Brendon said sarcastically without thinking. His eyes bulged when he processed it. His father did not look impressed.
“I’m trying to give you the best possible future, and you’re talking back to me?” his father thundered. Brendon shook his head quickly and skipped around to the back of the truck to pull out his hockey bag.
With his father’s eyes burrowing into him, he carried his equipment inside and then downstairs. He made it to the bottom of the stairs before he dropped his bag to the ground and inhaled deeply the scent of dust and hockey equipment. With his father’s words still ringing through his head he pulled all of the sweaty equipment out of the bag and hung it up to dry out.
Upstairs he could hear his father clanking around in the kitchen. His mother was still out, but the kitchen was far enough away from the stairs that he could easily sneak upstairs to his room without his father confronting him again.
Once in the sanctity of his own room he stripped off his shirt and threw his phone on to his bed, the Senators phone case matching perfectly with his red cotton bedsheets. He walked over to the mirror hung on the back of his door and looked himself over. Already bruises were starting to form along his chest and shoulders from where Ross had hit him. He’d deserved it though, going after his best friend like that.
He checked the hallway for his father, and then went across the hall to the bathroom to take a shower. The sweat from the match was already beginning to dry, leaving his skin feeling sticky and gross, and his body reeking of testosterone and desperation, the distinct scent of a teenage boy who had given so much for so little.
He grabbed a towel from the linen closet and walked into the bathroom along the plush carpet. In the harsh light of the bathroom the bruises along his skin looked darker and uglier. He turned around to examine the bruises on his back and winced at the large mottled purple one at the base of his neck. That wasn’t going to be comfortable to sleep on.
He turned the faucet on and left it to warm up while he took off the rest of his clothes. Getting out of his jeans was difficult, but putting them on had been too so really it was his own fault if he struggled.
Once the water was heated to the right temperature he switched the water to the shower head and stepped it to wash off the grim and odeur of hockey. When he emerged, clean and refreshed, he toweled off his hair and then wrapped the towel around his waist. He picked his dirty clothes off the ground and with one last despairing glance at his bruised bespeckled body, he left the bathroom and crossed the hallway to his bedroom.
He closed the door and traded his towel for a pair of red plaid boxers, and discarded the towel on the floor. Brendon threw himself onto the bed, relaxing into the plush softness. He picked up his phone and noticed his hockey group chat was blowing up like it always did before and after a game. He thought about checking it, but the idea of weeding through the endless gay slurs directed at the other team, and directed at players who had performed badly was unbearable. It didn't matter what Dallon said, it was "all part of game" and "didn't really mean anything, you don't have to get so defensive." Sometimes it was too much for Brendon to deal with, especially when he'd spoken with his father.
He instead opened instagram and began to scroll through it. He allowed himself to laugh at a few memes, but he frowned quickly when he noticed that one of the people he was following had posted a picture of Ryan Ross. Just what he needed. To be reminded of the bastard in his own home.
Out of pure curiosity he would tell himself later, he clicked @ryro89 in the tags and pretended not to be happy that his account wasn’t privated. He began to absently scroll through it, and noted that Ross’s instagram was fairly nondescript and boring. He posted a bunch of pictures of him and his beautiful blonde girlfriend, though Brendon gleefully noticed how displeased he seemed in those shots. There was trouble in paradise it seemed.
He posted lots of pictures of him with his hockey teammates, from tournaments and games and there were a few pictures of him and that goalie Spencer Smith goofing around.
Although they were few and far between, those pictures and some of Ryan’s terrible selfies showed a side of Ryan that Brendon barely remembered, the side of Ryan that would laugh and make jokes and who had been happy to go along with whatever stupid thing Brendon had thought of at the time. That was years ago. Brendon needed to forget.
A notification appeared at the top of his screen, indicating that Dallon had texted him. He allowed himself peace from Ryan Ross’s smiling face and opened the messaging app.
Today 10:36 PM
Hey did you get home okay?
Brendon frowned and texted back that he had. Weird that Dallon worried so much.
What about your dad? Wanna talk?
nbd also can we talk about something else?
Dallon was quick to respond. Yeah sure, whatever you want.
Brendon debated asking the question and then flipped back to instagram, and scrolled through some more pictures on Ryan’s insta. There was a really nice one of him in Nathan Phillips Square, taken earlier that year when the snow was still on the ground. He was wearing his hockey skates, a grey duffle coat and a pair of roots sweatpants. He was smiling at whoever had taken the picture. There was this glow to the photo. Ryan looked almost angelic, locks of his long dark brown hair falling over his bright face. Brendon would never admit that, though. Brendon quickly closed instagram upon seeing it, took a shuddering breath and reopened his conversation with Dallon.
ok you gotta promise not to tell anyone tho
The reply came swiftly. Of course. You can trust me.
Brendon took a deep breath. ok so. how did u figure out u wanted to suck dick
There wasn’t any indication that Dallon was typing anything and Brendon tutted impatiently. Finally:
Wait lol what
Brendon tsked at it and sent; like as my token gay friend how did you figure out u were into guys? what were the signs
He knew that Dallon might take long to respond so he opened instagram again. It was still open to Ryan’s profile so he continued to scroll, past more pictures of Ryan and Spencer, Ryan and his girlfriend, Ryan in a hockey uniform, terrible selfies and the occasional aesthetic post.
It took so long for Dallon to reply that Brendon started to see pictures of Ryan with another girl, with bleach blonde hair, sidebangs that hung in front of her eyes and ridiculous eyeliner. Somehow Ryan looked even more miserable in those pictures than he had in the ones with his current girlfriend and that filled Brendon with infinite glee. He had tagged her in a picture and Brendon laughed when he saw the name. So Ross has dated the rather infamous puck slut, Jac Vanek. That didn’t surprise Brendon at all.
Dallon had taken his sweet time responding and when the notification appeared at the top of his screen Brendon flicked the screen idly without thinking. And then he froze.
Underneath an ugly picture of Ryan and Jac kissing there was now a bright red heart. Brendon checked the date the picture had been posted and it was from 112 weeks ago. Mortified, Brendon sat up quickly and unliked the picture. He then closed instagram and threw his phone to the side. He stared at the ceiling, chest seizing in embarrassment and tried to lessen the feeling of wanting someone to break into his house and brutally murder him.
Dallon texted him again, and Brendon reluctantly picked up his phone and shifted back to the headboard of the bed.
Okay so. This might not make a lot of sense. It started out as a feeling of isolation like i didn’t fully relate to people. And i liked hanging out and talking to girls but didn’t really ever think about them romantically you know? And then like, i started like really liking certain guys and wanting to hang around them all the time and they made me so happy and i dunno like more emotional and i was like weird... but then it clicked like, oh okay i might be like actually interested in these boys.
Lol don’t really know if that was helpful but there it is
Brendon considered this answer while attempting to block liking Ross’s post on instagram from his mind. He could relate to some of it, like the whole isolation thing, but all that emotional stuff was way out of his depth. He texted Dallon back.
lol so i dont reeaaally get all that emotional shit but i think guys are kind of hot does that make me gay?
He didn’t think so. He thought girls were really hot too, with their boobs and soft faces, but he felt he could appreciate a good ass on anyone, regardless of gender. So he wanted to fact check with Dallon.
Well. Not necessarily. You could be bisexual or something
Brendon stared intently at his phone and processed the word in front of him. He hadn’t really thought much of his sexuality of late, although this wouldn’t have been his first “gay scare” as he jokingly referred to his middle school sexuality crisis. But after today he felt a resurgence in the need to self-analyze his state of mind. And it was almost entirely Ryan Ross’s fault. Stupid puberty and acne death.
It wasn’t Brendon’s fault Ryan’s jaw had gotten more defined, and his brow more angular, and he had started working out more to prepare for drafting. It wasn’t Brendon’s fault he just happened to have noticed all of that when he’d walked into the lobby and seen Ryan without any hockey equipment on for the first time since before the vacation. And really how could he not have noticed that puberty might have been very kind to Ross after seeing him so often in the last few years?
He refocused on the text.
does bisexual mean you like guys and girls? He clarified.
Dallon answered a quick affirmative. Hmm. Bisexual. He could live with that.
ok cool thanks i guess
Dallon sent him a smiley accompanied by a short message: If you have any more questions feel free to ask me! I know this stuff can be hard and the other guys certainly don't make it any easier. I’ll try to help in any way i can!
Brendon brought his legs up to his chest, and frowned uncomfortably.
yah sure. anyway goodnight.
Goodnight brendon!
After Dallon sent the last text Brendon went back through them and deleted any of the potentially incriminating ones. Occasionally his parents would read through his texts, and he would rather not risk them finding out anything he and Dallon had talked about. He got enough of their disapproval, he didn’t need any more of it.
After closing the messaging app, Brendon was instantly reminded of liking Ryan’s picture from two years ago and it was with the feeling of intense shame that Brendon switched off his lights and climbed into bed. Luckily for him, Ryan never checked his notifications and was not the least bit worried about Brendon Urie liking a picture of him and his ex-girlfriend.