Page 50 of Two for Charging

Breezy’s breath caught in his throat. His whole body froze up. “We should, um. We should maybe wait until we’re home? For the, uh. The coaching stuff we talked about?”

“Good idea,” Luca said.

“So, um. Goodnight?”

The electricity fizzled and sparked out. Luca would have to rethink his plan of how to approach teaching Breezy about sex. He’d been assuming they would try, and it would be good because he wanted Breezy so much. He couldn’t imagine it not being good. But if the thought was enough to discomfort Breezy—that wouldn’t do. Luca had to stop thinking about sex the way he did and start coming at it from Breezy’s perspective, which meant forgetting his fantasies and accepting Breezy might simply not enjoy it.

Fueled by three and a half tiny whiskeys, Luca hugged Breezy tight for the second time since they’d gotten to Chicago and then pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Chris.”

Chapter Nine

Breezy [reading off a card]: What am I most thankful for? Oh, my family, I guess. I mean, I wouldn’t be here without them. My mom drove me to hockey practice until I was about twelve even when it was super early in the morning, and my dad always gave me tips on developing my game.

Kayleigh [off-screen]: Did he also play hockey?

Breezy: No, never. Oh, and my brother Matty! He’s super smart, always keeps me humble.

Kayleigh: Want to send a message to Matty?

Breezy: [laughs] He would never watch this.

Top comments:

amazetti: is anyone else wondering what little twelve-year-old Breezy did when no one drove him to practice?

calabreezy: @amazetti—Breezy was never little

(From “Get to Know the Sea Lions: Breezy.” Video posted in The Rookery, the direct-to-consumer streaming service of the San Francisco Sea Lions and all associated teams, on 10/22/2025)

“So,” Michelle said. Her bare feet rested up on her desk again, which was a nice return to normalcy. “Are we ready to talk about the first thing on your list yet?”

“Nope,” Breezy said.

He’d given her his list of worries at their last appointment two weeks ago. When she asked if he wanted to talk about any of it, he’d told her, “Not really,” and they spent the whole session talking about how it had felt to write the list instead. He’d expected her to throw it out. But instead, when he walked in today, he found it lying right there on her desk in a little plastic folder, like a report card or a piece of artwork drawn by a child.

The list read, in total:

Number One: I keep finding out people are gay (which isn’t bad, but I can’t tell anyone, and also, why me?)

Number Two: Bad at dating

Number Two B: Bad at sex

Number Three: Luca will get tired of me and move out

Number Four: I’m worried the team will start fighting again, but Michelle said no hockey stuff on this list, so I can’t put it on here

Number Five: Mom called about some girl she wants me to meet even though I told her not to

“Okay, why not?”

Breezy shifted on the couch, sprawled out on his back with his knees bent over one armrest, staring at the ceiling. “I know you probably won’t tell anyone—”

“Yes, there is such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“But it’s not my stuff to tell, and I feel bad talking about it.”

“Okay. What about number two—‘bad at dating’ and ‘bad at sex’?”