Chapter 23 #2
“Social work, maybe? There was this young woman last night, three small kids, a job that barely covers her rent. Some motherfucker stole her car, took it for a joyride, and wrecked it two blocks away. Total loss. We caught the drunk asshole, but he had no insurance, of course. She didn’t have collision coverage on a twenty-year-old car.
She came running out of her building crying, asking how she was going to get the kids to her mom’s for daycare, how she was supposed to get to her job every night, with no car and no late bus.
And all I could do was say, ‘Call social services. Maybe they can help.’ Because I was no help at all. ”
“You caught the drunk guy so he wouldn’t do it again.”
“Yeah. We did that. But I wanted to help her, not punish him. No, not true. I wanted to do both, but mostly help.”
“Okay, social work isn’t such a stretch, then.” Zeke was a pretty take-charge guy, outside the bedroom, but maybe that could be okay in a different career.
“It’s what I was considering when I started university. But then Dad died, and… I guess criminal justice felt like what Dad would’ve wanted. Carrying on his work on the civilian side.”
“I didn’t know your dad well,” I said tentatively. Mr. Evans had been gone a lot when I was a kid. “Maybe he’d be okay with you doing good and being happy?”
“I can’t even say anymore.” Zeke rubbed his hand over his face. “And oops, way to make your bad news about me, huh? Sorry.”
“No, that was good.” A reminder I wasn’t the centre of the universe. “Except…” I tipped my head back and closed my eyes.
“What?”
“What if it does get out, that Shoemark tried to bribe me? What if he says he actually did it? What if Uncle Wayne tells people I threw those games, to get back at me for reporting Grandpa’s truck?”
“Surely that’s unlikely,” Zeke suggested.
“Yeah, maybe, but now I have that hanging over my head. Always waiting to see if the shoe will drop.”
“If it does, you either deny it or explain it.”
“Months or years after the fact?” I pitched my voice high. “Oh, yes, sir, someone did try to pay me to lose back then but I totally reported his ass. Court case? Well, the cops decided I wasn’t important enough to bother prosecuting for. But I swear, it’s all true. I’m the victim.”
“Maybe work on your story, and your tone? Hm?”
“Or maybe fuck this, get it over with now.” I sat up abruptly.
“Meaning what?”
“I tell them now. The whole story. I don’t have a note from the cops, but you’d back me up, right?”
“Of course, but Iverson’s not going to be happy if you start telling people left and right, while they’re still ironing out the plea deal.”
“You know what? I don’t give a fuck if Iverson is unhappy.
” I remembered how wonderful I’d felt, thinking I’d ditched that backpack of rock-weighted secrets.
Now I had a different secret hanging around my neck, and I was going to ditch this one too.
“I’m going to the Foxes’ main office right now, and make sure management has a record of what happened.
Free and clear. Then if, four years from now, Uncle Wayne gets out of jail and comes sniffing around, threatening to tell them I’m a cheat, I can laugh in his fucking face. ”
“You might want to think it through a bit—”
“If you don’t want to drive me, I can call for a ride.” I was fired up to get this done. Get out from under Uncle Wayne’s thumb once and for all.
“No, come on, I’ll drive you. I just don’t want you to regret it. Should you call your agent?”
“Fuck him too. He didn’t want me to come out. He’s not the boss of me.” Okay, that sounded immature.
Zeke snorted but put the truck in gear. “I only have an hour and a half before I have to get to work. Which way?”
Foxes’ and Dragons’ management shared offices on the third floor of the Dragons’ arena in downtown Vancouver.
I’d been there once, to sign my contract with the Foxes.
My irritation and desire to get this over with carried me through parking and taking the elevator to the business area and up to the receptionist. “Hi, I’m Callum Fitzpatrick with the Foxes.
I need to speak to my GM, Mr. Petrosian. ”
She flicked a look from me to Zeke. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Uh, no.” A little of my certainty leaked out. “I just need a few minutes. It’s important.”
“I can look at his calendar for the afternoon, but—”
The door to Petrosian’s office opened and he came out with the Dragons’ GM, David Yin. They were laughing together, but both sobered when they saw me and Zeke. Petrosian said, “Fitzpatrick? Are you under arrest?”
“What? No!” I realized Zeke in his uniform might be confusing. “This is… I need to talk to you for a moment.”
“If it’s about you coming out, your coach did keep me in the loop. We stand behind you. Consult with media relations for any statement you might make.”
“It’s not about coming out. Can I just tell you something?” I glanced at the receptionist. “Not out here?”
Petrosian hesitated, then pulled the door of his office wider. “Five minutes. Come on in.”
Yin said, “I’m coming too. We have a vested interest in Fitzpatrick.”
That made me feel good and terrified at the same time. I liked that the Dragons’ management was interested, but Yin was known for being all-business where Petrosian was more of a people person. What if Yin decided I was a bad risk? I should’ve just kept quiet.
Too late for that now. I wondered for a panicked moment if I could make this about being gay and coming out after all. Say nothing about the bribery. They’d be irritated with me for wasting their time, but I’d be safe.
Petrosian didn’t sit down. “You have a police officer with you. Is this a legal issue?”
“No. He’s…Well, yes, I suppose.”
“Explain,” Yin commanded.
“I, uh, okay I have to go back to the game I played on March ninth.”
Yin glanced at Petrosian, who pulled out his phone. “Ah, yes. The loss to the Cardinals. You had a bad game.”
“Yeah. I did. Just a normal bad game like every goalie has, a couple of soft goals. Then, the next evening, my uncle showed up at the arena with this man, Ronald Shoemark, well, he called himself Smith…” I fumbled on through my account of the money, the extortion, the whole thing.
Petrosian asked a few questions. Yin just eyed me, his face impassive.
“And now the cops are dropping the case,” I finished. “So there won’t be any charges or a public record.”
“So you didn’t have to tell us anything,” Petrosian noted.
“No. But I didn’t want it hanging over my head. For my whole career, I’ve been in the closet, worrying about being outed as gay. I did some stupid shit— I mean stuff— to stay hidden.”
For the first time, Yin cracked a tiny smile. “We manage hockey teams. You can say ‘shit’ around us.”
“Yes, sir. Well, I just got that load off my back, and it felt so good not to hide. But this was another secret that might make you want me gone. I can’t trust my uncle not to use it against me out of spite, and I sure as shit don’t trust Shoemark.”
Yin raised an eyebrow. “So you thought you’d get your confession in first?”
“It’s not a confession,” Zeke said, breaking his silence for the first time. “Callum did nothing wrong. Every part of his story is documented.”
“And you are?”
“Zeke Evans, Vancouver PD.” Zeke glanced at me, and I shrugged. Might as well come all the way clean, if he was okay with it. “And Callum’s boyfriend. I made the original arrest of Shoemark, when he came to Callum’s house.”
“Are you here to confirm his story or as moral support for your… boyfriend?”
“Both.” Zeke didn’t let Yin’s acid tone shake his cool.
“Callum asked the Gaming Commission officers if they would give him any kind of documentation to show you, that the case was genuine. Sadly, they said no. Not their job. I didn’t want him to be here telling you his story without corroboration. ”
“So if I was to ask your supervisor about this?”
“He wouldn’t know what you’re talking about. The entire case was a GREC operation. I’m not here officially. I hope he would tell you he has a lot of faith in my word.”
Yin nodded slowly, then turned to me. “And that first two thousand dollars? What happened to that?”
It’s still in my account, because the GREC said there was no way to return it.
I thought it might be compensation for all the bullshit.
But even as I had that thought, I knew I’d feel like shit about using that money on myself.
“I’d planned to donate it. Hadn’t picked an organization yet. Maybe the You Can Play foundation.”
Petrosian nodded slowly. “Anything else we should know?”
“I’m a good goalie, and getting better,” I said. “I’ve never once let in a goal I didn’t try to stop. I love the game and I hate that someone tried to make me play it badly.” Whatever happened, I needed them to know that.
“Wait out there.” Petrosian pointed to his door. “Have some coffee. We’ll be out in a minute.”
I’d hoped this would be a simple thing— tell them the truth, have them accept it, and move on.
Guess it’s not that simple. I nodded, Zeke opened the door, and we stepped through, closing it behind us.
There was a coffee pot with mugs on a little stand, but anything I put in my stomach would come right back up.
I’d barely eaten since practice, hadn’t been able to choke down much of what Zeke tried to feed me in the short time we’d had at home.
So maybe some of my lightheadedness was hunger, but I felt disconnected from the world.
I wanted to grab for Zeke’s hand, but wouldn’t let anyone see me that weak.
Then Zeke set his palm on the small of my back. The warm touch grounded me, and I turned to him. “So that went well.”
“I think it went fine,” he said. “Give them a minute.”
“All I want is to play hockey.”
“I think they know that.”
I stared out the window across the room, a view of gray sky and tall buildings beyond that I barely saw. What if they didn’t believe me? What if I just screwed over my whole career?