Chapter 3
IZZY
“Great save, Charming!”
Despite being at the lowest level of the Gladiators organization, THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING!
Most goalies don’t make it to the pros at all, so I’m stoked.
Granted, my agent tells me that this is only temporary, but I can kind of dig it.
I love being so far away from home, but I'm still in a somewhat urban area. Plus, I can hop on the Metro and take in a Glads game during the week if I want to. There’s no curfew.
There’s no overzealous dietician weighing out my every meal.
The worst thing I have to deal with is the daily calls from Mom where I lie through my teeth that I’m eating healthy.
My roommate is a gigantic help with Mom. It doesn’t hurt that he’s over thirty, so Mom treats him like he’s my de-facto parental figure. She seems to forget that I’m over twenty now. I’m not a little kid anymore.
Another guy on the team taps my pads with his stick before squaring up at the dot to my right.
I wish I would have had time to learn everyone’s names before the season started, but the starting tendie for the Axes didn’t retire like everyone expected, so I was shuffled down to the Baltimore Bruisers to start the season at the last minute.
Wally, the backup for the Axes, offered to drop to the HLENA, but he would get snatched up on waivers in a heartbeat.
He’s a solid number two tendie that is unfortunately stuck behind a jackass so far past his prime that it’s hard to remember when he was ever good enough to get drafted in the first place.
“Way to go, Prince!”
Between my dyslexia and dyscalculia, reading the names and numbers on the fly just isn’t possible.
Although my ADHD is most definitely a super power on the ice with being able to process everything happening all at once.
It lets me see the plays setting up without needing to look like a freaking bobble head.
It just does jack-all with processing words and numbers to help me identify my teammates by name.
They used to call me “Prince Between the Pipes” back in Juniors before I went to college.
I played three seasons of Juniors before I went to play for Wrenshaw University for the last two seasons.
They might not have been a top tier school, but winning back to back championships, especially after the scandals at Tibalt University in the same city a few years ago, meant that the organization that drafted me at eighteen was still confident in their investment to sign me while I continue my studies online for my last two semesters.
A wicked slapshot from just inside the blue line snaps my full attention back to the game. The lyrics to “Fake Love” by BTS have to go to the wayside for a few seconds while I use the blocker to deflect the shot to the right corner where Scruffy Jason Bourne takes it out of the zone to clear it.
I really need to learn their names…
Somehow, I manage to go through the entire Love Yourself album as well as half of the Oddinary album by Stray Kids before the game is over. I’m almost through Maniac when the final buzzer goes off.
My first pro game ends in a shutout. Life does not get better than this.
As the guys race across the ice to celebrate with me, I pull the crossbar forward to drop it to the ice.
Dad always tells me it’s a dick move that risks an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty, but I haven’t been penalized for it yet.
While the only black guy on the team is the first to reach me and pulls my head forward for a helmet tap, I can’t help thinking about my last game in the juniors.
December: 3 years ago
“That’s our Prince!”
Can’t the asshole give us one game without acting like he’s our best friend?
The guy looks like he’s at least a decade older than all of us, but acts like he’s one of us.
I get it that season ticket holders are the cornerstone of any organization, but I’m here to play with the best guys my age – not suck up to older guys who don’t seem to understand the difference between being a fan and being a stalker.
Plastering a smile on my face that is probably faker than any AI created homunculus, I hitch my bag up higher on my shoulder.
I got a call from the admissions office at Wrenshaw earlier in the week and they want me to come now.
Their senior goaltender snapped a tendon and the sophomore they were grooming to be his backup just failed his math course and has become ineligible – hence why my season is cut short after the holidays.
Mom and I discussed it and decided we would pay the penalty if the team didn’t want to release me, but the owners gave me their blessing.
“Heading back home for the holidays?”
I nod absently while searching the crowd for the only bright side to dealing with this pompous piece of shit.
The rest of the guys might love the attention he gives them, but they are straight.
They don’t see that he’s just waiting for one of us to show interest. They don’t notice the way he sizes us all up.
This asswipe makes the free candy van seem like a good idea if it means getting away from the way he looks at me.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally hear him – my obsession – the only man whose presence could make me put up with all of this shit.
“Hey there, Isaiah. I hear you’re leaving us for the college life sooner than expected.”
Mr. Kinsey’s soft smile reassures me that I’m making the right decision.
For the last two and a half years, it’ been his smile – his cheers – that have pushed me to be the best tendie that this city has ever seen.
He was the first to call me Izzy. It was the first time I had a non-hockey related nickname since I entered kindergarten, so I cherish every time it falls from his lips.
“Wait, what?” the jackass who thinks he’s in the know for everything turns to his husband. “What the fuck are you talking about, Chase?”
I hate the way he talks to Mr. Kinsey. I honestly don’t understand why they are even together. Mr. Kinsey deserves so much better than a lecherous prick like Tim.
Maybe when I hit the pros, I can come back and rescue him from this asshole…
“I told you about the post from WU over dinner, Tim. You know it’s my alma mater. I keep up with the hockey program there, especially since Liam became the head coach.”
Tim waves his hand dismissively and almost smacks his husband in the face.
He might not remember that Mr. Kinsey went to Wrenshaw, but I certainly do.
It’s part of the reason why I chose them over all of the top schools that were fighting to give me a scholarship.
Would I love to be at the top of the college hockey world?
Absolutely. But I want to walk where Mr. Kinsey did – play where he played.
I’ve seen the videos of him and Coach Rawlings back when they were the top defensive pairing of their generation.
Coach went on to play in the NAPH until he took a slapper to the knee that ended his playing career.
Mr. Kinsey never even tried to go pro, and I respect him so much more for having that kind of courage to walk away from the game he obviously loves.
“Good luck with the Wreckers, Isaiah,” Mr. Kinsey says encouragingly when his dickhead husband rushes over to the other guys on the team.
“Maybe you can come see me play again while I’m there?” I stammer out like I’m making a love confession. Damnit I’m a nineteen-year-old man. Granted he’s in his mid-thirties with some sexy as fuck silver streaks starting to show making his blond hair shimmer under the fluorescent lights.
Mr. Kinsey chuckles and pats my arm in the same way Dad does and turns away to follow his husband over to the other guys. Before the rejection has a chance to set in, he calls back over his shoulder.
“Break Stanton’s shutout record, and I’ll be there.”
Oh, I’ll break every record that exists if it means seeing you again, Mr. Kinsey.
The last time I know that I saw Mr. Kinsey was in the stands for the first game back in Wrenshaw after I broke that record with fifteen consecutive shutouts.
I thought I heard him cheering for me during the championship, but that was a level of noise I was fully unprepared for.
Call it wishful thinking, but I always play my best with him cheering me on.
I have to imagine it now. There’s no way he thinks of me as much as I think about him.
I’ve been wishing ever since… Nope, can’t go there.
I take the head taps from my teammates and we all head back to the locker room to unwind.
Walking down the tunnel, plans are made for clubbing, gambling, drinking, and nights in with families.
All I want to do is hear how proud that one man is of me.
“Tonight, the spear goes to our new goalie, Isaiah Charming, for one helluva performance.” The team captain – who I know only by facial recognition at this point – hands me what looks like a child’s toy spear from a gladiator costume.
“You’re not gonna be with us long if you keep playing like that, Kid.
Hell, you might even make it to the Bigs if you keep that up. ”
Guys cheer and start slapping my shoulders and back while I work on removing the rest of my gear.
I smile and nod because it’s the polite thing to do, but the main thought running through my head is that I’m going to have a very long night ahead of me to memorize names before practice tomorrow afternoon.
“Any special requests?”
The question pulls me from my thoughts and I see a guy who is probably old enough to be my grandfather lifting my right pad.
After a half second of thought, I remember that he’s one of the equipment guys for the team.
The staff at WU kind of just did what was needed without my input, same with the people in Juniors. I guess pro players get some perks?
Shaking my head, I grab my towel to head for the showers. “Just a good fumigation if you don't mind the trouble. I redo the lacing myself before every game anyways, so as long as nothing gets cut or sliced, I’m good.”
The old guy chuckles and gives me a two-finger salute as I cross into the steam filled shower area to rinse away the funk from the game. I get the feeling that I’m a breath of fresh air with equipment.
“Sammy is gonna be so happy to get you when the diva finally leaves.”
I don’t have time to think about what the old man is mumbling as I turn around and am greeted by the sight of three of my teammates walking past with their towels over their shoulders instead of around their waists.
Sometimes, I love being a hockey player…