Chapter 35
JACK
A Boyfriend for Vancouver’s Rookie Defenseman?
The headline sent my heart to the floor so fast, I was amazed there wasn’t an audible splat. Fuck. Seriously?
My mind tried to rationalize that the headline might not have been referring to Devon at all.
There were six defensemen on the team, after all.
Except only two were rookies, and the other was very married with a baby on the way.
If the latter had been the subject of the article, it would’ve been a much more salacious headline involving adultery, cheating, and heartbreak.
And anyway, there was a photo beneath the headline.
A photo of Devon and another guy—one much closer to his age than me—outside in the dark behind what I thought was Toronto’s arena.
They were standing close and talking. Then in the next photo, they were exchanging a hug, and with the grainy photo, the low lighting, and the weird angle, it was hard to tell if it was just a hug.
Especially when Devon was holding the other guy that tight.
Against my will, my mind went back to Devon with me in another parking lot. Behind our hotel in Abbotsford with fogged up windows and a whole lot of promises. Lucky for us, no photos had landed online and no rumors had made the rounds. That I knew of, anyway. I shivered.
But there were photos and rumors making the rounds now.
Jarvis did not return requests for comment.
My stomach tied itself into acidic knots.
Fuck. I’d seen that line in articles about myself.
From reporters that had never contacted me, my ex-husband, my agent, or my team.
Sometimes reporters said it and meant it.
Other times—too many times, in my experience—it was a way of publishing rumors without verifying them and then acting like they tried to do their due diligence.
I chewed my lip. Maybe Devon was having a laugh at this. More likely, he was embarrassed. Humiliated. Whether he and that guy—that fucking lucky guy—were a thing or not, it was never comfortable having your personal business splattered all over the headlines. Ask me how I knew.
I wanted to make sure he was okay. Deep down, I felt like he wasn’t. How could he be? He’d only even been playing on that stage for a matter of weeks; he probably still had a spike of panic when he realized reporters were discussing him at all.
He hadn’t contacted me in weeks, though. Not since I texted him to let him know I was resigning at the end of the season. Not since I tipped my hand far enough to let him know I wanted more than sex with him.
Message received.
But I still cared about him. Would it be overstepping to check on him? Just… make sure he was okay?
God, I hoped not, because I was already typing out a message.
I saw the article. Are you okay?
By the time I left my office to join my team for our home game, I still hadn’t received a response.
I was dozing off on the bus somewhere between Abbotsford and Kamloops when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I had to blink a few times just to pull myself out of the darkness. After I’d tugged my phone free, my eyes took a second to adjust to the bright light.
Then they did, and I was instantly wide awake.
An incoming call. From Devon.
I glanced around. The rest of the team and coaching staff were passed out, trying to catch some sleep after an intense and frustrating game. There was no privacy. Not on a bus. Not with people in every row. I couldn’t risk anyone overhearing, or even seeing him on my screen.
With my heart in my throat, I declined the call, but I quickly texted him.
Can’t talk, on the bus. Text? Are you okay?
I didn’t think I’d ever been more relieved to see three gray dots appear on a screen. I held my breath, blood pounding in my ears as I waited for him to hit Send. Was he telling me off? Was he venting to me? Was he just filling me in before he blocked me and moved on?
C’mon, c’mon. Please, Devon. You’re killing me.
Finally, the bubble appeared.
The guy, he’s a friend. Just an old friend. I don’t know why they’re saying I have a boyfriend, but now everyone’s talking about me being gay, and fuck, I didn’t want to be out. Not like this.
I grimaced, sick to my stomach on his behalf.
I’m sorry. They shouldn’t have outed you like that whether the guy’s a friend or a boyfriend. Has the club said anything to you?
They made me do a press conference tonight. Fuck it was gross.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered over the rumble of the diesel engine. I’d had to do press conferences over personal matters. It was utterly disgusting and violating even when it was information I myself had volunteered, like when I came out and later when I got married.
Devon hadn’t consented to this.
That’s fucked up. Do they at least have your back?
Yeah. And they’re digging into who leaked the photos, but I doubt that’ll go anywhere.
The gray dots appeared and disappeared a few times. He was probably gathering his thoughts and figuring out what to say, so I waited.
I think the reporter got tipped off.
How do you figure?
Wheels says they’ve been sniffing around ever since I got to Vancouver. Like weirdly into my personal life. I think someone knows something.
Oh shit. I haven’t said a word. I swear to God.
I know. I never thought it was you.
Do you have any idea who?
There was silence for a long moment. Not even gray dots—just silence. My heart was pounding so hard, it was drowning out the engine and the road noise.
Finally, Devon wrote back.
I think it was Hairs.
Ironically, that had my hair standing up on the back of my neck.
Really?
Yeah. Things were… weird. When we were rooming together. IDK if he ever suspected us, but he knew something.
And you think he’d tell someone? A reporter?
IDK. He was the first one I thought of. Can’t imagine anyone else doing it.
Can you imagine HIM doing it? Does it sound like something he’d do?
Yes.
It was my turn for a long silence. I kind of wanted to get up, stride down the aisle to Hairs’s seat, and give him a piece of my mind.
There were a million reasons not to do that, though, so I stayed put.
But my mind still raced. If nothing else, I’d be telling the travel coordinator to separate the two of them when Devon came back (assuming Vancouver didn’t keep him).
Even if Hairs hadn’t done anything wrong, Devon obviously didn’t trust him and wasn’t comfortable with him.
I was midway through a thought about that when my phone pinged again.
Am I overreacting? They didn’t even say anything bad, you know? But I feel so fucking gross.
No. You’re not overreacting.
It takes a long time to get used to the press caring about your personal life. Having intimate details published without your consent? Nobody ever gets used to that.
So it’s not just me?
Absolutely not. Even when it’s nothing “bad”, it still feels violating and gross. You’re allowed to feel shitty about it.
He went quiet again. I exhaled into the relative silence of the bus.
He was probably letting that settle over him.
Sometimes, just having permission to feel shitty about something made it feel a lot less shitty.
Hopefully, I’d said what he needed to hear so he could shake this off and get some sleep.
I wasn’t ready when his next text came through.
Can I see you?
My lips parted, and I reread those four words a dozen times because I couldn’t believe they were real.
Do you want to see me?
I need to see you.
My heart ached at those words, because I swore I could hear his voice breaking as he said it. I had no idea if he wanted sex or if he just needed to be in the same room as someone who gave a shit about him, but it didn’t matter because the answer was the same.
Where are you?
Dallas. We fly to Denver tomorrow.
I gnawed the inside of my cheek, and I quickly checked the Vancouver IceHawks schedule. They’d arrive in Denver tomorrow but wouldn’t play until the following night.
Pulse racing, I switched back to the text app.
I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Don’t you have a game tomorrow night? Where are YOU?
I’ll make it happen.
are you sure?
You need me. I’m there. End of discussion.
Gray dots. No gray dots. Gray dots. No gray dots.
Thank you.
It was bullshit thirty in the morning when the bus pulled up to our hotel in Kamloops. As everyone shuffled into the lobby, rolling suitcases on their heels, I caught up with Amy.
“Hey, can I borrow you for a second?”
She looked up at me with bleary eyes. She was probably dying to get to her room and pass out.
“Just for a minute,” I said.
She turned to her wife. “I’ll meet you upstairs, okay?”
Tori nodded, made sure Amy knew which room they were in, and took both of their suitcases.
As soon as we were alone in the lobby, Amy turned to me, concern creeping in around the sleepy edges. “Is everything okay?”
No. No, the man I can’t stop loving is twisting in the wind in Texas and I need to get to him.
I didn’t say that, though. Instead, I went with, “Are you comfortable coaching the team?”
She blinked. “Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t—wait, you mean as head coach?”
I nodded.
“Uh…” Her eyes lost focus for a moment. “I mean, I’m getting more comfortable with it.
” With Emil’s blessing, I’d had her assuming the role of head coach for more and more practices, and even had her take over from time to time on the bench during games.
We hadn’t told her yet that she was being seriously considered for the role after my departure because we wanted her to try it without the added pressure.
So far, she’d slid into my skates without issue.
The team respected her, and she knew her shit.
I was completely fine with leaving her at the helm, but only if she was ready to take those reins.
After a moment, she swallowed. Then she nodded slowly as she met my gaze. “Yeah. Yeah, I can handle it.” Some apprehension tightened her features. “Do you think the guys will accept that? Me stepping up as head coach?”