Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Grayson
When I try to video-call Remy, he declines immediately, only to call me right back sans video. Bemused, I accept the call and bring the phone to my ear. I’m sitting on my patio, enjoying one of those incongruous sunny, Colorado winter days—there was snow on the ground yesterday, and today it is seventy-two degrees and balmy.
“Remy?”
“Gray, hi,” he says, in a tone of voice that makes my stomach clench. He’s either sad or exhausted—maybe both—but I can’t tell without seeing his face. “Sorry about that. I’m walking to the rink, so not a great time for video.”
“No worries. Do you want to talk later instead?”
“No, no, now is fine. Good game last night. Got you with a new partner, huh? I was wondering if there was going to be a shake-up with Lancaster out.” A horn honks on his end, and I close my eyes to imagine the familiar streets he’s walking .
“Yeah. I’m new enough that I’m able to play the same no matter who they pair me with, so I’m mostly going to be playing fourth line with the younger guys. I don’t mind, though. I’d rather the top lines be stable. You ready for tonight? First game back from break and home ice advantage—should be fun.”
Remy’s silent but for the soft puffs of air as he walks. The quiet stretches into the uncomfortable zone before he speaks in a careful monotone. I sit up straighter in my chair.
“I won’t be playing tonight,” he says.
“They scratched you? Why?” Healthy scratches aren’t unheard of, obviously, but they rarely happen with players who have an on-ice presence like Remy does. If they scratch him, they’ll miss him.
“Because I got into a fight at practice yesterday. I’m going in right now to speak with the GM.”
“A fight at practice? Remy, what the fuck happened? Are you okay?” I drop my feet from the balcony rail and stand up, wishing I had space enough to pace.
“Oh, I’m fine. Petterson was talking shit and I am so fucking sick of these guys. He must have been afraid of you, because he had no problem at all using slurs to my face.”
Closing my eyes, I tip my head back and barely swallow down my groan. This is why I’ve regretted coming out while I was still playing for the NHL, and this is exactly why I advised Remy of caution.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I already knew I’d be leaving at the end of this season—might as well burn a few bridges on my way out the door. Screw them.” His voice holds more vitriol than I’ve ever heard from him. I’m sorry for that, too, but keep it to myself. I should never have put him in this position .
“You think they’re going to terminate your contract early,” I say, not really meaning it as a question. I’d bet money that’s what this meeting with the GM is about. Fighting with a teammate at practice could be classified as disobeying club guidelines and the rules of conduct. They’d be well within their rights to cut him.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck, Remy, I’m?—”
“Gray! It’s fine. I’m fine. Stop apologizing for things that are out of your control. I’m not worried about it and I don’t want you to be, either. If anything, I’m a little relieved. This team feels like a ticking time bomb. I’d rather not be within the blast radius when things really go sideways.”
“It sounds like things have already gone sideways,” I remind him weakly. Vaguely, I wonder if the churning in my stomach will end with me hurling the contents over the edge of my balcony. This is exactly what I’d worried about when Remy and I started screwing around.
“Stop worrying. Isn’t that usually my job?” he teases. “I’ll call you later, okay? We can video and watch how badly Calgary sucks without me, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I respond. “Good luck.”
He disconnects the call and I let my arm drop limply to my side. I’m sure that Remy is right, and the fact that none of the guys ever said shit directly to my face was a reflection of cowardice. Remy might be in the same line of work as the rest of us, but he’s a great deal smaller than me. If a bully was going to pick one of us to attack, it was never going to be me.
Frustrated at my impotence, I open the patio door with more force than necessary and stalk inside. I feel fucking useless, being here in Colorado while Remy is in Canada having to defend himself against a situation I put him in. A situation I left him in. The bliss of our California days feels so far gone, I can hardly believe they ended only a couple days ago.