1. Xander #2
Nick got to his feet, tugged down his expensive suit jacket, and ran a hand over his ebony hair.
He was a handsome son-of-a-bitch. Lean, not overly tall but not super short, always full of spunk and energy which would do him well as he’d taken over all his late father’s vast holdings, including a hockey team.
Not too bad for a man not even forty years old yet.
He wasn’t my type at all, but his smoldering dark looks and designer clothes won him the eye of many.
Being one of the richest men in Massachusetts didn’t hurt his appeal either.
“You know I’m not one to beat around the bush so I’m going to say it right out.
I’ve been known to knock boots with guys on occasion myself.
If anyone in this room wants to make it known to the team and or the Rebels management that they’re LGBTQ, now is a great time to free yourselves.
This is an inclusive organization. We do not tolerate hate in our hallowed halls.
The first time I hear of anyone using a racial or phobic slur of any kind your ass is grass, and I will be the motherfucking lawnmower.
I have zero tolerance for hateful shit in any business I run.
” Sinclair looked out at the room. “I’m not forcing anyone to come out.
I wouldn’t do that, and I can’t legally.
What I’m asking is that if you decide to make any announcements, let me know beforehand please and try to give me more than twenty-four hours’ notice.
I’m not a fan of last-minute surprises. Dry humps suck.
” He looked at me. I nodded in understanding.
Trust me, boss, if I would’ve had a choice I’d have handled it with far more reserve and grace. Or maybe stayed in the closet until I’d retired.
“Just wanted to get that out there. Feel free to talk to Brady if you have something bothering you or come to me or the team counselor. We’ll have your backs,” Nick said and then looked at each of us with those dark, dark eyes of his until his gaze settled on Austin.
The poor kid withered under the owner’s attention then he raised a hand.
“I have a boyfriend,” Austin said softly. There was really no surprise there.
Dunny stood up. “I like dick.” The room exploded in laughter. Dunny chuckled. “Well, I do. I like pussy too. Hell, I’ll boink anything that’s got a pulse.”
“Someone lock up the sheep!” someone shouted from the back of the room.
Nick glowered. Coach Franks pinched the bridge of his nose.
Brady was struggling to maintain his captainly composure.
As the laughter settled, our soft-spoken goalie got to his feet.
Renco rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flickering around the room just as it did when he was doing his ocular warm-ups before a game.
We all waited for him to speak but he simply made some vague motion with his hand that looked like ASL to me.
He tended to do that a lot as his older sister was deaf, so I think it was second nature to him at times.
“Queer,” he said as an afterthought then sat down.
Our newest acquisition from Detroit to play rightwing on the third line, Marquis Miller, got to his shiny brown boots and tugged at the collar of his African print turtleneck sweater.
Marquis had been voted one of the best-dressed players in the NHL three years in a row by magazines that do that kind of fashion thing.
I never saw him in anything that wasn’t trendy or well put together.
And he never wore a beanie, but he’d wear those old 40s style hats. Trendsetter they said.
People in the press talk about Nick, his family, their connections, and how they got their money.
Lots of talk of Greek mafia ties that his grandfather had established before leaving Greece.
I had no clue if the Stavropolous—which became Sinclair when his family arrived in America for reasons unknown—had ties to unsavory sorts or not, but Nick knew hockey.
And he was making trades that would aid us in our quest for another Cup.
Including the fashionable Marquis, who looked like a beefy Jon Batiste and played one hell of a physical game.
“I’m pan,” Marquis announced then sat back down as smooth as silk.
“You guys are killing me here.” Nick sounded so forlorn.
I understood where he was coming from. My announcement today was going to stir up some real shit that our PR team would be trying to shine up for palatability for weeks, if not months.
The common fan wouldn’t be impressed as the common fan was male and white and more than likely straight.
Professional sports were the last bastion of masculinity according to some, and the raging hetero boys clung to their outdated homophobic biases with vigor.
Sure, we’d made some strides. Tennant Rowe had forced others to look at queer players with new respect as had many of his teammates and a few players out in Arizona.
So while I wasn’t the lone target for the haters, I was going to be the newest one.
And that could translate to empty seats.
“Coach, they’re all yours now. Oh, and we ask you all not to comment publicly on Xander’s announcement unless it’s to say you’re an ally and fully support your teammate.
If you don’t feel that way, fine, that’s your right but do not spout hateful rhetoric to the press or fans.
And for the love of my grandmother’s fasolatha keep your views to yourself on social media. ”
Nick left, and our attention turned to Coach Franks as he walked over to the light switch.
“So, I think we all know where the team stands on today’s announcement.
Keep in mind that we’re a team. We play as one and we support each other.
With that said, since we’re all here let’s spend the next hour doing our jobs. ”
The lights went off, the video screen lit up, and we put aside the shitstorm brewing outside to do that hockey thing we got paid to do.