Chapter 5 #2
In my room, I pulled out my phone. I wasn’t checking if Miles had texted me.
He had a dozen better things to do tonight.
Still, I found myself scrolling back up that old message thread.
Most of it was banal stuff, me asking if I should pick up takeout on the way over, or Miles saying “Good game” to me after some day we hadn’t sucked too badly.
Only here and there were hints of who we’d been to each other, an eggplant emoji, a text-hug, a quick ILY.
Fuck. I swiped out of that shit. Torturing myself was not going to change anything.
For something to do, I pulled up the Tacoma Tornados game from last night.
God, I missed playing at that level. For a few weeks, I’d been part of a franchise going somewhere, with guys who pushed me to my limits.
And beyond, if I was honest. Ever since the knee injury, I’d been a half-step too slow, and less mobile.
My head knew what to do, but hockey-sense couldn’t make up for my skating.
After the ligament tear happened, I’d spent two years doing every rehab known to man.
I’d worked with skating coaches and put myself in debt for extra PT.
I’d spent every minute of the summers when I wasn’t at work to earn bucks, working out to gain muscle.
All that, and still, each call-up was for a game or two, a week, six at most. Each time, the faster, younger Tornados wingers came off injured reserve, and I went back down to where the play was also one step slower. Back where I belonged.
On screen, Rusty Dolan laid a monster hit on the opposing center, stole the puck, and fed a great pass up to his own right winger. The shot didn’t go in, thanks to goalie heroics, but that kind of play showed why Rusty wasn’t going to be a Tornado much longer. He was NHL Rafters-bound, for sure.
At least the Tornados’ room was also better than ours, or had been last year when I was up there.
No Morty, no Yagger. Fuck, I missed that past too— being part of a room where hockey was fun and no one was scared to walk into the showers for what prank might be played on them this time.
Where the words I hated were rare and incidental background noise, not thrown like poison darts.
I turned off yesterday’s game. The Tornados were home now on an off night. Without overthinking it, I texted Rusty outside the old team chat.
Logan: ~ Hey, great hit on Collins last night.
Then added, in case he hadn’t saved our numbers, ~ This is Vally.
I realized after I’d sent the message that Rusty might be enjoying some one-on-one with his boyfriend, but an answer pinged back pretty fast.
Rusty: ~ Hey Vally, thanks. What’s up?
I guessed that was a fair enough question, since I was texting after not playing with the guy for eight months.
Logan: ~ Checking in. Hoping the Tacoma boys are as good to you as they were to me when I was up there.
Rusty: ~ They’re great. It’s a good room.
I realized that was the thing I’d wanted to talk about.
Logan: ~ I wanted to say sorry for not doing more to improve our room last year when you were here. I’ve played with Morty and Petrov and Yagoda for years. I should’ve stepped up against that bullshit.
Rusty: ~ I never expected that of you.
Logan: ~I should’ve expected it of myself. It’s just…
I stopped, the message unsent, hanging on a cliff. Yes? No? Would I ever get the fucking balls to change my life? Before I could second-guess myself, I finished, ~ I’m gay, and I’ve always kept my head down till it was such deep ingrained instinct I fucked everything up.
Rusty: ~ You’re not out, right?
I tried to be flippant. ~ Only to one person. Well, two, now.
Rusty: ~ You can trust me. I hope you know that.
Logan: ~ Yeah. What’s fucking me up is that you couldn’t trust me. Like, you’re 18, I’m 33, I should’ve had your fucking back.
Rusty: ~ Gonna be 20 soon, actually. He added a grinning emoji. No reason you had to fight my battles.
Logan: ~ Except they were my battles too. And
I sent that unfinished, accidentally maybe, or on purpose because I couldn’t think what words came next.
Rusty: ~ You want to voice call?
Logan: ~ What?
Rusty: ~ You’re the same age as my boyfriend, and I swear to God, he’s shit at texting when stuff gets real. I think it’s an old-folks thing. Winky-face. Just a thought, if you want.
I sat with that for a moment. Did I? Wasn’t Rusty safer as the other end of a disembodied string of texts? Except, I needed to talk to someone tonight, and it said a lot about how shitty my life was, that Rusty was the safest option I knew.
I hit the call icon before I could second-guess myself.
Rusty answered on the first ring. “See, I know how to deal with hockey senior citizens.”
“Fuck you, Dodo.” I joked, then hesitated, remembering how that nickname used to get used. “I mean, Dolan. Rusty.”
“Or Dolly. The boys decided I needed a new nickname.”
“And you’re okay with that one?”
Rusty laughed. “It’s all about how it’s meant, right?
Morty wanted Dodo to sting, except, laugh’s on him, my high school team called me that for years.
Here, they were being funny, and yeah, maybe testing me a bit.
I went to the team Halloween party as Dolly Parton, and since then the boys have my back. ”
“You did?” I couldn’t imagine that.
“Fuck yeah. In full drag. Of course, I had my Hall-of-Fame defenseman boyfriend with me, looking like he’d fuck up anyone who didn’t take it well.”
“Jesus.” Going to Halloween in drag wasn’t unknown, but doing it as a queer man was a bit extra. Rusty had balls, all right. “Well, go you.”
Whatever I’d meant to say next didn’t come. For a moment, I clutched my phone in awkward silence.
Eventually, Rusty said, “Congrats on coming out, even to one new person.”
“I’m thirty-three fucking years old. There are multiple out gay guys in the leagues now. It shouldn’t be this fucking hard.”
“Fuck that bullshit. Of course it’s hard.
” Rusty cleared his throat. “Edzie says he just about shit his pants, coming out, and that guy could say, ‘Hi, I’m the second-best rookie in the whole fucking league and I’m gay.
’ It’s harder for us ordinary dudes who aren’t valuable and carrying our team on our backs. ”
“I heard you got outed, not on purpose?” My nightmare for the last decade.
“Yeah, not totally. I told my parents, because I couldn’t stand this shit they were saying about my brother.
They kicked me out and told their whole congregation, so pretty soon, the town knew.
So I did it to myself but not, you know, planned, like Edzie with his great fucking speech, and his ex-Marines cop and his cowboy on either side of him.
More like, ‘Fuck you, I’m gay, what are you going to fucking do about it? ’”
“And they kicked you out?”
“Yeah. Thank God for Edzie living down the road.” Rusty lowered his voice. “Would your family be okay? If you told them, I mean?”
“I don’t really have family. My mom’s an addict, pretty much checked out for years.
” I lived with a low-key expectation of getting a call she was dead, and still didn’t know how I’d feel about that.
“I’m sure I’d hear from Mom if I started making a million bucks, but otherwise no.
Dad left her when I was two, and he has a new wife and a new perfect family. So I don’t care.”
“Who are you worried about?”
Who wasn’t I worried about? The team, my coach, the fans, the league— none of them would love another queer player raising their hand, and I was clinging to my spot on the roster. “Just, everything, I guess.”
“If it’s any help, no one seemed to suspect you, last year. I had a lot of shit thrown at me, and no one brought you up as ‘I bet you’re sucking each other’s dicks.’ So I’d guess Morty and the rest don’t notice anything.”
That was almost worse, because it meant I could continue to hide, if I chose to.
“I was going to come out last year,” I told Rusty. “I was all set, and then…”
“And then?”
“And then I got fucking called up to the Tornados, and I slammed that door. I had my shot at a better career and I wasn’t going to fuck it up.”
“Reasonable,” Rusty said.
“Yeah. Except my boyfriend went ahead and came out, and I didn’t.”
“Ouch. Fuck.”
“Right? He asked me how long I was going to wait, and I said I didn’t fucking know, to get off my back. Or something like that.”
Rusty whistled low. “I’m afraid to ask how that went over.”
“Hah. I just saw him tonight for the first time in over a year.”
“Ah, man, I’m sorry.”
“I can’t even blame him,” I admitted. “He was out, free to do all the open shit we’d planned to do together, and I was still hiding and taking my frustration out on him.
He’s my age, he waited years for that moment.
I couldn’t ask him to walk it back, and I was too chickenshit to stand next to him. ”
“Being scared isn’t paranoia when they really are out to get you.”
I sighed. “I don’t know anymore. What was it all for?
I knew I wasn’t going to stay up in the AHL, any more than I had the last ten times I got called up, back when I was younger and sharper and hungrier.
I knew I was taking a frag grenade to the best thing in my life.
I did it anyway, like I couldn’t help myself. ”
Rusty hummed under his breath, then asked, “What are you going to do about it now?”
“Not much. He’s engaged to someone else.”
“Sorry, dude.”
“Yeah. But I thought… maybe I can work on the Gryphons’ locker room. We have new rookies, a couple of them are fuckin’ good. I don’t know that any of them are gay, but I don’t know they aren’t.”
“Right.”
“Maybe I can make a difference, so one of them isn’t thirty-three and wishing they’d made better choices, fifteen years down the line.”
“Locker rooms are hard to change, especially when you’re not the captain.” Rusty cleared his throat. “You still have Petrov to work around.”
“Pete, Morty, Yagger,” I agreed. “But I have Bubs on my side, and maybe Nikki. Wish Bellser was still here.” Our veteran center had also moved up last season.
“Yeah, he’s cool. My gain, your loss.”
“There’s some other decent guys.” I hoped.
Rusty offered, “Rickie never gave me a hard time about anything.”
“Maybe.” Our backup goalie was a good guy, but a big prankster who didn’t take anything seriously. “Anyhow, I think I have to try.”
“And come out?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my face. “I don’t fucking know. I almost told Bubs, kind of sideways. Maybe.”
“Whatever works, dude. You still gotta protect yourself. Speaking of, can I tell Cross, or maybe Edzie? They would both have your back, and they have, like, millions of dollars and a lot of clout in the league.”
“I don’t need their money.” I’d never taken much of Miles’s.
Rusty laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I always said, but Cross’s bucks came in handy sometimes. Like, you know those new security cameras we got at the arena last year?”
“Yeah?”
“Cross had those put in when an ex-boyfriend was hassling me. I was pissed he spent money on me, but also grateful. So, like, if you came out and had the paps after you, maybe Cross or Edzie could help.”
Fatigue washed through me, weighing me down into the mattress. I leaned back and closed my eyes. “The paps won’t give a fuck about me. I’m a has-been. I might have a couple of seasons left in me here in the ECHL, but by now, I’m not news. ‘Aging player is gay.’ Who the fuck cares?”
“Whatever. Just saying. We queer players gotta stick together.”
“I guess you can tell them,” I agreed. “I can’t imagine someone like Scott Edison or Roger LaCroix is interested, but sure, if the topic comes up somewhere private, I guess.”
“I won’t out you to anyone else, promise.”
“Thanks.”
After a minute of silence, Rusty said, “Listen, Cross just got back from his game. You need anything else from me?”
“Fuck, no. Go get your man.”
“I hope his kids won. He’s a grumpy coach when they get smoked.” Rusty laughed. “Take care, Vally.” He ended the call.
I lay there, eyes closed, drowning in envy.
Rusty had everything I wanted— talent that would take him to the top, as long as he avoided the kind of injury I’d had, and a boyfriend who stood behind him, even when Rusty was dressed in drag at an AHL party full of players.
Maybe he hadn’t been a queer poster boy on purpose, but he’d brought the first fan rainbow banners to KigoElectric Arena in all the years I’d skated there. He’d made a difference.
What the fuck had I ever done?
Kicked my boyfriend in the nuts and scored a few goals in the AHL.
Gritting my teeth, I breathed through a moment of tight throat and aching chest. I had no right to feel sorry for myself. Okay, fresh start. No more quasi-stalking Miles. Time to stand on my own two feet. Starting tomorrow, I’d make some kind of difference too.