Chapter 11
Logan
Sweat trickled down the back of my neck after practice as I trudged from the ice to the locker room.
Coach usually kept game-day practices light, but we’d pissed him off somehow, and he’d pushed us harder than usual.
He’d also pulled out the insults, calling us slow and lazy and pussies.
The second time he said that word, Bubs tapped my shin with his stick as he skated past. I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed.
Petrov hadn’t looked me in the eyes all morning, but he also hadn’t said a wrong word. Morty was on a tear because Coach ripped him a new one about his coverage in front of the net. He’d already tripped up Rickie and elbowed Digger into his locker before I even had my skates off.
When Morty called Chiller “Fatty,” I gathered my nerve.
“Mort, shut the fuck up already,” I called, not looking up from removing my shin guards. “Chiller got past you twice in practice. Maybe you should fix your own self and leave the rookies the fuck alone.”
Morty stomped my way, his feet in sweaty socks appearing in my line of sight. “What did you say, fuck-face? You talking to me?”
I sighed theatrically and looked up. “Yeah, I am. I’m sick of you dragging down this locker room. If you can’t chirp your own teammates without making them feel like shit, you should shut your face.”
Morty bent over me to get in my space. “Gonna make me, shorty?”
Behind him, Nikki said, “He won’t, but I might.”
Morty turned, which gave me a chance to get to my feet. I didn’t trust him not to sucker-punch me while I was sitting down.
“You?” Morty sneered at Nikki. “You’ve fought what, twice all season?”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know how. At least I’m your size. I’ve noticed you only pick on the smaller players.”
“The fuck?” Morty threw a glance around the room. The guys had quieted, watching us, and I couldn’t tell who was on which side.
Petrov heaved a sigh. “All of you should shut up and take showers. We have a game tonight, remember? Mortenson, quit picking fights.”
“Me?” Morty stared at him, no doubt shocked Pete bothered to say anything.
“I’m just toughening the kids up. Fuck knows they need it.
You want us to get creamed again tonight?
Huh?” He turned back to me. “Like you, skating so slow a five-year-old could catch you. Did your boyfriend fuck you up the ass too hard? Is that why you can’t fucking skate? ”
I counted to three, my choices racing around in my head. Yes? No? Is it time? Memories of how I sat back and let Miles take the heat a year ago egged me on. Yes. Now. I said easily, “No, he doesn’t fuck me the night before games.”
“Say what?” Yagger burst out, staring at me.
Morty laughed like I’d told a joke. “So what? You are a fag? Yeah, right.”
“We say gay in this locker room,” I told him. “Yeah. I’m gay. My plus-minus is still better than yours.”
That silenced the room. The guys all stared at me.
Bubs cleared his throat and said to Yagger, “And he’s scored more goals than you have, so next time you want to run your mouth, remember that.”
Morty whirled to Bubs. “You knew?”
Bubs shrugged. “Sure.”
Petrov said, “I also knew. It makes no difference to how Vally plays hockey. And it should make no difference in this room.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Morty glared at our captain. “Dolan was bad enough. At least we knew going in. But this fucker, looking at us in secret all these years?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I pulled off my base layer shirt and shook sweat out of my hair. “My boyfriend makes you look like a tiny marshmallow. With a tiny dick. Nothing I want to look at.”
Morty grabbed my shoulders, shoving me back so my knees hit my bench. “No human would look twice at a disgusting freak like you.”
Bubs said, “Who’s your boyfriend, Vally?”
“Miles Buckner.” I wrenched out of Morty’s grip. “And let me tell you, he’s not a fan of some folks in this locker room.”
“Miles Buckner, the football player?” Zoozoo stared at me. “The BuckTruck is gay?”
“Where’ve you been, Zoo?” Bubs drawled. “Buckner came out, like, a year ago.”
“Fuck.” Zoozoo rubbed a hand across his mouth. “Like, seriously?”
“Yep,” I agreed.
“Ooh, I’m so scared.” Morty curled his lip. “Gonna run and tell the big bad football player to beat me up?”
I laughed. “Nah, I’m not hiding behind Miles.
Just saying, no gay guy’s going to take one look at you with Miles in the house.
” I managed to stop myself before falling into a camp face-fanning fake-swoon.
Grossing out Morty was one thing, but beyond Bubs and Nikki, I wasn’t sure how many of the guys in the room were comfortable with a gay teammate. No need to push them too hard.
Turning my back on all the stares and stripping off the last of my clothes was one of the harder things I’d ever done, but I dropped my jock and shorts, straightened, naked, and headed for the showers.
“Come on, guys,” I said without looking back.
“We’ve got a game to win tonight. Some of you smell rank. ”
“We all stink,” someone said behind me. Stacker pushed past me with a grin and stepped into his own shower. “Literally. Not the way we’re gonna play tonight.”
“Right.” Zoozoo joined us. “Hey, Vally, you think Buckner might be at the game?”
“Probably.” Miles hadn’t said so, when he dropped me off at my apartment in the gray morning gloom, but I knew the man. He’d be out there.
“Cool. I had a poster of that guy on my wall when I was a kid.”
“When, like, six months ago?” I chirped, still carefully staring at the wall in front of me.
“Hey, my plus-minus is even better than yours. I’m coming for you, dude.” I could hear the grin in Zoozoo’s voice.
Behind us Petrov said, “Prove it tonight, Zoozoo.” I could hear other guys coming in, showers going on. Quieter than usual after a practice, but not dead silent.
I rinsed and got out fast, avoiding glances as I booked it out of the showers, toweled off, and dressed.
Our rookie defenseman Mannie said, “Hey, we’re cool, okay?
” as he passed me on his way out, and I nodded.
Rickie tossed a sweaty jock at my head and grinned when I ducked.
His expression looked friendly, and he gave me a thumb’s up, so I took it to be our backup goalie’s weird sense of humor, not some gay slur.
Wilkie, on the other hand, stretched his legs out as I passed where he was sitting, making me detour around him as I headed for the door.
In the corridor, I paused to catch my breath. Okay. So I did that. With some wins, and some probably-not-wins. I dug out my phone to text Miles, though he’d be in class, when Coach Frazier’s voice behind me said, “Valliere, my office.”
Well, fuck. I turned. Coach’s face was impassive as always, but then he was capable of saying “good job” or “you screwed the pooch” with exactly that same expression.
“Yes, sir.” I followed him down the hall to his door.
Coach Nery, his assistant, already sat in a chair beside Frazier’s spot. Frazier took his usual seat behind the hulking metal desk. He didn’t wave me to a chair, so I stood.
Coach Nery broke the uncomfortable silence with, “A couple of nice goals in the scrimmage there, Valliere.”
I appreciated the effort at defusing. “Thanks.”
Coach Frazier snapped, “And then you fucked up in the locker room. What the hell was that, Valliere?”
“Me trying to make the room better.” I took a breath. “Frankly, it’s been getting toxic the last couple of years.”
“For gay players.” He said it as if the word “gay” tasted bad.
Well, fuck. I’d hoped Coach just didn’t care, not that he was one of the “gays don’t belong in hockey” crew, but I’d picked my path.
“Not just gay players like Dolan and me,” I said, as easily as I could.
“Guys like Chesterton. Kid had a shot at being good, I thought, but he quit hockey because having—” I censored names at the last minute.
“—having some of his teammates tormenting him about his weight all day and night broke his confidence.” Morty had nicknamed him “Chesty” and given the kid torment about his “man-boobs” and his lack of conditioning, until Chesterton packed in the towel by the end of training camp.
“Chesterton was out of shape,” Coach noted.
“Yeah, some, but he was a goalie. He didn’t need speed. He was flexible, he had good hands, read the plays well for a rookie. He had potential, but by the end, he barely dared make a move for fear of being chirped to death. No, not chirped, bullied.”
Coach’s lip curled. “Hockey’s not for sissies. If he couldn’t stand the heat in training camp, he’d fall apart during the season.”
I gritted my teeth. “With respect, sir, it’s one thing to hear that shit from opponents. It’s something else coming from the guys who are supposed to have your back.”
Coach Nery grunted, a little sound of agreement.
Coach Frazier shrugged. “We’re not talking about Chesterton. We’re talking about you making a big gay announcement in the locker room hours before we face the Foxes. Were you trying to throw the team off-balance?”
I stared at him and bit back my What the fuck? I did want to keep playing for this team. “I didn’t make an announcement. Morty asked if my boyfriend had fucked my ass raw and I said no, he hadn’t.”
Part of me relished Coach’s little flinch, part of me was babbling hysterically at myself to keep my mouth shut and placate the guy who could have me cut from the team. I was flying high on lots of Miles, too little sleep, and coming out at last. Good judgment had flown out the window.
“That was inappropriate of Mortenson,” Coach snapped. “So was your response.”
“Why? Facts.”
“Players need to keep their personal lives out of the locker room.”