Chapter 11 #2
“Sure,” I said. “I did not need to hear about the cup size of that girl Wilkie was banging last week, but there we were.” Nerves caught up with me at that point and I felt a little sick.
“Look, Coach, I didn’t come out for fifteen years, because I didn’t want me being gay to be a distraction or reflect on the team.
I’m not going to hold a press conference, or invite fans to bring rainbow banners. ”
“Although Dolan got some new fans in the house,” Coach Nery pointed out. “We had record crowds the beginning of his rookie season, for and against him. More interest, more media attention. A few season tickets canceled, but some new ones bought. No sign it hurt the team.”
Coach Frazier huffed. “Whatever. We’re talking about Valliere upsetting the locker room.”
I said, “Why would they be upset? Digger’s getting married. Lindy’s wife is pregnant. I have a boyfriend. So what?”
“You were stirring up trouble.”
Coach Nery shifted in his chair. “Honestly, I expect it was Mortenson stirring up trouble.”
Coach Frazier flashed him a glare.
“What?” Coach Nery retorted. “You know perfectly well what Mortenson’s like. Vally’s been quiet, no trouble, since I’ve been here.” He gave me a nod.
“But gay,” Coach Frazier pointed out.
Coach Nery shrugged. “Honestly, so what? We had Dolan for a year, and he did good for us. Hell, one of the other guys could be gay or bisexual and we don’t know. If they play good hockey, so what?”
I noted, “We have excellent rookies this year. Stackman, Korbel, maybe DiAngelo could make it to the big show fast. I’m trying to keep the locker room a place that builds them up, not beats them down.”
“You think one of them is gay?” Coach Frazier asked.
“No clue. But I think they all deserve not to have teammates who are digging for their tender spots and sticking a knife in them.” I sighed. “Look, I didn’t want this to be a big deal. Me and a bunch of the boys decided the bullying had gone far enough, and it came out in the mix.”
“After fifteen years.”
I raised my chin. “Yeah.”
Coach Nery said, “Is Miles Buckner, the NFL player, really your, uh, boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” I felt a grin tugging at my lips, tried to hold it back, then decided what the hell. “Yeah, he is.” The sheer glee of being able to say that made me giddy.
Coach Frazier huffed. “Well, I trust you won’t let your, uh, gayness be a distraction. No speeches, no waving banners.”
“That’s the plan.” I hesitated, and my voice wasn’t as strong as I wanted when I said, “But I don’t want to stop standing up to bullying in the locker room and on the ice.”
Coach Nery spoke up first. “That’s fine, especially if it’s a group effort.” He turned to Coach Frazier. “Right?”
Coach Frazier shrugged, not looking thrilled about being pushed into a corner. “You can’t make hockey players into choir boys.”
“I don’t want to,” I agreed.
“Huh. All right.” Coach pushed back his chair and stood. “We’ll leave it at that. Get out of here, Vally. Come back tonight and score me some fucking goals. The Foxes have won our last three match-ups. I want to beat them here at home this time.”
“Yes, sir.” I pivoted and ducked out the door before he could change his mind.
Momentum carried me down the hall and out to my car where I dropped behind the wheel and sat there, breathing hard.
I wasn’t sure if that meeting with Coach was good or bad.
Some of each, maybe. Was the demand that I score goals a warning to perform or be cut, or just hockey talk?
The Sacramento Foxes were our rivals. We always wanted to beat them.
I put my forehead on my arms, clutching the steering wheel, and breathed some more.
A sharp rap on the window by my head made me jump. I squinted up, recognized Bubs, and powered the glass down. “Hey. Yeah?”
“You okay?’ he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I saw Coach calling you to his office. That go okay?”
I made an effort to sound cheerful. “Yeah. Him and Nery are behind us trying to rein in the shit-talking in the room, as long as we do it as a group and don’t try to turn the players into choir boys.”
Bubs barked a laugh. “As if.”
“Right?”
“He was okay, with you?”
“Yeah, fine,” I lied. Although it didn’t seem like Coach Frazier would let his personal opinion affect his coaching, which was all I asked.
“Hey,” Bubs said. “You want to come to my place for lunch? My wife’s working but she usually leaves some really fucking good food for after practice. I’m sure there’s plenty.”
I was going to bow out, but Miles would be at work till after I was due back at the arena, and if I went home now, I’d just stew about all the things I’d said to Morty and Coach, and all the things I should’ve said. “Sure. If that’s okay.”
“About time. You’ve been a hard man to get to know. Follow me, and then you can head home for your nap afterward.”
I realized that for all we’d hung out in public over the years, Bubs was right. I’d never accepted an invitation to his place, never had him at mine. That deliberate distance looked so cold, in retrospect. “Sounds like a plan.”
Bubs had his phone out. “My wife says lemongrass chicken and there’s plenty for two. I’ll see you there.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Bubs gave me a little salute, two fingers tapping his temple, and strode off toward his electric-blue SUV. At least I wasn’t likely to lose him in traffic.
I texted to Miles. ~ Came out to the team today. And my coaches. Went okay. I’ll tell you about it tonight.
Setting my phone in the cup holder, in case there was a reply, I waited till Bubs backed out of his space, then put my car in gear and headed off behind him.
Lunch with a friend shouldn’t have been a novelty, but I was really looking forward to a meal and idle conversation without ever having to censor myself. That part felt like freedom.