8. Colby
EIGHT
Colby
Novi is messing with my head, and I wish I could say that I hate it, but I really, really don’t. When accepting the job in LA, my biggest worry was Novi trying to ruin things for me because he hates me so much. This … I wasn’t expecting this.
It’s thrown me, and I need to work out how to handle it all.
Distancing myself from him as much as possible is the smart thing to do, and I wasn’t lying when I said I’d have his back no matter what because his family’s safety is the most important thing here.
Not my physical reactions to his touch or his mere presence.
I can go out and hook up to take off that edge, and Novi can … Huh. If he’s been so adamant about keeping everything about his sexuality a secret for so long, does that mean he doesn’t hook up? That he never has?
Surely he’s done … some stuff. Anonymously.
Damn it, why does that thought turn me on so much? Oh, right. It’s Novi. Anything to do with that man has my body raring to go at a moment’s notice.
Stupid old crushes and that saying about them dying hard.
Why did he have to be nice and come out to me? He should’ve silently tortured me like he did back then. I’d be none the wiser and all the less hornier for it.
By some miracle, I make it through the rest of training camp without another close pass with Novi, and I’m in a good headspace to get my job done and do my part to help lead the team to victory this season.
The first preseason game is against Anaheim, and even though they’re only thirty miles away, I wish it were a home game. Lugging the video equipment is my least favorite part of this job so far, but as the assistant video coach, I am paying my dues.
I’ve been promised big things by LA management, but I still have to prove that I’m worthy of working my way up that ladder. If I want to be head coach by the time I’m forty, I only have four years to show them why I deserve it.
At Penn State, being a video coach was part of the head coach job.
Some NHL teams still only have the one, and I don’t know how they do it.
We’re a small team of three, with Nowak being a general assistant coach, meaning if they need him on the ice to help with training, he’s their guy.
I’m more of a specialized kind of coach, focusing on the tasks I need to do to get the experience required of a head coach.
Head coaches aren’t out there on the ice every day leading practices.
They’re on the sidelines analyzing everything.
How everyone looks. How the opposition looks.
It’s their job to come up with the plays that will hopefully get around the opponents and score goals.
And the skills of having been a video coach is imperative to doing that.
We’re the invisible right-hand man of the head coach.
We put in the long hours, cutting tape together, sending the players their ice time to review their own plays, and then combining everything in a cohesive way for game tape meetings.
Which there are a lot of. There was a lot back when I was playing in the AHL, but with technology advancements, more cameras than ever on the ice, and the quick pace in which the game is played, I have no idea how some of these teams still only have one guy.
Especially when on top of all that, we’re picking apart both teams and how they’re playing. We have to look for strengths and weaknesses on both sides so we can pair up the right players to give us a chance at scoring. That all rests on our shoulders.
I’m pushing my trolley of hard cases filled with equipment into Anaheim’s arena when someone calls from behind me.
“Hey, wait up.”
It’s a voice I don’t recognize, and when I turn, I’m faced with the six-foot wall of Anaheim’s best defenseman, Oskar Voyjik. He’s in casual sweats, gear bag over his shoulder, and he approaches confidently, like we’re already friends.
Does he think I work here and is about to ask me for a pumpkin spiced latte?
What comes out of his mouth is much more surreal. “You’re Colby Kessinger, right?”
“Y-you know who I am?”
“My husband made it a point to show me the articles on you since joining the LA team.”
With Oskar Voyjik’s reputation, I’m mildly concerned he’s about to ask me for a threesome.
“Okay?”
“I thought I’d introduce myself, offer to go out for drinks after the game.”
Definitely looking for a threesome.
“Thanks, but …” How do I say there’s only one hockey player I’d consider risking my career for, and it ain’t him.
“Us queer dudes in the NHL need to stick together,” he says, and I’m back to that surreal blinking thing again.
“Uh, I’m not a player.”
“You don’t need to be. We’re expanding. Before, our Queer Collective was a couple of dudes who happened to like other dudes, and we needed that support system in an industry that was otherwise …
uninviting. But now, we’ve got players, support staff, we’ve got the Bahs, a referee, and hey, even a team owner.
You’re welcome to join us anytime you want, and according to Ezra, I’m not allowed to take no for an answer. ”
“E-Ezra Palaszczuk?” I’m about to ask how he knows about me, but hockey is actually a pretty small community.
I know Ezra is best friends with Westly Dalton, who used to play for Boston but is now a head coach at another D1 school.
We’ve crossed paths a few times over the last couple of years, so it’s not a big leap.
We’re all part of one big murder map with six degrees of separation.
“So what you’re telling me is after I’m done with cutting all the game tape from tonight, I’m going to go out with you for drinks.”
“Lane will be there too.”
“Are you sure you’ll be out when I’m done?
I’m sometimes stuck in that room until midnight.
” I’m lucky a West Coast team wanted me.
The poor souls on the other side of the country have to stay up and watch the West Coast games of upcoming opponents to pull tape for training sessions.
At least I get to watch East Coast games before any of the games start here.
“Lane might be very, very old, but I’m not. I’ll still be awake.” He glances around where he’s standing. “Damn it. I forgot he wasn’t with me. It’s only fun to tease him if he can hear me.”
Seeing as I’m new to LA and I don’t have many friends, going out with Oskar and his husband doesn’t sound like the worst idea.
“Give me your number, and I’ll text you when I’m done.” I hand over my phone, and he punches it in.
“Done. Okay, I’m gonna head home for my downtime before I have to come back tonight. I might even tell Lane how old he is to his face.”
I snort. “Sounds like a good plan.”
“See ya round.”
Yeah. I guess he will.
Their Queer Collective thing or whatever they’re calling it is an amazing idea and would help Novi so much … if he could bring himself to take that step. But that’s up to him to decide when he’s ready.
Until then, I’ll take advantage of the free friendship on offer and hope it’s not an offer for something more.
As I walk into the packed bar and spot Oskar and his husband, or who I assume is his husband, in a booth making out, I almost turn and walk back onto the street again.
I keep running the offer to catch up through my mind, switching between them doing a nice thing and wanting to bone me.
If it were two random guys who weren’t involved in the NHL, I’d be all for it, but with my inappropriate feelings toward Novi, I can’t be throwing extra fuel on my career. As it is, Novi has the power to set the whole thing aflame.
Still, I give Oskar and Lane the benefit of the doubt and hope that if they are looking for a threesome that they’re cool enough guys to still want to be friends when I turn them down.
Considering I haven’t been laid in forever, I should get a medal for not even contemplating it.
As if sensing my presence, they pull apart as I approach their booth.
“Hey, you came,” Oskar says. “Lane, this is Colby, Colby, my old ball and chain.”
Lane reaches across the table to shake my hand as I slide into the booth, but his head is turned toward Oskar. “Go play with your teammates while the grown-ups talk.”
He doesn’t hesitate to abandon me here with his husband, but that’s when I notice the rest of Anaheim’s team and the number of people dressed in Anaheim colors.
“Did you bring me into enemy territory?” I gasp.
“Don’t worry. Everyone will move on soon. Actually, you probably got here in time to see the show.”
I cock my head. “The show?”
“Yup. All the husbands turn into pumpkins at midnight, and then one by one, you see the rest of them either find someone to go home with or disappear as a group to another bar.”
“Lifestyles of the rich and kind of famous, huh?”
Lane chuckles. “Don’t let Oskar hear you say he’s only kind of famous.”
“You know what I mean though. Unless someone is a superfan, they’re not going to recognize Oskar on the street.”
“I do. But hockey players’ egos are fragile. You should know. You were one.”
It’s always so weird hearing that I was a hockey player. Or I played hockey. I still play hockey. Just not at this level. But I guess that doesn’t count.
So instead of correcting him and boasting about my very cool and not at all dorky queer beer league I was involved in back in Pennsylvania, I say, “True. You’re right. Big egos.”
That’s one thing that is different between me back then and now. My ego? Not so huge anymore. I stopped feeding that hungry bitch years ago.
“How did you know I used to play?”
“I’m the PR manager for King Sports. I have multiple sources.”
“But why check up on me?”
Lane smiles. “We need to vet anyone joining our inner circle.”
What in the hell have I walked into?
“But why? At first, I thought Oskar and you were wanting a threesome with me, but now I’m worried you want me to join some kind of cult.”
Lane stares at me for a moment, completely expressionless. Maybe I still have time to flee. But then, as if my words finally process in his brain, he bursts into complete laughter.
I didn’t think it was that funny, but okay.
I sit and wait for him to calm down. “Are you done yet?”
“I am … I am.”
He’s not. He takes a deep breath and continues my humiliation. Not that I’m actually humiliated. I’m relieved that I’m wrong. But I don’t see me living this down anytime soon.
As if proving me right, when Oskar comes back, Lane’s barely composed himself, and then it starts all over again when he tries to explain but can’t even get words out.
Oskar turns to me. “Did you give him drugs? Or, what …” His gaze ping-pongs between his husband and me. “What is happening?”
“He’s laughing because I asked if you two were in a cult.”
Lane shakes his head. “That’s not …” He takes a deep breath. “That’s not the part I’m laughing at. He also thought … he thought …”
Ah. “It had crossed my mind that you’d asked me here for a threesome, and he lost it before I could tell him?—”
Now Oskar joins in with Lane before I can defend my assumption.
“It’s not my fault. I’ve seen the tape.”
That sobers both of them.
“What tape?” Lane asks, his face now serious.
It’s scary how quickly he went from laughing manically to looking just plain manic.
“The infamous one of Oskar in the alleyway. What tape did you think I meant?”
They look at each other and then back at me, both looking relieved. Ooh, someone has a sex taaaape.
“No, no, that’s the one we thought you meant,” Lane says.
I don’t believe him.
“As much as you are a very pretty man,” Oskar says, “Lane doesn’t let me do those kinds of things anymore.”
Lane pinches his side. “You mean you love me so much you couldn’t even fathom doing that kind of thing anymore.”
Oskar snaps his fingers. “Right. That. That’s what I meant.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I didn’t want to make it awkward by having to turn you down anyway.”
Oskar makes an offended “Pfft” sound. “Excuse me?”
“Ignore him,” Lane says. “He’s dramatic when he’s rejected for perfectly valid reasons.”
“How do you know his reasons are valid?” Oskar asks.
“Because I’m married to you. That’s why.”
I’ll hand it to them, they’ve successfully broken the ice with me and made me feel comfortable around them relatively quickly. It’s not that I’m bad at making friends. I just haven’t had time to yet.
So as we sit in the booth in the slowly emptying bar and talk bullshit, it’s not until I start yawning that I realize it’s coming up to three thirty in the morning. And then I notice the bar is practically empty.
Hours have flown by, and it feels really fucking good to be welcomed to a new city this way.
But maybe not as good as catching someone’s eye as they enter the bar.
Not any someone.
My someone.
My dream man from a billion years ago.
Novi’s here.