Chapter 23
Twenty-three
Sebastian
“Montenegro, where’s your fucking head?” Coach Kennedy yells from the bench.
“You missed another pass. This isn’t the Peewees, so stop acting like a kid not paying attention.
I’ll bench you if you don't get your head adjusted before the game tomorrow. Now, all of you, get off my ice. I’m sick of looking at your faces. ”
One glance at Coach Kennedy’s red face and I realize I’ve fucked up again.
He’s not known for swearing at us, but I’ve been out of it the entire practice, and he’s rightly pissed at me.
I should be setting the standard for the boys, getting them focused and ready for our first road trip to Chicago, but instead, I’m over here replaying Tucker’s disappointed look and cold denial about being with me.
I get why he did it, but if he’d just given me time to figure out the best approach, it would have been fine.
I was surprised as hell by all the damn questions and how intrusive the media were right off the bat.
I needed five fucking minutes alone with him to see what he was comfortable with us saying.
We could have said “no comment” and gone inside, called my publicist, and rallied with a plan that made sense.
But no, the brash fucker took five seconds of silence as not wanting to be seen publicly with him, and thought he was doing me some kind of favor by denying all allegations of us being together.
“Monty, what the fuck, man?” Westy says, poking me with his stick to get my attention. “Did Bronk hit your head last night when he checked you, and you’ve got a concussion or something? You’re not yourself.”
I shake my head as I skate toward the exit off the ice. “Head’s as good as it can get,” I say, words clipped and surly.
“Then what’s your problem? You’re never this spacey. It’s like you’re somewhere else entirely,” Westy says, elbowing me in the side. I sigh, knowing he means well, and I shouldn't be snapping at him.
Rook comes up on my other side, and I guess I’m gonna have an audience for this conversation.
“It’s the media.” A new level of rage enters me.
“A bunch of stories ran about me and Tucker after photos of us leaked, and a ton of reporters were outside his house asking questions this morning. I didn't answer them, and Tucker thought it meant I wasn't comfortable saying he’s my boyfriend publicly, so now he’s pissed and wants nothing to do with me.”
I swing my stick against the wall as we leave the ice, putting all my aggravation and unease into it, and it splinters in half. I throw the pieces down on the floor. Fuck that stick. I didn't like it anyway.
“Damn,” Westy says, stepping around the stick shrapnel as he comes up beside me. “Well, are you comfortable being out and having a boyfriend that the public knows about?”
I give him a quick look of shock as we walk down the rubber mat to the dressing room.
Why would he even ask that after seeing me with Tucker last night?
I was totally fine with everyone seeing me with the man in my arms. I had no problem with my team knowing about us.
Is it weird and super intrusive that strangers on the internet want all the details and just showed up at Tucker’s house looking for answers?
Hell yes, that’s creepy as hell on all levels.
“Of course I am. I didn't want to sound like a complete jackass, so I was only doing what media training has taught us and thinking about my answer before giving it. I wanted to make sure that whatever answer I gave made sense and was worthy of the relationship I’m getting into. He didn't see it that way.” I clench my jaw, remembering Tucker’s cold dismissal.
“I’ve heard my brother say that our intentions don't always mean the same thing to someone else. What they perceive from our actions can be super fucked up from what we wanted. We have to prove through consistent action that matches what we say to build trust. He’s queer and a therapist, so he knows this shit,” Rook says, shrugging.
“That was actually kind of insightful, Rookie,” Westy says, putting his arm around our D-man, who is more brawn than brains most of the time. “This is why you’re my bestie.”
“Yeah, well, my dad’s a chess grandmaster and my mom’s a rocket scientist, so it’s not like I’m stupid, you know,” he says, rolling his eyes and pushing Westy’s arm off his shoulder.
“You just have a stupid-looking face and always act that way, so it’s pretty easy to think you are,” Campbell says, passing us and pushing Rook into the wall as he goes.
“Hey, fuck you, asshole! I wasn’t talking to your ugly ass,” Rook calls to Campbell, who holds his middle finger up in the air.
“Ignore him,” I tell Rook, pulling on his jersey to keep him from going after his linemate and starting a fight we don't need right now. “Are you saying that by taking my time to answer, I gave Tucker the wrong impression or some shit? Because I can gather that on my own without any therapy.” I sigh, defeat weighing heavily on my shoulders. Why is it that when I feel like I’m getting my shit together, everything blows up in my face and gets ten times worse?
“I don't know. Everyone’s different. Does Tucker have a history of people not showing up for him, and he needed you to stand up and say, ‘This is my dude, fuck the consequences?’ Because if that’s the case, and you stayed silent, you fucked yourself in the ass.
Or, I don't know, are you the one taking it, in this case?” Rook asks, looking at me with contemplation, before turning to Westy.
“Nah, Big Daddy here’s got top energy. Am I right? ” he asks, pointing at me.
Westy laughs and opens his mouth to reply. I slap my glove over it and give him a face wash that has him screeching and pulling at my hand to remove the smelly, wet glove from his face.
“Don't fucking talk about my ass,” I growl as we file into the dressing room. Now I know why Ryder was so quick to set boundaries with the guys when he came out. They have no shame and will mercilessly roast you if you let them. “Don’t call me Big Daddy, either. That shit is done.” I slap my glove on Rook’s face and give it a shove so he knows I'm serious. No one likes a face wash.
He pushes me away and shudders as he goes to his stall. “Okay, okay! That’s disgusting, wash your fucking gloves, man!” He takes a deep, clarifying breath and gags before he can continue. “Just be for fucking real right now. What does your dude need from you?”
“Yeah, Monty, I hate to say it, but Rook’s right,” Westy says, sitting down next to me with a sour expression before pulling off his practice jersey and using it to wipe his face.
“Tucker’s probably mad as hell about people being in his business since he’s not used to it like we are.
If you didn't say something when they asked if you were together, that invalidated your relationship to him. It would make anyone insecure when they’re with someone like you, who could easily pull any ten on the market, guy or girl. ”
Damn, that’s nice of him to say, not that I need him to stroke my ego right now. I rub the back of my neck, my face heating as he continues.
“And unless you’ve been keeping shit from us for a while now, you’re probably just learning you like dudes, and I’m thinking he’s known longer.
He might see it as you not wanting to deal with the consequences when the heat turned up, which would make any dude go into fight-or-flight mode.
Your guy didn't just choose flight, he went full jumping out of the aircraft at ten thousand feet to save himself. Now, are you going to let him fall alone, throw him a parachute, or jump with him and pull the ripcord together?”
I look at Westy with a newfound respect. That was profound, and he doesn't even know all the details. Why hasn’t he used all this relationship wisdom to settle down?
“Ooh, are we weighing in on Monty’s love life?” Ryder asks as he sits down across from me. “Westy’s good at this shit, you can trust him to give you decent advice, even if it all comes from eighties movies. But if you want my opinion—”
“I don’t,” I say, throwing my shin guard at him and trying to tune out the too-interested stares of my teammates, who are all riveted on this conversation for some reason. Hockey players love gossip, even if they say they don’t.
Ryder bats the shin guard out of the air with his blocker before setting the pad down.
“As I was saying,” he continues, like I didn’t just cut him off.
“You need to get ahead of this on your socials.
Make an announcement that will mean more to your man than anyone else, so he knows you did it for him, not just some PR stunt.
He seems like a sensitive guy, so you need to treat him right.
And don't wait. You don't want to see him with some other dude and know the mad jealousy that will bring.” His face clouds over with rage, and I know he’s speaking from experience.
“Oh yeah! Whatever happened with Sergio Mendes?” Nico asks, suddenly very interested. “Can Knox get me his autograph? He’s my sister’s favorite singer, and she would lose her mind.”
Ryder grabs Nico by the front of his compression shirt and drags him off his chair as Nico falls to his knees.
“Don't fucking mention Mr. Too Hot For His Own Good again, Torres. He got a one-night pass to touch my husband, but if I ever see him, I’ll rearrange those perfect teeth so he’ll never smile like that at Knox again. ”
“Ryder, leave Nico alone. He wasn’t trying to break up your marriage, damn,” I say, throwing my other shin guard at Ryder’s head to get him to drop Nico. He raises an arm and blocks the guard, but lets Nico go.
“Aye, Papi, if you wanted me on my knees for you, all you had to do was ask,” Nico jokes, laughing as he straightens the neck of his shirt and quickly gets out of Ryder’s reach.
These guys are worse than children.