Chapter 30
CONNOR
Thanks to time zones and busy schedules, it took almost forty-eight hours to get everyone on the same video call.
Madars’ agent. A rep from the players’ association.
Someone from the NAL’s legal department.
My boss. Fuck, that was an intimidating panel of people; I was genuinely surprised the League commissioner wasn’t joining.
By the time we were connecting to the call, I was ready to puke from nerves.
“It’ll be okay.” Madars ran his hand up my back as we sat on the couch waiting for others to join the call. “Just breathe.”
Easier said than done, but I did the best I could. Touching his thigh, I whispered, “You too.”
He swallowed audibly. “I’m trying.”
One by one, the powers that be appeared on the screen.
“What’s this about?” Ted McGinn, my boss, peered at us with narrowed eyes. “And why are you somewhere with a player?”
Madars and I both shifted nervously.
I cleared my throat. “We’re on vacation together. We’re…” I took a deep breath as I reached for Madars’ hand. “We’re together.”
Every eyebrow on the screen flew upward.
“Together?” Al, the rep from the legal department cocked his head. “So… you’re in a romantic relationship with a player who’s looking to sign with the NAL? Is that correct?”
In unison, Madars and I nodded.
The various reactions were almost comical. Exasperated sighs. Furrowed brows. Pursed lips. I suspected none of them had woken up this morning thinking they’d have to navigate a quagmire like this.
I shifted on the couch, gripping Madars’ hand for dear life.
“We wanted to be upfront about it. Especially now that there’s a contract on the table for Madars.
” I glanced at him. “There’s no reason we can’t play our roles in the League ethically and above board, and the League doesn’t forbid a relationship like ours. ”
Al straightened. “Huh. I mean, yeah, he’s got a point. The CBA and the rulebook—there’s nothing forbidding a romantic or sexual relationship between an official and a player, so long as they avoid conflicts of interest.”
“It is a conflict of interest,” Derek, the players’ union rep argued. “How can we expect a referee to remain objective if he has that kind of involvement with a player?”
“The same way he stays objective with his brother in the League,” Ted pointed out. “It’s irregular, but it’s doable.”
Derek pursed his lips. “I don’t like it.
Especially not when there’s so much egg on the faces of officials after the recent scandals.
” He inclined his head. “Ted, can you honestly tell me you’d sign an official with a sibling in the League now?
Knowing what you do about some of your people’s extracurricular activities? ”
Ted shifted with obvious discomfort. “In light of the scandals, I would certainly scrutinize someone with that kind of relationship more than I have in the past.” He seemed to look right at me. “Sorry, Connor.”
“No, I get it,” I admitted. “With everything that happened—they kind of forced your hand.”
“They did. And I know you had nothing to do with any of it, and you’re the cleanest official we’ve ever had. But you have to understand how this looks.”
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I nodded. “I get it. But you also know me, Ted. You just said yourself I’m the cleanest ref who’s ever worked for you.”
“You are,” he admitted. “But something like this—it’ll make people ask questions.”
“Let them ask questions.” I shrugged with as much indifference as I could muster. “I have nothing to hide.” Holding up our joined hands, I added, “Including him.”
That earned me some uneasy and even annoyed looks.
My heart pounded; I knew I was skating on thin ice here, and I just hoped I sounded a lot more confident than I was.
I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I wasn’t a corrupt referee, and my relationship with Madars wouldn’t affect my ability to officiate. I knew that to my bones.
But I couldn’t lie—I was scared shitless that even one of the men in this meeting wouldn’t agree.
“So what happens now?” Madars asked timidly. “We want to stay on the right side of things with the League. But that means…” He gestured at the screen. “It means the ball is in your court.”
Nods all around.
“We’ll need to do some digging,” Al said.
“Make absolutely sure this is fully above board. There isn’t a rule explicitly forbidding it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a conflict of interest. I’m sure you understand that no one wants to interfere with your personal life, but the NAL has to preserve its public image and its legal integrity. ”
We nodded, and I hoped they couldn’t hear me gritting my teeth.
Yeah, of course they had to preserve their public image and legal integrity.
And surely this had nothing to do with the fact that we were not only dating as a player and official, we were two men.
For as much progress as the NAL had made in recent years, there was still a lot of room for improvement.
There was a reason more veteran players were out than younger ones—because the younger ones were justifiably afraid of rocking the boat and giving their teams a reason to not re-sign them.
The veterans, especially the stars, had more clout.
Their clubs were more likely to swallow their disgust and re-sign a gay player who was a 100-point fan-favorite superstar than a rookie fourth liner.
Such was the reality of professional hockey in North America.
“We’ll do some research,” the lawyer said. “Discuss the situation—confidentially, of course—with some key players. Then we’ll be in touch with what happens next.”
“Thank you,” Madars said. “You know how to reach us.”
“We do,” Ted said. “And we would appreciate if you would both keep this off of social media until a consensus has been reached?”
“Of course,” we both said, even as I mentally entertained the idea of posting a photo of us kissing. We were adults, damn it. We shouldn’t have to keep sneaking around like we had when we’d lived across the hall in my parents’ house.
I didn’t argue, though. I knew the rules and I knew the drill, and there was nothing to do but wait.
On the screen, one by one, windows closed until there were only two left—us, and Kirils, Madars’ agent.
The agent took a deep breath. “Gotta hand it to you, kid. You’re braver than I am.”
“I don’t care about being brave,” Madars said evenly. “I just don’t want this to come out and be a scandal later.”
Kirils nodded. “I understand.” He grimaced. “Listen, I’m gonna have to disclose this to Vancouver’s GM. They need to know what’s going on.”
Madars winced, fingers twitching in mine. “Yeah. I figured. I’m, uh… I’m surprised he wasn’t on the call.”
“Nah, I wanted to get a handle on the situation first. But I’ll reach out to him after we get off the call.”
Madars swallowed. “How do you think he’ll take it?”
“Don’t know.” Kirils sounded non-committal at best. Not pessimistic, not optimistic—just completely neutral.
I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.
“I’ll talk to him,” his agent said again. “And I’ll let you know. But you realize this means I’m telling him you’re gay, too, right?”
“I know,” Madars croaked. “It’s not really a big secret. I was out in Switzerland. He probably knows if they’ve vetted me at all.”
Which all the teams did. Hell, the GM could probably name Madars’ last few boyfriends and his usernames on hookup apps.
The League was nothing if not thorough when it came to vetting players, which was yet another reason I’d thought this meeting would be a good idea.
They were going to find out sooner or later.
Best to hear it from us than get blindsided with it, which would just make them think we were trying to hide something shady.
Couldn’t the NAL be more like the women’s league? I didn’t think any players were dating officials, but out queer players dating teammates and even opposing players was as normal as a puck hitting the boards. Literally no one cared.
In the men’s league? Well. Here we were.
“All right.” Kirils thumped his desk with his knuckle. “I’m going to make some calls, and we’ll see if we can’t smooth this over and get you into that Vancouver sweater.” He smiled, and that was somehow even less encouraging than his neutral expression a moment ago.
“Sounds good,” Madars said. “Thanks, Kirils.”
They ended the call, and the screen went dark.
Madars rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, and he muttered something I recognized as Latvian profanity.
I wrapped my arms around him, and he buried his face against my neck and sighed heavily.
“I guess now we wait,” he whispered. “Not much else to do.”
“Yeah.” I stroked a hand up and down his back. “Not much else we can do, really.”
Another sigh.
I closed my eyes and held him tighter. I wished there was something I could say. Some reserve of optimism I could tap into so I could assure him that this would work out in the end. One way or another, it would work out—I just couldn’t say for sure if the outcome would be a good one for us.
All we could do now was wait.
Lean on each other. Hold on to each other.
And wait.
And I just hoped like hell we hadn’t made a huge fucking mistake.