Chapter Seven #4
It had gotten better. Over the last decade alone, Phil had had more non-white teammates than in his entire pre-NHL playing career.
But “better” than rock bottom meant little when, despite his best efforts, one step out of line could mean the next Black kid being drafted lower or passed over entirely.
“Thanks,” he said weakly. “I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”
He thought about it all the way back to his box seat, which meant it took him totally by surprise when Charlie asked, “So are you and my uncle, like, a thing?”
Phil promptly choked on his drink—thankfully only mineral water—spitting it halfway down his shirt. He finally sputtered, “No!”
“Huh.” Charlie looked out onto the ice, where the first line pressed their advantage, heading for the goal line. “That’s a shame.”
“Uh-huh,” Phil said, leaning forward as Tom passed the puck to Jax. “Wait, no. I mean, it’s not a shame, it’s—”
Jax scored. The horn was less deafening up here, but the crowd going wild was worse. Phil pumped his fist in victory.
The team won easily after their slow start, and as the audience trickled out, Phil couldn’t resist swinging by the locker room again.
He hoped for the jubilant, upbeat mood a win could bring to the room, but even from outside, he knew it hadn’t when no music sounded throughout the halls. He peered inside.
“Come on, let’s do it!” Breezy enthused. “Let’s go out! Whole team, everybody in!”
The response was lukewarm at best. Jax and Tom were over in the media corner, and no one else seemed to dare be happy about the win.
Coming up from behind, Ben said, “You should go.”
Phil started.
“Someone needs to fix the team, and it’s not going to be me,” Ben clarified.
Phil narrowed his eyes. “You don’t give a shit about team morale.”
The corner of Ben’s mouth pulled up. It gave his face a mischievous slant. “I give a shit about you. C’mon, Charlie. Let’s go home and eat ice cream and not think about organized sports for twelve hours.”
Phil watched the two of them leave. For a man who hated wearing suits so much, Ben filled them well, his shoulders broad and his waist thick and solid.
Sure, he didn’t have a hockey ass, but Phil wasn’t really into those anyway.
Ben’s ass had some jiggle. It would give slightly if Phil touched it or maybe pinched or slapped it a little. Not that he would.
Over his shoulder, Charlie raised his eyebrows and pointed unsubtly at Ben and then at Phil.
Phil shook his head. A weird feeling filled his chest, something like guilt and something like hope.
He shook it off and went into the locker room. “I hear we’re going out?” he yelled.
Breezy grinned widely. “Yeah, man!”
Looking up from his stall, Mazetti said, “I suppose.”
The seal broken, the rest of the team agreed one by one. By the time Jax and Tom finished media, everyone was raring to go.
A month ago, it would have been the kind of evening Phil lived for, the whole team together and in good spirits. Sure, the awkwardness lingered, but watching the rookies hook up while the older core shot the shit over beers was one of Phil’s favorite things.
Tonight, as much as he enjoyed being among his teammates and friends, a part of Phil wanted to be home with Ben and Charlie.
He wanted to keep explaining hockey to Charlie and to come up with new coaching strategies for Ben to use.
He wanted to ask Ben what connected him to Pulvermacher, wanted Ben to take him into his confidence about what he was doing with the Sea Lions.
Frighteningly, even more than he wanted to uncover Ben’s secrets, Phil wanted to sit next to him on the couch with their legs pressed together and his arm around Ben’s shoulders while they talked.
Phil swallowed the longing with the dregs of his beer. He’d spent all day with Ben and most of the last month cooped up at home. Where did this sudden urge come from?
The unresolved issues dogging the team were probably making him feel out of place.
With Jax and Breezy’s charity project coming up, battle lines had been drawn between those team members who wanted to move with the times and those who did not.
Hayes being one of the latter was unfortunate since, besides Tom and Jax, he wore the only other active letter on the team.
Phil no longer counted. And Hayes had more of a hold in their fan base than Jax as he’d been with the team longer.
He’d also been Phil’s friend, and now, Phil didn’t know how to look at him.
It wasn’t that he’d never had a teammate say something shitty before. It was more that it had been a long time since it had surprised him.
Phil forced himself to focus on the here and now, to suggest a dinner out for all the D-men before the next road trip in a few days. He forced himself not to wonder if he would rejoin the team this season or next. He forced himself not to think about what Hayes might say about him behind his back.
Instead, he focused on the positive—in Phil’s absence, Tom had apparently decided he enjoyed team outings.
When Phil left, courtesy of his knee starting to ache and Vanderbilt organizing an Uber for them to share, Tom elected to stay.
It was longer than Phil ever remembered him lasting at a group event.
With a final glance at his friend sitting at the end of the booth, talking to Jax with a smile on his face, Phil had one less worry on his mind: Tom would be fine without him.
He breathed through the renewed fear that Tom would have no more need of his friendship when Phil retired.
After all, work friends didn’t necessarily stay friends when they stopped working together.
He’d only seen Tom twice since his knee busted, and Tom had blown him off the second time.
Even Vanderbilt, usually completely oblivious, remarked, “Good to see Cap out with us for once,” as the Uber pulled away from the Marina and headed for the hills.
“Yeah. Seems he’s been doing more socializing this season.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Guess he had to step up since you’re down an A.”
Vanderbilt let his head hit the headrest with a thunk. “Fuck, Phil, I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have said that. I know it was shitty of me.”
“Yeah, it was. But you’re not wrong. I am out for a while. And in the meantime, Tom’s trying his best.”
“I know. It’s just…not my thing. All the charity stuff. The shelter.”
Phil tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “How many millions do you earn per year?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I dunno. I would donate to a dog shelter or something but not…something so political.”
Phil bit his tongue so hard he tasted copper.
It wasn’t political to be yourself. He didn’t know what Ben was doing, but he knew it had nothing to do with infiltrating the Sea Lions to promote the gay agenda.
And Charlie’s sudden presence in his life hadn’t been a ploy to convince Phil of some political talking point.
Charlie was a kid who needed a home, just like countless other children, including the ones in the shelter.
Phil debated opening the conversation with Vanderbilt.
His teammate didn’t strike him as a bad guy, per se, only as clueless as the environment he’d grown up in: hockey camps full of rich white kids.
But then Phil imagined him snorting and waving it off, or worse, laughing. Mocking. He’d lost a friendship with one teammate to prejudice already this season. He wasn’t ready to lose another, not when he wasn’t—when he’d never—
Instead, Phil said, “Try not to say stupid shit about it when you’re on camera, and you’ll be fine.”
“I’m not an idiot.” Vanderbilt pulled out his wallet, liberated his wedding ring from the coin pouch, and slid it onto his finger as the Uber pulled up in front of his house.
Even in the dark, Phil caught the telltale crinkle of the little plastic bags Vanderbilt used to store cocaine emanating from the same coin pouch.
“Debatable,” Phil muttered.
Vanderbilt was too occupied getting out of the car to hear him.