Chapter Eleven #2
In point of fact, Chris had no clue whether he agreed.
He still didn’t know anything about Russia.
He would have to do so much research later, and it would be the kind where he’d have to force his brain to get through it because he didn’t understand half the words in the Wikipedia article.
Maybe he could ask Luca. Luca had a history degree, right?
Then, they could sit on the couch, and Chris could put his head in Luca’s lap, and Luca could say smart things at him.
Then maybe he would lean down and kiss Chris and—
Not the point.
“You seem really down, Howie. More upset than disagreeing about Russian politics would make you.”
Howie sighed. “I was gonna come out tonight.”
“No shit? Wow, that’s a big step; good for you!
” Thank God Howie had waited to tell Chris this until Michelle had gotten him started on real therapy.
A month ago, he would have freaked out, maybe tried to dissuade Howie.
Now, he recognized his own frantic need to keep the peace had nothing to do with Howie’s happiness.
It wasn’t as if Howie coming out could make the team more divided than Dmitriyev already had by sleeping with Cheryl.
And if it did, Chris didn’t have a responsibility to fix it for them, and Howie didn’t have to stay closeted to make other people comfortable.
If people wanted to be dicks, they didn’t deserve his effort.
“I didn’t fucking do it, did I?”
“Why not?”
Howie let his head thunk against the wall.
“Chickened out. Hockey teams are so normcore, y’know?
You’ve got all these dudes here with their blonde wives and two-point-four kids, and even the sad single guys are the most boring.
Phil was talking to Jax about how to grill fish for a solid thirty minutes.
What if I tell them I’m gay, and they all hate me? ”
Chris swallowed. He had no idea what he was supposed to say.
He couldn’t out anyone to anyone, but leaving Howie in the belief he was alone didn’t sit right either.
“I’m sure Phil and Jax wouldn’t hate you.
And Ben’s gay—he lives with Phil, right?
” Ben came out to the whole team last year, so Chris hadn’t revealed any secrets by reminding Howie of this.
“The Russians would hate me.”
Chris’s words stuck in his throat. He hadn’t thought about the Russians.
“You know their supreme court called LGBTQ rights organizations extremist? What the fuck, right?”
“That is super messed up.”
“It was a stupid idea anyway.” Howie rolled the back of his head against the wall to look over at Chris. “There’s never been an out pro hockey player. Probably because all hockey players are jerks.”
“Hey.”
Instead of apologizing, Howie rolled his eyes.
“Why don’t you start small?” Chris suggested. “You know Ben is gay, and Phil is cool with it. And Jax and Mooney practically live at the shelter. And Tom shut it down when you said—when the thing happened last year. You could tell any of them.”
“You think?”
“Yeah.” Chris knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt, and not saying so frustrated him. If Luca were here, he’d know a smarter way to handle this. Why hadn’t he come with Chris?
“Maybe.”
“Think about it, eh?”
“I guess.”
“And you’re gonna have to apologize to Dmitriyev.”
Howie scowled.
“You called him a stupid fuck in front of the entire team leadership,” Chris reminded him.
“Ugh.”
“And, um.” Chris paused, searching for words. “Maybe go easy on him?”
“Why should I?” Howie asked with a snort. “He wouldn’t if he knew about me.”
“Okay—one, you don’t know how he would react if you don’t tell him. And two… Well, try to put yourself in his shoes.”
“Huh?”
“Do you want to play for Canada someday?” It was the thing most hockey players, heck, most professional athletes dreamed of: getting to represent their nation at the highest available level.
Personally, Chris never got as excited about the idea as he should.
He cared about the team he played for all year, so having to get used to a short-term roster of superstars for a one-month occasion sounded stressful.
Especially with the NHL changing its mind about whether or not players got to participate in international events during hockey season every other year.
Going to the actual Olympics was a pipe dream, both because of NHL rulings and because no one in their right minds would invite him anyway.
“Of course,” Howie said. “That would be…amazing.”
“Okay, so what if you could only play if you agreed with everything Canada did as a nation and you never put a toe out of line? You know Joey Richter in Nashville? They didn’t put him on the roster four years ago after his dick pics ended up on Twitter, saying it violated the moral code or something. ”
A snort escaped Howie. “Okay, but Richter’s an idiot.”
“Well, yeah, but should being an idiot stop me from playing for Canada?”
“No, of course not…oh.”
“Yup. And for the Russians, it’s way worse. If they say the wrong thing, they can’t play for Russia, and maybe they can’t even go home and see their families, or something happens to their families while they’re here, or—”
“I know,” Howie snapped. “But there’s things you know are right or wrong anyway.”
“And nobody gets to make mistakes?”
Howie pounded a fist against the floor. “Not fair, Breezy.”
Chris thought he was being more than fair. “So you’ll apologize.“
“Yeah, I’ll talk to him.” Howie forced himself to his feet. He stumbled over to the sink and rinsed his mouth out. “You think Tom and Jax have a toothbrush I could borrow?”
“Probably.” Chris opened the cabinet by the toilet to check and then closed it again right away.
How many condoms did two guys in a committed relationship need?
And how did they think this evening would go if they left that stuff out in the open?
Or rather in an unlocked cabinet anyone could chance on?
It was a miracle that only Hayes had figured them out.
Then again, maybe they didn’t care.
“Nothing in there,” he said.
“Whatever. I think there was some peppermint schnapps at the drinks table.”
Chris held Howie back by the collar of his Peter Pan costume. “No. You already threw up once. You’re a professional athlete, man. Don’t be dumb.”
He corralled Howie out into the hall, where Tom waited with a disheveled Dmitriyev.
“'Sup, man,” Howie said. “Can I talk to you?”
Dmitriyev grunted.
They went into the kitchen. Chris prayed there was no alcohol in there.
Tom watched them go, looking absolutely exhausted. “You should step up as captain, Tom. The team needs you to be more hands-on,” he muttered in a mocking tone. “I’m going to resign and make Jax do it.”
“Please don’t.” Chris loved Jax, he did, but the man was neither levelheaded in a crisis nor gifted at de-escalation.
“Thank you for helping. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’re good at this sort of thing.”
Chris shrugged. “I’m a good locker room guy.” He’d been twelve the first time a coach had described him as such. At first, it made him proud until he realized it meant he’d never be the world’s greatest hockey player, but people liked him enough to keep him around.
But Tom shook his head. “No. I mean, you are. But you’re so much more. It’s so rare to get a player who cares so little about his own glory. You can tell what you’re out there for—to protect our guys and to let the offensive players make the plays up front.”
Chris shrugged. “That’s what I enjoy about the game.”
“Professionally speaking, you’re the least selfish hockey player I’ve ever met.
” Tom shook his head. “And it’s the same off the ice.
You get the team to gel together; you make everyone feel welcome.
We want you to take the A because you have skills I don’t have.
Jax could, if he tried, but he doesn’t have half your patience when people are being dumb. ”
“Takes one to know one, I guess.”
“Breezy.” Tom always looked serious, but Chris had never been on the receiving end of this much of his attention. It was not a comfortable place to be. “You’re a fantastic defenseman, and you’re one of the best teammates I’ve ever had. Don’t sell yourself short.”
He reached out, seemed to reconsider for a moment, and then patted Chris on the shoulder after all. “Come on. Let’s go see if Jax murdered Hayes.”
As far as Chris could tell, everyone in the den was still alive and well. Mara and Ben were deep in conversation about a movie they had both been to see recently, while Mooney questioned Phil about his wedding.
“Man, you didn’t invite us?” Mooney shook his head. “Weak, bro.”
“We didn’t invite anyone,” Phil defended. “It all happened kind of fast. Breezy was only there by accident.”
“Breezy got to go?” Mooney looked to him. “Betrayed! What the fuck! And you didn’t tell anyone?”
Chris sat next to Luca. “You can’t go around telling people other people are gay. Or, like, not straight. I don’t actually know how you identify, Phil.”
“Much appreciated.” Phil lifted his beer bottle in a toast. “And I’m going with bi, I guess.”
“Okay, fair.” Mooney picked at the label on his own bottle, looking down at the floor. “Still, guess I missed a whole bunch.”
Hayes nursed a whiskey, and every now and again, he looked up and shook his head. “You’re telling me,” he muttered in reply to Mooney, forgetting momentarily that Mooney hated his guts. “Shit, wait, do I have to keep this all a secret from Allie?”
“Nah,” Phil said. “At least not on my end. Where is she, anyway?”
“Home sick.”
Come to think of it, Chris hadn’t seen her since the wedding. “Is she okay?”
“She will be. Maybe especially when I tell her about tonight, Jesus Christ. Any other big team secrets I should know? Do I have to be—what’s the right word…I know it’s not ‘queer’—to keep my A?”
“You can use queer if you are queer,” Jax said.
“Oh, so it’s like the N-word?”
Phil choked on his drink. “No, it is not!”