Chapter 10
ten
[“Anyone can play hockey” logo]
Tyson Fuller: Anyone can play hockey.
Jimmy Hayes: Everyone is welcome in my locker room.
[Image: Jimmy Hayes’s Twitter likes. Camera zooms in on Allie Jenkins’s post: “tfw you’re the only white people in the bar. Guess we’re not coming here again!”]
Top comments:
sealions4lyfe: hockey is for men, bro. real men. not for fags and affirmative action whiners.
seelionssaylions: best sport worst league
(From “Anyone can play hockey (except you),” Supercut posted to YouTube by hockeyfanofcolor88 on 11/30/2024)
They lost to Toronto 5–1. Jax scored the lone goal off an assist from Tom, but that was cold comfort.
The team couldn’t function this way. At least whatever magic Tom had worked on Howie had been effective.
He apologized sincerely to Luca and everyone else, even if he still sounded like a dumbass doing it.
But not every problem could be fixed so cleanly.
Before the game, Hayes asked Luca in full hearing of the entire locker room, “Why didn’t you say you weren’t Mexican?”
Luca stared at Hayes for so long Jax felt uncomfortable standing in the vicinity. “If I had the right kind of tanned skin and dark hair, you would be all right with me on the power play, then?”
“I…” Hayes blinked rapidly, frowning.
“If I am only ever an accident of birth away from losing your respect, it isn’t worth very much.”
Breezy, stripped down to his novelty boxer briefs featuring tiny pizzas on skateboards, leapt to his feet. “Boom!” he shouted. “What a comeback. Shit, Ziti, do you write this stuff down?”
Luca gave him the most long-suffering look Jax had ever seen. “It is not hard to appear clever in this locker room.”
It didn’t exactly set a solid tone for the team.
Morris had watched the entire game in near-silence, his mustache twitching. By comparison, Trout yelled himself hoarse at everyone he could reach. Edwards tried to get a few breathing exercises going on the bench. No one had been in the mood.
To make matters worse, Jax had to do media because he’d gotten the goal.
Media in Toronto was brutal. Questions about every aspect of their failure abounded.
Olivia Starling, the beat reporter for the San Francisco Herald, got in on the fun by asking him whether the team had made a mistake using Luca in the first unit of the special teams so soon after calling him up.
Jax said, “Well, you know, we’re still getting used to working together. But I think we can do great things together.”
Someone from Toronto asked him whether Tom had the leadership skills it took to get them to the playoffs.
Jax said, “Tom’s been to the playoffs seven times, six of those as captain.”
Then, Starling asked him if he thought Tom had gotten too old for the job.
Jax lost his shit a little. Maybe back in October, when he thought Tom hated him, he’d have been able to play it off with a little joke.
But now, remembering Tom’s serious face on the plane as he talked quietly with Howie, though Jax knew how vulnerable the topic made Tom?
No way. And compounding his excellent captaining with the other memories of Tom he now had and was trying actively not to think of in the middle of a media session? Double extra no way.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you watch the game last night? Did you see someone else get a hat trick in a single period? If Tom’s too old, then you might as well take me out back and shoot me.
I’ve never gotten a hat trick in a single period.
Anyway, being captain is about more than staying fit.
It’s about being there for the team and sacrificing your time and your energy into making sure everyone is at their best. I’ve never known anyone who does that the way Tom does. ”
Then, some chucklefuck in a Huskies Nation T-shirt stood up and asked, “So you don’t regret leaving Philly, then? They’re currently in a wildcard spot.”
Jax leaned into the microphone. “Given that leaving Philly wasn’t exactly my choice, you gotta wonder if they’re the ones who regret trading me. Our playoff chances aren’t looking half bad either.”
Almost instantly, Kayleigh from the media team pulled him away from the throng of reporters.
“Sorry,” he muttered to her. Poor girl, stuck wrangling guys who either hated media (Tom and Phil) or who always said the first dumbshit thing on their minds (Jax and Howie).
They’d even dragged her on a winter Canadian road trip to manage their shit, and he couldn’t make it through one interview without causing more work for her. “Should’ve had Tom do it.”
“It’ll be fine,” Kayleigh said with far more cheer than she probably felt. “Tom had a family thing tonight.”
A family thing? He hadn’t said anything to Jax. But when he got to the locker room, it was entirely devoid of captains.
Fine. Tom didn’t owe him an accounting of his movements just because they made out one time.
Tom had no responsibility to comfort Jax when he put his foot in his mouth in front of the press.
If Tom had family stuff in Toronto, Jax would occupy himself with something else.
He didn’t need to spend all evening pressed against Tom’s side in a shitty hotel bed analyzing game tape they would talk about in video review anyway.
He turned down Breezy’s offer to join him and the other boys for Mario Kart, aware he’d bring the mood down, and completely discarded the possibility of talking to Hayes. In this funk, he would only make things worse.
Instead, Jax took an angry shower. He’d already gotten cleaned up in the locker room, but angry showers were different.
They weren’t for hygiene. They were for blasting loud music and drinking a beer under the spray.
They were also a hotel-only indulgence. He liked to take his time under there, driving up the water bill.
Though Jax knew he didn’t have to worry about whether he could afford it anymore, when he was out of sorts, he couldn’t turn off the niggling feeling in the back of his mind.
Afterward, his irritation persisted. He put on his favorite flannel pajama pants and flopped into bed only to find it was one of the too-hard hotel beds, making flopping summarily unsatisfactory.
There was nothing on TV. It was a Thursday, so of course there wasn’t.
He debated going out, but the Toronto-ness of the city put him off.
If he were to be recognized anywhere, it would definitely be in Toronto.
Besides, what would he do? Pick someone else up? When he knew what it felt like to kiss Tom? When he’d heard the little noise Tom made when Jax kissed his neck? Definitely not. Nothing could compare.
He texted his sisters in the sibling group chat for a while.
They were doing homework, and he hypocritically berated them for working on assignments due the next day at 11:00 p.m. as if he had been any different in school.
Apparently, Mom had picked up macramé again, and they’d spent all afternoon making bracelets and lost track of time.
He lost another half hour checking up on his mom’s Etsy shop, making sure people were actually paying for her arts and crafts and that she was on top of the shipping orders.
She’d never been good at money management and often got so invested in a project she forgot all about the practicalities of life.
At midnight, his phone chimed. Hoping to hear from Tom, he immediately toggled to his messages.
U didn’t want to get traded???
Tyson Fuller. Who hadn’t written to him once since he left Philly.
Jax groaned and tossed the phone somewhere into the bedsheets.
People would ask about the trade now, and he’d have to play it cool and pretend nothing had happened or lie about it.
He would have to do his level best not to burst out with the truth because as much as he might hate lying, he had no idea what the league would do with him if he told the truth.
He had no idea what San Francisco might do with him.
Jax didn’t dare hope they would go to bat for him. Especially not when Tom—well, Tom would have to do everything he could to distance himself from Jax publicly if Jax were to come out. No more kissing practice.
Not that they’d be practicing again. Tom didn’t need it. He’d been so pliant and…lovely in Jax’s arms yesterday it made Jax’s heart hurt. Any man would be lucky to have him.
Jax buried his face into a pillow and screamed.
At twelve thirty, as Jax debated going for a run to get out of his own head despite the sleet rain pounding against the window, Tom knocked on the door.
Jax bounded over and opened it. “I thought you were with your family.”
“I was,” Tom said, grim and gaunt, as though he had aged ten years in one evening. “Can I come in?”
He’d never asked before, had only pushed his way in and tried to stop Jax from doing anything he deemed too dangerous.
“You can always come in,” Jax said before his mouth got any input from his brain. Oh well. It wasn’t wrong.
Tom smiled. “Careful, or I’ll get a second key and barge in all the time to talk about the power play.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” Jax needed to reel this in, change the subject, and move on, or else Tom would realize he’d been thinking about having Tom in his room, in his bed, in his heart. “Are you okay?”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Tom looked up at Jax. “It’s been a lot, the last few days.” He smoothed down the edge of the sheet. “And, um…yesterday? When you were…when we were…”
Kissing! Jax wanted to shout. We kissed, and you ruined me for life! There’s now a section of my brain devoted entirely to replaying those kisses over and over again!