Chapter 11 #3
Tom winced. Both he and Phil had a few years on Hayes, and Phil, in particular, faced the same issue about his longevity in the league.
His estimation of Hayes’s skill profile came out more than a little bitter because of it.
While Tom remained angry and disappointed at Hayes, as team captain, he couldn’t let the one-sided analysis stand.
“Hayes isn’t bad by any means,” he said. “I could see him doing well on the second D-pair and PP2. And from his perspective, we did petition to trade him out for the new guy three votes to one. He might be worried about losing his place on the team entirely.”
“And getting traded from a team you’ve been on for years is rough.
” Jax didn’t look at anyone as he said it, but Tom thought immediately of the interview he’d seen with Philly’s captain.
He’d always had questions about Tyson Fuller, who got a little too intense when he went after referees who made calls he didn’t agree with.
Morris raised an eyebrow. “But he reacted by using a slur against a fellow player.”
“Technically, ‘Mexican’ isn’t a slur,” Jax pointed out. “The way he said it made it sound like one, which is shitty and racist, but it is not, in fact, a slur.”
Phil shook his head. “I can see Howie saying something thoughtless and cruel. Kid’s been in the show for five minutes, and we all know what that’s like. He just wants to fit in. But Jimmy? I’ve known him for years. Camille and I used to go on double dates with him and Allie.”
“How has Lunes reacted?”
Morris asked a good question. Unfortunately, neither Jax nor Tom knew the answer. They exchanged a helpless glance, both aware they’d been too wrapped up in other things the last few days to check in with Diego.
“Is he coming tonight?” Tom asked.
Phil shook his head.
“Fuck. He said he was flying down to see his family.” Jax pushed a hand through his hair. “He’s been missing them all season.”
Morris, Phil, and Tom made varying degrees of the same uncomfortable face.
“Oh my God,” Jax muttered. “Okay, leaving aside that you all need therapy, I’m gonna try calling him.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and left the room.
Phil watched him leave, then turned to Tom. “I am so glad he joined the team.”
Tom smiled tightly. “Me too.”
“No, really. He’s been good for everyone. He gives the younger guys someone cool to look up to, and he helps you figure out how to channel all your drive into something helpful for the whole team. If we can get the defense situation sorted out, this could be our year.”
Partially because he wanted not to talk about how good having Jax on the team was for him personally and partially because he didn’t want Phil to get his hopes up, Tom eyed Phil’s crutches conspicuously.
“If we make the playoffs, I’m playing,” Phil said darkly. “Count on it.”
“Why don’t we let a medical professional decide.” Morris wandered to the fridge. “Tell me there’s a real beer in here.”
“Buy your own damn groceries,” Phil told him.
“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Tom asked Morris. “Jax and Breezy’s charity scheme, I mean.”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I mean, no clue if it’ll fix what’s wrong with the team, but it will definitely be a net positive for the world.”
The healthy outlook surprised Tom. He’d never had a coach who saw a bigger picture outside the team’s successes and failures.
While Tom appreciated the perspective, he couldn’t understand why a man so measured seemed unwilling or unable to see the bigger picture when it came to the coaching situation with Trout.
Tom made a mental note to research Ben’s past teams, to see what other players said about him.
Good people could be bad hockey coaches.
The evening proved to be awkward. Breezy and Howie were too jovial, palling it up and trying too hard to be friendly to everyone.
Hayes and Allie kept to their corner of the room, though Allie still wore all white, and the other WAGs conspicuously didn’t.
Chloe, the new girl Breezy had been dating for less than a month, wore the same dark green color scheme as the rest. How had Tom never noticed they’d done this before?
Chloe was lovely and spoke English with a French accent. Apparently, she came from a more rural part of Quebec, where French was more frequently spoken than English. But her family, she assured Tom, hailed from Messina.
“And that is what matters,” Luca muttered into his wine glass. “Inbreeding.”
Breezy shoved him none too gently into the wall and changed the subject to Chloe’s studies toward a degree in social work.
She wanted to be a high school counselor, something Tom would never do even if it paid more than his NHL contract.
When he told her as much, she laughed as though he was kidding.
Tom enjoyed the food. The turkey was great because someone else made it.
Breezy and Luca, who had moved in together, brought cranberry sauce, the one dish they were both sure they couldn’t fuck up despite Luca having never eaten a cranberry.
Howie had played to his strengths and brought store-bought rolls, and Hayes and Vanderbilt had let their partners make the vegetable sides so they would be edible.
Jax’s stuffing tasted magnificent.
Tom had three helpings of it.
No one asked why Coach Morris got an invite to a usually team-only event.
Over dessert, Breezy and Jax brought up their plan.
Jax had found a shelter for LGBTQIA+ teens that was thrilled with the offer of pro athletes donating time and money.
Meanwhile, the team’s PR office, excited about engaging with the local community, planned a rollout of the project across all their platforms, headed by Kayleigh Williams. San Francisco remained a long way off from being a hockey town, but this might help.
“We’re going live on Wednesday in two weeks,” Jax explained, which was news to Tom. Two weeks. So soon.
Reactions were mixed. Gustafsson and Nieminen, Swedish and Finnish defensemen respectively, nodded in agreement but appeared more interested in the pie. It was pecan, the best kind of pie, so Tom understood. Dmitriyev and Abrahamov, on the other hand, exchanged laden looks and said nothing.
Howie expressed his support loudly and enthusiastically, right up until Vanderbilt said, “Can it, kid. You said what you said. You can’t undo it.”
Howie squared his jaw. “I can learn to do better though.” But he stared down at his dessert and didn’t meet anyone’s eye for the rest of the meal.
A protracted, awkward, awful silence followed before Hayes finally spoke up.
“Fine, I said a shitty thing, and I can’t take it back. And I’m still not thrilled about the line changes. But I hate losing. So if you guys need this to feel like a team again, okay.”
Though more akin to begrudging acceptance of mandated community service than enthusiasm for charity work, Tom would take it. In his role as captain, anyway. As a gay man, he didn’t know how he could stay friends with the guy.
With a start, he realized that at some point in the last few weeks, he’d become comfortable using those words to describe himself, albeit only in the confines of his own head.
Before Jax, he’d thought about it obliquely, in ellipses, or not at all.
It turned out the words themselves didn’t threaten his safety, only the reactions others might have to them.
This was who he was, a gay man, and being around people he couldn’t trust to respect him as such didn’t feel good.
He left the get-together alone, still chewing on the revelation on the drive home. Tom didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, and Jax had cottoned on fast enough. His Uber followed, probably only a few cars behind Tom. It was silly, with Tom’s apartment and Jax’s hotel only a few blocks apart.
Jax must hate living in a hotel.
He could invite Jax over again, let him sleep in Tom’s comfortable bed on his superior pillows.
He wanted to. He wanted Jax to make good on his promise from before, to know how it would feel when Jax went further.
He wanted more kisses; he wanted less clothes; he wanted all of it with Jax, and thinking about it had him squirming uncomfortably in the driver’s seat.
It would be good. Tom had no doubt. But being around Jax and hearing him talk passionately about wanting to be out was changing Tom.
It was changing him fast, which scared and thrilled him in equal measure.
Going there with Jax, granting himself permission to feel all the things he so desperately wanted— Tom couldn’t help thinking there would be no turning back.
He went to bed alone.
It was safer, even if he could still smell Jax in his sheets.