Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
JAMIE
A week later, the jury finds me not guilty.
Fine, I’m being melodramatic. There was no jury, only a committee.
And no verdict, just an “official decision” that stated my actions toward Danton may have been both provoked and exacerbated by the medication I’d been taking.
My personnel file now includes a warning, but no other disciplinary action was taken, much to my relief.
Even though Wes spent this whole week telling me not to worry, I was still imagining all the worst-case scenarios, and I’m glad I can finally breathe again.
There’s a spring to my step as I enter the arena on Monday afternoon, inhaling the crisp air and feeling the welcoming chill on my face.
The kids are already on the ice doing their warm-up skate.
Danton is nowhere in sight. When I checked in with Bill this morning, he told me that Danton is still on leave until his complaint is settled.
I didn’t ask why my “case” was resolved first. I’m just grateful it was.
The players catch sight of me as I approach the boards. Several of the boys wave, a few call out, “Welcome back, Coach Canning!” but only one whizzes in my direction. It’s Dunlop, who shoves his helmet off as he skates to a stop.
“Coach!” His cheeks are red from exertion. Or maybe joy. I like to think it’s the latter.
“Dunlop.” I greet him with a big smile and a clap on the shoulder.
Then I let go of him immediately. I’m probably going to pay a little too much attention to the way the team interacts with me for a while.
Wes says there’s one in every crowd who can’t get past his sexuality, and that’s just the way it is. “I missed you guys,” I tell Dunlop.
“Missed you, too.” He sounds awkward, and his face goes redder. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Like a million bucks,” I assure him. “But here’s a tip for you—never get pneumonia.”
He snickers. “I’ll try to remember that.”
I hop over the wall and skate around in a few quick circles. Fuck, it’s so good to be back on the ice. I cock my head for Dunlop to follow me, and we glide toward the net. My goalie sets his helmet on top of it, still grinning a goofy grin.
“Did you see our record?” he asks me.
“Damn—” I hastily correct myself. “Darn right I did. A four-game winning streak, huh? You guys are rocking it. You’re rocking it.”
He averts his gaze, but not before I see the flash of pleasure in his eyes. “Two shut-outs,” he says shyly. “And I only let in one goal at the last game.”
“I know. I’m proud of you.” Despite my genuine happiness that the team is back on track, I can’t fight that niggle of insecurity. I mean, you didn’t see them winning four consecutive games when I was around. “It looks like Coach Gilles showed you some new tricks,” I say lightly.
Dunlop wrinkles his forehead. “He did?”
“I watched a few of the games. Your confidence has skyrocketed since I left.” Now I’m feeling awkward. Damn it, why am I laying my own insecurities at this poor kid’s feet?
He gives me another funny look. “You think I’m doing better because you left? That’s nuts, Coach. You know what happened when you got sick?”
It’s my turn to wrinkle my forehead.
“We were all really worried,” he mumbles, staring down at his skates.
“And I was like, crap, I gotta get my shit together because Coach Canning does not need one more thing to worry about. You know, us losing all the time.” He flushes again.
“I thought if we were winning, maybe you’d get better faster. ”
I have a hard time keeping my jaw closed. This kid stepped up his game because he didn’t want me to worry that the team was losing? I’m embarrassed to feel my eyes stinging, so I give a manly cough and say, “Well, whatever it is you’re doing, keep at it. You’re playing like a champ.”
A whistle blows. Gilles is at the blue line, barking instructions at some of our forwards. When he catches my eye, he smiles and nods for me to join him.
I skate over, and the kids he was working with all go silent.
Shit. Is this going to be weird? Dunlop welcomed me back easily, but what if the others don’t?
I cough to clear the gravel from my throat, then call the rest of the team over. Everyone is staring at me. Waiting expectantly. I clap my hands together. Then I hesitate.
"So," I start awkwardly. "You have another tournament coming up, so we have to put in some work. But before we get started, does anyone, uh, have any questions for me?"
There’s a long silence.
Finally, Barrie raises his hand, and I hold my breath as I wait for his question.
“Will Ryan Wesley come to one of our games?"
I blink in surprise. Okay. Well, I wasn’t expecting that.
And when I scan the kids’ faces, I don’t see horror or disgust. Only curiosity.
I can work with that. Except I wonder…if I was marrying some random dude off the street, would they have more trouble with this?
Maybe I’m not supposed to worry about that.
In fact, I’ll take their support any way I can get it.
“I’m not sure,” I answer. “I’ll look at our game schedule and his game schedule and see if it works out. But I know Wes would be happy to come if his schedule allows it.”
All of their faces light up.
“Anything else?” I prompt. When no one speaks up, I clap my hands again. “All right, then let’s get to work.” And just like that, their expressions turn serious, fixed on me as they wait for me to start the practice.
Damn, it’s good to be back.
Practice lets out at six-thirty. As I head into the locker room to change, I text Wes to find out if he’s already outside.
He’s picking me up this evening because we’re having dinner with his teammates, which is why I brought an extra set of clothes to the rink today.
Instead of the jeans and hoodie I walked in with, I put on a blue button-down, a navy blazer and khakis.
My getup draws the attention of Gilles, who’s changing into—what else?—a plaid shirt. “You going to a country club or something?” he cracks.
“Dinner with my—” I stop abruptly. I’d been about to say “my roommate”, but I guess that’s a habit I need to break, huh?
Wes and I are no longer hiding. “With my boyfriend,” I finish.
I suppose I could’ve said fiancé, but I haven’t told my coworkers about the engagement yet, and it’s not really a bomb I want to drop on my first day back.
Gilles takes on a rueful expression. “You must have thought we were idiots taking you to that bar. Flirting with those girls…” He sighs, looking so embarrassed that I can’t help but grin.
“Hey, you didn’t know that I live with a guy.”
That gets me the arch of an eyebrow. “No, we didn’t know. Someone didn’t tell us.”
“It wasn’t something I was able to advertise,” I admit. “Wes...his career...we needed to keep the relationship under wraps.”
Gilles nods. “I get that. But I still felt like an ass.”
Hell. That was never my intention. “I’m sorry about that. It was kind of a shitty situation. But it’s out now. We’re out.” I shift my weight awkwardly. “And I know there are some people who can’t accept, or understand, my relationship with—”
“I’m not one of them,” he interrupts.
I falter. “No?”
“Naw. My sister has a girlfriend.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. My parents are in PFLAG and everything.”
“Cool,” I say, although I’m not exactly sure what that means. I’m, like, the worst queer dude ever. Somebody pass me the manual. “Well, thanks for telling me. The thing is, I’d like to go out to the bar again with you guys. I didn’t really like saying no so much, but it’s been a weird year.”
“Fine.” He grins. “But only if you play darts on my team, ’cause Frazier isn’t as good as he thinks.”
I shake my head. “I was really focused on the bullseye that night because it kept that chick’s hands off my ass.”
He laughs. “We saw your, uh… We saw Ryan Wesley at the bar, right? I didn’t invent that ’cause I was drunk?”
The memory makes me flinch.
“He was there. That was plenty awkward.”
“Right. Well, next time, we’ll just invite him.”
“Good idea.”
My phone buzzes in my hand.
I’m in the parking lot, Wes texts.
Be right out, I text back.
Another message pops up. It says:
My dick is so hard right now.
I smother a snicker, and the choked sound makes Gilles chuckle. “Have fun at dinner,” he calls before leaving the locker room.
I type back, How hard is it?
Will I get arrested if I take a dick pic in the car right now?
My laughter spills over. Absolutely, I reply. You can’t go to jail tonight. We’ve got dinner plans.
I slip my feet into a pair of dress shoes, shove my other clothes in my locker, and head outside to the parking lot, where Wes’s SUV waits for me.
The ground is a bit slushy, so I’m careful not to slosh around and ruin my shoes, but I’m happy to see that the snow is finally starting to melt.
Apparently it’s bad luck to celebrate, though.
Last night Blake had warned me that there’s always a blizzard or two in March.
Sometimes even in April and May. Blake calls it “winter’s fuck you. ”
Wes greets me with a sexy smile as I slide into the passenger seat. I lean in to kiss him, then glance at his crotch. “Liar,” I chide. “You don’t even have a semi.”
He rubs his groin and licks his lips. “I can change that. Give me a second.”
I snort. “Where are we headed, anyway?”
He pulls away from the curb, and I enjoy the view of his strong hands on the steering wheel. I wonder if he knows I have a fetish for his hands?
“Some Michelin-rated place Forsberg likes. I’m sure it’ll be awesome. And they won’t let us pay, so you kind of have to order the most expensive thing on the menu. That’s what these chuckleheads do.”
“Good to know.”
The team is taking us out for dinner for Wes’s birthday. They usually do the birthday thing on the road, but this time the whole team took an evening away from their families just so I could go, too.
When Wes pulls up in front of the restaurant, a uniformed valet takes the keys and calls him “sir”.