Chapter Twenty-One
Two weeks later, Eric was in a rowdy locker room in Buffalo as the Eastern Conference All-Stars got ready for the skills competition. Old friends who were normally opponents were enjoying the rare opportunity to catch up. Other guys were loudly teasing each other. Eric quietly observed everyone.
It was an interesting exercise, bringing all of these rivals together in the middle of the season. Hockey was an emotional sport, and grudges ran deep, but they were all connected by this game that they loved. They were, in a way, all family.
Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were sitting across from each other, and kept catching each other’s eye and smiling.
There was a mutual fondness there that Eric still couldn’t quite believe.
They were such famous rivals but, he supposed, they were also human beings who were more than their hockey skills.
Obviously they had found things to like about each other and had become good friends.
Dallas Kent was in one corner, talking to another player who Eric didn’t particularly like.
Kent’s teammate, Troy Barrett, was sitting in the stall next to Eric, but had been quiet the entire time he’d put his gear on.
Now he was engrossed in his phone. Eric had no reason to like the kid, but he decided to attempt to be friendly.
“This is your first All-Star Game, isn’t it?”
Troy looked up, startled. “Yeah. I was supposed to go last year, but I was hurt.”
“I remember. What event are you doing?”
“Fastest skater.”
Eric nodded. “Makes sense. You’ve got some tough competition, though.”
“I don’t think I’ll win. But the other option was to do that fucking stupid obstacle course one and I don’t want to embarrass myself in my first skills competition.”
“Goalies definitely have it easy at these things.”
Troy was only twenty-four years old. He wasn’t a particularly big guy—probably five-nine or so, with minimal bulk.
Like Kyle, he had a body built for speed.
Unlike Kyle, he had black, glossy hair that kept falling into his piercing blue eyes.
Those eyes didn’t look happy right now, and Eric realized he’d never seen Troy look particularly happy. Not that he’d seen a whole lot of him.
“Usually after this thing we all meet up at the hotel bar, or sometimes there are room parties,” Eric said.
“I figured. That would be fun, but...” He frowned at someone across the room, and Eric realized it was Dallas Kent. “Is Hunter going to be there, do you think?”
“Why?” Eric felt a flash of anger. Was Troy such a homophobic prick that he wouldn’t socialize with Scott?
Troy looked at him with wide, sapphire eyes. “Not because—Jesus, I’m not like that, okay? I don’t hate gay people. I just want to, I dunno, talk to him. But he might not want to talk to me. That’s all.”
Eric relaxed. “He’ll talk to you,” he said with certainty. “Scotty’s the nicest guy in the world.”
“Seems like it.”
Eric decided, if he did nothing else useful with this final All-Star weekend, he could at least pass on some advice to this young man.
“You know, I’ve been in this league a long time, and I’ve had to play on teams with people I didn’t particularly like.
Some of them were even star players. Fortunately, the locker rooms are big, and you can choose the people you want to keep close to you. ”
Troy’s brow furrowed, then he looked at the floor. He tugged on his jersey and said, “I’m starting to figure that out.”
Eric attempted a friendly shoulder clap—the kind Scott or Carter would do effortlessly. It landed a little awkwardly, but he hoped the sentiment came through.
Later that night, after the competition was over, a large group of players from both teams were gathered in the hotel bar. Eric was sitting at a small table with Wyatt Hayes—the goalie for Ottawa, and a very funny guy. They were approached by Ilya Rozanov.
“Move, Hazy,” Rozanov ordered. “I need to talk to Bennett.”
Wyatt shook his head but stood up. “No fucking respect for the guy who saves your ass forty times a game.”
Rozanov handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Go buy yourself a beer.”
Wyatt glared at him. “I can buy my own fucking beer. I’m an All-Star too, y’know.”
Rozanov blinked at him, and Wyatt walked away, grumbling about Russian egomaniacs. Rozanov slid into Wyatt’s chair. “You have not announced your retirement,” he said, cutting to the chase.
“Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me.”
“Why not?”
“I wanted to wait until after this weekend.”
“You don’t want a big deal?”
“No, I don’t.”
Rozanov grinned. “This is why we are different. I want a farewell season. A parade. Everyone crying at every game.”
“I’m sure you’ll get it.”
He didn’t miss the way Rozanov’s gaze darted briefly to where Shane Hollander was standing. “Maybe.”
“Scott told me you want him to help out at your camps this summer.”
“Yes. But he is busy marrying that guy he likes to kiss.”
“I think he’ll help in the future. He’s impressed with you. We all are.”
Rozanov looked like he was almost embarrassed. He ducked his head, then glanced up shyly. “Yes?”
“Absolutely. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“You could sell one of those expensive suits you like to wear and give us the money.”
Eric chuckled. “I can give money without selling the suits.”
“We could use more goalie help, at the camps.”
“I could probably do that. I like that you’ve made an effort to be inclusive at your camps. I assume that’s why you asked Scott.”
“Yes. He is also not bad at hockey.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about him.”
“Don’t tell him.”
Eric wasn’t sure if he should share personal information with Rozanov or not, but something told him to trust him. “Not that it matters, really, but I’m bisexual. I mean, it seems like you already guessed that, but if you want that kind of rep at your camps...”
Rozanov’s face lit up. “Bisexual! This is great. Did you fuck that blond teenager yet?”
“He’s not a—” Eric bit his tongue. “He’s twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five was a long time ago for you. Do you remember twenty-five?”
“Where the hell is Wyatt?” Eric made a show of looking over Rozanov’s shoulder.
“So you did? Fuck him?”
Eric should have been terrified by this conversation, but instead he just found himself wishing he could tell Rozanov that he hadn’t just fucked Kyle. He wished he could say he was dating him. That Kyle was his boyfriend. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“That is a yes.”
At that moment, Shane Hollander approached their table. “Hi, Eric.” Shane was basically the opposite of Rozanov: serious, polite, and quiet.
“Shane. Nice work in the obstacle course.”
Shane smirked at Rozanov, who had not done nearly as well in the same event. “Thanks. It was pretty easy, honestly.”
Rozanov glared back at him with eyes that burned with annoyance and something else. Before Eric could figure out what it was, Rozanov looked away.
Eric spotted Scott talking to Troy Barrett near the bar, which made him happy to see. Dallas Kent was nowhere to be found but, based on his reputation, he had probably found some female fans to keep him company.
“I’m going to head up to my room,” Shane said. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Shane,” Eric said.
“I will probably head up soon too,” Rozanov said.
Shane nodded, then turned quickly and left. Rozanov stayed at the table for about another minute, then told Eric he was going to the bathroom. He went, Eric noticed, in the direction of the elevators instead.
An hour later, Eric was alone in the elevator with Scott, heading for their side-by-side hotel rooms.
“What do you think you’ll do?” Eric asked. “After you retire?”
Scott’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
“I haven’t thought about it. I still have a lot of hockey left to play.”
Eric nodded slowly. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”
“Are you—” Scott dropped his voice to a horrified whisper. “Are you saying you’re ready to retire?”
“I’m forty-one.”
“Yeah, but. I mean. Look at you! You’re in better shape than anyone else on this team.”
“Have you been checking me out, Scott?”
“Sometimes! Can you blame me? Do you remember the height you got on your squat jumps at training camp this year?” Scott fanned himself theatrically.
Eric laughed. “Seriously, though. I can’t play forever.”
“You could try.”
Eric smiled fondly at him as the elevator reached their floor. He really did love Scott, and it was time to be honest with him. He followed him down the hall and stopped when they reached Scott’s room. Scott opened the door and gestured for Eric to follow him inside.
“Are you trying to tell me something, Benny?”
Eric steeled himself. This was it. “I’m going to be making the announcement soon. This is my last season.”
Scott’s mouth fell open.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Eric continued. “And don’t try to change my mind. It’s time.”
Scott opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then said, “You’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“But I’ll miss you,” Scott said, as if that was all the argument Eric needed.
“I’ll buy season tickets. I’ll go to every game.”
Scott sat down hard on his bed. “Not the same.”
“I know. I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss everyone.”
“Does Coach know?”
Eric sat next to him. “No. No one knows.” It was a lie, but he didn’t want to tell Scott that he’d confided in Kyle first again.
That would open a whole new line of questioning.
And he definitely didn’t want to tell Scott that Rozanov knew.
Scott would never recover. “I’m going to tell Carter as soon as we’re all back together.
I don’t want him to hear it from someone else. ”
“Okay, well. Be sure, before you tell anyone else, all right?” Scott said.
Eric nudged him. “You make it sound like I’m rushing into this instead of finishing an eighteen-year career.”
“It’s too soon.”
Eric patted Scott’s thigh. “I’m retiring, not dying.” He stood up, and Scott did the same, immediately wrapping him in a tight hug.