Chapter Fourteen #2
“Not only was the opportunity to sign a Cup winning goalie to the team one we couldn’t pass up, but to have someone with your background—”
“My queerness, you mean?”
Montgomery had the humility to look a bit uncomfortable, but admitted, “Yes.”
Nate wasn’t sure if he should be pissed or not that they’d invaded his privacy like that.
On the other hand, the incident had made the social media rounds, and he supposed they had a right to know what they were getting, but they’d signed him despite or because of his sexuality.
God, he wasn’t even sure what was happening.
He rubbed both hands down his pants legs.
“Mr. Hennessey—”
“Nate.”
Montgomery nodded. “Nate. What I’m going to say next will never leave this room. I know we’ve at least cracked your trust.” He waved at the folder in front of Nate. “I’m hoping to repair it or at least offer an after-the-fact explanation.”
Nate could use a drink right about now. A massive Screwdriver. He chugged some water and waited.
Boudreaux took a deep breath. “I’m gay.”
“And I’m technically bisexual,” said Montgomery. “I was in married to a woman for many years, but we’ve been divorced for a while. I remarried a few years ago to a man. Garrett’s an airline pilot.”
“I’m not married, but I’m seeing someone right now. He’s a bank manager,” said Boudreaux.
Nate had no idea what to say, what to think. He nodded.
“Mr. Northfield and Leander Vance both know as do a few other trusted people,” Mr. Montgomery said.
“Aside from the people at this table, only the owner and GM know about you. Who you tell or don’t tell is up to you.
If you meet someone you want to date, feel free.
We are not the relationship police and PR is not an issue.
“We’re trying to change the culture from the top down, and we’re making progress. But now we need to work where there will be the most impact. That starts with you. Be an ally, be the poster boy, completely up to you.”
Nate’s mind reeled. The owner and the general manager both knew about these guys. Nate could reveal himself if he wanted. Could date Wesley if he wanted. Out and proud or on the down low.
“What about Tommy?” The homophobic asshole.
“Ah, yes, Tomlinson. He’s under contract until the end of the season. I can’t speak to what happens after that. But what I can tell you is that we’re committed to shaping a healthier locker room moving forward—and we expect you to be part of that shift.
“In the meantime, we’ll have to put up with him and keep him in check somehow.” He gave Nate a meaningful stare. “Any actions you take against Mr. Tomlinson in the future will have to be addressed. We will not condone physical violence like what happened yesterday.”
Except, again, Nate got the feeling they were saying what they were supposed to be saying, but meaning something else entirely. Actions against Tommy would be addressed—he might get another letter in his file, he might get a fine, depending on severity, but nothing that truly mattered. Huh.
After a long moment, Nate took a breath. “I understand. I’ll try to keep my temper in check moving forward.” That’s what he was supposed to say.
“Very good.” Montgomery slid the other folder out from under his portfolio and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “This is a written reprimand for your actions in the dressing room for your player file. If you could sign and date it.” He slid the sheet and a pen over.
Nate scanned the verbiage and didn’t see anything to take issue with.
He was in the wrong, technically, and the team had every right to “punish” him.
If all that entailed was him signing a statement saying he physically threatened another player in the dressing room for homophobic comments, then who was he to complain?
He signed and dated in his usual chicken scratch. “Can you send a copy to my agent?”
“Of course.” Montgomery stood. The coaches followed suit as did Nate and Mr. Mason. “Thanks for coming in this morning, Nate. It was good to meet you, although I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”
“Yes, sir.”
Montgomery and the coaches filed toward the door.
“Let me walk you out.” Mason pulled open the door for him.
He escorted Nate back to the team office lobby in companionable silence, the deep blue carpet soft beneath their feet. Nate’s thoughts spun like an overloaded hard drive, everything in his system trying to process all the new information.
His queerness wasn’t a liability. He wasn’t alone. The culture was shifting. Hell, it had already shifted more than he’d realized. Unless this was all puck, no net on the part of management.
They stepped into the sunny lobby, passing the reception desk. Mr. Mason offered a quick nod to Marjorie.
“Have a good day, Ms. Kincaid,” Nate said. Any relation to his captain?
She smiled and nodded. “You too, sweetie.”
“Take care, Nate,” Mason said. “Any issues, big or small, you can bring them to me. That’s my job.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nate pulled open one of the frosted glass doors and stepped into the less bright, much cooler corridor and heaved a sigh of relief. He couldn’t wait to talk to Wesley.
“Hennessy.”
Nate’s gaze jerked from the phone in his hand to the source of the voice.
Griffin Kincaid.
Team captain. Defenseman. Locomotives legend.
Apparently waiting for him.
Nate went instantly alert. He sucked in a breath and straightened. “Kincaid,” he said on the exhale.
Kincaid pushed off the wall he’d been leaning on and slid his phone into his pocket. “Got a few minutes?”
Much as he wanted to get home, Nate didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, sure.” This was his captain, and the man had something to say. Nate really did want to fit in, especially after receiving his marching orders from management. Now he needed to know where the captain stood.
“You look like you could use a drink. Meeting with the suits tend to do that. Let’s hit the eighth-floor café. My treat.” The captain’s tone was friendly but pointed. There was no begging off.
* * * * *
Nate followed him into the elevator, adrenaline starting to fade but nerves still jangling. They rode in silence, allowing Nate to brood. Probably by design.
The café was open and modern, sparsely populated, with sunlight pouring in through large windows.
Hanging plants lined the ceiling, and the scent of espresso hovered in the air.
They grabbed drinks—protein smoothie for Kincaid, black iced tea for Nate—and found a spot near the edge of the rooftop garden view.
“Any relation to the team receptionist?” Nate asked, curiosity and nerves getting the better of him.
“My much better half,” Kincaid said with a fond smile. He leaned back. “So. That meeting.”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “Word travels that fast?”
“In this organization? Yeah. You get called into the principal’s office and everyone’s placing bets—discipline or damage control.”
“Not damage control.”
“Hmm.” Kincaid raised a brow and took a sip of his avocado-based smoothie. “I mean, you did jack Tommy up against his locker.”
“Not my finest moment,” Nate acknowledged with a dip of his chin.
“Nobody’s losing sleep over it.”
Nate let out a breath that was half a laugh. “You always this subtle?”
Kincaid smirked. “That was me being subtle.”
“Gotcha.”
Holy hell—what was this team he’d landed on?
Top notch facilities. The practice rink, the game rink—all elite. But this café, this captain? They were…unexpected.
He looked around the café—larger-than-usual seating.
A space clearly designed for hockey players.
The upper half of the walls were a creamy white and separated from the sage green lower half by a wide apricot stripe.
Outside, umbrellas shaded the rooftop tables while planters filled with flowers and trailing greenery lined the parapet wall.
Decorative fans stood ready to stir the air if needed.
And Kincaid— Griffin Kincaid had been a Locomotive since his rookie year and had worn the C by his third. A lifer. The kind of player people called a franchise cornerstone. On the ice, he was a freight train with a mean streak and a slap shot like a cannon. Off the ice? Nate wasn’t sure.
But this version—the one nursing a smoothie and giving him space to settle—wasn’t what he’d braced for.
“As captain, subtlety is a survival skill.” Kincaid tipped his chair back on two legs. “I don’t know what all got said up there, and I don’t need to. But I do know what kind of shit Tommy runs his mouth about. So thanks for not letting it slide.”
That took Nate by surprise. “You’re not mad I went after him?”
“I’m not thrilled you attacked a teammate, but I get why.” He slurped again. “Honestly? You earned a lot of silent respect. The room’s been needing a spark. You might be it.”
Nate stared at his tea. “I didn’t come here to be a spark.”
“Yeah, well. You didn’t come here, did you? You were traded and not by choice.”
Anger sparked in Nate’s gut and just as quickly fizzled. He understood why too few players spoke out. Doing so tended to get you labeled, and unless you had a legit reason for calling that shit out, you kept your mouth shut.
They sat for a moment in silence, the hum of the city far below them.
Kincaid finally stood and clapped a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Keep your head down when you need to. Stand up when it counts. If Tommy runs his mouth again, let me earn my C. You’ve already shown the team you won’t put up with that kind of crap. And if I’m not around...” He shrugged.
Nate nodded. “Thanks, Kinner.”
A faint smile. “No problem.”
* * * * *
Nate sat in the car, letting the cool air wash over him.
What the hell just happened?
The AGM and the assistant head coach were gay.
They didn’t care if he dated men.
And Kincaid—Jesus. The team captain hadn’t just tolerated him; he’d thanked him. Backed him up. Promised to handle things going forward.
That backing shouldn’t mean as much as it did. But it mattered.
Nate pulled out his phone and texted Wesley.