Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DIEGO
I don’t know if the extra confidence coursing through my veins and oozing out of my pores has to do with the fact that news seems to have finally spread to all the sports outlets and podcasts that I’m not getting traded, giving me a solid week of peace since the last time they even mentioned my name.
It could also be because I woke up this morning with Callan in my bed for the third time in a row and we spent almost an hour trading lazy blowjobs before we finally managed to get up and take a shower.
Or maybe I’m more shallow than I like to let myself believe and the real reason for my good mood tonight is that I had an excuse to pull my custom Jag out of the secure garage for the first time in a year, and the purr of the engine as I fly down the highway is giving me new life.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song that’s blaring through the speakers and watch for my exit.
I can’t remember the last time I left the city.
When I’m not on the road, I don’t have the time or desire most of the time to take weekend trips up north, or anywhere else really.
The change of scenery is nice though, and watching the city disappear in my rearview and the traffic slowly thin out brings back all kinds of memories of weekend trips with my friends in high school, up to Lake Geneva where half of their parents owned summer houses.
I’m not headed as far as Lake Geneva tonight though.
Just an hour outside the city for a meeting I’ve bounced between dreading and looking forward to for two days.
I’m sure it wasn’t a coincidence that Pinsky called me a couple of days after my meeting with Coach Gregors.
We need to clear the air, and it’s better to start with a low-key dinner and a couple of drinks than to walk into the locker room for the first day of practice in a few weeks with so much shit unsaid.
I pull into the parking lot, and I’m not surprised that Pinsky picked a place with a valet.
He definitely likes the lifestyle just as much as he likes the sport.
I guess I can’t blame him, it’s just never been me.
My parents can have their damn yacht, I just want to dominate on the ice and have a peaceful life off of it.
I get out of my car and hand the keys to the valet, taking a second to glance down at what I’m wearing.
I changed out of my gym clothes, at least, but I’m not sure a t-shirt and jeans are that much better.
When I look up again, I spot Pinsky pulling in right behind me in his cherry red Corvette.
He’s dressed basically the same as I am, so I guess they don’t have a strict dress code here.
He tosses his keys to the valet too and jogs over to greet me, extending a hand that he uses to pull me to him and slap me on the back.
“Hey, man, you look great. How are you feeling?” Instead of waiting for me to answer, he tilts his head towards the entrance and starts walking.
I fall into step beside him, letting the hostess lead us to our table and giving us both a minute to glance at the menu before I answer his question.
“I’m feeling good. Now that I’m off restrictions I’ve been training every day, focusing on my strength and stamina.
I’ve only gotten out on the ice once or twice, but once team practice starts at the end of the month, I’ll have plenty of time to get the rust out before the season starts.
” I feel a little bit like I did in the Coach’s office, like I’m selling the hell out of myself.
He picks up on it too, chuckling and leaning back a little bit in his seat to make himself more comfortable.
“That’s great, but I meant more, like, mentally. I’d be climbing the walls if I’d been on restriction for nine months, not to mention all the other bullshit.”
A twinge of irritation twists in my chest and my smile drops for a second. Is he looking for an honest answer? I’m supposed to make nice with everyone, but am I going to be able to do that without at least airing shit out a little first?
Our waiter stops by to tell us about the specials and take our drink orders, and as soon as he’s gone, I lean forward with my elbows on the table.
“Honestly, man?” I huff a little. “It’s been the worst nine months of my life.
The injury was bad enough but…” Am I doing this?
I think I have to. Pinsky and I used to be tight as hell, and now I feel like he’s a fucking stranger.
“Where the hell were you? Where the hell was anyone? I know it was still the middle of the season, and you were all scrambling without me, but nobody bothered to call. You were the only one who stopped by while I was in the hospital. We’ve always said that we’re more than a team, but it sure as hell hasn’t felt that way. ”
He rears back with a surprised look on his face like I just reached across the table to take a swing at him.
“Whoa. Where the hell is all this coming from? I get why you’d be pissed off at Brody for taking your girl, but…”
“Fuck Brody,” I say with a surprising amount of calm. “Michael fucking Brody has been a prick since the day I met him. We got along as much as we had to, but we never liked each other, and I’m perfectly fine to continue that arrangement. He and Crystal are a perfect match for each other.”
The waiter drops off our drinks with a tight, awkward smile, trying to pretend he’s not eavesdropping on our loud conversation.
“So what are you all bent out of shape about, then?” Pinsky asks stupidly.
“Dammit, Kyle, listen to what I’m fucking telling you.
” I bang my fist on the table and the water in my glass spills over, creating a dark spot on the white tablecloth beneath it.
“Brody and I were never friends, but we were.” I gesture back and forth between the two of us.
“You were supposed to have my back, and when the chips were down, you were fucking nowhere. None of the guys bothered to tell me that Crystal was showing up and hanging around outside the locker room after games to meet with Brody, no one called while I was stuck on the couch for weeks with nothing to do but watch endless fucking coverage about my injury and Crystal’s cheating, and this is the first time you’ve asked to see me all summer. ”
He has the sense to look chastised, shrinking just a little bit in his seat and taking a sip of his water without making eye contact.
“You’re right. That was fucked up and I’m sorry.
It’s like you said—things were hectic when you got hurt, but I was planning to visit you as soon as I had a minute to breathe.
But then that shit went down with Brody…
” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know what the fuck to do when she started coming around and we all knew you were laid up.
Some of the guys wanted to tell you right away, but we were on a hot streak, and I didn’t want to fuck anything up if it turned into a whole thing with Brody and the guys. ”
I huff out a humorless laugh.
“You told them not to clue me in because you didn’t want to fuck up a hot streak?”
I’m expecting him to look ashamed again, but instead he matches my posture with his elbows on the table and gives me a defiant look.
“Put yourself in my shoes. If you were the captain, what would you have done?”
We glare at each other across the table for a long, tense minute and then my shoulders sag.
“Fuck, you’re right,” I grumble. I fucking hate it, but it’s his job as the team captain to keep the peace and to set the tone, and I wouldn’t have wanted them to ruin their chances at the playoffs for the year because Brody couldn’t keep his dick in his jock.
“For what it’s worth, I am fucking sorry.
Hindsight and all that shit, I wish I had just told you, but I did what I thought I had to at the time.
And then I couldn’t bring myself to face you.
Every time I picked up the phone to call or wanted to come visit you, all I could think about was how pissed I would be if the tables were turned. ”
I guess I can understand that too. I give a tight nod and let out a long breath. It’s going to take some time for us to build a friendship back up, but we came here to clear the air, and I think we did that at least. Well, with one last exception…
“That gym prank, were you in on that?”
Pinsky’s face is blank. “What are you talking about?”
“When I was looking for a personal trainer, Lavoie sent me to a gay gym as a joke.”
His expression goes from confused to thunderous in a blink.
“Fucking Lavoie,” he grumbles. “No, I didn’t know shit about it, but believe me, I’ll have a talk with him.”
I nod again and I’m tempted to leave it at that.
I’m certainly not about to come out to Pinsky right now on a whim or anything, but the whole thing is weighing on me.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay in the closet for the rest of my career.
I have no fucking clue what’s going to happen between me and Callan, but his words from the other day have been echoing in my head on and off, about how he wishes he had been brave enough to pave the way as a gay athlete to make it easier for guys who would have come after him.
“It was a dumb prank, but luckily I found a kick-ass trainer there,” I go on, my mouth feeling a little dry.
“But pulling shit like that isn’t cool. There could be guys in the league, maybe even in our own locker room who are in the closet, and that’s the kind of bullshit that makes them not want to come out. Nobody wants to be a joke.”
He looks stunned again and I brace myself for whatever his reaction might be.
We’ve never talked about how he feels about queer people—why would we?
He could be an ally, or this conversation might blow up in my face.
After a long silence, he takes another sip of water and swallows hard, keeping his eyes on the table when he finally answers.
“You’re right, man. It’s my job to set the tone, and I need to be on top of shit like that. As far as I’m concerned, anyone with talent belongs in our locker room, I don’t give a fuck who they go home to at the end of the night, and neither should anyone else.”
“Exactly,” I agree gruffly.
The waiter returns, no doubt from hiding somewhere out of view, just waiting for the vibe to get less intense so he could pop back over. He takes our orders, and by the time he walks away again the tension in the air seems to be gone.
“Alright, I missed too damn much, so now that we’re past all that, go ahead and catch me up.”
Pinsky gives me a relieved smile, and we fall into a conversation that feels completely normal, talking about hockey and player gossip over a couple of steaks.
It’s incredible how easily things can feel right again even after so much has changed.
It gives me a hell of a lot of hope for the season, even though a small part of me is dreading the end of summer for the first time in my life.
CALLAN
I’m sprawled out on my couch, scratching my balls and half paying attention to a documentary about the nineties Chicago Bulls when my phone buzzes with a text from Diego.
I sent him one a few hours ago asking how his dinner went.
Admittedly, I was overeager and sent the text before he probably even got to the restaurant, knowing he likely wouldn’t see it until later.
DIEGO: Better than expected! I called him out like I needed to, he apologized, I think we’re good.
CALLAN: That’s great!
I stare at my phone for a second, trying to decide if what I want to text him is too damn pathetic and needy for a guy who isn’t even his boyfriend.
Fuck it.
CALLAN: Three nights in a row in your bed spoiled me. I don’t know how I’m going to manage to fall asleep in my silent, empty apartment tonight.
DEIGO: Haha. Glad to hear you say that…
I wait for another text, but it doesn’t come. That can’t be all he has to say, can it?
There’s a knock at my door and I sit up instantly, my phone slipping through my fingers to thunk onto the floor next to the couch.
I pull my other hand out of my shorts and hop up to answer, already grinning, my heart thundering.
I fling the door open and Diego is standing there with Slapshot tucked under his arm and a small duffel bag slung over his other shoulder.
“Hey,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind—I brought a few things with me so I won’t have to keep borrowing your clothes when I sleep over.”
My smile gets even wider. I’m hearing that he’s planning to sleep here more than once.
He’s definitely not going to get any complaints from me.
Hell, I’ll clean out a drawer for him. I answer by hooking a hand behind his neck and dragging him inside.
The door swings closed behind him right as our lips meet in a slow kiss that’s made just a little clumsy by the fact that neither of us can seem to stop smiling.
“I probably should have asked before bringing Slaps over here too,” he says when we break the kiss.
“Nah, it’s cool. He should get used to the place.”
Diego puts the dog down and he immediately trots off to explore my apartment, happily making himself at home.
It’s nice. I want the click-clack of toenails in my place, I want Diego’s stuff mixed with mine, even if it’s only temporary.
And while I’m wanting things, I want this to not be temporary at all.
I want to tell Diego that I’m falling for him, and I want him to say it back.
We stare at each other for a second, and I could almost swear he’s thinking the exact same thing I am. But then he nudges my shoulder with his and kicks off his shoes.
“Two hours in the car really made my hip cramp up, I think I need a massage.”
I laugh and follow him deeper into the apartment.
I want a lot of things, but not enough to ruin what we have right now.