Chapter 41
LIAM
When I stepped back into the locker room with my heart in my throat, everyone stilled. The whole room went silent. All eyes and lenses were on me.
Chris was nowhere in sight. My remaining teammates looked puzzled. They probably expected me to say something. And as both the captain and the star of that bullshit AI-generated video, I probably needed to say something.
Say what, I had no idea. But something.
“Saints,” Coach barked, making everyone jump.
I turned to him and gulped. “Yeah, Coach?”
He gestured sharply into the hall, and his expression said “Right the fuck now.”
I strode past my teammates, refusing to look any of them in the eye. I’d done a walk of shame or two in my life, but this was excruciating. It was entirely possible no one would’ve cared one way or another about Garrett and me dating had we come out on our own terms.
Being outed like this? Fuuuck.
In the hallway, I was genuinely surprised my heartbeat wasn’t echoing off the cinderblock walls. Maybe it was—I could barely hear over the cotton in my ears.
And Coach was pissed.
“You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” he demanded, and his fury and volume escalated with every word. “You told the goddamned fans—the fucking internet, Saints—you’re screwing the rookie’s dad? You didn’t even bother to let Kanes or the team know before you—”
“I didn’t.” I showed my palms the same way Marcus had. “Coach, we didn’t tell anyone.”
His face was a deep red, and he narrowed his eyes. “Then what the hell was—”
“It was fake,” I said quickly. “I’m pretty sure I know who made it, even though I have no idea how he found out, but that video? It’s fake. It’s AI.”
He blinked. Slowly, he straightened. “What?”
I swallowed. “I watched it, and it’s definitely fake. It never happened. I swear to God.”
Coach worked his jaw. “You didn’t deny that you’re involved with Kanes’s father.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled, wobbling a little on my blades.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Saints,” Coach muttered. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
I wiped a hand over my face, then looked at him. “We’ve—”
“Are you serious?” He rubbed his eyes as if this whole thing were giving him a headache. Dropping his hand to his side, he looked at me with that look he gave rookies who’d forgotten how to skate. “Kanes’s dad? Seriously?”
My face burned and acid climbed my throat as shame roiled in my stomach.
“How long has this been going on?”
I dropped my gaze to the concrete between us.
“How long, Saints?”
I swallowed again, then made myself look at him. “Since November.”
“Since…” He blinked. “Since November? And you never once thought that maybe the club should know about it?” He flailed a hand down the hall. “Or at least his son—your teammate—should know?”
“I…” I exhaled. “We were going to talk to him about—”
“Save it,” he snapped, and he stabbed a finger at me. “You’d better hope this doesn’t fuck up my locker room. You hear me?”
I nodded. “Y-yeah, Coach.”
“You get in there, and you do damage control with your teammates, and especially with Kanes. And you better fucking hope you and PR can smooth this over with the media. You got that?”
Again, I nodded. “Yeah, Coach.”
But something told me the damage control ship had already sailed.
To say I was crushed was an understatement.
Sitting in the driver seat of my idling car in the arena’s garage, I rubbed my eyes and swore into the silence.
How had everything gone so wrong, so fast?
My team was in disarray. My linemate was livid with me.
My boyfriend… God, he was devastated. All the progress he’d carefully made with his son was suddenly hanging by a thread. What if this was one secret too many for Chris and there was no coming back this time?
And it was all public, too. Our private life was being broadcast all over the goddamned place. It was humiliating. Violating.
It was all getting worse in a hurry, too. Articles were popping up everywhere, each trying to outdo each other with ridiculous, embarrassing headlines.
Phantoms’ St. Clair Admits to GAY AFFAIR with Teammate’s FATHER!
Pittsburgh Captain’s Scandalous GAY TRYST!
Awkward in the Locker Room? Young Phantom’s FATHER Involved with GAY CAPTAIN!
I groaned. My first thought was to wonder why they’d emphasized “gay” so hard.
My second thought was… Well, I knew why they did it.
Because even though gay players were nothing new and several of us had been out for ages, the media still had to act like it was the most scandalous thing ever.
My breakup with my ex had garnered bigger and more clickbaity headlines than another player being charged with domestic violence around the same time.
Because apparently my breakup was a sign that queer relationships were unstable liabilities in the locker room, but a straight player beating his wife…
Fuck. I was exhausted just remembering that debacle.
And how he and his team’s PR had taken full advantage of my position at the top of the headlines to quietly move on as if nothing had happened.
Sometimes I still wondered if he might’ve experienced actual consequences if Tristan and I had stayed together another month or two.
Probably not, knowing this League.
In the present, I swallowed bile and tapped one of the stupid headlines.
PITTSBURGH –Liam St. Clair told fans outside practice that he has a new love! But this isn’t just another boyfriend for the openly gay hockey legend. St. Clair, 37, appears to be involved with none other than Garrett Kane, 47, the father of his rookie linemate, Chris Kane, 23.
Apart from the video, the couple have not acknowledged their relationship. St. Clair is notoriously private with no known presence on social media.
“Maybe that should’ve been a hint,” I grumbled aloud.
My chest hurt as I dropped my phone into the cup holder and pressed back against the driver seat.
Elbow beneath the window, I rubbed my temple and stared at nothing.
I envied that fake version of myself. I wished so hard that it could’ve been real.
That I could’ve happily and unabashedly told the world I was with Garrett.
But I couldn’t. And I hadn’t. And somehow…
Somehow it was out there anyway.
How had this even happened? The video was fake, but someone had to have suspected we were together. No one was going to randomly make a video of me with a teammate’s dad. And if they did, what were the odds they’d pick the right guy? Or pick a guy who was actually queer?
I let my hand fall to the steering wheel and gripped it tight enough to make the leather creak, and I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached.
Jack Arlen had to be involved. Who the fuck else could it be?
And also… why? Why would he do this?
I supposed I didn’t even need to ask. He’d always gotten a thrill out of making us uncomfortable, and he loved having the byline on tabloid-worthy articles about our personal lives.
He loved stirring shit up for clicks and clout, and he loved pushing the envelope because he knew he could get away with things other journalists couldn’t.
He was probably loving the aftermath of the chaos he’d created. It was exactly the kind of shitstorm he aspired to ignite. He didn’t care about the fallout. Just the sensationalism and the clicks.
I cared about the fallout, though, because there was going to be a lot of it. I could feel it to my core. One of my teammates hated me. Garrett was a mess. My public image was probably going to take a hell of a beating even though I hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.
I’d struggled to uphold my reputation as a “good” gay player all this time. I was the one journalists pointed to when people tried to claim we had no place in the League. I was well-behaved. Not promiscuous. Didn’t do things that would stain my reputation or anyone else’s.
And now…
Now this.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered to the steering wheel.
Suddenly I needed to get away from this arena.
It felt like a damn crime scene, and my skin was crawling beneath my suit.
I needed to see Garrett again, but he didn’t think spending tonight together was a good idea.
Hell, maybe the guilt was too much. Maybe he couldn’t stand the sight of me because I was a reminder of this new disaster.
The only thing I knew was that I was spending tonight like I’d spent most of my adult life—alone.
So, I backed out of the parking space and burned rubber out of the garage.
There weren’t any fans waiting outside—they’d probably assumed all the Phantoms had already left—so at least there was no one to watch me drive off.
I didn’t want to disappoint the kids while the adults gawked and whispered behind their hands.
I was numb all the way back to Sewickley.
I followed the freeways and winding backroads on autopilot, my thoughts going in a million different directions.
I felt disgusting. Violated. Heartbroken.
Furious. Embarrassed. But it was all tucked beneath a thick layer of numbness.
Not apathy; more like shock. Like my system hadn’t yet processed everything enough to let all those feelings crack through.
Once they did? Well, that would fucking suck, wouldn’t it?
I was just pulling into my garage when my phone jangled to life. “What fresh hell is this?” I muttered, and grabbed it out of the cup holder. I had a quick jolt of hope—and terror—that it was Garrett, but it wasn’t.
It was the team’s PR director.
Oh, this would be fun.
I accepted the call. “Hey, Travis.”
“Hey. Listen, I’m sorry to call you so late, but I need to get a handle on this situation.”
“I know. I get it.” I got out of the car, and as I shuffled into the kitchen, I asked, “So what happens now?”
Travis took a deep breath. “Well, as far as how the team will handle things between you and Kanes, I couldn’t tell you. Not at this point. But as far as the video itself—it sounds like we found the origin.”