Chapter 32
DENNY
#LeaveDennyAlone
The hashtag has gone more than viral in the past six days. I’ve had to disable my account because the influx of tags has been overwhelming. My feed no longer consists of hockey, but now I see nothing but a whole lot of loud opinions by people who don’t know shit about the situation.
I appreciate that the vast majority of them are in defense of me and my siblings. That doesn’t make them any less invasive. It’s led to not only relentless tags but also a stupid amount of DMs.
Again, most of them are in support, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less intrusive.
What they’re taking part in is an online keyboard-warrior effort, and I’m over here just trying to live my damn life.
Now there are signs held up at games with the hashtag.
I’ve seen hoodies and shirts and even a fucking beanie embroidered with it.
As I step into the hotel gym with Tyler and Ty, having passed someone wearing the #LeaveDennyAlone loud on their chest, I sigh heavily. “I feel like the mascot of a cult,” I mutter.
Tyler laughs. “Yeah?”
Ren, Zenia, and a few of our teammates are already in the gym. We have a game today against the New York Lights.
“Starting him out young, huh?” Zenia asks.
Tyler takes a seat against the wall with Ty, sending a wave toward my friends.
“Weird place to bring him, being so insane about germs,” Nason comments. I’ve been asked no less than a dozen times when I’m bringing Ty in for a visit.
“Tyler needs to get out of the hotel room, and it’s too cold for a walk,” I say.
“And dangerous,” Tyler adds.
“New York isn’t bad if you know where to go,” Nason says.
“I don’t know where to go,” Tyler counters.
“You all just keep a perimeter around my baby and let him get used to the smell of sweaty men,” I say. “Tyler is here to judge us.”
Tyler nods. “I’m taking notes.”
I leave my towel and water with Tyler before joining Ren and Zenia on the bikes. “Where’s Felton?” I ask, climbing onto my own and setting the resistance.
“Having lunch with Owen,” Ren says. “He’ll be here in half an hour or so.”
“Why don’t you join him?” Zenia asks. “Aren’t you in the Gays Can Play club now?”
Ren shrugs one shoulder while shaking his head. “Felton needs a sense of normalcy, and these are his friends. Not our friends. He mentioned a gay cruise this summer with the guys and I’ve gotten the impression he wants to attend again, so I’m sure I’ll be inducted to the club soon enough.”
“A gay cruise?” I ask.
“I’ve heard of this. It’s not what it sounds like,” Zenia says. “It’s just the Gays Can Play guys who rent a yacht and spend some weeks of summer together. Not an actual gay cruise.”
“Ah. Good to know.”
Something hits the glass door to the gym, and we shift to look. There are a couple girls with the hashtag shirts on peering inside. I sigh and turn my attention away.
“Your mother has been silent since your brothers’ posts,” Zenia notes.
“She has. I imagine she’s regrouping for her next outrageous move,” I say.
“You think so? You don’t think that maybe she’s done?”
“If you’d have asked me if I ever thought she’d randomly show up on my doorstep to demand access to my kid, I’d have laughed.
If there’s one thing I took from my childhood, it’s that neither of my parents wanted to be parents.
They hated literally every single aspect of it.
So what indication would I have ever had that she’d suddenly want to be a grandparent?
” I shake my head. “So she shows up, right? I kick her out and threaten charges. So what does she do? Call Child Aid Services on me. When that doesn’t work, she calls the fucking police.
So what do I think she’s doing? No fucking idea. ”
“That’s…” Zenia trails off.
“I hope she’s done. She’s fucking exhausting.”
“Hey, Willow.” We turn to look at Nason in the door. He’s pulling a shirt over his head and beams at me when it’s flattened against his stomach. #LeaveDennyAlone
Man is fucking laughing. “I’m a groupie now, dude.”
“Get out,” Zenia says. “Out now.” He picks up his water and sprays a stream at Nason. Laughing, our teammate leaves the gym.
“Fucker,” I mutter and turn back to the bike.
“I suppose you don’t want to know that Nason isn’t the first of our teammates I’ve seen with one of the hashtag shirts,” Ren says.
“Oh god, please tell me you’re joking,” I complain.
Zenia pulls out his phone, and I watch as he taps around. When he shows me the screen, I see a handful of players from other teams all sporting the hashtag shirts.
On the one hand, I’m humbled by how much widespread support I have, even from players on other teams. On the other, I’m not a fan of being so singularly in the spotlight like this.
I sigh heavily. “I really hope this blows over quickly.”
“There’s a lot of really good discussion happening around this,” Ren says.
“I know you aren’t enjoying the fact that you’re the trigger for it, but there are a lot of people talking about child abuse and the many forms it comes in.
I’ve seen no less than three other professional athletes come forward, not only in support but with their own stories.
I think they’re doing it to try shifting some of the attention off you, but also in a show of solidarity, making sure you and everyone else who’s had the same or similar experiences know that you’re not alone. ”
“You’re right, I’m not a fan of being the trigger,” I say. “But that’s not a bad thing, I suppose.”
“Even more, Clyde Wilde—are you familiar? Loudly out Olympic swimmer?” Ren asks.
“Loudly out?” Zenia counters.
“Yes. I’d say that Owen Vincent—the friend Felton is currently visiting—isn’t loud about his sexuality.
Most out hockey players aren’t loud about it.
Clyde is always waving a flag or showing off his pink triangle tattoo.
He wears shirts specifically with a cutout to show it off.
I call that loud. Not wrong, just loud.”
“Huh,” I say. “I never truly realized it was loud.”
“Because you’re both not offended by how someone lives their life when it doesn’t affect you and because you’re more than a little bit on the queer spectrum,” Zenia says.
I hum as I consider it. My attention scans over to Tyler. I suppose I can’t argue with that.
“Anyway, my point is that Clyde has been so moved—his words—by your situation that he’s running a campaign where proceeds are going to a handful of childhood abuse charities,” Ren says. “He’s calling it the #LeaveDennyAlone movement.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, glaring at Ren and Zenia’s grins. “Please tell me you’re bullshitting me.”
Zenia once more uses his phone to prove that it’s not, in fact, bullshit. I groan. “I don’t want to be a movement,” I complain.
Zenia grips my arm, and his smile is far less teasing now.
“I know you don’t, but your message is very loud, even though you haven’t said anything.
You’re a survivor, Denny. You’re out in the world, living your life, being successful, and you went through hell for almost two decades.
Even silent, your voice is really fucking loud right now.
Think of the message you’re sending to other kids who might be living similar experiences. Or other survivors.”
Sometimes, you don’t fully understand how your own lived experiences can reach other people.
Especially when you keep them silent. All I want is to keep my head down and not be a part of this, but I suppose if there are people healing or people finding courage because of my past life… that’s a good thing. Isn’t it?
We look up when the door opens again. I keep thinking one of these hashtag followers is going to come in and express their anger on my behalf. How ironic would it be to refer them back to their hashtag?
It’s not a weird groupie. It’s Felton. His eyes scan the room and stop immediately on Ren. A smile splits his face. On his way by, he spots Ty and Tyler. I didn’t think he could light up more, but he certainly does.
“You brought your baby,” Felton says when he gets close.
“Tyler needed a change of scenery from the hotel room, so we’re getting Ty accustomed to the smell of sweat,” I comment.
He laughs. “Can I look at him?”
Such a big fucking teddy bear. “Yeah, Fel. Go ahead. Please don’t touch him.”
“I won’t.” He looks at Ren, and there’s no mistaking the question in his eyes. When Ren nods, and Felton heads for my kid, Zenia and I exchange a look. We’ve watched this exchange often. Felton often asks for Ren’s permission.
We don’t comment as we watch Felton kneel on the ground close to my Tylers. There’s still a solid two feet between them, but there’s no doubt that Felton is mesmerized. He doesn’t stay long, and he’s practically bouncing on his feet when he comes back.
“I hope I can hold him someday,” Felton says.
“Yes, definitely. When he’s a little older. I want to cut down his exposure to germs while he’s so young.”
“You don’t need to defend your decision, man,” Zenia says. “He’s your kid, and you’re his advocate. Even if you said you didn’t want anyone to touch him because it’s April or Friday or because they’re wearing the color white, that’s your choice, and no one gets to challenge it.”
“Fridays can be offensive,” Felton says, shrugging.
I laugh.
“Warm up,” Ren tells Felton. “Run a couple miles and then concentrate on legs.”
Felton nods.
“Are Dasan and Willits coming down?”
“Yes. I texted them. They’ll be here soon.”
“Good. You want to hang out with us while you wait?”
Felton shakes his head, flashing Zenia and me a smile. “It’s okay. I have my earbuds.” He smiles toward us again and walks away. We watch him in silence.
Since it’s just us in the gym and both Tyler and Felton have their headphones in, I can’t stop myself from asking, “So… is he allowed to breathe on his own?” I mean it teasingly and I keep my voice down so it doesn’t carry over whatever they’re listening to.
I can tell Ren doesn’t truly want to talk about it.
His gaze travels to Felton, and he lets out a heavy sigh.
“Some people find the pressure of making decisions incredibly stressful. Now imagine adding onto that living a life where you’ve been made to feel that every single decision you’ve ever made—what you eat, what you wear, that you’re not being a good goalie, that you chose the wrong image to have on your helmet, you were traded to the wrong team, literally everything—is wrong. ”
I take another look at Felton and frown.
“Despite how great a goalie Felton is and how amazing a person he is, he’s always been made to feel like a failure. It means that when he’s faced with needing to make a decision, he seizes up and panics. It means he falls prey to people like his previous agents, who took complete advantage of him.”
“Of all the people in the world, Felton doesn’t deserve that,” Zenia says. I shake my head in agreement.
Ren nods slowly. “Yes. What began as something simple—me offering to help him with the big things like contracts and whatever—turned into something else. As I said, the more time I spent with Felton and the better I got to know him, the more I realized that it wasn’t just the big things weighing him down but all the little things too, since, yes, he even breathes wrong. ”
“His parents?” Zenia asks. His eyes flicker to Felton. I’m sure he’s thinking about the day when Felton didn’t come down to the game, and Coach showed us a picture of a couple and instructed us that if we ever saw them anywhere near a game, we needed to tell management or security immediately.
While Felton wasn’t there, the resemblance between the man and Felton was evident enough. We didn’t need any further explanation. We’d also caught moments between Ren and Felton as Ren attempted to calm and reassure Felton during games that have led to some assumptions.
Felton comes from an abusive home. Like I do.
Not all forms of abuse are physical or sexual. Those are the forms that everyone concentrates on, but all the others—psychological, emotional, mental—can be just as damaging. I’m lucky. I don’t think I have any true lasting effects from my childhood.
Except maybe my terror at being a parent and getting married.
“Yes,” Ren answers. “More specifically, his father, but as far as I’m concerned, the rest of his family is just as responsible for allowing it to happen for his entire life.”
“Is this like… a power exchange?” Zenia asks. “I’ve read about it in BDSM.”
Ren and I stare at him, and Zenia laughs. “Gang bangs are a kink, dude, and often stuffed under the BDSM umbrella.” He shrugs. “I was researching.”
“Figuring out why you like it, huh?” I ask.
Zenia sighs. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I was looking for answers to questions I hadn’t truly formed.
Like… I have questions, but I’m not sure what they are.
That doesn’t make sense, and yet, that’s exactly the point here.
I don’t know what sense to make, so I’ve just been researching whatever I find interesting, I guess. ”
“I get it,” Ren says, nodding. “To answer your question, yes and no. It’s not exactly a kink between us.
In the same breath, I can say it is an untraditional lifestyle choice.
It’s based on trauma more than…” He trails off.
“Honestly, I don’t know why people choose a total power exchange dynamic outside of trauma.
I’m not criticizing. I just don’t know.”
“You’re the Dom, and he’s the sub,” Zenia says, grinning.
Ren shrugs one shoulder. “Again, this isn’t based in kink or BDSM lifestyle, but… I suppose there are parallels.”
Zenia smirks, and his eyes flicker to mine. He watches me for a minute. “So… since we’re talking about kink.”
“Oh god, what?” I mutter.
“No more gang bangs, huh?” He glances at Tyler, and I follow his gaze.
“I… I don’t know. When I brought it up, it didn’t sound like he was on board with me fucking someone else. Not even in a group bonding exercise.”
Ren snorts.
“But do you miss it?” Zenia asks quietly.
I glance at Felton and then at my friends. “It’s weird to say yes because in no way am I unsatisfied with what we’re doing.”
“That’s the thing about kink, though. It’s not about lack of satisfaction,” Zenia says. “It’s about enjoyment, and yeah, bonding.”
“That’s what you read?” Ren asks.
Zenia nods. “Yes. That’s what I read. It’s normal. Nothing wrong with it.”
The last six words tell us more than anything else Zenia has said. It’s no secret that he struggled with our gang bangs once we brought Felton into the middle. This was his way of figuring it out.
Ren meets my eye, and I know we both hear what he’s not saying.