Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
ALEX (ALEXEY)
Ididn’t want to leave this team after helping to build it into a Stanley Cup level organization.
Anyone would see my trade as a stupid move.
Plus, if I were traded now, after the deadline, I was ineligible for any playoff games.
After filling a plate with eggs, sausage, and a yogurt cup at the team breakfast, I ambled to the forwards table and dropped in next to Jett.
Mason eyed me up and down. “Hey, I saw Julian this morning.” He leaned in closer and whispered. “Did something happen?”
I glanced at the others at our table, which included Dutton Richardson and Penn Cook, part of our second line. I didn’t need them overhearing us. “Not here.” I scooped scrambled eggs onto my fork.
With a brow arching, Mason said, “So, something happened.” He bumped Jett with his elbow. “Told you.”
“That you did.” Jett’s brows furrowed. “We’re here for you, man.” He squeezed my hand, resting next to my plate.
“Thanks.” I cut into my sausage. Support was helpful, but there was nothing they could do.
“Hey, we’ll go to your room after breakfast. Coach won’t need us for a few hours.” Mason sipped some coffee.
“Sure.” Again, they couldn’t do much, but getting it off my chest would feel great. These were people I could trust.
After breakfast, Julian marched off with the coaching staff while I made my way to my room with Mason and Jett following. I unlocked the door, and we all stepped inside.
“Talk to me.” Mason paced to the window and looked out before turning around.
“Long story short, my ex discovered my relationship with Julian, moved in with Stephanie from our PR department and decided it was a great fucking idea to spill our secret to her.” I fell onto the foot of my bed and slouched my shoulders. “Now, Grant knows and wants to trade me.”
“Trade you?” Mason’s jaw dropped as he stepped toward me. “He can’t do that. Why the fuck would he break up a Stanley Cup-winning forward line?”
“Hold up.” Jett touched Mason’s arm. “I understand that dating Julian breaks company policy, but isn’t there another way?”
“Not according to Grant. He mentioned exploring other options, like shifting Julian into another position, but nothing else will teach Julian what he needs to learn.” With a sigh, I scrubbed my face.
“I’ve spoken with my agent. He’s looking into a trade with maybe Vegas or LA. Then, I’ll remain close.”
Jett sat beside me. “Your relationship is serious.” He placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah, it’s serious.” Choking on a sharp laugh, I peeked at Mason, watching me steadily. “We love each other. Fuck, I’m in love with a man. I never thought I’d feel like this. I believed I only needed to find the right woman and—”
“Fuck that, Alex.” Mason crouched in front of me, setting his hand on my knee. “What gender you fall in love with doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re in love and you should fight for that love.”
I examined Mason’s face. He’d had to fight for Jett.
Jett had been in the closet when they’d gotten together too, and for the same damn reason as me.
“How did you do it, Jett?” I shifted my attention to him.
“How did you come out to your father when you risked losing him?” He’d already lost his mother in a car accident when he was younger, and his father had been married to a Christian Nationalist who believed queer people were sinners and needed conversion therapy.
“I had no choice.” He glanced at Mason. “It wasn’t easy, but the payoff was worth it.” He squeezed my thigh. “My family is closer now than before, and my father found a new love. A woman whom I’m proud to call my stepmother.” He smirked. “If he marries her.”
“You know it’s only a question of when.” Mason stood.
“If you really love Julian, take the chance and come out for him. I think that’ll open a new world for you two.
I don’t know how it will help this situation, but at least if you’re in different cities, you won’t have to hide.
” Mason tapped his lips. “It would also prove to Grant how much you love his son and, hell, maybe he’ll change his mind about trading you. ”
“We can’t lose you, Alex. You talk some sense into Grant.” Jett creased his brows.
“I know. Maybe the first step is to shed this fucking burden and come out to my parents.” I freed a stuttering breath as my gut twisted. It might be the scariest thing I’d ever done.
Preparations for the Blackhawks game occupied me for the rest of the day. As the game began and I joined Big Hopkins for the opening faceoff, my gaze swept the stands and found Julian recording stats.
After the puck drop, Hopkins slapped the puck toward me.
I blinked, letting it fly by me and into the blade of a Blackhawks winger. “Fuck.” Not a great start to the game. I swiveled and rushed toward the winger as he made a beeline toward Ace.
“Come at me, dude. I’m ready.” Ace sprawled across his net, and as the winger tossed the puck to his center, the center shot it high and to the left.
Ace blocked the puck, letting it fall to the ice, and then passed it to Carlson. “Take it away.”
“Got it.” Carlson nabbed the puck and smirked at a Blackhawks D-man, Tyler Hodge. “Eat my dust, Hodge.”
“Not a chance.” Hodge chased Carlson, smacked him into the boards and stole the puck. As he turned, I rushed up on him.
I had to grab the puck from him. I hit him down low, knocking him to the ice where he slid into the boards, and snatched the puck. He might be Carlson’s college buddy, but this was the NHL, and I had a position to fight for.
“Ha ha, gotcha, Hodge.” Big Hopkins cackled and skated beside me.
Hightailing it toward the Blackhawks D-zone, I passed to Big Hopkins and then took a position close to the goalie.
The Blackhawks’ goalie shoved me. “Get the fuck out of my crease.”
I didn’t want to cause goalie interference and negate a goal by Hopkins, so I shifted away.
The goalie turned his body toward Hopkins.
With a quick backhand, Hopkins shot the puck at me. “Sink it, Volkov.”
Rowan Mackenzie, the other half of the Hodge-Mackenzie powerhouse, came barreling at me.
Damn, I had to do it now. When I angled my stick, the puck hit and then crept toward the net. “Damn it.” I lunged for it along with the goalie. As my stick smacked the puck a second time, it flew into the back of the net.
Mackenzie checked me hard, and I tumbled, along with the goalie, into the net. The horn blew with whistles from the refs.
“Get the fuck off me.” The goalie shoved me. “Jesus fuck, what a way to start a damn game.” He snickered.
“No shit. Sorry, man. Blame it on Mackenzie.” I rolled out of the net, and my gaze caught Hodge, Mackenzie, Big Hopkins, and Carlson all standing around us, laughing.
“You’re supposed to shoot the puck, not be the puck.” With a howl, Hopkins extended his gloved hand and helped me onto my skates.
“Tell that to your boy, Mackenzie.” I released a soft snort. Imagine what it had been like playing on the same team with these guys. They were all talented players.
“It was a legal hit. You had the biscuit.” Mackenzie held his fist toward me, and I bumped it.
“Nice hit, babe. They might call that goalie interference.” Hodge gave Mackenzie a quick side-hug.
With a shake of my head, I eyed the refs, reviewing the play. They hadn’t counted the goal on the scoreboard yet. Fuck. It wasn’t my fault I ended up in the net.
The head ref skated to the center of the ice. “After review, the defender pushed the attacking player into the crease, causing contact with the goalkeeper. The defending team’s actions caused the puck to enter the net. We have a good goal.”
The crowd roared with boos.
“Hell fucking yes.” I pumped my arm and hugged Big Hopkins and then Jarvis as he approached. With the rest of the players rushing toward me, I bumped my helmet on theirs. Grant had to see that trading me was the wrong decision.
We flew home after winning in overtime, and I returned to an empty house. I’d had no time to spend with Julian with all the interviews and bullshit of playing my first regular season game, and I was exhausted.
After ambling into the house and quickly unpacking, I threw laundry into the washing machine and went to bed.
I’d have a day to rest before our next game, which was at home, and I’d already decided I’d use it to tell my parents about Julian and me.
I had to make it nearly impossible for Grant to execute this trade.
The next morning, I’d made breakfast and sat with my second cup of coffee. Should I call Julian first and tell him what I’d decided? I just wanted this finished. I’d tell him afterward. If it went badly, I’d need him for support.
I sat on my couch with my phone in my trembling hand and set my coffee on the side table. Maybe I shouldn’t have had the second cup. Breathing in deeply, I FaceTimed Mama.
The call picked up and her face came into view, her blonde bobbed hair a little longer than it was last summer and her smile reaching her blue eyes. “Anno, Synulya.” Continuing in Russian, she said, “You won last night. Your Papa was very proud. Your wrist must be better?”
“Anno, Mama. Spasibo.” I inhaled through the wrenching in my gut. How do I say this? For the rest of the call, we spoke in Russian, with me saying, “My wrist is feeling great. It was a difficult win, but we pulled it off.” I clenched my teeth. “Is Papa with you?” I just wanted this over with.
“He is.” She glanced away and returned. “Do you want to speak with him?”
“I do. Both of you, actually. I have something important to tell you.” I fisted my free hand while my pulse raged like a growing storm. Shit, maybe I should have called Tanya first? Too late now. I’d call her right after, and then Julian.
“Okay, I’ll get him.” The plaster ceiling of their older Brooklyn home showed on the screen while her faint voice carried through the connection.