Chapter Three
SELWIN
For the first time since I came out, I don’t vomit before hitting the ice. It’s not a win, but I’ll take it.
Today’s been one shock after another, but not in a bad way.
I was more than relieved to see Finn. Several of his college teammates and friends are openly queer, so I know I’ve got at least one person in my corner.
And the rest of the Rush don’t seem to have an issue with me, but we haven’t had a chance to really talk yet.
Not everyone warms up to people right away, but then again, neither do I.
Not anymore.
Every part of me tenses when I meet a new person here in New York.
Are they going to be welcoming or tell me to fuck off?
I’ve never had to worry about that before, but the reality is, I’ll be coming out for the rest of my life.
It’s not a one-time thing. And what will happen when I hit the ice in front of the fans?
How are they gonna react? Will they boo, call me names?
And what about when I’m on the road in other cities?
How about the reaction of the rest of the teams in the league?
Unanswered questions zip through my head, and they’re only adding to the pressure that weighs a hundred times heavier than my equipment.
I remember thinking that Finn was the one who would have a hard time adjusting if he went pro.
Finn seems like a sweet guy, but playing at this level is a learning curve.
There are grueling practices and long games, dealing with demanding coaches and team owners.
Add to that, having to navigate the press and appease sponsors…
There are a lot of positives to playing professional hockey, but there are also strong personalities and cutthroat tactics.
Lots of players and staff will stop at nothing to get ahead.
I worry that what makes Finn a friendly person will also make him vulnerable, but as I watch him in practice now—talking up everyone and skating his heart out—I realize I underestimated him.
It didn’t slip past me that he was acting protectively when we were being introduced around, subtly waiting for the others to greet me before he greeted them.
I don’t know if he was doing it consciously, but I more than appreciated his support.
There’s more to Finn Baran than meets the eye.
Then again, I was just like him. I was so pumped my first year playing in the NHL that nothing could touch me.
I’m only six years older than Finn, and yet it feels like I’ve aged about twenty years in the last month.
My rose-colored visor is gone, smashed to bits, and reality is worse than I expected.
At least the atmosphere in the Rush training rink is alright.
I get a couple of long stares from two of the players but nothing that sets off immediate alarm bells like it did in Chicago.
I’m introduced to the rest of the coaching staff: Assistant Marley Laflore, one of Canada’s top professional women hockey players and only the second woman to hold such a position in this league; Assistant Forward Lance McBane; Assistant Defense Michael Lee; and the goalie coach, David Wittnauer.
Practice starts hard and doesn’t let up. After several sets of drills, we stop for a short break, and I gratefully chug down half a bottle of water in two gulps. I’m sweating like mad and not all of it’s because I’ve been working hard. Stress sweat is a real thing.
“Kirkland, Baran!” Coach Range calls out from across the ice. “Get over here.”
I chuck my bottle toward the bench and skate off to face Range. Coach’s expression is unreadable, and since I hardly know the guy, I have no idea what to expect. Finn skates up beside me and nudges my arm.
“I hope I’m not in trouble already,” he whispers.
“Doubtful.”
We join Range at center ice, and he greets us by crossing his arms.
“Yes, Coach?” I ask.
“I’ve talked to Laflore and Lee, and we’ve decided to pair you two up as defensive partners. Kirkland, you have the experience, and Baran, you’ve got the hunger that only newbies have. I think together, you could be great.”
I have no problem with Coach’s suggestion, but it makes me wonder, is this because he thinks we’ll work better together or because no one else on the team wants to be partnered with me?
Fuck, I hate the fact that I’m doubting myself and my new coach.
My poker face must be shit because when I glance at Range, he raises one eyebrow.
“All my decisions are based on analysis of skill,” Range adds. “Got it?”
“Yes, Coach,” I mutter.
“And I have a right to change my mind at any time. If I see issues with how you work together, and they don’t quickly resolve, I’ll make a switch.”
“We’ve got this, Coach,” Finn replies with a grin.
My teammate looks and sounds a lot more confident than me.
“Good.” Range nods. “Kirkland?”
“I’m in.”
“Okay, let’s try some drills that will test my theory.”
The next hour of practice is gruelling, at times frustrating, and surprisingly, eye opening.
There’s d-man to d-man passing, the hinge drill, and finally, the crossover, where Finn makes a quick move to change direction before passing to me, dynamic breakout.
Then we reverse our roles with me passing to Finn, and holy shit, Finn’s a different player since the summer, a total spitfire on the ice.
I’m nearly distracted by how good he’s playing.
But it’s not all perfect. Our communication is great to start off, but our rhythm is inconsistent. I’m rotating over a beat too late when Finn steps up, and he’s not patient enough when he needs to be. Both of us are caught up in first day nerves and it shows.
When Coach’s whistle rings out, I’m thankful practice is almost over. We finish up and skate over to the bench to hydrate.
“Kirkland, Baran, not bad for the first day,” Range comments and nods at his assistant.
“Tell us what you think,” Laflore asks. “Baran, you go first.”
Finn removes his glove and reaches for a towel to wipe his face. I can hardly see his freckles now that his skin is flushed with exertion.
Never mind that, focus.
“I’m too fast and Sel’s too slow.”
Finn’s blunt statement makes me laugh out loud, and my teammates do the same. Even Range and Laflore are grinning.
“Succinctly put, Baran,” Laflore replies with a smirk. “Can you be more specific?”
Finn cocks his head.
“I’m jumping into plays before Sel’s in position to cover.”
“Exactly,” Laflore replies and looks at Range and Lee, who both nod in agreement. “You’re leaving your teammate, and yourself, vulnerable. Don’t be outmaneuvered. Anything else?”
“Sel needs to be faster, closing gaps when he skates backward.”
He noticed that?
“Absolutely,” Range interjects. “Kirkland, you need to loosen up your frame and put more drive into it. You gotta be agile enough to track back, defend against rushes, and transition quickly. I want to see you pick up the pace next time.”
I’m not playing up to par and it shows.
“Kirkland?” he repeats.
I finally nod.
“Yes, Coach.”
“We’re done with ice time!” Range shouts to the team. “Clean up and meet in the lounge in an an hour for the promo shots.”
“Even me?” Finn asks.
“Yes. It’s only day one for you, Baran, but I’m already impressed, and I have a feeling you’re here to stay,” Range offers. “But don’t let it go to your head.”
Everyone chuckles as we clear off the ice. Finn skates up to me with a shy grin.
“Hey, I hope I wasn’t too blunt about my opinions.”
“Not at all.” I glance at him. “Even experienced pros need feedback. And it’s good to see you talking. It’s a lot better than how you were in the summer.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Putting my foot in my mouth lately is getting to be a regular thing.
Finn shrugs and his smile gets wider. “Besides the family stuff, I was a little starstruck around you. But don’t worry, I’m over it.”
“Good. I’m just a player, same as you. And Range is right, you did a great job today.”
Finn waves me off.
“I mean it. I can see how much you’ve improved. And that’s why you’re here. You’ve got what it takes,” I insist. “And I count myself lucky to work with you.”
Finn makes a funny squeaking noise in his throat.
“Stop, I’m going to geek out again.”
I can’t suppress another bark of laughter, and fuck, that feels good. Don’t think I’ve done that in over a month.
“Geek away,” I insist.
Following our teammates, we step out of the rink and head down the chute to the locker room.
“What are you doing after the team photos?” he asks me.
“I’m heading to my new condo. It’s a place called Bayside.”
“Seriously? Several of the guys on the team live there,” Finn explains. “In fact, I’ve got a unit in the same building. I moved in yesterday.”
Is that good or bad? On the one hand, I’ll see familiar faces around. On the other, my personal life might not stay personal for long. Not that it’s a secret anymore, but…
“Nice building?” I ask.
“It’s sick. The views are killer.”
“I’m looking forward to getting settled and experiencing the neighborhood.”
“You want to grab a coffee or something later?” Finn asks. “Wait, no, ignore me. You’ve got shit to do—I mean stuff to do. Of course you do. Moving in and all that. You’re busy.”
Not really, since I had my move arranged. But Finn’s rambling is back, and it proves difficult to resist.
“My stuff’s already there,” I admit. “It’s only picking up the keys. I’ve got time for coffee.”
It’s the least I can do. He’s made this day a lot easier than I’d anticipated.
“Cool. Awesome. Wow, that’s amazing.” Finn comes to a sudden stop and grabs my arm. “I’m kind of overwhelmed by the city. Is that weird?”
I glance down at his hand, but he pulls it back quickly.
“Shit, sorry.”
“No worries. And New York’s a lot for anyone. Damien mentioned that you grew up on a farm in Nebraska, is that right?”
“Yeah, just outside Omaha. I’ll always be a small-town guy at heart, but I love experiencing new places.”
New York is going to eat Finn alive if he’s not careful. I don’t know him well enough, but I feel oddly protective all the same.