Chapter Seven
FINN
After I head back to the VIP room, I notice that many of my teammates are still on the dance floor. Some are hooking up and leaving, and the rest are piled around the bar, drunk off their asses.
It’s college, with better quality booze.
Speaking of school, I’ve been texting my classmates from Sutton U all night.
One of them, Jace Rowland, got an invite to train with Philadelphia, and like me, he’ll be playing his inaugural NHL game in a few days.
It turns out, I told a lie to my Rush teammates.
Soon, they will be able to name another queer player in the league and he happens to be my friend.
I miss my Sutton U teammates and I’m hit with a wave of loneliness that no amount of alcohol can fix.
Thankfully distraction comes in the form of Sorensen, Berg, and Makela, who take me under their wing as we sit and talk about everything related to hockey.
Druin and Tullmore, fresh off the dance floor and sweating through their clothes, join us for another round of drinks, and our table of six gets louder and rowdier.
At 1:00 a.m., I beg off, claiming I need to hit the sack.
I’m tired, true, but I could party for a while yet.
The simple truth is, I need to talk to my family.
I wouldn’t have made it here without them, and even if it’s midnight back home, they want me to call, and a noisy club background isn’t ideal for conversation.
After saying my goodbyes to the guys, I head outside to grab my rideshare, and I’m back at my building before I know it.
Only, when I step inside the elevator, I mistakenly push the button for the tenth floor instead of the fifteenth.
“Damn. Shit. Fuck.”
In my haste, I start to slap several buttons, and finally hit mine.
I guess I drank a wee bit more than I realized.
Oops. I prop myself against the elevator wall and watch the numbers go up.
When the door opens on the tenth floor, I’m tempted to get out and head for Sel’s place.
But it’s late and he’ll already be asleep, and I’m half drunk, so not a good idea, because I get even chattier when I’m tipsy.
I’d talk poor Sel’s ear off and then he’d never get to sleep. Or want to talk to me ever again…
Hmm. How big is his bed? Does he snore? Hog the covers?
I giggle at my ridiculous train of thought. Since when do I care about a friend’s sleep patterns? Geez, what the fuck was in that fancy-ass champagne? I push the button for the fifteenth floor again and the doors shut.
“That’s right,” I say to my reflection and release a loud hiccup. “Go home. Leave Sel alone.”
I can’t stop thinking about how sad he looked today. Like he hadn’t slept at all. I feel so bad for him that my chest aches, so I rub it, wishing there was something I could do. Sel looks like he needs a hug more than anything else in the world.
Christ, listen to yourself.
Drinking makes me overly emotional too. Swear to fuck, I will literally hug anyone who wants one.
I hiccup a few more times and shake my head, trying to wake up from my buzz and my weird mood.
Not that shaking my head fixes anything; all it does it make me dizzy.
The only cure is water and food, and then I need to call my folks.
The elevator pings again, and when I step out on my floor—finally—I wobble down the hallway and unlock my door. I automatically reach for the light switch, but it’s too bright in here, so I shut it off and shuffle into the dark kitchen.
My condo’s furnished, which is convenient but basic.
I’ve got a massive couch, a huge TV, a king-sized bed, a chair, and a nightstand.
That’s it. It’s not decorated, so it’s not inviting like Sel’s.
Fuck, I really need to do some online shopping in my free time, so I can make this place feel less like a hotel and more like my home.
The only thing I recognize around here is the clothes I’ve scattered everywhere.
Neat, I am not, but hey, I accept my messy ways.
I open the fridge, grab a bottle of Gatorade, and chug it down.
I contemplate a second bottle, but settle on water.
Once I’m hydrated, I reach for the box of pizza I ordered two days ago and scarf down a cold slice of meat lovers.
I’m still buzzed, but I video call my family anyway.
They know what this day means to me and expected me to celebrate.
It’s not like I haven’t drunk dialled them before.
My dad’s smiling face pops up on the screen when I’m mid-bite.
“Finn Baran! New York’s number seventy-six!”
There’s cheering and clapping noise in the background and then my mom appears beside him.
Man, it’s so good to see their faces. Mom’s petite, with a wavy auburn pixie cut, deep blue eyes, and a smile so big you can see it from another galaxy.
Dad, on the other hand, is a giant of a man with no hair—thanks to the stress of raising yours truly—endless freckles, and a rather prominent nose.
Okay, the nose is fucking big. I inherited the red hair and smile from my mom and everything else from my dad, nose included, so no, I didn’t get it busted playing hockey.
“Hey fam!” I reply, pizza crumbs flying everywhere. “Sorry, late night snack.”
“Finn, you played amazing!” Mom calls out. “We’re so proud of you, honey. I only wish we could’ve been there in person. But someday soon, I promise.”
Tears well up and I try to blink them away.
My mom’s been battling lymphoma and travel right now is a no-go for her, and by extension, my dad.
They caught the cancer early and she had treatment, but her doctors are monitoring her closely.
Her health crisis put everything into perspective for me this year.
After my less than stellar summer-camp day with Sel, I busted ass and finally came into my own.
I always knew I had the skills to make it to the NHL, but it was the mental part of the game, my self-confidence, that needed work.
Watching my mom fight like hell had me doing the same.
I don’t think I’m where I want to be yet, but with time and hard work, I’ll get there.
“I know you’re cheering me on, no matter the distance,” I croak and wipe my eyes. “The game was tough, no lie. It’s a bummer we lost, but it’s only the first one.”
“You got this, son. Like your mom said, we’re so proud of you.”
“Thanks. How’re you guys doing? Mom, you feel alright?”
“I’m okay, honey. Still tired, but I’m getting better every day.”
Grabbing my water, I take another gulp, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
“Now, tell us all about the game!” she insists. “And don’t leave out a thing.”
“We could be on the phone for hours,” I tease.
“How about a brief recap for now?” Dad insists. “Then you can get back to celebrating with your teammates.”
“It’s fine, I can talk. I’m done with the club for the night.”
“Already? Who are you and what have you done with my Finn?” Mom teases.
I grab another slice of pizza and stuff it in my mouth.
“I’m not that much of a party animal. Okay, maybe in college.”
“By the way, they filmed you walking into the rink. You looked so professional in that suit, so mature and calm.”
I laugh. “I was anything but calm, Mom.”
“We also watched the press conference after,” Dad adds. “How’s Kirkland dealing with it?”
I told my parents about the Sutton U camp, and Sel’s mentorship, and recently, all the media attention he’s receiving after coming out.
“Hard to say. He doesn’t talk much, except at practice.”
For a second, I’m tempted to voice my concerns to them about the comments I overheard from my teammates.
But then I decide that’s not something I want my parents to worry about.
I’ll deal with it. I’ll talk to Sel and Coach Range first. I credit my friends at Sutton U with changing how I handle stuff like this.
Watching several of them come out impacted me in a huge way; I stopped hiding behind macho hockey stereotypes and started showing people who I really am.
And I stopped avoiding difficult conversations.
That’s probably why I feel like I should do something to help Sel.
As to what that is or how to go about it, I don’t have the answer. Not yet.
“Well, I hope things settle for him,” Dad replies. “You two play so well together.”
“We’re still finding our rhythm, but we’ll get there.”
“Good. Now, back to the game—”
I smile at them.
“Pull up a chair and settle in.”
Sel
I glance at my phone like it’s a bomb about to detonate. It’s past one in the morning, and I still haven’t called Damien. I can’t sleep and guilt is gnawing at my gut. Damien and I go way back, so what’s my problem?
“Just do it already,” I say out loud.
My finger hovers over his number, and finally, I tap call.
Damien answers on the first ring.
“It’s about fucking time.”
My friend, as usual, gets right to the point.
“Did I wake you?” I ask quietly.
“No. You said you’d call tonight, so I’ve been waiting.”
“Sorry it’s late.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Sel. I’m just relieved to hear your voice.”
“Fuck, I’m a shitty friend.”
“No you’re not. You’re going through something major and it’s a lot to deal with. Come on. Talk to me.”
I’m choked up at the concern in his tone and cough to ease the constriction in my throat.
“I don’t know where to begin,” I admit.
“From the beginning.”
“It might take a while.”
“I’ve got nothing else to do.”
“Not even your husband?”
It’s the first joke I’ve made in what feels like years, not months. It’s not original, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Finally, my friend is back,” Damien chuckles. “And for the record, Silas is sound asleep and I’m in my office. Come on, bud, it’s okay. Talk to me.”
So I do. I tell Damien about my conversations with Miki, how confident I was that everything would be fine once I came out, and the fallout in Chicago.