Chapter Thirty-Three
FINN
WEEKS LATER (FEbrUARY)
The Rush had a turnaround over the past weeks, and now we’re winning more games than losing.
Tonight’s the last one before winter break and it’s going to be one I’ll never forget.
We’re facing Philly and my former Sutton teammate, Jace Rowland.
Not only that, but several of our friends and family members are here to sit in the corporate box and witness the game.
This is another huge moment for me.
And for us.
Sel and I arrive at the Apex an hour earlier than usual. We have a meeting to attend, and we don’t want to be late. So much is riding on tonight, and I feel like I did the first time I walked into this place, flooded with nerves and desperate to skate them off.
“You ready?” Sel asks.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure? Because we can cancel—”
“Sel, we’ve talked about this. I’m ready, we’re ready. It’s time.”
We head up to the private lounge to find Miki and Hugo, along with Range, Laflore, senior executives, and the team owner, Leif Hansen, waiting for us.
Hansen’s from Norway and he started his career playing right wing for Detroit, retired here in New York a decade ago, and now, at forty-four, is a wealthy entrepreneur.
He knows the game, the players, and the business.
Sel and I say our polite hellos and take the last remaining seats at the table. Miki offers us an encouraging nod and some of my tension eases.
“Let’s go on with it,” Hansen announces and crosses his arms. “We have a game to win.”
I offer my news, then it’s Sel’s turn, and finally, our news together. There are questions and comments from around the table, mostly from the execs, and it takes a while to answer all of them. Hansen, on the other hand, waits until everyone else is finished, and only then gives his input.
“There’s a lot to absorb here. I’m not thrilled about the timing, and how it might impact the last leg of the season, your focus, the team’s focus.” Hansen explains.
He’s known for being blunt but honest, so it’s not surprising.
“Most of this will affect you directly, but it also filters through the entire organization, and some may not be happy about it,” he continues. “That’s not my personal view of the situation but you need to be prepared.”
“We are,” Sel replies. “As to your concerns, I think our stats from the last couple of weeks prove that we’re not going to let trolls or one-off players mess with our game.”
Hansen nods and stares at me.
“Baran?”
“Sel and I have talked at length about this. We have a good support system, and we’re committed to this team. Like he said, I think the proof will be what happens out there.” I point over my shoulder to the rink below.
Hansen glances at Range.
“Your thoughts, Jordan?”
“I agree,” Range replies. “Marley?”
Laflore nods, her green eyes sharp. “You know my opinion on this. It’s time the league grew up.”
In the end, there’s consensus.
Hansen looks around the table and stands up.
“You know my position when it comes to the Rush organization and the changes I want to see moving forward. Baran, Kirkland, if you can handle it, work things out with PR. If there are issues, we address them immediately.” He pauses.
“I expect nothing but the best from both of you, understood? I want the team’s momentum to continue.
This is an organization that I’m extremely proud to own. Don’t let me down.”
“No, sir.” Sel and I reply simultaneously.
“Good, I’ll be watching from my suite,” Hansen confirms. “Now, and later.”
With that, he’s gone, followed by our coaches, the execs, and HR.
Then it’s just me, my boyfriend, Miki, and Hugo.
“That went better than I expected,” Miki states. “But you guys tell me if there’s pushback or worse, alright?”
Sel nods. “Promise.”
“Good. I’ll leave you with Hugo for now.” Miki gets up and walks to the door. “I’ll see you guys after the game.”
“Thanks, Miki,” I call out before he leaves. “For everything.”
“You ready to tell the guys?” Hugo comments. “I still want to go on record to say I agree with Hansen, the timing’s not great, and you should wait until—”
“The sooner we tell the team, the better for everyone,” Sel explains. “We want to come back after this break to a fresh start, for us and for the Rush.”
I nod in agreement, reaching for Sel’s hand, interlocking our fingers. His palm’s sweaty, like mine, but his grip is strong. And holy mother of hockey, we’re holding hands in front of people. Well, Hugo, but I guess he counts.
“Finn?” Hugo offers me a questioning look. “You sure?”
“Absolutely. And now that I’ve said it out loud, I don’t think I’ll be able to shut up.”
Sel kisses my knuckles before letting me go.
Hugo clutches his phone to his chest and lets out a long sigh.
“Okay then, so here’s where I think we should start—”
A short while later, there’s another elevator ride to a familiar hallway, and the closer we get to the locker room, the more I sweat.
It’s worse than my first day back in September.
We turn the corner and the sounds of our teammates laughing and talking is loud.
We’ve been riding positive vibes lately, and I hope it stays that way.
“Kirkland! Baran!” Berg calls out. “About time you got here!”
“You okay if we share some news with the team, Cap?” Sel asks.
He stares at us for a second. “Now?”
“We got the okay. I think now would be best.”
Berg nods and calls for everyone’s attention. Loud chatter turns to a hushed hum.
“Our teammates have something to say,” Berg announces and glances at us.
I step up beside Sel, who motions for me to go first. Good thing too, because I don’t know how much longer I can keep quiet.
“Hey guys, so, I’m gonna keep this short—” I start.
“You?” Makela quips and everyone laughs, including me.
“Okay, as short as I can.” I pause for a second, because I can hardly hear my own voice over the sound of my heartbeat. Here goes. “I’m bisexual. I’m demi too. So, yeah, I’m queer. I’m still the same player, same drive, same goals. Nothing changes on the ice.”
Shocked silence. Not surprising, but still nerve-racking.
Berg walks over first, gives me a hug, and stands on my other side.
Makela and Sorensen, Kuznetsov, Tullmore, Druin, they all do the same, crowding around me.
The rest of the guys stay where they are, but they smile and nod.
St. Clare’s eyebrows look like they’re permanently glued to his hairline.
But no one walks out or gives me the evil eye.
Kuznetsov smacks my shoulder, and given that he towers over me, I struggle to stay upright.
“Proud of you, man.”
“Thanks, Kuz,” I nod. “But there’s one more thing I want to say.”
Makela holds up a hand. “You still come to my party later, yes?”
Trying not to laugh, I nod.
“Yes, but this isn’t about you, Mats.”
“Too bad.”
I shake my head.
“You guys know that Sel and I became best friends—”
Go on, do it. Take the shot.
“—but now we’re also a couple. We’re in love and we’re going to live together, and yes, I know, it’s a lot to take in, but I promise we’re both stupidly happy, and it won’t affect the game negatively, and we’ll continue to kick ass on the ice.”
I knew my rambling had to make a comeback…
Sel squeezes my arm. “Other professional leagues have players on the same team who are also partners outside of work. We can’t make guarantees, but Finn and I are in it for the long haul.
We don’t want to hide, and we hope that you’ll have our backs out there like we have yours.
The organization supports our decision, we love playing here, and we want to stay. ”
Druin steps up and taps Sel on the shoulder.
“Remember what I told you on your first day here, Kirkland?”
“Yeah, you told me you didn’t care about my sex life, and Sorensen said just don’t fuck up on the ice.”
Sorensen looks around the room. “Does everyone agree?”
The guys nod their heads.
Sorensen smiles. “There you go.”
“The goalie has spoken, and so shall it be,” Berg quips and claps his hands together. “Now, it’s my turn to talk. Get your uniforms on! Move it guys! Time to rack up another win!”
Just like that, the locker room is a flurry of activity again, and its business as usual. Except, nothing is usual anymore, not for me and Sel.
“Did we really do that?” I ask him as we stare at each other.
“We really fucking did.”
The Apex is a gathering storm tonight, ready to unleash, with the thunder of twenty thousand fans on their feet.
There’s no mistaking the intensity as I step onto the ice, and I relish it—the bite of the air, the waves of energy rolling off the crowd.
It’s the last game before winter break, and my college teammate Jace is on the other bench.
It’s strange to be on opposite sides, but it’s also awesome that the two of us ended up here, living our dream.
We know each other’s tells, each other’s moves.
No bad blood between us, just different jerseys.
I catch sight of Jace during warmup, number seventeen in orange and white, and the familiar easy grin as he taps gloves with his teammates.
When he looks over and I wave, he opens his arms.
“Can you believe this?” he shouts.
I laugh and shake my head.
“Ready?” Sel’s voice cuts through the noise, low and steady at my shoulder.
My boyfriend’s gaze is calm in the surrounding chaos.
“Let’s shut them down.”
The puck drops and Philly comes out flying, testing our defense early. Their center drives hard to the net, but Sel’s already there, perfect gap control, stick active, forcing the shot wide. I collect the rebound behind the net and send a crisp breakout pass, tape-to-tape.
Jace’s line comes next.
He has that explosive first step, the kind that used to make my job easier when we wore the same colors.
Now it’s a weapon aimed at the Rush. He cuts to the middle, looking for the seam, but Sel reads it, closes the gap, and angles him wide.
Jace tries to slip past, but I’m already on it, a textbook rotation that forces the dump-in.
“He’s freaking fast,” Sel admits.