Chapter Eleven
“The Sea Lions have made headlines all year with their engagement with local LGBTQIA+ shelter, Pot of Gold. Touting themselves as the progressive hockey team, they’ve garnered enough local support that San Francisco has gone from a perennial bottom place in game attendance to a respectable middle of the list. But is their allyship all for show?
What happens when it’s not a PR stunt and it’s one of their own?
Discover the shocking truth about the recent trade of Kilian Howard in the San Francisco Chronicle’s exclusive behind-the-scenes feature on the Sea Lions. ”
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sf_sea_lions_official: This article was published without the knowledge or consent of the San Francisco Sea Lions and all affiliates.
Tyson Fuller was a dirty fucking player. To date, Howie had never had fun playing the Philadelphia Magpies. Their core was aging out of relevance, their cup window was closing fast, and with nothing more to show but a handful of half-hearted playoff runs, they were getting desperate.
Kilian thought having his little brother on the opposing team might force Fuller to chill the tiniest bit, but alas, he was as much of a rat king as ever. And as the widely acknowledged rat crown prince, Kilian knew what he was talking about.
Midway through the second period, Fuller put paid to the notion he might give his little brother some leniency and tried to spear Fulls (and God, Kilian had to learn the Firecracker rookie’s first name before they played Philadelphia again because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to start calling the opposing captain “Tyson”).
More surprising than the penalty itself, the refs saw it and awarded a double minor.
“How’s it feel to lose to your little brother?” Kilian jeered at Fuller as he made his way to the box.
“Last I looked, we were tied. And Connor can do his own chirping.”
Connor. Good to know. “Yeah, but he won’t. You know why?”
Looking as though he already regretted it, Fuller asked, “Why?”
“He has enough talent he doesn’t need to.”
“Wicked self-burn, bro,” Fuller said.
Kilian shrugged. He knew his own skill set.
The Chicago Firecrackers either didn’t, or they were more desperate than Kilian thought.
They’d put Kilian on the first power play unit even though he hadn’t scored on the Sea Lions’ PP1 all season, which meant he stayed on the ice once Fuller was locked up.
Fortunately, the Firecrackers’ power play had one thing the Sea Lions’ didn’t: Damir.
They weren’t on the same line in five-on-five. No way Kilian was making the first line, but even with all of three or four minutes of ice time together per game, Kilian could tell he was playing with one of the greats.
And unlike playing with Jax and Tom, Damir knew he existed, which was pretty sweet.
So far, being on the power play had netted Kilian an easy point and a half per game over the first five he’d played as a Firecracker.
As they raced up the ice, dodging the Magpies’ penalty kill, Kilian could feel in his bones they would continue the trend tonight.
He caught a pass from Damir on his stick, made a split-second decision that the angle was too flat for a shot on goal, and took the puck farther, around the net.
He passed it back to Damir just before the Magpies’ whale of a defenseman crashed into him.
Kilian hit the boards hard, but the goal light went off, and the Philadelphia crowd booed loudly.
Kilian got to his feet grinning. His shoulder ached where he’d hit the boards, and his thighs were tense and sore from the double shift, but who the fuck cared? They’d scored, leaving them up three–two.
He made for the bench as the power play ended and five-on-five resumed with the third line skating out to center ice. “Dude,” he told Fulls. Connor. Whatever. “Your brother’s a dick.”
Fulls grimaced. “Trust me, I know.”
Ouch.
Kilian’s dad and grandpa might be overinvested to the point of invasiveness, but at least he liked his sisters.
Unfortunately, in the last twenty seconds of the period, the Magpies equalized again. They really were desperate for that playoff spot. Served them right for trading Jax.
In the intermission, Lissy held one of his patented locker-room speeches.
Kilian was used to a few quiet words from Tom, followed by Jax and Breezy teaming up for something meant to pump everyone up.
The Firecrackers functioned very differently.
Lissy wasn’t a role model like Tom, not in the way he spoke or in his style of play, but his enthusiasm and desire to win hyped the team up every time.
He did it with the most unhinged mixture of negging and praise Kilian had ever witnessed in a locker room, but somehow it worked.
“…and Howie! Our baby!”
“Hey, I’m not the youngest guy on this team!” Kilian protested.
“In our hearts and minds you are.” Lissy patted him on the shoulder. “You might have hair only a mother could love, but those soft hands! I bet the girls are lined up all down the street to have you fingerblast them!”
“Jesus Christ!” Kilian ducked out of Lissy’s hold. “What is wrong with you?”
“I have been asking that question for six years,” Damir told him morosely. “Just ignore him.”
Despite his dark tone, he shot Kilian a hint of a smile, and warmth suffused Kilian from head to toe.
When he was in the locker room, Kilian tried very hard not to think about their nightly phone calls, not least to avoid getting an unfortunate public erection.
Rocky’d had one of those after a nail-bitingly close overtime last week in which he’d gotten a few epic takeaways.
Kilian was keeping count of the “Rocky’s rock” puns. So far, there’d been twenty-two.
The best way to keep his sanity was to pretend Damir-on-the-phone and Denny-on-the-ice were two different people, so Kilian tried his best. Damir smiling at him did not help.
He so rarely smiled properly, and it made his whole face change from grim and serious to twenty-six-year-old hockey superstar.
Kilian took a deep centering breath and tuned back into the world outside their stalls.
Lissy had moved on to simultaneously cajoling and teasing Fulls using equally vulgar language. The gist seemed to be that he ought to draw more penalties from his brother.
So this was what an NHL locker room run by a straight man was like.
Good to know. It was loud, rambunctious, and fucking disgusting, both in terms of the shit Lissy, Petterson, and sometimes even the rookies said, and in terms of the stink of wet hockey gear.
Tom would never have let the Sea Lions locker room get this bad; he’d have died of secondhand embarrassment.
No one wandered around fully nude in San Francisco, no one talked about their sex lives, and everyone made sure to get their gear in the laundry bins as fast as possible.
Kilian would appreciate the last one for the sake of his nose, but the rest he didn’t mind.
He’d never had a locker room where he felt like one of the boys.
In U-15, with his dad as the coach, he’d had no chance.
In Juniors, he was meant to take everything super seriously because he had a chance at getting drafted.
In San Francisco, the dynamic worked so differently that no one was one of the boys.
It might be disgusting, sexist, and highly problematic, but at least Kilian belonged.
He went into the third feeling optimistic for a change.
The stalemate held for seventeen minutes, both teams generating chances but no one capitalizing on them.
Petterson—though he’d told Kilian in disgustingly exhaustive detail about how his Raya hookup in Philadelphia had promised to perform oral on the flight over, insinuating he would be “sucked dry” before the game—had been running a masterclass on shutting down the Magpies.
But the Magpies’ aging D-core decided to show up for the third, blocking the Firecrackers at every turn.
Fulls followed Lissy’s instructions to the letter, bothering his brother incessantly. Not an easy feat given their lines rarely matched up. He was tenacious, if not as talented at his brother at getting a rise out of others.
Finally, with less than three minutes to go in the period, he got Fuller’s attention, but he’d been too close.
When Fuller spun around to face his little brother, the butt end of Fulls’s stick slammed into Fuller’s cheek, causing a minor brawl to break out between them.
Though the refs instantly called a penalty and sent Fulls to the box, it took a few more moments to break up the fight.
Damir got to Matheson before he could get involved, holding him back with a strong grip.
Kilian rolled his eyes. Such a mother hen, keeping the rookies out of trouble.
He did the same with Kilian, cooking him meals and checking in to see if he’d drunk enough water.
He’d even gotten them an appointment with a figure-skating coach, and Kilian didn’t believe for a second it had anything to do with Damir’s own backcheck. He was trying to fix Kilian’s game.
Whatever. Damir would learn soon enough it was a losing prospect, as would the rest of the Firecrackers.
Kilian would enjoy their companionship while it lasted, until they realized there was no way he could keep up the scoring pace.
He would enjoy Damir’s attention and the frequent phone sex until he realized Kilian was that needy all the time.
When he got traded again or relegated to the AHL team in a couple years, the memories would be great.
Coach Simmons whistled behind the bench. “PK two, go!”
For a moment, Kilian stayed put until the coach clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re up, Howard.”