Shift Change (Minnesota Huskies #1)

Prologue

ETHAN

Minneapolis, June

As I enter the front office, a rush of over-cooled air hits me. At the receptionist's desk, a brunette smiles at me – is it Sandy? Brandy? Candy? While I struggle to remember her name, an older man walks down the hallway behind her.

“Ethan! Good to see you, son! Thanks for taking the time to meet with me today. I promise it won’t take too long!” His booming voice matches his reputation. As a player, he was a tough defenseman; now, he's a general manager with a take-no-shit attitude.

“Of course, sir. If you don’t mind me asking, is everything…okay? I thought Jack said we were still good to go on my contract.” My agent may be kind of a dick, but he usually isn't surprised by anything.

“Oh, of course. That shark agent of yours is still milking us for every dime he can! That’s not what you’re here for. Today, I want your opinion on something as captain of this team.”

I let out a deep sigh of relief. I may like being an NHL defenseman, but I love being the captain of the Minnesota Huskies. Greg gestures me toward the sitting area as he walks over to his desk.

“I’d be happy to help. What’s going on?”

“You know we’ve got to turn it around on offense. We’ve gone too long without a deep playoff run and the fans are getting restless.”

He wasn’t wrong. I’d like to think we’ve got the blue line locked down, but it’s been a struggle to generate many goals over the past couple of years.

“You know we’ve already made some coaching changes, and I’m sure that will help. But I also think we’ve gotta get some solid talent in here. How much do you know about this year’s draft class?”

My breath catches. I’ve been avoiding this news cycle like the plague, but here it is, coming for me after all.

“Some. Do you have your eye on anyone in particular?”

Not Carter. Not Carter. Not Carter.

“You heard much about this Jamie Carter kid out of UCLA?”

Well, shit.

“I think everyone’s heard about Jamie Carter.”

First out player in Division 1 hockey. First out player to declare for the draft. And, on top of that, some say he’s a generational talent at forward. As I take a deep breath, urging my pulse to slow, Greg grabs a seat in the chair next to mine.

“Well, I didn’t think we’d be able to touch him as low as we are. But I’m getting word from around the league that a lot of managers are…concerned.”

Well, if that isn't the understatement of the century.

“Concerned, sir?”

Not as concerned as I am, I guarantee it.

“They think the…gay thing…won’t play well in the room. I kind of figured when a kid skates as fast as he skates and plays like he was born with a hockey stick in hand, guys would be willing to overlook that sorta thing.”

Yes, wouldn’t that be nice, Greg? Wouldn’t it be nice if no one had to hide a little preference for dick as long as they could hit hard and make assists?

“Sir, are you asking me if having a gay player will be a problem in the locker room?”

Part of me can’t even believe we’re having this conversation.

That Greg even knows there are gay hockey players, let alone is seriously considering signing one to the Minnesota Huskies.

He was in the league at the same time as my dad, and let me just say – Marty Tremblay does not believe in gay hockey players.

“I’m asking if you think Jamie Carter could be a good contributor to this team.”

Yes, God forbid we speak directly about this.

“Sir, I’m sure Carter will find his spot in the NHL. I just worry…”

I’m going to hell for what I’m about to do. When St. Peter greets me at the pearly gates, this video will be the one he shows me before dropping the trapdoor.

“Yes, son? You can be frank.”

“Well, we already managed a playoff spot last year…”

And damned if a strong forward isn’t exactly what we’d need to go further.

“…and I just think the press around Carter would be…a distraction.”

A distraction. Take away from the game. I’ve heard these words somewhere before, and my stomach turns when I think about where.

“A distraction?”

“I mean, being the first gay player in the league is going to cause a lot of press. I don’t know how he’ll have room to breathe, let alone focus on the game.

That’ll spill over into the locker room, and resentments will build.

You probably don’t want to sign him now, when that’s all still fresh.

Let it die down for a few years, and then see if you can pick him up in free agency. ”

Greg walks over to the cabinet at the side of his office and pours himself a few fingers of amber liquor, turning to offer me some.

“No, thank you, sir.” Scotch at 11 AM is a bit much, even for me, even during this conversation.

“So who do you like? Who could we slot in at forward instead?”

I rack my brain, searching for someone in this draft class who is at least somewhat competent and very straight.

“What about Williamson? Or Kowalski?”

“Nah, Williamson got into that bar fight three weeks ago; he’s a PR disaster from start to finish. I bet he never plays a day in the league. But Kowalski…that might be worth thinking about. You don’t think he’s too small?”

He is definitely too small. Kid needs thirty pounds and three inches, which he’ll probably get — in the next few years in the AHL. Not soon enough for us.

“He’s still just eighteen. Hasn’t had the time to grow that Carter has.”

Which is, honestly, another vote in Carter’s favor.

“But I’m sure with the team’s trainers, he’ll bulk up quick.” I hope.

Greg looks out the window for a few seconds, then back at me.

“Well, thanks for your help, Cap. I appreciate your leadership on this team and I know you’ll help us get to the playoffs regardless of who we end up bringing home from Vegas.”

I might be wrong, but I sense a tone of warning.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

I squeeze in a quick lift after the meeting, desperate to burn off the nervous energy flooding my veins. As I head toward the players' lot, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Alexei Kovalenko 12:36 PM

You done with your meeting?

Want to grab lunch?

Alexei has been our starting goalie for the past eight years, and is my best friend on the team.

Also my only friend on the team.

Ethan Tremblay 12:37 PM

Just finished. Want me to grab sandwiches and bring them over?

Alexei Kovalenko 12:38 PM

Yes.

You know what I like.

Ethan Tremblay 12:40 PM

Meat lover?

Alexei Kovalenko 12:42 PM

Yes

Is summer

Nutritionist never needs to know

Ethan Tremblay 12:42 PM

Alexei is always at odds with the team dietitian, but when you save goals like he does, people are willing to overlook a lot.

I grab the subs from our favorite place near the arena and head to his house, tucked away in a gated community in Tonka Bay.

The sprawling lakeside mansion is way too much house for a single man in his thirties, but I can’t complain when he lets me host team parties here.

I let myself through the side gate, certain I know where he’ll be on a day as beautiful as this.

Sure enough, I find him swimming laps in his in-ground pool, slicing cleanly through the water. He catches my eye as he flips and brings his workout to an end moments later. I avert my gaze as he steps out, wet Speedo clinging tightly to his body.

“You know, we only finished the season twelve days ago. You’re still supposed to be in your ‘fattening’ stage of summer.” I throw our food down on the patio table and grab a seat.

“That is what the meat lover is for. Besides, all I do is stand in goal. I do not get so skinny like the rest of you.”

Yes, stand in goal and block 100-mile-per-hour slap shots. No big.

“So what did Greg want? You’re not being traded, right?” Alexei looks worried, and it’s almost a relief that he’d be as upset about me leaving as I would be to go.

“Nah. Jack’s a total asshole, but you know he has that no-move clause locked up tight.”

“Yes, well, I still hate him.”

I laugh because, honestly, my agent is…intense. Every lawyer stereotype rolled into one former hockey player in a five thousand dollar suit. Still, he’s always done right by me.

“So, what did the big man want, then? To discuss breaking all league rules and standards and giving me the A this season?”

We should only be so lucky. On party-hosting alone, Alexei would earn an assistant captaincy.

“He…uh…”

Suddenly, I find myself hesitant to confess the truth.

“Yes?”

“He wanted to discuss draft picks for this year. They head to Vegas soon.”

“Please, dear God, and Mary and Jesus and all the saints…tell me we are getting some offensive production so you and I don’t have to work our asses off for shutout after shutout.”

He’s only half joking. Between my defensive stats and his saves, we basically dragged the offense through the season. We’d managed to get a wild card spot, but that only led to a quick exit in the first round.

“He was thinking of a couple options in that direction.”

“I would give my right nut to have Jamie Carter, but I bet he goes top two.”

He should. In the gym, I found myself watching his highlight reel during my cooldown on the bike, and I can admit it to myself: the kid's got the goods.

“Just the right one?”

“I’m pretty fond of lefty. And after all, one day I will need to populate the world with tiny Kovalenkos.”

I shudder at the thought.

“He, uh, seems to think Carter won’t go that high. Sounds like some managers are…hesitant about him.”

“That is hateful. And more than that, it is stupid. What, are they going to draft Kowalski or, God forbid, Williamson instead? Carter would skate laps around them blindfolded on one leg.”

“You don’t think he’d be…a distraction?”

He looks closely at me.

“Do you think he’d be a distraction?”

I’m torn. Because I want to have Alexei’s faith in our team, his faith in our league. But I know better than anyone how these things really work.

“I think he’ll sign somewhere — because someone will take the risk given his skating — and then it’ll all go tits up at training camp because the team isn’t ready for the level of scrutiny it will bring.

The manager will decide to send him down for a few games — ‘just to let everyone adjust’ — and in a year or two will cut him entirely. He’ll never play a game on NHL ice.”

“You seem so sure of that.”

“There are no gay NHL players, Alexei. And that’s exactly how the league wants it.”

“And you and I, and most of the men we play with know this is bullshit.”

I know this to be true, better than anyone, and still I can barely believe it. Where are they?

“But they’re not allowed to talk about it. He broke the rule already, Kovy. Not even Day 1 and he broke the cardinal rule.”

My throat is tight and my face is warm. I can’t continue this conversation, can’t get so close to a truth I’ve never let anyone know about me.

Without warning, I strip off my shirt and cannonball into the pool.

For a moment, there is only water and chlorine.

As the water closes out the world around me, I can only wonder what fresh chaos the fall will bring.