Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ETHAN
Minneapolis, September
After two months off, I tell myself I’m ready to be back at the arena. For the past six weeks, I’ve run and lifted and pushed my body to the limit, but nothing’s been able to get the draft out of my mind.
Yes, Carter’s good.
Yes, the other names I gave him were off the board by the time we picked.
But how the hell am I supposed to play this season with Jamie Carter on the ice with me? On the same bench? In the same locker room?
At the same press conferences?
The parking lot is mostly empty when I pull in. I sit in the SUV a few extra seconds, then haul my gear out of the back and head inside. The familiar chill of the rink hits me as I step through the door. It smells like fresh ice and new tape. For a second, the quiet comforts me.
In the locker room, I head to my usual stall and begin my ritual. Pads, gloves, stick, towel — everything exactly where I want it. I hang up the framed photo of me hoisting the Stanley Cup five years ago, the same one I hang every season.
A reminder of who I am. Of what I’ve earned.
The door creaks open.
In walks Jamie Carter, all easy posture and wide eyes.
“Hi, I’m Jamie,” he says, flashing a polite smile as he scans the room.
I give him a quick up-nod without standing. “Ethan Tremblay. Captain. We spoke.”
“Yeah, man. I know who you are. I’m pretty sure my college teammate still has a poster of you hanging in his childhood bedroom.”
“Oh. That’s... nice.”
There’s a beat of silence as Carter finishes scanning the room. He drops his gear at the stall across from mine, which I do not love, and starts unpacking with calm efficiency. I know I should say something welcoming. Or at least neutral.
Luckily, I’m saved from making conversation by the entrance of more players. Carter turns his back to me and starts going through his duffel.
Before I can respond, the door swings open again—this time with far more noise.
“Hello, team! You may thank your gods, goddesses, and various demonic entities, for the best goalie in the league has returned!”
Kovalenko barrels into the room like he owns the place, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a grin the size of Lake Michigan on his face.
He makes a beeline for Carter.
“Jamie Carter! I almost pissed myself with joy when we drafted you! What a get! You should have been drafted four years earlier and six spots higher, but I can’t say I’m sad when it means we get to play together. Alexei Kovalenko, best goalie in league, Kovy to my friends. We will be friends.”
Carter opens his mouth, closes it, and then laughs. “Good to know.”
“My stall is just here, next to you. I hope you have a good sense of humor.”
“I can always fake it. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
He winks at Alexei, who breaks into laughter.
“Ah! He is funny, too!” Alexei booms. “Excellent. I cannot have friends who are not funny. I already have Ethan. He fills the quota.”
I roll my eyes. “Glad to know I’m your charity case.”
Alexei just smirks and tosses his bag onto the bench beside Carter’s. “You’re like dependable furniture, Ethan. Old, a little scratched up, but still good to have around.”
Carter lets out a surprised laugh. I hate that it makes something in my chest twist.
“I’m thirty-one.”
“Exactly.” He grins at Carter. “Ancient.”
Carter snorts, and I feel it before I even register it—a crack in the tension. Not gone, but softer around the edges.
The locker room’s filling now—sticks clattering, gear bags thudding, greetings shouted across the space. A few of the guys give Carter a nod or quick handshake. No one’s being cold, but no one’s exactly rolling out the welcome mat either.
“Ah, boys! Great to have you all back! Welcome to the Minnesota Huskies, Carter! So good to have you here.” I hear the booming voice of our GM and, as I turn, see him shaking Carter’s hand.
Ugh. Greg just had to make an appearance this morning. I still haven't forgiven him for this choice, this draft pick that puts me so close to so much press I don't want or need.
“Mr. Winthrop, sir. Good to see you again.” Carter reaches out a hand to Greg, shaking his firmly.
“Are you all settled in, Carter? They got you at the Marriott?”
“Yes, sir. All settled.”
“Good, good. Listen, Carter, Tremblay here has been a great leader for this team. Stick by him – I know he'll make sure you get started off right. We're happy to have you as a part of this organization, son.”
Greg sure is laying it on thick. I know Carter is widely regarded as a great player, but I can't imagine Greg is really that happy to deal with everything that comes with him.
Greg claps both of us on the shoulder, which I barely manage not to flinch at. Carter, of course, stands up straighter like he’s about to be knighted.
“Team meeting in ten,” Greg says, already backing toward the door. “Then warmups. Let’s have a good day, gentlemen.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving us in a silence that feels heavier than before.
Carter finally drops onto the bench in front of his stall, fingers idly tracing the edge of the folded rainbow flag.
I watch him for a beat—long enough to feel like I’m intruding, not long enough to make myself stop.
“You bring that flag to every locker room?” I ask, trying to sound neutral.
He shrugs. “Since college, yeah.”
“You ever think about not?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “You ever think about not putting up that Cup picture?”
Touché.
“You hear anything about the new coach?” Carter asks casually, eyes not quite meeting mine.
“Ramsey,” I say, tugging on my jersey. “From Calgary’s system. Quiet. Ran a tight bench up there.”
Carter nods slowly.
A beat of silence passes. Not quite comfortable. Not quite hostile.
I grab my gloves. “Team meeting’s upstairs. You’ll want to be early.”
Carter doesn’t respond, just grabs his water bottle and follows me out the door.
After the usual beginning of year meeting items, we finally get out on the ice. This first day is mostly checking our conditioning, seeing who slacked off over the summer and who stepped it up a notch.
I skate over to Olli Koskinen, one of the younger members of our defensive corps. We gained him early last year in a trade with New Jersey, and he’s been putting in a lot of work since then.
“Hey, man. What’d you get up to this summer?”
He bumps my fist and slaps my back, executing the perfect bro hug.
“Nothing much. Found a coach to work with in Tampere, spent a lot of time on my footwork.”
I’m happy to hear it. Koski came to us with a very physical style of play, but lacked the finesse to help him defend against the top skaters in the league.
We’d spent a lot of time working on it last year, after practices and at optional skates.
I was happy to hear he’d made it a priority over the summer.
“That’s great, man. You’ll have to show me after practice, yeah?”
He smiles at that, nodding as our new coach takes the ice.
The boys circle around as Ramsey introduces himself.
“Nice to have you all here, gentlemen. I know some of you have been here for a while, and some of you are even newer than I am. Regardless of who you are or how long you’ve been here, I’m looking for one thing: a willingness to work hard.
You show me that, I’ll do my damnedest to find a spot for you here. Let’s get warmed up.”
With that, he headed to the bench on the North side of the arena. He stands to the side, watching us all skate, occasionally making a comment to the assistant coach sitting next to him, then returning his eyes to the rink.
It takes about five minutes on the ice for me to accept it: Jamie Carter is a generational talent. The man skated as though he was born with blades on. His speed was unreal, his lithe body racing around the ice with skill and speed. Clearly he hadn’t neglected his summer training.
When we switch to drills, his stick handling is even better than his skating, if that’s possible.
He carries the puck in and out of cones, always keeping his eyes up and alert.
I can tell that in a game, those eyes will be tracing the ice, always looking for the next play, the next gap waiting for him to shoot.
In short, he is everything the Huskies need.
Throughout the first day of practice, I start to feel a little ray of hope. Maybe, if he's this good...it won't matter? Will he really get to be the first gay NHL player to actually play in the NHL? Will this franchise — my franchise — be the first to make that a reality?
As we leave the ice for the day, I’m feeling strangely…light? Hopeful? Is that what this feeling is?
Then, as we leave the ice at the end of the day, Greg is standing there, waiting for us. “Jamie, Cap, the press have a few questions. You have a sec?”
The question is rhetorical — when your GM asks you to jump, the only response is “How high?”
We head to the press room, still sweaty in our base layers.
The press corps is a little light today, but that’s to be expected at the beginning of camp.
At the front of the room is a table, where two microphones and a pitcher of water are waiting for us.
We take our seats, and the PR guy off to the side gives a writer from the Star Tribune the first question.
“Ethan, after the first day of practice, how are you feeling about this year?”
This is a softball question, for which I am appreciative.
“You know, I think we’ve done a good job in the off season of focusing in on some of last year’s struggles and trying to address them head on.
I saw a lot of strong skating on the ice today, and I think the front office has really focused on bolstering our offensive corps through the draft and some trades.
I’m excited to see what we can do this season. ”
Next up, a reporter from ESPN asks Carter about his first day on the ice.
“It was great to be on the ice again, and to see how I could fit in here. The team’s great, and I’m really looking forward to playing with them this season.”
It seems like the kid’s at least had some media training, his answer generally positive but concise.