Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
ETHAN
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
That was not good. That was exceptionally not good.
Things were going fine — good, even. But then we ran that fucking drill and I just…I couldn’t…
“Ethan! Slow down you fucking asshole!”
I hear Alexei’s booming voice behind me and I don’t slow so much as pause from shock. The difference doesn’t matter — with his long strides, he easily catches up to me.
“What the fuck was that, Ethan?“
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Like hell you don’t know. You can’t just pull that shit and then storm out of the locker room and not expect me to…”
He’s cut off by a voice behind him.
“Captain, if you've got a second? I'd like a word.”
Well, shit. If talking to the GM in the summer is nerve-wracking, getting pulled by the head coach after a disastrous practice has my stomach plummeting to the ground.
“I get dinner and meet at your apartment, Ethan.” Alexei’s stare tells me there is no getting out of my second meeting of the night.
I follow Ramsey to the front office, where he ushers me into an office and shuts the door behind us. The office is barren — not surprising, since the man seems to spend most of his time on the ice.
“Ethan, I’m not gonna sugarcoat this for you. Are you homophobic?”
I…how do I respond to a question like that? Is there a correct response? For a moment, I’m in the press room with The Neutral Zone breathing down on me again.
“Coach? I…don’t understand.”
Perhaps Carter’s strategy will work here, too.
“Do you hate gay people, Ethan?”
Should’ve known Ramsey wouldn’t fall for that.
“What...what makes you ask that, sir?”
“Do you remember having a conversation with the GM over the summer?”
Do I remember? How could I forget?
“About Carter, sir?”
Ramsey drags his chair over in front of me, sitting so close our knees almost touch. I briefly wonder if the man did a stint at the CIA before his career in coaching.
“That's the one. Now, he didn't ask you this then, because, frankly, he kind of beats around the bush. Or hell, maybe he didn’t want to know the answer. But, Ethan, I need to know – do you have a problem with gay men?”
I look at the ground, wondering what the odds are that a sinkhole will form beneath the arena right about now. Seems unlikely.
“Answer the fucking question, Ethan.”
I’ve played hockey for almost thirty years, and before this, the angriest I’ve ever had a coach at me was when I had missed a block in PeeWee that cost us the tournament. The coach — my dad — hadn’t spoken to me for a week.
“I'm not homophobic, sir.”
“Oh yeah? Because I gotta say, that sure is what it looks like.
This summer you spouted some bullshit about distractions to Greg, which is pretty much the party line response for men who don't want to play with gay men.
And this week, it seems like the only person making any attempt to welcome Carter to the team is Kovalenko.
Maybe Lindholm. Not my captain, not my A's.”
My face burns red at this, true as it is. His body language changes, and his voice gentles a bit.
“Look, Ethan, whether you like it or not, Jamie Carter is exactly what this team needs – strong offensive production, fast skates, and, frankly, I don't half mind the press coverage, either. Better than hearing about how we haven’t made it past the first round of the playoffs in almost five years.
But we won't benefit from any of it if this team can't pull their heads out of their asses for long enough to keep him.”
At this, I look up.
“Keep him? Where would he go?”
“I don't fucking know! But we've had his agent on the phone twice already this week – he's convinced the kid's got his bags packed and is ready to head home to California. And Ethan? If that happens, I will hold you personally responsible. Because if I gotta choose between a thirty-something defenseman and a generational talent like Carter? You’re not gonna like the choice.”
My gut churns.
“What would you like me to do about it?”
“Well, for one thing, pass him the goddamned puck at practice. And for another, you need to treat him like he doesn't have leprosy – take him under your wing. Make sure he knows he's welcome here. Make sure everyone else knows he’s welcome here.”
I think back to our conversation earlier this week in the locker room.
“I'm...not sure he'll be open to that. From me.”
At this point, he’d be a fool to trust even the smallest show of support, given what I’ve said and how I’ve treated him.
“Well, then you're going to have to make him open to that.”
I look at him balefully, realizing that my ability to make friends with Carter may be the only thing standing between me and early retirement.
As much as I hate that I’m going to have to have this conversation all over again with Alexei, I’m glad to be able to walk into my apartment and be greeted by the sight of food.
“I give you twenty minutes to eat. You look like sad puppy when you are hungry and I will not be able to stay as angry at you as I would like.” Alexei tells me from the sofa, where he is nursing a beer.
I don’t know whether to feel relieved or afraid.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be drinking during camp.”
“Last year I played for a team that barely made the playoffs and still had most shutouts in division. What will they do, trade me?”
He has a good point. I dig into the Chinese food he’s purchased — from the good place, near the arena — and appreciate that he didn’t play as fast and loose with my diet as with his own.
I finish my sautéed veggies and chicken, but when I go to throw away the box, I see a telltale, grease-soaked wrapper in the trash.
“Really, Kovy? Egg rolls?”
“ I am growing boy, Ethan. Now come sit.”
Recognizing my reprieve has passed, I sit down on the sofa and face him.
“What is your problem with Jamie Carter, Ethan?”
I breathe a gusty sigh and fall backward on the couch.
“Why don’t you just take Ramsey’s approach and tell me I hate gay people?”
He is silent for long enough that it concerns me. I look up at him again, and his face is as serious as I’ve ever seen it.
“I do not think you hate gay men, Ethan.”
In spite of knowing that to be true, it relaxes me to hear that Alexei knows it, too. That he sees me as I really am.
“Ethan…I think you are afraid of them. Of him.”
The feeling of being seen is no longer comforting, but threatening. I stand and cross to the window, worried about what he will see on my face. What he’s already seen.
“Afraid? What would I be afraid of? But what is it with you and Ramsey thinking I can just take this kid and make him listen? Show him how to do this impossible thing?”
The quiet stretches, and looking at Alexei’s reflection in the window, I see something unusual: he is considering his words carefully. Mulling them over in his head before he speaks them aloud.
“I am not saying you need to be his best friend. And honestly? You can’t, because you are already taken. But don’t you think there are…things you could help him with?”
The look Alexei gives me is hard to decipher, but there is a definite plaintive nature to it. It’s like he wants me to understand something he isn’t saying.
“Help him? That’s all I’ve done is try to help him! But every time I talk to the kid, it’s like he knows best.”
“Ethan, how long have we been friends?”
“Well, you signed eight years ago, but it took me a while to learn how to put up with you. Let’s call it seven.”
He laughs a little, in spite of himself.
“You have seen my highest highs and my lowest lows. You have seen me weep like a baby. And yet you sit here and tell me that there is no reason you are so hard on this boy? This boy who is just trying to be himself while also being an excellent NHL player.”
“Sometimes you can’t have both. He needs to learn that.”
After a long pause, Alexei stands and walks to the door.
“I know you think that, Ethan. But it’s not 2005 anymore. The old dinosaurs like your father? They’re gone. Retired. Hell, some of them are dead. We’re the geezers now. If not now, then when, Ethan? If not Carter, then who?”
With that, he leaves the apartment, but his disappointment with me lingers.