Chapter 9 #2
“I...I don't really know.”
“I mean, not that you're, like, old or anything.
But don't we all sort of wonder what we'll do when we've gotta hang up our skates for the last time?
It was all I fucking thought about at UCLA – would this season be my last?
Would I ever get another agent? Would I get drafted?
What if I didn't? Don't you ever just...wonder?”
His eyebrows scrunch together, and it feels like I've stepped out of line somehow. As I start to worry that I've offended him, he responds.
“What’s your degree in?”
My mind takes a moment to process what he’s asked.
“Um, psychology. Why?”
He nods.
“That makes sense.”
He doesn’t explain himself further and I can’t help but wonder why he thinks so.
“Were you one of those athletes who just picked something easy? Or were you actually interested in it? Like, as a career?”
Now I see where he’s going with this.
“The truth is, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get drafted. I figured, worst case scenario, hockey could buy me a useful degree for a career I’d like. So yeah, I was interested in it.”
“Like…therapy? Or what?”
“Yeah. I’d need grad school – which my mom is still trying to get me to apply to – but some kind of mental healthcare provider.”
He looks at me and hums.
“Yeah, Jamie. Sometimes I wonder.”
Then he puts on his headphones and stares out the window as we descend into Michigan.
In Detroit, it works again. We start with the pass play, which is a little easier to execute.
It takes a little work, but I start to get the rhythm.
The first few passes are wide, sending Lindy chasing them down.
The next few are on point, though, and Lindy starts getting plenty of shots on goal.
Finally, we time one just right and he manages a one-timer into the top corner of the goal.
For the first time, Tremblay joins in on the celebration, crashing into Lindy and I.
In the second period, I decide to switch things up a bit.
I get Volkov to commit right, then execute a tight turn around to his left, earning myself a clear shot low in the net.
By the third period, the Detroit coach stops putting Volkov and Fournier out with me, leaving me the second d-pair to deal with instead.
As Tremblay predicted, I skate around them easily, managing to score once more before the buzzer.
The game is a matinee, so we’re able to fly directly to Columbus afterward. Finally, we have a slightly longer flight and no game to immediately prepare for. As I sit down, my phone buzzes with a text from Avery.
Avery Lawson 3:22PM
That game was SICK.
You made Volkov look like an AHL callup
Jamie Carter 3:23PM
Thanks, man
That was all thanks to Tremblay
Avery Lawson 3:23PM
I thought we hated Tremblay
Jamie Carter 3:25 PM
Nah, he's gotten a lot better
I think he's just used to the old-school shit
He's been helping me read the teams
How's the leg?
Avery Lawson 3:26PM
Fuckin' three steps forward, three steps back
After a week on the ice, they pulled me again.
Too much swelling
Jamie Carter 3:27 PM
Shit, man
That sucks.
We're about to take off – call you when we land?
Avery Lawson 3:28PM
Yeah, man
Talk later.
As I put my phone into airplane mode, Tremblay sits down next to me.
“You okay if I read for a bit? Maybe we can watch film at the hotel tonight?”
I’ve surprised myself with this offer, and I fully expect Tremblay to turn me down.
“Oh, sure. Maybe we can get the whole first line in on the conversation?”
I notice he’s bringing in others to act as a buffer and I’m frankly grateful. Being alone in a hotel room together is probably not advisable, even with how things have been going between us recently.
“Awesome. I’ll let Lindy and Matthews know — we can meet in one of their rooms?”
“Sure. Who are you rooming with?”
“Oh, uh, no one?”
“Isn’t that pretty uncommon for a rookie?”
“Yup. But maybe you haven’t heard? I’m gay.”
“…and?”
“And obviously going to come onto my roommate.”
He looks annoyed at this.
“That’s dumb. Want me to talk to the GM? Get you the genuine rookie experience?”
I’m grateful for his reaction, but I’ve decided not to die on this hill.
“Honestly, I’m good. There’s an odd number of us on ELC's anyway, so it’d just be forcing some poor veteran into it. Besides, my agent thinks it’s probably a good idea.”
His confusion is clear on his face.
“Why is that?”
“Well, even if I don’t come onto a teammate, all it takes is one homophobe saying I did, you know?”
He goes a little green around the edges at this.
“Yeah. That actually makes sense.”
“So I will enjoy my personal room and the absence of Matthews’ snoring.”
Around us, the guys have settled in and the team’s flight attendant is ensuring everyone is ready for takeoff. I pull my book out of my bag and find my page. After a few minutes, I realize Tremblay is still looking at me.
“…did you need something, Cap?”
“Um, just wondering what you’re reading there.” His eyes are focused on the cover of my book, where two men are embracing.
“A romance novel.”
He licks his lips, and I can see the questions floating in his mind.
“You look like you want to ask me something else.”
“No. It’s just, um…”
I lift an eyebrow at him. “You got a problem with what I’m reading, Cap?”
He blushes again. “I guess I thought romance novels were, uh, straight? And for women?”
“Well, I would say they’re for whoever wants to read them. Men, women, non-binary folks.”
His eyes go big and he looks around, as though someone is going to come yell at us for having a conversation about gender on this plane full of hockey players. Of course, none of them are even looking in our direction, too concerned with their own books, card games, and naps.
“And this one…it’s about two men?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and I almost call him out on his fear of being overheard. But in his eyes, I see something…longing? I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Yes. Queer romance has become a lot more popular lately, you can find all sorts of them. My mom throws a couple into each of her care packages.”
A wrinkle forms between his eyes.
“Your mom's, uh, cool with you being gay?”
His tone is so dubious that I'm relieved to be able to burst his bubble.
“Yup. Always has been.” I shrug and open up my book to the place where I left off.
As I start to read, he stares at me for a moment, then puts his chair back and closes his eyes. And I wonder – is he sleeping, or just escaping this conversation?