Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
ETHAN
The weather holds out until the week after Halloween, at which point we’re almost a month into the regular season. We haven’t won every game, but the lines have continued to gel, and we’re winning more than we’re losing—a definite improvement over the last few years.
After an overtime loss at home against Detroit, I walk out of the arena to find three inches of snow on the ground, with more falling by the minute. The peaceful blanket of white feels like a bandage over the disappointment of the loss.
As I crunch my way toward the players' lot, I hear the whirring of wheels spinning in the snow. There, under a light, is Jamie Carter, trying desperately to get his Ford Focus to move forward.
Ever since that preseason game against Dallas, our relationship has thawed.
After our first regular season loss — a tight one against Columbus — I could see he expected me to change my seat on the plane.
But the fact of the matter is I enjoy his company — and I’m trying not to think too hard about why.
I've been trying to be his captain in the way I should have been earlier in the season – congratulating him when things go well, laughing at his jokes, and taking some of the press attention off his shoulders.
“Everything ok here?” I ask, wondering why he's even driving this car in this climate. Surely even a rookie contract is enough to afford something with four-wheel drive?
“Fine, Cap. I'll probably call an Uber and try again in the morning.” His hands are shaking, his lack of gloves and scarf as out of place as the Focus.
“In this weather, right after the game? The surcharges are going to be through the roof. I don't suppose you have chains or sand in the back of that thing?”
He looks at me, confusion clear on his face.
“Right. Cali boy. Well, Cali Boy, let me be the first northerner to tell you this is a dumb car to be driving. You should sell it and get something that's ready for the snow.”
He flushes pink, and I wonder how much of that is from the cold and how much from embarrassment.
“I...it's a rental. I didn't want to...invest.” He seems ashamed to admit this, as though he's the first rookie to drive a rental car.
“Invest?” The word seems out of place, like he's talking about more than just the monetary value of the vehicle.
“Yeah, you know...get myself a Subaru and the winter tires and whatever in case I get sent down. Or traded.”
With the confidence I've seen from Carter over the past few months, I'd never have thought that would be a concern. For all the times I wished he'd just leave, I never really thought it was a possibility.
“Are you kidding? You're the superstar, the wünderkind.
You're not going anywhere.” The fact of the matter is, our record would be dismal without his offense.
He's the bright light that makes the rest of us shine, and I can't think of a single person in the room who thinks we'd be better off without him.
“Let's just say I wasn’t always sure of my welcome here. I mean, my agent didn't even think Minnesota was interested in me. I'm honestly still not sure they are.”
Now it's my turn to blush, to realize that I have played a role in those feelings.
“I...I'm sorry about that. I should have had your back during camp. But you should know – Greg was very interested in you. Talked to me about it in June, knew that you'd be what we needed. And Ramsey felt exactly the same during camp.”
He looks astonished, unable to come up with words. I leave out my own feelings in that conversation, although I'm sure he could guess them.
“I think you may understand now why you showing up here was kind of a worst-case scenario for me. But I should have handled it better. We need you here, and you should know that.”
He sniffs a little and I look away, distinctly uncomfortable with the emotions that are coming up.
“So what do you say we get you out of this parking lot?”
He looks up at me, eyes shining. “Do you have an idea? Maybe if I push and you steer?”
“In that thing? Hell no. Even if I get you out, it'll be a death trap on the roads. You can ride with me – as long as you promise to start looking at cars when you get home.” He chuckles at this, sniffling one last time.
“Deal.”
We drag our bags to the far corner of the lot, where my SUV sits. With our bags in the back, Carter opens the door and sits in the passenger seat.
“So where do you live? Downtown?” Most of the rookies choose a condo in one of the highrises there, all the better to enjoy being young and single. I wonder at what kind of guys Carter is bringing back to his condo.
“Oh, I'm, uh...I'm still at the hotel. The Courtyard, just down the road.”
Is he joking right now? Not only does he not have a decent car, he's still in some hotel room? Have we really made him that unwelcome?
“You, uh, really didn't want to...invest, huh?” I realize I may have done more damage than I thought, certainly more than I ever planned.
“It's not...it wasn't just you. My agent really thought we'd be looking at Vancouver – probably not in the first round, but maybe in the second.
And I guess I just got in my head a little about that.
You know, this city with this vibrant queer community, where I could really be proud to be out.
And then...Minnesota. I remember my very first thought, once I finally realized they'd called my name, was 'Are there even gay people in Minnesota? '”
I laugh at that, because it's honestly fair. And I realize – the call I made to Jamie that night could have been so much more to him. But I was so in my head, that I couldn't even understand it in that moment. But maybe it isn't too late.
“Well, there are at least two of us,” I say with a grin that probably looks more like a grimace.
“There...are?” He asks, cautiously looking over at me.
“That morning at the hotel, you wanted to know.
Bi, gay, queer...I'm gay. Have been as long as I can remember.” And yet, this is probably the first time I've ever said it out loud.
Jamie pauses, staring ahead at the traffic light as we wait to turn into the hotel.
He seems unsure of what to say next, of whether he can ask more.
“And speaking of the hotel, I…I owe you an apology. For the kiss that night at the club, but also for, uh, hunting you down the next morning. I was..scared.”
This might be the first time I’ve even acknowledged that myself, the bone-deep terror I felt that morning as I pulled into the hotel parking lot, certain my career was circling the drain.
The look on Jamie’s face tells me he’s not expecting the apology.
“It was…definitely unexpected. I mean, I had no idea you were…”
“Gay,” I remind him, the word coming a little more easily this time.
“And I definitely had no idea you were interested in me. Not to suggest you’re into me or whatever. I’ll shut up now.” His face is redder than the light in the intersection.
He’s a 23-year-old professional athlete in peak condition – is it any surprise I’d find him attractive? For a moment, the silence hangs between us as the snow falls outside.
“You know, I spent many a night there my first few years in the League.” I say, nodding at the hotel, trying to steer us away from this dangerous conversation.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, meeting my eyes again.
“For sure. Unlike you, I was not a generational talent.
I really had to grind my way into the league.
I was up and down my entire rookie year – didn't even have ten games here. But I grew a lot as a player.” I remember those months as the hardest of my life, putting in hard hours on the ice and then harder hours in the weight room, only to come home, chug a protein shake, and pass out to do it all again.
“Sometimes I think...” he trails off, and I'm curious.
“What?”
“Sometimes I think...it would have been easier like that. If I had been just a good player. Not a great one. Not a name. Then, could I have been gay and not have to talk to ESPN about it every other day? Could I have had a boyfriend who was more worried about me getting sent down than being on the front page?”
“That's stupid.”
He laughs, but there's a distinct tearfulness to the sound.
“Thanks for your support, Cap.”
“No, seriously. As someone who was there – you could never have been a grinder and also out.
Because the second there was discomfort in the room that could be traced back to you?
You'd have been sent to Des Moines – or worse.
And they'd say it wasn't because you were gay, it was because your slap shot was weak or your checks were off or whatever, but you would know.”
Now I'm tearful, and I'm not even sure I know why.
“Is that what happened to you?”
“It...it always had to be this way, Jamie. The first was always going to have to be a great. You are a generational talent, Jamie. We were fucking lucky to get you at seventh overall. If you were straight, it would have been number one, no question.” This is the truth I couldn't tell Greg that day – that Jamie is exactly what the Huskies needed. What we need.
At that, he looks vindicated, as though he's been thinking the same thing for the past six months while everyone else twiddled their thumbs about whether he'd really be 'worth it'.
“But then I'd have had to play in Dallas.” He's more lighthearted now, his laugh more genuine.
“Ugh. Fair point. Maybe we were both lucky.”
“You know what...I think we were. I think...maybe we both needed to know each other. To be...friends?” The olive branch could not be clearer if he were holding actual greenery, and I grasp hold of it.
“Yeah?”
“To be clear, I am not accepting your proposition from the club. I just...think it must be lonely for you. To be the only one. I know it's lonely for me. Maybe we could be lonely...together?”
As the light turns green, I pull into the hotel.
“Yeah...I think I'd like that.”
As I pull up to the hotel curb, I let out a long, slow breath. For the first time in a long time, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I’m not completely alone.