Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ETHAN
It seems that Jamie has a helper somewhere in the organization, because my suit bag goes missing on our flight to Chicago later that week.
“Oh no, Cap! Guess we'll have to do that shopping trip sooner rather than later!”
I see a distinct smirk on Alexei’s face, and I have a feeling I know who to blame for my missing suit.
Luckily, we have the morning off before our night game, so Jamie and I grab a rideshare downtown.
“You're lucky you lost your suit on this flight. Chicago’s got some good stores.”
“Oh, are we still pretending my suit was 'lost'?”
He smirks at me.
“At least Alexei didn't do it last week in Miami. Then you would've been stuck in a white linen suit and a Hawaiian shirt.”
I shudder at the thought.
We approach a discreet store, a wooden door tucked away beneath an awning. As we enter, the smell of wool and wood polish hit me. It smells expensive. I look around, expecting to see bright colors; instead, what I see is sedate, even conservative.
Jamie sees me eyeing the clothes. “Not quite white linen and patterns, but I think we'll find you something here.”
As he winks at me, an older gentleman comes from the back of the store.
“How may I help you gentlemen?”
“I called ahead. Jamie Carter. We're here to help my friend find a few new suits.”
“Oh, yes. Give me one moment.” The man walks over to the door and locks the deadbolt, turning the sign in the window to 'Closed'.”
“Follow me, gentlemen.”
As he walks toward the back of the store, I lean close to Jamie's ear.
“Are we being kidnapped?”
He laughs out loud, loud enough that the tailor turns to give us a sharp look. Chastened, we follow him.
“I just thought you might not want an audience for this. Amazing how far an NHL name will go, even away from home.”
The move is unexpectedly thoughtful, and I find myself surprised. This could have been a great chance for him to tease me, but instead he's being...kind?
“Mr. Carter mentioned on the phone that your suit was lost on your flight today. I must say, I looked at recent arrival photos of you at the arena, and I believe a luggage loader somewhere deserves a raise.”
I blush at the insult, knowing the suit was boring...just how I liked it.
“Yes, well, I suspect my goaltender may have had something to do with it, and he already got a raise this year.”
The little man chuckles at this.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Kovalenko is one of my best clients. In fact, I believe he spent most of that raise in this very shop.”
“No offense, but your clothes don't seem...his usual style.” Alexei is known for his loudness, on the ice and off it. His clothes are no exception.
“Well, it isn't about my style, now is it? It's about yours. By the way, we haven't officially met. I'm Jack Williams. You may call me Mr. Williams.”
Feeling like a schoolboy, I shake his outstretched hand.
“Ethan Tremblay. And I don't have a style.”
“Now, Ethan. Middle-aged accountant is totally a style. Just not a good one.” Jamie chimes in from behind me.
“Well, Mr. Tremblay, maybe we can figure out a better style for you moving forward?”
I shrug, distinctly uncomfortable at the thought of having a style.
Mr. Williams leads us to an area where a small dais is surrounded by mirrors. To one side, a room has a curtain draped in front of it. To the other, a low couch covered in green velvet sits.
“Now, after talking with Mr. Carter, I have pulled a few ideas. We obviously will need something off the rack for you tonight, but we can measure you for a few suits for later.”
“I, uh, usually just wear the one suit. With different shirts and ties.”
I'm lying. It's just different ties.
“Mr. Tremblay, you are a top defender on an NHL team. A captain of an NHL team. You cannot wear a single black suit three times a week for the entire season. It should be illegal.”
Jamie's eyebrows pull together, and I get the sense he may not like Mr. Williams all that much.
“I think maybe Ethan just needs some help picking out a few things. He's got a lot on his mind. You know, as top defender and captain of an NHL team.”
Is he...defending me?
Mr. Williams humphs, striding off to a set of nearby clothing racks. He pulls a suit bag off the rack, then uses it to back me into the changing room.
“Put this on first.”
With a spin, he closes the curtain. I unzip the suit bag and find...my suit? It looks like it, anyway – simple black lines, a white shirt. I put it on and walk out of the dressing room.
Jamie's eyes bug out “Is that...?”
“Mr. Kovalenko may have...procured this for me. So, this is what you like, then, Mr. Tremblay?”
I turn on the dais and look into the mirrors. The suit is expensive, well cut, and...bland. Just like me.
“I, uh, it's what I wear. What I've always worn.”
“Mm. And you like it?”
“I...it's fine.”
He gives a little nod.
“What if we try a few small changes first?” he asks, his eyes kinder than they have been so far this morning.
“Yes, that...that would be fine. We can...try.”
He heads back to the clothing rack, grabbing a sweater to hand me.
“Keep the suit, but instead of the shirt, try this.
Inside the changing room, I take a long look at the sweater.
It's a crew neck sweater, a deep green that reminds me of an old Coke bottle.
The fabric is soft, unbelievably soft, and when I put it on, I find it's warm, too.
Perfect for a Minnesota winter. I shrug the suit jacket back on and walk out of the changing room.
Carter's head lifts as I open the curtain, and the look in his eyes turns warm. As I step onto the dais, I look to see what he sees.
Oh.
I look...nice. Not just well put together, or expensive, but...like someone you'd want to talk to.
“You boys got lucky with that new collective bargaining agreement. You couldn't have worn this just a few years ago on a game day, but now the sky's the limit!”
Now that I know he's worked with Alexei, I shouldn't be surprised at Mr. Williams' knowledge of the NHL dress code, but I realize he's right – when I first joined the league, pretty much everyone was wearing boring, dark suits.
Over the last decade and a half, that's changed – first with people like Alexei bringing more color and fun into their suits and ties, and then finally with a change to the dress code altogether, no longer requiring suits and ties at all on game days.
“Now, if you ask me, some of the boys have taken it too far. Sweats and beanies are not for game day.”
I had to agree with him. The ritual of putting on a suit, dressing up for game day had always reminded me that this was an important job, and that I needed to treat it with respect. More than that, it put me in the right mindset to play hard.
“But something like this? A little softer than your standard? This is why the new dress code is a godsend.”
The word softer echoes in my mind. It's not something I've ever aspired to be.
From the time I was a kid, my dad taught me to play harder, to be harder.
But I look at Jamie, his eyes still lingering on me, and I wonder – what difference might it have made if his captain had been a little softer, a little more approachable?
How could it have changed his first weeks on the team?
How could it change the rest of his season?
I clear my throat and look at Mr. Williams.
“This is good. I like this.”
Of course, Mr. Williams isn't content to send me on my way with a single suit, most of which I already owned. Now that he has a sense of me – and now that I'm a little more cooperative – he hits his stride, pulling together several outfits from the clothing rack.
The first few outfits are more casual — jeans with sweaters, none of them black.
“I wouldn’t recommend these for game day, but they’d be nice for going out to a team dinner or doing charity work.”
Usually, I’d wear sweats for that. At best, jeans and a hoodie. But he’s right — I could step it up, look like the captain I want to be. These are aspirational clothes.
Soon, though, we’re back to more formal options.
The next suit is a lot like the first — this time, the suit is gray with a black crew neck sweater underneath. There is, however, one major problem. I poke my head out of the dressing room.
“I, uh, can’t get the pants on.”
I can see Jamie chuckling on the sofa.
“Yes, yes. It’s the thighs. We’ll deal with that in the tailoring. Come out. Let’s see the rest.”
“But I’m…I don’t have pants.”
I feel my hands migrate down to cover myself. Meanwhile, it looks like Jamie is losing it over on the couch, hunching lower and lower in his seat as his eyes water with laughter.
“You are a hockey player. I am a tailor. This isn’t new for either of us.” His glare reminds me of my high school principal.
I pull at the bottoms of my black boxer briefs, hoping to stretch an inch more dignity out of them. I take a deep breath and walk back out to the dais.
Jamie has perked back up in his seat. I raise my eyebrow at him as I pass; this is nothing he hasn’t seen before in the locker room. Still, his eyes follow me as I walk by.
In the mirror, I keep my focus above the belt. The coat has a more modern cut than my usual suit, with thinner lapels and a slimmer fit. With the crew-cut sweater underneath, it looks almost…youthful?
“I don’t know, Jamie. No colors — does this pass muster?” When I look at him in the mirror, his eyes shoot up. Was he…looking at my ass?
A stain of pink steals across his cheeks. “Huh?”
“Didn’t you say we were supposed to be looking for more color?”
He bites his lip, and the sensuality of the move has my own cheeks heating.
“I dunno, it still looks really good on you.” His eyes run down my body, not bothering to stop at my waist.
The sound of Mr. Williams clearing his throat broke through the heat in the room.
“Yes, well, unfortunately the modern cut is a bit of a problem for your…assets, shall we say?” The blush that had started to rise on my cheeks stole fully across my face now.
“Still, that’s nothing I can’t take care of.
” Brisk and professional, he pulls a measuring tape out of a pocket and falls to his knees in front of me.
The act takes me by surprise and I widen my eyes, daring to look at Jamie again.
The heat that was between us is gone, and he’s clutching his stomach in laughter once more.
In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to look at the total on Mr. Williams’ receipt.
I closed my eyes and signed blindly, hoping it wouldn’t put too big a dent in my savings.
Jamie and I walked out to the rideshare with several bags worth of clothes — mostly casual things, along with a few nicer options for the next few games.
In a few weeks, Mr. Williams would bring the rest to Minneapolis for my final fitting.
Given the number of digits I’d seen on the receipt before clenching his eyes shut, I imagine Mr. Williams and the suits will be flying private for that trip.
Still, I had to admit — nothing I’d tried on today had felt wrong. When Jamie had first suggested the idea, I had been certain that I’d be trying on floral shirts and super-slim cut suits. But everything I'd put on my body today had been me, just…elevated? A little…more?
“Hey, Carter?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for making me buy some big boy clothes. It was time.”
Jamie’s ears turn pink.
“No problem, Cap. You, uh, looked good.”