Chapter 18 #2
“Yes, well, certainly not when compared to you. But he's a great role model in the league these days.”
Mr. Logan Sportswear Junior has made a better – if not more honest – choice. Flattery will get you anywhere with Marty Tremblay. Who cares if he spent most of his short career on New York's third line?
“Pfft. It's barely a league anymore. All these initiatives. Back when I played, hockey was a man's game. Now it feels like they'll let just anyone on the ice. I mean, why should Ethan have to share the ice with that fa....fairy?”
Truly, one of the best indications of the ways the game is changing – slowly, glacially – is that even my father knows the first word he planned to use is beyond the pale, here in downtown New York City.
It hasn't kept it out of his texts for the past three months, though.
To their credit, the gentlemen of Logan Sportswear don't exactly seem comfortable with good ol' Marty. I wonder how many times they've even spoken before tonight. Vetting the business deals he brings me has certainly never been his strong suit.
“Yes, well, Ethan is exactly the sort of man we want as the face of our brand. Rugged. Masculine. Dominant.”
Jesus fuck, is he trying to cast me in an ad campaign or rewrite my Grindr bio?
“Not that dominant tonight, though, huh? Hope you wrote Deacons a thank you note for that winning goal.”
“Maybe if he'd spent more time focusing on the puck and less time focusing on your boy Carter, he'd have scored it in the correct goal.”
The men at the table laugh loudly, but the only thing I can think is oh shit.
Oh shit shit shit.
As a kid I learned quickly not to talk back to my dad, and even as I grew taller and wealthier and more successful than him, that's a line I don't cross. It just isn't worth it.
And now I've done it in front of others – in front of men he's trying to impress.
His eyes narrow at me and I know I'm in for it.
“Ethan. A word.”
He stares at me and I realize I have to get up before he can. For a moment, I consider making a run for it – blaming Coach and curfew and heading for the door as quickly as I can.
But the reprieve will only be momentary. Before I'm even at the hotel, my phone will be full of him, full of his hatred. If I don't answer, it will spill over – onto Jack, into interviews with The Neutral Zone...
It's better to just accept it now.
I stand and make space for him, then follow him toward the back hallway of the bar. He grips my arm tightly above the elbow and marches me along. For a moment, I feel like a naughty child.
Or am I a naughty child?
As we near the fire exit, he pushes me into the wall, stepping into my space.
“Was that game not humiliation enough for one night? Now you're here, antagonizing me in front of business partners I lined up for you? First they had to watch you defend that fucking nancy boy and now this?”
In my mind, I travel back, to all the other times when his strong body overpowered mine. Now, I look down at him, red-faced and wrinkled, and wonder if I'll ever stop feeling like that little boy.
“We are going to go back out there and you are going to hear the rest of their proposal. You are going to charm them. Am I understood?”
I nod silently and follow him back to the table. As he sits, I notice how frail he’s become, how much effort he has to put into scooting into the corner of the booth.
I return to my seat, forcing a smile for the men at the table.
“Apologies. My father needed to update me on a few business dealings. Tell me more about this campaign.”
The younger man starts talking, while the older man – perhaps his father? – seems distracted, glancing between me and Dad.
“Well, we all know Jamie Carter’s been getting a ton of press for you guys up there in Minnesota. But I think you can agree that it hasn’t all been good press. There are a lot of hockey fans who aren’t exactly thrilled to see him as the new face of the sport.”
The new face of the sport? Please. The official NHL Instagram account hasn’t posted about him once this season, in spite of the amazing start he’s had.
Unfortunately, they seem to be waiting for input from me.
“So what’s your idea?”
Honestly, it’s ballsy to sit a captain down and shit talk one of his players, even in a sport as straight as hockey. What do they think I’ll say? Yes, that kid who’s scoring enormous numbers of points is clearly bad for my team.
Yeah fucking right.
“Well, we certainly can’t call him out explicitly. But we were thinking we could film you – sweaty, maybe dirty. Grown out stubble, shirtless. Then the tagline – Hockey: It’s For Real Men.”
It couldn’t sound more like gay porn if it tried.
I look at my phone, attempting to look shocked at the time.
“Oh, darn. We've got curfew at midnight – early flight tomorrow. I'll have to head out, but don't let that put a damper on the party.”
I pull out my wallet and slide a stack of notes to my father.
“I hope this will cover a few more rounds for you all.”
Turning to Logan Sportswear Senior, I offer him a business card.
“Why don't you send along the details so we can talk?”
For a moment, I worry that Dad will raise a fuss. Instead, he seems to be silently counting the bills in front of him.
“You know, if the kid's gonna head out, we could always go to the strip club down the street. He's always worried about getting caught there by the papers, but that's the benefit of retirement, am I right?”
Finally, a joke gets the level of laughter he wants, and I am free to walk away.
In the cab on the way to the hotel, my phone buzzes.
Jamie Carter 9:12 PM
Where'd you go, Cap?
Everything okay?
Jamie Carter 11:12 PM
I'm just reading in my room if you want to stop by
I stare at the messages for a minute, tempted by the offer they hold, then power down the phone entirely. I press my forehead to the cold window and watch on as snow falls on New York.