Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JAMIE
“Dude, you weren't at the team dinner last night. You ok?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. My dad lives in New York. He wanted me to go out with him after.”
I'm a little jealous of this, to be honest. I can't wait to get a chance to catch up with my mom and Avery when we play LA.
“Oh, that must've been nice!”
His face is tight.
“It was fine.”
He must sense the confusion on my face.
“We're, uh, not close.”
Oh. That's odd – I've definitely seen articles about the two before – father and son NHL players. Nothing that ever gave the sense they were estranged.
“Oh, that sucks.”
“When we were looking at apartments, you mentioned you're not close with your dad either, right?”
“Not close is probably an understatement. He and my mom split up when I was super young. I'm not even sure they were ever really together, if you get what I'm saying?”
I'm pretty sure I was conceived from a casual fling between two people who couldn't have been more different.
“At first he was an every-other-weekend dad, then a once-a-month dad. By the time I came out, he must've lost my phone number.”
The look on Ethan's face isn't dissimilar from the one he gets when someone gets too rough with me on the ice. Like he can smell something awful and is going to take the trash out.
“That's dumb. He'd be fucking lucky to have a son like you.”
Even with the therapy and the knowledge that I'm better off without him, it's nice to hear someone say the opposite – that he's not better off without me. A tiny smile quirks my lips.
“Thanks. Honestly, these days I'm afraid if we win much more, he's gonna find it again.”
He laughs at that.
“God, I wish my dad would lose my number. I mean, not to like, minimize your shit or whatever.”
“Nah, you're good, Cap.”
“He just...he's very much an old-school guy. When he played, they were still angry about being forced to wear helmets. You know the type – there aren't enough true enforcers in hockey anymore, and we're all too soft because we'd like halfway functional brains when we get out of the league.”
I grimace at his description.
“And I'm guessing he doesn't think gay guys belong anywhere near the sport.”
From the way he looks out the window, I can tell I've hit a nerve. For a minute, I think our conversation is over.
“That's what last night was about. He's always looking for ways to, uh, capitalize on my success.”
“To make money off of you?”
“Yeah. Deals, sponsorships, whatever. Anyway, he brings these guys from this hockey equipment company and they pitch me on this whole fucking ad campaign. And the theme? 'Hockey: It's for Real Men'.”
Now I'm the one who feels like slamming someone into the boards.
“And you...said no?”
“I can't...you don't just say no to my dad. Definitely not in front of people he's trying to impress.”
“Or what? I mean, don't you hold all the cards here?”
He's silent again, for even longer this time. He looks...confused? As though he's struggling to think of an answer for me.
“So you're gonna do it?”
That snaps him out of it.
“Oh. Fuck, no. Or, I mean, I really hope not.
I'll call Jack – that's my agent – and have him deal with it.
He's old-school, too – hell, he and my dad played together in New York for a season – but he's not a terrible person.
Or, at least, he knows there's a financial incentive to me not looking like a terrible person.”
“So your dad doesn't know...” I look around the plane, not willing to end that question no matter how distracted the guys are.
“Fuck no. And he never will.”
Well, that makes that clear. I think back to our conversation while apartment hunting, to his hesitance to ever really “come out”. I wonder how much of that has to do with his dad.
“What about Jack? Will he get that it's...important to you not to do the ads?”
There's a longer pause for this.
“I think....well, I think he'll think it's a bad look regardless – which it is. As the captain of the team that drafted – and is currently winning with – the first gay man in hockey, he won't want the look of strife in the locker room.”
That makes sense. Still, there's one thing that sticks with me.
“First out gay man.”
“Huh?”
“I'd never claim to be the first gay man in the NHL. I think you – and I, and the rest of this plane – all know that there have been queer men playing this sport since before I was born, and there will be queer men playing it long after I'm gone. Regardless of whether they say it out loud.”
He stares at me.
“You think...there are others?”
“I told you that day in the locker room – statistically speaking, there are maybe fifty of us?”
I'm surprised to see his eyes grow wet.
“Where are they, Jamie?”
And I realize – I wasn't the only one on this plane who needed to know I wasn't alone in this.
“I think...I think they're probably afraid. Of old-timers, of coaches, of agents...of rocking the boat and ending up alone in the water. I think they're afraid, Ethan.”
For the rest of the flight, Ethan stares out the window. I worry that I've overstepped, but he doesn’t seem angry, just…pensive? In Calgary, the wind is even more brutal than back in Minnesota; clearly, Ethan knows I'm unprepared for the weather – he hands me a beanie as we step off the plane.
The bus to the hotel is mostly spent rubbing my hands together and waiting for the feeling to return to the tip of my nose. With weather like this, it's no wonder Canadians are so interested in hockey – the arena must feel absolutely balmy to them.
Usually when we arrive at a hotel, the team's staff has already checked us in and is waiting with room assignments and keycards.
This time, though, there seems to be an issue.
As I enter the lobby, it is filled to the brim with hockey players and their bags.
Ethan's eyebrows pinch together as he looks around, clearly as puzzled as I am.
“Hey, Rook. Watch my stuff?” He lays his duffle at my feet and heads over to the front desk, where Coach Ramsey looks ready to have a stroke. I can't say that I'm particularly tempted to step into the middle of whatever he's dealing with, but I suppose as captain Ethan's only doing his job.
“You know, is easy to be captain when it's only throwing parties. This is where Ethan really earns his C.” Alexei has sat down on the ground at my feet and, seeing no better options, I sit down beside him.
I think about that, remembering back to my first days on the team.
I’d been so sure Ethan was a terrible captain – and, to be fair, he was a pretty shitty captain to me.
But he’d always made time for the younger guys on the team – showing Koskinen how to read a play, talking with Finn about how to take a hit.
Alexei is right – Ethan is a great leader for this team, even if Alexei is the unofficial social director.
“What’s going on, you think?”
“Oh, who knows. Housekeeping isn’t done or they want to reiterate rules with management. It happens sometimes. Your college team ever get into trouble at a hotel?”
I thought back to my time with UCLA, where we tended to sleep two or three to a room at the nearest Days Inn. This hotel – even in Calgary – is miles above what I’d grown used to.
“Just the usual. Guys trying to break curfew or kicking out their roommates for a hookup. One time in Arizona, my roommate hooked up with this couple and had his wallet stolen so we were all freaking out because of course he wouldn’t be able to fly without ID.”
Alexei’s eyes light up.
“What did you do?”
“Well, it turned out they didn’t steal it. He was just so enthusiastic to get the condom out that it ended up between the hotel bed and the wall. The assistant coach found it while doing room checks.”
Alexei finds this hilarious, and his laughter draws glances from the rest of the guys.
“At least he was safe. I hope he got the coach a nice Christmas present?”
I remember the look of relief on Avery’s face as he gave the graduate student the world’s tightest hug.
“The man never bought another drink as long as Avery was around.”
I peek over Alexei's shoulder and see Ethan approaching with Coach Ramsey.
“Carter, you got a second?”
I'm sure my eyes grow big as Coach looms over me. I scramble to my feet and follow him and Ethan to the tiny business center in the corner of the lobby.
“Well, Carter, there seems to have been a fuckup with the rooms. They say it's because of the Calgary Cattlemen's Association, but I'm convinced they're trying to make me regret ever leaving.”
Ethan clears his throat and I wonder how much of the past ten minutes he's spent listening to Coach's conspiracy theories.
“Anyway. We've done what we can with the support staff and I've called in a favor for myself with a friend. But we're still not quite there.”
My eyes bounce from Coach to Ethan, trying to catch on to what he's getting at.
“As you know, the veterans' contracts prohibit us from requiring or requesting them to share rooms. But you, uh, are still on an entry level contract.”
Oh. He just wants me to share a room.
“Sure Coach, you getting me a pullout with Matty or what?”
A look of relief lights up his face. If only it were always this easy to make him happy.
“Oh, no. Nothing as extreme as that. We were able to get Tremblay into a room with two queens. He said you two are usually up half the night watching video anyway. Is that, uh, going to be a problem?”
Based on what he saw during camp, I can understand Coach's hesitation. If only he knew.
“No, Coach. That's not an issue for me. Is it, uh, ok with his contract?” I school my face, trying for genuine concern rather than the elation I'm feeling.
“Oh. Sure – he can volunteer, we just can't ask. Thanks, boys, this is a real life saver.”
He walks off, heading toward the support staff. Within seconds, they're getting the keycards handed out. In the chaos, I risk a peek at Ethan.
“Well, roomie, should we get our keys?” I pinch my lips together, but I'm still not quite able to hide my smile.