Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JAMIE
Three days before Christmas, I get a call from Avery. He and I have been playing phone tag for the past two weeks — a missed call here, a text message not responded to for two days there.
If I’m being honest, I haven’t been trying as hard as usual to keep up my side of things.
Ever since the night I spent in Calgary with Ethan, I haven’t known what to say to Avery — if I say anything at all.
Still, I can’t bring myself to actively ignore him, so I answer the call and sit down on my couch.
“Dude, I was about 12 hours away from calling in a missing persons report. I mean, I keep seeing you on my TV screen, but who knows – that could be a replicant.”
I laugh at this.
“Nope, that's definitely me. I've got the bruises to prove it.”
“You guys are on a hell of a run. Seems like the team's really working.”
That’s for sure. We’re tied for first in our division with St. Louis, the best record Minneapolis has had through December 15th since their last Cup. Everyone’s trying to pretend it’s not a big deal, but with New Year’s just around the corner, it’s starting to feel like kind of a big deal.
“Hell, Tremblay learned how to pass and everything.”
I snort, thinking of how far we've come in just a few months.
“Yeah, we've, uh, figured shit out. He's probably my best friend on the team.”
“Excuse you! I’m your best friend, thank you very much.” His tone is light, but I worry there’s an undercurrent to it.
“You’re also two thousand miles away. If only you’d drop out and move to Minneapolis to be my house boy.”
That gets him laughing.
“While I wouldn’t mind a career as a house boy, as you so eloquently put it, I think you know that wouldn’t work for us. Besides, how could I wear my short shorts around the house in that weather you’ve got?”
That certainly brings an image to mind.
“But back to Tremblay. Isn’t he, like, a homophobic dickwad? I believe that’s a direct quote.”
I certainly didn’t do Ethan any favors during my early season conversations with Avery.
“I don't think he is, not really. Or, like, he's just known so few gay people in his life that he didn't realize how homophobic he was. His dad's this totally old-school NHL player and I think it's really fucked him up.”
There's silence on the other end of the line.
“When you said friends, I thought you meant you, like, watched tape together and shit. Not that you were having deep conversations about family trauma.”
“I mean, we do that, too.”
I wonder for a second whether I've told him too much.
“So is Tremblay the only reason you're so busy? I was kinda wondering if you were still seeing the married guy.”
“He's not married.”
His reaction is immediate.
“Fuck, Jamie. I was joking! Or, like, 80% joking. You guys are still fucking around?”
“It's, uh, more than that. I think? God, I don't even know.”
It's my turn to sigh, throwing an arm across my forehead.
There's quiet on the other end of the line.
“Look, Jamie. I know I give you shit for stuff all the time, but...are you sure about this? You still won't tell me almost anything about this guy, and now you finally admit that it might be serious? I'm worried about you.”
I rub at the bridge of my nose, willing away the headache that is forming.
“What do you want to know?”
“Like...anything? Is he married?”
“No. He's not married, but he is closeted.”
“Why?”
“He's in a field that can be fairly homophobic, and his family is completely unsupportive. And because it's his choice when and if he feels safe coming out.”
“What's his name?”
“I feel like that might be the same as outing him.”
“Can you make one up? Otherwise I gotta keep calling him the married guy.”
He's got a point.
“...let's call him Alex.”
“Great. How old is he?”
“Early thirties.”
“Hm. A little old, but I know your taste is less exacting than mine.”
I splutter at that.
“Excuse you! You won’t be finding a job as a house boy anytime soon with that attitude.”
He chuckles, breaking the tension in our conversation.
“So how'd you meet?”
“You remember my birthday party? At the club?
“The one where your captain was a total dick to you?”
Shit, I'd forgotten I'd told him that story. I pivot a bit.
“Yes. Anyway, we met there. He was a friend of one of the guys, so we were all hanging out. And at the end of the night, we were alone, and he kissed me. I, uh, didn't even know he wasn't straight.”
I hope this slight stretching of the truth will protect Ethan’s anonymity.
“Damn. That was a big night for you, huh?”
“Uh, yeah. And he kind of freaked out about it – about me knowing that he was, uh, gay.”
“Gross.”
“Yeah. It didn't feel great. So he left, and I figured that would be the end of it. Except that we, uh, kept running into each other.”
“Why? Is he, like, stalking you?”
I can't exactly say he's a coworker without risking giving everything else away.
“No. We just have a lot of mutuals.”
This pause is long, and I worry that Avery is figuring it out on the other end of the line. And honestly, would it be so bad if he did? If finally, someone actually knew? Maybe then he could give me some actual advice.
“Okay. So he eventually stopped running away, though?”
“Yeah. We became friends. I told him I had no interest picking up where that night left off and he understood.”
“...until he didn't?”
I sigh.
“Look, it's been harder than I thought to hook up.”
“Right, because there are no gay people in Minneapolis.”
“No, there's actually a super legit community here. But, uh, the reporters are just so focused on hockey.”
“Sounds rough.”
I remind myself that Avery would give anything to be here, dealing with The Neutral Zone and the Star Tribune.
“I mean, the fan base is nice. But every time I opened Grindr, I'd be wondering whether this dude would sell the story of hooking up with hockey's first out player. It just seemed easier not to.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Anyway, one night we were texting, and I was horny as fuck. And, uh, so was he.”
“I guess sexting is better than your right hand.”
“I mean, it heavily involved my right hand, but yes. It was nice to have some...help.”
Hm. I may have to revive the idea of sexting on the road with Ethan. After all, we can’t always rely on the hotel cancelling rooms.
“And then once I moved into my new place, he came over and we hooked up. And then again. And it sort of became...a thing.”
“Okay, but that still sounds like a friend with bennies. It doesn't have to be a thing.”
“Well, we spent the night together a few nights ago. And it was...different.”
“Different how?”
“More…tender? We ended up cuddling most of the night, and then going again in the morning. I thought he'd freak out again, but...he hasn't.”
“No?”
“No. I mean, there was a blip before that where he met up with his dad for dinner and got kinda weird after, but then he spent the night like that night.”
“You said his family is unsupportive? Maybe staying the night was his 'fuck you' to his dad?”
Oh. I hadn't thought of that.
“I...maybe. I dunno.”
“I guess you'll know next time you see him? If he cools off, he's reconsidering, but if he's still hot and heavy, maybe he's really thinking of something more with you.”
I’m surprised to hear Avery open to that possibility.
“And you’re…okay with that?”
He sighs deeply.
“I mean…it’s not really my choice to make, I guess?
Do I really think a closeted guy is right for you?
No. I don’t. You’ve put up with too much shit coming out to walk yourself right back into the closet.
I think right now you might be…overlooking that, a bit?
You’re so glad to be getting laid and having your privacy respected that you’re not looking at the future. ”
My breath catches in my throat, recognizing the truth in his words.
“But, dude, there’s gonna come a day where you want to just grab dinner together or go for a walk or whatever it is that boyfriends do. And if he’s committed to staying in the closet, that’s just…not gonna happen, you know?”
I know this. I do. So why does it hurt to hear Avery say it?
“Yeah. You’ve got a point. I think it’s not such a big deal during the season because I’m already so busy all the time. The last thing I want to do with a day off is go out. But you’re right. The day will probably come.”
Avery takes his time responding.
“Well. As long as you know that, then I think it’s okay if you…explore it being something more. Maybe he’s never really had a reason to come out, and this will move him forward. But, like, take care of yourself?”
It isn’t until Avery says the words that I realize that’s what I’ve been starting to hope for. That Ethan will see what we could be…and decide it’s worth it? Shit. That’s hardly fair to him. He has his reasons, I know he does. And it wouldn’t be fair for me to pressure him to reconsider.
“I think I’m going to enjoy what we have while we have it. I’ll wait until after the playoffs to worry about anything else.”
There. That’s the low-pressure, low-commitment approach I need.
The next day, Alexei reminds us of his Christmas Eve party that night. Ever since his announcement on the bus, I’ve been looking forward to seeing what he’ll put together.
On my way out of the practice facility, I hear Ethan shout, trying to catch my attention. In spite of the fact that we’re both in town for this short break, I’ve very deliberately avoided trying to make any plans with him, keeping Avery’s warning in mind.
Apparently, he didn’t get the warning.
“You’re going to Alexei’s, yeah? Do you want a ride?”
I try to think of what to say. I mean, yeah. I want a ride. Maybe a couple different kinds of rides. But I’m also surprised to find that Ethan is still interested, or at least not disinterested, in my company.
“Um, that would be nice. But I know Lindy and Astrid could take me if you’d rather…not.”
There. I’ve given him an easy out.
“No way. And I was thinking…”
Here, he seems to lose his confidence for a bit, looking around the parking lot to see who else might be there. Fortunately for him, it’s empty.
“…do you maybe want to bring some clothes? Maybe stay at my place over the break?“
This is more surprising to me. I try to focus on the hesitance in his voice, the concern for being overheard.
Instead, I focus on the fact that Ethan wanted this and asked for it.
“Yeah. Let’s do that.”
Remembering that Hailey and Mac will be out of town, I run down to the local bakery to grab some desserts for Alexei’s party.
I know he’s planning to provide the meal, but I’ve also noticed how he gravitates to the trays of sweets she usually brings.
I figure as long as the nutritionist doesn’t find out, I’m golden.
I also pack a duffel bag of clothes to bring to Ethan’s.
This is considerably harder. I know what to bring on the road — clothes for practice, clothes for going out, clothes for the plane, clothes for the game.
But for this? Do I just bring a bunch of sweats?
Will I need an outfit for leaving the apartment?
Maybe I should just toss in three jockstraps and call it a day.
I settle for a couple pairs of sweats and a couple casual outfits. And also a jockstrap or two.
On Christmas Eve, Ethan pulls up outside my place ten minutes early. I make sure everything is locked up then head out, box of desserts and duffel in tow.
He gives me an appreciative once-over as he opens the back door, a look that would be daring ten blocks North but is positively boring in this part of Minneapolis.
“What’s in the box?”
I place it carefully on the back seat, my bag in the wheel well, and turn to look at him.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I say, winking as I get in the passenger side.
He pulls out of the space, heading toward the interstate.
“Well, if you’re trying to take my place as his best friend, I’d appreciate at least a little warning.”
I laugh at that.
“It’s just some desserts. I know Hailey usually handles that and thought he’d appreciate some extra sweets over the holiday. Don’t tell the nutritionist.”
He chuckles.
“Damn, you’re good. Maybe I should tell the nutritionist, get rid of the competition.”
I smile out the window, watching the fields fly past as we head to Alexei’s house way out in the suburbs.
“I’m just…I know that without him, I probably wouldn’t still be here. I’d be looking at grad school or whatever. And I want to make sure he knows I appreciate it.”
He gets a sad look on his face, the one I see whenever the topic of our first interactions comes up. I want to tell him it’s okay, that I know that isn’t who he really is. But at the same time…wasn’t it? Just a little bit?
“You know…you’d be a really good therapist. But I’m really glad you’re here instead.”
A warm glow forms inside me at his words.
“Thanks. I think I’ll still do it eventually. But I’m pretty happy where I am for now.”
He smiles, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Me too.”