Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JAMIE
Staying away from Ethan for the two weeks leading up to the All Star Break is harder than I thought it would be. Yeah, the prospect of regular sex has been great. But I find it's in the downtimes that I miss him the most – the long hours spent on planes and the evenings in hotels on the road.
For a moment, I consider asking him if we can just go back to the way we were in November – watching film together, sharing book recommendations...
...and then I remember what the book recommendations led to and remind myself why that's not a possibility.
What makes it harder is knowing that if I asked, he'd say yes. If I text, he'll respond. If I call, he'll answer. I'm doing this to myself, and I'm doing it to him, and a lot of the time, I can't seem to remember why.
Then I'll get a Google Alert about that fucking article – or one of the seemingly thousands of think pieces that have followed it – and I remember. No matter what it felt like over Christmas, he isn't in this the same way I am.
I schedule an emergency session with Jeff, hoping that he’ll have an easy answer. Of course, it doesn’t work that way. He encourages me to speak with Ethan, to tell him how I’m really feeling. But I just don’t have it in me to hear that this didn’t mean to him what it had meant to me.
Worst of all, it's definitely impacting our play.
Or, if I'm being honest, my play. It's almost as bad as it was during training camp when we couldn't connect on a single pass, except this time it's on me.
I'm the one trying to pretend he doesn't exist. And every time it happens, I can feel the eyes turning toward me – Coach's, the press.
Even worse, Ethan's – big and sad, a puppy asking his owner why we can't go out and play.
If there's one bright spot in all of this, it's that I've finally gotten to know the rest of the team better.
In the hours on the plane playing cards with the boys, I've realized how truly welcomed I am here.
Even as the bottom has fallen out of my play, they've patted my back and offered to distract me with Smash Bros and cards.
It's on one of these nights, squished onto a hotel bed between Sutter and Matty, that the All Star Game comes up.
“Did you see that Michaelson is out for the All Star Game? Lower body injury.”
Somehow, Matthews manages this while simultaneously destroying me on the screen.
Nate scoffs.
“Oh please, the only lower body injury he's gonna be nursing is from having too much sex in Puerto Vallarta.”
That certainly gets my attention.
“I used to play with him in Pennsylvania. Wife's a doctor, and every year she would take off the entire week of All Star Break for some...alone time. With their schedules, it was the only time they really got to spend together during the season. I bet he was pissed to be picked.”
I know that plenty of players feel this way – that the week away from the ice is far more important to them than being selected for a game that is more about media than anything else. Still, maybe it's the rookie in me, but I thought it sounded...fun.
“Dude, I still can't believe they picked Tremblay. I mean, he's fine, but have they even seen you skate?” Matty says this distractedly, unaware of the impact his words have on me.
Well, this is certainly awkward. I know Sutter is one of the assistant captains, so I'm certainly not going to shit talk Ethan in front of him. Besides, it's not his fault the NHL has their head up their ass.
“Maybe they could foresee this slide I'm having.”
Nate pauses the game, almost unheard of with these two.
“You know that's not true, right J? That this isn't because you weren't good enough?”
I realize that, while the thought has been going through my head for the past week and a half, this is the first time I've heard someone else say it out loud.
“I mean, he's having a great season. They can't just take forwards from every team – someone's gotta defend the goal.”
This is all true. Matty is having none of it.
“Dude, last year's score was 10-6. I'm pretty sure they don't need or want defensemen. This is just because you’re gay, you know that, right?”
The thought has certainly crossed my mind. Hell, it set up camp and hasn't really left since. Still, Ethan is their captain, and I don't know how to say I deserved it without sounding like he doesn't. I settle for a shrug.
Nate looks at me, squinting just a bit.
“Is this why you and Ethan fought?”
Well, shit. These guys have let me adhere myself to their sides for the past ten days and, other than that first day, they've asked no questions about why I'm suddenly their shadow. Apparently that luck couldn't hold.
“We didn't fight.”
They look at each other, then back at me.
“It's not that we haven't really enjoyed getting to know you more...” Sutter starts.
“...but you and Ethan have been in one another's pockets since, like, Thanksgiving.”
“Canadian Thanksgiving.”
They look back to me, and I can feel the awkwardness of the silence surrounding us.
“It's like I told you last week. After that article dropped, he and his agent thought it would be better if he...took a step back. That's all.”
Matty is instantly on my side.
“Well, that's dumb as fuck. I really thought he'd decided not to be a dickhead anymore, but clearly I was wrong.”
Nate, on the other hand, is quiet. Almost...pensive? A crease forms in his forehead and he shows no sign of picking up his controller again.
“No, he was different. So different. I've played with the guy for four years and worn the A for three and I've never seen him so much as have a full conversation with anyone other than Kovalenko, at least not off the ice.
But you came along and suddenly he's having film watch parties and reading books and making plays and I just don't get it. What happened?”
I wish I could tell you.
And for the first time, I realize - I do wish I could tell them.
When Ethan and I were...whatever we were...
it never really felt like I wanted to tell someone.
I knew he was closeted and the point hadn't really come where that chafed.
I know Avery was certain that it would, someday, but I was happy to keep our little secret together.
Now, I feel the rub, the confining strictures of Ethan's status.
I want to ask Nate if he means it, if Ethan really is different with me.
Want to tell Matthews that I appreciate him calling out the homophobia, and wonder aloud what the NHL would do if they knew about Ethan, whether it really would be the end of the world as he's always thought.
Whether it would be selfish to push him into that.
Instead, I bottle all that up, pushing it down inside of me.
“We're still cool, I promise. His agent's just old school and wants to avoid the drama, especially with the All Star Game right around the corner.”
“Hmm.” Matty seems unconvinced, but picks his controller back up. Sutter's forehead is still wrinkled in thought, and I worry he won't let it drop. Instead, he heaves a sigh and unpauses the game.
For the first time in a long time, I'm glad to be leaving the team behind for a few days.
I had gone back and forth about whether to spend extra money on my flight home or not.
After all, I've had a shitty two weeks of play and the specter of Des Moines is rearing its head once again.
Still, my conversation with Ethan comes back to me, wondering about what I want to invest in.
Right now? I decided to invest in my comfort, booking the business class seat on a direct flight, in spite of the extra cost.
As I board the flight, I shoot texts to my mom and Avery, letting them know that I'm still on time.
I consider pulling out a book, but I can't say the thought of reading romance is particularly appealing right now.
Instead, I lean against the window of the plane, snuggling deep into the hood of my sweatshirt.
I don't really expect to sleep, but the fact is I've been running on empty without Ethan.
My bed has felt empty, and the long hours on planes just close enough to see him have me spending my nights in hotels wondering how we can fix this.
There, in business class with cold air blowing on my face, I finally fall deep asleep.
I awaken hours later, as the lights turn on and the captain announces we are beginning our final descent. I rub at my eyes, somehow still struggling to stay open even after sleeping for several hours. As the plane touches down, I take my phone off of airplane mode and see a few messages.
The first few are from the team group chat, with guys checking in as they arrive in their various destinations for the week, everywhere from Stockholm to Cabo.
Mom and Avery have each texted, too. Mom is confirming that she'll be at the airport when I arrive.
Avery and I, on the other hand, have been bouncing texts back and forth for two weeks, trying to figure out a time to meet up while I'm in town.
We haven't talked since January, mostly because I don't know what to say.
I'm sure he will be thrilled to hear I'm not with Ethan anymore – well, not Ethan, but the closeted half-Ethan I've sketched out for him in our conversations this fall.
Honestly, that's a good thing – I need to hear that I'm doing the right thing, that this was never going to work out and it's time to end it for good.
But even the thought of hearing that fucking hurts.
Just as I'm about to tuck my phone back into my jacket pocket, a voicemail notification comes through. In and of itself, that's odd – like any early twentysomething, I hardly ever use the actual phone function of my phone. When I see who the message is from, I nearly drop the phone.
Ethan.
He's been so good these past two weeks with respecting the boundaries I had established, letting me focus on the game.
It's been hell. I kept hoping I'd hear a knock on my door one night, or a shout of my name in the player parking lot. Instead, it's been silence.
I know I need to delete it, to leave these words of Ethan's here on this plane.
Instead, I press play.
At first, there's a silence so long I think it must be a butt dial. But when I pull the phone away from my ear, I hear his voice begin, and I rush to press the phone back to my ear, not wanting to miss a single word.
“Hey, Jamie. It's, uh, Ethan. I think you're on your plane already. I'm, uh, packing up the last of my stuff now.”
I can picture him in his bedroom, putting clothes into a duffel, tossing in his usual toiletry kit. I wonder if he'll be bringing any of his new clothes or if he'll stick with his old standards of track pants, quick dry shirts, and a team hoodie.
“I'm, uh, sorry for calling, I guess. I know you wanted space. But I didn't get to say goodbye and I just...I wanted you to know that I've missed you.”
That hits straight at my heart. One of my biggest fears this week, the one I haven't even spoken to myself, is that it's been easy for him. Easy to back away, easy to erase me out of his life.
His voice starts again, thick in a way that catches in my throat.
“I know...I know I haven't always made the best choices. And I know those choices have hurt you. And I just...I need you to know I understand that.”
He takes a deep breath and tears burn in my eyes. People are starting to deplane, the line in the aisle moving incrementally forward, but all I can do is sit here, eyes closed, and listen.
“I wish you were going instead of me. I wish we were going together.”
His voice cracks, and it helps to know I'm not the only one feeling these things.
“I think you're going to break up with me at the end of this week. And I get it, I do.”
The certainty in his voice hurts most of all, the belief that he deserves this.
“But I just wanted you to know that it was worth it, for me. That I'm glad we've had this, even if you think it needs to stop.”
Another long pause, long enough that I check to see if the message is done. It isn't.
“Anyway, take care of yourself. Have fun with Avery. Let your mom take care of you. I'll see you in a few days.”
And with that, the message comes to an end, leaving me alone again in business class.