Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ETHAN
After two weeks of subpar hockey and no Jamie, it's finally time to pack for Las Vegas.
At this point, I couldn't care less about the game.
It's tempting to fake an injury and stay here to finally take the time to talk to Jamie.
Of course, Jamie's not even staying – in fact, his flight to California already left this morning.
Of course, I'd only remembered this after I called him, sitting there listening to the ringing of his phone like an idiot.
When the voicemail had started, I'd been shocked to hear his voice, and desperate to hear more.
Unfortunately, that led to me actually leaving a voicemail, something I'd talked myself out of countless times before.
But this time, knowing he wasn't even in the same city as me, the truth had spilled out – how much I miss him, how grateful I've been to have him in my life.
Ever since my dinner with Alexei, I can't help but think about his words.
Have I truly become such a liar? I've always been private, but truly, this year something has changed.
Hell, I spent the first two weeks of the season being downright homophobic – what the hell was that?
Since when am I a willing part of the machine that's kept me down all these years?
I think back to the not-quite-breakup fight that Jamie and I had.
To the threat to out myself on Instagram.
He was right to stop me – I wasn't in the right place to make a decision like that.
But that begs the question – if I want to do it, or at least consider it, what do I need to do to be in the right place.
I throw a few more outfits in my bag, including a couple of the ones that Jamie picked out for me.
Then I head to the living room, to the couch where Jamie and I curled up that day before the article dropped, before I messed everything up.
I feel closer to him here, wrapping myself in a blanket that I fool myself into believing still smells like him.
Taking a deep breath, I pull out my phone and call Jack. For a moment, I think it will go through to his voicemail, but he eventually picks up on the third ring.
“Ethan? How are you, kid?”
Jack sounds...confused? Worried?
“Hey, Jack. Do you, uh, have a couple minutes to discuss something?”
Over the past twenty years, I've always thought of coming out as something that I would do once. Or, more accurately, something that would happen to me once. It turns out that isn't true – instead I find myself having to do it over and over, but it still doesn't seem to come easily.
“Sure, anything for you. I hope you're not trying to get out of the All Star Game?”
He knows me too well.
“No, I know I'm stuck with that. I, uh, wanted to talk about that article that came out last month? About me and Carter?”
He pauses on the other end of the line.
“What about it?”
At least he's not pretending not to know what I'm talking about.
“You, uh, mentioned afterward that you wanted to know what direction I wanted to go with it. And I know I gave you an answer and it's probably too late to change that, but I was wondering what some of the...other options might have been.”
I hear movement on the other end of the line, including the clink of glass on glass.
“Give me a second, kid. I might need a drink for this conversation.”
He's not wrong. I think of the whiskey in my own bar cabinet, but instead pull the blanket tighter around me, breathing in Jamie's aftershave.
“Well, there's the approach that you chose – not sure what they're implying, we have a close professional relationship, etc.”
Chose is such a strong word. I panicked my way into that response more than anything.
“Ok, what else.”
“Well, I guess that depends on the truth and how much of the truth you wanted to share.”
It all comes down to that, doesn't it? The truth.
What even is the fucking truth? Without a chance to speak to Jamie since that hotel room in Seattle, I find myself wondering if I even know.
“Ok. What if the truth is that we started the season as coworkers, but we've become something...more. More than coworkers, more than friends. Something like what The Neutral Zone was suggesting.”
I expect him to explode, to tell me to stop talking, to threaten to call my dad.
Instead, he is quiet – probably taking a nice long drink.
“Well, then I would have issued the press release I've had waiting in your file for the last five years.”
“A...press release?”
“Yeah. Pretty standard. Mr. Tremblay is a proud member of the LGBTQ+ community, blah blah, has always valued his privacy, etc. etc. Ask for space while you and the team make your playoff run.”
I'm glad I'm still sitting, because you could knock me over with a feather. Five years?
He seems to hear the question I can't bring myself to ask.
“You remember when your dad got married?”
“Which time?”
He laughs.
“The third. And I kept trying to get you to take a date, but you kept finding an excuse.”
That certainly sounds familiar.
“Anyway, you get there, and over dinner this woman starts a conversation with you. Do you remember?”
I think back and find a strand of the memory.
“Oh yeah, she had some really strong opinions about 1-3-1 vs. 1-2-2 in the power play. We argued about it most of the night.” She had been hopelessly, desperately wrong, too.
“Ethan, that woman was a literal Miss Minnesota and was trying to get you back to her room for at least an hour. At that point, I decided to come to terms with the fact that you might just...not be interested.”
“But you kept pushing women at me – hell, you tried to set me up with someone in November!”
There's a pause.
“I...look, we should probably have just talked about this. But you never seemed to want to – and you seemed pretty committed to staying in the closet. So when people started asking questions, I thought I'd try to give you options. But you didn't want the options, either.”
“I guess...I guess I thought you'd drop me if I told you the truth. I mean, you played with my dad, and he...”
I trail off, uncertain of how to finish the sentence.
“Does Marty know?”
I snort.
“What do you think?”
“Good. He'd just find a way to make a buck off of it. Look, I need you to know – I'm not your dad. Did I grow up in a different time? Sure. Do I totally understand all of this? Absolutely not. But I'm in your corner, 100%.”
Tears start to well in my eyes as I realize how much I've underestimated him.
“Should I start drafting a relationship announcement?”
I look to the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from falling in earnest.
“I, uh, don't know. We were, then we weren't, and now I've fucked things up.” My breath catches, and for a moment breathing seems like the hardest thing in the world.
“But I think...even if there isn't a relationship announcement, I need to do this. Come out. For me. I'm just...so tired of lying about this. It's time.”
“Well, you'll have my full support. I'll brush off that press release, make another couple passes at it. Are you thinking soon?”
I laugh, just a little.
“If it weren't for Jamie, I'd have done it in an angry Instagram post two weeks ago.”
The sound on the other end of the line is definitely a gulp.
“Well, I'll go ahead and send Mr. Carter a thank you bouquet for that. Don't do this in anger, and don't do it out of sadness. And absolutely don't do it to get him back. But if you're doing it with a level head, because it's what you want? I've got your back.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
“And Ethan, before I go – who do you want to do your coming out story?”
“Huh?”
“Glossy magazine, lots of pictures, the privacy violation of your very nightmares. But if we play it right, we should be able to get a good bit of money out of them.”
I laugh wetly, the mercenary tone in his voice reminding me this is still Jack Kinkaid.
“Jack, I don't need more money. I think we've had this conversation before.”
“Then donate it. But I'm pretty sure there are some kids – and some adults, for that matter – who could really stand to read that story. Think you can help them?”
I think back to Jamie, to how I could have helped him and didn't. Maybe it doesn't have to always be like that.
“Um, maybe. Yeah.”
“Great. Have a good game, ok Ethan?”
“I will. Thanks, Jack.”
For the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel like a lie.
My plane is a little early getting into Las Vegas, and I take a league-provided towncar to the Strip.
As I settle into the hotel room, I notice an agenda of the week's events laid out on the desk.
A meet-and-greet this afternoon, followed by the skills competition tomorrow night and the game itself on Wednesday.
For many of these guys, the All Star Game is a vacation.
Most of the guys my age will have brought along their kids and wives, while the younger ones will flock around the poolside bar.
I'd been once before, in my late twenties, and remember alcohol-drenched nights, being dragged to strip clubs and pretending interest. This time, I plan to stick with the guys my own age.
At four o'clock, I get changed into a pair of shorts and a button-up, ready to head down to the private room where we'll all be gathering.
In the elevator, I check my phone and immediately wish I hadn't.
There's still no reply from Jamie, even though his plane must have landed by now.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I have to accept that this is probably over. That my life in Minneapolis may never have Jamie in it again, at least not the way I want him in it. I meant what I said – that it was worth it, either way. Without him, I would never have talked to Jack, would never have been honest about myself.
I just wish I hadn't had to lose Jamie to gain that.
As I walk into the private room and cross to the bar, a few eyes seem to follow me.
I recognize Holmes, a forward for Boston who played some of his early years in Minneapolis, and Virtanen, a defenseman in Florida who I paired with once or twice in the AHL.
At the bar, I request a beer, then size up the room, wondering what on Earth to do now.
Luckily, Holmes waves me over, gesturing to an empty seat at his table. It looks to be mostly veteran players, which is my best bet at an event like this. As I approach the table, I can hear them talking about how much the Central division has shifted this year.
“Here's the man who can tell you the most, guys. You know Tremblay from Minneapolis, right?”
There are nods around the table. I'm not the friendliest guy, I know that, but I've been in the league for long enough that I at least know of most of these guys. It's odd to realize they recognize me, too.
“What exactly am I telling them, Holmesy?”
“Whether your team is ever planning on letting anyone else win ever again.”
I snort at that. Honestly, the answer to that should be clear after the last couple of weeks, as we've struggled to put up any points. Still, our dominant start to the season still has us sitting in first place in the division.
“Not if we can help it.” I take a long sip of my beer, wishing I could just leave.
“That Carter kid is so fucking fast.” This comes from a goalie from Dallas, though a Toronto winger is nodding next to him.
I had wondered whether Jamie would come up, or whether there was a league-wide unspoken Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy around him. Still, I can't help but feel...proud? Smug, even?
“Bet you wish your GM's had the balls to draft him.” The words are out before I can even think them. Around the table, eyes widen with surprise – mine included. The Dallas goalie breaks the silence first, erupting in a huge laugh. Relief floods me.
“Ain't that the fucking truth. We get the first pick overall and go with some delinquent? I bet Williamson sees the inside of a jail cell before he sees NHL ice time.”
I snort at this brutal – if honest – evaluation.
“No way I take that bet – especially since you and I both know he's already seen the inside of a jail cell.”
He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes.
“Fucking waste of a first overall.”
One of the guys across the table - a winger from Detroit, I think? - seems less convinced.
“But isn't it...weird?”
I know immediately what he's saying, but decide to pretend I don't.
“Isn't what weird?”
He looks around, trying to decide how to phrase this.
“You know, having a...gay guy...on the team? In the locker room?”
The table seems split on this. A few are nodding, but Holmes and the Dallas goalie seem to roll their eyes.
“I mean...no? What the fuck are you guys doing in your locker room?”
I haven't been in this league for ten years to not know how to handle dumb homophobic shit. And by far the quickest way to shut it down has always been to turn it right back at them. Sure enough, the winger's cheeks turn pink, embarrassed at what I've implied.
But for the first time, I don't feel the rush of relief to not have to talk about it any more. Instead, I feel like...part of the problem? I haven't helped him understand how he's wrong, I've just used the same homophobia to make him feel bad.
I take a deep breath and try again.
“Nah, man. I'm just kidding. Carter's been super chill. He's a team player, and the kid works harder than any rookie I've ever worked with. It just hasn't been a problem in the room. He's gay, we know it, and that's all.”
“That's...all?” This comes from Holmes, and remembering his eyeroll earlier, I choose to take it in the best possible light.
“I mean, other teams have been dickheads, and I can't say I'm thrilled with how the league is handling it. But the Huskies? They've been solid from day one.”
The rest of the table seems to consider this, some less convinced than others. Finally, the goalie from Dallas – Bellaire? – speaks up.
“In that case, I'm glad you guys got him. My team would have been a fucking nightmare.”
On this, the whole table seems to agree, and the conversation moves on. But while they discuss other rookies and coaching changes, I can't help but be just a little bit...proud? For the first time, I pushed back, and it didn't totally backfire.
Maybe I'm not such a liar after all.