Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
JAMIE
I'm sitting on the couch in Avery's apartment, two days after flying back home.
After forty-eight hours spent sleeping and being coddled by Mom, I finally dragged myself onto campus tonight.
I thought Avery would be dragging me out to a frat party, but he seems content to stay in, leg propped up with ice on his knee.
“So, how are things going with the married guy?”
His eyes are on me, and I'm guessing he can see that not all is well. The shadows under my eyes and my shitty play over the past two weeks say more than I'm willing to.
Avery heaves a mighty sigh, then pushes himself up and out of the chair. He walks toward the kitchen, limping a bit as he goes. I knew he'd had a tough year, but I was surprised to see the injury still affecting him so badly.
He goes to the fridge first, looking at the beer supply there, then seems to think better of it. After a minute or two, he limps back into the living room, a handle of Jack Daniels and two red Solo cups in his hands.
He pours a shot into each cup, then takes his quickly and fills it again.
“Let me rephrase that. Are we ever gonna talk about the fact that you've been fucking Ethan Tremblay?”
Shit.
It's my turn to throw back the fiery liquor, then refill the cup.
“I never said that.”
I meet his stare head on, hoping he'll back down from this.
“Of course not. You wouldn't.”
I'm not sure what he means by that, and I'm a little afraid to ask.
I lick my lips, trying to think of what to say next.
“Are we...are we still friends, Jamie?”
That pulls me up short. I move forward on the couch, putting my hand on his good knee.
“Dude. Yes. Of course we're still friends. What...what makes you even have to ask?”
Avery puts his face in his hands, and I sit there, still, trying to give him the space he needs. After a few minutes, he lifts his head, his eyes red and watery.
“It's just been a really shitty year, you know?
I mean, I was supposed to be there with you at the draft, and then fighting for my own spot on a major league roster.
Instead, I'm still here, and now I'm fighting for a spot on my own roster.
And for a while it was ok, because I knew you were fighting, too.
But then...I don't even know what changed.
But suddenly it felt like you had no time for me, no time for our friendship anymore.
You'd call me when you needed to vent, but otherwise it would be weeks without hearing from you.
And then you wouldn't even call me to vent, wouldn't even share what you were really going through. I was actually shocked you were coming home for the break, and even more surprised you wanted to see me.”
He says this all in one breath, as though he's worried he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't. I look down at my hands and realize how much I've fucked this all up.
I know my intentions were good – keeping Ethan's secrets, not burdening Avery with what I've been dealing with while he fights for his very life.
But it seems like good intentions weren't enough.
I open the bottle and pour even more into both of our cups, holding Avery's out to him. He pushes his loose brown curls off his forehead and reaches for it, taking a long swig.
“I should have said something sooner.”
“No. You shouldn't have had to.”
For the first time in my friendship with Avery, an awkward silence stretches between us. I know I need to fill it, but I'm not sure what to say to make this right. So instead, I just tell the truth.
“He was a total dickwad at the beginning, and more than a little homophobic. And I was sure every day that I'd be sent to Des Moines because our passes just wouldn't connect and obviously that was gonna be on me, not on him.”
“That's bullshit.”
“That's the NHL. But there were good bits, too. Kovalenko has been amazing from the very beginning, and so has Lindy. And I know I probably didn't say enough about the good stuff to you, because...”
Here I trail off, uncertain how to say what comes next.
“Because I had nothing good going. I was still rehabbing and unsure if I would play and I wasn't ready to hear that the NHL wasn't all we had hoped. I wasn't.”
I appreciate his candor here.
“Yeah, but we could've still played Smash Bros or something. It didn't just have to be about hockey.”
He nods, taking another, slower sip.
“So what changed?” His eyes meet mine, silently pleading for the truth.
“Well, I think Coach talked to him. Or Alexei. I'm not sure. And it was better for a bit. But then he kissed me, and it got a lot worse.”
He looks confused.
“He...but...is he out to the team? Why would he kiss you?”
I chuckle at this.
“He is not out to the team. Or, well, he wasn't. Hell, his right hand was barely out to his left hand. But we were at a club, and he was sad and drunk and horny and...he kissed me.”
“So you started hooking up?”
“Oh, fuck no. I have more self respect than that. I called him a self-loathing closet case and told him to get lost.”
Avery laughs hard at this, almost falling out of the chair.
“Oh thank God. I thought I was going to have to stage an intervention or something.”
He pauses again.
“...but you are sleeping together?”
For a second, I consider texting Ethan, to check in with him before I tell Avery this. But then I think about his words – and Avery's. If Ethan was willing to come out publicly for me, wouldn't he trust me to tell this to my best friend? Besides, he's probably busy with All Star stuff right now.
“Before I go further, I need to say something. And I don't want it to seem like I don't trust you, which I know is how it's seemed so far. But at the same time, you're so...blasé about your sexuality. And I know you think the closet is a structure of the patriarchy and is bad for us all.”
The look in his eyes tells me I'm not wrong.
“But the closet would have done me a lot of good as a hockey player. If I'd had the option to stay there, I would have. And it might have been terrible for me as a person – it would have been – but it would have made hockey a lot easier.”
His eyebrows scrunch together.
“And I don't want to be guilty of pan erasure, so I'm not sure I should even say this next thing.”
“Say it.”
“But...when you're in the NHL, you'll always have the option of taking out a woman and meaning it. Of being seen with a model, of having a biological kid, without it having to be a lie. And Ethan doesn't. He's alone or he's lying or he's out. Those are the options.”
Avery's face turns red, contorting into what I can only call a snarl.
“Oh, sure. Just fall in love with whatever conveniently female model is close by. Easy. Got it.”
I’m taken back by his anger, more than I’ve ever heard from him. I feel off balance – I have since this conversation.
“I didn’t mean-”
“Whatever, Jamie. It’s fine.”
He takes a deep breath. I get this distinct impression it’s not fine. I try again.
“You want a beer? If we keep draining this handle of Jack, we're gonna be puking our brains up before long.”
He nods, and I run to the kitchen, grabbing four beers and a fresh ice pack before I head back to the living room.
“I'd ask if you need any meds, but I'm pretty sure you shouldn't mix those with this much alcohol.”
He winces a bit as he readjusts, finally finding a comfortable position.
“Nah. I'll take something in the morning.”
I lay down on the couch, imagining myself in my therapist's office. I think back to October, to a time when I thought Ethan was one of the worst people on Earth.
“He did what I asked and backed off. But backing off wasn’t enough for Coach – he needed us working together. So we started sitting together on the plane.”
“Really?”
“Honestly, it was Coach's idea. He thought we needed to watch film together, see what we could learn from one another. And it worked. He sees hockey plays on this totally different level. He can see these tiny openings and helped me figure out ways to get through them.”
“So you started winning.”
“Yeah. And with me knowing he was, you know, gay, I started realizing how little he actually knew about being gay.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean, he has the views of masculinity that you would have if you were brought up by an old school NHL player. I mean, he listened to “boy” music and read “boy” books. Hell, I'm surprised he didn't think washing his ass was too gay.”
“Are you sure about that?”
My face turns red.
“As someone who has been up close and personal, I can assure you he washes all his parts.”
“Well, at least there's that.”
“And then he realized I was still at the hotel, so he took me apartment hunting. And he'd, like, done his research. Found this super cool queer neighborhood in Minneapolis...”
“That sounds like a contradiction in terms.”
“I keep telling you – there are in fact gay people in Minneapolis. You should come check it out. Anyway, he takes me to these perfect apartments and we just...talk. About the neighborhood, about our families. And at the end of the day, he takes me to this beautiful house. I mean, truly grade A real estate porn.”
“I thought you live in a loft?”
“I do. It wasn't for me. He even told me my money guy wouldn't let me buy it even if I wanted to.”
“You have a money guy?”
“Apparently I'm supposed to.”
“So if it wasn't for you, who was it for?”
“It was...it was for him. Or, like, for the person he dreamed of being, one day?”
Avery looks at me, confused.
“We had already talked about why he hadn't come out before, but this was the first time he told me that one day, he wanted to.”
“A lot of closeted guys say shit like that, Jamie.”
I feel a flare of anger inside me, as though I hadn't once told myself the same thing.
“I know that. I do. But it wasn't...it wasn't 'oh look, Jamie. Here's this beautiful house we could have together in a couple years'. It was more 'one day I can fade into obscurity and no one will care about me anymore and then I can have a dog with a man I love'.”
“That sounds...sad.”
“It was. It was really sad.”
“So you sucked his dick?”
I snort.
“Actually, he sucked mine. After my housewarming party.”
Avery hums in agreement.
“So you started hooking up regularly?”
“Not then, no. I wasn't into being with a closeted guy. I mean, I didn't go through all this shit to walk right back into the closet and shut the door, you know?”
Avery nods, pursing his lips.
“It's been that bad?”
“It's been...it's been a lot. I hate to say it, but it's been a distraction. I can't just focus on my hockey, I also have to focus on the slurs other teams are calling me and the questions reporters will have.”
Maybe I should temper my response. I know Avery is hoping to keep walking the same line he walks now – not really in the closet, but not really out of it either.
“Would you...would you take it back if you could?”
Avery knows at least some of the story of why I'm out, though I've always let him assume that coming out would have eventually happened anyway. Up until now, though, my answer to that question would have been yes, absolutely.
If I could go back to a time before my first agent dropped me, to a time before the best college hockey programs stopped taking my calls, I would have said yes, please.
But for the first time this year, I've seen the payoff. I've seen fans at the rink with rainbow flags, I've seen DM's and posts from younger queer players...
...I've seen Ethan finally realize he's not as alone as he thought.
“No. I wouldn't.”
Avery seems to breathe a deep sigh, unaware of how much more twisted my insides have gotten.
“So what changed? What made you go for it?”
“I...I got to know him. I got to know what made him tick, why he'd made the choices he had. And I couldn't convince myself I wouldn't have made the same ones in his shoes.”
“So you're, what...dating?”
I throw myself back in the chair, closing my eyes.
“We...I guess maybe we were. But we can't. He knows that. It's why he had his agent tell The Neutral Zone that we're just friends. Because, honestly? I'm not sure we're even allowed to be that.”
“So you broke up with him?”
“I tried.”
“Dude. I may not be a relationship guy, but even I know it's not that hard.”
“Well, he grabbed his phone and started an Instagram post to come out.”
“He...what?”
“He was convinced I was doing it because he wasn't out. So he was going to fix that.”
“And you...stopped him?”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“...why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“Well, isn't that why you were breaking up? Why not let him fix it?”
“What is coming out going to fix? He'll still be miserable, just miserable in public with me.”
Avery squints at me, and I can't tell if he's thinking or too drunk to focus properly on my face.
“So he should stay in the closet forever? Is that the answer?”
Honestly, I'm too drunk to be having this conversation.
“I mean, maybe? Or at least until he retires.”
Avery doesn't look happy with my answer.
“I mean, Jesus Christ, Jamie. The man can't win with you. You call him self-loathing and he, I don't know, actually does some introspection and wants to change and now you're telling him he can't come out? Is being gay that awful, Jamie?”
His anger shocks me and I can't find a response. Before I can attempt one, he speaks again.
“Look. I think you should leave.”
My eyebrows raise, shocked that he's kicking me out.
“Leave? Why?”
“I mean, Jesus, Jamie. You haven’t asked about my knee once. You want to sit here and bitch about your perfect NHL life and your perfect closeted boyfriend who wants to come out for you and I’m fucking tired of hearing it!”
I sit there, stunned. By his anger, his volume…by how true it is.
I’ve been avoiding him, too wrapped up in my own head to even spare a thought for him, for the hell he’s been going through.
“How-” I start.
“It’s too late, Jamie. Get out.”
Eyes already filling with tears, I grab my sweatshirt and go.