Chapter 31 #2
Then again, I'd never given him the chance to talk about it with me, never given him the space to air his concerns.
I keep scrolling, the surprise continuing as he calls out the NHL specifically, challenging them to investigate the homophobia within the league. Even for a veteran, that's a big step, one that could have serious consequences. I look up at Avery.
“This is...this is a lot.”
Somehow, he doesn't look any less nervous. He peeks at the phone, seeing that I'm still mid-article.
“Keep going.”
There's more?
Montgomery breaks away from the interview for a bit, discussing the league's sordid history with misogyny and homophobia, even referencing my own coming out five years ago and the subsequent lack of interest from agents and teams.
Then, he picks up the thread with Ethan again, asking about the locker room challenges behind having the first gay player in the NHL.
I'm happy to see him call out Alexei and the work he did early in the season to make sure I settled in.
Just as I think the article is about to take a boring turn to records and successes, Ethan redirects it.
I almost can't believe the words on the screen.
Carter is neither the first nor the only gay player in the league.
I put the phone down on the table, so hard the woman at the table next to us looks over.
“Is this...does he...?”
“For the love of God, Jamie, finish the damn article.”
My eyes scan over the words, certain this can't be what I think it is. Surely if Ethan were going to come out, Montgomery would lead with that?
young gay man
put my head down and keep quiet about it
stay out of the way
Holy shit.
I slide Avery's phone across the table to him, grabbing my own out of my jacket pocket.
I power it on, and almost instantly the alerts start coming in.
Our team group chat has hundreds of unread messages.
I've got separate messages from half of the boys.
There are at least twenty missed calls – some from the team, some I recognize as reporters, and others I don't know at all.
Nothing from Ethan.
That is, until I open the group chat and find his message, coming out to the team, almost eight hours ago now.
Shit.
I had thought nothing of turning off my phone and disconnecting from the world, but now I realize I've been unavailable at a time when he really needed my support. I look at Avery and say the first words that come to mind.
“I need to get to Vegas.”
Luckily, there's a plane leaving from Burbank at 7:30 with seats still available. There's no time to run home for my stuff – hell, the only reason there's time for me to make the flight is because of my precheck status.
Avery drives like hell to get me there, and I've never been more grateful. I want to say so many things to him – thank him for challenging me, for pushing me to be honest with myself, for showing me what I needed to see. But there's no time.
“I love you, man.” I say, giving him a final, tight hug.
“Yeah, yeah, go get your man.”
I stall, looking at him for a second, torn about whether it’s really ok to leave. His eyes meet mine, seeing the question there.
“Go! Just…don’t forget to text this time, yeah?”
With that, I hug him again and bolt from the car.
I make it to the gate just as the last members of the final boarding group are scanning their boarding passes.
As I walk down the aisle toward the seat I booked – a middle seat across from the bathroom – I can't help but compare this to the last time I was on a plane.
The dejection that weighed down my body has transformed into something effervescent... hope?
It isn't until I arrive in Las Vegas that I realize I have no idea where I'm supposed to go.
I check on the game – it finished twenty minutes ago, with the Western Conference winning.
It seems like Montgomery intentionally waited until the game had started to publish his article, preventing anyone on the ice from hearing the news until it was all over.
I send up thanks to this reporter I've never met, grateful that he proved worthy of the trust Ethan put in him.
A quick search online shows me the name of the hotel where most of the players are staying, so I grab an Uber in that direction while trying to figure out a plan. I've already sent Ethan a text – just a quick Can we talk? - but he hasn't opened it yet.
That, or he's blocked me.
Still, I think of the state of my notifications right now and realize his must be a hundred - a thousand - times worse. I approach the front desk, not sure how to execute this next part. I wonder for a moment how Ethan managed to get my room number back in September.
“How many I help you, sir?”
I try to exude confidence I don't feel in this moment.
“Yes, hi. I'm one of the hockey players here with the All Star Game. One of the players left his phone behind in the locker room and I was hoping you could tell me his room number? I have no other way to get it to him and I've got an early flight.”
She looks at me, considering. I'm hoping she knows hockey just enough to recognize me as a player, but not enough to know whether I'm at the All Star Game this weekend.
Her appraising glance catches on my hockey thighs as a blush rises in her cheeks.
As her eyes raise back to mine, I swear that she bats her eyelashes at me.
Well, apparently she doesn't know hockey well enough to know I'm gay.
“Of course, I'm happy to help. What's the player's name?”
“Ethan Tremblay.”
She types in her computer, smiling shyly at me.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Tremblay is in room number 1524. Those elevators, fifteenth floor.”
I smile and start to walk away.
“And, uh, if you'd like to have drinks later tonight, my shift ends at ten.”
I freeze in place, forcing a smile onto my face.
“I'll, uh, have to see what the boys are doing, you know?”
I back away toward the elevator, making a note to find a back way out later. As I enter the elevator, I wonder if Ethan is already in his room. By now, it's been an hour since the game ended. Will he come straight back? Will he go out with his team?
I follow the signs to his room, my heart beginning to race. Standing in front of his room, I take a deep breath and raise my hand to knock. The rap echoes in the hallway and my ears strain, listening for his footsteps in the room.
After two minutes, I realize they aren't coming. I sit on the floor, leaning my head back against the door.
Since I read the article, I've done nothing but rush – to pay the bill, to the car, to the airplane, to the hotel. Now, sitting here on this ugly, patterned carpet, it all comes rushing in.
He came out.
For all that I tried to talk him out of it, I can't help but feel proud of him, and even prouder for how. It wasn't about me, or protecting me, or bargaining to be with me. It was about him – telling his truth, and reminding everyone in hockey that there are more people like him, like me.
I scroll through my messages again, hoping against hope there will be a note from him.
There's nothing, although I see a few texts from the team, making sure I've seen the article.
I heart react to them, grateful the boys understand that I'd want to see this, regardless of where Ethan and I are personally.
I return to the group text, scrolling up through the supportive messages from the team, noticing that Price and Koskinen haven’t responded yet. I reread his words, hearing his voice in my head as I do.
How stupid I was to try to back away. What if I've ruined my chance? On that voicemail, he sounded sad, but decided. He was ready to do this, with or without me. Still in the group chat, I start a text of my own.
Jamie Carter 10:07 PM
So proud of you, Cap. I'm happy you are finally able to live your life out loud. The team is lucky to have you.
As I hit send, I hear a buzz down the hall. I look up and there he is, standing at the end of the hallway. He seems to have come to a stop, and I feel my eyes begin to fill. I push myself to my feet, trying to blink away the tears. He still stands, silent and staring.
“Hi.”
I wish I could say more, could tell him how proud I am of him, how much I hope he's still willing to find space in his life for me. But my voice cracks on this single word, and I know more is beyond me right now.
“Jamie?”
His tone is not angry or sad, but almost...disbelieving?
I nod, aware of the tears starting to fall. In seconds, he is in front of me, his long strides eating up the carpet between us. As he arrives, he lifts a hand to my face, using his thumb to wipe away the tears. Then, without a word, he wraps his arms around me, and all my worries fall away.