Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
ESME
“Officer Jake Robinson,” I said as I clicked submit on my speeding ticket payment, though the ticket was the least of my thoughts as I paid the fine. No, what I was thinking of was the police officer who had written the ticket. The gorgeous blue-eyed man from Knoxville. The same one I had fantasized about for months. The one who had fucked my cock like he was a champion bull rider and I was the prized bull.
All the memories of his moans and whimpers and curses had brought me to way more orgasms than I was willing to admit to since I’d gotten back to Boston in July. I kept telling myself Grindr wasn’t a dating app, it was a hookup app, and I shouldn’t go looking for him again. I was being ridiculous and I knew it, but I couldn’t get him out of my thoughts.
And now I had his name and badge number and knew he lived in Nashville. I could find him even without Grindr. Which was also ridiculous, because that would make me a stalker and I didn’t even live in Nashville. Hell, I probably hadn’t gotten the job.
Scratch that, I didn’t get the job. And I kept telling myself it was fine, because I didn't want the job anyway. Which was a good thing because no one in their right mind would hire the idiot I’d been when I interviewed with the Parliament. My mind hadn’t even been in the same room as the interview. It hadn’t been in the same building. It had been on Jake, the man whose name I shouldn’t know. The man I’d fucked and left curled around a fluffy gray blanket.
And no, I hadn’t even been able to get that silly blanket out of my mind. It had become synonymous with the memories of that night. Of fucking him senseless and leaving him with a blanket.
It was all Cass’s fault. The interview, the speeding ticket, the mess my brain had become afterwards. I should have taken the fine and the additional insurance premium out of Cass’s pay. If not for her, I wouldn’t have been in Nashville, much less going so much over the speed limit.
I’d been so caught up in my conversation with Cass, I’d barely noticed the red and blue flashing lights behind my car, much less the police officer. Well, I hadn’t paid attention to him until I looked over and saw familiar blue eyes looking back at me. I was sure my face had looked just as shocked as his had.
Not only had he looked shocked, he’d sounded shocked. He’d stammered and blushed and I’d had a nearly irrepressible urge to try to comfort him. And really, what had that been about anyway? I wasn’t a nurturer. If it didn’t yell at me to feed it, I’d kill it. A look around my condo and the wilted houseplant in the corner was proof.
Of course, I’d been so shocked by the appearance of Red Shirt by my car door, I’d been thankful it hadn’t been me who’d needed to speak first because I wouldn’t have managed the stuttered “Hi” he had. I’d have just sat there staring at him for an uncomfortably long time and then would have probably asked something highly inappropriate like, Do you want to get dinner? Maybe fuck some more?
At least when he’d asked where I was going in such a hurry I was able to forget about his perfect ass long enough to respond. Respond and nearly get myself shot. I could blame Cass for that too, I was sure of it. After all, she was the one who’d had me distracted enough to get the damned ticket that had brought me face-to-face with the man who had set in motion everything that had led to where I was today.
So maybe I should have blamed Jake.
Yet that didn’t feel right because he wasn't the reason I’d retired. He wasn't the reason I hadn’t denied the pictures were of me. He was just the man who had made me admit to myself there was more to me than hockey. If he wasn’t to blame, then that left Cass, and for now she was going to be the one I continued to blame.
I growled in frustration. It didn’t matter if he was cute—he lived in a different state, and it wasn’t like I could go to the Nashville PD and ask for Officer Jake Robinson to ask him out. Well, I could. It might get me arrested on stalking charges or committed for insanity, but I guessed I could. The thought made me laugh at myself, the sound maniacal enough I worried one of my neighbors would overhear and have me committed before Jake could. I was officially a mess.
“What the fuck am I going to do, Chloe?” I asked the giant rodent sleeping next to me. Not like she was going to answer me, but she was a good sounding board.
My phone rang before I could continue my one-sided conversation with Chloe and I grabbed it. Thoughts of the speeding ticket, the missed opportunity with Jake, and oddly enough, the disastrous interview had soured my mood and I snapped as I answered. “What?”
The sigh before any words told me it was Cass, as if my thoughts had conjured a call from her. “Well, I see I caught Nashville’s Director of Player Relations and Development in a good mood.”
“I’m sorry, what?” There was no way I’d heard Cass right. Not only had I not interviewed for that position, I’d interviewed so poorly they hadn’t called me back in two weeks, not even for a follow-up question.
She scoffed, her eye roll as clear as if she’d been standing in the room with me, not in New York City. “Pack your bags, Esme. You’re moving to Nashville. You’re the newest director of player relations and development for the Nashville Grizzlies and Parliament.”
So I’d heard her right the first time, though the words still didn’t make sense. “I interviewed to be an analyst.”
Cass made a dismissive sound and clucked her tongue like she was my mom, not my agent. “You’ve been the captain of the Bulldogs for the last nine years. You clearly have an understanding of what it takes to be a leader. The position opened up at the same time the analyst’s position became available. After talking with you, they’re confident you’re the right person for the job.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I was not the right person for the job. The reason I was out of a job in the first place was because the Bulldogs no longer thought I could lead the team and that my values had been compromised. No matter how much I told myself their reasons were bullshit, the hate in Coach Anders’s eyes and the disgust that had filled his voice as he laid out the grainy pictures of me at a club, dancing with Jake—great, and now I was calling him Jake in my head—had done a number on my confidence in being able to be myself in my private life. Sure, it hadn’t been much, or often, but I’d been to more gay clubs and had more hookups in the past two seasons than I’d had in all the other years of my career combined.
“They’re wrong.” My voice came out dry as dust. It was too much to think about.
Cass sobered and blew out a long, slow breath, in the process going from sounding like my mother to sounding like my grandmother. “I fucking hate Anders. He’s a moron who groomed you and the rest of the team to be just like him.”
He’d been like a father to me the entire fifteen years of my career. A few pixelated, blurry photos, nearly too dark to make out my face, had changed everything I thought I’d known. I’d learned that day Anders wasn’t a father figure to me, and it had left me contemplating what I really knew about myself or anyone else.
“You are a good man, Es.” Her voice was soft and filled with kindness I didn’t feel I deserved. “You’re knowledgeable, hardworking, and driven.” She sighed. “Es, you’re wickedly smart, even after all the hits to the head you’ve taken. And Nashville is going to be a good place for you to find your footing after hockey.”
What she hadn’t said was as clear as what she had. Nashville had become a mecca for out athletes. From their professional football team to their NHL and AHL teams, there were openly gay and bisexual players and staff on every team. It was time for me to live my truth.
I wasn’t ready to give in that easily, though. “What if I don’t take the position?”
In my mind, I could see Cass crossing her arms over her chest and glowering at the phone. “Then I’m going to call you a narrow-minded chickenshit. And I’ve never known you to be chickenshit.”
“But you’ve known me to be narrow-minded?”
“You played for the Bulldogs your entire career. There’s a certain amount of narrow-mindedness that comes with a Bulldogs lifer.” Her words were delivered with clear disgust, and I knew her eyebrows had risen on her forehead as she’d spoken. She and her wife were out and proud, and she’d never made a secret of her dislike of the organization, pegging Anders and the Bulldogs as homophobic immediately. She’d also—as lovingly as possible—warned me of this exact thing happening when I’d finally told her I was bisexual a few years after we’d started working together.
She’d been the first person I’d ever told. And for many years, she and her wife had been the only people who knew.
Knowing this wasn’t a fight I’d win until I’d at least heard Cass out, I took a breath. “Okay, hit me with it. What does this job actually entail?” Director of Player Relations and Development was a pretty damned broad title and I had no idea what would be expected of me.
With my question, Cass’s business brain kicked back into full gear and she began explaining the job to me in painfully thorough detail. Twenty minutes later, my ears were bleeding from all the information, which boiled down to me being in charge of figuring out ways to keep the players involved and engaged with one another while they weren’t on the ice. In addition, I’d be making sure every development coach had what they needed to do their job as well as keeping track of talent scouts and future prospects.
There would be a lot of meetings, a lot of brainstorming sessions, and a lot of collaboration with the coaching staff of both teams. Though as Cass pointed out, the Grizzlies were an established team and had basically done their own player relations for years. While my job title had me technically working with both teams, most of my time would be spent with the Parliament.
Which meant talking with their coaches. The Parliament’s assistant coach was a former Bulldogs teammate, Easton Lafferty. He’d played on the third and fourth lines for years, yet I barely knew him. Not because I hadn’t wanted to get to know him but because I had never taken the time or energy to do so. Even as the captain, I hadn’t bothered to get to know those who had played on my team for years. That right there was every reason I should have been turning down the job offer.
Yet as Cass continued to talk, slowly moving from the job description itself to the teams I’d be working with, my resolve to decline the offer began to waver. “With most of the coaching staff and many of the players being on the LGBTQ+ spectrum, both teams are heavily invested in the LGBTQIA community. I’m sure you heard of their protest of the league’s ban on promo jerseys.”
Who hadn ’ t?
Not only had the players for both the Grizzlies and the Parliament used Pride tape during warmups, they’d used it for the game too. And they’d created jerseys they’d worn the entire game. The possibility of fines and the potential scrutiny from the league heads hadn’t mattered to them.
The back-to-back Grizzlies and Parliament inclusion night games had rocked the professional hockey head offices. The outpouring of support from fans and organizations around the nation and the world had ensured the promised fines and consequences never materialized. While an official reversal of the ridiculous policy had not been formally announced, the lack of a statement from the leagues was enough… at least for most teams.
The last I’d heard, Anders had not backed down on his threatened multigame suspensions for any player who chose to participate in Boston’s Pride Night festivities.
I hadn’t realized I had made up my mind until I heard myself speak. “When do they want me there?”
The shriek Cass let out made me pull the phone from my ear and wince. “As soon as you can. You’re going to love it in Nashville!”
That was yet to be seen, but either way I was moving to Nashville.
After a few minutes talking about the logistics of the move, we hung up and I looked over at Chloe. “What do you think?” She’d been listening to my conversation with one eye open and her ear twitching every time I spoke. I gave her a gentle scratch on the head. Her wiry, quill-like coat had once struck me as strange but now was as normal to me as Stank’s soft fur. “I bet we can find you a house with a big pond and lots of space to roam.”
Chloe squealed in the way only a capybara could. A year earlier, I’d been shocked at how vocal the little thing that could still fit in my palm had been when I’d first met her at the vet’s office. I’d taken Stank, my long-haired black cat with a white stripe down his back, in for a checkup. Chloe had been rescued from a hoarding situation as a baby and had been brought to my vet until she was old enough to be adopted out. It was pure luck I’d come across her when I had. It had only taken one look into her brown eyes and I’d fallen in love.
Fast forward a year and Stank and Chloe were best friends. Wherever one was, the other was sure to be there. At the moment, Stank was sound asleep on Chloe’s back and couldn’t have cared less that we were going to move soon.
It said a lot about me that I was telling my one-hundred-thirty-pound rodent I’d taken a new job before any of my friends. Not that I had many people I considered friends, not anymore. A couple months ago, I had thought my teammates were my friends, yet in the weeks following my sudden departure, I’d only had a few calls from the guys on the team.
On a sigh, I put my phone down and opened my laptop.
I needed a new home.