Chapter One #2
Realizing I was gay hadn't arrived with some dramatic revelation.
It had crept silently into my life over several years until denying it became impossible.
Keeping that knowledge private had seemed easier than risking awkward conversations, endless questions or becoming known for something that had absolutely nothing to do with the person I worked so hard to become.
Perhaps Evergreen would remain another place where the secret stayed locked safely away. Or perhaps, three thousand miles from everyone who'd known me since childhood, I'd finally discover what it felt like to stop hiding. I honestly didn't know which possibility frightened me more.
When the aircraft door opened, cool air wafted through the cabin, carrying with it a scent so different from the humid saltiness of Florida that I drew a deeper breath.
It smelled clean, sharp, as though the mountains surrounding the city filtered everything before allowing it to settle over Spokane.
By the time I stepped into the terminal, I already understood why people spoke so passionately about the Pacific Northwest. Everything was brighter, the afternoon sunlight reflecting through the enormous glass windows that overlooked the tarmac, while beyond the airport I could still make out the dark outline of forests stretching toward the distant peaks.
Passengers hurried around me, anxious to reach family or collect luggage before the carousel became crowded, yet I found myself walking slower than usual.
There wasn't any real reason to rush. Nobody waited impatiently for my arrival, and for the first time in years I wasn't traveling with teammates jostling one another for position or arguing over whose hockey bag would appear first.
It felt strangely different.
Not around me.
Inside me.
For fifteen years my life had followed an identical pattern.
School. Training. Games. Homework squeezed into hotel rooms or airport lounges.
Summer conditioning. Repeat. There had always been familiar faces surrounding me, coaches whose voices I could identify without turning around and teammates who understood exactly what I was thinking after nothing more than a glance across the locker room.
That familiarity had disappeared long before the aircraft began its descent into Spokane.
Ahead lay an entirely different team, new expectations and the challenge athletes secretly craved despite pretending otherwise.
Competition had a way of stripping away reputations until only performance remained.
Nobody cared how many goals I'd scored in Florida once training camp began.
The players already wearing Evergreen Red Cedars jerseys had spent years earning Coach Callahan's trust. Now it was my turn to earn it.
The thought eased my nerves more than any reassuring speech could have managed.
I'd earned every opportunity I'd ever received. There was no reason to believe this one would be any different.
My hockey bag appeared surprisingly quickly, its familiar navy canvas marked with airline stickers from tournaments scattered across North America.
Years earlier my mother had embroidered my initials onto one end after another player accidentally carried it onto the wrong bus following a showcase in Minnesota.
She'd joked that if I was determined to spend half my life traveling, she wanted to make sure my equipment managed to find its way home.
Mom had cried the previous evening while pretending she wasn't crying.
Dad had hidden his emotions better, although not well enough to fool either of us. He'd gripped my shoulder after loading the last suitcase into the car and reminded me, with deliberate casualness, that the guest room would always remain exactly as I'd left it.
Neither conversation had been dramatic. Neither needed to be.
Families didn't always express love through speeches.
Sometimes it existed in practical gestures.
A carefully packed container of homemade lasagna tucked inside a cooler.
Fresh skate laces my father insisted on buying despite the dozen pairs already buried in my equipment bag.
My mother's handwritten recipe book slipped between textbooks because she refused to accept that university cafeterias could produce edible food.
I hoped she never discovered how often I'd probably rely on takeaway instead.
The vibration against my thigh pulled me from my thoughts.
As expected…Corey.
A photograph filled the screen before I'd even opened the message.
He'd taken a selfie outside Gulf Coast University's engineering building, wearing an expression of exaggerated misery while holding a textbook thick enough to stop a bullet.
Corey: Already regretting this life choice. Hope you're suffering too.
A second message followed quickly.
Corey: Seriously though...you've got this.
I laughed to myself.
That was Corey in two texts.
One joke.
One truth.
I replied with a photograph of my hockey bag sitting beside the baggage carousel.
Me: Still alive. No mountain lions yet.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Corey: Give it a week.
I slipped the phone away before temptation convinced me to continue the conversation. We could talk properly once I'd unpacked. Right now I needed to start living the life we'd both spent months preparing for.
Outside the terminal, a university vehicle waited beneath a bright blue sky that seemed larger than the one I'd left behind. A man in his early forties stepped forward as soon as he noticed the Evergreen Red Cedars logo stitched across the sleeve of my jacket.
"Mason Brooks?"
His handshake was warm, accompanied by the easy confidence of someone who'd spent years putting new arrivals at ease.
"I'm David Peters. Student-athlete services. Coach Callahan sends his apologies. He's putting the finishing touches on the team's preseason retreat. We leave first thing tomorrow morning for five days before classes begin next week."
"I figured he'd have more important things to do than collect new players."
David chuckled as he lifted my equipment bag into the rear of the SUV with the practiced ease of someone who'd handled thousands of hockey bags over the years.
"He'd probably disagree. Patrick still insists players come before paperwork, but the athletic director occasionally reminds him some meetings are impossible to escape."
The drive toward campus carried us through neighborhoods unlike any I'd known growing up.
Wide roads wound around parks and clusters of towering evergreens, while cyclists and runners seemed to appear on almost every street.
The city possessed an unhurried confidence that appealed to me from the minute I arrived.
Nobody seemed desperate to be elsewhere.
David pointed toward the river cutting through the center of Spokane.
"Most students end up down there once the school year has commenced. Walking trails, cafés, weekend markets. You'll discover plenty beyond the rink if you give yourself the chance."
"I hope so."
He glanced across with an amused smirk.
"Hockey players usually answer that by asking where the nearest gym is."
"I've already checked where it's located."
"So there is hope for you after all."
Conversation unfolded naturally after that, touching briefly on campus traditions, the demands of balancing athletics with study and the expectations placed upon scholarship players.
David clearly enjoyed his role, speaking about the university with genuine affection rather than rehearsed enthusiasm.
"Coach mentioned you're studying kinesiology."
"That's the plan."
"Thinking about sports medicine after that?"
"That's the goal. Rehabilitation interests me as much as hockey."
"Smart choice. Professional athletic careers don't last forever."
"My father reminds me of that regularly."
"Wise man."
The lights changed, and we continued toward the university.
As the first sandstone buildings emerged beyond rows of towering pine trees, I felt my stomach tighten again.
Photographs on websites and recruitment brochures hadn't prepared me for the scale of the campus.
Historic buildings stood beside sleek glass structures without looking out of place, and broad lawns stretched between them, crowded with students carrying coffee cups, laptops, and boxes as they commenced moving into residence halls ahead of the new semester.
Summer-session students mixed with early arrivals for the fall term, giving the campus an energy that suggested it was already waking from its summer hiatus.
Everything appeared established.
Confident.
Evergreen State University wasn't trying to impress visitors.
It didn't need to.
David slowed the vehicle as we approached the athletic precinct.
"There she is."
The Red Cedars arena dominated the western edge of campus, its modern facade gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. Huge banners celebrating conference championships hung proudly across the entrance, and bronze statues of former players stood outside as silent reminders of the program's history.
One of the inscriptions carved into polished granite stood out.
Earn the jersey every day.
The words lingered in my mind as I focused on the arena. Coach Callahan had said much the same thing in Florida. Nothing would be handed to me here, and I'd never expected it would.
For the first time since leaving Florida, I relaxed. This was exactly where I belonged.
David parked outside the athletes' residence before switching off the engine, and for a moment neither of us moved.
Students wandered between the buildings in small groups, some carrying boxes into dormitories while others appeared to know exactly where they were going.
The campus possessed the comfortable confidence of a place that had been welcoming nervous newcomers for generations.
I was simply the latest in a long line of students arriving with equal measures of excitement and uncertainty.