27. Nathan
NATHAN
Nathan had a memory for every partner he’d ever had.
His list wasn’t long. Short for an attractive man, minuscule for a professional athlete.
He’d never blown off steam by using a partner.
Never celebrated by going out and picking someone up.
As much as he hated the phrase, he hadn’t been like a lot of the other guys.
He paced his apartment. Worrying about Octavia, wondering if she’d ever call him back. She’d made her feelings known early on about the culture, and he’d promised her that he was different. Then he lied and said he didn’t know.
Except it wasn’t exactly a lie. He knew shit went down. Heard enough from the guys in the dressing room that turned his stomach, but nothing like this had happened. Suddenly things that Connors had said were shaded in a different light.
Nathan’s stomach rolled thinking about how many times he had shrugged off disgusting things teammates had said. Fuck. He had to do something. And not just because he didn’t want the woman he was falling fast for to hate him.
He checked his phone again, his stomach dropping when there was still nothing from Octavia.
But he could call his agent to see what he could do legally.
Except he knew exactly what his agent would say: stay out of it.
It’s going to get messy. The guy was spineless about this kind of thing. Ruthless when it came to money.
All he wanted was to talk to Octavia, but he knew there would be no rushing this. She had her doubts about him from the start and he knew her well enough by now to know she needed time to process this news before she’d be willing to discuss anything. His impatience was moot.
He forced himself to sit on the couch and stare at his reflection in the TV, debating whether or not to turn it on. Ultimately deciding he wasn’t quite ready to see every channel covering this breaking news.
When his phone rang he hoped to see her name, his heart sinking when Emma’s glowed back at him.
“Hey,” he answered, bracing himself for whatever telling off his big sister was about to deliver.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly, surprising him with the concern in her voice.
His body immediately relaxed and he took his first proper breath since getting home. “Not really,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I can do.”
“I don’t either,” she said and his heart sank. Emma always knew what to do. Even when it seemed impossible, there she was with everything figured out.
“Well, shit.” He sighed, rubbing his face and standing up to begin pacing again. “I’ve never—” he began.
“I know,” Emma interrupted. “You’d never do anything like this because mom would murder you, and then I’d murder you, and Dad would probably come back to really make sure you were dead. Hell, Scottie may get a few blows in too.”
“Sure all of that but also there is no appeal in acting like that,” he replied, his guard up at the implication that consequences were what kept him from being a terrible person.
There was a beat of silence before Emma responded.
“Nate, I know. We all know and I’m sorry that no matter what you’re going to get caught up in this.
I am sorry that you are going to have to answer questions about this for the foreseeable future and you are probably going to be given bullshit canned answers that have been approved by the league.
I wish I was calling with some epic big sister advice, but sadly I have no idea how you can navigate this without blowing up your career. ”
It suddenly seemed so unfair that someone else’s actions—actions he didn’t support in any way, shape, or form—could harm his career. But his career seemed like small potatoes compared to how those actions harmed someone’s life.
He switched the call to speaker and began googling the city where the incident took place, searching for any names associated with the investigation.
“I have to do something,” he mumbled, his mind already on what he was going to say to the lead investigator, Angela Towny, after he hung up and called her.
“Well, you know you have our support. I love you no matter what, Nate, but I’ll probably love you a little more if whatever you do helps someone.”
“Mmhmm.” Nathan’s thumb was already hovering over the end call button. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Thanks for calling.”
The first syllable of Emma’s reply was cut off as Nathan ended the call and immediately dialled the number he’d found for Angela.
“Hello?” A wary voice came from the other end.
“Is this Angela Towny?”
“It is. Who is this?”
“It’s Nathan Albertson,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.
There was near silence on the other end. The only tell that Angela was still there was the sound of a TV.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Albertson?”
“I have some information about the Hockey Seven case.”
More silence.
“I wasn’t involv—”
“Well, you weren’t with that team, so I can assure you that you’re not on the list.”
“I’ve heard things. I don’t know if that matters but I wanted to offer the information if it’s beneficial to the investigation.”
She took a deep breath. “I guess it depends on what you have to say.”
This was it. He was about to spill dressing room secrets that could possibly have some power in a sexual assault case.
“Joey Connors has talked about some woman named Tina all season. Mentioned how she was into group sex and being forced to do things.” As the words left his mouth, he thought of all the times he’d told Octavia what to do while they were being intimate.
Was she doing it because she wanted to or did she feel like she had to? Fuck, he needed to talk to her.
“Mr. Albertson?” The detective’s voice cut into his thoughts.
“Sorry. Um, he complained that it was too bad she wasn’t in the city. Biggest complaint he had about being traded here was because one night hadn’t been enough. I’ve heard him ask guys if they’d be up for going to the bar and finding a local Tina.”
“A local Tina?”
“A local woman who would be into what this Tina woman was supposedly into. Listen, I’ve never been out with the guy, but he makes comments that make him punchable. And I’d say people weren’t paying attention, but I see the way the younger guys take interest in what he talks about.”
“I appreciate the concern but some people are into that. We can’t really go off someone’s kink, it’s—”
“He said it’s better when you have to convince them.
I don’t think he’s talking about finding someone who wants this.
I don’t think Tina wanted this, and I don’t know who the victim in this case is, but I get the impression that it may be Tina.
And if so…I want you to know that he talks about the encounter openly.
I’ve heard enough about teammates’ hookups and I’ve never thought much about it until the GM sat us down today and broke the news.
Do with this information what you will.”
“Anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Well, I appreciate the info. If I have any questions, am I okay to reach you at this number?
“Absolutely, although I don’t know if I will be much more help.”
“I may be in touch,” she said before the line went dead.
Nathan wasn’t sure what to think about the conversation. On one hand she seemed dismissive, but on the other, maybe that’s just how she sounded.
Next, Nathan found the number he’d been given three years earlier when news had started circulating about team doctors over-prescribing painkillers.
“Kurtis McMahon,” a man answered.
Nathan wished he’d prepared for this. He wanted it to be off the record, only because he didn’t want what he said to interfere with the case. He needed to talk to Octavia. He should have talked to her already.
“I have some things to say about hockey culture, but I need to remain anonymous for now.”
“For now?”
“I am okay with being identified, with a full article in the future. Right now, however, I’d like to remain anonymous.”
“Would you be okay to meet in person?”
Nathan thought for a minute. Was he okay to meet in person? Was it safe to do so?
“I can guarantee you anonymity,” Kurtis assured him. “If that’s your concern.”
He laughed at that. In an American city, that would be possible. In hockey-obsessed Toronto, it was unlikely.
“Give me a location you’d prefer and I’ll see you there in an hour.”
“Waterfront, the third bench, the blue one,” Nathan said, looking out the window where he could see the bench from. People were out and about despite the cold, but they rarely sat.
“See you there,” Kurtis confirmed and hung up.
An hour later, Nathan was sitting on the cold, hard bench, leg jiggling with nerves.
He’d nearly cancelled a few times between the call and arriving.
He asked himself if this was something he really wanted to be involved in.
But of course, he already was. He’d heard too many things.
Remained quiet. Saying something now was better than pretending he didn’t know anything.
He jumped when a man sat next to him and sat back, immediately relaxing into the bench.
“So, on the record, anonymous but with the promise of an exclusive in the near future?” he asked.
Nathan cleared his throat. “Yes.”
Kurtis took something out of his pocket and set it between them. Nathan looked down to see an old-fashioned tape recorder.
“Let’s start by confirming your profession,” Kurtis encouraged.
“I’m a professional hockey player.”
“And how long have you been a professional?” he asked.
Nathan nearly said the year number only to realize that could give him away. “I’ve been in the league for over a decade.”
“And how did you feel about the news coming out of the hockey world this morning?”
“Angry.”
“Who was it directed at? The players or the apparent victim?”
God, he hated that description, “apparent victim”. It cast too much doubt for the general public. Likely seemed like a better fit.
“The players, the system, the general culture.”
“But you’re part of it. Have you heard of stuff like this happening before?”
“You hear about a lot. Lots of terminology that is…” He thought about the vocabulary that was common among players when talking about women. “Disgusting, dehumanizing, vile, misogynistic shit.”
“Do you believe the victim in this case, without the facts of evidence being presented?”
“Yes. Players think they’re gods. Fans treat us like gods. It’s hard to remember we aren’t sometimes, and I think there are far too many guys who let it go to their heads in a way that is harmful to others.”
“Do you think the apparent victim wanted to sleep with a player?”
Nathan thought about nights at the bars. There were women that absolutely wanted to bag a player. Some who just wanted a night. Some who wanted it all.
“I wasn’t there, so I can’t say that. I doubt she wanted what ended up happening. But I know these guys sober. Add alcohol into the mix, and I don’t doubt that what she’s saying is true.”
“How prevalent are stories like this in dressing rooms?”
“There’s always chatter. You’ll have seven conversations happening at once, so it’s not always obvious what people are talking about. It’s honestly more common in junior. Young guys experiencing stardom early in their careers.”
“So have people just been brushing it off as boys being boys?”
Nathan scoffed. “I hate that fucking phrase. It’s a pass that allows grown men to get away with anything. But in a sense, people turn a blind eye to it. There are a lot of things not talked about off the ice if a player is performing on it. Even the drug culture is like that.”
“Drug culture?”
“Topic for another day.”
They talked for thirty minutes. Kurtis asked him various questions related to the case in question and some general hockey questions.
At the end, Kurtis asked if he’d be able to reach out once they got more information and ultimately when the case went to court.
Then they agreed that once it was okay to do so, Nathan would give him a full-access, no-holds-barred interview.
No one had ever done that before, and he could practically smell Kurtis’ brain realizing what that could mean for his career.
When he got home, he found Octavia standing at the living room window, silhouetted by the fading light, and his heart stopped.