Page 94 of Hotshot
“Fuck, no.”
I laughed, tapping my stick to Jake’s as I scanned the crowd, looking for Hank.
I thought I’d spotted him earlier, but I couldn’t be sure. I checked again at the end of the scrimmage, and again when we lined up for a brief award ceremony where each coach gave a short speech, thanking the kids and their families.
Grams was in the second row next to MK, Niall, Micah, and his girlfriend. I saw Nolan, JC, and Bryson, but…no Hank.
He wasn’t here.
“…to thank everyone in Elmwood. You guys rock! I’m coming back next year. Save me some cookies, Grams,” Trinsky hollered, passing the microphone to Jake.
“I want to thank our juniors for being so dedicated and…”
“Thank you, parents! Has anyone thanked the parents yet?”
I clapped through speech after speech. And then, the mic was in my hand. I stared at it for a beat, glanced up at the fans once more, and skated forward.
“Hi, everyone. I usually keep it super short, but I wanted to say something kind of personal,” I began, blocking out the curious twitter in the arena. “I came here when I was fifteen almost sixteen, and it was a rough time for me. I’d lost my dad, and I didn’t know anyone, and hockey was my thing. It taught me some big lessons about cooperation, friendship, and gratitude. As a bisexual athlete who’s struggled with depression and anxiety, I know the value of community. Elmwood rocks, and I hope every teen who’s come through our camp this summer has felt a little bit of the magic of this incredible place. Hope to see you again next year.”
I skated to the blue line and handed off the microphone. Thunderous applause rained from the rafters, and in an instant, I was surrounded by my teammates and the coaches I’d grown up idolizing in a group hug.
“Holy fuck, Mellon. That was more than three fucking words. And did you just fucking come out?” Trinsky asked, gripping my elbow.
“Yeah, I did.”
Trinsky thumped my shoulder. “Hey, I’m proud of you, man.”
Jake squeezed my head, Court jabbed my side, Vinnie and Riley tapped their sticks to mine, and Smitty hugged the living daylights out of me. I laughed as I gazed up at the audience, looking for Hank one last time.
And…there he was.
Hank stood in the aisle, clapping, his Stetson cocked slightly, a broad smile on his face.
And you know, this was happiness.
It was him.
I sent a text as soon as I was off the ice. I had another speech to give. And this one mattered most of all.
The light nextto the barn door illuminated the picnic table and the nearby paddock where a cowboy stood leaning with one foot on the fence, speaking softly to his horses. It was like a scene out of a movie or the cover of a Western-themed romance, complete with a hint of mist on the horizon. He looked solid and safe. Like home.
Hank tilted his hat and met my gaze. “Congratulations.”
“For what?”
“Coming out. You knew the risk, and you did it anyway. That was brave.”
“I don’t know…maybe.” I tugged at the brim of my ball cap, took it off my head, and put it on backward to give my hands something to do. Fuck, I was nervous. “There’s a chance that the Condors management will have second thoughts about me. I might get to Denver and be asked to clear out my locker.”
Hank scoffed lightly. “I sincerely doubt that will happen.”
“Doesn’t matter. I have no regrets.”
My heart was pounding in my ears, and my hands were shaky as fuck. I didn’t trust myself with words. I’d already used my quota for the week at the rink, but damn it, I’d come here to say something, and I wasn’t going anywhere now.
I stepped closer, drinking in his cool, confident aura. I wanted the right to move into his space, lay my head on his shoulder, and just…be. And maybe I could have it all if I could find my voice one more time.
But he was talking. “I’m glad. Good luck in Denver and in?—”