Page 16
Fifteen
Ryder
“ R yder, just the man I wanted to see!”
I freeze, biting back a groan as I exit the locker room after morning practice. I turn slowly at the bright, sunny voice of McKenna Kresley. She probably has some publicity request or promo idea to insist I help with again, like the opening night bullshit she roped me into by holding the rehabilitation of my image over my head. Her shiny red hair bounces in a high ponytail as she jogs up to me in her usual pantsuit over a Hydras graphic T-shirt and sneakers.
“McKenna, always good to see you,” I lie. She’s actually nice, but her job makes it difficult to enjoy being around her, despite her having a likable personality.
“I loved seeing your drag brunch photos. It was a perfect turnaround from the last time you were in the press, and people are eating it up. I couldn't have planned it better myself.”
“That’s great?” I say, with more of a question in my words.
“We’re getting a lot of inquiries about the nature of the outing and your relationship with Knox Contraire, so any information you can provide me to field those would be great,” she says, her eyebrows raising like she wants me to clue into what she’s not saying. I hear her loud and clear. My shoulders creeping toward my ears and have to fight the urge to snap at her because it’s not her fault she’s getting questions about what I’m doing, but it is her job to help me look good. I roll my eyes and commit to answering the best I can.
“It’s part of the fucking sensitivity training I’m doing. Knox is helping me. Our agent knows he’s great with interviews and keeping his cool under pressure, and wanted me to learn from him,” I say quickly. “We were both forced into this. It’s not like we’re doing any of it together because we want to. Knox is putting me in these stupid situations that push my boundaries to force me to keep my head when I’d normally get mad. The drag brunch was sort of the live version of that. It was pretty fun.”
Her face brightens even more. “That’s incredible. What a story. You knew each other when you were younger, too, right? What’s it like reconnecting now? ”
That’s a loaded fucking question even if she doesn't mean for it to be. Living with Knox, seeing him as much as I do, and having him beat these sensitivity lessons into me every chance he gets has been weird. It’s both nostalgic and awful. I’m constantly reminded of our friendship growing up and the rift I caused between us, but I don't even know where to begin to fix it. Learning how much I miss him has been eye-opening.
“We’re navigating what it’s like seeing each other as adults when we didn't leave things on great terms as kids,” I say, honestly. “I think the drag brunch was the first time we’ve had fun together in ages.” Look at me, being honest and open with more people. Turning over a new leaf and shit. Knox really is rubbing off on me.
“Well, the coverage has been amazing and has brought a lot of attention to the Hydras that we hadn’t expected, and ticket sales are up,” she says, wiggling her fingers at me like I should be excited about this, too.
“Yay,” I say without her enthusiasm, but I’m relieved to be moving on from the topic of Knox.
“We want to capitalize on the good feelings and pair you with our Pride Night initiative coming up.” She beams at me, but my stomach is about to fall out of my ass.
“You want what?” There’s no way she wants me to do anything that would align me with, what exactly—being gay? Because I’m not gay, and I don't want people to think I am. This is a terrible idea.
“We’re partnering with Outlanta, a local organization that helps at-risk youth with resources. Things like providing community education, medical care after traumatic events, or basic needs like housing for those who lose their homes after coming out to their families, and resources for those who can’t come out for whatever reason. It’s a great organization and does amazing work for the community. They even provide a ton of resources and medical care for those living with HIV/AIDs, which gets pretty expensive.” McKenna is ticking off all of these things this organization does on her fingers, her big blue eyes widening as she goes.
“And how are you wanting to pair me up with them, exactly?” I ask hesitantly. Please don't say you want me to do some campaign that would put a giant spotlight on my sexuality.
“You’ll be the face of Pride Night! We’ll shoot a campaign of photos and videos with you, touting the benefits of Outlanta, letting fans know how they can help by bidding on the Pride Night jerseys or making direct donations. It’s a tight turnaround because Pride Night is next week, and our current campaign is fine, but having you involved would kick it up, so we’re willing to reshoot everything to include you. Besides, it would be so good for your optics. The GM and ownership would look favorably on the partnership,” she finishes, pounding the final nail in the coffin.
How can I say no to that? I’m already a PR nightmare, threatened with being traded. I’m at their mercy to do whatever is required to rehabilitate my image.
“So, what do I do in these photos and videos? Kiss a dude? Because that’s going too far for my image,” I tell her seriously.
Her freckled nose crinkles as she laughs like I’ve made a joke. “Oh, God, no. I mean, not unless you wanted to.” She looks at me quizzically, trying to decipher if she could convince me before shaking her head. “For the videos, we’ll give you scripts about how important Outlanta is and why the Hydras have partnered with their organization, and we’ll do a shoot with you in the Pride Night jersey. They’ll be game-worn when we finish the online auction, and we’ll have them signed by all the players. We’ll do all the B-roll shots for socials and make sure our team has what they need to tease it.”
That sounds easy enough. “I don't have to talk to the media or anything, right? Just the photos and videos before the game?” I ask, needing to know exactly what I’m getting into.
McKenna’s smile falters slightly before she renews her look of excitement. “We have a few interviews set up specifically for this campaign because it’s so important to us. They’re highly controlled, and I’m vetting the questions so there won't be any surprises. It will be so good for you, Ryder,” she gushes, trying extra hard to sell me on something she’s already roped me into.
I sigh. “Fine. But this is the last thing I’m doing,” I threaten, hoping she’ll take me seriously.
Her smile flattens like she’s trying not to laugh because we both know I’m at the whims of the organization for the foreseeable future. But someday, I’ll have made it past this bump in my career, and they won't have so much to hold over me.
“Of course, Ryder. I’ll email you the details for the shoot. See you tonight for the game.” McKenna flutters her fingers in a little wave, turns, and bounces away while I’m stuck, thinking about this Pride Night thing.
As I leave the arena and head for the hotel—which is really fucking weird to not leave for my place after living in Boston for almost ten years—I pull my phone out and text Knox.
Ryder: The Hydras want me to be the face of some Pride Night campaign we’re doing. I don’t know how to do that.
He texts back faster than expected. Probably because he doesn’t have a life.
Knox: Are you asking me how to represent the gays? Because I’m the last person you should ask. Hello, in the closet, remember?
Ryder: No! They’re taking photos and videos, and have this special jersey we have to wear. But I have to, like, be an ambassador for it or something. I don't know how to do that. I’m better at sticking my foot in my mouth and saying shitty things than I am talking up an organization known for their work with at-risk youth and the LGBTQ+ community.
Knox: It’s easy. You just let people love who they want to love and don't say shit about what people want to do in their bedrooms.
Ryder: Obviously there’s more to it than that, dumbass! Like, how do I show support without, you know, coming off as gay?
Wow, that feels way too fucking vulnerable to even ask. I don't think I could have said those words to Knox’s face, but typing them in a text is a bit easier.
Knox: …
Knox: Okay, Reckless, let me get this straight. You’re worried about people thinking you’re gay if you participate in a Pride Night campaign or wear a Pride jersey?
Okay, when he puts it like that, it sounds fucking stupid to be worried about it. I also hear the unsaid, “ How insecure about your sexuality are you?” loud and clear. I have my reasons for being worried, and he should know this. But maybe he doesn't? I never explained to Knox why I decided it was better to ruin his life than have mine ruined back in high school.
Ryder: Listen, when Commisso started fucking with us freshman year, calling us boyfriends and saying we just needed to come out already, it wasn’t because we were actually gay. It was just because we were close friends. I don't know why he singled us out. We weren’t doing anything different from any other guys with their friends. But somehow, just the idea that we could be gay was enough to start rumors and torment us. He would have harassed me until I quit hockey. That’s how much of an ass he was and how bad it felt for me.
Ryder: I did the worst thing I could think of to put distance between myself and those rumors, hoping to keep the one thing I had that could pull me out of my shitty life by siding with him and redirecting the hate elsewhere. I don't have to tell you the rest. I was horrible in the name of saving face.
Ryder: What if aligning with this LGBTQ+ organization and being the face of Pride Night brings it all back, and people make fun of me? I don't think I can take it.
Jesus. Fuck. Look at me just spilling my guts out over text these days. First through the Vers app and now to Knox. I feel fourteen all over again, but this time, I’m letting Knox into the inner turmoil of what this is doing to me rather than pushing him out and pointing the ridicule his way to get the spotlight off me. At least I’ve matured a bit this time around and am not repeating the same horrible mistakes of my youth. I wait anxiously for Knox's response, but it doesn't come right away. I’m back in my hotel room, pacing by the time my phone pings.
Knox: It comes down to fear. You have to overcome fears to make it through every single day, and you have things that help you get past them. Some fears are so small you don't even notice them anymore, like getting hit in the face with a puck. You wear protective gear and a face mask to keep yourself safe. Some fears are bigger, like flying in an airplane. You probably have coping mechanisms that help you get through every takeoff and landing, otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to travel with the team.
Fuck, he remembered my fear of flying. And he’s right. I go through a visualization exercise on the tarmac before every flight to remind myself that the plane will make it up and land safely, to help with my anxiety. It’s not as bad anymore, but some flights with a lot of turbulence or bad weather fuck with me and I have to repeat the exercises.
Knox: Your fear of what others think about you is another thing you will have to overcome. You’re the only one who can do the work required. You have to remember that it’s none of your business what other people think of you, one, and two, fuck them if they want to judge.
I snort a laugh and flop onto the bed, rereading Knox’s texts. He’s always been so good with motivation and pep talks. He's incredibly positive and realistic. It’s reassuring. It’s sinking in how much I’ve missed this.
Knox: If you’re worried people will think you’re gay because you wear a special jersey and happen to talk about an organization doing good work for others, you’re focusing on the wrong things. Sure, some small-minded people will always say shitty things about anything LGBTQ+ related, but that’s not personal to you. That’s a them problem. Let them deal with it. Hold your head high and know you’re doing something worthy and respectable for people who deserve it, and that’s you standing on business.
Damn. It’s that fucking simple. Let people love who they want to love. Let people think what they want, it’s not for me to know or care. Let people deal with their own insecurities, it’s their problem. Let worthy causes have my attention.
I type out a quick reply that I know can never convey the depth of my appreciation, but it’s all I have.
Ryder: Thank you .
Now, if only I could get him to talk me up for the game against Boston because that shit is eating me alive.
My phone pings with another text.
Knox: You’re going to crush Boston tonight. Don't let them get in your head. Show them what they’re missing and that you’re better off without them.
Well, shit.
Three goals. My former teammates have sunk three past me already, and my head is buzzing with the sound of the goal horn that normally would be incredible to hear, yet is salt in the wound tonight.
“Looks like we traded you for a draft pick just in time. You’ve really lost your edge, Kingsy,” Miller chirps as he skates into the crease following Rogers's latest goal. Matt Miller and I were friends, and here he is, chirping at me not six months after we played together last.
Campbell pushes Miller out of the crease, giving me space to take a breath and deal with letting in another goal. “Fuck off, Miller. You haven’t scored. You don't get to run your mouth,” he says, getting into the smaller forward’s face. Campbell has been quick to defend me in each game, playing his role of enforcer when needed, and it feels good to see my new team have my back as well as Boston used to.
Westy skates up and hits my leg pad with his stick. “Don't let them get to you, Kingsy. We have two. We’ll tie it up and get ahead. We’re not letting Boston win tonight.”
Monty follows Westy and pulls my helmet into his. “Bring it back. You’re better than this. Don't think about what’s happened, only what you have ahead of you, and that’s stopping more shots and being our backbone.” He slaps my helmet encouragingly and grunts.
I appreciate their motivation because this shit is hard. Boston is a phenomenal team, I know for a fact as I was part of it for so long. It’s hard to play against a team that works as such a well-oiled unit. I push up my mask and shake the sweat out of my face as I grab water. How are we supposed to get past them when they work so well together? Actually, I may be able to use some of the knowledge I picked up in my decade with the team to exploit the few weaknesses they have.
“Hey, Monty,” I call before he can skate back to center ice for the face-off. He turns and skates closer. “Watch Hodgins on defense. He tends to get lazy on the left, leaving a pocket perfect to slip into. Tell Westy to pass to you if he gets the puck, and make sure you get into that spot. I know Upton’s weaknesses,” I tell him. Upton was my goalie tandem partner and is now their number one, the goalie Boston kept when they traded me to Atlanta. “He’s slow to react to dekes, and you can get it past him if you take it around the back. He focuses too hard on what’s in front of you.” I pass along the information to my captain, knowing he’ll do what he can if they get the chance. Monty nods in understanding and skates off to huddle with Westin and Chad before they set up for the face-off.
The Hydras win the face-off, Westy tipping the puck back to Chad, who pushes it forward as Boston comes at them hot. He passes back to Rook when there’s no clear forward opening, and Rook gets it to Westy, who sees Monty in the pocket I told him about. Westy fires the puck over to Monty, who charges toward the net. Upton is on high alert, waiting for the shot, and the defenders are working to keep our team apart. Monty fakes a shot at Upton’s glove side, sending the big goalie lunging to his left, only to slide the puck back between his legs with his stick and flip it over the goalie’s shoulder as he skates past. The lamp lights and Upton throws his stick down in frustration as the score ties. It was a shot you don't see often, happening so quickly I have to look up to the Jumbotron to watch the replay as Monty enjoys his celly at the other end of the ice, and the guys join him.
I squirt water through my mask as the players reset. A tied score feels better than being behind, but there’s more pressure than ever to score again and to keep Boston from getting any other points. I quickly scan the crowd as I tip my head back, and that’s when I see the sign.
Kingsy, you’re not our king anymore. We’re up with Upton. Get bent!
Ouch. I shouldn't be surprised to see it; this happens all the time when players are traded, but it still hurts after all the years I gave this team and the fans. Get bent, huh? How about we win this thing and shut up all those naysayers with their signs and my former teammates with their chirps. Now I have even more to prove. I resettle my stick and adjust my glove and blocker. Let’s fucking do this.
The rest of the period is a bloodbath. Both teams are battling for the puck, players flying into the boards and starting fights when play gets a bit too rough. Campbell gets the puck and sees Miller skating for him, clearly looking for a body check. Campbell ducks, throwing his shoulder into Miller’s stomach and lifting, sending Miller tumbling over his back and onto the ice instead. But that gets the attention of two other Boston players, who meet him in the corner, both players checking him brutally as they fight for the puck. Campbell drops to his knees on the ice, and Boston takes possession, skating back toward me. How the refs don’t call that is beyond me, but I don't have time to argue the point when I have every Boston player on the ice barreling down on me. Coach calls a line change, sending Nico and Davy onto the ice for Rook and Campbell, and they’re hustling to get back to defend our zone, but Boston is locked in and passing fluidly.
It all flashes through my mind in an instant, like it was meant to return. Miller favors glove-side shots but will occasionally aim for the five-hole, trying to sneak it between my legs. Rogers knows I’m weaker over my left shoulder and already took advantage of that once tonight, so he’s probably going to try it again. Hodgins is a mean fucker who likes to skate right into the crease before firing off a shot once I’m stretched out to block his fake.
I follow the progression of their play, watching the passes and knowing where it will go next like clockwork. This is a play they’ve drilled a million times before, I can defend this. When Hodgins predictably skates right up into the crease and takes the pass from Rogers, I throw myself over his stick and smother the puck before he can make the shot. It results in him kneeing the shit out of my mask and tumbling over my body into the goal, but I stopped the fucking puck.
I untangle myself from Hodgins and hold the puck for the ref. I stop every shot Boston takes the rest of the game, like I can read their playbook. We manage to score one more goal to win against my former team. Leaving the arena from the visitors' side doesn't feel so bad after that.