Page 13 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

I can hear the swish-swish of windshield wipers and the heavy zoom of an engine. I don’t often miss Minnesota, but now I blink rapidly.

Dad used to drive me to every practice, imparting advice. Thanks to him, I went all the way to the top.

“Maybe I should come home?” I suggest.

“What? No!”

I tense.

“You gotta make them jealous, son. If they’re going to put you on leave, you can’t go back to the Midwest with your tail between your legs like some fucking loser.”

I press my lips together. I want to tell him that’s exactly where I want to be. Mom and Dad are in a nice house now, a six-thousand-square-foot home with a view of Lake Minnetonka.

It’s too bad I didn’t think about heating expenses when I bought the house, and how Dad likes things cozy, and that no one needs fifteen-foot ceilings except bored architects who want to make a name for themselves designing idiotic things only silly city people would actually buy.

But I sort of thought all those bedrooms meant someday I would have a space there. Someday, if I got injured. Or, as fate might have it, got kicked off the team.

Because a two-week suspension doesn’t scream confidence in me.

I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’ll remain a Blizzard much longer.

“Should I apologize?” I ask. “Maybe talk to Finn? We live in the same apartment complex and used to hang out a lot...”

My voice trails off, because that was before Noah. Because once Finn met Noah, it didn’t matter how often Finn and I had partied together in the past. The only thing that mattered was that I didn’t jump from happiness that my former bro was devoted to some loser guy.

Though actually maybe it would be better to speak to Noah. The guy is sweet and obviously has an in with Finn. If I were into guys, I could see why Finn is drawn to him. He’s sort of innocent, even though he has all that non-innocent sex with Finn. But I’m not into men, so it’s still a mystery why Finn and he are together.

“Don’t you dare apologize!” Dad’s voice barrels through the phone. “They should apologize to you! You scored a goal in the last game, and they’re benching you? Where’s the logic? Nope, what you gotta do is make them jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah. Show them you’re the boss. Go on vacation somewhere fancy. Fiji, maybe. Show them they can’t hurt you.”

“I don’t think going on vacation is my best strategy,” I say, but the words sound hollow. Because fuck it, a vacation sounds amazing. Even in the summer, I’m always working, always training. Always hoping if I train hard enough, if I focus enough, I can see my goal count in the season go up.

Unfortunately, I’m consistent.

“Jason, they can’t treat you like this,” Dad continues. “You know not a single other NHL team has another out player on it? The Blizzards are in the wrong here. All because Holberg has that gay son. And Volkov was trying to pull one over the government! Do you know how bad that is?”

“Yeah,” I say, but something in my chest hurts. Because there’re some things I’ve never told Dad. Some thoughts I’ve squelched away.

I open my mouth.

Nothing comes out.

I try again. “There’s something wrong with me.”

I sense Dad stiffening on the other side of the line. “What do you mean?”

The air thickens, and I’m suddenly reminded of the time Dad told me the internet wasn’t private, not when you’re in the same household, and that I was looking at disgusting things I shouldn’t have been.

Shame bubbles through me, even though that happened ten years ago.

I told him I was just browsing. Just couldn’t believe guys actually did the things they did with other guys.

At the end he was cool and told me he blamed the media for making people curious and warned me to never look at those things again.

I don’t want to admit to him I’ve started watching those videos again.