Page 10

TEN

Noah

Blake and Nik were discussing the latest news on football as we lifted.

The gym was alive with players building muscle and endurance, working their asses off to grab every microsecond of advantage they could get. Most of the vets were secure. Many had no-move or no-trade clauses, so while they also were putting in the work, it wasn’t as frenzied as the rookies or the couple of guys here on waivers who were also trying to make the cut.

“Add another ten,” I panted as I lay flat on my back staring at the ceiling and soaked in sweat.

“You sure? You’re already at fifty over half your weight,” Blake replied, football talk ending as both of my linemates stared down at me. The monitor hooked to my wrist was recording every lift, then sending it to a software program the coaching staff used to monitor our workouts. “If you push too hard they’re going to come down on you for exerting yourself past what the docs have recommended for you.”

“Strength on bench equals success on ice,” I stated and got eyerolls.

“Dude, seriously? Benching is not the be all and end all. Just do your one-fifty for twenty reps. Or do you want to blow out your labrum and rotators?”

“Legs feed the wolf,” Nik interjected.

It kind of pissed me off that they were hassling me but whatever. I sat up, grabbed my towel, and scrubbed my face. My arms were burning anyway. And yeah, they were right. If I overdid training, the coaches and docs would freak out.

“You are beast monster. No worries.” Nik nudged me off the bench, wiped it down with a disinfecting wipe, then splayed his big body over it, planting his feet soundly. “Spot me, if any of you pamby-mamby can lift bar.”

“What a shit-stirrer,” I joked, then took a second to check my numbers. Fuck. Yeah, I had pushed it harder than I should, and my numbers were showing it. I knew better. Overtraining made the muscle less sensitive to insulin, which made it difficult to utilize glucose properly. My levels were higher than I’d like. I tugged my shirt down with a sigh.

“I’m going to get some water and take some insulin. My sugar is kind of high,” I told the guys. Both got that terrified look. “It’s fine. I’m not going to DKA or anything. Just need to get the numbers down. Spot him. Go on, it’s cool. Happens all the time.”

To be honest, it didn’t happen all the time. But it did happen on occasion.

“Okay, we’ll check on you after morning skate. See if you want to go visit that new Mexican place a few blocks over.”

“Cool.” I smiled my brightest smile, then left the gym, tossing my sweaty towel into the bin as I nodded at Cap on the way out.

Hiding the fatigue that was setting in, I dipped into the locker room, got my kit, and measured out a dosage. I chose my upper arm for the injection. Then, it was a waiting game. I emptied a bottle of water and opened a music app as I chilled. The rapid-acting insulin usually worked fast, so within ten or fifteen minutes, I should be good to go. After cleaning the syringe and shit, I had time to think. Probably not a good thing. Brody always popped up when I had spare time to meditate. Also, the latest release from Jemima was playing on my phone. It was still pretty wild to think that my new guy had dated one of the most popular singers in the world. They’d made a beautiful couple.

I wondered what his fans would think when they found out we were dating. I mean I was no Jemima Wren. She had me beat in just about every category of coolness and hotness imaginable. I could maybe skate better than she could, but other than that Jemima wiped the floor with me. I leaned back to rest on my locker, my head full of odd bits of worry that never seemed to go away. Was the world ready for someone like Brody to be with a guy? Progress had been made, but for every step forward, it seemed true equality took two steps back. How would the Railers react if I openly dated a man? Sure, it was one thing to be all supportive of a bisexual guy when he was wheeling chicks, but would the team be cool if I showed up at a fundraiser with Brody Vance on my arm?

Anxiety crept in, and so I left the locker room to find Coach. He was in his office, scouring over some video, the door open as it always was. Coach Morin wanted the players to know they could come to him at any time. I rapped on the doorframe. His dark brown eyes lifted from his laptop.

“Noah, did you need me?” he asked, and I nodded. Worry crinkled his brow. “Are you having some sort of medical issues?”

“No, I’m good. I was a little fatigued after a big workout, but I have things under control.”

“Good, good. So, what can I do for you?”

I crept into the sunny office, closed the door, and took a seat in front of his desk. Coach wasn’t the tidiest of men. His desk was littered with gum wrappers, empty coffee mugs, and playbooks. There were pictures of his wife and adult daughters. Two frames filled with shots of him and his grandkids.

“Your grandkids are cute,” I said to try to ease into my reason for sitting here taking up his time with bullshit. Maybe I should have sat in the locker room a bit longer.

“Thanks, they’re the apple of my eye. So, you’re here to talk about my grandkids?” he prompted. I shook my head. “Do we need a player rep in here?”

“No, I don’t… no. I was just… okay so I was just wondering how the team would feel if I started dating a guy. Publicly.”

The tension around his mouth lessened. “Well, speaking only for myself, but I’m sure the rest of the organization would feel the same, we’d be fine with the son of two happily married men who played for our team for many years dating a man.”

Oh yeah, right. Fathers. Plural. “Okay, yeah, sure. I guess that makes sense.”

“Listen, I know that people are still people. Meaning that some fans are going to be twits no matter what year it is.” I smiled at his frankness. Coach was nothing if not straightforward. I liked that about him. “The Railers have been an inclusive and safe team for many, many years. I do not see that changing anytime soon. So, if you want to bring a man to the next public activity, do so. Just make sure he trims his nose hair and wears a clean tie.”

I chuckled. “Will do. Thanks, Coach.” I rose, and we shook hands.

“No problem. Now get out of here and go shower. You smell like the inside of a gym bag left in the sun for a few days.”

Shit. “Sorry. I’m out. Thanks again.” I hauled my rank body back to the locker room, showered, and was pulling on my jeans when my phone buzzed. The din of men talking and laughing was a familiar one. Morning skate had been good, the team was coming together, and I was still here. My bout of silliness aside, the day was shaping up to be a good one.

I gave the text that had come in a fast read.

Pops and I have to go to Maryland overnight for a signing event. Can you come over and feed, then, let the dogs out?– Dad

As the Baja Men would say - I’ll let the dogs out. ~ N

Dad replied with a string of laughing emojis and a warm thank you.

“Hey, you feeling better?” Blake asked as he sat down on my left in a towel and purple Crocs with tiny ducks on them. Nik, a blatant exhibitionist, took a stance beside me, arms folded, dick swinging free for all the world to see.

“I would be if his junk wasn’t in my face,” I said, then jerked a thumb at the cocky Russian snickering.

“He is jealous of my big penis,” Nik said as he wandered off to make small talk with Cap.

Blake nudged me in the side. “Your numbers cool?”

“Yeah, thanks. You were right. I shouldn’t let the stress get to me.”

“Correct. Which is why you should come to the movies with us tonight. Nik is lining up some girls for us, or you know, you can bring a dude. We’re going to go see that new horror flick about the mutant Pekinese that attacks a small town.”

Nope, that was a hard pass for me. I hated horror movies. Although a movie date with Brody would be nice. Only problem was that we were still hiding us .

“Did you say Pekinese? Like a tiny dog?” I asked when the full impact of what he had said sank in.

“Yeah, it sounds stupid, but Nik thinks the girls will be scared and need big strong hockey players to protect them.” Blake shrugged. “So, if you have a guy you want to bring, feel free.”

“I think I’ll pass. Thanks though.”

“Any time.” He gave my shoulder a bump with the side of his fist, then moseyed back to his locker. The thought of a night out at the theater ate at me, so, being the clever man I am, I used the tried and true method that every teen uses. Folks are gone, and I have a key to the mansion. Not that I was a teen anymore, but if something works and all that.

I texted Brody and told him we were heading to the cinema tonight.

His reply was a line of about forty question marks.

Good. Let him wonder. It would be more fun when I showed him Pops’ basement.

“This is… well, this is something else,” Brody said as we entered the basement-slash-movie theater. Five dogs pranced around us, all fed and watered and back from a long run on the extensive grounds. “The interior has a very Vegas feel.”

“Yeah, it does.” I reached down to pick up Mittens from the raucous gaggle of dogs vying for even more attention. “In case you couldn’t tell, my pops likes Elvis.”

“I noticed,” he answered with a cute smile.

It was hard not to notice. The red and black walls and ceiling were made to match the tones of Elvis’s bedroom in Graceland. Over the scarlet walls were framed movie posters from several dozen of who knows how many movies Elvis made. Well, Pops would know. I had no clue. There was a popcorn machine, a soda fountain, and a pinball machine in the far corner that had an image of the King from his ’68 comeback special. Yes, I knew that special well.

“You want some popcorn before the movie begins?” I asked as we stepped over and around dogs, Mittens lying over my shoulder like a purring sandbag.

“Is it a good snack for you?” He flopped down into a plush padded seat in the first row. There were four, with ten seats in each row. Just in case a party of Elvis fans arrived at the front door. You never knew.

“It is.” I handed him the cat, then fired up the machine as he leaned back, legs out, hands clasped behind his head. He looked so peaceful. It was a really nice look on him. When the corn was finished popping, I scooped up two paper bags full, delivered them, then went to the soda fountain. Brody and I both decided on cold water, extra ice. Once we were all settled–the dogs each taking one recliner, Brody, me, and then Mittens on the back of my seat–I cued up the digital film and sound system on my phone. “So, I talked to Coach today. About my, potentially, at maybe some future time, having a public boyfriend. And he was like dude, your fathers are married and half of our alumni are queer. It’ll be fine.”

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing.” He glanced over after taking a sip of cold water. “I’m just… I guess I’m stunned. I’ve not heard any positive feedback of any kind when it came to being out for a racer. I’ve only seen closed doors.”

“No closed doors on the Railers. I’ll make the team based on my skills on ice, with no red marks for being bisexual.” I felt pretty darn good about that, but Brody still seemed a little unsure, so as not to push too hard and too fast, I switched topics. “Okay, so the only drawback to this theater is that Pops only has Elvis movies downloaded to his account. But I know one that you’ll really think is super groovy daddy-o.”

“Bring it on,” he said as the lights dimmed and Speedway began to play.

“Nancy Sinatra is in this one,” I said. “She’s slinky.”

I’d seen this movie at least twenty times. And hey, a foxy girl is a foxy girl, no matter what decade it was.

He leaned over to steal a kiss. “Still thinking of Nancy?”

I took a moment to ponder. “Yeah, I think so. You better kiss me again.”

He did. Three times to be exact. And that seemed to purge Ms. Sinatra from my head for the rest of the movie. Of course, when she sang “Your Groovy Self,” he had to kiss me a lot more.

Yeah, movie date nights were pretty awesome.