Page 17 of Stubborn Puckboy (Puckboys #9)

SIXTEEN

Colby

Whether it’s because I’m a former hockey player and understand superstition, or maybe I’m using that as an excuse, either way, while Novi’s on the precipice of a hot streak, I have been going straight from the arena to my hotel room and staying there.

I don’t want to be responsible for killing his possible streak.

Even if I’m the one who totally created it to begin with.

Novi hasn’t come to me either, and I’m deluding myself that he either listened to me when I said it was too risky for us to do it again, or he is also a believer that having sex again could undo the good luck having sex gave us to begin with. We’re all about superstition, us hockey players.

Yup. All superstition and not at all insecurities over the real reason we might be staying away from each other.

Tonight, though, after that shitstorm of a press conference, I yearn to go to him and make sure he’s okay.

The problem with that is the team is out who-knows-where celebrating their win, and if he is in his room, he’s ignoring my knocks. And texts and calls.

I didn’t catch the whole press conference as I was cutting tape, but I saw the aftermath of it when I looked at my phone.

Reporters sensationalizing what really happened. Novi says he respects the Kikishkins, but because he flat out refused to say he was friends with Connor, they assumed it was because Connor’s brother is gay, and therefore, Novi is up to his old homophobic behavior again.

The comment section on all of them is a mix between hating on him and support for him standing strong against the woke agenda.

As a gay man, I should be flattered so many people want to stick up for me, but when they’re only getting half the story, they don’t have a full picture of who Novi really is. That, combined with the blatantly homophobic comments, and there’s a gnawing ache in my gut that I haven’t felt in years.

I wish I could say that coming out would be better for him, but I’m not the one who has to make that decision, and who’s to say that it actually will be any better?

The potential comments run through my mind as if they’re happening in real time: “ I guess it’s true what they say: those who protest too hard are hiding something .” Or “ He is still homophobic because he has spent his whole life hating himself. ”

It’s so frustrating that the simple refusal to admit he has friends in queer circles has set off a slew of media drama.

What should have been one of Novi’s best games is now being reduced to gossip fodder.

I can’t stand around his room all night. Particularly in the open hallway.

When the elevator dings behind me, I quickly turn on my heel and pretend to be typing away on my phone as I head for … nowhere in particular because my room is not on this floor.

“Kessingerrrrr,” a loud, sadly not-Russian, hockey player calls out.

I turn to find Turkey, drunk off his face, woman under his arm, and wearing a wide smile. “Atatürk.”

“You should’ve come out and celebrated with us.”

“I should have. Thing is, though, no one told me where you were going to be.”

“You didn’t see us in the bar downstairs when you came in?”

Technically, I did, but there was one person I noticed was not there, so I didn’t stop. “Oh. Right. I thought that was pre-drinking drinks. Did … any of them move on? Go elsewhere?”

“No, but they might now. The enemy came looking for Novicov. Probably because of his refusal to be friends with them.” He taps my shoulder. “But don’t worry. I already told Novi I have your back.”

Okay, he really is drunk because he’s not making any sense. “What are you talking about?”

“The Kinishpkins. They came in looking for him.”

“Easton?”

Turkey sways on his feet. “And Connor. And a dude who looked a lot like that young owner dude from Colorado. Oh shit, do you think they’re here to try to sign Novi? Wait, that wouldn’t make sense. I heard the owner is as gay as … well, you. You two should date. And then?—”

I turn to his date as he continues to ramble things like happily ever afters to give the world hope, and I say, “Maybe you should get him to bed.”

“Right,” he says. “Bed. That’s where I was going. This road trip was long. Thank fuck it’s almost over.”

Yeah. Thank fuck. It should be easier to avoid Novi’s irresistible charm if I’m not sleeping in the same building as him.

“Have a good night.” I head for the elevator, still unsure of where to go to find Novi, but with Easton and Connor being in the bar looking for him, maybe they’re still there, and they can help me. I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking anyone else.

I rush downstairs in the hope they haven’t left, but when I get down to the bar, I can’t see the brothers anywhere. I also have another look for Novi, but I still can’t find that adorably grumpy face. I’m starting to worry.

Then, as I get to the front of the bar, close to the street, I see Connor Kikishkin. He has his phone to his ear, and I can’t see his brother or Parker Duchene, but I practically trip over my feet trying to get out to him.

I tap his shoulder, and he jumps, but when he says into the phone, “Ooh, wait,” and spins to face me, I try not to be offended by his obvious disappointment. He slumps. “It’s not him.”

“Novi?”

His eyes narrow for a second. “Hey, you’re that new video coach … Kessinger, right?”

“Yeah. Are you looking for Novi too?”

He taps the phone he’s holding. “I’m on the phone with Ezra Palaszscuk. Novi randomly called him, saying something about going swimming. Sounded drunk.”

“Going swimming? In Denver? In November?”

Shit.

“We’ll find him,” Connor says. “We don’t know how, but—” He sighs. “Of course you do. Drop me the pin.” He ends the call.

“What’s happening? Drop you the pin for what?” I ask.

“Word of advice. Don’t leave your device alone with Ezra. He’ll infect it with stalker apps.”

“But in good news, we know where Novi is?”

Connor’s phone dings, and he looks at the screen. “Hopefully just his phone.” He turns the screen toward me to show the location. Its last known whereabouts is inside the Denver Country Club … in one of the water traps on the golf course.

“Let’s go.”

Connor grabs my arm. “We have to wait for East and Parker to get back.”

“From where?”

“No … where?” he says, his voice innocently going up at the end like he’s asking a question.

I put my hands on my hips. “Who is Parker Duchene trying to poach from us?”

“I have no idea. I’m retired. They don’t talk shop around me anymore.”

“I feel like that’s a lie, but I would also like plausible deniability if anyone asks about wheelings and dealings of trades and whatnot, so I’m gonna go ahead and get started on walking toward the golf course.”

Connor doesn’t let me get far. “Wait up. I’ll drive you. I’ll tell Parker and East to call me when they’re done with?—”

I cover my hands and sing, “Lalalalala.”

Connor laughs and then unlocks a car in the mall parking lot that’s next to the hotel. “Get in.”

Once we’re on the road, I ask, “How did you know Novi was missing?”

“He didn’t show up to meet with us at our agreed spot, and after Parker told me what happened in the press conference, I figured he’s feeling pretty shitty right about now. So we came to check on him.”

“That’s what I was trying to do, but he’s not answering my texts.”

“It’s probably difficult if his phone is in the drink.”

I purse my lips. “I hope you know that he?—”

“He what ?” Connor sends me a curious look.

“He’s not a homophobe.”

“I know that. How do you know that?”

“How do you ?” There’s a long moment’s pause. “You know about him?”

“I think you’re talking about the thing I’m talking about. Scary Russia and being on the down-low.”

He definitely knows. “Yeah, we’re talking about the same thing. I didn’t want you to assume the press conference was about you.”

“Him hiding himself from the world has nothing to do with me or my brothers. I know that.”

“Good. I think he’s really struggling with it all.”

“Why?”

I glance over at him. “What do you mean, why? Because of Russia, because he was raised to think it was?—”

“Not why is he struggling. Why now? What’s changed? He’s been closeted for seventeen years in the NHL. He only has this season and the next one left. So … why now?”

I wish the answer to that is me, but I’m not that egotistical. It had to have been a long time coming. “Maybe he’s so close to the end now, he’s getting impatient.”

“Or maybe having you back in his life has made him realize he’s wasted half of his life pretending to be someone he’s not.”

Isn’t that a depressing thought. Though is he saying he knows about us? About the past, and?—

As if reading my mind, he says, “He, uh, told me. About how you played in the AHL together. I figure you’ve gone on to become an out and proud coach, just starting out in the NHL, and he has spent his last seventeen years hiding.

You becoming part of the LA franchise has probably been a wake-up call he wasn’t ready to have.

You took your path, he took his, yet here you are years later in the same place. ”

I don’t want to be his source of turmoil.

I want to be something he can look forward to.

Retirement is scary for these guys. Most of them retire in their early thirties, which means they have a whole-ass adult life to lead afterward, and it can be daunting.

Budgeting, staying relevant, keeping those revenue streams coming.

Novi might be older, but financially, he’s going to be fine.

It’s the other side of him that will have to start over.

The side he’s never let himself show. Rarely let himself feel.

And I fear that things like those articles tonight are only going to hold him back from getting what he wants: the freedom to be confident in who he is.