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FOURTEEN

Clay

Christmas Day lasts one hundred years.

The title of Newgate’s article is: “On Winning Games and Coming Out.” I read it approximately one million times, in between pacing around my apartment. The only useful thing I do all day is to order a nice bottle of champagne for Hudson and his partner to be delivered tomorrow on game day.

Tate, our head of publicity, sends a lovely email to the whole organization, where he reminds us that we don’t have to read the comments. Reading their shitposts is not your job. Letting them take up space in your head is not your job . It doesn’t matter what they say about us. We’re a strong organization, and we became an even stronger one today .

It’s great advice. So naturally I ignore it. I read all the damn comments and the ugly tweets, too. Some of them are gross. A few of them are violent. The more inflammatory the comment, the more likely they are to get a like or a share.

I know how algorithms work. The negativity shouldn’t bother me, but it does anyway. I could not be more proud of being the coach of the first out player in the league.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried for my players. I need them to feel safe and supported, so they can do their best work.

Pacing around my condo, I try to lay out the worst-case scenario for our upcoming games. A protest rally in front of the stadium. Or an empty arena, with all the fans staying home. Or fistfights in the cheap seats.

A text pings on my phone. It’s from the publicist.

Tate

Stay cool, Coach! It’s under control. There’s a lot of action on StubHub, but seat prices are going up, not down.

Okay. Well. That’s something, I guess. I do another lap between the kitchen, where my pizza dough is rising, and my home gym in the next room. I bang out some pushups. Afterwards, I catch myself looking in the mirror at my pecs, like a teenage dumbass.

On the one hand, it’s important to stay in shape. I’d find it hard to ask my players to give me everything they’ve got while I’m sitting on the bench eating donuts.

On the other hand, I’ve caught myself dressing more carefully since Jethro turned up. And in the drugstore the other day, a box of teeth-whitening strips made it into my basket somehow.

God, it’s loud inside my head. So I do the only thing I can—I hit the mat for another set of pushups.

The Brooklyn game is scheduled for the night after Christmas, and I can hardly sleep. It’s almost a relief when seven o’clock finally rolls around, and I have an excuse to get up and go to the practice facility for morning skate.

Naturally, the first person I run into is Jethro. We manage to park our cars in the lot at the same time in adjacent spots.

Pull it together, Powers . I put on my Coach Face and climb out of the car. “Morning, Hale,” I say as he joins me on the walk to the building. “How was your Christmas? Did Toby do okay?”

“We survived,” he says. He’s taller than I am, so I have to lift my chin to make eye contact. His green-eyed gaze socks me in the chest, the same way it always does. “He’s taking the separation hard. But at least there’s video games for that.”

“Ouch. Does he get video chats with his mother?”

“No, and it’s rough on him. He’s giving me a lot of grief about going to a new school.”

“I bet. If you need any help on the admin for that, Liana knows everything. She’s handled new-school stuff before.”

“We’ll manage,” is Jethro’s response. It’s so him , too. He’d rather chew off his own arm than ask for help or show an emotion.

Fifteen years ago, I didn’t really understand that about him. I’d assumed there was something about me specifically that made him reticent. But it’s a perk of adulthood in general—and my job specifically—that I have a deeper understanding about the myriad ways humans respond to pressure.

“Ready to skate?” I ask Jethro.

“So ready,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Inside, I watch some tape with Murph. “We can probably beat Brooklyn,” he says after we review their recent game against Carolina. “It’ll be a good matchup, though. You’re not going to mess with the lines, right?”

“Nope. We’re going to keep things steady. No experiments tonight.”

“And in the net?” Murph asks, a teasing smile on his face.

Yeah, that’s the big question. Do I play Jethro tonight? If I keep him on the bench for the third time, people are going to talk. On the other hand, tonight’s game has its own stresses. It might make sense to keep to familiar patterns. “Let’s go watch the scrimmage.”

On the ice, Murph blows his whistle before skating lazily over to drop the puck for a face-off, while I watch from the sidelines. “Shake it off boys, and loosen up,” he says before flicking the puck to the ice.

“Not gonna lie,” he says a minute later as he glides up to the place where I’m standing in front of the bench. “Our guys all look kinda tense.”

“Noticed that,” I grumble. The scrimmage has a nervous energy that isn’t typical before a home game the day after Christmas.

“Your guy Hale isn’t helping.”

I swing my gaze over to Jethro, who’s playing too far into the net again. His forehead is creased in frustration, and his game-talk sounds irritated. “Noticed that, too.”

“You putting him in tonight?”

“Still thinking about it,” I say.

Murph shakes his head.

After they shower, the players wander up to the third-floor video room. I ask Murphy to take the meeting, and I flag down Jethro. “Could I see you for a sec?”

“Sure,” he says gruffly. But his eyes are tense as he enters my office.

“Listen,” I say the moment the door closes behind him. I sit at the side—in a visitor’s chair. It’s a move that says, We’re having a friendly chat, and you haven’t been called into the principal’s office .

He remains standing, though.

“So,” I say. “I’m putting you in for our Trenton game. We fly out tomorrow.”

His shoulders slump. “In other words, I’m benched again tonight?”

“That’s right. Tonight is a weird one. There will be a lot of unusual media attention, and I want everyone comfortable. So I’m not changing a single thing in our lineup.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Coach. Whatever you say, Coach.”

I snort. “I don’t even care if you’re being sarcastic. I like the sound of it.” I get up and slap him on the shoulder. “Now go watch tape and pretend to be interested.”

Hale’s eyes narrow. “I’m always interested, because I know I’ll be playing that team again, whether it’s tonight or not.”

I hold back a sigh. “Then I apologize for my tasteless joke.” I open the office door, refusing to be distracted by Jethro’s disappointed face.

Before I can clear the doorway, I hear someone shout my name. “Clayzy!” I look up and see my sister running toward me.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing here?”

She skids to a stop in front of me, looking indignant. “Is that any way to say hello?” Then she throws herself into my arms.

“Well, hi,” I say, my arms full of Kaitlyn. “It’s so nice to see you. Although it’s also nice when you call first. I’m having a busy day.”

“I know, dummy,” she says, wiggling out of my arms again. “I’m here because of your busy day. This is huge, and I wanted to witness it in person.”

“That’s cool, Kait. Ten bucks says your boyfriend is also working two hospital shifts in a row.”

She actually smacks my arm. “I’d be here even if that wasn’t true.”

I laugh, but then somebody clears his throat. And I realize I’m blocking the door to my office, trapping Jethro inside. I move my ass out of the way, and as Jethro steps out, he comes face to face with my sister, who looks suddenly startled.

Then her eyes narrow. “So you’re Jethro Hale. I’ll be damned.”

“And you’re the sister,” Jethro says. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Is it? I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“ Kait ,” I warn, and my face is suddenly hot. She knows a lot about what went down between me and Jethro, but nobody else in this building does.

“I’m late for the video meeting,” Jethro mutters, gaze darting down the hallway. “Excuse me.” Then he sidesteps us both and hurries out of the C-suite.

I grab my sister by the elbow and tow her into my office. Before I close the door, I can see Liana watching us with open fascination. “Okay, what was that ?” I demand.

“Hey, I didn’t say why I’d be keeping an eye on him.” Kait flounces over to my desk and sits on the edge of it. “I just worry about you and him in the same zip code.”

“Well, don’t, okay? Ignoring our...” It’s still hard for me to figure out what to call it. “Our history is working for us so far. And while I’m happy to see you…” I sigh.

“Don’t make snarky comments? Yeah.” She pouts. “I know I shouldn’t have. But there he was, you know? This guy who wrecked you. Fifteen years later, and you’re not over him.”

“That is not true.”

She raises her eyebrows by a fractional degree but doesn’t argue.

I shake my head. “Can we not talk about it? This day is complicated enough.”

“True fact.” She opens her shoulder bag and takes out a slender box. “I got you a present. For the big game tonight.”

“Really? Is it a giant bottle of antacids?”

“No, Clazy. Just open it.”

I take the box and lift the lid. The silk necktie inside is mostly blue, because Kaitlyn knows I’m too superstitious to wear a tie in any other color. But this tie has a rep-stripe pattern that alternates blue stripes with perfect rainbow stripes. It’s the classiest Pride tie the world has ever seen.

For a long moment, I just stare at it.

“Come on ,” she says. “It’s perfect. I squealed when I found it.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice thick. “It’s exactly the right tie. And I will wear it tonight.”

“Then why are you making that pissy face? Wait—did you buy yourself the same one?”

“No.” I lift the tie from its box, the expensive silk sliding against my fingers. “I’m pissed because I didn’t buy myself this tie. I never bought it, and I don’t know how long it might have taken me to buy it.”

“Oh,” she says quietly. “That’s why you’re so stressed out?”

“Well, yeah. This is a watershed moment for hockey. I’m the head coach—the guy who the players are trusting to carry the flag in this battle—but I’ve never been brave enough to let anyone know what this means to me personally.”

“Okay.” My sister’s expression gentles. “And here comes Newgate, showing everybody how it’s done.”

“He’s a goddamn inspiration.” I dig my fingers into the muscle between my neck and shoulder, which is suddenly spasming.

My sister hops off my desk. “Sit,” she says, pointing at a chair. “Let me work on that.”

I do as she asks, because I’m not one to turn down a free neck massage. She circles the chair and digs her thumb right into the sorest spot on the first try.

“Look, I know you’re going to be under a microscope,” she says. “There will be trolls and haters…”

“Whatever. I can handle the haters. I can behave like a professional, even if I’m raging inside.”

“Yeah, I know you can,” she says soothingly. “Nobody is more professional than you. But please don’t beat yourself up about the rest of it. You always put the team first. That’s why you’re still in the closet.”

I look down at the rainbow tie in my hands, and I wonder if that’s even true. “That’s the story I tell myself, isn’t it? When I got the assistant coach’s job, I thought—I better zip my lip until I’m in charge. But after I got my promotion, I changed my tune again. I told myself that I couldn’t be a distraction. I couldn’t take the focus off the players.”

“What did I just say about not beating yourself up? This is a big deal. Let yourself feel all the feelings.”

There’s a tap on the door, and then it opens and Tate, our publicity guy, slips in. “Hey Kaitlyn!” he greets my sister. “Happy holidays. It’s good to see you again.”

She finishes my massage with a pat on my shoulder. “You too, Tate. And does that mean I can ask you to scare up a ticket for me?”

He chuckles. “Sure thing. Hey, Coach?”

“Something wrong?” I ask. I’m so jumpy today.

“No—this is just a head’s up. There’s a news truck outside the facility.”

“Fuck. Here ?” I’d expected them at the arena tonight, but I don’t want the journos harassing my players while they’re trying to get into their gameday mindset.

He shrugs. “I’ll give them a statement and explain that we don’t do interviews until after the game. Just didn’t want you blindsided.”

“Thanks,” I grumble.

“Hey—that’s a great tie,” he says. “Where’d you get it? I think I need one.”

“Bloomingdale’s,” my sister says smoothly.

“Awesome.” Tate jots that down on the notepad he’s always carrying. “Listen, Coach, I just want you to know that it’s an honor to be part of this organization. The way you’ve supported Newgate so bravely.” He looks up from his notepad and gives me a blinding smile. “I couldn’t be more impressed.”

Both my shoulder muscles tense.

My sister clears her throat.

I let out a sigh. “Tate, that’s a really nice thing to say, and you’ve been amazing to work with on this announcement. But maybe save that bravery trophy for Newgate. Because…” I swallow. “I’m also a queer man in professional sports. But I never did what Newgate is doing tonight.”

Tate blinks. And then, to his credit, he recovers awfully fast. “Thank you, Coach, for sharing your truth with me. I understand how hard that can be.”

“We’re going to find out, aren’t we?” I glance out the window, where a news truck is now visible in the parking lot. “Thanks for all your hard work. Safe to say that I appreciate it.”

“Yessir,” he says. “More updates later.” Then he disappears, closing the door behind himself.

Kait gives me an amused glance and shakes her head. “Keep it together, Coach Powers. Tonight is going to be great whether you’re ready or not.”

I sure hope she’s right.