Page 22

TWENTY-TWO

Jethro

After Clay leaves, I get into bed, his words echoing through my exhausted brain. I would have given you everything. I always thought you were worth it . When I was young and dumb, nobody ever said things like that to me.

Hell—nobody says them now. I don’t even know what to do with words like that. So it takes me a long time to sleep. And when my alarm goes off the next morning, I wake up feeling groggy and unsettled.

The vault where I keep all my thoughts about Clay has been kicked wide open again. And now it seems like the contents of the vault aren’t exactly what I remembered. Maybe it’s not just a repository for good times and porn. There’s some weightier stuff in there, too.

After dozing on the team bus, I follow my cheerful teammates to the airport lounge and listen to them chirp at Hudson Newgate as we wait to board the jet. Apparently, Newgate’s picked up some new Instagram followers.

“Four hundred thousand ?” Stoney says, scrolling through his phone. “That’s, like, every gay dude in America. Some of these guys really work out, too. Huh. Nice deltoids on this guy.”

“Don’t forget the bi dudes,” Wheeler says, elbowing him. “That’s bi-erasure.”

“I mean, who knew there were so many gay Canadians?” Stoney wonders aloud.

“Also, bi Canadians,” Volkov chirps. “Do not erase them.”

“Yo, it’s not just dudes,” Wheeler adds. “Plenty of women fans, too. Whoa, she’s hot,” he says, grabbing Stoney’s phone. “Maybe you could introduce me to this one.” He shows the screen to Newgate.

“Sure, I’ll hop right on that,” Newgate says. “Now get your asses on the damn jet, or we’re never getting off the ground.”

I follow them onboard, and take a seat near the front, alone. When Clay boards a moment later, I watch him greet Harley the flight attendant with a friendly smile. And I recognize the smile that Harley gives him back, like he’s just won the lottery.

Clay has always had that effect on people. Even a scrap of his golden attention lifts your day to a higher plane. It’s not just me who thinks so. He’s magnetic. It’s no accident that he’s the youngest head coach in the league.

That’s what makes our conversation last night so shocking, really. I always knew Clay was special. Everyone does. I just honestly never believed he could see me the same way. And I don’t really know why he would. He was always out of my league, even when we played for the same league.

I would have given you everything . I always thought you were worth it .

If only it were true. And now I’m staring as he makes the turn into the aisle and files toward me. He glances down, giving me a friendly nod before heading toward the back of the aircraft.

So I guess that’s where we are now—at the friendly nod stage. And I guess I can work with that.

He moves on, and I try to relax, even if our history has me churned up inside. I don’t enjoy thinking about my twenty-two year old self. Hockey doesn’t work that way , I’d said with the arrogance of a young punk speaking for an entire sport.

It makes me cringe.

The flight attendants make their announcements, and then the jet taxis down the runway and takes off. When my efforts to sleep fail, I scroll news coverage from our recent games.

It makes for some wild reading. There’s some chatter about the Trenton on Trenton fight. But every news organization that covers sports, plus a few extras, declare the Brooklyn game a success. “A Bright New Era in Sports,” shouts one headline. “Victory on Ice: Hudson Newgate Defies Odds and Critics in Emotional Game,” shouts another.

“Queer Hockey Player Comes Out and Nobody Dies,” declares a prominent blogger. Obviously, it’s supposed to be tongue in cheek, but that joke would’ve hit too close to home when I was young. Slurs, threats, and fear were the norm when it came to queer men in sports.

Nobody wanted to have an honest conversation about it. Least of all me.

I tuck my phone away and close my eyes. Somewhere on this plane, Clay is probably reading the same news articles.

When I think of his red eyes at the stadium, something goes a little wrong in my gut. Fifteen years is a long-ass time to wait to start being yourself.

Beside me, Volkov is tucked against the window, snoring like a freight train. I sink a little more deeply into my seat and try to relax. I’m just dozing off when someone taps me on the shoulder.

I open my eyes to find Coach Murphy standing over me. “Sorry to interrupt you,” he says, not looking all that sorry. “Can you come back to the office for a bit?”

“Uh, sure,” I say.

Maybe they traded me again , says my subconscious. Maybe Clay’s apology was just for show .

I follow Murphy toward the back of the jet. He pauses at the office’s closed door and turns to me. “Listen, everyone who joins the team has a few onboarding conversations with the staff,” he says. “You already met the trainers and the publicist.”

“Right,” I say slowly, not entirely following him.

“Doc Baker is the team psychologist,” he says, shifting his weight. “He’d like to meet with you now.”

“Oh. Sure.” Every team has a sports psychologist, so I guess it’s my turn.

“The usual rules apply,” he says. “Anything you say is confidential, unless the doctor thinks you’re a danger to yourself or others.”

“Okay. Maybe he can make me suck less, yeah?”

Coach Murphy frowns at me and then walks away.

I tap twice on the door. “Come in,” says a voice.

I open the door and find two people sitting at the table. One of them is Clay. “Take your time in here, guys,” he says, rising to his feet and giving me another sturdy nod. “I’m going to go watch some tape.” He slides past me and leaves the office.

I wonder what he really thinks about me spilling my guts to the team shrink. Because a few of the things churning around inside me have to do with a relationship Clay’s worked hard to keep secret.

I sit down in front of Dr. Baker, who’s a good-looking Black guy with glasses and a clean shave.

“Coffee?” he offers, pointing at a small pot. “It’s fresh.”

“I’d love some coffee.”

He passes me the pot, and I pour myself a cup. “Look, I’ll save us some time. I’m the new guy. It’s not going great.”

He laughs. “All right. You want to tell me why?”

“Because my life is a cesspool right now. Getting traded a year and a half before my contract ends was the most humiliating thing to ever happen to me. And my family issues keep me up at night.” It’s a lot of honesty, but it’s also a smokescreen. If I talk about my game and my family, I won’t stray into any of the confusing shit between me and Clay.

“Why do you think it’s humiliating to be traded?”

Oh, please . “Why would you think it’s not? ”

“A trade takes two parties. Someone who wants you, and someone who doesn’t.”

“Detroit’s opinion weighs pretty heavily on me. I won two cups with them, and they treated me like some garbage that had to be taken out. Then Coach Powers screamed his head off at the GM when he found out they took me without his approval. So, sure, tell me how I’m supposed to unclench.”

He smiles. “I read your file.”

Uh-huh. That’s literally your job . “And?”

“And I noticed that you and Coach Powers used to be teammates.”

That’s not all we used to be, dude . “That’s true. For a short while.”

“Did you two get along?” he asks.

“Not always.” Not after I pushed him away .

He rubs his chin. “Even so, it must have hurt to hear that your former teammate didn’t really approve of this trade.”

“It sucked,” I say grumpily. “But Clay Powers isn’t even in my top five problems. My family is taking the trade hard, which makes settling in pretty tough. Things will get better, though.” Especially if we can stop talking about Clay .

“Your family didn’t want to move? Tell me about them.”

“Where to start?” Any shrink would have a field day with my family, so this is an easy little diversion. “I live with my father now, but he was purposely absent for most of my childhood. I became a parent to my nephew when my sister went to jail for a DUI and drug possession. Toby hates hockey, loves video games, and never misses an opportunity to tell me how I’m ruining his life.”

“Shit.” He sits back in his seat. “That’s a lot to unpack.”

“Isn’t it just.”

He sips his coffee, thinking. “Toby probably has abandonment issues.”

“Well, sure.”

“And now you have a matching set, thanks to Detroit.”

I laugh because it’s probably true. “At least I know mine are about business. Toby doesn’t have that luxury.”

“Hmm,” he says, which is shrink talk for: I’m humoring you right now . “If you really believed it was only about business, you wouldn’t be all up in your head about it now, would you?”

That’s the thing about psychologists—they’re too damned perceptive. “I can understand that it’s just business to them , but I still feel peeved about it. They have a whole team to run, but it’s my whole life they’re fucking with.”

“You understand it up here.” He points at his head. “But it still hurts here.” He points at his chest. “You’re feeling the same kind of loss as if you got dumped, right? Suddenly the love of your life doesn’t want you anymore. It shakes you.”

I flash back to everything Clay told me last night and sort of sag into my seat. “Yeah, okay. Getting dumped sucks.”

He grins. “So let’s talk through it, and maybe we can unfuck your game. Hmm?”

If only.

Doc Baker tries, though. He takes me through some basic coping strategies. He talks a lot about setting aside my “inner narrative” and taking each moment as a new opportunity. I nod along in all the right places until our time is up.

I go back to my seat and unlock my phone again. Something else Clay said last night is niggling at me. It takes me ten minutes to find my phone’s list of blocked numbers. Sure enough, Clay’s 415 phone number is on the list. After a moment’s hesitation, I unblock it and open up the text chain to read our final exchange.

And if I hadn’t been cringing at my own behavior already, reading this would seal the deal.

I shove the phone into the seatback pocket and let out a quiet groan.