Page 12 of The Poster Boy (Love The Game #3)

Marek

“ I saw your game the other night.”

Kelsey watched all of my games. It hadn’t always been like that between us.

With five years up on me, she’d had her own life, and I’d had mine.

We hadn’t been close until our parents disowned me, and I took refuge with her.

I still carried guilt for the way I’d derailed her life, but admittedly her newfound happiness eased some of the lingering emotion.

Kelsey would kick my ass if she found out I still felt bad for intruding on her life. She’d never treated me like a burden or a bother. I’d never been anything else, but she acted like it was her sacred duty to help me in any way she could.

“How’d I do?”

“You did good, kid.”

The exchange echoed the very first time Kelsey had come to one of my games. I remembered skating up to the boards after and yanking my helmet off. It was back before I knew I was gay. Back before Mom and Dad threw me out. It became our thing. Something we said after every game .

“So how are things back home?” The question was out before I remembered that her home wasn’t my home anymore.

That, for the first time in years, we weren’t close in proximity.

I still hadn’t fully settled into my new city, despite the fact that we were coming up on December now, and I’d been there for a month or more.

But that was partly because I spent so much time on the road that my apartment in Vancouver felt less like a home and more like a really messy hotel room.

“They’re good. The job is… well, it’s work and it doesn’t suck entirely, and it lets me do things like be involved in community theater.”

“And the girlfriend?”

“We’re good.” Kelsey was still shy about the whole girlfriend thing. She seldom volunteered information or anything about her relationship. She’d always been a bit on the private side, which sucked for her when I was outed because it put the spotlight on me, and her by association.

“Hey, how are things now that I’m not there? Does the press bother you?” At first they’d hounded her outside of my games, but that had died off when I started talking to them on a regular basis. If they got news right from the source, they didn’t have to go bothering Kelsey about me.

“They’re fine, Marek. It’s been really quiet actually. There were some calls after you were traded, but Faye helped me put a statement together.” Kelsey almost whispered the next part. “She’s really good to me, Marek.”

“That’s great. You deserve it. You have better taste in women than you ever had in men.”

“Hey! That’s… okay, that’s true, but you don’t need to rub it in.” Kelsey laughed and turned the focus back on me. “And how are you? How’s the team? The city? Tell me everything. ”

“The team is good.” Brookbank went from hating me to pretending I didn’t exist as often as he could get away with. The guy was hot, but kind of an asshole. “The city is… I have no idea honestly. But the fans are great. The team put me up in a condo across from the arena.”

“And how are you, Marek? I know change is hard on you.”

I was shit. My apartment was a disaster.

My fridge looked like a series of failed science experiments.

I kept meaning to clean and I’d get started, but then the phone would ring, or I’d get hung up on doing a different task.

Without Kelsey to stop in and look out for me, I was failing to look after myself.

“Marek?”

“Sorry.” Shit. I hadn’t realized I’d panicked and spaced out on her.

“Marek, what’s going on?”

Shoving aside some dirty laundry, I sat on my rumpled bed and let out a sigh. “I’m not good at this, Kels.”

“At what?”

Running a hand through my hair, I let out a deep breath. “The only thing I’m good at is hockey. And Church’s luck finally turned around, so he’s been in the net more. And I’m just a glorified benchwarmer now.”

“You’re good at more than hockey. And you’re getting so much more ice time than you did on the last team.”

It was true. But I still didn’t fit in with the team.

I had Andrew, and Griffin, and a couple of the other guys.

Boone made sure no one was a dick to me, even his bestie Brookbank, but the media hounding hadn’t slowed down and sometimes it was very apparent that the attention from the press was something that was keeping me apart from my teammates.

I tried to bear it all with a smile, but the cracks had started to form in other areas of my life.

“You’re right. I’m just being grumpy because I liked starting.”

“You’re such an asset to the team. Your old team was stupid for letting you go,” she said, like she didn’t want to say their name in case it was bad luck or something.

“You’re only saying that because you miss me. But it’s not long until Christmas. Did you want to fly up here, or I could go down there?”

Silence.

Dread swirled in my stomach.

“I can’t get time off to travel, Marek.”

“So I’ll come to you. I can fly in on Christmas Eve and fly out on Boxing Day. I’ll meet up with the team later. Easy peasy.”

“That’s a lot of travel. Are you sure?”

“Kels, I’m coming home for Christmas.” My phone beeped with an alarm, and I shot to my feet. “I’m going to be late for practice if I don’t get my ass up and get going.”

“Marek.” The worried tone in Kelsey’s voice stopped me. “You’re okay, right? You’re taking care of yourself.”

“I’m taking care of myself, Kels. Don’t worry. But I have to go. We’ll talk soon, though, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Give my love to Faye.” I ended the call and let out a shaky breath as I stuffed my phone away.

My apartment was a wreck. I was nearly always late for one thing or another.

If I wasn’t on a road trip where meals were provided, I was off diet half the time because I hadn’t remembered to set up a meal delivery program.

I wasn’t looking after myself. But I was doing the best I could, and I was playing some damn good hockey whenever the coach let me in net.

I spent five minutes speed-cleaning my room, which mainly consisted of tossing my laundry into a pile and tugging the covers on my bed until they were reasonably straight.

Then another alarm went off on my phone, and I raced out the door for practice.

The press had cooled off a lot since my trade and I found that I didn’t miss dodging them on the way to the rink.

They still hounded me on game days, but had started to ease off otherwise.

Even without their obstruction, I was still late, but I wasn’t the last person to show up so I counted that as a win.

The conversation with Kelsey had rattled me. I hated that she still felt like she had to look out for me and ask if I was taking care of myself. I hated that she had cause for concern. Most of all, I hated my brain for making shit difficult for me when it was easy for everyone else.

Andrew draped an arm around me as I changed into my practice gear. “Why the long face?”

“No reason.”

Andrew was a friend, but we didn’t hang out after games or anything.

He was an at-practice friend. A friend during games and hockey time, and no other time.

I didn’t have any friends who were my friends off the ice.

Not like Brookbank, who was a surly asshole all the time, but still managed to have his little clique.

Andrew looked at me with suspicion like he wasn’t buying my story, but he shrugged it off when Coach came in and told us to hurry up and get on the ice. With a final look of skepticism, he left me to get dressed.

Practice was a shit show. I missed as many as I stopped during drills. My mind was a jar of marbles that someone had spilled down a set of stairs. I couldn’t hold on to a single thought or action. Frustration built in me, only making my performance worse.

Coach split us into two teams for the end of practice. Church was in the other goal, as solid as he’d ever been. He stopped everything that went his way. Even shit that shouldn’t have been stoppable.

In his infinite wisdom, Coach O’Neil put Brookbank on my team.

Because heaven forbid he be at the other end of the ice.

Jay was distractingly good looking, and he moved on the ice like a dream.

He was quick on his feet, agile in a way that I might envy if he didn’t annoy me. And he could take a hit.

He played with a laser-intense focus. The kind of focus that eluded me lately.

Boone came up the ice, passed the puck to Vasily, who passed it back to Boone.

He deked around Brookbank, by some sort of miracle.

Even Brookbank looked surprised. And while I was watching Brookbank, Boone passed the puck back toVasily, who sank it into the back of the net.

“What the fuck was that, Myers?” Brookbank asked.

“Well…” I sucked in a breath and tried not to let the goal rattle me.

But it was far too late for that. I’d missed a stupidly easy save because Brookbank had been pretty and shiny, and I liked looking at him even though he couldn’t stand me.

“That’s what they call a goal. You see, it’s what happens when the puck goes in the net. ”

I smiled at him like I didn’t have a single care in the world. I’d gotten good at that.

“I know it’s a goal. Why the hell did you let it in? That was an easy save.”

Boone skated over and got between me and Brookbank. I hadn’t even noticed his proximity until he was in the crossfire .

“Goals happen, Brookbank. It’s practice.”

Brookbank scoffed as Boone pushed him away.

“Looks like you need all the practice you can get.”

Yanking my helmet off, I glowered at Brookbank. We’d gathered attention from the other guys, but I didn’t care. My focus was solely on Brookbank. “What is your problem, man?”

“You.”

“Me? What the fuck did I do?”

“You’re always late for shit, and when you do show up, you’re fucking scattered. If it were up to me, I’d bust your ass back down to the farm team where you belong. But they can’t do that because you’re the media darling. The?—”

“Jay.” Boone’s voice cut Brookbank off before he could say more. Jay snapped his mouth shut. “Apologize.”

“That’s fine,” I said before Jay could refuse to apologize. He didn’t want to—I could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t sorry so I didn’t want some fake-ass apology.

Coach O’Neil skated over and looked between Jay and me. “Problem?”

“No, Coach. Just taking some tips from Brookbank here. He was just being helpful.” I did my best to make it sound sincere, but I could tell Coach didn’t exactly believe me. But unless I was willing to rat Jay out for being a prick, there was little Coach could do about it.

He frowned at both of us, unimpressed. “Sort your shit out. That’s not a suggestion.”

He gave us one final cutting look before blowing the whistle and ending practice.

I’d tried to make nice with Brookbank, but it seemed like he was determined to hate me, so I’d given up trying. But now that Coach had noticed the friction between us, maybe it was time to try again.