Page 47 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 33

Lars

As soon as he stepped out of the box, Lars knew more than Zigmund had heard everything he’d said.

Screamed , he reminded himself. While mic’d .

The Prowlers laid off of him, like they were scared or ashamed or something. If he were in a better mental state, he’d capitalize on it. He could’ve had a hat trick, but his only goal was to get through the game and hide. Hide from the looks people were giving him, the questions the media would ask, the comments on social media, the calls, the concern/support in equal measures. There would be so much once the game ended and he could no longer hide on the bench.

It did finally end and Lars was the first one down the tunnel. How quickly could he get changed and out of here? He dreaded a postgame interview, but Coach Thompkins took one look at him and declined to let the media into the locker room.

“This changes nothing on our end,” Thompkins said with a gruff, non-nonsense manner that was probably more for the reporters he’d have to face alone than for Lars. “Zilch. You decide how to handle it and we follow suit.” He clapped a hand on Lars’s shoulder and headed for the door. “Let us know.”

While they changed, everyone else walked on eggshells. Lars knew he had their support—he’d known since his talk with Monroe months ago—but this was their first time realizing it. They didn’t know what to say, and Lars would rather not say anything.

“You’re better off with us than those dickheads, anyway.” It was Jordy who broke the silence, and there were nods and faint agreement, and that was that. The tension drained out of Lars a little, and he thanked them and carried on. One down, only a million other aspects of his life to go.

His phone was garbage. There were so many notifications it would be impossible to go through them all. Even as he tried to clear them, more replaced them instantly. He would have to make a decision, make a statement of some sort where he denied or accepted what he’d said, or pieces of it. He’d have to call his agent and get Max’s help, maybe schedule a meeting with…he didn’t even know who. But right now, there were only two voices he wanted to hear and one he didn’t think he had much right to at the moment.

“Lillen.” His mormor picked up on the first ring, expectant. She tsked in that half-scolding, half-sympathetic way, not unlike if she caught him staying up late or stealing snacks. “How are you doing?”

“You know?”

She’d have been watching, of course, but there’d been some hope viewers hadn’t heard anything and the team hadn’t released the audio from his mic. Safe from the world at large until someone who’d been there spread it.

“Yes,” she said apologetically. “You were quite loud. We couldn’t make out all of it, but enough.”

Lars had suspected this; it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“No one on the Crabs is saying anything,” she went on, “but several players on the Prowlers apologized. They won’t admit that’s why you left, because of course they won’t, but they’ve acknowledged that’s why you felt you had to leave and they understand their behavior after the fact was uncalled for. Months too late, but perhaps they’ll learn something from it after all.”

None of his teammates on the Prowlers had come across as homophobes or bigots, but they all knew the GM was an old-fashioned asshole. It would seem completely possible that Mackey would give a player the boot for not fitting into the proper mold, even one of Lars’s caliber. Whatever they’d imagined as his reason for bailing, he didn’t know, but it was a little gratifying to hear they were ashamed now.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. “I can ignore what I said or I can admit it.”

“You never planned to come out, I think,” she said gently.

“No. It was none of their business, and I thought it would make it harder for me. It did make it harder.”

She hummed in acknowledgement.

“It has nothing to do with hockey except when they make it. I just want to play. And kiss boys.”

“Sometimes at the same time,” she teased, then became serious again. “I don’t think you can unsay it, Lillen, but if you don’t want to be the focus of your life, then you’d best ignore it until it blows over. But if you think maybe it’s time to be more open with that part of yourself, then I think you’re with the right team to try it.”

He was quiet as he thought about it. “What do you think I should do?” There was a pleading note he couldn’t quite hide, and she chuckled.

“No, this isn’t my decision. There are pros and cons to each, yes? Only you can know what’s best for you. You’re a smart boy when you’re not fighting people. You’ll know what to do.”

He wished he had her confidence.

They chatted a little more about anything but hockey, his mormor no doubt knowing it would soothe him. It did until he hung up and was alone once more with his thoughts. He imagined both worlds: the one where he openly acknowledged his sexuality and the responsibility that came with it; the one where he brushed off what he said, denied it all and made everyone focus on his playing.

He hadn’t made any decisions when his phone rang.

To be fair, it had rung a couple times already, but a cursory glance at an unknown number had him ending them all. This time he looked and he felt like he’d swallowed his heart.

Incoming call: Ryan.

“Ryan,” he breathed as he accepted the call. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

It was him, it was really him. Fuck, he’d missed Ryan’s voice.

“I uh…I heard what happened,” Ryan said. “You okay?”

How can I not be okay when we’re talking again?

Oh, right.

“I’ve been better.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “I wish you’d been there. You would’ve kept me from losing my shit like that.”

“Not possible. I’m sure they deserved it.”

“The cross check? Yes, Zigs deserved it, but I mean you would’ve made sure I kept my mouth shut.”

“I dunno,” Ryan drawled. “I prefer your mouth open.”

That startled a laugh from him. “Are you flirting with me right now? I need comfort and moral support, and you’re making inappropriate advances.”

“I’m not good at that stuff, but I’m great at inappropriate advances.”

Lars smiled, and he was sure Ryan was, too.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. “I was mic’d.”

“Jesus— Lars !”

“I know,” he whined. “It was dumb.”

“That’s not going to be easy to deny,” Ryan said slowly, like he was inviting Lars to prove him wrong. “What does Monroe want you to do?”

“No idea. Thompkins said they would do whatever I wanted.”

“And you have no idea what you want.”

A brief flash of the future. One where he could hold Ryan’s hand in public and they could meet each other’s families but introduce each other as their boyfriend instead of an ex-teammate. Where people didn’t trade them away from each other because that was messed up and they’d know it. A world where the next time he won the Cup, he’d get to hold it up with Ryan, because they were still on the Crabs and had done it together.

And just like that, the bubble burst and he was forced to acknowledge it as a fantasy. What he wanted most in that scenario was Ryan, ideally on the Crabs with him, and the latter was nearly impossible. People rarely went back to teams that had traded them. It wasn’t like Lars needed to be out to be with Ryan, either; they’d managed fine before. It was really that he needed to get his head out of his ass and tell Ryan he wanted to continue being with him and then put in the effort to make it happen.

“You still with me?” Ryan asked gently.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m here. No, I don’t know what I want. I know some things, obviously.” Like everything that has to do with you. “Still no clue how to handle this.” A pause. “You’re not out, either. What would you do?”

Ryan sighed heavily. “You want a real answer?”

“Yes.” He was kind of scared to hear it, but Ryan was in a unique position of understanding his situation more than Mormor or Thompkins or anyone, since he was living it, to a degree.

“Honestly? I don’t know. It seems like a lot to take on, all the attention. And I get moved around so much, I’d worry about ending up in a place like Portland, or maybe a team doesn’t want me at all because it’s too much trouble with the media. But…I assumed if I were ever serious about a relationship, man or woman, I wouldn’t want that to be something I’d have to hide. I’ve never been in that kind relationship.” Lars flinched, feeling his own words hurled back at him. “So I guess if there were maybe a guy I wanted to openly date, I’d consider it. Maybe. Screaming it at a former teammate during a nationally broadcast game while I’m mic’d up isn’t the way I’d go about it, personally, but you’ve always had more flair for that sort of thing.”

“I can be dramatic,” he acknowledged, nodding solemnly and forgetting that Ryan couldn’t see him. “I don’t think this is a door I can open,” he said. “I didn’t mean to accuse them of anything. Even if it’s true, Mackey isn’t going to let me do that without firing shots back. I just want to play hockey. Why does it matter who I am as long as I’m not, like, murdering puppies or something?”

“How did our serious, heartfelt conversation get to puppy murder?”

“It happens.”

“Not with anyone else, it doesn’t.” A pause. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” He was going to hang up soon, so Lars scrambled to think of something to say to keep him on the line a little longer. “You’re number six now. Did you pick it?”

“Yeah, actually.” He sounded pleased.

“Can I ask why you picked it?”

“I’m the youngest of six,” Ryan said simply. “My mom always says it’s her lucky number. Like the family wasn’t complete until me. Dunno. It’s dumb but I liked it when she said it when I was a kid.”

“It’s not dumb. That’s kinda cute.” Ew, was he being sentimental?

“Hey, I gotta go. The bus is waiting on me. I wanted to check in and…”

And he’d done that, and now they’d go back to awkward silence via text message and drift further apart.

“...we’re in town in a week, right? So I was wondering if I could…maybe…see you? Before the game?”

It was like the wind had been knocked out of him. Lars had completely forgotten that they would play the Otters again. After years of facing Anders twice a season, the third had slipped his mind. This time it brought with it the awful prospect of playing against Ryan. Lovely.

“Will you have time?” Lars’s heart hammered in his chest with hope. “They might not let you leave the hotel?—”

“I’m a big boy. I’ll manage to sneak away. Besides, I still have a place there. It’s completely reasonable for me to need to take care of stuff for a few hours.”

He hesitated long enough that Ryan started to backtrack.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t even know your schedule and you’re busy with this Prowlers thing?—”

Ever the polite one, giving him excuses.

“I want to see you.” Lars swallowed a lump. “My place? Text me when you’ll be free and I’ll be there.”

“Awesome.” Ryan sounded so happy in that one little word, and it was something Lars had given to him. That made his chest loosen a little, the burdens from the day eased. “I really have missed you.”

“You just miss my nice condo.” And then because he felt like a dick for not saying it out loud, he muttered, “I’ve missed you, too. See you in a week.”

“In a week,” Ryan agreed, the silence lingering a moment before the call ended.