I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Who is this reporter? A friend of my father’s? But instead of taking the bait and getting angry, Ilaugh lightly and run my hand through my hair again before saying, “We were up by six goals, and even if we weren’t, I’d still have passed it to him. He had the better shot.”
The reporter accepts my answer but doesn’t leave. “With four games left, do you think you can keep this momentum to win gold?”
“I do,” I say confidently. “This is an elite group of guys. We’re all playing our hearts out out there.”
“The revelations about Gavin Marshal haven’t become a distraction?”
Now I’m definitely angry. I can feel my nostrils flaring, but I quickly relax them as I hate whenever I do anything similar to what my father would. Unlike Gavin, who has obviously been influenced by his dad in the best ways, I deny any opportunity for my father’s way of being to take hold within me.
I take a breath and focus my thoughts on Gavin instead, then answer the reporter’s question as if I’m speaking to my father through the camera. He’s probably in his box seats shaking hands with hockey legends and world dignitaries while watching this right now. “The revelations about Gavin have made us a stronger team. There isn’t a man on the ice wearing a United States team jersey right now who won’t take a hit for him. Whoever did this messed with the wrong team.”
I catch Gavin’s gaze after I say this. He smiles, and nods his head at me, then bends forward to finish unlacing his skates.
Gavin
“I like you,” my dad says, throwing his arm around Connor’s shoulders. Connor’s smile is both shy and bright, like he’s pleased with having made a good impression, but humble enough not to get too cocky. Of course, I haven’t had a chance to tell my dad who Connor is to me yet, but it does make me happy they’re getting along.
Actually, my dad is getting along with everyone. And now thatwe’re all cleaned up and have moved the entire team up to a private skybox for the Canada vs Germany game scheduled after us, we can all properly celebrate.
I grab two bottles of root beer and a regular beer from the bartender, then walk over to Connor and my dad. I hold them out and they take them.
My dad unhooks his arm from Connor’s shoulders and takes a swig of his root beer. “I can’t believe this is that prick Kennedy’s son.”
Connor and I both laugh.
“No offense,” my dad says and clinks Connor’s drink with his own.
“None taken.” Connor waves him off before he takes a sip of his beer. “No one is more aware of what a prick he can be than I am.”
“Seriously, Connor,” Bouchard says, coming to join us. “How do you play for that man?”
Connor shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve ever had much of a choice.”
“When’s your contract up?” Bouchard asks.
“Never.” Connor huffs out a laugh. “But technically at the end of next season. But I know my father will be pushing me to sign an extension this summer to lock my contract down early.”
I look at him, studying his face. He’s still smiling but some of the life has left his eyes. I can see him fretting behind them like he’s watching his entire life play out in front of him and he doesn’t like what he sees.
“Do you want to stay in Chicago?”I ask.
My heart rate kicks up as I wait for his answer. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. My contract is up at the end of next season as well. Maybe we can find a way to play for the same team. Maybe I could convince him to come play for the Blizzards.
“Ideally, no,” Connor says, “but I don’t know if that’s possible.”
“You should come play with us,” Bouchard says, then punches me in the arm. “I know Gavin here wouldlovethat.”
My dad flashes me a curious look before he glances atConnor, whose cheeks flame bright red. Connor looks down and away from both of us. Smiling, my dad takes his gaze back to me. He shakes his head and starts laughing.
“Shit,” Bouchard says. “Did I just out you two to your dad?”
“It’s not like they’re doing a good job hiding it!” Max Franklin adds from a few feet away.
“Or that we didn’t all hear Kennedy Sr lose his shit over it the other day,” Bradley Warren says.
“Great, so everyone knows,” I say, and look at Connor. His eyebrows have lifted in worry and he’s chewing on his lip. I beckon him to me and wrap my arm around his shoulders. His posture softens in my hold, and I’m reminded of how new this is for him. Not just people knowing he’s gay, but more importantly, the people around him being chill about it.
“Dude,” Bouchard says. “You’ve had a hard-on since day one and it points directly at Connor.”
