“Ryan.” Frank pauses. “All right. Clearly we should table this discussion until your, uh, partner is discharged from the hospital. For now, I’ll release the statement on the team’s behalf. Once we gauge the response to it, we’ll figure out our next move.”
“Fine.”
“Should we be concerned about your test results?”
I blank for a second. “My test results?”
“The flu,” he says impatiently. “The coaching staff is concerned. You’re scheduled to play Tampa in two days.”
I draw a breath. “I won’t be on the ice on Thursday, Frank. If you want, I will personally phone Coach to let him know, but this is non-negotiable. I’m dealing with a family emergency here.”
“Your contract states—”
“I don’t care what it states,” I retort. “I willnotbe on that flight.” I don’t give him the chance to object. “I have to go now. The nurses are giving me the evil eye.” They’re not, but Frank doesn’t know that. “I’ll call you back once Jamie’s test results are in.”
My hands are shaking as I hang up the phone. I wasn’t prepared for this. Any of it. And even though I’m desperate to get back to Jamie, I force myself to scroll through my text messages, just in case the Cannings have tried to get in touch
And shit, they have. Every single one of them.
Cindy: Richard and I need an update, sweetie (even though we know everything will be okay, will be okay, will be okay!)
Jess: Why won’t those hospital assholes let me call you???
Joe: How’s my brother?
Scott: How’s Jamester?
Brady: Is J OK??
There’s even a message from Tammy, who’s dealing with her own hospital situation at the moment:Call the moment u get the test results. Ask main switchboard for my room. Ext. 3365.
Rather than answer each one individually, I send a group text to the whole Canning clan:
Still waiting for lab results. J is awake and cranky. Fever still high but docs are working on lowering it. Won’t let me use my phone in here. I’ll msg back when I can.
I skim the rest of my unread messages, which are mostly from Blake. There’s also one from Eriksson, but I don’t click on it because I’m too scared to know what it says. I’m not sure I’m ready to face my teammates’ reactions to the “news.” I scroll down further and freeze when I see my dad’s name. This time I click.
Dad: You’re a fool.
My heart clenches painfully. I’m pissed at myself for allowing those three words to get to me, but…fuck, they hurt.
I’m about to shut off the phone when my Twitter app catches my attention. It says I have 4622 new notifications. Sweet Jesus.
Despite my better judgment, I give in to morbid curiosity and open the app to see what the Twittersphere thinks about this latest development. Ha. #RyanWesley is trending on Twitter. And I got ten thousand new followers since the photo was released. I click on my notification feed and discover that most of the tweets are surprisingly positive.
@hockeychix96: OMG! Your BF is SO hot!
@T-DotFan: Good 4 u, dude!
@Kyle_Gilliam309: Ur an inspiration to us all, Wesley.
On and on it goes. OMGs, cyber hugs and high-fives, people telling me what an inspiration I am to the gay community. Sprinkled among those are tweets of denial, disgust, and disbelief.
@BearsFourEvr: Dicks are for chicks, fag.
@Jenn_sinders: Please say ur not gay!
And in a conversation about fifty tweets long, two female fans decide to tag my username as they conduct a thorough examination of the “proof” of my sexual orientation. They even blow up and crop certain parts of the picture to state their case.
