“Over here,” Hewitt calls out. He points at a bench, and then I spot my practice jersey hanging there.
“Thanks.” I start stripping out of my clothes. Our ice time begins in mere minutes.
“We’re gonna run PK drills,” he says, sitting down beside me. His skates are on and he’s ready to go.
“Okay,” I answer, my mind only half on this conversation with our team enforcer. “Why penalty drills?”
“Gonna rack up some minutes if these guys go after you.”
My heart sinks all the way to the goddamn floor. “Why do you think they’ll go after me?”Apart from the obvious. “I mean—won’t that backfire?” Now that I think about it, I’ll bet the refs are having a pretty high-level meeting today.Strategies to handle teams who want to smear the queer.
“They might not,” Hewitt says quickly. “I just want to be ready. I plan on taking as many minutes in the sin bin as needed, man. We’re not gonna let those assholes get away with anything.”
Shit!This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid. If I’d come out over the summer, it would have cycled out of the news before I was put in a position to make my team change their game to defend me.
“Look,” I say quietly. “I appreciate it. I really do. But don’t jump the first guy who calls me a faggot. There’s no point in making this into a gong show if we can avoid it. Keep it reined in at first. Let’s just see what happens.”
Hewitt nods slowly. Then he thumps me on the back and stands up. “Okay, rookie. I won’t go all Hulk on ’em right away.”
I skate hardduring our abbreviated practice. But when we’re sent to the hotel to rest, I can’t sleep. A call to Jamie goes unanswered, probably because he’s sleeping.
That’s good, right?
Everything feels just a little off, though. I’m still worried about Jamie. And I have rarely been so keyed up for a game as I am for this one.
After a restless few hours it’s back to the rink and the bustleof getting ready for the game. We’re the visiting team, so we get some heckling when we’re introduced at game time. I never pay attention to that shit, but tonight I can’t screen it out. Are the boos louder than usual? Is my team going to regret me?
The game starts off normally, but my teammates are visibly tense, and I know it’s because of me. When my line takes a faceoff, I’m shoulder to shoulder with a guy named Chukas. My eyes never leave the puck as he says, “So you’re the faggot, huh? You gonna sport some wood if I pin you against the boards?”
“Only if you kiss me first,” I return. Then the puck drops, and it’s on. When I’m playing hockey, I shut off all my doubts. I have to. The game requires every bit of my concentration. I love that about hockey. It feels hella good to drop out of my own life for a couple of hours and see only the bodies in motion on a bright white sheet of ice.
By the end of the first period it’s clear that this game is neither rougher nor friendlier than any other matchup. Just the same big-league brawl that it always is. By the third period, my team stops looking so clenched up.
It’s too little, too late, though, because we only tie the game, when we really could have done better. But for once in my life I’m counting that as a win. There won’t be any bruising newspaper headlines about my game tomorrow.
A week ago I scored a hat trick. Tonight I’m scraping by without making the national news. My standards? Consider ’em lowered.
I get back to the locker room dripping with sweat and relieved that the NHL has survived a game with its first out player. I drop my pads and grab my phone even before I hit the showers. It’s almost ten and I want to call Jamie before he goesto sleep. I dial him, hoping I’m not waking him up. He answers immediately. “Do we have dogs?”
“What, baby? I didn’t catch that.”
“Dogs. Chiweilers. We don’t have one of those, right?”
A chill climbs up my sweaty back. “Uh, we don’t have dogs, no.” Is he joking with me?
“I want a puppy,” Jamie says. His voice is hoarse. “Always wanted one. My parents said six kids was enough animals in the house.”
My brain is playing catch up with this conversation. “Do you have a fever, babe?”
“I dunno. Hot in here, though.”
“Where are you?”Because I’m about ten seconds from calling 911.
“In bed. Where are you? Shouldn’t you be here?”
The chill breaks everywhere across my skin. “I’m in Nashville,” I say carefully. “For a game. Where is Jess, babe? She’s supposed to be there with you.”
“Uh…” he says with a sigh. “Haven’t seen her lately.”
