My head fills immediately with objections.I’m not technically a gay man. I’m bisexual. I don’t have a lifelong experience of homophobia. I’ve been out of the closet for a few weeks, total. I’m not an expert.
And, even if I was, I hate sharing personal shit at work.
But I’m here to save my job. A job I love. So I do what I promised myself I’d do. “I’d be happy to speak to the staff,” I tell Bill.
He smiles. “Wonderful. So I’ll circle back on this after the disciplinary meeting next week. In the meantime, please get that doctor’s note. Your team needs you, especially since we’ve suspended Mr. Danton pending his disciplinary action.”
I sit up straighter in my chair. “Who’s coaching the team?”
“Gilles is a little busy covering both his and your teams with Frazier’s help. But don’t panic. They need you, but they can stay afloat another week until this passes.”
He shakes my hand, and I’m out the door before I realize how confident he sounded about my reinstatement. That warms me. As I tread down the slushy sidewalk, it’s only nine-thirty. Wes is probably at his rink, but not on the ice yet. So I try his cell phone.
“Hey!” he says, answering on the first ring. “How’d it go?”
“Not bad. I think I might squeak by.” I tell him about the report my players filed.
“Jesus. That’s incredible!”
“Right? Love those kids. There’s one hitch, though. Bill wants me to volunteer to talk to the staff about my experiences with homophobia. You know—because I’m such an expert.” I laugh just picturing it. “It’s going to be the shortest meeting ever.”
“You want help?”
I almost say no out of sheer habit. There’s that h-word again. But I stop myself just in time. “What do you mean?” I ask instead.
“I could talk to them about what it was like being a gay hockey player when nobody knew. I spent my freshman year of college shitting bricks over what they might do to me if they knew. If it helps you and your boss, I’d show up and tell that story.”
My pace falters and I stop walking. “Really?” I picture Wes walking into that conference room and the looks on all their faces when Toronto’s most successful rookie in a decade steps through the doorway.
“Sure. Why not? Frank Donovan is gonna make me give that speech to the club at some point. This can be my warm-up.”
“Wow. Okay.Yeah. I’ll make you dinner every night for a week if you get me off this hook.”
“Canning,” he says, his voice going deep and slow. “How about I pick my own reward?”
“That, uh, works for me, too.”
He laughs. “Love you. I gotta hit the ice now. Late lunch later?” He has to play the Sharks tonight—a home game. And apparently I’m drinking umbrella drinks with the WAGS in a box somewhere.
But first, lunch with my man. “Absolutely. See you at home.”
After we hang up I walk to the subway feeling so much relief and wondering which of Wes’s favorites I should make for lunch.
THIRTY-TWO
JAMIE
A week later, the jury finds me not guilty.
Fine, I’m being melodramatic. There was no jury, only a committee. And no verdict, just an “official decision” that stated my actions toward Danton may have been both provoked and exacerbated by the medication I’d been taking. My personnel file now includes a warning, but no other disciplinary action was taken, much to my relief. Even though Wes spent this whole week telling me not to worry, I was still imagining all the worst-case scenarios, and I’m glad I can finally breathe again.
There’s a spring to my step as I enter the arena on Monday afternoon, inhaling the crisp air and feeling the welcoming chill on my face. The kids are already on the ice doing their warm-up skate. Danton is nowhere in sight. When I checked in with Bill this morning, he told me that Danton is still on leave until his complaint is settled. I didn’t ask why my “case” was resolved first. I’m just grateful it was.
The players catch sight of me as I approach the boards. Several of the boys wave, a few call out, “Welcome back,Coach Canning!” but only one whizzes in my direction. It’s Dunlop, who shoves his helmet off as he skates to a stop.
“Coach!” His cheeks are red from exertion. Or maybe joy. I like to think it’s the latter.
“Dunlop.” I greet him with a big smile and a clap on the shoulder. Then I let go of him immediately. I’m probably going to pay a little too much attention to the way the team interacts with me for a while. Wes says there’s one in every crowd who can’t get past his sexuality, and that’s just the way it is. “I missed you guys,” I tell Dunlop.
