I hoped whatever family Mikko might have in Finland was nice to him, if they ever tried to contact him.
“Over there is Tapio,” Matti said, pointing. A huge man about my age looked up at his name. My gaydar went off like a claxon in my head as soon as we made eye contact. Outwardly, he was tall, rugged, with a beard shadow as blond as the hair on his head, but his gaze was soft, almost careful, his smile shy.
“He doesn’t speak English but he asked me to tell you he’s very thankful for you and your team’s openness. He’s not one to make public statements but he is grateful when his husband comes to see him play and he can feel freer to acknowledge who he is. In Finland, there is little stigma but in the sports world…”
“I am a public statement,” I said, grinning. “So there was literally no chance we were going to fly under the radar. I’m happy it makes people’s lives easier. I know it means a lot to me to be able to hold Perry’s or Alan’s hand in public. That matters.”
“It does.”
There wasn’t any more time to chat, though, as our team had been called and our names were being announced. It felt weird to walk out there, waving to a crowd who may or may not care who I was, or what this meant to me.
Cheers went up, though, as the four of us walked out to the ice.
Even people in Italy, it seemed, knew who we were.
Perry leaned close to whisper, “We might be the only four Canadians who make no apologies, and people still think we’re all that.”
“Now if we can just win a gold medal.”
“If only.”
Unlike the Trials, we only got one shot at the semi-final game. Win, and we went on to the Gold Medal round. Lose, and we played for Bronze.
Sure, we were playing the lowest rung team in the semis, but they were fourth place in the overall standings of world-class curlers, so not exactly pushovers.
And they were nice. I almost felt bad whenever one of our guys knocked one of their rocks out of play. Almost. Juhani was so much fun: he had only a few English words, but we managed with gestures and a lot of laughing. I got looks from the rest ofthe team, but for the first time since we’d arrived, I was having more fun than stress, and that was something.
My game was a lot less erratic than it had been all week too.
“You should feel bad that you’re using his good nature to help you beat him,” Perry said to me at one point while we waited for Alan to set up Carol’s next shot.
Our mics were off since we weren’t part of the play right then, and I snorted. “He’s also playing way better than he did our first game.”
“It was the first game. We were all rough.”
“Not Alan.”
“Yes, well. That’s Alan. Nothing ruffles him. Not out here anyway.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“You two ready?” Carol asked as he slid from the game end, having consulted with Alan, to the hack.
“We are,” I assured him.
“Hope you were listening!” he called over his shoulder as he glided by.
We had been. When Alan told us to broom for the inside curl, we broomed, guiding Carol’s stone to the exact spot on the centre line where it couldn’t be touched until later, and where it would do us the most good.
“Good job,” Alan said, patting Perry, then me on our backs as we passed him.
“Of course.”
“Don’t get cocky. And I know you’re making friends with the nice young Finnish lad, but don’t lose your focus now.”
I stuck out my tongue at him. “Jealous?”
His glare was hot as fuck, and though he didn’t kiss me—it would have been hella unprofessional—it felt like he’d nailed me to the score board and planted one on me. I was that breathless from just the way his eyes got dark and his frown smouldered.
