I shut him down even though I can tell he wants to ask more questions. Tessa’s brother is Logan Shaw, a former teammate. He and Cam have been together for over a year now. The fact that they’re gay has never come up as a point of contention with my parents. Logically, I know they'd probably be fine. But I'm not fine. I let myself be real once, in Vegas, and Zane walked out of my life. He rejected me after I’d shown him a part of myself I’ve always kept hidden from the world.
Coming out means confidently accepting who I am, and I just don’t think I’m there yet.
We hang up, and I’m alone again, drowning in my lies and secrets.
I walk to the parking garage, my gear bag heavy on my shoulder. The facility is mostly empty now, just a few staff members going about their business.
I’m almost to my car when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Barnes.”
I turn to find Coach Enver walking toward me, his expression unreadable in the dim garage lighting. His lips are pulled into a tight line. My stomach drops. This doesn’t look good.
“Coach.”
“Walk with me.” He nods without slowing down.
It’s not a request. I follow him toward his car, my mind racing through possible explanations for what just happened on the ice.
“That was quite a performance out there,” he says.
“Yes, sir. I know.”
He stops and turns to face me. “Barnes, I’ve seen rough. That wasn’t rough. That was a goalie having a complete breakdown in front of his teammates.”
He’s not wrong, but fuck.
“I’m working through things with Coach Christensen... ”
“Doesn’t seem like it. What I saw today was a player who can’t stand to be on the same ice as his coach.”
Fuck. If Coach Enver’s picking up on the tension between me and Zane too, there’s no hiding it anymore. Everyone sees it.
“We have different approaches to the position,” I say, falling back on the same lie I told my teammates.
“Different approaches.” Enver snorts. “Barnes, I’ve been coaching for twenty years. I know the difference between a player working through technical issues and a player who’s got personal shit affecting his game.”
My mouth goes dry. “Coach... ”
“So I’m going to ask you once, and I want a straight answer. Is there a problem between you and Christensen that I need to know about?”
This is it. The moment where I either come clean about the history between me and Zane or find a way to bullshit my way through another conversation.
And I’m tired of the lies. They’re crushing me.
I’m also running out of them. My game is crumbling, my teammates are worried, and my coach is losing faith in me.
Something has to give.
“There’s... ” I start, then stop, the words catching in my throat.
“There’s what?”
I sigh and square my shoulders. Coach has given me so many opportunities and believed in me for four years. But I still can’t tell him the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway.
“There’s some history,” I say finally, my pulse pounding in my throat. “Nothing professional. Just... personal stuff that’s making it hard to focus.”
“What kind of personal stuff?”
