“No big deal. Gonna run and get food with friends,” I say. DeAndre probably hasn’t stopped kissing my mom. They are true #couplesgoals.
“Are you sure? I can still talk,” Mom says, and there’s a slap.
“Love you.” I hang up so they can do what they do and I don’t have to listen.
An irrational spike of anger rips through me, and I wish Theo never came to New York.
Ace hasn’t asked me any more questions about O’Keefe, and I wish he would. I want to talk it over with someone. After our skate, I get lost in my head, and almost everyone is out of the locker room, which means I’m going to be late for film.
Rushing into the film room, Benz immediately starts in. “Kingy, King, King. My man, one thing here is not like the others.”
It takes my overworked brain a few seconds to catch on, and everyone is trying not to laugh.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Theo bellows. “You can’t talk to him like that, and the rest of you laugh like it’s a joke. This team is a bunch of hypocrites.” He slams his fist on the desk.
Poor Benz is so pale he’s almost translucent. “I…I…I.” He gulps and turns to me. “You know that’s not how I meant it, right? I mean, you’re my work husband once removed. I’d never intentionally disrespect you.” His arms flail, and he can’t contain his nervous energy.
“I know, man,” I automatically reassure him. Benz calls Griff my work husband because we’re on the same line, and since he’s Griff’s best friend, I’ve become his work husband once removed.
“What bullshit is that?” Theo’s voice is strained, and his fingers twitch as if he’d like to hit someone.
I have an out-of-body experience as I realize that I’m prioritizing Benz’s comfort over calling him out. Although it was unintentional, I let things like this go all the time. Never standing up for myself.
“I got him,” Ace yells to someone down the hall while standing in the doorway. “C’mon, King, you’re already late. No socializing.”
I follow Ace and am too confused to look back at Theo. It’s the first time this year I’ve gone to the wrong room, and Benzy’s comment wasn’t malicious but sadly ignorant. They all say things out of pocket sometimes.
I’ve been making everyone comfortable with my Blackness so I’m not “that guy” or a problem.
Chapter 8
Theo O'Keefe
I’m not sure why everyone is glaring at me.Me. I’m the only one who stepped up to say that racist comments are wrong. It doesn’t matter the context. That shit’s never funny.
Benz comes to the front where I’m sitting and shuffles his feet. He’s beet red and should be ashamed of himself. “From your perspective, that sounded bad. But it’s all in fun. King comes into the defensive film room once or twice a month on accident. I meant he was the onlyoffensiveplayer in the room, not anything bad.” His eyes plead for forgiveness. “I don’t want you to think I’m a closet racist.”
“From here it wasn’t closeted. You spoke out in the open, and everyone else laughed.” I can’t be the only one who sees he crossed a line.
“It’s their inside joke,” Brant has the gall to chime in.
“It doesn’t matter. What if you were in a room full of straight dudes and a straight guy said something ‘jokingly’ about being gay or bi?” I do air quotes. “You’d have to laugh because otherwise you’re a victim or can’t take a joke.”
“Oh, no! I… He… I gotta go say sorry.” Benz heads toward the door.
“Everyone, sit down,” the defensive coach barks. “I didn’t hear all of that, but O’Keefe makes a good point. If your inside jokes aren’t suitable for your moms and grandmas, they need to stop. We’ve got big games ahead, so let’s get down to business.”
I’m shocked the coach takes my side. This team is so far up each other’s asses; I figured he’d rip me a new one for not understanding the culture here.
Though it’s ass backward. No homophobia, but racism gets a pass. Even for hockey, this is extreme.
I should’ve known King wouldn’t take my side. Even in defending him, he thinks I’m garbage. Unfortunately, I don’t have proof of all the homophobic shit King said about me.
His teammates would be shocked.
After film, the defensive coach calls me over. Great. Here’s the ass-chewing in private.
“How are you adjusting, O’Keefe?” He sits on the edge of his desk and crosses his arms.
