The locker room has custom-built dark wood lockers, which have the new players’ nameplates already installed. The modern professional look reflects the way we’re treated well and respected.
“He’s a great guy,” Ace says. “He has his players’ backs.”
“Must be me he hates.” Brant grins as if he’s already moving on, but there’s a vein throbbing in his forehead. I don’t know him well enough to tell if it’s a sign of anger or stress.
“No way.” Benz bounds over and slaps his back. “He loves us. You’ll see.”
“Sure,” Brant mumbles to placate Benz.
Lucky, our first line right-winger, blasts the music and the bass throbs in my chest as the drumbeat takes over the room. “Listen up, newbies. We have a rule here at the Enforcers. The team that dances together…” He puts his hand to his ear for the team to respond.
“Wins together,” we yell in unison.
Lucky twerks in front of his boyfriend Drake, the first line center, who smacks his ass. As the team joins in the dancing, I side-eye O’Keefe to see his reaction. He’s blank-faced.
We are the first NHL team with openly gay and bi players. O’Keefe knew this before he got here, but seeing it is not the same as knowing it. I pride myself on my ability to read people, but he keeps his emotions on lockdown. His face is a bland mask of neutrality, and I haven’t figured out his micro-expressions yet.
My heart rate accelerates at his indifference. Playing with O’Keefe will put me six feet under. Every time I think we’ve made progress, he flips a switch and turns on me. He’s too smart to do anything overt, but he pretends he can’t hear me or I don’t exist.
He’s his own worst enemy. He purposely antagonizes our teammates, then runs his mouth about all his success as if he needs an “Atta boy” for doing his job.
It could be me projecting, but there’s an underlying tension in the locker room this season.
Ace officially welcomes the new players to our home arena and gives an impassioned speech about his belief in this team.
When our trainer, Gray, enters, Ace lights up. “And I have some personal news.” Ace clears his throat.
“Is this where you explain the ring on your finger?” O’Keefe blurts out.
Gray saunters over, ignoring O’Keefe with his eyes on Ace. “It’s true. On vacation, I asked this guy to marry me and he agreed.” He looks like he’s won the lottery as he takes Ace’s left hand and kisses his ring finger.
The team claps and wolf-whistles their approval.
“Technically, I asked you first.” Ace picks up Gray and twirls him around.
“But I had the rings ready.” Gray pecks him on the lips.
They’re surrounded by everyone for congratulations and high-fives. Benz whispers to Ace, “I didn’t tell anyone.” Ace folds him into an appreciative hug.
O’Keefe was listening when Ace specifically said he and Gray wanted to tell the team together. One more way O’Keefe is making his transition to this team harder.
Liska, our starting goalie, pounds his stick on the floor. “I also have an announcement. Trevor and I have set a vedding date. July 10ththis summer.” His Czech accent is most noticeable on words starting with W. “Ve are not telling anyone yet to avoid a media circus.”
Benz careens into him. “You’re making an honest man out of Trevy! Finally,” he says, ignoring Liska’s attempt to block his hug. “I’m planning the sickest bachelor party for you!”
“I vill need to check vith Trevor on that.” Liska frowns.
“Obvi, he’ll be there!” Benz does a happy dance.
“Listen up, team.” Coach commands the room. “Instead of scrimmaging each other, I brought in our AHL team for the day.” He holds up his hands, expecting the grumbles. “You’re all excellent players, but great players don’t win championships, great teamwork does.” It’s bad luck to say you intend to win The Cup, but that’s our goal. “The expectation is that you wipe the floor with these AHL guys, and do it as a team.”
I control my excitement over seeing my friends from the farm team. There’s not as many guys as I used to know, but it’ll be great to share the ice. Most guys are nodding, but then O’Keefe opens his mouth.
“What if we don’t?” he jokes, looking around for a laugh. No one laughs.
Coach scowls at him. “Then I’ll sit down with Mr. Dimon and decide who we should demote to the AHL and who deserves to be brought up. Everyone on the ice.” He stalks out of the room without a backward glance.
“Dude.” Brant gives O’Keefe a friendly shoulder squeeze. “You gotta read the room.” The tension is thick enough to choke on.
