I understand. I do. But I’m scared. If this gets out, if people know…
Étienne
It won’t be about you. I won’t mention us. Just me.
Marco
People will make assumptions
Étienne
Let them. I just need one other person to know the truth.
Another long pause.
Marco
I can’t tell you not to. It’s your decision. Your truth. But please be careful. Please think about what it means if this gets out.
Étienne
I will. I promise.
Marco
Okay. I trust you.
But I could feel his fear through the text. Could sense his panic at the idea of our secret spreading, even tangentially.
And I understood. He’d been hiding from his family for seventeen years. The thought of exposure—even indirect exposure—must have been terrifying.
I wasn’t going to tell Kinnunen. Not yet. Not while Marco was that scared.
Butputain,I wanted to.
Saturday was a day off after practice. Most of the guys went out, explored Miami, or found bars and restaurants. I stayed in my hotel room and texted Marco.
We talked about his workouts and PT. Taking a lap around the block with his knee scooter. A visit from Belov’s and Kinnunen’s wives, baby in tow. My frustration with hiding. His guilt that kept surging up. My father’s inability to accept me.
Étienne
I wish you were here. With me. Playing.
Marco
Me too. But you’ll be home in a few days, and I’ll be back on the ice in weeks.
Étienne
Not soon enough.
When I went down to the lobby for a latte, I saw my right winger and rookie phenom, Tyler Jensen, video chatting with someone. His girlfriend, probably.
He was laughing, completely unselfconscious. Said “I love you” loud enough for anyone to hear. Blew a kiss at the screen.
My chest ached.
I went back to my room without getting coffee and stared at my phone. At the texts from Marco. At all the things we could only say through typing, never out loud where someone might hear.
