I take a breath before answering. Yeah, I can pretty safely say that Tremblay falls under the description of asshole. But I know my mom well enough to know that she'll go full scorched-Earth if she thinks I'm being mistreated in any way.
“No, not really. They’re…fine. The press, though? They’re still assholes.” This, at least, is true.
She hums at this, having been right alongside me through the interviews and press conferences of the past six months. Hell, the past four years.
“You know, Jamie...you don't have to do this.”
I hold my breath, unsure what she's trying to say.
“It's okay if you just want to be some twenty-something guy in Southern California. It really is. You have a degree, and you'll always have a place here with me.”
This is exactly why I didn't tell her the truth about today. One hint of my unhappiness, and she's ready to move me back into my childhood bedroom while I fill out grad school applications.
“Mom, I'm fine. I just need to work on my conditioning, get ready to play in the big league.”
Again, her response is skeptical.
“If you say so, Jamie. But make sure you're taking care of yourself – and schedule an appointment with Jeff; you know he can help, too.”
She’s right. In the midst of the draft and moving, I’d let my therapy appointments lapse. It was time to pick them back up.
“I will, Mom. I promise.”
For a moment, the urge to tell her everything is almost unbearable. I take a deep breath and squeeze my lips together, desperate to keep the words inside.
“Don't be a stranger – I want to know you're ok, Jamie.”
I try to laugh at this, but it comes out a little wet-sounding.
“Of course, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
I jump in the shower, desperate to wash this day off my skin. As I look at the empty hotel room, I realize it isn't even ten o'clock yet – only eight on the West Coast. I pick up my phone and try to FaceTime Avery. He too answers right away.
“So, how bad was it?”
I let out a breath and flop back on the bed, relieved that he already knows shit must have gone down if I'm calling.
“Define bad.”
He grimaces. “Well, that doesn't soundgreat. Walk me through the day.”
I sigh. “The hockey was good. No, the hockey was great. My conditioning is good, my skating's good. I'm ready for this.”
“So what's the problem?”
“Tremblay hates me.”
“He's known you for, what, eight hours? How can he hate you?Henever had to live with your dirty dishes.”
I roll my eyes.
“Pretty sure me being gay is enough reason for him. He's already told me to ‘tone it down’ and ‘focus on hockey’.”
Avery rolls his eyes.
“Damn. And I always thought he was hot, in an old kind of way.”
