“You were friends with Avery Jameson?!” I blurt out, equally shocked and impressed by this detail. I knew Coach used to play in the NHL. I remember him starting at the All Star Games, in the playoffs, and how he lifted the Stanley Cup over his head. I just choose to ignore these memories nowadays, because I used to insult him heavily from behind our TV screen whenever he played against the Pioneers.
“I once called Avery my friend, yes. Played together for years. So I think: fool me once…but I should’ve known to look deeper. With my own team. I did not want you to feel unsafe or unwelcome here, Nicholas.”
“Un...welcome?” I echo, my cheeks burning from the underlying message there. Suddenly, my skin is itching beneath my athletic shirt and pads. I should’ve taken all of this off, not just my skates. I probably look ridiculous, but the game is officially on pause, and nobody knew what to do.
“You’re...I’m sorry, I might not have the right words for this. I think you’re bisexual, yes?”
I’m stunned. I did come out to a few teammates in my freshman year, but since I never brought it up again—even retreated further into the closet after the leaked clip and the interview—I assumed he didn’t know.
“Y-yes,” I confirm, and I hate how my voice shakes, how my fingers tremble so violently I spill some of the coffee onto my jersey.
But after a few shallow breaths, I also realize my chest suddenly feels lighter.
Like an invisible string had been tied around it this whole time and Coach undid the knot.
“Yes, I am,” I repeat, this time nodding along to my own words. “But it’s never been...I mean, I didn’t want it to define me as a player. So I didn’t want to make an issue out of it, I guess. But no one ever...I never felt unsafe at B-Tech,” I promise.
Until now, my mind adds quietly, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I can only imagine what my fellow students have to say after I might have ruined our chance to advance to the Frozen Four.
“How about now? If the game resumes, would you feel...comfortable playing? Without Zollweg.” Coach quickly adds that last part, which makes me snort. Zollweg and Aldridge will both be suspended for the rest of the game and probably for the next one, too, for fighting off the ice.
I take my time, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I replay the fight in my head. “What about Elrod?” I ask, and Coach leans forward at that, his fingers reaching for a pen.
“What did he do?”
“I don’t want to be a snitch,” I backpedal quickly, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
“Is not about snitching, Nicholas. You do not have to tell me if you don’t want to. But if I don’t ask and you don’t tell, we protect the wrong people and hurt future players.”
I think about that for a moment, wishing I had Nate here to speak for me. To form the words and voice my feelings.
“Okay,” I whisper, placing my coffee back onto the table.
“I’ll tell you.”
***
The game resumes after three hours, with nine minutes left on the clock.
They are the longest and most excruciating nine minutes of my life.
We play it in front of almost empty stands. The few supporters that have stayed behind watch in deadly silence, so every time a stick collides with the puck, it creates an eerie echo. I’m grateful for every change of shift that takes me off the ice, although the game is far from tiring. There’s no will to win on either side; both teams just push the puck around. No one wants to put it into the net. Without Xander and Nate on the ice, the Bats seem lost.
Guilt is dripping from every pore of us remaining Badgers, even with Zollweg off the ice. Coach suspended Elrod for the rest of the game, while Bergerson refused to continue playing with “traitors” like me.
I feel bad for our backup goalie, Richter, who gets to see his first ice time of the whole season.
When the horn signals for the end of the final period, the relief is palpable.
I can’t bear to look at the scoreboard displaying our win.
No one wants to take the puck with them as we shuffle into the locker room like a congregation of mourners.
Katz is the first one to speak while we all get dressed, some after the world’s quickest shower, others skipping it all together.
“I wish we had lost,” he says, and no one argues with that.
We have another night booked at the hotel, but Coach lets us know we aren’t obligated to take the team bus back to Bonham, only reminding us that training will take place on Monday as planned.
