I turn slowly, facing him head-on, consciously looking him over. The huge headphones make a few strands of light blond hair stick out on the right side of his head. I’ve never hated another person more than this guy right now, who’s bringing up my sexuality while we’re live on a radio talk show.
And he still keeps fucking talking. Like he needs to make up for being quiet earlier.
“Last year a bunch of NHL players planned a Pride Night charity event, but it all turned into a huge disaster when other players went full homophobe over it. There was a leaked video that went viral on social media,” Hoff explains to our uninformed host.
The memory of it churns my stomach and renders me mute, so he can go on uninterrupted. “And only two weeks later they drafted the one rookie who’s openly gay.”
“I was drafted like anyone else; Resnikoff had nothing to do with it!” I snap, shaking my head. The star player of the Rebels had been caught in a video calling those efforts of inclusivity adisgrace. I remember the words echoing all over social media as everyone added their opinion. But whatever side of Resnikoff was uncovered for the world to see had not come through the Rebels’ channels. They had reassured me of that.
Next to me, Van der Hoff rolls his eyes with a derisive snort. “If you really believe that, you’re an idiot.”
“Now that’s–” the host starts, but I cut him off with a growl.
“If you think that I get advantages for being openly gay thenyou’rethe idiot!” The only person I’m aware of is Van der Hoff next to me, whose green eyes are glaring angrily.
“That isn’t…I can’t believe you’d let yourself get used like that, and then claim it actually supports some kind of cause? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“At leastI’mnot hiding who I am! I’d havekilledto see someone like me stepping up when I was younger!” I take a breath, but I’m not done yet. “You’re jealous they spent all their time on me when they should have been focusing on you, is that it?”
We’ve both completely forgotten about the host. Cables twist and strain as I invade Van der Hoff’s personal space.
“So you can betheVan der Hoff everyone talks about? The big star?”
“You– That’s not– Shut up!”
“Oh yeah, that’s convincing,” I snort, shaking my head and pulling the headphones half off.
“You arrogant–”
We both wince at the same time as a shrill beep blares in our ears, suddenly ending our fight. I’m tearing the headphones off as fast as I can, pulling out a few dark hairs in the process.
Van der Hoff knocks his microphone over when he jumps up from his chair.
“Fucking asshole!” he spits, trying to get in my face, but when standing, I have a good few inches on him. That doesn’t stop him though. Even if he’s a dick Van der Hoff is a hockey player through and through. His fingers twist in my shirt and I grab his shoulders. My hip hits the edge of the desk as we grapple.
“Hey, hey! Stop!” The host tries to get up as well but gets tangled in all the wires on his side.
I hardly notice.
There’s only Van der Hoff trying to headbutt me. I do my best to jab my elbow in his side and trip him up until there are several hands and arms pulling us apart.
“Hockey players! It’s in their blood!” the host desperately shouts over us. The jingle sounds again, followed by the first chords of a song.
“That’s all for today! Tune in next time forASlice of Campus Life!”
Nicko, Senior year, September 25th
“Gotcha!”
My heart leaps into my throat as a body slams into me from behind. The impact isn’t anything close to what I’m used to on the ice, but it’s taken me off-guard. Not to mention that my knees feel like jelly right now. And not in the way that your secret crush makes them, but rather in the way that your Bulgarian coach turns them after having you run drills for almost two hours.
I’m not proud of the gasp that leaves me—or the way my arms flail to regain my balance, earning me some amused snickers from my teammates.
I flip them off before putting my gloved hands over the small arms that have wrapped tightly around my middle. For a moment I hold my breath, trying to feel inside my body. There’s an uncomfortable pinch in my right thigh, exhausted muscles complaining about the false posture I adopted after last year’s injury. Only when I’m absolutely sure that my stance is steady do I manage a soft chuckle.
“Tackle from behind? Kind of a coward move,” I inform the kid as I chance a look over my shoulder to confirm my suspicion.
“But taking on a bigger player is courageous, yes?” Milo grins up at me, still plastered to my back.
