Page 98 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

Travis smiles as we walk through the bar to our table. It’s karaoke night at the little neighborhood bar we go to when we don’t want to manage fans all night, and the team thought it would be fun to sit around watching people embarrass themselves.

“Now I get to kick your ass on the ice, Bas,” Trav says.

Basilio scoffs. “Now I get to kick yours.”

“Get in line,” Albert says. “I already get mine kicked defending him every time we play.”

I smile as I listen to the banter and take my seat. Albert moved up to the first line after my trade and has been doing a decent job. Klaussen and Peters have their heads together, and then I see them walk over to the DJ to request a song. Probably one of the goofy songs Trav always played before our games.

We order beer and the conversation is good. I missed these guys in some ways, but I gotta admit, in less than one season, I’m already closer with some of my new teammates than I ever was with these guys.

It could be because I spent all my time with Trav, but I think it was more than that. Travis managed to bond with them, so maybe it’s actually that I just connect with the Chicago guys a little more. They don’t force me to social events even though I’m always invited, and when I do show up, they don’t make a huge, dramatic deal about it. They just let me be me.

I could try a little more though. I’ve pushed myself out of my shell a few times in Chicago and I should do the same tonight. Who knows when I’ll be in a room with these guys again except to play against them.

The karaoke announcer comes on stage and kicks things off. We sit through three terrible renditions of Fleetwood Mac, Celine Dion, and Adele by seriously underqualified singers, but it’s fun, and by the time the announcer steps on stage again, we’re laughing and enjoying a solid buzz from the beer.

“Next up, we have Bozy,” the announcer says to thunderous cheers.

“What? No. I didn’t sign up for that.”

Peters can barely contain his laughter. “Consider it a going-away present for us.”

“Dude. You signed me up?”

Klaussen nods. “Come on, Bozy. It’ll be fun.”

I look at Travis who is watching me with concerned eyes. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Tell them to fuck off.”

The urge to do just that is strong, but I literally decided a couple of hours ago that I would put myself out there, so to everyone’s surprise, including mine, I stand up and make my way to the stage. This could end up on the internet by morning, but whatever. People here usually don’t give a fuck about us.

On the stage, the DJ gets me set up, showing me how the screen works with the lyrics, and letting me know my “friends” chose the song for me.

When the music starts, my nerves kick in. Am I really gonna do this? Exhaling slowly, I focus on the screen, muttering the first words to REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight This Feeling.” At first my voice is so soft that people from the audience yell out to sing louder. I try a little more, but man, my voice sucks. I can barely carry a simple tune, much less a power ballad from the eighties.

Through the bright stage light, I search for Trav, finding him sitting back in his chair, an encouraging smile on his face, and my nerves settle. I’m gonna sing this for him.

I dig into the lyrics, letting my voice soar regardless of it being off pitch and raspy. I manage to sing the chorus right to Trav, ignoring all the people around us, and letting him know that, yeah, I can’t ignore how I feel about him and I don’t want to.

I belt out the rest of the song, my eyes locked with Trav’s the whole time, and when the final notes fade away, I jump off the stage and beeline it for my man.

With all eyes on us, I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him to his feet. His hands drop to my waist and he smiles, giving me the approval I needed to lay one on him.

I press my lips to his and he wraps his arms around me, opening up so both of us fall deeper into the kiss. I’m vaguely aware of a few cheers and some clapping, then reality kicks in and I remember our former teammates.

Trav and I break apart and turn to the team. Basilio has wide eyes and his mouth hanging open and Klaussen is grinning. Peters does a slow clap while Harlson says, “It’s about damn time.”

Jurowski is standing behind us with a pitcher of beer in his hands, his eyebrows raised. “You are finally a thing, yes?”

“Yeah,” Trav answers. “We’re finally a thing.”

“I fucking told you guys,” Peters says. “I knew it was deeper than besties when Trav announced he was leaving Boston. It’s Boston. The only thing that could make Travis leave is love.”

“Is it love?” Basilio asks.

I nod, gazing at Travis. “It always has been. Just took us a while to figure it out.”

“Didn’t know you guys were gay,” Albert says, but his tone is more curious than anything else.