Page 119 of Edging Coach
Another eye-roll. Under his breath—but still loud enough for me to hear—he said, “idiotes”.
Right. Like saying it in French makes it less bad. Mom would’ve washed your mouth out with soap.“Toronto made a bad call. Glad you feel that way.” I was expecting boos on the ice tonight from the fans—even though the higher-ups were the ones who had traded me. I would’ve stayed forever. Hometown and all that. The place where I’d lived with my mother.
“And Hairs is going to out you.”
I remembered how I’d considered playing gay porn in Belleville to weird him out. And how I wouldn’t have—because it would’ve put a spotlight on me. “You don’tknowthat. I mean, he hasn’t done it yet.”
“He’s waiting for the right moment. Like the first goal or the first playoff win. Or, hell, when Vancouver wins the Cup.”
“Cederqvist might be back on the roster by then.”
“Do you believe that?”
He’d been on the injury list for five weeks now, and the playoffs were approaching fast. “I think I can be sent down at any moment, and that’s a reason to keep my nose clean. Neither Vancouver nor Abbotsford needs the kerfuffle of me coming out.”
“Because Abbotsford already has a gay coach?”
I’m resigning at the end of the season.
In truth, I’d stared at Jack’s text for an hour. Trying to parse it out. Trying to determine the meaning. Trying to figure out my response.
You don’t have to do anything with that. It’s happening whether or not there’s any kind of future here. But I wanted you to know.
Then…
And I want you to know I’m insanely proud of how youplayed last night. People on high are noticing. You’re on your way to being a star, Devon. You’re doing everyone proud.
I’d read two things into that. Yes, Jack was proud of me. He wouldn’t have bullshitted me about that.
And also, that he believed my mom would’ve been proud.
One night in Tofino, near the end of the trip, I’d been brutally honest with him. He’d known the circumstances of Mom’s death, of course. That was part of theDevon Jarvisstory. The myth. How I’d overcome adversity and my mother’s tragic death by becoming one of hockey’s rising stars.
“Devs?”
I blinked.
“Why am I really here? You need a nap.”
“Possibly. Probably.” I blinked again. “Because I’ve fallen in love with someone, and you’re the only one to tell. Because as much as you’re an asshole, you’d never break my trust and out me.”
“Unlike Hairs.”
This time, I rolled my eyes. “You’re obsessed with him.”
“He’s obsessed with himself. I saw an interview with him on some random clip—I don’t even know how it wound up in my feed.”
“Because you’re following Abbotsford.” I’d missed this interview, so I made a note to track it down.
“He’s jealous. That much was so damn obvious.”
“What?” I squinted. “Well, I guess. But he’s a bottom six forward. My getting called up doesn’t affect him. Like, at all.”
“Right? But he’s an asshole.” He extended each syllable, so the word strung out for almost thirty seconds. “Now, are you still in love with your coach?”
I blinked. Because words were beyond me.
“Right.” He put his bottle on his nightstand, turned to faceme, and tugged one of the outrageous number of pillows against his chest, mimicking me. “Are you willing to risk your career?”
