Page 125 of Edging Coach
The response to that was the name of a hotel and a room number.
I didn’t think I’d been more restless on a flight in my whole life. Not even when my team was on our way to a game-seven Cup final. This was different, though. There wasn’t a hockey season and a championship on the line. We weren’t on the brink of making history and getting our names engraved among legends.
Devon needed me, and I needed to get to him. What I’d do when I got there, I didn’t know. I mean, I did know—whatever Devon needed. Whatever he wanted.
I just didn’t know what that entailed. Maybe he’d put me on my knees and leave a few welts on my painfully unmarked skin. Maybe he’d want sex like we’d had that last night—slow and sweet and full of all the emotions we weren’t allowed to have for each other.
Or maybe he’d just want me to sit with him and tell him that shit like this, for all it felt world-ending and catastrophic, was temporary. Hell, maybe by the time I got there, he’d realize the media had already moved on because it came out this morning that New York’s married captain had knocked up his GM’s also-married daughter. Vancouver’s rookie defenseman possibly having a boyfriend had been knocked out of the spotlight by a much-juicier scandal, and I doubted anyone even remembered the article about him.
But Devon would remember. He’d still feel that queasy awareness that people he didn’t know had read about his very personal life. I was sure of that because I knew that feeling all too well, and Devon was far more sensitive than I’d ever been.
I fidgeted in my seat. Could this plane fly just alittlebit fucking faster?
No, it couldn’t. In fact, it landed four minutes late, and I speedwalked up the jetway like I was trying to make a tight layover. I’d have sprinted across the airport—that enormous fucking Denver Airport—if I thought I could do it without being recognized. Because that was the other side of knowing what Devon was going through—people knew my face. Mostly people who knew hockey, but still, enough that someone might snap a photo of me booking it through the airport like my ass was on fire. The last thing I needed was some reporter pondering in an article why the Abbotsford Grizzlies’ coach was in Denver when his team was playing tonight.
Or even worse—why that openly gay coach was in Denver at the same time as his much-younger and very-recently-outed-as-gay player.
So… a brisk walk would have to do, even if I nearly lost my mind. Good thing I hadn’t bothered to check any bags. I owed the Grizzlies’ travel coordinator for making sure mine stayed with the team as the road trip continued. After all, I would presumably be rejoining them before they returned to Vancouver.
Which… in my cab to the hotel, it occurred to me that I hadn’t thought beyond meeting up with Devon. How longwasI going to be here? I’d arrived. So… what now?
I’d find out soon enough, because I was walking into the hotel. Taking the elevator. Speedwalking down the hall.
At his door.
I tapped my knuckle beneath the number. I could barely hear his approaching footsteps over the sound of my heart. I almost didn’t hear the deadbolt turn.
Then the door swung open.
I had enough presence of mind to step inside so we’d be out of sight, and then Devon had his arms around me. I hadn’t even dropped my carry-on bag. I just closed my eyes and held him close, letting him bury his face against my neck. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us made a sound. He wasn’t crying or even trembling; if anything, I swore I could feel the weight of the world sliding off his cable-tight shoulders. In my arms, he breathed slowly and deeply as tension melted out of him.
“Thank you,” he finally mumbled against my neck.
“Of course.” I had to fight the urge to kiss the top of his head. Yeah, we were hiding in a hotel room, but I didn’t know where the lines were anymore. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, his unshaven jaw scuffing against my jacket. Then he loosened his embrace and drew back. As our eyes met, my heart sank again. He looked like shit. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. A heavy shadow of stubble making the rest of his face look extra pale. He just looked exhausted and wrung out.
I touched his cheek. “This took a lot of out of you, didn’t it?”
Dropping his gaze, he nodded. Then he laughedhumorlessly. “It’s stupid. I… For fuck’s sake, I knew this kind of shit happens at this level.” He stepped away and started pacing across the room by the two queen beds. “I know it does. I’ve seen it. I just didn’t…”
“You didn’t think someone was watching you like that.”
Devon shuddered. “I didn’t think anyone cared that much about my personal life. I’m just a rookie who’ll be back down in the minors before long.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.”
He faced me again, forehead creased.
I shrugged, letting my bag slide off my shoulder and onto the nearer bed. “The coaches are raving about you. You’re getting noticed.” I managed a tired smile. “Don’t be surprised if there’s a one-way contract in your future.”
Devon’s lips parted and his eyebrows climbed higher.
“You’re getting noticed,” I said again. “And not just by people who want to make up shit. People will talk about your hockey long after they’ve forgotten about this.”
He lowered his gaze to the floor between us. “But they’re still talking about it. I…” He looked at me again, features crumpling a bit. “How do you deal with that?”
I sighed as I stepped closer, and I took him back into my arms. “I came out on my own terms, and it still sucked, being talked about like that.” As he slumped against me, I stroked his back. “It wasn’t right. You and he shouldn’t have been outed like?—”
