Page 88 of Tough Call

But as I scoured the rules and regulations now, searching for some guidance on how Madars and I could navigate dating while I officiated and he played… I came up empty. Not because I couldn’t figure out how to obey the rules—because there weren’t any. There was just… nothing.

On the one hand, that was great because it meant there wasn’t technically anything forbidding me from dating a player in the NAL.

On the other, that opened up a massive can of worms. No, we wouldn’t be breaking any rules, but it wouldn’t look good. The lack of rules meant a lack of guidance. A lack of a detailed, black-and-white map for staying together and not giving people a reason to believe we were compromising the sport.

Not for the first time, I considered seeing if there were positions available in the women’s league. Also not for the first time, I dismissed that without much thought. There was only one female official in the entire NAL. Half of the officials in the women’s league were men. They didn’t need another man coming in and taking an opportunity away from one of the many women who were more than qualified for those jobs.

I sighed into the stillness and lowered my phone so I could rub my tired eyes. I didn’t know what to do. Especially since there wasn’t a damn rule. Of course there wasn’t. Players hadn’t even started coming out until a few years ago. I was the first and only gay official. There was one assistant coach in California and a skills coach in Ottawa; I knew that because that’s how few queer coaches there were. The sport hadn’t exactly been quick to embrace us, and they’d only sort of grudgingly accepted our presence in the last three or four years. No one had bothered making any rules about us because they were barely acknowledging we existed.

Which also meant that a gay player and a gay official would probably make some serious waves. In this league, serious waves could sweep away careers.

“Fuck,” I whispered, and stared down at my dormant phone. It was a relief that there was no rule banning us from being involved with each other, but it still left us with a can of worms. “It’s not illegal, it’s frowned upon” was fine and good for a lot of things, but not for a referee trying to toe the line when officials were under more intense scrutiny than we had been in decades.

What the hell were we supposed to do?

End the relationship so neither career gets fucked.

Yeah, that was the most logical answer. That was the answer for a scrupulously rule-abiding referee and the player on a PTO trying to earn a second chance in the League. Rules or no rules, the heat from something like this could burn a lot of bridges that couldn’t be rebuilt.

But every time I even thought about calling this off with Madars…

My throat tightened and my eyes stung. I couldn’t do it. I just fucking couldn’t.

Can you risk his career? Can you be that selfish?

Fuck. Fuck!

There was no easy answer. Nothing that kept us on the right side of the League and didn’t set us up for one to resent the other later. Because that was the reality of two people as ambitious as Madars and me—we’d worked hard to get where we were, clawing our way to the top of an extraordinarily competitive game. If one of us bowed out to keep from sabotaging the other, guilt and resentment were almost inevitable. That was just human nature.

Something had to give. Someone had to give.

So how the hell did we⁠—

Soft footsteps pulled me into the present, and I turned to see Madars coming into the room. I hated how much work it took to smile; I loved seeing him, but this whole situation had me tied up in so many knots, it was a struggle to put on a happy face.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He eased himself down on the couch beside me and slung his arm around my shoulders. Gesturing at my phone, he asked, “Am I interrupting?”

“No. No. Never. I was just…” I scowled down at my screen. “I’m trying to figure out if we can do this. Be together when we’re both in the NAL. But there’s no rules about it, and⁠—”

“Connor.” He gently took my phone and put it aside. “Let’s give it a rest for a little while.”

I held his gaze. I wanted to protest, but at the same time—I mean, yeah. I wanted to give it a rest, too. My fucking brain hurt at this point. So, he was probably right.

Sighing, I nodded. “Okay. Good idea.” I leaned into him and closed my eyes, loving the way we fit together. He drew soft circles on my arm with his fingertips, and for a long time, we just sat there in silence.

I tried to keep my brain from going there. I really did.

But every thought was only two or three degrees away from it, and I just kept landing there again and again.

Pushing out a harsh breath, I wiped my hand over my face. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Madars deflated. “I can’t either.” Silence held for an uncomfortably long moment before he turned to me. “Want to go distract ourselves for a little while?”

“I’m game for a distraction. What did you have in mind?”

But a split second later, I caught up. The look in his eyes was unmistakable, and though I felt like absolute shit, I was suddenly very, very onboard with what he had in mind.