Page 9 of Goalie interference

Thayer

There was no shame for me in being gay.

I’d never advertised it, of course, but every team I'd ever been on had known. Management knew, coaches knew–I even made sure Reed knew before I took this job.

There was still a stigma about it in sports, so even if I wasn’t ashamed by any means, I didn’t speak openly about it. I didn’t date during the season and would only entertain temporary situationships with men during the offseason, and only when I was back home in Kansas.

Kansas wasn’t a hockey state, so no one really cared about me when I went home. I was free to date in any way I pleased without fear that it would make it back to the hockey world–that was a pattern I planned to keep with this job.

Nothing about what I’d just done to Ash was sexual–it was clinical and technical. I moved with purpose and direction–it didn’t turn sexual until Ash–

No, that wasn’t fair.

What Ash was feeling was normal–he'd been playing on injured muscles for months. He was probably in pain most hours of the day–all I did was release the tension and relieve the pain for him.

His reaction to it was normal.

It probably felt amazing to him, and he was doing what I asked with his breathing–it wasn’t his fault they turned to moans like that. It wasn’t his fault that the relief was so good he got hard from it–at his age, I got hard once from a particularly good crack in my back when it was stiff.

No, it wasn’t sexual at all…but it sure felt like it.

The professional adult I was should have stopped Ash from leaving, made sure he knew that it was normal and nothing to be embarrassed about, but the thirty-four-year-old gay man in me just needed him gone.

It was rough for both of us, so he could lick his own wounds for a minute while I calmed down.

It was wholly unprofessional of me to even be thinking about one of these boys like that. I didn’t even want to–I was shutting down that part of my brain for years with no issue, but a twenty-one-year-old with an attitude, and I was fried?

How was that fair?

By the time I made it out of the training room, Ash was out on the ice already. I swallowed back whatever the feeling was inside me, centering myself with a few breaths before heading out there myself.

Jordy and Tommy were still warming up, but Ash was already running drills with the rest of the team. They were shooting at him, and he was moving like water in that net, stopping each one with an ease I didn’t see this morning.

He’d always favored his left leg, but he was doing it less right now, like the right one no longer hurt him, and now it was just going to take learning to trust that leg again.

Michigan had historically handled Providence without much trouble, and the more I watched them warm up, the more I saw why.

Those Providence guys were a fucking mess.

Reed blew his whistle, calling all the boys back to the bench. They all crowded in and took their places, Tommy and Jordy already knowing they weren’t starting tonight and even acting as if they cared.

Ash was last to come in, the bulkiness of his padding suiting his height easily. It was easy to look like a big blueberry in that get-up, but it looked like it was made for Ash when he huddled up, his painted mask hiding his expression.

His eyes avoided mine when he came over, staying on Reed as though life depended on it.

Reed read the riot act to them all, announcing lineups before sending them off to their places for puck drop. Ash turned to head back, pretending he couldn’t hear me when I called out his name to stay back.

But he damn sure heard Reed.

“Thanks,” I mumbled to Reed, nodding him off as Ash came back over reluctantly, hands gripping the boards already. “How do you feel–”

“Don’t–” His words caught in his mouth when I put my hand up again.

Ash was a strange guy.

He was so passionate, to the point that it turned to anger in him when it wasn't being stroked, but he responded well to firm guidance. He responded to it when I stopped him in the training room, and he responded to it now with my hand in the air, stopping him from speaking and telling me to fuck off or something.

“We can talk about it later. What I need to know now is how you feel,” I said calmly, firmly. “We made a deal. You’re honest with me, and I listen, but if you stop talking to me–”