Page 3 of The Tryout

“I’ve already seen you. On my TV screen. In middle school.” The dig at his age is petty and, frankly, not quite true. He’s not even a decade older than Jamie, and I have to admit that up close, I can sort of see the appeal. Sure, he’s got a few more wrinkles around his eyes than you might get from, say, a 25-year-old, but he’s also got a confidence that comes with age. I can see what Jamie sees in him.

He takes the barb in stride, clearly intending to be on his very best behavior.

“You want me to sign a jersey for you?”

Or maybe not.

I open my mouth to speak when Jamie clears his throat.

“I just want to say again how glad I am to have you both here, together. You each mean so much to me and I’m happy you finally get to meet.”

Put in our places by Jamie’s obvious warning, Tremblay and I both look down, ashamed.

Jamie continues on, brightly.

“Avery, have you made any decisions about next year yet?”

He knows I’ve been avoiding this conversation all week, but he’s right; it’s time to make a decision.

“Well, my contract with my agent ended in February, and he’s one hundred percent not interested in renewing.”

Jamie’s face falls. I knew it would – hell, that’s a lot of the reason I’ve been avoiding this conversation.

“So are you looking for another one?”

I stare incredulously at Jamie and, to my surprise, so does Tremblay.

“Agents aren’t exactly lining up around the block to talk to injured NCAA defensemen, Jamie.”

He at least has the grace to look chastened.

“I guess…I mean, you came back and played this season. I thought someone would be interested.”

“Not well enough to convince anyone I’m a good risk. And I’m pretty sure teams are feeling the same way. Pretty sure my dads are ready for me to hang up my skates and start my real life.”

“...dads?”

This interruption comes from Tremblay.

“Yeah. Gay people exist, or hadn’t you heard?”

My irritation is mostly for show. Honestly, I’m happy to be talking about anything other than my next-to-nothing chances at continuing to play hockey competitively.

Ethan also has the grace to blush, but he keeps going anyway.

“What was that like? Growing up with two dads?” There’s something in his eyes as he says this that makes my stomach churn a bit.

I roll my eyes.

“Dude, dads are dads. It was good.”

His eyebrows cinch together and he goes quiet.

“So they really think you’ll go undrafted, huh? That’s a bummer.” Like a dog with a bone, Jamie picks up our conversation from before.

“Maybe I should have declared sophomore year after all.”

In high school, I was good, but certainly not the level of player that would go high in the draft. And even then, I knew my dads wouldn’t be okay with the chance of me skipping college entirely. By sophomore year, my agent was clamoring for me to enter the draft, but I still wasn’t ready to start that conversation.