Page 87 of The Tryout
I’ve been wondering this ever since Avery told me I should ask someone with a more typical coming out experience, someone who hadn’t grown up in a house where being gay was the norm rather than the exception.
Ethan and Jamie look at one another for a moment, and I can tell Jamie wants to know where my sudden curiosity is coming from. He holds back, opting to answer my question instead of asking one of his own.
“A game of spin the bottle at my first boy-girl party in eighth grade.”
I hear a snort from the driver’s seat as Ethan pulls into the player parking lot.
“My first was with Ellie Sams, and I spent most of it wondering where to put my hands and why her tongue was so wet.”
I laugh at the image of Jamie Carter in some finished basement crowded with teenagers.
“And your second?”
“That was Carter Boynton. And I…”
He drifts off, a flush forming on his cheeks.
“Let me guess…you weren’t very worried about your hands?”
He shakes his head decisively.
Both our eyes drift to Ethan, though Jamie seems wary.
“Cap, no need to share if you don’t want to. Avery just thought your story might be…helpful, I guess?”
He turns in his seat, looking at me.
“I had…a different experience. I mean, I lived in New York, but with the guys my dad hung around with, it wasn’t something we ever talked about. I think…if I had grown up like Jamie and Avery, maybe I would have realized sooner, you know?”
I nod, having had my own thoughts about this lately. A friend in kindergarten I liked to hold hands with, or how I was never quite as comfortable with the casual nudity of my high school locker room as the other guys.
“So, anyway, I somehow ended up in juniors, fucking around with this guy I didn’t even like, and still somehow telling myself I was straight.”
Oh. I’d known Ethan had been in the closet before he’d met Jamie, but I guess I’d never really thought about what that had looked like.
Ethan clears his throat.
“It wasn’t a great time in my life, if I’m being honest. I didn’t even let myself think the word gay about myself until…I don’t know, my mid-twenties?”
My mouth is moving before I can even think to stop it.
“And to someone else?”
Ethan looks at the seat next to him, where Jamie is sitting, quiet.
“About a year ago. Right here.”
As it turns out, Jamie is right – I’m not out of shape, and I manage just fine at practice. Matthews, who typically centers the third line Zimmerman is on, is also happy to see me. Just like in preseason, we’ve got good chemistry and I’m hopeful that I won’t embarrass myself too badly while I’m in Minneapolis.
Ramsey pulls me aside after practice to congratulate me on the callup and let me know that I should count on seeing time on the third line during Tuesday’s game. I’m thrilled; I know sometimes callups spend most of their time on the bench, there just in case an injury or game misconduct requires an additional body. But no – in fewer than thirty-six hours, I’ll get my first NHL minutes.
In the locker room, I have trouble removing the smile from my face, even as I attempt to squeeze my equipment into the tiny corner locker I’ve been given. I’m honestly lucky to even have a locker. With Zimmerman only out for a few games, his stuff is still in the locker room – hell, he was in the locker room this morning, on his way to see the trainer.
At my side, someone clears their throat. I look over to find Zach Price, a serious look on his face.
“Hey, Rook, do you need a place to stay?”
I’m confused at the offer. Plenty of the NHL guys have been nice, even going out of their way to be extra welcoming to me. Price has just never been one of them. In fact, these might be the first words he’s ever spoken directly to me. He must sense my confusion, as he keeps talking.
