Page 85 of Bro Code

The announcer stumbled over his words and the crowd went quiet.

You never shook hands before a game. You never even shook hands on the ice after a game, except at the end of the playoffs. It wasn’t just a custom, it was a rule. And it was considered bad luck. Fans took that very seriously.

New York was risking fines, bad luck, and the wrath of their fans, on their home turf, against one of their biggest rivals, to show solidarity with the gay players on the Montreal team.

And the crowd was loving it.

All over the arena, people were getting on their chairs to cheer and clap and wave flags and banners. Louis hadn’t even realized because he’d been so fixated on Riley and the laptop, but there were pride flags all over the place.

Not just the fans who’d come down from Montreal – New York fans too. Pockets of rainbow-colored shirts, scarves, and beanies were clumped throughout the bleachers. He spotted a banner that said I STAND WITH THE GENTLEMEN and another that said KEEP YOUR SLURS OUT OF MY HOCKEY FIGHTS, and even PROTECT RILEY’S MONEYMAKER.

People were holding up posters with Riley’s number on them. Someone had even blown up and cut out a photo from his Calvin Klein campaign and was proudly waving a half-naked cardboard Riley over her head and grinning on the Jumbotron.

“Well, okay, ladies and gentlemen, looks like we have a – ah – a bit of a moment happening here,” the announcer said. “It appears New York is trying to shake hands with Montreal. We, uh…well, to tell you the truth, folks, I’ve never seen anything like this.”

The Montreal players cautiously circled their half of the ice, looking up at the crowd and casting dubious glances at the New York team. Like they weren’t sure if this might be some kind of trap. Finally, Nic Arsenault broke away and skated up to the red line. He planted himself in front of the player in the middle and took his hand.

As they shook, Liam pulled up beside him and shook the hand of the guy to his left. One by one, the Montreal players skated up to the red line and shook hands with New York. The last one to do so was Riley. He came slowly, and as he took the hand of the last player in the line, Louis realized he was crying.

Then he realized he was crying too.

He dragged his chair up to the front of the press box and climbed determinedly onto it. With tears streaming down his face he cupped his hands around his mouth and added his cheering to the cacophony below.

“Truly a historic moment, here,” the announcer was saying, “I’m not sure what the league will make of this but if there’s one thing we can say for sure, it’s that there’s still a lot of love for Riley Webb in New York.”

Louis’ phone buzzed in his pocket, and he kept one hand cupped around his mouth, cheering while he dug it out. It was Chloé.

His stomach plummeted. Scrubbing his face on the back of his arm, he swiped it open and put it to his ear. “Alò?”

“Louis!” He could barely hear her over the crowd. “What’s happening?”

He put a finger in his other ear, squinting as though that would help him hear. “What?”

“What’s happening?! The game! What’s going on?”

A smile cracked across his face as he looked back at the ice. “Are you watching?!”

“Yes! What are they doing?”

“They’re…” He shook his head, staring around the arena. “They’re on our side.”

The players finished shaking hands, split, and circled back to their zones, while on the sidelines, coaches, managers and refs seemed to be trying to decide if they should let the game continue after that. Apparently sensing that the crowd would not be happy if they made the wrong call, the ref skated out to drop the puck.

“Manman wants to talk to you,” said Chloé in Louis’ ear.

“Is she watching?”

“She keeps asking when they’re going to dance.” Her voice went away from the phone while she said something in French, then came back. “She thinks the guys who lined up in the middle are cheerleaders. Hold on, here she is–”

A brief moment of silence, then his mother’s voice came down the line. “Louis?”

“Hey Manman! You’re watching!”

“Yes, of course,” she said, in French. “What is this? I thought they were supposed to fight.”

Louis laughed, digging more tears out of his eyes with the heel of his hand. “They still might. But it’ll be for a good reason this time. A regular old hockey reason.”

Something rapped the back of his calf, and he looked down to see Holly with her hands on her hips. She tapped her wrist, and he suddenly remembered a fucking hockey game was about to start and that he had a job to do. He quickly said goodbye to Manman and Chloé and hung up.