Page 13 of Skating the Pucking Line

“You’re coming for a drink first, though, right?”

“Uh…” I’ve mostly tried to avoid team events. New Year’s Eve was an exception, because the owner planned it, and I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t grateful for the opportunity.

I’m not stupid, though. I’m aware that no one wanted me there. And it’ll be the same upstairs.

There’s just one issue. I need to speak to him.

I waited anxiously for that moment of madness to come back and bite me in the ass. I trawled X and the bunny sites daily for any story about me that might have been leaked. But there was nothing.

I’ve been lucky so far. Those who know the truth have kept it under wraps. And that’s the way it needs to stay.

The world is constantly moving forward. Minds are being opened. But right now, in the NHL— hell, in sports in general—there is a very, very small number of players who are open about their true selves.

Those who have come out…Fuck. I respect the hell out of them. But watching it play out…the bullshit stories, the assumptions, the abuse. None of it makes me want to let the world know my secret.

“Just go for one. You’re a part of the team now, Nash,” he says with a smile, as if everything is sunshine and roses in his world.

“Yeah,” I mutter before gathering up my clothes and heading out.

The locker room is as empty as the trainers’ room. I guess I’m the only one lingering when there are drinks and food on offer upstairs. A lot of the guys have friends and family they’ll want to commiserate with as well.

I, however, have no reason to rush anywhere. The only thing waiting for me is the stream of messages that I know will already be on my cell.

I take another shower just because I can before pulling my suit back on.

With my hair still wet and my bag over my shoulder, I step out of the dressing room and pause.

Left will take me toward the parking lot and ultimately home—not that my house can be classed as home yet. It’s a place full of boxes and things that haven’t found their place. Much like myself.

Right will lead me deeper into the building and toward the elevators that will take me up to the friends and family suite.

If I’m lucky, many will have already started heading out. But he could still be up there, and I can’t miss a chance of pulling him aside somehow and having the chat we should have had that night.

My fists clench at my sides as my feet carry me toward the right.

As I step through the door, my heart is beating faster than it should. I scan the room, which is still annoyingly full of people, searching for the one person I need.

I move toward the bar, a few people stopping me to congratulate me on my game, but they don’t bring me the kind of joy they should after a loss. I stopped feeling that buzz a long time ago.

I’m almost at the bar when a full head of dark hair in the far corner of the room catches my eye.

There.

Fuck.

My hands tremble as I drop my bag to the floor and order myself a beer.

Get it together, man. He’s just another guy. Another secret you need to keep hidden.

No sooner is my bottle of beer placed in front of me than I have it at my lips, draining it in just a few swallows.

I look around the room again, and this time when my eyes swing toward where he is, he’s no longer locked in conversation with Killer and his sister; instead, he’s looking directly at me.

Panic hits me like a tsunami.

Coming up here was a bad idea.

I pick my bag up and swing it over my shoulder, more than ready to get the hell out of here.