Page 104 of Cross the Line

“Oh. I’m liking this,” the photographer said, and my attention snapped back to her. I hoped she’d blame my pink cheeks on the heat from the lights they’d set up.

“That’s it. Carson, look at me,” she said from behind the camera.

I was eager to be done with this before I said something—did something—that would give it all away. Talk about a scoop! I could practically envision the headlines as they wrote themselves.

Kovalsky Dating Former Teammate’s Sister

Secret, Explosive Relationship on the Ice

Hockey’s Hottest New Couple

Okay, that last one I rather liked. I must have smiled at the idea because the photographer called. “Yes. Perfect.”

“Want to sneak into the locker room after for a quickie?” Carson murmured.

It was a battle, fighting the urge to smile. And forget telling my skin not to heat at his words. “No,” I said, scarcely moving my lips.

“You sure about that?” When I chanced a glance at him, he had a teasing glint in his eyes.

“That’s good,” the photographer said, and I’d almost forgotten she was there. “Yes. Look at me now, Logan. Otherwise, everyone will think you’re a couple.”

“Joke’s on her,” Carson muttered, and I snorted.

“You good?” the photographer called.

“Yep. Sorry.” I glared at Carson. “Just a sneeze or something.”

“Let’s just get a few more, and then I think we’ll be good,” the photographer said, the click-click-click of the camera reminding me of our audience.

After the photographer was satisfied, Carson and I were ushered back to the locker room where the team would shoot B-roll content while we were interviewed by one of the writers from the magazine.

Carson sat at his stall, and I sat in Frasier’s. A man with dark skin and kind eyes wheeled himself into the locker room and introduced himself as Frank.

“So Carson, Logan, thanks for joining me,” he said in a deep baritone. “I’m excited to talk to you about the NHL’s Culture Initiative and what it means to you. We all know about the famous fight at the Seattle game last fall, and I want to talk about what the league’s been doing since.”

Carson gestured to me, so I launched into a quick explanation of the culture board, the training, the fines. And then I talked about some of the other things we’d done to make everyone feel welcome at games, expanding accessibility at the arenas beyond the minimum required by the ADA. We also wanted arenas to provide sensory kits and calm-down spaces.

And we’d made recommendations to make women feel more welcome, working with a firm that offered solutions for venue environment, reporting mechanisms, and fan culture. One of my favorite recommendations, besides the enhanced bathroom facilities, was the idea of virtual panic buttons to allow fans to discreetly and quickly ask for help.

“Sounds like you’re making great progress,” Frank said. “I’d love to hear more about your individual roles. What made you want to be part of this initiative?”

Carson cleared his throat. “I’m honored to be an ambassador for the league in this regard. I want the sport—all sports—to be more inclusive. Everyone deserves a seat at the table, regardless of sexual orientation, race, gender, ability.” Carson met my eyes then, something unspoken passing between us.

It was nice to feel as if we were working toward change together. It was powerful—knowing we were so aligned on so many things, especially this. Carson always made me feel so seen and understood.

“It seems like this is something you’re both very passionate about,” Frank said in that deep voice of his. “I’d love to hear why you’re both so driven to expand equality and access in sports.” He turned to me. “Logan?”

“Women have long been denied access to sports. And even though things are better, equality is still lacking.” I rattled off some stats about the differences between men’s and women’s hockey. Frank nodded, seeming interested.

“I’m doing this for the women who came before me, like my mom,” I said. “I’m doing it for myself and my teammates. But I’m also doing this for the future of the sport.”

“And you, Carson?” Frank asked. “What’s your personal stake in all of this?”

“I, um…” Carson hesitated, and I was surprised. He was usually very charming in interviews, fluid in his answers. But here he was, uncertain. I wanted to take his hand and give it a squeeze to reassure him, but I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. “My upbringing made me predisposed to see the world a certain way, to believe certain things. Since then, my view of myself, my teammates, the world, has expanded in so many ways. I have learned so much from so many different people—like Logan, like some of my current and former teammates, some of the athletes from the Paralympic hockey team. And I think that…” He paused again, seeming to consider his words. “I think if I hadn’t been exposed to those different viewpoints and perspectives, my world would still be very small.”

“Interesting,” Frank said. “Could you elaborate on that?”

Carson rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. I sensed that he was torn, not wanting to speak badly of his family but also needing to speak his truth. Unable to resist, I placed a hand on his forearm. He glanced up at me, and something unspoken passed between us.