Hockey Holidays

by Toni Aleo

  “So she said that it was too far,” he mused into his drink. “We’ve been dating since I was fifteen, you know, before the draft, before the money. Not that I earn what you do, Logan, but still, it’s steady.”

  I nodded, even though I wanted to yell at him that our jobs were only as steady as the next game or trade deadline or injury. I didn’t say any of it, because I’m not The Grinch, and Connor didn’t need to be told about the reality of playing professional hockey. If a veteran like me had told the young me that a career in hockey might not last, I would have ignored it all. Connor had drunk quite a bit earlier, mulled wine that Mase had made from ingredients he’d found in the kitchen. I suspected that it was merely hot wine because Connor was sleepy, his words a little slurred, and he’d spilled hot chocolate down his shirt. He wasn’t anywhere near drunk enough for me to pull the protective big brother act, demanding he treated his body like a temple and warning him that we were athletes. He’d only drunk enough to make him clumsy and to loosen his tongue.

  “I’ve loved Amelie since I was twelve, you know?” He wasn’t looking for an answer, and he forged ahead. “I know for sure she was with me for who I am. I mean, not for the hockey or fame or money, or whatever else the game brings with it. I can get sex when I want, anywhere. You know what that’s like, Logan, right? But I don’t want sex with random girls; I want Amelie.”

  Archie sat forward, and he had a familiar expression, the one that indicated he was about to dispense detailed, thought-out wisdom. There would be pros and cons and a considered summary, and he always ended up making people feel they were ready to decide something based on his advice. He wasn’t like other finance guys in this business where there was a perception that they were morally corrupt. Every day I heard stories of guys losing money to this scheme or that one, but never about Archie.

  “You say you love her?” he asked, carefully neutral.

  Connor nodded furiously, more chocolate slopping over the rim of his mug. “I do.”

  Archie took a deep breath and let it go noisily. “Then call her. Now. Ask her how she feels. If she says she loves you, then she’s worth fighting for, and you go out and fight for her with every breath. Don’t take no for an answer. Make things work.”

  Connor blinked at Archie, and I could almost imagine his thoughts. That was a better speech than anything the Dragons’ coach could hand out before the third period when the team was close to losing. Connor stood, wobbled a little before straightening and placing what was left of his chocolate on the table. He brushed at his shirt as if it was important he was tidy. This was serious.

  “I’m gonna do it now,” he announced, and I knew I had to step in.

  “Con, get some coffee and a cold shower first, right? Then she’ll know it’s real, okay?”

  He nodded at my wise advice, listening to me as only a new kid on the team could, as if he thought I knew everything in the goddamn universe.

  “Okay, I will. Thanks.” He left, stumbling over his chair, and I feared for the patio heater, although his innate hockey skills kicked in, and he sidestepped it smoothly in the end.

  I liked Connor. He was so earnest, so focused, and I imagined that he and Amelie would make the perfect couple. No doubt she was blonde and slim and perky, liked dogs, and posted a ton of pictures on Instagram. She was socially acceptable, and being seen with her would do wonders for his career, not send it crashing to the ground.

  “And then there were two,” Archie murmured and tipped his head back to look at the sky. We were far enough from the city that there wasn’t a ton of light pollution, and the night was clear and starry. Romantic even. I didn’t want to move. We stayed quietly staring up, and I was close to dozing when Archie cleared his throat.

  “You know, Logan, what breaks my heart is that if you only ever said you loved me, I would fight for you, too.”

  He eased up off his chair before I could answer, and walked inside, but I couldn’t let him leave. He couldn’t go around saying shit like that and I followed him into the kitchen.

  “That's enough, okay?” I snapped at him and slammed my mug down on the counter.

  He rounded on me, his eyes flashing with temper. “Is it worth it, Logan? Is hockey enough to make up for being alone and miserable?”

  I stepped closer, and my anger dripped into my determined but quiet words.

  “You promised when we ended things that it was done. No more.”

  “No, Logan, you said that. I said I loved you, and you backed off so damn fast.” He shoved at me, his hand flat on my chest. “I never promised you a damn thing about ending things, and I’ve been fucking lonely and miserable without you.” He pushed me again, and aggression snapped inside of me, as bad as when I was checked into the boards. I rammed him back. Only I was stronger, more determined. I might’ve been shorter, but he hit the counter with a pained sound, his hand going to his hip.

  The anger fled in an instant, the temper died, and I was at his side in a moment.

  “Shit,” I said and pressed my hand to cover his. We were jostling, nothing more, but I felt like a complete bastard.

  “I shoved you first.” He reached to cup my face. “I’m okay.”

  “Archie—”

  “I’m good.”

  Then he kissed me, and everything I’d tried to avoid flooded back. Somehow, the kisses grew into more, and I lifted him up onto the counter, moved between his legs, cradled him, touched him, loved him.

  “Guys, she said—”

  Connor’s voice broke into our passion, and we snapped apart as if we’d been burned. I turned to face Connor. His mouth hung open.

  “Shit. My bad,” he said and backed out of the kitchen.

  I panicked, yelled at him to stop, but he didn’t. He kept going, and for the first time since I’d kissed Archie on New Year’s, I felt utterly afraid. “Stay here!” I told a shocked Archie and chased Connor down, grabbed at his arm, stopped him at the base of the stairs. What if he went on Twitter? Or worse, passed what he’d just seen around privately, so a hundred knowing eyes would look at me and judge me? Why had I kissed Archie? Why couldn’t I keep things locked inside?

  I’ve destroyed everything.

  “Connor?” Even though it was only one word, it was a million questions I couldn’t vocalize because of the terror that gripped me. “You can’t say anything, please. I’m not ready for people to know.”

  He held up a hand, “I won’t say a word, Logan." He sounded fearful, and guilt flooded me. Was I scaring him? Was that what I wanted? To rule with fear so I could keep my secrets?

  I released my hold, and he backed up the steps. Who the hell knew anymore?

  “Please,” I said, my voice broken. “You have to understand…”

  Connor sat down, as if his strings had been cut, right there on the first step, and bent his head.

  God, I’d disappointed him, let him down. We played on the same line, and I’d just messed everything up. I backed away from him, not knowing where I was going to go. I needed to call my agent, talk to the captain, the owners, warning them about the damage. Get ahead of this. They could always push me down to the minors; they might even be happy to let me quietly retire.

  I could go home to Ottawa, find something else to do. My legs buckled, and someone was there, catching me, shaking me.

  “Snap out of it, Logan.” Archie shook me some more. I was hyperventilating as I had done the day I’d come out to my parents. I’d been fifteen, scared, and all they’d done is asked me if hockey would be the right thing for me. There weren’t any out players then. The fans wouldn’t understand. Other teams would target me. I’d promised myself there and then that I would hide. Nothing had changed since. Keeping secrets meant I was safe.

  “Listen to Connor, he’s trying to tell you something,” Archie demanded and then guided me back to lean on the wall. I slid down until my ass hit wood, and then I waited for the ax to fall.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Connor began again, then thumbed b
ehind him, “and neither will they.” I looked past him and saw that both Lee and Mase were standing there with similarly shocked expressions. Shit.

  “Is he having a stroke?” Mase asked in a hushed tone.

  “Should we call 911?” Lee added.

  Connor glanced up at them and shook his head, and something in his expression must have told them to shut up because they both quietened.

  “We won’t say anything. My little brother is gay. Mase’s best friend is living with another guy, and Lee, well, I don’t know about Lee, but he’ll be cool.”

  Why did I still feel as if this was the end of everything? I had to make him see.

  “If people knew…”

  Connor shook his head. “What can they do? You love who you love.”

  I snapped back at him. “What if you could lose your job because you fell in love? Huh?”

  Connor shook his head. “If you can play hockey, play. Who you love isn’t an issue.”

  “Oh, is this a gay thing?” Lee asked from the top of the stairs. “You know I watch Queer Eye—” He stopped when Mase elbowed him. “Sorry. I just wanted to say I was cool with it.”

  The words washed over me, and then Archie was there, crouching in front of me. “No one thinks any differently about you. Nothing’s broken,” he said.

  He didn’t know that. When the three of them were alone talking about me and what had happened, they would probably have different opinions.

  “It’s all okay,” Connor murmured and then went upstairs, corralling Mase and Lee as he went, and once again it was Archie and me, alone.

  And all I could say was the very worst thing of all. “This is all your fucking fault.”

  Archie narrowed his eyes. “There were two of us in that kiss.”

  I didn’t want to talk about any of it anymore. “I need you to leave.”

  “And I need to talk.” He placed a hand on my arm, but I didn’t want him touching me or want him anywhere near me. Because of him I’d fucked up, and now the team would know, and everything would change.

  “You’re the last person I need to talk to.”

  “Logan, we need to—”

  “I don’t love you, Archie. You don’t see it, do you? We have sex, it’s hot, but it’s not love. It’s a twisted, toxic thing that I can’t handle right now. I can’t be what you want me to be.”

  He nodded. His eyes were bright with emotion. “Okay, Logan, if that is what you want to believe.”

  I didn’t move from where I sat when he went upstairs. The hard floor and the cold wall seemed like the perfect place to brood about how shit everything was.

  When he came back, only minutes later, he had his bags, and he stopped in front of me.

  “All you have to do, Logan, is say you love me.”

  I didn’t answer, and he left.

  And I honestly think he took part of me with him.

  Chapter Four

  When I shared a cab to the Dallas practice rink the next day with the other three, no one said a word about what had happened on the stairs the night before. They didn’t need to. Connor half hugged me and murmured that they all had my back. Mase fist-bumped me, and Lee kept catching my eye and nodding. More words weren’t necessary. I’d have been happy if the world stayed quiet and no one said anything to me.

  They followed me into the rink as if they were my back-up. I nearly smiled as I imagined someone filming it and playing it in slo-mo, the four of us intent on facing down the world.

  We were some of the first to arrive for ice time. Only Ryan was there, on his cell and pacing the locker room.

  Has he heard about me? Is there a problem already? Did one of the kids text someone? Is it on Instagram? Is everything over?

  I felt sick and waited for Ryan to say something, but all he did was nod at me as he passed on his next circle. That wasn’t conclusive. Maybe Archie had gone straight to his brother and told him that I’d thrown him out of the house, that I was a bastard who was hiding, that I’d broken his heart and he hated me.

  Any energy I had left me in a rush, and I slumped into my workspace.

  “You okay?” Ryan asked, pushing his cell into the bag in his cubicle, which was only three away from me.

  “Christmas,” I replied as if that explained everything.

  Ryan sighed heavily and patted his belly. “Yeah, I overate, and now Kat calls me and tells me that she’s organized this huge dinner with friends and all I can think is that you’ll be able to roll me on the ice soon.”

  Ryan and Kat were impossibly happy, all loved up and kissing each other in public. At the last family skate, they’d been giggling and falling about, and when he’d lifted her and twirled her around, it had been a perfect image of love and romance.

  I want that.

  He moved away but it was him that I was up against in drills and he didn’t let me sit on my ass for one second.

  I hadn’t slept for shit last night, which made concentrating difficult, something that the rest of the team pulled me up on.

  Ryan iced to a stop next to me. “That’s two,” he announced and tapped his stick on my leg.

  “Huh?”

  “Let a third one pass by you and Coach will haul your ass over there and explain how you’re complete shit and that you really shouldn’t have eaten so much over Christmas.” He was joking, but the last thing I needed was to show any vulnerability.

  I stick-tapped him back. “I’m on it.”

  He skated over to the bench to get a drink, his practice done, and I was too busy staring at him to see that Alex was heading right for me. Only at the last minute did I sense things were wrong, and with seconds to spare, I moved into his space and defended the hell out of his moves. He kept on skating back to the starting position, chatting to Loki who was next in turn. It wasn’t that I hated defensive drills, I was a forward, but the coach had us working on what we all needed to be doing against a hot team like Dallas.

  I finished my turn in front of the net, set myself up at the opposite end to work on my slapshot, and was so lost in thought and focus that I didn’t even notice the rink had emptied, not until Simba skated right between me and the net and then stopped. Leaning on his stick, the captain regarded me with a severe expression.

  “Archie came back to his place,” he said and then stopped. I guess he was expecting me to fill him in, but I didn’t know what he wanted me to say.

  “Yeah,” I offered, in the hope he would lead the conversation for me. I checked around to see the empty rink, the darkened seating, the fact that it was just him and me.

  He skated closer and lowered his voice.

  “You have anything you want to say to me?” he asked and waited.

  The bottom fell out of my world. “Like what?”

  He sighed and leaned on his stick, every inch the captain that I respected, the man who I called a friend.

  “I remember last New Year’s day,” he began with caution. “I’m Archie’s brother. I saw how he was, and I was the one he came to when the guy he was with broke it off. He never told me a name, but I’m not stupid, Logan.”

  “Alex—”

  “Let me get this out, you idiot,” he spoke low so that only I could hear. “It doesn’t matter to me; you understand that, right? I don’t care that you’re gay or bi or however you identify.”

  Fuck.

  He pressed ahead, “There is no one I want more on my wing because the hockey you play is flawless, and if you can play, then you should play, regardless of who you go home to, or who you love. You understand me?”

  I nodded because words evaded me.

  “One more thing. I’ll be in your corner. I’ll have your back. So will most of the team. Hell, the entire team will have your back when I’m done. And I don’t just mean rainbow tape one game a year. I mean for real. But, Logan, the most important thing in my life is family.” He leaned even closer ominously. “Stop fucking with my brother’s emotions. Because one of the team or not, friend or not, I will take y
ou down. Understand?”

  “He wasn’t supposed to tell you,” I began, in my defense, as if that made everything better.

  He cuffed my shoulder and cursed.

  “You’re an idiot if you thought I didn’t see what was happening, and for the record, Archie never said a damn thing. It seems he’s happy to keep your secret right alongside his broken heart.”

  He skated with purpose toward the gate and left me on the ice on my own.

  I stared up to the rafters, to the silent screen, to the retired jerseys, and wished everything would make sense. What if this arena was full? What if everyone knew?

  “What if it doesn’t matter to anyone?” I said to the lights. “What if I can love who I want?”

  I already knew the answer, eighteen thousand fans, jeering at the queer guy, asking him to leave, shouting that he’s destroying the Dragons.

  This is why I keep my secrets.

  Our captain was gone by the time I left the ice, but Connor was there, waiting for me, looking earnest and so damn young.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. You can all go. I’ll make my own way back.”

  But it appeared that wasn’t why he was there.

  He cleared his throat. “We had an idea, me and Mase. You know you should call Rowe and maybe that guy who sorts the social stuff at the Railers. Get some advice, support, something that will help.”

  Tennant Rowe, Ten, the poster boy for gay hockey, and currently working his way back from a horrible accident on-ice. The last thing he needed was for me to call him with issues about coming out to a team. The Harrisburg Railers, one of our biggest rivals in the Eastern Conference, had support from management and coaches and the wider community. But they’d also had hate hurled at them, which I’d seen at first hand.

  I didn’t have Ten’s mobile number, but I could’ve gotten it if I wanted. I had contacts.

  But what would I be able to say? I don’t want to be part of some secret group of gay hockey players.