Changing on the Fly

by Cherylanne Corneille

  Oh. Hell. No.

  As the puck dropped a second time, Nate reached around McGarrett. In the process of shoving him away from the play, he placed his stick between McGarrett’s legs and yanked, sending the other player to the ground. He then quickly speared him in the midsection.

  “Screw you. You aren’t his type, and we aren’t into threesomes,” Nate stated before skating away. He followed the play up the ice, but out of the corner of his eye, Nate watched McGarrett, doubled over in pain, head straight for the Atlanta bench.

  “What the hell did that jackass say to you?” Boone asked as the team wandered to the locker room during the first intermission.

  “He spotted Tristan during warm-ups and wanted to meet the two of us after the game. I told him we weren’t into threesomes.” Nate shrugged.

  Boone’s laughter echoed through the room, and the few players that overheard the conversation joined him. “Damn, dude. Remind me to never threaten you. Will you be my bodyguard if he comes after me in the second period?”

  “Hell, I may need more protection. I think I just taunted the bull by waving the red flag.”

  “But wasn’t it all worth it?” Chacin threw his arms around Nate. “I feel so proud. My little rookie’s growing up and getting away with penalties. Sneaky bastard.”

  “Do I need to go out there next period? I feel like they probably have a wanted poster with my picture on it pasted on their whiteboard.”

  “Nah. He won’t be stupid. The refs are watching him, and I’m sure they are watching you because the Atlanta coach reamed them a new one after missing that spear to McGarrett.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow at Chacin’s word choice.

  Chacin shoved him. “Yeah. No fucking pun intended, okay?”

  Now that the initial – and hopefully only – confrontation was over, Nate wanted to concentrate on playing the game for the last 40 minutes. Of course, McGarrett wasn’t going to let that happen. Nate thought he was boxing with his own shadow and losing the fight. The Atlanta forward was a bothersome wasp that continued to swarm no matter how many times he swatted, and McGarrett preferred to sting at each opportunity. A shove with the glove. A poke with the stick. Any little extracurricular activity that the officials wouldn’t notice.

  Nate refused to engage him again, but by the third period McGarrett’s tactics escalated. The head referee spotted the elbow McGarrett threw to Nate’s chin and McGarrett took a seat in the penalty box. If skating by and sticking out his tongue wouldn’t have seemed childish – or earned him an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty – Nate would have done it. Instead, he assisted on the resulting power play goal.

  Nate wasn’t sure if he wanted to make his career about taunting the bully but better to hit where it really hurt. Even the score didn’t stop McGarrett, though. Frustration took over the opponents and Nate had to worry about more than just McGarrett. Every line started to battle. In a particularly, evil move, one of the Flares’ players even went for Nate’s injured shoulder, sending him to the locker room for a brief evaluation before he could return to the ice.

  With the score still 1-0 in favor of the Krewe, Atlanta pulled the goalie for the extra man in the final three minutes looking for the goal to send the game into the overtime. Nate added a pair of blocked shots to his stats for the night as Carolina eked out the win despite being unable to score into the empty net.

  And McGarrett got in one final punch when he finally challenged Boone to a fight in an attempt to jumpstart his team.

  After the buzzer, Nate fielded some questions from the media, doing his best to be diplomatic about the protesters and dismissing the idea that he was Carolina’s good luck charm.

  “I don’t want to be the one blamed if we start losing again,” he quipped then winked.

  He packed up his gear quickly, hoping that Tristan was somehow waiting in the arena, but Nate was also concerned about Tristan’s safety given the charged atmosphere. Tristan wasn’t among the friends and family gathered in the holding area. He did have an early class in the morning. Maybe he opted to head back to Raleigh but then why bother to make the trip at all?

  “Nate?” It was Elliott. “Tristan, is that his name?” Nate nodded. “He was having trouble getting past security because we didn’t know he was going to be here. Rather than press the issue, he said he would talk to you at home.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” The grin Nate wore turned to a frown of disappointment. As he walked back to the locker room, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t stay. So proud of you.” Tristan sent via text.

  Nate typed his reply. “Thank you. See you at home. Hurry back but drive safely. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  The grin was now a smile as Nate weaved his way back through the corridors and found the team’s equipment manager. “Hey, can you help find something for me?”

  Chapter 7

  IT WAS AFTER two in the morning when Nate finally reached at his apartment in Raleigh. He sighed as he entered the bedroom and dropped his bag on the floor. The place still didn’t feel anything like home. He’d always chalked that up to the fact that he and Tristan never had the opportunity to put their own spin on the décor, but maybe the truth was that they just never spent enough time together there.

  Maybe they needed to start with a fresh sheet of ice.

  Nate stripped out of his suit and pulled on boxers and a t-shirt. He slid into the master bathroom to unpack his shaving kit. The Krewe had a five-game stretch of home games, so it was time to act as if he actually lived in the space he rented. He tossed his blue toothbrush in the holder next to Tristan’s green one.

  As he turned to leave, he caught his reflection in the mirror. His face bore a few battle scars from the last few nights. He wondered if that last sucker punch from McGarrett would transform into a bruise before their next practice. Coach had given the team the day off which meant that once Tristan returned from his early class, they could sit down and talk.

  Nate only dozed on the flight home. The game that night, with all the on and off ice drama, continued to run through his mind. Perhaps Tristan was right about him trying too hard to fit into this world. It would have been easier if he wasn’t the only crewmember manning the starship into the final frontier, but after tonight’s spectacle, he realized it was time to own his celebrity, no matter how he earned it.

  That was why he’d spoken to the equipment manager. He only hoped that the item he’d asked for was obtainable, because he understood the product was still in development, but maybe his status could be useful in this case.

  His phone dinged on the counter. Tristan was still making the drive from Atlanta and sending periodic updates to his estimated arrival time. According to the text, Tristan should reach home in a little over an hour. Although Nate was aware that Tristan’s schedule at the university prohibited any chance they had to talk in the early morning hours, Nate waited. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and lounged on the couch, watching the hockey network’s nightly highlight show. Call it morbid curiosity, but he might as well understand what sort of nonsense the media spewed so he could counter later, if necessary.

  The show teased the game before the commercial break, and he mentally prepared himself.

  “The Carolina Krewe headed into tonight’s game in Atlanta, having won their last two straight,” the announcer began at the same time Nate heard the door to the apartment open and a set of keys drop on the foyer table. “Coincidentally, two games ago is when rookie Nate Ward first appeared in their lineup and the league’s first openly gay player already has two points, including his first professional goal against New Jersey last week.

  “Ward missed the first week of the season after taking a hit from Atlanta’s Iain McGarrett in the preseason. The league suspended McGarrett, not for the late hit but for the anti-gay slurs that accompanied it.”

  The second broadcaster interrupted. “Ironic that McGarrett’s first game back was also Ward’s deb
ut in Atlanta?”

  A smirk from the first man and Nate’s hand balled into a fist. He wanted nothing more than to reach through the television and use Chacin’s teachings one more time. “Indeed. The planned protests an Atlanta newspaper reported on took place outside the arena, but the real action was inside.” The screen featured a few of the hits – though not all of them on Nate – as the commentary continued. “The two teams seemed more intent upon punishing each other on the ice than on the scoreboard, but it was Carolina’s other rookie, Markus Mattson, that broke the scoreless tie on a power play situation in the second period. The Krewe held on to win, 1-0.

  “Ward may have paid for that win, though,” said the second. “He and McGarrett were pushing and shoving the whole night, but other than the penalty to McGarrett, neither man really suffered in the same way they did after the last meeting. There maybe be bruises in the morning.”

  Nate huffed before taking a last swallow from his beer.

  “What a bunch of arses,” Tristan remarked. He knelt in front of Nate, took the remote from Nate, clicked the off button, and placed the device on the coffee table. Tristan did the same for the empty bottle. “I’m proud of you, babe.” His hands on Nate’s thighs to steady himself, Tristan leaned forward and kissed Nate, slowly.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “Shhh. I know. We do need to talk, but it’s late. Let’s worry about that tomorrow morning,” Tristan said, his accent calm and soothing. “I’ll come back directly after class or maybe stop at that little deli for some croissants first. We can discuss everything over breakfast.”

  Nate swallowed his frustration. Putting off communicating was their main problem. “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  Nate nodded and allowed Tristan to lead him into the bedroom. Tristan started to undress, removing his jeans, but when he reached for the jersey he still wore, Nate stopped him. “Keep it on. Please.”

  Tristan smiled. “You’re so possessive.”

  “You have no idea.”

  As they lay in their bed cloaked in the security of darkness, Tristan admitted, “Honestly, I like wearing your name and number.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Made me feel closer to you when you were battling that freak show. I don’t know what psychology would say about that.”

  “That you’re certifiable. Crazy.”

  Tristan laughed. “Textbook definition of crazy in love.”

  “I take that back. You’re definitely certifiable, but I’d throw corny in there, too, Beyoncé.”

  “But you love me anyway.”

  Nate pulled Tristan closer. His hand drifted under the jersey to caress Tristan’s bare stomach. “I do love you. Never question that.”

  “I’m sorry, Nate.”

  “I know. We’ll talk in the morning.” Nate kissed Tristan on the back of the neck before drifting to sleep.

  * * *

  THE BED WAS empty when Nate finally awoke the next morning. He groaned as he stretched. Every muscle and every bone protested the movement. He might decide to call the athletic training staff to see if they were available later in the day. He just wanted to sit in the whirlpool and soak. Plus he could receive a status update on his project he had given the equipment guys.

  The clock read a few minutes before ten o’clock. Tristan’s class had ended so it was well past time for Nate to start the day.

  Rather than hit the training room maybe he could guilt Tristan into drawing him a bath and just text the equipment staff. He might also call in a favor to see if an old friend could assist on scoring the item he wanted.

  Nate was doing a quick assessment of the now black and blue bruise on his cheek in the bathroom mirror when Tristan returned with the promised croissants. He had also picked up two of the largest cups of coffee Nate had ever seen.

  “Hey, join me.” Tristan gestured to the table. They’d barely used the furniture in the dining room since they moved in, preferring instead the kitchen bar or the couch.

  Once they sat down, Nate buttered his pastry and took a quick bite. He wasn’t certain where to start except, “I want to apologize, Tris. It’s been a tough couple of months trying to adjust to playing professionally. Although I can’t always be here, the least I can do is give you a call or send you a text just to check in. I mean we did that in college, right? Especially when you were at home in Liverpool over the summer.

  “I know I should have told you about the tires. It just wasn’t clear who had done it. Hell, I never told any of my teammates either aside from the two that were there when I spotted the problem. Of course, the idiots found out anyway. They’re worse than a gossiping ladies’ club.” Another bite chased with a sip of coffee. “And really, I just never had the chance to properly tell you about that earlier McGarrett incident.”

  “I am not allowing you to take all the blame, mate. I haven’t exactly been available for you either.”

  “But it’s not just about me. I really am interested in what you are doing up at NC State.”

  “Seriously? I swear I see your eyes glazes over five minutes into any conversation about my research.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Nate smiled sheepishly. “Maybe you could put it more in terms a dumb athlete could understand?”

  Tristan nodded. “I can do that. I just think that we need to continue to communicate.”

  “Boone said that was key.”

  “Boone?”

  “One of our alternate captains. He gave me a few relationship pointers while we were on the road.” Nate shrugged.

  “I should probably try to meet some of your teammates,” Tristan offered. “And go to a few more of your games. I forgot how much I actually kind of like hockey, but I think I’d prefer to see it in a more friendly atmosphere.”

  “Trust me when I say I prefer to play in a more friendly atmosphere. You know, we do have home games. I can set you up with tickets. Maybe one of the other researchers would like to come?”

  “They might like to take a break, and I’d win a few brownie points.”

  “I see. You’re just using me.”

  Tristan laughed. “Yeah, I am…for the hot skater’s body.”

  “You’ll wear my jersey again?”

  “Such a caveman.”

  “If I wasn’t still nursing a separated shoulder, I’d drag you back to my cave and have my way with you.”

  “No need for that. I’ll go willingly.”

  Nate smirked. “Really? You go ahead then. Let me take care of something really quickly and I’ll join you.” He took his phone out of his pocket and started typing.

  Tristan stood and laid a peck on Nate’s lips. “Don’t you dare keep me waiting too long.”

  When Nate returned to the bedroom, Tristan lounged on their bed wearing only Nate’s Krewe jersey. “Damn.”

  Tristan smirked then beckoned him toward the bed.

  Chapter 8

  WHEN NATE WANDERED into practice a few days later, Jonesy, the equipment manager, stopped him. “I was able to procure that items you asked for. Come see me after practice.”

  Boone, who was tying his skates in the stall next to Nate, flicked his eyes to his friend. “You know I love you, bro, but do I need to alert the league about something illicit?”

  Nate gave him the finger as a nonverbal response then adjusted his shoulder pads. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “No secrets between friends, eh?”

  “Hell, you want me to pinky swear?” Nate playfully shoved him as Boone stood then pulled on his gray jersey.

  Boone caught up with him again on the ice. “You going to the community outreach program this afternoon?”

  “Of course,” he replied, aiming a slapshot at the upper corner. “When don’t they rope the team’s great symbol of diversity into playing hockey with the local kids? I’m glad to do it, anyway.”

  “Yeah, you think that the ‘A’ on my shoulder officially stands for alternate captain? I swear it stands for automatic vo
lunteer. I’ll be there, too.”

  “Guess we’re both suckers?”

  “And proud of it.” Boone offered his fist, which Nate bumped with his own just as the coach’s whistle sounded to signal the official start of the session.

  Two hours later, Nate was freshly showered and dressed in the official player’s community relations informal dress – jeans and yet another jersey. Before he joined the others at the kids’ after- school program downtown, he snuck a side trip into the equipment room where Jonesy waited.

  “So?” Nate prompted.

  Jonesy pulled a box of rainbow-colored skate laces from underneath his desk. “It wasn’t a difficult as I thought. Once I dropped your name, the company was proud to send some.” He tossed one of the individual packages toward Nate. “No pun intended on that one, buddy.”

  Nate smiled. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Did they give you any pointers on how to use them properly?”

  “Sure. They sent step-by-step instructions on how to lace your skates so that all the colors show along with a thank you note.”

  “Thank you note?”

  “I’m not sure who is doing whom a favor in this case. I do understand that they are in limited supply for the time being until they can receive full backing.”

  “I’ll have to see about sending them a check to help with funding. Thanks again. Can you pull a second pair of skates for me tomorrow?”

  Jonesy nodded. “No problem, kid. I’ll pull a couple of an extra pairs out of storage tomorrow before practice if you want to come in early.”

  “Cool. And would you mind keeping this for me?”

  “I’ll keep it safely locked away.”

  “You’re the man, Jonesy.”

  * * *

  NATE APOLOGIZED TO the director when he was a few minutes late to the community center event. Most of the kids, all elementary school age, were choosing teams for a game of street hockey with Boone officiating and Chacin in goal. Mattson was on the sidelines, playing four square with two girls and a boy.