“You’re Nate Ward, aren’t you?” A little girl, not more than eight-years-old, with her auburn hair tied into pigtails, had snuck up behind him.
He knelt to her level. “I am. What’s your name?”
“Abigail.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Abigail.”
“You can call me Abbi if you want. My daddies do.”
Nate’s eyes widened. Daddies? He cleared his throat. “Okay, Abbi. You must be a hockey fan?”
“I love hockey. I want to learn how to play.”
“Well, I can help you out with that, if you want?”
She nodded in agreement, and he offered his hand. Nate found a couple of sticks and a ball then set up two rocks on one end of a patio. A few other kids joined them. They took turns as Nate showed them how to pass and shoot.
When the event started to wrap up, Abbi helped Nate carry the equipment back to the main area.
“So, Abbi, you never did tell me who your favorite player is?”
She blushed. “You…because you’re my Daddy Jeff’s favorite player.” She paused for a moment. “But I had to ask him why you make him so unhappy.”
“Unhappy?”
“Uh-huh. He yells at you a lot on TV.” She glanced at him with wide eyes. “He sometimes says bad words.”
Nate stifled a chuckle.
“But he said that if we can go to a game, he would buy me a jersey.”
“I hope that you would wear my number, Abbi.”
She nodded shyly then ran toward her classmates, but a handsome man with similar red hair and a slight limp intercepted her. Nate could only guess it was one of her fathers, but the man was wearing a faded U.S. Army sweatshirt and a well-worn pair of desert-colored fatigues. He blinked.
“I didn’t even realize you made it,” Boone said as he joined Nate at the edge of the makeshift rink where the other kids had been playing. “Where did you disappear to?”
Nate’s gaze followed father and daughter as they walked hand-in-hand to a blue SUV. “Eh. I was giving some small group lessons on the finer points of passing and scoring.”
“Ready to give up your secrets yet?”
“In your dreams, buddy.” He thought for a moment. “Hey, who would I talk to about securing a few extra tickets to tomorrow night’s game?”
“Ticketing folks can hook you up.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Does this have anything to do with your secrecy?”
“No, Boone. Seriously, you are worse than a kid at Christmas.”
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Nate felt like a kindergartener learning to tie his shoes. Even with the instructions, it was difficult to make certain all six colors showed properly with the new laces, but he admired his third, and final, attempt. With a longer-than-normal to-do list, he had kissed Tristan goodbye early and arrived at the rink hours before anyone but a skeleton crew of staff. Preparing his game-day sticks was the first item and then he started on his skates, but the task took more time than he had allotted. Perfection was his nature, but for good reason, he wanted to get this right.
He left the newer pair of skates with the plain white laces on the bench in front of his stall. He would break those in at practice and unveil his surprise during the pre-game that night.
By the time he finished, the Krewe’s main office had opened, so he headed up the elevator to talk to the one of the agents about those extra tickets he wanted. When he spoke to Tristan the night before regarding Abbi and her fathers, his boyfriend agreed to entertain the family at the game if they were able to attend.
Tickets in hand, Nate returned to the locker room and discovered a small crowd of players gathered around his stall. He had been so focused and eager to obtain the tickets that he had forgotten to stow away his newly decorated skates.
“What the fuck, Wardo, you turning your skates gay, too, now?” J.J. asked.
“Thought I’d show a little pride.” Nate glanced at Boone. “Surprise.”
Boone took one of the skates in his hand. “Got any left?”
“Jonesy was only able to get small box, but sure. He kept the extras in his office.”
“Okay, boys, here is how we’re going to do this. Each man uses one set of laces on his game skates. Don’t use that pair in practice. We’ll bring them out for warm-ups tonight. This will give those sharks something to talk about – and I don’t mean our opponent.”
“Fowler, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nate asked.
“Showing a bit of solidarity. You’re a member of this team, dammit. It’s time that people outside this room understood that.”
“But a nationally televised game?”
“Isn’t that why you chose tonight in the first place? Now I think the point comes across a little stronger when 22 guys join in than just one.” Boone paused for a moment then smiled. “We’ll make it our own official coming out party. Carolina’s first unofficial LGBTQ Pride Night.”
Nate blinked. Nothing worse than tearing up when a teammate gives his Braveheart speech. “For freedom?” he joked causing both men to chuckle. They shared a quick fist bump.
* * *
AFTER FINISHING THE morning skate, Nate ran by the community center they visited the day before. He needed to make certain that Abbi’s family received the tickets. The receptionist and director were accommodating enough even if they wouldn’t release any name or address, but they agreed to call and relay the message. He left a note with both his and Tristan’s cell phone numbers in case there were any issues.
Finally, he walked through the door at home, where he discovered Tristan waiting for him. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a class cancelled. Rather than spend it in the lab, I decided I wanted to hang out with you – even if it means just cuddling while you take your pre-game nap.” Tristan took his hand. “I was honest when I said I was going to do my bloody best to make this work. And dammit, I’m so proud of you, Nate. What you are doing tonight…”
Nate shook his head. “It’s bigger than me now. My teammates all laced their skates earlier, and Boone called it Carolina’s unofficial LGBTQ Night.” He smiled. “I love that the guys are so ready to stand behind me.”
“I’m sorry. I was so unfair to judge them, to judge you for being who you are. I was so worried I was losing you, and I turned that fear on you.”
“Hey,” Nate said, squeezing Tristan’s hand as cradled the back of his boyfriend’s neck with the other. “I forgive you. We’re heading back in the right direction.” His lips found Tristan’s in a slowly deepening kiss. “Now, I want us to go that way,” he said pointing toward the bedroom, “because cuddling with you for a couple of hours sounds like a pre-game ritual I wouldn’t mind starting.”
* * *
NATE HADN’T HEARD anything from Abbi’s family before he left the apartment for the rink, but Tristan promised that he would take them to the team store to pick up the jerseys Nate had ordered for them before escorting them down to the glass to say hello.
As he waited in the tunnel before the Carolina players headed out to the ice for warm-ups, he looked down the line of his teammates and a lump grew in his throat. Twenty-two pairs of skates bright with the colors of the rainbow. United for a cause. A cause that he had inspired, at least in part.
The Jolly Roger’s skull and crossbones might be on the front of their jerseys, but the Carolina Krewe would rally around a different kind of flag tonight.
Ironically, or maybe not so much, the national television broadcast tapped Nate as their pre-game interview, so he had a front row seat for announcer Jack Peterson’s reaction, the usually impenetrable façade dropping even for a moment made Nate snort with laughter. He took a quick lap to compose himself before approaching for his three minutes in the spotlight.
“I’m here with Carolina defenseman Nate Ward who has made quite the impact on his team in his first few games,” Peterson said in his introduction. “Nate, the team started to win when you
came back from your weeklong absence due to injury. How do you account for that?”
“Some of my teammates joked that I was a good luck charm, but I think it just took a few games for this team to gel. We finally had the lineup that coach wanted, the one we had worked with during the pre-season. There was chemistry there, and we started to use that to our advantage.”
“You talk about good luck charms; I noticed that when you all came out for warm-ups that you and your teammates decided to redecorate?”
Nate smiled. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, and I guess now I have enough celebrity – for better or for worse – that our equipment manager was able to track down some of the prototype rainbow laces for me. The other guys saw it, and because of some situations the team and I have encountered thus far this season, they decided they wanted to show some solidarity. I couldn’t be more grateful to this organization and my teammates for letting me be who I am and for standing proudly next to me. It’s more than I could have ever hoped for.”
“Thank you, Nate. Best of luck to you.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
As Nate returned to the warm-ups, a helmetless Boone raised his eyebrow in question. Nate sent him a thumbs-up in response. Once he stretched, Nate jumped into the shooting drill. It was a wholly different experience playing in the Krewe’s home arena. The crowd filing in was a decoupage of silver, red, black, and white with a few forest green visitors’ uniforms sprinkled amongst the home team’s colors.
Taking in the atmosphere, he swooped around the net and stopped near the top of the left faceoff circle. That’s when he spotted his guests of honor. Abbi stood with Tristan, the redheaded man he had seen at the community center, and another tall guy with brown hair. She held a sign that said, “Nate the Great” up against the glass, her smile as bright as the fluorescent green cardboard she’d chosen for her declaration.
Nate waved at her, and she bounced up and down. Her fathers and Tristan laughed at her uncontained excitement. The redhead mouthed a thank you and Nate acknowledged it with a nod of his head.
From Carolina’s angle, the game itself played out like well-written script. They scored a pair of goals early to take a 2-1 lead into the first intermission. Nate continued his point streak as he set up the second goal, a one-timer by Chacin on the power play. Boone netted a hat trick, and the first star of the game, so once the horn sounded on the Krewe’s 5-1 victory over their rivals from Florida, Boone was on the sidelines with Jack Peterson for the post-game interview.
“I think our game has been very cohesive of late,” Boone said in answer to the first question. “We are a team first and foremost, and I think that has been reflected in our performance on the ice.”
“And what is your take on the new rainbow-colored laces? You scored a hat trick wearing them.”
“I’ll keep it. Probably talk to Nate to see who his supplier is. Can’t change the luck, Jack, as you know.” Boone paused long enough that Jack started to pull the microphone back for a follow-up question, but the alternate captain wasn’t done. “We as a team decided it was time to actually show how proud we are of Nate and what he means to this team. Kind of made it our own celebration. We wanted to show other athletes that you shouldn’t be afraid of who you are, that being a part of the LGBTQ community means that you can play.
“And in the spirit of that, I’d like to say something.” Boone paused. “I’m bisexual.”
Nate nearly tripped over his skates as he turned back toward the rink. What the hell was Boone doing coming out on national television with no warning?
Jack Peterson obviously wasn’t certain what to do with the information either. Boone stood, handed the broadcaster the microphone, and walked away.
Nate followed Boone down the hall to the locker room, where the media relations staff stood guard. Alexa and Elliott were engaged in an animated conversation until the two men passed. Alexa stopped Nate but allowed Boone to continue through the doors. “Was this your doing?”
“Being gay isn’t contagious,” Nate stated. An automatic knee jerk reaction.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Sorry. Listen. It was his decision. Maybe you should talk to him?”
Nate continued walking, leaving Alexa to ponder the answer to that. What a hell of a night. He plunked down in his stall, pulled off his jersey, and started removing his pads.
“I got a bit caught up in the moment.”
Nate didn’t even look at Boone, who took the seat next to him. There was shock on his friend’s face, making Nate pray that Boone wouldn’t regret this decision in the morning.
“I didn’t want you to stand alone anymore.”
“Well, thank you, but I knew I wasn’t alone.”
“Don’t worry. I talked to Evie this afternoon. She’s confused, needs time, but I think we can work it out.”
“Nothing says you can’t.”
“Really, thank you, Nate.” Boone hugged him.
“As shocked as I feel, I am proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
Nate met Tristan in the lounge once he completed his media obligations. They seemed never-ending that night, but he survived. As the two of them walked out of the arena together, Tristan turned to him. “You knew?”
“About Boone? Yeah. He told me on the road trip last week. Never thought he would do this.”
“You know, I really think you’ve started something here.”
“I only hope it’s just the beginning.”
“I’m proud of you, baby.”
Nate wrapped an arm around Tristan’s waist and pulled him closer. Placing a kiss just below his ear, he said, “In the end, that’s all that ever really matters to me.”
End
Hockey celly hugs and fist bumps to
My parents and sister for always supporting my writing even if we aren’t sure where I received the writing genes.
V.L. Locey and Avon Gale and my other fellow Changing on the Fly authors for being such a supportive community in the process of writing.
My friends-turned-editors Stina Lindenblatt, Lara Eckner, and Amanda Shaw for being available on the fly.
The CFL Inklings for being a sounding board for all my projects.
My Carolina Hurricanes, Anaheim Ducks, and Tampa Bay Lightning for continuing to inspire through victories and defeats.
My fellow Caniacs for all of the banter throughout the season.
And finally, to my late my mentor and former college professor Jack Falla, who taught me to follow my hockey dreams.
Cherylanne Corneille has been writing almost as long as she has loved the game of hockey so it was inevitable that she would eventually combine two of her favorite pastimes into one hobby. She will watch almost any game but prefers to cheer on the Carolina Hurricanes, Anaheim Ducks, Tampa Bay Lightning, and Tyler Seguin.
When not writing or watching hockey, she enjoys running and has completed 18 half marathons. She also loves Stars Wars, Lord of the Rings, and Captain America.
Cherylanne lives in Central Florida with her cat, who was almost called Puck or Hanifin but sometimes answers to the name Phasma.
You can find her on Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat at @ca_corneille.
Next Season
By Avon Gale
(3 Flaming Pucks)
Dedication
To my Uncle John. I think you would have liked this one (even if I suppose you would have been a Blackhawks fan, if you were into hockey). You were a wonderful example of being unafraid to be yourself, and wherever you are, I hope you know that you inspired me to do the same. Also, I’m pretty sure you’re the one family member that would actually enjoy reading my books :) I love you and miss you, and think of you whenever I see Garfield the cat. <3
Chapter One
NICK MILES STOOD in the back of the locker room, quiet amidst the flashing lights and the barrage of media all talking over each other. They were asking essentially the same question: How do you feel about the trade,
just phrased in different ways. They were focusing on Everett Sparrow, the top forward for the Buffalo Knights, who’d just been traded to the Philadelphia Foxes two hours before the trade deadline.
Nick was only in the locker room because he’d been called up from the Knights’ AHL affiliate in Rochester, where he’d been spending most of the season. He’d only played in the game tonight because one of the Knights’ defensemen had the flu. It was very likely the media didn’t even know who he was, much less that he, too, was part of the same trade.
Nick felt stupid standing in the background, but he also didn’t think he should slink off and hide. What if Sparrow tried to say something to him and Nick wasn’t there? But it was hard to listen to Sparrow try and act like he wasn’t completely devastated. He’d been a staple of the Knights’ offense for years, and a big reason why the team was almost assuredly playoff-bound.
Why he’d been traded was a mystery to Nick. He didn’t think Sparrow’s contract was up yet, and while Nick had been called up for a few games this season, it wasn’t enough to get a sense of whether Sparrow was unpopular or a problem in the locker room. Sparrow never really paid much attention to Nick, but guys like Sparrow – big-name players whose name and number adorned the backs of quite a few fans – usually didn’t. Most of the Knights were friendly enough to players like Nick, who rotated in and out of the lineup when one of the key guys was out. Nick didn’t take it personally. They were the same way on the Barons whenever a guy from their ECHL team, the Princes, showed up to take someone’s spot for a night or two.
The Knights got a goaltender and some draft picks for Sparrow and Nick. They were already leading the league in scoring and had quite a bit offensive depth; apparently, they thought it more important to have a reliable backup goalie for the playoffs.
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