Changes Coming Down

by Kaje Harper

  Which meant he probably needed Will to be mellow and supportive. Will adjusted himself, his desire fading to worry, and ran a line of melody through his head, forcing his thoughts to the fingering that was giving him trouble. He wished he had his guitar along, then laughed at the thought of lugging it to the theater and clutching it in one of those little seats. A musical teddy bear. Casey glanced at him and he was able to smile calmly. He’d settle for his real bear in the next seat over, and they’d both have Scott’s back.

  Scott came out in a few minutes, wearing a silk shirt under a blue blazer. “Okay, let’s roll.” His voice was strained.

  “You’re sure you want us showing up there with you, arriving together?” Will asked.

  “Why not. We’re officially all made up and just friends again.”

  “True.” They’d done that late in the calving season, when Scott’s need to get laid, or to be fair, his need to see them, trumped his caution. They couldn’t get away from the ranch, so he’d had to come to them. The buddies-reunited scene had gone over smoothly, as far as they could tell, and they’d had a few excellent moments, around the work of pulling calves and tagging and fostering. Just two days, but they’d all treasured it.

  Scott said, “I’m bringing my two best friends to the NHL awards banquet, at which I may or may not be named the Rookie of the Year.”

  “Got it.” Will was content to sit back in the car and watch Scott. He’d missed this so much— the chance to see Scott, to watch him move and hear his voice and catch the faint scent of his cologne. Up front, Scott and Casey made fun of the Vegas scenery, bantering lightly, but Will was good with just listening.

  The theater was a big place, the red fabric seats already filling up with spectators. As one of the finalists, Scott was guided to a seat on the aisle. “I hope that turns out to be necessary,” Casey muttered.

  “No way. I don’t have a chance,” Scott said. He’d told them that before, that the odds were totally against him because of how late he’d made it up to the NHL. But he’d burned up the league in the last quarter of the season, and Will was hopeful.

  The NHL did their awards up right, with a popular band first, even if it wasn’t Will’s kind of music, and celebrity speakers. Someone from the league talked about the season and sportsmanship and all the usual stuff. Will let his mind wander. Then an actress with a vaguely familiar face and a dress made of sequins came up to the mike and announced the first trophy.

  Will hadn’t been a hockey fan before Scott. He’d loved baseball and the horses. For the last couple of years he’d tried to learn more, but the names still didn’t mean a lot. He let it all wash over him— the finalists, the winners, the acceptance speeches with thanks to teammates and coaches. Beside him on the aisle, Scott vibrated with tension.

  Someone new stepped up to the mike, cracked a joke about newbies, and then said, “…the Calder Memorial Trophy is given each year to the player selected as the most proficient in his first year of competition in the NHL. This year, the nominees for top rookie are Sergei Semshov, Stephan Bonfils, and Scott Edison. And the winner is… Sergei Semshov.”

  Will bit his lip and made a big effort not to look at Scott as he clapped politely. There was a lot of applause for Semshov, who made his way down the steps onto the stage and gave his acceptance speech in fractured English. Only when the presenters had moved on to the next award, and the cameras were hunting other targets, did Will lean over slightly and say, “Sorry, Scott.”

  “Nah, it’s fine.” Scott’s voice was soft. “Probably for the best.”

  Will managed to enjoy the rest of the show in a remote, disinterested way. Once it was over and the last applause given, Scott stood up and stretched. Will and Casey did likewise. “Back to the hotel?” Will asked hopefully. “Or do you need to appear somewhere?”

  “Nope. Here, let’s move out so people can get by.” Several people came down the steps to shake Scott’s hand and offer mixed congratulations and commiserations and “I’ll see you at the party.” He was friendly, but distracted. Will thought he was searching the crowd for someone. After a few minutes, two young men came towards Scott, one of them carrying a camera. Scott brightened visibly. “You made it. Great.”

  “You promised us an interview, if you didn’t win.”

  “Yeah. An exclusive, if you can find somewhere private enough to keep it that way.”

  “Trust us.” The taller man looked about him. “Here, come this way.”

  As Scott moved to follow him, Casey grabbed his arm and said urgently, “Is this what it looks like?”

  “Probably.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this now?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sure.”

  Will caught on. Whatever interview Scott was giving, it wasn’t just about hockey. He took a breath and said, “Should we come along?”

  Scott met his eyes. “Please.”

  They worked their way through the crowd, Scott following the tall guy and the rest of them bringing up the rear. Scott was stopped every twenty feet for a handshake or a word, but he managed to keep moving. The man in front opened a door labeled, “Staff Only,” and they hurried after him. When the door closed, they were in an uncarpeted hallway. “This way,” the guy said.

  Around a bend, they found themselves in some kind of storeroom. There he stopped. “Will this do? It’s as close to private as we’ll find tonight.”

  “Looks good to me,” Scott said.

  “Stand over there,” the cameraman directed. “That wall behind you.”

  “Introductions?” The taller man cocked his head brightly, as his companion turned on the camera.

  Scott shook his head. “These are friends of mine. I’ll introduce you later. I want to get this done.”

  “It would help if I knew what ‘this’ is,” the man said. “But all right.” He spoke for the camera. “This is Randy Metz for InTheZone Sports Network. I’m at the Encore Theater in Las Vegas, where the National Hockey League just ended its annual awards presentation. Check our ITZ awards coverage for all the results. Now, I’m going to be recording an exclusive interview with Scott Edison of the Portland Rafters, one of the three rookie finalists for the Calder Trophy, and the Rafters’ only award finalist this year. Welcome, Scott.”

  “Thanks, Randy.”

  Will thought Scott looked great— casually sexy in the jacket and open shirt, calm, relaxed and friendly. Maybe this was just about the hockey. Although in that case, why have him and Casey come along?

  “This is the third time I’ve interviewed you. The first was after you moved up midseason from the Marlies. The second was after your hat trick against the Penguins. Now as a Calder finalist. It keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Although you didn’t win here tonight.”

  “No. But I was always the longshot. Both Sergei and Stephan played the full season for their teams and were consistent throughout the year. I hoped my scoring in the last fifteen games would be enough to win, but I certainly can’t argue with the judges’ choice. Sergei’s a great player.”

  “How did you feel when you didn’t hear your name called as the winner?”

  “Disappointed, and also relieved.”

  “Relieved?” Randy hesitated. “Why?”

  “Because I have something else important to do tonight, and although I hoped to have my say on that stage in front of everyone, there’s no denying this is easier.”

  “Um, that sounds a bit ominous.”

  “Not ominous. It’s personal, and should really only matter to me. Something I shouldn’t even have to have press coverage for, except I do.”

  “Go on.”

  Scott turned away from Randy enough to look at Will and Casey. Will’s breath caught at the intensity of that look. “I get a lot of letters from fans. Many of them are teen boys, dreaming of the NHL just like I did. My dad was my biggest supporter, back when I was that age. He used to say, you have to dream big. Well, I
have my dream now, thanks to him and so many other people. And I’m going to say sorry to Dad now, because he’s not going to like the next bit, and he shouldn’t have heard it this way, but… Where was I?” Scott bit his lip and paused, glancing down.

  Randy said, “You get letters from young players.”

  “Yeah. One of them was this kid named Lucas. Fifteen and a left winger like me. He asked some questions and wanted a signed picture. I sent him one. It came back in the mail, return to sender, and someone had written ‘deceased’ on the envelope.”

  “At fifteen? That’s tough.”

  “I went online and checked the kid out. I needed to know what happened.” Scott’s eyes met Will’s, dark and sad. “He killed himself. This bright, talented fifteen-year-old put his father’s pistol in his mouth and shot himself.”

  Casey’s grunt was pain, but not surprise.

  Scott said, “I guess there were a lot of reasons. He left a note. It was in the local paper, and one of the things in it hit me hard. He said, he always wanted to grow up to be a pro hockey player but he knew it could never happen. Because Lucas was gay, and there are no gay hockey players in the NHL.”

  Scott stopped, taking a rough breath. None of them spoke.

  “That got me, right in the gut,” Scott said clearly. “Because of course there are gay players. There are plenty of them, some even living with their boyfriends. They’re just not out. If they were, maybe Lucas would’ve kept his dream alive. Maybe he would have lived.”

  “Are you willing to name any gay players?” Randy asked, his tone inviting that inevitable next step.

  Scott didn’t hesitate. “Me. I’m gay.”

  Will’s breath caught in a jumble of sympathy and pride and anxiety and sweet, sweet relief as Scott said those words out loud. Casey leaned closer, his shoulder brushing Will’s. Neither of them spoke, but Will thought they were so in sync they breathed as one. Go Scott, we’re in it together; we love you.

  Scott continued, “I can’t speak for anyone else, although I know I’m not alone. But I don’t want to hide it anymore. I can’t.”

  “That’s courageous of you, to come out of the closet for the sake of gay youth.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to claim that high ground. I can’t. Because that returned picture? That didn’t happen last week, or even last month. That happened in March. And I did nothing. And told no one. It sat like a cold lump in my gut, and I pretended it didn’t apply to me.”

  God, had Scott been dealing with that for months? Will tried to think back to March. Had he noticed anything different about Scott when he came home? He didn’t remember. Scott’s eyes met his for a moment, and Will tried to beam love and support across ten feet of empty air.

  Randy said, “But you changed your mind?”

  “I couldn’t forget it. Or all the other things that were wrong in my life because I didn’t have the guts to speak up and say, ‘This is who I am.’”

  “It sounds like there are other, more experienced NHL players in the same closet, though?”

  “Yeah. Every one of them has their reasons and their fears, people they want to protect. All I know is, I can’t do that anymore. I’m coming out for me. Sure, I hope others will too. I hope some teenager somewhere feels encouraged by me doing this. But I’m coming out because I can’t stand being in anymore.”

  “How long have you been gay?”

  Scott laughed. “All my life. I’ve known for sure since I was twelve, and I’ve done a lot of hiding. All through my teens and my years in the junior leagues, my time in the ECHL and with the Marlies.”

  “You had a girlfriend for a while this spring.”

  “No, I hung out with a friend who’s a girl. The press was imagining things. I’ve never dated a woman.”

  “Have you dated men?”

  “Yeah, I have. I’m twenty-four. It’s not easy, though.”

  “Anyone special?”

  “Yes.” Scott crossed his arms on his chest. “That’s another reason I was so slow. Too slow. I wanted some other NHL player to come out first. There are a couple of guys in the league who are as good as married to their men. I hoped they’d show the fans two guys who love each other, just like het couples, but gay.”

  Randy said, “You were hoping one of them would take the heat?”

  “You might call it that. I thought they’d be better first choice than me. But they didn’t come out. So now I will.”

  “Who’s your boyfriend? Will you tell us?”

  Scott turned to look at Will and Casey, and hesitated, one eyebrow slightly lifted. Will realized he was waiting for their okay and wanted to kick Scotty right in the nuts. Seriously, they had to make this decision on the fly? Without words? But he and Casey were out, and their only regret was not having Scott with them. Casey was already nodding, so Will took a breath, and nodded too.

  “I have two partners,” Scott said. “I’m gay and I’m polyamorous. The three of us have been together for three years now. We own property together, run a ranch together. We’re family.”

  “Really?” Will could tell Randy was trying to sound blasé, while growing increasingly excited about the story he was getting. “Three of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s unusual.”

  “Not as much as you’d think. But it is complicated. Even though gay marriage is legal now, we can’t all three get married, and people have a hard enough time with two men, let alone three. They tend to think it’s just about sex.”

  “But it’s not?”

  “No. I mean, sure, we share a bed when we can, but we’re partners, in every way. We make decisions together, we do chores together, we argue and hug and play ball and ride horses and fix the damned machinery together. Family.”

  Randy said, “Do your, um, real families know?”

  Scott frowned at the wording, but just said, “Some of them.”

  “Your father?”

  Scott swallowed visibly. “He does now. Hi, Dad, I’m on TV.”

  Will held back a laugh. So like Scott to try to gloss past it, but that was going to bite, later, and Will had no idea how bad it might be. He hoped Scott would let them be there for him.

  Randy chuckled, then said, “You didn’t discuss this with your dad first?”

  “No. This was… undecided till the last minute. I’d have liked to introduce my folks to Casey and Will, before doing this, but there was no way to work it out.”

  “Does your team know?”

  “Nope.” Scott colored. “Again, I really should’ve cleared it with them. I’m pushing the limit of my contract, I guess. But I was scared they’d tell me not to say anything at this time, meaning until the fifth of never.”

  “You think they’d do that?”

  “I don’t know. Portland’s pretty gay-friendly and the Rafters organization is great. But they’re working hard to build a new fan base, which is tougher than for an established team. I’m sure reactions to a gay player will be mixed, to say the least. I’ll probably lose them some fans, if they let me stay. Being poly adds another dimension.” He laughed unconvincingly. “What is it Grace Hopper said? ‘It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.’ Because I decided I needed to do this now, even if they would’ve said no.”

  “You couldn’t have waited a bit longer to announce it?”

  “I could. But…” Scott shook his head. “It was so tempting not to do this at all. To stay in the closet another week, another month, another year, three years, five, till I retired. No.”

  “What now?”

  “I hope my skills will be enough to convince the Rafters to forgive me for blindsiding them, and keep me around. I hope that by the start of the next season, the publicity will have died down so I can concentrate on hockey. I admit I’m scared that it won’t.”

  “You think the team might send you back down? Or look for a trade?”

  “I hope not. But this is a hell of a competitive sport. Any little edge counts. If coming
out is a distraction, if it’s considered a detriment to the team, then maybe.”

  “And you still chose to come out now?”

  “It was the right moment. If I’d won the Calder, I could’ve said, ‘Look, the best rookie in the NHL is gay.’ I was going to do that onstage, though I’m kind of relieved not to. I can still say one of the three best rookies in the NHL. I’ve proven myself to my team and to the fans. They can hate that I’m gay, but they can’t claim it makes me crap as a player.”

  “In another year, you’d be more established.”

  “Or another two years. That’s the temptation. I needed to do it while Lucas’s note was still on my mind, and before I lost my nerve.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Randy said, “So, two partners, you said? Are these two guys them?”

  Will found the camera turned on him. He kept a bland expression with an effort.

  Scott said quickly, “This isn’t about them.”

  “But you brought them here with you. You’re together.”

  “We are. I wanted them here when I finally said it out loud. But they don’t need the extra hassle.”

  “You know people will be tracking them down. Looking for interviews, once this airs tomorrow morning,” Randy coaxed. “Why not get the information out there now, decrease the frenzy a bit?”

  Casey said, “Scott’s call. I don’t mind.” Will nodded agreement. Randy was giving this a positive spin, and that made it as good a time as any.

  Scott shrugged. “All right.”

  “Go stand with them,” the cameraman said. “I’ll get a group shot.”

  Scott came to them. Will gripped his arm. Scott’s eyes looked wild, and Will flashed back to the morning he and Casey had come out to his ranch hands. He remembered the panic in his gut, the way he couldn’t quite catch his breath. “Good job,” he said quietly. “I’m proud of everything you said.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That goes for me too,” Casey said. “C’mere.” He held out an arm, and they managed a quick three-way hug. Scott looked flushed but less scared, afterward. Then they all looked at the camera and faced the music.