Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Here’s hoping.”
“Sorry I couldn’t stay.” My phone vibrates again. “I have to go before I get fired.” Or someone else beats me to the scoop.
As I get to the top of the stairs, Ollie calls out, “Wait …”
When I turn, I hope he asks for my name, which I shouldn’t give, or my phone number, which I really shouldn’t give.
Instead, he puts his hands in his pockets and whispers, “How did you know? In the bathroom, I mean. How did you know I was gay?”
I smile wide. “Totally wishful thinking on my part.”
I turn and leave before I do something we’ll both regret, but that doesn’t stop me from online stalking him as soon as I get home. Or from reading and watching his career highlights and games. Or from perhaps building an unhealthy obsession with a hockey player I’ll never see again.
Chapter Three
OLLIE
SIX MONTHS LATER
The Rainbow Beds benefit is packed with people, soft lighting, and loud music. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked to attend something like this, but this particular fundraiser makes me antsy. Not because it’s an LGBTQ charity, but because it’s run by Matt Jackson’s husband.
When I got here, I took a selfie outside and sent it to Ma with the caption. “I can be closeted and still support the community.” Passive-aggressive, maybe, but I know it’ll shut her up … for like a week.
Matt’s proof gay athletes can have it all, but I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that. He announced his marriage the night he won the freaking Super Bowl.
Sports have been a certain way for so long that when I see other people living the life I thought I’d have one day, I can’t help being bitter and somewhat intimidated by them. Not to mention jealous.
“You’re, like, the worst closeted guy ever,” my best friend says.
I’d laugh at Tommy if he didn’t have a point. “Say it louder. I don’t think the people in the back heard you.”
“No one’s hearing anything, drama queen.”
I pretend to be offended, because Tommy’s right. Everyone is standing at the other end of the bar—where all the servers are tending. We’ll probably never get service at this end. “Did you call me a queen?”
He ignores me, like he always does when I fuck with him. “You’re staring at every ass that walks by.”
“Just because I can’t eat at the restaurant doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu.” But God knows, I really, really, really miss sex. Like, really.
Tommy screws up his face. “I don’t even want to think about what that means.”
Ash once accused me of being too comfortable and that’s why I refused to come out for him. I had my cake and got to eat it too. I argued with him constantly that if I wasn’t with him, I’d be with no one because it was too risky, and while I’ve stuck to that, after a year of celibacy, I’m starting to see his point.
It might be getting to the time when I need to seriously consider coming out, but I can’t right now. Not until I win the Cup.
Ash’s voice rings through my head loud and clear. Not right now. It’s never right now. It’s been not right now for years, Oliver, and I’m sick of waiting and holding my breath for the day where you realize I’m more important than your career.
Even a year after our breakup, I continue to be haunted by our arguments. At least I’m no longer in the apartment filled with Ash’s ghost thanks to being traded to New York two months ago.
“I’m still pissed you were traded, man,” Tommy says as if reading my mind. “I miss you. This season has totally sucked ass.”
“And you think I say inappropriate things, yet you’re talking about sucking asses.”
Tommy sighs in that big-brotherly way that annoys me. He practically adopted me when I made it to the NHL after slugging it out for a few years on Boston’s farm team. He treats me like the little brother he never had, and I treat him like my four brothers back home. Like I need another one.
“They did the right thing.” The lie is thick on my tongue as I try to hide my bitterness over the trade, even months later. I hate that Boston traded me, but it’s part of the game, so I have to suck it up.
The joys of a nonexistent no-trade clause in your contract.
According to the media, Boston got the better part of the deal by scoring Ilya Malik for their defense, but without me and Tommy together, their offense is struggling. We could sense each other on the ice almost as if we could read each other’s minds. With us being torn apart, both our games are suffering, and he’s right. It totally sucks.