Page 147 of Interference

“You can do whatever the fuck you want.” His lips peeled back as he added, “You just made it clear as hell how much you really cared about what we had.”

“Don’t you try to gaslight me,” I growled. “I did everything I could think of. You gave up. I moved on.” I spread my arms. “I’m sorry if I didn’t spend enough time sitting at home and grieving our relationship, but quite frankly, I think I did most of that after you moved out.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Oh, come on. You don’t think it tore me up when you left? Or when you blew me off every time I suggested therapy or—”

“We didn’t need a fucking shrink.”

“And you apparently don’t need me.”

We both froze. His eyes widened as if my words had startled him as much as they had me. I hadn’t meant to say them, but now that I had, I didn’t take them back. Because what could I say? They were true. I didn’t feel guilty for saying it out loud, but hearing my own words was a gut punch.

He really hadn’t needed me. Or wanted me. And yeah, I had started grieving our relationship when he’d moved out, because even though the denial had been strong, I was pretty sure I’d known deep down that it was the beginning of the end.

I moistened my lips. “It’s over, Simon. All I want to do is move on. And that starts with…” I motioned toward the training facility.

His lips thinned. Then he pushed his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and rolled his shoulders. “Fine. Do whatever you have to do.” He nodded sharply at his car. “And since we don’t have to play happy couple anymore, you can find your own way home.”

With that, he stalked toward the players’ entrance.

I watched him go, and I was just… tired. So, so damn tired. Find my own way home? Fine. I was happy to pay for a ride that didn’t involve icy silence or relentless sniping. An Uber back to Medina was a small price to pay for some breathing room.

Before I headed inside, I sent a text to Coach, the GM, the president of hockey operations, my agent, our head of PR, and my players’ association rep.

Anthony: I’d like a sitdown after practice if everyone is available.

As soon as I sent it, my pulse went haywire. No turning back now. No pretending I didn’t have something I needed to discuss with them. I was doing this, and the chips would fall where they fell.

I tried as hard as I could to put it all out of my mind for now. I needed to get into my pre-practice routine, and then focus during practice. Everything else could wait until I sat down with everyone later, assuming they were all available. God help me if we had to put this off until another day.

On the way inside, I crossed paths with Coach, but he didn’t say anything. I assumed he hadn’t read my message yet, which was fine. Simon steadfastly ignored me, alternately focusing on his phone and getting into his warmup gear for his pre-practice laps around the building.

Never in my career had I been more relieved that my own ritual was solitary. Sometimes people would come by and chat while I was on the bike, or they’d grab the one next to me, but for the most part, I could put in some earbuds and shut out the world.

After my usual intervals on the bike, I returned to the locker room to change into my hockey gear. That was when I realized my phone had started lighting up. With my heart in my throat, I checked the screen. I had a text from our GM.

Clark: We’ll meet at 1:30 after practice in conference room 4.

Everyone else confirmed they were available to meet in person except my agent and players’ association rep, who would join by phone.

Eyes closed, I took a deep breath and released it slowly. This was it. I was doing this. No turning back now.

Ignoring the nausea climbing up the back of my throat, I confirmed that I would be there. Then I shut off my phone, tucked it into my bag, and continued gearing up.

And the whole time, I wondered if this would be my last ever practice with the Seattle Bobcats.

Okay. I stood outside the conference room and took a deep breath. Here we go.

Jittery and queasy, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. Everyone else was already here, and they watched in silence as I closed the door behind me and took a seat.

The day Simon and I had sat down with everyone to tell them we were together, they’d all seemed puzzled about why two players had asked for a meeting. As everyone had settled in, confusion had been etched all over their faces. Given how much they’d all startled when we’d made our announcement, we’d completely blindsided them.

Today, I had a feeling they knew. Or they at least had some suspicions. We had a new president of hockey operations since then, but he was in the loop about me and Simon. And rather cynically, I suspected that when an openly queer player sat them down about something, they all immediately assumed it had something to do with his queerness. Which… okay, they were right this time, but still.

Once everyone was situated and both my agent and the players’ association rep were on speakerphone, I opened my mouth to speak, but Megan, the PR director, was faster.

“Before we proceed,” she said, tapping something on her tablet, “we’ve got a situation.”

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