Page 29 of Shots on Net

“Mm. Well, you boys better get on your way home. Not going out tonight, I presume?” Coach Mackenzie looks at Carter as he talks, narrowing his eyes. This is voiced as a question, but is clearly a strong suggestion to not go out.

“Nope. We’re going home. Right, Zeke?”

“Right,” I scramble to assure Coach Mackenzie, who turns that piercing gaze back to me. This man is wasted as a hockey coach; he needs to be interviewing murder suspects for the FBI.

“Drive safe.” He steps to the side to let us pass.

“See you, Coach. Say hi to Tony for me,” Carter calls back to him, as we walk down the hallway. We’re still close enough to hear the massive sigh that is heaved behind us at these words. Carter smirks, and nudges me with his elbow. “Want to grab something to eat? I’m fucking starving.”

Carter

“So, that’s Coach Mackenzie? The one from your story?” Zeke asks, and I nod, mouth currently stuffed full of burrito. “Wow, he is scary.”

Swallowing quickly so that I don’t choke, I hack out a laugh. Coach Mackenzie is absolutely scary. I kind of love the guy. “Yeah, he is. But he’s great. Like, a really great coach. And he’s got a ton of NHL and AHL connections, so we’re always having professional hockey players come by to practice. Here, look at this.”

Dropping my burrito onto the little plastic tray and scattering rice over the table, I wipe my fingers clean and pull out my phone. It takes me barely a second to find the photo since I’d favorited it. Turning it around, I slide the phone over to Zeke.

“Wow!” He exclaims, staring intently down at the picture before looking back up at me with a sheepish expression. “I have no idea who those people are.”

I laugh, shaking my head. How can you not know who Troy Nichols and Corwin Sanhover are? God he’s fucking cute.

“The guy on the left, with the black hair? That’s Troy Nichols. This,” I point to Sanhover, “is Corwin Sanhover. They play for South Carolina’s NHL team. They’re, like, a really big fucking deal. And get this.”

I lean toward Zeke, pressing my chest into the edge of the table. He mirrors the movement; if the pair of us were to move a little closer, we could kiss over the top of the table.

“Troy Nichols is gay.” I wait for this to have an effect on him, but Zeke just stares at me. “He’s a professional hockey player, Zeke! Literally the first gay player to come out in the league. He’s pretty much a national hero.”

“Oh, wow,” he breathes, looking back down at the photo.

“That’s not all.” I reach over and swipe across the picture, changing it to one of Tony and I. “This is Tony. Well, Anthony Lawson, but I call him Tony. He’s the goalie for South Carolina—he plays with those other two guys I showed you. And guess what? He’s dating Coach Mackenzie.”

I sit back and cross my arms, satisfied by the shocked look on Zeke’s face. He looks back down at my phone, using his fingers to enlarge the photo and zoom in on our faces.

“This guy?” He asks, incredulously. In the picture, Tony is smiling wide and has his arm flung over my shoulders. He’s scruffy, and his hair is a little bit wild. Nobody would ever pair him with Coach Mackenzie, who could easily be mistaken for an undertaker.

“That guy,” I confirm. Zeke zooms in on the picture again, but this time centers it over my face. He studies it for several long moments before he looks up at me over the table.

“You’re smiling,” he points out.

Frowning, I look at the picture. I cross my arms a little tighter over my chest and shrug. “I guess so. What does that matter?”

“You never smile.” Setting the picture back to rights, he taps lightly on Tony’s face. “So, I’m guessing that’s a pretty big deal, judging by your tone—two queer hockey players?”

“Oh, there’s more than two. That’s what’s so cool. Troy Nichols came out and then there was just this, like a,” I roll my hands over one another in midair, “snowball effect. Other players started coming out, or just stopped hiding. Grayson Brody, who plays for Calgary, and two guys who play for Colorado. It’s like…I don’t know. It’s just cool, that’s all.”

Self-conscious, I sit back against the seat again. I never talk this much. It’s probably part of the reason Zeke and I get along so well—he can chatter away while I listen and only contribute to the conversation when needed. But talking about hockey always gets me going, and I want him to understand why this is a big deal.

“That sounds brave,” Zeke says, and gratitude bubbles up inside me. I knew he’d get it. “I can’t imagine it was easy for…Troy Nichols, to be the first one.”

“God, right?” I shake my head. My eyes catch on my half-eaten burrito, reminding me that I need to eat. My stomach also chooses this moment to put in a reminder of its own. Snatching it up, I take a big bite and chew thoughtfully. “And he’s good, Zeke. Like…probably the best player in the league, right now.”

Zeke slides my phone back to me; I leave it on the table in favor of eating my burrito. Across from me, Zeke now has his own phone out and is tapping his thumbs rapidly across the screen like he’s texting someone. I stare at him while he’s distracted, my stomach clenching painfully. He looks good in my hoodie. When he looks back up at me, I glance away, ashamed to have been caught gawking at him.

“Did you know that he’s married?” Zeke asks, bringing my attention back to his face. “Troy Nichols?”

“Oh, yeah, Coach Mackenzie went to the wedding with Tony.” I screw up my face, thinking hard. “I don’t actually know who Nichols is married to. Just a regular dude, I guess.”

“Sam Jameson,” he informs me, holding up his phone and showing me a photograph of a handsome blonde man standing next to Troy Nichols. I lean forward for a closer look. He’s got friendly brown eyes and an adorable spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks; standing next to his husband, he looks like the happiest man on planet earth. “It says he played hockey for Harvard and he was a goalie, like you.”

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