Page 75 of Shots on Net

She beams. Jefferson says his goodbyes, still looking amused, and I lead Mrs. Morgan slowly toward the locker rooms. I’m nervous again, unable to stop my fingers from fidgeting with the strings at the neck of Carter’s hoodie. I don’t know if he received my message about his mom being here; my guess is no, seeing as he hasn’t replied. I feel like the unwitting accomplice in an unwanted surprise.

As usual, I can hear the locker room long before we actually arrive in the hallway. Usually, I just wait, leaned against the wall and as out of the way as possible. Carter never dawdles, and I rarely have to wait long. Tonight, however, I text him again to let him know I’m here and have company. Check your phone, check your phone, check your phone, I chant to myself, just as the door to the locker room opens.

“Oh. Hi, Max.” The wild noises are louder for a moment, before the door closes behind Max. He looks at me and then at Mrs. Morgan. He probably doesn’t remember me. “I’m Zeke, we met a few weeks ago, Carter’s—."

“Boyfriend,” he fills in. “Yeah, I remember you. Are you waiting for him? I could go get him.”

“If you could tell him I’m out here with his mom, that would be great.” And please make sure to emphasize the mom part, while you’re at it. “Thanks, Max.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, already turning around to go back inside.

“Well, they’re sure having fun,” Mrs. Morgan notes, as the volume swells once more. There is a rap song playing on the speakers, and in the five minutes we’ve been standing here I’ve heard the words pussy and ass far more than I would have liked, given my present company. I don’t need a mirror to know my face and ears are burning.

As I knew it would be, the door is flung suddenly open so violently the bang off the wall is audible even over the rap song. Carter, who has eyes only for me, smiles and steps out. He’d obviously been mid-change, because he’s wearing only his base layer of clothing. Everything is very tight, and very revealing.

“Zeke, hey, Max said some crazy shit about you being here with my—,” his words grind to a halt as he finally notices his mom. He couldn’t look more shocked if he tried. I see his eyes flick away from her, back down the hallway, as though looking for someone else; his brows furrow in confusion, and the smile is swiftly replaced with a frown. “Mom?”

“Hi, sweetie,” she says, smiling at him. “Congratulations on your win. Zeke tells me it’s quite an accomplishment to earn a shutout and that you have quite a few this season.”

He stares at her. “Uhm. Yeah. Right, that’s…Is Dad here? What’s going on? Did Grandma die?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” his mom answers, dryly. “And no, your father couldn’t come.”

Silence falls between us, weighty and uncomfortable. Carter looks at me, helplessly confused. I open my mouth to explain, but Mrs. Morgan beats me to it.

“I spoke with Nico Mackenzie on the phone last week. He was quite complimentary of you, I have to say. Spoke very highly of how hard you work and how dedicated you are to the team. He said he’s never seen someone progress as quickly as you did after your freshman year. He said you’d made friends,” she places a particular emphasis on this last part. “I have to admit, I spent a great deal of the conversation wondering if he was confusing my son with another.”

Carter gives a bark of laughter. His mom smiles and the discomfort eases, slightly.

“He also said that you’ve struggled a great deal with your classes, but have managed to pass them all, regardless.” She eyes him, expression turning serious. “He said that you’ve spent much of your time here miserable. That the only thing that makes you happy is being on the ice.”

“And Zeke,” Carter says, quietly.

“Yes,” she smiles at me, “and Zeke.”

“So…” Carter rubs a hand over his chest and then over his hair. “Coach asked you to come to a game?”

“He did. He thought it might be beneficial for your dad and I to see you play, so that we might better understand the difficulty of your position, and the skills you possess to manage it.”

“But Dad didn’t come,” Carter says, not sounding disappointed but resigned.

Just then, the tall form of Coach Mackenzie materializes at the end of the hallway. I sag with relief. There is another man with him, walking just a step behind, strolling casually with his hands tucked into his pockets and a smirk on his face. Hearing the footsteps, Carter turns and the world is treated to the second of his smiles this evening.

“Tony! Holy shit! I didn’t know you’d be here, tonight.”

Seems to be a lot of that going around. Tony—whom I remember is Anthony Lawson, Coach Mackenzie’s partner—smiles broadly at his welcome and pulls Carter into a one-armed hug.

“Nice game,” he says, and I swear I can see Carter swell with pride.

“Thanks. This is Zeke—Coach Mackenzie already met him so maybe he told you. And this is my mom. Dad didn’t come.”

Tony winks at me and reaches a hand out to shake Mrs. Morgan’s. Beside him, Coach Mackenzie is watching the proceedings vigilantly. It’s hard to picture him as one half of a couple with Anthony Lawson, even with them standing right next to each other.

“Mrs. Morgan, I’m glad you were able to come.” Coach Mackenzie says, politely. Next to him, Tony has leaned a shoulder against the wall next to Carter, lounging as though he’s perfectly at ease. He watches Coach Mackenzie as he speaks, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Perhaps it’s not that hard to picture them together.

“Of course,” Mrs. Morgan responds.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind stepping with me into my office for a moment? I won’t keep you long. Carter, I imagine you’d like a shower.”

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