Page 62 of Win Big

Jabber then texts,

Why the fuck aren’t you here anyway?

I stare at my phone for a long moment before I answer that one.I hate snow.

I’m also being tagged in all kinds of social media posts and comments. It nearly makes my head explode. The homophobia, I mean; not the fact that they’re being dickheads to me. I’ve got women telling me “such a waste” and men coming on to me and then there are the ones that say “homosexuality is a sin” and “you should be punished.” I want to respond to those so badly, but I’ve been strictly ordered not to. In fact, I shouldn’t even be reading them.

I’ve had haters on social media before. Shit, all you have to do is miss a shot when you’re down one goal, or accidently have the puck go in your own net off your skate, and people are all up in arms. They say shit on social media they’d never say to your face. I’ve learned to ignore it. But this is a bit of an eye-opener what it would be like for a player who’s actually gay to come out in this environment.

I was a little ambivalent about being the ambassador for Hockey for All, but this whole situation is making me embrace it. If there’s any small thing I can do to improve things for the LGBTQ community in this role, I’ll do it. I’d let people think I was gay, but I get where the team is coming from; pretending to be gay to advance LGBTQ rights is the exact wrong thing to do.

I can find other ways, though.

EVERLY

“This is freakin’ awesome!” Wyatt gazes around the Coliseum, where we’re sitting watching the California Cougars play. We’re right on the floor.

I’ve been to a few games, and I admit it’s cool, but I’m not a huge basketball fan. Wyatt seems thrilled, though.

“We’re close enough to smell the sweat,” I remark dryly.

He laughs.

The lights are bright, gleaming off the wood floor. The crowd and the music are loud, the atmosphere electric as the Cougars lead the Phoenix Suns by only four points.

“Traveling!” Wyatt shouts, leaping to his feet and pointing. “Come on! That was traveling!”

The crowd seems to agree with him, judging by the roar.

I tug at his shirtsleeve. “Sit down.”

He subsides back into his seat. “Jesus. These refs are letting all kinds of shit go.”

My lips twitch with amusement. “I had no idea you were such a basketball fan.”

He shrugs. “I like it okay. Don’t watch it much. Yeah!” He shouts and jumps up again as the Cougars sink the ball into the basket. “Woo-hoo! Way to go, Zay! Woop!”

Oh my God, he’s loud. He’s pumping his arms in the air and cheering. Everyone is cheering. I’m clapping too, of course.

The player who just scored, Isaiah Brown, jogs past and actually gives Wyatt a high five.

Wyatt’s face splits into a huge grin and he claps enthusiastically. His passion is infectious, and I find myself eagerly watching the play. He sits again, but in two seconds he’s yelling, “Let’s go, Jones! Ahhhhh! Come on, boys! Come on!”

“There are assists in basketball, too?” I ask.

Wyatt turns and gives me an affectionate smile that damn near melts me. “Yeah. You get an assist if the scoring player takes two or less dribbles. Regardless of how long they have the ball or what move they used to score.”

“How the hell do they keep track of that?” I frown. “Two or less dribbles? Jeez.”

“It’s not as objective as hockey. In basketball, it’s kind of a subjective stat and it depends on the official stats person at the game. Sometimes players get rewarded for assists even if the scoring player does most of the work.”

“Huh.” I hitch one shoulder and sip my beer. “I’d rather watch a hockey game.”

“I like hearing that.” Wyatt turns, leans in, and kisses my nose. “Hockey players are better than guys who play with balls.”

I choke on a laugh. “Um, yes.”

Surprise jolts me at his affectionate gesture, but then I remember we’re out in public and on full display. And no doubt Wyatt’s antics during the game have garnered a lot of attention.

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