Page 24 of Speed

We then worked on some quad passing drills, trying to hone our tape-to-tape passes as we were placed into makeshift lines. It was a simple drill, but an important one to work on, as a good power play was crucial to a good team, and the Railers’ power play last year hadn’t been great. I foresaw a lot of special teams’ drills as the roster was whittled down day by day. Two guys had been sent down to the Colts already. To condition. A nice way of saying you’re not ready. I did not want to hear that, if at all possible. I knew the odds weren’t in my favor to make, let alone stay, on the roster this season. Brody Vance was a distraction that needed to step the hell off.

I worked twice as hard that practice. I had to. When Coach sent us to the showers, I was soaked in sweat, mad at myself, and more than a little irritated withSpeed Racerrocking those aviator glasses and tight jeans. When we exited the locker room, there he was, deep in conversation with the GM of the team. The fucking general manager had raced—ha-ha—down here to our practice facility to talk withtheBrody Vance. That had to be as rare as creating a perfect March Madness bracket.

Brody Vance was my white whale. He stalked my dreams and my waking moments, pushing me into doing stupid things that would see me being dragged to the dark, cold depths of career failure after I had harpooned him. Not only would I drown, but my ship and my crew would be smashed to smithereens leaving poor Ishmael (Ishmael aka Nikolai) clinging to the Zamboni for dear life until the ice crew could rescue him.

Dramatic much?

Uhm yeah, drama major.

“Noah, come over here a moment. I was just talking with Brody here about you,” Paul Curtis called from his little chummy chum talk with Brody. Paul was a middle-aged man with a sports management degree under his belt and had been hired on to take us back to our glory days. Brown-hair, brown eyes, a little bit on the young side for a GM at just forty, he had a plan, as he liked to tell the press. I made my way over under the curious glances of my teammates. Paul and I shook hands as I smiled, a smile that nervous rookies wore when talking to the guy who could sell you off to another team while eating his bagel and cream cheese. “How’s your father?”

“Which one?” I asked as Brody and I exchanged looks.

“Both,” Paul chuckled as he pumped my hand. “The Railers have been an inclusive team ever since Tennant Rowe came out and made history,” Paul gushed to Brody. Brody nodded along. My hand was finally dropped. “Noah, Brody here was telling me that his niece is also diabetic. And that gave me a wonderful idea for a community outreach program. What do you think about setting up a youth hockey program for kids with diabetes?”

“My charity, 17 Racing, would be happy to donate whatever may be needed,” Brody chimed in.

What could I say? It was a solid idea. I already knew of a few non-profits offering summer camps for diabetic children.

“Sure, I’d be happy to do what I could for the program,” I said instantly, making Paul beam.

“Wonderful. I’ll leave you and Brody to discuss it. Nice to meet you, Brody. Feel free to visit anytime you’re in the Harrisburg area.”

“Will do; thanks, Paul.”

Paul clapped my shoulder and latched onto Coach Morin for a talk Coach seemed less than thrilled to have.

“He seems nice,” Brody said when he fell in by my side as we made our way to the players’ exit. “I really didn’t mean to pull you into any involvement in a charity. I just mentioned that my niece was diabetic, and how much I admired you for playing a rough sport like hockey while dealing with your illness. He kind of picked it up and ran with it.”

“Yeah, GMs are like that,” I replied, waiting for the security officer at the door to take a selfie with Brody. The midday sun broke out from behind a fat cloud to warm my face.

“You seem a bit awkward around me,” Brody said, slipping on his sunglasses and a brand new Railers snapback cap. “I’d really like to talk to you, but if it’s too uncomfortable, just let me know.”

I blew out a breath, my eyes on that puffy cloud rolling by. I turned my attention to Brody, who was in hiding-his-face-from-the-world mode. Shoulders up, brim of his cap down, shades in place.

“Look, I’m not awkward about anything., It’s you who’s all over the place. I’m just trying not to fulfill Fedallah’s prophecy is all.”

“Fedallah fromMoby Dick?”

Shit, he read classics too. Okay, this guy was too much. “Yeah, never mind. I just…” I ran a hand through my damp curls. “Look, I think we just need to sort a few things out, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Lunch somewhere?”

I should have insisted on somewhere public, so we didn’t tumble into that maybe kissing thing he had mentioned. More kissing would be bad. I should stay away from the mouth of the whale, or I could get swallowed whole and have to spend three days in a whale gut with tons of plankton.

Great, now we’re doing a mashup of Jonah and Moby D. You need to sort your head.

“My place,” I offered instead of the public eatery, as a couple of folks from the cleaning staff began eyeballing Brody and whispering to each other. Yep, that was why I chose my place. Not because part of me was stuck on more kissing. Nope, it wastotallythe need for privacy. No other reason. I was being a good guy, and hockey players are known for being good guys. Pops and Dad would be proud of all my goodness. “Follow me.”

He did—in a beater Toyota Corolla. It blended in way better than that fire engine red Maserati he’d been driving. My apartment complex was back in the city, about a thirty-minute ride from Carlisle, so I had plenty of time to think on the way home about what I would say to Brody. I was going to keep it simple–no fucking whale references–and tell him that while I liked him and his dick—his dick was perfection—I wasn’t in a place to be shuttled around while some “straight” dude figured himself out. I got it, I did—working out your sexuality was tough. I'd been there, done that; Pops bought me the t-shirt.

I had my speech all planned. I was pretty good at memorizing lines quickly. I could still recite my monologue from playing Paul inA Chorus Linein high school. This short little dialog I’d worked on as Brody followed behind me like a spinster aunt instead of his Lead Foot Larry usual mode of driving would be cake. Short cake. Ha. Oh, fuck I was stupid.

I pulled into my designated parking spot, and Brody slid into the guest space beside me. The Red Point Complex was a ten-story building overlooking the river, featuring some really nice units. My standard studio was a bit small, but it offered a great view of the Market Street Bridge. It was a clean place with high ceilings and a fantastic building manager named Cameron.

The lobby was typical apartment complex with a few couches, a wall of mailboxes, and a security officer at the desk. I had made a point to get to know the people who worked hard to keep the complex safe and clean, and called out a greeting to Mark, the tall man behind the desk. He waved hello and gave Brody a once-over.

“You need to register, sir,” Mark said. I threw Brody a questioning glance. So, he removed his hat and glasses. Mark stared hard for a moment, then recognition dawned. “Oh shit…”

---