Page 1 of The Poster Boy
Chapter 1
Marek
“How was I supposed to know he was famous?” I sounded whiny, even to myself, and I leaned forward, resting my forehead on the table. I was still wearing the clothes I’d gone out in last night, having done the walk of shame in the early hours of the morning, only to be awakened by my sister a mere four hours later with the bad news.
“Really, Marek. He’s a Hollywood A-lister. How do you not know who Clark Kensington is? Do you live under a rock?” Kelsey thumped a cup of coffee down next to me.
“I live under a hockey puck, Kels. I don’t watch movies. I don’t watch television. I eat, sleep, train, play, repeat. I have no life outside of hockey.” And obviously Clarkwhatshisfacedidn’t have a life beyond Hollywood, or he might have recognized a professional hockey player. But that was my ego talking. I was one in a sea of many, easily overlooked if you didn’t follow the sport.
“Clearly you have some life outside of it, or your face wouldn’t be all over the internet attached to Clark’s face.”
The picture hadn’t outed Clark—he’d apparently hadtroubles of his own in the recent past. A secret affair with his assistant. A failed marriage to another celebrity. A dramatic reveal of his sexuality. A stint in rehab. None of which I’d known before Kelsey rode the elevator up a floor to my apartment, pounded on my door, and showed me the images that had made me instantly famous. There was no mistaking it was me. Even if my blond hair had been hidden under a hat, my dumb face gave me away. The part of me that wasn’t absorbing the gravity of the situation had thought that the pictures were flattering. They’d caught me smiling, and the light had managed to make my eyes look even bluer than they were. But then reality set in and reminded me that I was in deep shit.
“How long do you think it’ll be before the team reaches out?” I let out a groan and lifted my head.
Kelsey looked at me and offered a sympathetic smile. “Your coach is on his way. He called and asked me to get you awake and coherent and bring you up to speed.”
That had me bolting upright. “Jesus Christ, Kelsey, and you didn’t think to tell me that part first? I need to shower or at least change my clothes. How long do I have?”
A knock on the door had my heart leaping into my throat. Fucking fuck fuck.
“Stall him for three minutes.” I ignored the coffee she’d poured for me and made a beeline for my bathroom. I stripped out of last night’s clothes and quickly washed my armpits, dick, and ass crack before shoving a toothbrush in my mouth and scrubbing the taste of groggy sleep, rancid booze, and regret off my tongue.
Clad in a towel, I slipped into my bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweats and a shirt. After a few deep breaths, I was as ready to face the music as I was ever going to be. In truth, I didn’t know why it had to be a big deal. So I was gay.So what? Lots of people were gay. It shouldn’t be anything that required a fucking press conference or public statement.
Coach Roy Sweeney was no small man but standing in my tiny kitchen he was a mountain. A large, unimpressed mountain with his arms folded over his chest. He was a defenseman in his youth, and he still had the physique to back it up.
“Myers, you’re supposed to be the good one.” Coach shook his head, looking a little sad.
My chest tightened, and my stomach soured. And not because of the booze. I hated seeing people disappointed in me. In general, I went out of my way to avoid that. But last night had been hard, and I’d wanted to forget for a little while. I shouldn’t have.
I bypassed Coach and grabbed the bottle of pills I kept above my coffee maker. Shaking one out into my hand, I popped it in my mouth and swallowed it dry. Today was going to be a rough enough day without my ADHD jerking me around. My medication was a life-saver.
“It’s not like I did it on purpose, Coach.”
“We need to figure out how to handle this.” Coach didn’t seem to hear what I said so I took a seat at my kitchen table and had a sip of the coffee Kelsey had made for me. She’d stuck around when Coach arrived and was lurking in the background, scrolling on her phone, pretending to not be paying attention. Meanwhile, I knew she’d be listening to every word said. She’d always had my back. And always would. She’d been the one to turn her life upside-down and look after me when our parents disowned me.
“What’s there to handle? I was outed. I’m gay. It’s not the end of the world, Coach. It’s not like I’m even the first player to be out.” It was certainly starting to feel likeit was a big deal, though. My hand trembled when I tried to lift my coffee cup to my lips to take another drink. Instead, I tucked my hands under my thighs and forced myself to sit still.
I couldn’t think of my parents. Wouldn’t. Even though the look on Coach’s face was a lot like the looks on their faces had been. The tight lips. The furrowed brow. But Coach didn’t look disgusted, so that was a small win.
“We can say that it wasn’t you. Or we can say that you were drunk off your ass. We can toss you in rehab for a bit, and then this will all go away.”
“What? No. I’m not doing any of that. That’s… I’m not an alcoholic. I don’t have any substance abuse issues, and you’re not going to make me pretend to have them just to what… go back in the closet?” That was only slightly less revolting than the idea of pretending to have a problem I didn’t have. “People won’t believe it anyway. Not even if I got a mail order bride and played happy family.”
“Now, that’s taking things a bit far. We’d never ask you to do something like that. I just hate seeing you outed before you were ready.” Coach had a strange look on his face, like he knew he was sorely out of his depth and had said some dumb shit that could have made things worse but was doing his best to be supportive. It made him look sort of constipated.
“Well, thanks, but it is what it is. So let’s just see what shakes out.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, kid. I respect that. The GM is sending a publicist here to work with you on what to say and do. You don’t have to listen to her, but between you and me, it would be a good idea to let the pros handle this.”
Coach pushed himself to his feet and paused on his waypast the table. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “See you at practice this afternoon. Don’t be late.”
I had only been late a few times. What I lacked in time management skills, I made up for in setting a gazillion phone reminders.
But his words had lifted a weight off my chest. I was allowed to go to practice. I was still on the team. I hadn’t lost my career. I hadn’t lost everything. Not this time. But if I went back in the closet, I’d have to come out all over again, and I knew down in the depth of my soul that I couldn’t go through this again.
I was still fidgeting when Coach Sweeney let himself out of my apartment.
