Page 14 of The Poster Boy
One by one, they filed out of the locker room and I followed after them.
Coach stopped me by the door. “Keep that energy up, Myers. We might need you before long.”
“Coach?” It came out muffled because of my mouth guard, and I blinked at him, not fully comprehending his meaning.
“Church is starting goalie, but he knows I’m going to pull him if I need to.” He slapped me on the back. “Now get out there and greet your adoring fans.”
I thought he was joking about the adoring fans bit, but when I stepped onto the ice for the warm-up skate, a whole section of fans held up rainbow flags and signs with my name on them, welcoming me to the team. Of course I waved at them. Kelsey told me that there was a subreddit fan club dedicated to me, but I refused to let her show me. Some corners of the internet were best left unexplored.
Sometimes I didn’t think I was deserving of the attention, and sometimes I straight up hated it, but I sucked it up. Somewhere out there, there was probably a scared gay kid like I’d been and if me putting up with endless media attention, weird subreddit fan clubs, and my teammates hating me because of it… well, that was a small price to pay to give someone hope that maybe shit would be okay afterall.
Because it was clear that Jay fucking hated me. The guy was about as warm as the ice to begin with, but he was extra frosty toward me. I didn’t need his acceptance, but his outright animosity stung. I hadn’t asked to be here. I’d been happy with my other team, even though I spent a good portion of time warming the bench. Not that I could fault them for that; Santos was on a hot streak. It was great for them, but bad for me and my ice time.
The first period started, and I watched the action from my place on the bench. We did a good job of not giving the other team plenty of scoring chances. The longer we kept the puck away from our own net, the better. This was true in any game, but more so when you had a goalie in net who was under the league’s microscope.
The game was scoreless at the end of the first. The guys were getting tense and antsy when the second started and that’s when shit began to unravel for us. The other team was on the attack from the moment the puck dropped, and they kept the action down at our end of the ice more often thannot. Our defense did a great job at covering for Church. They blocked shots. They stepped into the line of fire. They did everything they could to help Church.
There were too many men in front of him, and I knew it wasn’t going to go well for us. There was no way Church could see the puck through the writhing throng of hockey players camped out in front of his crease.
A shot trickled through. The whole arena held their breath and let out a sigh when the puck sailed through the air and right over Church’s stick, hitting the back of the net.
The other team exploded in celebration. After the second goal, the coach had me warm up. It could be hard going from the bench to the ice. I’d like to pretend that my ADHD gave me superpowers, though, because where other people could sit still, I often couldn’t. Even as a kid, I’d thought my body had a mind of its own.
The crowd knew he was going to pull Church soon. I couldn’t decide if they liked that idea or not. When the third goal went in, one that would have been a hard save on a good day, I watched the life get sucked out of the crowd. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“You’re up, Myers,” Coach said.
I didn’t have time to think or panic or anything. Church was already heading for the bench, and the crowd buzzed in anticipation. Often it felt like the crowd became part of the arena itself and turned it into a living, breathing organism. Like every breath I took, the crowd took. The change in goaltenders was exciting for the fans, and I couldn’t help but feel their hope hinged on me.
Some of the guys clapped me on the helmet on the way past. I sucked a deep breath in and skated to my crease. Rolling my shoulders, stretching my legs, I slid back and forth, doing my best to warm up my muscles.
Winning the game felt like an impossible task. We were down three goals, and it was nearing the end of the second period. Three goals in that length of time seemed both possible and yet hard as hell. And I was the new guy on the ice. Sure, I kept to my little crease, but it still changed up the team dynamic when a new guy was put in.
The face-off happened at center ice and already the action was in my end. The puck became my universe. That little black chunk of frozen rubber was the only thing my brain could keep track of. Hyper-focus could come in handy sometimes, even if it was a pain in the ass in other ways.
The anticipation of the crowd fell away, and then I was part of the arena too. Part of the inhale when the puck came close to the net, and the exhale when one of the defensemen managed to pass it to the left wing, who took it to the other end of the ice.
Lines changed and suddenly Brookbank was on the ice with me. I could still feel his dislike of me, even through all the action and emotion of the game. But on the ice it didn’t matter if he liked me. Not even to him. He still did his job. Rallied against the boards and fought for the puck.
And lost.
The other team was on a hot streak and they were determined to burn me. I followed the action as it swept behind the net. The puck was passed back and the player saw the clear line of sight, the same one I saw, and he went for the one-timer. The puck sailed across the ice, and I felt the arena hold its breath.
It all happened at once. I went to my knees, dropping my pads to the ice to stop the puck from going in. The other team was on me, trying to get the puck back into play, but I smothered it.
The whistle went off. Play stopped. And the arena let out a sigh of relief.
We didn’t win. Boone managed to score a goal late into the third period, but we still lost three to one. We still lost and yet the guys thumped their gloves on my helmet and told me that I did good.
Except for Brookbank, who glared at me like I’d personally scored those three goals against us.
Growing up, I was used to people disliking me. I’d been a ball of unregulated emotions with too much energy. Even the nicest, most patient person could be driven over the edge after dealing with me.
As an adult, I had less trouble with that. Sports had saved my life. My pent-up energy had an outlet. It made me less emotional… well, not less emotional but more equipped to deal with my feelings. The energy I put out playing hockey had helped calm me down in my day-to-day life and the result was that less people took an instant dislike to me.
Except, it would seem, for a grumpy defenseman.
Did it bother me that I’d look at Brookbank and find him scowling at me? Of course it did, but on the bright side, he was definitely the hottest guy to ever hate me. I’d take my wins where I could.
