Page 15 of The Poster Boy
Chapter 8
Jay
Myers was late for the fucking bus, which meant we were late for the airport. Andrew had decided to be best buddies with him, and they were currently sitting three rows ahead of me on the plane. We were flying to Calgary for the first of six away games. It was going to be a long slog, no doubt made worse by the fucking media that buzzed around Myers like flies on shit.
To his credit, Myers gave the media a wave on the way past at the arena as we boarded the bus for the airport and didn’t hold us up by engaging in another insipid interview. How many soundbites did they need of the guy?
Boone dropped down into the seat next to me and poked me in the side.
“Jesus, Boone.” I flinched away from him. “What was that for?”
He raised an eyebrow and looked into my soul with his accusatory gaze.
Okay, so maybe I was staring. And glaring. And not very under the radar with my feelings toward the newgoalie. Maybe if I didn’t have to see the guy’s naked body every time I closed my eyes, I wouldn’t be so grumpy. Except for the whole golden child, chosen one, poster boy thing he had going on, Myers was my type.
“Whatever hang-up you have, you need to get over it, Jay.”
I looked at Boone, who never used my real name, and gave him a nod. Never did I pretend that I was a perfect person. I knew I was being an asshole about Myers, but I couldn’t stop myself. Part of me didn’t want to. Part of me liked having someone to be mad at. Someone who wasn’t myself.
But Boone was right. I needed to get over it. For the good of the team if for no other reason.
Saying nothing, I let out a sigh, which Boone took for agreement to his demand.
“What is your deal with him anyway?” He kept his voice low, leaning close to prevent being overheard. But hockey players were big gossips, and I wasn’t about to air my shit on the plane. We weren’t even in the air yet. We still had the short flight to Calgary, then a bus ride to the arena.
“I’m just a grumpy old asshole, Boone. You know this. Everyone knows this.”
He grinned and kicked my foot with his. “You’re not half as grumpy as you pretend to be. You’re just… insular.”
Sometimes I hated that Boone and I lived together. It meant that I couldn’t pretend that I was anything but what I was. A mid-list professional athlete with numbered days, no idea what I’d do after I couldn’t play anymore, who was so deep in the closet the only balls I got close to were mothballs.
Boone knew I was gay, but it wasn’t something we talked about. For all the other ways he was entrenched inmy personal and professional life, he’d drawn the line at my private life. Sure, once in a while he’d do his duty as my best friend and remind me that I was busy, not dead, and that plenty of other players balanced work and play.
But Boone was one to talk. For as outgoing as he was, he’d only dipped his toes into the dating pool now and again. I’d asked him why at one point, and when he lobbed my question back to me, it sort of became this unspoken agreement between the two of us that we had our reasons for staying single.
The difference was that Boone was a catch. He was the kind of guy you’d want to bring home to meet your family. Hell, at least he’d know how to act around one. I was still trying to get used to the Weimer clan, and I’d been an honorary member for years.
I couldn’t deny his comment about being insular. I played the game. I went to practice and went to the gym. I stuck to myself a lot. If it wasn’t for Boone dragging me out and making me socialize, I’d honestly never go out. It wasn’t that I hated it, but I never thought to do it. If I didn’t have anywhere to be, I’d most often rather be at home.
Once we were in the air, Boone reclined his seat and covered his face with his ball cap. One of the biggest secrets between us was how little Boone liked flying. But it was a necessary evil, he’d said, like going to the dentist. Just because you can make yourself go, doesn’t mean it's easy.
It was why Boone sat next to me on the flights. He knew I’d read my book and leave him alone to sleep or meditate, or whatever it was he did that got him through the flight. I didn’t need conversation between us to be comfortable with him, and I think he enjoyed the fact that everyone left him alone during the flights now.
I pulled my phone out with the intention ofreading but quickly hopped into my group chat. It was the one space besides home that I felt comfortable being myself. Surrounded by different queer athletes gave me a sense of belonging that I sometimes yearned for in my daily life.
What kinds of things do retired athletes do?
Connor
Are you retiring?
No. But I can’t play forever.
Brayden
He’s just worried about facing off against me.
Fat chance.
