Page 4 of The Poster Boy
The chatter in the locker room died when Church walked in from the showers.
He offered a tight smile that was about as believable as a three-dollar bill. “It’s fine, guys. We need a new back-up anyway.”
We currently had a guy from the farm team playing back-up for us, and he was good, but we needed something better than good.
I hated that it had to be Myers, though.
Church dropped his towel and pulled a pair of sweats on. Boone sat down on the bench next to Church and slung an arm around him. Church grimaced and pushed him away.
“Dude, get your stink away from me.”
“Awww, Churchy, you know you love me.”
Church looked like he was going to be sick. “Actually, I really don’t.”
It was a lie, though. Everyone loved Boone. He made sure of it. He was like the morale officer of the team.
“You’re a terrible liar. Come out with Brooksie and me after we shower. We’ll do something fun to get your mind off things. You need a bit of fun. Doesn’t he, Brooksie?”
I’d long ago given up on trying to get Boone not to call me Brooksie. It was better than Jayby, which was like baby, but infinitely more terrible.
“If you don’t agree, you know he’ll just get more irritating, don’t you?” I asked Church, ignoring the look of triumph and pride on Boone’s face.
“It’s one of my many talents. Star forward. Sex machine. Expert pain in the ass.”
Church shook his head, but there was definitely a hint of a smile on his face, and he no longer tried to shove Boone’s arm off him. “You’re a menace to society.”
Boone beamed, a huge shit-eating grin from ear to ear. “Hear that, Brooksie? I told you Church loves me. That means we’re going out just as soon as Brooksie and I wash up. Can’t go out smelling like death, now can we?” Boone got to his feet and patted Church on the back. “You stay here. Come on, Brooksie. To the showers.”
It was often easier to give Boone his way than it was to fight against him. Even if I wasn’t feeling particularly social at the moment, I still decided it would be easier to go along with him than it would be to explain why I wasn’t feeling social.
It wasn’t that Boone wouldn’t understand if I bothered to explain my sour mood to him. The worst thing was that he would. Boone was one of the nicest guys I’d ever met. He had a way of making everyone his friend. Even surly, sour, old goats like me. Okay, so I wasn’t old, but twenty-eight wasn’t exactly young in hockeyland. Still, I had a bunch of good years left in me.
What Boone might not understand, though, was why I hated Marek Myers. The kid had gotten on my nerves ever since that first news story about him dropped. And ever since then it had only gotten worse. The kid’s face waseverywhere now. He really was some kind of role model for young gay athletes. I couldn’t deny that was great. Which was why I managed to get pissed at myself for being an ungracious asshole.
A jealous one.
There was nothing on the planet worse than waking up every morning and seeing Marek’s stupid face on every social media app that existed and being reminded that I was nothing but a bitter, jealous, closeted gay man. I knew it was dumb and unfair of me to hate him for shit that wasn’t his fault, but that wasn’t the only reason the mere thought of him annoyed me.
I’d watched his interviews, some of them. I didn’t hate him enough to make it an obsession. But he seemed so full of himself all the time. I didn’t care that I didn’t know him, I didn’t like him. But now he was going to be on our team and if I didn’t find a way to play nice, Boone would start sniffing around.
Shoving any and all thoughts of Marek Myers out of my head, I stripped out of my gear and headed for the showers. I tried not to think about Marek and his impending arrival, but it was as though my brain was a television that only got one channel.
If it weren’t for the fact that Church honestly could use a bit of a morale boost, I’d have told Boone to go without me, but if anyone needed a distraction, it was my goalie. So I sucked it up. A few hours of socializing wouldn’t kill me.
Three hours later, my tune had changed. Boone had dragged us out to eat and after that, he took us to this little hole off our usual beaten path. On one hand, it meant that people weren’t there hoping to see us, as they sometimes were when we went to our usual spot a couple blocks up from the rink. On the other hand, it meant that I was stillout in the public, dealing with a still sulking goalie and the human equivalent of an emotional support animal.
While the two of them horsed around, I pulled my phone out and took a picture, sending it to a group chat that my friend Brayden had roped me into after some big deal photoshoot he did for LGBTQ athletes. Brayden knew I was gay, and I guess he figured I needed some kind of support network. Brayden played right wing for Calgary, but I liked him anyway. I sent the picture as proof of social life. And then I sent a message. I’d lurked at first, unsure of how to interact, but a bit at a time, Brayden helped lure me out of my shell.
Please come kidnap me.
Brayden
Awww they’re making you socialize. Does it hurt?
It’s actual torture
Connor
