Page 11 of The Poster Boy
“Welcome to the team, Myers.”
Sparing him only a glance, I managed to keep my smile. “Thanks.”
“I wanted to make sure you knew that bullshit won’t be tolerated on my team.”
Out of their own volition, my skates brought me to a dead stop, and I turned to look at Boone. My smile faltered as I tried to think of what kind of infraction I’d committed to be having this talk so soon.
Something in Boone’s expression softened, and he skated over to me and put one of his big meaty hands on my shoulder.
“Dude, I meant that no one is going to give you shit about being gay. That’s all.”
Relief made my knees wobble, but I managed to keep steady, and I clapped Boone on the arm, shooting him a wide smile.
“I knew that.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”
The clouds rolled in over the sun and a chill fell over the land—okay, so not really, but Brookbank did skate over and ignore my presence almost entirely.
“Everything good?” he asked, as if I were trouble. As if Boone and I were about to drop our gloves and fight, and he was here to protect Boone.
“Down boy.” Boone shoved Brookbank. “Go be a pain in someone else’s ass.”
Brookbank’s gaze darted to me, then Boone, then he skated away. I tried not to let his attitude affect me, but I had a lot of practice picking up on the vibe when someone hated me, and Brookbank wasn’t exactly trying to be subtle about it.
“Sorry about him. We’re still trying to housetrain him.”
Boone’s comment startled a laugh out of me. “Have you tried whacking him with a rolled-up newspaper?”
Boone’s smile spread, and I realized that even if he and Brookbank were super good friends, Boone wouldn’t let his friend get away with being a shit. It made me feel a little better about everything. Like things might just be okay here.
“We haven’t tried that yet,” Boone said.
“Can I?”
He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder again. It felt like acceptance. “I might just let you, Myers. You never know.”
Chapter 6
Jay
Practice kicked my ass, but I took comfort in the fact that it also kicked the new guy’s ass. I hated to admit that he held his own in net, though. With Church in his current slump, it might do the team some good to have a decent back-up goalie. I loved that for the team but disliked it on a personal level.
Part of me was insulted on Church’s behalf even though there was nothing to be insulted about. Teams brought on new players all the time. They moved players up from the farm team, traded men, reworked entire lineups—all in the name of increasing the franchise’s chance at a cup. I couldn’t fault Myers for that. He was a cog in the machine like the rest of us.
I could, however, fault him for the extra press at our practice and the way he skated over after they called his name. He was like a golden retriever on skates. The media loved him. The way he’d been outed was spectacularly shitty, but he’d managed to land on his feet. The press laughed at something he said. He had them eating out of thepalm of his hand. I stared at the scene across the ice until Boone skated in front of me, blocking my view.
“I’m sure he’d let you have a little camera time if you wanted.” Boone grinned at me, knowing I was annoyed but not caring. Typical Boone.
Fucker.
Rather than answering, I skated off the ice and headed for the locker room.
“You’re in a mood today,” Boone said, stomping up beside me.
“I’m always in a mood.” It wasn’t a lie. Some people were golden retrievers. I was a black cat. Silent. Stoic. Moody and fickle without a shit to give about it. It served me well for the past twenty-eight years, and I didn’t see the sense in trying to change.
“Yeah, but your mood is extra spicy today. Someone shit in your cereal?” He bumped his shoulder against mine, wanting me to talk. To open up to him. Part of it was because Boone had been my friend since we met in training camp. The other part was because Boone was the team captain, and it was his job to make sure everyone had their head screwed on right. He could be a bit of a mother hen that way. One of the things that made him good at what he did was his ability to suss out when one of us needed to get something off our chest or our head out of our ass.
