Page 32 of The Poster Boy
“Most days it doesn’t feel like it, but I do okay.” I glanced at Tanner. “You okay, kid?”
He considered it for a moment. “I don’t know how to tell people.”
He couldn’t meet my gaze or even say the words, but I understood what he meant.
“It wasn’t so long ago, you know, that I was where you are. No one knew I was gay. And I wish I could say that coming out was this amazing experience for me, but it’s never been easy.”
“My mom knows. She’s cool.”
“Then you’re already one up on me.” Part of me stillheld some kind of shame that my parents had basically abandoned me when I’d come out. The memories of it weren’t good ones, and often thinking about them made me feel tangled up inside. “My parents were not cool about it. So, I think that no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”
My Uber chose that moment to pull up, but I slid a card out of my wallet and handed it to Tanner. “That’s my agent. I’ll tell him to arrange tickets for you guys. Give him a call in a couple of days.”
Tanner’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Thanks!”
I pulled my phone out and sent the text to my agent before I forgot completely and piled into the Uber.
I’d had good luck with Uber drivers so far in that most of them didn’t give a rat’s ass who I was. Being a hockey player wasn’t like being a Hollywood celebrity. Everyone didn’t recognize you the way a movie star was recognizable, but the post-Clark press tour had put my face in front of more people.
This Uber driver wasn’t a superfan, but they’d followed my story enough to know who I was. And, of course, they asked the inevitable question. The one I’d given a non-answer to every time it had been asked of me.
“Were you traded because you’re gay?”
I told the driver the same thing I told every media outlet, every vlogger, every person with a microphone and a camera. I was traded because it was in my contract. Hockey players got traded all the time, and my trade was no different. I was one more question away from getting it tattooed on my forehead.
The drive to the rink was far too long with the chatty driver, and I arrived feeling irritated because of it. The endless questions hadn’t stopped the whole time. It had felt like an interrogation.
They’d also taken their sweet time getting here, and I barely avoided being late. Something that Coach O’Neil pointed out to me when I walked in.
“Cutting it close, Myers.”
“Sorry, Coach.” My face burned with shame, and a bit of anger. I was well aware that everyone else was clearly ready to start practice, and I still had to change.
Coach herded the rest of the guys out to the ice while I shoved my way into my practice gear. I’d managed to shake off a bit of my mood by the time I was ready to join the warm-up. I hurried onto the ice and nearly crashed into Brookbank.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
Brookbank grunted a reply and kept skating.
For a split second, I thought of chasing after him and asking what his beef with me was. It was fear that stopped me. I knew I wasn’t a catch. I was flighty and had a hard time wrangling my brain on a good day. My house was a mess, which felt like a good metaphor for how my life was going currently. But Jay knew none of those things. He knew none of that, and yet I’d been good enough to have sex with but not good enough to talk to.
My already dark mood only got worse, and after that practice was a nightmare. Not for me. For the guys. I used my ire and my hurt feelings, and I stopped every single shot they threw at me. When the whistle went to signal the end of practice, I was the first one off the ice.
Chapter 16
Jay
Marek’s die-hard fans were there after the next game, shoving mics in his face and asking their twenty questions. I was pretty sure I was the only one bothered by the amount of time he got in front of the cameras. And not because I wanted my fifteen minutes. No, thank you. I preferred to keep my head down and stay off the television as much as possible.
I had to admit that he was good on camera. Which is half the reason they kept shoving the camera in his face. The other half was simply because he was the face of gay players now, and the media was still able to milk a lot of clicks out of stories about him.
Marek came thundering into the dressing room looking like someone had murdered his cat. He tore at his gear in a way that stunned the room into silence. Boone was the first one over there. He batted Marek’s hands away and helped him with his gear. Conversation started up again, and I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
From the second I’d found out about the trade, Myers had been a thorn in my side. A rock in my shoe. An annoyanceI couldn’t shake. But seeing him all tied up about something pissed me off for a whole new reason. I didn’t like seeing him like that. Myers wasn’t supposed to be angry to the point that his hands shook. Myers was a golden retriever, not some angry, trembling chihuahua.
The buzz from our win simmered down a little because of Marek’s mood, and it wasn’t long before the Coach came into the dressing room and made a beeline for Marek.
The whole room held their breath, curious to see what Coach was going to say.
