Page 60 of Puck Shots
“No, the rules are pretty strict on agent representation at the college level. I’m more here to facilitate these sorts of meetings between players and prospective teams,” Greg replies.
“So they’re interested in my boy then?” Dad asks, and Greg smiles wide; my heart immediately doubles its pace. Fuck, breathe, Cosmo. Breathe.
“They’ve been watching. Your last game was especially impressive, but I’ll let Beckett and Charles go into more about that. They’re waiting at the table. This way, Mrs. Parks,” he says, offering his arm to my mother, who fucking blushes before letting him lead her inside. Dad chuckles and nudges my side.
“Let the games begin.”
***
After a few minutes of awkward silence, Charles, the player development coach, asks about my double tap slapshot, and I can’t stop talking. I told them all about Eli’s program that helped me figure out that I was too fast to land it without giving it a head start, hence the double tap, and then I told them about a few of the trick plays me and the guys are working on with Eli’s help, fine-tuning the moves.
“We’ve got some similar technology, but it sounds like your friend is onto something really special. Maybe we should recruit him into the team, too.”
“Eli doesn’t really skate. He’s the brains, I’m the brawn in the relationship.” I laugh before I realize what I just said. My throat goes dry as the seconds tick by waiting for someone, anyone to say anything. I’ve never kept the fact that I’m gay a secret. I’ve been out since the fifth grade, but I didn’t want to tell my parents I was seeing someone in the middle of a hockey dinner that might decide my whole fucking hockey future.
“You allow fighting in the professional games, don’t you?” Mom asks, and I’ve never been more thankful for her overprotective mindset than I am right now.
“It’s not officially permitted, but fights do happen. It can get pretty heated out there,” Beckett replies, and I know the words he’s not saying. Fights in the NHL are actually encouraged. They help fire up the team and the crowd. But who is going to tell a mother that? Well played, Beckett. “You did well getting between the opposing team and your forward at last week’s game,” he says, turning to me.
“You saw that?” I ask, grabbing the glass of water in front of me and drinking half of it down in one go.
“I have to admit, I thought you might have been going in for a swing with how fast you got there, but you impressed me with your restraint.”
“I never thought that would be what impressed you guys.”
“Well, it did, that and your speed. Have you always been fast?”
“Ever since he was six, he was skating circles around anyone on the ice,” Dad says with a proud smile.
By dessert, I’m way more relaxed. I’ve found my groove, and my answers and follow-up questions start to flow more easily.
“So is the whole family into hockey?” Beckett asks, and I laugh.
“Not really.”
“Our twins play Banana Ball,” Mom says, and I try not to roll my eyes. I almost got through a whole dinner with the conversation not deviating to the star Banana Ball players changing how the world sees baseball.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and pretend like I’m going to the bathroom. I pull out my phone on the way and open the group chat I’m in with a whole bunch of queer athletes from all over. It’s become a sort of support chat, and I am hoping they can give me some pointers now on how to not fuck this up.
ME:
So, I might be at a dinner right now trying to impress the Boston scout and player development coach. HELP! How do I make them want me?
Brayden is the first to reply. No surprise there, he’s always on his phone. But his advice is usually spot on. Given he’s a right-wing for the Bobcats, he does actually know what he’s talking about. Most of the time.
BRAYDEN:
They must be interested in you to meet you, so ignore all your natural chaotic instincts and don’t be a cocky shit. Hard, I know, but we have faith in you.
CONNOR:
Wear a slutty shirt.
What the fuck? That can’t be Connor. He’s a midfielder for the English League One and is usually a quiet and reserved kind of guy.
CONNOR:
NO!
