Chapter Ten

ALEX HAS A meeting with management before practice the morning of the Coyotes game that is just as awful as he anticipates.

Well.

Not awful.

No one is cruel, or even judgmental, but they have a franchise to run, and Alex just became an important, and somewhat volatile, pawn in their game.

After nearly an hour of passive-aggressive, politically correct, gentle bickering with the GM, Alex agrees to read a statement after the game that night. He then makes his excuses to leave because practice is starting; he is here, after all, to play hockey.

They can’t really argue with that, and Alex practically runs for the locker room after being dismissed, hands fisted in the front pocket of his hoodie.

Except then he gets to the door of the locker room and can hear the guys inside getting ready and that’s—

That’s a whole new brand of anxiety.

If he wasn’t the goddamn captain, he would just duck in with his head down and skate hard and try his best not to talk to anyone. But that’s not an option because he is the goddamn captain, and at this point, everyone in the room has seen the video, where Alex begged to see his boyfriend—desperate in a way that would be utterly humiliating if it wasn’t desperation about Eli.

It’s going to be weird, he thinks.

It’s going to be so, so, weird.

He pushes open the door and walks purposely to his locker and…

It’s weird.

He’d told the guys who came over the night before to just act normal, and they do, mostly. Except the noise level ratchets way down upon his entrance and just…stays that way.

Like they’re waiting.

Alex takes a deep breath through teeth still-clenched from the meeting and considers, briefly, how Eli would handle this situation.

He grabs his helmet from the top cubby of his locker and bangs it a few times against the side of his stall until everyone goes completely, expectantly silent.

“So,” Alex says. “I’m gay.”

Jeff coughs on what might be a laugh next to him.

“It’s not a big deal,” Alex continues quickly because it’s clear Kuzy is readying a sarcastic response. “People are going to try to make it a big deal. PR and other teams and whatever the fuck else. But don’t let them. I’m still here to play hockey and I’m still here to win and that should be everyone else’s focus too. Okay?”

He gets a handful of affirmations.

“I’m only going to make one statement tonight, after the game, and I’ll ignore all media after that. I’d appreciate it if you don’t comment on my relationship with Eli if you’re asked, or that if you do comment, it’s without giving them any actual information. Hopefully after a few weeks, people will get bored and move on. But I don’t know how this is going to go down at first. How other teams will react. Other fans.”

“I can guess,” Rads says darkly.

Alex nods, resigned, already feeling exhausted.

“I won’t apologize for coming out or for, uh”—and after everything that’s happened, the word still sticks in his throat—”being gay. I’m not sorry. But I do apologize for how this will affect you. It shouldn’t. But it will. And I know that.”

“Got your back,” Kuzy says and is quickly echoed by Rushy, Asher, and a couple other indistinct voices.

“All Russians got your back,” Kuzy continues. “I’m talk to them. They all promise. No dirty hits. No, uh…” He glances at Oshie and says something in Russian.

“Homophobic,” he supplies.

“No homophobic talk,” Kuzy finishes.

“Oh,” Alex says. “Thanks.”

“You talked to all of the Russians in the NHL?” Asher asks, sounding kind of awed. “How? Do y’all have, like, weekly secret phone meetings? Do your families all know each other? Is there really a Russian Hockey Mafia?”

“No,” Kuzy says patiently, as if Asher is particularly stupid. “We have group chat. WhatsApp.”

“Oh.” Asher looks disappointed.

“But if is a Russian Hockey Mafia, I’m boss.”

“Of course,” Jeff says.

“How’s Eli?” Rushy asks. “Are they letting him go today?”

Alex brightens. “Probably. He passed his mobility and physical tests first thing and was about to do the mental tests when I talked to him last.” Alex pulls his phone out, but he doesn’t have any missed calls. He shrugs.

“If he passes them, will he come to the game tonight?” Asher asks.

Alex gives Asher a disbelieving look. “He can barely walk, and he’s dealing with fucking concussion symptoms. You think I’m going to ask him to navigate the maze that is our stadium and then spend three hours around flashing lights and screaming fans?”

“Not to mention he’d be mobbed the minute someone recognized him.”

“We could get him a wheelchair!” Asher argues. “And some hearing protection! And we could sneak him in. Put a hat on him or something.”

“You gonna put a hat on Hawk too?” Jeff says.

Asher deflates. “Oh. Right. I guess the dog is a little conspicuous.”

“A little,” Jeff agrees.

“Maybe the next home game,” Alex says and tries not to get his hopes up about seeing Eli finally wearing one of his jerseys in the stands. “But tonight, I’ll just be happy to go home to him.”

Kuzy makes a gagging noise, and Alex flushes because that was, admittedly, pretty gross.

Feelings are the worst.

“Anyway,” Alex says, “if anyone has any problems or, uh—questions? Talk to me privately. But otherwise, let’s just keep playing the way we’ve been playing.”

Jeff clears his throat, and Alex glances at him.

“Also, Jeff would like to say something,” he says dryly.

That gets a few laughs.

“As most of you know,” Jeff says, “I do a lot of work with You Can Play and hockey camps for LGBTQ youth.”

Kuzy makes a faux surprised noise.

Rushy punches him in the spleen.

“I tell the kids that, sure, some guys are still assholes, but on the whole, NHL teams are about brotherhood, are like family, and that gay or bisexual players—” He nods to Rushy. “—aren’t treated any differently than the straight ones.”

“You know a lot of gay NHL players?” one of the call-ups asks, not mean, just curious. Maybe a little disbelieving.

“I know a few,” Jeff says. “Shockingly, when you’re an outspoken advocate for the queer community, queer people tend to trust you.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Now,” Jeff continues. “Complete acceptance isn’t, unfortunately, the truth. Most guys? Sure. But some dealt with, or are still dealing with, a lot of shit when teammates or staff found out about them. Some got traded and got more careful. But none of that has ended up on the news. So this is the first time the hockey world at large has really had to confront a situation like this. And because it’s Alex—”

Several of the guys whoop.

“—I don’t need to tell you this is a big deal. That even with Alex making a statement, the media is going to be watching his every move.”

“Thanks, bro,” Alex mutters.

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Alex isn’t the only one who’s going to be watched though. We will be too. And if there’s even a hint of division or discomfort from anyone on the team, the media is going to latch onto it and exploit it. They don’t want a happy story, here. They want blood.”

And Alex…hadn’t thought of that.

“I know Jessica is already planning to talk to everyone before the game tonight, but until then—think long and hard about anything you post on Instagram. Anything you snap, anything you text your friends or other guys in the league. The last thing we need is a screenshot of someone’s shitty locker room joke ending up on Deadspin.”

Alex glances around the room and all of them are paying attention. Even the ones not looking at him—taping their socks or lacing their skates—are nodding along.

“There are kids all over the world right now who are going to watch how this whole thing plays out and use it as a determining factor in their own lives—whether they’ll keep playing hockey or quit. Whether they’ll come out or stay in the closet. We can’t control how other organizations react, but we can make damn sure they see a united, supportive team behind Alex. Okay?”

Alex has to sit down through the yells of agreement.

And maybe he pulls his shirt off a little slower than normal so he can hide his face for a minute.

It’s fine.

He leaves his phone with one of the trainers, just in case, as they head onto the ice. Ten minutes into practice she waves at him. He has a voicemail. It’s from Eli, saying he just barely made his flight but has boarded, and Alex makes the mistake of excitedly telling Kuzy that Eli will probably be back at Alex’s place before practice is even over.

Because of this, he finds himself escorting a half-dozen freshly showered hockey players home with him two hours later.

Alex texts Eli a heads-up, but doesn’t get a response. He’s trying to shush the guys in the hallway, hoping they don’t wake Eli up if he’s sleeping, when he realizes there’s music coming from his apartment.

Alex pauses at the door, imagining Eli in the shoes, dancing in the kitchen. But he remembers pretty quickly that Eli still needed help standing, much less walking, the last time he saw him. Dancing, especially dancing in heels, is probably off the table for a while.

He takes a steadying breath and opens the door.

Eli is leaning against the center island, back to the door, cutting something while swaying slightly to the music. Hawk, still wearing her mobility harness, is pressed up against his left leg.

Eli is wearing one of Alex’s long-sleeved raglan shirts, the green apron, and a pair of knee-high wool socks. He might be wearing shorts, but also might not be. If he is, they’re very short and hidden under the hem of the shirt.

It’s a good look, but he clearly isn’t expecting anyone other than Alex.

“Oh my god,” Eli says, fumbling for the handle on Hawk’s harness. “Uh. Hi?”

“Eli!” Kuzy yells. He doesn’t seem to care about the Schrödinger’s Pants situation. “Hug okay? Don’t want to hurt.”

“Oh, yeah, go for it.”

Kuzy folds himself down, very carefully, to envelop Eli and…yeah. Alex kind of gets why the internet thinks they’re so cute together. Not cuter than Alex and Eli. Definitely not. Just. They are kind of cute.

Eli excuses himself to go put on a pair of Alex’s sweats a moment later—no shorts, then—before the rest of the guys say their hellos.

When Eli finally gets passed to Alex, Alex wraps him up in his arms, not so gently, and then just clings. For a minute.

“Jesus,” Jeff says.

Judging from the other guys’ laughter, Eli flips Jeff off behind Alex’s back.

They separate a moment later, though, and Eli turns to face everyone again, stabilizing himself with Alex on one side and Hawk on the other.

“Bro,” Asher says. “You’re really wobbly. Are you okay?”

Kuzy slaps the back of Asher’s head.

“Ow,” Asher says, slapping Kuzy back. “I wasn’t trying to be mean. He is wobbly.”

“I am,” Eli agrees. “It’s fine.”

“See,” Asher says, hopping backward to avoid a kick Kuzy aims at his shins.

“You think this is what having kids is like?” Alex whispers.

“Yes,” Rads says.

Eli pointedly clears his throat, and they settle down. “I don’t know how much Alex has told you—”

“Next to nothing,” Rads supplies.

“But I have a TBI—again—and a concussion. I’m recovering really well, but it’ll probably be a few months until I’m back to normal.”

“When can you start skating again?” Rushy asks. They’re all athletes, and that’s the first question any of them ask when teammates are hurt.

“Well. Eight weeks, best case.”

Alex pulls Eli a little closer.

“But I can’t skate competitively anymore.”

“At all?” Asher asks, looking horrified.

“Not competitively, no.” Eli says. “But it’s okay. It doesn’t mean I’m losing skating. I mean, next semester, as long as my balance is better, I’ll probably try to find a coaching job. And Alex’s already promised to get us ice time the day I’m allowed, so.”

“Coaching?” Matts asks, and it’s the first thing he’s said all morning.

Alex is still a little baffled Matts decided to come at all.

“Yeah,” Eli says. “Like, teaching kids? There aren’t a ton of programs in Houston for figure skating, but I can probably find some part-time work somewhere with the résumé I have. I’m maybe a little overqualified, honestly, but they’d have to be willing to work with the whole”—he gestures to Hawk—“seizure disorder thing.”

“Do you like teaching kids?” Matts asks, strangely intense, and…that’s admittedly a pretty important question.

“I do,” Eli says, grinning. “I always used to volunteer to help out the younger skaters on my teams growing up. My mom says I just enjoy bossing people around, but—” He shrugs. “You remember how much fun we had at the Breaking the Ice Event? With the kids there?”

“Yeah,” Matts agrees. “You’re, um, you’re really good with them. Kids. You even taught me something.”

“Put that on your résumé,” Rushy advises Eli.

That devolves into another fight, and then Alex corrals everyone into the living room, where he starts up Mario Kart to distract them before returning to check on Eli.

“Hey,” he says, looping his arms around Eli’s waist. “Should you be spending this much time standing up?”

Eli elbows him gently and slides a pile of finely diced red pepper into a bowl. He reaches for a stalk of celery next. “I’m fine. The doctor was actually really impressed with how much I’ve improved. She said I can move around as much as I want, provided it doesn’t exacerbate any of my head issues—which it hasn’t. Oh, and I start physical therapy on Monday.”

“Okay.” Alex smudges the word under Eli’s ear, then kisses the skin there just to be thorough. “What are you making?”

“Comfort food. Habichuelas guisadas. Abuela’s recipe, of course.”

“Of course,” Alex agrees. “Do you want any help?”

“What I want,” Eli says darkly, “is Amazon Now to deliver plátanos, but apparently, that’s too much to ask from the largest internet retailer in the world.”

“Uh,” Alex says. “I’m sorry?”

Eli sighs, leaning back into him. “Not your fault. I just wanted to make tostones.”

Alex has no idea what that means. “Do you want me to write an angry letter to Amazon?”

“Would you?” Eli says faux seriously.

“For you? Of course.”

That gets him another kiss.

“Okay,” Eli says, “stop distracting me. And go make sure the boys don’t destroy the living room.”

“Okay.” Alex squeezes him a little. He then vaults over the couch onto Jeff’s back, ensuring he drives right off the rainbow road.

Jeff does not take kindly to that.

It’s amazing his couch has survived as long as it has.

Half an hour and several outraged losses later, Alex notices Matts edging his way out of the living room. When he finally commits, rounding the island to approach Eli, now working at the stove, Alex gets up too.

Matts looks nervous more than anything else, so Alex pauses, leaning against the wall, and watches Eli’s back as Matts draws to an awkward stop next to him, in front of the sink.

Eli glances over at Matts briefly, then a second time when it’s clear that he isn’t there to wash his hands or something. “Hey,” Eli says.

“Hey,” Matts agrees. “So. Do you want to coach professionally? Like when you’re done with college? Or would it just be a side thing?”

This is also something Alex has been wondering.

Why Matts is asking it, he has no idea.

“Oh,” Eli says. “Well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t ever want to coach Olympic hopefuls or anything, just kids who are starting out. Less expectations. Less stress.”

“More fun?” Matts supplies.

“Right,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t usually pay well, so.” He shrugs. “Then again, thanks to Alex, my YouTube channel is making a little profit off ad revenue, and some big brands have been DMing me on Instagram about doing collaborations. So maybe if I can grow that a little over the next few years? I guess that may be an option. I’ve got time to figure things out.”

“But you don’t even—”

“What?”

“I think I was about to say something that Jeff would give me a lecture for.”

“Oh? Well, say it anyway. I’ve had a disclaimer, and now I’m curious.”

Matts glances toward the living room, where Rushy has Kuzy in a headlock, yelling about Russian espionage, and Alex pulls back into the hall a little so he won’t be seen.

He’s eavesdropping and he shouldn’t be, but—

“Well,” Matts says, voice low. “Do you really even need to work? Alex has a shit ton of money. And he’s totally gone on you. After the hospital, I kinda figured you two were end game.”

“End game,” Eli repeats.

“Um. Going to get married?” he says, even quieter.

“I know what end game means,” Eli mutters.

“So,” Matts continues. “You could do whatever you want? Regardless of if it pays well.”

“Potentially,” Eli allows.

And that’s… It honestly hadn’t even occurred to Alex. That if he and Eli do end up together—even thinking the word “married” is kind of terrifying—then Eli will be a millionaire by, like, proxy.

It’s a good thought. That maybe Eli wouldn’t object to Alex spending money on him anymore if the money was officially theirs.

“Are you okay?” Matts asks, and Alex returns his attention to the kitchen where Eli has stopped moving.

“I’m good,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “Just—trying to adjust my worldview a little.”

“Okay,” Matts says, uncertain. “So, if money wasn’t a problem? What would you do then?”

“Probably the same thing, I guess. I’d still want to coach, but maybe as a volunteer? For kids who can’t usually afford lessons? And keep up with my channel.”

“Cool,” Matts says decisively. “All right, well. I’ve got to go nap, but it was nice seeing you. I hope you feel better.”

And then he walks away.

Alex watches, stymied, as Matts collects his coat, yells a goodbye that no one acknowledges—because Mario Kart—and then heads out the door.

Eli watches him, similarly baffled, and then shakes his head, returning his attention to the stove.

Alex retreats to the living room with the mental equivalent of a shrug.

Hockey players are weird.

Especially about their pregame naps.

A few minutes later, Eli sets the oven timer, takes Hawk’s harness off, then more or less collapses in Alex’s lap.

Alex turns the volume on the TV down, just in case Eli’s head is hurting, while Jeff happily updates Eli on the current standings: where Alex is dead last.

“Hey, Jeff,” Alex says. “Did you know that somewhere in the world, there’s a really rude goat named after you?”

“Oh, no,” Eli says.

“There’s a what?” Jeff says.