Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
Alex isn’t exactly surprised when he gets a call from Coach three days before the draft and Coach asks, with studied calm, “What are your thoughts on Patrick Roman?”
Patrick Roman. A polarizing six-foot-three, 200-pound eighteen-year-old center from one of the top hockey boarding schools in the US. He was all but nonexistent until nine months before. It was as if he suddenly appeared from the ether his senior year, breaking records and dazzling scouts with absolutely no paper trail of his career up until that point. Alex knows that makes some teams nervous. But Alex has also watched Roman’s tape online, and it’s hard to argue with talent, regardless of where it came from. If Patrick Roman isn’t a prodigy, he’s sure as hell something like it.
Patrick Roman is also bisexual and, according to social media, currently dating a man.
Which, yeah. That might make some teams nervous too.
Over the last year, the NHL has gotten better. Ish. But they’ve yet to have an out queer player drafted. Roman would be the first.
Alex takes a breath.
“He’s a solid center,” Alex says. “Fast, despite his size. Like, shockingly fast actually. Great chemistry with his wingers. Doesn’t try to be a glory hound. Seems like an all-around team player.”
Alex tries to remember some of the scouting reports he’s read. “Sounds like he might have a temper, but I wouldn’t blame him. And that’s something we can work on. And we need another center. Obviously. From what I’ve seen, we probably wouldn’t even need to send him down for a year. He looks ready for the show.”
“So you’d draft him?” Coach asks. “Over, say, Dupont? Or Federov? Baker?”
“Dupont is a serious contender for sure. But, yeah. If I had my choice, I’d take Roman.”
“Even with the increased scrutiny his presence might bring the team?”
Alex resists the urge to laugh. “Coach, nothing anyone might say will be new. Or worse than anything I’ve heard before. I can’t speak for the team. But I’m not worried about that.”
“Noted.”
“You think we have a chance of getting him?”
“I think he scares most teams, so they’ll pass in the first round. I think he scares our GM, too, if we’re being honest. No promises. We’ll see.”
“Right. Of course.”
“If we do get him, though,” Coach says, “I want you on the phone with him day one. I want him staying with you during training camp. You’re senior enough to start babysitting the new ones at this point. And who better to start with?”
“Sure. I mean, I’d have to check with Eli but—”
“Eli would love having a kid stay with you,” Coach says.
Which is absolutely true. Though a muscle-bound eighteen-year-old who dwarfs them both isn’t exactly the kind of kid Eli would really like. But they’re working on that.
“Just be ready to make that first call on Thursday,” Coach says.
“Yessir,” Alex answers.
*
THREE DAYS LATER, Alex watches from his couch as Patrick Roman pulls a Hell Hounds jersey over his shaved head on the draft stage and shakes hands with the GM. His face and arms are so densely freckled that he looks darkly tanned, even in the harsh white lights. His jaw is a set line. His eyes are dark and serious. He doesn’t smile the entire time he’s on the television screen.
“Whoo boy,” Jeff says from where he’s sprawled on the rug. “Let it begin.”
Half the team is at Alex and Eli’s place, taking turns eating and lounging and making commentary on all the kids being drafted, remembering their own draft days.
“They’re already calling us the Gay Team,” Rushy says, tossing his phone onto the couch before following it. “I mean, like, lots of people.”
“It isn’t exactly surprising,” Jeff says, “but it is disappointing. It’s not like they didn’t have time to plan for this potential eventuality. That’s the best they could come up with? Gay Team?”
“Gay emphasis-on-A-team,” Matts says, dipping a carrot in so much ranch it negates the healthy concept of a carrot. “Actually. That could be good. The Gay Team, but with the A capitalized. We could make shirts. I bet they’d make a killing if we posted some pics of us wearing them on IG. Someone text Jessica.”
“Mm,” Eli agrees, half sprawled over Alex’s lap. “We could even bedazzle the shirts. Just to drive the point home.”
“Subtlety, thy name is Eli,” Jeff says.
“It really isn’t,” Alex murmurs.
“You love my lack of subtlety,” Eli informs him confidently.
“I do,” Alex agrees, kissing him because he can.
“What’s bezazzle?” Kuzy asks.
“Bedazzle,” Asher corrects. “It’s like when you put rhinestones, those little sparkly things, all over everything. Oh, like that horrible pair of jeans you have. With the pockets? Like that.”
“Ah,” Kuzy says approvingly. “Yes, we could bezazzle shirts.”
“Bedazzle,” Asher corrects again.
“Bezazzle,” Kuzy agrees, this time definitely on purpose.
Alex’s phone rings, and they all go quiet because they know what that means.
“Hey, Coach,” he says.
“Alex, you ready to make that phone call?”
He is.
They talk for a few more minutes, and then Alex meets Eli’s eyes and nods toward the bedroom. One, because he hates doing stuff like this alone, and two, because he wants the kid to be able to talk to both the people he’ll potentially be living with.
They settle on the bed together, Hawk at their feet and Bells perched on the headboard, grumbling her disdain about so many uninvited people in her house. Alex dials the number Coach has just texted him.
He links his fingers with Eli’s and rubs his thumb against the base of his engagement ring.
“Hello?” The voice that answers is deep and steady and doesn’t seem nearly as anxious as Alex felt when he had a similar conversation three years ago.
“Hi, this is Alexander Price? The, uh, captain of the Hell Hounds.”
“I—yeah,” Roman says. “I know. Hi.”
Right. Alex hasn’t gotten any better at this. “I just wanted to tell you congrats and welcome. We think you’re going to be a real asset to the team.”
“Thanks. I’m excited to join you. I…appreciate that you were willing to take a risk on me.”
Now Alex can hear the nerves. It’s subtle, but the word “risk” cracked in a way Alex recognizes. “Yeah, of course. Hey, so, full disclosure, you’re on speakerphone. My fiancé Eli is here too.”
“Hola,” Eli says. “Nice to meet you, Patrick.”
Roman huffs what might be a laugh. “Full disclosure. “You’re also on speakerphone. And my boyfriend is also here.”
“Well, hola to your boyfriend as well, then,” Eli corrects.
“Hola,” a new voice says. “Damien Bordeaux. Encantado de conocerte.”
“Ayy,” Eli says. “¿Hablas español?”
“Here we go,” Roman mutters. “Yeah. He speaks Mandarin and French too.”
“Oh, I like him,” Eli says, sotto voce. “Can we keep them both?”
“Um,” Roman says. “We’re kind of a package deal, so.”
“Nice,” Eli says approvingly. “Well, just so you know, we’ve been instructed by Coach to let you stay with us during training camp. Maybe y’all want your own space though? There are a couple units available in our building. That might be a nice compromise.”
“I don’t—” Roman says, sounding a little winded. “That’s—uh.”
“Very kind of you to offer,” Damien cuts in smoothly. When he’s not speaking Spanish, he has an accent that sounds as if France and England had a deep-timbred baby. “We’ll need to discuss it, but we appreciate the kindness. And living close would likely be convenient. Can you send us the information about your building?”
“Sure thing,” Eli says. “I can email you the details in a minute.”
“Maybe we should just let Eli and Damien talk,” Alex says to Roman. “Seems like they’re better at it.”
They all laugh, and Alex sags a little against Eli’s side. He’s already looking forward to meeting them in person. He’s imagining shared dinners with another couple like them, and it feels like something tightly spooled in his chest starts to loosen.
“How are you doing?” Alex asks. “Overwhelmed?”
“Yeah,” Roman admits.
“We’re hiding,” Damien says. “There are a lot of photographers waiting, so we’re…hiding for a while.”
“I’m taking important calls privately,” Roman says mulishly.
“Of course you are, darling.”
“So we should drag out this important call with your future captain as long as possible then?” Eli asks. “Well, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s talking.”
“True,” Alex whispers.
Eli elbows him in the ribs. “Hey, before we start hashing out hockey things, how did you two meet?”
“I suppose we’re high school sweethearts,” Damien says. “Well. ‘Sweethearts’ probably isn’t the right word. We were more like high school adversaries at the start.”
“Oh god,” Eli says. “Is this an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers situation?”
“The definition of the trope,” Damien agrees.
“Well, now you have to tell us the story,” Alex says. “Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”
“I do,” Eli agrees. “And yes, you have to tell us. But only if you’re comfortable.”
“I’d love to,” Damien says.
“You would,” Roman mutters. “You’re not the one who was a massive asshole for the first three months.”
“Mmm.” Eli grins at Alex. “When you’re done, I’ll tell you about what a massive asshole Alex was the first day we met, if that makes you feel better.”
“Or not,” Alex mutters
“Sounds great,” Roman says.
“Well,” Damien begins. “It started the first day of term…”
Alex squeezes Eli’s hand, presses a kiss to his curls, and settles in to listen.