“And that’s why you back this Hockey Allies charity?”
“Not just that, it’s way more specific for me. Hockey is hyper-masculine and there’s this ethos that you have to be a straight man to play.” I air quoted those last few words. “If someone is questioning, or owns their truth anywhere on the spectrum, it’s implied in general that this person is not capable of playing hockey. That’s wrong.” I pushed my empty bowl to one side, so I could use my hands to shape out my words and exaggerate them. I was an expressive person, and it had driven my last date crazy.
Not that there was anything about me that the guy he liked. After all, he’d admitted he was only meeting me for the money and insta-fame. I hadn’t had a proper date in years.
Boo hoo, poor rich Garrett with the golden career.
“Was it hard for you to come out?” he asked so carefully, and I knew what he was expecting, some story of a kid who was never accepted. But I’d been lucky so far, skilled enough for coaches to overlook anything that didn’t fit their player ideal.
“Some. Not much. I knew I was gay from when I was, maybe thirteen? I was already in Juniors, and everyone told me I would make it one day, despite all of my issues and lack of family backing me up, I could one day go the whole way in the NHL and that I would have a future. For a kid in foster care, the promise of a bright future and maybe a new family, that’s huge. To a kid who plays hockey, being told they could go all the way? That is everything.”
There was a softness in his eyes, and I imagined it was pity for the whole foster care thing, but all of my issues with the time before Mamma P, Kyle, and Bobby, were out there for anyone to read about after I’d written a heartfelt post for an online hockey magazine. I didn’t need the pity or compassion building in Jason’s expression.
I placed one hand flat on the counter and lifted the other above my head. “The journey to get from here to there, it takes years, practice every day, working so hard that you barely think of anything but hockey, and it doesn’t help when you’re wrestling with your own identity.” I dropped my hand to the counter, and continued to talk as I took the bowls, rinsed them and put them into my expensive dishwasher that I don’t think I’ve ever used. I took them out again and placed them in the sink, opening random cupboards on the hunt for dish soap. Jason was there, bending down reaching into the back of the cupboard under the sink, pulling out the bottle, and then he leaned against the counter and waited for me to continue.
After squirting too much dish soap and ending up with a mountain of bubbles, I washed the bowls slowly, enjoying the heat of the water, thinking about what to say next.
“I told my coach I was gay when I’d just turned fourteen. I wanted to be honest, but at that age no one really understands the way the world works, and I regretted blurting it out to him in his office when he went white.”
“He didn’t take it well?”
“Coach Morton explained in no uncertain terms that I couldn’t tell anyone else, that I had the potential to be the next big thing in hockey, and that I wouldn’t have a career if I showed weakness.”
“He equated gay with weak?”
“Of course. So many people do. I mean, you go to any Dragons game and there’s casual homophobia in every section. If I score a goal then I’m a hero who doesn’t play like I’m gay. Then, if I make a shitty turnover, it’s all what do you expect from someone like him. That’s why this charity is important, and not just to raise money, but to raise the profile of access for GLBTQ kids who want to play.”
“I understand.”
“You know, it’s not just the fans? I had the same shit thrown at me from Shaun.”
“The agent.”
“Yeah. He knew I was gay when he took me on, and that wasn’t an issue, and hell, I was eighteen and he worked with people to get me noticed, and he was cool with me being gay, only he said I should exploit it.”
“How did he want you to do that?”
“Gay talk shows. Gay You Tube. Gay this. Gay that. But my sexuality isn’t the only thing that defines me and I shouldn’t be looked at as different. Does that make sense?” Abruptly it was vital that he understood where I was coming from.
“It does.”
“The auction is important,” I reiterated. “All of the guys taking part will show that hockey is a game everyone can access irrespective of race, gender, age, or any other defining factor. It’s everyone’s game, and for me to go up there on the stage, visible to the cameras, not ashamed of who I am, with the companies who endorse me supporting that, then it means that I’m stepping up and playing my part, and I hope that others will follow. Anyway, coffee?”
He nodded.
I fixed the dials on the machine and set the beans to grind. He wiped splashes of tomato from the countertop, and then coffee in hand, we went into the large sitting area with the views. It was dark, and I pulled the blinds, although I tilted them at an angle so we could see out before I curled up in the corner of the large sectional. We sat in silence for a while, and then he cleared his throat.
“We really need to talk the logistics of the charity event, it’s only three weeks away, and there’s an outside possibility that you will still need me then.”
“You said I’d only have you for a few days.”
“Ideally, yes. We have a team on the investigation side, and we’re taking this very seriously, but we have to plan for all eventualities.”
The walls closed in on me, and it wasn’t a good feeling. How could I have this sexy but bossy, man in my life for any more than a few days? A week would be stretching it, three weeks and into the All-Star weekend and bachelor auction and I was going to go fucking crazy. I glanced over at him and he was looking at me steadily. Just the thought of him watching me as I had all these negative feelings made me ashamed of myself.
He settled deeper into his part of the sofa, his large solid frame a bookend to the throw cushions at his side.
“So what about you?” I asked.
“What about me?”
“You work for Deamax, that much I get, you’re a bodyguard, protector, you can hack software, you have a gun, you said you were military. What else? How long have you been a bodyguard? How old are you? Where do you call home?”
He seemed uncomfortable at first, and pressed his lips together with his gaze fixed past my shoulder. I wasn’t clever enough to hazard a guess at what was going through his mind, but when he let out a soft sigh, I really hoped that he’d tell me something real.
“I’m a former US Marine.” He let the information settle, and I think he was expecting me to ask searching questions, but for some reason my messed up head only knew one fact about Marines, and I blurted it out before my brain connected to control my mouth.
“Hudson was a US Marine.” What the fuck? Why the hell did I say that?
He looked interested. “Hudson? Where was he based?”
Shit, he was interested, as if we might have had this Hudson guy in common, some kind of mutual friend, instead of my freaking brain having a nerd meltdown.
“He’s a character in a movie, and I don’t know why I… he’s in Aliens,” I tried to hide the huge amounts of embarrassment, then I changed the subject after I’d probably belittled his service. “Why a former Marine?”