Chapter 30: Egotistical Puckboy: Chapter 30

WE LOSE the next two games, which really tests Ezra’s superstition, but then we hit another streak. The whole team’s game is smooth, but something clicks with Ezra, and the two of us play together like we never have before. It’s easily my best season, but there’s still one thing nagging in the back of my mind.

I want to come out.

Because while my career is at an all-time high and I’m in a relationship that fulfills me in a way that’s caught me completely off guard, not being able to combine the two is wearing thin.

I let my fingers trail along Ezra’s spine, and he shifts in his sleep. We’re both totally naked after a night celebrating, and we leave to fly home in just over an hour.

“Time to wake up, Ez.”

He grunts at me, which is his equivalent of “five more minutes.” Apparently, I can speak Ezra now.

“Nuh-uh. I’m not packing your bags this time.”

“I’d do it for you,” he grumbles.

“And yet, you never have.” I bring my hand down on his bare ass cheek, and it lets out a satisfying Ezra’s back tenses, muscles tightening, and if I had the time, I’d map out every one of them with my mouth.

Ezra finally pushes up onto his elbows and blinks sleepily at me, the vivid blue of his eyes peeking out from behind dark lashes. I run a hand over his rough cheek, remembering how his beard felt on my ass last night, and damn if that doesn’t make me want to go again.

“Okay, get up before I maul you,” I say.

Ezra slowly climbs out of bed. “You coming straight to my place once we’re back?”

“I might head home for a bit. I have some washing and things to do.”

He nods as he heads for the bathroom, and I wonder if I should tell him what’s on my mind. Ezra supports me either way. Whether I’m out or closeted is all the same to him, but I’m finally starting to get what he means about wanting to live by his own rules, not someone else’s. And my rules state I need to take my boyfriend on an actual date.

The problem is, Ezra and I are making it work . While we’re on the same team, in the same city. I have another year contracted to Boston, and I think Ezra has two, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t be traded or be offered a better contract somewhere else.

If management thinks us being together is bad for the B’s, they wouldn’t hesitate to ship one of us off.

I have to believe we’re playing well enough that they’ll want to keep us.

And if not, well, there’s a good chance we’ll have to face that eventually.

So while we’re here, I want to make the most of our time together.

We fly back to Boston and each go our separate ways. Only, instead of heading back to my car, I catch Coach in his office.

I knock lightly on the doorframe, and Coach looks up.

“Hayes, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing, actually.” I shift, trying not to let my nerves show. “But I figured I should give you the heads-up I’m planning to come out.”

“That’s good. Do you need me to set anything up? We can get the PR department onto it.”

“I can go to them next. I want to go low-key about it and don’t want to make it a big thing. But … it’s probably going to be a big deal.”

He leans back in his chair. “Is there a reason for doing it now? You know you have all of our support.”

“There is a reason. You might not like it.”

“Hayes, I’ve been in this industry for a long time, and when a player tells me I won’t like something, I know it’s going to be bad.”

“Could be a PR nightmare.”

“If it’s something illegal, we’re not going to stand behind that.”

I laugh. “Not illegal. Well … I mean, it’s always hard to tell when it comes to Ezra.”

“What does Palasz—wait. Tell me you’re not sleeping together.”

“I’m not sure how it works in your household, Coach, but that’s something I like to do with my partner.”

“Your—fuck. You two are dating?”

“Yep. And this is me letting you know, not coming to you for permission. It’s going to get out, so I thought you might want to get ahead of things and …” This is the hard part. “I really hope it doesn’t impact our places on this team.”

Coach shakes his head. “You’re both playing the best hockey of your careers. Keep that up, and keep the team a drama-free zone, we’ll have no problems. I’ll talk to management and make sure they know.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, when I said for you guys to play nice and get along, this isn’t really what I meant.”

“It’s not in us to do anything by halves.”

“Apparently not.” He picks up his phone. “So when are you planning to do this?”

“I haven’t worked that out yet.”

“If a press conference is out, how are you going to do it? Social media?”

That still seems like too much. “No, I don’t want to feel like I need to announce it. I’m going to do what any other teammate does when they’re seeing someone … I’m going to take Ezra on a date.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“And I have to warn you, because I know the history you two have, I don’t care if things get messy or you break up or whatever, but that shit stays out of my locker room and off the ice. Got it?”

“Neither of us want to risk our careers, so that’s a given.”

“Good.” He points at me. “And no funny business on these premises.”

“It’s like you know Ezra or something.”

“I’ve been coaching him far too long to think he wouldn’t sneak you in here to fuck with me.”

Poor choice of words. My lips quirk, because sex in here actually sounds like fun. “I’ll let him know.”

That’s one conversation done, and once I’m done telling my agent and the PR department the same thing so they can prepare the team’s statement, I only have one more awkward conversation to go before I can pick Ezra up for a date tonight.

On the way home, I call and make a reservation at a restaurant Diedrich recommended to me when I first moved here. It’s always busy, which is exactly what I want.

The more people who see us, the better.

Back home, I put on a load of laundry so I didn’t actually lie to Ez, then grab my phone and flop back onto my couch. I have a great view of the city from here, but I’m still not sold on the place. It’s pretty sad when I feel more at home at Ezra’s bachelor pad than here. Though that could be the Ezra factor.

Which is why I need to do this. I’m serious about him, and I don’t want some stupid stigmas holding me back. It’s that reminder that makes me hit Dad’s number.

It only rings a handful of times before he answers with a cheerful “Anton.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“I caught the game last night. You were amazing. Never thought I’d see my boy top of the points board for the season.”

“I never thought I’d be there either,” I agree.

“Clearly that trade was good for you. We were worried at first of course, but I shoulda known you would make it work.”

“It’s been the best move I’ve made.” I suck in a breath. “For more than one reason.”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like you’ve got good news. Want me to grab your ma?”

“Umm … yeah.” Might as well get this over with both of them. A moment later, the phone clicks over to speaker, and Mom immediately starts gushing over the game too.

“Thanks.” I’m glad they’re proud. “But I actually wanted to talk to you about something other than hockey.”

“Okay …” Mom sounds confused.

“I’m seeing someone.”

She lets out a long breath. “That’s wonderful. Does he make you happy?”

“Very.”

“And what’s he like?”

I pause, trying to come up with a way to tell her Ezra is perfect, when saying things like are always seen as negatives. “He’s really fun, and he knows who he is, so that’s helped me work out who I am as well. He has a big heart, and I love how I get to see sides of him no one else does.”

Dad hums skeptically.

That’s it. His whole response.

“He sounds lovely,” Mom says.

“Dad?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Look, I’m real happy for you. You know that. But you need to be careful. People will see you with this man, and they’re going to figure it out.”

It’s so hard not to be frustrated with him. The thing is, my dad want me to be happy. When I came out to him, he hugged me and told me he loved me, which was a big thing from a blue-collar worker who grew up in the generation he did. A lot of his friends still use slurs and say things that make me uncomfortable, and while he corrects them, the mindset is so completely different. I’m so privileged to be surrounded by a queer-positive community, but having a safe space doesn’t just happen.

It’s the result of years and years of hard work. Of all the people before me owning who they are. It comes from visibility and open conversations; it comes from challenging people’s beliefs and from people who have influence, people like me, showing we’re proud of who we are.

“That’s actually the plan,” I say.

“What?”

“My agent, my team, and my coach know. And I’m not the only queer player on the team, so the fans we have clearly don’t have a problem with it, and if they do, they can fuck off out of hockey, because there are a bunch of out and closeted guys, and the more acceptance there is from the league, the more it will attract queer players. I … I want to be part of that.”

“I don’t want you being targeted.”

“I won’t be. I’m sure there’ll be people with things to say, but I don’t care about them. My team and my boyfriend have my back. I hope my family does as well.”

“Well, yeah, of course,” Dad says. “You always have our support, but I want you to think about this. Don’t make the decision lightly.”

“I haven’t. I’ve been thinking about it for a really long time, and I wanted to let you know first.”

There’s silence for a moment. “Okay. You’re a grown man, and you know what you’re doing,” he says gruffly. “Anyone who gives you shit, you send them to see me.”

I laugh at the thought of my fifty-five-year-old dad, who’s barely five ten and one hundred and seventy pounds, still trying to scare off bullies for me. “You’re the best. Both of you are.”

“Yeah, we know.”

Mom jumps in. “So what’s his name? When do we get to meet him?”

“Well, if we’re together in the off-season—” I slap the wooden coffee table before realizing what I’m doing. “—we’ll fly down then. But, ah, you already kind of know him.”

“We do?”

I clear my throat. “Ezra Palaszczuk.”

There’s silence.

“The one you hate?” Mom asks.

“Hate-d. Past tense.”

“Oh,” Dad says.

“So the tabloid gossip is true?”

“Ma, you read that trash?”

“It was about my son!”

“Wow.” I don’t want to know what sort of stories she’s come across. “Yes, it’s true. Now I’m gonna let you go so I can get ready for my date. I’m sure the tabloids will have even more to tell you after tonight.”

“Good luck,” Dad says.

“I don’t need luck. I have Ezra.”

Later that afternoon, I text Ezra to dress nice and let him know I’ll be by in an hour to pick him up. He agrees immediately, but I refuse to tell him why.

It doesn’t deter him from going all out though, because when he answers his door, wearing a navy velvet suit, the man takes my goddamn breath away.

“Why are you always so hot?” I ask, stepping forward to kiss him. “You’re making me regret wanting to leave the apartment.”

“We don’t have to,” he murmurs against my lips. His voice is all deep and sexy, and if tonight wasn’t so important to me, I’d take him up on that offer.

I step back so I have the space I need to think clearly. “We do. I’m taking my boyfriend out.”

“Really?” His gaze sweeps over me, and when his stare lands on my tie, he smiles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything other than black.”

My hand smooths over the silk self-consciously. “Red’s good luck, right?” Because okay, I do need a little of it.

“Anton Hayes, is that superstition coming from you?”

“I’m more stacking the cards in our favor.”

“Admit it, I’m rubbing off on you.”

I snort. “You would be if I let you. But … no. Tonight we keep our clothes on. We’re going to be attracting enough attention as it is.”

“You? Willingly attracting attention?” Ezra presses his hand to my forehead. “Are you okay, or have you been taken over by aliens? Blink twice if it’s the aliens.”

“I’m taking my boyfriend to dinner.” I drop my voice. “And I don’t plan on hiding it.”

Ezra’s face lights up. “You’re sure?”

“Completely.”

I’m not as nervous as I thought I would be. Ezra keeps his hand on the back of my neck as I drive, and when we pull up to the valet and I hand over my keys, he catches my eyes and I know what he’s saying.

Instead, I take his hand. “Let’s go cause a scene.”