Off the Ice

by Avon Gale

  Tristan started to answer, but Ryu held up his hand.

  “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not upset or anything. I get it. Trust me. I just wanted you to know about me, so when I say I understand how you feel, you’ll know it’s not some empty platitude. I mean it. Your secret is safe with me. But I hope you knew that already.”

  Tristan nodded, swallowing thickly. “Thanks. I, um... Yeah. Yours too, of course. I’m thankful you trust me enough to tell me.”

  Ryu inclined his head in acknowledgment.

  Sighing, Tristan raked his hands through his hair. “I... This is a lot. I’m only twenty-three, man. This is huge. I don’t want to lose my friends. I don’t want to lose my career. My team.”

  “You won’t.” Ryu’s tone was as calm as his expression. “I mean, I won’t lie and say there won’t be problems, but look at how far the league has come. Everyone has to go through sensitivity training now. Teams are having Pride Nights. It’s not the same league it was ten, hell, even five years ago. Times are changing. Look at how well your family took it. And Tristan?” Ryu waited until Tristan met his gaze. “Anyone who would cut you out of their life because of your sexuality isn’t worth knowing. You’re an amazing person. The loss would be entirely theirs, not yours. Feel me?”

  Tristan ducked his head to hide the rush of moisture in his eyes. He felt a quick, light squeeze to his biceps, but he couldn’t risk looking into Ryu’s face again. Not yet. He was too close to losing his composure.

  “Tristan...please forgive the cliché, but Sebastian’s not the only fish in the sea. There are men who’ll understand your position, men who won’t mind keeping things quiet until you’re ready to retire. If you decide to come out to the team, you can’t do it for some guy. You should only do it for yourself, when and if you’re ready.”

  “He’s not ‘some guy,’” Tristan rasped, unthinking. He couldn’t allow Sebastian to be reduced to those terms. “I’m in love with him. He makes me happy. He makes me feel smart. Everything about him just...does it for me. I don’t want to let him go.”

  “Then there’s your answer.”

  “Is it that simple, though?” Tristan turned to Ryu. His eyes were damp and probably bloodshot, but it wasn’t like Ryu couldn’t already tell he was crying. “I mean, really?”

  Ryu smiled serenely—and it was so unlike his typical smirk or the wry twist of his lips that usually passed for a smile, Tristan couldn’t help but stare at him, shocked.

  “It’s only as complicated as you make it, Tristan. Will it be easy? No. To be totally honest, it’ll probably fucking suck.” Ryu cringed, shuddering a little. Then his expression grew serious again. “But here’s how I see it. If he loves you, and you love him, if you think he’s worth the aftermath of coming out, talk to him. Come to a compromise you can both live with. Communication, right? That’s what relationships are all about. Or so I hear.” One corner of Ryu’s mouth curved up sardonically. “And you can tell him about me if you need to. It might make him feel better to know someone has your back in the dressing room. That’s why I wanted you to know about me too. You’re not alone, Tristan. Never forget that.”

  Tristan’s laugh was thick with tears, more of a sob than anything. But he felt better than he had in days. Ryu had given him something to think about. At the end of the day, maybe it really was as simple as how he and Sebastian felt about each other—or rather, how he felt about Sebastian. Tristan had been fighting feelings of resentment about how any compromise between them had to come from his side. Sebastian was already out to his coworkers and friends. What did he have to lose? What was he giving up?

  But maybe it was time to stop thinking about it in those terms. Sebastian had made his stance clear from the very beginning. Tristan wanted to be with him anyway—then and now.

  Maybe it was time to let go of the fear.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The morning after his conversation with Ryu, Tristan rapped on the doorjamb of Coach Adams’s office and poked his head inside. “Clancy? Can I speak with you for a minute?”

  Clancy sat back in his seat, waving a big hand. “Sure, Tristan. Come on in.”

  Tristan entered the room and shut the door quietly behind him. On the ice and during training, Clancy Adams was simply “Coach.” Off the ice, Tristan and the others always addressed him by his first name. He was a large man, easily two or three inches taller than Tristan, and broad across the chest and shoulders. In the nineties, he’d played the role of enforcer, a dying breed in today’s NHL, but back then, he’d been the one his teammates relied upon to dole out vengeance whenever the opposition got out of line. He made a better coach than he had a player, though his intimidation factor hadn’t lessened with time.

  “What’s up?” Clancy asked as Tristan folded his frame into the chair in front of the desk.

  The question made Tristan’s heart jolt. He’d been coping with stomach-churning stress all morning, opting to skip breakfast for fear he wouldn’t be able to keep anything down. The strain of the past week had probably sucked a year or two off his life, and he wondered if this vulnerable exhaustion was what Westley felt in The Princess Bride after being strapped down on The Machine with a coolly sadistic Count Rugen at the controls.

  Already Tristan resented the process of coming out, that it even had to be a thing. Straight might be the default, the status quo, but why did it matter that he wasn’t? It shouldn’t. But, of course, it did, and so here he was. At this point, he just wanted it to be done. If his seasons with the Venom had taught him anything, it was that Clancy Adams appreciated a forthright approach. No sense in beating around the bush with a man who’d rather cut a path directly through.

  So Tristan cleared his throat, firmed his spine, and said, “I’m gay, and I’d like to come out to the team.”

  For a moment, Clancy appeared nonplussed. Then he carefully closed his laptop and laced his hands across the top. “Okay. Only the team? Or do you mean you’d like to inform the team first, before making a wider announcement?”

  “Only the team. And my agent, of course. I’m going to speak to her tomorrow. But I’m not ready for the media circus that would come along with telling the entire league.” Tristan’s stomach cramped. “No. I have no interest in being the NHL’s gay ambassador. We both know that’s how it’ll go for the first player who comes out publicly. I only want to be honest with my family, and that includes the team.”

  Clancy nodded slowly. He looked contemplative, but there was no judgment in his expression. “Did you want to do this individually, or did you want me to call a meeting?”

  Tristan considered the idea, tempted for a second to lay it all in Clancy’s more-than-capable hands, but there were several players who deserved to hear it directly from Tristan. “One of them already knows. I’d prefer to tell Morley, Bellzie, and a few of the others myself. After that, we’ll see.”

  “Your call, of course. Once it’s done, though, I think a meeting would be wise. Let me know.”

  “I will.” Tristan stood. “Thanks for...well, for not freaking out.” Clancy’s casual acceptance had done wonders to ease the tension in Tristan’s belly, which was good because he still had a practice to get through.

  Clancy shrugged one massive shoulder. “My brother is gay. I know it wasn’t easy for you to come in here and open yourself up to me. If anyone gives you grief over this, you tell me.” When Tristan didn’t answer immediately, Clancy’s dark brows drew together, and he flashed the mean mug that had put the fear of God into his opponents for a solid decade. “I mean it, Tristan. I won’t tolerate bigots in my locker room.”

  Tristan grinned. “Got it, Coach.”

  Clancy extended a hand, and Tristan reached across the desk to shake it. “My door is always open. Use it if you need to.”

  With a nod, Tristan left the office. One down. Hopefully he could arrange a lunch for the other guys he wanted to tell fac
e-to-face. As comforting as everyone’s reactions had been so far—and Tristan knew and appreciated how lucky he’d been in that regard—he couldn’t wait for his coming out to be old news.

  * * *

  As it turned out, it wasn’t difficult to corral his teammates into an impromptu lunch after practice once Tristan announced he’d be footing the bill. He invited Bellzie, Morley, both alternate captains, and Ryu for his quiet, steady moral support.

  They met at a nearby restaurant that specialized in globally inspired sandwiches. Tristan had been there before and liked the casual atmosphere and the setup that offered several large tables tucked away in the corners for maximum privacy.

  Once they’d placed their orders, it took Tristan a few throat-clearings and a “Hey, guys?” to cut through the loud, animated chatter. His teammates turned to him expectantly, and Ryu, who sat beside him, slipped a hand beneath the table to give Tristan’s knee a subtle, uncharacteristic squeeze.

  “Um.” Tristan faltered. For the most part, he’d done all the rest of his coming out one-on-one. Being the central focus of five sets of eyes sent his nerves into chaos. It didn’t matter that in the past—in high school, college, and even during Venom special events—he’d delivered speeches without so much as a flicker of stage fright. He hadn’t been dropping the g-bomb and talking about his boyfriend then, had he?

  “I’m gay.” The words burst free in a nearly unintelligible rush. Morley blinked at him, appearing bemused. The alternate captains—Stewie and Tanger—exchanged a confused glance. Only Bellzie seemed to have heard Tristan correctly, and his warm, encouraging gaze bolstered Tristan’s courage when Morley asked, “What’d’ya say there, Holtzy?”

  “I’m gay,” Tristan repeated. He sucked in a slow breath and kept his voice clear as he continued. “I told Coach this morning. I’ll be telling the rest of the team too, but I wanted you guys to know first. I have a boyfriend. He’s a professor at GSU, and it’s serious. I’m not going public, you know, to the league. It would be too much, and I don’t want to face that kind of scrutiny. But I would like to eventually be able to introduce him to the team.”

  A few seconds of silence greeted his pronouncement. Then Bellzie grinned and reached over to clasp Tristan’s shoulder. “That’s great. I’m sure we’d all love to meet him.” He peered around the table. “Isn’t that right, boys?”

  Stewie and Ryu nodded.

  Morley shot Tristan a thumbs-up. “Whatever floats your boat, Holtzy. Ladies, gents, both at the same time.” He leered, leaning forward. “Live and let live, bro, that’s my motto.”

  If it was, Tristan had never heard Morley use it before, but he laughed, appreciating the sentiment anyway.

  Only Tanger looked uncomfortable, his mouth pulled down at the corners, gaze laser-focused on his glass of sweet tea as he muttered, “Yeah, sure. It’s cool.”

  To Tristan’s vast relief, Bellzie mentioned something about the Eastern Conference standings, easily diverting the attention away from Tristan’s sex life, and the rest of the lunch went smoothly—aside from Tanger never quite managing to look Tristan in the eye as they ate their food. But that was fine. Well, not fine, but not entirely unexpected. Tristan hadn’t fooled himself into thinking his revelation wouldn’t come without repercussions. It was what it was, and as Ryu had told him, if anyone had a problem with his sexuality, it was their issue and their cross to bear, not his.

  Afterward, as they parted ways in the parking lot, Bellzie called out for Tristan to wait. “Do you have a sec?” he asked as Tristan stood there with the keys to his Jeep in hand.

  Tristan nodded. “Want to sit in the car?” It wasn’t very cold, but between the chill and the light drizzle, he’d rather not have a discussion outside.

  “Sure.”

  Bellzie went around to the passenger door, and Tristan got into the Jeep and cranked the heat. Once inside, Bellzie removed his snapback, revealing flattened brown curls. He tossed the hat onto the dashboard and turned to face Tristan.

  “Since you shared with us, I wanted to share something with you,” he said, his face unusually serious. “Tabby and I are separated. We’re getting a divorce.”

  Tristan stared at him, stunned. He’d witnessed the implosions of many of his teammates’ relationships over the years, but he’d always assumed Bellzie and Tabby were rock-solid. They seemed so happy together, the perfect matchup, living in a comfortable, sprawling house with a pair of good-looking, well-behaved kids and a ragtag group of rescued dogs, like some kind of Americana daydream. Tristan had pictured them aging into one of those adorable older couples who wore matching T-shirts and rode tandem bikes together in the park. They weren’t supposed to get divorced.

  “I—I’m sorry,” Tristan stuttered when the silence had gone on too long.

  “I am too. But it’s time.” Bellzie sighed deeply, regret in the sound. “I’m bisexual.”

  Tristan’s eyes almost bulged right out of his skull. He made a brief, startled noise, a squawk really, something he imagined might come out of a goose being hit by a car.

  Bellzie shook his head. “Sorry. Oh, God. No. I mean, that’s not the reason we’re getting divorced.” He laughed sheepishly. “Man, that was the most awkward segue of all time.” Bellzie ran a hand over his head, ruffling the curls. “Tabby knows—she’s always known—but the two things aren’t related. I just... I wanted to let you know you’re not alone. I can’t claim to understand exactly what you’re going through, of course, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here. Remember that, okay?”

  Emotion tightened Tristan’s throat. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening, and nodded when he couldn’t find the words to speak.

  Bellzie laid a hand on Tristan’s tense forearm. “Why don’t you let me tell the rest of the team, huh? I’ll do whatever I can to make it easier for you.”

  Tristan considered the offer. Partly it felt like cheating to let Bellzie take over. It was Tristan’s truth; he should be the person to tell it. Yet, if he pictured having to repeat his story even one more time, the idea alone exhausted him. Bellzie could spare him that turmoil. Tristan wasn’t too proud to accept the help from his captain. His friend. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

  Bellzie patted Tristan’s arm before pulling away. “Also, in spite of the separation, Tabby and I are still living together until everything is finalized. We’ll be throwing our annual end-of-season bash in a couple of months, like always. You should bring your boyfriend. You could introduce him to some of the team, and with so many people there, you wouldn’t stand out. It might be a good way to test the waters.”

  “You’re probably right. I’ll ask Seb.”

  “Good.” Bellzie grabbed his hat from the dashboard and thrust it back over his curls. “I’ll let you go. See you tonight.”

  Bellzie left the Jeep and dashed through the drizzle to his SUV. Tristan checked the mirrors and pulled out of the parking space, turning in the direction that would lead toward home. A pregame nap sounded fantastic now that he’d shed some of the weight he’d been carting around on his shoulders. The day had been both harder and easier than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t finished having conversations about it. Tristan knew that, of course. But he trusted Bellzie. By nightfall, his secret would be out to the rest of his teammates. He could only hope that most of them cared more about his skill as a defenseman than who he loved or wanted to have sex with.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following day, when Tristan stepped onto the ice for the Venom’s morning skate, the chorus of Van Halen’s “Hot For Teacher” suddenly started blaring at full volume over the arena’s speakers.

  Tristan stopped so abruptly he lost his balance, and would’ve sprawled onto the ice face-first had a hand not shot out to steady him. He turned to see Ryu gripping his biceps and staring at him in concern. All around them, their teammates were snickering, and Tristan could actu
ally feel the blood draining from his head. Everything went fuzzy around the edges—the ads on the boards, the rows of maroon-upholstered seats, the bright lights overhead—and Tristan feared for a second his knees might give out.

  This was it: the reason he’d feared coming out from the very beginning.

  Then Morley appeared, grinning his broad, unrepentant grin, his blue eyes shining with mirth. “Sorry, Holtzy. I couldn’t help myself.” He laughed, jovial as always, and clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “Besides, this song has a kick-ass guitar solo. You should see me rock it out on Guitar Hero.”

  Tristan dug up a chuckle from somewhere, though it emerged sounding strained. His mounting anxiety began to recede, and as he looked around, noting the complete lack of malice on his teammates’ faces, he was able to push it down even further.

  These were his friends. They hadn’t acted out of spite. Morley was behaving in typical Morley fashion, and Tristan knew with total clarity he would’ve done the same thing and acted the same way had Tristan’s hot professor turned out to be a woman instead of a man. It wasn’t about his sexuality at all.

  Relief surged in the wake of that realization.

  If Tristan’s teammates hadn’t felt comfortable enough to joke with him anymore, then he’d have cause for concern. This was nothing more than the usual teasing harassment that went on among friends—especially with a man-child like Morley around. It made Tristan hopeful any lingering awkwardness might ease back to normalcy in time.

  Clancy appeared at the mouth of the tunnel leading to the dressing room. “Turn that shit off!” he yelled. “It’s an affront to my fucking eardrums!” The music stopped abruptly. “That’s better.” He waved his arm. “Come on, boys. Let’s run through some of the plays we discussed. I want to see how the changes look on the third and fourth lines.”