Changing on the Fly

by Cherylanne Corneille

  “I figured it was you that jumped him in the first place.”

  “It was going to be me. I was closer to you and McGarrett, but somehow Boone got the first punch in. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anyone skate so fast.”

  “I heard there was an instigator penalty?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Why the hell would he do that?”

  J.J. shrugged. “Standing up for little brother?”

  “He should know that’s your job.”

  “Amen to that. Can’t have any of our leadership sitting for the season opener…Of course, it won’t come to that.”

  “You know as well as I do, the chances are 50/50, especially the way the league doles out suspensions these days.”

  “What? You don’t think they will keep in mind that he was going after a guy that just nailed his teammate with a late hit and called him a cocksucker. And, yes, I heard that. Looks like I’m going to be on the right end of a conference call with the league’s VP of Operations for the first time in my life. I can thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome, I guess.” Nate sighed. “Do you ever wonder if any of this matters anyway? I mean, if I didn’t need to be observed for concussion symptoms for the next week, my ass would be on its way to Charleston.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that, kid,” J.J. replied as he finally turned the Jeep into Nate’s apartment complex. “You had a damn solid training camp. I think my ass was headed to the golf course before yours was going to the minors. Of course, now we are both safe for the time being, but don’t think I would wish your injuries on anyone for the opportunity.”

  “Thanks.”

  “By the way, sweet ride. Hope you don’t mind me stealing it for the night. I’ll swing back by in the morning to pick you up before practice. And just so you know, I like my coffee black. None of that flavored crap either.”

  Nate laughed as he opened the door and hopped gingerly down from the seat. “You got it. Oh, and don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  “Notice?”

  “Taking the long way round. But I appreciated the company and the discussion.”

  “Who me?” J.J. winked.

  “Yeah. You’d never do such a thing. Good night.”

  Chapter 3

  NATE COULD NOT have been happier to see the gray practice jersey hanging in his stall the following Friday. He had spent the previous four days looking like a badly bruised banana in his bright yellow no contact jersey. Yesterday, though, the Krewe doctors and athletic training staff cleared him for full practice – just in time to join the team on a three-game road trip, their first of the season. The schedule dictated that they board the plane for New York following practice.

  The season had kicked off miserably for Carolina, dropping the first two games at home. The powers-that-be in the league office suspended Boone but only for the opener. It was still demoralizing not having the alternate captain’s leadership on the ice, and the effects lingered into the next game two days later.

  The Krewe’s general manager petitioned the league on Nate’s behalf for the incendiary comments made by McGarrett, who received a three-game suspension thanks to a few prior incidents that made him eligible for repeat offender status.

  It was an important precedent and everyone knew it. When the verdict came on Tuesday, the media chaos returned to the locker room, and Nate became the ringleader of that circus. Every time he thought he’d finished answering questions, a reporter popped up like another passenger in one of those clown cars. It was never-ending.

  Finally, Alexa and the management opted to organize a press conference call. Now he knew the other players had his back, which made a huge difference to his psyche. There was always something to be said for camaraderie and his teammates, especially J.J. He was forever grateful for the discussion they had shared on that late night drive from the arena.

  If both he and J.J. had been healthy, the numbers dictated that they would be sharing that final defensive spot on the roster, rotating in and out of the lineup at the coaching staff’s will unless they opted to go with seven defenseman and 11 forwards on a particular night.

  Such was the way of the hockey world.

  Of course, Nate discovered that Fate was even a bigger bitch than he had originally thought, and she forgot to notify the hockey operations staff that Nate and Boone were not as friendly as they had been during the preseason.

  When the team arrived at the hotel in New York and the director of operations released the roommate assignments to the players, Nate Ward and Boone Fowler were slated to share Suite 5153.

  Somehow in the mess of Boone’s suspension and Nate’s injury, the two men hadn’t been able to speak about the situation. Every time Nate tried to bring up the subject, Boone found some excuse to avoid him. If the two of them couldn’t hash this out early on, this trip was going to be uncomfortable with that proverbial elephant as a third roommate.

  Boone arrived in the room first, taking the bed closest to the window. Nate silently began to unpack, hanging his clothes in the closet. He didn’t really know what the coaches had in mind for the lineup over the next three games. He hoped that he would only be wearing his suits to travel from the hotel to the rink and back, but if they weren’t interested in mixing up the lineup, he could very well be watching the games from the press box.

  A beep sounded from across the room. Boone grabbed his phone from the bed, stole a quick glance at the screen, and then pocketed the device.

  “Some of the guys are going out for dinner. You are welcome to join us,” the older man offered.

  No preamble, just an invitation. Maybe this was Boone extending an olive branch to kick their friendship back in gear. “Yeah. Sure.” It wasn’t like he had other plans.

  “Meet us in the lobby. Say 10 minutes.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Boone disappeared into the hallway. Nate finished his task before grabbing his wallet and cellphone and heading to the elevator. The group in the lobby included many of the players he hadn’t found the opportunity to know yet – mostly veterans. J.J. was there. Someone had invited Markus Mattson, the only other rookie on the trip, which really should have started the warning bells in his head ringing.

  It was the punchline to the oldest hockey joke in the league. Two rookies and five veterans walk into a posh restaurant. Expensive dinner, including prime rib and a couple of bottles of expensive wine. Veterans make lame excuse to leave the table together. Rookies remain to pay exorbitant bill.

  “We’ve been had,” Nate stated as the waitress delivered the bill.

  “Jävlar.”

  “Not sure what that means, but I’m guessing I’d agree with you.”

  Once Nate and Markus paid, they pulled on their jackets as they slipped out of the side door and returned to the hotel, where their dinner guests waited in the lobby, applauding.

  “Congratulations, Markus Mattson and Nate Ward. You survived the greatest of pro hockey traditions!” J.J. proclaimed. The group laughed.

  “I feel like a rookie after that mistake.” Nate shook his head even as he smiled good-naturedly.

  J.J. threw an arm around his neck, pulled him close, and flicked him behind the ear. “Of course, my boy. You’re official now. Welcome…to the big leagues.”

  Nate winced. “Thanks, I guess. Although my wallet isn’t as grateful. I’ll be eating ramen for months.”

  “Eh. It’s not so bad. At least there are two of you to share the burden. I was on my own my rookie season. That dinner was all on me.”

  After riding the elevator to the team’s floor, the players retired to their respective rooms. Nate wondered if the silent treatment might continue as he followed Boone in to the suite.

  “I’ve gotta call, Evie.” Boone dropped his coat onto the bed then glanced at Nate. “You can shower first or whatever.”

  Guess that answered his question.

  And Boone didn’t speak to him the next morning when they boarded the
team bus for the morning skate. The fate of Nate’s position with the Krewe was still unknown. He hoped to know more when they arrived at the rink. He never was a fan of suspense, in movies or his own life.

  The defensive coach pulled him aside as the trudged down the hall to the ice. “Hey, Nate. You’ll rotate through a few pairs this morning. We are just feeling out where you’re at. You’ll take warm-ups tonight, and we’ll make a decision from there.”

  Nate nodded. He hated the idea, but understood. Later, when he donned his black #49 jersey, his hands shook. He glanced at the countdown clock in the dressing room as the numbers ticked down to game time and his stomach roiled.

  Nope. Not going to vomit. Not going to hyperventilate. Not going to pass out.

  There’s nothing like the possibility of playing your first pro game in a storied building like New York’s arena.

  The thumping music hit him as he followed his teammates through the tunnel and onto the ice. The crowd hadn’t yet filled the arena, but most of those in attendance early gathered around the glass to watch warm-ups.

  He took a few laps around their end of the rink to loosen his legs. On his fourth pass around the net, he picked up a stray puck and carried it on his stick before shooting it into the net. Boone bumped his shoulder and nodded toward the glass as they rounded their end of the rink again.

  What the hell? He glanced in the direction his teammate indicated. Two men around his age wearing New York’s jerseys held up a brightly colored sign that said simply, “Thank you, Nate.” He puzzled on the meaning until he made another lap. One of them also held a small rainbow flag.

  Respect from opposing fans, who knew? He glided to a stop where the two stood. While Boone set up the pucks for the first drill, Nate tapped the glass then smiled in acknowledgement. Then it was time to concentrate and get the job done.

  Before he left the ice, Nate shot the puck one last time, which gave him an idea. He picked up one of the practice pucks and skated to the bench.

  “Hey, Roddy, you got a marker back there?” he asked the assistant equipment manager. “Oh, and can I get a towel?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  Removing his gloves, Nate wiped the puck as dry as possible with the towel then quickly scribbled his name on the surface. “Thanks.” He returned to his admirers and tossed the puck over the top of the glass. He could only hope that the gesture was enough.

  He sighed when the team returned to the locker room after warm-ups. He sat in his stall and closed his eyes. So what if he didn’t play? At least, he hadn’t embarrassed himself during practice, and that interaction with those two fans was enough to make his night.

  He was about to remove his jersey when he felt the tap on his shoulder.

  “Wardo, you’re in.”

  His eyes sprung open. Across the room, J.J. smiled then winked. A wide grin spread across Nate’s own face before he realized he hadn’t answered. “Thanks, Coach.”

  Holy shit. He was going to play in his first professional hockey game.

  Nope. Not going to vomit. Not going to hyperventilate. Not going to pass out.

  He took a deep breath. Boone reached from his own cubby over with his stick to tap Nate on the shins as Coach Harrison moved to the center of the room to give his pre-game speech. Nate listened to the instructions as well as he could while his mind attempted to comprehend that what he had worked nearly 15 years to accomplish was within reach in less than two minutes.

  Shit. He was going to vomit, but he refused to pass out.

  The horn sounded its warning and Nate stood to line up for his return to the ice, realizing that the puck he’d signed would very likely become a lot more valuable.

  Chapter 4

  THE KREWE BEAT New York that night 4-2, and Nate finished with an assist on the empty net goal that sealed the win.

  “Maybe you’re our good luck charm?” J.J. teased as he walked by Nate in the locker room. “Some sort of good karma thing. Soon, every team in the pros will be recruiting their own token gay player.”

  “How do you know they don’t already have one?” Nate challenged.

  “It doesn’t count if they’re in the closet.”

  “Out and proud.”

  “Together.” J.J. thrust a fist in the air then held it in front of Nate who grudgingly bumped it with his own.

  “Is there something you’re trying to tell us there, Bucky?” Boone interjected as he plopped down on the bench to unlace his skates.

  “Nah. I’m good with my reputation as a ladies’ man.”

  “Not sure I’ve heard of you,” Nate said, his laugh echoing behind him as he headed to the showers. Before he could strip completely, Elliott stopped him for the traditional rookie snapshot with his official first professional point puck. No doubt it would appear on social media later for the whole world to see. His mom would probably share it to her entire friends list, he thought with a chuckle.

  When he dressed and headed back toward the bus, he reached for his phone. There were several missed calls with corresponding voice messages and a number of texts – two from Tristan, but both delivered an hour prior to the opening faceoff.

  Give me a call. It’s important.

  Stop ignoring me. It’s childish.

  Ignoring Tristan? Maybe he’d missed something from earlier. Thumbing through his phone, he noticed a missed call and voicemail from that morning. Better suck it up and see what the big emergency was at home.

  “Nate, just got back from class,” the voicemail started, Tristan’s heavier than usual British accent indicating his frustration. “There was a message on the home voicemail from your garage. When the bloody hell were you going to tell me that some arsehole slashed your tires? I had to find out from your damn mechanic. And then a student told me about the hearing with the league. You didn’t tell me the guy who attacked you was being disciplined for unsportsmanlike conduct for anti-gay slurs. I have no idea what he said to you, but the damn schedule says you’re playing that team on this road trip. I’m worried, Nate.” A heavy sigh followed. “I don’t like to be shutout of your life. I think there are some things we need to discuss.”

  So much for celebration. He shook his head.

  “Everything okay, Wardo?” The pull in Boone’s eyebrows showed - concern.

  Nate attempted a weak smile. “Sure. Just worried about how I’m going to return all these damn phone calls.”

  “You better get used to it. Suddenly, you are going to have friends you haven’t heard from in years texting you the minute they hear the team is in town.”

  He scrolled through his list of contacts. Tristan should be number one priority, but Nate wasn’t one to go searching for conflict. “Guess I better call the parentals first.” Tristan was better saved for a place more private than the team bus.

  “Good place to start.”

  Nate nodded then wrapped his jacket around him, wondering why he suddenly felt colder as he followed Boone up the stairs into the warm bus. Even as he pulled up his home phone number and listened to it ring, he thought back to Tristan’s voicemail.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “So how is the newest professional hockey star?”

  Nate smiled. At least he could count on his parents to be supportive of his career even if they still had reservations regarding his sexual orientation. Nate being the eldest male child made his lifestyle particularly difficult for his mother’s traditional Japanese background to accept, but he knew she was trying.

  By the time, the team reached their hotel. Nate had spoken with his parents and younger sister at home and his other sister in college. As he walked into the lobby, he was about to pocket his phone when one of his teammates from college rang.

  “Hei, Cap.”

  “Tahvo? Man, it’s great to hear from you.”

  The chuckle from the other end of the line was a welcome sound. “Can’t believe a superstar like you is still taking calls.”

  “Ha. It’s one game.”r />
  “One of many,” replied his friend, the slight Finnish accent pulling slightly at Nate’s heart. He missed his University of Boston buddies, especially at times like these. He had only known Tahvo for his last year on campus, but Tahvo was the first of his teammates to discover his secret and it was Tahvo’s girlfriend who had written the story that effectively changed Nate’s life even as much as it changed her own.

  “If we are lucky, maybe I’ll stay with the big club long enough to take you on.”

  “Right? It would be great to see you even if it is in the wrong color jersey.”

  “And on the wrong side of the puck?” The two men laughed. “So how is our star reporter?”

  “Chloe is doing great. Loves her jobs. Don’t know how she does it with school, too. Between her crazy schedule and mine, it’s tough.”

  Nate sighed. “I feel your pain.”

  “Not seeing much of Tristan? You were joined at the hip in Boston.”

  “Not so much. He and I are of two opinions on a few things. Being on the road so much and his work at the university doesn’t make it easy to hash out our differences.”

  “I’m sure it will work out.”

  “Yeah. I hope so.” Nate pushed the button to call the elevator to the lobby.

  “I’ll let you go. I’m sure a big man like you has other people to talk to.”

  He laughed. “There seems to be a longer list tonight, but it was good you called.”

  “No problem.”

  “See you in Boston, eh?”

  “Showdown in one month,”Tahvo challenged. “Hyvää yötä.”

  “Good night, buddy.”

  When Nate returned to the suite, he quickly changed from his suit to boxers and a t-shirt. He sent a few thank you texts and by that time, Boone finally appeared.

  “How are you doing on the phone calls?”

  “Half, maybe?”

  “Nothing says you have to ring all of them back tonight. Pace yourself, rook. I think you played well enough that coach will likely keep you in the lineup.” Boone winked.