Page 4 of From Coast to Coast
“Z, today is a full-contact practice and we’re scrimmaging. Are you surenowis the moment you want to piss me off?” Putting the car in park, I pop my door before he can answer and slide out. We meet at the trunk. I grab my bag and wait for him to get his own before continuing. “Discerning means I don’t just fuck the first willing man who passes by me. It means I have standards. Unlike some people I know.”
“Your standards keep you warm at night, yes?”
“Have we become the sort of friends who have serious heart-to-hearts?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“We have always been this friend,” Zolkov answers. “I usually give you my opinion in Russian.”
“Can we go back to that?”
When we reach the lockers, he tosses his bag into his stall and sits down to take off his shoes. The locker room is only half-full, and the guys who are already here don’t bother to greet us with more than a head nod. Z doesn’t seem to notice, but a sliver of shame lodges in my chest anyway. I’d loved playing for Calgary until the day I came out. I made the mistake of thinking my team would welcome me the way Troy Nichols’ did for him, with silent and sometimes loudly vocal support. I was wrong. My teammates tolerate me and my sexuality with barely concealed distaste, and make wildly exaggerated efforts to keep themselves covered in the locker room. They never say anything to my face, but I can hear the whispers just the same.
Zolkov, who lived with me his first seasonon the team, has been treated with the same cold shoulder since the day he showed up to practice with me. He could have taken the easy road and relegated me from friend to acquaintance. Instead, he’d pretended not to notice the less-than-welcoming response to our friendship and stuck with me. I appreciate the gesture while also drowning in the guilt of it. He’s young, and still relatively new to the NHL. He should be grabbing a beer after practice with the guys, not alienated because of his proximity to me.
A welcome distraction comes in the form of our newest teammate. Remy Stone walks in and I struggle to keep from proving my teammates right by obviously checking him out. He is every bit of the classic California boy and every bit my type: blond hair short enough to not need a hair tie, but still toeing the line between styled and messy; hazel eyes. He’s tan enough that the rest of us glow like beacons around him—skin pale from spending so much time indoors and living in Canada.
He scans the room in search of his stall, raising a hand in acknowledgment when some of the guys offer welcome. I turn away, facing my own stall while I strip down. As always, the need to keep my eyes off the room burns like acid in my chest. I shouldn’t have to bend over backward to make sure my teammates are comfortable, as though I can’t control myself enough to not stare at their dicks while we change.Fuck this team.
“Hey, man,” a voice drawls from my right.
“Hey,” I reply, barely glancing at his face before focusing my attention back on the wall in front of me. “Welcome to Calgary.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Hey.” This last is directed at Zolkov, who leans around me to greet the newcomer.
“You will hate it here,” he informs Remy Stone, making me laugh.
“Maybe,” Stone admits. “I hear the Canadian winters are hell.”
“Colder,” I mutter, and chance another peek at Stone. He’s smiling at me, teeth white against that sun-darkened skin. I return the smile and he takes it as impetus to keep the conversation going.
“Remy Stone,” he says, holding his hand out to me to shake and introducing himself as if we didn’t already know who got traded to us.
“Grayson Brody,” I reply, holding on to his hand just long enough to give it a firm shake before letting go. I can feel the eyes of the room on us, burning a hole into my back. I hook a thumb toward Z. “Andrei Zolkov.”
“Nice to meet you,” Stone says, and begins the process of suiting up.
I’m the first to finish changing and don’t linger in the locker room. Coach nods as I pass his office but offers no further greeting, nor do I stop and look for one. Pausing at the bench, I take a second to appreciate the pristine ice.
“Hey.”
I turn, surprised. Remy Stone, helmet tucked under his arm, stops next to me and tries to brush his bangs out of his eyes. Apparently, he’s angling for the second-fastest-dresser award. Again, I don’t stare at him too long. Everybody in the hockey world knows I’m gay, and the last thing I need is the newest member of the team taking offense where there isn’t any.
“Hey, man.” I take a step away from him, but he calls me back.
“Brody?” He waits for me to face him before he grins atme—crooked and a little bit sheepish. Also, adorable, but that is neither here nor there. “I, uh, didn’t get a lot of notice from management about being traded, so I didn’t have time to find a place to live. Petterson picked me up from the airport yesterday and mentioned that you might have a spare bedroom…”
He trails off uncertainly, either feeling awkward for asking something so personal or from the look on my face. Petterson is a dick. The only reason he’d offer up my house as a viable option for the newbie is because he wants access to low-hanging fruit when it comes to gay jokes.
“Or, not. No worries,” Stone says, trying to backtrack.
“I’ve got room if you need a place to stay,” I tell him, trying to match his casual tone, “but I’m gay, so if that’s going to be a problem, there are a couple dozen other people to ask.”
I nod toward the locker room to indicate where he might find some of those people and watch as he works through what I said.
“I don’t have a problem,” he responds slowly, as though he’s still trying to decide what he wants to say, “and I already knew that about you. That you’re…well, I follow NHL news and…sorry.” He laughs, crooked smile fixed back into place. “You kind of caught me off guard with that. If you don’t want another newbie on your couch, I can find something else. But if you don’t mind dealing with me, I’d really like to take advantage of your hospitality.”
“Bold of you to assume there is any hospitality to be had.”
“Please, your little Russian shadow lived with you his first year here. I follow NHL news, remember? I’ve watched all of your interviews and all of Zolkov’s, too.”