The Nature of the Game (Stick Side Book 2), page 14
“Do the auditors work on Sundays?”
Dan huffed. “No.”
Ash merely raised an eyebrow.
Saving his work, Dan closed the laptop and stood. “Breakfast it is.”
Pacing the length of his bedroom at the B&B, Ash refreshed the web browser on his phone for the umpteenth time. The article on Sport Check would be up any minute.
After tossing and turning all night, he’d finally given up with a muttered curse. He refreshed the browser again.
“Still nothing,” he told the spider in the corner.
He paced some more, narrowly avoiding conking himself on the sloped roof. Stared cross-eyed at a landscape painting on the wall. Inspected a loose thread in a pillow cover. Buffed his nails against his boxer briefs. Downed half a bottle of water. The other half. Flossed.
He was about to come apart.
Again, he refreshed the page.
Oh god. Oh shit. Oh damn. There it was. Right on the Sport Check homepage, at 7:00 a.m. on the dot, as promised. Stomach rolling, he clicked on the link.
NHL Player Comes Out as Bisexual
Ashton Yager, NHL defenseman for Tampa Bay, has come out as bisexual, hoping that it will inspire others to be true to who they are.
“Being gay or lesbian or bisexual or transgender or whatever else,” Yager said in a telephone interview, “it’s seen as a stigma in professional sports. But why? At the end of the day, your team is relying on you to bring your skills to the table and to play the best you possibly can.”
Yager, who played for Tampa’s affiliate AHL team in Syracuse prior to his move to Tampa in 2004, isn’t shy about admitting his nerves.
“Of course I’m nervous about coming out,” Yager told Sport Check with a laugh. “And there’s a part of me that doesn’t understand why I have to. Why can’t I just live my own life? But I understand that the world isn’t like that yet.”
Yager, 27, told Sport Check that an LGBTQ friend of his has been bullied at school, and that this friend’s story inspired Yager to step up and, hopefully, “kick stereotypes in the ass.”
“What I really want is for LGBTQ kids out there to realize that they can make their dreams come true, no matter what. Maybe, by coming out, I’ve made it easier for the next person.”
As a final word of advice, Yager had this to say to LGBTQ youth: “You’re not alone.”
“Wow.” Sinking onto the edge of the bed, he read it a second time. Then a third. “Okay, that wasn’t so bad.”
His phone buzzed. And again. A Twitter notification. Seven Twitter notifications. A phone call. Staples from the Toronto team.
Ash let it go to voicemail. Then promptly listened to the voicemail.
“Dude, what the hell? You could’ve told me. I’ve got your back, man. Call me if you need anything.”
“What the . . .?” Ash muttered to the room at large.
And hung up to a dozen more notifications.
He threw the phone onto the bed. Covered it with a pillow. Backed away from it slowly.
Christ on a hockey stick. What the hell had he done?
Dan was packing the last of his toiletries away when a loud bang on his door made him fumble his tube of toothpaste.
“Dan!” came a muffled voice.
“Ash?”
Flinging open the door, he found a giant, rumpled hockey player wearing tiny underwear.
Ooh la la.
Ash’s eyes were wild and he was struggling to breathe. Dan’s lusty thoughts came to a halt. “What’s wrong?”
“I . . .” Ash took in the toothpaste in Dan’s hand and the open suitcase behind him on the luggage rack. “You’re leaving?”
“It’s Monday. I’ve got to head back to Burlington for work.”
“Oh.” A pause. Then, “Can I have this room?”
“Really? That’s where you went?”
“I did a thing.” Ash thrust his cell phone into Dan’s hands, forced his way past Dan, and hightailed it toward the bathroom. “I gotta go throw up now.” The door slammed closed behind him.
What the ever-loving hell?
Ash’s phone was lighting up with one notification after another. Emails, texts, Twitter, Facebook, missed phone calls. Had he messed up somehow?
Tapping a random Twitter notification brought up a message in all caps from one of Ash’s followers: CONGRATULATIONS!!
“Didn’t mess up, then,” Dan mumbled to himself.
Had Ash won an award?
Scrolling through Twitter, he found messages of a similar theme.
You’re a pillar of hope!
Dude, you’ve just made history!
Wow, that took a lot of guts! Congratulations.
Love is love.
Such an inspiration.
On and on, but . . . why?
Finally, one follower had a link to something with the words Have you seen this? It’s a great day for the LGBTQ community! Congrats to Ashton Yager for coming out.
“The fuck . . .?”
Sure enough, the link led to an article on Sport Check and—
“Holy jumping cheeseballs, Batman.”
Right there, for all the world to see, was his sexuality exposed. Oh god, had he been outed?
No. There was an interview with Ash. Which meant Ash had known this was coming. That must’ve been what had him distracted all weekend. And here Dan had thought it was the hurricane. They’d spent most of the weekend together—why hadn’t Ash said anything?
Dan shook his head to dispel the thought. This wasn’t about him. Not even a little. Swallowing the hurt, he cocked an ear toward the bathroom and listened for sounds of . . .
Not throwing up. In fact, all was silent.
He rapped on the door. “Ash?”
“Go away.” Ash’s voice was grouchy and annoyed with an underlying tinge of fear. “I’m busy questioning every decision I’ve ever made.”
Pressing his lips together to keep in a laugh, Dan slid down to sit on the floor, back against the wall next to the bathroom door. “Why? You should see all the support you’re getting.” He went back to Twitter. “You’ve got hundreds of new followers, and a lot of the people sending you supportive messages have that little checkmark next to their name.” That meant it was an official account or something, right? “Athletes, former athletes, athletes from other hockey teams. Hell, other sports. Celebrities, TV personalities.”
One message caught his eye. No fags in hockey.
“Oh, hell no,” he muttered. Tapping on the guy’s name redirected him to the fucker’s profile. Thirty-eight followers. “Yeah, we won’t worry about that guy.” Besides, Ash’s other followers were already blasting him.
The phone rang in his hand. Private number.
“Don’t answer that,” Ash said. The bathroom door opened and he stepped out, skin too pale. “I’m not supposed to answer anything from the outside world until tomorrow.”
Momentarily distracted by Ash’s nearly naked state, Dan cleared his throat. “Why’s that?”
“That’s the plan we put together.”
“Who’s we?”
The phone had stopped ringing and now it pinged with a voicemail.
“Well?” Ash waved a hand. “Check it.”
“You just said—”
“I need to know.” He strode away with a wince, face tight, and wrapped his arms around his torso. “Just play it.”
“Okay.”
Dan tapped the button and put the phone on speaker.
“Mr. Yager, this is Daniel Curtis.”
Dan boggled at the phone. Shit, Daniel Curtis, the league commissioner. This could be really, really good or really, really bad.
On the far side of the bed, Ash froze and appeared to stop breathing.
“Congratulations, son. You’re the first out bisexual NHL player.”
Ash whimpered.
“Things might be tough for a while. There’ll be a lot of good, and some bad, but know that the organization is behind you one hundred percent. If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.”
Ash fell face-first, crosswise, onto the bed, long legs hanging off one side. He muttered something Dan didn’t catch and buried his head in the bedcovers.
Muting the phone, Dan stood and made his way over to the bed, collapsing on his back next to Ash. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking,” Ash said, flipping onto his back, “that I just tanked my chances at that new contract.”
“Really? But the chairman said—”
“I know what he said, but whether the NHL backs me or not isn’t the point. Think about it—I’m sure even a non-homophobic exec would rather have a player no one hates for his sexual orientation than one with all this baggage.”
Dan didn’t consider a person’s sexual orientation baggage, but he could understand why an exec might. “What did Curtis mean when he said there’s going to be some bad?”
Ash turned his head toward him. “There’s generations of fans who grew up in an era where being gay in sports is wrong. That’s not gonna go away overnight.”
“Look at it this way, though. This’ll blow over in a few weeks, by which point there’ll still be months left in the regular season. Still lots of time for them to decide to offer you a new contract.”
“True.” He didn’t sound convinced.
“Ask you a question?” Dan said.
“Mm-hmm.”
Brown eyes like bricks of chocolate regarded him lazily, making Dan lose his train of thought.
“What’s up?” Ash prompted.
Dan ran his tongue along his teeth, forcing moisture into his dry mouth. “I read online once that homophobia is pretty rampant in professional sports. Do you see a lot of evidence of that?”
Ash’s lips kicked up on one side. “You sound like a reporter.”
“Sorry, I didn’t—”
“I’m just teasing you.” He knocked his shoulder against Dan’s, and Dan’s stomach went giddy. “Truth is, I haven’t. Not at the professional level, anyway, but I question whether that’s because I just didn’t notice. At the same time, though, the entire team knows about Alex. The coaches and management too. Maybe they’ve been on their best behavior, I don’t know.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I feel like I’m talking in circles. Should I be worried that my phone stopped making noise?”
“I silenced it.” Dan handed it over.
“Oh. That’s a good idea. Thanks.”
Dan rolled onto his side and propped his head up. “I admire you, you know.”
Ash’s snort of laughter was anything but amused.
“I’m serious.” Dan punched Ash in the bicep and bruised his own knuckles in the process. God, the guy was jacked. “I get claustrophobic if there are too many eyes on me when I go out for a jog. And you . . . You’ve just put yourself in front of the entire world, given youth someone to look up to. That’s amazing, Ash.”
Mouth slacking, cheeks flushing, Ash’s hand inched closer to Dan. Dan took it in his own and twined their fingers together.
“Thanks,” Ash whispered.
His lips were red and slick. Skin tight and warm. Torso cut and defined. Legs strong and thick. Underwear clung to hairy thighs and stretched taut across his pelvis.
Did someone turn the heat up in the room?
Dan swallowed hard against the desire to rub himself all over Ash like a fevered cat. Resisting didn’t get any easier when Ash licked his lips and dropped his gaze to Dan’s mouth.
Jerking away, Ash leaped off the bed. “I, uh . . .” Back to Dan, he coughed once. “I should get out of your hair. Let you finish packing, get on the road.”
Dan stood too and discreetly readjusted himself in his dress pants. Not that the discretion mattered; Ash wouldn’t look at him.
“Um . . .” At the door, Ash turned halfway, upper body toward Dan, feet pointing toward the exit. “Thanks. For . . .” He waved ineffectually. “Just. Thanks.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Ash huffed a laugh. “Feels like you talked me off a ledge. You have this way of remaining calm under pressure that makes it seem like everything’s going to be okay.”
Dan averted his gaze. Calm under pressure? Him? If only Ash knew why Dan had left him six years ago, he’d be singing an entirely different tune.
Ash reached for the door handle and Dan panicked, not wanting to let Ash go so soon. He said, “Ash? Do you think it’s possible for us to ever be friends again?” He held his breath, the words to argue his case just waiting, poised, on the tip of his tongue.
Ash’s cautious smile outshone the rising sun. “We already are.” He gave Dan one of those leering up-and-down looks, taking in Dan’s black dress pants, dark-purple shirt, and lavender tie. “You look good, by the way.” Then he was gone with a wink.
Ash’s departure gate at the Burlington International Airport was sleepy and sparsely populated. He and Alex had breezed through security forty minutes ago and still had another twenty to go before boarding. Nobody was flying anywhere on a Wednesday morning except business executives, and even fewer people were heading to Tampa. But Ash and Alex were due back today—their canceled preseason game had been rescheduled to Saturday evening at home given that Amalie Arena hadn’t been damaged—so here they were.
Straightening from his half slouch, he squinted at the display board through his sunglasses. Nineteen minutes until boarding.
He wanted to go home; he was afraid of the condition he’d find his home in.
He wanted to stay; Dan was here.
He missed hockey. He missed home. He missed Dan.
We already are.
Not a lie. But he should’ve clarified. Because the words had made Dan’s eyes light up, and it was clear that he wanted more from Ash than friendship.
Was Ash willing to give it to him? He wasn’t so sure anymore that the answer was no. Hell, he’d gone to Dan on instinct Monday morning when his phone was blowing up, knowing Dan’s steadiness would smooth him out. That had to mean something, right?
A few months ago, Ash had asked Mitch what sex with a guy was like, mostly because he wanted to see how Mitch would react. If Mitch got fired up over the question, then he clearly wasn’t the guy for Alex, who was the most laidback person Ash knew. But Mitch had barely hesitated before rebutting with a question of his own: “What’s it like to have sex with a girl?”
Truth was, Ash’s first time with a guy was years ago with Dan, before he’d even met Alex or Mitch. He didn’t know why it was on his mind right now—possibly because of how Dan’s intention to kiss him had been written all over his face on Monday morning. Ash had almost let him too. Dan was wearing him down, and Ash had no idea how it had happened.
It wasn’t fair that Dan could come back into his life and make him feel again. To be honest, though, Ash didn’t think Dan had done it on purpose. Ash was the one who’d sought him out—taking him out for milkshakes, making LEGOs with him, waking him up in the middle of the night because Ash was bored, sleeping in the same bed. Dan had been . . . not distant, but respectful of Ash’s space. As a result, Ash had sought him out.
Dan was a fucking genius. Or a mastermind. Or a manipulative asshole. Or curiously considerate.
Ash thumped the back of his head against the window once, twice.
“Here.”
He opened his eyes to find Alex holding out a takeout cup of coffee. “Thanks, man.”
“It’s very gray out there,” Alex said, peering past Ash.
Ash grunted. Everything seemed gray to him. He even felt gray.
On the bank of television screens hanging from the ceiling to his left, the latest baseball highlights were replaced with talking heads and the headline Ashton Yager: first out bisexual player in NHL history. Ash tugged the bill of his ball cap lower, shading his face.
Alex sat to his right, leaving an empty chair between them, and laid his own head back against the window with a sigh.
“You worried about what you’ll find?” Ash asked.
“I talked to my landlord yesterday,” Alex said by way of response.
“What’d he say?”
“That it could’ve been worse.”
“Not exactly reassuring.”
Ash’s landlord had given him a brief rundown of the damage to his own apartment, and, well . . . Actually, it could’ve been worse wasn’t far off the mark. And, it turned out, he did have insurance. Or his landlord had insurance that covered him, or they both did, or . . . something. Ash had understood the specifics in his paperwork enough to know that he was covered, one way or another.
“Want to talk about it?” Alex asked.
Ash opened his eyes and looked down at himself. Jeans, running shoes, navy-blue hoodie, too hot coffee held in the hand braced on his thigh. All perfectly normal and mundane. Nothing that would prompt Alex’s question.
“Talk about what?”
Alex removed the lid to his cup and set it aside to let his coffee cool. “Whatever’s been bugging you lately.” He nodded at the televisions. “Is it that?”
“No, that’s . . . Most people have been surprisingly supportive.” There were, predictably, unsympathetic assholes out there as well as the requisite jerks touting that bisexuality wasn’t a thing, but Ash’s fans were quick to castrate them. It was awesome to watch. But only on Twitter. There was only so much damage someone could do with a hundred and forty characters. Ash hadn’t been on Facebook in days. Who knew what he’d see when a person had the freedom to write full paragraphs?
Thanks, but no thanks.
“I think I’m even more worried about Saturday’s game,” he told Alex, “than I was about the article. Facing the fans for the first time?”
There were going to be some haters in the crowd, he had no doubt.
Alex sipped his coffee. “Yeah. But we’ve got your back.”
“I know. Tony called me yesterday.”
“The VP of ticket sales?”
Ash grunted an affirmative. “He’s only had one fan wanting to return his season tickets, and two dozen more who want season tickets. And Rachel’s gotten calls from media and sponsors who want to know how they can be more involved with the club. And with me.” His agent was fielding calls too, from two different major clothing companies that wanted Ash for their new line of commercials.
