Puckless (Hockey Heroes Book 1), page 12
Arlo’s response was considerate and measured. “I’m confident that Ethan’s no stranger to this bigotry. He may be officially in the closet, but obviously, some people know from what you’ve seen. He’s battled with those cretins before, but the onslaught against Nate—sounds like that is uncharted territory.”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head, and if I tell him, I can’t predict Ethan’s reaction.”
“Look, Ryan, you’re in their inner circle. You understand their strengths and their weaknesses. The ball is in your court here.”
“But that’s what scares me,” I confessed. “If I shine a light on any of this right now, I fear somebody might drag Ethan’s secret into the public spotlight. I can’t be a party to that. It’s his truth to tell.”
“Valid point, but by keeping quiet, are you simply letting those cowards off the hook?”
I groaned while the harsh reality of his words settled into my consciousness. “I wish the answers were black and white.”
“Life’s a spectrum.” Arlo sounded every bit the wise sage that he could be on occasion. “You have a duty to tell the truth. That is what journalists do, correct? I’m certain that path is seldom easy.”
“It’s difficult to think about any of this without seeing how it all ties back to Ethan’s decision to hide everything behind a closet door.” I sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. “If he were open about his sexuality, would that make things different? Would the attacks on Nate be as easy if Ethan weren’t hiding anything?”
“It’s possible that does have an impact,” Arlo mused. “But there’ll always be those who attack what they don’t understand.”
“You’re right,” I acknowledged with a sigh. “Ethan shouldn’t be subjected to this bigotry because of who he is or who he chooses to love.”
“Precisely, and that’s why it’s crucial to stand against this hatred. On the other hand—and I think there are about five hands in this discussion—it’s important to respect Ethan’s choices and safeguard his privacy.”
I took a deep breath. “Thank you, Arlo.” My heart lightened slightly. “You always find the right words.”
“At the risk of sounding cheesy—that’s what friends are for.”
Torn between the harsh truth and the potentially dire consequences of revealing it, I mulled over my options. The more I deliberated about it, the more apparent it became that the truth was a double-edged sword. Revealing it could unleash a hurricane and leave unpredictable devastation in its wake.
“Okay,” I began, my voice steady with resolve. “I will keep this information close to my chest for now. I’ll keep digging, and meanwhile, if the threats escalate, I’ll revisit my decision.”
“Sounds like a plan, Monsieur,” Arlo said. “Remember, you’re doing this to safeguard them, even if it means harboring a secret.”
“Thank you. I hope I’m making the right call here.”
“Trust in yourself. You’re a man of wisdom and integrity.”
As our conversation ended, I rose from the couch and stared out my window. The harsh reality of the situation settled in. Was my silence a necessary evil? What if the threats took a darker turn?
A wave of melancholy descended. I wished for a world where love was celebrated, not vilified—one where a person’s identity didn’t serve as a target for threats. Until that day arrived, I knew I had to stand up for the truth, even if it meant navigating a dangerous path.
“Whatever it takes,” I whispered into the empty air, “I’ll stand by them through thick and thin.”
Days turned into nights, and nights blurred into exhausted mornings as I delved deeper into the shadows of online anonymity. I followed every lead, analyzed every digital footprint, and questioned every virtual connection. But the perpetrators seemed always to be a step ahead of me, leaving few traces of their identity in their wake.
My frustration mounted, and it fueled my determination to uncover a way to find out more. Ethan and Nate deserved better than letting anonymous individuals spread wicked rumors and violent rhetoric targeting them. It was up to me to try to make a difference.
I met with local cybersecurity experts, seeking their expertise in unmasking the cowards hiding behind their keyboards. They shared their knowledge of encryption, IP tracking, and digital footprints, equipping me with more tools necessary to uncover the truth.
Late one evening, as I sifted through lines of code and online forums, a flicker of hope appeared in the darkness—like the proverbial light at the end of a long tunnel. A thread buried deep within the depths of a hockey fan forum hinted at a potential breakthrough. It mentioned a private chat group where the bigots congregated and planned attacks.
My pulse quickened as I followed the trail, navigating through layers of loosely encrypted channels. Each step brought me closer to exposing the true faces behind the screen names. It was a risky move, and it felt like dancing on the edge of a cliff, but I couldn’t turn back.
I unearthed a darker side of human nature with every keystroke—a cesspool of hatred, prejudice, and ignorance. The group was a breeding ground for toxicity, and the words exchanged within its virtual walls made my blood boil.
Finally, I found it—a key to unlocking the identities of the central individuals responsible for the threats. Names, locations, and even photographs materialized before me.
I took a deep breath. The downside to my discoveries was the weight the newfound knowledge placed on my shoulders. With my evidence, I could expose them to the world. I could send the details to law enforcement authorities and bring their vile behavior into the harsh daylight. Unfortunately, despite the apparent breaches of ethical and moral standards, I wasn’t sure what they did was illegal.
Maybe mere exposure wasn’t the best path. Doubts clawed at my mind. Would Ethan and Nate approve of my actions if I let the information out into the world? I couldn’t ignore the possibility that my pursuit of justice might inadvertently force Ethan out of the closet and irrevocably harm his trust in me.
I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. I had to consider all the angles of the situation before making any rash decisions. My loyalty to Ethan and Nate came first and foremost, but my solemn duty as a journalist to uncover the truth didn’t lag far behind. I couldn’t just sit by and let the bigots continue to spread their vitriol without consequences.
As I opened my eyes, I decided to approach Ethan with my findings. He was the man who sent me forward into my investigation, and I couldn’t go around him to share the details with anyone else. I wouldn’t even talk about the latest facts with Arlo. The only question remaining was the best time to share what I knew.
NINETEEN
ETHAN
“Buckle up. Tonight is our night,” I announced as the team gathered around me. I gave Nate a firm smack on his solid shoulder. “Cellar dwellers no more. League whipping boys never again. Let’s go out and get this!”
“Nothing but net,” Nate added with a grin. The confidence in his voice mirrored the determination dancing in his soulful eyes. His fingers coiled around his hockey stick, more than ready to take the ice.
In a swift move, I brought the team into a tight huddle, their collective blend of eagerness and apprehension crackling in the air like static electricity. “Men, tonight, we’re no longer the underdogs. Tonight, we become the ice predators and not the prey.”
I held each player’s gaze and stared at the energetic spark in their eyes. “One Team, One Dream!” I bellowed. They immediately joined in, and the locker room rocked with our chant. It was a thunderous mantra of unshakeable conviction.
As we charged onto the ice, the raw energy of the arena surrounded us. Our playful Mitts mascot danced around, bringing the crowd’s anticipation to a feverish pitch. I grinned and nodded at the throng while I passed the puck back and forth to my teammates in our pre-game drills.
The game’s opening period was a whirlwind of bodies colliding against the unyielding boards, blades carving through the ice, and the hair-raising clatter of the puck ricocheting off sticks. Our team’s unity was fully displayed, with passes flowing seamlessly between players like woolen yarns weaving through a loom. A point scored by the opposition merely steeled our resolve.
We approached the end of the second period one goal down. I set my jaw to prevent heading into the locker room at a disadvantage for the final period.
“Biedler, on your right!” I barked, spotting his formidable frame barreling down the left wing. I slapped the puck in his direction, and with the agility of a panther, he weaved past a duo of adversaries before dishing it back to me.
“Underwood, it’s your moment! Sink it!” he roared, the challenge hanging in the frigid air.
As I drew a deep, steady breath, I gripped my stick, feeling the fusion of wood and tape as an extension of my own gloved hands. Time seemed to stretch out as I adjusted my aim, and my entire world shrank down to the puck and my stick. The shockwaves traveled up to my hands as they made contact. In the next instant, the blare of the goal horn cut through the noise, and the audience erupted into wild applause.
“Brand new game!” shouted Nate. My teammates showered me with praise as we navigated back to our bench. My gaze darted to the scoreboard, a stark reminder that our battle was far from over. Two periods complete with plenty of hurdles still ahead.
“Keep those heads in the game,” I reminded everyone, my adrenaline churning like a cyclone. “Another period to bring this all home.”
“Bring it on!” Nate bellowed, his fist punching the air. His relentless spirit bolstered our determination, and as one, we clattered our way to the locker room to prepare for the game’s finale.
“Gather round, men,” Coach Pritchard commanded, his voice booming through the cramped sanctuary of the locker room. The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat-soaked determination as we zeroed in on our grizzled leader.
“I know this season’s been a rough ride, but tonight—tonight, we’re changing the narrative,” he rasped, his voice raw from hollering his way through the first two periods. “You’ve shown me extraordinary teamwork out there. That’s your weapon. Stay sharp, stay relentless, and above all, maintain your concentration.”
Nate’s eyes twinkled with characteristic humor as he sprung to his feet, enthusiastically clapping his hands. “And remember guys, there’s a mountain of pizza waiting at the finish line—courtesy of our team’s sponsors.” A ripple of laughter responded to his words. “So, who’s game to win this for the love of a second slice?”
I gave Nate a friendly shove on the shoulder. “But “seriously, men, let’s get back out there and put this game to bed.”
The crowd’s anticipation made the air electric as we returned to the ice for the final period. We were all of one mind, summed up by the single word “victory.” Chants of “Go Mitts” echoed around us to bolster our motivation.
“Let’s show them, Ethan,” Marek growled as we squared up for the face-off. The puck plummeted onto the ice, and we sprang to life. We executed each collision, each pass, each shot with the precision of a Swiss watch, our bodies moving in perfect harmony.
The final period escalated into a grueling contest of wills, both teams locked in a ferocious struggle. With the score teetering and the clock grinding away, tension hung over the arena like a storm cloud. Then, calamity struck.
The referee blew his whistle, signaled a hooking penalty, and pointed an accusing finger at me. My stomach plunged as I glided towards the penalty box, the collective disappointment of the crowd lingering in my ears.
“Chin up, Ethan! We’ve got your back!” Nate hollered from the bench, his words a beacon amidst the gloom. As I sat out my sentence, helplessly watching my brothers battle on, I made a silent promise.
“Two minutes,” I muttered, my fists clenched in resolve. “When I’m back on the ice, I’m scoring. It’s a promise.”
Finally, the penalty lifted, and I exploded back onto the ice, my determination twice as strong as before. The clock counted down mercilessly, every tick a dagger to the heart.
“Ten seconds!” shouted Coach Pritchard. It was now or never. Marek locked eyes with me, nodded, and launched a pass in my direction.
“Here’s the moment of truth,” I thought, my muscles coiling in readiness. I connected with the puck with a swift, decisive swing, propelling it toward the goal. The arena held its collective breath as we all watched.
Suddenly, full-out pandemonium erupted as the goal horn blew again and declared our victory. Two more seconds counted down as we held firm.
My heart pounded like a drum, and I threw myself into the joyous tangle of my teammates on the ice, our victorious yells echoing throughout the arena. Adrenaline surged through my veins like a wildfire. It was impossible to contain my excitement at our win.
“Great assist!” I hollered, gripping Marek’s shoulder in a fierce hold. “Couldn’t have made it without you!”
“Teamwork makes the dream work,” he shouted back in his thick Czech accent. A massive grin spread across his face.
When we finally pried ourselves apart, we glided toward the locker room. I found Nate and wrapped him up in a hug, pulling his body tight against me.
“Your defense makes all the difference. It wouldn’t matter how many goals we scored if you didn’t protect our net.”
“Always here for you, Ethan. It’s what friends do,” he said, his eyes twinkling with genuine affection.
As we moved into the locker room, a tangible buzz of celebration hung in the air. Amid the laughter and congratulations, I felt a deep sense of brotherhood. The team was more than a collection of athletes—it was my tribe.
“Hey, superstar!” Ryan called out, entering the locker room with a glimmer of pride in his eyes. He swiftly closed the gap between us and pulled me into a brief, celebratory hug. “Congratulations on the win.”
“Thanks,” I replied. My smile faltered slightly as I noticed his quick withdrawal and the subtle change in his demeanor. Something felt off, and it immediately gnawed at me. Unfortunately, I had to let it go for the moment in the swirl of the victory celebration.
Coach picked Marek and me for the post-game press conference. That meant I had to quickly change into a crisp, white button-up shirt, black pants, and polished dress shoes. Dress clothes always felt unfamiliar after wearing my hockey gear for an entire game, but appearances were important.
I adjusted my tie in front of a small mirror inside my locker door. The guy staring back at me looked confident and professional, but I also saw some complicated thoughts lurking below the surface.
“Ready to face the press?” Marek asked, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said as I pulled my sports jacket out of the locker and slammed the door behind me.
An expectant hum filled the press room. I joined Marek behind a table and faced a buzzing hive of reporters. We stood side by side, shoulders touching, and looked out on a sea of eager faces and blinding lights.
I was a bundle of nerves, and my heart pounded in my chest. It was always a thrill to have so much attention focused on my game, particularly when we were fresh off a win.
“Great game tonight, Ethan!” called out one reporter. “What do you think made the difference?”
I had an immediate response to that question. “Teamwork—without a doubt. We played as a unit and, as always, supported each other both on and off the ice. And I have to give a special shout-out to Nate Reyes—his defensive skills are invaluable. He doesn’t get the attention for scoring goals, but what I do wouldn’t matter if he didn’t stop the other team from scoring.”
“Speaking of teamwork,” another reporter interjected, their voice filled with curiosity, “that last-minute goal came from an incredible pass by Marek. Can you walk us through the play?”
A grin spread across Marek’s face, and his eyes shone with pride. At that moment, I hoped somebody would film the conference and post it online so his friends and relatives back home in Czechia could see it.
“Well, we knew time was running out,” Marek said, “so I wanted to get the puck to Ethan. When I saw him with a line to the goal, I knew he would score if I could only get the puck to him.”
“And he did,” I said, clapping Marek on the back in a show of appreciation. “His pass was a thing of beauty. I just completed the play that he made possible. We couldn’t have done it without working together.”
There was a brief pause as the room absorbed the magnitude of our win. My smile grew wider, and my chest swelled with pride. I knew the win meant more than having a higher score than the other team. It was a marker of our progress through the season. We came through when the chips were down.
I had one thing left to do before we wrapped up the press conference. I gripped Marek’s hand and raised our arms high. “Before you all leave,” I announced, “I want to lead a cheer. We’re finally climbing out of the basement, and that is a tremendous moment worth celebrating. Feel free to join in—“
With a triumphant shout, I started the chant, “One Team, One Dream!”
The flood of voices bounced off the walls of the press room. Reporters eagerly joined in with goofy grins plastered across their faces. It was a rare moment of unity between the press and the players. I relished the shared triumph and the reminder that we all had a common goal to celebrate our game, hockey.
As the room slowly quieted, I took a deep breath. My day was a roller coaster ride of emotions, from the tense battles on the ice to the jubilation of our triumph. Through it all, my teammates—my sports family—were there every step of the way.
“Thank you, everyone,” I said to those remaining in the room. “Here’s to many more victories to come.”
