Puckless (Hockey Heroes Book 1), page 7
Nate looked at me, his warm, soulful eyes conveying both support and assurance. “I think you must embrace your true self, regardless of the difficulties it may present.”
My chest tightened, but I knew he spoke the truth. For my entire time in competitive hockey, I’d hidden behind a façade, afraid of the judgment that awaited me if the world discovered the real Ethan. But wasn’t that worse than living a lie?
“Can I share a couple of things with you?” Nate asked, his voice low and gentle. “You know a lot about me already, but I think these are new.”
“Sure.”
“Growing up, I struggled with my own identity. It took me years to accept that it’s okay to be both Puerto Rican and Irish and that I didn’t have to choose one culture over the other.”
“I knew about the Puerto Rican, but Irish, too?”
Nate nodded. “Yeah, and there are those out there who insist you have to choose one community or the other. They can’t handle the concept of Puerto Irish or Irican.” He chuckled lightly.
“Wow—I see how that could be rough.”
“Yeah. And here’s another thing—I used to have a severe stutter. It was brutal, man. I underwent years of speech therapy until I finally overcame it.”
“You never told me that either.”
“And I’m not planning to share it a lot,” Nate said. “I have this persistent fear in my mind that if I talk about it too much, it will come back.”
I reached out and touched his calf. I gripped it tight, and he shrugged. “I think we all have our battles. But it’s those fights that ultimately make us stronger.”
I listened to his words and let them sink in. There was a lot of truth in what Nate had to say. I took a deep breath and shared the journey toward coming out to myself.
“You know, it wasn’t that hard to figure it out. I was only twelve, but everything came together then. I think it was a little like putting together a thousand-piece puzzle without knowing the final picture on the box. When the last pieces fell into place, I saw the image they made. Back then, my heart pounded when I was around this guy named Paul in school. I never felt that way around girls.”
Nate shook his head. “Nothing like that ever happened to me. I was teasing the girls in 1st grade. Sure, there’s the occasional good-looking guy in the locker room. Who doesn’t notice that? But women are my comfort zone.” I watched as he blushed slightly.
“When I was twelve,” I continued. “I was too young to really understand how it could be a problem for me as a teenager or adult. It was pretty easy to say to myself I liked boys instead of girls and move on.”
“You’ve come a long way since then,” Nate said.
“I suppose, but sometimes it feels like I’ve gone backward. I’m scared now, and I feel like I take a half step further back into the closet every once in a while.”
Nate rubbed the stubble on his chin. “We’re all scared of something. But there are people around who understand, have gone through similar shit, and will stand by your side. They’re all important.”
The kind, comforting words settled deep down inside. I couldn’t argue with him. He was right, but at some point, I had to face it alone—on my own.
Nate rubbed my knee, and I looked into his eyes. It was the right time to make a decision. “Okay,” I said. “I can do this. It’s no longer a question of ‘if,’ but ‘when.’”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Nate said. “So, is there a plan?”
After I took a long, deep breath, I laid it all out—the step-by-step process of revealing my truth to the world. I would confide in our teammates first, then the league, and eventually, I’d talk about it with my family. Some people would do it the other way around, but my family, besides Mom, is on shaky ground. As I spoke about each step, the weight on my shoulders lightened as if I were shedding layers of clothes.
“Sounds like you’ve thought this through,” Nate observed. “I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I think most of the team already knows, particularly after you got caught with Ryan.”
“Yeah, I guess so, but this will be my formal announcement.”
“Wow—you have thought about this a lot.”
“You figured it out.” I chuckled softly. “I’ve only thought it through about a million times—mostly while staring up at the ceiling in the middle of the night.”
“That’s the roughest time of day, or I guess I should say night.”
“I’m just relieved I finally have the courage to follow through,” I said. “You know, after all these years of playing hockey, I never thought coming out would be the hardest thing I’d ever face.”
Nate laughed. “I guess it’s good we can’t have babies. The women all say that’s pretty tough—and you haven’t attempted to explain the offsides rule to my abuela yet. Trust me, that’s hard.”
“Maybe that should be my next challenge.”
“You would put your Spanish skills to good use,” Nate teased, and we both laughed hard—letting all the tension out.
Once the laughter subsided, I glanced at Nate and reached up to wipe away the unexpected tears in my eyes. He scooted across the couch to reach out and fold me into a tight hug. I clung to him.
“I never cry,” I muttered into his shoulder, my voice muffled by the fabric of his hoodie.
“I know,” he replied softly. He traced soothing circles on my back with his fingers. “But sometimes, it’s best just to let it all out.”
TEN
RYAN
“Ryan, it’s yours truly,” Susan, my editor, announced from the other end of the line, the biting hiss of long-distance cutting through her distinctively Bostonian drawl. “You’re ducking out on the Mitts?”
The question hung in the air like smoke from a blown-out candle, and I scratched my chin, unsure what to say. Finally, I decided to deal with it head-on. “Yeah,” I confirmed. “It’s—tangled up with my personal life.”
She latched onto the vague response, and her journalistic instincts immediately kicked in. “Tangled? Care to elaborate, Ryan?”
Fortunately, Susan couldn’t see it, but a light blush crept up my cheeks. “I’ve—um—connected with someone on the team,” I confessed. “A little more than just professionally.”
She chuckled lightly before continuing. “Well, you’ve thrown me a curveball, but I’ll let it slide—this time. I have to understand that you’re just as human as the rest of us, after all.”
I exhaled, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. “Thanks, Susan. Your understanding means a lot.”
She didn’t waste time on being sentimental or expressing much empathy. “Don’t get too comfortable yet. I’ve got another task for you. It’s still in your wheelhouse, but with a different spin.”
I tapped a finger on the edge of the granite countertop in my kitchen while considering the prospect of a new assignment. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm. That’s all you get for now. We’ll dive into the nitty-gritty when you’re ready,” she replied.
I did my best to show confidence that I could handle anything. “Bring it on,” I said. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“I didn’t expect you to. Toodles.” I heard a click, and she was gone.
I held the phone in my hands with a smile slowly spreading across my face like melted butter over warm toast. A new project could be a good refresher for my passion for my career. I’d let myself stray slightly with so much concentration on Ethan, but there was no reason I couldn’t have both.
Curiosity rattled around in my mind while I thought about what the new article could be. Would it be another investigative project? Would it require another series of interviews?
I settled into a worn leather recliner in my living room with my laptop in hand. Distracting myself from speculation about my new assignment, I conducted a few laidback searches on the Internet before my favorite subject leaked out of my fingers. I typed “Ethan Underwood.”
A cascade of articles poured onto the screen. Each one looked like a positive take on the young hockey star. I glanced at headlines that all spoke about his skill and dedication. Goosebumps rose on my forearms as I thought about my abundant good luck in dating such a revered man.
“You’re not just a pretty face, eh, Ethan?” I whispered to myself.
Among the sea of praise, an older interview stood out. It was conducted by a relatively obscure sports blogger when the Mitts first signed Ethan almost two years ago. One particular question and answer made me take notice.
“What about off the rink?”
“Believe it or not,” Ethan admitted. “I’m a sucker for Broadway. Wicked was one of my first loves.”
“Broadway, huh?” I murmured. My fingers itched to dig a little deeper.
I plunged deeper into Ethan’s love for musicals. I traced various threads, and each piece revealed another section of the mosaic that was the Madison Mitts’ team captain.
Finally, I landed on a headline that made my heart melt. It was an old newspaper article titled “King Arthur Conquers All at Riverview High’s Camelot.”
“Ethan Underwood as King Arthur,” I smiled. “Never would have guessed.”
The article buzzed with accolades for the young man’s performance. He was a high school senior. “When Arthur intoned, ‘For one brief shining moment,’ there was not a dry eye in the house.
I could almost hear him, his voice rich and robust, resonating in the high school auditorium. I’d sung in my high school choir but never had the guts to try acting along with the singing. My heart swelled with affectionate pride, imagining him in his knightly garb, swinging his sword with gusto. It felt like I’d unearthed a secret treasure.
“If only there were a video,” I mused, the possibility tantalizing.
Hours disappeared into the black hole of Internet searching, but I found no evidence of Ethan’s performance. It didn’t matter. In my mind, the image of him on stage was probably better than any actual video.
“You didn’t know your boyfriend was a king, did you?” I laughed to myself.
As I closed my laptop, the results of my searches echoed in my mind. The man I fell for was proving to be quite the Renaissance man. Each revelation about Ethan only deepened our connection.
ELEVEN
ETHAN
“Neither snow nor rain, right?” The corners of my lips curled into a playful grin as I turned to Ryan. We stood beneath the craggy branches of an ancient oak in a park nearly halfway between our apartments. The tree stood like a sentinel cloaked in a white mantle.
Eight inches of pure, untouched snow had descended upon the city, transforming it into a dreamy landscape, an ivory-hued backdrop for our second date. We nearly canceled due to hazardous driving, but I suggested calling for rides, and all worked out as planned.
“We’re just like mail carriers,” Ryan replied, a chuckle simmering in his voice. He leaned in and shared a quick kiss, lingering just enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. “So, what’s the master plan, Ethan?”
“Snow angels,” I announced. As I spoke, I imagined us both horizontal in the virgin snow, arms and legs creating snowy silhouettes.
“Are you serious?” Ryan raised an eyebrow. Despite his question, I knew he was just as excited as me by the sparkle in his eyes.
“Dead serious.”
Grabbing his hand, I led him over the snow to a perfect spot, untouched by footprints.
“I haven’t done anything like this since I was a little boy,” Ryan said.
“Umm—I guess it’s not been quite that long for me.” I remembered making snow angels less than twelve months earlier. Nate, Biedler, and I lined up and swept out angelic silhouettes until surfer boy Biedler wimped out over the cold. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
We both lay in the sea of white, and soon, our arms and legs were swinging through the snow. Recollections of childhood snow days rushed back to me. I’d get up at 5:00 a.m. to find out whether the district administrators canceled school. On days that they did, Mom bundled me up, and I tumbled out of the house to spend hours sculpting icy fortresses, throwing snowballs, and laughing with my friends.
“Now, what’s next?” Ryan asked, still nestled beside me in our snow-carved silhouettes.
“We’re not finished quite yet. You have to get yourself back up without disturbing the angel. First, you roll to your side.” I carefully guided Ryan in the art of disentangling ourselves from our work. Miraculously, we managed to leave our impressions nearly unscathed.
“Impressed?”
“Surpassed my expectations—and now?”
“Ever built a snowman before?” I asked.
“A single attempt at age six,” he confessed and sounded almost defeatist. “It ended in disaster.”
“Only one? Wow, you’ve been deprived of one of life’s great joys. Today,” I announced, as I bent down to gather a handful of snow, “we rewrite history.” I started the process by packing a perfect little sphere in my hands. “Watch and learn.”
“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,”
Ryan wasn’t kidding. His first attempt at producing a snowball looked more like a lopsided pancake.
“Hey, it’s got—character.” My gentle laughter created a frosty cloud in the air. “Let’s work together.” Sharing our efforts, we fashioned a somewhat respectable base for our snowman. My snow-coated skiing gloves dwarfed Ryan’s sleek leather ones.
As we worked on the middle section, Ryan’s lack of snow construction expertise was apparent again. Our growing snowball looked something like a frozen, misshapen potato.
“Uh, Ethan?” he asked. “Is it supposed to be so—abstract?”
“Maybe we’re creating the world’s first cubist snowman.” We both laughed. “We can definitely say it’s one of a kind.”
We ignored the chilling bite of the winter weather and warmed up in the bright glow of each other’s company. Our creation might have been a bit unconventional, standing tall and wonky in the park, but it was ours—a collaborative work of art. That made it perfect in my eyes.
“Now for the final touch,” I declared, brandishing a carrot as the snowman’s prospective nose.
“Do you always carry around carrots in your pocket?” Ryan asked.
“Only during winter snowstorms, my man.” I handed the carrot to him.
Ryan reached out to install the nose, but as he pressed the root into the snowman’s face, his foot slipped, and he fell forward into our creation.
I laughed so hard that I thought I might cry. When he righted himself again, snow clung to Ryan’s body and dusted his face. He looked something like a Wisconsin yeti. “You alright there, buddy?”
He dislodged the clinging snow and grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m good. I suppose our snowman was too special for this mundane world.”
“No doubt,” I agreed. Without warning, Ryan reached down and packed a small snowball in his hands. It was a little distorted but serviceable. He pulled his arm back. “Seriously—you’re not going to—“
Thwack! The snowball hit my chest like a declaration of war.
“Okay, I see how it’s going to be—“I quickly packed a retaliatory snowball and sent it sailing. It met its mark on Ryan’s shoulder. Our war escalated quickly, morphing into a wrestling match when I tackled him, our laughter spilling into the frosty air.
It didn’t take long for me to gain the advantage, holding onto Ryan’s writhing body in a snowdrift. “There’s a sledding hill not far from here,” I suggested as the heat of Ryan’s body seeped into mine through our winter coats.
“That could be fun to watch.” He sprung to his feet as I offered him a hand. While we walked through the park, the snow-dusted trees and sun-spangled ground came together like a winter scene on a postcard.
The sledding hill was full of laughing kids enjoying their day off from school. We watched as they careened down the hill on various sleds and then trudged back up to do it all over again.
Suddenly, an awestruck boy recognized me. “You’re Ethan Underwood! Wow—I saw you play hockey just a week ago with my dad and sister.” He leaned in close to me like he was sharing a closely-guarded secret. “She thinks you’re cute.”
“That would be me—caught red-handed,” I laughed.
“Hey? You wanna take a turn down the hill?” He thrust his plaid snow tube into my hands.
I glanced at Ryan, and he nodded with a massive grin.
“Uh, okay, but I hope no news cameras are around. I’d hate to embarrass myself.”
The boy pointed at the hill. “It’s easy. Just be careful you don’t go to the right. There’s a stump under the snow over there—bad news.”
As I turned to head toward the top of the slope, Ryan whispered, “Good luck.”
Fortunately, I wasn’t the only adult braving the hill. I saw at least four more. As I climbed aboard, my new friend threw all his weight behind a good-natured shove to start my descent.
It didn’t take long before I hurtled down the incline, the wind whipping past my ears as I gained momentum. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing as adrenaline surged through my body. Following instructions, I veered toward the left and—lost control.
The snow tube veered off the main path and barreled straight for a looming snow drift. I braced myself for the inevitable.
With a thud and an “Oof!” I found myself buried in a fluffy pile of snow.
Three kids rushed over to me. “Are you okay, Mister?”
I assured them that all was fine, and it didn’t take long for Ryan and the owner of the snow tube to join us. “Are you still in one piece?” Ryan asked.
“Only bruised my ego,” I laughed. “I think I’ll retire from sledding and leave it to the experts.”
I returned the snow tube and exchanged information to arrange complimentary tickets to another game.
Shivering against the cold, Ryan and I decided to escape winter in the cozy comfort of a nearby coffee shop. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the irresistible scent of warm cinnamon pastries, enveloping us as our damp boots squeaked against the well-worn wooden floor.
