Puck You Both
If you can’t beat him, keep him. And his boyfriend.
WALL
There are many things a Chicago Wolves goaltender should be doing, and despising Milwaukee’s goalie tops the list. Not to brag, but I’ve been nailing it for eight years straight. It’s public record. There’s merchandise to prove it.
What a goaltender should never do is walk in on said goalie, hand deep in his winger’s pants, and…stay.
So anyway, guess what just happened.
In my defense, observation is my craft and this was film study. Kind of.
The incognito-mode googling afterward was also film study. And then that time on a video call was…film study with live narration?
I’ve been straight for twenty-eight years. I’d like to speak to a manager.
PATRICK
They say you never know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Turns out I had a blissfully uncomplicated life. Right up until Wall walked in and shattered it.
I’m not out, and it has never been a problem before. But now a man who hates me is knocking on my closet, and the possibility of the entire world finding out what I’m wearing is getting too real.
Even my code-red protocol—deny—won’t fly this time. Denial is hard to pull off when he catches you pressed against another man and, instead of stopping, you stare back and keep going.
So I do the next best thing—get Theo on board, lure Wall into my closet, and close the door behind.
It’s a chaotic process. An unmuted mic here, an “accidental” invitation there. One very strategically positioned chair.
Some men bury the hatchet. I’d rather keep mine.
Both of them.
THEO
Okay, recap for the rafters: my no-labels goalie arrangement has somehow acquired a no-labels plus-one, who’s in a no-labels feud wit my original arrangement.
Nobody is labeling anything, which some might call an unhealthy environment.
Not me, though. Turns out, it’s my natural habitat.
See, I’ve spent my whole life being too much, too loud. Too Theo.
But one of these idiots likes running the show, the other one can’t stop watching it, and I am, and I cannot stress this enough, the show.
They can hate each other all they want. None of my business, really.
Now, if you’ll excuse me. There’s a hockey sandwich about to happen and I’m the meat.
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