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“My day took a shit on me this morning after practice,” I say, moving to the kitchen to unpack my coffee pot. The contraption is more confusing than it needs to be. I should have just bought a plain damn pot, not one with a grinder and different brew strengths. “What the fuck?”
“Talk to me, Alexander.” Damian brushes me aside and takes over.
“The guy at the suit shop wrote a blog post about me. About me being gay, more fucking specifically.” I lean back on the counter and watch Damian’s shoulders sag.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect anything like that.”
“Yeah, well, I did. It’s why I’m as careful as I am,” I tell him, my anger rising again. Not at him, necessarily, just at…everything. “Now, the League knows.”
“How did you find out?”
“When the GM called me in to talk with him, Human Resources, and Public Relations. When they handed me a printout of the blog post headlined, Is the Seattle Blades New Defenseman Playing for the Other Team,” I rage. “They didn’t tell Coach, but I’m sure it’s going to get around that I’m queer.”
“Knock, knock,” Willa says, and I turn to see her grimacing in my doorway. “Sorry, the door was open. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s fine.” Damian rushes to her, ushering her in and firmly closing the door behind her.
“It’s not fucking fine,” I admonish. “Nothing is fine. And you are interrupting.”
Willa pales, and I instantly feel horrible.
“So… sorry. Damian said… Well, anyway, I thought you might like dinner. I’ll just leave it.” She hands him a dish I didn’t even notice she was holding and quickly retreats out the door.
“Willa,” I call at the same time Damian hisses my name.
“What the fuck, Alexander? None of this is her fault.”
“I fucking know that.” I rub at the growing tension in the back of my neck. “She caught me off guard is all.”
Fuck this day. Willa fully deflated when I snapped, her shoulders and chin both dropping by inches. It’s like a million needles to my heart knowing that I’m the one that put it there. And now I have one more problem I need to fix.
“This smells delicious, but I don’t think you deserve to eat any of it,” Damian says, lifting the foil off the dish and taking another sniff.
“What is it?”
“Pasta. Looks like chicken and broccoli,” he says. He’s right, it smells mouthwatering, and I feel like an even bigger asshole.
“I’m a dick.”
“Yes,” Damian says.
“I’ll go apologize, see if I can get her to come down and eat with us.”
“Least you can do,” Damian mumbles when I walk out of my apartment.
I let her expression replay in my mind the whole way upstairs to Willa’s. It’s only a floor, but I’m properly pouting by the time I reach her unit. Snapping at her was rash and rude. It’s not her fault I’m dealing with this shit, nor is it her fault she walked in on me practically admitting being queer.
Isla could have told her, being as close as they are. Except, Isla’s not the type to break a confidence like that. She didn’t even tell Cillian when they got back together. I had to tell her it was okay to fill him in because I knew it made her uncomfortable having conversations with me like we were speaking code in front of him.
If Willa ever caught on, I never guessed. Truth is, I’ve never wanted her to lose that lustful-tinged-affectionate look. It’s one of my favorite things in the world. It nearly trumps hockey.
She opens the door a moment after I knock, tears streaming down her face.
“Ah, fuck, Willa. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her in for a hug.
“I’m not crying because of you,” she contests. “I don’t cry over boys.”
She called me a boy. That stings.
