“Congratulations, Trix,” she says, smiling so wide it looks like it hurts. “You’re out.”
Holy shit. Nick had forgotten about that.
Chapter Thirty
[Image Description: A website, titled with the hashtag #PaintYourPride. Beneath that, the first picture is of Nick Tiernan, shirtless, wearing a pair of dark blue jeans low on his hips, nothing else adorning him but rainbows. They’re painted all over his skin, smears of vivid color angled around his tattoos like they’ve always been there. Like they were always meant to be there.
But the most striking thing about the picture is his smile. It’s not a smile the media are familiar with; not a smirk, or a cocky grin, or a suave little invitation. Not even the sunny, happy-go-lucky smile of the NHL’s golden boy.
It’s the smile of a man at peace. His green eyes shine as he looks at something just past the camera, a stray golden curl falling onto his forehead.
Below that picture is another: Connor LaPorte, in lighter wash jeans, painted in pink and purple and blue. The colors run together in lines, a flag many are familiar with, covering his otherwise unmarked skin. His smile is shy,but his brown eyes stare fiercely at the camera, daring anyone to question him.
More pictures follow—six of them, in fact. Six different men, all very familiar faces in the NHL, painted in bright colors and sporting equally bright faces. Only once each player has had a spotlight picture does text begin.]
We have always been here. We will always be here. Hockey is a sport for everyone, and for too long now, those in power have been allowed to force players to hide who they are in order to succeed, have spurned bright talents away because of who they are and who they love.
No more.
We will not be made to feel ashamed of ourselves for our existence. We will not be made to lie, and pretend, and deny ourselves a life because a small number of narrow-minded individuals are afraid of people who are different. We are hockey players, and we are queer men, and one does not outweigh the other. While every individual deserves a level of privacy that the age of social media no longer affords, there is a difference between choosing to keep your personal life private and being forced to conceal parts of it for your own career and safety. That is not a choice.
So here we are. Sharing with you this part of ourselves that you have wanted us to deny for our entire careers. We will not stay silent, because we are proof that bigotry will not win. Our sport—indeed, all sports—can only be improved by allowing everyone to play without prejudice.
If our existence within this sport outrages you, we can only apologize, and suggest you look elsewhere for your entertainment. There are more of us than you will ever know, and we hope that this step forward will allow others living in fear to reach out and join us, when they’re ready.
Until then, we’ll be on the ice, playing damn good hockey, with pride.
—#PaintYourPride Website, June 13th, 2023
Nick already knows what the site is going to say, but he still cries reading it. Maybe that’s got more to do with theStanley Cup he just won, but, whatever. He’s feeling a whole lot right now.
The website isn’t just live; he’s got Bianca logged in to his socials to share it there, and all the guys will be doing the same on their own. Kat has already retweeted it to the team account. Anyone who follows any kind of ice hockey will have seen it by now. It’s out there. No going back.
He can see the way the article spreads around the arena. Feels the burn of thousands of eyes on him, scrutinizing him in a way he’s always dreaded.
But Nick doesn’t hide. He squares his shoulders and holds his head high, hugging his teammates as they gather around the bench.
“What’s going on?” Duke asks, bewildered—they can all tell the attention is not on them the way it should be.
Sunny skids into Nick’s side, smile shaky. “It’s up?”
“It’s up,” Nick confirms, kissing his teammate on the temple. “We’re out, baby.”
“Holy shit. Okay.” Sunny goes wide-eyed. “Shit. I need to find Mars!”
In unison, Nick and Sunny look towards the family section but the lights are so bright it’s hard to see.
Somewhere over there, Matt is getting the shock of his fuckinglife.
“Y’all might wanna look at this,” Marco says to their teammates, holding out the iPad that’s usually used for on-bench tape viewing. It’s open to the website. “Cap and Sunny have a little news for ya.”
The team gathers around the tablet like they’re reviewing a play. At Nick’s side, a hand curls around his wrist. Sunny glances anxiously his way. Nick offers a grin, even as his own stomach roils. They’re in this together, but it was Nick’s idea. If anyone’s got something to say, they can say it to him.
“Damn,” Hugsy murmurs. “Steel balls, the pair of you.”
“Fucking incredible,” Patts cackles. “Anyone who’d rather report on this than this team winning its third cup in six years is really gonna show their ass, huh?”
“That’s the plan.” Nick’s relieved that he gets it, that it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to make the team’s victory all about himself.
