I put the phone down on the table, so hard the woman at the table next to us looks over.
“Is this...does he...?”
“For the love of God, Jamie, finish the damn article.”
My eyes scan over the words, certain this can't be what I think it is. Surely if Ethan were going to come out, Montgomery wouldleadwith that?
young gay man
put my head down and keep quiet about it
stay out of the way
Holyshit.
I slide Avery's phone across the table to him, grabbing my ownout of my jacket pocket. I power it on, and almost instantly the alerts start coming in. Our team group chat has hundreds of unread messages. I've got separate messages from half of the boys. There are at least twenty missed calls – some from the team, some I recognize as reporters, and others I don't know at all.
Nothing from Ethan.
That is, until I open the group chat and find his message, coming out to the team, almost eight hours ago now.
Shit.
I had thought nothing of turning off my phone and disconnecting from the world, but now I realize I've been unavailable at a time when he really needed my support. I look at Avery and say the first words that come to mind.
“I need to get to Vegas.”
Luckily,there's a plane leaving from Burbank at 7:30 with seats still available. There's no time to run home for my stuff – hell, the only reason there's time for me to make the flight is because of my precheck status.
Avery drives like hell to get me there, and I've never been more grateful. I want to say so many things to him – thank him for challenging me, for pushing me to be honest with myself, for showing me what I needed to see. But there's no time.
“I love you, man.” I say, giving him a final, tight hug.
“Yeah, yeah, go get your man.”
I stall, looking at him for a second, torn about whether it’s really ok to leave. His eyes meet mine, seeing the question there.
“Go! Just…don’t forget to text this time, yeah?”
With that, I hug him again and bolt from the car. I make it to the gate just as the last members of the final boarding group are scanning their boarding passes. As I walk down the aisle toward the seat I booked – a middle seat across from the bathroom – I can't help butcompare this to the last time I was on a plane. The dejection that weighed down my body has transformed into something effervescent...hope?
It isn't until I arrive in Las Vegas that I realize I have no idea where I'm supposed to go. I check on the game – it finished twenty minutes ago, with the Western Conference winning. It seems like Montgomery intentionally waited until the game had started to publish his article, preventing anyone on the ice from hearing the news until it was all over. I send up thanks to this reporter I've never met, grateful that he proved worthy of the trust Ethan put in him.
A quick search online shows me the name of the hotel where most of the players are staying, so I grab an Uber in that direction while trying to figure out a plan. I've already sent Ethan a text – just a quickCan we talk?- but he hasn't opened it yet.
That, or he's blocked me.
Still, I think of the state of my notifications right now and realize his must be a hundred - athousand- times worse. I approach the front desk, not sure how to execute this next part. I wonder for a moment how Ethan managed to get my room number back in September.
“How many I help you, sir?”
I try to exude confidence I don't feel in this moment.
“Yes, hi. I'm one of the hockey players here with the All Star Game. One of the players left his phone behind in the locker room and I was hoping you could tell me his room number? I have no other way to get it to him and I've got an early flight.”
She looks at me, considering. I'm hoping she knows hockey just enough to recognize me as a player, but not enough to know whether I'm at the All Star Game this weekend. Her appraising glance catches on my hockey thighs as a blush rises in her cheeks. As her eyes raise back to mine, I swear that she bats her eyelashes at me.
Well, apparently she doesn't know hockey well enough to know I'm gay.
