“Just the right one?”
“I’m pretty fond of lefty. And after all, one day I will need to populate the world with tiny Kovalenkos.”
I shudder at the thought.
“He, uh, seems to think Carter won’t go that high. Sounds like some managers are…hesitant about him.”
“That is hateful. And more than that, it is stupid. What, are they going to draft Kowalski or, God forbid, Williamson instead? Carter would skate laps around them blindfolded on one leg.”
“You don’t think he’d be…a distraction?”
He looks closely at me.
“Do you think he’d be a distraction?”
I’m torn. Because I want to have Alexei’s faith in our team, his faith in our league. But I know better than anyone how these things really work.
“I think he’ll sign somewhere — because someone will take the risk given his skating — and then it’ll all go tits up at training camp because the team isn’t ready for the level of scrutiny it will bring. The manager will decide to send him down for a few games — ‘just to let everyone adjust’ — and in a year or two will cut him entirely. He’ll never play a game on NHL ice.”
“You seem so sure of that.”
“There are no gay NHL players, Alexei. And that’s exactly how the league wants it.”
“And you and I, and most of the men we play with know this is bullshit.”
I know this to be true, better than anyone, and still I can barely believe it. Where are they?
“But they’re not allowed to talk about it. He broke the rule already, Kovy. Not even Day 1 and he broke the cardinal rule.”
My throat is tight and my face is warm. I can’t continue this conversation, can’t get so close to a truth I’ve never let anyone know about me. Without warning, I strip off my shirt and cannonball into the pool. For a moment, there is only water and chlorine. As the water closes out the world around me, I can only wonder what fresh chaos the fall will bring.
CHAPTER ONE
JAMIE
Las Vegas, July
"And with thefirst pick overall in the 2025 NHL Draft, the Dallas Lone Stars pick Jake Williamson!"
The ballroom erupts. Cameras whip toward the stage, lights flashing as Jake adjusts his tie and heads up like he owns the place. I stay seated, relief prickling under the nerves. Dallas didn’t pick me. Whatever happens next, at least it won’t be that.
The draft is being held in one of those cavernous hotel ballrooms. On top of the rest of my draft class are agents, parents, and photographers. Along the edges of the room, enormous screens advertise various league sponsors in between each selection. I shift in my chair, the stiff collar of my suit jacket sticking to the back of my neck. It’s freezing and somehow still sweaty in here, the air-conditioned kind of cold that does nothing to calm my nerves.
That being said, the press around Williamson has been...not great. There have been car wrecks, a minor in possession charge thatmagically disappeared, and a bar fight not even two months ago. I really thought Kowalski would go before him.
I push my messy blond hair off my forehead and look around the room. On the other side of Dave sits my mom, nerves etched into every line of her face. I see a text from Avery come through—Smile, dumbass. You’re on TV.I resist the urge to flip off the camera.
“I should have gotten a haircut.” I finger-comb through the waves, trying to get a look that says “hockey flow” and not “just got out of bed”.
“Stop fidgeting. It makes you look nervous.” Dave whispers to me out the side of his mouth.
“I am nervous.” I thought that would have been obvious.
“Yes, but you can't look it.” I run a finger around my collar as I wait for the NHL Commissioner to return to the microphone.
"With the second pick overall, the Vancouver Whales take Andrei Petrov."
This one is more of a disappointment. I know the Whales are desperate for a quality goalie to step in when the current one retires, but the organization really has its shit together on inclusion. Maybe, if the worst happens, they can grab me in the second round?
