He nods once.
I nod back.
That is the speech.
Practice is strange after. Not bad. Strange. The ice feels too bright. The room knows more about me than it did when I woke up, and the knowing has not killed me. This should feel like relief. It does, sometimes, in flashes. Mostly it feels like skating with new steel and not yet trusting the edge.
Isaac scores in a small-area drill and looks at me before celebrating, which is ridiculous and also almost undoes me. I tell him his release was late. He grins anyway.
After practice, I find Caleb in the film room.
The door is open.
He stands when I come in, which is unnecessary and very Caleb. His face asks the question before he does.
"How did it go?"
"Hale asked if you were why I'm always in the film room at midnight."
Caleb closes his eyes.
"I said no."
"Thank you."
"I said not why."
His eyes open.
There. The answer underneath.
He takes one step toward me, then stops because the door is open and the building is full and we are still learning how to be visible in rooms with lights on.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
The correct question.
"Not yet."
His mouth moves like he wants to smile and cannot quite get there. "Okay."
We work on the statement after that.
Not because it needs to go out now. Because I need it to exist. Caleb sits beside me with his laptop open and a blank document on the screen. He does not write it for me. This is important. He types when I tell him to type. Deletes when I say delete. Does not suggest words until I ask.
Three paragraphs.
Understated. Direct. Unglamorous.
I am gay.
Caleb Wren and I are in a relationship.
I am retiring after this season because of my hip.
Those are the facts. The statement says more than that, but those are the bones. My voice, or close enough to it. My timing. My words. My name.
When we finish, Caleb saves the file with a title so careful it makes my chest hurt.
