Page 32

“Thanks. How’re you guys doing? Mom, you feel alright?”

“I’m okay, honey. Still tired, but I’m getting better every day.”

Grabbing my water, I take another gulp, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

“Now, tell us all about the game!” she insists. “And don’t leave out a thing.”

“We could be on the phone for hours,” I tease.

“How about a brief recap for now?” Dad insists. “Then you can get back to celebrating with your teammates.”

“It’s fine, I can talk. I’m done with the club for the night.”

“Already? Who are you and what have you done with my Finn?” Mom teases.

I grab another slice of pizza and stuff it in my mouth.

“I’m not that much of a party animal. Okay, maybe in college.”

“By the way, they filmed you walking into the rink. You looked so professional in that suit, so mature and calm.”

I laugh. “I was anything but calm, Mom.”

“We also watched the press conference after,” Dad adds. “How’s Kirkland dealing with it?”

I told my parents about the Sutton U camp, and Sel’s mentorship, and recently, all the media attention he’s receiving after coming out.

“Hard to say. He doesn’t talk much, except at practice.”

For a second, I’m tempted to voice my concerns to them about the comments I overheard from my teammates. But then I decide that’s not something I want my parents to worry about. I’ll deal with it. I’ll talk to Sel and Coach Range first. I credit my friends at Sutton U with changing how I handle stuff like this. Watching several of them come out impacted me in a huge way; I stopped hiding behind macho hockey stereotypes and started showing people who I really am. And I stopped avoiding difficult conversations. That’s probably why I feel like I should do something to help Sel. As to what that is or how to go about it, I don’t have the answer. Not yet.

“Well, I hope things settle for him,” Dad replies. “You two play so well together.”

“We’re still finding our rhythm, but we’ll get there.”

“Good. Now, back to the game⁠—”

I smile at them.

“Pull up a chair and settle in.”

Sel

I glance at my phone like it’s a bomb about to detonate. It’s past one in the morning, and I still haven’t called Damien. I can’t sleep and guilt is gnawing at my gut. Damien and I go way back, so what’s my problem?

“Just do it already,” I say out loud.

My finger hovers over his number, and finally, I tap call.

Damien answers on the first ring.

“It’s about fucking time.”

My friend, as usual, gets right to the point.

“Did I wake you?” I ask quietly.

“No. You said you’d call tonight, so I’ve been waiting.”