Page 118 of I'm Your Guy
He’d be there. Live. In person. I haven’t set eyes on him in a few days, and the idea of seeing his face again fills me with a dozen emotions at once.
And the loudest one is hope.
“Yeah, so… Kinda pricey, but at least we had the part in stock.”
My eyes snap back to Mr. Oily, who’s handing me a folded bill. “Pricey. Right.” My heart drops.
“You can pay at the desk,” he says. “Good luck on your trip to Montana.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. Then I open the bill.
FORTY-ONE
Tommaso
“Holy hell,” Newgate says as we tromp down the tunnel toward the ice. “I had no idea.”
“Crazy, right?” Stoney chirps. “It looks like a rainbow threw up out there. Whaddaya think, Hot Tommaso? I kinda dig it.”
I don’t even register the question, because I’m too busy staring. The seats are heaving with fans. And a shocking number of them are garbed in Pride gear. Jerseys and headbands and rainbow face paint. Hoodies and banners and signs. WE LOVE YOU NEWGATE.
Like my teammates, I’m wearing a warmup jersey in rainbow tie-die with a cougar on the front and my name on the back. There’s so much color in this room, it’s hard to focus my eyes.
“Let’s go, boys. Clock’s tickin’,” Coach barks.
He isn’t wrong. I push my blades against the ice and start a slow warmup lap. But it’s hard not to stare at the rambunctious crowd. They let out a shriek of encouragement as Newgate takes his first lap.
My teammate’s face is bright red. I don’t think he knows what to do with all that attention.
“NEW-GATE. NEW-GATE.” Now they’re actually chanting.
“Huh,” Stoney says, skating up to me and a couple other guys. “If I kiss a dude, will they chant my name? Anybody wanna test that out with me?”
“You score a goal in the first five minutes, I’ll kiss you myself,” Kapski says. “Get a hat trick tonight, and I’ll even give you tongue.”
“NEW-GATE, NEW-GATE!” says the crowd.
“We are gonna razz you so hard about this later,” Doughey calls as Newgate skates past.
Newgate ignores him and skates toward center ice, where a couple of his ex-teammates from Brooklyn are waiting for him.
The crowd erupts as he fist-bumps Castro and Crikey.
“Jesus Christ,” one of them says. “All you gotta do is burp, and they’ll cheer.”
“Is this gonna go to your head?” the other one chuckles. “Might make you easier to beat.”
I tuck my chin and skate past them, trying to get my head into the game. But none of this feels real.
Could it be this easy? Is anything ever?
I skate past the penalty box, and then I lift my eyes to find Row C. It’s easy to spot Rigo and his husband, who is wearing the same jersey as me.
But then I skate a little farther, and I spot my mom. She’s wearing a blue jersey with my number on it. She’s bought herself a little Pride flag, which she’s waving madly, and she’s smiling at me.
The seat beside hers, though, is empty.
A split second later, I’ve skated past that empty seat. I pump my legs and increase my speed. I know how to win hockey games. I’ve got that figured out.
