Page 73 of Misconduct Zone

The celebration is loud, and the locker room crackles with energy until I see Dylon staring at his phone and our media coordinator rushes over.

“Finn has a plan,” she says as if she’s run a marathon.

“I’m not ignoring this,” he spits out, and I rub his back to soothe his distress.

“Wait until you’re back home, and we can stage an event—”

“No! Let me in the press room.” His wet hair drips in his furious eyes.

“What’s going on?” I imagine a fan or article saying negative things about missing games or whatever. I trust our team and do not think the public or press knows about us.

“My mother,” he grits out, turning away to call the hotel and cancel his payment for her stay in New York. I retreat to my locker to search her comments and fear Dylon cutting her off financially will make the situation worse.

It’s easy to find her quoted as saying that her son is not gay and even if he is, he wouldn’t be in a relationship with me. She attacks my character, hockey abilities, and throws in a few statements that are not outright homophobic but close.

“Dyl.” I stand too close for two straight men with the media still here, but I don’t care. “This is not bad. She is giving her opinion, and I can handle it. She does not like me, and that is her right. The fans and press have said worse things in the past.” My palm cups his warm shoulder. “Ignore her. Do not give her words credibility. If she realizes she has hurt you, she might continue.”

“I don’t care. She can’t say she loves me and say those things about you or gay people. I’m not going to sit back and take her hate.” The determination in his voice prevents me from arguing. “I’m calling Finn.” He stalks into the showers for privacy, and I continue to dress.

Fifteen minutes later, I am standing against the back wall of Pittsburg’s pressroom, watching my angry boyfriend try not to scowl. With his trademark smile missing, the reporters and bloggers take notice. There is a low buzz of confusion since he’s upset and a late addition to the lineup, which is out of the ordinary.

Dylon pulls the microphone to him in a move that seems to dare people to ask him questions. One brave reporter asks him about his goal in the third period but wonders if his missed games were detrimental to his playing.

“I’ve trained almost every day for the last decade. My performance speaks for itself. Next question.” His answer sounds standard, but it lacks his teasing tone and self-deprecating jokes he is known for.

The next reporter is even braver. “Is there a reason you joined us since your PR staff denied our request to speak to you?”

Dylon clears his throat and swallows hard. “Yes, I’m sure you’ve seen my mother’s comments about the shirt I wore as a Halloween prank. You know me well enough to know I enjoy a good joke. I find my mother’s comments disgusting. My teammates are my family, and if you attack my family, I won’t stand for it. She might be my mother, but her views do not reflect mine.” He pauses, ignores the shouting of questions, and continues on.

“Patrik Liska’s fiancé is a personal friend and a valued member of the Enforcers family. Everyone who works for the team plays a hand in our success on the ice. No one deserves the cruel words my mother spoke out of ignorance. Most of you know my background. I grew up in low-incomehousing, but because of my help, my family no longer struggles financially. Now here’s what you don’t know.” He takes a sip of water, and I am holding my breath.

“Last year, while recovering from my shoulder injury, I became addicted to pain medication and overdosed.” There’s a collective gasp in the room as the air whooshes from my lungs. “Involuntarily, I went to rehab to save my job. I had violated the conduct code and could’ve been cut from the team. I didn’t think I had a problem, but the withdrawal was brutal.” He shudders.

The room hangs on his every word, utterly silent, recording him.

“One thing I knew, even believing I didn’t have a problem, was that if I went back to Michigan, I wouldn’t meet the requirements of the program and I’d lose my job. My teammate, my best friend, dragged me from the pit of addiction back to reality. I owe Lars Drakenberg my life. He supported my decision to get sober and declared our house dry. The team never knew what happened because I was too embarrassed to tell them, but they also blindly supported my decision to stop drinking. In my last conversation with my mother, who came to my home with a bottle of wine in hand, she insulted Lars and accused me of not being fun because I’m sober. I won’t tolerate her disparaging people who have contributed to my success, my health, and my well-being. Lars, this team, and this organization are where my loyalties lie, and if someone comes after the people I love, they are no longer welcome in my life. Thank you.” He stands and exits the room as the press jumps into action, some trying to follow him, some recording themselves, and others typing furiously on laptops.

I hope they don’t notice he said the people he loves. He is free with his emotions, and it is not as shocking as if I had said it.

My phone rings, startling me and getting my feet moving.

“Get your boyfriend in a private room with our media coordinator so I can kick his ass,” Finn hisses from the other end of the line.

“I…” I am as stunned as he is.

“That fucker won’t answer his phone. Make sure it happens.” The line goes dead.

Dylon’s in the locker room surrounded by the team. They’re all offering support and touching him. I should be the one touching him and offering comfort.

They part for me, allowing me to stand next to the man I love. “Hey,” I whisper and cup both his shoulders and press my forehead to his.

“Hey.” He exhales with a relieved sigh.

“Finn wants to kill you.” I smile.

“He can get in line. I’m sure my family has taken out a contract on me. They know a shit ton of shady fuckers who would kill for a grand or free drinks for life.” His hollow laugh falls flat.

“They will not succeed and are not smart enough to get away with it. One trip to your uncle’s bar, and they will tell the police everything.” I wrap my arms around him, thankful the team knows and we don’t have to hide our connection.

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