Page 57 of Common Goal
Eric held up a hand. “No thanks. I said everything I need to.”
Scott glanced at the clock on his nightstand. “I guess it’s getting late. And I’ll be damned if I’m not in top form against Toronto tomorrow night.”
“Yeah. But thanks, for listening to me.” Eric huffed. “Sorry if it was a shock.”
“Are you kidding? I’m thrilled.” Scott pulled him into one of his signature hugs. “Your secret is safe with me. I promise.”
Eric sighed against his shoulder. He’d miss these hugs after he retired. “I know. But I don’t know if it needs to be a secret. I might take the Shane Hollander route on this. If people find out, they find out. But I’m not going to make a big public announcement.”
“That’s fair.”
They broke apart, and Eric ran a hand through his own hair, needing to make one more request of Scott and not sure of how to say it. “Hey, um, could you maybe not tell Kip? About Kyle, I mean. Not that there’s anything to tell, really, but still.”
Scott mimed pulling a zipper across his lips. “I won’t say a word. But Benny?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth, I think he’d be good for you. Even if it’s just for...” Scott palmed the back of his own neck nervously. “Instruction. Or whatever.”
Eric felt his own cheeks heat up. “Got it.”
Scott squeezed Eric’s shoulder and said, “I’m proud of you, Benny.”
“Thanks.”
Eric left Scott’s room feeling a million pounds lighter.
Chapter Twelve
Eric loved playing against Toronto because he hated Dallas Kent.
Toronto’s star forward had loads of talent but was one of the biggest assholes Eric had ever met. He was obnoxious like Ilya Rozanov, but without any of the charm. Because for all of the talk about what a bad boy Rozanov was, he’d never, to Eric’s knowledge, used slurs on or off the ice, or posted sexist or homophobic jokes on Twitter. Rozanov had a reputation as a ladies man, but he always seemed to treat women—and talk about them—with respect.
Basically the opposite of Dallas fucking Kent.
Eric had a lot of career achievements to be proud of, but his secret favorite might be that he’d never let Kent score on him. Not once. And that wasn’t changing tonight.
Eric noticed that Kent seemed a little quieter tonight than he had been last season. Probably because he didn’t have his protector anymore—Ryan Price had quit hockey in the middle of last season. Frankly, Eric couldn’t blame him; he’d rather drink poison than have to defend Dallas Kent for a living.
Kent might also be quieter tonight because he knew slurs weren’t going to fly with Scott Hunter’s team. If he dared utter anything even remotely homophobic, the New York Admirals entire roster would come crashing down on him. It hadn’t been a completely smooth road for the team since Scott came out—a few players had felt blindsided and uncomfortable by Scott’s very public announcement—but now, over two years later, there wasn’t a single man on the team who wouldn’t defend their captain.
Eric didn’t miss the way Kent glared at Scott on the ice, though. The sneers. Kent was a piece of shit.
And he probably wasn’t a fan of all the rainbow flags.
Since Scott came out, every arena the Admirals played in would have at least a couple of rainbow flags in the crowd. Sometimes there would be homemade signs thanking Scott, or proposing marriage to him. The flags might be for Scott, but Eric was heartened by them too. It was nice to feel supported, even if the fans didn’t know they were showing support for him, specifically.
He wondered how many other players secretly felt that way. Maybe some of homophobic Dallas Kent’s unfortunate teammates. He remembered, again, that Ryan Price was gay, and it had been his job toprotectKent. How was Kent even still alive?
Eric narrowed his eyes at Kent as the asshole waited to take the face-off. “You see that guy? He doesn’t get a thing past us tonight, all right?” His goalposts were silent, but Eric was pretty sure they understood their orders.
Fortunately, Scott won the face-off and the puck was carried quickly to the opposite end of the ice. Eric stood up straight and shook out his shoulders, which had been tight for the past couple of days.
“Pass it to Carter, he’s all alone over there,” Eric muttered. But instead Scott took a shot that was deflected, and now Kent was racing toward Eric with the puck. “Okay, fellas. Remember what I said. He gets nothing by us.”
Matti caught up with Kent, so Kent dropped the puck back to his linemate, Troy Barrett, who Eric had always secretly thought of as “Dallas Kent-light.” He was almost as talented, and almost as gross. At least, Eric assumed he was because he was known to be tight with Kent, and Eric didn’t think someone could be friends with Kent unless they were a shitty person too.
So Troy Barrett wasn’t allowed to score on him either.
