Page 22 of Two for Holding
“So, Breezy’s pumped, terrified, and sad he’s been promoted to first D-pair.”
“Sad?”
“Well, yeah, it means East is out.”
Tom swallowed heavily.If he hadn’t been so stupid, Phil wouldn’t be out.He shouldn’t have reacted to hearing someone talk to Jax that way.But the words were so casually hateful, and he could tell they bothered Jax even if he tried to play it off as nothing.Tom hadn’t heard homophobic chirps on the ice in a long time.Hockey players talked plenty of shit, but no one had said anything so vulgar to him since Juniors.Naively, he’d thought the NHL better.Maybe he let himself be swayed into a false sense of security because people pretended not to be dicks when someone in their vicinity wore a microphone.But he hadn’t heard such offensive language from his team, either, not even in their locker room.Maybe he hadn’t heard it because he didn’t talk to them enough.Maybe they said hateful things all the time, and he’d never stepped up enough to stop it.
“Do other players say things like that to you a lot?”
“What, homophobic shit?”
“Yeah.”
Jax shrugged fluidly.His team-branded zip-up hoodie, one of the thin ones made from jersey cloth, no fleece, made his shoulders look obscenely broad.“Sure.You know how it is.”
Tom swallowed.“What about from our guys?”
“I mean, they’re not trying to make me lose face-offs most of the time.”
“But do they say—”
“Yeah, Tom.Of course they say homophobic shit.Howie thinks the f-slur is funny.”
“But you still hang out with him.”
Jax sighed.“What am I gonna do, ignore every player who says ignorant shit?That’s most of the league.”
“Most of the league,” Tom repeated dully.“Really?”
“Haven’t you been listening?”
Tom had stopped listening, actually.At some point in his twenties, when other players started chirping his lack of success, he’d stopped hearing their words, focused inward on his own struggles and failings.It was easier to put his head in the sand than to hear everyone else calling him a failure when he could cut out the middleman and tell himself.
Jax shook his head at whatever expression Tom was making.“Half of them probably don’t mean it.It’s what they’re used to hearing, so they say it too.”
“Doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know.But you don’t need to worry.They don’t know about me.I don’t fuck hockey players.”
On the list of things bothering him about this conversation, that hadn’t even crossed Tom’s mind.He opened his mouth to say so, but before he could, Jax barreled on.
“And I don’t need you out there protecting me or some shit.If you do, people will realize there’s something to hide.Just keep your head down and play hockey.”
“Stick to what I’m good at.”The words left a bitter taste in Tom’s mouth.He wasn’t good at being team captain; he wasn’t good at stopping all the hurtful, prejudiced words from being hurled at Jax; he wasn’t good at keeping his best friend from getting injured.He was only good at hockey, and not even enough to win anything significant.
Jax nodded, pleased.“Right.”
Despite the heaviness the exchange left in the pit of Tom’s stomach, he played some of the best hockey of his life, decimating the Twisters 5–2 in Carolina and earning a shutout for Dmitriyev in Nashville.Morris seemed cautiously pleased, inasmuch as he ever showed human emotion on the ice.He kept them running more balanced drills during practice, more hands-on than he’d been before.
Trout chafed against it.He stalked around the rink as the team completed a drill he hadn’t chosen, eyeing Breezy and Hayesie and the other D-men as if they were his property.There was no arguing the results though.With defense tightening up, the penalty kill did better than it had in years.Young as he was, Breezy stepped up for the team, showing he could handle the responsibility.
In Philly, a call-up from the AHL team in San Diego finally joined them for practice to cover the gap left by Phil.With a defensive core used to being worked to putty every practice, they’d managed admirably to keep up the energy for two games by subbing in one of the forwards who sat in the press box most games as a sixth D-man, but it was time and past they were given a little relief.
Luca Mazetti, a slim, fine-featured twenty-one-year-old, had nothing in common with Tom’s mental image of a D-man.He was almost comically handsome, with wide dark brown eyes and long eyelashes, full lips and thick dark hair.With a few more years playing hockey, when his straight nose had been broken a time or two and he’d lost a few teeth, maybe he’d be less incongruous in the locker room.Until then, Tom had an educated guess as to why he’d been languishing in the Italian league for two years after being drafted.
He stole a glance at Jax, who gave their newcomer an approving once-over.
Of course, Jax would approve.He didn’t fuck hockey players, and Luca looked nothing like a hockey player.
