Page 33 of The Last Guy On Earth
“No, Clazy. Just open it.”
I take the box and lift the lid. The silk necktie inside is mostly blue, because Kaitlyn knows I’m too superstitious to wear a tie in any other color. But this tie has a rep-stripe pattern that alternates blue stripes with perfect rainbow stripes. It’s the classiest Pride tie the world has ever seen.
For a long moment, I just stare at it.
“Comeon,” she says. “It’s perfect. I squealed when I found it.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice thick. “It’s exactly the right tie. And I will wear it tonight.”
“Then why are you making that pissy face? Wait—did you buy yourself the same one?”
“No.” I lift the tie from its box, the expensive silk sliding against my fingers. “I’m pissed because Ididn’tbuy myself this tie. I never bought it, and I don’t know how long it might have taken me to buy it.”
“Oh,” she says quietly. “That’s why you’re so stressed out?”
“Well, yeah. This is a watershed moment for hockey. I’m the head coach—the guy who the players are trusting to carry the flag in this battle—but I’ve never been brave enough to let anyone know what this means to me personally.”
“Okay.” My sister’s expression gentles. “And here comes Newgate, showing everybody how it’s done.”
“He’s a goddamn inspiration.” I dig my fingers into the muscle between my neck and shoulder, which is suddenly spasming.
My sister hops off my desk. “Sit,” she says, pointing at a chair. “Let me work on that.”
I do as she asks, because I’m not one to turn down a free neck massage. She circles the chair and digs her thumb right into the sorest spot on the first try.
“Look, I know you’re going to be under a microscope,” she says. “There will be trolls and haters…”
“Whatever. I can handle the haters. I can behave like a professional, even if I’m raging inside.”
“Yeah, I know you can,” she says soothingly. “Nobody is more professional than you. But please don’t beat yourself up about the rest of it. You always put the team first. That’s why you’re still in the closet.”
I look down at the rainbow tie in my hands, and I wonder if that’s even true. “That’s the story I tell myself, isn’t it? When I got the assistant coach’s job, I thought—I better zip my lip until I’m in charge. But after I got my promotion, I changed my tune again. I told myself that I couldn’t be a distraction. I couldn’t take the focus off the players.”
“What did I just say about not beating yourself up? This is a big deal. Let yourself feel all the feelings.”
There’s a tap on the door, and then it opens and Tate, our publicity guy, slips in. “Hey Kaitlyn!” he greets my sister. “Happy holidays. It’s good to see you again.”
She finishes my massage with a pat on my shoulder. “You too, Tate. And does that mean I can ask you to scare up a ticket for me?”
He chuckles. “Sure thing. Hey, Coach?”
“Something wrong?” I ask. I’m so jumpy today.
“No—this is just a head’s up. There’s a news truck outside the facility.”
“Fuck.Here?” I’d expected them at the arena tonight, but I don’t want the journos harassing my players while they’re trying to get into their gameday mindset.
He shrugs. “I’ll give them a statement and explain that we don’t do interviews until after the game. Just didn’t want you blindsided.”
“Thanks,” I grumble.
“Hey—that’s a great tie,” he says. “Where’d you get it? I think I need one.”
“Bloomingdale’s,” my sister says smoothly.
“Awesome.” Tate jots that down on the notepad he’s always carrying. “Listen, Coach, I just want you to know that it’s an honor to be part of this organization. The way you’ve supported Newgate so bravely.” He looks up from his notepad and gives me a blinding smile. “I couldn’t be more impressed.”
Both my shoulder muscles tense.
