Page 17 of Scoring Slater
Guilt and want and regret clawed at his stomach, a monster of his own creation. "Yeah."
"You're an asshole." The chair scraped the floor as Slater rose. His eyes had iced over and the chill in his voice made Noah shiver. He grabbed his coffee and his phone and walked past Noah without making eye contact. His features were set like stone.
Noah gripped the edge of the counter. "Slater."
He stopped, but didn't turn around. "I'm going to pack. We're leaving for the airport in half an hour. Be ready or find your own way there."
Cold shot through him. Hugging himself, Noah stared at the steam rising from the mug of tea. Slater was right, he was an asshole.
* * *
Hours later, stuck in the hot seat during his interview slot for Media Day, Noah answered another version of a question he'd just been asked about how it felt to be at the game and representing his team. In the spotlight, the center of attention, with a horde of reporters, and cameras rolling was pure hell.
The event was one hundred times larger than the media attention after games and practices and even the annual fan event the team held in Buffalo. Everywhere he turned, someone had a camera and a microphone. There was no escape. He loathed when the Bedlam's social media team filmed the players as they entered the arena, goofed off at practice, and boarded and departed planes. It was like living in a fish bowl. For the bulk of the season, he could never lower his guard. The All Star experience was turning out to be the same.
Across the crowded room, Slater posed with fans in front of an elaborate backdrop of the Chicago skyline and the All Star Game's logo.
Noah's heart ached. Longing and regret swelled like waves. They'd barely spoken since that moment in the kitchen. He'd never had such an uncomfortably silent car ride or flight.
A reporter's question pulled his attention once again. "How does it feel to be sharing this experience with your teammate?"
He forced his smile several watts brighter. "Taking part in this weekend is an honor. I know we're both excited to be here."
"How does it feel to be one of several openly LGBTQ players at this event?"
Swallowing a sigh, because he'd already answered several versions of that question several times that afternoon, he kept his smile in place and raised a roll of rainbow stick tape he and a few of the guys would be using in the skills competition and the game. "Great. This year's All Stars have the largest percentage of players from the queer community. I'm proud to be among them."
"Who are you looking to spend time with while you're here?"
"There's a lot of guys I'm looking forward to meeting. Isaiah Blake is one for sure. He knows Slater and our teammate Leo Brennan and I'm told he's a great guy." He paused when the person from league personnel stepped forward and announced his interview time was up. Thank goodness. He stood as he waved at the reporters to ensure the questions would stop. "Thanks, guys."
Freedom, finally.
He walked away from the throng, head down, shoulders hunched, hands tucked into his pockets. The silence and seclusion of his hotel room called to him like a beacon. All of the media attention he'd had over the past few hours, all of the questions that brought his sexual orientation into significance, reminded him too much of the frenzied attention he'd endured during the hockey draft, held in Chicago seven years earlier.
"Noah. Can I get a quote?" Casey Preston, the regional sports reporter who'd caused that media madness, forged out of the crowd and grabbed his forearm.
Shock froze his muscles for an instant. He yanked his arm away, glowering at the smarmy jerk. "No comment."
Casey pushed two steps closer. "Oh, come on, Noah. Just one quote?"
"You accost me when I'm alone, after the interview slot, that's bad enough. But having the balls to approach me at all? Unbelievable." Seething with anger, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. Here's your quote: It's been almost seven years and I'm still waiting for your apology."
Casey's plastic smile faltered. "The paper issued an apology."
"Bullshit. Their statement said they'd informed you that your actions were wrong, that you'd been fired, and that they'd urged you to take greater caution in the future. Where was your apology?"
A flush overtook his rat-like features and his gaze darted past Noah. "Uh. Look. I was under a lot of pressure back then. I was trying to edge out another reporter with a better scoop. I'm sorry, all right?"
Noah shook his head. His shoulders tightened and his hands curled into fists at his side. He'd been a top prospect, projected to be selected first or second overall. The attention from that alone had been overwhelming. But an hour before the draft, while he sat with his family and fellow prospects, Casey had outed him in a breathlessly overzealous online article that included photos of Noah and his then-boyfriend, screen-captured from his boyfriend's social media accounts.
The news spread like wildfire. He went fromhockey playertogay hockey playerin an instant. And everything had changed. At the center of a media firestorm, at eighteen, with people clamoring for his attention, analyzing his every move, and a level of scrutiny that ruined his relationship. "Sorry for what you did, or sorry that you caught so much bad press and condemnation from advocacy groups for doing it? I'm thinking it's more of the second one."
A shadow fell over his shoulder and then Slater stood by his side, his face all hard lines and not the least bit friendly. "Hey, Preston,I'llgive you a quote."
Uh oh.
He was desperately glad for the comfort of his friend's presence, but Slater didn't even glance at him. Drawing himself up to full, intimidating height, Slater stepped into Casey's space, as menacing as any of his beloved superheroes facing down an arch nemesis. "Here it is: Don't out anyone this weekend. End quote."
