Changing on the Fly Read online

  “Don’t even kid about something like that.”

  “Eh. You know it’s true, and you certainly earned it. Just sorry it didn’t come sooner, that you had to sit out with that injury.”

  “Sorry enough to tell me what the hell you were doing when you went after that guy?”

  Boone, who had been reorganizing his duffel bag, paused for the briefest second before returning to his task. “I don’t know if you are ready to hear the reason. I’m not even sure I want to admit it myself yet.” The other man turned and caught Nate’s gaze. “Just give me some time okay.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” He sighed. “Just a heads up, you might not want to be present for the next call.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Things are…tough…at home right now.” He pinched his nose. Was that a headache coming on?

  “Home?”

  “Tristan. I thought I was busy, but throw his schedule into the mix and we never see each other. Hell, I never told him about the tires or about what that asshole McGarrett called me after he sideswiped me.”

  “He found out, though?”

  Nate nodded. “The garage called, and one of his students also has a big mouth, evidently.”

  “I’d be lying if I said this business is easy on relationships. You have to work at it.” Boone grabbed some items from his bag. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said, placing his hand on Nate’s shoulder for a moment before he headed to the bathroom.

  A long sigh. Nate picked up his phone from the bed and typed out a quick message on two of his social media pages. Keeping the fans updated was important when so many had expressed their support even as others spewed hatred.

  Procrastinating even further, he searched his name on the internet, calling up video, photos and GIFs from the game. One news outlet captured his first exchange with the two fans. A quick tap shared the item with his followers on his social media accounts.

  Had Nate been paying attention, he wouldn’t have opted to pick up the phone in that moment, but his emotions being what they were, he didn’t look at the caller ID or think about the familiar “Come and Get Your Love” ringtone.

  “Hello?”

  “Now that you’re the big man you decide to answer your phone?”

  Nate closed his eyes and hung his head. “Hey, Tristan.”

  “Are you ignoring my texts? I asked you to call me.”

  “Sorry. It’s been a big day.”

  “Uh-huh. And when were you going to tell me about your other recent big days.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I had to hear from complete strangers that your tires were slashed and that some arsehole used you as his verbal punching bag.”

  “I didn’t think it was important.” The excuse was feeble to his own ears.

  “Not important? Dammit, Nate, did you forget that there are two gay men in this relationship? That maybe the situation affected both of us?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You are a gay man living in a highly heterosexual man’s world. Ever since we moved to Raleigh, you have had your head stuck so far in the bloody sand you might as well have disappeared back in the proverbial closet.”

  “Hey! Don’t throw your Freudian shit at me. I am not some patient in one of your damn experiments.”

  “There is something wrong with you, Nate. I’m not sure you know who you are anymore.”

  “I know I’m a hockey player first and foremost,” Nate stated. “Hell, you knew that when you asked me out.”

  “Honestly, Nate, back then I thought there was a time limit on your sports fantasy, but you had to excel. You had to be drafted. That changed things.”

  “So I guess what you’re saying is you’d love me more if I wore my suit on a 9-5 job at an investment firm then? You know by now, that’s not me, Tristan. I wouldn’t be happy in that life, not if I hadn’t at least tried to play professionally.” Nate shook his head. “You know what, if you can pull yourself away from the lab for a couple of hours when I get home, maybe we can discuss this further. Right now, I’d like to revel in the fact that I just played in my first professional game. I would have thought that my boyfriend would call to congratulate me.”

  “Nate, I – ”

  “No, Tristan. It’s late. I’m going to celebrate a bit more with my teammates – you know, people who act like they give a damn, then I need to get ready to play in my second game tomorrow. Good night.” Nate pushed the END button on his phone and shut off the device before slipping it into the top drawer of the bedside table.

  He was done.

  What should have been a celebration of the biggest night of his life had turned into a disaster.

  * * *

  NATE HADN’T MOVED since he’d hung up the call when Boone reappeared in the main suite a few minutes later, but he had every reason to suspect that the older man had heard at least his side of the conversation. Boone confirmed his suspicions by raiding the mini bar, pouring each of them a straight shot of whiskey then opening a pair of beers.

  “On me,” Boone said as he offered Nate the shot. Nate raised his eyebrow in doubt which caused Boone to throw up his hands in surrender. “I promise. Here’s to your first of many games in the league.”

  Nate lifted his glass with a nod, tossed back the shot, and chased it with a long pull from his beer. “He didn’t even acknowledge my first professional game. He knows how much I worked for this and he couldn’t even mention it. So fuckin’ blinded by his own bloody pride.”

  “I’m sure you understand why the guy feels hurt, though.”

  “Yeah. It’s just been so difficult to sit him down. Stubborn Brit.” He closed his eyes. “We were so worried that he would have to return to Liverpool after receiving his master’s degree that we thought it was such a blessing when he won the fellowship to study psychometrics at NC State.”

  “Wait. Psycho-what-trics?”

  Nate laughed. “Psychometrics. He deals with measuring psychological statistics – personality traits and stuff. Kind of like those questionnaires in magazines or aptitude tests.”

  Boone nodded and gestured for Nate to continue.

  “It was such a relief when we found out because hell if I knew when we would ever see each other again otherwise. Now, he lives in the same apartment, in same city, and I still wonder that same question.”

  “I’m sure you will figure it out.” Boone took a gulp from his own bottle as he sat on his own bed. “How did you guys meet?”

  “We’ve known each other since the beginning of my freshman year in Boston. New athlete orientation. He ran cross country. We were in the same group. They had us do all this team-building crap. Thought it would foster greater camaraderie between teams.” He chuckled. “No football team. The basketball team sucked for years. Hockey was the big game on campus. I think the real reason is they wanted the other athletes to get to know the hockey players, less animosity.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Tris and I were the only two athletes in our little section that weren’t from the States. Hell, I think hardly anyone else was from outside Massachusetts or at least, New England. We bonded over our use of the Queen’s English, I guess.”

  Shaking his head, Nate continued, “My gaydar needed adjusting because I never for a moment thought he was gay.”

  “In your defense, I’m sure the whole experience, being in college in the US, was probably overwhelming.”

  “Eh, I could have been distracted but honestly, I had a bit of a crush on him from day one. Turns out, he was trying to get my attention.” He tapped his temple. “A little slow on the uptake.”

  “Too many pucks to the head?”

  “Nah. I never played in goal…but I did ring one off my helmet in bantam.” He switched gears back to the original subject. “Finally figured it all out and decided to live the kind of life I wanted. I was away from home for the first time really. I was the one who asked him out, but the asshole said no. Idiot thought I was kidding because I’d blo
wn him off so much before. It was another month before I found the courage to try again.

  He thought for moment. “You know, Tristan always felt the need to question our relationship. He never had confidence in my ability to live in the spotlight. He asked me tonight if I knew who I was. Why do straight men never have their sexuality thrown into question?”

  Boone suddenly found the label on his bottle interesting. “I’ve wondered that,” he said simply. “Wish I had the answer for you.”

  “I do understand his hesitation about my capabilities to handle the situation, too. I mean, he always questions whether I understand how important this is.” He swallowed the last of his beer. “I wish that Tristan could have seen those two guys tonight. Maybe then he would start to realize at least part of why I’m doing this, why I can never go back. I know who I am, Boone. I do. I can be a hockey player and Tristan’s boyfriend. He just needs to fucking see it.”

  “I know you guys need to work this out, but let me know if you need a place to crash when we get back to Raleigh. Evie and I would be happy to have you. In fact, if you hadn’t decided to live with your boyfriend, the team had asked us to host you for the year.”

  “Guess it makes sense then.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why you latched on to me so readily at training camp.”

  Boone smiled. “Nah. You were never just some project, but if I were acting as your mentor, I’d tell you no more alcohol, and it’s damn time we got our asses in bed. New Jersey isn’t the pushover team they used to be.”

  “God, this schedule is brutal.”

  “Welcome to the big leagues, kid.”

  Chapter 5

  AS BOONE PREDICTED, the game in New Jersey was a tight one. Not that New York was easy, of course. Hell, with the way the Krewe typically played, no win came without a few bruises. Too many plays could have tipped it in either teams’ favor.

  But that was why Nate loved hockey. There was nearly as much luck as there was skill. He wanted to say that his goal that night against New Jersey was all about his natural talent, but truthfully, it was a lucky bounce.

  Carolina was on a power play at the time, and Nate cycled from the blue line to the top of the face-off circle trying to open up some space for the offense and his defender didn’t follow. He accepted a cross-ice pass and smacked a one-timer toward the net, where it ricocheted off an opponent’s leg in the crease and dribbled past the goaltender.

  No matter how he scored, it still counted as his first pro goal and he paid for it later, judging by the way every muscle ached the next day. Of course, if he was honest, the celebration his teammates threw him after the win might have caused some of the pain, too. Rather than gather around the minibar for a two-man party, Boone invited the same group that pranked him the first night in New York – minus the underage Finnish rookie – but this time, as the man of the hour, his drinks were free.

  “Maybe we should let him pay for dinner on every trip if this is how he responds,” remarked one teammate.

  “Our little secret weapon.” Buchanan wrapped Nate in a headlock and used his knuckles to muss the rookie’s dark hair.

  “Get the fuck off me, Bucky.” Nate pushed him away. “You’re going to make people wonder about you.”

  “Better to keep ‘em guessing anyway.”

  “And I’m not your damn team mascot. We already have one of those.”

  “Gay pirate?” Buchanan chuckled.

  “Is that what he’s supposed to be? Some internet meme?”

  Boone interjected. “He’s a buccaneer, you dumbasses. There’s a difference.”

  “Really?” The confused look on Buchanan’s face an obvious tell.

  Nate rolled his eyes. “Don’t think too hard. I don’t know how you can tell on sight. Not all of us have taken the time to read the team’s media guide like Fowler.”

  “Hey, it’s riveting stuff.” Boone’s defense was suspect.

  “Uh-huh. You are only interested in your own bio.”

  “You’re just jealous because mine is longer than yours.” Boone’s eyes grew wide.

  “You know it isn’t the size, Fowler. It’s what you do with it.” Nate winked as Boone squirmed, and all of the other guys laughed. Buchanan nearly spit out the sip of beer he ‘d taken only seconds before.

  “Well, shit. I walked into that one.”

  Nate raised his glass in victory.

  He wasn’t feeling as victorious the next morning as Carolina boarded the plane to travel from New York to Atlanta. The winter sun reflected brightly off the tarmac despite his sunglasses. His head felt as though it were being tightened in a vice. This wasn’t the concussion talking. He resolved no more late nights, especially after playing back-to-back games.

  Of course, his sudden headache had nothing to do with the fact that they were playing Atlanta the following night before returning home. As Murphy’s Law dictated, McGarrett had just finished serving out the last of his suspension. Although even if his nemesis was still sidelined, who was to say his teammates wouldn’t try for any kind of retaliation?

  Not that he was too concerned now with his teammates not backing him up.

  There was something about hockey and the fraternity that came with playing the game. He loved feeling like a part of a team again and in that way, maybe Tristan was right. Even if he hadn’t been drafted, he would be getting up at six in the morning to skate in some beer league before going to the office and sitting behind his desk. He would go out drinking with his teammates to celebrate after winning a rec league game on a Friday night at the local arena. Hockey was who Nate was, and it was time that Tristan recognized there was no letting that go.

  It didn’t matter the number of bigots he might need to face.

  “Hey, Wardo!” Buchanan yelled from the back of the plane.

  Nate flinched. “Does he have to be so damn loud?”

  Laughing, Boone scooted around him. “He’s your defensive partner. YOU do something about him.”

  “He’s a fucking redwood tree. Will you take him on for me?”

  Boone shook his head. “Sorry. On your own,” he said sidling into his seat.

  Buchanan sauntered up to Nate with one hand behind his back. “So, my friend, some of the guys and I thought that you deserved something worthy of your new position on the Krewe.”

  Buchanan presented him a black baseball cap with the Krewe Jolly Roger logo. Upon closer inspection, someone - although anonymous only in theory – had scribbled “Top Rookie” on the bill with a silver marker. “Go ahead. I figured you would be honored to wear it.”

  Nate sighed. Time for another great hockey tradition, humoring his teammates. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a speech prepared because I wasn’t certain I was worthy of such an award. I mean, this is bigger than the league’s Rookie of the Year.”

  Buchanan gasped. “No jinx. We promise he didn’t mean it,” he said lifting his eyes to the ceiling before admonishing Nate. “Don’t anger the hockey gods,” he whispered then turned to head to the rear of the plane. “Rookies.”

  “You’re just not right in the head, Bucky.”

  When Nate found his seat, he removed the hat. He intended to nap on the way to Atlanta. He then noticed the addition on the back that said: Mascot.

  Bastard. He shook his head even as his smile widened. Maybe he should ask to be traded back to New York when they touched down at their destination. Or maybe he could at least convince Coach to switch his defensive partner.

  The team scheduled its practice for after they arrived so the players were able to use the remainder of the day to recuperate and rest. Nate spent a couple of hours in the afternoon receiving treatment on his shoulder. The separation was sore after the hits he had sustained in the two previous games. After a whirlpool and some alternating heat and ice, the athletic training staff reassured him that the injury hadn’t worsened due to the more physical play.

  Nate finally let himself into his suite around mid-afternoon. He f
lopped face first onto the bed, the comforter muffling his announcement to the only other person in the room. Boone, who was reading on his tablet before being interrupted by Nate’s entrance, chuckled.

  “Rough day at the office, honey,” Boone teased.

  Nate moaned as he rolled onto his back. He closed his eyes against the busyness of the textured ceiling. “I feel twice my age.”

  “Just wait until you add a few years of the grind.”

  “Ugh. Why didn’t somebody warn me as a kid? I would have become something else like an astronaut.”

  “Probably would have meant less training,” Boone agreed. “So how’s that shoulder?”

  “Eh. It hurts. Dull ache really.”

  “You’ll live then.”

  Nate shrugged. “I’ll survive.” He maneuvered onto his side facing Boone. “You nervous?’

  “Why?”

  “You don’t think I know that McGarrett and his teammates are going to be gunning for you?”

  “Nah. Like that’s anything new? And they may well go after you again. You are the reason he’s suspended, not me.”

  Shit. Boone had to point that out? “Guess I’ll have to watch my back then.”

  “We got your back, too. You know any one of the guys would have gone after that asshole or any other players in the league had they done the same thing.”

  “You know, I can handle myself.” He didn’t want to be seen as some damn helpless child.

  “I’m sure, if given the opportunity, you sure as hell could. But you don’t have to.”

  Nate sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but it was time. “You know, I wondered why the hell would you do that shit? I’m just some rookie who was likely going to start the season in fucking Charleston. There was no reason for you to throw away the beginning of the season for me – even if it was only one game.”

  Boone’s look was one of disbelief. “I was standing up for a teammate, you ass. You may be a rookie but I would think that you know that’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”