Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
I had no choice but to wait till morning.
Doom-scrolling wasn’t good for anyone. How much “people are terrible, the world is fucked, and your career hasn’t started and it’s already finished” can one person handle? Apparently, a whole damn night’s worth. I didn’t sleep at all. By sunrise, I was a bleary-eyed, over-caffeinated mess.
I needed direction, a plan, and I really needed to talk to Malcolm.
Unfortunately, my dad called first.
“Randall called last night and said you’ve been caught in a compromising position…with a man. Please tell me that’s not true.” No hello, how are you?
“It’s not true.”
Dad breathed a sigh of relief. “I didn’t think so. You’re too smart for that. Call Randall and tell him—”
“It was a kiss. Not a compromising position,” I clarified.
Silence.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
My father hissed. “This is going to look bad for you. Do you understand that? I told you not to advertise your sexual exploits. This happened because you don’t listen and gee…you never listen.”
I worked my jaw, my nostrils flaring with anger and frustration. If I didn’t hang up now, it wouldn’t go well for either of us. “I have to go.”
“Call Randall.”
I ended the call and texted Malcolm, Are you awake? Can I come over? It’s important.
Nothing.
I showered, shaved, and dressed, and was halfway to the door when my phone buzzed again with two new messages. Coach wanted me to stop into his office ASAP, and Randall was now speaking in all caps.
CALL ME NOW, ERICKSON. NOW!
I sent a thumbs-up emoji to Coach and told him I’d be there in ten minutes, then decided to bite the bullet and deal with Randall.
“Finally! Christ almighty, Erickson. What hair I have left is now gray. Thanks a fucking lot.”
“Sorry, I—”
“Don’t speak. I’ve got two minutes to brainstorm, and it’s easy. You either come out, and that’s cool. Syracuse is a great organization, they’ll be fine with it. However, I’m not sure the AHL will be as welcoming. I could be wrong, but I think you’re fucked,” he commented matter-of-factly. “Other option and the better one…deny it. Hey, it’s a blurry pic, it wasn’t you, or it’s a girl with short hair or whatever.”
“Deny it?” I scoffed. “It’s obviously me and—”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he growled. “My job isn’t to judge you. I really don’t care if you’re gay, bi, straight, pan, or whatever. My job is to help you get a fucking job. I can’t help you if you’re going to sabotage yourself. My God, Jett, this is hockey. You know what you’re up against. You know how hard it is to get a seat at the table in the pros. Don’t fuck this up.”
The line was dead before I could reply.
I slumped forward, leaning my elbows on my knees, head in hands. Tears welled. I blinked them away furiously, pissed at myself for even thinking I had a right to them.
But I felt raw. And very fucking alone.
I tried Malcolm again, and this time, he answered and I could have cried. Seriously. That was how strung out I felt.
“You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” I said, pulling on a jacket. I wanted to curl up on the sofa, but I couldn’t keep Coach waiting. “Are you okay?”
“Me? I’m fine…yes. And after a grueling morning, I’m at my abode.”
I smiled. An actual smile on a shit-tastic gray day. “Cool. Look, I have to stop at the rink to see Coach. I’ll come by afterward.”
He agreed—or, no…he acquiesced to meet with me. The fancy speech wasn’t a great sign, but I had to deal with Coach first.
Coach Beekman was imposing on and off the ice. He didn’t suffer fools or put up with bullshit, and he had the world’s best poker face. After ten minutes of blathering on about hidden cameras being a violation of privacy, I clued in that he wasn’t really listening. So I shut up and let him take over.
He sized me up for a long moment. I swore I heard birds chirping outside his window and melting snow dripping from the rooftop.
“Your scientist fixed it. The picture has been taken down and the Smithton news boy should be posting his apology within the hour. Case closed. Enjoy your day off, Erickson.”
My mouth was open. Not a great look, but I wasn’t tracking.
“Uh…what?”
Coach snorted. “You need me to spell it out? Okay. Mr. Maloney has a crush on you, kid. It happens. He confessed that he’d rashly instigated a one-sided kiss that unfortunately went viral on campus. It should have stayed private, but it didn’t, and it took some balls for him to admit that he’d put you in a bad position. He’s a TA here, so this might be a tough one for him, but—hey! Erickson, where’re you goin’?”
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
I ran through the quad and into town on streets marred with dirty snow piled at the curbs. Passersby did double takes at the wild man cutting across traffic. A few even called my name. I ignored them and raced up Malcolm’s street, panting as I slipped into his building behind a resident and took the stairs two at a time.