Picks & Pucks (5 page)

“I did not,” I said.

“Here it is,” she said and scooped the shirt off the floor and set it on my pillow.

“Ah, that’s so sweet,” Danny said. He stood in my doorway, all disheveled from a night of sleep. “You know Detroit owns my rights. And here I didn’t even know you liked hockey.”

I scowled and Janae laughed, spilling my secrets to him about the time I’d caught my brother wearing my Red Wings shirt. I’d pitched a major fit at the dinner table and wouldn’t shut up until my dad made Jack take the stupid thing off. While Janae talked, I created clever ways to murder my sister.

“You both need to get the hell out of here so I can get dressed,” I growled.

“Jeesh, you’re crabby in the morning,” Danny said. I threw a tennis shoe at him. His laughter echoed down the hall.

“What the fuck is he doing up so early?”

“I don’t keep track of his schedule, but he usually takes an early run.”

“Just… this is fucking nuts. I can’t handle…. Holy shit,” I growled, and Janae backed out of my room and disappeared downstairs. The demons pushed and pushed, trying to force the memory out. I couldn’t believe he heard her talking about that stupid shirt and that she went and told him how I wore the fucking thing all the time. It wasn’t good to get this worked up in the morning. I clamped my eyes shut and tried to take some calming breaths. No way was I going to let the demons win. Not this early.

“Justin!” Janae shouted. “Dad’s here.”

I threw on the rest of my clothes and raced down the stairs, almost knocking Danny over in my haste to get out the door.

“Nice Wings shirt. I wonder where it came from?”

“Fuck off,” I said as I ran out the door. The demons caught up with me and tried to start the memory, but I refused to let down my guard. I was not going to think about it.

“Good morning, Justin,” my dad said when I climbed into the warm car. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks.” I took a quick sip of the steaming liquid.

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “So how’s the skating coming along? Marina called me the other day and told me you’ll be competing at Skate America and the Trophee, er, the one in Paris for the Grand Prix series.”

“Um, yes,” I said, staring at him. He never asked about my competitions. He never asked about anything when it came to figure skating. I wasn’t even sure if the man driving the car was my dad.

“Do you need the quads for these competitions?”

“Quads?” I repeated.

“Yes, I know they aren’t a consistent jump for you yet.”

“Why are you asking me these questions?”

“I’m interested in your skating.”

“Since when?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m trying, Justin. I’m not going to lie and say it’s been easy. You were a talented hockey player, and it’s been hard for me to let that go. And….” He clenched his jaw.

“Say it, Dad. I need to hear you say it.”

“Justin,” he said.

“I don’t think we’ll ever move forward unless we can both say it.”

“You and your mother hid the lessons from me, sneaking around, not trusting me with the truth.”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t work out so well for me when you found out.”

“That’s just it, Justin. You never told me. Maybe it would have been easier if you had sat down and explained everything.”

“We tried that once before. For some reason, Mom decided I needed to tell you I was gay. Remember all the shitty things you said to me? I tried to tell you I couldn’t help who I fell in love with, but you got angry. I know you didn’t like me, and I figured telling you about figure skating would put you over the edge. When you did find out, you made it perfectly clear I was an idiot for choosing skating.

“Skating made me happy, and Mom knew it. But the main thing is she would have been happy with me playing hockey, skating, or singing in the school choir. I didn’t need to prove myself to her. She just loved me.”

I looked out the window and swallowed several times. This was overwhelming enough and he didn’t need to see my tears. He pulled into the arena parking lot and stopped the car. The silence between us weighed heavy on me, and the demons swarmed the windows, until one of my dad’s assistant coaches tapped on the glass, making the pests scatter.

“Hey, Jamie,” he glanced in the car. “Oh hi, Justin.”

“Hi,” I said, wondering how this guy knew my name. I didn’t recognize him.

“Justin, this is Craig Staylen, my new assistant coach.”

Craig smiled warmly, so I got out of the car and shook his hand.

“Justin,” my dad pleaded, “we should finish this.”

He seemed relieved when I waved him off. That was enough for one day.

“Why don’t you head inside the arena? I’ll be there in a few minutes,” my dad said.

I grunted and left the two men talking about some new kid who was going to help them make it to the Frozen Four.

I opened the door and almost ran into a herd of hockey players.

“Hey, figure skating guy,” some tall guy shouted, waving widely. “You here for your ice dancing lesson?”

“Is that the best you’ve got? You must have been hit in the head with a puck one too many times,” I said. I shoved past them, figuring Danny must have got to them already. Or else my reputation preceded me and they were scared of the gay boy in their building. I swear, some hockey players thought my sexuality would rub off on them or something. “Fucking idiots,” I mumbled.

He sputtered and flipped me off. They said some other shit about glitter and skating dresses. Lame shit at best.

My dad’s office was locked so I slid down the wall and leaned against the door. Hockey players never changed, and even though I held my own with them, I was tired of defending myself.

More hockey players filed past me. I did my best to ignore them.

The tour didn’t take long. Before I moved to California, I’d practiced a lot in this arena. At least this time around, I’d have a small place of my own. Since my sister had started coaching some elite skaters, the university had decided to share the ice time and the space. They had a small locker room reserved for skaters. The room was nice and clean and away from the hockey players. I’d had nightmares that I was going to have to share a locker with the hockey players.

“Can I take a few laps on the ice?”

My dad smiled. “Certainly. The guys are doing some dryland training, so no one should bother you. I think both sheets are open, but you’re welcome to skate on the main sheet.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“Justin, about our conversation.”

“I’m not ready yet,” I said.

“Okay, do you mind if your old man watches you skate?”

I sputtered, searching for words, but I couldn’t think of any reason to tell him no. “I suppose.”

My dad asking to watch me skate was weird. He’d never wanted to watch before. My mom had always been my cheering section. Janae knocked on the locker room door before she came in, carrying my skates.

“I just had them sharpened,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“What’s up with you?”

“Dad asked to watch me skate.”

“That’s a good thing, Justin.”

I spent the next hour very aware of my dad checking out my moves. Some of the hockey players slipped into the arena and were about to yell at me, when they spotted my dad. They politely clapped when I landed a triple triple. I resisted the urge to flip them off.

“Jeesh, kid, you look great,” my dad said, patting me on the shoulder.

“Thanks.”

“Anything you need,” he said. “Just ask.”

I nodded, and he disappeared down the tunnel.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Danny Jackson said.

“Fuck off,” I muttered and skated to the opposite end of the ice. Danny whistled and shouted something about a skirt. The guy gave me a fucking headache. When he couldn’t get a rise out of me, he disappeared down the tunnel, leaving me alone on the ice.

About twenty minutes later, when I was in the middle of my free skate, the ice suddenly filled up with hockey players in full uniform. Danny skated by me and said something about a captain’s practice.

“Go use the Olympic sheet!” I shouted.

“Women’s hockey team has it.”

“You’re a fucking prick,” I said.

Truthfully, I was done with practice. It just pissed me off that these jerks couldn’t wait until I stepped off the ice.

A few of the idiots tried to chase me around the ice, but I easily outskated them, jumping over the boards before any of them could touch me. I flipped them off and left them to beat the shit out of each other.

Over the next few days, the fucking hockey team made it a point to interrupt my ice time every chance they could get. Danny and I spent a lot of time screaming at each other about who had the right to be on the ice. He insisted he wasn’t doing it on purpose, that he had the right as captain to call practices. With so many freshmen on the team, he felt like they needed the extra ice time. Janae and Eli turned into referees at the dinner table. Most of the time, I couldn’t tell who they sided with, and that pissed me off even more.

The final straw came after a long practice where I had spent most of my time sliding across the ice on my ass. After a brutal fall and some loud cursing, Danny stepped on the ice and bumped against me, almost knocking me down again with his stupid shoulder pads.

“It’s our ice now, twinkle toes.”

“Is that it today? You’re a fucking dipshit. Get the hell away from me, or I’ll douse you with my fairy dust,” I growled at him. I grabbed my skate guards off the boards and tossed them at his head. They bounced off his helmet. He laughed and blew me a kiss. I gripped the edge of the boards so hard my fingers turned white.

“Goddammit!” I shouted. This needed to stop, and the only way I knew how to shut all of them up was to take them on at their own game.

My head felt like it was going to explode as I stomped down the tunnel and shoved open the door to my locker room. I dumped the contents of my bag on the floor and stared at the pair of hockey skates that tumbled out. I grabbed them and headed toward my dad’s office. I slammed open the door, drawing everyone’s attention away from a video playing on the screen.

“Justin? What’s going on?” my dad asked. Coach Staylen stopped the video, and they all looked at me.

“I need a jersey and some equipment.” I sat down and tossed the skates on the floor at my dad’s feet.

“Justin, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” my dad argued.

“I know it’s not, but I can’t take this shit anymore,” I said. “It won’t take long to shut them up.”

“Where did you get those skates?”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I didn’t kill a hockey player and steal his skates. They’re mine. I need them sharpened.”

He studied my face for a few minutes. “Marina is going to have my balls for breakfast.”

“She doesn’t need to know.”

He stooped over and picked up my skates, mumbling about stupid ideas before he instructed Coach Strom to find Jeff and have him sharpen them. He sent Coach Staylen to get some pads and a uniform.

“Let’s get you a stick,” he said to me. I couldn’t help being impressed that I would be allowed into the sacred stick vault. Only a few people had access to this room, because so much money was tied up in the sticks.

“You’re about the same height as Rusty,” my dad said.

He handed me a stick, and I flipped it around, checking the weight and the feel of the grip. “I need some tape.”

“Feel good?” he asked.

“Not bad,” I said.

My dad took a deep breath. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

We headed out of the vault, and I waited for him to lock it up before going back to his office.

“Justin,” he said, “I know some of the players have been less than accommodating toward you. I wanted to say something to them, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate the interference.” He sighed.

I nodded, and he clapped me on the back and squeezed my shoulder.

It felt weird to be in uniform again. The coaches all eyed me, and I wondered if my dad had ever told them I used to play hockey. My dad flipped me a mouth guard. Coach Strom handed me my skates and watched as I laced them up.

“Craig, go out there and make sure they all know if someone gets hurt, I will personally cut their balls off,” my dad said.

Coach Staylen jogged down the tunnel ahead of me, but stopped before he stepped on the ice.

“Anything you want?” he asked me.

“Just put me with Rusty and some freshmen.”

He nodded, blew his whistle, and I stepped on the ice. No one even gave me a second glance. I skated around the rink, getting used to the hockey skates. It didn’t take long. I’d spent most of my childhood in hockey skates, and besides playing a few pickup games here and there, I still laced up the hockey skates when I needed a break from figure skating.

Coach Staylen blew the whistle again, and the guys gathered around him.

“Hello, sweetheart,” I whispered to Danny when I skated by him. He scowled, but I didn’t think he recognized me.

“We’re going to play a little bit,” Coach Staylen said. He quickly divided the teams, following my request and teaming me with several freshman and Ratislav, or Rusty, as the players called him. What the team didn’t know was that I knew Rusty from my playing days. He had been at several of the hockey camps I had attended.

“You still good?” Rusty asked.

“Better.”

“What’s the plan?” some kid asked.

“Get him the puck,” Rusty said, pointing at me, “and be prepared to be amazed.” Rusty leaned against me and whispered, “I never told anyone I know you or talked about your hockey career.”

“Probably smart. They wouldn’t have believed you anyway.”

“They will now.” He fist-bumped me and nodded.

Coach Staylen gave a few more instructions and issued some strong warnings with severe consequences if anyone injured someone on purpose.

“Keep the checking to a minimum,” he commanded. “These are your teammates.”

He blew his whistle again and dropped the puck. I took the face-off, and the guy barely got his stick on the ice before I swept the puck back to Rusty. He snapped a quick pass back to me, and I blew by Danny, the D-man, faked out some guy nicknamed Bones, and lit the lamp, catching Cory “The Wall” Walsh with his gate wide open. Danny and his teammates grumbled and gathered in a tight huddle. I was sure they were busy making excuses for failing to catch me.