Last March, Grey was in L.A. for a game, and he didn’t come see me. I wasn’t mad because I thought his schedule was just really tight, or he didn’t want to be so close to his father yet, and he apologized like a million times. It was okay with me, I ended up going to his hotel, but even there he told me to try and leave the hotel without anyone seeing me.
It’s… weird. Having to sneak around, not being able to love him out in the open, not being allowed to be seen with him.
—
I don’t sit with Miles in the VIP area, figured a little moment to myself after the encounter with my boyfriend is much needed.
After a couple of years of forcing myself to watch every single one of Grey’s games, I finally picked up on some of the rules of the game. I am no longer as clueless as I was when I watched my first game, but Miles could’ve at least told me when I missed something, like when the fans of the team I am rooting for are yelling with frustration when I don’t see anything wrong.
The NYR are winning it seems, so why are they upset?
As always, there’s someone lying on the ice or getting pushed up against the boards, so nothing new there either.
It is until I finally realizewhois pushing someone up against one of those walls.
Well, that would definitely be a red card if this was soccer.
Why don’t ice hockey games have red cards. Surely they have something similar because I know the players can get sent to the penalty box for some time, which might as well be the equivalent to a yellow card. Though, I’m not sure if they can get suspended for the entirety of the game. I don’t care either.
What I do care about, however, is why the fuck my boyfriend is now throwing hisfistsat one of the opponents, not stopping even when the referee tries to get between them.
“It’s always the quiet ones,” I hear someone mutter under their breath from behind me. I would love to open my mouth and argue with that dude, but then I see that guy Grey’s fighting take a swing and launch his gloved fist right into Grey’s face. Thank god for that helmet, but still, what the fuck?!
Chapter 6
“but we know this, we got a love that is hopeless”—Secret Love Song by Little Mix, Jason Derulo
September 2026
My first gameas the team captain and I couldn’t be more excited, at least on the inside. I doubt anyone really notices my nerves, but that’s alright because I don’t want them to either.
All my earlier worries leave my brain the second the referee drops the puck. The world’s tuned out, all that matters is winning this game. Imagine if we lost, that’d look bad for me.
Unfortunately, I didn’t reach the puck first. Fortunately, I’m good at stealing pucks from others, so it only takes two seconds before the puck is in my possession. Quickly, I shoot the puck over to my left toward Aaron. He brings the puck forward until three of the opponents circle him, that’s when he shoots it back to me, and I pass it over to our right defenseman, who then secures us the first goal.
It only takes seconds to get the puck into the opponents net, if executed flawlessly. This goal counts as one of those.
First goal of this season since the season officially starts tomorrow, and I got to assist. Being the one to have shot the goal would’ve been better, but I can accept an assist. It’s ateamsport after all.
Minutes pass and it has got to bemomentsbefore halftime. Although the Islanders scored a few goals, my team’s still leading by one point.
The first goal after halftime is executed by me, coast to coast. I start off by our goal, skate down the entire left side toward the opponents’. A few players try to get in my way, cut me off, and steal the puck from me but with a sidestep to my right, I manage to keep the puck in my possession. Then I shoot, and hit the net.
It’s a great day for the hockey gods to be on my side.
We’re winning, though that is easily changed in the blink of an eye. That is until I find myself snatching the puck from Saxon, the Islanders’ center player, and that guy almost loses it.
Just when I pass the puck to one of my teammates, Saxon skates up right in front of me. His eyes lock with mine, angry, but that’s nothing new on the ice. When I think he’s about to bump his shoulder against mine when passing me, I’m quite literally surprised when instead he reverts back to insults.
A classic.
“Asshole,” he mutters, which I don’t even react to because this is mostly the game talking. It’s the heat of the moment, both teams want to win and so yes, words likeassholeget thrown around a lot. But what leaves his mouth nextdoesearn him a reaction. “Gays like you shouldn’t even be allowed to play sports.”
I snort and shake my head, giving him more of a reaction than anyoneevergets from me. Guys like Saxon get insulted by people like me. They feel threatened because a queer person beat them, and that shouldn’t be possible, right?
Over the years, I’ve learned that no matter what I do, there are always going to be people out there hating me for who I am, for loving who I choose to love, and that’s okay. It’s okay because at least it’s me who chooses to love someone, and as long as I’m happy with my decisions, nobody gets to tell me who the fuck I can and cannot love.
But whatreallygets me is what follows.