I haven’t talked to my father ever since he called me back in November two years ago, when the news about my boyfriend spread. The boyfriend who is in fact not my boyfriend.
The interview that evening after the game was interesting to say the least. Instead of asking about the game or hockey in general, most of the questions were about me and thatboyfriendof mine. Some reporters don’t know what privacy is, so they went all in with asking my teammates how they feel about having “a gay one on the team”. None of their questions were answered, it’s what PR told us was the best to do: ignoring all of those questions, denying wherever we can.
I believe if Colin and Aaron hadn’t been there with me, I wouldn’t have been able to stay as calm as I did, internally, anyway. I’m always sort of calm on the outside, not wanting people to be able to read me like I read them. But I could feel my nerves, I was scared during the interview, nervous. I didn’t know what would happen next. It seemed like everything would stay the same, but it didn’t.
The Team Manager was forced to throw out a statement because my teammates were harassed because of me, and I wish that was the worst that happened.
“If I wanted to, Miles, I could sort out myfamily issueson the phone.” It’d only take a quick,I’m getting married to a woman, and my father would be the happiest man alive. “So what are you actually asking me to do?”
“Dude, you’ve been worse the past year-and-a-half than you’ve ever been. Just yesterday, Brooke asked me why you never smile anymore,” he tells me, now taking a seat by my kitchen island while I make my way over to my fridge to get myself a bottle of water. It’s the best I can think of doing to delay this conversation.
I’ve been trying to be more honest and open with Miles, so I know I should give into the conversation eventually… but as long as I find things to delay it, I’ll take it.
“All you do recently is hide here or in your hotel rooms.”
“That’s because I don’t like having my picture taken andrecently,wherever I go, that seems to be the only thing on people’s minds.” It’s more or less the truth. I know having my pictures taken comes with the job, and it’s not like theyonlytake pictures of me. Sometimes some people walk up to me as well and ask the most random questions, which wouldn’t be a problem if a whole lot of those didn’t include my dating history.
Sensing my best friend’s disappointment, I turn to him and scowl. “It’s been fifteen months, Miles,” I state. “Fifteen. If it turned out someone else on the team was now committed to someone, nobody would give a shit for longer than a week, and I amstillgetting attacked. So, if that puts me in a bad mood, then fucking deal with it, okay?”
The NHL might try to be more open-minded, but there are still a whole lot of toxic masculinity standards as well as homophobia within the NHLandcoming from fans. Being the odd one in this system puts you on a stage with tons of eyes staring at you, just watching, while others throw tomatoes and screamboo!from the top of their lungs. There’s no support, even if individual teams claim to support their queer players. Sure, they have to throw out some statements because that’s to be expected from the public and without those statements, the teams will be called out for their homophobia, but it’s different behind closed doors.
Though, I do have to say, my team is very supportive of me. Most of them don’t care about seeming rude publicly when someone tries to attack me, and they don’t give a shit when PR tells me to keep quiet should reporters ask stupid questions about my private life. A bunch of the guys on my team call out the interviewers for false behavior and asking inappropriate questions. But even in my team, there are a few guys who won’t get close to me, guys who eye me with disgust, guys who leave the shower room when I enter because they fear I’d jump them.
“Ever think that maybe they’re still asking questions becauseyounever gave a statement at all?”
“I shouldn’t have to.” What am I even supposed to say? Sure, I could let PR write a statement for me and I’ll post it online or sit myself down in front of a camera and read it aloud, but what would it change? There’s still going to be people sending fucking hate-mail to the arena in hopes I’ll open it.
Every single time we’re back there for either a game or practice, there are at least three packages for me, none of them include a sender name or address. The first couple of times, I opened the packages, thinking it might be something important, but the things I’ve seen…
The less bad packages included things like dildos or lube as a “ useful gift”, like I’d ever use either of them. But there were also the horrifying packages, ones where you could smell the contents of the package without having opened it.
“You’re right, you shouldn’t. But I am not talking about giving a statement about your sexuality, Grey. I am talking about clearing the air. People think you’ve been dating that Malibu guy for a year now, all because you never denied the rumors. Of course they’re going to keep on asking if you never say you’re not dating him. And if you were dating him, you could at least say you were and then that question would also disappear.”
It wouldn’t disappear. People would still keep on asking because there’s always someone who doesn’t know, but at least they could google an answer.
“Luan and I don’t even talk anymore.” Not ever since that ice rink date or whatever that was. Once again, I did my very best to push him away and I don’t think there’s ever going to be a way to get back from there. I didn’t just ghost him once, but now twice… if there were any chances for him and I together, I ruined them.
And the last message he received from me was a clear cut as well. I straight up told him we couldn’t talk anymore.
Telling him we could no longertalkhurt more than a stupid breakup.
“What about your father?” Miles asks, I shake my head. “If you don’t want to talk to your father yet, that’s fine, you know? But you should take a few days off to clear your head. Go somewhere fun, where you can be yourself.”
Without saying so much as one word, I turn away from Miles and make my way over to my bedroom, locking the door so he can’t follow me. He’ll have to leave eventually to catch his flight, so until then, I suppose I am trapped in my own bedroom only to avoid a conversation I am not ready to have.
Chapter 2
“I’m sure you’re busy now, why else would you ignore me?”—Break My Heart Again by FINNEAS
February 2024
“Five more!”
I don’t think twenty-five extra squats will hurt the kids. Not today anyway. They’re here to feel some pain. It’s valentine’s day, and all the kids in relationships did the right thing and listened to my warning—that I give them every year—about showing up today. Except for that one couple who gets hated on big time.
Anything they do, even just looking at each other, one of the guys comments something like, “I swear to god, one more of those looks and I’m gonna puke.” or “Anyone interested in sleeping on the highway tonight?”
I am interested.