31. BILSON

THIRTY-ONE

BILSON

With the randomness that is the NHL schedule, this is our first game against a Collective team since our run-in with Oskar Voyjik in Anaheim. Vegas is a force to be reckoned with, but I’m not so focused on the upcoming fight on the ice.

I’m distracted by the notion we’ll be playing against Tripp and Dex Mitchell, who are basically the put-together version of Miles and me.

Goalie and forward. Best friends who became more. Though, they’re married, and Miles and I are … floundering.

Or, more specifically, I think Miles is floundering. I don’t want to be a complication for him, and I don’t want to come between him and his family. Just spending lunch with them before we left, they’re the type of family I craved growing up. They’re supportive, even if they snark each other out. But I could tell Miles was uncomfortable with me being there.

He didn’t even want me to go with him to drop off Killer this time.

I want to ask Tripp and Dex how they handled their relationship, the coming out, and the pressure on them to do it or not do it. I remember seeing the articles, the news hitting the hockey world, but my thoughts about it extended to “Good for them” and then focused on my own crumbling marriage at the time.

Asking them how they navigated their situation would be a betrayal to Miles, though, because it’s impossible to ask them without giving away I’m in a relationship with a man. Even without naming names, it’s not like it would be difficult to work out who said man is.

But I don’t know how to help Miles when he’s obviously struggling, and talking to people who have been through the same or at least a similar thing might make it easier to deal with.

Because it sucks seeing him this way.

It’s around this point of a relationship, when the insecurity kicks in, that I’d propose prematurely and make things worse, but I can’t do that here, so I’ve got no ideas on how to fix it.

Who knew being in a same-sex relationship would cure me of my need to fix everything with a ring. This might take real work.

In the downtime between arriving at the arena and before having to dress for the game, I approach Miles, who’s at his cubby talking to his rocks. The others are either in their own conversations or kicking a soccer ball around to fill the time, and it might not be the best moment to bring this up with him, but I don’t want to spring it on him after the game either.

“Were you coming out after the game with the Mitchell Brothers?”

Miles glances around the locker room in a panic before realizing no one is listening. “Is it only weird to me that they’re husbands but still referred to as brothers?”

“Don’t yuck other people’s yum. Maybe they’re into brocest.”

Miles finally cracks a smile, but I’m scared I’m about to wipe it off his face. I pull him closer toward his cubby, keeping my voice low.

“I was thinking … and you can say no, but … I want to tell them.”

“You want to come out?” he whispers.

“Not to everyone. Just … to them.” I make sure everyone’s still not paying attention. “They know exactly what it’s like to be in our positions, and … I thought maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone if someone knew. Only those two people. And I’ll only tell them about me. You don’t have to be there. I⁠—”

“It’s your sexuality. Do what you want with it.”

He sounds so sincere about that too.

“I don’t have to.”

Miles fidgets with Seddy. “I didn’t mean for that to sound snappy. Sorry. It is your choice. Just … leave me out of it.”

“I was going to.”

“Suit up!” Coach’s booming voice echoes around the locker room. “We’ve got warm-ups.”

Miles’s reaction is the exact reason I want to talk to Tripp and Dex, but now I’m thinking I should let it go.

I’m distracted as we hit the ice for warm-ups. Am on autopilot when the anthem is being sung, and when the puck drops, I’m completely spaced out.

Fuck, not a great start.

The team as a whole starts off on the back foot, and we spend our entire first shift in the defensive zone. Luckily for me and the rest of the guys on my line, Miles is on point and doesn’t let any shots past him.

When I get back to the team box and have a chance to watch him at work, he’s so damn focused. Vegas comes out of the gate swinging, and by six minutes into the first period, they’ve already had five shots on goal. They’re thirsty for it.

But Miles shoots them down.

I finally pull my shit together, and the next time I’m on the ice, Finch, Jorgensen, and I manage to spend most of our shift in our offensive zone, trying to put one away.

Tripp Mitchell is a fucking wall, and he doesn’t even look like he’s working that hard at shutting us out. I’d hate him if he wasn’t so damn impressive.

The thing is though, Tripp has the best stats of all the goalies in the league and has for the last couple of seasons. Minus one of them where their whole team was a disaster, but I won’t count that. And here’s Miles Olsen, rookie fresh out of the farm, and he’s keeping up with Tripp Mitchell.

It’s an amazing game for him, and every time I’m on that bench, when I should be watching the puck, I’m watching him.

It’s almost embarrassing how proud I am of him for having the game of his career right now.

The game goes back and forth. We all take our shifts, and I think nearly every damn player on the ice at one point has a chance to put the biscuit in the basket. But do we? Nope. Because Tripp and Miles don’t let us.

They have the home crowd advantage, so even though their boos are loud when Miles makes the millions of saves, it only seems to encourage Miles more.

I can’t stop smiling at him.

Throughout the first and second period, both teams get so close to scoring but never manage to do it.

The crowd is getting frustrated, and so are we. Because us scorers are playing an amazing game. Defense is intercepting and blocking. Offense is getting in that zone and firing, shooting our shots. But the stubborn-headed goalies don’t want to be the first to let one in.

“This is a game of pure will at this point,” I say to Finch as the third period gets underway and still nothing changes in scores.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it.”

“We owe it to Miles to get out there and put one away. If we lose after this, he’s gonna be pissed.”

“That’s all good and well, but if we can’t put one away for the team, what makes you think doing it for Miles is going to make any of our shots more accurate?”

“Just set it up for me. I’ll light up that lamp.”

On the first try, the puck rebounds off Tripp’s pads, and even though I get the puck back and shoot again, he’s impenetrable. Damn him.

We pull a lucky-as-fuck penalty, one the crowd obviously boos at, and maybe, just maybe, they have a right this time, but I’m going to take every advantage I can get.

Which is why, before the face-off, I skate by Tripp. “Hey, Human Tripp. We going for drinks after this? I need to tell you about my big bi-awakening and how much I love dick now.”

I don’t even give him a chance to respond before I’m taking my spot opposite Tripp’s husband.

“Hey, Dex.” I lower my voice. “Turns out I’m bi.”

The puck drops, and Dex swings but completely misses. I pass to Finch, who passes right back.

Vegas is a man down, Dex and Tripp are distracted, and that’s how I win us the game.

Boom. Right through the five-hole.

Maybe I should weaponize this bisexuality thing to my advantage more often.

Tripp and Dexbeat me to the players’ exit, where they told me to meet them. I hold my hands wide. “Human Tripp. Dexter.”

“That was a dirty trick, Bilson,” Dex says.

“Is it even true?” Tripp asks.

I rub Tripp’s hair. “You make me miss Dog Tripp. He and Killer loved each other.”

Tripp swats my hand away. “So you are just milking this honorary Queer Collective membership thing, then.”

I look back toward the closed door where our teammates will be spilling out at any moment. Some have already left, but I know Miles isn’t one of them.

“Oh, shit,” Tripp says. “You were serious.”

“But I’d prefer the team not to⁠—”

Tripp immediately wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go drink.”

I let out a breath and follow them to their car.

Now that I’ve told them and it’s out there, I don’t even know what I want to ask them. There are those millions of questions about how they handled their situation, but I’m still trying to figure out how to ask without giving away Miles.

They don’t pry on the way to the bar, just continue to tell me how dirty I played tonight.

“Someone had to get the first goal out of the way. It was taking too long, and your home crowd was getting bored.”

“It was satisfying when they booed you for scoring,” Tripp says.

“Don’t they know that fuels us even more?”

“Your rookie goaltender was on fire tonight,” Dex says.

“He was. It came at a good time, too, because he’s been in a minor slump. He probably did it to impress you.” I lean forward and tap Tripp’s shoulder.

Thankfully, we pull up to the bar, and the conversation about Miles drops. I’m self-conscious about bringing him up or even talking about him, in case it’s obvious I’m practically obsessed with the man.

The other time I caught up with Tripp and Dex with the Collective was last season with Aleks, and it was the same bar. Low-key, not too many fans around. Perfect for this conversation.

Tripp orders on his phone and then turns to me. “Okay. Details.”

I glance between Dex and him, wring my hands together, and try to find the words.

Tripp smiles. “You look exactly like this one did when he was trying to figure all this stuff out.”

“That’s … reassuring?”

A waiter brings over our drinks, placing three beers in front of us.

“I get it,” Dex says once we’re alone again. “It was so confusing. Doubly so because I was having those feelings for my best friend.”

I go to open my mouth and agree but stop myself in time. Miles and I have a very public friendship, so I can’t be admitting I’m in the exact situation. Miles and I might not have been friends for as long as Tripp and Dex were before stuff happened, but we had that bond all the same.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Tripp says.

“I know I couldn’t really talk because I didn’t know how,” Dex says.

I cock my head. “Isn’t that you on an average day?”

Tripp laughs.

Dex turns to his husband. “You’re supposed to be nice to me and not laugh when people point out I’m a dumbass.”

“Oh, honey. That’s not why you can’t talk. You can’t talk to reporters because they’re shitheads who like to confuse you by using stats and big words.”

Dex’s brow furrows. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Dex and Tripp are couple goals, and sitting here with them, seeing how far they’ve come … I want that with Miles. But we have obstacles. Obstacles I’m not sure we can overcome.

I understand him not wanting to say anything to his family, but he didn’t even want to be here for me to tell Tripp and Dex about myself.

I can feel it happening—getting ahead of myself. I want to skip to the happily ever after with Miles, whatever a happily ever after with him would be, but he’s not there.

He might never get there.

And that’s my current reality.

I’m out here by myself.

A tall presence looms over us, and I think the waiter is back, but I never saw Tripp or Dex order another round.

When I look up, I have to do a double take. Because there stands Miles, looking like he’s about to throw up, but he’s here.

I’m not so alone after all.