14. EASTON

FOURTEEN

EASTON

It turns out I don't even need to fake having a bad training camp. If I was eligible to be placed on waivers, I'd be worried about not getting picked up by another team, but at this rate, Colorado might trade me. Which is still what I want. Because the more time I spend on the ice with my brother, running penalty kill and power play drills, the more I want to kill him.

If it happens, I blame the NHL. They're the ones who supply us with weapons. My stick, my skates?—

I'm not paying attention when a rookie trying to score a spot on this season's roster sends a bullet past me, and I'm blocking Flores, our goalie's, view. The rookie scores on last season's best PK team in the league. Oh, and the kicker is today's training camp is open to the media, so everyone saw it, and I'm sure they're rapidly jotting down how last season's conference finalists can't even make a save during training camp.

Connor checks me as he skates past. "Get your head in the game. Where were you on that one?"

With all the training I've had, not only on the ice but off it as well, all the PR crap, all the planning around coming out … it all goes to shit in this moment. Because I need out of here. Connor needs to wake up and see what he's doing to me.

Even though I know not to, I snap and lunge for my brother. I shove him from behind, and he almost falls forward because he wasn't expecting it, but he's able to right himself and spin toward me.

"What the fuck, East? What is up with you lately?"

I shove him again. "Maybe you should take a look at yourself, you overbearing jerk."

Where I'm itching for a fight, consequences be damned, Connor glances around the rink almost as if he's looking for someone to step in. Our teammates and coaches are probably too in shock to move.

That is until I drop my gloves and shove my big brother again. Connor's a D-man. It's instinct for him to throw his gloves in response. He's taller than me, bigger than me, and gives a lot of hits in the game. He's also a hothead—at least on the ice—and while that rage is usually directed at whoever is targeting me or our goalie, it's now aimed at me.

And I want him to punch me so I'll be justified in hitting him back, but all he does is grip my practice jersey in both hands and pull me against him.

"Calm down," he says through gritted teeth. "There's media here, and you're on thin ice with management as it is because you've been playing like shit, and these amateurs are showing you up."

"What would you know about what management thinks? You can't even see that the reason I'm playing so badly is because of you." I try to push him again, but his grip is too tight, so I settle for taking a swing.

My fist connects with the side of his face and the bottom of his visor. Pain slices through my knuckles, and I really hope I haven't broken my hand. Connor barely flinches.

I want to hit him again, over and over again until the shame of getting his best friend to use me the way he did goes away and the embarrassment of loving the attention Knox was giving me dissipates. Though, if I were to do that, I may never stop.

Before I can take another swing, we're pulled off each other by teammates who have finally clicked onto what's happening and know they need to do something.

Connor's shock and disappointment almost makes me apologize, but that thought sets off my rage again.

It's time he realizes that I'm not a kid anymore, and his constant need to defend me or protect me from what he deems a threat is too much. If he can't put his own biases aside, realize that having sex with men is okay for an out athlete to do, and take a step back, I can't be on the same team as him anymore.

"Kikishkins," Coach yells. "Both of you. Get off my ice now."

Am I saying this way of bringing up our issues was smart? No. But it's done the job. Because as we head for the locker room, Coach tells us he'll meet us in his office as soon as we're showered.

It feels like I'm back in my freshman year of high school, being sent to the principal's office for flipping off Connor in the hallway only for a teacher to be right behind him thinking I was aiming my "fuck you" at her.

Connor goes straight to his cubby and takes out his phone, furiously tapping away on the screen, and I have no doubt he's messaging Mom and or Dad. It wouldn't surprise me if they have a group chat between the three of them to talk about Lachie and me and worry over everything we do.

I scoff at him as I make my way into the showers.

My plan is to stand under the hot water for as long as possible so I can try to calm down, but it might not be possible to calm years of bottled rage. I've always said that he's done it out of love and protection, but that only goes so far.

Connor is either having the same calming down issue, or he's delaying this as long as possible because when I do eventually turn off the shower, he's still going.

I change into my Colorado sweats and T-shirt and wonder if it might be the last time I'll get to wear these. I look good in maroon, damn it. Yet another thing Connor is ruining for me.

By the time I'm dressed, Connor still isn't out, so I decide to go to Coach's office without him. Coach Macklin's assistant, Jill, stares at me with what looks like sympathy, only feeding my "not a smart way to go about getting what I want" theory. The fantasy of which team I could possibly get traded to flits through my mind, but it quickly turns to worry as I think about being traded to one of the worst teams in the league. Or to St. Louis with Lachie. Would Lachie be the better of two evils? Yes. Because at least he would let me be me. But I want to be on my own. I want to feel like an actual grown-up.

A voice inside my head that sounds a hell of a lot like Connor says, "Sure. Because you're acting so grown-up by picking fights with your teammates in front of the media."

Macklin's assistant tells me to take a seat and wait, which doesn't feed into my getting to Coach first plan.

"You wouldn't happen to know where your brother is, would you?" Jill asks after another fifteen minutes. "I was told not to call until you were both here."

My brother wasting time? Doesn't sound like him. "He's probably doing his hair," I snark.

"I'm here," Connor says.

Another snark almost leaves my lips about "Finally," but it dies when I see who's trailing him. Mom and Dad.

They either dropped everything and sped all the way here from Colorado Springs, or they were already on their way into the city for whatever reason. And of course, Connor calls with an emergency about an emotional Easton.

"I thought our agents should be here for this," Connor says.

I regret having them as my acting agents. With Connor, they didn't want to see a huge chunk of his salary going to a proper sports agency, and they did do a good job getting Connor an amazing contract, but I should've trusted my gut and gone with an experienced agent who's had queer players on his roster before. Nearly all the queer guys in the league are repped by Damon King, and he's recently set up his own company within the last couple of years.

"I'll let him know you're both here," Jill says. She picks up the phone and hits a button while Mom approaches me.

"What is going on, Easton? This isn't like you."

"Not even going to ask for my side of things? Just trust what Connor says?"

Shocking.

She purses her lips. "You tell me, then."

It's really only in this moment, as I stand with my parents and my brother, about to get sent into the head coach's office, that I realize saying "Connor told his best friend to get close to me so I don't hook up with anyone" is the most immature excuse in the history of excuses for starting a fight.

Especially when Connor has brought out the big guns by calling Mom and Dad in.

"How did you get here so fast?" I ask her instead.

"Luckily, we were at the country club when we got the call."

Mom and Dad went from working full-time and extra shifts to support our hockey dreams to people who go to the country club on a weekday to play golf. Castle Pines is about ten minutes away from here.

I don't want to deny them semi-retirement because I can acknowledge they did a lot for us, and they deserve ten to twenty percent of whatever we earn as repayment. But it's come to a point in my life where I need to look out for myself.

Coach Macklin appears, storming down the hall like a bull in Pamplona. He only slows when he sees our parents present, and then he turns to Jill. "Get Galecki on the phone. He might need to be here for this."

Now the GM is getting involved?

"Isn't this all a bit much?" I say. "News flash, Connor and I are brothers. We fight."

"Not on my ice, you don't," Coach says.

"And never physically," Dad adds.

"In front of media." Now it's Mom.

Oh, good. It's gang up on Easton day.

I turn to Connor. "Happy now?"

"Me?" he shrieks. "You're the one who?—"

"Enough," Coach growls. "My office." He charges toward the doors, and we follow him inside.

Connor and I take the seats in front of his desk while Mom and Dad stand behind us.

"Now, seeing as you both want to act like children, I'm going to treat you like children," Macklin says, then glances up at our parents.

"Fine by us," Mom says.

"Who wants to go first?" Coach asks.

"Considering I have no idea why Easton came at me?—"

"You came at me first."

"Because your head isn't where it should be. You let that rookie score because you weren't paying attention."

"Maybe I wasn't paying attention because I was trying not to rip your head off."

"See?" Connor throws up his hands.

Coach sighs.

I don't know what our parents are doing behind us, but I imagine them giving each other the same look they used to when two of us would get in a fight and they had to try to decide who was telling the truth and who was lying. Spoiler alert: it was usually Lachie or me lying and Connor being the good boy.

"Look," I say, "Connor and I are brothers, and nothing will ever change that. I know we should leave personal, family issues off your ice, and the majority of the time, it's easy to do. But this time … I … it might be impossible to move on from it. I think …" I glance at my brother, the anger settling in my gut to a small simmer and heartbreak taking over the main emotion flowing through me. "I'm thinking if you put me up as a possible trade, you might be able to score a first-round first, second, or third pick for me."

Both Connor's and Macklin's eyes widen.

I get Coach's shock. The Kiki brothers are the perfect PR. Colorado's answer to the Mitchell brothers, who are still called that even though they're married now. We're actual brothers though, and actual brothers being on the same team sells tickets. Connor's shock proves how clueless he is.

Coach picks up the phone and hits a button. "Jill, how are we coming along getting in touch with Galecki? We need him. As soon as possible."

"What did I even do to you?" Connor asks softly.

"The fact you don't know is how we got here."

"Can we have a minute with the boys?" Mom asks.

Coach nods and heads out into the hallway, almost as if he can't get out of this room fast enough.

"Okay, now it's just us, you have to talk this out. What happened?" Mom's playing mediator, as always.

I'm too embarrassed to tell my family that I practically threw myself at the man they see as a brother and another son when it was all a setup by Connor. It's such a bizarre thing to do, and I don't understand it.

"I'm jealous that Lachie gets to move to another state and I'm still here. Being protected from making mistakes. Mistakes I should be allowed to make."

Dad rounds my seat to perch his ass on Coach's desk. "You want to make mistakes?"

"I know you probably don't understand, but if I meet a man and want to take him home, and then it ends up all over those gossipy hockey sites, then I want to be held accountable for my choices. It feels like all three of you are so overbearing I second-guess everything. And then the one time I thought I was sure of something … it turns out Connor orchestrated the whole thing, and it was fake, and?—"

"What are you talking about?" Connor asks.

"I know you and Knox don't talk about his sexuality a lot, and you kind of have your head in the sand when it comes to me and him, but … when you sent him to look after me in Vegas?—"

"What happened?" Connor asks. "You can't be with Knox. He promised! And what? No." He stands. "I'll kill him. He has sex with anything that moves, and?—"

"Sit down before you hurt yourself," I order, and he does. "And this is exactly what I mean. I thought …" I shake my head because I can't believe I'm admitting this out loud. "I thought that maybe, possibly, Knox could be attracted to me too, but no. Turns out he was hanging out with me because you asked him to keep me under control so I didn't do anything stupid."

"Oh, Connor," Mom says. "You didn't, did you?"

"Even I could tell Easton had a thing for Knox," Dad says. "Ever since he was little."

"Wait, really?" I stand. "Excuse me while I go scream into one of the couch cushions in the waiting area."

Connor's mouth is opening and closing like a fish. "W-what? How was I supposed to know that?"

"It's pretty obvious in the way Easton used to follow you and Knox around."

"I thought … I thought Easton was in awe of his big bro."

I can't help the laugh that slips out. "Of course you did."

Mom puts her hand on Connor's shoulder. "You can still be protective of your brothers without dictating their lives."

"But you told me to look out for him and make sure he didn't?— "

"We meant don't let your brother walk into dark alleyways on his own in case there were homophobic dickheads wanting to jump him," Dad says. "Not to prevent him from having a love life. We were calculated with his coming out because we wanted him to be mature enough to handle the backlash, but with the NHL being more and more welcoming, there hasn't been nearly as much as we thought there would be."

I … almost can't believe what I'm hearing. I turn to my parents. "I didn't realize you were paying close attention to that kind of thing."

"Of course we are," Mom says. "It's our job."

Maybe they aren't as bad at their job as I was thinking. Not that they're bad, I just thought … I thought they were ignoring this side of the business. The gossip, the image. I thought they wanted me as quiet about my sexuality as Connor wanted me to be.

Connor looks at our parents. "Do … do you think Knox likes Easton too?"

I go to say no when Mom beats me to it.

"With the way he looks at Easton sometimes, I think it's possible, but there's no way he would go there because of you."

Which has been my theory as well—when he's shown even the slightest interest in me in the past—but then when Lachie told me Connor was behind us hanging out … I guess we were both wrong.

"I thought he made it pretty clear that he isn't into me in Vegas," I mumble. That is, until he kissed me. I can't say that though.

Connor's expression is unreadable. He looks like a mixture of confusion, anger, and shame. "Why didn't you say something before you got to the point of attacking me?"

His voice is small, and I don't think I've ever seen him look so … vulnerable.

"I've tried to tell you that you can be overbearing, but you brush it off like it's your job as my big brother to be like that. "

He hangs his head. "I thought it was."

Mom holds her hands out to the side. "See, boys? Communication. It makes us all happy again. Now, we're going to go into damage control. Easton, you're going to apologize to your coaches, the GM, and even the media if you have to. When the articles speculate about what this fight was about, it's because of the stress of training camp, and brothers fight because they're so close to each other, and they're comfortable enough to have conflict without it ruining relationships. And Easton, if you really want a trade because you feel like Connor and us are smothering you, it's only fair you get a chance to be as independent as Lachie is about to be. Do we want you halfway across the country? No. But you're a big boy now. Maybe it's time to cut the cord."

I … I can't believe what I'm hearing. All this time of feeling oppressed by them … of what I thought they wanted from me, and it was all built up in my head.

"I can be better," Connor says. "Give you more freedom. I don't …" He swallows hard. "I don't actually know if I'm ready to be independent."

"We're so fucked-up."

Mom tsks. "You take after your father. You talk in grunts and expect everyone to know what's wrong."

"I take offense," Dad protests, but it's weak because he knows it's true.

There's a knock on the door, and Coach peers in. "Sorry to interrupt, but the GM is here, and he's on a tight schedule."

"We're ready," Mom says.

Coach Macklin and Serge Galecki join us, and they both look pensive.

"We need to work through whatever you boys?—"

"Oh, we've already straightened out the mess between them," Mom interrupts. "But Easton here is feeling a bit claustrophobic being on a team with his brother in a city where his parents live. He is after independence. "

"We can't lose a Kiki brother," Serge Galecki says. "A trade is out of the question."

Mom puts on her charming smile, and I'm seeing her for the first time as an actual professional in this industry as opposed to seeing her as a momager wanting to control everything I do.

I've been so wrong about my family, mostly my parents. Is it possible I was wrong about Knox's intentions too? He didn't need to kiss me to keep me on the hook. He had a successful mission even before that happened. So did he do that for his own benefit?

I'd like to hope so, but I really can't be sure of anything anymore.

"Are you saying Easton Kikishkin is not worth a top three draft pick?" Mom asks. "Contact Utah, Minnesota, Chicago, San Jose—though after that Oskar Voyjik and Aleksander Emerson drama in San Jose, we probably don't want to send Easton there. Pick any of the teams who are most likely to get the best draft pick placement, and put feelers out. You might be able to barter an amazing deal, but I'm thinking Minnesota might be the one." Mom winks at me.

I don't know what's worse: Connor trying to stop me from getting laid or my mother encouraging it. With Knox, no less.

Coach and the GM look at each other and then look at me.

"Are you sure a trade is what you want?" Coach asks.

Is it? I thought it was, and the idea of it is exciting, but actually leaving? I never in a million years thought it would be possible. I'm also not looking forward to being traded to any of the teams Mom's suggesting because, if I'm frank, the last time any of them had a run at the Cup was years ago. But … and that's a big but, it should get me out of here.

"If you can garner a deal that works for this team, then yes. Trade me."