1. ChapterOne

“Hi, I’m Baskoro Huda, and every time I’m losing traction on the ice, I skate on over to Willoughby Tire Emporium located on South Glen Avenue. Not only are they the official tire supplier of the Watkins Glen Gladiators, they’re guaranteed to get you traction on the worst ice conditions. And I should know about icy conditions.”

Leaning into the camera, I wink, smile, and then slap my mask down over my face as I pray that take seventeen was good enough for Leonard Dopkick, the son-in-law of Willard Willoughby, owner of Willoughby Tire Emporium. Leonard liked to think he was the village’s answer to Quentin Tarantino. He’s not. Not even close. But his father-in-law has him direct all his commercials, and since I am contracted to do five, I’m stuck with the man.

“Cut!” Leonard shouted after the camera panned back from my close-up. The office of the tire emporium was deadly quiet. All the employees hid behind stacks of tires to give the massive space a feeling of inner-city grit. Leonard’s remark, not mine. I wasn’t sure one could get Watkins Glen to reflect inner-city anything, and I should know. I’d spent my first six years of life living in Bangkok, Thailand, before coming to the States with my family. My father is from Indonesia, my mother from Thailand, but they met in Bangkok and set up a home there for a few years. That’s why our names are Indonesian but we are strongly Thai in most other ways. Dad and his family fell out many years ago so he embraced all things Thai, including his lovely wife.

My older sister moved back to Thailand and now lives there with her husband and new son, the cutest baby in the world—thank you very much proud uncle here. So every summer I go to my birthplace even though I grew up in Columbia, South Carolina. So yeah, I knew big cities. Watkins Glen was not a big city. It was a charming village that I adored, but it was lacking in dark city grit. Unless there was a side street that I’d not discovered that had skyscrapers and subways. Neither of which was found here. Watkins Glen had wine slushie shops, trendy eateries, and a lake. Oh, and one sort of famous racetrack. “Okay, Baskoro, that was good, but I need gravitas from you.”

I blinked the sweat out of my eyes. It was miserably hot wearing full gear in early September and in front of a dozen bright lights.

“Uhm, I’m not sure exactly what you mean by that,” I replied foolishly, getting an eye roll from Leonard the office manager slash man who dreams of winning an Oscar for a thirty-second local commercial starring an incredibly handsome but unskilled in acting hockey player.

“Baskoro, Basky, can I call you Basky?” he enquired, sliding from his little director’s chair to hurry over to me, his hand nervously moving his combover to cover his sweaty bald spot.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I muttered inside my mask.

“Okay good, so, Basky, you’re not giving me enough panache.”

I removed my catcher to take a bottle of cold water from one of the two cameramen Willoughby had hired to film this epic cinematic masterpiece. Both were film students over at the local community college. One of the dudes who had been hitting on me all day smiled as he passed me some spring water. Which, yeah, that was nice, and he was sort of cute, but I just wanted to get out of my gear and out of this place. The smell of rubber was not one of my favorite aromas.

Flipping up my mask, I took a drink, nodded thanks at the twinky blond making doe eyes at me, and stared at Leonard. The man had nose hair in bad need of trimming.

“Panache. So you want me to be more…” I let it dangle hoping he would fill in the blank. Leonard just gaped at me. “Sorry, but I’m not really up on stage lingo.” He continued to stare up at me in loss. “Damn it, Jim, I’m a hockey player not an actor!” I smiled at the rather good Dr. McCoy impression I’d just laid down on the man with the wild nostril hair. That hair crawling out of his nose was really distracting. He said nothing but blondie giggled madly. It was times like this that I wished Liam were here. My roommate would have roared over the Trekkie moment. My fellow tender and I were huge nerds and proud of it. “That was from Star Trek,” I tacked on just because I felt like the lone Cardassian at a Bajoran party.

“Look, Basky, what I need from you is more flair!” Leonard stated, then wiped his wet brow on a hankie that he carried in his back pocket. He liked to wave it around to be dramatic, or something…I don’t know. All I knew was that I was soaked through to my nuts. “Try to put more feeling into your lines.”

“Dude, I’m hawking tires. How excited do you want me to be about retreads?” I asked with a bit more attitude than I should have. Zena, my agent, would not like me being snippy with someone who was paying me—and her as she got her 10 percent—a nice sum for these ads.

“Maybe you can pretend that you’re trying to talk a Klingon into giving up his mug of blood wine for a virgin margarita?” I heard Liam shout from the bay doors. Finally. It had taken him long enough to kiss his boyfriend goodbye at the airport.

I yelled back a curse in Klingon that made my roomie howl in amusement. Leonard spun around and gave Liam major shit for sneaking into a closed set to steal his creative ideas.

“Dude, I’m his roommate,” Liam said as he backed out of the emporium.

He was unceremoniously shown out, and the doors were locked, which cut off any air that might have been circulating around us. The temperature rose by ten degrees in five seconds. Leonard was fired up now. We did five more takes until my gravitas pleased him. I’d never been so happy to get out of a tire warehouse in my life. Liam was waiting for me in the parking lot, smirking at me as I stamped out into the warm September sun, toting all my goalie gear.

“Where are we going to place your Oscar when you win it?” he asked as I neared his car parked beside mine. With a grunt, I chucked my stick and my massive duffel into the back of my Jeep.

“I have a few places we can put it,” I slung back and got a chuckle from my buddy. “That man,” I jerked a thumb back at the tire emporium building, “is certifiable.”

“Yeah, he’s a tool. You hungry? I could go for Mexican.”

I nodded. The waters of the lake sparkling under the bright sun and a few of the trees along the Finger Lakes beginning to turn soft yellow as the days got shorter might brighten my mood when we drove past. It generally did. We have our first preseason game tomorrow night against the Comets. And just like that, the shitty day spent saying the same lines over four dozen times while baking like a cupcake got even worse.

“What was that look for? If you’re not feeling food then just say so,” Liam said, then went back to checking his phone.

“No, I’m starved. I was thinking about the game tomorrow night,” I mumbled. He grunted but said nothing else about the Comets. He, and the rest of the team, knew that Marcus Newley and I were adversaries on and off the ice, but none of them knew why I disliked the man so much. Only my old friend and I knew what had been said back in college and neither of us was keen to spread it around.

“Right, well, just keep your cool,” Liam said, pocketing his phone to stare at me with soulful, green eyes. “Maybe if you would talk about what went down with you and Marcus, it would help? I mean, the guy that I spent time with in developmental camp was pretty cool.”

“It’s personal,” I answered as I always did. Liam nodded. Nothing more was said. All I knew was that it thrilled me that Newley had not made the team and had been picked up by Wilkes-Barre. I wasn’t sure I could look at him day in and day out.

“Okay, that’s legit. Oh hey, speaking of legit, are we still down to do our bit for the talent show fundraiser that Greck is setting up for the queer theater group?”

“Yeah, totally. We can rehearse in downtime and shit.” I thumped fists with Liam.

“Wait!” someone called. I glanced over my shoulder to see the slim blond cameraman running across the parking lot. “Just in case.” He slid me a sticky note with the Willoughby Tire Emporium logo on it. It had his name, Kendall, and his phone number. I gave him a smile and pocketed the note. “Call me,” he whispered and dashed back inside.

“Your milkshake at work once more,” Liam teased.

I patted my ass. Yeah, skater cake did bring the boys to the yard. We climbed into our cars and headed to town for Mexican. He always ate spicy food when Tarcy left him behind. Shame I couldn’t cook or I could stir up some of my mother’s classic Thai dishes. We did have some prik ban at our place though, so we could get it to go, then douse the shit out of our tacos as well as Liam’s poor lonely heart. If only there was a chili paste strong enough to burn Marcus Newley out of my life forever, I’d bathe in that shit.

***

Two hours later, Liam and I were on the back porch, stuffed to the gills, enjoying one of the last full days off we would have in quite some time. It was crucial to be in the right headspace, so we’d come outside after dinner. The cool call of fall unseen as today was a warm one in Chemung County. Autumn and summer were in a tug-of-war for control of the seasons, it seemed. Something that I enjoyed. I loved the changing trees, pumpkin spice, and wearing a toque on frosty mornings. I didn’t even mind the winter here in New York State, even though it was much burlier than it had been in South Carolina, and for sure colder than Thailand. Maybe that was why I embraced the colder temps where others shied away from it. Snow was something that never failed to amaze me. I couldn’t wait to show Banyu, my baby nephew, the fluffy white stuff when my sister, Citra, and my brother-in-law, Joyo, finally spent a winter here.

“Do you ever wonder what the people going past on boats think when they see us like this?” Liam asked, balancing a cold bottle of water on his brow as we lay on the wooden patio, backs on the worn boards, and legs up the sliding glass door of my house.

We tended to do our yoga outdoors when we could. This was the end of a pretty lame practice. I wasn’t sure tossing back churro bombs while in tree pose was what the great sages had in mind when they invented sutras.

“Maybe they think we’re incredibly hot and limber goalies working on their flexibility and improving circulation,” I tossed out, the sun hot on my face. I kept my eyes closed as I reached down to find the box of churros on my stomach.

“They would be correct,” Liam sleepily replied. A few peaceful moments passed. Boaters and jet skiers were revving it up and down on Seneca Lake, enjoying the less crowded waters now that Labor Day had passed. “You awake?”

“Mm,” I groggily answered.

“Did you ever date anyone seriously?”

I blinked my eyes, rolling my head to the side to check out my roomie’s profile. Sweat from his water bottle ran slowly down his temple, but he never moved a muscle. It was some sort of mental control trick his uncle, the legendary Bryn Mettler, had passed along to us. Having a future HHOF goalie handing you tidbits that he had learned over his stellar career was a boon. I had drank all of my water after dousing my food with prik ban so my chi was less focused now.

“Yeah, back in college. His name was Starling.”

“Starling like a bird?”

“Yes, like the bird.” I poked him in his bare belly, making him jerk wildly. The bottle rolled off his forehead. “His mother named all her kids after birds.”

“Was he new at Clemson and looking to lift a ban on dancing?” He sat up, found his water, and then emptied it over his head before shaking like a dog. Droplets flew everywhere. They felt too good to complain about.

“That was Wren, you hoser,” I parried, wiping off the spray that coated my face. “Starling was nice, played football, beautiful dark brown skin…” The memory of that man’s face carried me back in time to the days spent studying, playing hockey, and learning all about my queer identity.

Liam patted my cheek. “Earth to Basky,” he teased, flopping back onto the porch, his legs resting on the glass door. “Did you love Starling?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” I pulled up the last memory of Starling that I had, one of him sashaying across the quad with some other guy on his arm. “Not enough, I guess,” I muttered as my mellow mood faded.

“See, this is the thing. I love Tarcy.” I nodded. We all knew that. “And he loves me.” Also knew that. “It’s been a year that we’ve been a couple.” And yes, knew that too. I wiggled my toes to let the warm air blow between them as I purged the recollection of Starling, the cheater, from my memory banks. “I think I might be ready for more, you know? It’s just hard with racing and hockey.”

Hockey. Yeah, hockey. Fucking Marcus Newley. He’d been a thorn in my side since I was eighteen. Marcus had transferred from that northern college and started batting those stupid long lashes at people, flashing that sexy smile, and boasting about his skills. He hadn’t changed much over the years. Seemed everywhere I went Marcus followed. Like a determined case of the crabs, he was always around being annoying and flip. Flip. Great. Now I sounded like my mother talking about those boys on the YouTube channels. If only he would get traded out west somewhere.

“Are you even with me here, or are you off in the Delta quadrant with the crew of Voyager somewhere?”

I snapped back from big jerk goalies and tight ends. “Sorry, yeah, I’m here. What do you mean ‘you’re ready for more’?”

Liam stared at the sky, his hands resting on his chest, his cheeks pink from the heat. “I think I’m ready for more, but I don’t think he is.”

“More what?”

“More more.”

“Dude, you are talking in circles.”

He blew out a long, sad breath, closed his eyes, and let his head roll toward me before his lashes rose. I saw all kinds of mixed emotions in those light green eyes.

“I’d like more. Something deeper, something…” He crinkled his nose and then went back to watching the sparse clouds float by. Down on the lake, the sound of the paddleboat horn could be heard as it backed out of the dock for a dinner cruise. “Something more than living in a motorhome all summer or being apart for the entire fucking winter.”

“Oh.” I let my legs fall to the left, pushed up to sit with my thighs pressed to my chest, to stare down at my friend. Probably one of my best friends ever. Liam and I were like peas in a geeky hockey life pod. “Do you want to move in with him?” He wet his lips and then rolled them over his teeth. “Oh…you do, but he doesn’t?”

Shit. If Liam moved out, I’d need a new roommate to cover the mortgage payments. Also, and this might be worse than being strapped financially, the only other person who was into all the fandoms that I enjoyed –Star Trek, Star Wars, Marvel Universe, Damp;D, and all the other fun stuff that we shared—much to the chagrin of the team who had to listen to us argue on the bus about who was the better captain: Janeway, Cisco, Picard, Pike, or Kirk—would move out leaving me with my comic books and no one to share the joy of a good dungeon crawl with.

“I don’t think he does. He never brings it up. I think he likes his life as it is, but…”

“Hey, instead of guessing about what the man is feeling, why not ask him?” I suggested as a gull floated downward to join the others who were probably crapping all over my tiny dock down by the water’s edge. Lobbing old cucumbers at them had not worked at all, despite Greck swearing that was what Henri did to keep his new mega-dock clean.

Yes, let’s give out advice to others that we do not use ourselves. Did you ever ask Starling exactly why he dumped you for other guys?

Nope. Nope. Nope. Was not going there with inner me today, or ever. There was no need to ask Starling anything. Seeing him kissing one of the theater guys outside the library that day was all the information I needed. It was easy to see the people for whom they really were right off. Starling and Marcus were users, cheats, and scum. Okay, I didn’t know if Marcus cheated on his sig others or not, but I suspected so for various reasons.

One reason. One reason years ago. Maybe you should try to exorcise him from your mind and focus on all the other games this year.

“I’m just not sure what his reception will be. If he’s totally happy with things as they are right now, what will happen when I say I want more? Will he feel trapped and bolt?” he confessed.

I saw the fear on his face. “Dude, listen, I’m not the king of long relationships, but I do know that Tarcy is not going anywhere. For serious.” He rolled his eyes. “Liam, I swear on my collection of Wolverine comics that you have zero worries about Tarcy leaving you because you want more from the relationship. Have you seen how he looks at you?”

“Yeah, I know…” His pink cheeks got even redder. “I’m just…frustrated being away from him already and it’s not even regular season. I’m being a whiner. Ignore me.”

“It’s all good. We’re friends. Feel free to tell me anything.” I held out my hand for a fist bump and got one. “So you going to talk to him the next time you see him?”

He nodded as he rose to his elbows, his spine bending nearly in half as his legs were still up the wall. We goalies are bendy. It’s a thing. Be jealous.

“Whenever that will be. He’s racing well into November.” He sighed, glanced skyward, and let out a yelp as an incoming gull turd streaked to the earth. We both rolled out just in time to avoid a splatter on our heads.

“Cucumber time!” I shouted, leapt to my feet, and raced indoors with Liam on my heels. We had two cukes left, both reminding me of limp dicks, but it was ammo. Out we ran to the back porch and then down the stairs leading to the lake, arms cocked and loaded. The gulls saw and heard us coming, obviously, and took to wing before our veggie bombs could get within a mile of their feathery, shitting asses.

“I think we need to use bigger veggies,” Liam said as we stood there staring at the mounds of doodoo all over the dock.

“Pumpkins will be everywhere soon,” I replied as the last gull to leave squawked at us with pure pleasure in its caw.

“Are pumpkin cannons legal in this county?”

“We can only hope.”

Guess the rest of our evening was set. Washing gull poop off weathered boards with old brooms and buckets of lake water. Ah man, the life of a professional athlete was nothing but glamor.