1. Theo

Theo

Last season

For the twolong years I'd been playing in the minors, I'd dreamed of finally getting the call-up to our NAPH team, the Seattle Rainiers. Even if I didn't stay up—if I never actually made the roster for any length of time—I wanted to play at that level so bad I could taste it.

Last season, I'd finally been called up for one of the road trips. I'd almost lost my mind on the plane, but shortly after I'd landed… disappointment. The left winger I was supposed to replace was going on LTIR, but one of the other injured forwards—one who'd been listed as week-to-week—had suddenly been available. I'd dressed and skated during warmups but watched the game from the owners' box. The next morning, I was on the plane again, and the following evening, I was playing in Everett in the PHL like normal.

When I'd been called up this time, I'd been so afraid that would happen again, but it didn't. Two nights ago, in Vancouver, I'd finally hit the ice for real. That had been the coolest experience. I'd only played about six and a half minutes, but I'd done my rookie lap and I'd skated alongside players I admired, and I'd even managed a secondary assist.

But tonight was the game I'd really been looking forward to.

Not only would I be once again playing for the Rainiers, not only would we be going up against the Denver Mustangs (my favorite team growing up), but it was Pride Night. How cool was that?

The Rainiers always had incredible Pride jerseys, which were then signed and auctioned off to benefit queer charities. The design for this year's jersey hadn't been revealed yet, but there would be one with my name and my number, and I couldn't fucking wait. Ten years after my parents had cautioned fourteen-year-old me against coming out if I wanted to play pro hockey, I was going to play my second ever major league hockey game on Pride Night after wearing a Pride jersey during warmups.

Maybe it was stupid, but I had literally never been more excited about a game in my life. Not the Junior World Championship gold medal final. Not my first game on the PHL team. Not even my first game at this level.

My first major league Pride game.

Hell yeah.

But when I strode into the Seattle Rainiers' locker room, the jersey hanging at my stall was the usual home jersey. Blue with gray and black. No rainbows. No Pride insignia. All the sticks along the wall had white or black tape on the blades and handles.

At first, I thought maybe the equipment managers had made a rare mistake. They worked like a well-oiled machine, though, and our head equipment manager was known throughout the league for being one of the best. Like, the guy literally traveled to other teams—from youth on up to pro—to help them get their equipment crew running efficiently. I didn't imagine he'd make (or allow) a mistake like this. Especially not when he was vocally out and proud himself.

Christian Hayes dropping the ball on Pride Night? Yeah, right.

And when I found his face in the room, my heart sank. The first time I'd seen him in a video about equipment crews, someone who worked with him had commented that he now understood what it meant for someone to light up a room. For all I'd been told to play down my sexuality if I wanted to make it in the league, Christian wore his like a badge of honor. He was flamboyant and hilarious, and whenever he was photographed or videoed, everyone around him was laughing.

Rumor had it there'd been precisely one homophobic player in Seattle, and it hadn't been Christian or even his father—Jack, the team's general manager—who'd nipped that problem in the bud. It was the Rainiers themselves. Despite being older than a lot of the players, Christian was everyone's honorary little brother, and no one tolerated anyone giving him shit. In one interview, Seattle's captain, Alex Condit, had said Christian could singlehandedly keep up team morale even in the face of a crushing loss just by being himself.

So to see him standing off to the side tonight with his arms crossed over his hoodie and his eyes downcast—that hit me right in the feels. Hell, everyone in the room seemed to be thrown off by the crestfallen expression on the guy the team reporter called "Seattle's very own ray of sunshine."

My heart sank even deeper as the mood in the room settled heavily on my shoulders. I'd admittedly had the worst crush on Christian since the first time I'd seen him in videos, and in person—oh, God, I was lucky I remembered how to tie my skates. He was gorgeous, built lean and powerful like a hockey player since in addition to the physical demands of his job, he apparently worked out with the team, including occasionally joining them on the ice outside of official practices. He had a smile that could stop traffic and crystal blue eyes that had their own online fan club.

No, really—there was a page somewhere called "Have you SEEN the eyes on Seattle's equipment manager?", and for good reason. He was just… fuck, he was so beautiful, and he had an infectious laugh and the kind of personality that made everyone around him smile.

Except tonight.

Ugh. Seriously? What the hell is going on?

That answer came soon enough. As the guys and I were starting to put on our gear, Coach Baldwin walked into the locker room. He gave us his usual pre-game speech, then followed it with, "I know we had Pride Night on the calendar, but Jack Hayes has made the decision to cancel it."

And… that was that. No explanation. Nothing. The GM—the man whose gay son worked with the team—had nixed Pride Night.

I didn't think a locker room had ever been as silent as it was after Coach's speech. There was nothing but the usual sounds of gear rustling, creaking, and rattling. No one talked, though there were some very puzzled looks being exchanged among my teammates.

There were also a lot of sympathetic glances thrown toward our equipment manager. Christian was focused on tightening a screw on someone's visor, but even his intense concentration couldn't mask how obviously upset he was.

Fuck. I was disappointed to have Pride Night canceled, but it must've been an extra slap in the dick for him. His own dad had made the call.

My disappointment started to ebb in favor of anger. Sure, my folks had urged me to be cautious about coming out, but that had been well-intentioned. They loved me, supported me, and accepted me; they'd just been able to read the writing on the wall and had been concerned about a gay son being able to break into the world of professional sports. After all, that world hadn't always been what I would call welcoming to queer people.

Christian's dad actually had power and clout in that world. He had the ability to make statements and huge demonstrations of public support. He was in a position to make a difference for men like us.

Men like me. Men like his own son, for God's sake.

And he'd made the call to cancel Pride Night.

Fuck.

That.

Noise.

I finished tying my skate and put my foot down. Then I cleared my throat and called out over the unusually quiet locker room, "Hey, Christian?" When he glanced at me, I gestured for him to come to my stall.

He acknowledged me with a nod and nothing else before continuing to adjust the helmet in his hand. Normal, apart from the lack of a smile or a chirped, "Be right there!"

A few minutes later, as I was pulling on my jersey, he appeared.

"Hey, what do you need?" He sounded polite but exhausted, as if it took everything he had just to show up.

I met those sad blue eyes as I tugged at my jersey. "Do you have any rainbow tape?"

Christian's back stiffened and his eyebrows jumped. "I, um… Yeah. Of course." Sighing, he let his shoulders fall. "But since we're not doing—"

"Can I get a roll?"

His eyes widened. "Are you… Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."

He studied me incredulously. I fully expected him to question me. Had I not heard that Pride Night was canceled? Did I want to get fined? Or more likely, since I was a PHL player, sent the hell back down to the minors with no hope of ever getting called up again?

I set my jaw, ready to fire back that I didn't give a damn. Let 'em fine me. Let 'em send me back down. I hadn't worked my ass off to get this far—while being openly gay—only to cower now that I had a chance to stand up for people like us.

Little by little, something brightened in Christian's expression. One corner of his mouth turned up as the faintest glimmer of rebelliousness sparked in his eyes. Without looking away from me, he called over his shoulder, "Hey, Marty?"

"Yeah, boss?" came the response from Marty, who had just finished adjusting someone's skate blade.

A grin came fully to life. "Can you toss me a roll of rainbow tape?"

I sensed some of my teammates glancing our way. Marty shot Christian an uncertain look, but when Christian gave him a nod, Marty shrugged. He handed the skate back to Hanson, then stepped out of the locker room for a second. He returned, and my heart did a little flutter when a roll of tape flew across the room.

Christian caught it and held it out. "Rainbow tape."

I smiled, wondering if anyone else could hear my heart pounding as I took the roll from him.

Then I sat down and, pulse still absolutely thundering, grabbed my stick and started pulling off the black tape.

I was halfway through wrapping the rainbow tape around the blade when Wilcox, who sat at the next stall over, nudged me. "Can I have that when you're done?"

My hands froze mid-wrap, and I looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Hell yeah."

By the time I'd handed the roll to Wilcox, Christian and Marty had brought out four more rolls. I didn't think I'd ever seen Christian smiling brighter than he was as he collected all the discarded black and white tape, and that said a lot. He really was this team's own personal sunbeam, and I decided that watching him brighten up was worth any shit that came my way over this. There would be shit, too; Jack Hayes had an incredibly low tolerance for insubordination, and all of us slapping on rainbow tape after he'd canceled Pride Night definitely fit that category. Once he found out I'd been behind it…

Oh, yeah. There'd be hell to pay.

But Christian Hayes was smiling. I think he even had tears in his eyes.

Bring it, Jack.

I regret nothing.