Page 152 of Over the Line

Please understand, Chris.

Because I can’t let go of him.

CHAPTER 35

LIAM

As I got ready for warmups tonight, I was admittedly struggling harder with the idea of Garrett and me staying in the closet. Not because I was itching to be honest with Chris (though that was always in the back of my mind), but because of the rainbow jerseys and rainbow stick tape all around the locker room.

Pride Night was always special. Growing up, I’d heard that there was no place for people like me in the League. Or anywhere in professional sports.

Now, here I was—out and proud, skating out for warmups under rainbow banners with a Pride-themed jersey over my gear. After the game, our jerseys would be signed and auctioned off to benefit LGBTQ+ charities in Pittsburgh.

This was one of those rare times when I relished the stardom of my name. Sometimes it was weird, especially knowing how people would pay thousands of dollars just for something I’d autographed.

On Pride Night, I was okay with that. My jerseys routinely went for a few grand, and that was money these organizations absolutely needed. I was happy to let my name rack up bids if it benefitted a group like that, just like I was more than happy to cut them a check myself.

Tonight, though? This felt wrong.

How could I be the face of Pittsburgh Phantoms Pride when I couldn’t love my boyfriend out loud?

Except we weren’t hiding because we were queer. That wasn’t the issue. It was because the man who’d be sitting next to me on the bench deserved a shot at fully reconciling with his dad before we dropped this bomb on him.

I just wished that, tonight of all nights, I could have my arm around my boyfriend’s waist when they put me up on the Jumbotron. Or they could put up a photo of us like Boston’s backup goalie, who’d had his recent wedding photos on the screen at their last Pride Night.

Every time I saw another team’s Pride Night on TV, or played in their arena, or had a queer teammate on our Pride Night, I envied the players who smiled for the cameras with their partners. Someday, I’d told myself, that would be me again.

Now I had a boyfriend. I had a man I wanted to show off to the world.

But I couldn’t. Not yet. And tonight, that grated on me. I itched to relive that moment years ago when I’d been photographed in my Pride Night jersey as Tristan and I shared a quick kiss, but with Garrett this time.

Next season.

We’ll be out and proud next season.

I pushed out a breath as I tugged my jersey into place. I’d waited this long to have Garrett in my life. I could wait a little longer to show him off on Pride Night.

Especially since that would mean the public and the media knew about us, and they’d be breathing down our necks. Fuck. That was a bucket of cold water on that little fantasy. Maybe I could live without it for a⁠—

“Hey, Temo.” Craws looked past me at our teammate. “What’s this about?” He held up his phone. “When the fuck did you have surgery on that knee?”

Temo frowned. “I didn’t. What are you talking about?”

Craws jiggled his phone again.

Scowling, Temo tugged at his own Pride jersey, then came over to Craws’s locker. “Let me see that.” He took the phone and peered at the screen. He watched, and then his features scrunched up. “What the fuck?” He shoved the phone back at Craws. “That’s fake!”

“Is it?” Craws asked.

“Yeah, it is. I’ve never been to that place in my life.” Temo looked at me and pointed sharply at the phone in his hand. “Have you seen this shit, Saints?”

I shook my head. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Craws tapped the screen a couple of times, then handed me the phone with a video queued up beneath a headline that read, The Real Reason Behind Scoring Drought: Are the Pittsburgh Phantoms LYING TO FANS About Tehuitzil’s Health?

“What the fuck?” I muttered. I tapped play, and the video showed Temo coming out of a medical facility on crutches. His knee was wrapped up, and there was a car waiting for him. One I’d never seen before.

“This isn’t real?” I asked Temo.