Page 3 of Tough Call

It was going to be weird playing against each other this week. In fact, I’d be playing against all of my teammates who were headed to Prague. We had two guys on Team Sweden, two on Team Denmark, and six on Team Switzerland. I was the sole representative of Team Latvia on this plane.

Admittedly, I was a little nervous. I’d grown up in Canada, had only lived in Latvia off and on as a child, and had never played professionally in Latvia. Though I knew most of the guys on this team, we didn’t play together often. A lot of the Swedes, Canadians, and Americans at least played against each other enough to have a feel for each other. The last time I’d played with or against a Latvian outside of an international competition was when Ratnieks had done a two-year stint on HC Genève. He’d left for the UK three years ago and played there ever since.

I knew we could work together as a team even with a tight window to practice and get our timing. I’d been to the Olympics twice with my fellow countrymen, and we’d been solid contenders. I even had a bronze from the Games we were heading to right now.

It was just an adjustment every time, jumping into high-stakes competition after only practicing with my team for a few days.

Mish elbowed me again. “So. Bone Church or not?”

Grateful for the distraction from my overthinking, I eyed him. “What the fuck is a bone church?”

“It’s a church that they decorated with bones.”

I blinked. “Like… bones? Human bones?”

“No, fish bones.” He scoffed. “Yes, human bones.”

I inclined my head. “I’m not falling for that.”

Mish tsked, took out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, then shoved it in my face.

Still skeptical, I took it. Sedlec Ossuary, the title read. Beneath that were photos, and I’d be damned—it was a church decorated in human bones. Like actual skulls and femurs and⁠—

I squinted as I pulled the phone closer. “Is that a fucking bone chandelier?”

“Well, yeah. They have to light the place somehow.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. What was I thinking?” I kept scrolling. There was a pile of bones. Like a pyramid made out of long bones. And… a coat of arms? What the fuck? Handing back the phone, I asked, “Who the hell makes a church out of bones?”

“I guess it was inspired by a church or something back in Rome. Like people wanted to be made part of the church or whatever. I don’t know.” He pocketed his phone. “But Collberg said he went last time he was in Prague, and it was worth visiting, so…” He trailed off into a half-shrug.

I was a bit weirded out by the idea, but admittedly curious too. And when was I going to get another chance to tour a bone church? “Eh, why not? Sign me up.”

He grinned, then twisted around and called back to one of our teammates in German, “Put Mads on the list for tomorrow.”

There was a response I didn’t catch, and it was apparently settled. Good thing it was a fairly short flight and we wouldn’t have to worry about jetlag. The Games were played in Toronto last time, which was where I’d grown up and where my parents lived. It was great, but the time change was no picnic. Though my team had gone to Japan one year while I was playing in North America; I was pretty sure my internal clock was still recovering from that. Stupid International Date Line.

This trip would be easy. Today, we’d settle into our hotel. Tomorrow, we’d do some sightseeing. The following day was the first official practice. Not too bad.

The plane taxied and took off, and once we were in the air, I took out my phone and logged into the WiFi. I could live without my phone for an hour and a half, but my mom usually sent me messages this time of day, and I didn’t like to leave her hanging.

Sure enough, she’d sent one, but that wasn’t the only message that had come through.

When I saw who’d sent the other, my breath hitched.

Connor Ellis.

Wow. That name was a blast from the past. There were a lot of pleasant memories tied to it, too. Even now, years later, remembering that first kiss—my first kiss with anyone—still gave me goose bumps. It had been so sweet, so innocent; everything we’d done had been, honestly. I’d done my more intense experimenting later—first blowjob, first time topping, first time bottoming, all of that. With him, it had been the shy first touches and explorations of two queer kids who were afraid to come out to anyone else.

I cherished those memories.

Maybe that was why seeing his name after all this time threw me off-balance. The nostalgia was strong, and I suddenly realized I regretted all the years we’d gone without talking.

That was just how life went sometimes in this sport. Those of us who played had to focus ninety-nine percent of our energy on hockey. Friendships and even relationships could and did easily fall away. If Connor had played, we might’ve seen more of each other, but he didn’t. He was the son of a generational talent and the brother of a superstar, but hockey had never been in the cards for him.

Not playing it, anyway. He’d played well enough—he’d often joined me and his dad and brother on the ice for informal practices—but he’d never had any illusions that he’d do it professionally. And he’d been completely fine with that because playing hockey hadn’t been his dream. I had never known anyone else who was so determined to become a referee. Even when I’d first met him at sixteen, he’d had his sights firmly set on black and white stripes.

He’d made it, too. Unlike me, he had a place in the North American League. Apparently he was officiating here in Prague, too. Good for him.