Page 32 of Bro Code

Then something happened.

A player from Tampa with Okafor on the back of his jersey slammed into Riley at the wall so hard Riley’s helmet bounced. As he recovered and tried to turn around, Okafor hit him again, and just before the whistle called him on that penalty, he put his helmet hard against Riley’s and growled in his face, “Watch your back, little man. We’re not all friendly to guys like you down here.”

Riley froze. The whistle blasted, and Okafor shoved Riley’s helmet with his, then skated off to the penalty box. Riley stared after him, stunned, his breath sawing in the cold and his heart thundering in his ears.

“Whatever he said, don’t listen to him,” said Rodriguez, pulling up beside him. “He’s a fucking asshole.”

Riley nodded, watching Okafor step into the penalty box. Rodriguez clapped him on the shoulder and skated away. Riley stood, staring at Okafor.

The guy is just an asshole. It was just a penalty. Just because people know you’re gay, doesn’t mean you’re in danger. Just because you’re small, doesn’t mean they’re gonna pick on you.

He repeated these things in his head as he watched Rodriguez skate away.

But he wasn’t sure he believed them.

In the third period, it was tied at two-two, and Montreal couldn’t seem to pull ahead no matter what they did. The crowd was frantic – Riley wasn’t sure if it was excitement, hostility, or some combination of both, but it felt like the fans could tip into either passionate cheering or savage destruction of the building at any moment.

He nipped the puck away from Okafor and turned to send it up the ice–

And swore he heard his name again.

Up there, somewhere, in that roiling mass of spectators, someone had a personal grudge against him. He knew it. It didn’t matter that it was realistically not possible to hear his name uttered by a single person in a crowd that large: he knew it.

He made the wrong decision–held onto the puck a second too long, looking for an outlet that wasn’t there–and Okafor took it back. The puck went back the other way, and as Riley turned and sprinted desperately after it, Okafor walked it in, shot, and scored.

The game ended three-two.

The post-game media frenzy was even more chaotic than usual, because every journalist and her mother wanted to talk to Rodriguez, Nic, and Riley. Afterward, Riley stood in the muggy parking lot in his sweats and zip up, waiting for the equipment team to load the bus.

A few Tampa players were heading out to their cars, chatting to each other, exchanging handshakes and Good games with Riley’s team, the usual business. The guy who’d shoved Riley into the boards – Okafor – leaned against his Tesla on the other side of the lot, smoking a cigarette and glowering.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, and Riley turned to find Elliot Rodriguez standing behind him. He was wearing a Tampa ball-cap and a bright smile, and as Riley turned he stuck out his hand and said, “Hey! Great game.”

Riley shook it. “Sure.”

“You almost had me in that second period.”

“Uh huh.”

“But hey, ¡otra vez será!”

Riley took his hand back. Rodriguez was smaller than he looked on the ice – still wider in the shoulders than Riley, though– with long curly black hair shaved at just the back and sides, and a tattoo of the Puerto Rican flag in the shape of a rooster on his neck. He was grinning at Riley like they’d just won the game together, and Riley wasn’t sure if he was being nice, or if he truly hadn’t noticed how badly Riley had played because he’d been so swept up in the energy of the crowd.

“Yeah,” said Riley. “Almost had you. Maybe next time.”

“Claro. Next time, for sure.” Rodriguez clapped him on the shoulder again, and Riley thought he’d walk away, but instead, he paused, looking suddenly nervous. Riley hesitated too, not sure what was happening, and they both stood there in a moment of supreme awkwardness, until Elliot said, “Actually, I, uh – I wanted to say something to you.”

Riley frowned. “O–kay.”

“I, ah…” Rodriguez chuckled, removing his cap to scrub the hair underneath, then put it back on. “Shit, I’m kind of nervous!”

Riley waited.

“Just…ay! Wow, I did not think I would feel so, so nervous. Okay. Well, here we go:” Rodriguez took a breath. “I just wanted to let you know that I saw you and Arsenault in a press release this summer, about your – you know, when you came out – and, ah…yeah, it was really inspirational for me. It kind of…made me think about a lot of things, you know?”

Riley nodded slowly.

“So I just wanted to say thank you, you know, for doing that.”