Page 2 of All In: The Price We Pay

Without a word, I turn around and walk back to my bedroom. Fuck. This is exactly how I imagined it would be. If only I could take those words back.

Derek runs after me. “What the hell are you thinking? Do you want to risk your whole life? Your hockey career?”

I spin around. “This has nothing to do with hockey. I can be into guys and still play.” My voice is unusually loud. I’ve never raised my voice at Derek before.

He jabs his index finger into my chest. “Wrong. You know that. It’s either one or the other. These things don’t go together. I thought I made that clear when we signed our contract. I’ll tell you how it works. You do what I tell you, and everyone will be happy. I didn’t expect to have to explain to you that playing hockey and being gay are mutually exclusive. You’ve got more sense than that.”

“Derek. ” I turn away, slipping into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt I’d tossed there at random yesterday. I force myself to swallow my frustration and focus on what matters. “When have I ever given the impression that I’d do anything to jeopardize my career?” My career and your income, if I may be so bold.

“Never. And that’s why I’m wondering where this is coming from.” He stares at me with his beady little eyes. “Gay?” He shakes his head.

Thoughts are whizzing around in my head like Ping-Pong balls, bouncing from one end to the other. I can’t grasp any of them and stand there helplessly in front of Derek. “Forget it.” I walk out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. What a morning. And I haven’t even had my warm lemon ginger water to start the day yet. “How bad is it?”

Behind me, I hear Derek following me. “Terrifying. That fucking story is being tossed around everywhere. Your fans are defending you. Those woke idiots are demanding that you come out about your sexual orientation. Even a late-night show has sent a request. They want you to say something about it. Like hell you will.”

The anger at the world tearing me apart gets the better of me, and the fear pulsing through my veins turns to rage. “I don’t have time for this crap. We have a game tomorrow.”

“That’s what I want to hear.”

My fingers clench around my water bottle. If only I could be myself. Without saying it. Without being dragged through the mud for it. Without risking my career.

With my jaws clenched, I unfurl my hands and force myself to set the bottle down before I crush it or throw it against the wall. “What are you going to do now?” I squeeze out between my lips.

Derek walks around the kitchen island to my fridge and opens it. “I wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. Gay.” He spits out the word.

I stand silently beside him. He pats me on the shoulder. “Think of your father. He’d turn over in his grave. You don’t want that.”

The force of his words cuts deep into me. I should have expected them. That’s Derek. He knows how to get me to do what he wants.

Instead of waiting for my answer, he keeps talking. “We have an appointment today with a social media agency on Park Avenue. I’ll send you the address. It’s two hours before your training session. The non-disclosure agreements have already been signed. You don’t have to worry. Be on time.”

“Why? I already have a social media team. You put it together.” I turn to him, shaking my head.

Derek’s eyes narrow. “That kind of crap is way out of our contract agreement. If I told you what I truly want to do, nobody would benefit from it. No, the people at this agency are image fixers, PR firefighters, reputation clean-up artists.”

He talks as if I’d assaulted a defenseless woman. As if the fact that I was seen with a man on the streets of New York were a crime.

“They’re experts who specialize in cases like yours.” He gives me an intense look and marches back to my front door. “And always check your damn phone.”

I’m still watching as the door closes behind him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where’s my self-control? It’s slipping through my fingers. All these years. For nothing? To be paraded through the media as a freak?

Hurriedly, I turn toward the window and seek solace in the treetops of Central Park. My muscles grow increasingly tense, across my shoulders and all the way up my neck.

Dammit. My palms are sweaty. My pulse is still racing. For a moment I close my eyes.

Instead of scanning the articles Derek sent me, I dial my therapist’s number. She picks up after two rings. “Mr. Sinclair. You’re early.”

I run my fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry. Yeah. I know.” I rest one hand on the kitchen island and stare at the countertop. “Fuck.”

“Okay. It’s still a bit early for swearing.”

“I’m sorry. Honestly. Do you have time yet?”

There’s a rustling sound on her end of the line. “Give me a second. I’ll be right with you.”

“Thanks, Silvia.”