Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

“It’s been the best move I’ve made.” I suck in a breath. “For more than one reason.”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like you’ve got good news. Want me to grab your ma?”

“Umm … yeah.” Might as well get this over with both of them. A moment later, the phone clicks over to speaker, and Mom immediately starts gushing over the game too.

“Thanks.” I’m glad they’re proud. “But I actually wanted to talk to you about something other than hockey.”

“Okay …” Mom sounds confused.

“I’m seeing someone.”

She lets out a long breath. “That’s wonderful. Does he make you happy?”

“Very.”

“And what’s he like?”

I pause, trying to come up with a way to tell her Ezra is perfect, when saying things like cocky, loud, and high-energy are always seen as negatives. “He’s really fun, and he knows who he is, so that’s helped me work out who I am as well. He has a big heart, and I love how I get to see sides of him no one else does.”

Dad hums skeptically.

That’s it. His whole response.

“He sounds lovely,” Mom says.

“Dad?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Look, I’m real happy for you. You know that. But you need to be careful. People will see you with this man, and they’re going to figure it out.”

It’s so hard not to be frustrated with him. The thing is, my dad does want me to be happy. When I came out to him, he hugged me and told me he loved me, which was a big thing from a blue-collar worker who grew up in the generation he did. A lot of his friends still use slurs and say things that make me uncomfortable, and while he corrects them, the mindset is so completely different. I’m so privileged to be surrounded by a queer-positive community, but having a safe space doesn’t just happen.

It’s the result of years and years of hard work. Of all the people before me owning who they are. It comes from visibility and open conversations; it comes from challenging people’s beliefs and from people who have influence, people like me, showing we’re proud of who we are.

“That’s actually the plan,” I say.

“What?”

“My agent, my team, and my coach know. And I’m not the only queer player on the team, so the fans we have clearly don’t have a problem with it, and if they do, they can fuck off out of hockey, because there are a bunch of out and closeted guys, and the more acceptance there is from the league, the more it will attract queer players. I … I want to be part of that.”

“I don’t want you being targeted.”

“I won’t be. I’m sure there’ll be people with things to say, but I don’t care about them. My team and my boyfriend have my back. I hope my family does as well.”

“Well, yeah, of course,” Dad says. “You always have our support, but I want you to think about this. Don’t make the decision lightly.”

“I haven’t. I’ve been thinking about it for a really long time, and I wanted to let you know first.”

There’s silence for a moment. “Okay. You’re a grown man, and you know what you’re doing,” he says gruffly. “Anyone who gives you shit, you send them to see me.”

I laugh at the thought of my fifty-five-year-old dad, who’s barely five ten and one hundred and seventy pounds, still trying to scare off bullies for me. “You’re the best. Both of you are.”

“Yeah, we know.”

Mom jumps in. “So what’s his name? When do we get to meet him?”

“Well, if we’re together in the off-season—” I slap the wooden coffee table before realizing what I’m doing. “—we’ll fly down then. But, ah, you already kind of know him.”

“We do?”

I clear my throat. “Ezra Palaszczuk.”

There’s silence.

“The one you hate?” Mom asks.

“Hate-d. Past tense.”

“Oh,” Dad says.

“So the tabloid gossip is true?”

“Ma, you read that trash?”

“It was about my son!”

“Wow.” I don’t want to know what sort of stories she’s come across. “Yes, it’s true. Now I’m gonna let you go so I can get ready for my date. I’m sure the tabloids will have even more to tell you after tonight.”

“Good luck,” Dad says.

“I don’t need luck. I have Ezra.”

Later that afternoon, I text Ezra to dress nice and let him know I’ll be by in an hour to pick him up. He agrees immediately, but I refuse to tell him why.

It doesn’t deter him from going all out though, because when he answers his door, wearing a navy velvet suit, the man takes my goddamn breath away.

“Why are you always so hot?” I ask, stepping forward to kiss him. “You’re making me regret wanting to leave the apartment.”

“We don’t have to,” he murmurs against my lips. His voice is all deep and sexy, and if tonight wasn’t so important to me, I’d take him up on that offer.