Him (Him #1)(81)

Frank’s expression goes serious. “Is everything okay? Someone giving you trouble?”

I shake my head. “No, nothing like that.” A rueful sigh slips out. “If anything, I’m the one who’s about to give you trouble.”

He actually laughs. “Gotta tell you, lots of conversations start this way. By now, I’m unshockable, Ryan. Just hit me.”

I clasp my hands in my lap to stop from fidgeting. “Frank…the roommate I listed as my emergency contact on my health forms? He’s actually my boyfriend. But, uh, nobody else knows.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Right.”

Right? Confusion fills my gut as I attempt to make sense of his response. It hadn’t sounded sarcastic, like riiiiiight, sure he is. It hadn’t sounded hostile. It hadn’t sounded like anything.

“I’m only telling you this, uh, because it could leak out. I’d never try to bring negative publicity to the team,” I hurry on. “My sexual orientation has nothing to do with my skills as a hockey player. I plan on playing my ass off for this club, and I truly hope that who I date in my spare time won’t affect my teammates’ opinions of me as a player. But I also know the media will jump on this story if it gets out.”

Frank is nodding now.

“I…” I take a breath. “I mean, I’m living with someone. It’s serious. The only, um, scandal is that he’s a he.”

His lips twitch.

Fucking hell. Is he laughing at me?

I clench my teeth and force myself to continue. “We’re willing to be as discreet as the team needs us to be, but we can’t hide our relationship forever. We shouldn’t have to.” My breath comes out in a rush. “So I figured I’d disclose this information and let you and the team decide what happens next.”

Frank leans forward, resting his arms on the desktop. “Ryan.” He chuckles. “I appreciate you coming forward, but…we already knew about your sexual orientation.”

I cough in surprise. “You did?”

“Son, we have a thorough vetting process for all our draft prospects. The last thing a club needs is to draft a kid in the first round, only to find out later that he’s got a criminal record a mile-long or he’s addicted to pills or has some other skeleton in his closet that might negatively impact the league.”

Jesus. So they knew I was gay before they drafted me? How?

I voice the troubled thought. “How did you know?”

He chuckles again. “Were you trying to keep it a secret? Because from what we gleaned, your college teammates—and coaches—were well aware of it.”

I’m…dumbfounded. “My coach told you?”

He shrugs like this is nothing surprising. “The coach didn’t want you to hitch your wagon to a team that wouldn’t treat you right. He did you a favor. And like I said, Hal was impressed with you, and not just with the level of talent you bring to the team. You’re smart, discreet, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. That’s all that matters to him. To us.”

“So…” I try to find my voice. “You guys don’t care that I’m involved with another man?”

“Not at all.” He folds his hands together. “In fact, I’ve already written the press release for whenever this eventually leaks. The organization has agreed on all the supportive language. We’re ready.”

I just sit there, my mind reeling. There’s something tickling the back of my brain about this discussion. It almost sounds as if they’re hoping to issue that press release. “What’s in it for you?” I blurt.

He grins. “Faith in our fellow man?”

“Bullshit. What does this get you?”

Frank opens his hands in a gesture of humility. “Last year we traded Kim to Anaheim, and Owens to Miami. Because we had—”

“—too many right-handed D-men,” I finish.

Frank nods. “Only Kim is Korean-American and Owens was…” He stares at the ceiling trying to remember. “I forget. But some dipshit sports reporter made a big stir about how we didn’t want to be a diverse team. Someone jumped on that and started a petition that somehow gathered twenty-five thousand signatures.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “So you drafted the faggot.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “I’ll have to ask you not to use that word, son. It’s not nice.”

My groan echoes off the walls of the office. “Please tell me you’re not going to leak my sexual orientation the next time some * writes that Toronto isn’t a PC organization. I don’t want to be your pawn.”

He grins. “We’re not interested in turning you into a poster boy for gay athletes. We don’t need to invite the circus to town—it always shows up eventually. But we won’t be sending you out to face the media waving a rainbow flag, or ask you to give interviews touting yourself as the ‘first openly gay player in the NHL.’”

He air-quotes the headline, chuckling again, and I realize they’ve put a lot of thought into this. And meanwhile, I’ve spent every waking moment since I got drafted worrying about how I would keep it under wraps.

“I gotta say, though. If you’re telling me you’re in a committed relationship, I’m doing a happy dance. When the press finally catches on to you, it won’t be some photo of you in a skeezy bathhouse on Jarvis Street. I prefer the visual of you and your boyfriend having a candlelit dinner.”