Chapter Text
The horn blared and echoed in the rink, signaling the end of the game and making the crowd cheer.
Kent raised his arms and fell to his knees, a huge smile on his face even though he was still panting from the effort.
It hadn’t been an easy game at all; it had taken the Aces 10 exhausting OT minutes to score the winning goal against the Hurricanes. There had been countless checks, a few of which nearly escalated into fights. The Aces returned to their locker room bruised, exhausted, and elated. It was moments like this one that made Kent love hockey. Winning a game was just as rewarding as acing a final at school, only he got the chance to do it every few days.
He sat in his cubicle and looked around at his teammates, who were all talking and laughing, congratulating each other on the win. His phone buzzed to notify him that he had a new message. His smile widened even more when he saw it was Eric, congratulating him on his goal. In one of the many-hour-long text conversations that they’d had, Eric had confessed that he had never watched a hockey game. That had resulted in a lot of teasing from Kent, and Eric promising to at least watch the games that Kent was playing. Sometimes they FaceTimed while they both watched a game, Kent having to explain a rule every couple of seconds and laughing at Eric’s running commentary on the players’ silly movements, falls, and gross habits with their mouthguards.
Eric had left Las Vegas only a few weeks before, and they'd been talking non-stop ever since. Kent had wanted to book his plane tickets to Georgia right away, but then the practices had started, and the start of hockey season was upon him. Eric had been incredibly understanding, but they hadn't talked about that topic ever since. Kent wasn’t really sure what him and Eric were, if there even was a “him and Eric”, though he knew he really enjoyed talking to him. Their conversations were definitely flirty, but what surprised Kent the most was how easy they were. They never felt forced, even when they’d been talking for hours about nothing.
Although it was way too early to tell, Kent could really see himself being Eric’s boyfriend. He couldn’t say he hadn’t fantasized about that more than a couple times, picturing going on dates, walking while holding hands and kissing, kissing, kissing.
“Man, number 36 was so gay. He was in front of the net and missed!”
The comment shattered Kent’s daydream.
It had come from Mark, the same guy that had been in the video with him, Eric and Jeff. He couldn’t believe how hypocritical that was. How could he act all nice to an openly gay man and then say things like that? Him using the word “gay” as an insult wasn’t the only problem, the tone of voice was what had hurt Kent the most.
Mark had practically spit the word out, as if he felt dirty just by saying it. He made “gay” sound like poison, like a weapon that would do nothing but ruin people’s lives by coming near them.
Kent didn’t look up, certain that if he did he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to punch Mark square in the jaw. He couldn’t do that, though, not without making his teammates suspicious of his sexuality. They all had heard the rumors about him and Jack, so getting angry about a homophobic comment would definitely confirm them. If they thought the word was inherently insulting, what would they say about Kent ?
Suddenly, his relationship with Eric didn’t seem so easy.
The NHL was infamous for its homophobia, and that included the owners, managers, players and fans. If he ever came out he was bound to get hate from fans, more checks in games, and maybe even traded, if any other team would want to take him. For some reason, he doubted any would.
There was the possibility of just not coming out, which had been his plan all along. Until he’d met Eric.
If they were going to last, Kent couldn’t be in the closet forever. He simply couldn’t do that to Eric, who had lost his family because he wanted to be out so badly, he wouldn’t let anything stop him. If they were going to last, Eric would want to be out.
If they were going to last, Kent would have to come out.
Loud laughter brought him back from his swirling thoughts. He put his phone down on the seat, only then realizing that his hands were shaking.
God, this affected me more than I expected.
He struggled to get out of his jersey and pads, his breathing getting increasingly labored. When he dropped his clean shirt for the third time trying to put it on, he abruptly stood up and left the locker room, his teammates’ loud conversations slowly fading as he got farther away. Nobody seemed to notice that he had left.
He walked straight down a hallway, not really thinking about where he was going, until he couldn’t hear any noise at all. There, he pressed his back to the wall and sunk down. He pressed his forehead against his knees and closed his eyes, trying his best to get his breathing under control. He wished he’d remembered to take his phone with him to call Eric, though he wasn’t sure if he would have had the guts to show himself in such a vulnerable state.
Kent wasn’t having a panic attack, though. He wasn’t . Panic attacks are what happen to people with real problems that need medical help and deserve the attention and the worry from those around them. Kent didn’t have them, he didn’t need a doctor and he couldn’t bother Eric. Why would he call him, anyway? He was just a little bit nervous, probably overreacting. People talked like that in locker rooms all the time, it wasn’t any news to him.
His hands had found their way into his hair and were now pulling, pulling, pulling, to take his mind away from his nerves, trying to get back to reality.
“Get it together, Parse,” he growled lowly at himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled harder at his hair and pain erupted on his scalp.
He didn’t know when he had begun rocking back and forth, making his back hit the wall repeatedly, but he forced himself to stop. He also forced his hands out of his hair and straightened his legs, staring straight ahead. If anyone had walked in on him before, they would have thought he was crazy and sent him to the team shrink.
Kent scoffed. He didn’t need a shrink. Who cared if his hands were still shaking, and if he felt as if his lungs were collapsing? It was only because he was nervous about the next game. He was fine.
He was fine.
He stood up and shook his hands out, willing them to stop shaking already. He squared his shoulders and tried to make his expression as neutral as possible, faking a confident smirk as an afterthought. He walked back down the hallway and into the locker room, where there were only a few guys left. They were still chirping each other and laughing loudly, taking up as much space as they could. They didn’t seem to notice him come in, nor that he’d been gone, and Kent unsuccessfully tried to suppress the bitter feeling that was forming in his chest.
He was still barely half dressed, so he hurried to put all his clothes on. He didn't want to have to spend another second inside that locker room. Throwing a “goodbye” over his shoulder, he grabbed his things and left as fast as he could without looking suspicious. He didn't slow down when he got to his car, nor when he started driving. He sped along the road all the way to his house, jumping out of the driver seat and jogging up the porch steps. He went to his bedroom and jumped on his bed, finally allowing himself to breathe.
If he wanted to keep his sexuality private, he couldn't freak out like that again. It was pure luck that none of his teammates had seen him so agitated and realized it was because of that comment. Next time that happened he would have to suck it up and pretend it didn't bother him, like all his teammates did. Just that they weren't pretending, it actually didn't bother them. It clearly didn't bother Mark; he'd had no problem saying it, so he obviously thought what he said was right. Kent had to be more careful.
No one could know.
The next day Kent had just got in his car to drive to practice when his phone rang. He connected it through his car's bluetooth system and answered without looking at the caller ID, pulling the car out of his driveway.
“Hello?”
“Kent, hun! Good morning!”
A smile immediately broke out on Kent's face. Hearing Eric's voice did that to him; it always made his day a little bit brighter.
“Good morning to you, too. How's everything?”
Eric launched into a story about a fight that happened in the comments of one of his videos, letting Kent know what he thought about the cake batter they were arguing about and the users' grammar. Apparently, it wasn't very good. Kent was smiling the whole time, occasionally laughing out loud and commenting to keep Eric talking. Sooner than he wanted, he arrived at the rink. He didn't want to cut their conversation short, so he switched back from hands-free to a regular call and left his car, Eric none-the-wiser on the other line.
“...Because what she was saying wasn't true! And you know I couldn't just let her keep spreading misinformation on my videos, so I had to step in and tell her she was wrong.”
“Of course, how dare she say such things?” Kent chirped, pushing the front door open.
“Exactly!” Eric exclaimed, not seeming to catch Kent's teasing tone.
Eric kept talking as Kent walked down the hallway and into the locker room, where there was only Jeff. He was on the point of talking to Kent when he saw that he was talking on the phone.
“...So I think I have one less subscriber now, but I don't think I mind,” Eric finished. Kent could feel Jeff's eyes on his face, looking for God-knows-what there.
“Yeah, I think it's better off without her,” Kent replied.
They said their goodbyes and hung up, because Kent was such a creature of habit that Eric knew at exactly what time he got to the rink every practice day. Kent put his phone away and when he looked back up, Jeff had a knowing, smug look on his face. He didn't need to be prompted to say what was on his mind.
“So you weren't gonna tell me you had a girlfriend?”
Kent's jaw dropped.
“I- Uh- What?” He eloquently said.
“C'mon, Parse,” Jeff chuckled, “You were smiling at your phone like it hung the moon, you're too obvious. Honestly, I'm surprised nobody noticed before me.”
Kent still didn't know what to say, just staring at Jeff with eyes as wide as saucers.
“So what's her name?” Jeff wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at him.
Kent finally remembered how to speak. “No! I mean, I don't have a girlfriend, Swoops.”
“Yeah, right. You just don't want to tell me because you know I can steal her from you whenever I want.”
The locker room door opened behind Kent.
“Who is Swoops gonna steal form whom?”
Kent turned his head to see Mark and John walking into the room, deciding to stand there instead of going to their cubicles.
Damn athletes and their nosiness. Can't they just mind their own business?
“I'm going to steal Kent's girlfriend, when I find out who she is.”
Mark and John started whooping and making suggestive comments, only managing to egg Jeff on and annoy Kent even more.
“Guys. Guys. I don't have a girlfriend, seriously, stop it.”
That didn't stop them; they started calling out random names in hopes of getting it right- or annoying Kent enough to just tell them.
He gave up trying to make them back off, so he sat down and started getting changed for practice. Thankfully, his three teammates got bored and started talking about something else before more guys came into the room. Kent didn't speak again until he left, save for the few necessary things during practice. Jeff was eyeing him carefully throughout the duration of it, though if he saw something in Kent, he didn't comment on it.
Kent showered and left the rink, stopping at a grocery store before going back home. It was only when he was putting away the things he had bought that he realized how exhausted he was. He wasn't having trouble sleeping, so that was clearly not the problem. For the first time in his life, he knew that the thing that tired him was hockey. He still loved the sport - he was never as happy as he was on the ice, but being around his teammates was quickly making him become bitter about his job. Their constant casual homophobia forced him to be hyper aware of everything he said and did, afraid that they might figure out that he's...
What was he?
Not-straight?
He'd never felt the need to label himself, mostly because he hadn't really explored that side of him. Apart from his messy, toxic “relationship” with Jack many, many years before, he'd only been attracted to one other guy, and that was Eric. Any time he'd wanted to blow off some steam he would find some girl at a bar, someone who wouldn't remember his name and wouldn't mind when he didn't remember hers. He did find girls hot, he'd just never found one that he would want to date. Kent knew that labels were the least relevant part of sexuality, though a part of him wanted to be able to fit in a box with a simple definition.
Still, no matter what way he chose to define himself, if that wasn't “heterosexual” then it was for certain that somebody on his team would have something to say about it. He was torn between wanting to stay in the closet forever and coming out right then and there, like ripping off a band-aid.
The mere thought of the backlash that he could get, were he to come out, made him shudder. He could imagine his teammates not wanting to work with him anymore, his team trading him, getting checked a lot more on the ice, and that didn’t even cover everything that would happen outside hockey.
No, he wasn’t going to do it. He would wait until he retired, or at least until he was in a stable relationship. Maybe if he started dating a woman he could come out as bi - he guessed it would be much easier for the world to accept a bi man dating a woman than a gay man. He hoped things with Eric became official, though, and as far as Kent could tell, Eric was not a woman.
He was at a loss about what to do.
He walked over to his couch and sat down heavily, tugging at his hair. There was no way he’d be able to have a successful, mainly drama-free career while being out. He’d have to stay closeted until he retired, maybe even forever. So what if that made him unhappy? He’d have to suck it up.
Just like he’d always done.