The conversation flowed like the best brandy after that—smooth until it burned. Nik talked about growing up closeted in a small town and how social media became both his armor and his prison. I nodded along, recognizing pieces of my own story.
When Nik took a breath, Juno leaned forward. "Here's what I want to know. Jake, you've gone from reality TV villain to viral rap disaster to... whatever this is. What changed?"
I stared at the microphone. The honest answer was likely sitting in our kitchen, updating a spreadsheet about optimalcookie storage temperatures. The safe answer was some bullshit about personal growth and second chances.
My final choice wasn't half bad. "I stopped trying to be the guy everyone likes. Started trying to be someone I like when the game ends."
Nik shifted in his chair, but he was silent. Something about what I said landed.
Juno let it sit for half a beat before sliding back into host mode like a professional. "Well. That's either profound or the caffeine talking. Speaking of games ending—follow-up question is something my listeners desperately want to know: who would win in a bake-off? You, your teammate Evan, or Connor 'Hog' Hawkins?"
The whiplash from serious to absurd was so sharp I chuckled. "Evan, hands down. Only because he'd give the cookies names like Nut-Free Confidence Booster and methodically track their structural integrity."
Nik butted in. "I feel like there's a story there."
"There's always a story with Evan's cookies. Last week he made something called Emotional Support Snickerdoodles because Pickle was having an existential crisis about his plus-minus."
Juno raised an eyebrow. "Did they work?"
"Kid scored two goals in the next game, so either the cookies were magic or Evan's breaking open hockey psychology with baked goods."
Nik nodded. "I'm putting my money on magic. My teammates only give each other energy drinks and questionable life advice."
I perked up. "That's what teammates are for."
"Speaking of teammates." Juno leaned back in her chair, "I have to ask about the elephant in the room. Jake, rumors are flying around Thunder Bay about you and a certain defenseman who shall remain nameless, but it rhymes with Heaven Hearter."
"What the hell, Juno?"
"I'm not asking you to confirm or deny anything. I'm just saying the internet has opinions. Nik, you've got two million followers. What's your take on hockey players and public relationships?"
Nik's grin was wicked. "I think the internet ships everyone with everyone. Last week, they were convinced I was dating my goalie because we shared a water bottle."
"Were you?" Juno asked.
"God, no. Plank's got terrible taste in music, and he steals my protein bars."
"See? This is the hard-hitting journalism my listeners expect." Juno laughed. "But seriously, Jake—how do you navigate being openly queer in a sport that's still figuring out how to spell diversity?"
It was a heavy question. I took a breath, surprised by how much I wanted to answer honestly.
"You know what's weird? The hockey part isn't the hard part anymore. It's the... everything else. Like, my teammates don't give a shit who I'm sleeping with as long as I show up and play. But then I do a podcast, and suddenly I'm representing all queer hockey players everywhere, and that's..." I gestured vaguely. "Terrifying."
Nik leaned toward me. "Terrifying how?"
"What if I fuck it up? What if I say the wrong thing, play badly, or have another viral meltdown? Then it's not only Jake Riley who's a disaster—it's proof that queer guys can't handle the pressure."
A beat of silence followed while Juno rolled her hands to encourage us to speak up.
"That's a lot of weight," Nik said finally.
"Yeah, well, I've got strong shoulders. Comes from carrying all my emotional baggage."
Juno snorted. "Deflection via self-deprecation. Classic Riley move."
"Hey, it's gotten me this far."
"Has it, though?" She leaned forward, going full investigative journalist. "From where I'm sitting, the moments when you drop the act are when you're most compelling."
