“The penalty for being a star.” He grinned, showing the gap of missing teeth. “He did good. Some of the boys want to take him out for drinks. Significant others invited.”
“He’ll appreciate that.” Callum wasn’t a big drinker, normally, but he’d been relieved that many of the Dragons had made an effort to welcome him to the team. The rookie hazing had mostly been good-natured.
A clump of players came through the door a few minutes later. One was Aakvaag, who looked around and came my way. “Hey, your man played good.” He held out his hand.
I shook it. “Thanks for that last goal. My blood pressure did not want to go to overtime.”
“Us neither.” He turned as several of the other men approached.
“Hey, Evans,” one of them said. “We’re going to take Fitzer out to celebrate his first winandhis first point.”
“Yeah,” another laughed. “I tell he needs to score goal next time.”
His buddy shoved him hard enough to stagger him. “Don’t give Fitzer ideas. We don’t need another forward.”
The youngest of them said, “Anyhow, we thought we’d make it fun for Fitzer by going to a gay club. You have any ideas, Evans?”
“You want to take Callum to a gay club?” I asked, to make sure.
“Yeah. Not to pick up or anything. You should come too. But he hates being hit on by women.”
Callum actually thought it was funny, how many women still chased him despite his public coming out. But he’d probably also think it was funny to have his whole team end up in a gay bar, and who was I to derail the spirit of inclusion? “You more into drinking or dancing?”
“Both?”
I gave some thought to which gay club might be welcoming to straights and fun to go to. Although the asses on a hockey team would be welcome in most gay bars. “If the guys can handle being hit on by men in the spirit it’s meant, try Tiger’s. The DJ has good taste and the beer’s decent.”
“Tiger’s, huh?”
The team guys huddled, looking it up on their phones, discussing who was driving and whose wives and girlfriends were coming. They were good sports about the thirst-trap photo of the tattooed bartender, arguing over whether his abs were better than theirs. The women joined in the teasing, some bowing out, some saying they were definitely coming.
I was standing back, watching the guys, when someone started clapping. Callum came in, his face going red. “Cut it out, guys.”
“It’s the first star!” A burly defenseman caught him in a headlock.
Callum wriggled free, shoved the guy away, and grinned at me. “You see what I put up with? Arrest that man.”
“Sorry, I’m not a cop anymore,” I reminded him. “You’re on your own.”
Callum ran a quick gaze up and down the suit I was wearing and sobered. “How did it go in court?”
“Fine.” I wasn’t going to discuss the trial here, or bring down his mood tonight, but tomorrow he’d probably have to put up with me whining about the whole testifying process— dressing up to look professional, now I was no longer entitled tothe uniform. Waiting around for hours, just to have my words twisted by the slimeball lawyers of the trafficking motherfuckers we’d busted. I thought I’d held my own, but it was not a fun time. And there were more trials and hours more testimony to go.
Vicki said, “I didn’t realize you’d left the force. What are you doing now?”
“Back to school,” I told her. “Change of careers.” I didn’t mention social work, having found out pretty fast that everyone had vehement and uninformed opinions on the topic. I had no regrets, though. Callum’s salary, and his grandfather’s decision to sell his house and pay me nominal rent, had cleared the way for me to go back to what I’d originally wanted. I’d seen social work in practice. I didn’t think I had illusions. I was looking forward to it anyway.
As a distraction, I told Callum, “The team wants to take you to Tiger’s.”
“Seriously?” He looked around. “You guys do know that’s a gay club, right?”
“We want you to be comfortable, little goalie.” Blocker, who was six-five and twice as wide as Callum, could get away with calling him that.
“Ah.” Callum’s lips twitched like he was suppressing a smile. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”
We ended up with ten guys and five significant others, which was a good turnout for a weekday, celebrating a win against a team that wasn’t in any kind of rivalry. Everyone agreed on separate cars so they could bail at will, and we snuck out, no doubt disappointing fans waiting for autographs. I left my truck in the lot to drive Callum in the hybrid SUV he’d bought when he no longer had to worry about his grandfather’s mortgage. It ran quietly and had twice the legroom of his old beater.
“Was it you who suggested Tiger’s?” Callum gave a little grunt as he stretched out his puck-pummeled legs in the passenger seat.
