The Inverview
Title: The Interview
Fandom: Hockey RPS (Blackhawks)
Pairing: Brent Seabrook/Duncan Keith, side-pairing of Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews and a number of hints at others
Rating: R
Words: ~15,100
Warnings/Spoilers: Mention of past abuse (nothing on screen though)
Summary: When Kaner and Tazer are blackmailed, Brent and Duncan take the opportunity to save their friends and come out on their own terms. They organize an interview with NHL Overtime to talk about what it was like growing up gay in the hockey world. The Interview reverberates throughout the League.
Disclaimer: Not real, sadly.
Artist name: masterpenguin82
A/N: This was written for the 2012 RPF Big Bang at rpf-big-bang. Thank you to masterpenguin82 for making the wonderful mix to go with this story. It captures the feel of the story amazingly. It's perfect. I hope you all go download it.
Mix: Here
Fic: On Ao3 |
Prologue
Brent raises his hand to his neckline. Over the past three years it’s become more than a habit to fidget with the ring hanging on the heavy chain around his neck, just below the neckline of his jersey. His fingers find nothing, though, and it’s strange not to feel the weight in the hollow of his collarbone, a comforting reminder of the commitment he’s made.
Three years, and its finally on his ring finger, where it was always meant to be.
Embarrassed, Brent’s fingers still, then he covers the motion by tightening his tie. Duncan shakes his head, “It’s fine,” and laughs a little as he brushes a piece of lint from Brent’s shoulder. The room they’re in is sparsely lit, and Brent is distracted by the way the ring on Duncan’s finger flashes as it catches the light. Duncan follows his gaze. “What?”
Brent shrugs. It’s stupid. “Just not used to it yet.”
Duncan’s face softens and he moves his hand down Brent’s arm, squeezing gently, and threads his fingers through Brent’s. “I like it, too.”
Brent squeezes Duncan’s hand and leans towards him, so that his breath whispers hot and wet across Duncan’s ear. “There’s something in it for you if we get out of here. Right now.” Skip the interview hand heavy in the air around them.
Duncan turns just enough to press a quick, closed-mouth kiss on Brent’s lips. “Sounds like a plan.”
They don’t move.
This is it. The scariest thing Brent’s ever done. He used to try to think about this day, when he was a little boy playing pond hockey with his buddies in British Columbia, but it had always seemed so surreal, so impossible, so unreachable, then he had never been able to actually picture it.
Over the past nine years, however, he’s thought about it almost every day and he’s imagined it happening a thousand different ways.
They were only ever semi-careful. People knew. Family, friends, teammates, and Brent always assumed that it would be one of them who consciously or unconsciously let it slip. An accidental word dropped during a press conference. Or even a former teammate who, although a friend as a Hawk, would prove anything but after being traded to the Thrashers or the Canucks.
Brent always worried that, if it wasn’t someone else, it would he, himself, who slipped. There are these moment, moments when Brent feels like he’s going to drown and he just can’t help himself. He’d push Duncs up against the wall in some alleyway, kiss him hard and press a knee between his legs and hope, much later, that there weren’t any cameras around. Or Duncs would look at him in this way he has, as if Brent is the only thing in the world, and Brent wouldn’t think before he’d lean forward for a kiss. Quick and almost-innocent, but they’d be at a bar or a club, someplace public. All it would take is one fan with a flip-phone to catch a grainy picture for it to be all over Deadspin the next morning.
All those times, he never imagined it happening like this.
Voluntary, on their own terms, for their own reasons. They’d even chosen the venue. And even if it had taken a little push to get them to this point, they’ve had days to come to terms with their decision, and it’s more than Brent had ever dared to hope for.
Duncan squeezes his hand and Brent’s pulled back to their small staging room. He tries to reassure Duncs with a small smile. “They’re gonna be okay, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Duncan promises. “We’re doing a good thing.”
Brent laughs, low in his chest, at the ridiculousness of it all. “Role models, eh? Who would have guessed?”
Duncan doesn't laugh. He doesn’t do anything but look at Brent with that look again, the one that makes Brent feel like the most beautiful man in the world. It takes Brent a moment to realize that, this time, he can do something about it.
After a moment, Duncan pulls away, blushing and breathing hard and running his tongue across his lips. He shakes his head, smirking at Brent, and promises, again, “It’s worth it.”
There’s the clink of heels on the floor and Cindi, the Hawks PR woman, appears, clutching her iPad tightly. “Guys, they’re almost ready for you.” She offers them what Brent assumes is supposed to be a supportive smile, but she looks even more nervous than they do.
Duncan nods at her, then steps in front of Brent and tightens his tie again. “You sure you wanna do this?”
Brent holds Duncan’s hand against his chest. “No regrets, eh?”
“Never.” Duncan brings their hands to their sides, but doesn’t let go as they follow Cindi into the NBC Sports Network studio.
Part I
Two Weeks Ago
It’s two in the morning. Next to him, Duncan murmurs in his sleep and turns his back on both Brent and the ringing phone, so Brent stumbles out of the bedroom before he wakes his partner. Annoyed, he answers the phone. “What?”
“Brent?” Jonny’s voice sounds distant and frantic and Brent can hear voices and taxis and other street sounds in the background. It’s loud and the apartment is quiet and the contrast is already giving Brent a headache.
“What?” He repeats, short and clipped, ‘cause it’s early or late or something and Brent can’t think through the headache.
“We’re coming over.”
Brent’s head is pounding because he couldn’t have heard that right. “We?” And, more importantly, “It’s two am.”
“I know, I know,” Jonny says quickly, and Brent can see the little dismissive wave of Jonny’s wrist through the phone, then, “Wait a sec.” as if Brent has a choice. He hears Jonny put the phone to his shoulder and hears Jonny give Brent’s address to someone whom Brent can only hope is a cabdriver.
“Hope you’re not talking to a fan. Or a hooker. Or-”
“Cabdriver,” Jonny interrupts, ending Brent’s sleepy diatribe and confirming Brent’s suspictions. Jonny’s voice sounds clearer, but also drunker, and Brent rubs at his eyes with his free hand.
“You can’t come here. I’m sleeping.”
“You’re on the phone.”
Brent hates Tazer-logic. “Duncan’s sleeping.”
“He sorta needs to be up for this,” and Jonny at least has the graciousness to sound a little apologetic about that. There’s a pause, some shuffling, then, “We’ll be there in ten minutes.” Then there’s silence. Jonny hung up on him. Well, Jonny ordered him to wake Duncs, then hung up on him.
Brent stares at the phone for a moment, wishing that he could argue or curse or just fall asleep on the couch, but Jonny’s his Captain and Brent’s conditioned to do what he says. Brent goes through the list in his head: make coffee, wake Duncan, do- something else that Brent can’t really remember.
Brent frowns, then stumbles into the kitchen, starting the coffee maker with one hand while continually rubbing at his tired eyes with the other. It wasn’t all that long ago that he loved this time of night, pressed against Duncan in a mass of warm, sweaty bodies at a club, or watching from the bar, pleasantly buzzed, as Pat failed, night after night, to pick up the blondest girl in the bar. As Brent reaches for the Advil in the medicine cabinet, he realizes that, somewhere along the way, he and Duncan have been domesticated.
He doesn’t know who to blame for that. There’s someone somewhere who’s fault is it, Brent’s sure. If he wasn’t so tired he’s sure he’d be able to figure it out. In the morning. When his brain is working right again.
Duncan’s a deep sleeper, and he’s not a morning person, and he doesn’t even acknowledge Brent as the bed squeaks and Brent settles next to his hip. Brent runs a hand down Duncan’s spine, hoping to counteract his harsh words as he whispers, loudly, “Jonny’s on his way over.” Then, hopefully, a peace offering, “I’m making coffee.”
Duncan grunts, curling up around Brent and burying his head in Brent’s thigh to block out the light from the hallway. Duncan grunts again, his voice muffled by Brent’s boxers.
“Didn’t say why,” he answers the question he knows Duncan’s trying to ask in his pre-verbal early-morning state.
“Time?”
“Late.” Brent glances at the lock. Jonny’s going to be there any minute.
Duncan growls this time, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes. The sheet slips down to hang off Duncan’s hips and Brent can’t help but reach out to trace the muscles of Duncan’s stomach until they disappear below the sheet.
Duncan adjusts his arm and cracks one eye open. “Give me a minute, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Brent’s voice cracks a little and he clears it, standing too quickly and swaying for a moment before grabbing his sweatpants off the floor and pulling them over the slight bulge in his boxers.
Just the smell of the coffee is doing wonders and he feels almost human by the time he gets back to the kitchen. The pot’s done, and he pours four cups before setting the coffee maker up to start again. If he’s right about whatever this is, they’re going to need more than one pot.
He’s putting the mugs on the coffee table when he hears the doorbell. He rushes to answer it before the neighbors complain about their late hours, again, and the minute he opens the door Jonny pushes past him, supporting Pat on his shoulder.
“Bathroom.” Jonny motions towards Pat, and Brent takes half of Pat’s weight as he helps them to the guest bathroom. Pat immediately falls to the floor, grasping the toilet seat in his hands. Jonny steps over him and fills a cup with lukewarm water from the tap, handing it over when Pat is done.
Brent feels a presence behind him, and he moves to the side to give Duncan room in the doorway. Duncan’s wearing one of Brent’s Team Canada t-shirts and it makes him look smaller than he is as he crosses his arms and leans against the door jam. “What’s going on?”
“Kaner had a lot to drink.” Jon’s voice is tight and, when Brent looks at him, it’s obvious that Jonny has had just as much as Pat has. His face is pinched as if the only reason he’s not on the floor with Pat is by sheer will and Brent has the crazy desire to tell him to have at it.
“Sorry,” Pat whispers. He rinses his mouth with the water and leans back against Jon’s legs. “I’m good now.” He frowns. “I think.”
Brent focuses away from Jonny. It’s been months since he’s seen Pat like this. Since that weekend in Madison a year and a half ago. It had been embarrassing and stupid and just the push he needed and, since then, Pat’s started training harder, bulking up, and has been averaging a point a night. If Brent’s honest, he’s always assumed that the Wisconsin incident had also finally pushed Pat into Jonny’s bed, but he’s never gotten any proof of that.
“Help me up,” Pat orders, sounding a bit too much like Jonny, and Brent steps forward to grab his elbow.
“Why are you here?” Brent asks, once they’re all situated on the couches and sipping at the coffee. Duncan’s pressed next to him, their thighs and shoulders touching and Brent wishes that they were back in bed.
“Um-” Jonny starts, then takes a large sip of coffee and starts to choke. Pat slaps him on the back and, when Jonny’s stopped spluttering, Pat pulls his hand back, clasping a legal-sized envelope that must have been folded into Jonny’s back pocket.
“This, um, well, here.” Pat bites his lip as he hands over the envelope.
Beside Brent, Duncan straightens and takes the envelope. He opens the flap and turns it upside down on the coffee table. Five full-color, if grainy, photographs fall out and Brent arranges them carefully. He doesn’t have to look at them to know what they are, but he leans forward, elbows on his knees, to take a close look.
All five were taken with a telephoto lens. The first is through Jonny’s kitchen window, Pat pressed against the sink, shirtless, his head thrown back to make room for Jonny’s lips on his neck. The second is outside Pat’s apartment building and Pat’s leaning against Jonny’s truck, giving him a kiss through the driver’s side window. The third is in a bedroom - Brent guesses it’s Jonny’s from all the black - and Pat and Jonny are pressed together, shoulders to hips, hands clutching at bare skin.
Brent straightens without looking at the fourth and fifth pictures. His skin is burning, itchy and stretched, and he reaches out to grasp Duncan’s knee. He feels as if he’s walked in on something private, primal, somehow embarrassing and beautiful at the same time.
He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how he should be reacting to all this, and he’s grateful when Duncan covers his hand and speaks for him. “What do they want?”
“They sent those a couple of days ago.” Jonny seems to have regained his voice, and he hands over a folded piece of paper. “This was in my locker after the game tonight.”
Duncan opens it slowly and Brent leans over to read over his shoulder. Money order for $10 million. A P.O. Box. A date marked two weeks from today.
Brent whistles. He glances up at Pat and Jonny and tries for a joke, “Finally worth $10 million, eh?”
It makes Pat laugh, but it sounds choked and watery. Jonny hesitates, but then he clenches his jaw and puts a hand between Pat’s shoulder blades, rubbing softly. When he talks, it’s softly, dully, as if he’s not really aware of what he’s saying. “It started a year ago. Drinking. Fucking. When we couldn’t find anyone else, and sometimes even when we could.” He swallows, shaking his head and turning his chin away from Pat. “Now, I- we-”
“It’s okay,” Pat whispers, gently, but Jon doesn’t look back at him. Pat sighs and turns to Brent and Duncan. “It’s not that we don’t have something. We do. We just-” Pat frowns. “Don’t know what we have. It’s too soon, you know?”
Brent frowns. He wishes he understood, but he doesn’t really. He knew he loved Duncan the moment he met him, and even if it had taken months for him to work through his shit and accept that Duncan felt the same way, it was a never a question. He had always known it was worth it. Had always known that Duncan is the most important thing in his life and that, if it came down to it, Duncan was the priority, every time.
Brent gets the flicker of an idea, but he keeps his mouth shut. This isn’t the place or the time, not in front of the kids who, at 25 and 26, have never fitted the nickname better than they do right now. Brent takes a deep breath, and then lets it out.
“We’ll deal with this in the morning.”
Jonny finally looks back at Brent, even if not at Pat, and Brent can see Jonny’s relief at handing over the responsibility for the whole mess. “Yeah. Good. I’ll, um, we’ll call a cab and we’ll see you at the rink. In the morning.”
Brent shakes his head. “Guest room.”
“We can-” Jonny crosses his arms over his chest defiantly, but Brent just rolls his eyes.
“This isn’t up for debate. You’re gonna sleep it off. I don’t want to talk about this again until you’re sober.”
Jonny looks like he wants to argue for a moment, but then he just gets up and storms to the guest room, slamming the door behind him. It’s loud, and Brent watches as Pat flinches.
“Sorry,” Pat whispers, his voice small and scratchy. “He’s- Angry. And embarrassed.” About me isn’t said, but Brent hears it, and he shares a glance with Duncan, who reaches across the table to take Pat’s hand.
“He’s not, Pat. He’s scared.”
Pat lets Duncan hold his fingers for a moment, then pulls away. “Right.” He gets up, rubbing his hands on his jeans and glancing at them. “I’m gonna-” He points to the guest room and then he’s gone.
Brent looks back at the pictures. He leans closer, reaching out to touch the edges. They’re blurry, grainy, from a distance, and if Brent hadn’t been seeing their bodies in the locker room every day for years, he wouldn’t have known it was Pat and Jonny. He sighs. There’s something here. The beginning of something, but he’s not sure what, and he’s not sure he’s found it when he feels Duncan’s hand on his back.
“In the morning,” Duncan whispers, pressing a gentle kiss behind Brent’s ear.
Nodding, Brent carefully gathers the pictures together and slips them back into the envelope. Duncan collects the half-drunken mugs and deposits them in the sink before joining Brent in the hallway.
Brent lies awake, listening to Duncan’s breathing and the hush of whispers from the guest room. When the whispers turns to gasps and moans, Brent turns on his side and holds Duncan a little tighter than normal.
***
Brent doesn’t sleep much that night. He spends the time looking at Duncan, thinking over his plan and coming over and over again to the conclusion that they don’t have a choice. There’s only one option here, but, even after dissecting every conversation he and Duncan have ever had on the subject, he still doesn’t know how Duncs will feel about it.
The morning is a hectic attempt to get four people, half of them desperately hungover, out of the small apartment and into Duncan’s Jeep. They tiptoe around each other without much of a word in their fear, exhaustion, and embarrassment.
Brent isn’t able to steal a moment alone with Duncan, who has busied himself with shaving and making coffee for all of them. As they’re getting into the car, Brent stops him with a quiet, “Duncs.” Duncan looks at him for a long moment, but then he shrugs off Brent’s hand and throws him the keys, climbing into the passenger side without a word.
Practice is much the same. Jonny is silent and moody and the team take their cue from their Captain. Jonny pushes them all hard and by the last reps of suicides even Coach Q is giving him confused little glances. Finally, someone - Brent isn’t sure whether it’s Jonny or Coach Q or someone in the front office - takes pity and orders them off the ice.
Brent is exhausted, his legs shaking, and he doesn’t remember what’s coming next until he drags himself into the showers. Duncan is under the showerhead next to him, and Brent tries, his voice husky and winded, “Duncan?”
“Mmm.” Duncan turns and bends his head so that the shower beats against his neck.
“We need to talk. Before we go in there.”
“Not here,” is all he gets back, a short, clipped refusal to speak, and even though Brent knows it’s due to the bodies all around them, it’s infuriating.
Brent turns his shower off abruptly and storms into the locker room. He pulls on his clothes while he’s still damp and, as he stalks through the hallways of the UC, he finds that his fingers have automatically gone to play with the ring hanging against his collarbone. He forces himself to stop, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes fixed on his sneakers. He’s taken by surprise when a strong hand grabs his forearm and pulls him into a storage room.
“What?” Brent looks up to see Duncan in front of him, his arms crossed across his chest and a frown across his face.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Okay,” Brent agrees slowly.
“In the showers. There were people.”
“Yeah.”
Duncan frowns at him for a moment, before sighing. “We do need to talk.”
“Yeah.”
“Brent-”
“I didn’t sleep last night.” It tumbles out before Brent can stop it, and it’s as much an apology as it is an entrance into the topic they really need to discuss and, when Duncan opens his mouth, Brent puts a hand on his forearm and shakes his head. “Let me talk, eh?”
Duncan nods, slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Okay.”
“It needs to be us.” Brent says it, fast and low, and Duncan’s still frowning, so he closes his eyes and forces himself to slow down. “In the pictures. It needs to be us.”
“Yeah.”
“The pictures - they’re blurry. You can’t tell who it is. Not really.” Brent knows he’s babbling, but he needs Duncan to understand, and he feels high on nerves and adrenaline, and he can’t stop himself. “We could totally pass for the kids.” Duncan frowns at the phrasing, but Brent just shakes his head and continues. “If we come out before the 10 million is due, what’s the guy gonna do? Go on TV and argue that it’s not us in those pictures, after we’ve come out to the world?”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Brent pauses, out of breath. He hadn’t expected Duncan to agree so readily. He was up all night coming up with arguments. The kids are young. They’re new at this, they’re not ready, and, at first, Brent had wanted to hit something, anything, as long as it was hard and painful. But then Brent had realized that he and Duncan have been ready for this for eight years, and it may not be fair, and they may be backed against a wall, but it feels good to realize that there is something Brent can hit. Something big and scary and, “This might be suicidal.”
“Yeah.” Duncan smiles, just a little, at the corners of his mouth. “Might be something important, too.”
Brent smiles. He should have known that he had nothing to worry about. “Yeah,” he agrees. Big and scary and suicidal and important.
“So,” Duncan shuffles his feet, uncrossing his arms to shove his hands in his pockets. “We good.”
“Yeah.” Brent opens the door and lets Duncan slip out in front of him.
They’re the last to arrive in the conference room and, as Duncan closes the door behind them, Coach Q drums his fingers on his clipboard and glares around the table. “What’s this about, boys? I don’t have a lot of time today.”
Jonny’s fingers are shaking as he pulls the pictures out of their envelope and slips them across the table to Coach Q and Stan Bowman. They both lean forward, shoulders stiffening in tandem, before Stan looks up at them.
“Who has this?”
“Ahh-” Jonny shrugs and Brent wishes that they had gone over some of these important questions last night so that Jonny and Pat could at least be semi-prepared. “We don’t know.”
“How’d you get this?”
“It was slipped under my door.” Jonny swallows, then seems to regain a little of his ability for foresight. “Last week.”
“At home?”
“At my apartment, yeah.”
“Fuck.”
It’s language they don’t usually hear from Stan and it’s shocking and loud in the conference room that’s way too large for the six of them. Brent isn’t the only one who jumps, and he watches as Jonny places a hand on Pat’s shoulder.
Jonny is the first to get his voice back as he agrees, “Yeah.”
Finally, Coach Q, who has been inspecting each image carefully, looks up, shaking his head at Jonny and Pat. “How long has this been going on?”
Pat shrugs. “A while. We’re just . . . more than fooling around but-” Jonny lays his hand on top of Pat’s on the table and Pat takes an audible deep breath. “We’re just not ready to tell everyone yet.”
“How much are they asking for?” It’s a sane question that no one’s thought to ask yet, and Brent starts to wonder if Coach has seen something like this happen before.
“10 million.”
“Jesus.”
There’s a pause, and Brent squeezes Duncan’s hand under the table. “Um, if I can-” All eyes turn on him and he reaches up to touch the ring around his neck. “We may have a solution.
***
Cindi leads them into the NBC Sports Network studio. There’s a whole panel waiting for them. Pierre McGuire, Dan Patrick, and Mike Emrick from NBC. Bob Cole from Hockey Night in Canada. Pat Foley, Eddie Olczyk, and Bobby Hull from the Blackhawks.
Brent doesn’t know if any of them are friendly faces, but Bobby Hull is definitely smiling at him and Eddie Olczyk motions for them to take their seats in the middle. Brent feels a flash of warmth at NBC’s decency in stacking the deck in their favor as he takes his seat and, damn their marks and how the lights are set, rolls his chair as close to Duncan’s as possible.
Doc Emrick is watching as they accept water bottles and settle into their seats. Given the circumstances, Brent really can’t bring himself to care how close they’re sitting. He’s been nervous before, hell, he’s played in two Stanley Cup Championship series and an Olympic gold medal game, but it’s never been like this. Never been him on national television, with his family and his teammates and his high school buddies watching, wearing a suit and feeling naked without his equipment and adrenalin to hide behind. This is new and scary and dangerous.
He can picture it: his parents at home, the neighbors gathered around their small living room; Keith in Calgary, a bowl of popcorn in his lap; the boys gathered in Jonny’s living room in Chicago, Pat biting his nails and Sharpie and Jonny doing their best to keep everyone calm and full of beer. Brent smiles at the images, wishing that he had something stronger in front of him than water.
“You okay?” Duncs whispers in his ear.
Brent nods. “Good. Yeah. Good. Wish there was beer.”
Duncan chuckles. “When this is all over.”
“Right.”
There’s a noise in his ear and he glances over to see Doc Emrick looking at them again. He smiles at them. “Ready?”
“Sure,” Brent agrees. It’s too late for anything else.
The introductions are short and sweet and they’re over too soon for Brent, whose palms are leaving sweaty handprints on Duncan’s knee. Duncs reaches down to thread their fingers together, pulling Brent’s hand further into his lap. With a start, he realizes that Brent has already started talking.
“…When I was a boy, growing up in British Columbia, all I wanted to do was score goals and play pond hockey with my buddies. Didn’t realize there could be anything else.”
The panel laughs and Bob Cole leans forward. “Up there, there isn’t a whole lot else, eh?”
“Not really.” Brent gives him a conspiratorial smile.
“So, when did you start to notice something beyond hockey?”
“When I went away for Juniors.” Brent squeezes Duncan’s hand. “I started to realize that I was different. I wasn’t hiding Playboys under my mattress and the blond cheerleaders did nothing for me. Took me a long time to figure out that wasn’t normal.”
“When did you figure out you were gay?”
“A year or so into Juniors.” Brent shivers, but Duncan rubs his thumb over Brent’s thigh and Brent takes a deep breath. “It’s hard. Growing up in a small town up North, there aren’t a whole lot of images or role models or anything. I wasn’t even sure what it meant to be gay. When I realized I liked guys, I ignored it. For a long time. I knew-” He swallows. “I knew that I couldn’t play hockey and be gay. I had to choose one or the other. And my choice was simple.”
Eddie Olczyk gives him a sympathetic look as he takes over from Doc. “Doesn’t sound easy to me.”
Brent shrugs. “Back then, it was. I loved playing hockey. More than anything. It wasn’t even really a decision I had to make, and I told myself that it would be okay if I could play every day and then come home to my dogs. It’d be fine.”
That earns him a few sympathetic looks and he shifts uncomfortable in his chair as Eddie asks another question, his eyes sparkling as if he already knows the answer. “Obviously that isn’t what happened. What changed?”
“I met Duncan.” Brent answers before he thinks about it, and then he blushes. “I know it sounds cliché, and stupid, but he hit me like a brick wall. I thought I had life figured out, you know? Eat, sleep, play hockey.” Brent shakes his head. “But then I met Duncan and that all changed.”
“So, your relationship started when you first met?”
“No. When we first met, I was-” Duncan’s thumb presses hard into his thigh and Brent clears his throat. “There were some things I was dealing with. Some- things- had happened, and it took me a long time to trust Duncan. I always loved him, from the very beginning,” Brent swallows, still a little awed as he remembers the first time he saw Duncan in the locker room in Norfolk. “I fought him for a long time.”
The members of the panel shift uncomfortably, and Brent is glad that they were briefed on all of this before the interview started. They all knew this was coming, and Duncan pulls his fingers from Brent’s to squeeze his knee, his palm warm and comforting. Brent is glad for it. Knowing this was coming and having to talk about it it on national television are two separate things, and the question is still a bit shocking when it comes.
“You said some things happened to you before you met Duncan in the AHL. Were these things the result of your sexuality?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Brent leans his knee into Duncan’s touch. “Going away for Juniors was hard for me. I was young and I hadn’t ever been away from home before. And, like I said, I wasn’t looking at girls the way everyone else was. At that age, boys don’t hide much, and it became obvious pretty fast that I was different. One of the other boys took advantage of that. Juniors taught me that I only had two options: be gay and stay silent on the abuse, or speak out and stop playing hockey. The second option was unbearable to me.”
Brent’s talked about this before, to Duncan, to his therapist, to Coach Q when he joined the Hawks. They all told him over and over again that it wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about, but he still takes comfort in the obvious disgust on the panels’ faces.
Bobby Hull turns to them, speaking up for the first time, and his voice sounds hard and angry. “Is abuse common in the Junior Leagues?”
Brent sighs, running his free hand through his hair, his ring catching in the lights of the set. “Look, I don’t wanna throw the Junior system under the bus. Almost everyone goes through it, eh? What happened to me was one instance. One angry, confused boy. And, if I had spoken up, I’m sure something would have been done about it.”
“But you didn’t feel like you could speak out.”
“Well, no. But that’s my fault, not the league’s. I was young and confused and I didn’t understand my body. I was being told that being gay wasn’t okay. And then someone came along and told me that abuse was good, that it was what I wanted, and I didn’t know enough to know how fucking wrong that was.” Brent winces as he swears. “Sorry.”
Doc waves him away. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Anyway, I didn’t know any better, because I didn’t know that there was any other way. That’s why I’m here today. I just want other kids to know that it’s okay to be confused. I want them to know that they might be gay, and that’s okay. Listen to your body. And if you’re ever in a situation like I was, I need everyone to know that there are options. It’s not just stay quiet or risk your career. These things can be reported and you’ll be okay. I need kids to know that.” He takes a deep, steadying breath, and Doc offers him a smile, before turning back to the panel.
“Duncan, did you have a similar situation?”
Duncan shakes his head and Brent, relived that the conversation has moved away from him, takes the opportunity to lean back in his chair and watch Duncan speak, calm and comforting next to him.
“I was lucky. I played Juniors for a little while, but then I played college hockey at Michigan. I was never quite successful at hiding who I was, but I was given a lot of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell-type leeway at Michigan. I was always the silent, scary type in the locker room, anyway, so no one asked too much about my personal life. I didn't like hiding, but, in retrospect, I had it easy.” He squeezes Brent’s knee again and Brent gives him a small mile. “And, like Brent, I wanted to play hockey, so I didn’t see another option. I was resigned to it.”
Doc glances down at his notes. “So, you and Brent met in Norfolk, which at the time was the Blackhawks’ AHL affiliate. How long have you been together?”
Duncan grins, that large, toothy grin, and, even on national television, Brent’s stomach flips. “Eight years, in November.”
“You’ve kept it this a secret for 8 years?”
Duncan shrugs. “What were our options, eh? We play in a league that doesn’t support gay hockey players. Neither of us have ever wanted to do anything else. And I hate hiding. I hate that it looks like I’m ashamed of Brent when the truth is that he’s the love of my life. He means more to me than anything, but, until now, it’s been safer to keep it quiet.”
“Does anyone know?”
“Yeah.” Duncan smiles, and Brent knows that he’s thinking about their teammates. “We’ve told both our families and some of our teammates. It’s been frustrating, but at least we’ve been able to share it with the people we really care about.”
“And how have your teammates reacted?”
Duncan reaches for a glass of water, and Brent leans forward, taking over for him. “They’ve been great. We haven’t had any problems, from our teammates or the Hawks organization. Most of them even came to our wedding a few years ago. They’ve been extremely supportive.”
“They never give you a hard time?”
Brent chuckles. “Well, not never. We get some good-natured ribbing here and there, but what else can be expected from Sharpie and Kaner? There’d be something wrong if they didn’t pick on us a bit.”
“Do you expect the rest of the NHL to be as supportive?”
Brent shrugs, and Duncan squeezes his knee and then lets go, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands. “We hope everyone will be accepting and supportive, but we’re also realistic. The NHL is sill a very homophobic league. The You Can Play campaign has done a lot of good, and it’s really paved the way for us, but we’re still the first players to actually come out. We know it won’t be easy. I just hope that we can make some sort of difference, and maybe it’ll be a little easier for the next guy.”
“Speaking of the You Can Play campaign, how active do you plan on being as advocates for gay rights in sports?”
Duncan rubs a hand over his face. “I really don’t know. I’m not a politician, I’m just a hockey player. We make no apologies for who we are or who we choose to spend our life with, but we’re not going to shove it in peoples’ faces either. I’d rather be identified as a hockey player than a gay hockey player. We’ll do as much as we can, but we’re really just normal guys. And we hope that the league, and the media, can respect that.”
“Do you think there are other guys in the league like you?” Eddie’s eyes are twinkling, as if he knows the answer to this question, too. Brent wonders for a moment what Eddie knows, but then Duncan’s hand is on his thigh again and he squeezes it before answering.
“Ten percent of the population is gay, right? So that means that, yeah, there are two and half guys on every team. Struggling with the same things Duncs and I are.” He shrugs. “We’re not a secret society or anything, so don’t bother asking for names.”
The panel laughs, and Bob Cole smiles at them. “Do you see yourselves as role models for these other gay players who maybe haven’t felt comfortable coming out?”
Brent shrugs, and looks as uncomfortable as Duncan did earlier. “I hope so, but I don’t know. like I said earlier, kids need to know that it’s okay. I’m not the best, ah, role model,” Brent even trips over the word, and he grins. “But, any example is better than none. If there had been someone out in the league when I was 19, it would have saved me from a lot of suffering. My early years playing could have been completely different, and if we can change the life of just one young kid who’s struggling to make it through the ranks with this secret, then, well, I’ll call that a win.”
“Why today? Why haven’t you come out before now?”
Brent’s body stiffens, those pictures rushing through his mind, and he squeezes Duncan’s hand, grateful when he gets the message and answers for them. “We’ve talked about it off and on over the years, but the timing never seemed right. We’re conditioned in this sport, and in professional sports in general, to fit in. It’s bad to be different. It’ll disrupt the team.” Duncan sighs. “And those arguments do have their points. The most important responsibility you take on as athletes is to be a member of a team. You spend a lot of time with those guys - late nights on the road and early morning at the rink - and you need to be comfortable with each other. As a team. But, you also need to trust each other, on the ice and off. And we eventually decided that we were hiding the best parts of ourselves from our teammates. We were lying, and we weren’t trusting them.”
“And why now?”
Duncan glances at Brent with a small smile. “It was just time. We’ve been married for three years and neither one of us plans on going anywhere. I feel as strong now as I did on the day we met, and it was just time, yeah? I’ve always wanted to live an open, honest life, and now we finally have a chance to do that. If we can help others out in the process, all the better.”
Thankfully, Doc nods, accepting Duncan’s roundabout answer. This whole thing would be for nothing if those pictures were discovered. Instead, Doc gives them a little smile. “Have you talked about starting a family?”
Brent glances at Duncan, giving him that soft little smile that he saves for Duncs. He doesn’t look away as he nods. “Someday, yeah. Duncan would make a great father. But, for now, we just want to play hockey. We’ll talk about it when we retire.”
Doc grins at them. “Well, hopefully that won’t be for years to come.” He swivels his chair to look into the camera. “That’s it for our time, but visit us at nbcsports.com for more information and to see a replay of this interview. Thank you for coming, Duncan and Brent, and we want you to know that you have the full support of the NBC Sports staff and our panel today. You are brave and humble people and you do an honor to our sport. Thank you.”
Brent is tearing up and it’s embarrassing, and he’s glad they’re going to commercial, because he’s not sure he could even say thank you right now. He feels a hand on the back of his neck and he turns his head to see Duncan grinning at him.
“We did good.”
“Yeah, we did.” Brent grins, straightening and taking Duncan’s hand as they leave the talking heads to do their thing.
Part II
Fandom: Hockey RPS (Blackhawks)
Pairing: Brent Seabrook/Duncan Keith, side-pairing of Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews and a number of hints at others
Rating: R
Words: ~15,100
Warnings/Spoilers: Mention of past abuse (nothing on screen though)
Summary: When Kaner and Tazer are blackmailed, Brent and Duncan take the opportunity to save their friends and come out on their own terms. They organize an interview with NHL Overtime to talk about what it was like growing up gay in the hockey world. The Interview reverberates throughout the League.
Disclaimer: Not real, sadly.
Artist name: masterpenguin82
A/N: This was written for the 2012 RPF Big Bang at rpf-big-bang. Thank you to masterpenguin82 for making the wonderful mix to go with this story. It captures the feel of the story amazingly. It's perfect. I hope you all go download it.
Mix: Here
Fic: On Ao3 |
Prologue
Brent raises his hand to his neckline. Over the past three years it’s become more than a habit to fidget with the ring hanging on the heavy chain around his neck, just below the neckline of his jersey. His fingers find nothing, though, and it’s strange not to feel the weight in the hollow of his collarbone, a comforting reminder of the commitment he’s made.
Three years, and its finally on his ring finger, where it was always meant to be.
Embarrassed, Brent’s fingers still, then he covers the motion by tightening his tie. Duncan shakes his head, “It’s fine,” and laughs a little as he brushes a piece of lint from Brent’s shoulder. The room they’re in is sparsely lit, and Brent is distracted by the way the ring on Duncan’s finger flashes as it catches the light. Duncan follows his gaze. “What?”
Brent shrugs. It’s stupid. “Just not used to it yet.”
Duncan’s face softens and he moves his hand down Brent’s arm, squeezing gently, and threads his fingers through Brent’s. “I like it, too.”
Brent squeezes Duncan’s hand and leans towards him, so that his breath whispers hot and wet across Duncan’s ear. “There’s something in it for you if we get out of here. Right now.” Skip the interview hand heavy in the air around them.
Duncan turns just enough to press a quick, closed-mouth kiss on Brent’s lips. “Sounds like a plan.”
They don’t move.
This is it. The scariest thing Brent’s ever done. He used to try to think about this day, when he was a little boy playing pond hockey with his buddies in British Columbia, but it had always seemed so surreal, so impossible, so unreachable, then he had never been able to actually picture it.
Over the past nine years, however, he’s thought about it almost every day and he’s imagined it happening a thousand different ways.
They were only ever semi-careful. People knew. Family, friends, teammates, and Brent always assumed that it would be one of them who consciously or unconsciously let it slip. An accidental word dropped during a press conference. Or even a former teammate who, although a friend as a Hawk, would prove anything but after being traded to the Thrashers or the Canucks.
Brent always worried that, if it wasn’t someone else, it would he, himself, who slipped. There are these moment, moments when Brent feels like he’s going to drown and he just can’t help himself. He’d push Duncs up against the wall in some alleyway, kiss him hard and press a knee between his legs and hope, much later, that there weren’t any cameras around. Or Duncs would look at him in this way he has, as if Brent is the only thing in the world, and Brent wouldn’t think before he’d lean forward for a kiss. Quick and almost-innocent, but they’d be at a bar or a club, someplace public. All it would take is one fan with a flip-phone to catch a grainy picture for it to be all over Deadspin the next morning.
All those times, he never imagined it happening like this.
Voluntary, on their own terms, for their own reasons. They’d even chosen the venue. And even if it had taken a little push to get them to this point, they’ve had days to come to terms with their decision, and it’s more than Brent had ever dared to hope for.
Duncan squeezes his hand and Brent’s pulled back to their small staging room. He tries to reassure Duncs with a small smile. “They’re gonna be okay, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Duncan promises. “We’re doing a good thing.”
Brent laughs, low in his chest, at the ridiculousness of it all. “Role models, eh? Who would have guessed?”
Duncan doesn't laugh. He doesn’t do anything but look at Brent with that look again, the one that makes Brent feel like the most beautiful man in the world. It takes Brent a moment to realize that, this time, he can do something about it.
After a moment, Duncan pulls away, blushing and breathing hard and running his tongue across his lips. He shakes his head, smirking at Brent, and promises, again, “It’s worth it.”
There’s the clink of heels on the floor and Cindi, the Hawks PR woman, appears, clutching her iPad tightly. “Guys, they’re almost ready for you.” She offers them what Brent assumes is supposed to be a supportive smile, but she looks even more nervous than they do.
Duncan nods at her, then steps in front of Brent and tightens his tie again. “You sure you wanna do this?”
Brent holds Duncan’s hand against his chest. “No regrets, eh?”
“Never.” Duncan brings their hands to their sides, but doesn’t let go as they follow Cindi into the NBC Sports Network studio.
Part I
Two Weeks Ago
It’s two in the morning. Next to him, Duncan murmurs in his sleep and turns his back on both Brent and the ringing phone, so Brent stumbles out of the bedroom before he wakes his partner. Annoyed, he answers the phone. “What?”
“Brent?” Jonny’s voice sounds distant and frantic and Brent can hear voices and taxis and other street sounds in the background. It’s loud and the apartment is quiet and the contrast is already giving Brent a headache.
“What?” He repeats, short and clipped, ‘cause it’s early or late or something and Brent can’t think through the headache.
“We’re coming over.”
Brent’s head is pounding because he couldn’t have heard that right. “We?” And, more importantly, “It’s two am.”
“I know, I know,” Jonny says quickly, and Brent can see the little dismissive wave of Jonny’s wrist through the phone, then, “Wait a sec.” as if Brent has a choice. He hears Jonny put the phone to his shoulder and hears Jonny give Brent’s address to someone whom Brent can only hope is a cabdriver.
“Hope you’re not talking to a fan. Or a hooker. Or-”
“Cabdriver,” Jonny interrupts, ending Brent’s sleepy diatribe and confirming Brent’s suspictions. Jonny’s voice sounds clearer, but also drunker, and Brent rubs at his eyes with his free hand.
“You can’t come here. I’m sleeping.”
“You’re on the phone.”
Brent hates Tazer-logic. “Duncan’s sleeping.”
“He sorta needs to be up for this,” and Jonny at least has the graciousness to sound a little apologetic about that. There’s a pause, some shuffling, then, “We’ll be there in ten minutes.” Then there’s silence. Jonny hung up on him. Well, Jonny ordered him to wake Duncs, then hung up on him.
Brent stares at the phone for a moment, wishing that he could argue or curse or just fall asleep on the couch, but Jonny’s his Captain and Brent’s conditioned to do what he says. Brent goes through the list in his head: make coffee, wake Duncan, do- something else that Brent can’t really remember.
Brent frowns, then stumbles into the kitchen, starting the coffee maker with one hand while continually rubbing at his tired eyes with the other. It wasn’t all that long ago that he loved this time of night, pressed against Duncan in a mass of warm, sweaty bodies at a club, or watching from the bar, pleasantly buzzed, as Pat failed, night after night, to pick up the blondest girl in the bar. As Brent reaches for the Advil in the medicine cabinet, he realizes that, somewhere along the way, he and Duncan have been domesticated.
He doesn’t know who to blame for that. There’s someone somewhere who’s fault is it, Brent’s sure. If he wasn’t so tired he’s sure he’d be able to figure it out. In the morning. When his brain is working right again.
Duncan’s a deep sleeper, and he’s not a morning person, and he doesn’t even acknowledge Brent as the bed squeaks and Brent settles next to his hip. Brent runs a hand down Duncan’s spine, hoping to counteract his harsh words as he whispers, loudly, “Jonny’s on his way over.” Then, hopefully, a peace offering, “I’m making coffee.”
Duncan grunts, curling up around Brent and burying his head in Brent’s thigh to block out the light from the hallway. Duncan grunts again, his voice muffled by Brent’s boxers.
“Didn’t say why,” he answers the question he knows Duncan’s trying to ask in his pre-verbal early-morning state.
“Time?”
“Late.” Brent glances at the lock. Jonny’s going to be there any minute.
Duncan growls this time, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes. The sheet slips down to hang off Duncan’s hips and Brent can’t help but reach out to trace the muscles of Duncan’s stomach until they disappear below the sheet.
Duncan adjusts his arm and cracks one eye open. “Give me a minute, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Brent’s voice cracks a little and he clears it, standing too quickly and swaying for a moment before grabbing his sweatpants off the floor and pulling them over the slight bulge in his boxers.
Just the smell of the coffee is doing wonders and he feels almost human by the time he gets back to the kitchen. The pot’s done, and he pours four cups before setting the coffee maker up to start again. If he’s right about whatever this is, they’re going to need more than one pot.
He’s putting the mugs on the coffee table when he hears the doorbell. He rushes to answer it before the neighbors complain about their late hours, again, and the minute he opens the door Jonny pushes past him, supporting Pat on his shoulder.
“Bathroom.” Jonny motions towards Pat, and Brent takes half of Pat’s weight as he helps them to the guest bathroom. Pat immediately falls to the floor, grasping the toilet seat in his hands. Jonny steps over him and fills a cup with lukewarm water from the tap, handing it over when Pat is done.
Brent feels a presence behind him, and he moves to the side to give Duncan room in the doorway. Duncan’s wearing one of Brent’s Team Canada t-shirts and it makes him look smaller than he is as he crosses his arms and leans against the door jam. “What’s going on?”
“Kaner had a lot to drink.” Jon’s voice is tight and, when Brent looks at him, it’s obvious that Jonny has had just as much as Pat has. His face is pinched as if the only reason he’s not on the floor with Pat is by sheer will and Brent has the crazy desire to tell him to have at it.
“Sorry,” Pat whispers. He rinses his mouth with the water and leans back against Jon’s legs. “I’m good now.” He frowns. “I think.”
Brent focuses away from Jonny. It’s been months since he’s seen Pat like this. Since that weekend in Madison a year and a half ago. It had been embarrassing and stupid and just the push he needed and, since then, Pat’s started training harder, bulking up, and has been averaging a point a night. If Brent’s honest, he’s always assumed that the Wisconsin incident had also finally pushed Pat into Jonny’s bed, but he’s never gotten any proof of that.
“Help me up,” Pat orders, sounding a bit too much like Jonny, and Brent steps forward to grab his elbow.
“Why are you here?” Brent asks, once they’re all situated on the couches and sipping at the coffee. Duncan’s pressed next to him, their thighs and shoulders touching and Brent wishes that they were back in bed.
“Um-” Jonny starts, then takes a large sip of coffee and starts to choke. Pat slaps him on the back and, when Jonny’s stopped spluttering, Pat pulls his hand back, clasping a legal-sized envelope that must have been folded into Jonny’s back pocket.
“This, um, well, here.” Pat bites his lip as he hands over the envelope.
Beside Brent, Duncan straightens and takes the envelope. He opens the flap and turns it upside down on the coffee table. Five full-color, if grainy, photographs fall out and Brent arranges them carefully. He doesn’t have to look at them to know what they are, but he leans forward, elbows on his knees, to take a close look.
All five were taken with a telephoto lens. The first is through Jonny’s kitchen window, Pat pressed against the sink, shirtless, his head thrown back to make room for Jonny’s lips on his neck. The second is outside Pat’s apartment building and Pat’s leaning against Jonny’s truck, giving him a kiss through the driver’s side window. The third is in a bedroom - Brent guesses it’s Jonny’s from all the black - and Pat and Jonny are pressed together, shoulders to hips, hands clutching at bare skin.
Brent straightens without looking at the fourth and fifth pictures. His skin is burning, itchy and stretched, and he reaches out to grasp Duncan’s knee. He feels as if he’s walked in on something private, primal, somehow embarrassing and beautiful at the same time.
He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how he should be reacting to all this, and he’s grateful when Duncan covers his hand and speaks for him. “What do they want?”
“They sent those a couple of days ago.” Jonny seems to have regained his voice, and he hands over a folded piece of paper. “This was in my locker after the game tonight.”
Duncan opens it slowly and Brent leans over to read over his shoulder. Money order for $10 million. A P.O. Box. A date marked two weeks from today.
Brent whistles. He glances up at Pat and Jonny and tries for a joke, “Finally worth $10 million, eh?”
It makes Pat laugh, but it sounds choked and watery. Jonny hesitates, but then he clenches his jaw and puts a hand between Pat’s shoulder blades, rubbing softly. When he talks, it’s softly, dully, as if he’s not really aware of what he’s saying. “It started a year ago. Drinking. Fucking. When we couldn’t find anyone else, and sometimes even when we could.” He swallows, shaking his head and turning his chin away from Pat. “Now, I- we-”
“It’s okay,” Pat whispers, gently, but Jon doesn’t look back at him. Pat sighs and turns to Brent and Duncan. “It’s not that we don’t have something. We do. We just-” Pat frowns. “Don’t know what we have. It’s too soon, you know?”
Brent frowns. He wishes he understood, but he doesn’t really. He knew he loved Duncan the moment he met him, and even if it had taken months for him to work through his shit and accept that Duncan felt the same way, it was a never a question. He had always known it was worth it. Had always known that Duncan is the most important thing in his life and that, if it came down to it, Duncan was the priority, every time.
Brent gets the flicker of an idea, but he keeps his mouth shut. This isn’t the place or the time, not in front of the kids who, at 25 and 26, have never fitted the nickname better than they do right now. Brent takes a deep breath, and then lets it out.
“We’ll deal with this in the morning.”
Jonny finally looks back at Brent, even if not at Pat, and Brent can see Jonny’s relief at handing over the responsibility for the whole mess. “Yeah. Good. I’ll, um, we’ll call a cab and we’ll see you at the rink. In the morning.”
Brent shakes his head. “Guest room.”
“We can-” Jonny crosses his arms over his chest defiantly, but Brent just rolls his eyes.
“This isn’t up for debate. You’re gonna sleep it off. I don’t want to talk about this again until you’re sober.”
Jonny looks like he wants to argue for a moment, but then he just gets up and storms to the guest room, slamming the door behind him. It’s loud, and Brent watches as Pat flinches.
“Sorry,” Pat whispers, his voice small and scratchy. “He’s- Angry. And embarrassed.” About me isn’t said, but Brent hears it, and he shares a glance with Duncan, who reaches across the table to take Pat’s hand.
“He’s not, Pat. He’s scared.”
Pat lets Duncan hold his fingers for a moment, then pulls away. “Right.” He gets up, rubbing his hands on his jeans and glancing at them. “I’m gonna-” He points to the guest room and then he’s gone.
Brent looks back at the pictures. He leans closer, reaching out to touch the edges. They’re blurry, grainy, from a distance, and if Brent hadn’t been seeing their bodies in the locker room every day for years, he wouldn’t have known it was Pat and Jonny. He sighs. There’s something here. The beginning of something, but he’s not sure what, and he’s not sure he’s found it when he feels Duncan’s hand on his back.
“In the morning,” Duncan whispers, pressing a gentle kiss behind Brent’s ear.
Nodding, Brent carefully gathers the pictures together and slips them back into the envelope. Duncan collects the half-drunken mugs and deposits them in the sink before joining Brent in the hallway.
Brent lies awake, listening to Duncan’s breathing and the hush of whispers from the guest room. When the whispers turns to gasps and moans, Brent turns on his side and holds Duncan a little tighter than normal.
***
Brent doesn’t sleep much that night. He spends the time looking at Duncan, thinking over his plan and coming over and over again to the conclusion that they don’t have a choice. There’s only one option here, but, even after dissecting every conversation he and Duncan have ever had on the subject, he still doesn’t know how Duncs will feel about it.
The morning is a hectic attempt to get four people, half of them desperately hungover, out of the small apartment and into Duncan’s Jeep. They tiptoe around each other without much of a word in their fear, exhaustion, and embarrassment.
Brent isn’t able to steal a moment alone with Duncan, who has busied himself with shaving and making coffee for all of them. As they’re getting into the car, Brent stops him with a quiet, “Duncs.” Duncan looks at him for a long moment, but then he shrugs off Brent’s hand and throws him the keys, climbing into the passenger side without a word.
Practice is much the same. Jonny is silent and moody and the team take their cue from their Captain. Jonny pushes them all hard and by the last reps of suicides even Coach Q is giving him confused little glances. Finally, someone - Brent isn’t sure whether it’s Jonny or Coach Q or someone in the front office - takes pity and orders them off the ice.
Brent is exhausted, his legs shaking, and he doesn’t remember what’s coming next until he drags himself into the showers. Duncan is under the showerhead next to him, and Brent tries, his voice husky and winded, “Duncan?”
“Mmm.” Duncan turns and bends his head so that the shower beats against his neck.
“We need to talk. Before we go in there.”
“Not here,” is all he gets back, a short, clipped refusal to speak, and even though Brent knows it’s due to the bodies all around them, it’s infuriating.
Brent turns his shower off abruptly and storms into the locker room. He pulls on his clothes while he’s still damp and, as he stalks through the hallways of the UC, he finds that his fingers have automatically gone to play with the ring hanging against his collarbone. He forces himself to stop, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes fixed on his sneakers. He’s taken by surprise when a strong hand grabs his forearm and pulls him into a storage room.
“What?” Brent looks up to see Duncan in front of him, his arms crossed across his chest and a frown across his face.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Okay,” Brent agrees slowly.
“In the showers. There were people.”
“Yeah.”
Duncan frowns at him for a moment, before sighing. “We do need to talk.”
“Yeah.”
“Brent-”
“I didn’t sleep last night.” It tumbles out before Brent can stop it, and it’s as much an apology as it is an entrance into the topic they really need to discuss and, when Duncan opens his mouth, Brent puts a hand on his forearm and shakes his head. “Let me talk, eh?”
Duncan nods, slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Okay.”
“It needs to be us.” Brent says it, fast and low, and Duncan’s still frowning, so he closes his eyes and forces himself to slow down. “In the pictures. It needs to be us.”
“Yeah.”
“The pictures - they’re blurry. You can’t tell who it is. Not really.” Brent knows he’s babbling, but he needs Duncan to understand, and he feels high on nerves and adrenaline, and he can’t stop himself. “We could totally pass for the kids.” Duncan frowns at the phrasing, but Brent just shakes his head and continues. “If we come out before the 10 million is due, what’s the guy gonna do? Go on TV and argue that it’s not us in those pictures, after we’ve come out to the world?”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Brent pauses, out of breath. He hadn’t expected Duncan to agree so readily. He was up all night coming up with arguments. The kids are young. They’re new at this, they’re not ready, and, at first, Brent had wanted to hit something, anything, as long as it was hard and painful. But then Brent had realized that he and Duncan have been ready for this for eight years, and it may not be fair, and they may be backed against a wall, but it feels good to realize that there is something Brent can hit. Something big and scary and, “This might be suicidal.”
“Yeah.” Duncan smiles, just a little, at the corners of his mouth. “Might be something important, too.”
Brent smiles. He should have known that he had nothing to worry about. “Yeah,” he agrees. Big and scary and suicidal and important.
“So,” Duncan shuffles his feet, uncrossing his arms to shove his hands in his pockets. “We good.”
“Yeah.” Brent opens the door and lets Duncan slip out in front of him.
They’re the last to arrive in the conference room and, as Duncan closes the door behind them, Coach Q drums his fingers on his clipboard and glares around the table. “What’s this about, boys? I don’t have a lot of time today.”
Jonny’s fingers are shaking as he pulls the pictures out of their envelope and slips them across the table to Coach Q and Stan Bowman. They both lean forward, shoulders stiffening in tandem, before Stan looks up at them.
“Who has this?”
“Ahh-” Jonny shrugs and Brent wishes that they had gone over some of these important questions last night so that Jonny and Pat could at least be semi-prepared. “We don’t know.”
“How’d you get this?”
“It was slipped under my door.” Jonny swallows, then seems to regain a little of his ability for foresight. “Last week.”
“At home?”
“At my apartment, yeah.”
“Fuck.”
It’s language they don’t usually hear from Stan and it’s shocking and loud in the conference room that’s way too large for the six of them. Brent isn’t the only one who jumps, and he watches as Jonny places a hand on Pat’s shoulder.
Jonny is the first to get his voice back as he agrees, “Yeah.”
Finally, Coach Q, who has been inspecting each image carefully, looks up, shaking his head at Jonny and Pat. “How long has this been going on?”
Pat shrugs. “A while. We’re just . . . more than fooling around but-” Jonny lays his hand on top of Pat’s on the table and Pat takes an audible deep breath. “We’re just not ready to tell everyone yet.”
“How much are they asking for?” It’s a sane question that no one’s thought to ask yet, and Brent starts to wonder if Coach has seen something like this happen before.
“10 million.”
“Jesus.”
There’s a pause, and Brent squeezes Duncan’s hand under the table. “Um, if I can-” All eyes turn on him and he reaches up to touch the ring around his neck. “We may have a solution.
***
Cindi leads them into the NBC Sports Network studio. There’s a whole panel waiting for them. Pierre McGuire, Dan Patrick, and Mike Emrick from NBC. Bob Cole from Hockey Night in Canada. Pat Foley, Eddie Olczyk, and Bobby Hull from the Blackhawks.
Brent doesn’t know if any of them are friendly faces, but Bobby Hull is definitely smiling at him and Eddie Olczyk motions for them to take their seats in the middle. Brent feels a flash of warmth at NBC’s decency in stacking the deck in their favor as he takes his seat and, damn their marks and how the lights are set, rolls his chair as close to Duncan’s as possible.
Doc Emrick is watching as they accept water bottles and settle into their seats. Given the circumstances, Brent really can’t bring himself to care how close they’re sitting. He’s been nervous before, hell, he’s played in two Stanley Cup Championship series and an Olympic gold medal game, but it’s never been like this. Never been him on national television, with his family and his teammates and his high school buddies watching, wearing a suit and feeling naked without his equipment and adrenalin to hide behind. This is new and scary and dangerous.
He can picture it: his parents at home, the neighbors gathered around their small living room; Keith in Calgary, a bowl of popcorn in his lap; the boys gathered in Jonny’s living room in Chicago, Pat biting his nails and Sharpie and Jonny doing their best to keep everyone calm and full of beer. Brent smiles at the images, wishing that he had something stronger in front of him than water.
“You okay?” Duncs whispers in his ear.
Brent nods. “Good. Yeah. Good. Wish there was beer.”
Duncan chuckles. “When this is all over.”
“Right.”
There’s a noise in his ear and he glances over to see Doc Emrick looking at them again. He smiles at them. “Ready?”
“Sure,” Brent agrees. It’s too late for anything else.
The introductions are short and sweet and they’re over too soon for Brent, whose palms are leaving sweaty handprints on Duncan’s knee. Duncs reaches down to thread their fingers together, pulling Brent’s hand further into his lap. With a start, he realizes that Brent has already started talking.
“…When I was a boy, growing up in British Columbia, all I wanted to do was score goals and play pond hockey with my buddies. Didn’t realize there could be anything else.”
The panel laughs and Bob Cole leans forward. “Up there, there isn’t a whole lot else, eh?”
“Not really.” Brent gives him a conspiratorial smile.
“So, when did you start to notice something beyond hockey?”
“When I went away for Juniors.” Brent squeezes Duncan’s hand. “I started to realize that I was different. I wasn’t hiding Playboys under my mattress and the blond cheerleaders did nothing for me. Took me a long time to figure out that wasn’t normal.”
“When did you figure out you were gay?”
“A year or so into Juniors.” Brent shivers, but Duncan rubs his thumb over Brent’s thigh and Brent takes a deep breath. “It’s hard. Growing up in a small town up North, there aren’t a whole lot of images or role models or anything. I wasn’t even sure what it meant to be gay. When I realized I liked guys, I ignored it. For a long time. I knew-” He swallows. “I knew that I couldn’t play hockey and be gay. I had to choose one or the other. And my choice was simple.”
Eddie Olczyk gives him a sympathetic look as he takes over from Doc. “Doesn’t sound easy to me.”
Brent shrugs. “Back then, it was. I loved playing hockey. More than anything. It wasn’t even really a decision I had to make, and I told myself that it would be okay if I could play every day and then come home to my dogs. It’d be fine.”
That earns him a few sympathetic looks and he shifts uncomfortable in his chair as Eddie asks another question, his eyes sparkling as if he already knows the answer. “Obviously that isn’t what happened. What changed?”
“I met Duncan.” Brent answers before he thinks about it, and then he blushes. “I know it sounds cliché, and stupid, but he hit me like a brick wall. I thought I had life figured out, you know? Eat, sleep, play hockey.” Brent shakes his head. “But then I met Duncan and that all changed.”
“So, your relationship started when you first met?”
“No. When we first met, I was-” Duncan’s thumb presses hard into his thigh and Brent clears his throat. “There were some things I was dealing with. Some- things- had happened, and it took me a long time to trust Duncan. I always loved him, from the very beginning,” Brent swallows, still a little awed as he remembers the first time he saw Duncan in the locker room in Norfolk. “I fought him for a long time.”
The members of the panel shift uncomfortably, and Brent is glad that they were briefed on all of this before the interview started. They all knew this was coming, and Duncan pulls his fingers from Brent’s to squeeze his knee, his palm warm and comforting. Brent is glad for it. Knowing this was coming and having to talk about it it on national television are two separate things, and the question is still a bit shocking when it comes.
“You said some things happened to you before you met Duncan in the AHL. Were these things the result of your sexuality?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Brent leans his knee into Duncan’s touch. “Going away for Juniors was hard for me. I was young and I hadn’t ever been away from home before. And, like I said, I wasn’t looking at girls the way everyone else was. At that age, boys don’t hide much, and it became obvious pretty fast that I was different. One of the other boys took advantage of that. Juniors taught me that I only had two options: be gay and stay silent on the abuse, or speak out and stop playing hockey. The second option was unbearable to me.”
Brent’s talked about this before, to Duncan, to his therapist, to Coach Q when he joined the Hawks. They all told him over and over again that it wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about, but he still takes comfort in the obvious disgust on the panels’ faces.
Bobby Hull turns to them, speaking up for the first time, and his voice sounds hard and angry. “Is abuse common in the Junior Leagues?”
Brent sighs, running his free hand through his hair, his ring catching in the lights of the set. “Look, I don’t wanna throw the Junior system under the bus. Almost everyone goes through it, eh? What happened to me was one instance. One angry, confused boy. And, if I had spoken up, I’m sure something would have been done about it.”
“But you didn’t feel like you could speak out.”
“Well, no. But that’s my fault, not the league’s. I was young and confused and I didn’t understand my body. I was being told that being gay wasn’t okay. And then someone came along and told me that abuse was good, that it was what I wanted, and I didn’t know enough to know how fucking wrong that was.” Brent winces as he swears. “Sorry.”
Doc waves him away. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Anyway, I didn’t know any better, because I didn’t know that there was any other way. That’s why I’m here today. I just want other kids to know that it’s okay to be confused. I want them to know that they might be gay, and that’s okay. Listen to your body. And if you’re ever in a situation like I was, I need everyone to know that there are options. It’s not just stay quiet or risk your career. These things can be reported and you’ll be okay. I need kids to know that.” He takes a deep, steadying breath, and Doc offers him a smile, before turning back to the panel.
“Duncan, did you have a similar situation?”
Duncan shakes his head and Brent, relived that the conversation has moved away from him, takes the opportunity to lean back in his chair and watch Duncan speak, calm and comforting next to him.
“I was lucky. I played Juniors for a little while, but then I played college hockey at Michigan. I was never quite successful at hiding who I was, but I was given a lot of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell-type leeway at Michigan. I was always the silent, scary type in the locker room, anyway, so no one asked too much about my personal life. I didn't like hiding, but, in retrospect, I had it easy.” He squeezes Brent’s knee again and Brent gives him a small mile. “And, like Brent, I wanted to play hockey, so I didn’t see another option. I was resigned to it.”
Doc glances down at his notes. “So, you and Brent met in Norfolk, which at the time was the Blackhawks’ AHL affiliate. How long have you been together?”
Duncan grins, that large, toothy grin, and, even on national television, Brent’s stomach flips. “Eight years, in November.”
“You’ve kept it this a secret for 8 years?”
Duncan shrugs. “What were our options, eh? We play in a league that doesn’t support gay hockey players. Neither of us have ever wanted to do anything else. And I hate hiding. I hate that it looks like I’m ashamed of Brent when the truth is that he’s the love of my life. He means more to me than anything, but, until now, it’s been safer to keep it quiet.”
“Does anyone know?”
“Yeah.” Duncan smiles, and Brent knows that he’s thinking about their teammates. “We’ve told both our families and some of our teammates. It’s been frustrating, but at least we’ve been able to share it with the people we really care about.”
“And how have your teammates reacted?”
Duncan reaches for a glass of water, and Brent leans forward, taking over for him. “They’ve been great. We haven’t had any problems, from our teammates or the Hawks organization. Most of them even came to our wedding a few years ago. They’ve been extremely supportive.”
“They never give you a hard time?”
Brent chuckles. “Well, not never. We get some good-natured ribbing here and there, but what else can be expected from Sharpie and Kaner? There’d be something wrong if they didn’t pick on us a bit.”
“Do you expect the rest of the NHL to be as supportive?”
Brent shrugs, and Duncan squeezes his knee and then lets go, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands. “We hope everyone will be accepting and supportive, but we’re also realistic. The NHL is sill a very homophobic league. The You Can Play campaign has done a lot of good, and it’s really paved the way for us, but we’re still the first players to actually come out. We know it won’t be easy. I just hope that we can make some sort of difference, and maybe it’ll be a little easier for the next guy.”
“Speaking of the You Can Play campaign, how active do you plan on being as advocates for gay rights in sports?”
Duncan rubs a hand over his face. “I really don’t know. I’m not a politician, I’m just a hockey player. We make no apologies for who we are or who we choose to spend our life with, but we’re not going to shove it in peoples’ faces either. I’d rather be identified as a hockey player than a gay hockey player. We’ll do as much as we can, but we’re really just normal guys. And we hope that the league, and the media, can respect that.”
“Do you think there are other guys in the league like you?” Eddie’s eyes are twinkling, as if he knows the answer to this question, too. Brent wonders for a moment what Eddie knows, but then Duncan’s hand is on his thigh again and he squeezes it before answering.
“Ten percent of the population is gay, right? So that means that, yeah, there are two and half guys on every team. Struggling with the same things Duncs and I are.” He shrugs. “We’re not a secret society or anything, so don’t bother asking for names.”
The panel laughs, and Bob Cole smiles at them. “Do you see yourselves as role models for these other gay players who maybe haven’t felt comfortable coming out?”
Brent shrugs, and looks as uncomfortable as Duncan did earlier. “I hope so, but I don’t know. like I said earlier, kids need to know that it’s okay. I’m not the best, ah, role model,” Brent even trips over the word, and he grins. “But, any example is better than none. If there had been someone out in the league when I was 19, it would have saved me from a lot of suffering. My early years playing could have been completely different, and if we can change the life of just one young kid who’s struggling to make it through the ranks with this secret, then, well, I’ll call that a win.”
“Why today? Why haven’t you come out before now?”
Brent’s body stiffens, those pictures rushing through his mind, and he squeezes Duncan’s hand, grateful when he gets the message and answers for them. “We’ve talked about it off and on over the years, but the timing never seemed right. We’re conditioned in this sport, and in professional sports in general, to fit in. It’s bad to be different. It’ll disrupt the team.” Duncan sighs. “And those arguments do have their points. The most important responsibility you take on as athletes is to be a member of a team. You spend a lot of time with those guys - late nights on the road and early morning at the rink - and you need to be comfortable with each other. As a team. But, you also need to trust each other, on the ice and off. And we eventually decided that we were hiding the best parts of ourselves from our teammates. We were lying, and we weren’t trusting them.”
“And why now?”
Duncan glances at Brent with a small smile. “It was just time. We’ve been married for three years and neither one of us plans on going anywhere. I feel as strong now as I did on the day we met, and it was just time, yeah? I’ve always wanted to live an open, honest life, and now we finally have a chance to do that. If we can help others out in the process, all the better.”
Thankfully, Doc nods, accepting Duncan’s roundabout answer. This whole thing would be for nothing if those pictures were discovered. Instead, Doc gives them a little smile. “Have you talked about starting a family?”
Brent glances at Duncan, giving him that soft little smile that he saves for Duncs. He doesn’t look away as he nods. “Someday, yeah. Duncan would make a great father. But, for now, we just want to play hockey. We’ll talk about it when we retire.”
Doc grins at them. “Well, hopefully that won’t be for years to come.” He swivels his chair to look into the camera. “That’s it for our time, but visit us at nbcsports.com for more information and to see a replay of this interview. Thank you for coming, Duncan and Brent, and we want you to know that you have the full support of the NBC Sports staff and our panel today. You are brave and humble people and you do an honor to our sport. Thank you.”
Brent is tearing up and it’s embarrassing, and he’s glad they’re going to commercial, because he’s not sure he could even say thank you right now. He feels a hand on the back of his neck and he turns his head to see Duncan grinning at him.
“We did good.”
“Yeah, we did.” Brent grins, straightening and taking Duncan’s hand as they leave the talking heads to do their thing.
Part II