Shutout

Chapter 5 - Logan

The sun was setting in the sky, casting a few rays of yellow among a sky of pink and blues. The dark sky made the air a bit chillier than it was thirty minutes ago, but it almost felt good after the heat of the day. 

My ass is starting to hurt from setting in on this cement step, but I don't bother readjusting or making it known to Kane. He's sprawled out in front of me on the incredibly dead grass of his tiny portion of the yard. He, too, disregarded his plate and cup and instead lay back on his palms to hold him up. The sun catches his glasses at certain points, but most of the time, I see his eyes clearly. 

Maybe it was the little flag hanging from Kane's front door that made me answer his insanely invasive question. I've come to realize he has a piss-poor filter and no social manners that make him both awkward and brunt while also amusing and refreshing. It likely was the flag, in addition to his guts for asking me that after having only really talked to me once before. 

To the reporters, I made excuses. Things like I was tired of hiding and that if I were to find someone, I wanted to be happy and healthy like I see the couples around me. Something about how the queer trailblazers of hockey inspired me to be confident. Included are the details of how the team and management have been dedicated to supporting me (even if they were). 

But Kane seemed like the kind of guy that has been through shit that would make him understand. Clearly not the same, seeing as he claimed he never really had to come out of the closet, which I think is supposed to mean he has always been openly queer. But the scar on his neck and his limp, in addition to how open and welcoming, made me feel like he would understand. 

"So you didn't come out because you were in love with someone, and they would leave you if you didn't come out, so you didn't have to hide your relationships like in the books and stuff?" He peers up at me with his head tilted in a way that makes his hair almost cover one eye. 

I dramatically shake my head, feigning sorrow, "Unfortunately, this was a solo effort. I dated—well, dating is sort of a stretch. I hooked up with and met with men while in the closest but not relationships, and certainly none that made me feel like I should come out. And after coming out, I've realized being gay and out is kind of scary, so dating hasn't been on my radar."

"That's too bad," He seamlessly makes his phone appear out of nowhere and types something sneaky fast. 

"Can I ask you a question now, too? Why are you always typing something after I say something? Are you like...taking notes or something?" My heart starts to beat faster at the sudden possibility that Kane is doing all this to get my information and sell it to sports journalists and shitty tablots. He wouldn't do that, right? Shit, do people do that? He is a journalist, he probably has connections—

"I guess it's fair I share something personal since you just did. A little over a decade ago, when I was your age, I got into—"

"Wait, when you were my age? How old are you?" I can't help leaning forward as if to better asses his age.

"33," He says it so casually as if he wasn't entirely throwing off my perspective of him.

"33? I thought you were 27, 28, absoutle max. 33? Holy shit, that's weird," I say, "You don't look that old."

"Gee, thanks, youngster," He gives me a deadpan face before asking his head, "Anyway, when I was your age, I got into a pretty horrific car accident. I was one of the few survivors in the mix of cars, and I was lucky to survive. I was obviously crazy injured—broken bones, punctured organs, brain bleeding, etc. I sustained an incomplete injury L1-3 in my lumbar spine. And I sustained a moderate traumatic brain injury. I was kind of a shit show in the being with brain swelling and paralysis and everything. I spent a little less than a year in the hospital doing all these types of therapies and then moved back in with my parents to continue treatment."