I ordered him one of the clippy, bendy arms to hold electronic devices and I love that he brings it with him to away games. He’s in Vancouver tonight, buttoning up the tail end of a three-game away streak. Then he’ll be home with three days between now and his next game.
At this point, I think I know Caulder’s schedule better than my own. Because I’m so fucking worried about him. Ihatethat I can’t be there to hold him.
There’s just more of the same shit from this chick filling up the feeds. Not that I’ve looked. I had an early game today, so I haven’t been online to check since this morning. I spend a lot of time reporting comments and marking this stupid bitch’s posts as false news. Doesn’t do a lot of good. Especially since there’s notruenews to counter it.
Which is also pissing me off.
Caulder steps under the water and lets his head fall back. I stare at him, my gaze combing over his body. There’s a new bruise just below his ribs on his left side. A red mark on his left arm, though I’m not sure if that’s something recent or from the game. I’ve only checked the brief report that they won in a shootout. Haven’t had time to look at the highlights yet.
“Tell me about your game,” I say.
He sighs. “There was someone in the audience with a sign pressed to the glass while we were warming up. It said BE RESPONSIBLE AND SUPPORT YOUR CHILD. Sacha broke his stick against the glass, making the girl fall backwards. He was ejected from the game. We almost received penalties before the game began when my teammates loudly argued with the refs.”
My fists clench. My jaw clenches. I manage to keep my voice devoid of most anger when I respond. “Did you get pre-game penalties?” I ask.
Caulder shakes his head. “I think we didn’t because Vancouver refused to begin if the refs enforced them. They said they’d rather take the loss than allow us the unfair penalties when it’s the people in the audience who should receive a fucking penalty. I heard Mattias tell the ref that no one was getting any pucks over the boards tonight, no autographs,nothing if they couldn’t get their shit together and stop blindly following some woman spreading lies on the internet.”
I smile. “I’m glad you have a close friend there.”
He nods. His head is still back, eyes closed.
“They said they posted online,” Caulder says. “The guys that went out that night in Philly. One of them even had a pic. They said I wasn’t with them and that I never go out with them when we travel.”
“Yeah?” I ask, pulling my phone out to look. “Did you see it?”
Caulder shakes his head. “No. I really don’t want to see anything online.”
“I know. Wash up, Caulder. You’re dead on your feet.”
He picks his head up to look at me. For a few seconds, he just blinks as if he’s remembering where he is. Then I watch as he cleans himself, scrubbing everywhere hockey sweat hides. He halfheartedly dries off and then falls into bed naked.
“Talk to me,” Caulder says, his eyes heavy.
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask.
He yawns. “Anything other than this shit. I don’t care. I just want to hear your voice.”
I smile, resting my head on my arm. I can tell he’s exhausted or he’d realize I’m not in my bedroom talking to him.
“The season’s almost over,” I start rambling. “We haven’t talked about summer yet. We’ve both mentioned that we haven’t traveled, but would like to. Want to go somewhere this summer?”
He turns his head, a smile on his pretty face. A real one. It’s small, but it’s there. Genuine. All mine.
“Yeah. Ethan and Jakub spent eight years hiding their relationship. It can’t be that hard.”
I laugh. “Agreed. You feeling some place hot or want to get cool again? Like the Alps or Alaska?”
“It’s cold here like eight months of the year. I’m going to need some heat.”
Grinning, I nod. “Okay. So… Fiji? Bali? Hawaii?” I think about it and shake my head. “Not Hawaii. I’m not sure how big hockey is there, but it’s probably not conducive to going under the radar.”
“I can see where Ethan and Jakub used to go.”
“Without them asking why you want to know?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
His eyes are closed now. He’s falling asleep. Instead of keeping talking about this, I talk about hockey drills. His lips curl in a tired smile, but his eyes don’t open. When I run out of drills, I start singing to him instead. I turn my phone on, opening the music app, and start streaming quietly. Just loud enough so I can hear and hopefully stay somewhat in tune.
