We lose to the Michigan Moose 4-2, and while I pick up a goal and an assist, I let my frustration get the best of me after the game. When a reporter asks about my performance versus the team’s I tell them that I’m getting tired of every other line acting like spectators instead of players on the ice—letting the action happen around them instead of making plays. Within two minutes of the reporter leaving, Tamiko texts me to say she may have preferred the times I just grunted at questions.
Fuck it. I told the truth. Both Tamiko and Sawyer said they wanted me to be my authentic self in interviews, and I warned them they didn’tactuallywant that. Well, here we are. I’m telling it like it is. When I was gushing about Sawyer, it was cool, but taking my teammates to task in public isn’t.
Cool. Cool.
By the time I’ve showered and changed, I’ve had enough time to decompress, and I realize that while—yes, we played shitty as a whole team—my frustration is more about the possibility of a trade. Jonathan, Sawyer’s dad, said he’d only go to bat to keep me if we made the playoffs. The prick told me right before the game, and we needed to winthisgame to be in charge of our own fate. Now, we need a domino effect to happen with other teams to push us into the last playoff spot. The fact that we beat Michigan in preseason is even more of a piss off.
Not even seeing Sawyer when I exit the dressing rooms eases the tension coursing through me. Right now, her fate is as tied to the team’s outcome as mine is, and I fucking hate it. All of it.
“So…” Sawyer says, clearly gauging my mood, and I hate that she even feels she has to.
I roll my shoulders to try to shrug off the shitty game and the awful circumstances, and the fact that my life feels out of control in a way I can’t tolerate.
“It’s fine,” I say, and I give her a tight smile before I settle my hand on the small of her back. “Is Chayton out yet?”
“We’re still going to dinner?” She eyes me. “He scored two of those goals.”
“I was there, thanks,” I say. Sitting on the bench during all four goals, which makes me both happy and furious.
“Sorry,” she says, and she rises on her toes to kiss my cheek.
Breathing her in immediately resets my nervous system. She’s the best cure for my mental health, and I draw her into a tight hug.
“Fuck, I love you,” I whisper. “You’ve got no idea, doc. No idea how much I love you.”
“That good, huh?”
“You in my arms? Cures anything. Can’t convince me otherwise.”
“Do you think I can put that on my resume? Super hugger.”
“No,” I say, my voice gruff. “There’ll never be any need to apply for another hugger position anywhere.”
“Dude,” Chayton says, coming down the hallway toward us. “Not sure you should have let all those words out of your mouth in that interview. Were the rest of the guys still talking to you?”
“Yeah, well,” I say, stepping back from Sawyer but keeping my hand on her lower back. The contact grounds me, and I definitely need that right now. “Auston’ll talk to them. This season has been bullshit.”
“Definitely a revelation,” Chayton says, walking with us down the rest of the hallway to the exit. “Never knew you could play so well. Never knew the rest of a team could suck so bad.”
“Stunning, isn’t it?” I say.
“Baffling.” He gives me the side-eye. “I mean, you must be thinking coaching is an issue at this point.”
“Has crossed my mind,” I admit. “The team needs big changes.” I don’t say that I hope I’m not one of them because I haven’t told Sawyer how I’m really feeling. The longer the season goes, the more frustrated I am with the team, but I don’t know if that frustration is actually the team or how much weight—beyond the normal—each game has taken on.
“Hard to put your fate in someone else’s hands,” Chayton says. “I’ve heard the rumors. Oregon?”
“Maybe,” I say.
“Oregon,” Sawyer says. “Why Oregon?”
“Can we not talk about this?” I ask. “It’s all just rumors until the deal’s on the table.”
We get into the car with my driver and Chayton in the front, Sawyer and me in the back. The drive to the restaurant where Tamiko booked us a private room is laced with idle chatter between Chayton and Sawyer. They both know me well enough to sense my mood, and even though I hate that I’m in one, I can’t quite snap out of it yet.
When she slides her hand along my thigh, another rush of tension floods out. Her touch really is magic.
At the restaurant, we get seated and ordered before Sawyer excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
