Fletcher kept bombarding him with questions after every practice for the next three weeks. He would start by throwing out some easy questions to ease him into it before throwing Taylor a curve ball. What kind of music did he listen to before games? Was he much of a health nut or did he just have good genetics? What did his parents do for work?
“I meditate before games. I try to eat healthy, but I get theoccasional sweet tooth.”
“And your parents?” He’d asked. Taylor had tried to evade the question.
“My grandad was in the Air Force. My mom works in a cafeteria.” Not a lie, by the way. The last time he spoke to his mom was last Christmas. She told him and his siblings that she had gotten a job in the kitchen.
“Oh,” Fletcher said. “And your dad…?”
“He’s dead. Car accident. Drunk driver. I was ten.” Taylor didn’t know why he was even answering his never ending list of questions. There was just something he liked about Fletcher. He was easy to talk to, and he asked so many questions that Taylor assumed he would forget the answers to most of them.
Fletcher had followed him back out to the athletic parking lot but paused abruptly when Taylor had taken a seat at the bench outside. “You don’t have a car?” he asked. Taylor laughed.
“I do, but it’s in the shop right now being serviced. Pancek gave me a ride to practice this morning.”
“How are you getting back?” Fletcher sat down and joined Taylor on the bench.
“I don’t need you to wait with me,” he bit out. It came out a lot colder than he had intended. Fletcher had gotten used to his moodiness by now, so it didn’t faze him.
“You’ve gotta answer the question, man.” It had become some sort of a game to them. Fletcher would ask and Taylor would answer. That was pretty much the extent of their communication with one another. Sometimes Taylor would purposefully answer a question vaguely, so Fletcher was forced to ask a follow-up. Sometimes Fletcher would ask him a question that he knew would piss Taylor off, just to get a reaction out of him.
Taylor shrugged. “Pancek’s wife was supposed to pick me up since he’s staying late to meet with management. I forgot the kids had dentist appointments at 11:30. Hence the waiting. I live with them, by the way. If you didn’t already know.” Most of his teammates knew Taylor was living with them by now. Fletcher was late to join the party, so he was unsure whether he knew.
“I see.” He and Fletcher sat on the bench together in comfortable silence for a few minutes. It had been a clear sunny day, which was hard to come by living in the Pacific Northwest. He watched Fletcher out of the corner of his eye, but he eventually looked over to him when he heard Fletcher shiver.
“You don’t have to wait with me,” he told him again, starting to feel bad. “This must be like living in Alaska or something compared to Florida.” It must’ve been like forty degrees out. Great weather for someone who’s from the West Coast. But for a lifelong Floridian? Without even thinking, Taylor reached down into his duffel and handed Fletcher a spare hoodie hoping it was a clean one.
“Thanks.” Fletcher pulled it on over his head. They were about the same size, or maybe Fletcher was a size smaller. Taylor was a little taller than him, but he had a lot more muscle mass. “I don’t mind the cold,” he told him. “It’s nice. I hate Florida winters because it rarely gets colder than fifty degrees.” Fletcher rubbed his hands together, creating friction to warm them. He claimed to like the cold but he definitely couldn’t handle it yet. That took time.
“So you like it here, then?”
Fletcher looked at him and nodded. “Anywhere that’s not near my dad is a good place to live.” He said it sarcastically, but Taylor knew it was kind of a loaded answer.
“What was it like having a parent in the NHL?” Taylor asked, curious.
Fletcher shrugged. “I mean it was fine, I guess. Hey, wait… Do you want me to give you a ride?”
Taylor chuckled. “Seriously?” They were hitting new territory. They had never spoken outside of practice before. Sometimes during games, but not usually. This was probably the first real conversation they’d had. Like, ever.
“Seriously, man. Grab your bag.” Fletcher bent down to pick up his own bag and reached into his pocket to retrieve his fob. Taylor picked up his own bag while typing out a text to send to Gretchen that he wouldn’t need a ride anymore.
He followed Fletcher to his car. A silver Chevy SUV. “You drive a mom car?”
Fletcher pressed the button on his fob to open the trunk. It popped open and Fletcher threw his bag in the back. He reached out for Taylor’s bag and carefully set it down on top of his.
“It’s a rental, you fucker. I haven’t had a chance to find a car yet. Too busy playing hockey.”
They got into the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Taylor reached over and turned the heat up to its hottest setting. “I could’ve done that,” Fletcher muttered to him. He handed Taylor his phone to punch in the address.
He felt kind of bad. Pancek lived about twenty minutes from the stadium so the kids would end up in a better school zone. He knew from Douglas that Fletcher lived in the apartment building nearby with a bunch of other teammates. Douglas was his across the hall neighbor.
“So, you hate your dad, then?” Taylor asked after a moment of silence, knowing the question was ridiculous. He just wanted to see how Fletcher would react.
The car automatically played music from Fletcher’s playlist. Brain Damage by Pink Floyd started playing, which was one of Taylor’s favorite songs. He considered turning it up a little, but he secretly didn’t want their game of question and answer to end. They had broken the unspoken rule of Fletcher being the question asker, Taylor realized.
His question made Fletcher smile wide. Arealsmile, not his fake golden boy one. “I mean I don’thatehim,” he said with a scoff. “But even I can admit the man is kind of an asshole.”
Taylor leaned his head back against the headrest and shook his head incredulously. “Kind of an asshole?” Taylor snorted. “Dude, I think you need to take away his social media privileges. Have you seen the kind of shit he posts about other players? About Pancek?”
