Phil sat down with relish and, for the first time in two weeks, managed to shave.
When he’d cleaned himself up and gotten dressed, he texted Ben.
It took Ben only moments to appear in the doorway to Phil’s bedroom.He hadn’t yet donned his work uniform of either Sea Lions track pants or one of the drab suits he clearly detested.Instead, he wore sweats and a green T-shirt with a red panda peeking out of a forest of bamboo.His messy red-blonde hair fell across his forehead, and his glasses perched low on his nose.
“You don’t need to text when I’m downstairs; I can hear you fine.”
Phil shrugged.“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“I was just making breakfast.”
Ben walked over to the bedside and held out an arm.Phil used it to lever himself upright and grabbed his crutches from beside him.He could have gotten to the stairs under his own steam, but Ben stayed right beside him, letting Phil use him instead of the mobility aids he had for exactly that purpose.
Leaning on Ben felt good, so Phil let it happen.Ben tended toward stocky where Phil was lean, and his body pressed against Phil’s felt like standing on solid ground after a long flight.
Or Phil had gotten used to sharing a locker room with twenty-odd other men on a daily basis and missed the casual touches he hadn’t realized were part of his everyday life until he no longer had them.
They hobbled down the stairs together, and Ben deposited Phil at the kitchen table before turning back to a chopping board full of green things Phil hadn’t known were in his fridge.
“Thanks for breakfast.”
Ben smiled.At the rink, he most often looked stressed or consternated, which Phil couldn’t fault him for.Here, he seemed at ease.Those crow’s feetdidmake his eyes sparkle.Phil had been right.
“Should be ready in a few minutes,” Ben said.“You want coffee?”
“If the answer is ever no, assume I’ve been replaced with a space alien.”
“Noted.Any tricks to your spaceship there?”Ben nodded in the direction of the sleek, shiny coffee machine, the only thing Phil had really cared about when he and Camille planned this kitchen.
“Nope.Haven’t you been using it the last few days?”
“No.”
“What did you do instead?”
“Not drink coffee.”
Phil would die if he had to do that.“It’s pretty straightforward.You press the coffee button, and it gives you coffee.It needs cleaning sometimes, but my—”
“Your cleaning service takes care of it.”Ben said it in tones of resignation.
Phil made to get up and deal with the coffeemaker, but Ben pressed him gently down into his seat with a hand on Phil’s shoulder.
“What’s wrong with my cleaning service?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“What, you think I have time between eighty-two regular season games, half of them on the road, to scrub countertops and detail a coffee machine?”
Ben sighed.“No, I guess you’re right.I don’t like other people touching my things, that’s all.”
Interesting.Not to jump to conclusions, but an integral part of growing up as an athlete on a team meant getting used to other people touching your things and sharing space in a locker room as well as travel and accommodation on the road.Sure, the NHL sprang for single rooms these days, but guys were still in and out of one another’s space all the time, and someone always forgot a charger or toothpaste or a spare pair of socks on the road.Everyone who had grown up playing knew having no privacy to speak of for half the year was part of the deal.Phil tallied it up as more evidence that Ben had less experience with hockey than a head coach should.He made a mental note to write this shit down later.
“I can tell Rosalia to stay out of your room?”he said.
Ben looked up, cautiously pleased.“Oh.Actually, if you could, that would be great.Thank you.”
“No problem.I’m warning you now, though, I have no idea where any of the cleaning supplies are, and I don’t know how to use the washing machine.”
