Despite Ben’s admonishment, Phil did not sleep well.
“I know you’re home,” Phil yelled as he pounded on the door.
There had been an optional skate in the morning, and Tom hadn’t attended.After trying multiple times to start a real conversation with Ben over the last day and a half, Phil had failed every time because he had no clue what he wanted to say.He’d hoped to catch Tom after practice and beg for advice, only to find that Tom had chosen to skip practice for the first time in his tenure as captain.Knowing his best friend, it meant Tom had either contracted a deadly virus or chosen to stay home because of some emotional catastrophe.He hadn’t answered his phone, and Phil had to knock for three minutes, which lent credence to Tom being either dead or not in the mood for visitors.This was urgent though.Phil couldn’t let something as basic as politeness stop him.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”Tom’s voice sounded far away, which meant he’d definitely been in bed given the size of his apartment (modest, for the team’s star player).
When the door finally opened, Tom stood before him in his off-hours uniform of threadbare sweatpants and bare feet.The sweater looked new though.
“Phil?Something the matter?”
“I need to go fishing.”
Tom sighed heavily.“Why don’t you come inside first?”
Tom called fishing a boring, uncomfortable exercise in animal cruelty and regularly complained about Phil’s favorite hobby.Nonetheless, Phil usually managed to talk him into it once or twice a summer, when they were the only team members around and there was no game schedule keeping them busy.To be fair, that was in July when he had nothing better to do and spending a full day outdoors seemed like a pleasant prospect.The same could not be said for mid-December.
But Phil needed to think, to sort out a whole tangle of messed up wires in his head.He only knew two ways to do that: skating and fishing.Since skating for all of five minutes two days ago made his knee sore enough that he could still feel it, Phil was running low on options.
He followed Tom into the apartment.The living room appeared darker than usual, the drizzle outside clinging to the massive windows and the gray skies compounding the oppressive feeling.
“Hi, Phil.”Jax waved from the couch, a beige monstrosity that took up half the floor space in the room.Phil had never liked how deeply the sofa forced him to recline.As a tall guy, he wasn’t used to furniture being so vast he couldn’t have his feet on the floor and his back against the backrest at the same time.
Jax had no such compunction, lying flat on his back with his legs up on the cushions.
Similarly to Tom, he wore sweats.His hair was a mess, blond strands flying everywhere.
He and Tom had made up, then.
“Do you want a drink?”Tom asked.
“Whiskey?”
Jax crunched upright to examine Phil.“Shit, East, what’s wrong?Is it the knee?”
Phil toed out of his shoes.He’d been wearing slip-ons so he wouldn’t need to bend over too much, purely for balance reasons, but it was starting to get too cold.“No.Sort of.I don’t know.”
“Sit down,” Tom said.“I’m making you some tea, and if you still want to, we can break into the whiskey after.”
“Bossy,” Phil grumbled.“You didn’t used to tell me what to do.”
“You didn’t used to demand I go fishing on my day off.Which we’re not doing.It’s raining, and it’s bad for your knee.”
With a sigh, Phil made himself as comfortable as possible on the couch.
“Why did you have to be a good influence on him?”he asked Jax.
Jax grinned and scrambled around to sit right side up.“So.Your knee?”
“Oh.”Phil looked down.He didn’t need crutches anymore, and the brace was more to be on the safe side.His latest doctor’s visit left him cautiously optimistic that he could avoid surgery.But he couldn’t skate yet, and he doubted he’d ever be as fast as he once was.“It’s okay.As good as can be expected.”
“Mm-hm.”
“I’m still going to retire.”
“Oh fuck.That…that sucks.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Phil said instantly.“Or, well.It does and doesn’t?”
