“Ugh. Still a few weeks away.”
“Yeah. And heading into the playoffs.”
We already know we’re in the playoffs. We’ve been on fire lately. It’s been a steady build all season and hopefully we’re peaking at the right time.
I’ve been a madman on the ice. I don’t give a shit about anything, so I’ve been playing aggressively—skating hard, throwing my body around, going hard for loose pucks, yelling at the other guys. I have nothing else to put my energy into, so it goes into hockey.
The guys can bust my balls all they want for being a grouch, but I’m fucking motivating this team by bringing the intensity every game. And we’re winning.
“Where’s the new place?” I ask Alfie.
“On Willow Avenue.”
“Oh, not far from us.”
“Yeah. It has really nice floors.”
“Floors?” Sounds a bit odd.
“The place was empty when I saw it, so that’s all I noticed,” he says sadly.
It’s not far from us, and also not far from Uncle Ernie’s. Where Ayla works. “Is Ayla still at your old place?”
“Yeah.” He looks down glumly. “She said she’d move out, but I said I would. She’s been through enough.”
“So have you.”
He grimaces. “Like Crusher said, sometimes you just gotta change positions and enjoy it.”
“Fuck that. There’s nothing enjoyable about this shit.”
“True.”
“That’s a lot of house for Ayla on her own.” They lived in a big house in Maplewood, with like, five bedrooms and a huge yard.
“It is. But I’ll go over anytime she needs something done. What’s up with you?” He eyes me. “Problems with the pop star?”
I shake my head. “She’s gone.”
“Ah. So that’s the problem.”
I exhale a long stream of air. “Yeah.”
“Things got serious with you two?”
“For me, yeah.” I make a face. “Not so much for her.”
“That blows.”
I nod.
“Women.”
One corner of my mouth inches upward. “Right?”
We both fall silent. Then he says, “I still fucking love her, though.”
Shit. That’s heart-wrenching, that he still loves her and they’ve split up.
