“If Andre says yes.”
“I doubt Oli will even get the words out of his mouth before he says yes.”
A ghost of a smile hits my lips. “You’re probably right.” Lucky bastard.
“I’m so happy for them.”
“Yeah.” So am I, but in the darkness of my mind I can admit that I’m jealous. Oli is one of the greatest men I’ve ever met—loyal to a fault, hardworking, and kind like you wouldn’t believe. It’s all contained in a very gruff, jagged package wrapped with razor wire, but he means well.
The thing is, Oli just came out and he’s already found the love of his life. I’ve tried for a while now and still come up empty. I don’t want to compare, though, and make no mistake, I am so fucking happy for him. No one deserves this more.
Still, I’m jealous.
I’m not like a lot of the single men on our team, and sure,they’re all a lot younger than I am. In this sport we marry young, have families young, and portray the perfect family-man image. I know there are whispers and speculation about why I haven’t been married yet, but it’s no one’s business.
Whenever I’m asked, I just say that hockey’s my life, I’ll get married when I retire... any sort of nonsense that gets them off my back. I just haven’t found “the one” yet, and that one would be ahim. And I don’t want kids. I love my niece to the moon and back, but that’s not the life I want. I love being the fun uncle.
Or ... I used to be.
“Who do you think he’s going to choose to be his best man? And say me, because it better be me! I’m prettier.”
I laugh. “Considering I can barely walk, I think you’ll be the best man.” If I keep being an asshole, my invitation may be revoked altogether.
“Just got to take it easy, you’ll be good as new. And stop skipping PT. The doctor says it’s been a month since you last went. The beginning is crucial.” That’s easy for a twenty-four-year-old at the start of his professional career to say. Our bodies age fast and hard. I may be thirty-three, but it’s a hard, well-worn thirty-three.
I just want to skate again.
There’s no feeling like it. Nothing has ever calmed my mind like putting on a pair of skates. Now, when I need calm the most, I can’t even stand in my socks without assistance.
My doorbell goes off. “Oh! Pizza, my treat.” Atlas springs up. “Can I have your wallet?”
“Get the pizza.”
He laughs. Damn, has it been a half hour already? Thank god, I’m ready to crash. Before this, I hadn’t realized how much being in pain tired you out. I’m exhausted all the time.
He comes back in and thankfully he’s quiet while we eat. It’s nice. Then he ruins it. “When are you going to come to agame?” As soon as the words leave him I can tell he regrets asking. It’s been months and I still haven’t set foot in the arena.
“Atlas, not now.”
“Just one game, man. Come on! We’re doing a Pride night against Florida. We’re going to raffle jerseys and?—”
“No!” The thing is, I haven’t watched any games since the “accident.” I can’t. I don’t know why but I feel... I feel... betrayed. Betrayed by my own sport. I don’t know. It sounds dumb when I say it like that. Fans see us get injured and it’s just another day, another injury on the ice because that’s just the game, and to a point they’re right. I’ve gotten into my fair share of fights on the ice. Shit happens. Accidents happen. Fights happen.
Then you have players like Rome Acciari who think injuring players is a sport in itself. Players like him, who purposely set out to injure other athletes, are the scum of the earth. That’s not hockey, that’s criminal. What did the league do for me? It moved on while I sat in a hospital bed getting my future ripped out from under me.
They already called up another player to replace me from our farm league. And Rome? Did he get punished? Not in my eyes. He only got a ten-game suspension. Just ten fucking games and fines while leaving me with a life sentence.
“Fine,” Atlas says softly. “Sorry.”
I feel like shit. I’m hurting everyone around me, but I’m so tired. Jealous. Bitter. Angry. I can’t stop these emotions from ruining my life. “Thank you for coming by. I want to be alone now.”
Atlas leans back in his seat then looks down at his lap. “You’re aways alone, Grey.”
In my silence I know he’s waiting for me to let him stay the night. Before this he used to stay all the time. We’d watch movies and play boardgames or just talk. Oli didn’t know wedid it. It was like little moments carved just for the two of us. I do miss it, but I want to be alone more. “That’s what I need right now. Please.”
“Fine.” Atlas gets up, pausing on his way out the door. “I know you’re hurt, but this is hurting me. You’re hurting me too.”
TWO
