A friend like you.A friend.That cut way too close, but I waited till the car doors were shut, waited till they’d climbed Miles’s front step and he was tapping in his door code, before I hit the gas and drove away.
All the way back to my place, I tried not to let myself think about Miles holding her once they were inside.How safe she would feel, despite all the shit that went down, folded into Miles’s big arms.Trying not to miss the times he’d done that for me, welcomed me home and made the outside world go away, at least for a moment.
I gave that up for a shot at the gold ring I fuckingknewwasn’t going to come true.Even then, I was aware, down inside, I had no chance.If I managed to stay in the AHL after the guy I replaced healed from his injury, that was the best I’d ever do.I was never heading up to the NHL with the fame and the money and the Stanley Cup.But I’d been chasing that dream all my life, and I hadn’t been able to let my ridiculous hopes go when it’d really mattered.
So, now here I was, driving my crappy car back to my crappy apartment while Avery moved in with Miles.
My roommate, Noah, was in the kitchen making grilled cheese when I walked in.He said around a mouthful, “Hey, dude, I figured you’d be sleeping.Want a sandwich?”
“Did you make extra?”
“No but I fucking can.You’re always hungry this time of year.”
Noah was one to talk.As far as I knew, the most athletic thing he did was walk from one classroom to another, but he put away the calories like he had a tapeworm.For a second, I was tempted, but that bed and the solitude of my dark room called to me.“Nah, gonna hit the sack, but you’re a good guy.”
Noah blinked and dragged the back of his hand across his crumb-scattered lips.“Thanks.I try.”
In my room, I pulled out my phone.I wasn’t checking if Miles had texted me.He had a dozen better things to do tonight.Still, I found myself scrolling back up that old message thread.Most of it was banal stuff, me asking if I should pick up takeout on the way over, or Miles saying “Good game” to me after some day we hadn’t sucked too badly.Only here and there were hints of who we’d been to each other, an eggplant emoji, a text-hug, a quick ILY.
Fuck.I swiped out of that shit.Torturing myself was not going to change anything.
For something to do, I pulled up the Tacoma Tornados game from last night.God, I missed playing at that level.For a few weeks, I’d been part of a franchise going somewhere, with guys who pushed me to my limits.And beyond, if I was honest.Ever since the knee injury, I’d been a half-step too slow, and less mobile.My head knew what to do, but hockey-sense couldn’t make up for my skating.After the ligament tear happened, I’d spent two years doing every rehab known to man.I’d worked with skating coaches and put myself in debt for extra PT.I’d spent every minute of the summers when I wasn’t at work to earn bucks, working out to gain muscle.
All that, and still, each call-up was for a game or two, a week, six at most.Each time, the faster, younger Tornados wingers came off injured reserve, and I went back down to where the play was also one step slower.Back where I belonged.
On screen, Rusty Dolan laid a monster hit on the opposing center, stole the puck, and fed a great pass up to his own right winger.The shot didn’t go in, thanks to goalie heroics, but that kind of play showed why Rusty wasn’t going to be a Tornado much longer.He was NHL Rafters-bound, for sure.
At least the Tornados’ room was also better than ours, or had been last year when I was up there.No Morty, no Yagger.Fuck, I missed that past too— being part of a room where hockey was fun and no one was scared to walk into the showers for what prank might be played on them this time.Where the words I hated were rare and incidental background noise, not thrown like poison darts.
I turned off yesterday’s game.The Tornados were home now on an off night.Without overthinking it, I texted Rusty outside the old team chat.
Logan:~ Hey, great hit on Collins last night.
Then added, in case he hadn’t saved our numbers,~ This is Vally.
I realized after I’d sent the message that Rusty might be enjoying some one-on-one with his boyfriend, but an answer pinged back pretty fast.
Rusty:~ Hey Vally, thanks.What’s up?
I guessed that was a fair enough question, since I was texting after not playing with the guy for eight months.
Logan:~ Checking in.Hoping the Tacoma boys are as good to you as they were to me when I was up there.
Rusty:~ They’re great.It’s a good room.
I realized that was the thing I’d wanted to talk about.
Logan:~ I wanted to say sorry for not doing more to improve our room last year when you were here.I’ve played with Morty and Petrov and Yagoda for years.I should’ve stepped up against that bullshit.
Rusty:~ I never expected that of you.
Logan:~I should’ve expected it of myself.It’s just…
I stopped, the message unsent, hanging on a cliff.Yes?No?Would I ever get the fucking balls to change my life?Before I could second-guess myself, I finished,~ I’m gay, and I’ve always kept my head down till it was such deep ingrained instinct I fucked everything up.
Rusty:~ You’re not out, right?
I tried to be flippant.~ Only to one person.Well, two, now.
