Page 44 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

“Shit. Where did he get sent? They didn’t tell me.”

“LA, I think. With D’Amore on such a hot streak, they’re probably going to keep him on the bench as backup.” He looks back at the arena. “I gotta go in there and somehow manage to act like the captain of this team.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault. Not the team, not the coach. Don’t make it their problem.”

He nods, but I know him well enough to know he’s still spiraling.

“Trav. Look at me.”

He meets my gaze.

“You’re a fucking badass with or without me, and tonight you’re gonna prove it.”

He nods. “Okay, Beau.”

“Promise me.”

A smile quirks on his lips. “Promise.”

“Good. Go in there and be the player you are. I’ll be at ho—my apartment.”

We linger in the parking lot, snowflakes gathering on Trav’s long eyelashes. To think I woke up a few hours ago thinking about this man and what we’re becoming, only to have the rug ripped out from under me.

My apartment feels quieter than usual as I pack the most important things—a few books, my laptop, my favorite protein powder. Everything else will be shipped to me. The next few weeks of my life will be adjusting to new team dynamics, a new coach, a new city, and a big Travis-Showalter-shaped hole.

What will I do when there’s a big storm? Who will I eat dinner with? Watch Sin City Cars with? What if Trav gets a new best friend and doesn’t have time for me? What if he meets someone and falls in love with them?

And what the fuck am I supposed to do with these new feelings and desires simmering for him?

Once I’ve got as much packed as I want to take on a plane with me, I grab a beer and plop down on my couch to watch the Magic game.

Without me.

They’re playing Denver tonight and dealing with Maxim Volkov.

Without me.

As the players come onto the ice, I can sense the tension through the screen. There’s a stiffness that isn’t usually present, and when the starting defense lineup is announced, there’s an audible reaction from the crowd, and it’s not a good one. That feels good, at least.

When Trav’s name is called and the cameras pan to him, his normally jovial face is a mask of intensity that is so fucking hot my cock twitches.

That’s not rubbing salt in the wound at all. Fuck.

I’ve never been on this side of watching the team play, and as Denver takes an early goal, it’s obvious that things are off to a rocky start. It’s Trav’s job to rally the team and pump them up, but how can he be expected to do that now?

During a commercial break, the cameras pan across the crowd and as I see several ShowBeau-t signs held up, my heart sinks. No more ShowBeau-t. No more silly songs before games or our quirky little pre-game ritual. No more weird gum flavors. No more us.

As predicted, Volkov is on a tear and slams into Trav more than once. Harlson and Volkov get into a fight and they both end up in the sin bin, which doesn’t help either team. Watching this game is torture, but I can’t not watch. I have to support Trav even if it hurts to see him out there without me.

The team is shaky and disjointed, and by the time the second period ends, we’ve—they’ve—scored zero goals. Denver is up by three, which means the the second line goalie isn’t killing it either. I watch them trudge off the ice, their shoddy playing weighing heavy on their shoulders. Coach will tear into them in the locker room and all eyes will be on Trav.

Closing my eyes, I will Travis to pull it together for the team, for me. It’s not all on him, of course, but he sets the tone.

When the third period starts, there’s a shift in the team’s energy, and they skate onto the ice with renewed purpose. The third period goes better, with the defense keeping Denver away from our net, and finally, Travis scores with an assist from Harlson. It’s not enough to win the game, but they went down fighting.

I click the TV off, then change my mind and put it back on the sports channel to see if there will be a pressie after. Probably, since I was notably not on the ice. I pick up my phone and search my name. Nothing official comes up, but there is plenty of speculation in hockey circles from fans to podcasts. There’s talk of injuries, of course, but then the dreaded word pops up.

Traded.