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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MAYBE RYAN DIDN’T actually do Louie a favor when he took him home.

He’s been—he doesn’t talk.

Which is definitely down to the fact that Louie isn’t much of a talker in the first place, but sometimes it just seems like he’s all caught up in his head. Like he gets stuck there.

Ever since New York, Ryan has been keeping track of Bastien Hathaway. Louie’s mood gets worse whenever Bastien does something impressive. Unfortunately, Bastien does something impressive every other game. The league posts about him all the fucking time; there’s no escape.

Ryan’s kind of starting to get annoyed, even though he’s never met the guy.

Even worse than Bastien, though, is Dad Hathaway.

Admittedly, Ryan was excited as hell to meet him, but that was before he found out that he failed Parenting 101 big time.

Ryan isn’t new. He knows hockey parents. He grew up with guys who had the worst hockey parents. It’s kind of funny, though—a lot of the guys whose parents would stand by the glass and yell at them because obviously they knew better than their coach anyway didn’t even get drafted .

Dad Hathaway isn’t that kind of hockey parent. He probably never stood at the glass and yelled at Louie. He watched. He yelled after, in the privacy of their home. Maybe he didn’t even yell. The way he talked to Louie after that game against Minnesota made Ryan’s intestines turns themselves into knots. It was the most casual you’re not working hard enough that Ryan had ever heard. It stung like a bitch and Ryan wasn’t even the one it was directed at.

The worst part is that Louie would literally kill himself working out if he thought it’d please his dad. He already kind of does.

Ryan has never worked as hard as Louie does. He wouldn’t get up early to go on a run. He wouldn’t stay until the very end of practice. He’s never been the guy who picks up all the pucks before the Zamboni gets on the ice. Through Louie, Ryan has become one of the guys who stays late, but he would have never gotten that idea by himself.

Maybe that says something about his work ethic.

Louie is out there doing the most at all times. When Ryan suggested they order pizza from a place on Main Street tonight, Louie got pasta and a salad instead. Ryan did get the pizza and when he offered Louie a slice, he took it, but still. That guy just won’t let loose, not even for a second.

“How’s your pasta?” Ryan asks.

Louie holds out his plate because, yes, he got himself a plate and took the pasta out of the container. “Wanna try?”

Ryan stares at the eggplant for a moment. “Nah…”

“It’s good,” Louie says. “The salad is amazing.”

Ryan takes another slice of pizza. He went to Italy with Ivy last summer and this is real Italian pizza. When Ryan ordered earlier, the lady on the phone told him that they had tiramisu to go today and he almost went for it. Now he’s mad he didn’t because if the pizza is actually Italian, the tiramisu would have been too.

“Hey, is it okay if we watch the Knights game?” Ryan asks. They’re playing against the Ravens, so it’s obviously going to be a good one. Minnesota is back on the road, Chicago this time, and Ryan wants to keep Louie away from that game.

He gets that look on his face when he checks his brother’s game stats. It’s slightly different from the look he gets when his dad texts him. Which happens almost every day, even when they didn’t have a game the night before.

“Yeah, should be a good one,” Louie says.

“Brian Kelly is my hero,” Ryan says softly when he turns on the game. One of these days he’s going to retire and Ryan will not know what to do with himself when it happens. “I was so bummed out when the Knights didn’t draft me.”

“Really, you had a favorite team going into the draft?” Louie asks in this sweet summer child voice.

“I grew up watching them because my grandparents lived in Newark. They took me to my first ever hockey game there. Of course I wanted to play for the Knights.” If someone were to grant him a wish, Ryan would ask to play with Knights captain Brian Kelly as his d-partner at least once.

“So, do you wish the Knights had traded for you?” Louie asks.

Ryan laughs. “The Knights don’t go for problem children.” Every player on the Knights has stellar work ethic and a pleasure to have in the room written all over him. The Knights don’t take a chance on a guy that may or may not work out for them. They don’t have to.

Louie spears the last lettuce leaf in his bowl, then a halved grape tomato. “Except you’re not a problem child. You’re a top defenseman whose personal life was more interesting than his play for about a week.”

“I don’t think they miss me in Toronto,” Ryan says with a shrug. When a team trades a guy, they obviously don’t want him anymore and have someone at the ready to replace him. It’s different when one of your stars has had enough and decides to leave and try his luck elsewhere. Greener pastures and all that.

“Does it matter if they miss you?” Louie asks and starts gathering up his dishes.

“It’s nice to be needed,” Ryan says. It’s nice to be wanted , but he doesn’t say that out loud because it sounds pathetic.

Louie gets up and takes Ryan’s empty pizza carton as well. “You are needed,” he says. “Here.”

He doesn’t leave for the kitchen just yet because the Knights and the Ravens are having a disagreement on TV, but the refs untangle them pretty efficiently. No penalties. Ryan may have argued that there was some goalie interference before the whistle, but what does he know.

Louie huffs, like he’s disappointed in the outcome as well, and shuffles away.

“Hey, Louie, can you bring me the Reese’s Pieces?” Ryan shouts. The broadcast just went to commercials, but he’s too lazy to get up. He’s full of pizza.

Louie does toss him the bag with the Reese’s Pieces when he returns. “I can’t believe you put that shit in your body.”

“Uh-huh, Louie, but you didn’t say no to that second slice of my mom’s cheesecake the other day.”

“That was homemade cheesecake,” Louie says, indignant. “It’s not the same.”

Well, he’s not wrong. Ryan still rips the bag open and eats a handful.

Louie bends over the back of the couch so his head is right next to Ryan’s. “You should eat more vegetables.”

“There was basil on my pizza.”

“That’s not a vegetable.”

“What the fuck is it, then?”

“It’s an herb,” Louie whispers and pulls back. He wanders back into the kitchen and the sound of dishes being put in the dishwasher accompanies the TV timeout.

Ryan’s mom would adopt this guy who puts dishes straight in the dishwasher instantly. She texted him after Ryan and Louie had come to visit and told him to bring him back in the summer. Their house, in the summer, is more like a hostel—his parents’ friends, his sisters and their friends, their boyfriends and girlfriends and many, many others who don’t fit into any of those categories. Ryan’s grandparents; other relatives. The occasional foster cat. In any case, it seems like Mom sensed that Louie could use some family time.

Louie’s dad’s version of family time is probably more like a never-ending coaching session. Ryan didn’t ask if Dad Hathaway is always like that. He knows the answer.

Louie returns with a glass of water and grabs the fluffy knit blanket from the back of the couch, wrapping himself up like a burrito before he sits down.

Ryan talked to Petrov yesterday. He’s skating and close to coming back—maybe just days away from joining them for a practice. Maybe in a no-contact jersey, but still. At that point, it’s just a matter of time before he’s back in the lineup and the Cardinals will have one guy too many on the roster.

Then that spot on Ryan’s couch will be empty.

Then it’ll be really fucking quiet.

Then he’ll have to figure out how the dishwasher works because Louie always starts it.

He’ll have to actually load the dishwasher.

Ryan glances at Louie, burritoed, in his corner of the couch. He starts yawning when the second intermission rolls around. He rests his head on one of the fluffy throw pillows. (So soft but terrible to sleep on because you’ll wake up with fuzz in your mouth and nose.)

It takes Ryan a second to realize that he was about to say something but then couldn’t figure out what, so he just stared.

He grabs his phone and pulls up Slaw’s Instagram. He got a puppy last summer, chocolate lab, named it Pickle, and now he posts pictures and videos of him every day. Unless he’s on the road. Then his girlfriend sends him pictures to post. Today’s picture is a very good Pickle with snow on her nose .

“Look,” Ryan says and shows it to Louie. “This is what I’m missing out on.”

Louie makes a noise that’s neither here nor there.

“Right, I forgot you don’t like dogs,” Ryan mutters.

“I don’t—” Louie sighs. “Dogs are fine. I’m not as passionate about them as other people, but as long as it’s not a wiener dog, I don’t mind.” He side-eyes Ryan’s phone. “It’s not one of those weird accounts where the owner pretends that the dog is writing the posts, right?”

Ryan snorts. “No, it’s just Slaw saying how cute Pickle is over and over again.”

“Good. People who are acting like their dog is a person are so weird.” Louie rolls his eyes. “ Doggo is the worst word in the English language. I don’t even know if it actually is a word. Oh, and pawrents . And pupper . What the hell is wrong with those people?”

Fuck, Ryan is trying so hard not to laugh. He has nothing against people who use those words, but Louie seems to be very passionate about this and that doesn’t happen a lot. Louie is so calm. He takes it all in; he watches quietly. He doesn’t get pissed, doesn’t throw shit, and doesn’t break his stick when he gets mad.

Ryan once broke a stick during his rookie year because he essentially scored on his own goalie with his skate blade. He wasn’t paying attention and should have moved out of the way. His mom called him the next day to remind him how expensive a hockey stick is and how many parents can’t afford to buy their kids equipment. Ryan hasn’t even thought about breaking a stick since then.

But Louie? Louie would never. And now he’s sitting on the couch, red-faced, complaining about people who call themselves their dog’s pawrents .

“You’re laughing,” Louie says. “But it’s ridiculous. All of that…” He waves his hand at Ryan’s phone. “Those videos with that annoying as shit music? Oh, and you know what I hate the most? Those guys with the kindness tests. Like, they’re out there pretending that they need help an d then they say, oh, actually, I don’t need help, I just wanted to see if you were gonna be kind to me and then they give them a thousand bucks. Hate those guys.”

“You hate the guys who give nice people money?” Ryan asks, still laughing. “Why?”

“Because if you have a thousand bucks to give away, just give it to someone?” Louie sits up and leans closer to Ryan. “Just go to Applebee’s, eat some chicken fingers, drink a margarita, and give your server the tip of a lifetime. Even if they’re having a bad day and aren’t groveling at your feet.”

“Wow,” Ryan says. “Okay. Good point.”

“All of that bullshit just for clicks. Annoys the hell out of me.”

“It’s like you and my Uncle Artie are the same person. He takes three to five business days to reply to my texts and thinks the videos on his phone are too small and refuses to watch them. Same goes for pictures.”

“Can we visit him next time? I think we’d get along.”

“Sure, but he has a big dog,” Ryan says. “Like, absolutely humongous.”

“Hm,” Louie says.

“What about cooking videos? I love those, they’re so soothing. Have you ever watched someone ice a cake? Or when they pipe flowers?”

“Only if they don’t use annoying music,” Louie says. “And if they don’t have an annoying voice.”

“Hey, people can’t help their voice.”

“Oh, uh-uh, I mean, when they do the social media voice that is extra cheerful and high-pitched,” Louie says. “Makes my skin crawl.”

“Guess now I know why you never update your Insta.”

“I haven’t looked at it in weeks.”

“Ah, so that’s why you haven’t followed me back,” Ryan says, nodding to himself. “I was starting to think you secretly hate me.”

Louie stares at him. Just stares. Like this is high school biology and he’s about to dissect Ryan like a frog. He sits up and says, very gently, “ Ryan, social media follows don’t matter. At all.” He turns away and picks up his water. “I washed your stinky socks yesterday. Do you think I would have done that if I didn’t like you?”

“Um,” Ryan says. When Louie is gone, he’ll have to wash his own stinky socks. Sometimes he just loses a pair somewhere in the house and then Louie takes pity on him.

“Do you think I’d live with you?” Louie goes on.

“I mean, you only said yes to living with me because you didn’t want to live in the same house as Santa’s dog.”

“Are you arguing with me right now?”

Ryan is, isn’t he? He fixes his eyes back on the TV because the game is about to start up again. “No.”

“Good,” Louie says, sheepish. “Watch the game.”

“I am, I’m watching the game.” They drop the puck and the Ravens score pretty much immediately, tying up the game. Very Raven-y of them. Ryan glances at Louie, who is smiling at the Ravens being Raven-y. “It’s just that—” He cuts himself off. Louie wouldn’t lie to him. He’s sitting on the couch with him, isn’t he?

Louie shoots him a look. This time Ryan doesn’t feel like a frog but like an annoying lab partner who’s about to get stabbed with a dirty scalpel.

Ryan keeps his mouth shut until the game is over. It goes all the way to a shootout, with the Knights walking away with the win in the end. “Wanna switch to a West Coast game?”

Louie shakes his head and struggles to get out of his blanket. “I’m getting up early tomorrow.”

“Hm,” Ryan says and turns off the TV.

Louie folds his blanket and puts it back where he found it, takes his empty glass, passes by the piano, and pushes down one of the keys as he walks by, like he just can’t help himself. He keeps doing that.

“You know, you can play if you want,” Ryan says.

“I don’t want to. ”

“I can leave the room if you don’t want anyone to listen.”

Louie laughs and shuffles into the kitchen, leaving Ryan without a reply. The glass clinks quietly when Louie puts it in the dishwasher. Ryan makes a mental note to put his own glass in the dishwasher before he goes to bed. For now, he sits on the couch and watches videos of people making the most unhinged-looking Crock-Pot recipes. They put entire blocks of cream cheese in there like it’s a pinch of salt.

Ryan kind of wants to try it.

He could buy a Crock-Pot. He’s an adult and adults buy Crock-Pots.

His mom has one. He could ask her for recipes, although she probably doesn’t have any that use entire blocks of cream cheese. She always made this really good stew in the winter. That’s what he’ll make.

Before he can close the app and fully commit to becoming a Person Who Owns a Crock-Pot, a notification pops up: louiehathaway18 has followed you.