Page 31 of Drop the Gloves
“You guys have been playing so well this season,” his mom said. “You’ve grown since that playoff loss last season. Coach Jack and the GM have done well picking up new pieces and fitting them into the system.”
Evan nodded, remembered she couldn’t see him, and grunted in agreement as he rummaged through his fridge. They’d just returned from the California road trip, and he had very little edible food available other than crackers, protein bars, and slightly stale bread.
“Three for three in California,” she went on. “You guys rarely do that well. How many points did you pick up, sweetie?”
Evan gave up on finding food and opened up Uber Eats. “You know I got four,” he said with a fond eye roll. He’d forget in a couple of weeks, but she’d remember for the next few seasons.
“That one assist to Barczyk in San Francisco was particularly good.” A pause. “He’s been having a good month. That hat trick against the Brawlers was, what, his first in a few years?”
Evan shuddered, remembering how Barczyk had celebrated after that game.
Evan had only given three blowjobs in his life, and all had been in the last week.
“Yeah, something like that,” he said dismissively.
Then, because it would be suspicious if he didn’t say more, he added, “He fits in pretty well with me and Vassy.”
“I agree. Vassiliev and you have a similar style. Last year, your right winger was too similar to you two. Barczyk brings that little extra oomph to the line.” Another pause, longer this time. “Things are going okay with Barczyk being there, right? He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?”
Oh, there’s plenty of trouble, just very little of it’s on the ice.
“No. He’s pretty easygoing when there’s no puck involved. Nice. Not pushy.”
Really hot…
He pushed the thought away. His sexual identity crisis was something he was keeping to himself, if only because there was no way to bring it up without exposing the root of it.
His mom was understanding and wouldn’t judge him for any of it, but Evan didn’t want to talk about it.
He had too much rattling around in his head without adding his mom’s questions or concerns into the mix.
Once he understood things better, he could bring it up.
“Oh, good,” his mom said in relief. “I know how much you worried about having to share the team with him. He seems to be up to his usual antics on the ice, but I’m glad it doesn’t carry over into the locker room.”
“He’s been pretty tame lately, I thought.” He didn’t know why he wanted to defend Barczyk, who had drawn two unnecessary penalties when they were in L.A., but he did.
“Maybe. Though I appreciated his penalty got you some PK time. You looked good, sweetheart. Think they’ll keep giving you chances?”
“I hope so. I’d like more responsibility, and I think this is a good way for me to prove that I’m more than a third-line center.”
“You’re a great center. The problem is that Turner and Moreau are also great centers, and they’re more established on the team and in the league. You’ll get your chance, sweetie.”
Evan was about to talk about how much he could learn from them when his mom’s tone shifted.
“What’s with the butt-tap thing you do with Barczyk? I watched that L.A. game with your Aunt Linda, and we couldn’t figure it out. The commentators said you’ve been doing it since Vermont.”
“Oh.” His cheeks were bright red, and he was glad his mom hated video calls so he could downplay things. “Barzy does it for good luck. Seems to work, so I play along.”
“Barzy,” his mom scoffed. “I’ve always thought hockey nicknames were ridiculous. How hard is it to call the man Riley and be done with it?”
Evan might have a stroke if he had to call Barczyk ‘Riley.’ He felt like some Victorian gentleman who shied away from using people’s Christian names, because it truly caused him an unreasonable amount of anxiety.
“How’s Aunt Linda doing?” he asked, hoping this would be his Get Out of Jail Free card. “How was the ski trip?”
“It was great! The cabin was perfect. Close to the slopes without any of the crowds. I’m not as spry as I used to be, but I could still beat Linda, and that was enough.”
“Isn’t Aunt Linda like eight years older than you?”
“Nine,” she said. “And that doesn’t matter. She skis more than I do, and I was still faster. I know you don’t have any siblings, so you don’t understand, but it’s important. Oh, did you get to hang out with your cousin in L.A.?”
“Billy’s more than a decade older than me,” Evan said. “We haven’t hung out since I was old enough not to need a babysitter anymore.”
His cousin Billy was Aunt Linda’s oldest son and played for the L.A.
Devils. He’d always been nice to Evan despite the age difference, but they didn’t seek opportunities to hang out when they played against each other.
They said hi on the ice before the game—mostly to satisfy their mothers—and that was it.
Besides, he’d been busy.
“But it would be nice if you boys could hang out,” his mom said.
Billy was married with two kids and projected to retire within a few years.
Aside from their mothers being sisters and both men playing hockey, they had very little in common.
Not that Billy wasn’t a nice enough guy, it just always felt forced when they had hung out those first few seasons together because of their moms’ nagging.
Both had been relieved when Evan had suggested they stop.
“You travel so much,” his mom said. “It’s such a great opportunity to see family.”
He didn’t bother with his usual reminders—they didn’t get a lot of time in other cities, he was working, sometimes their schedules didn’t overlap. Instead he mumbled, “I know, I know,” to appease her.
* * *
Evan was jittery. The nature of professional sports meant there were constantly people around, especially when they were on the road.
His small little bubble of alone time had also vanished in San Francisco when he’d spent that first evening with Barczyk.
Since then, Evan hadn’t been alone to do anything except shower and sleep, and his empty apartment felt too big and lonely.
He was a bit of an introvert, so it’d never bothered him to live alone (it’d been such a relief to lose the roommate part of away games this season), so it wasn’t some sudden need to socialize that was driving him crazy.
He wanted to see Barczyk.
He wrote and re-wrote a text message about a dozen times before settling on a hopefully neutral one that didn’t sound like he was looking for a booty call.
Abernathy
You busy? I was thinking I could use another fighting lesson
Barczyk didn’t reply, and Evan hated himself for this show of weakness.
Barczyk had other things going on besides Evan.
It wasn’t like he was at home, as lonely and bored as Evan, waiting and hoping Evan would reach out.
He was probably out with the guys—it wasn’t as if Evan was his only friend on the team or even his only linemate.
So Evan went through the boring chores that had built up over his West Coast trip. He ordered groceries. He did laundry. He paid his bills. He did dishes. He—
He definitely didn’t sprint to his phone when he heard it vibrate with an incoming text.
Barczyk
Thought you might’ve outgrown that kind of practice
Abernathy
You said I wouldn’t be able to graduate from the barczyk school of beating people up until American Thanksgiving
Barczyk
I have never in my life put the words American and Thanksgiving together
But yeah I guess I did promise that
Abernathy
So are you free tonight?
Barczyk
I might be. But believe it or not they never trusted me with a key to the rink so if you wanna practice you’ll have to do it at my apartment building
Evan remembered a distant, naive version of himself who’d thought he could stay out of trouble with Barczyk if he kept things professional.
He’d lost any semblance of a professional relationship weeks ago.
Semi-public sex and hotel room hook-ups weren’t any better than going to his apartment (though that might be a tad more intimate), so he figured keeping distance was a lost cause.
Abernathy
That’s fine text me the address? I can be there in an hour
Barczyk