Page 40 of Drop the Gloves
Evan managed to avoid Barczyk for a whole day.
There was an optional skate the next day, and while Barczyk took the ice, Evan didn’t.
He went home and caught up on the chores that always piled up while he was out of town, and when a message went out on the team chat about meeting up, he said he was busy so Barczyk wouldn’t message him privately.
But he couldn’t reasonably ignore Barczyk when they suited up for their game against the visiting Ohio Otters.
In the locker room, Evan kept his eyes fixed on his gear as he got ready.
He had no plan, but they needed not to be suspicious.
It hadn’t been long enough for Evan to forget that night in Philly, and he was sure it’d be obvious on his face if he so much as looked at Barczyk.
If he had to talk to him, they were doomed.
On the ice during warm-ups, it felt safer. The growing crowd made his problems seem insignificant. He was just one person of the thousands who were here, the thousands more still arriving. Evan Abernathy sleeping with his teammate and having feelings about it seemed so dumb in a place this big.
Better yet, it gave him the cover he needed to interact with Barczyk and have no one think anything of it.
“Did we ever figure out a lucky number?” Evan skated to a stop beside Barczyk, his stick up and ready to smack him.
“My lucky number’s seventy-three,” Barczyk said, working his mouthguard from the left side of his mouth to the right. “So maybe not that.”
“Twenty-one isn’t sounding great either.” He whacked Barczyk once, twice, and watched him drift a few inches forward each time. “We play it by ear?”
“Works for me.”
They switched spots, and Evan leaned over, bracing himself.
Barczyk stood behind him and whispered, “Don’t worry, Evan, I’ll go easy on you.
” And then backed away and hit Evan harder than he’d expected.
Or it could’ve been what Barczyk said, because Evan went down hard, knees hitting the ice with a loud thud.
“Abs!” Barczyk cackled. “What the fuck? People are gonna think I’m beating you to death over here.”
He hopped back onto his feet. “Well, Riley,” he hissed and enjoyed the way Barczyk gulped. “I was a little blindsided by—“
“Oh shit, I forgot.” Barczyk’s attention had shifted behind Evan, and he pushed past him at a near sprint. “brB!” he called over his shoulder and raced to center ice.
Evan stood there dumbfounded. He watched as Barczyk practically jumped into another player’s arms at center ice.
A player on the Otters, which was weird since Barczyk had never played for them.
When the hug broke apart, Evan recognized Ryan Russell, alternate captain and very publicly out NHL player, pat Barczyk affectionately on the head.
They talked for a solid minute—Evan checked the timer on the scoreboard as it marked that warm-ups were drawing to an end—with both smiling and laughing.
Evan didn’t like or understand why he was clenching his jaw or that he was breathing so shallowly or the way he wanted to skate over there and insert himself in their conversation, but he relaxed as soon as the two took off their gloves to shake hands and went back to their respective teams.
It made him feel a little better when Barczyk came right back to him.
“So what’s the game plan? We being responsible today or are we—?”
“You know Russell?” Evan blurted out, watching the other center. Russell was at his bench talking with a teammate, looking relaxed and cheerful in a way Evan hadn’t felt in months. The bastard wasn’t just talented; he was handsome and friendly too. Good thing he was already dating someone or else—
Or else what!? Why did it matter?
“RJ?” Barczyk shrugged, smiling way too fondly for Evan’s liking. “Yeah, we played together in Juniors, and we were in Vermont together.”
“Oh.” Evan had known that. Or he should’ve. “Are you guys still close?”
“Nah, not really. We just chat before games. Tradition or whatever. Nice guy. Way nicer than me. I bet I’ll smash him tonight, and he’ll still apologize to me for getting in my way or some shit.” He laughed. “Kinda like you, actually.”
A teammate Barczyk had spent years with. A teammate just like Evan. How much like Evan?
Evan wanted to scream. Barczyk, oblivious to Evan being about two seconds away from an aneurysm, bumped his shoulder against Evan’s as he skated off, like some giant cat showing affection.
The horn sounded for the end of warm-ups, and Evan took one last look at Russell as he disappeared from the ice.
Evan made a mental note not to let Ryan Russell score or win a single face-off against him tonight.
Spoiler: Ryan Russell did win face-offs against Evan. A lot of them.
Russell was on the first line for the Otters, so he shouldn’t have matched up against Evan very often, but Russell’s line was absolutely destroying the Riveters’ first and second lines, so Coach Jack used his home ice advantage to put Evan, Vassiliev, and Barczyk against them.
Russell was killing Evan at the dot, but otherwise they kept down the scoring chances. A small win.
“Hey, Abs.” Barczyk grabbed Evan’s jersey and kept him from going to the face-off circle for yet another impending loss to Russell. “Just tie him up. I’ll come in and grab the puck.”
“You don’t think I can win a stupid face-off?” Evan snapped, surprised at his own annoyance.
Barczyk didn’t even flinch. “Against RJ? Probably not.”
“Why, because he’s better than me?”
Again, Barczyk wasn’t fazed by Evan’s pissy attitude. “At face-offs? Yeah. But he’s top five in the league, so, like, he’s better than most people.”
Evan, for the first time in a long time, wanted to punch Barczyk.
“But,” Barczyk continued, “he’s smaller than you. So tie him up. He won’t be expecting it.”
With no better ideas, Evan did what Barczyk suggested; instead of trying to win the puck back to the defense, Evan stepped forward and bodied Russell away from the puck.
“Yoink!” Barczyk yelled as he swooped in from behind, scooped out the puck, and rushed down the ice.
Evan’s momentary thrill of victory died when Russell pulled away and chased Barczyk down the ice.
Evan scrambled after, and it wouldn’t have been so bad, except even after the goalie covered the puck, Russell and Barczyk kept pushing and shoving.
Not unusual, since Barczyk usually got a few extra shoves after the whistle, but this was too. ..playful.
“Back it up, Riles,” Russell said, his glove in Barczyk’s face. “I’m not playing this game today.”
“I ain’t doing shit,” Barczyk said. He took off his own glove and threw it at Russell’s gut. “Fuck off, RJ.”
“You fuck off.”
“No, you fuck off—“
“How about both of you fuck off and line it up or go back to your benches,” the ref snapped, though he didn’t seem bothered by Barczyk and Russell’s fighting. Like he didn’t think that any trouble was going to come of it, which was the opposite of how refs normally treated Barczyk.
They lined up for another face-off. Russell won.
“Riles?” Evan asked when they were back on the bench a minute later. He hated how pathetic he felt bringing it up.
Barczyk shrugged. “Everyone called me that in Juniors.” He chugged some water from his water bottle, then sprayed some at Evan. “What’d they call you?”
“Abs,” he said. He’d played for Team Canada when he was 17, the winter before he was drafted.
He knew some players jived with their teams and loved the experience of playing for their country.
Evan had found the whole thing overwhelming as it led into the tournament, and then underwhelming during and after.
It hadn’t made a big impression on him, at least not the way it seemed to with Barczyk and Russell, sort-of-friends years later.
“Oh,” Barczyk said, and that was the end of it.
The Riveters lost 3-1. It was one of Evan’s worst games in a while.
No shot attempts, no hits, two whole face-off wins (neither against Russell), and a minus one rating.
The only consolation was that Russell hadn’t scored, and Evan felt like a dick for caring.
Ryan Russell hadn’t done anything to him, ever.
His only crime was having known Barczyk before Evan had.
“You seem stressed,” Vassiliev said after the game. “You didn’t play so well, but ’s okay. Just one game. Don’t sweat it.”
“I’m not stressed,” he said, voice tight and an octave higher than usual.
Vassiliev held up his hands in surrender, but his face said like hell you’re not.
Evan had played hard that game but still had too much energy, so he bypassed the showers and went to the small gym at the arena to run until he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. That was normal, right?