Page 12
Chapter Six
October
Matt didn’t play all of the preseason games, generally. He was as much of a sure thing as the Royal had: at this point, he was their longest-tenured player. It wasn’t a responsibility that he took lightly, though, so when he was in the games, he gave it his all.
This year was different. The knee was going to be an issue going into it, he knew that already. An entire summer of rehabbing it after the last injury hadn’t seemed to have made much of a difference. If he said something to the trainers, that would lead to more tests and potentially to more time out, which he couldn’t afford, especially so early in the season itself. No: he was just going to have to play and manage it as best he could and lean on Toradol if it got unbearable and ask for Percocet if it got worse than that. There would be time for tests later on and maybe another arthroscopic procedure in the offseason if he needed it.
And in the meantime, it was good to get back on the ice.
“Man, you fucking love playing Toronto, don’t you,” Jammer said, as they were dressing for the fourth game against the Justice. “Kind of a traitor to Ontario, huh?”
Jammer was American, so he hadn’t been raised around the cult-like atmosphere that surrounded the Justice even when you lived over an hour’s drive away from Toronto. Matt had been raised watching their games, but as soon as he’d been drafted by the Royal it hadn’t even taken him a second thought before he folded up all of the jerseys he’d worn as a child, packed them away at his parents’ house, and embraced a new side of the rivalry.
“Jesus, Jams. Do I give you this hard of a time when we play in California?”
“ I don’t have any childhood loyalties,” Jammer said, with a little sniff. “My parents mostly watched football.”
Matt surveyed the room: Manny, teasing Rémi Cormier about the game last night, where his skate blade had snapped and Matt had had to drag him like a drowned kitten by the neck of his jersey across the ice to the boards; Jack Crane, deep in concentration in a pregame meditative routine that reminded Matt of nothing so much as Aiden in his youth even though Jack wasn’t a goalie; Saari, taping his stick with the single-minded, repetitive movement that looked almost robotic. It hit him again how much he was going to miss them when he had to retire. And again, thinking about Aiden, at home, how much he probably missed this, too.
It wasn’t an easy loss: sometimes, Matt thought the ones that they lost by only one goal were worse than the blowouts, just because they’d been so close to winning. Matt pushed himself too hard and by the end of the game, he was feeling it. Tested out the knee as he hopped over the boards and felt the ache.
“You good, Safy?” Saari asked, because of course he’d noticed.
“Fine,” Matt said. “Just have to give it some time, I think.”
It had been years since he’d felt so eager to go home after a game. When he had still been married to Emily, especially toward the end, there’d always been the vague feeling of dread, knowing she’d be upset about something, knowing it was one more thing he’d have to manage. And after Emily, it had just been quiet night after quiet night, not even admitting to himself how lonely it had been.
And now there was Aiden, waiting for Matt when he got home, like he’d been lurking by the doorway and trying to seem like he hadn’t actually been doing that.
“Hey,” Matt said, unable to keep the slightly goofy smile off of his face. “Were you lonely, baby?”
Aiden’s face flushed darker, and he looked down. “Uh, no, it’s just—sometimes it’s not easy watching you playing and wishing I could be out there, too.”
Matt couldn’t help wrapping Aiden in his arms immediately. “I’m sorry. I wish—I don’t know. Is it weird to think that maybe it would have been nice if we could’ve played together, that last year?”
“We would’ve been miserable,” Aiden mumbled into Matt’s hair.
“Maybe we would’ve reconnected then, too. Maybe it would’ve worked out. I wouldn’t have been able to resist you.”
“Do you ever think about that?” Aiden pulled back a little, so he could look down at Matt. “How long it’s been. How I still feel exactly the same goddamn butterflies in my stomach when I look at you now as I did that first handshake line.”
Aching knee and bruises and exhausted body aside, despite the fact that it was close to one in the morning, he felt himself stirring. It was impossible not to, when Aiden was looking at him like that, when Aiden’s lean body was pressed against his, when Aiden’s eyes were hot and intent and needing. Matt pressed his mouth against Aiden’s neck, savoring the little sigh it earned him.
“We don’t have to...it’s late, I know you’re exhausted...”
“You could fuck me,” Matt suggested, “I could make you do all of the work this time, eh?”
Aiden sounded like he had surprised himself into laughing, short and wheezy. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yes,” Matt said, “please.”
Sometimes, when Matt thought about the way sex with Aiden had evolved over the years of their relationship, it did his head in a little. When they’d first started hooking up, it had been a surprise to both of them for different reasons. Matt because he’d assumed he was straight; Aiden because he hadn’t ever met anyone who could compare to hockey. But the attraction had been electric and undeniable. It had been awkward at first, figuring out what they liked and what was comfortable, before Matt had cracked the code and learned the two most important things about Aiden: he was kind of a freak, and he was incredibly flexible.
By the time they’d broken up, they’d tried pretty much everything together. Matt had learned things he’d never thought he’d learn about himself, like the fact that even though he had never intended to hurt Aiden, Aiden really, really liked it when Matt hurt him. That was the thing: it hadn’t just been about sex, it was about the way Aiden was so vulnerable and cracked open when he let Matt do those things to him, the way that Matt could be the same way with him. The way he couldn’t be with anyone else, for so many fucking reasons, not the least of which was because he was the captain of the Montreal Royal.
They might not ever have been good at talking about their feelings, but their bodies could do it for them.
And now that they were back together, Aiden still sounded and felt the same underneath and on top of him, around him or inside of him, but there was that ache in Matt’s chest, the thought of all of the other men over the years who’d been able to see Aiden like this, who’d been able to look up in bed and see his huge brown eyes focused only on them.
It was so fucked up. It wasn’t like Matt to be that possessive. Aiden wasn’t a thing , wasn’t something he could own. But it was like now that Matt had Aiden back in his life after so long, now that Matt had Aiden back in his bed, focused on taking Matt apart, piece by piece, everything was all mixed up in his head, a combination of joy and pain so intense he couldn’t even begin to untangle the mess.
It didn’t help that Aiden was deep inside of him now, slow, even thrusts driving all logical thought out of his head. All he could think about was how much he had missed this, all he could think about was how good Aiden felt, draped over his back, like he couldn’t bear to put even an inch between them. Matt was so intensely aware of every little sensation: the slick sweat between them, Aiden’s hands wrapped around Matt’s wrists, pressing them down into the bed, his short, bitten-off fingernails digging into Matt’s skin. They were barely moving and Matt’s whole body was on fire anyway, building up to the climax.
“Matty,” Aiden mumbled into his neck. His mouth was hot and humid, barely coherent. “Matty...”
“I’m so close, please, Aiden, come on—”
Aiden gave him what he wanted—he had always been good at taking direction—a slow, inexorable grind of his hips, and it was like Matt’s whole body was enveloped and penetrated and covered, and all of his senses, everything around him, were just Aiden . And then Matt was crying out, unable to even feel embarrassed about how desperate he sounded. It took him a while to collect his thoughts after, flat on his stomach in the sticky spot on the bed.
Aiden pulled out and sat back on his legs, but Matt couldn’t move, rolled over onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes because looking at Aiden, just then, was almost too much for him to bear. The only sound was his own ragged breathing, panting and short, and Aiden’s, just as breathless.
“Gabe wants me to go to the home opener,” Aiden blurted out all at once, like he was trying to stop himself and failing.
“Oh—okay?” Matt managed, still gasping and disoriented. He blinked, trying to process Aiden’s words.
Aiden was saying, “I’m going to go. I bought tickets.”
Matt pushed himself up onto his elbows. It felt a little like Aiden had slammed him in the head with a two-by-four. He wasn’t entirely sure whether it was the orgasm and the aftershocks, or because of what Aiden had just said. “I...okay. Are you coming back?”
“It’s a round-trip ticket?” Aiden said, slowly.
Matt covered his eyes with his hand, couldn’t even look at him again, for an entirely different reason this time. His fingers rubbed at his temples. “Aiden, I sometimes wonder if—”
“If?”
If you ever think about what you’re saying. If you ever know how deeply you’ve fucked me up. If you know how much I fucking love you, if you know how terrified I am of losing you again.
Like he could ever say any of that. He’d chase Aiden right back to New York, like he’d bought the plane ticket himself. He hadn’t had a plan when he’d invited Aiden to come to Montreal, but he’d hoped—he’d hoped that once Aiden was here, once he was reminded how good he and Matt were together, that he’d understand. That he’d want to stay. That they could build something new here, just the two of them. Matt was remembering that no matter what he thought, Aiden’s mind never worked the way his did. “Never mind. I’m going to shower.”
He could feel Aiden’s eyes on him as he got out of the bed and went into the bathroom.
Aiden never thought it would be strange to be back in New York. Even after spending an entire summer in Winnipeg, it always felt like coming home the minute the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac at JFK.
Aiden had been in Montreal for two and a half, almost three months. New York didn’t not feel like home now, but he was conscious of the difference in temperature from Montreal, the familiar New York smells that weren’t present there, the way even the crowd of people walking toward the cars from the baggage claim had a different feel and tempo than it did in Montreal. New York had an attitude that no other city had: it just couldn’t be replicated.
Aiden didn’t need to collect his bag; he had only brought enough clothes for an overnight stay. He went outside to catch a cab. He frowned, a little, thinking about the way Matt had reacted to this trip. Maybe it was because Aiden was going to one of Gabe’s games but hadn’t gone to any of the Royal’s? He sighed. He’d probably have to end up getting over himself and getting into the rink again with Matt, one way or another. The thought made him feel a little nauseous, so he tried not to think about it.
He focused on the things he could control: the rest of his day.
He stopped at home first, but everything was exactly the way it was when he’d left it. The plants in the kitchen were all dead, but that wasn’t surprising since he’d forgotten to ask anyone to check in on them. They were withered and rotting, shriveled pathetically in their pots. He dumped them, soil and all, into the trash, and texted Gabe, I’m home.
yaaaaay, Gabe wrote back. wasnt sure if u were actually gonna make it.
Aiden sighed and didn’t answer immediately. Eventually, he said, I got tickets, so you don’t have to worry about that. See you after the game?
yes!!!!! its a date!
Aiden got to the arena early enough that he could go down to the lower bowl to watch the team warming up before the game. All of the guys crowded around to put their gloves up to the glass and say hello, and Aiden waved back, smiling like a crazy person but unable to stop it. Even if he couldn’t play, it was just—good to see them all again.
Pears made a big show out of throwing his stick over the glass, like Aiden was a fan who was actually begging for it. Aiden, grinning, rolled his eyes and handed the stick over to a kid standing next to him instead.
They didn’t look any different warming up than they did the last season he was playing: the way the cycles of cap and contracts had been going, the team was on the young side again. With the exception of Amirov, who would probably be playing well into his forties and consistently took contracts below his worth just to stay with the team, and Pears and Brooksy and Simmer, there were a few guys in their mid-twenties and a lot of guys who were either rookies or close enough to it that it functionally didn’t matter. It reminded him a little of his own first few seasons, when it seemed like the majority of the team had never actually been to the playoffs.
Before Aiden was about to head up to his seat, Gabe skated over and pressed his glove up against the glass. It was his first season where he’d started on opening day as the official number one, and he’d stepped up admirably to the challenge. Aiden could see him grinning behind the cage, confident and happy and with his whole life ahead of him.
“Fuck ’em up,” Aiden said, using the pregame encouragement that had always seemed to help Gabe the most.
Gabe smiled even wider, if that was possible, and punched the glass. Aiden punched back.
Aiden watched the game from center ice, near the top of the bowl. He wanted to have a good eye on everything that happened, and usually the fans willing to pay for those seats were at least fairly serious. The couple on his right side kept glancing sideways at him with wide eyes, like they couldn’t really believe he was there, but they let him watch in peace, which was all he cared about. The older man on Aiden’s other side probably didn’t even recognize him, which was even better.
Matt was probably in the air by now, but Aiden texted him anyway. Call me tonight? He didn’t get a reply, but he wasn’t too worried about that.
It was a good game. They were playing the Seals, and it was one of those nights where everything clicked. The crowd energy was good, roaring at the right parts, booing San Jose when they managed to get a good shot on goal, mocking applause when Brooksy drew a penalty and the Libs went on the power play. Aiden had even missed hearing people yelling shoooooot . The passes connected and the shots might have been hitting the post, but the Libs outshot the Seals by a good margin. It wasn’t a heavy workload for Gabe, but he made the saves he needed to make, calm as ever, never out of position.
Maybe it was the nature of the game, but Aiden felt less anxious than he thought he’d be. He could let himself get swept up in screaming for his teammates, in being one fan of eighteen thousand. It didn’t feel as bad as he’d thought it would feel, and that was at once a strange thing and a relief.
That was, at least, until someone in the broadcast operations room realized he was there, and they showed him on the Jumbotron at least three times. The little caption underneath said Aiden Campbell, won two Cups for New York. Aiden waved, awkwardly, and then tried to pretend he didn’t see it at all.
Gabe stole the team a shutout, and after the horn sounded, he came out to do a quick loop to acknowledge being awarded first star.
Aiden made his way down to the dressing room, ready to say hello to all of the guys and congratulate Gabe, but paused outside when he realized that they were still in the middle of the press scrum. He definitely didn’t want to step in the middle of that . Instead, he lurked in the doorway, accepted some hearty back-pats from the trainers and equipment guys as they milled in and out, and hung back to listen to Gabe taking his moment in the sun.
Gabe was, of course, incandescent. He hadn’t had a chance to shower yet, and his curly hair was damp, the flush of exertion still visible on his cheeks and throat, the imprint of his helmet in his forehead. He was beaming; it was a magnetic smile that made you want to return it.
“Yeah,” he was saying, “I mean, of course it’s always great to win a home opener, even better to do it with a shuttie. I always try my best, but it feels great when it works out.”
Someone asked a question that Aiden couldn’t hear, and Gabe’s smile broadened, if such a thing were even possible.
“Well, yeah. I asked Soupy to come, because it means a lot to me to be able to share these moments with him, and I was really glad he was able to make it. I told him this summer; I wouldn’t be half the goalie I am today without his mentorship. You know. Both on the ice and off. I learned how to keep my focus and control my emotions on the ice from him and—”
He paused to listen to the reporter’s question, cocked his head to the side.
“Yeah, so I’m sure you’ve read the news. This might be the first you’ve heard of it, but Soupy was open with me from the beginning. And when I say it meant a lot to me, I don’t know if I—you know as a gay kid in juniors, it was really hard growing up being one of the only ones there, and without that many role models in the show, wondering how it was going to be when I finally made it. I came up ready to fight and Soupy told me I didn’t have to, because he’d already done a lot of that work for me. And it was just like this huge weight off of my shoulders, not having to worry about my teammates and whether they’d be cool or not, and to just finally have that guy I could look up to, who knew what I was going through and who I could talk to about, um, anything. It meant the world to me. I hope one day I can be that guy for some kid who needs it, you know?”
Aiden’s throat felt tight, thinking about the hours he’d spent with Gabe, how rewarding it was to see the results of that mentorship before him, but before he could fully appreciate the moment for what it was, Pears slid his arms around Aiden’s waist and pressed the entire length of his body, still damp and stinking from game sweat, against Aiden’s back and his clean clothes.
“Hi, Pears.”
“Buddyyyyyy,” Pears crowed. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Oh boy, young Gabriel’s gonna be beside himself,” Pear said, nuzzling his cheek against Aiden’s shoulder.
“You’re, uh, kind of beside yourself.”
“Well, we all miss you, bud. Especially me, your intrepid captain. Viens à la maison!”
“Did you Google translate that just so you could use it tonight?”
“So what if I did?” Pears asked, and he finally released Aiden, only to whirl him around and hug him again. “You knew what I was saying. And we do miss you.”
“Yeah,” Aiden mumbled. “Well. Good game, bud.”
Pears patted him on the shoulder. “Well, we had two goalies to play for today. All right, I gotta hit the showers, but I’m sure Gabe will be thrilled to talk to you. You sticking around?”
“Flying back tomorrow.”
“Right, right,” Pears said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and then holding out his fist to bump. Aiden obliged, but didn’t say anything encouraging; eventually, he seemed to give up on waiting. “Okay, bud. See you around.”
Aiden watched him go and lurked by the door, waiting for the hero of the hour. He made small talk with Amirov and Simmer, then with some of the younger guys as they filed in and out. And then Gabe, showered, fresh-faced, and beaming.
“Soupy,” Gabe said, “I’m so happy you made it.”
“I’m really happy I came.” Aiden was surprised to find it was true. “You were lights out tonight, buddy.”
“Thanks.” Gabe smiled his dimpled smile. He rolled a knot out of his shoulders, pointed down the tunnels, and asked, “Walk with me?”
It was a walk Aiden had done over a thousand times before, from the depths of the Square out and down the street to the parking lot the players used, not too far away. He could probably make it in his sleep. He still let Gabe lead, followed behind him and tried to put together his thoughts into some kind of a coherent sentence. He kept replaying in his head Gabe’s little talk to the reporters, the warmth in his stomach fighting the way his head immediately countered it with you don’t deserve any of that praise, you haven’t been here for him at all—
They were outside now. Most of the other Libs were already gone; the Seals’ bus was gone, too. It was a crisp October evening, the ones Aiden always used to love because it meant a break in the humidity of New York summers, because it meant the season was well and truly underway. You couldn’t see any stars with the lights shining all over the city, but sometimes he used to pretend.
Gabe turned to him and said, “Soupy—Aiden—” and although Aiden waited for him to say something, instead of going on, Gabe just threw his arms around Aiden in a hug that was so tight he could hear his own ribs creak. He returned the hug, looser, his hand patting Gabe’s back.
Gabe said, “I saw you standing there during media. I meant everything I said, you know, you mean so much to me. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“You would have,” Aiden assured him. “You’re Gabe Walker, bud, you can do anything.”
“No. I mean, I would have won games. I would have figured it out eventually, you know? But it wouldn’t be the same.”
“Really, kid, you were great. And you would have been great with or without me. Brave with or without me.”
“Stop calling me a kid,” Gabe mumbled into Aiden’s chest. His hand smoothed over the bunched muscle of Aiden’s shoulder. “I’m not a kid . I’m twenty-two, I’m the starting goalie, I’m an adult .”
Aiden thought about what he was doing at twenty-two—the starting goalie, winning his first playoff series against his childhood idol, completely failing to live alone and cook for himself, fucking things up so badly when he’d first gotten called up that Ward had had to explain to him again that friendships were relationships too and that he couldn’t hold himself apart from the team like that even if he was the goalie, accidentally falling in love with Matt and not knowing what to do with all of those feelings—and thought, oh, kid.
Instead, he said, “No, you’re not a kid.”
“I just wanted to... Soupy, I love you, like, I really do—”
“I love you too, buddy,” Aiden interrupted him, taking a step back and putting a little distance between them.
“No—Aiden, I’m—”
“Gabe, come on, don’t say anything you can’t take back—”
“No! I’m not going to be a coward , okay? I just got a fucking shutout on home opener night, and I’m in love with you, okay? I am . And I have been for a long time. And I know you’re living in Montreal now, but you never said exactly what’s going on with that whole thing, and you’re really important to me, and I couldn’t fucking live with myself if I didn’t at least try .”
“Gabe, I...” Aiden rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t—that’s not—that’s not love.”
Gabe took another step back. He did look very young in that moment, mouth turned down in a frown, his eyes sad and furious, his arms folded over his chest. “Don’t tell me I don’t know, because I do. I mean, I understand if you don’t feel that way about me, but, but I know what I feel, and you can’t fucking tell me otherwise.”
Aiden wondered what it must be like, to be that young and that sure of yourself. He was nearing forty and hadn’t managed to develop an ounce of that confidence. “You’ve always been that way. I’ve always envied that about you.”
“But you don’t—you don’t love me.”
“I do , it’s meant so much to me to be able to teach you, help you ease into the starting spot, to watch you grow up—”
Gabe made a rude noise, somewhere between a snort of disdain and spitting. “I didn’t mean like that . That doesn’t count. Grow up, ” he said, and rolled his eyes. “Grow up. Jesus Christ, grow up . Aiden, I’m a man , what will it take for you to realize that?”
“Gabe—”
“Are you still in love with him?” Gabe demanded, looking up at Aiden with his furious brown eyes and his full mouth pressed into a thinner line. “Are you?”
Aiden took a deep breath. “Yes.” It was the first time he had said it out loud. Admitted it to anyone else. “I just don’t know...if he loves me, too.”
Gabe visibly deflated. He was still close enough that Aiden could almost feel the heat of his body, like all of the frustration and fury was just radiating off of him into the cool night air. Aiden was surprised he wasn’t steaming.
“You love him, but what are you, like, hoping to accomplish up there? Are you going to say anything?”
Aiden stared at him. “What?”
“Are you going to say anything? Do anything? About it?”
“Uh...”
“Oh, my god,” Gabe said, horrified. “Are you seriously just gonna let things go ?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
Gabe took two steps forward. His warm, soft mouth pressed firmly against Aiden’s. He was close enough that Aiden could feel Gabe’s long eyelashes brush his face, like the ghost of a kiss there, too. It was fairly innocent, as far as kisses went. It was a declaration, or some kind of benediction, more than anything romantic.
Aiden was too surprised to respond, but it was over almost as soon as it started, and then Gabe was patting the side of his face.
“Soupy, I love you, and so I’m gonna tell you this: you need to figure your fucking shit out . Like ASAP. The rest of the world can’t wait for you forever. Even Safaryan can’t wait for you forever.”
“Gabe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to end this way.”
Gabe smiled, rueful and not a little sad. “Don’t be. It’s not the end. I knew what I was doing. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know? Think about that when it comes to your boy in Montreal. Ugh, it’s fucking late as hell now. You need a ride?”
“No, I’m gonna catch a cab.”
“Okay. Well. Thanks for coming to my game, Soupy. That shutout was for you. I do love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Gabe threw his arms around Aiden in another one of those bone-crushing hugs, ran his hand through the hair at the nape of Aiden’s neck and tugged. “And get a fucking haircut, you know you’re not actually Jesus, bud.”
And then he was gone, leaving Aiden alone in the middle of the street, wondering, not for the first time, what the hell just happened to him.
Aiden spent most of the night tossing and turning in his bed, which was usually comfortable but currently felt both foreign and unusually empty, like a hotel bed. It was like without Matt, even his home wasn’t home anymore.
He gave up around four in the morning and just got up, ended up spending the rest of his time going through his closet and picking out a few cold-weather items to bring back to Montreal with him. When that was done, he threw the clothes he was wearing yesterday in the washing machine, because they still smelled like Pears’ game-day sweat and it was making Aiden feel itchy and anxious.
Pears showed up along with the sunrise, bearing breakfast sandwiches and coffee from the bodega around the corner from Aiden’s house, and a small carton of oat milk. Aiden, who had no food in his house anymore, accepted it, even if it was decidedly not what he usually ate in the mornings. They mostly ate in silence, because the combination of soft egg and bacon and toasted bagel meant that if you weren’t careful your breakfast ended up squirting all over the plate. Pears licked his fingers when they were done, heaving a huge sigh of satisfaction. They talked a bit about the Libs’ preseason so far, how the new kids were settling in, how the new coach had been in the offseason.
Pears adjusted his snapback, rubbed his eyes a little sleepily. “It’s good to have you back in New York, bro, even if it’s just for a day.”
“It’s good to be back.”
“Really? Seems like you’re pretty settled in up there.”
“No... I don’t know. I thought it was only for the summer, but now it’s just... I don’t really know.”
Pears poured some oat milk into his coffee, tasted it, made a face and then dumped another large spoonful of sugar in. “Okay,” he said, and took another sip. “But why don’t you know?”
“I don’t want to, you know. Ruin what I’ve got right now.”
“If you don’t, you’re gonna make it worse.”
Aiden pushed his own coffee mug back and forth between his hands. “I did start going to therapy, you know.”
“Huh. Are you, like, actually paying attention? Are you actually trying?”
“ Yes , Isaac.”
“Okay, okay. But I’m just wondering, like, what are you actually afraid of?”
Aiden shrugged. “If I fuck it up again, I come back here, and then I’m just...right back where I started. Right now in Montreal, it’s not easy, but I have kind of a life, and I’m helping Matt’s niece with goalie things, and Matt is—Matt. It’s just easier dealing with everything else when I have that—when I have him.”
“You can still have all of that shit, man. What’s actually stopping you from making it real?”
“Me?”
Pears laughed his honking laugh. “Now there’s that therapy insight, buddy. But what are you gonna do about it?”
“Thanks,” Aiden said, sourly, put the oat milk back in the fridge and did not answer the question. Mom had texted him a few times—she must have been watching the home opener and saw him on the Jumbotron—but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what he was going to tell her. He had gone home, and it was good, but also a mistake. A huge, huge fucking mistake. And no, he wasn’t coming back to Winnipeg.
That’d go over really well.
He took a cab to JFK.
sorry abt the whole last night thing, Gabe said, while Aiden was waiting to board. if it made u uncomfortable.
Nothing to apologize for, buddy. And I’m sorry too. About everything else.
ok. just as long as were clear.
Aiden sent him a thumbs-up emoji.
When he deplaned at YUL and slouched his way through the terminal, the first thing he really saw was Matt waiting for him by the baggage claim, texting someone, a little frown knitting his eyebrows together. When he looked up and saw Aiden coming toward him, his face immediately changed: a broad, open smile. Aiden had a moment of vertigo when he realized that it did feel like coming home.
Except it wasn’t his home, and he was too chickenshit to make it his home, and he didn’t even know if Matt would want that, anyway, and—
“You okay?” Matt asked.
“Yeah,” Aiden lied.