Page 18

On the seventh day, Aiden thought, I can’t do this. He thought: If I’m here for Matt, I have to do this.

The Royal were on the road again, to Winnipeg, Minnesota and Chicago. Matt wondered idly whether Aiden’s family would be at the Winnipeg game: Aiden’s father might have been a former professional player, but he’d never really made it beyond the minor leagues, and both he and Aiden’s sister were Falcons fanatics. During Aiden and Matt’s first relationship, Aiden’s parents had had season tickets, although he had no idea whether they still did. Aiden’s mom had never really warmed up to hockey and only went when Aiden was playing at home. Matt doubted they would have made an exception for him , especially after things had ended.

In the plane, on the way out to Manitoba, he realized that he’d never actually asked Aiden what he’d told his family about the breakup. He had always just assumed Aiden had just told the truth, but maybe that had been a bad idea. Maybe it didn’t even matter if he had or hadn’t—it was clear that even though Aiden had been the one to break things off, he’d been more messed up about it than Matt had realized originally.

Matt usually sat with Saari on the flights, and Saari usually slept on them. It worked out well because Matt had never been a big talker. Today, though, Saari was awake, frowning as he scrolled through something on his phone.

“You good?” Matt asked.

“Yeah, you know.” Saari rolled his eyes. “You should never read the comments on the articles, right?”

“Buddy, you’ve been playing for almost twenty years, and you’re breaking the rules now ? What are you even looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Saari said, and shrugged. “It’s just...you know, we have so many rookies this year, and we’ve been playing pretty well, but who knows about the playoffs. And then you, and the trade deadline...”

Matt felt his eyebrows go up. “It’s months away, you know.”

“I know . But you haven’t signed an extension yet, man, and I’m worrying about it.”

“Aw, you’d miss me, huh?” Matt asked. He could feel the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, almost against his will.

“Of course I fucking would.” Saari’s face looked almost wounded. “Matti, we’ve played together for almost twenty years. You’ve been my captain for over a decade now. It’s not gonna be the same without you.”

“I haven’t gotten traded yet,” Matt pointed out. “And the deadline’s not for another few months, anyway.”

“Not if you look at any of these websites. The Athletic ’s pretty much traded you to Edmonton already.”

Matt leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. “Try not to read them until at least January, eh?”

“Yeah,” Saari said, a little darkly, and locked his phone. “But you...what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said honestly. “It’s hard to think about not playing. It’s hard to think about playing anywhere except Montreal. It’s hard to think about retiring. I’m still pretty young, but the knee...”

“Yeah,” Saari said. He had his own injury history and several surgeries, and he knew how the eighty-two-game season really wore down on you after a while. No matter how you prepared or tried to take preventative measures or treatments, the parts of your body that had been surgically repaired let you know. “Fuck, Matti, I’m sorry. You’re probably stressed enough about this. I don’t need to add to it.”

“I mean...it’s nice to know you’d miss me, I guess.”

Instead of answering, Saari elbowed him in the side. “Fuck off, man. Do you really not understand how important you are to this team?”

Matt didn’t answer, just shook his head and let it go. Being the captain of the team meant a lot of responsibilities, on ice and off, and he wondered how well he’d been doing at the off-ice responsibilities so far this year. He’d been distracted by Aiden falling back into his life, hadn’t been as on top of things as he normally would have been. He made a resolution that he needed to spend more time away from home, as tempting as it was to just run back to Aiden as soon as the plane touched down at YUL. The rookies—especially Jack—needed to have him around.

Especially if he wouldn’t be here next season.

It was funny, thinking about it: the idea of playing anywhere except Montreal turned his stomach. It still felt like he had unfinished business here, the drive to feel satisfied with what he’d done cemented. Maybe he would do what he’d threatened to do when they were talking about trading him to New York: just retire instead. Not that he wanted to retire. Not that he had any idea what he’d do if he retired. He was seeing the effects of it in his own home, Aiden sadly moping around the condo without anything to do. Not that Matt would be any better. His only hobbies were typical hockey player hobbies: golf, fishing, fantasy football. Nothing you could translate into a fucking job .

Matt rubbed his eyes and wondered, yet again, why they didn’t fucking give you advice about this when you got drafted. To maybe try to take classes or something, to think about what was going to happen when your body gave out on you or your brain had been through one too many concussions. When he tried to think of what he would do, what he’d be good at, his brain just blanked out. A lot of guys went into business, or real estate, or shit like that, and Matt couldn’t see himself enjoying any of it. It was one thing to jokingly suggest career paths to Aiden, another altogether to visualize it for himself.

Maybe enjoying it wasn’t the point. Maybe you just had to do something, anything, to keep busy. He had enough money not to work, but the thought of just sitting around, with no purpose to the day, was vaguely terrifying.

Then again, he had Aiden. Maybe...they could just have a life together. A quiet, purposeless life. No responsibilities, nowhere to be, nothing to worry about except each other. The idea was strangely appealing, if unrealistic.

And then they were landing, and he was too busy to worry about anything else. He wondered whether or not he should ask Aiden about checking in on his family, whether they would be upset by it. Aiden himself seemed a little distant and sad that night, which Matt had just chalked up to the absence.

“I’ll be home before you know it, baby,” Matt said, already falling asleep: travel nights always did that to him.

“I know,” Aiden said, and smiled. It was a weak smile, but sincere. “I just miss you when you’re gone, kind of...a lot.”

When he said shit like that it took almost everything Matt had in him not to call his general manager and tell him he couldn’t play anymore, he had to go home, it was family business. He couldn’t do any of that, obviously. But he thought about it. He wondered whether Aiden would think it was weird, if he told him. Probably. Probably it’d be too much. He didn’t say it, just closed his eyes and said, “I’ll be home soon, Aidy, I promise.”

“Knee holding up?” Aiden asked, the way he had started doing every call.

“Yes, Mom.”

Aiden smiled, a little sad, still. “I won’t keep you, Matt. Sleep well?”

“You too, baby.”

At morning skate the next day, Matt took the time to make sure that all of the rookies were on track with the drills, and that Coach Roy wasn’t pushing them too hard in the process. He pushed himself too hard and was grateful by the time the practice ended and he could take a long, hot shower.

By the time he finished up and was headed out from the visitors’ locker rooms and to the garage where the bus was waiting, ready to head back to the hotel for an afternoon nap before the game, he abruptly came to a halt, almost tripped over his own feet.

Aiden’s mother, Shilpa, was standing outside of the door, lurking like she was an assassin about to pounce.

“Ms. Parekh,” Matt said, shocked. “I—hello? What are you— how are you? Shouldn’t you be in court?”

Considering Aiden was pretty tall—at least four inches taller than Matt—it had always amused him just how tiny his mother was. Shilpa Parekh stood a little over five feet tall, even in her short heels, although she had Aiden’s slim build, his huge brown eyes and distinctive nose. Her wavy, salt-and-pepper hair was cut short in a bob, and she was still dressed in her usual work clothes, a severely cut pantsuit that made her look like she should have been starring in some kind of legal drama. She and Aiden’s father—a sad man whose posture always looked vaguely defeated—were a strangely matched pair, but it had always been clear who was the driver of that particular bus.

She looked over the rim of her thick-framed glasses at him. “Hello, Matthew. Please, after all of this time, I’m still Shilpa to you. You don’t need to stand on ceremony. And I took some time off to come and see you.”

“I’m, ah, honored,” he said, even though the more correct word was terrified . Around them, the rest of his teammates were headed out toward the garage as well. Some of them pretended not to see; a few of them shot curious glances in his direction. He might miss the bus, at this rate, but it would be worth it.

Shilpa raised one eyebrow. “Why don’t we walk and talk, so we have a little privacy?”

“Sure,” Matt said, because saying no to her wasn’t an option.

They walked a little farther down the hall, in the opposite direction, and Matt waited for her to lead the conversation. It was strange, seeing her in person again; equally strange that she didn’t seem upset to see him, after everything.

“This is very awkward,” she said, after a pause. “I just wanted to—I wanted to check in. And see how you are doing. And see how Aiden is doing. He doesn’t talk to us very much anymore, and I worry about him.”

Matt’s mouth went dry. “I, uh, I’m fine? Just getting through the season, you know. It’s a grind, even this early.”

“And my son?” Shilpa pressed. She had that hawk-like look on her face that probably terrified opposing counsel almost as much as it terrified Matt.

“I think maybe it’s his place to tell you,” Matt said, as politely as he could. “I promise you that he’s as comfortable and happy in Montreal as I can make him.”

She softened, visibly. “I know. You were always good to him, even before things...”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Matt said, even though he wasn’t sure what she was going to say after that. “It wasn’t either of our faults. It was just a bad time for the things I wanted, and I didn’t blame him at all for how he reacted when I made some really stupid choices after.”

“I know.” Shilpa shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him now . He hasn’t taken retirement well, and you... I know how much he loved you. But sometimes, I don’t think he knows what to do with all of those feelings. And the combination of things. I just... I worry.”

Matt ran his hand through his hair, which was still damp from the shower. “I mean, I understand. I wish he’d talk to you himself. I don’t want to overstep.”

“You were always such a good boy, you know. I’m sorry things went like they did.” Shilpa looked up at him, serious but fond.

“It’s fine. It’s—we both had a lot of growing up to do.”

“That’s for certain.” She looked down the hallway, where a few of the rookies were lingering. “It’s strange to see you now, all grown up, the veteran captain. I see you’ve got some gray hairs.”

“That’s all Aiden,” Matt said, dryly, and she laughed.

“Mine, too, if I’m being quite honest. All right, Matthew. I won’t keep you. I just wanted to...see you. To make sure you’re still the same person Aiden fell in love with the first time. To tell you I’m worried about him. Just the small things, eh?”

“Only the small things,” Matt agreed, and hesitated. She did it for him, though, stepped forward with her arms open to hug him. She was small but quite strong, the embrace brief but fierce.

“I can’t say I wish you luck tonight,” Shilpa said, with a half-smile, “no matter what happens, I can’t quite bring myself to root for Montreal, but Matthew—take care of yourself. And him.”

“I will,” he promised. “I am.”

“Good,” Shilpa said, and turned. He could hear the sound of her heels clicking as she walked away.

Matt took a deep breath, tried to settle his rattled nerves and picked up his pace so he wouldn’t miss the bus.

When he got home, Aiden was waiting up for him again, and Matt had the little thrill in his stomach when he realized. “Hey, baby,” he said, as he dropped his bags. It was becoming familiar: the drop, the eager step forward, the way Aiden would melt into his arms immediately after.

“Hi,” Aiden said, his eyes crinkling a little in a smile. “I, um, got a few things for the condo while you were gone, this time. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Things?” Matt asked, blinking.

“Yeah. I upgraded the blender for breakfast stuff. And you were talking about that new book about that Roman philosopher you like, so I uh, bought a copy of that, too.” He looked almost embarrassed by the gesture, although maybe that was Matt’s imagination. It was pretty late.

Matt leaned up to kiss his forehead. “Thank you, Aiden. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said, his hand tracing over the lines of Matt’s back, like if he didn’t touch him constantly, relearn the shape constantly, he’d forget what it felt like. “I just wanted to do something for you . And it’s hard when you’re on the road so often.”

“Aiden,” Matt said, seriously, “you do so much for me already. Just by being here. Do you understand?”

Aiden wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, I do. But hey, come on, it’s so late. Will you come to bed?”

Matt said, the way he always did: “Yes.”

Adjusting to life in Montreal while Matt was on the road was a strange experience. They still FaceTimed after most of the games, although half of the time Matt was on the verge of falling asleep, but that was fine. It almost reminded him of when things first started, the little swoop of excitement he’d get when he realized Matt was calling.

But the day-to-day existence of living without a purpose, in a city that wasn’t his, in a house that was partially his but only in a weird in-between way, in a place where Matt was really the only person he knew , was really starting to do his head in.

He was folding a load of laundry while Matt was at practice and he looked up at the calendar and realized that even though a lot of time had passed already, he was still going to have to make it through the rest of the season. And if he stayed for any length of time, the whole eighty-two games next season. At the thought of it, Aiden’s skin started feeling a little itchy, the room too small.

It wasn’t a full-blown panic attack, exactly, but he had to take some time in the bathroom, his head on the cold porcelain of the tub, eyes closed while he focused on the feeling of his breath, in and out, in and out, his lungs filling and emptying.

He could distract himself a little with emails to Ellie, who was the actual starting goalie on her mites team now, and who had specific questions about the angle she should be sharpening her skates for better lateral movement or what kinds of stretching exercises she should be doing before games, and who would occasionally send him a video of her doing drills to ask for his opinion on her form.

Aiden took his time to think about his responses and compose the best possible answers for her but at a certain point, he was emailing advice to a five-year-old, and as much as he enjoyed doing it, there was only so much time he could spend on that before the reality of his situation started to sink in.

When Matt was home, it was fine. They went for walks and watched movies and fucked and just existed in the same space. Aiden worked his way through yoga in the morning, and Matt watched him with huge eyes the whole time. Aiden made them dinner and Matt cleaned. Aiden made him laugh with dumb observations and stupid little jokes. Aiden accompanied him on walks in the park, shoulders bumping. Aiden went shopping for some new clothes and Matt teased him the whole time, offering a running commentary about how hot he looked in everything, just to make him blush. After Matt made it back from l’Arène after games or Brossard after practice, Aiden worked out the aches in his knee and legs and back for him.

All of it was—nice. Almost domestic. The kind of shit he’d been missing for so long it still felt like an aching wound inside. Aiden started to relax, a little, to let himself enjoy it. During those times, Aiden felt like his old self again, like a kid with the whole world in front of him, a life with a man who loved him so fucking much.

And then Matt left . And all of it—everything he was trying to ignore, everything he was trying not to look at directly—came rushing back in. Each time Matt left, it felt even worse.

He kept going to see Dr. Gauthier. It was just harder to pick apart his feelings when she asked him what he felt, because more often than not these days, it was like there was too much going on in his head, and to pull one bad feeling out of the knot of them was impossible.

“Hey,” Matt said, “you’ve been kinda—not yourself tonight. What’s up?”

Aiden said, “Nothing.”

They’d had some form of that conversation several times over the last few weeks, and today wasn’t any different. Matt sometimes wished that he could see into Aiden’s head, that he could cut it open and put it under a microscope so he could figure out what the hell was going on in there. Trying to figure Aiden out had been a lifelong study, from the very beginning of their relationship to now, learning the code to crack when even Aiden didn’t necessarily understand why he was reacting the way that he was. Matt had been good at it, during their first relationship, but the yawning gulf of years between them had obscured things, and he was still relearning Aiden from the inside out.

So he knew something was wrong, just not what it was.

They were sitting on the couch, watching a movie, the kind of quiet night that Matt had always treasured. The kind of night they hadn’t had many of the first time around, when most of the year was spent apart. Aiden’s head rested on Matt’s thigh, and Matt had his hand twined in Aiden’s hair. On a normal night, it would have been comforting, quiet and pleasant, the warmth of Aiden’s body so close to him. The distance between was quiet, but palpable. Something was going on in Aiden’s head, and Matt didn’t know what it was.

He was curled in on himself, tense and miserable, and Matt couldn’t reach him. He stared at the TV screen, but the movie wasn’t really sinking in. It was a little like watching in a foreign language, even though it was all in English.

“Aiden?” he said, after a few longer moments of silence.

“What, Matt?”

“What have you been doing while I’m gone? Besides, like, the laundry and the cleaning and cooking, which I appreciate but—”

“It’s a thank-you for letting me freeload in your apartment,” Aiden mumbled into Matt’s thigh. He didn’t lift his head up to look at him.

“You aren’t freeloading. You’re here because—” You’re here because I love you. You’re here because I never want to live without you again. “You’re here because we both want you to be here. Right?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Aiden said, although even Matt could pick the irony out of that.

“Is there anything you’d rather be doing? Do you want to look into skating again? Do you want suggestions about where to go? Aino said you guys have been hanging out a little, would that help if...?”

Aiden sat up, slowly. He’d been eating better since he’d been staying with Matt, but his hair was still wild and shaggy, and he still had that haunted prey animal look in his eyes sometimes, like he was only a few steps away from bolting. “That’s the problem, Matty... I just don’t know what to do with myself, still. I’m trying. I’m really trying. But I just... I go through each day just waiting for you. You coming back here after games is the only thing that makes me feel anything .”

Matt stared at him, unsure of what to say.

“It’s bad, right? But I don’t know how to fix it. It’s just... I’m just fucked up, Matt, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what else to do that I haven’t already tried. It feels pretty hopeless, sometimes, and at some point, you’re going to realize—” He cut himself off there, and his eyes shuttered, all of the light in them dimmed.

“I’m going to realize what ?” Matt asked.

Aiden didn’t answer, or maybe couldn’t answer. He ducked his head and wormed his way back into Matt’s arms, an embrace that felt suddenly fragile. He didn’t say anything, just let Matt hold him, and breathed in and out. It was the kind of rhythm that Matt recognized well, even all of these years later: he was doing a meditative breathing exercise, the kind of mindfulness practice that had helped propel him to incredibly successful heights as a goalie. The kind of blank acceptance of the present and exclusion of everything else that had destroyed their life together.

“Matty, please, I don’t want to talk about it,” Aiden mumbled into his shoulder.

“You know we can’t just not talk about things forever, right?”

“I know. I know . But can you just...hold me? For now?”

“Yes,” Matt said, although the sense of impending doom didn’t abate, even when Aiden melted into his arms, almost shaking with relief that they weren’t talking about it.

Sometimes Aiden was better at pretending than other times. Those days were better overall. If you could fake it until you made it, it was almost the same thing.

“Seriously, Aiden. What’s going on? I thought we were doing better. I thought you were doing better, but you’ve just—”

“Everything’s fine, Matty.”

Matt eyed him suspiciously but didn’t press.

? Gabe asked, later that day.

Everything’s fine.

OK, buddy.

Matt left for roadies.

Aiden kept himself busy.

Matt returned from roadies and played home games.

Aiden went to most of them, sat in the stands alone, or sometimes with Aino and the rest of the WAGs, and watched. Now that he had ripped the bandage off, it wasn’t as hard as he thought to watch them. Sometimes he could get into the game, sometimes he just let his mind drift. Pears sent him a meme someone made on r/NewYorkLiberty, a picture of Aiden sitting in the stands during a game the Royal had lost badly, with white impact font across his chest that said, when the royal are so bad u dissociate in self-defense .

Matt left for roadies.

Aiden kept himself busy.

Matt came home.

He did this for a few weeks.