Page 19

Chapter Nine

December

By this point in his career, Matt could pack for a road trip with his eyes shut. The trick was bringing more than one suit jacket, but a shirt and pants that you could reuse in order to maximize suitcase space. The other trick was folding everything up into those little zipper cases so you could stack them like Tetris blocks. These days he’d rather travel light than anything else, give himself less work and dry cleaning to do when he got home. As he was packing, Aiden lurked in the doorway of their bedroom, arms crossed over his chest, watching Matt folding.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Matt asked.

“Just thinking,” Aiden said, light brown eyes distant, like he didn’t want to, or couldn’t bring himself to, look directly at Matt.

“About what?”

“I went on the road so many times as a kid and I just... I never even thought about how much time we actually end up spending away from home.”

Matt looked up again, frowning. “It is a little crazy when you think about it. How many days we’ve both probably spent in hotels over the last three decades.”

“I didn’t mind it so much when I was playing. It was part of the Routine, even the stuff that I had to adjust.”

“You did have a really intense routine. I noticed you haven’t been doing most of that stuff anymore.”

“A lot of it was tied to the games,” Aiden said slowly, “like, they were things I’d started doing when I was young, and then it made sense to keep doing them, because I’d played a good game after doing it. And having that many steps to go through made it easier to prepare for the mindset. And it helped me a lot after I lost you the first time, to focus on the steps even more. But now that I’m not playing...it just feels kind of hollow, and it doesn’t bring me the sense of peace it used to. So I had to dial back. And then just stop it, at least the way it used to be. I don’t even have the Routine anymore. And even that’s hard. I’ve tried to find a new one, but it’s not the same.”

Matt thought about the times he and Aiden had been able to meet up before games, in New York or in Montreal, how tightly wound he had been. It was like if he adhered strictly to that routine, everything would be fine. If he couldn’t, it would take him a while to settle into playing, flailing around, even letting in bad goals, until his brain focused in on what he needed to do. “Is that part of why you’ve been so unhappy? The lack of a routine?”

Aiden didn’t answer, just came into the room and sat down on the bed next to Matt’s open suitcase. He reached out with his thumb, ran his finger along the teeth of the zipper and shuddered like someone had slipped a cold hand down the back of his shirt. “It’s hard when you’re gone,” he admitted. “I don’t want it to be, but it is. When you’re here, I can just think about you, but when you’re gone...”

“I’ll be home soon, though. And it’s not healthy for you to rely so much on me, anyway, right?”

“I know it’s not,” Aiden said, and he did the thing where his entire face shut down, all expression wiped away.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Matt said hastily. “I was just thinking, you know, wherever I end up playing next year—what are you going to do for a whole season?”

“That’s what I’ve been having a hard time thinking about.” Aiden looked down. “I don’t... I don’t know. I’ve tried to think about it, and I just don’t know.”

“Would you consider coming around more often with me? When I’m home? Maybe being around the guys would help.”

Aiden was folded into himself now, the kind of shrunken misery that punched Matt right in the chest, the kind of thing he desperately hated to see, the kind of thing he had no idea how to begin fixing. “I don’t know. I’d probably make things worse if I were there. I don’t think your teammates would...”

“My teammates will deal with whatever I ask them to deal with.” Matt extended his hand to rest on Aiden’s knee. “It’s just, Aidy, I want to help. I want to do something. Will you let me?”

“I appreciate you saying that,” Aiden said, in the same dull tone he would have used with reporters after a bad loss, giving away nothing. “But you don’t need to worry about me, Matty. I’ll figure something out. I’ll do something .”

Matt leaned forward, pressed his mouth lightly against Aiden’s, and that at least seemed to jolt him out of the stupor. The kiss was as sweet as always, Aiden melting under the onslaught, and Matt wondered why he couldn’t just stay home all of the time, keep Aiden in his bedroom, fuck the life back into his smile and his eyes. He couldn’t do that, of course. He wasn’t ready to retire. He wasn’t ready to figure out the next chapter. But Aiden... Aiden was already there, and Aiden needed him.

“Aidy,” he said, against Aiden’s lips, “I’ll be home before you know it. I promise.”

“I know,” Aiden said, but his eyes had dimmed again. “I know.”

Matt didn’t have time to do what he wanted to do—dump Aiden down in bed and make him smile again, make him gasp and shudder and come—because he had to get to the airport. He almost didn’t make it, because it was hard to disentangle himself from Aiden’s arm, from Aiden’s mouth, from Aiden’s sad eyes. He barely made it, limping a little as he rushed toward the tarmac where the rest of the team was waiting to board the plane.

“Safy,” Jammer said, raising his eyebrows. “You good?”

“Yeah, uh, just got caught up at home.”

Jammer looked at him again, head tilted a little. “Your boy good?”

“That’s...another story altogether,” Matt said, and sighed. “You ever think about retirement, Jams?”

They waited together as the rookies climbed the stairs, and it was clear Jammer gave the question some thought. His face was distant, and he rubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw. “I don’t know,” he said, after a moment. “Diya used to ask me about this. What the plan was. Especially since I’ve had more than my share of concussions over the years. Didn’t know what to tell her, honestly.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Matt watched Jack Crane nudging Rémi Cormier in the side as they laughed about some private little rookie joke. “When you’re young, retirement seems so fucking far away. And then when it sneaks up on you... Aiden’s having a really hard time with it, Jams. I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know what I’m going to do when it’s my time.”

“Is it your time?” For someone usually so chill, there was an edge of concern to Jammer’s words.

“No,” Matt said, slowly. “I don’t want it to be, at least. I don’t think. I still have hockey in me, and the thought about trying to figure out what comes after... I just don’t know .”

“Knee and contract aside, buddy, you’ve been just as effective on both ends, even if you’re slow as shit now.”

“Lucky that my skating never relied on acceleration.” It had been a common criticism, even when Matt was younger.

“Focusing on the wrong thing here, eh, Saf.”

“I just don’t like not knowing what to do. I don’t know what to do about Aiden. I don’t know what to do about me .”

“Diya and I were never able to really come to an agreement about that, either. It’s part of why we broke up.”

“Sorry again, about that.”

“It’s fine,” Jammer said, mouth twisting down. “All I’m saying is, maybe you should think about what you want for next season. Whether that’s Campbell, or playing, or a new contract somewhere else. Before someone or something makes the decision for you. Because let me tell you, I know from experience. That one fucking sucks.”

Matt thought about the last time he’d needed surgery, the way it had felt when his knee gave out. The audible pop of his muscle tearing, the immediate pain and the way his leg had crumpled under his own weight. He thought about Aiden turning down his proposal, which had somehow felt worse. “Yeah,” he said, and moved forward onto the steps. “Thanks, Jams.”

“For what? You didn’t figure out shit.”

“For being here while I didn’t figure out shit,” Matt said, and went up the stairs into the plane.

Aiden wondered if this was how the WAGs felt, caught in some kind of limbo in between games. He wondered if this was his own fault, because he hadn’t figured out how to fill those spaces in between. He wondered if knowing how he wanted to form his life would make a difference or whether it was just the uncertainty of life in Montreal.

He wondered how long this thing with Matt would last if he couldn’t figure out what he needed to do to not feel this way all of the time. He wondered what he would do if it did last and there were years of this. He wondered whether the things he was starting to think he might like to do with his future were even possible or whether he would screw that up, too. He wondered whether Matt would be better off—

He wondered whether therapy was worth it. He wondered whether it was even helping. He wondered if he’d feel like this in New York.

He wondered whether he should just go home.

Matt was washing dishes because Aiden had cooked. He was studiously not saying anything. His shoulders were tense and hunched forward as he scrubbed. It felt like Matt had been walking on eggshells around him in a way that he hadn’t done since the first week Aiden fell back into his life, and Aiden wanted to punch something about it. Instead, he occupied himself with emptying the dishwasher and putting away the clean dishes. Sorting the cutlery. A repetitive exercise that was welcome and did a little bit to take the edge off whatever was going on in his head.

Matt was home for a few days and tomorrow was a day off. Normally Aiden would look forward to this: it was easier to ignore the shit swirling around in his head with a distraction, and Matt was as good a distraction as he could ever hope to have.

Aiden watched Matt washing the dishes. Matt kept looking back at him, a frown tilting the corner of his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but he was holding himself back.

Aiden did it for him. “What?”

“What?”

“You want to say something. You should just tell me what you want to say.”

Matt set the pot down in the sink and turned around. “Aiden, I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but this isn’t—this isn’t working.”

Aiden’s brain, constantly screaming, quieted completely. This was what he had been waiting for, and now that it was actually happening, he felt almost serene. “Okay.”

“What will it take for you to be satisfied? I’m doing my best, but like—I can’t fix you. You can’t rely on me for that, and you’re still—”

“I know you can’t,” Aiden said, short and clipped. “I know that really well. I never expected you to.”

“It’s just... I want to help. And I don’t know how to help. Everything I try doesn’t seem to be... And it feels like you’re not even trying, sometimes.”

“I am— I am —it’s just difficult . There’s too many things that feel wrong . I’ve been seeing someone about it, you know?”

“Well, do you think it’s helping?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know. Things were easier when you were, before the season started, but now I’m just constantly thinking about it. I feel like until I can figure out some kind of purpose it’s just going to keep going like this. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who can just do nothing all day. It just feels like, like running out of time.”

Matt’s hand, still wet from the dishes, at the small of Aiden’s back. His handprint soaked through Aiden’s shirt. “What do you mean, running out of time? You’ve got all the time in the fucking world.”

“It doesn’t feel that way. Most of the time. It’s like I knew who I was all of these years because I had hockey, because that’s what I did , and now I don’t do anything , and I just feel—I don’t know. Lost.”

“You’re not,” Matt said, insistently, “you’re right here, with me,” and Aiden didn’t know how to tell him that as much as he wanted it to be true, it wasn’t.

Later on, that night, Aiden murmured in Matt’s ear, “Come on, touch me, please,” because it was always easier in bed.

Maybe Aiden couldn’t figure out what the hell to say to make things better, couldn’t say half of the things he wanted or needed to say. But in bed, naked in the dark, it was easy to show Matt how much he loved him, with his mouth or with his hands, with all of the ways he could offer himself, without ever having to say one single word.

He wondered if Matt understood.

Matt sometimes felt like his life was split into two: the time he spent on the ice, with the team, and the time he spent with Aiden, at home. When he got to l’Arène or the practice facility at Brossard, he could put his worries about Aiden out of his mind, at least temporarily. Focus instead on the game, on pushing himself through the pain in his legs, on the things he needed to be focused on.

They were finishing up a relatively long home stand before they would head out to the West Coast for the longest road trip of the year, and as Matt pulled on his gear in the locker room and looked up at the faces of all of the captains who had served before him, the players whose numbers were retired, he had the strange jolt of a reminder that maybe next year he wouldn’t be doing this.

He watched Crane and Cormier, heads together in their side-by-side stalls; he watched Jammer, bobbing his head along with the music in his AirPods; he watched Fournier, silent and meditative in his own stall, a posture that reminded Matt of nothing so much as Aiden before a game, years and years ago.

He looked down at his knee, the scar tissue cutting through the hair of his leg, a thick pink line that hadn’t really faded.

He took a deep breath and prepared to go out on the ice.

Today they were hosting the Boston Beacons, the Royal’s perennial rival, though it wasn’t much of a rivalry these days. The Beacons were in the beginning of a rebuild, even as the Royal were heading toward one themselves. It helped that their coach was Ryan Sullivan, a Hall of Famer who had some decidedly modern ideas about coaching, but even he could only do so much with a roster that was half veterans on expiring contracts and half young players who were still learning the ropes. The one thing that Matt could say about the Beacons was that they were never out of a game, no matter how badly they played. It wouldn’t be an easy win, even if the team wasn’t necessarily good .

At the very least, he wouldn’t have to deal with any additional bullshit. It wasn’t every game, but every few there was a player who thought about trying it, seeing whether they could antagonize Matt into doing something stupid by calling him slurs or chirping him about Aiden. Aiden, who came to home games more frequently than he didn’t now, and was photographed occasionally by nosy fans, sitting with the rest of the Royal WAGs.

Matt responded the same way he always did: waiting to pick his spots, rarely taking a penalty unless he needed to. The Beacons weren’t like that, though. You could see the work that Sullivan had done instituting a culture . The kids still took stupid penalties sometimes, but you never heard the players saying the kinds of things that had been common on the ice when Matt had started playing. The kinds of things that weren’t even uncommon now . It was a nice reminder that, even if there was still a culture problem, the league was slowly starting to change.

Matt met Kai Williams, their best forward, a kid who was already carrying the entire team on his back, at center ice for the opening face-off. He was probably going to be their captain next year, and Matt made a mental note to reach out to offer him advice. It wasn’t easy captaining an Original Six franchise, especially through a rebuild.

“Hey, kid,” Matt said, as they lined up.

“Hey,” Williams said, and smiled. It was weird, knowing that there were guys who were playing now who gave interviews about how they’d grown up watching and admiring and modeling their games after him . Williams was one of them, and he was in his second season now, confident and sure. They both wore number four, and the face-offs had a weird kind of symmetry that way, a guy at the end of his career and a guy just beginning it. “How’s it going, Safaryan?”

“Been a while,” he agreed, as they crouched.

“Knee holding up?”

“Yup. Team holding up?”

“Barely.”

“All right, gentlemen,” the linesman said, rolling his eyes. “When we’re all done with the social call, we’ve got a hockey game to play.”

“Yes, sir,” they said, in unison, and Williams cracked another one of those smiles as the puck dropped and Matt put his shoulder into it, knocking Williams on his ass with the force of the push. He’d had that problem when he was younger, before he’d figured out his center of gravity.

“Sorry,” Matt called over his shoulder, as he left Williams to pick himself up from the ice and went skating off to catch up with Adam Morin and the puck.

That was the thing: he could still do this. He was still doing this. Knee aside, Aiden’s problems aside—Matt could still do this . He wasn’t ready to give it up, not yet.

He wondered if Aiden was watching. He wondered if he would be there, with the WAGs, when Matt got off the ice. Matt shook his head again and ground his teeth together. He had to concentrate on the game. So he did.

Dr. Gauthier’s office got a lot of natural sunlight, and she had a knack for plants. It reminded Aiden a little of Matt’s condo, filled with green leaves curling eagerly toward the windows. He also, instinctively, turned toward the window, and her chair. Squinted a little against the sun.

“I think—maybe—I thought of something I might be interested in doing.”

“That’s wonderful. What is it?”

“Uh...coaching. But specifically coaching, teaching kids? I’ve been working with Matt’s niece, and my rookie is...well, it was rewarding teaching him, too, but I think maybe it’s easier to work with kids than young adults.”

Now that it was out in the world, it was real. It felt more solid.

“You’re certainly qualified to do this, Aiden. Is there something you’re concerned about?”

“Just, uh, the logistics. You know.”

“You can do research and figure all of this out. The important thing is to allow yourself to envision the possibility.”

Aiden knew a lot about envisioning things, although the efficacy of those visualizations over the years remained in doubt. The problem was allowing himself to go further, and he didn’t know how to get around that.

Matt had started dreading the road trips, not just because they were long, but because Aiden looked so fucking sad when he went on them. This one was rough even in better times—through California and Seattle and up to Vancouver. The time zone difference was actual hell. And he’d be gone for ten days, and he wasn’t looking forward to treatments from the medical staff on the road, outside of the familiar facilities in Montreal. It was exhausting to play, but it was even worse, now, knowing that Aiden was going to be waiting for him at home, and he wouldn’t be there to do—well, anything.

“Hey,” Matt said, “since I’m going to be gone for a while, how about we actually... I don’t know. Let’s have a date day.”

“A what?” Aiden said, blinking.

“Just a day to spend together. No hockey. Just you and me, and Montreal.”

“Matty, you don’t have to...”

“Come on,” Matt said firmly, “I’m not giving you an option. Get your coat, Aidy.”

Although Aiden looked doubtful, he obeyed. Matt had run through his little mental list of places he had long ago thought about taking Aiden, and the Botanical Gardens were one of them. It didn’t matter that it was winter, that there was snow on the ground: the gardens were open year-round, and even offered the option for cross-country skiing, if you were so inclined. Matt, who didn’t want to risk hurting himself any worse on something that wasn’t even hockey, opted for the walk instead.

Although a few other people had had the same idea, it was cold enough that it wasn’t very crowded. The snow was still falling lightly, little flurries that stuck to the edges of Aiden’s eyelashes before he blinked and they fell away or melted with the heat of his body. It was a fresh snow that hadn’t been trampled yet, and the air trembled with the chilly snap, the sky still white and gray.

They walked in companionable silence through the park, and Matt watched Aiden’s face slowly lose some of the anguish that it often had in moments where he thought Matt wasn’t watching. It was enough just to enjoy the heavy silence of the morning, broken only by the noise of birds, the snap of branches, the crush of snow falling from them to the ground, his own breath in his ears.

Feeling a bit daring, he slipped his hand into Aiden’s, both of their fingers freezing from the chill and slowly warming against each other. Aiden shot him a surprised look, a glance sideways that said, are you sure? Matt couldn’t answer in words, just squeezed his hand, silent, and kept walking.

By the time they made their way through the Chinese Garden, enough snow had fallen and iced on the trees that it had the look of a toy box scene, the perfectly laden branches hanging over the impossibly clear water, atop the red roofs of the pagoda.

As they walked through the stone courtyard, Aiden looked up at the sky again, and for once, he didn’t look anything except at peace, and something in Matt’s chest eased infinitesimally.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Matt asked.

“It’s lovely. And it’s nice to get out into the fresh air. It’s—I forgot how much I missed a real winter.”

“Come on, you never got one in New York?”

“I mean, we had snows, but they’d get churned up into slush so quickly,” Aiden said, as they walked through the portal door. “Even if I went to Central Park, it didn’t really last long.” He let go of Matt’s hand for a brief second, ducking down to grab a handful of snow and toss it at him. It caught Matt right in the chest, splattering all over his parka, cold against his face.

“What the fuck,” he gasped, and Aiden was laughing, ducking down for more snow. “Ohh, you’re in for it now—”

It was a brief, brutal snowball fight, without much time to really form them into balls that would have any weight, but with enough snow flying that both of their hair, their coats, their clothes, were quickly sopping wet with it anyway. There was no one to judge them, no one to raise an eyebrow at two grown men acting like small children. Aiden looked a little like some kind of forest spirit with snow and ice crusted in his hair and eyelashes and beard, a wild look in his light brown eyes, like one of the foxes that hunted through the grounds.

Instead of lunging for more snow, Matt grabbed Aiden’s wrists in icy fingers and backed him up against the stone wall. Aiden’s eyes widened, but he didn’t fight, trapped between the cold stone and Matt’s warm body.

“Anyone could see,” Aiden said, looking down at Matt’s mouth. He licked his lips, a little nervously.

“This is what you were angling for with that snow, wasn’t it?” Matt said quietly, just to feel Aiden shiver. Let go of one of his hands just briefly enough to brush some of the snow from his hair, to cup his jaw with one hand. “You always got excited, thinking about that, didn’t you?”

“Matty...” Aiden’s voice was breathy, nervous, excited, and he was so fucking irresistible that Matt couldn’t help doing the reckless thing and kissing him. His mouth was hot but his lips were cold, frozen from the snow, and he was trembling under the force of it, his whole body shivering.

“Aiden,” Matt said, “you know I’d do anything for you, don’t you? Baby?”

Aiden didn’t answer, just kissed him back, desperately, like if their mouths weren’t tangled together, their bodies weren’t touching, if Aiden’s leg wasn’t shoved between Matt’s thighs, he might expire.

Eventually, reluctantly, Matt pulled away. As reckless and as open as they’d been, he didn’t need anyone taking pictures and posting them online. Although they were technically in public, it was a moment that had felt precious and private and necessary. “Come on,” he said, “I have a whole lot more planned for today.”

They had a leisurely lunch at the garden’s café, and by the time they’d dried off and warmed up, Matt decided to take Aiden back to the MMFA, where they could walk quietly together and enjoy the art without Miles yelling at Matt, or Ellie talking Aiden’s ear off. Matt didn’t hold his hand, there, but he thought about it, the way that Aiden had gripped him tightly like he was afraid of letting go.

They had an early dinner at a yakitori spot Matt had been meaning to try, split skewers of hearts and gizzards and octopus, knees bumping under the table. It was the kind of place that was loud and crowded and Matt only had to sign autographs a few times, ignore the curious eyes flicking to Aiden, who was shrinking again in the chair whenever anyone approached them.

“Was this a good day?” Matt asked him, as they were walking back to the car, full from dinner, warm even against the face of the cold winter chill.

“The best,” Aiden admitted, and looked down at him, serious. “I hope you know how much I appreciate all of this.”

“ Appreciate? ”

“Just—I know I’m not much fun to be around lately. I just...that you’re still trying. That you still want to be with me.”

“Of course I still want to be with you, Aiden, I—”

“Less talking, more going home and fucking me, I think,” Aiden cut him off, and Matt couldn’t argue with that.

Later that night, Aiden wrapped tightly around him, head thrown back and eyes wide open, an inexplicably melancholy look in his eyes. “Baby,” Matt gasped, seated so deeply in Aiden’s body that he felt like he could barely move, desperately needing to move anyway, “what’s wrong? Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Aiden managed. “No, I just—I just—one day you’re going to—you’re going—” Instead of finishing, Aiden closed his eyes, like that would prevent Matt from asking any further questions. His hands stilled on Matt’s back, his fingers gentle against the bunch of muscle at Matt’s shoulder, where he was holding himself up above Aiden’s body. When Aiden spoke, his voice was ragged, from sex but also an emotion so deep it seemed like it hurt him. “Matty, you’re too good to me, you’re too good to me, and I don’t deserve it.”

Mystified, Matt said, “I don’t—I don’t understand, Aiden. I love you. I love you, I—”

“Please, stop talking,” Aiden said, his voice trembling, “please, just fuck me,” and Matt, who could never say no to him, obliged.

Matt was on the last night of a roadie and Aiden was running to the summit of Mont-Royal for the second time that day.

There was nothing else to do except run, so he kept running.

He looked down at the city and thought about doing this, day after day, for the rest of the season.

He thought about doing this for years. He thought about what he was going to do if Matt signed somewhere else in free agency, whether Matt would even want to drag Aiden along, whether he’d even want to go and have to get used to another city. He thought about Matt saying you know I’d do anything for you , and what Aiden wanted anything to be was Matt, home with him, something he could never bring himself to ask for. He thought about Matt, pushing himself through the pain of his knee, because he—like Aiden years ago—loved hockey too much to give it up. He thought about how he couldn’t ever ask that from Matt, that he didn’t deserve to ask for it.

He thought about how it was going to feel when it ended, when Matt inevitably realized that Aiden wasn’t the man he used to be and probably wouldn’t ever be again, when Aiden had to pick up the pieces for the third time in his life. He thought about Matt, patient and kind and funny, and he thought about Matt, too fucking kind to let Aiden go .

He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t.

Aiden ran back to Matt’s apartment, didn’t bother showering.

Packed his bag with only the things he couldn’t afford to leave behind.

Left the spare key.

Bought a one-way flight to New York.

Called a cab.

After he landed, he texted Pears, I’m home.

Oh, buddy, what the fuck did you DO?

Everyone’s better off if I just ended it now. I couldn’t wait around for things to end. I couldn’t wait around until I dragged him down to my level.

Oh, Soup...

No playlist?

I don’t have one for shit like this, Soupy. You sure did that.

Aiden didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t answer.

Aiden knew exactly when Matt made it back to the condo because his phone rang.

It was slightly after two in the morning, and Aiden sat on his roof, nursing a glass of whiskey that he had been refilling for the last hour or so and looking out at the skyline and the half-moon over it. He contemplated not answering the call, but after more rings than he probably should have let it go, he did anyway.

He took a deep breath. “Hi.”

“Aiden, what the hell ? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“New York. I’m fine.”

“I—you—New York? What? ”

“I’m doing you a favor. It’s not going to work out, I—just pulled the Band-Aid off for both of us, you’re better off without having to—”

“Can you let me decide that?”

“No, because you’re clearly too fucking nice to admit you’d be happier without me and let me go. Look, you said yourself, you can’t fix me, and I’m not... I can’t stay at home waiting for you, I’m losing my fucking mind —”

“Aiden,” Matt said, quiet and very, very careful. “You couldn’t have just tried talking to me about it?”

Aiden said, “I’m sorry, Matty, you deserve a hell of a lot better than what I can give you right now,” and hung up before Matt could argue with him.

Matt set his cell phone down on the table.

It was almost three o’clock in the morning and the reality of what had just happened to him was really starting to sink in. Matt got up from the couch and stood there in the living room of his condo, empty for the first time in months, and took a deep breath.

Aiden was gone.

Aiden had left him again.

Aiden had—

He was exhausted the way he always was after a game and late-night travel, but he already knew there was no way that he was going to be able to sleep. He remembered how he’d felt the first time Aiden had dumped him. It had actually taken some time to sink in. He’d known, but he hadn’t known . He’d thought, I’m going to be so fucking normal about this , and made a point of going in to work every day, working as hard as he always had, never letting on that anything had happened.

Of course, he hadn’t been normal about it. He was never normal about it. Pushing it down and ignoring it had only let it fester.

This time, Matt took a deep breath again, counted to ten, and said, aloud, “What the fuck .”

A million thoughts jostled around in his head, a million feelings in his chest. Anger at Aiden, for taking the decision away from him again; anger at himself, for not seeing the signs earlier. Sad didn’t really describe the hollow feeling in his chest, not really. He’d never been great with words, but he’d have time to think of ways to describe that one.

Aiden had sounded pretty broken up about it on the phone, which was ironic, but not surprising. Aiden had always made choices that seemed logical on the surface but were ultimately driven by emotions he hadn’t been capable of dealing with, and Matt had been the one left to pick up the pieces. He knew Aiden was probably gutted. He couldn’t even bring himself to think fuck him .

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, that was for sure. He was still wearing his coat and travel clothes, and so instead of taking them off, he just went back out into the hallway. Down the elevator. Outside.

Decembers in Montreal had the kind of bitter cold that cut right through you, no matter how warm your coat was. The punch in the face was welcome. Matt wasn’t sure where he was going. He just started walking, first from the little side street that was his home, then to St.-Viateur. It was strange, walking down the streets this late at night. All of the businesses he’d spent fifteen years frequenting, shuttered and closed, the street illuminated by the lamps and nothing else. How many times on a rush to practice he’d stopped to grab a bagel, eaten it in the car on the drive to Brossard.

It was strange, how well he knew every single street of Montreal, how little of it he’d gotten to experience with Aiden, and how Aiden’s presence in his life loomed over all of it anyway.

Matt cut through the smaller park at the intersection of Viateur and Outremont, the pond iced over. It was a lovely little area; he’d spent many summer days sitting on the benches, people-watching, or autumn days watching the leaves fall. Around the park rose rows of pleasant, well-kept, red-bricked Victorian homes. He kept walking. He knew the way quite well now: the path right up to the edge of Mont-Royal. It took him through the park and the cemetery, toward the trail that would lead to the summit, where the cross shone in white against the dark line of the sky.

Technically the park wasn’t open this late at night, but no one stopped him. Matt would deal with it if anyone did. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this. It had been some time since he’d been here alone; more recently, he’d been with Aiden. It was strange to come again, after him. After him. The thought twisted around and around in his head as he walked up the path toward the summit. Part of him had known it was coming. Part of him hadn’t wanted to believe it was true.

Above him, the bare arms of the trees stretched up to the sky. He’d walked this trail in every season: the new green of spring, the full canopy of summer, the orange and yellow of the fall. It felt appropriate that he was here now, so close to the end of the year. The end of everything. He couldn’t help laughing, breath escaping in a brief puff of steam in the cold air. It sounded melodramatic. It was melodramatic.

He felt a little better by the time he got to the summit and looked down over the city. The dark line of the trees first, and then the buildings beyond, the faint glowing lights in just a few windows as the earliest risers started getting up to get ready to make the city hum and whirr in its familiar patterns. This was the city he’d made his home for so long, the city he’d sacrificed his youth and his health and to some extent his personal life to. It had paid him back: he would never have to worry about money, he had the eternal adoration of a few million people in Quebec after bringing home the first Cup to Canada in decades.

Matt exhaled. His hands gripped the cold metal of the observation railing. It was so cold it was almost painful, but he welcomed it. He had to get it together. When everything came down to it, he had had a pretty damn good life. The uncertainty of the next few seasons was nothing. Aiden leaving him alone was nothing. He just had to put it in perspective.

He was older. He wasn’t as weak as he had been as a child. Part of him had been preparing for this. Part of him had known it was going to happen. Part of him simply couldn’t bear to have proved his parents and Miles right .

He flipped through his mental file of Marcus Aurelius, searching for something to focus on that would help him feel—something. Anything. He came to the mental image of the rock with the waves crashing over it. “It stands unmoved and the raging of the sea falls still around it.” That was how Matt would have to be.

He was going to be okay.

He had to be okay—he didn’t have much of a choice.

Whether or not that was just lying to himself again, he’d have to wait and see.