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mad dog

The Toronto Beavers blazed into town with a chip on their shoulder. After years of Toronto owning the rivalry, the Warriors had flipped the script the past two seasons. The Beavs hadn’t managed a single win against us this year, and with both teams already locked into playoff spots, this game was about pride.

It was a war, bloodless but fierce. Both teams played clean, so there were no goons or cheap shots—only blistering, old-school hockey, where every line change felt like flipping the switch on a rocket. We traded goals like haymakers; one team would score, and the other answered within minutes. It was a game of high-speed leapfrog on ice.

At the start of the third period, we were tied 6–6, and our line was up. Harpy won the faceoff and fired the puck back to Richie, who snagged it and flew away toward Toronto’s zone. He shot down center ice like a cannonball, weaving through traffic like it wasn’t there. Two Beavers closed in, cutting him off before he crossed the blue line. Without missing a beat, he spun and snapped a pass to me.

The puck bounced on my blade, not quite locked in. Before I could settle it, one of the Beavs’ wingers swooped in and forced a turnover.

Shit. I pivoted hard, jetting back to neutral ice as Harpy dropped back to cover. Our defense shut the play down when Brody took the puck and fired a pass to Harpy, springing us back on the offensive.

Harpy exploded up the ice, tore through two D-men, and toe-dragged around Toronto’s center like he was playing against cones. The crowd’s roar was a wall of noise behind us, and I trailed Harpy like a shadow.

He cut across the high slot, deked left, and pulled right before—with a tiny flick—ripping a wrister top shelf on the goalie’s right. The goal light flared red as the building went nuclear.

We remained ahead 7–6 for most of the period, and though the Beavs were playing like supermen, they couldn’t catch a break. When the clock had ticked down to three minutes left in the game, Criswell sent out the second line.

Something felt off right away. The ref bumped Nate from the faceoff, and Riley stepped in. The Beavs’ center won the draw and fired the puck to his right wing, and our coverage unraveled like a cheap skate lace.

Nate hesitated a beat too long trying to get in the winger’s lane, and the Beaver blew past him, crossing the blue line and zipping toward our goal. Riley scrambled to rotate over, but it was too late. After Toronto’s winger executed a crisp pass back to one of their D-men, the Beaver fired the puck through Gabe’s five-hole into the back of the net, tying the game at 7–7.

Nate coasted to the bench, jaw tight, eyes locked on the ice as if it had betrayed him. He was two men down from me on the bench but wouldn’t look my way. Where the hell is your head, sweets?

We didn’t have to worry about overtime because thirty seconds later, the Beavs buried another one. We retired from the ice dragging an 8–7 loss behind us.

The mood in the locker room was muted, the kind of silence that settles over a team when a game gets away from you and nobody quite knows what happened. Without Nate doing his usual social manager routine—chirping guys, making dumb jokes, nudging everyone toward beer and wings—it fell to Riley and Logan to come up with a plan for blowing off steam at Revolution Hops.

I hit the showers, trying to shake the loss and hoping the water would wash it away along with the sweat. When I finished, Nate hadn’t moved. He was slumped in his stall with half his gear still on.

“You good?” I asked. He didn’t answer, so I tried again. “Get cleaned up. Everyone’s meeting at the Hops.”

“I’m not feeling it tonight.” His voice was low, rough around the edges. “You should still go.”

“You rode with me, remember?”

“I’ll call a Lyft.”

I sat. “Come on, Nate. Let’s just go home.”

He stood abruptly, peeling off his gear like it was too heavy to wear another second. “Suit yourself, you stubborn ass,” he said, then stalked toward the shower without looking back.

When he returned, he’d gone full ghost and barely said two words as he got dressed. On the drive home, he stared out the window as if the city lights held all the answers he wouldn’t give me. My stomach churned the whole way. I kept glancing over, hoping for something—a joke or sigh, anything to meet me halfway.

The silence seemed final. Had he already made some decision when I hadn’t even figured out what was wrong? Something was cracking beneath us, and I was powerless to stop it because I didn’t understand what it was.

At home, we changed into sweats and PJ pants while our silence stretched to the breaking point. We went to the basement, where I handed him a beer and sat on a couch. He chose the chair beside me.

For too long, he stared at the bottle. Eventually, he looked up, and when he spoke, his voice cracked on the first word. “I’m so fucking sorry. I love you.”

I wanted to feel relief and believe his words fixed things. I love you should have been enough, but his eyes were stormier than ever. I was sick of spinning in place and second-guessing every look and word. Things couldn’t go on like this, and every time I let him off the hook, the situation got worse.

“Really?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even. “Because the way you’ve been acting, I was starting to wonder.”

His head jerked up. “What the hell? I screwed up, Chuck, and lost us the game. I think I’m allowed to feel bad.”

“If I thought this was only about the game, I wouldn’t be so worried.” I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. “You’ve been acting more like I was your roommate than your boyfriend. A roommate you don’t especially like.”

He flinched, but his walls snapped up, higher than ever. “You’re worried? Screw that. And as for the other…” He waved a hand between us, a sharp, dismissive gesture. “I’ve never fucked a roommate in my life, but we’ve been doing plenty of that.”

“Not nearly as much as…” I slammed my beer down, glass thunking hard against the wooden table. “Goddammit, this isn’t about fucking or losing a game or being goddamn roommates. This is about how you’re shutting me out.”

“I. Am. Not.”

“Bullshit.” I shot to my feet and paced a few steps before turning back. “Remember how happy we were in California? I thought things were settled between us, but I guess the joke was on me because you started pulling away before we even got home.”

Nate’s expression changed. I thought he might talk to me, but when he spoke, his voice was harsh. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“On the plane, you sat with Gabe and Abby all the way from LA to Buffalo.”

His scoff was so loud it made me jump. “Are we ten? I’m not allowed to sit with someone else on one goddamn flight?”

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I was so addled I didn’t realize I’d curled my hands into fists until my nails were biting into my palms. The world was closing in, and I didn’t know if I should yell, cry, or beat a hole into the fucking wall so I could feel something different than this.

The silence wasn’t merely awkward; it was stunning.

“We don’t talk anymore,” I said. “And I don’t know how to reach you.” Out of strength, I sat on the couch again.

Nate said nothing, and I watched him while he looked at the floor. Something was coming undone inside him.

I finished my beer and was about to get up for another when he lifted his head. “I’m sorry, Chuck. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad.” It was true. My anger had burned itself out, leaving behind a hollow ache I didn’t know how to handle. “I’m scared, though. Please tell me what’s wrong.” I struggled to get words out. My voice cracked, and I winced at the raw, broken sound of it. Then I hated myself for wincing because if I couldn’t fall apart in front of Nate, what the hell were we even doing?

Tears welled in his eyes, and when they spilled over, he batted at them like they were a mortal enemy. “I’m sorry I’ve scared you,” he said. “That’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. I love you, Chuck. You’re the one thing in my life that’s ever made sense, but it’s not that simple.”

Had I dropped into an alternate universe? This was Nate— my Nate —but his words were too cryptic to understand.

“What isn’t simple?” I asked. My voice rose despite my effort to stay calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we love each other. Whatever this is, we can fix it.”

He stared past me, his jaw tight, slowly shaking his head. “We can’t fix shit, Chuck. You don’t understand what you’re dealing with, and it’s up to me to stop it.”

My stomach contorted into a hard knot. Whatever had him this twisted up was momentous. I couldn’t fix it because he wouldn’t tell me what it was, and that was killing me. I was barely able to keep my voice steady. “How can I understand when you won’t tell me? Please let me in, sweets.”

He sat for a long time with his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. When he spoke, his voice was empty, a hollow echo of the jokes and laughter we’d shared for months.

“I’ve been trying to make this work,” he said. “You’ll never know how much I wanted it to work, but I’m not built for this. For us.”

The words hit like a fist to the gut. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I could only stare at him, willing myself to have heard wrong, yet deep down, I knew I hadn’t. My heart raced, pounding out a frantic rhythm. “Don’t,” I said. “Don’t say that, Nate. It’s not true.” The next words caught in my throat, but I forced them out. “You are built for this. You’re built for me.”

“No.” His tone was final. “I’m not.”

I jumped off the couch and dropped to my knees in front of him, desperate to get through. “I know you’ve got scars. You have deep hurts and you’re trying?—”

His sharp, bitter laugh cut me off. “Hurts? You don’t even fucking know what hurts are.”

“You’re doing fine. We’re okay.” I grabbed his hands and held on tightly, like I could give him some determination. “You have to trust it. Trust me. Please, Nate.”

All I saw in his eyes was regret, and in an excruciating moment, I understood I was fighting to hold on when everything inside him was already letting go.

His voice was flat. “I can’t trust it because I keep waiting for everything to fall apart. Every time I almost let myself believe in it, something inside me snaps back and knocks the breath out of me. You don’t understand my life, how I’ve fucked up the people I loved.”

“You haven’t. We’ll work on things.”

He squeezed my hands so tightly they throbbed. “You don’t get it. You can’t, so please listen to me. If we stay together, I will wreck you.”

“No, you won’t.” I pulled my hands free and cradled his face. “Whatever your mind is telling you is a lie. I don’t know what you think you’ll do to me, but I’m not some weakling who can’t handle a challenge.”

He pulled my hands from his face. “I love you so much I feel like I’m dreaming every day, but that doesn’t change the fact that I will screw this up. It’s what I do. I was born with it in me, and if you have any doubts, look how I destroyed my family. My mom couldn’t run fast enough, and my dad—” His voice caught, then cracked apart on a sob.

I reached for him, but he shoved me away. “I’d rather rip my heart out than hurt you worse than I already have.”

“You haven’t hurt me,” I said, “but you are now.” That was when the pieces clicked into place, and I realized the sickening truth. “You’re breaking up with me to protect me?”

He nodded once, and I sat back on my heels. My body started shaking. “You don’t get to do that,” I whispered. “You don’t get to end us because you’ve already decided we’re doomed. What makes you think you can decide that for both of us?”

His eyes were wide and swimming with tears, though his voice remained eerily calm. “You don’t understand, Chuck. I have to do this.”

“Then help me understand.” I clenched my fists and pounded the air between us. “You can’t quit. We’ve got to fight for this . We love each other, and I swear to God, I’ll help.”

His jaw trembled, and it was a long moment before he spoke. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, but you can’t fix what’s wrong with me.”

“Have you talked to Dr. Goodman about this?” I asked, my voice rising. “Because if you haven’t, I will. I’ll call her myself and tell her you’re spiraling. She’ll tell you this isn’t protecting me. It’s self-sabotage, Nate. It’s fear, and it’s bullshit.”

Though he jerked like I’d slapped him, he said nothing. I waited for an answer, and he eventually shook his head. “She can’t fix me any more than you can.”

My vision blurred. I had a wild thought that he was about to laugh, say this was a test or a sick joke. I’d settle for a nightmare, because we could wake up from that. Please let him say he doesn’t mean it.

But he didn’t say anything, and his silence broke me. “What then?” I asked. “You’re just done ?”

His words sounded like they were in slow motion, weighed down by the world. “I think you should move out. Stay with Logan until you find your own place. He’s got a nice house.”

I dropped a hand to steady myself, bracing against the floor to keep myself upright. “Is that really what you want?”

“No, but it’s the way it has to be.”

I didn’t argue. What was the point? He’d already left me.

It was a struggle, but I got to my feet and made it upstairs to the bedroom. I let myself cry for a while before I picked up my phone.

MAD DOG: Could I crash with you guys tonight? I know it’s late, and I’m sorry.

A response came right away.

HARPY: Yes, but why? Is something wrong?

MAD DOG: The whole fucking world is wrong. I’ll tell you when I see you. Can I come now?

HARPY: Yes. Luca’s home, and I’ll leave the Hops right away. Want me to come get you?

MAD DOG: I can drive. Be there soon.

My right thigh jerked uncontrollably, so I stayed on the edge of the bed, gripping the comforter and trying to breathe. When I could move, I shoved some clothes into a duffel without looking at what I was packing.

Nate was waiting in the foyer with his arms crossed. His eyes were blank, and he didn’t say a word as I walked past him and out the front door.