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mad dog it’s the damn point.

But I was a little nervous about hearing Holky’s story. The way he’d brought it up in the car last night, and how his hand had trembled when he asked if we could talk tonight, made me believe it was serious. Nana always said I had a high empathy quotient. I didn’t know if that was true, but I couldn’t stand seeing people I cared about in pain. If he told me something bad had happened, there was a good chance I’d get pissed on his behalf.

“Want me to go first?” I asked. If I got my story out of the way before he told his, I’d probably make more sense.

“Sure.” He set his bottle on a side table. “Go for it.”

I took a long pull from my beer and then stared at the label. “It’s a sad story, but I’m not the only one it’s happened to. Bottom line, I was with a girl named Bailey back in Syracuse. We dated for over a year, and I thought she was it—fun, easy to be around, made me laugh. I loved her. We were exclusive, and I started to think long-term. I came up with a plan: we’d take a summer road trip to the Grand Canyon, and if we survived that kind of togetherness and were still in love, I’d ask her to marry me.”

Holky shook his head. “Man, I can already tell this isn’t good. What did she do?”

“If it had only been her, it wouldn’t have hit me so hard. It was last spring, when the playoffs were starting. I’d gone to Nana’s for a quick visit, but Bailey had to stay in Syracuse for work. We had a game the night I got back, and afterward, she said she didn’t feel like going out. She wanted to talk instead. I took her home, and that’s when she told me that while I was at Nana’s, she’d gone out with my two best friends from the team. They ended up back at the apartment I shared with one of the guys for more drinks.”

“Dog, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

I chugged the rest of my beer and set the bottle down. “She screwed them both, a big old-fashioned threesome. Two guys I thought had my back, and a woman who was supposed to love me.”

Holky sighed. “Fuck, Dog. I’m sorry.”

“She said it made her realize she didn’t love me and needed to have more fun before settling down.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“That was the last time I saw her. The next day, she quit her job and disappeared. Maybe I should’ve gone after her, but I was too?—”

“Gone after her? She wasn’t worth the gas to the city limits. What about those fucking guys?”

“They shrugged it off. ‘Sorry, dude. We were drunk. Didn’t mean for it to happen. We’re cool, though, right?’”

“Fuck.” Holky choked the word out, and his eyes got shiny. Maybe I wasn’t the only one with a high EQ.

“I told them we were so far from cool, the air was boiling. I wanted to knock their teeth out, but for once, I was too wrecked to make a fist. I hadn’t hurt that badly in years, and by the time I could think straight, I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing me lose it. My buddies were the assholes, not me.”

“They weren’t your fucking buddies, but I get it. You still had to play with them. And you said you lived with one?”

“Yeah, Kenny. He started crashing with Ozzie, the other one. Probably figured I might knife him in his sleep or something.” I groaned. “Not that I didn’t think about it.”

“How did it all turn out?”

I shrugged. “We tanked in the first round of playoffs. After that, I went to Ithaca to stay with Nana for a while. I always go in the summer to help her with stuff around the house and spend time together.”

“How about Ozzie and Kenny?”

“The Soldiers traded Kenny to Worcester, and when we all showed up for training camp this fall, Ozzie and I stayed out of each other’s way. We only spoke on the ice, and since we almost never played together, I managed to get by.”

“Damn.”

“It’s been hard to feel anything since it all went down, but I don’t hate women or anything. I’ve still got needs, but the idea of getting involved again?” I shook my head. “Not there yet. It feels too risky, like any woman I let in might end up hurting me.” Turning toward him, I met his eyes. “I know I’ve got to get past it, and I will. Just need a little more time.”

He scratched his neck. “God, I’m sorry for putting you in that position last night. I wanted you to have fun.”

“It’s all right. You didn’t know, and most guys would’ve probably been back in the saddle after a week. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s been over six months.”

“ Nothing is wrong with you.” He narrowed his eyes and his voice rose. “You were seriously dumped on, and it’s a wonder you can trust anybody. What happened was not your fault, and you should take all the time you need to get your bearings.”

“Thanks.” I wanted to say more, but my voice was croaky. I didn’t feel like getting emotional.

“Believe me, I understand. We’re brothers in more than hockey.”

Holky

Dog said he needed air, so we went out on the deck for a few minutes before heading back to the basement. We grabbed two more beers and sat down like a couple of guys twice our age, struggling under the weight of feelings we didn’t know what to do with.

“These seats will never be the same,” I said. “Drenched in sorrow. Weird, since we’re two funny guys.”

Dog gave a rueful chuckle. “The secret source of humor itself is not joy, but sorrow.”

I cocked my head. “I recognize that. Shakespeare?”

He snickered, shaking his head. “Mark Twain.”

“Hell, no wonder it’s good.” I repeated the words. “He knew what he was talking about.”

“Pretty sure he didn’t have two emotionally constipated hockey players in mind, but here we are.”

“You’re not emotionally constipated. You cry on the inside, where no one can see it.”

“That’s where it counts,” he said. “It’s your turn now. My misery needs some company.”

I leaned forward and propped my elbows on my knees. “If we’re going to live together and be friends, you should know this shit, but can it stay between us? Some of the boys know different parts of the story, but no one knows everything.”

“Why don’t we agree this conversation is totally confidential? What’s said in Holky’s basement stays in Holky’s basement.”

“Deal.” I picked up my beer, drained half, and started in.

Dog sipped his beer while I talked, letting me tell him in my own way. I was never great with words, so it came out in bits and pieces, but he seemed to follow along.

I told him how I’d never been in a relationship with a woman because I never wanted commitment. “All the guys think I’m this big ladies’ man who breaks a lot of hearts, but that isn’t it. I don’t want anything to do with hearts; I’m nothing but a serial hookup artist. I love sex, so I find women to fuck and then take off before either of us gets attached.”

“Are you sure that’s it? Even in the minors, we were on the road as much as we were home, and when we were in Syracuse, there was no end to all the shit we had to do. It’s hard to?—”

“That isn’t why I avoid commitments.” I looked away and swallowed more beer.

“What is it, then? Did someone hurt you?”

If he only fucking knew. My pulse kicked up, and my stomach twisted itself into knots. I’d never told anyone the whole story, just carefully sanitized details. And now I was about to spill it to a guy I’d only known for a few days?

My fingers tightened around my beer bottle, and when I brought it to my lips, it clinked against my teeth. I drank what was left and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, already coming up with a bullshit story about a girl who’d crushed me. That would be safer because the truth still had teeth.

I fell in love with a girl in college who was secretly a sex worker. I didn’t know that every night when she came back to me, she’d spent all day in bed with other men. When she finally told me the truth, she said I sucked in bed, she didn’t love me, and she was eloping the next day with a vice president from the bank.

Who knew if Dog would buy it, but this had been a stupid idea to start with. I opened my mouth, ready to spit out this ridiculous lie and move on, except I made the mistake of looking at him.

He was sitting still, watching me. The flickering light from the TV caught his eyes, and he tilted his head, obviously choosing his words carefully.

“Buddy,” he said, “if you want to tell me, I’m here, but I get it if you don’t. No pressure. It might help to get it off your chest, though. I feel a lot better since I talked to you.”

The tension in my abs let go, and I realized I was safe. I wanted to tell Dog the story, and maybe, for the first time, I could.

“I was an only child,” I started, fixing my gaze on the floor. “When I was little, we were happy. Dad had his moods, but I remember him and Mom laughing. I also remember how great Mom’s food was. She made everything from scratch, and even way back then, I ate like a horse. They took me to Orlando once, the three of us. The details are fuzzy in my mind, but I’m sure we had fun.” My throat tightened. “I have pictures somewhere. In one of them, Mom and Dad are on either side of me, both kissing my cheeks.”

Acid poured into my stomach, and I almost stopped there. I wanted to let the memories drift away, but Dog shifted closer and laid a hand on my arm.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

I nodded, bracing myself to go on. “Things started going bad when I was in third grade. Mom was tired all the time, laid around and didn’t do anything. Sometimes she was out of it. The house got messy, and Dad lost it over that a lot. She didn’t cook much. By the time I was in fourth grade, she was a zombie most of the time. They kept telling me she was sick, but she’d be okay.”

Dog remained quiet, and when I glanced over, he was pressing his lips together.

“Then she started disappearing,” I said. “Overnight at first, then for days at a time. I’d wake up, and she’d be gone. Since Dad was working, I spent a lot of time with the neighbors.”

I didn’t realize I was gripping my own hands until Dog’s thumb brushed over my wrist—barely there but grounding me.

“What was wrong with her?” His voice was careful, as if he already knew the answer.

I exhaled sharply. “The summer after fourth grade, she left again.” My throat filled, so I croaked out the rest. “She never came back.”

Dog slid his hand back up my arm.

“I asked Dad where she was, and all he said was, ‘The drugs got her.’ I didn’t understand what that meant. I asked if she died, and he said no. Told me she’d found another life and wasn’t coming back.”

A heavy silence settled between Dog and me, thick enough to feel. I stared at a shadow stretched across the carpet. It looked fragile somehow, like one small shift could erase it completely, but I knew better. Some shadows are permanent.

When I looked at Dog, his eyes were dark. He didn’t say anything stupid—no “I’m sorry” or “that sucks.” Instead, he let me experience my feelings, his presence solid and steady, his hand still on my arm.

“I think Dad got sick,” I said. “Depression or whatever, I don’t know.” Everything around me blurred, and I slipped into a kind of trance, telling facts instead of reliving them. “He got mean, and the next eight years were hell. He was never in a good mood, we never did anything fun, and his whole life became hockey— me playing hockey , to be exact. He became that dad, the one who yelled at the coaches for not giving me enough ice time, argued with refs over every call, and drove me harder than I drive myself in the NHL.” I huffed and shifted my gaze to a spot on the wall. “If I fucked up, or he decided I had, I got a beating.”

Dog made a strangled noise in his throat, and I understood. There was a time when I’d died inside every time I thought about it.

I kept going. “It was a long, downhill trip. He’d disappear for days on end and leave me alone, then bring some woman around when he came back. The neighbors called CPS a few times, but Dad always cleaned up and put on his best act. By the time CPS showed up, he was all ‘concerned single father raising a troubled boy’ or some bullshit.”

I turned to Dog, unsure if I should say what came next. He gave me a small nod, so I continued. “Dad took me to see one of his girlfriends on my fifteenth birthday. Said it was time for me to become a man.”

Dog rocked a little. He moved his hand from my arm to my shoulder but said nothing. At least he didn’t ask what happened that night.

“I poured myself into hockey because it was the only way out. The beatings got worse, and we ended up in the ER a few times. Dad always had a story—my son got in a fight, took a hit in practice, fell off his bike—and I went along with them because I didn’t want to make things worse. By some miracle, I kept my grades up and got a scholarship to UMass my senior year. I was bigger than Dad by then, and he mostly left me alone.”

Dog cleared his throat. “Thank God. Was he at least happy about your scholarship? That was what he’d been pushing you for, right?”

I barked out a sound that didn’t qualify as a laugh. “Don’t know. The only thing he ever said about it was that I’d have a lot to prove when I got there, that D-1 schools didn’t keep fuckups around.” I groaned as my jaw tightened. “That spring, he got into a bar fight and almost killed a guy when he hit him in the head with a bottle of liquor. Dad went to jail, and I sat in court for two days that summer while they tried him. A week before I left for college, they sent him to prison, and I haven’t seen or heard from him since.” I hesitated before letting the last piece slip out. “I know I could go visit him, but I don’t want to.”

Dog let out a shaky breath, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. Maybe I’m overstepping, and I’m sorry if I am, but it doesn’t sound like you owe him anything. He wasn’t much of a dad.”

A strangled chuckle escaped me. “You can say that again.”

We were quiet after that. The Fast & Furious movie had ended, and my streaming queue had moved on to something I didn’t recognize. After the second explosion went by in eerie silence, I looked at Dog. “In June, when I swore off dating so I could get my sorry ass together, I started going to therapy. It’s helped, but I’m not there yet.”

“You’re still going, then?”

“Every week. I go to her office when we’re in town, and we meet online when the team’s on the road.”

He patted my shoulder. “It takes guts to face things.”

“She says we’re making progress, but it won’t be a straight line. I feel better than I did, so that’s something. My goal is that when I meet the right person, I’ll let myself count on them. At least be open to something long-term if the opportunity comes.”

“To be able to trust?”

Our gazes met again, and something about Dog’s eyes calmed me. That had to be a sign we were meant to be good friends. “Yeah,” I said. “To be able and willing to trust. Or at least try.”

Dog held out his arms. “Come here, you big oaf. I’m a hugger, and you need one.”

I hesitated, but when I leaned in, he opened his arms and pulled me close. At first, I was all tension, with locked shoulders, a rigid spine, and every instinct screaming to pull away. But he kept holding me, leaving room for me to be exactly as I was.

Gradually, the fight in my muscles drained away, and I let myself sink into him. As a strange, foreign feeling settled in my chest, I tried to decide what it was. It hit me like a punch: I felt safe and secure for the first time in years.

My eyes snapped open. I turned it over in my mind, searching for another explanation, but there was none. It had been so damn long since I hadn’t felt the need to guard every cell in my body like I was bracing for something.

Dog had given me this moment by sitting there and holding me, not expecting me to explain myself or pretend. He didn’t try to talk, just allowed me to be.

We might’ve stayed there all night if the doorbell hadn’t rung. The pizza had arrived.