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FORTY-NINE

Jethro

“You’re coming over to watch the game, right?” Newgate says to me in the airport parking lot. “I’ll text you my address.”

Detroit is playing Carolina tonight, and the outcome of their series will determine our opponent for the next round.

God, let it be Detroit. I want to face down those fuckers and win.

“I’ll try to get there,” I explain. “Depends on what the kid is up to.” I feel guilty that I’ve barely seen Toby these last few weeks. He’s already out of school for summer break, which leaves him and my father basically waiting around for the playoffs to finish.

“Hey—what if you brought Toby with you?” Newgate says. “There’ll be a lot of food, and also cookies. Jordyn would be pumped to see another kid in the house. Day camp hasn’t started yet, and Gavin tells me she’s already bored.”

“Okay, yeah. Maybe he’ll come with me,” I say, hedging because Toby isn’t always in the mood for new people. “I’ll ask his lordship if he’s free tonight.”

Newgate gives me a quick grin. “All right. Later.”

I get into my car and head home. “Hey Siri.”

“Yes, champion?”

I almost deserve that description this week. “Call Toby.”

“Calling Toby.”

But the phone rings out. No pickup. And his voicemail is full. “Call Dad, Siri.”

“Calling Dad, champion.”

But he doesn’t pick up either, which is odd. Unless they’re grocery shopping or something.

I drive home feeling a little worried. And then I let myself into a silent house. “Hello?”

My own voice echoes back to me. They’re not home, which isn’t that strange. I guess. So I take my suitcase upstairs to unpack.

That’s when I find the note on my bed.

Jethro—

Great game last night. We know you’re tied up for another ten days now, but we couldn’t wait. I scored a couple last minute tickets to Michigan and we went home to visit Shelby, and to show up for her parole hearing.

—Dad

With an angry shout, I ball up the note and throw it against the wall. Then I pull out my phone and text him.

You can’t just take the kid to another state without my knowledge or consent. That isn’t how custody works.

No response.

I’ve been banging around my condo for a good fifteen minutes by the time he replies, and the breezy tone makes me feel ragey.

Just landed! Sorry. It was a quick decision. Toby is so pumped to be home. And it’s important to show up for your sister.

He follows it up with a photo of Toby smiling in an airplane seat like he just won the lottery.

Fuck. I’m so torn. I want Toby to have his mom, but this wasn’t the way to do it.

Ask yourself why you felt the need to sneak out of town without telling me. Does that sit right with you?

Didn’t think you’d want to interrupt your pregame routine to discuss the idea. You’ve barely been home in the last four weeks. Don’t lose your shit over this. We’re doing great.

I lie down on my bed and sulk. I’m exhausted. I’m angry. My personal life is running off the rails, and I’m under a lot of stress at the office.

But then I think about Clay, and I feel a little calmer. What would Clay do in this situation?

He’d go watch the game at Newgate’s.

So that’s what I do.

Newgate and his fiancé live barely a mile away in a townhouse complex that’s a bit grander than mine. The front door opens even before I can knock. “Hey!” Newgate says, grinning at me in the doorway. “Wasn’t sure I’d see you. No kid?”

“No kid. That’s a long story. But I’m happy to be here. Brought some sodas.” I hand him a case of Spindrift.

“Come on in,” he says. “Game is at the four-minute mark. No score yet. Who are you rooting for, anyway?”

“Tough question,” I admit, following him into a generous living room with a fireplace. My teammates are scattered around on the furniture and spilling onto the floor in front of the TV. “I guess I need Detroit to win so I can finish them off myself, mano a mano .”

He grins. “Fair. That’s how I felt about Brooklyn right after they traded me. But it gets better.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, but that’s okay. My anger keeps me warm at night.”

He laughs. “You’ve met Gavin?”

His fiancé waves from a dining table that’s spread with food. “Come make yourself a plate, Jethro.”

“I made the cornbread,” a little girl says. She’s about Toby’s age, I guess, although I’m not great with kids’ ages. “Nice finish last night. Especially that last save.”

“Thanks, kid. I’m feeling pretty good about it myself.”

She gives me a big smile.

I make myself a bowl of chili with chips on the side, and chat with Gavin while keeping an eye on the game.

“Who were you close to in Detroit?” he asks me, nodding toward the screen. “I know how rough it is getting traded.”

I glance toward the screen as if I need a reminder of who’s actually on that team. “You know…toward the end I had a lot going on at home. It kind of took me out of the mix with those guys.”

My team captain wasn’t all that understanding about it. I remember having to blow off an early season practice to fill out some paperwork for Shelby, so she could get into that treatment program.

“I need to know you’re serious about hockey,” the twenty-five-year-old captain had said to me. Like I hadn’t been serious about hockey since he was learning his times tables.

The truth is that most of my friends had already retired, and I didn’t feel as much respect for the new crew as I used to. Maybe that was their fault.

Or maybe it was mine. Hell .

“Fuck ’em, then,” Gavin says cheerily. “Whether they go down tonight, or go down next week, they’re going down.”

“Works for me,” I agree, because I want to see the head coach weep on TV.

The first period ends at a 1-1 tie, though, and I go into the kitchen to put my plate in the dishwasher and get another soda.

When I return, the room is filling up with even more hockey players, including “The Wall” Walcott, who’s standing awkwardly against the stairway banister, holding a beer and looking sheepish.

“Look who it is,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder. “You must have gotten a phone call this morning.” I’d imagined they’d call him up again. During the playoffs, a team can carry a bigger roster, so they probably put a couple of goalies on high alert.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I was kinda surprised after how the last game went for me. Thought they’d leave me in the minors forever after that.” His face reddens. “I came here tonight looking for you, though.”

“How come?” I ask, my eyes flicking toward the TV screen to check that the second period hasn’t started yet.

“Wanna apologize,” he says. “I was such a dick before. You’re, like, a legend, and I thought I had to be…” He swallows hard. “…overconfident just to make it through the day. Then I bombed anyway. And now it’s permanent. My first start in the NHL will always be a blooper reel.”

Somehow, I manage not to laugh. “Buddy, listen up. We’ve all got that blooper reel. And if you plan on making a career in hockey, you’re going to do a whole lot more stupid shit. I made a lot of dumb mistakes, some of them in front of twenty thousand people. That’s part of the job. Why should you be any different?”

He reddens further. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I want to earn it, you know?”

“Then maybe try a little less bluster and a little more humility. It won’t make the hockey any easier, but when stupid shit happens, it’s easier to recover from it.”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”

The front door flies open and Carter steps inside, holding a platter. “Greetings! I come bearing cookies!”

A cheer goes up from the crowd in front of the TV, and Jordyn lets out a happy shriek. “Ooh, what kind?”

“They’re M&M cookies, but I only used blue M&Ms because go Cougars.”

Behind him DiCosta appears, chuckling and shaking his head. He nudges Carter into the room and closes the door behind them. “I don’t know who’s going to eat the rest of those M&Ms.”

“We can eat them during the off season,” his boyfriend says. “Here, kids.” He passes the platter into the scrum of hockey players.

I could be watching the game in the comfort of my quiet condo with my pick of the furniture. But it feels important to be here in the mix, so I step through the crowd, looking for a place to sit.

“Here, man,” Newgate says, moving his ass over a couple feet. “You can share this thing with me.” He indicates a beanbag chair that he’s leaning on. “It won’t turn you bi, I promise.”

A few people chuckle.

“Thanks.” I drop down next to him. “But whatever chair you have to sit in to turn bi, I already sat in it back when I was a youngster.”

Newgate is silent for a second. Then, when he realizes I’m not kidding, he laughs. And several curious heads turn in my direction.

A moment later, the second period starts, and all those heads turn back to the game.

I don’t know why it took so long in hockey for a player’s sexuality to stop mattering. But somehow it has. Because in this room, at this moment, the outcome of the Eastern Conference final is more interesting than whether or not I’m attracted to dudes.

When the cookie platter comes my way, I take one. And I make a silent toast to progress.

And then I watch Detroit lose 3-1 to Carolina.