Page 38 of Writing Mr. Wrong

Realizing he’d been a bitter aging athlete who vented his frustration on an innocent young player. He didn’t want to be that guy. Ever. He’d seen that guy. Faced him on the team, and all he’d felt was pity. He did not want to be pitied.

But he was also afraid of Gemma thinking he’d been that guy. That she’d want nothing to do with him if he made that mistake. If that is what he’d done and if she could forgive him, maybe he could forgive himself.

“I was in a bad mood,” he said. “Nothing to do with hockey. I don’t…

I don’t talk to my dad much, and Nonna tries to run interference, and I’m torn between not wanting to deal with his bullshit and thinking I should suck it up for her.

Nonna wanted me to visit him, and that put me in a bad mood.

Then I get a text from the coach saying they wanted me in early for a media interview.

Already being in a mood, that made me even crankier because interviews are supposed to take place early on game day so they don’t cut into my pregame rest time.

But I never argue. So I show up… and it’s for a piece on aging players and their post-career plans. ”

Gemma winced.

Mason continued, “I get a lot of that these days. Like, let’s just keep reminding the old guy that he’s old.

I don’t handle it well. I get defensive.

Ask them where they got the idea I was retiring, trot out my stats, how they’re better than they were five years ago.

I do that interview, but it puts me in a worse mood.

Then it’s game time. I skate out, like usual, and take my place.

The fans make noise—cheering or jeering for me—and that’s all good.

A few moments later, Denny skates out and…

I don’t know whether he gets more cheering than me.

Usually I try not to measure that or it’ll eat me up.

But that night, it’s different. His applause was definitely bigger, and then I see why. ”

His stomach twists, and he shifts, embarrassed by this next part. “You know how when I skate out, I get an animation? On the screen?”

She smiled. “I do. It’s very cute.”

“It is, and I never thought much of it. No one else gets one, but I figured that’s just the AV guys playing to the crowd, winding them up. It’s part of the show and not really about me. That night though… Fuck, this sounds so childish.” He snuck a look at her. “Denny got an animation, too.”

“And you weren’t warned.”

Again, he wants to dodge and deny. Really? He’d been upset because another player got a silly animation on the scoreboard? How old was he? Five?

He shook his head. “No one told me, and I get that, because it’s such a little thing.”

“Uh, no, it’s not. You were the only player introduced that way, and there already had to be some sense of competition between you and Denny, no matter how well you get along.

The hotshot rookie versus the aging powerhouse.

It’s a classic setup, and if you ask me, giving Denny an animation was a deliberate attempt to play into that narrative.

Yours is because you have a nickname and a signature move. Does Denny have that yet?”

Mason shook his head.

“So what was his animation?”

“A shooting star.”

She cursed. “Does his name or nickname have anything to do with stars?”

“No.”

“Then at best, whoever came up with that was just inconsiderate. At worst, it was deliberately provocative. Either way, you should have been warned. It must have stung.”

He rolled his shoulders. “It did, and then I felt foolish for letting it sting, except that didn’t stop it from stinging, and it was just this vicious circle in my head.

Between the animation and the interview and the shit with my dad, I was off my game.

I couldn’t focus. That’s not an excuse. I’m embarrassed about it because I can always focus.

I’m not a good enforcer because I can fight.

I’m a good enforcer because of my instincts.

I can feel trouble brewing, and I head it off before it becomes a fight.

But that night, I was off. I knew the opposition would target Denny.

I even knew who’d go after him and how. But I was zoned out, and when it happened, I was caught off guard.

I swung around to help Denny… and my damn knee gave out.

Not completely. It never does that. It just gave a hitch, and usually I’d power through, but it’s like… ”

His breathing picked up, and he forced himself to press on.

“It’s like it all came tumbling down. The interview.

The animation. My knee. I don’t know what I was thinking.

I don’t even know what I was feeling. I hesitated, and then Denny was getting slammed into the boards, and I was too late, and it looked like I never even tried to get to him. As if I saw it happening… and watched.”

Gemma crawled onto his lap and hugged him, and he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing her in until his heart rate slowed.

“Maybe I was jealous,” he said. “If I don’t know why I did it, then maybe the fans are right. I don’t care if they hate me, but I do care…” His chest tightened. “I care whether I did it on purpose, and I care whether Denny thinks I did.”

“Have you talked to him?” she said, her voice low.

He shook his head. “The coach didn’t think I should, and I… didn’t push.”

“Denny didn’t want to see you?”

Mason hesitated, and then said, “No, the coach just thought it’d add to the problem, and I…

jumped on the excuse. I should have reached out, gone to see him or texted or even sent a get-well card.

If I’d done that, missing tonight’s game wouldn’t be such a big deal.

Yeah, people might say I skipped it on purpose, but Denny would know better.

The team would know better. But I never reached out, and if I miss the game, it’ll seem like proof that I intentionally let him get hurt. ”

She leaned against him, the two of them sitting there, wrapped in each other.

“We’ll make this right,” Gemma said. “If we can’t get you to the game, we’ll find a way to fix it later. But getting you to the game is—”

Her head jerked up. “Did you hear that?”