Page 32 of Off Sides

Nick

I’m watching the hockey game on the TV at the foot of my bed. The last few days I’ve been researching Joey’s games on YouTube and shit. Getting a good feel for how he plays, the way he thinks out there, and learning some of the game rules. Sort of. They’re weird.

I’ve watched so many clips of his games that as I’m watching this one, I can tell he’s having a shit night. He’s frustrated and maybe distracted. The team as a whole looks great, though. They’ve gotten a few goals and not too many fights have broken out.

They do that thing where the guys switch out in the middle of whatever is happening on the ice and Number Twenty-Two, a big fucker, is hit hard by someone on the other team. He falls awkwardly onto someone behind him and doesn’t get up. Another Darby U player skates over and offers him a hand up.

The announcers say something about a possible injury, the whistles blow on the ice, and what looks like medics and the coach hurry out.

We get a commercial break and I’m bouncing my knee as I check the roster on the team’s website. Preston Carmichael. That’s the guy I found at Debbi’s with the redhead and hat guy. What the hell were their names? Peter and Brian?

I chuckle when Family Guy pops into my head. Definitely not Peter and Brian. Patrick? Parker? Phillip? I think the P name was hat guy. Redhead started with a B. Brant? Blake? Braxton?

It doesn’t matter.

The announcers tell us that Carmichael was taken for a shoulder injury and the game continues. Shit. That’s going to stress out Joey.

I open up my texts and send a message, even though he hasn’t looked at the previous ones.

NICK:

Hey, I’m watching the game. I know you’re stressed. Take a deep breath. Call me if you want to talk about it.

I hit send without thinking about it too hard. I want him to call so fucking badly it aches. I can’t even get updates about him via social media because he doesn’t post anything. Literally nothing. His last IG picture was from eight months ago. Eight.

I toss my phone on the bed and scrub my hands over my face. I have to go out and do something tonight or I’ll sit here and obsess over my damn phone.

Changing into jeans and pulling on shoes, I give myself a stern talk. I will watch the rest of the game, then go out and find something to do. Play pool or darts or something. It doesn’t matter.

My phone rings as I’m pulling my last shoe on and I scramble for it, answering it before I look to see who it is.

“Hello? Joey?”

“Who’s Joey?” My mom’s voice filters through the speaker and I wince. Shit.

“Hey, Mom. What’s going on? Did you get a new kid? How’s Alice, she still having trouble in school?” Please let her get distracted and move on…

“Nice try, Nicholas.”

I sigh heavily and close my eyes. “It’s just…some guy I’m trying to be friends with.” I shrug even though I know she can’t see it.

“Friends or friends?”

“Nope. I’m not talking to you about this.” I shudder at the very idea of telling her I want to hook up with Joey. I love my mom and I know I can talk to her about anything, but no thanks.

She laughs and it comforts my heart. I miss her warm hugs and gingerbread cookies. It’s not Christmas until she makes saffron bread for Saint Lucia’s Day on the thirteenth. It doesn’t matter that we aren’t religious. She started baking it because of a second-grade school project I had and just never stopped. I’ve missed it every year since I went away to school.

“We haven’t talked in a while so I’m just calling to check in on my kid now that football isn’t keeping you busy.”

I flop back on my bed with a sigh. “I’m okay. I’m going out tonight and hanging out with some people.”

“That sounds legitimate and not at all made up,” she scoffs and I laugh.

“No, really, I’m going out tonight. I just don’t know where or who with. I made the decision about two minutes ago.”

The conversation drops off into silence as I get wrapped up in my thoughts of Joey again. How much I miss being around him, his smile, the smell of his skin when he’s fallen asleep against me…

“Nicky?” Mom says my nickname that I haven’t heard in too long.

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