Page 44 of Save the Game

“No.”

“How did you get here?”

“I walked,” I tell him, and his eyes widen slightly. He watches me, cheek compressed where he is obviously biting it. I see him glance over to the right, a silent plea for help. The hand on my back hasn’t stopped moving, and when I hear the voice again, I make the connection I was too sick to make before.

“He’s freezing,” Anthony Lawson says, and Coach nods, relieved to be presented with a problem he can fix.

He stands and I close my eyes, listening to the soft footfalls and focusing on the soothing motion of the hand on my back. Coach has barely left the room before he’s back. I open my eyes as a blanket is wrapped around my shoulders, looking up at his worried face.

“Thanks,” I tell him, and clutch the blanket tighter around me. It’s soft and I really am cold.

“Anthony,” Coach says, running a hand along his jaw, “would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Of course,” is the reply, and I watch as he steps into view, brushing a hand across Coach Mackenzie’s lower back as he passes. “I’m going to make you something hot to drink, kid.”

Coach watches him as he leaves the room, before taking a seat on a coffee table in the center of the room. He seems far away and I turn my head to take in the surroundings for the first time; the room is set up strangely, with all the furniture pushed against the walls and that coffee table hovering in no-man’s land.

“Max,” Coach leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, drawing my attention away from interior decorating and back to this ridiculous situation I’ve created, “it’s just you and me. Anthony is in the other room and can’t hear what you say. Nor does he know about the conversation you and I had a few weeks ago.”

I nod, already understanding where this is going and why he’s reassuring me of that.

“Please tell me what happened,” he requests, and the familiar taste of shame coats my tongue. Here he was, enjoying a rare night together with his partner, and I’m ruining it.

“I, uh…I got into an argument with someone and I guess…I don’t know. I went for a walk and I was all in my head and I guess…I guess I panicked. I don’t know how to explain it Coach, it just felt like the fucking world was ending and I couldn’t think. I’m sorry for coming here.”

“I’m not,” he says succinctly, but frowns and looks down at the floor between his feet. “The sun is going down, and it’s a cold evening; you don’t have a coat on, Max.”

He sounds concerned, adding yet another layer of guilt to my already full plate. “I’m s?—."

“No,” he cuts me off, eyes steely, “do not apologize. I shouldn’t have said it like that—I’m not upset, only worried.”

I nod, because worry couldn’t be plainer on his face. He sighs, leaning forward as he tries to close the distance between us. His hands are clasped tightly together, as though he wants to touch me but is aware of the possible repercussions of this.

“I probably shouldn’t be here,” I realize. “You could get in trouble.”

He opens his mouth, closes it as he thinks for a second, and then proceeds more carefully. “Possibly. But that’s not important. What’s important is that we make sure you’re okay. Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Not really,” I share a small smile with him, shrugging. “But I think I might need to, if you don’t mind listening. I…you remember I told you about Luke?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we’ve been together for a little while now, and things are—were—good. Great, actually. He’s great, you know? But tonight he accidentally…I found out that he’s known about what happened the entire time we’ve been together. He knew about the…roofie situation,” I finish, lamely, unable to say the word ‘rape’ directly to Coach’s face. Once was quite enough for me. “He knew, and he didn’t say anything, and now the way he treats me makes perfect sense.”

“How does he treat you?”

The question catches me off guard. I tighten the blanket, clasping it together below my neck as I try to keep the heat in. “Oh, uhm…I guess he treats me like I’m special. Or, that’s the way he makes me feel, anyway.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with what happened,” he says instantly. “You are special.”

“You don’t get it, he’s…too nice. Too perfect. He never does anything without asking for permission first, and he doesn’t ever initiate…things,” I stumble, perfectly aware that I’m an adult and shouldn’t be uncomfortable saying the word ‘sex’ to another adult. “He feels sorry for me or he’s trying to fix me. There’s no other explanation.”

Coach sighs, sadly, and rubs a hand over his face. Linking his fingers back together in his lap, he looks over toward the kitchen. “Max—did you know that I’m blind?”

“What? No, you’re not,” I say indignantly. The left side of his mouth pulls upward into a partial smile.

“I am. I’ve been legally blind since I stopped playing hockey.” He pauses, giving me a second to digest this information. “I don’t tell people because I don’t want them to treat me any differently, and, frankly, because I don’t like saying the words out loud.” He points at the doorway leading to the kitchen. “I have to rely quite heavily on him: I can’t drive, or navigate around unfamiliar places well. Do you think he helps me do those things because he feels sorry for me?”

“No.”

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