Page 84 of Game Misconduct

“I know.”

“I’m gonna be so fucking pissed.”

“It’s okay. You can drink your sorrows away and try again next year.”

Mike slanted a gaze from the corner of his eye at him, the kind of look that cut Danny right down to the bone. He was sitting in bed, just in his boxers, body hunched over as he stared at Danny on the computer screen. “I haven’t really been drinking that much recently. And it’s funny, you know? Things have just seemed. Clearer.”

Danny didn’t want to know where this was going, so he changed the subject. “And you never know. We could fuck it up too.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, although he didn’t sound particularly confident about it. “You know, I looked at college shit the other day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s...a lot, dude. I think I could maybe get into community college, but when am I ever gonna have the fucking time?”

“You could always do online classes and transfer later on. There are a ton of options.”

“Why don’tyougo back?”

“I’m too old, buddy.”

“Danny, you’re like, not even out of your mid-thirties.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You’re notold.”

“Old enough. Look, Mike, we should both try to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna kick your ass, old man.”

“Looking forward to it, babe.”

“Night, Danny.”

“Night, Mike. See you on the ice.”

It took him a long time to fall asleep, or at least, it did until he got out of bed and poured himself another drink. He didn’t want things to be clearer. He slept after that, if not exactly easier.

Mike suited up for the game prepared to play his fucking heart out. It was different without Mäkelä, who’d seen them through every single playoffs for the last seven years. Sokolov—Socks, their backup goalie—was fine, but he wasn’t Mäkelä, and just having him there was a reminder that Mäkelä had a long summer of rehab ahead of him. Bee had taken it surprisingly well. Or at least, she was worried as fuck, but ever the consummate professional, she’d shoved any emotion down beneath the mask.

“He’s going to be okay,” she’d told Mike after it happened.

“Areyouokay?”

“I’m fine. We have games to win and being upset about this is not going to win them.”

“Bee...you know you scare me a little, sometimes?”

She’d actually cracked a smile at that, the barest tilt of her mouth upward. “Someone’s got to keep you in line, or you’d be insufferable.”

The first period was a disaster. The Cons were slow getting a start on it, and Artyomov put one in the net only four minutes into the period. They battled to a draw for the rest of the first, Mike doing extra duty fighting along the boards in the defensive zone and carrying it out for clearer passes into the neutral zone. The second period was equally rough, a trench battle of attrition without a change to the scoreboard. He was frustrated, and he could tell Reed was frustrated, uncharacteristically on edge and seething.

It didn’t help that Danny had shoulder-checked Singer into the boards. Mike knew it wasn’t on purpose, although Reed sure as hell didn’t seem to realize. Reed, who never fought, was actually trying to drop gloves with him. Mike pushed himself to skate between them, yelling at Reed as he did, “Hey, hey, stop that, are you fucking stupid, Reedsy?”

Danny looked exhausted, so Mike gave him that fight, let him basically wrestle Mike to the ice while he pretended to put in a good old college try. It wasn’t his best moment, but it wasn’t Danny’s either. At least Danny wouldn’t hurt Reed worse than Reed was prepared to be hurt, and Reed wouldn’t hurt Danny out of some misguided attempt at protecting Singer.

“Thanks,” Danny said, as the linesmen pulled them apart.

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