Page 38 of Game Misconduct

Danny did two minutes for roughing, which he took without complaint. He could see himself on the Jumbotron, and he looked like...well, he looked like a guy who’d completely run out of any kind of fucks to give. His face was still red and sweaty from exertion and fury. But his expression was blank. For once, he looked exactly like he felt. Toronto won the game by a single goal scored while the Hornets were shorthanded and Coach, understandably, lost his shit. Danny listened silently to the tirade without expression.

He’d fucked up, sure. He would have done it all over again exactly the same way.

Landry was watching him, still wounded, still like he was trying to figure something out but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Danny didn’t give a fuck what Landry thought about him.

He was never in the mood to talk to the press afterward, but he was especially not eager to talk to Sophia Dawsey tonight. She had homed in on him like he was the magnetic north, her soft brown eyes eager. “Danny, can you tell us what all of that was about, on the ice?”

“No.”

She wasn’t put off. “I know you and Matt Landry play very similar games, for all you have different positions—did he say something that went over the line—”

“I don’t have anything to tell you.”

“Well, that’s fine. I’ll go ask Matt, then.”

“Do that,” Danny said, and hauled his aching bones into the locker room. He wondered whether Landry would say anything. Or Wolf. That would be just his luck.

He went home and got drunk. The quiet, efficient drunk of being alone with whiskey.

Mike tried to call him, and Danny declined. Mike must have been watching the game, and probably saw all of that mess on the ice, and Danny didn’t want to explain.

danny would you pick up? we gotta talk

Actually, we don’t.

yes we do, you stupid asshole

For a minute he stared at the message and a laugh escaped before he could stop it, kind of wild, kind of despairing.

Mike was still typing.look, no, i’m sorry, that’s not what i meant to say at all. danny, please?

Danny’s mind turned the word over.Please. Please, please.

This time when he called, Danny picked up. “I don’t really want to talk, Mike.”

“Have you been dr—never mind. Danny, I’msorry.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m sorry, what I said was fucked up, it was wrong,Iwas wrong, I was an asshole, I’m fucking sorry, all right?” Mike sounded distressed. His voice had that ragged edge of exhaustion that Danny felt too, except he sounded like itreallymattered what Danny said to him next.

Danny stared at the wall. “Okay.”

“I didn’t know, and it was just, it was a fucked-up thing to say, and I—I didn’t mean it. I’m really sorry. I read about your—aboutyouand I’m—”

“I accept your apology.”

“You—you still sound upset.”

“Mike. I’ve had a couple weeks to think about this and we haven’t—can you give me some time? I...”

“I mean, yeah, but Danny—”

“Mike, I don’t want to do this right now,” Danny said, and ended the call.

Mike started typing something in the message window but stopped. Danny looked at the phone until he was sure that Mike wasn’t going to say anything else, and then went to lie down. In the morning he saw Mike had said,i really miss talking to you, is that weird?Danny didn’t answer. He got up, got dressed, and went to practice, and he only thought about Mike when he wasn’t moving.

III. WINTER

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