Page 59 of Game Misconduct

Danny got extremely drunk on the plane back to Pittsburgh, even though it was only an hour and a half. It was too fucking much. Every time he closed his eyes he couldn’t sleep, he just thought about Mike, Mike letting Josie color all over his arms, Mike’s face when he’d saidit’s never felt like, I’ve never needed, Mike facedown on the bed, sweating and gasping, Mike smiling into Danny’s mouth, Mike begging him for relief. It was too fucking much. The only thing that alcohol made a little easier was that even though he still remembered all of those things, they were dulled around the edges and he didn’t care quite as much.

Danny ignored the silent, judgmental gaze of the cab driver in the rearview mirror, because he was really obviously wasted. Had smacked his head on the top of the door, trying to get into the car, had badly misjudged the distance and his balance.

Instead of saying anything or looking up, he checked his phone. Araceli had texted,it was really good to see you, tell Mike it was nice to get to know him, ok?And Mike had asked,hey did u land ok?Danny scrubbed his hand over his eyes and thought again how he didn’t fucking deserve any of this. Not when he was drunk as fuck in a cab at midnight on a goddamn Thursday. He made himself write back to both of them: to Araceli,thanks, I missed you, and he liked meeting you too, and to Mike,cabbing it home.

wish you were here,Mike responded almost immediately, and Danny’s entire body winced into itself with the urge to just get even more fucked up so he didn’t have to think about it.

He’d hired a cat sitter for Buddy, because three days was too long to leave a kitten alone, so it wasn’t like he was by himself the whole time. Still, when he stumbled through the door Buddy hissed at him from the corners of the foyer, followed him from room to room, so he’d know exactly how mad he was that Danny had left, and eventually, gave up on being mad once Danny had swallowed a few pills, poured himself another generous drink, and flopped down on the couch. Buddy jumped up onto his chest, and together, they watched a few episodes of a baking contest, only half paying attention, while he smoothed one thumb over Buddy’s tiny skull and thought about the way he’d soothed Mike with almost exactly the same motion.

I wish I was there too, he did not text Mike back, although he thought it, over and over again, until he fell asleep.

Danny woke on the couch in the morning to find that he had six missed calls, four voice mails, and twenty-three text messages. Most of them were from the Hornets’ coaching staff, first from Beranek, the assistant coach who worked with the defensemen, and then from the head coach himself. It was one p.m. on a game day, and he’d missed morning skate.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought, because he was a fucking idiot who’d drank away his feelings and forgot to set his fucking phone alarm like a rankfuckingamateur. He already knew what the voice mails were going to be about, so he didn’t bother listening to them. Morning skate wasn’t optional these days, and even if it had been he still would have missed video, so he was definitely going to be scratched from the game that night.

Danny had been scratched more than a few times in his sixteen-year career, but it was mostly when he was recovering from surgery and technically could have played but had been pressured into not playing and ultimately, it had been the right decision. He couldn’t risk aggravating old injuries on top of old injuries. He hadn’t liked it, but he’d accepted it. This was—this was different. He could feel the humiliation of it, sharp even through the dull throbbing headache. This was Coach telling him he needed to get his shit together, or he was gonna find himself waived or traded again.

He thought he’d been better at hiding it. He thought he’d been keeping it together. It was like seeing Mike and his family again had split open something inside of him, some rotten thing he’d been able to hide away before. This was why he had fucking avoided it, avoidedthem.

He was drunk at the game, too. Fucked up enough that he couldn’t feel the humiliation of sitting in the press box in his suit any longer, fucked up enough that it didn’t matter that everyone knew exactly why he was there.

The Hornets won without him, and he mostly just concentrated on walking in a straight line. Concentrated on avoiding Gears’ disappointed face and Landry’s expressionless mouth and worried eyes. Concentrated on getting back to his house.

Mike called him four times and Danny declined them until he finally got up the courage to pick up on the fifth.

“Danny, I saw you in the stands, what the fuck happened, are you okay?”

Danny didn’t want to tell him even though Mike probably already knew. “I...missed practice this morning.”

“What?Why?”

“Slept through my alarm,” Danny managed to grind out.

“You—what the fuck, Danny, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“What,youshouldn’t—”

“I didn’t even think,” Mike was saying, and he sounded so panicked that Danny wished he were there to gather Mike into his arms. He wanted to throw himself off a cliff. “I just wanted to see you, I didn’t even think it might’ve been too much and you’d be—”

“Mike,” Danny cut him off, an almost horrified laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Mike, it wasn’t your fault, babe, this was all me.”

“Danny, what the fuck? Youslept through a morning skate? You seemed fine? Dude, what the fuck is going on with you?”

Danny closed his eyes and leaned against the refrigerator. The metal was cool against his flushed cheek. He had three pills in his hand. He lifted his hand. He swallowed the pills. “I...”I have a problem.And that was the first step, right, even while he knew he was waiting for the pleasant, numb tingle that would wash over his skin very shortly. Even while he was waiting to be able to not care that he did. “I don’t know, Mike.”

“Can you let me—would you tell me? Please? I told you about losing my—” Mike swallowed, suddenly. “Danny, that was really fucking hard for me, can you at least fucking tell me why the fuck you missed a skate? I’m kinda really fucking worried about you, dude.”

“I was drunk,” Danny said, finally. “I was drunk, and I forgot to set my alarm, and I slept through it.”

Mike was very quiet on the other end of the line at first. “Danny...”

“Mike, can you not—can you not say anything else. Just right now.”

“Danny—babe—” It was the first time Mike had used the term of endearment that came so easily to Danny, and it cut right through him. “Are youokay?”

Danny hadn’t taken his head away from the fridge. He thought about all of the things he could say. He was so tired. “No.”

“Can I do anything?”

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