Page 59 of Delay of Game

Nate and the team were playing excellent fucking hockey, still battling the Hornets for the top spot in the division. There was the historic rivalry, but there was also the fact that last season was still a painful open wound. Nate was determined to come in first at the end of the season, no matter what happened later on in the playoffs. It was almost more important than winning the Cup would be. He was focused and determined and he wasn’t letting anything or anyone get in his way.

Now that he was in his third year of doing it, being the captain was getting easier too. He was going to be thirty in a few years, and he was getting used to the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Even when his own life was spinning off into a horrific, out-of-control car crash, he could put on a serious face and act like he had his shit together and give advice and run interference with Coach and talk to the refs. There was something vaguely gratifying about the fact that no one knew he was an absolutely fucked-up mess about almost everything involving Zach.

His personal life was another story. He woke up every day tormented by the knowledge of the eventual moment that everything was going to come crashing down, when Zach realized that Nate was this fucked up about him, about everything. When Zach realized how Nate felt about him and decided that it was too much. When Zach realized that he wasn’t anything... He woke up every day with the conflicting emotion of weird, all-consuming anticipation, happy to go to work, happy to be playing well, happy to see his friends, happy to see Zach. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like that, not in his entire twentysomething years of life. The conflicting emotions were exhausting.

Intense feelings of doom aside, Nate was starting to get used to whatever it was Zach was doing. Or not used to, exactly, but he let his guard down enough so that it wasn’t weird when Zach kept doing things like cooking him dinner sometimes when they were home. Or at least letting Nate help him cook.

Once Zach decided he was going to do something, and put all of his considerable energy toward it, hedidit. Nate found that he actually liked teaching him, and that although he still enjoyed cooking solo for Zach, there was something really—nice, kind of comforting—about standing side by side at the long kitchen counter on one of their few nights in Philly, with his black metal playlist in the background, laughing at Zach as tears streamed down his face while he tried to slice shallots and the dogs begged for scraps on the floor.

Rachel never wanted to learn to cook with you, his brain whispered.

Rachel was always busy.

Zach’snotbusy?his brain, which was a traitor, replied.You know exactly how busy he is. You’re both professional athletes.

Well, it doesn’t matter. I liked cooking for Rachel and I like cooking for Zach.

Yeah, but isn’t it nice to share things? Shareeverything? You remember how Rachel never wanted to listen to your music either, and Zach—

Shut up, shut up,shut up.

“You okay?” Zach asked, wiping his eyes with his forearm.

“I’m fine,” Nate lied.

“You sure? You looked really weird for a minute. And also, ugh, shouldn’t the sous chef be the one crying over the onions?”

“You and my mom,” Nate said dryly, “always trying to get me to do the dirty work.”

Zach made a face at Nate over his shoulder as he turned to scrape the shallots into a prep bowl. “Come on, your mom? Not really the comparison I’m going for, bud.”

Nate wanted very badly to just say,I wish we could date for real, instead of just for the team, but he crushed the stupid leap in his chest and said, “Okay, well, I’ll do the garlic for you.”

“Yes!” Zach said, triumphant. “I hate those stupid fucking skins. All over my fingers.” He mimed flicking sticky garlic off of his fingers and made a gagging noise and Nate thought, helplessly,I like you so fucking much.

But that was, of course, the problem. He liked Zachsofucking much.

There was a Southern road trip, and they cleaned up there too. It was especially satisfying to beat the Monument at home, to listen to the silence in the arena as their fair-weather fans trickled out before the bell had even rung on the third period. It wasn’t quite as brutal as a West Coast trip, just solely based on the travel, but they had four games, including a back-to-back, and a matinee immediately when they came home to Philly.

Nate went home alone after they landed, intending to pass out for the few hours he had remaining before the game. He was exhausted from the games and from the travel and from worrying, again, about the expiration date on his time with Zach. He had sorted through the mail that had piled up while he was gone and was pouring himself a glass of water in the kitchen when his cell phone rang, flashingMOM.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, honey. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, just tired. You know how the road trips go.”

“I do, I do. I’m sorry to bother you, I won’t keep you long from your nap.”

“What’s up?”

“Well, I was beginning to make my plans and preparations for vacations and such, but then I thought, well, I was just wondering whether you would be around for the summer this year.”

“Uh, why wouldn’t I be around for the summer? I live here.”

“Well, I know, but...” Mom hesitated in a way she usually didn’t. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be in Vancouver instead.”

“Vancouver?” Nate asked blankly. “Why would I be in Vancouver?”

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