Page 2 of Delay of Game

They’dtradedhim?

“But I was—I was gonna buy a house.”

“Well, clean up your goddamn act and talk to a Realtor in Philly, my boy, because you fucked this one uproyally. I’m sure you’re too fucked up to appreciate the elegance of that particular fucking pun, but also, fuckyou, Zachary.”

“Kells, I—I gotta go.”

“Don’t fucking hang up on me, Zachary—”

Zachary Reed, twenty-two years old and a Cup champion, formerly of Montreal, sat on the floor of a filthy bathroom with his dick out, completely fucked up, and thought,Well, youwon’tfeel it if you stay that way.

Zach felt like he was sweating alcohol. It was probably a good thing that even when he was blacked out he could keep his shit together, for the most part, or he’d have to drink at home with no company.

The last two weeks were mostly wiped out of his memory, but the stuff he did remember pretty much sucked as much as anything he could remember sucking, even worse than the first time he’d left home for a billet and missed his mom so much that he’d cried silently into the pillow the first night but couldn’t tell anyone, because you couldn’t admit to shit like that.

Crying on some bar counters.

Throwing up in some bar bathrooms.

Telling a lot of bartenders exactly how the Royal had done him wrong.

He’d probably fucked some people in the middle of all of it, but the only concrete memory was boning some dude in an apartment he didn’t recognize and then having to stop because he had gotten really emotional thinking about the trade and lost his erection, so...probably better not to remember any of that.

At some point he’d gotten a text message from some rando on the Cons but he’d ignored it, because fuck.Philadelphia?

“But like...” he said, lip trembling, “how could theytrademe? I helped them win a Cup?”

“It’s rough, bro,” the bartender agreed.

Someone put a hand on his shoulder and Zach almost cried again, because he was completely alone in this world, and it was a comforting touch.

“Dude,” Jamie Ayer, his now former teammate, said, “c’mon, let’s get out of here.”

“I’m not done, though.”

Zach wasn’t a small guy, but Jammer was bigger, and Zach was having a hard time coordinating his limbs to fight back. So he let Jammer half drag, half carry him out of there. He’d done the same for Jammer over the years, although probably Jammer hadn’t ever been this embarrassing.

Zach was suddenly overcome by the fact that even if it had been years since they’d hooked up, Jammer was his best bro and they wouldn’t ever play on the same team again, and his eyes welled up. “Jammer,” he mumbled into one beefy shoulder, “this isitfor us, you know? We’re...never...gonna play togetheragain. This is the end of anera.”

“I know, bud,” Jammer said, helping him into the car. “It sucks. But also, it’s time to, you know...sober up a little. Or at least drink at home where people can’t see you.”

Zach stuck out his lower lip, mulish, and sank down farther into the seat. He felt dizzy and nauseous and probably looked like shit. He hadn’t really gone home much over the last week or so and hadn’t really remembered to eat. He knew it was bad, and he was overwhelmed with love for Jammer and hatred for Montreal’s GM.

“I fuckinghatePoulin,” Zach said angrily. His body listed to the side. He tried to right himself, but it was too much effort.

Sleeping would be better.

Zach woke up in the shower, naked, water in his eyes and nose. He spluttered, “Jammer, what thehell?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” Jammer said cheerfully. He sat on the floor of the bathroom, his back propped up against the sink cabinet. He was holding a Kindle. Looked like he’d been there a while. “Wasn’t sure if that would work.”

Zach thought about getting up, but it seemed like a lot of effort. The floor was where he belonged.

“So you rejoining the world of the living, or what?”

“No,” Zach said stubbornly.

“You can’t stay in the shower forever.”

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