Page 20 of Goaltender Interference

Aiden stared at it for a long time. He wrote back, while he waited for his coffee to brew.Haven’t been sleeping much lately myself.

It was strange, talking to Matt in the same way they’d started talking so many years ago, stilted and awkward, overthinking every interaction. Not exactly the same: Matt had spent most of the first few months pulling Aiden’s metaphorical pigtails just to get his attention. This new fragility was different. The worst part was that hewantedit. He wanted it as badly as he’d ever wanted anything, Matt sending him pictures the way he’d always done. It wasn’t real. It didn’t do any good pretending. Butgod, he wanted it.

Matt said,You can just tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to do this. I’d understand if you don’t.

I don’t know WHAT I want. Things have been kind of fucked over here in case you didn’t notice.

Oh, I did. For one thing, who the fuck decorated your house?

A startled laugh burst out of his mouth before he even realized it was coming.I hired an interior designer because I didn’t want to think about anything.

Looks like they didn’t think about anything either. Hope you didn’t pay them too much. That couch fucking sucks.

It’s pretty terrible,he agreed. Aiden poured himself a cup of coffee and chewed on his lip. Feeling daring, he added,Didn’t hear any complaints from you at the time.

Had other things on my mind, I guess.

Aiden burned his tongue and wondered, yet again, what the fuck he was doing.Are you still in the same condo?

No, my ex got it in the divorce.

He stared at the text message and his fingers itched with the desire to ask about it. He remembered the first time he had seen a picture of Matt’s wife—it was their wedding photos, in a pieceinThe Athleticabout what various Royal players had been up to over the Christmas break. Emily Safaryan had been a very pretty woman, tall and slim and tan, with wavy dark brown hair pulled up in a complicated braid, a distinctive nose, striking light brown eyes that were a similar shade to Aiden’s and dark freckles dusting her nose and cheeks and shoulders. She looked radiant in her wedding dress, smiling over her shoulder at Matt, handsome in his gray suit, in the middle of the dance floor.

Aiden had stared at the picture for a very long time, and then he’d gone out and gotten so drunk that he’d woken up from a blackout in the airport in Montreal. No luggage. No plans. Nothing except a hundred missed calls and three hundred text messages, from the coach, his team, his family, all increasingly panicked and furious. He hadn’t tried to see Matt, or even talk to him: he’d turned right around and bought a ticket back home. It had taken him a really long time to clean upthatmess. He still flinched, inwardly, thinking about it.

Sorry.

It’s fine. My new place isn’t bad. A fresh start wasn’t the worst thing.

Matt sent Aiden a brief video, panning around the kitchen in what was presumably his new condo. It was modestly sized, pleasant and modern with industrial touches: exposed pipes and concrete countertops and green plants in every available window space. Toward the end of the video, Aiden caught a glimpse of Matt’s plate, with a half-eaten breakfast sandwich and what looked like a small bowl of fruit, yogurt and granola.

Did you learn how to cook?

Some things stay the same, some things change.

I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.

Matt sent him the eye-rolling emoji in response.

Hey...

Yeah?

I know it’s been a while, and some of the guys knew when it was happening, but do you mind if I tell Gabe? I owe him an apology and an explanation.

It’s fine.

Thanks, Matt.

Yeah. Okay, I have to go to the gym.

Aiden felt a little better after he finished the coffee and ate his toast. He texted Gabe,Do you want to get lunch today?

yes, Gabe responded, almost immediately.u can come over if u want.

Aiden sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but he should probably pull the Band-Aid off sooner rather than later. He also wasn’t looking forward to lunch; any deviations from the Routine made him feel a little sweaty and nauseous, and it had only gotten worse since his retirement, without any external impetus to make him do things he normally wouldn’t. He went to the gym and lifted weights in silence about it for a few hours, but he didn’t feel any better after.

Aiden paid for and picked up the ramen Gabe had ordered from a place not far from his apartment, made his way back to the building and headed up the elevator. It was a modern, shining edifice, something that would have been unthinkable in this neighborhood when Aiden was a rookie. There was a doorman and everything.

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