Page 47 of Goaltender Interference

When he did, he contemplated opening the door and rolling out onto the road.

Matt glanced sideways and said, not quite a warning, “Aiden.”

“You didn’t—”

“Give it a chance.”

“I haven’t—I don’t even have skates, I don’t have pads, I don’t have anything.”

“We’re not doing goalie stuff, we’re just gonna go out on the ice. And I got you skates.”

“Youwhat?”

“I mean, not like your regular skates,” Matt said, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “These probably aren’t quite as nice as what you’d order for yourself during the season, and they’re not goalie skates, but they’re better than anything you can rent around here, and they’ll do for now.”

“Matt?”

“Give it a chance.”

It was the voice he used when they were fooling around, when Aiden wanted to be told what to do and Matt was willing to dothat for him, and he wilted a little in the seat and didn’t say anything else.

The Sports Complex looked like any other practice facility, a boring rectangular box of white walls and wide windows. He had done this so many times for so many years. He never loved anything as much as he loved being on the ice, except maybe Matt. There was no reason Aiden’s heart should be knocking around in his chest like that, no reason his breathing should feel like something had pressed hard against his ribs. Therapist aside, it was pretty clear to him, in that moment, exactly how fucked up retiring had gotten him. And here was Matt, still trying to help in whatever way he could manage. Aiden felt like he was floating outside of his own brain.

“Hey,” Matt said, when they had parked. “We don’t have to if you really don’t want to. I just thought it might be good for you.”

“No, I...have to get back on the ice at some point, I might as well, I might as—”

“It doesn’t have to be anything except fun.” Matt’s hand rested on top of Aiden’s; his fingers were warm and Aiden’s felt like ice underneath them. “It’s always been good when we can skate together, right?”

“Yeah, except the Olympics,” Aiden said, with the sudden, perverse urge to lash out. “I don’t know if you remember, but fuckin’ Captain Canada had to ask me what was going on because it was that awkward.”

“Oh, I got the talk, too.” Matt grinned, for a second, adopting an approximation of the serious, concerned face that Henri Jean-Phillipe Lévesque must have made during that talk. “‘Now, Safaryan, I don’t know what happened with Campbell, but for the good of the team and the country, we have to put our personal differences aside—’”

“Don’t do the voice, don’t do the voice,” Aiden begged, a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up before he could stop it.

“‘—and concentrate on the important thing here, which is playing hockey and bringing home thegold, for Canada,’” Matt finished, the concerned frown fading back into a smile.

“God. We were—”

“—fucking awful. Just horrendous little shits. Insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Aiden said, and looked at the door of the complex. He remembered again how miserable he’d been during that Olympic tournament, so careful to avoid being in the same room with Matt when he could, barely talking to him even on the ice, so painfully aware of him anyway. Even taking home the gold had felt empty after that. He also remembered the way that, even though they hadn’t been talking, Matt had made sure to place Aiden’s towel on the boards exactly the way he had always liked it, so it was available for him to wipe his face during the TV timeouts. At the time, that little attention had felt mocking, cut deeply into his chest. But now, knowing that Matt had been thinking about him all of this time—

He took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go skate.”

Traditionally, when they had had the opportunity to skate together, Aiden let Matt have the first blade on the ice. This time, after they had both laced up their skates and Aiden spent a moment getting his breathing and heartbeat back under control, Matt gestured for Aiden to go out before him.

He hesitated at the edge, wondering what the hell he was so afraid of. That it would drive home how much he missed hockey? He already knew that; he was already living with that. The longer he groped for a reason, the dumber it seemed. He had just been keeping himself from doing something he loved. Taking one deep, steadying breath, Aiden pushed himself out on the ice.

Regular skates were a different experience than goalie skates, and it wasn’t just because they were cut higher and didn’t have the protective shell. The blades were curved and angled deeply,while Aiden was used to straight, flat blades that allowed for quick lateral movement. He was a professional hockey player, though, and he had been skating since he was a toddler, so it was easy enough to adjust. Aiden tested the fit of the skates and the feel of the rink, pushing off with one foot and streaking down toward home ice.

It felt surprisingly good, to just go as fast as he could, letting the practice complex fade into the background around him. Obviously, he didn’t have the speed or explosiveness a regular skater would build up, and obviously he wasn’t getting any younger, and obviously, he hadn’t been on the ice in months, but it still felt so fucking good.

He almost didn’t realize that Matt had skated out to join him until a dark blur streaked by at the corner of his vision. Matt, showing off exactly how much faster than Aiden he was.

Aiden concentrated his weight on the one knee, pushing his edge outward against the ice into the extension. He couldn’t really keep up. His training and work didn’t involve the same kinds of muscles that Matt’s did; he didn’t have eighty-two games’ worth of practicing his stride every year to develop it. But he did a pretty good job of trying, and although Matt never went easy on him, Aiden wasn’t that far behind.

They chased each other around the ice, and Matt whooped when Aiden managed to get close enough to grab him by the sleeve of his hoodie, tugging him almost off his skates. He didn’t fall, though: Matt caught himself on Aiden’s arm and then it was Aiden’s turn to flail for balance.

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