Page 61 of Goaltender Interference

Matt covered his eyes with his hand, couldn’t even look at him again, for an entirely different reason this time. His fingers rubbed at his temples. “Aiden, I sometimes wonder if—”

“If?”

If you ever think about what you’re saying. If you ever know how deeply you’ve fucked me up. If you know how much I fucking love you, if you know how terrified I am of losing you again.

Like he could ever say any of that. He’d chase Aiden right back to New York, like he’d bought the plane ticket himself. He hadn’t had a plan when he’d invited Aiden to come to Montreal, but he’d hoped—he’dhopedthat once Aiden was here, once he was reminded how good he and Matt were together, that he’d understand. That he’d want to stay. That they could build something new here, just the two of them. Matt was remembering that no matter what he thought, Aiden’s mind never worked the way his did. “Never mind. I’m going to shower.”

He could feel Aiden’s eyes on him as he got out of the bed and went into the bathroom.

Aiden never thought it would be strange to be back in New York. Even after spending an entire summer in Winnipeg, it always felt like coming home the minute the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac at JFK.

Aiden had been in Montreal for two and a half, almost three months. New York didn’tnotfeel like home now, but he was conscious of the difference in temperature from Montreal, the familiar New York smells that weren’t present there, the way even the crowd of people walking toward the cars from the baggage claim had a different feel and tempo than it did in Montreal. New York had an attitude that no other city had: it just couldn’t be replicated.

Aiden didn’t need to collect his bag; he had only brought enough clothes for an overnight stay. He went outside to catch a cab. He frowned, a little, thinking about the way Matt had reacted to this trip. Maybe it was because Aiden was going to one of Gabe’s games but hadn’t gone to any of the Royal’s? He sighed. He’d probably have to end up getting over himself and getting into the rink again with Matt, one way or another. The thought made him feel a little nauseous, so he tried not to think about it.

He focused on the things he could control: the rest of his day.

He stopped at home first, but everything was exactly the way it was when he’d left it. The plants in the kitchen were all dead, but that wasn’t surprising since he’d forgotten to ask anyone to check in on them. They were withered and rotting, shriveled pathetically in their pots. He dumped them, soil and all, into the trash, and texted Gabe,I’m home.

yaaaaay,Gabe wrote back.wasnt sure if u were actually gonna make it.

Aiden sighed and didn’t answer immediately. Eventually, he said,I got tickets, so you don’t have to worry about that. See you after the game?

yes!!!!! its a date!

Aiden got to the arena early enough that he could go down to the lower bowl to watch the team warming up before the game.All of the guys crowded around to put their gloves up to the glass and say hello, and Aiden waved back, smiling like a crazy person but unable to stop it. Even if he couldn’t play, it was just—good to see them all again.

Pears made a big show out of throwing his stick over the glass, like Aiden was a fan who was actually begging for it. Aiden, grinning, rolled his eyes and handed the stick over to a kid standing next to him instead.

They didn’t look any different warming up than they did the last season he was playing: the way the cycles of cap and contracts had been going, the team was on the young side again. With the exception of Amirov, who would probably be playing well into his forties and consistently took contracts below his worth just to stay with the team, and Pears and Brooksy and Simmer, there were a few guys in their mid-twenties and a lot of guys who were either rookies or close enough to it that it functionally didn’t matter. It reminded him a little of his own first few seasons, when it seemed like the majority of the team had never actually been to the playoffs.

Before Aiden was about to head up to his seat, Gabe skated over and pressed his glove up against the glass. It was his first season where he’d started on opening day as the official number one, and he’d stepped up admirably to the challenge. Aiden could see him grinning behind the cage, confident and happy and with his whole life ahead of him.

“Fuck ’em up,” Aiden said, using the pregame encouragement that had always seemed to help Gabe the most.

Gabe smiled even wider, if that was possible, and punched the glass. Aiden punched back.

Aiden watched the game from center ice, near the top of the bowl. He wanted to have a good eye on everything that happened, and usually the fans willing to pay for those seats were at least fairly serious. The couple on his right side keptglancing sideways at him with wide eyes, like they couldn’t really believe he was there, but they let him watch in peace, which was all he cared about. The older man on Aiden’s other side probably didn’t even recognize him, which was even better.

Matt was probably in the air by now, but Aiden texted him anyway.Call me tonight?He didn’t get a reply, but he wasn’t too worried about that.

It was a good game. They were playing the Seals, and it was one of those nights where everything clicked. The crowd energy was good, roaring at the right parts, booing San Jose when they managed to get a good shot on goal, mocking applause when Brooksy drew a penalty and the Libs went on the power play. Aiden had even missed hearing people yellingshoooooot. The passes connected and the shots might have been hitting the post, but the Libs outshot the Seals by a good margin. It wasn’t a heavy workload for Gabe, but he made the saves he needed to make, calm as ever, never out of position.

Maybe it was the nature of the game, but Aiden felt less anxious than he thought he’d be. He could let himself get swept up in screaming for his teammates, in being one fan of eighteen thousand. It didn’t feel as bad as he’d thought it would feel, and that was at once a strange thing and a relief.

That was, at least, until someone in the broadcast operations room realized he was there, and they showed him on the Jumbotron at least three times. The little caption underneath saidAiden Campbell, won two Cups for New York.Aiden waved, awkwardly, and then tried to pretend he didn’t see it at all.

Gabe stole the team a shutout, and after the horn sounded, he came out to do a quick loop to acknowledge being awarded first star.

Aiden made his way down to the dressing room, ready to say hello to all of the guys and congratulate Gabe, but pausedoutside when he realized that they were still in the middle of the press scrum. He definitely didn’t want to step in the middle ofthat. Instead, he lurked in the doorway, accepted some hearty back-pats from the trainers and equipment guys as they milled in and out, and hung back to listen to Gabe taking his moment in the sun.

Gabe was, of course, incandescent. He hadn’t had a chance to shower yet, and his curly hair was damp, the flush of exertion still visible on his cheeks and throat, the imprint of his helmet in his forehead. He was beaming; it was a magnetic smile that made you want to return it.

“Yeah,” he was saying, “I mean, of course it’s always great to win a home opener, even better to do it with a shuttie. I always try my best, but it feels great when it works out.”

Someone asked a question that Aiden couldn’t hear, and Gabe’s smile broadened, if such a thing were even possible.

“Well, yeah. I asked Soupy to come, because it means a lot to me to be able to share these moments with him, and I was really glad he was able to make it. I told him this summer; I wouldn’t be half the goalie I am today without his mentorship. You know. Both on the ice and off. I learned how to keep my focus and control my emotions on the ice from him and—”

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