Page 8 of Goaltender Interference

Thanks, Pears.

I can send you a playlist.

No, thanks.

Pears sent him the playlist anyway. It was calledsome classic songs to get over your ex to because it’s been maaaaaaybe a lil too long. The first song was Juice Wrld’s “Life’s a Mess.”

Thanks, Isaac.

Anytime,he said, with a sunglasses emoji.

Aiden went to the gym. He came home. He sat in his house. He did not bother putting on pants. He did not look at the front door. He got up. He picked up a book on the history of goaltending he’d been meaning to read, but only made it about two pages in before he put it down. His eyes wouldn’t focus. He spent an hour folding laundry. He did meal prep for the next few days. He played the guitar, but he couldn’t remember any of the songs he was playing.

He did not touch the tender bruise on his neck. He looked at himself in the mirror, the lines on his face, the dark circles under his eyes. He sat down on the couch and flipped through various cable channels he wasn’t interested in watching. Finally, he just stopped and sat, and put his head down in his hands.

Aiden woke to find the sun already down, the doorbell ringing. He stretched out the knot in his shoulders and neck and unlocked his phone. He had about thirty texts from Gabe he didn’t read. He opened the door camera app.

Matt, again, pacing on the stoop like a caged animal.

Aiden took a deep breath. He thought:maybe I won’t answer.

He went down the stairs.

Matt’s shoulders were hunched forward, tense and miserable, by the time Aiden opened the door. It was raining, not hard but steady, and Matt’s hair and jacket looked damp.

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know. I don’tknow.”

“Why are you in New York?”

“My parents wanted to take a family vacation.” His laugh was low and bitter. “We’re here for another week. My parents and my brother; his wife and kids. And me.”

“Why—”

“It’s not a small city, I didn’t think there was any chance of, of running into you.”

“I—Jesus, Matt. It’s been—”

“A decade. More.” They stared at each other for a long time before Matt said, again, “Let me in.”

Aiden took a step back, and Matt closed the door behind him. He slipped the wet jacket off and dropped it on Aiden’s floor.

“The kid. Walker. He’s...?”

“My replacement.”

“You’re not—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt, he’s twenty-two. He was my rookie.No, I’m not.”

“I’m sorry, I just—the way he looked at you, the way he touched you—”

“It’s been a decade. You gotmarried. Even if I did, it’s none of your business.”

“I know,” Matt said. His voice was very small and very rough. “Iknow.”

Matt’s hand on his shoulder, in a way that used to feel warm, steadying. Aiden couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

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