Page 87 of Goaltender Interference

Aiden was folded into himself now, the kind of shrunken misery that punched Matt right in the chest, the kind of thing he desperately hated to see, the kind of thing he had no idea how to begin fixing. “I don’t know. I’d probably make things worse if I were there. I don’t think your teammates would...”

“My teammates will deal with whatever I ask them to deal with.” Matt extended his hand to rest on Aiden’s knee. “It’s just, Aidy, I want to help. I want to do something. Will you let me?”

“I appreciate you saying that,” Aiden said, in the same dull tone he would have used with reporters after a bad loss, giving away nothing. “But you don’t need to worry about me, Matty. I’ll figure something out. I’ll dosomething.”

Matt leaned forward, pressed his mouth lightly against Aiden’s, and that at least seemed to jolt him out of the stupor. The kiss was as sweet as always, Aiden melting under the onslaught, and Matt wondered why he couldn’t just stay home all of the time, keep Aiden in his bedroom, fuck the life back into his smile and his eyes. He couldn’t do that, of course. He wasn’t ready to retire. He wasn’t ready to figure out the next chapter. But Aiden... Aiden was already there, and Aidenneededhim.

“Aidy,” he said, against Aiden’s lips, “I’ll be home before you know it. I promise.”

“I know,” Aiden said, but his eyes had dimmed again. “I know.”

Matt didn’t have time to do what he wanted to do—dump Aiden down in bed and make him smile again, make him gasp and shudder and come—because he had to get to the airport. He almost didn’t make it, because it was hard to disentangle himself from Aiden’s arm, from Aiden’s mouth, from Aiden’s sad eyes. He barely made it, limping a little as he rushed toward the tarmac where the rest of the team was waiting to board the plane.

“Safy,” Jammer said, raising his eyebrows. “You good?”

“Yeah, uh, just got caught up at home.”

Jammer looked at him again, head tilted a little. “Yourboygood?”

“That’s...another story altogether,” Matt said, and sighed. “You ever think about retirement, Jams?”

They waited together as the rookies climbed the stairs, and it was clear Jammer gave the question some thought. His face was distant, and he rubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw. “I don’t know,” he said, after a moment. “Diya used to ask me about this. What the plan was. Especially since I’ve had more than my share of concussions over the years. Didn’t know what to tell her, honestly.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Matt watched Jack Crane nudging Rémi Cormier in the side as they laughed about some private little rookie joke. “When you’re young, retirement seems so fucking far away. And then when it sneaks up on you... Aiden’s having a really hard time with it, Jams. I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know what I’m going to do when it’smytime.”

“Is it your time?” For someone usually so chill, there was an edge of concern to Jammer’s words.

“No,” Matt said, slowly. “I don’t want it to be, at least. I don’t think. I still have hockey in me, and the thought about trying to figure out what comes after... I just don’tknow.”

“Knee and contract aside, buddy, you’ve been just as effective on both ends, even if you’re slow as shit now.”

“Lucky that my skating never relied on acceleration.” It had been a common criticism, even when Matt was younger.

“Focusing on the wrong thing here, eh, Saf.”

“I just don’t like not knowing what to do. I don’t know what to do about Aiden. I don’t know what to do aboutme.”

“Diya and I were never able to really come to an agreement about that, either. It’s part of why we broke up.”

“Sorry again, about that.”

“It’s fine,” Jammer said, mouth twisting down. “All I’m saying is, maybe you should think about what you want for next season. Whether that’s Campbell, or playing, or a new contract somewhere else. Before someone or something makes the decision for you. Because let me tell you, I know from experience. That one fucking sucks.”

Matt thought about the last time he’d needed surgery, the way it had felt when his knee gave out. The audiblepopof his muscle tearing, the immediate pain and the way his leg had crumpled under his own weight. He thought about Aiden turning down his proposal, which had somehow felt worse. “Yeah,” he said, and moved forward onto the steps. “Thanks, Jams.”

“For what? You didn’t figure out shit.”

“For being here while I didn’t figure out shit,” Matt said, and went up the stairs into the plane.

Aiden wondered if this was how the WAGs felt, caught in some kind of limbo in between games. He wondered if this was his own fault, because he hadn’t figured out how to fill those spaces in between. He wondered if knowing how he wanted to form his life would make a difference or whether it was just the uncertainty of life in Montreal.

He wondered how long this thing with Matt would last if he couldn’t figure out what he needed to do to not feel this way all of the time. He wondered what he would do if it did last and there were years of this. He wondered whether the things he was starting to think he might like to do with his future were even possible or whether he would screw that up, too. He wondered whether Matt would be better off—

He wondered whether therapy was worth it. He wondered whether it was even helping. He wondered if he’d feel like this in New York.

He wondered whether he should just go home.

Matt was washing dishes because Aiden had cooked. He was studiously not saying anything. His shoulders were tense and hunched forward as he scrubbed. It felt like Matt had been walking on eggshells around him in a way that he hadn’t done since the first week Aiden fell back into his life, and Aiden wanted to punch something about it. Instead, he occupied himself with emptying the dishwasher and putting away the clean dishes. Sorting the cutlery. A repetitive exercise that was welcome and did a little bit to take the edge off whatever was going on in his head.

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