Page 98 of Goaltender Interference

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Miles said, like he wasn’t entirely sure if he believed it. “I’m still fucking furious at Campbell, though. Jesus, he’s put you through the wringer over the years.”

“Yeah, probably. But... I don’t know. I’d rather have had that and dealt with the pain now than not had it at all. I hope younever find out with Jess. But he was just, well. The love of my life, probably. And maybe it’ll never be the right time for it to work out. But I did the best I could do. And I’m at peace with it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Miles said, slowly, staring at him. “This is fucking weird, you know. Like what the hell have you done with my brother?”

“I’m your same brother. I just went to a lot of therapy appointments and I grew up,” Matt said dryly. “Okay, can we please stop talking about this? I’m okay, but there’s a limit to what I can handle before I kind of want to fucking die.”

“That’s...fair,” Miles said, a little sheepishly.

“Come on, we have a million other things to talk about. How’s Coach Garcia doing, how are your rookies, et cetera, et cetera. Also, the branzino’s really good, and so is the lamb, if you want suggestions.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Miles said, and looked down at the menu. “Give me a second, and then we can talk.”

Matt sat back in his seat while Miles looked at the menu again, still turning over and over in his head the conversation they’d had. Hereallyhadn’t realized it until he’d said it. It felt—weird. He’d spent so much time worrying about his life falling apart after Aiden left, and now that it had happened, he was sad, but he was functional. He was playing games. He was seeing his family. He was functioning, maybe not a hundred percent, but he was...okay.

Matt rubbed at his eyes, which were stinging, suddenly. Getting older was fucking weird, all right. Maybe he’d come to an epiphany about playing hockey, too. Maybe it was just a matter of the puzzle pieces falling into place at the right time.

But right now, he wasn’t going to think about any of that. He was going to enjoy his dinner and time with his brother, andthen he was going to kick his ass on the ice. And all was as it should be.

At three p.m. on a Wednesday, Gabe banged on Aiden’s door. Aiden sighed: the news must have gotten out, eventually. He considered waiting him out, but when Gabe was still there five minutes later, he gave in, went downstairs and opened it.

Gabe, mid-knock, almost fell forward with the force of his arm motion but caught himself before he pitched too far. “Soupy,” he said, staring at Aiden with wide eyes. “Uh, wow, your hair is something else.”

“What do you want, Gabe?”

“Let me in, because we’re going to have a fuckingtalk, okay?”

“I don’t think—”

“Nah, youdon’t,” Gabe said, and pushed past him, like he always did.

Aiden sighed, and followed him back into his own house, folded his arms over his chest in the middle of the living room and watched, awkwardly, to see what Gabe was going to do.

What Gabe did was glare at him, and ask, “Soupy, what the ever-lovingfuckare you doing?”

“What?”

“What,” Gabe said, carefully, “the fuck. Are you doing. Back. In New York.”

“It’s complicated, Gabe.”

“Is it? Really?”

“Yes, it is, I—”

“Because you told me you were in love with him, but this doesn’t seem like—did he end it? Do I have to go to Montreal to kick his ass?”

“No!Icame home. It wasme. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean things just work out.” He swallowed hard after it came out of his mouth, louder and more frustrated than he’d intended. “There’s other things that—”

Gabe seemed unfazed by his anger, narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, of course they don’t work out if you don’t fuckingtry.”

“Iwastrying, you don’t know what I—”

“Yeah, you said you were going to therapy. Talking about shit without actually doing anything to change your behavior isn’t the point of going. At that rate, fucking payme$200 an hour just to talk. Like, Soupy, you can’t just fucking run away from everything forever, shit doesn’tchangeif you do that. You’re just gonna stay miserable forever.”

“Gabe, you don’t understand—”

“I don’t know, Soup, I think I kinda do,” Gabe said. He chewed on his lower lip, frowning at Aiden. “I mean, I get it. You’re scared fucking shitless, I bet.”

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