Page 102 of Goaltender Interference

“Aidy?” Matt asked, his thumb brushing the track of moisture away.

“I’m sorry. I’mhappy, I don’t know why the fuck I’m crying.”

He could still see Matt’s face, in the dark, and the intensity of the emotion in his eyes did nothing to stop those stupid fuckingtears. Looking at Matt, just now, it seemed insane to him that he’d ever wanted to leave, even if both times, he’d thought he was doing something kind and necessary for someone he loved more than anyone or anything.

“You know I always liked it when you cried,” Matt said softly. So fucking fond. His other hand slowed where he’d been jerking Aiden off, thumb swiping over the head of his dick.

“These aren’t sex tears,” Aiden muttered. “They’re just...they’re just happening to me.”

Matt didn’t answer. Instead of his thumb, his mouth: lips pressed against the tear tracks, kissing the corner of Aiden’s eyes, hand cradled gently against Aiden’s cheek until he wasn’t sure if he was still crying or not.

Matt said, “I can’t believe you came back to me,” and Aiden said, “I can’t believe you let me come back.”

Matt kissed him again, one of those unbearably soft kisses that had always made Aiden feel like Matt could see right through him. “You belong here. You belong with me.”

“Do I?”

“You fucking do, Aidy. You always have.”

That was how Aiden came, eventually, legs tangled in Matt’s, smiling into Matt’s mouth.

When Matt woke up in the morning, Aiden was still asleep, curled up in the bed next to him, and the sun was streaming through the blinds in the window. His alarm was going to go off in a few minutes, so he’d have time to get ready for practice in the afternoon, so he fumbled for his phone and turned it off so he wouldn’t wake Aiden. As he sat up, he felt approximately fifty pounds lighter: Aiden coming back, being so honest with him, here to stay for good had done that.

He already knew what Miles was going to say.You’re like Charlie Brown and that fucking football, Matthew. What’re you going to do when he yanks it away again?And he already knew he was going to have to ignore it, because sayingit’s different this timewould sound silly and hollow. Because itwasdifferent this time, and he didn’t know how to explain it except for the deep sense of peace and satisfaction that he felt currently, his hand tracing the line of Aiden’s shoulder, thumb brushing over the freckles splattered across it.

Then he sat up, and felt the aches of his body, in his knee and in his back, which had taken a particularly nasty cross-checking during the game last night. If he were a different kind of player, today would probably be a therapy day. This late in the season, he needed to conserve his energy, but they were still in a playoff spot, and he wanted to keep them there. Shifted his weight and slid out of the bed.

When he did it, Aiden’s eyes opened and for a brief second, they shuttered between sleepy confusion and panic.

“Hey,” Matt said, “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Aiden sat up and Matt couldn’t help staring at his naked body, draped in the soft nest of blankets in Matt’s bed. It still shocked him, how beautiful Aiden was. His lanky, spare muscle and surprisingly broad shoulders; the soft, dark hair on his chest. His face, with those soulful eyes that had cut right through Matt’s defenses the very first time he’d met them. Fifteen yearslater, Aiden threw him off guard just as violently as he had in that handshake line.

“Sorry,” Aiden was saying, sheepishly. “It’s been...a rough couple of weeks. I haven’t been sleeping very well. Slept better last night than I have in...fuck, I don’t even know how long.”

“Me, too.” Matt’s mouth was smiling without his brain’s input. “Look. I have to go to practice later today, but I...well, I still have all of the shit you like to eat, so let me make you breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Aiden said, and then hesitated. “If it’s okay with you, could I...come with you to Brossard? To watch?”

There were things happening in Matt’s chest that he couldn’t describe, things he couldn’t even begin to put into words. “Aiden,” he said, finally, “I wouldlovethat.”

It wasn’t that things weren’t awkward, because they were a little awkward. Aiden sat at the kitchen table while Matt made him coffee and toast with cashew butter, running his hand through his hair like he couldn’t believe how much of it was missing. With it cut, he looked less like a tragic Arthurian knight and almost like the kid he’d been when Matt had first gotten to know him. There were hints of gray sweeping through it, but the style made him look years younger. It was completely disorienting.

“You keep staring at me,” Aiden said. “Look, I promise, I’m not going anywhere this time.”

“It’s not that.” Matt slid the plate across the table. “I just got used to your mountain man look, you know?”

Aiden laughed, self-conscious, and touched the back of his neck. It was bare again. His hair had been long for long enough that his skin was a shade lighter there, where it had been covered during the summer. “I wasn’t doing a very good job of taking care of myself.” He looked down. “Sometimes it kind of felt like I didn’t deserve to.”

Matt took his own coffee cup and said, carefully, “You’re going to go back to the therapist?”

“Yeah.” Aiden nudged at the toast with one finger. “I owe it to you. But also to myself. It’s...it’s kind of terrifying, trying to think of a way to be happy without hockey, but I’ll never know if I don’t try, right?”

“And it doesn’t have to be without hockey. I know it’s not the same, but if you ever, I don’t know. If you ever want to skate with the team, or suit up for practices, I’m sure—I’m sure I could make it happen. I’d love to be able to get on the ice with you again regularly.”

“Yeah?” The corner of Aiden’s mouth tilted up in an almost shy smile.

“Yeah. Aidy, those times we were able to skate together over the summer? Those are some of the best memories of my whole life.”

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