Page 12 of Goaltender Interference

“You just seem really sad,” Ellie said.

Matt looked down at his hands. The problem with Ellie was that she was too fucking smart for her age, the kind of little girl who always had a notebook and prowled around the yard of herhome, keeping tabs on the neighbors because she wanted to be a spy or a private detective when she grew up. He thought about telling her,I’m not sad, but he never liked to lie to the kids. They could see right through him half of the time no matter what he did.

“I’m okay,” he lied, anyway.

She looked sideways at him and frowned, like she was trying to figure out what was going on with him. Matt hoped to fucking god that she couldn’t. She frowned. “All right. If you’re sure.”

Matt absolutely wasn’t sure.

He somehow made it through the rest of the day, but his mind wasn’t in it. His parents could tell something was up—he was distracted and irritable and not very good at hiding it—but they didn’t press.

And when they were all about to leave for dinner, Matt took a deep breath. “You guys go on without me. I’m gonna meet a juniors buddy in Brooklyn.”

Miles looked sharply at him, suspicious, but he had enough sibling loyalty not to rat Matt out in front of their parents. He bit his tongue, even though it clearly pained him to do it.

And Matt, knowing better, hating himself, on fire with anticipation, made his way to the subway, knowing Aiden was waiting for him.

Chapter Two

July

The problem was that Matt kept showing up at Aiden’s door and Aiden kept letting him in. The problem was that Aiden knew he shouldn’t be doing it, that it was going to backfire horribly, that years of work were going up in smoke every time Matt touched him.

The problem was that as much as Aiden knew these things, logically, Matt kept showing up at the door and Aiden kept letting him in. For all of his logic and all of his knowing, he couldn’t sayno.

They never made their way up to the bed, and it was mostly just blowjobs and handjobs and a lot of heated making out and grappling on the couch, but Aiden kept doing it.

They never talked about it.

They didn’t need to talk about it. The sex was good. It had always been good with Matt, because there was something about him that Aiden’s body just responded to instinctively. Matt had been his first. His firsteverything, from the initial angry kiss onward, the only one who’d been able to tear him away when he’d been too absorbed in hockey to even consider trying to date. The only person who had proved to him that his lack of interest in girls wasn’t solely due to a drive to improve, a focus on the sport that couldn’t be shaken. And when Aiden and Matt were kids, before things had fallen apart, he’d thought it was familiarity, the kind of thing that happened when you loved someone, when you knew them and their body so well.

But they weren’t in love anymore, they hadn’t seen each other for ten years, and that feeling hadn’t changed at all. Aiden didn’twant to think about it too closely. This wasn’t a situation where the breathing exercises and mantras he’d used in his playing years could help. This wasn’t floundering in the deep water, this was drowning, this was water in his lungs and not even trying to struggle to the surface.

Every time Matt left, Aiden sat and wondered how he was going to feel when the Safaryans went home to Hamilton after the week was over. When Matt was gone again. Every time Matt left, Aiden mentally crossed another night off of the calendar.

Eventually: Saturday, by Aiden’s calculation, the last night. He wasn’t really expecting Matt to show up, but when the doorbell rang anyway, Aiden felt such an overwhelming sense of relief that he almost smacked his hand against the side of his head, as if that could shake it away.

This time, Matt didn’t move immediately to touch him, just stood there in front of Aiden’s door, face twisted like he was in actual, physical pain. “Aiden, can we please—can we talk?”

Aiden wanted to sayoh,you only want to talk whenyouwant to talk, huh?Aiden wanted to say that there was nothing to talk about,get out. He said none of that. He couldn’t open his mouth.

“Is it true? That you retired?”

Aiden’s mouth went dry. “It’s true. How did you know?”

“Duncs told me. I really... I can’t believe it.”

“You can believe whatever you want. I did.”

Matt just looked at him for a long time, studying Aiden’s face. “Why?”

It felt like being in theTwilight Zone, having a relatively normal conversation with Matt about the end of his life. “What do you mean,why? I’m old as fuck, it was the last year of my contract, I kept getting hurt and Gabe’s perfectly capable of taking over. It was time.”

“I just can’t picture you not playing,” Matt said slowly. “I can’t picture you not wearing that sweater.”

“It had to happen eventually.” Aiden managed to keep his voice even, somehow. He wanted to laugh: hysterical, furious. He didn’t. “So it happened now.”

“How are—how are you doing? With that?”

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