Page 14 of Goaltender Interference

“I always worry about you,” Miles grumbled, but gave him a brief, tight hug and a slap on the back before they went their separate ways.

Matt put his earbuds in on the plane and turned on a long white noise track and pretended he didn’t hear anyone who tried to get his attention. He had to take some time to pose for photos and sign autographs on his way out of the airport no matter what he did, but thankfully, the cab driver was probably the only person in Montreal who either didn’t give a fuck about hockey or had a good sense when someone didn’t want to be talked to.

It was a relief to get back to his condo, alone, after that week. He still felt a little like crawling out of his own skin, but he tamped the feeling down by unpacking his shit and making sure all of his plants were watered and rotated. He threw in a load of laundry.

By the time he was finally done, he was exhausted, and home was quiet and empty. Emily had never lived here with him; he’d purchased it after the divorce. It had only ever been Matt here, alone with his thoughts, so this wasn’t anything new. He’d been content with that for two years now.

He couldn’t be content with it anymore.

Every time he closed his eyes he thought about Aiden, about the way he’d melted into Matt’s arms that first night, a surrender as easy as memory. About the way Aiden had looked at him the last night, like he was going to cry but didn’t have anything left inside to do it. About the familiar smell of his hair and body, like ten years hadn’t passed at all.

Every time he closed his eyes, he thought about what it felt like to touch Aiden again, how much he had missed it. On what a visceral level he’d missed it.

He was still furious. The way Aiden had cut him off when he’d tried to talk, tried to say anything. It flayed deep. It was like being thrown back a decade in time again, when all he’d wanted was for Aiden to understand him. To listen to him. All of it churned around in his chest like a maelstrom, confusing and all-consuming. For the first time in five years at least, he couldn’t stop thinking about Aiden when he tried.

Hehadto stop fucking thinking about this. He couldn’t afford to be distracted this year, his contract year, maybe his last year with the Royal.

Whatever Aiden Campbell was doing with his life, it wasn’t Matt’s business anymore. Whether or not Aiden Campbell had decided to fuck him again itwasn’tMatt’s business anymore.

He texted the team group chat:Boys. Who’s back in Montreal?

Alex Morin immediately wrote back,We never left, mon capitaine.

That was true at least for the Morin twins and for Xavier Fournier, the Royal’s starting goalie, all of whom were from Quebec and spent the offseason in Montreal, even thoughFourns was really from Saguenay. He got a few responses from the other guys—some of them had returned early; a few others, like Jamie Ayer, were still training at home before planning to come back later in the offseason. Still, there were enough of the team in Montreal that he felt a little more at ease.

Matt asked,Anyone want to skate tomorrow?

Bit early for that, eh Cap? I’m personally planning to stay away as long as possible,Amanpreet Singh replied. Manny was one of the veteran wingers, a solid third line checking presence whose solemn face belied a jokester’s personality. Between Manny and Saari and Jammer, it was sometimes hard to keep a straight face at practice, and Matt was always grateful to have guys who could keep it light.

It would be good for him to get back on the ice as soon as possible, even if there was always the danger of overtraining. But he needed todosomething. If he sat alone in his house by himself for all of this time, he was going to continue the summer’s streak of stupid fucking decisions. And that was something he absolutely could not afford to do.

Nah,he said.I’ll be at Brossard tomorrow bright and early, whoever wants to come.

That’s our Safy,Manny said, with a winky face.

He just had to get back to work. All he had to do was get back to work, and then he could stop thinking about sex, about Aiden Campbell, about the quiet solitude of his condo.

He’d done this before and he could do it again.

He just had to go cold turkey.

“Bro,” Pears said, “yougottaget out of the house.”

“Actually, I’m doing great in the house,” Aiden replied, rubbing his neck. The bruises Matt left there hadn’t faded, andAiden felt Pears’ eyes on them, felt the red rising on the tips of his ears. Like he was sixteen, not thirty-six.

“Hmm,” Pears said, and his eyebrows went up. Even in his mid-thirties, he still had the same perpetually semi-stoned expression and fluffy brown hair smashed down under a snapback that he’d had since his rookie year, when Aiden had first met him. Something about Isaac Pearson would always look a little adolescent, no matter how old he was. “Don’t really believe that, my dude. So that’s an order.”

“You’re not my captain anymore.”

“Ooh, harsh. Well, I still got responsibilities, bud, so you’re coming with me. You wanna fight about it?” Pears’ hands flew up in a comical mock-boxing pose, and he jabbed at the air in front of Aiden until Aiden grabbed his fist and held on.

“Jesus Christ, Pears, no.”

“Then come on out, Soup.” Pears gently disentangled his hand. “Just you and me. It’ll be super chill, don’t worry.”

“I don’t—”

Pears smiled his impish, shit-stirring smile. “It’s not like you got anything else to do, huh?”

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