Page 17 of Goaltender Interference

Matt kept up with the fast pace of the practice that he had set for himself, but the whole time, that poisonous suggestion echoed in his head.

Couldn’t you just talk to him?

Time went by.

Aiden wasn’t over it, but eventually it felt like an old bruise, the kind that only hurt if you pressed on it. He kept carefully to the Routine, modified for retirement: yoga and gym, cooking, cleaning his house. He learned how to play a few complicated new songs on his guitar. He didn’t drink for seventeen days. He only pressed occasionally, when it was late at night and he was alone in his bed, horny and unable to stop thinking about it.

It was easy to remember when he wanted to remember. The end of it, the unraveling. The more serious things had gotten, the harder it had been to be apart the whole year, to keep it quiet during the summer. Matt wanted more than Aiden could see himself giving, when their careers, theirlives, were hundreds or thousands of miles away, depending on the time of year.

But if there was one thing Aiden could recall with perfect clarity, at any time, any day, it was the way Matt’s face had crumpled after he’d asked Aiden to marry him and Aiden had said no. When Aiden had said,I don’t think this is going to work and it isn’t fair to you to keep trying when I can’t give you what you want.

Years ago, he’d forced himself to stop keeping close tabs on Matt’s career other than news that wasn’t actively avoidable, like when the Royal had won the Cup, or when Matt had gottena Defensive Forward of the Year award the same year Aiden had won one of his goalie awards and they’d spent a lot of time avoiding each other at the awards presentation. It had hurt too much to do it, a kind of self-flagellation that accomplished nothing.

Since Matt had left New York, Aiden couldn’t stop himself from reading articles. Matt had gotten divorced. Matt had gotten hurt. Matt had had surgery to repair his MCL. Matt was back on the ice. Matt was in the last year of his contract, although no one seemed sure whether the Royal would bring their franchise player back in free agency. Matt had expressed a desire to retire in Montreal, but after the nagging injuries wasn’t playing at the level he’d used to. There was some speculation he might accept a team-friendly deal—even league minimum—just to finish his career there, but that depended on the front office and the cap space they’d have to work with.

Aiden understood, probably better than anyone, what Matt must be going through. Aiden had never wanted to play anywhere except New York, never wanted to get used to the rhythms of living in a city other than New York, never wanted to love another city the way he loved New York. And in the end, it hadn’t saved him. He wondered if Matt felt the same way about Montreal. He wondered if Matt didn’t. Whether things could have been different if Aiden had tried harder and been braver. Less stubborn.

He’d tried to stop thinking about thewhat-ifsyears ago, because there were so many it drove him a little fucking crazy. It was easier said than done.

He looked at a few listings for therapists, but ultimately, the thought of running through mindfulness exercises,again, or telling a complete stranger about all of the things he had spent years ignoring, wasn’t particularly appealing. And hissports psychologist was a sports psychologist, he couldn’t help with...whatever Aiden was doing right now.

He thought about what Pears had said, about having a plan after hockey, and none of the options he could come up with sounded appealing, either. He couldn’t really see himself going back to school in his late thirties. He couldn’t really see the point in any of it. Couldn’t really see the point in anything.

Technically, Aiden never had to work again. Caroline had negotiated him several very generous contract extensions, and his financial adviser had made sure he’d invested it wisely. He didn’t have to do anything if he didn’t want to. But the thought of spending the rest of his life likethis? Aiden could feel the tightness in his chest whenever the thought came up.

The clock, glowing red in the dark, read two in the morning. He rolled over, tossing and turning. Nights like this, trapped with his own thoughts, the room felt a lot smaller than it was, too hot, like there wasn’t enough air.

His phone buzzed.

Hi.

The text wasn’t from a number he had saved in his contacts. It didn’t matter. He recognized it anyway.You never changed your number?

You never changed yours.

Never got around to it.

Yeah. Well. Me neither. Can we talk? And don’t say there’s nothing to talk about.

He hesitated for a long time. The thought of talking to Matt, in his house, with nowhere to go and no way to escape if he said something he didn’t want to, had been terrifying. Had made him feel like he wanted to peel his skin off. He had control now thathe hadn’t had before. Matt wouldn’tseehim, wouldn’t see how desperately Aidenwantedto talk to him, how desperate he felt in general, whenever Matt was involved. It was probably still a stupid idea. A disaster. Asking for trouble.

We’re all going to die one day,Aiden thought, the way he often did when he was trying to calm himself down.None of this really matters.

Aiden said,Okay.

It was strange seeing Matt’s number pop up on the screen without an accompanying picture. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, almost too loud in his ears. His free hand, twisted around itself, was damp with sweat.Nothing really matters,he told himself,we’re all going to die one day.It didn’t matter if he wastalkingto Matt again. Whatever happened, he’d already made a disaster out of it. It was done.

“I—Jesus, this is fucking weird.”

Matt audibly exhaled. “Thanks for not hanging up.”

“Yeah, I—it’s fine.”

“I just wanted to talk to you about what happened in, in New York. Don’t cut me off just yet. I’m sorry. I wanted to apologize for the way we left things but for all of it, too. I shouldn’t have done it, but I saw you, and I saw how Walker was with you, and it was like everything just came rushing back to me, I couldn’t just stand by and watch without trying to talk to you, trying to—”

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