Page 19 of Goaltender Interference

Matt went to meet him for breakfast near Jammer’s apartment in Old Port. He was well aware he looked like shit. He’d been sleeping badly even before Aiden, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it besides melatonin and CBD gummies and hoping for the best. Maybe Aiden would decide to stop talking to him again. Maybe he could just go back to normal and forget any of it had ever happened.

Ha. That was funny.

“Cap,” Jammer said breezily when Matt met him outside of the crepe spot.

Jammer looked the same he always did: a giant barrel of a man, dead-eyed, tanned and wearing an absolutely ridiculous outfit. Matt didn’t know a whole lot about fashion outside of various brands of athletic wear, and the custom suit shop he had been patronizing since his rookie year. Jammer, on the other hand, liked to experiment. His outfits frequently cost as much as Matt’s mortgage and were always a statement.

Jammer hadn’t been on the team during the breakup either, had been acquired from the Long Island Railers the following year as a rehabilitation project. He’d flourished in Montreal and helped them win a second Cup. And he’d only ever known Matt as a steady, reliable two-way presence, on the ice and off.

“Jammer,” Matt said, grabbing him in a brief but effusive bro-hug. “Sorry about Diya.”

“It’s cool,” Jammer said. He broke away, shrugging, and held the door for Matt. “I get it; it’s hard when you aren’t really cut out to be a WAG. Our schedules didn’t exactly line up, either. Not with her tours and my travel.”

“I know you really liked her, though. So I’m still sorry.”

Jammer smiled his charming, crooked smile at the hostess. Once they were seated, he said, “Probably loved her, but who can tell at all with those things?”

“In my experience, when you’re in love with someone, you know it.”

Jammer’s keen eyes fixed on Matt, and he raised one eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that one.”

Matt snorted. They both looked down at their menus. “Well, yes, and no. I guess with my wife, it was pretty clear neither of us had ever been in love. Once it was over and you’re mostly relieved, you know.”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’m very, you know. Accepting. The pain is momentary, but the experience and the memories are forever.”

By now, Matt was used to Jammer’s little aphorisms. “Well, the memories are certainly forever, anyway,” he said dryly, “whether that’s a good thing is really up to the individual.”

“Oh, no. No, even the painful memories are a learning experience.” Jammer was so painfully earnest it was almost too much to handle.

“Jammer, I love you, man, but come on. I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet.”

Jammer laughed. “Touché.”

Matt ordered a breakfast crepe with eggs and cream cheese and smoked salmon, with a side of potatoes, and Jammer ordered two of them. They ate in silence for a while, which was nice. It was a pleasant spot, huge-windowed and sunny with red brick walls. The tables were a bit too small to comfortably fit two hockey players’ legs underneath, but the food and coffee were good enough that Matt was willing to suffer.

“You look like shit, Cap,” Jammer said, after they had gotten halfway through.

“It’s been...a weird summer.”

“Tell me about it. Rhetorically, and in the empathetic sense that I am also having a weird summer.”

Matt stared at him. “Jammer, you’re one weird fucking guy, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Matt wasn’t about to give him a bigger head than he already had. He poked at his crepe, suddenly not very hungry.

Jammer’s shrewd eyes saw right through him. “Seriously, though, Cap. Are you good?”

“I’ll be good to start the season. I’m just—have you ever known something’s a bad fucking idea and done it anyway?”

“All the time. Most recently, dated a poet,” Jammer said, sawing one of his crepes with immense satisfaction. “Pretty good couple of years. Best sex of my life. Pretty sure there’s gonna be a poem about me in her next book, though, so that sucks. Would I do it again? Every time.”

Matt pushed the crepe across the plate and frowned. While Jammer ate, he took out his phone and composed a text message.

Aiden woke up later than usual. He worked his way through the morning Routine, with more emphasis on a longer yoga session in the hope that that would help his brain stop screaming at him. The results were inconclusive. When he finished, lying on his back on the mat, he checked his phone.

Matt had texted a picture of the sunrise from the roof deck of what was presumably his condo, and:I couldn’t sleep last night.

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