Page 24 of Goaltender Interference

Oh, Soupy...look, there’s nothing to stop you from picking up a new one, you know. Go golfing. Learn to paint. The only limit is your imagination.

Imagination’s the problem, though. Wardo, I’m a hockey player.

You always had a warped sense of humor. But seriously, bud—don’t stress so much. You have the rest of your life to figure it out.

Thanks. Hope Wisconsin’s treating you okay.

They spent a few minutes chatting about Wardo’s wife and the kids, about Wardo’s accounting business, about their summer plans. Wardo was planning an extended fishing trip, which Aiden dutifully said sounded nice, even though he hated fishing.

Eventually, Wardo had to get back to work, and Aiden had to sit with the knowledge that there was a whole world of possibilities out there that he just could not, for whatever reason, see himself reaching for.

Matt was playing with fire, in danger of burning his hands every time he flirted with Aiden, every time he sent a gym selfie, every time he reached out at an odd hour of the night just to see if Aiden would respond. Even if Aiden was flirting back—Matt thought he was, anyway, sometimes it was hard to tell—even if Aiden was responding like he was waiting for it every time, Matt was playing with fire.

He tried to think about what his longest-serving winger, Aatos Saarinen, would have said if he were here to see it.

What are you actually hoping to accomplish, buddy?

No, don’t do it.

Don’t you remember how things were, how you fucking imploded?

Matti, you fucking idiot.

He deserved it.

He was a fucking idiot.

In his condo, alone, Matt went about his day-to-day. It had been their little inside joke, when he’d first hooked up withAiden, that Matt couldn’t cook. Aiden used to tease him about it, used to delight in makinghimfood, partially because Aiden had liked to take care of him but also just to rub his nose in it.

After they broke up, Matt had taught himself some basics over the years and thought about what Aiden would have said if he could have seen it. Probably some dry remark about how boring and easy the recipes were. It wasn’t like he was relying on a meal service, at least, even if he usually kept it simple and planned ahead so he would have leftovers.

He made his dinner.

He folded his laundry and put it away in the drawers immediately, even though he hated doing that.

He kept everything in order because if everything was in order, that meant his life was in order.

It was a quiet little existence.

Even with making sure all of the rookies were settling in properly, that the team was all on the same page about the upcoming training camp, and all of the responsibilities of the captaincy, Matt was starting to realize that his quiet little existence wasn’t just quiet. It was fuckinglonely.

He ate by himself. He came home by himself. He got into bed by himself. He hadn’t really dated anyone seriously since the divorce. It hadn’t seemed worth it. Anyone coming back to the condo was just a one-night stand, or at most, a two-week stand. And in the end, he’d discovered that that was almost lonelier than just not hooking up.

He thought about Aiden, alone in New York.

He thought about Aiden saying,It’s really just not the same right now. Maybe you’ll understand what that means one day. I hope you don’t.

He thought about watching Aiden on the ice, the grace and power and beauty that made him immediately recognizable even if you couldn’t see his face under the cage. He thoughtabout how, even now, he could remember exactly the way Aiden’s face looked when he woke up in the morning, the slow, sleepy smile that had only ever been Matt’s. He could remember the way Aiden’s pulse felt under his fingers pressing down on his throat, beating fast as a rabbit’s, the way his head tilted back in an invitation. He could remember the way Aiden’s face would get so fucking red when Matt slapped him, eyes watering, desperate for more. He could remember Aiden, sitting on a private beach and watching the sun set blood orange over the water, his shoulders hunched forward, a serious look on his face. His voice, equally serious:I don’t want to go home, Matty. Let’s stay here forever.

He could remember all of it, a million snapshot memories of Aiden he’d never been able to purge from his brain.

He thought about Saari saying,Matti, you fucking idiot.

Maybe so.

Aiden was taking his chicken out of the oven and prepping his salad and grains to go with it when Matt FaceTimed him. He propped his phone up against the toaster while he worked, watching Matt from the corner of his eye.

It hadn’t been a great day. Aiden had gone grocery shopping after the gym and his conversation with Ward and had gotten stopped several times on the way and in the store. He’d signed the autographs and hated it every time. It felt like committing fraud, somehow, even though they were legitimately fans of his, and he had done the things that had made them love him. He wasn’t that guy anymore, and the knowledge rattled around in his head, too loudly. Even the mantras couldn’t drown it out. The house seemed especially quiet when he got home andunpacked, and he’d jumped in both surprise and eagerness to answer when he heard the phone ring.

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