Page 26 of Goaltender Interference

Matt punched him hard in the shoulder. It stung, and that, at least, felt right. “None of that, Campbell.”

Aiden didn’t argue. He still felt strange, like he was moving in a dream. To be doing this after so long, like it was just easy to pick up and go, even if it was probably all going to blow up in his face.

He wondered what their lives could have been like if he’d done this sooner. But Matt had been married for most of that time, so it probably wouldn’t have happened anyway. He could only imagine what Emily would have thought if Aiden had shown up on their doorstep, some random hockey player from a rival team, bedraggled and soaked with rain.

They were quiet in the elevator up; quiet when Matt opened the door and Aiden followed him in. It had a similar vibe to his old place, a kind of lived-in clutter but still more put together than Aiden could ever have managed without assistance. It felt homier than Aiden’s house, despite all of the concrete andexposed pipes in the ceiling, because Matt had probably picked out everything himself instead of throwing a lot of money at someone and telling them to go nuts.

“Well, this is it,” Matt said, gesturing to the living area and kitchen. Aiden had seen them both in video chats before. “It’s nothing spectacular, but it’s mine. You can put your stuff down in the spare bedroom.”

“Thanks.”

Matt took the bag from him. “This is really all you brought?” he asked, eyebrows going up.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t want to presume—”

“I was just teasing.”

“Don’t?Fuck, Matt, it’s already as weird as hell without that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

The second bedroom had a bed, shoved in next to Matt’s desk and a desktop computer, presumably doing double duty as an office. Like the main room, it was airy and comfortable even if it was small. Matt set the bag down on the bed and shrugged. “Well, that’s the grand condo tour. Very exciting, eh?”

“I like it. It feels like you.”

Instead of answering directly, Matt looked away. “Hey, you hungry? I’ll order dinner if you want to change into some dry clothes.”

“Sure. Whatever you want; I’ll leave it to you.”

While Matt went to take care of dinner, Aiden stripped off everything he was wearing, still damp from the walk to the apartment. He changed into house clothes: comfortable, worn athletic leggings and an equally beat-up T-shirt. He fluffed his hand through his hair, shaking the extra moisture out of it, looked at himself in the mirror and wondered, again, what the hell he was doing. His hair and beard were shaggy and longer than they’d ever been before. He hadn’t really seen much of areason to keep them in line. There were dark circles under his eyes.

He looked, to put it bluntly, like shit. Nothing like the kid Matt had fallen in love with.

Nothing to do about that now.

They made awkward small talk about the flight, about Matt’s training. Aiden’s skin buzzed with the prickly awareness of what they’d done the last time they were in the same room together, his head buzzed with just being here, talking again, like maybe this wasn’t over. He was relieved when Matt went downstairs to get the food, exhaled a breath he had been holding in for some time.

The anxiety of not knowing what it was, of departing from the Routine, gripped him again. He took a few deep breaths and reminded himself that he was in fucking Montreal. He’d taken the Routine and dropped a bomb on it.

And despite the anxiety, he found that Matt had remembered his dietary preferences. He had ordered an assortment of dishes to share from a Lebanese restaurant in the neighborhood, and it was all without dairy. Matt had always been like that. Fucking thoughtful. Better to Aiden than he’d ever deserved.

The food was good, and they split it standing across from each other at the kitchen island. Aiden was careful as they talked, not wanting to say too much. Every time they reached for the same thing, or Matt’s fingers accidentally touched his, he could feel his entire body lock up.

“Thanks,” Aiden said, afterward, as he helped clear away the paper plates and take-out containers. “What do I owe you?”

“Man,nothing, this is a welcome-to-Montreal meal, okay?”

Aiden eyed him a little suspiciously but didn’t argue.

They spent the rest of the night watching a movie on either end of Matt’s living room couch, which was, Aiden admitted to himself, a lot more comfortable than his own. It was overstuffedsoft leather, easy to sink into and prop your feet up on the coffee table.

Aiden was a little surprised how, in some ways, it was easy to slide back into Matt’s life like that, on the couch watching a movie like any other summer they had spent together. Except for the fact that he was hyperaware of his promise to himself that he wasn’t going to fuck this up and make it weird.

The thing was: Aiden was always going to make it weird.

It was impossible not to make it weird when you had almost five years of memories built up of someone, ten years on top of that to turn them over and over in your head until they were polished like sea glass. It was impossible not to make it weird when every time you looked at him, you noticed that when he laughed his eyes crinkled up and the one dimple emerged the same way they always had, or when you knew exactly the way he was going to finish a sentence.

Ten years had gone by, but Matt was still the same, and Aiden was always going to make it weird, because all he could think about was that he broke Matt’s heart and fucked things up for both of them. That Matt broke his too...well. That was incidental at this point to the monumental regret he felt, the knowledge he didn’t really deserve to be here. Shouldn’t really be here.

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