Page 75 of Goaltender Interference

Today, the team was in Columbus, before heading south for another game in Raleigh, and a flight back to Montreal. The Battery were one of those perennial bottom-scraping teams that couldn’t seem to ever get it together, unlike the Royal, who were on the cusp of maybe a rebuild, maybe transitioning straight into the next wave of kids successfully taking the reins. The kindof team where the lack of success ground down on the players, made them mean. Matt always prepared to get cross-checked in the back of the neck more often than usual, especially if he was in the blue paint.

He took the opening face-off anyway, used his shoulder to push the Battery center out of the way and shove the puck back to where Alex Morin was waiting for it. This late in his career the face-offs were almost automatic, nothing like the struggle they’d been when he was a kid, before he’d built up enough muscle and the experience to know where and when to move.

The knee wasn’t an issuewhilehe was playing, particularly if he’d taken care of it beforehand—it was like being able to concentrate on the developing play, anticipating the open areas of the ice and the movements of his teammates, even going up and over the boards were enough of a distraction that he didn’t feel it until after, when the adrenaline had worn off and he started to regain sensation in his limbs again. That was why he’d loved hockey so much, as a kid: playing was all-consuming, a way to shut out the rest of the world. When he was playing, nothing mattered except the win.

Tonight was the kind of night where everything was connecting: Morin anticipated his passes, Fourns was locked in and Jammer was a menace on the blue line, his rocket of a shot a constant danger during the power play. By the time the horn sounded for the first intermission, the Royal were up two, thanks to timely goals by Crane and Jammer.

Matt took the time during the break to ice his knee and test it out gingerly. He could probably go a little longer without the heavy meds, which was always good. Too much Toradol could cause nasty stomach issues, and he only used opioids when there was breakthrough pain even with NSAIDs. Too many horror stories and former colleagues who’d had their lives ruined. His own experience after Aiden had left the first timewas a personal illustration of how quickly you could slide down into the depths of something very fucking dark.

Back out on the ice, he threw himself into the game in earnest.

“Hey, Safaryan,” Morgan Wright said, as they battled along the boards for control of the puck. When Matt didn’t respond, Wright kept going, “Hey, Safaryan, you fag,” the slur falling easily from his mouth as he slammed Matt against the glass. “How about I take out your knee, and then you can go home crying to your boyfriend.”

Matt didn’t askwhat did you say, because he didn’t like talking to opposing players on the ice, even when he was trying to get under their skin. He preferred to let his body do the talking. He dug in with all of his weight andshoved, and Wright lost control of his stick. That half-second was all Matt needed to get the passing lane, and the puck was on Morin’s stick and safely out of the zone.

It wasn’t a close game. Matt widened the lead with a goal late in the second, and by the time the third rolled around, the Royal had a comfortable 4-1 margin to protect. Matt was pushing himself a little too hard, maybe—this was a win he really wanted to earn.

He thought about Aiden saying that it wasn’t just chirping, and he thought about Morgan Wright and what he’d said in the middle of the third. Matt wasn’t as fast as he used to be. He’d never been that strong a skater. But he turned on the jets for this one, streaking after Wright through the neutral zone. Wright had his head down, eye on the puck, and Matt had him lined up.

If it had been anyone else, he probably would have let it go. The team was up three goals, and he could have poke-checked the puck away, probably, could have cut Wright off with his body and forced a turnover. If it had been anyone else, he would have.

He didn’t.

Matt leveled his shoulder down and braced himself for the impact. It was lined up so perfectly that Wright basically skated right into him, and it took only a little extra force from Matt to send him flying, bouncing off of his body and down to the ice. He could hear the roar of the arena around him, the fury of the Columbus faithful, the boos that followed.

Matt was moving fast enough that he couldn’t tell whether Wright was slow to get up or not. To be quite honest, he didn’t care. He had the puck on his stick, and the play had gone from the neutral zone to the offensive zone, and he was setting up a scoring chance for Crane, who’d come out in the middle of a line change, and then it was Matt’s turn to get off of the ice. It had been petty. The character and actions of another player shouldn’t have affected him. But it had been satisfying, to give in to that nasty impulse, anyway.

On the bench, breathing hard, he took a second to collect himself.

“Câlisse, what the hell got into you, Cap?” Alex Morin asked.

“Wright likes to talk. I don’t think he’ll be talking so much after this.”

He regretted it later on, of course, once he got back to the hotel and his knee felt like it was on fire. He weighed his options and took two Percocet and FaceTimed Aiden, who was still awake and sitting on the couch in Matt’s living room.

“Hey, baby,” Matt said, and it was like all of the anger and frustration he’d felt in the moment during the game were gone.

“Hey,” Aiden said. He looked concerned. “What the hell was that hit in the third period? That’s not like you at all, Matty. I know you like to get physical sometimes but it’s never out of the blue like that.”

“You know how you told me that it wasn’t just chirping? Someone was chirping. I shut him up.”

Aiden pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—the article? He put two and two together?”

“I’m sure even if you hadn’t, he probably would’ve said something shitty, just because people know you’re here now. It wouldn’t have mattered if they knew you were gay or not. It’s fine. I was prepared for it, and I took care of it.”

“I’m just worried about your knee. I don’t want you to hurt yourself—”

“Hey,” Matt said softly. “It’s okay, you know? I know what I’m doing. I’ll be careful. The sooner you shut one of those assholes up, the less you have to do it in the future.”

“Okay,” Aiden said doubtfully, because he was a goalie, and Matt was the only fight he’d ever had.

“Don’t worry, Aidy. I’ll be home soon, eh?”

“Not soon enough,” he muttered, and then: “You must be exhausted. Let me let you sleep.”

“I love you—” Matt started, but Aiden was already hanging up.

Hello!an unknown number texted Aiden. The greeting was followed by several smiley-face emojis.

---