Page 78 of Goaltender Interference

But he didn’t have time to think about it, because itwastime for warm-ups. Matt had been playing in the league for a long time, long enough that he knew guys on pretty much every team. Either he’d played with them in juniors, or they’d spent some time on the Royal and been traded, or he’d played with them during international competitions representing Canada. It was one of the things he’d always loved about hockey: what a small world it really was, when it came down to it.

That was no different now that the Philadelphia Constitution were in town, the ice filled with red, white and blue jerseys in clashing shades. It had been a few years since he’d won aCup with Zachary Reed and subsequently watched his tailspin and trade. There were no hard feelings, though. Matt had been relieved to see a player he still thought of as one of his rookies pick himself up out of the gutter and work himself into a position of responsibility and win another Cup with his new team.

“Hey,” Matt said, casually, skating by Reed during warm-ups. “The A looks good on you, buddy.”

Reed grinned. He had a cheerful, handsome face, with curly brown hair and warm brown eyes, the kind that were best described as twinkling. Some of that light had dimmed, that last season in Montreal, but it was back in full force now. “Everything looks good on me,” he said, and extended his glove to bump fists with Matt. “How’re you doing, old man?”

“Well enough,” Matt said, with a shrug.

“The knee?”

“Not talking about that with a rival right before a game, come on.”

“Aw, Safy, you’re gonna hurt my feelings, talking like that,” Reed said, pushing his lower lip out. “I was asking from a legitimate place of concern.”

Matt didn’t answer immediately. They watched their teammates going through their various pregame routines: Sakari Mäkelä, the Cons’ goalie, tapping his posts with his stick and whispering something to them; Manny Singh slamming his entire weight into Jammer’s bulky body and bouncing right off; Bee Morin shooting a sneaky puck at the Royal’s net, much to the displeasure of her brothers, who immediately skated up to try to intimidate her. She didn’t back down.

“Thank you,” Matt said, and left it at that.

“And, uh, I wanted to ask...” Reed trailed off. He lowered his voice, so that Matt had to lean forward to hear him. Things carried on the ice, but Reed spoke quietly enough that it didn’t.“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, I know it’s notreallymy business. I’m just asking because I...well, I heard through the grapevine that Campbell’s in Montreal. And maybe staying withyou. I know it wasn’t in the article, but...”

Matt looked levelly at him, unsure of what to say. Reed, on the Royal, had been a mess. He’d fucked his way indiscriminately through Montreal, and even if he’d never reallycome outto the team, they’d certainly figured it out quick enough on their own. He hadn’t been particularly discreet. Of course, Reed had grown up since then. He wore an A now, Singer’s loyal right hand. Matt remembered the photographs of Singer handing him the Cup, the way they’d looked at each other like nothing else existed.

Ah.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Reed was saying hurriedly, “it’s just, there’s not a lot of us out there, you know?”

The moment stretched between them, fraught and awkward. He could shut it down, right now. He could say,I don’t know what you’re talking about.He could say,itisnone of your business.He said, finally, “It’s been nice to have him back in my life.”

Reed’s golden retriever face scrunched up almost comically, processing the implications. Matt was old enough that his first relationship with Aiden had ended before Reed had even been drafted, which was a depressing thought. Reed got himself back under control and shot a bright smile Matt’s way, the kind of smile he’d often given to the media, one of the ones that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He wasnervous. “Well, you know, if you guys are ever in Philly...you’re welcome to stop by our place. We could hang out, shoot the shit, that kinda thing.”

“‘Our place’?”

“Mine and Nate’s,” Reed clarified. “I sold my house last season.”

“Ah,” Matt said, and wondered if this would ever get less awkward. On the one hand it was—nice, to know that he wasn’t alone. Even if the first interaction he’d had about it, in this new world where Aiden had beenpublicabout things, hadn’t exactly been positive, it was still something. On the other hand, he tried to imagine Aiden’s face when he told him about the invite, the horrified wince it probably would’ve brought out, and almost couldn’t bite back the laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Reed asked, a little wary.

“Just the way you saidyou guys—you’re really going full-on Philly, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Reed said, but he was smiling as he shoved at Matt’s bicep.

“Careful. Don’t push the guy who’s gonna kick your ass in about twenty minutes.”

“Hey!” Manny yelled, careening toward them. “No fraternizing with the enemy, Safy.”

“Fuckyou, Manny,” Reed said, still just as cheerfully as he said anything. He glanced over his shoulder as he skated away. His eyebrows went up. “Well—Safy—the invite’s open.”

“I know. Merci,” Matt said, surprised to find he meant it.

Once the game actually started, it got a little easier. Aino knew quite a lot about hockey—and used to play defense in a women’s league in Lappeenranta—and when they only talked about the game, it wasn’t that bad. It was almost like watching from the bench back in New York, with the way she would occasionally break off what she was saying to mutter a curse word in Finnish when Philadelphia got possession or lurch out of her seat in disgust and frustration when the refs made a bad call. As much as he would have liked to talk only to her, that was impossiblewhen he was the curiosity of the evening to the rest of the women.

They kept leaning in to pepper him with questions about when he had met Matt and when he came to Montreal and whether he was planning to stay long and whether... Aiden didn’t really answer beyond one-word replies or short sentences: they had known each other since their first playoff series, July, he didn’t know.

And then he had to be content to simply listen to the chatter while keeping one eye on the game. No matter how he sat in his seat or how unapproachable he looked or how deeply he slouched into the cushions, someone wasalwaystalking to him.

It was overwhelming. On his immediate right, Mia whispered to him quick little introductions about some of the other women, the kind of quirky little anecdotes you wouldn’t find out except from someone who had been friends with them a long time. From behind him, Sophia offered, generously and with the most innocent wide eyes, to cut his hair for him, because she had a salon on Sherbrooke Ouest. Daria, next to Sophia, told him that Montreal was an interesting city, but the locals were such snobs especially if you didn’t speak French—oh, call her Dasha, by the way. Avery, one extra seat down, wanted to know if he was going to be interested inorganizing, because although Aino mostly did it now, after all, Matt was thecaptain. Maya, a nurse, and Maddy, the owner of a small, trendy bakery, seemed fairly normal, but they were farther away down the row, and he couldn’t talk to them.

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