Page 82 of Goaltender Interference

“Please don’t expect me to do that,” Aiden said, gripped by a sudden chill of terror.

Aino laughed, surprisingly loud for such a small woman. “Absolutely not. I mean, if you wanted to, you could. But somehow, I get the feeling you aren’t really up for that.”

“No,” Aiden said, and shuddered.

She nudged him with her elbow. “Well, I am just saying. I am more than happy to meet for coffee or lunch whenever you want, if it’s too much to see everyone at once. We can even mostly talk about hockey.”

“Thank you.” It was sincere, even if he couldn’t see himself taking her up on it. She’d get sick of his shitty conversation and foul moods soon enough, anyway. No need to overdo it too early and drive off the entire group of wives and girlfriends as a result.

He went to the gym; he went for a run. He successfully baked a loaf of bread without burning it. He read a book and watched a movie. He made himself an unremarkable dinner.

On the second day he wandered around Montreal doing something he had tried to do since coming up there, which was find small things for the apartment that he could sneak in, things Matt wouldn’t notice but would appreciate when he saw them—a piece of art that reminded him of Matt and the Royal, or a small kitchen appliance Aiden thought he’d be able to appreciate, or a book Matt mentioned but didn’t own—but he had trouble finding anything that outing.

By the third day he was going a little stir-crazy and ended up taking apart the kitchen and deep cleaning it and reorganizing all of Matt’s cabinets. Then he tackled the living room. Then the bathrooms. By the time he was done, Aiden felt a little worn out but mostly frustrated with himself. As far as productive uses of his time, it could be worse, but ultimately, it was meaningless.

By the fourth day, he had run out of things to organize and ways to occupy himself, but he had an appointment with Dr. Gauthier. During that appointment he studiously did notmention the way he felt like he was slowly losing his mind. Whether she could pick up on that anyway was anyone’s best guess.

By the fifth day, he did push-ups until he ended up in a sweaty puddle on the floor, arms too sore to move. Then he did some more.

Aiden spent most of the sixth day curled up on the couch, flipping through various sports channels, not really paying attention to much of anything. He tried to make a list of things he could see himself doing with his life. He crossed off most of them, but he kept coming back to one option.

He crossed it out.

Wrote it down again.

On the seventh day, Aiden thought,I can’t do this.He thought:If I’m here for Matt, I have to do this.

The Royal were on the road again, to Winnipeg, Minnesota and Chicago. Matt wondered idly whether Aiden’s family would be at the Winnipeg game: Aiden’s father might have been a former professional player, but he’d never really made it beyond the minor leagues, and both he and Aiden’s sister were Falcons fanatics. During Aiden and Matt’s first relationship, Aiden’s parents had had season tickets, although he had no idea whether they still did. Aiden’s mom had never really warmed up to hockey and only went when Aiden was playing at home. Matt doubted they would have made an exception forhim, especially after things had ended.

In the plane, on the way out to Manitoba, he realized that he’d never actually asked Aiden what he’d told his family about the breakup. He had always just assumed Aiden had just told the truth, but maybe that had been a bad idea. Maybe it didn’t evenmatter if he had or hadn’t—it was clear that even though Aiden had been the one to break things off, he’d been more messed up about it than Matt had realized originally.

Matt usually sat with Saari on the flights, and Saari usually slept on them. It worked out well because Matt had never been a big talker. Today, though, Saari was awake, frowning as he scrolled through something on his phone.

“You good?” Matt asked.

“Yeah, you know.” Saari rolled his eyes. “You should never read the comments on the articles, right?”

“Buddy, you’ve been playing for almost twenty years, and you’re breaking the rulesnow? What are you even looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Saari said, and shrugged. “It’s just...you know, we have so many rookies this year, and we’ve been playing pretty well, but who knows about the playoffs. And then you, and the trade deadline...”

Matt felt his eyebrows go up. “It’s months away, you know.”

“Iknow. But you haven’t signed an extension yet, man, and I’m worrying about it.”

“Aw, you’d miss me, huh?” Matt asked. He could feel the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, almost against his will.

“Of course I fucking would.” Saari’s face looked almost wounded. “Matti, we’ve played together for almost twenty years. You’ve been my captain for over a decade now. It’s not gonna be the same without you.”

“I haven’t gotten traded yet,” Matt pointed out. “And the deadline’s not for another few months, anyway.”

“Not if you look at any of these websites.The Athletic’s pretty much traded you to Edmonton already.”

Matt leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. “Try not to read them until at least January, eh?”

“Yeah,” Saari said, a little darkly, and locked his phone. “But you...whatareyou thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said honestly. “It’s hard to think aboutnotplaying. It’s hard to think about playing anywhere except Montreal. It’s hard to think about retiring. I’m still pretty young, but the knee...”

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