Page 92 of Goaltender Interference

He was exhausted the way he always was after a game and late-night travel, but he already knew there was no way that he was going to be able to sleep. He remembered how he’d felt the first time Aiden had dumped him. It had actually taken some time to sink in. He’d known, but he hadn’tknown. He’d thought,I’m going to be so fucking normal about this, and made a point of going in to work every day, working as hard as he always had, never letting on that anything had happened.

Of course, he hadn’t been normal about it. He was never normal about it. Pushing it down and ignoring it had only let it fester.

This time, Matt took a deep breath again, counted to ten, and said, aloud, “What thefuck.”

A million thoughts jostled around in his head, a million feelings in his chest. Anger at Aiden, for taking the decision away from him again; anger at himself, for not seeing the signs earlier.Saddidn’t really describe the hollow feeling in his chest, not really. He’d never been great with words, but he’d have time to think of ways to describe that one.

Aiden had sounded pretty broken up about it on the phone, which was ironic, but not surprising. Aiden had always made choices that seemed logical on the surface but were ultimately driven by emotions he hadn’t been capable of dealing with, and Matt had been the one left to pick up the pieces. He knew Aiden was probably gutted. He couldn’t even bring himself to thinkfuck him.

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, that was for sure. He was still wearing his coat and travel clothes, and so instead of taking them off, he just went back out into the hallway. Down the elevator. Outside.

Decembers in Montreal had the kind of bitter cold that cut right through you, no matter how warm your coat was. The punch in the face was welcome. Matt wasn’t sure where he was going. He just started walking, first from the little side street that was his home, then to St.-Viateur. It was strange, walking down the streets this late at night. All of the businesses he’d spent fifteen years frequenting, shuttered and closed, the street illuminated by the lamps and nothing else. How many times on a rush to practice he’d stopped to grab a bagel, eaten it in the car on the drive to Brossard.

It was strange, how well he knew every single street of Montreal, how little of it he’d gotten to experience with Aiden, and how Aiden’s presence in his life loomed over all of it anyway.

Matt cut through the smaller park at the intersection of Viateur and Outremont, the pond iced over. It was a lovely little area; he’d spent many summer days sitting on the benches, people-watching, or autumn days watching the leaves fall. Around the park rose rows of pleasant, well-kept, red-bricked Victorian homes. He kept walking. He knew the way quite well now: the path right up to the edge of Mont-Royal. It took him through the park and the cemetery, toward the trail that would lead to the summit, where the cross shone in white against the dark line of the sky.

Technically the park wasn’t open this late at night, but no one stopped him. Matt would deal with it if anyone did. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this. It had been some time since he’d been here alone; more recently, he’d been with Aiden. It was strange to come again, after him.After him.The thought twisted around and around in his head as he walked up the path toward the summit. Part of him had known it was coming. Part of him hadn’t wanted to believe it was true.

Above him, the bare arms of the trees stretched up to the sky. He’d walked this trail in every season: the new green of spring, the full canopy of summer, the orange and yellow of the fall. It felt appropriate that he was here now, so close to the end of the year. The end of everything. He couldn’t help laughing, breath escaping in a brief puff of steam in the cold air. It sounded melodramatic. Itwasmelodramatic.

He felt a little better by the time he got to the summit and looked down over the city. The dark line of the trees first, and then the buildings beyond, the faint glowing lights in just a few windows as the earliest risers started getting up to get ready to make the city hum and whirr in its familiar patterns. This was the city he’d made his home for so long, the city he’d sacrificed his youth and his health and to some extent his personal life to. It had paid him back: he would never have to worry aboutmoney, he had the eternal adoration of a few million people in Quebec after bringing home the first Cup to Canada in decades.

Matt exhaled. His hands gripped the cold metal of the observation railing. It was so cold it was almost painful, but he welcomed it. He had to get it together. When everything came down to it, he had had a pretty damn good life. The uncertainty of the next few seasons was nothing. Aiden leaving him alone was nothing. He just had to put it in perspective.

He was older. He wasn’t as weak as he had been as a child. Part of him had been preparing for this. Part of him had known it was going to happen. Part of him simply couldn’t bear to have proved his parents and Milesright.

He flipped through his mental file of Marcus Aurelius, searching for something to focus on that would help him feel—something. Anything. He came to the mental image of the rock with the waves crashing over it.“It stands unmoved and the raging of the sea falls still around it.”That was how Matt would have to be.

He was going to be okay.

He had to be okay—he didn’t have much of a choice.

Whether or not that was just lying to himself again, he’d have to wait and see.

Chapter Ten

January

Even before player assistance, Matt had never been a big partier. It wasn’t that he was shy, or even introverted—he was just quiet, and he liked to be in control of himself at all times. Hockey culture wasn’t very friendly to that kind of personality, because most of the team bonding events involved alcohol or coke or both. There had been a time when he’d forced himself to participate. During the height of the worst of it, he hadn’t been partying so much as trying to numbeverything. And after it, he was usually pretty careful about how much he was drinking or why.

He was still careful, even though it had been a long time since he had had what he considereda problem. So normally, even on a New Year’s, out with the team, Matt was pacing himself and keeping an eye on things. The last night he’d gone out with Aiden and the team—that had been the first time he’d really let himself loose, the first time he’d really relaxed in longer than he could remember. And now Aiden was gone, and Matt was...

Matt was out at a club in Vieux-Montreal, trying to put a stoic face on things. Matt was in the middle of the party, chatting with Cormier about how he’d had to take a few face-offs after Koski got kicked out of the circle last night, giving him a few tips about ways to shift his weight so that he had a better chance of muscling the opposing center off of the puck. Matt was acting as a wingman for Jammer, who was chatting up the bartender. Matt was nursing drinks for longer than he really should have been, and Matt was maybe a little drunk, but nowhere near as drunk as he should have been, for a night like this.

“Happy New Year!” Jammer yelled in his face, and when the clock chimed, said, “Excuse me,” to the bartender, and kissed Matt on the lips. It wasn’t a real kiss: not with tongue, friendly and joking more than anything else. Jammer was a big guy, at least five inches taller than Matt, and having his hands on either side of Matt’s face had only reminded Matt of all of the times Aiden had leaned down to kiss him like that.

Matt, blinking, said, “Happy New Year, Jams,” as soon as he could breathe again, and then, “I’m gonna go outside for some fresh air.”

It was a beautiful night, cold and clear, and for a second Matt wished that he could smoke. Something to do with his hands, something to burn the clenching pain out of his lungs. He leaned, instead, against the stone wall of the building and inhaled the crisp night air. He wondered what Aiden was doing and immediately shoved the thought ruthlessly down.

Whatever Aiden was doing, it had nothing to do with him. Not anymore.

That didn’t make it any easier to bear. His knee was aching, too, so Matt sat down on the stairs leading up to the bar and put his head in his hands. It was stupid: his whole team was in there, having a fantastic time. The kids he’d been carefully watching through this whole year. The veterans who’d had his back for many long seasons. Matt knew he should go back in there and enjoy it. This could potentially be his last New Year’s in Montreal, and if hedidn’tenjoy it, if he let Aiden ruin this for him too, he’d probably regret it forever. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Behind him, he heard the door open, soft footsteps on the stone. He didn’t look up as someone sat down next to him and said, “Safy?”

“Hello, Jack,” Matt said, with his head still in his hands.

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