Page 93 of Goaltender Interference

“What are you doing out here?” Jack asked. He often sounded sarcastic, even when he was being serious. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. He sat down next to Matt, his lanky legs stretched out in front of him. “The party’s inside, Cap.”

“Yeah, well, I just... I don’t know. I didn’t want to bring down the mood.”

They sat in silence for a while, although the streets were anything but. Montreal loved a party, especially in the winter, and the streets echoed with the sounds of music and fireworks and people laughing and yelling. It was probably a difficult thing to be so miserable in a city like Montreal on New Year’s, but by god, Matt was managing.

It waskindof Jack to come out here. He had been having a strong rookie season so far, considering. He wasn’t exactly a lock for the Rookie of the Year award, but he was in the conversation. He had a more than respectable forty-one points so far, and if he could avoid getting injured, would probably hit the sixty-point mark in his first season. His defensive numbers definitely could’ve used some work, but that would come as he put on a little more muscle. He was already going to be the 1C next year, whether Matt was there or not.

“What’s the deal?” Jack said, after the silence started to get a little awkward.

Matt still hadn’t picked his head up out of his hands. He wondered, if he looked hard enough at the ground, whether he could bore through the stone and escape into the sewers. It was something that might’ve happened in those stupid comic books Aiden was always reading. Jesus, he had to stop thinking about Aiden. “We’ve talked about the captaincy, right?”

“Right...”

“It’s a lot. I don’t know. Don’t make the mistakes I did. There’s a lot of things I haven’t talked about and a lot of things I can’t talk about. But... I don’t know. Don’t find yourself at thirty-six wondering what the hell you’re going to do with your life after hockey. Don’t let someone...”

He couldn’t bring himself to look up, but he could feel Jack staring at him like he’d grown three heads. The kid really didn’t look like a hockey player at all, out of his pads. He was tall and lanky and weedy, and his features were almost delicate, the kind of face that made him very popular with teenaged fans. The kind of face he’d have to grow into, the kind of face that definitely drew more than a little chirping on the ice.

“Don’t let someonewhat?” Jack asked, mystified.

“Don’t listen to me. I don’t know. It’s late, and I’m old as fuck, and I’m being...morose.”

“Got it,” Jack said, and Matt could see him from the corner of his eye, making a check mark gesture. “Don’t be morose. But Safy...why are youtellingme this stuff?”

“I just... I’ve been here a long time, Jack. I’ve been the captain a long time. And I have a feeling that you’re going to be the captain. Maybe not the next captain, if I’m gone next season, but at some point very soon.”

Jack rocked back like Matt had slapped him. “What? No! You’re not going anywhere. You can’t.”

“It might not be in my control.” He finally picked his head up out of his hands. Hewasn’tdrunk, but he almost felt like it, overwhelmed with the melancholy of the evening, of the weight of the legacy that he knew he’d have to pass on soon.

“You’re not goinganywhere, Safy,” Jack said again, his eyes huge. He looked nothing like Aiden, and somehow, Matt was still reminded of him anyway, the same way that everything reminded him of Aiden, lately. Jesus, he had to get it together. Jack was saying, holding out his hand, “Come on, Cap. You can’t just sit out here being sad all night. Not on New Year’s.”

“See?” Matt said, a little dry, but as seriously as he could manage it. “This is why you’re going to be the captain one day.”

Jack abruptly let go of his arm as he was pulling Matt to his feet, and Matt stumbled and caught himself. “Stop saying that,” he said, as they both walked toward the door. “Seriously, Safy. We still need you here.Ineed you here. What am I going to do when we only have like one other line that’s a real threat? I’m going to get murdered out there.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Matt squared his shoulders, looking at the door. It might have been his last New Year’s with the team, it might not have. But he had to make the best of it. He had to be there for the team. “You’ll gain the muscle, and you’ll figure out how to deal with being the focus of everyone’s checks, and you’re gonna be fucking great, kid.”

Jack was looking at him again, serious and strangely sad. “It means a lot to me that you think that. But also, if you keep beingthissincere, I’m going to... I don’t know. Come on, Safy, let’s find Rémi. I bet he’s hiding in a corner somewhere.”

“Good plan,” Matt said, and then he was once again enveloped by the noise of the club.

By the time he got home, it was almost three a.m. and Matt was a little drunk. Some of the guys had been planning to keep the party going at Manny’s place, but Matt had begged off and caught a cab home. He’d considered walking, seeing whether the cold night air could knock some sense into him, but it would have taken him an hour and he was already exhausted. He was so fucking thankful that the driver didn’t ask him any questions, but probably whatever Matt’s face looked like had scared him off. He wasn’t sure what thatwas, but considering the way he felt right now, it probably wasn’t good. It didn’t help that the driver had cranked the heat up all of the way, and Matt’s face felt hot, his stomach nauseous.

The chill, as Matt stumbled from the steamy car to the stoop of his building, didn’t help. Nor did taking the stairs instead of the elevator. He put one foot in front of the other, trying not tothink about the rest of the team, probably having a great time without him; trying not to think about Aiden at all.

He shut the door of the condo behind him and leaned back against it, eyes closed. It had been a long time since he’d cried, and he wasn’t going to do it now, but emotions were rising in his chest with the kind of intensity and fury that he wasn’t used to anymore, after years of therapy and studied stoicism. It was just—it was so fucking quiet in here, so fucking lonely, and he hadn’t even realized how much until Aiden had come back into his life and left it again.

Aiden. Aiden. Aiden,echoed in his head, over and over again, a cruel and mocking song. The empty rooms held a million stupid reminders of him. Aiden in the kitchen, melting into an embrace before half-heartedly pushing him away because a timer was going off. Aiden on the couch, curled up against Matt’s side while they watched a movie. Aiden in the bedroom, naked and vulnerable and begging. What the fuck was wrong with him, that he couldn’taccept that this was over?

His feet were moving without his brain’s input, into the bedroom, where Aiden had taken over his closet and dressers. Before he could think about what he was doing, Matt was ripping Aiden’s clothes off of their hangers, throwing them on the floor in a haphazard pile. He didn’t know what he was going to do with them, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that it was unbearable having them there.

He yanked open the drawers and banged his knuckles painfully on the edge of wood, abrading the skin, all of the things Aiden had left behind flying through the air. He didn’t know why he was doing it or what he was hoping to accomplish, only that he was furious and felt the loss like a physical ache, and there was nowhere else for any of those feelings to go. But he could remove the remainders of Aiden—from the room. Even if he couldn’t forget.

When he was done, he was breathing hard, shaking like he’d run a marathon. He was holding a singular sweater, a dark green cable-knit that made Aiden look like a lonely fisherman. Matt buried his face in it: it still smelled like Aiden, faintly but unmistakably, the sense memory like a punch to the side of Matt’s head. He took another deep breath and the fury he’d felt bled slowly out of him, and all he was now was deeply sad and more than a little embarrassed at a display no one had even seen.

That was the thing: Matt would always know it happened. Matt was aware of his weakness, his grief.

Matt set Aiden’s sweater down on his bed. He hadn’t changed the sheets since Aiden had left. He would do the laundry tomorrow. That would be admitting that it was over, but maybe that was what he needed to do to grieve, to moveon. Right now, he knelt on the floor and, slowly, started the process of folding the clothes, stacking them carefully. It didn’t quite make up for the tantrum, but it made him feel a little more like himself, to put his life back in order.

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