Page 21 of I've Walked Where You've Been
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“When did you even get this sassy? Am I that bad of an influence? Oh, my God…my sweet summer baby child…have I corrupted you?”
Ethan finally turned to give him a flat look.
“I really have, haven’t I? I don’t know whether to be proud or horrified.”
“I should be compensated monetarily for having to put up with you.”
Matty barked out a laugh. “Oh my God, you’re so mean. I love it.”
Ethan snorted, turning back to his work.
It turned out that there was no amount of pestering that would get Ethan to reveal what the trip was all about. Matty didn’t even have a clue until they reached the TD Garden, and he was suddenly surrounded by people in Boston Bruins jerseys.
“Did you bring me to a hockey game?” Matty gasped. He’d never played hockey—it wasn’t the kind of sport you could just get into with minimal equipment—but he’d always been a fan of watching it. He’d never attempted to talk about it with Ethan, but Ethan had seen him groan or cheer as he watched a game on his laptop, tucked into a mound of pillows on his bed.
“Yeah. I mean, you watch enough of it, thought you might want to see a game live.”
“Holy fuck,doI. I’ve never been to one before.”
Ethan raised his eyebrows but didn’t verbalise his surprise. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Ethan’s family was significantly better off than Matty’s.
“This is awesome. They’re playing the Flyers?”
“Uh…yeah, the orange ones? From Philadelphia?”
“The orange ones,” Matty repeated, laughing. “Oh, hell, yes. Hope the Bruins getpummelled.”
The tickets weren’t for seats along the glass, obviously, but they were pretty good regardless—up a few rows from the visitor’s bench so that centre ice was in front of them, the goals flanking on each far side.
The atmosphere was electric, a sea of Bruin black and gold with a few brave spots of orange. The game itself, too, was exactly what Matty would expect from a Bruins and Flyers game—vicious and fast, with plenty of bodies slammed into the boards.
“How do they not get, like, concussed?” Ethan asked, eyes wide, as another Flyer was plastered against the side of the rink with a bang that rang across the arena.
“They have a lot of protocols and rules about aiming for the head. See how they slam shoulder to shoulder? That’s a legal hit—like, it’s allowed. If they aim for the head, they get a penalty. Or thrown out, if it’s bad enough.”
“It feels like they’re all bad enough,” Ethan said dubiously.
Matty smiled, not being able to help the rush of affection that went through him at Ethan’s concern. He didn’t even try to dampen it from the bond, and Ethan turned towards him, blushing.
The best part of the game, in Matty’s humble opinion, was the fight that broke out on the ice during the third period, the Bruins down two goals and frustrated enough to start making their hits nasty. The whole crowd roared like Romans taken over by bloodlust at the Colosseum.
Ethan sat up in his seat, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, red lips parted, and Matty had the sudden, obliterating urge to reach over and kiss him, to know what that startled, awed expression felt like against his own skin.
“They’re going to kill each other,” Ethan said, snapping Matty out of it.
Matty turned his eyes towards the ice, where the two players had fallen in a heap onto the ice, the linemen separating them and steering them towards the penalty boxes.
“Nah, they’re fine.”
“This sport is literally insane. What the fuck,” Ethan said, a wide grin on his face.
“I know, right?” Matty laughed.
Even though the Bruins ended up losing, the crowd left the game amped up. Matty could feel it like static bouncing on his skin, as if he’d spark as soon as he touched anybody.
The hour-long bus ride back to Brown was filled with Ethan asking him questions about how the game worked, about the rules, about which teams Matty supported. By the time they reached their dorm room, Ethan seemed to have satiated some of his curiosity, but he was still glowing with some combination of adrenaline and happiness that made Matty’s heart race.
