Page 84 of Actions and Reactions
October
The season openerturns out to be much more entertaining than anyone could’ve thought.
Santa and Charlie fly down for it, which is nice. We haven’t seen them since Bear’s wedding. They’re impressed by the locker room,as they should be, since Si did an amazing job, and when they ask, of course I tell them it was him. But thankfully the dire situation of our defense grabs their attention, and Santa walks over to Brick to talk him through the nerves.
As it stands right now, Fire and Mater are with Picard, Benny and me in the first line, andBates and Brick are in the second line where Santa and Charlie were impersonating a wall last season.
It becomes clear very early on in the game that that wall is no longer on the ice. Anaheim are getting through Brick and Bates easily, but Bear is holding his own, thank fucking Christ. That is until the second half of the first period when they get one past him.
I can see Brick starting to unravel under the pressure, and I feel so helpless sitting on the bench and not knowing the right words to say to him to get him back into the mindset he was in during pre-season.
Laney calls a timeout and the guys come over. I see he’s saying stuff to everyone but looking more in Brick’s direction, but then out of nowhere Santa appears behind him and claps his shoulder then murmurs something in his ear.
The kid’s shoulders drop, and I know he’s my fucking age, but he’s still a lot greener than I am. He shouldn’t be, but the assholes in Detroit sent him to their farm team when they found out he’s gay—motherfuckers. They stole years of experience from him, and now he has to play catch-up.
But whatever it is Santa says to him seems to light a fire under his ass—well, maybe not exactly. He’s not hyperactive or super aggressive or anything, he’s just more focused.
Focused enough to steal the puck from their center forward and sling it over to Milkman, who catches everyone off guard and slaps the puck to the back of the net.
After that, the game is a lot more fun.
I get an assist and two goals, Jules scores one and Twocox the other. It’s a good fucking day, and I see themshow the replay of Dad’s reaction to my second goal during a commercial time out—he loses his shit naturally, and chest bumps poor Mich who surprisingly doesn’t fall on his ass. Then I see Mom hit Dad over the head, and that’s when the video cuts off. I have to shake my head at them just like Ally was doing, they’re so fucking weird.
We have another home game two days later against Toronto, so I get to spend two whole afternoons with my parents, Mich, and Ally. They go to Sterling’s concert, of course, and we go to a bowling alley and to play mini golf, which is as ridiculous a plan as it sounds.
The best one in both is Mich, which he boasts about endlessly with Mom hyping him up, and Dad can’t stop laughing over how tiny everything looks around him in both places.
Pictures of the five of us come out, just as planned, and from what I can tell, the general public starts to love Mich and Dad’s relationship—jackpot.
Seeing how my plan worked, I suddenly get why Silas chose PR as a career. The strategy side of it is kind of similar to hockey. You have to lead your opponent—or the general public—to where you want them to be. You get them to see something you want them to see, and it’s a rush when it pans out exactly as you wanted.
It just makes me admire him more than I already did, and I didn’t think that was possible. But then two weeks later, while we’re on a ten-day roadie up the East Coast, I get his letter, and I know how fucking brave he had to be to send it.
Milkman finds me after I skip the team dinner. I’ve washed my face twice now, so I doubt he can see I’ve been crying, but there must be something on my face that clues him in.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as he walks over and sits on his bed, facing me.
“Silas just sent me a letter, and it’s... a lot.”
A beat of silence passes, and then he sits next to me on the edge of my mattress.
“You wanna talk about it?” He’s so careful with me. I can tell he has no clue what to say or do, and I appreciate that more than anything, because even not knowing what to do, he still manages to do the right thing.
“It’s so fucking complicated, man.”
“You two have a lot of history.” He nods and wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me a little.
“We do,” I confirm and mimic his nod. Then I let out a careful breath—I really don’t want to cry anymore—and bring the phone up so I can read off the pictures he sent me. “I’m just gonna read it to you.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, and keeps holding me.
“Dear Vinny, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said in the hospital—both times—over the past weeks. I’ve also realized some things about myself that I want to share with you. Mostly because you have always been, and I fear you always will be, the first person I think of when I want to talk about something. Good or bad, you’re always on my mind.
“It was easier to pretend you weren’t before, but now Ican’t, and honestly I don’t want to. There’s no reason why I should pretend you’re not the love of my life or my soulmate. It’s a fact I don’t want to deny anymore.” I take a deep breath because here comes the hard part. “You said I’m always going to love hockey more than you, and I want to tell you that’s not true.
“The only reason I fell in love with hockey so completely was because you did too and because it was something we always did together. Before that, I played and trained because I wanted to make my parents proud and I wanted them to know that what they wanted for me was importanttome. But as soon as it became something I got to do with you, it became what I lived for.
“I understand that wasn’t healthy now, and losing it destroyed me. It obliterated the person I was, and all that was left was anger and resentment. When you came to the hospital all those years ago and told me you were going to give up something I could never havefor me, anger and resentment were what came out. I don’t think I will ever be able to apologize enough for everything I said, but I want you to know that my reaction had nothing to do with you.
