Page 4 of Overtime Goal
For the rest of today and tomorrow, instead of chasing pucks and telling bullshit stories with the guys, I’d enjoy a few naps and start the new book I bought on the trip. With any luck, clearing my head would give me clarity.
Hurting Riley was the last thing I wanted to do, but in the month since LA, I hadn’t managed to come to terms with the situation. He’d made his feelings clear in one breathless, red-faced monologue full of variations on “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking,” “it was fun, but this isn’t me,” and “I don’t want to lose you as a friend, so we can’t let things get weird.” Then the kicker, the part that hurt worse than the rejection: “We can never talk about this again.”
I nodded and walked away, not because I agreed, but because there was nothing else to do. Pushing him to talk would have gotten us nowhere. I understood why he freaked out, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been painful. I hadn’t argued because somebody had to stay grounded, and I was in a better place to do that.
For the thousandth time, I thought about why I was upset. What happened wasn’t the problem; the issue was how Riley had responded to it. Our friendship was so important that it might kill me to lose it. Still, I wondered if that would be the inevitable fallout from a moment of poor judgment.Mypoor judgment, to be specific, because I should have known better. Since I was older and more experienced, I should have stopped it.
We were both good at pretending, so on the surface, everything seemed fine. But there were bad moments when it got to me, and I wondered if we’d already lost what held us together. This morning in Dallas had been like that.
He’d knocked on my door in the middle of the night, looking sexy as fuck with mussed brown hair and pillow creases marking his cheek. After I let him in, he asked to sleep on the couch, saying he’d had more bad dreams. I couldn’t turn him away, so I agreed.
I’d been fine until he peeled off his T-shirt while I talked him down from his nightmare. He’d been classic Riley, oblivious to the effect his bare chest had on my sanity. The harder I tried notto look, the more my eyes wandered. I practically bit through my tongue to keep from imagining how his skin might taste under my lips.
This morning, his hair had been even messier, and the pillow creases had been on the other cheek. He’d sat there shirtless, eating a banana. A fuckingbanana. Why the hell had I given it to him? While he took slow, oblivious bites, my dick got hard and my brain screamed that letting him stay had been a terrible idea.
I’d almost had my thoughts under control when he suddenly wanted to talk. Where the fuck had that come from? He’d seemed preoccupied after LA, so I wasn’t sure if he was still freaked out or just wanted closure. Either way, early morning in Texas wasn’t the right time.
Riley had always lived like the puck was on his stick and the net was wide open. He was bold and reckless in a way that had drawn me in since the day he joined the Warriors, but dealing with what we did wasn’t a breakaway rush. Maybe he hadn’t lived long enough to realize that, but with twelve years on him, I knew better than to try to solve a problem before I had any idea of how to deal with it.
I wasn’t avoiding the conversation to make him squirm. Instead, I was trying to protect what we had and make sure we didn’t lose the connection that mattered most. I knew I’d been moody, but if that was the only reason he wanted to talk, things wouldn’t end well.
This summer, after the playoffs, maybe we could sit down with plenty of drinks and hash things out. But until we decided how to move forward, I had one job besides hockey: stay calm, act as normal as possible, and keep a closer eye on Riles than ever.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it on the way home from the airport. After unpacking, I spent the afternoon doing laundry and finishing my book. Later, I was about to put a salmon fileton the grill when my phone buzzed. I considered not checking it, but who was I kidding? I wouldn’t be able to think about anything else until I looked.
RILEY: Came home and passed out. What’s up with me not having bad dreams during the day? Hope you’re doing all right. Want to work out in the morning?
I considered throwing my phone against the house, but that kind of childishness wouldn’t get us anywhere. Working out on a day off was a total nonstarter. Maybe I could say I had an appointment that might take most of the day. He knew I’d been doing some estate planning, so I could tell him my lawyer wanted a meeting.
Goddammit, though. Lying to Riley wasn’t something I wanted to do, and despite his stupid fuckboy act, he was smart as hell. He’d see right through my excuses.
Procrastination was one of my faults, so after dinner, I cleaned the kitchen before answering his text. I decided to tell the truth, that I was exhausted and needed another down day. We could see each other at Thursday morning’s skate.
But somewhere between deciding what to say and picking up the phone, my fingers developed a mind of their own.
LOGAN: I need a rest day, but how about coming over tomorrow night? We can watch a movie.
As soon as I hit send, I came to my senses. Why the fuck had I asked him to come over at night? The afternoon would be better. While I wondered how to suggest that, a reply came in.
RILEY: Sure. I can use a rest too. See you tomorrow night.
Fuck me and my stupid fingers.
3/
riley
I spentthe afternoon waiting for a text from Logan, napping too long, eating snacks I didn’t want, and scrolling my phone until my eyes ached. His message never came, which was no real surprise after the way he’d bolted from the airport. I’d pushed too hard in Dallas, trying to get him to talk at the worst possible time. Now the silence between us was like a glacier. I couldn’t forget the look he’d given me before disappearing into the bathroom, like I was a problem he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve. Still, I would’ve given anything for a text from him, some kind of hint our friendship was still alive.
Eventually, I gave in and texted him. It took over an hour to get a reply, a half-hearted invitation to come over the next night for a movie. I figured chances were even that he’d cancel at the last minute.
With nothing to do, I turned on the TV, but by nine o’clock, my nerves were fried. I needed to get out of my condo and stop obsessing about Logan. One perk of living downtown was easy access to nightlife, so I threw on dark jeans and a white shirt, then walked to my usual spot on West Chippewa. I hoped some loud music and a few drinks might get me out of my head.
Inside, I pushed through the crowd to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey and a Heineken. It didn’t take long to slip into my usual rhythm of smiling too much, making a lot of noise, and weaving through bodies like I owned the room.
A girl in a skintight blue dress grabbed my arm and asked if I played for the Warriors.
“No,” I said, putting on a grin. “But I’ve got a twin who does.”
