31. Kai
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
KAI
The January schedule is trying to kill me.
Three cities in six days, two home games in forty-eight hours.
Another game tomorrow, a flight to the West Coast Sunday.
In the middle of all this bullshit, Oskar and I have managed texts, stolen calls, and one weary video chat.
He fell asleep in the middle of it, cheek pressed to a hotel pillow, while I watched him breathe.
Today is a day off for the Condors. It should belong to Ozzy and me. Instead, the Fury are in Columbus, heading to Detroit tomorrow, and I’m standing in my living room with my second cup of coffee, looking out at Manhattan and trying to figure out my life.
Saturday. We’ll have an entire day before hockey takes over again.
I should be focusing on rest today. Instead, I’m thinking about Oskar. Which is becoming a problem.
The Condors are having a hell of a season, and so are the Fury. Everyone knows why. Oskar has taken them from dangerous into a legitimate nightmare. The bastard is just that good.
So am I. Which means that if we want to make it to the Laurentian Cup Finals, I’ll have to beat him.
The thought is a hard punch to the gut.
Sometime during this insane season, Oskar Olofsson stopped being a hot Swedish problem I hooked up with over the summer and became someone I can’t let go. And now I’m…
Nope.
I take a sip of coffee before my mind can finish that thought. While I swallow, my phone buzzes. It’s the damn Condors group chat.
JACE: Has anyone else noticed how grouchy Kai is? I think he’s missing Olofsson.
MCKAY: I’ve noticed. Are they really getting it on?
JACE: Dude, what planet were you born on?
NOAH: Wrong chat, boys.
While my mind starts skating on its rink, I thumb out a message.
KAI: Come on, Oskar’s just a friend.
Before I can hit send, their messages disappear.
What the actual fuck?
My stomach twists. Are they talking about us so much they’ve made a special group chat for it? They don’t know anything, so they’re either joking or trying to figure out if I’m sleeping with the enemy.
What would they say if they knew I was? And that Oskar isn’t my enemy?
I pace around the living room chewing on that, then stop in my tracks.
Hell, I don’t want to type “Oskar’s just a friend.” The thought of it makes me sick.
I sink into a chair. The last time I felt like this about anyone, my ex destroyed me. Oskar is nothing like my ex. I haven’t told him about me, but he must have noticed I’m not like most people. When I do tell him, what’s he supposed to say?
And if he says the wrong thing, I’ll be gutted. This time, I won’t survive.
Jesus.
Hobby room. Now.
I work on my latest LEGO set because it’s one of the best things to slow my racing mind. After an hour, I grab my phone and open the chat with my friends: Nico, Noah, Jace, Theo, and fucking McKay.
KAI: So you know, I’m seeing Oskar Olofsson.
I stare at it until my vision blurs.
Delete.
Twenty minutes later, I’m back into my LEGO when the phone buzzes.
OZZY: I’ve been thinking about you. Are you getting some rest on your day off? I’m about to take my pregame nap, but can I call you tonight when we get back to the hotel?
The pressure in my chest eases.
KAI: You’d better.
KAI: Kick Columbus’s ass for me. I’ll be watching.
OZZY: We plan to. They made us Fury-ous when they stole that game last fall.
I laugh way too hard for someone who’s alone.
KAI: I’m seriously impressed. You’re playing with the English language, and it makes sense.
OZZY: Thank you, tutor. Talk soon.
KAI: Sleep well.
Now I’m sending hearts. Christ.
A few texts from him, and I feel like myself again.
God help me.
The next few hours seem like days. Building the LEGO takes more effort than usual, and I curse when I click a piece into the wrong place. Once I fix that, I take a nap of my own.
Later, after I eat Chinese takeout and watch Ozzy shut out Columbus, I try to read while I wait for him to call. When his name finally pops up on the screen, I answer so quickly I nearly drop the phone.
He looks exhausted but happy, sitting in a hotel room like the ones I’ve slept in a thousand times.
“Hey.” His voice is a low rumble. “We did it.”
“You were incredible,” I tell him. “A shutout against those bastards? I’ve never done that. Kick ass, Ozzy!”
A smile spreads across his face. “Thanks, baby. That means a lot.”
“You should be able to sleep well tonight.”
“After talking to you, there’s no doubt,” he says.
My chest starts tingling, so I put a hand there, hoping the warmth will calm it down. Time for a change of subject.
“You guys are playing on Friday night,” I say. “Will you fly home after the game?”
He nods. “The schedule says we should land about two-thirty a.m.”
I’d like to see him, but we’ll have a better weekend if we don’t stay up all night. “Still want to hang out Saturday?”
“I’m living for that, baby.”
More tingling.
I ignore it. “When you get back, go home and sleep. Then text me when you wake up on Saturday.”
“Sounds perfect. I don’t want to be too worn out to do you any good.”
The tingling moves up my neck.
“Know what you want to do?” I ask.
“Spend time with you. Unless you have something else in mind, we could stay home all day. Then I’ll spend the night so I can give you a proper send-off on Sunday morning.”
“That sounds perfect. I’ll be able to feel you all the way to California.”
He closes his eyes and moans. “Won’t it be great when we can be together every day this summer?”
“The best,” I say. “We can run our own lives for a change.”
After we beat Tampa on Thursday night, I talk the boys into grabbing a drink.
Bad idea. I’m so confused about Ozzy, how I feel versus what might happen, that I throw my usual limit of one beer out the window.
Everyone else follows my lead, and when we show up at Friday morning’s skate, none of us are ourselves.
My head is a dull, throbbing drum, so the bright lights feel like a personal attack.
After warm-up drills, Coach Holmer stands at center ice with his arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face. It’s the look of a man who wasn’t born yesterday.
“Let’s see if we can bring some of last night’s energy into a scrimmage,” he says. “White versus Teal.”
A loud groan echoes around the rink. Looking pale, Jace raises his hand. “Coach, could we do some flow drills? Our passing was a little weak last night.”
Holmer’s presses his lips together before saying, “Good observation, Castillo. Watch your passing while we play.”
Jace’s defeated expression should be funny, but it’s not. I feel too shitty to laugh.
Five minutes later, I’m in goal for Team White. Theo and McKay are two of my teammates, a disaster in the making. The way McKay’s moving, you’d think his skates are made of lead, and Theo looks like he got run over on his way in. Theo wins the faceoff and sends the puck to McKay.
McKay’s stick is there, but he’s misjudged the angle. The puck slides past his blade and right into Noah’s path. Unfortunately, Noah’s on Team Teal, and he’s already halfway to our net. Worse, he only drank water last night.
I drop into a butterfly and make the save. Easy, but getting up isn’t. My joints are stiff, and my core’s a little weak.
Nico, also on Team Teal, gets his stick on the puck and weaves through three of our guys. It works, which shows his skill and says a lot about how bad our defense is. He sends a perfect pass to Jace, who looks like he’s about to barf. He misses the puck and watches it go past.
Coach blows his whistle, which sounds as disappointed as he looks.
“What the fuck, Castillo?” he shouts, though he’s smiling. “Looked like you were swatting at a fly, not a puck. Do better.”
For the next ten minutes, we play more like a junior squad than an HFNA team. Passes go to empty spots on the ice, and pucks bounce off sticks like they’re covered in grease.
Jace picks Theo’s pocket so smoothly he never feels a thing. I’ve stopped every shot, but it’s wearing me out. Hell, I’d be missing half of them if everyone else wasn’t lagging too.
Then it happens: a turnover at our blue line. Jace gets the puck and rushes toward me, passing to Nico at the last minute. Nico one-times it hard. I slide left and throw up my glove, but I’m too slow. The puck hits the back of the net before I can grab it.
Fuck me. My head’s pounding, and my whole body aches. I just let in a goal during a scrimmage against my teammates, most of them more hungover than I am. This is shameful.
Finally, Holmer ends the misery. His expression is one of profound disappointment.
“Feeling okay, Kai?” he asks.
“Little slow this morning, Coach. That’s all.”
“You and everyone else.” He looks around and shakes his head. “Scrimmage is over, boys. Get your asses on the bikes and sweat it out before you leave.” He finds McKay and points at him. “If you ever miss a pass that easy again, you’re buying dinner for the team and coaching staff.”
McKay, who drank the most, races off the ice looking very green.
All the way home, I wonder why I talked everyone into going out. Then I remember Jace’s disappearing message: Has anyone else noticed how grouchy Kai is? I think he’s missing Olofsson.
Shit.
I’m up early the next morning, too wired to stay in, so I walk from Chelsea to Soho and back. My phone buzzes when I’m drying off after a hot shower. The bathroom clock reads 10:03.
NICO: Let’s play basketball today. Packy and I made reservations at the courts on 19th for 2:00. Afterward, you can come to our place and hang out. Dinner’s on us. Usual suspects are coming. Can we count on you?
As much as I’d like to work off some stress and chill with the boys, I’m not sure. If I go, it will be another week before I see Ozzy.
I could invite him along. The “usual suspects” are our friend group, and I’ve already told them Ozzy and I hang out. But if they’re suspicious we’re doing more, bringing him would only make things worse.
Better to think this through. I couldn’t sign him up without asking, anyway.
KAI: Can I let you know in a couple of hours? Need to check on something.
NICO: Sure. Can you tell us by 12?
KAI: Yes. Thanks.
I water the plants, clean the bathroom, and look at my phone. It’s 10:59, but Ozzy didn’t get home until the middle of the night. If I don’t hear from him by noon, I’ll call.
I sit down with my LEGO, but it’s tough to focus with so much going on in my head.
My nerves have been frayed into live wires under my skin.
Playing basketball would burn some of it off.
After that, I’ll be able to think more clearly and get my thoughts together.
That will be a lot better than ruining the day by acting weird around Ozzy.
Damn it.
I pick up my phone and send two messages. The first goes to Nico.
KAI: I’ll meet you at the courts at 2. Thanks for the invite.
The next one goes to Ozzy.
KAI: I’m so sorry, but the guys invited me to something this afternoon, and I said yes before I thought it through. Dinner’s involved, so I don’t know how long I’ll be tied up. I hate to do this, but could we put off getting together until next weekend? I’ll be back Saturday afternoon.
I have time to make a cup of chamomile tea before my phone buzzes.
OZZY: I was in the shower. Is everything okay with you guys?
KAI: Nothing’s wrong. Just them being them.
He starts typing, but then the bubbles disappear. Over the next couple of minutes, he starts and stops several times before a message finally comes through.
OZZY: That sucks. I’m sorry it has to eat up your free day. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, so I’m really disappointed. But I understand team things are important.
Fuck.
I feel awful. Because he’s disappointed, and he’s trying not to make me feel worse. And because I’m so fucking confused.
But I can’t let him see me when my head is like this. I don’t want to ruin things, and if he starts asking what’s wrong, I might tell him.
Nope.
KAI: I’ve been looking forward to it too. Thanks for being so understanding. I promise nothing will get in the way next week. Sorry, Ozzy.
OZZY: I’m sad, but it will be fine. We can stay in touch while you’re in California, right?
KAI: Sure. This is only for today.
And I mean it. Every fucking word.
KAI: I’ll text you tomorrow night after we get to LA.
OZZY: Please do. I’ll worry if I don’t hear from you.
KAI: I promise.
OZZY: Okay. Good luck today. I’ll miss you.
KAI: You too. Talk to you soon.
I fight the urge to throw my phone across the room. Instead, I scrub the counters even though they’re already clean. When that doesn’t make me feel better, I strip the bed, change the sheets, and tidy the hobby room. Anything to keep moving.
In the shower, all I can think about is Oskar sitting alone in his apartment, pretending this doesn’t hurt. And knowing I’m the reason it does.