Chapter 32
ASHER REYNOLDS
I’m sitting on a sofa that I used to take naps on last year in between classes.
Unfortunately, it’s not exactly conducive to me grabbing some zzz’s right now.
Especially with the two people at the other end making out aggressively.
The apartment that I called home with Kellan and Coop is crawling with what looks like every single person who’s still in town on the Friday night before the semester officially ends.
Sitting on the dingy sofa and watching the party unfold around me is surreal. It feels like a lifetime ago that I hung out in this apartment, playing Mario Kart with the guys.
And now? My idea of a perfect night is hanging out on a different sofa with a snuggly five-year-old and a ruggedly handsome man who makes my stomach do weird little swoops whenever our arms brush.
At least, during the nights when I get the privilege of sitting right next to him.
Lyla has a lot of thoughts about our seating arrangements depending on what we’re watching or playing.
If it’s a card game, I sit on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, with Chase on one side of the sofa and Lyla on the other.
For movies that she’s already seen that have a sad part, she insists on sitting between us and making sure that we’re all cuddled with pieces of her baby blanket.
When we watch hockey, she’s so darn cute, usually pacing in front of the coffee table and getting really close to the tv so that she can focus on the fast-moving puck.
Sitting in this apartment, I feel like a completely different guy than I was last year. Losing Olivia. Hurting my leg. Meeting Chase and Lyla.
Hockey’s always given me a focus for my wandering, introspective mind.
A place where I can put all the questions running through my brain down and just skate and pass and shoot instead of thinking about the world.
Without hockey for the last few months, there’s been nowhere for me to escape from myself.
But I found solace.
I found a place. I found people–a person–who’s finally helped make it all make sense.
The sofa next to me sags under the weight of another heavy body.
I pull my focus to what I hope isn’t a third joining the voracious makeout next to me, relieved to see that it’s Coop instead.
“Dude, I really did not expect so many people to show up tonight,” he says, marveling at the crush of bodies that’s growing by the minute.
I shoot him a smile. It’s good to see him, even if I wish there weren’t sixty other people here, too. “A night to party with the fourth place team in the league? Who’d miss that chance?”
He pushes his shoulder into mine. “Only until you’re back.” He glances down at my leg then. “How’s the leg been? Feeling good?”
I participated in limited practice during the last week of the fall semester, but I was still no-contact. I stretch my leg out straight and rest it on top of the worn coffee table. “Good as new.”
“That’s awesome, man. But it’s a bummer that they aren’t going to let you play in the Blizzard Cup.” I feel him. Last year, we were not our best selves in that tournament. I’d love to be able to help, but since it doesn’t count toward our standings, it doesn’t make sense for me to risk playing.
I think that we’re just going to sit in silence, watching the party around us when he says, “Where have you been lately? I feel like I don’t see you except for practice.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I’m not a good liar.
I get too in the weeds, and it all falls apart in my mind.
But I can’t tell him the truth about me and Chase.
And not because I’m embarrassed or confused, but because I would never do that to his career.
Or put Coop in an awful position to keep a secret that isn’t fair to him.
It all feel so simple when we’re together, but it’s moments like this that make me realize what a fucking tightrope I’m walking.
Still, it’s not like I can help that we’re neighbors, so I decide to go with that.
“Mostly just rehab and class. Plus, I see Chase sometimes since he lives right next to me.”
I look at him, trying to gauge his response when luckily, he’s the one who changes the subject. “Speaking of pro hockey players, I hung out with Kellan last week.”
I grab onto his words like a lifeline. “Yeah? How was that?”
Coop’s whole face lights up. I know that he’s always respected Kellan a ton. Admired him, even. “It was cool. He got me, Dane, and West tickets to a game, and we hung out with him afterward. Wells was there, too,” he tacks on.
“They seem to be doing really well. I’m happy for them.” It can’t be easy being in a closeted relationship at the pro level, and I’m glad that will never be my fate. Even if I had the talent to go pro, I don’t think that it’s in my future.
It’s interesting, then, the look that flashes across Coop’s face. But then it’s gone when he says, “Yeah, me too. I’m sure that Kellan’s being exposed to a whole new world, and it’s great that he already has someone who he can trust.”
“Plus, it helps that we know Wells isn’t after his money,” I add somberly.
I can’t help but think about Chase. He met Lyla’s mom during his first year in the pros, and it ended in possibly the most crushing way for him.
It would have to suck to realize that once the money and fame were gone, the person you thought that you were going to build a life with was only there conditionally.
Coop drains the remainder of his beer and looks around the room, toward where a group of players are huddled together. “West isn’t playing in the Blizzard Cup either. He had a scan earlier this week, and his shoulder’s too fucked up.”
Coop is in a weird mood tonight. I can’t quite place it, but he’s hopping around conversation topics like we’re two people who are just making smalltalk.
And maybe that’s my fault. I feel like there’s a giant elephant in my life–a god of a man named Wyatt Chase–who’s become my biggest focus, and it’s hard not to be able to talk about him.
But I do respect that he never shares personal player information related to his work as the physical therapist, so this is news to me. I don’t have to feel like I’m lying when I say, “That really sucks. How bad is it?”
Coop shakes his head, and I don’t miss the disgust in his voice. “He re-aggravated his old injury. They’re still debating whether or not he needs surgery. He told Zane when it happened, but he blew him off.”
God, I hate hearing that guy’s name. Not only does he seem hell-bent on making Chase’s life harder, but now he’s fucking up West’s future prospects?
I look toward West, who’s nursing a beer in the kitchen and looking as dour as I’ve ever seen him.
“That dude’s a menace. How did we never realize how shitty he is at his job? ”
Coop scrunches up his face. “No one wants to seem like a tattle-tale.” I get what he’s saying. There’s a code among players. Plus, no one wants to seem like the wet blanket who can’t handle the pressure. Or the pain.
I lean away from Coop so that I can punch him in the shoulder. “Guess you’ll just have to show up for the first string like I know you can.”
I’m not sure if my words placate him, but he smiles anyway. “Yeah. This season really isn’t shaping up like we thought it would. From the finals last year to a barely .500 season. God, I wish that Kellan would have taken advantage of the new rules and played for another year.”
I’ve thought the same thing more than once.
With the new eligibility rules, NCAA hockey players can suit up for five seasons.
Obviously, anyone who has a shot at the pros wants to take it, but it’s going to have a lot of guys getting minors in random subjects just so they can live out their college dreams for a little while longer.
“We’re gonna be okay.”
“Have you thought about it? Staying on for another season?” Coop clarifies, looking at me with his big, puppy dog eyes.
I feel like I have a rock in my stomach.
Sure, I’ve thought about it, but that would mean a whole other year of having to keep my relationship a secret.
I don’t want to do that. Hell, I don’t even know if I want to play college hockey for an extra year, even if Coach wanted to keep me on.
“I don’t know if it’s in the cards for me. ”
Coop nods, taking my words on the chin. “I get it, dude. The grind is a lot. Have you thought about what you want to do after you graduate?”
It’s not something that we usually talk about.
Not just me and Coop, but any of the guys.
The dream for most players is to go pro or get picked up by a minor league team, but it’s still a slim chance at best. Most of us don’t want to face that once we graduate, we’re former college hockey players who had a shining moment in the sun that’s over now.
Sure, we may get free drinks at bars every now and again if we stay local to our team, but career-wise, the next best thing is coaching or something hockey-adjacent.
A lot of guys just end up in competitive beer leagues while they try to adjust to office jobs, wondering why they never had the stuff to make it.
Zane comes to mind again. He played college hockey, and now he’s an assistant coach. But that dude is one of the unhappiest people that I’ve ever met, so who really knows.
What really sucks is that I can’t have any type of real future with Chase until I’m off the team, and once I’m off the team, I have no idea what my life is going to look like.
Since I could skate–and it helped a hell of a lot that I was big for my age–it’s been easy to just go with the flow and keep my head down.
“So, I’ll take that as a no?”
I look toward Coop, who’s studying me. Right. Because I completely turned inward thinking about things that I wish I could tell him but can’t.