Moonlighter

30. Eric

ERIC

“Great work today,” Chip says, as always. He’s setting up the stationary bike for our last exercise. “The left knee has good extension. Good flexion. I told you this was going well.”

“Yeah you did.” Although I’m still weeks away from competing. But it’s late November, and—God willing—my team will still be skating into June.

And then there’s my other knee. “Hey, Chip? Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“What do you know about injections for arthritis?” If Gino’s right about pain relief, it’s something I might want to try.

“Injections?” He adjusts the stationary bike we’re using next. “Who’s trying to sell you on that?”

“Nobody,” I say quickly. “But I heard they can reduce pain and swelling.”

“They can,” he says, and my heart actually leaps. “But corticosteroids can mimic some banned substances. So you might need a waiver for that treatment.”

That sound you hear is my hopes being dashed again. Nobody wants to mess around with the banned substances list.

“But—more importantly—pain is a signal that something is wrong. An injection could mask your pain while you actually break down more cartilage. It would be short sighted to shoot up your knee with a harmful substance just to get a few more months of playing time.”

“Gotcha,” I say glumly.

Chip puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Nobody wants a knee replacement before age forty. There aren’t any shortcuts, man. I’m sorry.”

“Right.” But God I wish there were.

“Feet on the pedals, Eric. Let’s finish up. Then you can go home.”

Home sounds pretty good. My dad’s place is great, but I miss my own bed. So I head back to my own apartment after the session.

During the short walk home, I check my messages. There’s a bunch from my dad. Hey buddy guess what? I…

I scroll right past, because—for the first time ever—a message from Alex awaits me.

HE SIGNED!!!! He signed the papers! I have them right here! I’m so happy with your brother I could hug him.

Oh man. I wish I could have seen her face when Max handed over that folder. I told my brother I didn’t want any credit. Alex doesn’t need to know what I did to get that fucker’s signature. I don’t want to describe how close I came to smashing Tatum’s face in.

I’m so happy for her, though. At least something is going right for her. Don’t hug Max! You’re supposed to save those for me.

“Whatcha smiling about?”

I look up to find my teammate Dave Beringer holding the elevator for me. “Oh, nothing.” Even if I felt like explaining what’s happening between Alex and me, I’m not sure I really know. “I saw your sister for lunch the other day. Is Bess staying with you?”

“She was, until one of her players got a suspension, and she had to fly back to Detroit.”

“Fun times.”

“Yeah.” He presses the elevator button. “I wouldn’t want her job. Trying to keep players out of trouble.”

“Right?”

The conversation stalls for a moment because Beringer and I aren’t very close, in spite of having names that some people confuse with each other’s. And even though we’re nearly the same age. But Dave is a d-man and I’m a forward. So we run in different circles.

“Look, I’ve got some news,” he says suddenly.

“Yeah?” The elevator rises.

“I decided not to renew after this year.”

“Renew…?” A magazine subscription? I try to figure out what he means, and I come up blank.

“My contract. I’m retiring at the end of the season. They’re going to announce it in the next couple weeks. But I wanted to tell you first.”

“Why?” I blurt, and it comes out sounding rude. “I mean, why retire?”

“Everyone retires eventually,” he says. “A year ago the idea gave me the cold sweats. Hockey was literally my entire life. Well, hockey and my sister. That’s all I had.”

“Uh huh. Not like there’s anything wrong with that.”

He gives me a quick smile. “Not until it ends.”

“But it doesn’t have to end for you.” He was injured at the end of last season. But he seems perfectly healthy now.

“Yeah, but I want to pick the date,” he says. “This way it’s my choice. And now I have a family who needs me, so…” He shrugs.

An actual shrug! Like this isn’t the biggest decision he’ll ever make. “So…” I try to wrap my brain around this development. “You’re moving to Vermont?” That’s where his girlfriend and his baby live.

“That’s the plan.” He smiles, and I kind of want to smack him. We have the best job in the whole goddamn world. And you do not just walk away from that lightly.

“Okay,” I say. “Thanks for telling me.”

The elevator opens on the third floor, and we both get out. “Later, man,” he says, heading toward the rear of the building.

“Yeah. See you.” I turn in the opposite direction, feeling strangely angry.

Dave is quitting hockey? He’s thirty-two. Younger than me, and healthy. I’d give anything to be as healthy as he is right now. And he’s just going to throw it away?

I’m so distracted that I almost don’t notice the music emanating from behind the apartment door. But just as I’m ready to swipe my key card, I realize that the pulsing beat is coming from inside.

I actually check the apartment number, just to make sure I’m not standing in front of the wrong door. But no, it’s mine. I have an intruder. And he’s blasting Panic! at The Disco on my speaker system.

Can’t I get through one day without some kind of bonkers security issue?

I set my gym bag down on the floor. Then I get out my key card and cross my hands on the door handle. I swipe and then unlatch as quickly as possible, throwing open the door and scanning the big room.

Not like it’s hard, though. My cousin Anton is perched in the center of my coffee table. And he’s dancing to “Hey Look Ma I Made It.”

What the fuck?

I grab my bag out of the hall and shut the door. “Hey! Anton!” I call.

He can’t hear me. He’s busy gyrating in the other direction.

I put two fingers in my mouth and whistle.

That does the trick. Anton finally hears me. His body jerks around toward the door.

Then he falls off the coffee table, landing half on my pull-out couch and half on the floor. “Ouch, fuck! Cousin Eric!” the younger man yells. “You are not going to believe where I just got traded!” He beams at me like he’s just won the lottery.

And maybe he has. “Is it Brooklyn?” I ask cautiously. He is wearing a purple shirt, and in my apartment no less.

“Dude! You’re a genius! This is so rad. We’re gonna be teammates now!”

“No way!” No fucking way. I make my way over to the speakers and turn the music down, like the old fart I’ve become.

“I just got the call this morning!” he babbles. “After I called my dad, I called yours! And then I got on a plane.”

“That’s amazing, man.” I clear my throat. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, how did you get into my apartment?”

“Uncle Carl sent me!” he says cheerfully. “He called you first, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Oh. Well, I was at the—”

“I didn’t even have to spend a single night in the hotel!” Anton yawps. “Your dad says I can crash here, because you’re not supposed to climb into that loft bed right now. Bummer about your injury dude!”

“Thanks,” I grunt.

“Carl didn’t think you’d mind if I stayed a couple of weeks.”

Weeks? “Well, it’s a studio, though. Plus that loft,” I say, trying to find the right words to express my horror.

I’m sure my young cousin is a great guy.

But a couple of weeks with a twenty-two-year-old roommate sounds hellish.

I’ve watched rookies settling in before.

Hell, I’ve been that rookie. You just got promoted from the minors to the big leagues.

It’s time to celebrate. I’ve arrived, New York! Hear me roar.

I wonder how quickly we can find this kid his own apartment.

“It’s gonna be epic!” He climbs off the floor. “I need you to introduce me around.”

“Okay, sure.” I agree. “We’ll go to the Tavern on Hicks. The guys are always there. When do you have to sign paperwork?” Please say right now.

“Already done! I got the Katt phone, too. Is it weird that I’m almost more excited about the phone?”

“A little,” I admit. When Nate Kattenberger bought the team, he gave every player a custom phone to carry.

“Does it really glow with a gold star when we win?” A big smile breaks across his big face.

“That part is true.” I don’t worship technology the way some people do. But I have to admit that I love the gold star. Not that I’ve gotten one in a while.

“Awesome!” He jumps up and down in a way that people can do when they don’t have knee pain. “So let’s get drinkin’! It’s early, Eric. We could do some serious damage. I am so high on life right now I could just burst.”

Something goes a little wrong inside my chest when he says that, because I used to feel that way, too. I don’t carry that kind of optimism anymore. The kind that feels like anything is possible.

Anton does, though. This is his night. And I’m going to do my best to show him a good time.

And then tomorrow? I’ll find him somewhere else to stay.

Two hours later I’m on my second beer, my second burger, and my second dose of ibuprofen.

“You okay?” asks Heidi the intern as I chase the pills with water. “I haven’t seen much of you since the week I brought you home from the surgical clinic.”

“I’m doing great. But I worked out hard at PT.” Rehab is harder than playing a game into double overtime. Because you can never have the satisfaction of winning. The only gold star in rehab is being allowed back on the ice.

“I can’t believe we’ve got two Bayers on one team!” Georgia says, eyeing my cousin, who’s playing darts with Drake. The two rookies hit it off like puppies at the dog park. “The press is going to eat this up with a spoon.”

“It’s the coolest,” I say, trying to chase away the superstition that we won’t actually end up skating together. I should be ecstatic for Anton. But I can’t shake the feeling that fate has plunked him down in Brooklyn to take my place.

“One forward, one defenseman,” Georgia says. “A Bayer for every need. But the kid needs a nickname, stat. How about Bayer the Younger?”

“I like ‘Care Bayer,’” Heidi says, and Georgia giggles.

“Nah,” I argue. “He’s Baby Bayer all the way.”

“Yes!” Heidi shrieks. “Baby Bayer. And when he’s hungover tomorrow we’ll call him Baby Aspirin.”

She and Georgia high five each other.

“I’m not drunk enough to be hungover. Yet,” Anton yells, a dart in his hand. He lets the dart fly, and it embeds in the wall about two inches shy of the dartboard.

“We have to work on our accuracy,” Drake complains. “I think you’re a little overexcited.”

“Alcohol to the rescue!” Anton yells. “Let’s break out the tequila shots.”

“Oh man.” I shake my head. “It’s going to get ugly.”

Heidi puts a hand on my shoulder. “Should you drink? Aren’t you worried about stability?”

“No!” I snort. “Of course I can drink.”

I am very good at drinking.

Yup. I’m a champ tonight. Anton has his big break and we’re made of tequila and by… Okay, I have no idea what time it is. But the whole world is a big limey hug.

It might be late, though, because I just looked up to see that all the women are gone. That’s a clue. When the respectable people have turned in for the night, it means something.

I forgot what, though.

“Will you take a photo of me in the jersey?” Anton asks.

“Of course,” I promise.

“Gotta send it to my girlfriend.”

“Send her a jersey,” I suggest, because I’m brilliant. Especially tonight. “Put ‘cher name right on the back and mail it to her. Then tell her to wear only the jersey and call you.”

“Dude, you have it all figured out!” Anton shouts. He shouts a lot. All the time, maybe. “How many goals I gotta score before they make a jersey with my name on it?”

“Dunno,” I say, shaking my head. The room is spinning just a bit. “For a defenseman? Five? Ten?”

“Ten! She’ll forget my name before that. You got a girlfriend?”

“Hey—I want to know, too,” Drake chimes in. He sounds less drunk than I do. “Weren’t you dating Alex Engels?”

“Yes no,” I say, because I’m drunk, and it best describes the situation. “I have a thing for Alex Engels. But we aren’t a couple. I mean, we do all the things that couples do. Really good things. And I want her to be happy, but…” I scrub my forehead. “I don’t think she’s taking it seriously.”

“Bummer,” Drake says. “When is her baby due, anyway?”

“Dude!” Anton shouts. “You have a pregnant girlfriend? Shut the front door. Nobody tells me anything.”

“She is—” I let out a giant belch “—pregnant for sure. But she is not my girlfriend and I am not the father’s baby. I mean…” I have to think about it for a second. “I am not the baby’s father.”

“Really,” my cousin says. “But then what? After the baby comes, are you two still getting it on?”

“I don’t think they can,” Drake points out. “After my buddy’s kid was born, they weren’t allowed to.”

“Ever?” I gasp.

“Not for like six weeks.”

Oh. That doesn’t sound so bad.

“So how pregnant is she?” Anton prods. “Like, a little bump in the middle, pregnant? Or, like, dump truck sized?”

“Not a truck!” I insist. “More like a whale. Her word.”

Anton’s eyes bulge. “And that turns you on?”

“Everything about her turns me on. She’s just so…Alex.” I sigh.

“Holy fuck. I-I can’t believe this,” Drake sputters.

“What?”

“Dude, you’re in love.”

“Nah,” I say, laughing.

“But you are. If you’re hoisting the flag for a super preggo, you’re already a goner. Does she know?”

“She definitely notices when my flag is hoisted. I mean—it’s hard to hide this kickstand when the bike is in gear.”

“No, man.” Anton slaps the table. “Does she know you love her?”

I love her. Jesus. The bar does a slow rotation while I think that over. But God damn. He’s right! “She doesn’t know!” I yelp. “Because I just found out myself.”

“Then you have to tell her,” Anton insists. “It could make all the difference.”

“Okay?”

“Where does she live?”

“Manhattan.”

“Then let’s go!” He leaps off his stool, then grabs the table to steady himself.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, man! You gotta tell your girl. Either that, or we could drink more tequila.”

More tequila sounds like a bad idea, so I follow him out of the bar.