Chapter 6
Six
Why Don’t You Make Yourself at Home
Forest
Scully drives me home, parking his truck in my driveway even though I haven’t asked him in. Still, he pulls a six-pack out of the back seat and follows me inside.
It’s good beer too. Almost like he knew I’d be a grumpy idiot after he recruited Becker James to our practice.
“Why don’t you make yourself at home?” I ask, after he’s already plonked on my couch, put his feet on my coffee table, and opened two beers.
“I think I will. Cheers.” He hands me a can, then picks up my TV remote and starts flipping channels.
I pull out my phone and do the only obvious thing, which is to search the Ice Cats, specifically a certain hot goalie. And there he is, his blue eyes staring out at me from their roster page. He wasn’t lying when he said his save percentage was a little shaky this season.
Some more browsing provides a few extra details.
Becker James—all six feet three, hundred-ninety-five pounds of him—has been banging around in the AHL for a few years.
That’s got to be a hard life. His schedule is brutal.
This weekend his team is playing back-to-back games in Abbotsford.
I don’t even know where that is, but the internet thinks it’s in British Columbia.
Then I google “Ice Cats gay player” and come up empty. The team hosts a Pride Night once a year, but as far as I can tell, Becker James isn’t out. At least not to the media. And maybe not at all. When I picture him at my bar, nursing his one beer, I see a lonely guy.
I mean—once a week the guy drives an hour to drink a single beer in front of me, before driving home alone again. I’ve never seen him pick up at my bar.
Scully glances at me. “Whatcha doing.”
“Never mind, you nosy bastard.”
My best friend and business partner laughs. “You looked up the kid, right?”
“Fuck off.”
He howls.
“He’s twenty-five years old,” I say. “Almost twenty-six.”
Scully nods. “Old enough to know what he wants. Which is you.”
I sigh.
He says, “Just…thank the guy for coming out tonight, would you? He didn’t have to. It would be the friendly thing to do.”
“Since when have I been friendly?”
“Not lately, that’s for damn sure.”
“I have my reasons,” I grumble.
“Do you, though?” he asks. “Seeing as I’m your best bud, and I don’t know what those reasons are, it’s kinda hard to take it on faith.”
This lands, and I feel a stab of guilt. Scully is always there for me. “Some things just aren’t easy to share.”
He shakes his head. “Okay. Just don’t take your pain out on Becker James. He doesn’t deserve your rage.”
I finger the edges of my phone. “What’s his damn number?”
Scully chuckles and reaches for his phone.
Forest
Hey, it's Seth Forrester. Got your number from Scully. Sorry if I was short with you after practice. Thanks for coming out tonight in the cold.
Beck
NP. It’s not even that cold. Winter is objectively the best season because you can always put on more layers but there's a legal and moral limit to how many clothes you can take off in summer.
Are you always like this?
Pretty much. I get weird when I'm nervous. When I'm super nervous I start ranking breakfast cereals by structural integrity.
I make you nervous?
You know you do. But it's fine. I'm used to being the weird goalie.
You're not weird. You're entertaining.
Still planning to make the game next week?
Probably. Unless I get called up. Or traded. Or hit by a meteorite.
Hope it’s not that last one. We need you.
The team, I mean.
The team needs my goaltending. What do YOU need?
I'd like to see you stop some more pucks. You're pretty amazing in net.
Cop-out, dude. I can be amazing in other places too. Or I could be. If this one hot bearded guy would let me prove it. Kinda need to see what’s under those flannel shirts.
Kid... Sorry. Beck…
Right. Too young. Even though I'm old enough to have a 401k and strong opinions about the proper way to load a dishwasher.
Just come to the game. Please?
Since you said please. And since I want to crush those homophobic assholes.
Also I like your beard.
Pretend I didn't send that last text.
No, fuck it. I sent it. I’ll own it. And please consider changing your mind about rewarding me for my service. I have an objectively good body, unless you hate muscles. If you don’t like my face, you don’t have to look at it. There’s always doggy style.
…
…
I have a way of stunning people into speechlessness. I’ll show myself out.
But just consider it.
Okay.