Chapter 4
Four
Luck, as it turned out, was not on their side during Friday evening’s game against Denver.
Mitch wasn’t the only one playing badly, but he was, admittedly, playing the worst out of everyone on the team.
He missed passes, he couldn’t find the back of the net with a basketball never mind a small, round disc, and, once, he whiffed the puck like an amateur wielding a hockey stick for the first time.
He’d been so shocked, he’d stood there in mortified confusion while Denver stole the puck and proceeded to score.
The one saving grace was that they were playing in Denver, so at least they hadn’t embarrassed themselves in front of a home crowd.
Coach Spinney parked his ass against the office desk. Mitch propped his stick against the wall, threw his helmet and gloves onto a chair, and ran his hands through his sweaty hair. Frustration thrumming through his veins, he kicked the chair with his skate.
Spinney raised an eyebrow. “Your head’s not in the game.”
No shit. Mitch almost said it, but he wasn’t in the habit of giving lip to this particular coach.
Spinney, unlike Coach Bedley, wasn’t all hockey, hockey, hockey.
He actually gave a shit about the players’ well-being outside of the sport.
Bedley cared inasmuch as it affected a player’s game.
Spinney cared because he was a good guy.
“Talk to me, Greyson.”
Mitch guzzled water from his water bottle and considered what to say. “I’m just having a shit week.”
“School or personal?”
Huffing an unamused laugh, Mitch drank down another third of his water. “Both.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Not unless Spinney knew a way to lighten Mitch’s course load so he could get a decent night’s sleep.
Not unless Spinney could turn back time so Mitch could tell his academic advisor to stuff her creative writing course up her ass.
Not unless he knew of a way for Mitch to avoid starving to death, and to be able to pay bills, gas, and next semester’s tuition without having to work two part-time jobs.
Not unless he could make Alex Dean like him.
Why that last one was important, Mitch was having trouble understanding. It wasn’t like Alex was the first person to not like him. Hell, Mitch’s own mother and brother didn’t like him. What was one more person, a relative stranger at that?
Whether it was their shared love of the sport, last night’s easy conversation, or something else, Mitch had no clue what made him want to spend time with Alex.
On top of desperately wanting to jump Alex’s bones, he also wanted to be Alex’s friend.
Alex, however, didn’t like Mitch when he was “on”, but Mitch wasn’t sure if he could let down his guard enough to be himself with Alex.
He should cut his losses.
But he didn’t know how to do that either.
“No thanks, Coach. It’s just stuff I need to figure out.”
“Is it a girl problem?”
“No,” Mitch said, scoffing.
“Boy problem?”
Mitch kept his face expressionless.
“Wouldn’t matter if it was,” Spinney said with a shrug. “Not to your coaches, and not to them—” He nodded toward the locker room. “—either.”
Yeah, right. People didn’t come out in sports. It just wasn’t done. There was a rule about it somewhere, Mitch was sure.
“Doesn’t matter, Coach. I’ll be fine. Just need to get my head on straight.”
Spinney sighed at Mitch’s evasive answer. “Okay. You know where to find me if you need to talk.” Spinney paused, then said, “Think you could maybe skate better during the third?”
Mitch actually huffed a real laugh at that. “I’ll do my best.”
Turned out his best was mediocre, but it was enough so that the Mountaineers at least got a few shots on goal during the third period. Compared to how well his team had played last week against Colgate, tonight Mitch felt like a bumbling toddler learning to skate.
Was Alex watching this game on TV? Fuck, Mitch hoped not. But he also kind of hoped Alex was, which meant Mitch was all kinds of fucked up in the head.
It was on the tails of that thought that Yano passed him the puck and, without thinking, without evaluating where the other players were, without calculating the best angle, Mitch shot…and scored.
Well, shit. That shouldn’t have worked.
The team took a few moments to celebrate, but considering it was their first goal against Denver’s four and there were only three minutes left in the period, their celebration was lackluster at best.
With that, the Mountaineers lost their first game of the season. It wasn’t the end of the world and it was only one game. But still, seeing as they had to play Denver again tomorrow night, morale was predictably low as the team trudged back into the locker room.
Mitch wanted to apologize to his teammates for his shit playing on the ice, but as he’d heard from every coach he’d ever had, there was no i in team. He hadn’t lost this game by himself. Besides, he was sure their goalie, Marco Terlizzese, was feeling just as bad, if not worse.
The Mountaineers’ equipment manager stuck his head in the room and said, “Bus leaves for the hotel in thirty minutes,” then left as quickly as he’d arrived.
It was quiet in the locker room, as it usually was after they lost a game. Everyone would shower and change as fast as they could so they could get back to the hotel and get shitfaced on the cheapest beer available.
Mitch took his time removing his equipment, then dawdled some more by checking his phone.
He could see Yano eyeing him, but Mitch wasn’t in the mood to talk.
If he could time it so that everyone was already on the bus when he exited the showers, he might be able to avoid the “What’s going on with you?
” conversation he knew Yano wanted to have.
There were three texts and a voicemail on his phone. The voicemail was from his mom. Apparently, he was a sucker for punishment, because he gave it a listen, when usually, he deleted them unheard.
“Mitch, it’s your mother.” Her smooth, cultured voice made him grit his teeth.
“I’ve just been informed that your college hockey team lost tonight’s game against…
” A pause as she no doubt double checked who they’d played against. “Denver. As I’ve told you time and time again, hockey is not a real career.
If you were any good, you wouldn’t have lost tonight’s game. ”
Mitch growled low in his throat.
“I do think it’s time you invested your time and energy into something else.
Now, I spoke with the dean at Columbia. Transferring to another college usually takes several months, but Ms. Aberdeen is willing to expedite yours so that you can start your business degree in January, in time for the new semester, provided that you make up any missing courses you need to catch up over the summer.
Here’s what I’ll need from you to make the transfer happen: your transcript—”
He hung up, then leaned his forehead against the metal divider between his locker and the one to his right, taking a deep breath.
He wanted to cry.
Instead, he checked his texts. Neither of them were from his brother, who, once upon a time, had been Mitch’s biggest supporter.
The first text was from his dad. Tough loss, kiddo. Don’t take it too hard. Every team has off days. Good luck tomorrow!
The second text was also from his dad. By the way, I’ll be in Burlington for a meeting Friday. Flying back to NY Saturday morning. Early dinner Friday before your game?
Mitch quickly typed out a message. Yeah! Let me know what time you’ll be here.
The second text was from Cody. It wasn’t as encouraging as Mitch’s dad’s, but it made Mitch laugh:
You forget how to skate?
Think you could do better? Mitch texted back.
He was digging his towel out of his bag when Cody replied. Better than you did tonight? Uh YEAH.
Rolling his eyes, Mitch texted, Why am I friends with you again?
Because I give it to you straight.
Mitch was mid smart-ass reply, something along the lines of “I’ll find someone to give it to me not-straight” when Cody messaged, DO NOT MAKE A SEX JOKE.
Grinning, Mitch left the phone on the shelf in his locker and went to take a shower in much better spirits.
He wasn’t grinning fifteen minutes later when he emerged to find Yano waiting for him. Everyone else was gone.
“Going to stand there and watch me get changed?”
Yano grunted. “As if I haven’t seen your bare, gay ass before.”
Mitch froze with his underwear half on at the word “gay”, then forced himself to move, to finish getting dressed. He had no idea if Yano was joking or not and didn’t ask, but he must’ve had a look on his face, because Yano asked, “Were you trying to keep it a secret?”
Mitch completed his outfit of jeans and a blue T-shirt with his favorite Vermont Flannel and turned slowly to face Yano. “Who else knows?”
“I don’t know,” Yano said, shrugging. “It’s not like we sit around talking about it.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“Dude, my best friend from high school’s gay. You look at guys the same way he does. I might not know how to spell knoll, but I’m not stupid.”
No, he certainly wasn’t. Mitch had underestimated his friend’s perceptiveness. “So, the rest of the guys…?”
Yano shrugged again. “Oblivious idiots. Not that they’d care, even if they knew.”
Mitch wasn’t so sure about that.
“Most of them, anyway, but—” Yano waved his hand as if physically tossing aside their previous topic.
“—that’s not what I wanted to talk about.
I wanted to ask about that.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the rink, the game, and everything that had gone wrong.
“What happened out there? It was like you couldn’t see the other players, never mind the puck. ”
Mitch sat to put on his shoes and carefully avoided Yano’s much-too-observant gaze. “Just got a lot on my mind.”
“Dude troubles?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” Mitch grumbled under his breath. “No, there’s no dude.” It wasn’t quite a lie.
“Trouble in BFF land with Cody?”