Chapter 20
twenty
. . .
Aidan
Henry lets out a cheer when I walk into the team room for breakfast, and I cock an eyebrow.
“Hey, we can cancel the search party on MacGregor,” he calls out. “He’s alive.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter. Our plane got in late last night, and then I stayed up with Ceci for a bit, but I’m only a few minutes late.
I check my watch. Okay, half an hour late.
And yes, I’m usually the first one to the room. It’s my job as captain to show up for my team. To set a good example.
“You go out and get laid?” Jenkins asks. “You look… happy.”
“I am happy,” I answer easily as I head toward the breakfast buffet. Loading up my plate, I make sure to grab a bowl of oatmeal, too, doctoring it up with plenty of maple syrup, dried cranberries, and almonds.
“Who is she?” he asks as I take a seat beside him at one of the round tables. Ryan, Henry, and Gonzo are already halfway through their breakfast.
Why won’t he let this go?
“There’s nobody.”
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “You’re not usually this late.”
“Had a hard time falling asleep.”
Seeing Ceci’s picture all night… I was battling a semi our entire session, and after we signed off, I had to rub one out before I was able to fall asleep.
Except this time, instead of nameless, faceless fantasies, all I could picture was her. Imagine stripping her from her casual clothes, pulling her hair from her top knot, and making her come undone.
Fuck. My cock twitches, and I adjust my napkin over my lap. None of my teammates are about to look at my crotch, but if they do, I don’t want to be the team laughingstock. They’re supposed to look up to me, damn it. I’m supposed to be a role model.
Sinclair joins the table, exhaustion etched into his face and the set of his shoulders. “Morning,” he mutters as he sits beside me in the only empty chair.
“Good morning,” I reply. I try to be subtle in the way I look him over, searching for any signs of how he’s doing. Based on the intent way Ryan stares at me, I don’t think I’m successful.
Sinclair hasn’t told me anything about what prompted his mental health crisis, brushing off my check-ins.
All he will say is that he’s fine. I’m not here to babysit him, but it is my job to worry about my teammates.
That C on my chest isn’t for shits and giggles; it means something, and I take it seriously.
He digs into his breakfast, eyes on his plate and shoulders hunched like he’s trying to be invisible.
I’ll leave him alone for now… but one of these days, I’m going to get a straight answer out of him. It’s hard to know when to press for more information and when to back off.
I’m still hurt that Ryan didn’t confide in me about his depression or demisexuality.
He actually thought I wouldn’t be supportive, and that fucking stings.
We’ve been friends since high school and practically attached at the hip since he joined the team.
He’s marrying my fucking sister. We’re going to be family. And he thought he couldn’t trust me.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t told him about being autistic. It’s hardly fair of me to point fingers when I’m hiding something as huge from him. But it’s because he didn’t tell me that I feel obligated to keep it close to my chest.
Being autistic doesn’t define me, but it does label me. I understand how some people can find labels limiting. I mean, I don’t, but I guess I do, in an abstract way. They don’t want to be boxed into a corner. They don’t want to be defined by their diagnosis.
But for me, the label sets me free. It’s an explanation for why I am the way I am. It’s comfort and identity. It doesn’t stifle me.
I’m a hockey player.
A brother, a friend, and a teammate.
A caretaker by nature.
A redhead with a temper as fiery as my hair.
A gamer with a healthy disregard for my sleep schedule.
And I’m autistic.
It’s just one part of me. It’s not my entire story.
After breakfast, the team buses to the arena, where we have a quick and dirty practice. Some teams hold day-of practices at their training facility, and others have it at the actual arena. Each team has their own protocols, and every city has its unique challenges. It’s consistently inconsistent.
And it drives me fucking nuts.
After my shower, I walk into the lounge and am greeted by Evan Baxter, an old buddy from San Diego. We played on the same line for two and a half years until he was traded to Buffalo, and then I came to Boston that offseason as a free agent.
“Hey, man.” Bax gives me an upward nod, then tugs me into a half hug. “How’s the season treating you?”
Although we don’t talk much day-to-day, when we’re together again, it’s like no time has passed.
Even though we’ve both moved on, our friendship has stood the test of time.
Every once in a while, we game online, but nowhere near as frequently as I do with Ceci or even the other guys I hang out with.
“Pretty good. I certainly can’t complain. You?”
He rolls his eyes. “Ivy is fucking killing me.”
His half sister. She’s a few years younger than Hailey and was starting undergrad at San Diego State when we all lived there. When he left, she stayed. She’s cute as a button and wicked smart. She’ll be running the world one day, mark my words.
“How is she? What’s she doing now?”
“She just got accepted to law school.” Baxter makes a face. “Harvard Law.”
“So she’ll be on our turf.”
He groans, running a hand through his hair. “You’ll look out for her, right?”
“Of course, man. Anything you need.”
He narrows his eyes. “And you won’t hit on her?”
I scoff. “Please. She’s family.”
“That wouldn’t stop some guys.”
“Well, I have these things called boundaries,” I tease back. “You might want to try it one day.”
“Oh, fuck off.” He gives me a halfhearted shove. “We can’t all be as uptight and compartmentalized as you.”
I shove him back, and then we start tussling, and before I know it, he has me in a headlock as a huge smile stretches across my face.
“It’s good to see you, man,” Baxter says. “We need to get together this offseason. Do something fun.”
“Family vacation?” I suggest. “Hailey mentioned wanting to go somewhere with a beach.”
There’s still no date for their wedding, but eventually, they’ll need a honeymoon.
When it’ll happen is as good a guess as anyone else’s.
I fully intend to give my sister the wedding—and honeymoon—of her dreams. It’s not about the expense.
Ryan earns a healthy salary and can support her.
It’s about giving her everything she’s ever dreamed of.
I can’t bring back our parents. I can’t cure her of her POTS and EDS, and half the time, I don’t think she’d want me to. All I can do is love and support her in any and everything she does, and I’ll do that until my dying day.
Baxter grins. “It’s a date. Hopefully, Ivy’s broken up with her P-O-S boyfriend by then.”
“He’s an ass?”
I guess it’s a good thing Hailey is engaged to my best friend. I never had to worry about her dating jerks and assholes.
“The worst.” He grimaces, running a hand through his short dark hair. “I want her to go to law school free and clear. Nobody holding her back.”
“She’s got this. She’ll be fine,” I assure him. “Hailey will look out for her. I will look out for her. She’s family.”
He hesitates.
“I promise she’ll be fine.” I pat him on the back. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to tell her you’re worried about her.”
Baxter shudders. “No, thanks. I’d rather not have a black eye.”
“Just par for the course with little sisters.”
“So what you’re saying is I should shut the hell up and trust you?”
“And her.” I shove him again. “She’s smart enough to get into law school. I’m pretty sure she’s smart enough to leave the douchebag behind.”
“Here’s hoping,” he mutters. He shakes his head. “So tell me, what’s new with you? Played anything good lately?”
For half a second, I debate telling him about Ceci. We played a few rounds, me and Annie and Baxter and Whittaker. It lasted maybe six months, and then Baxter got traded to a new time zone, Whit broke his wrist and couldn’t game, and our group fell apart.
But at least for now, I want to keep it to myself. I’m not ready to share our story with anyone else. Not while it’s still in flux.
One day, I’ll be ready. But today is not that day. I don’t think tomorrow will be either.
One day.