Chapter 28
CARSON
We’re on our way to look at a house in Montclair.
We’ve looked at about fifteen houses so far.
The ones we like most are similar to the house we already have.
The others have been nice, but all had something that made us rule them out.
I don’t want to be on top of our neighbors.
We don’t want something that needs a lot of work.
We also don’t want something too modern.
Or too old-fashioned. Or too big. Or… Well, we have reasons to not like almost everything we look at.
“I got my application in,” Ayla says.
“Yeah? Good.”
The deadline for applying for the fall term at Montclair State is March 1, which is coming fast. The college agreed to transfer Ayla’s credits so she’s already halfway to her degree.
“I have to choose another major,” she tells me. “I’m thinking Gender, Sexuality, and Women’s Studies.”
I grin. “Sounds good.”
“I’m kidding. I have a bunch of psychology credits so that’s what I’ll do. And I love psychology. Although I do think Gender, Sexuality, and Women’s Studies would be interesting.”
We drive in silence for a moment.
“Do you think we’re going to like this place?” Ayla asks.
“It looked nice in the pictures. But I’m getting frustrated. How much time have we spent on this?”
“I know. I’m frustrated, too.” She shifts in her seat to face me. “Maybe… we should just stay where we are?”
I glance at her. “Really?”
“Yeah. I think.”
I flick on the blinker and pull off the road.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to turn around so we can go home.”
“That enthusiastic about it, huh?”
“I have an idea.”
She lifts an eyebrow.
“How about… we stay put for now. You in the house. I can move back there… when we’re both ready for that.”
She nods.
“We can look more over the summer. That’s a better time for both of us. If we find something we both love, great. If we don’t… we have a pretty awesome place right now.”
“Okay. I liked the symbolism of starting over in a new place, though.”
“I know. But we can do something else to symbolize that.”
“Like what?”
“We could redecorate the main bedroom.”
She nods. “That could be fun.”
“Also, we could redo the nursery. But not as a nursery.”
I’m not sure how she’s going to react to that. I know Kane’s room was something she wanted to hold on to.
She nods slowly. “We could make it a guest room. Or an office.”
“You’d be okay with that?”
“Yeah. I accepted that I was going to leave that room behind. I need to leave it behind. So that idea doesn’t bother me as much as it might have a few months ago.”
I search her face to make sure she’s being honest. “Okay. How about we make it a study room for you?”
She tips her head and purses her lips. “I like that idea.”
“Okay. Good.” I’m glad she’s okay with that.
“I’ll call the realtor and let her know we’re canceling today.” She pulls out her phone.
* * *
This is a big game tonight. We’re in a playoff spot in mid-March. We have about a month and fifteen—sixteen?—games left in the regular season. We’re in second place in our division behind the Bears, and that’s who we’re playing tonight. A win will put us ahead of them in the standings.
“This is a good team.” Coach paces the dressing room ahead of the game.
“We don’t need to give them anything. Nothing.
They’re gonna push tonight so we need to get to our game quick.
Right away. We have to be our absolute best. This game means first place and we fuckin’ deserve that, right? Let’s make this a great night.”
We’re all pumped. I can feel the energy in the room. It’s time to go on the ice. We line up in the hall, sticks in hands. Crusher comes down the hall, chest bumping everyone in turn. When he comes to me, we do our fist/stick/hip bump routine.
“Let’s fucking go!” we both yell.
“Aaaaand now ladies and gentlemen! Here come your Newww Jerseeeey Stoooorm!”
Archie’s always first on the ice and skates directly to his net to do his weird routine. The rest of us follow. Those on the starting line go to our blue line. The rest of us head to the bench for the anthem.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins and I bow my head and do some visualizations, shifting from one foot to the other. We’re gonna do this.
Less than an hour later, in the first intermission, I’m not feeling so confident. Things are not going our way.
“We’re getting goalied,” Turks says, sitting in front of his cubby.
I guzzle my sports drink. “Yeah, he’s fucking standing on his head.” I had three shots on goal that were quality chances and he stopped all of them.
We play better in the second. I know if we keep playing our game and getting pucks to the net, eventually, one will go in. We can’t get rattled because of their goddamn goalie.
We’re lining up for a faceoff in the offensive zone. My linemates Turks and Benny and I converge. “Turks, line up on the board side hash and skate behind me when the puck is dropped. I’m gonna get the puck back to you. See if you can get a quick shot off.”
Turks nods.
I’m trying to win the faceoff to the board side using my backhand. It’s my strong side, my right, and Turks is a leftie.
The linesman blows his whistle and I glide to the dot, bent over, stick in my hands. I look up at Jay Bobak, the Bears Center. His jaw is set.
Fuck you.
He has to put his stick down first, and he does. But his winger creeps up into the circle and the linesman notices. He waves Bobak out and the other winger comes in to take the faceoff.
Focus.
I spread my legs wider and hunker down even lower, eyes on the linesman’s hand, every cell in my body on alert.
He drops the puck and I get it before it even hits the ice, chopping it back to Turks, who skates right behind me as planned.
He immediately shoots it at the net, and once more, the goalie blanks us.
But the puck bounces off his pads in front of the net.
Benny’s there but he’s tied up with a Bears D-man, so I bolt for the puck, bodying another D-man out of my way, grabbing the rebound and sliding it in the net.
The goal horn blares, the red light goes on, and I coast to the boards and jump to throw my body against the glass where fans are banging on it with both hands and cheering.
“Yeah!” I hear the guys shout.
Benny and Turks are on me to hug it out with huge smiles.
“Fuck yeah!” Benny says.
“Fucking beauty!” Turks pats the back of my helmet.
We’re tied at two.
In the third, we come out hungry but their goddamn tender is still blanking us.
Then halfway through the third, the score still tied, Trev is on the ice with Skinny and Turks.
He gets possession of the puck in our end and starts out, about to cross the blue line…
and Owen Cooke from the Bears skates up behind him and literally steals the puck away from him.
Trev turns and tries to recover the puck, and it looks like he can do it—he should be able to do it—but his effort is weak and in that split second, Cooke skates in alone on Archie and flicks the puck over Archie’s shoulder and into the net.
The Bears players celebrate taking the lead. Trev skates to the bench and drops down onto it, head bent, shoulders slumped.
I know why Trev couldn’t recover the puck. It was because of his goddamn wrist. I think Trev knows, too.
That was the winning goal.
After the game, the atmosphere in the room is bleak. Nobody’s saying much and it’s painful. I look over at Trev, elbows on his knees, hands dangling. Then he looks up and our eyes meet.
Fuck, I want to say something to him. But I keep my mouth shut.
Trev yanks off his helmet and hurls it across the room with a crash.
“Jesus Christ, man!” Benny says.
“What the fuck,” Smitty adds, scowling.
Everyone’s staring at Trev, then looking away. Nobody knows what to say.
When I’m showered and dressed and ready to head out, Trev is in the corridor looking at his phone. I go up to him.
He slides me an angry glance.
“Hey.” I hesitate. I don’t want to fuck up. I clap a hand on his shoulder. “We all have ups and downs. We’re a team. Whatever decisions you make, we got your back, man.”
He goes very still. “Uh… thanks.”
I pat his shoulder once more, then leave.