Austin
AUSTIN
F uck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Why the hell did I let him do that? Why did I drink that champagne? Wear this stupid suit? Because I wanted to impress him. I wanted to show him I could fit into his world. And now I’ve fucked everything up. To his dad, I’ll always just be that guy he caught his son sucking off at a party.
I hesitate at the top of the stairs, something telling me to go back. He didn’t mean it. I’ve seen the real him, and it’s not this. Or have I just been a fucking idiot? Wishful thinking.
I see his dad pause in the hallway when he sees his wife and rush down the stairs and out of the house before he can find me and kick me out. Maybe it’s best to give Seb time to cool down and get the fuck out of this house?
I already felt like I didn’t belong here the second I stepped inside and his mom looked at me like something Seb had just dragged in off the street. These old money rich people can’t be fooled by a borrowed Armani suit and some hair gel.
There’s no way I can afford a cab back to campus and I don’t even know what way I should start walking. I catch a valet smoking a cigarette around the side of the house and when he first sees me, he straightens up and tosses the smoke, like he thinks I’m gonna ream him out about it. Then he seems to see me, really see me, the way Seb’s parents did. I’m not one of them, never will be.
He relaxes.
“Hey man, what’s up?”
“Do you know the way to a bus stop or something?”
“You didn’t bring a car?”
“I’ve been drinking.” And it’s not my car, but he doesn’t have to know that, this is embarrassing enough as it is.
“Where you goin? I can give you a ride if it’s close.”
“It’s not. Thanks anyway.”
“Come with me man, I’ll give you a ride to the bus station.”
I make sure I’m the first person at practise on Monday. As the team start to file in, I sit on the bench and tape my stick, paying meticulous attention to the task at hand. Each one of my teammates greets me as captain, but I can still feel the animosity rolling off them in waves. Fuck it. Fuck them.
My gut has been clenched since Saturday. I told myself I had a hangover from the champagne and stayed in bed with the drapes closed. But it was more than a hangover. I have to face facts – I’m fucking heartbroken.
I can’t get the image of Seb’s face out of my head when he showed me the door. That fucking grin - it was like no time had passed since we’d face off in his Yale games. All that shit we’d done together hadn’t even happened.
I keep playing it over and over, telling myself what I should have done differently. But every scenario I play out ends up the same. With him pushing me away.
Every time the doors to the locker room open, it feels like my heart has temporarily stopped. Disappointment and relief mingling at the sight of another teammate’s face.
I’m mentally exhausted by the time Seb actually does appear. I look away before our eyes can meet and he takes his usual place at his cubby and starts to change.
He’s still putting his shoulder pads on when Coach comes in and briefs us on today’s practise. I chance a look at him, but he isn’t paying anyone but Coach Wilson the slightest bit of attention. After a few more glances, I realize, I want him to look at me. Just the slightest acknowledgement of my existence will do. But no. Nothing.
We skate out onto the ice and even then, Seb is barely looking at me. He’s isolated from the rest of the team anyway and I feel helpless, knowing Coach is gonna be disappointed that I couldn’t bring the team together.
I can’t focus and I’m off my game. Of course, Coach notices and calls me into his office after practise for a talk.
“I’m just tired Coach,” I lie. “I had a busy weekend.”
“You don’t strike me as a party animal Donoghue.”
Memories of Seb’s parents’ house flood to the forefront, drinking champagne from the bottle, Seb blowing me in an actual fucking home library before his dad came in and caught us.
“I’m not Coach,” I say, my heart sinking. “That’s not me.”
He nods. “We all have off-days, just make sure you get an early night tonight and come back fresh tomorrow okay?”
“Yes Coach.”
Everyone’s left the locker room by the time I go back in. I pause at Seb’s cubby, his skates hanging above his jersey. It’s like a gut punch looking at it. I reach out to touch it, the door opens and I pull my hand back.
Steve, the equipment manager gives me a confused frown, but doesn’t seem to realize I was about to go full bunny boiler over my teammate’s jersey when he asks me what I’m still doing here.
“Just forgot something, sorry.”
My phone rings when I get out of the rink. I try to put on a happy facade for Ma, but she can tell something’s wrong.
“I’ve got some vacation days I need to take before the end of the year, why don’t I take Saturday off and come see you play… if you can get a ticket, if not, we’ll just hang out.”
“Ma, you don’t have to drive all the way out here.”
“I want to.”
I know I should try to convince her to put her feet up instead of driving five hours in an unreliable car with no heating in the middle of winter, but fuck, I need some support right now.
“I can get you a ticket, no problem.”
“Can’t wait!”
“Just leave your Devil’s jersey at home.”
She laughs. “I’ll pull your Boston one out.”
My gut twists at how close the deadline is to me being a free agent.
“Hey, that was a joke, your jersey’s safe in your closet where you left it.”
“I know, sorry, I just zoned out, obviously you can wear it, not like you’re gonna stretch it out.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine Ma, don’t worry, I’ll see you Saturday.”
We play Providence at their arena on Friday. Every practise after Monday as awkward as the first since that party. But I find a way to work around it and at least Coach isn’t calling me into his office again to ask what’s wrong.
We manage to scrape a 2-2 draw in Providence. Gray scoring one and assisting me in the equalizer one minute into extra time.
The bus journey home is quiet and I’m under no illusion it’s just because of the draw.
Coach pulls me before we all leave to go home.
“I’m worried about you Donoghue,” he says.
“You don’t need to be Coach.”
“You don’t seem like yourself, your communication with Huntington’s off, has something happened between you two?”
My face is on fire and I look away. “No Coach.”
“Okay. Are you taking care of yourself? Sleeping? Keeping in contact with family?”
“Yeah, actually, my ma’s coming to the game tomorrow night.”
Coach’s eyes light up. “Oh, she is? That’s great. I can’t stress how important support is in this game.”
I think about Seb’s family. How surprised he seems when someone praises him.
“Oh by the way,” Coach opens one of the drawers behind his desk, unable to hide a smile. “This came for you this morning.”
He slides a heavy-looking envelope across the desk to me.
“What is it?”
“Open it,” he says.
“You know what it is?”
“I got an email, I can just tell you, but you should open the letter and read it yourself.”
I can tell he wants me to open it in front of him, so I do. Trying not to get my hopes up about what might be inside. They don’t sign you to an NHL team in a letter like a fucking college application.
I note the NHL logo embossed in the corner of the page and read quickly.
Dear Donoghue,
We would like to invite you to attend a rookie training camp this summer, starting…
I look up at Coach, he’s grinning at me like a proud parent. I look down again at the letter.
“What is this? They already invited me to a rookie camp when they drafted me. They sent me back to juniors.”
“Did you ever believe you weren’t going to be signed?”
My whole body sighs into the chair. “Actually, yeah.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “, you are one of the greatest young talents I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. And on top of that, you have a maturity and sportsmanship beyond anyone of your age, you just took a little longer to settle into your confidence, that’s all.”
While he talks, my heart sinks a little, because I haven’t been very mature recently. And I haven’t always displayed good sportsmanship behavior either, especially when it comes to Seb.
“Are you going to call your mom and tell her? Or will you wait until you see her in person tomorrow?”
Usually, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from calling her, but this time, something’s stopping me.
“I might wait until tomorrow. Surprise her.”
Coach smiles and makes a gesture of zipping his lips.
He stands and shakes my hand as I’m leaving. “Congratulations , you deserve this. I imagine we should be expecting a call very soon from a representative-”
He talks about agents and reps and contracts and I nod and smile because fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long, and now it’s actually here, it doesn’t feel the way I thought it would. Being signed to the NHL won’t magically solve every problem in my life. It won’t make anything clearer than it was before.
It’s a relief, of course, but it’s only one part of a bigger picture.
There’s one person I want to tell besides my ma, but they’re the one person who doesn’t want to talk to me right now.