Chapter Twenty-Six
Dustin
Dustin ached to the core of his bones, but the physician said he was probably through the worst of the withdrawal. He was diagnosed with an official medical term, which was grim and also fascinating. Mild Opioid Use Disorder.
During something called a biopsychosocial assessment, he learned he was ‘suffering from a triangle of interlocking factors’.
Biological: his knee, his nervous system, possible genetics.
Psychological: career stress, denial, identity loss.
And social: the NHL culture, his wealth, isolation, family history.
He’d never considered that he’d be treated as an ‘ill person’ who was ‘suffering’. He’d pretty much written himself off as a little fucking moron.
“But dependence is not addiction, and because you reached out, and are compliant and committed, that’s the clearest indicator we have that you’ll recover successfully,” the specialist said. “Basically, having a ‘come to Jesus’ on your own is a strong signal.”
Dustin didn’t love that: ‘come to Jesus’. He’d never even been inside a church. He preferred to think of it as a ‘come to Jordan’. By way of Elliot.
He was prescribed some non-addictive meds to manage withdrawal, but both the specialist and Dr. Wu seemed more concerned with his mental health than the physical symptoms. He was referred to a clinical psychologist.
On the way home, one thing the doctor had said kept nagging at him. It was the thing about social factors. Specifically: his wealth.
At the door two nights ago, Elliot had accused him of booking a flight and a hotel like it was nothing. He was right: the cost of that hadn’t even factored into his decision. Of all the math he’d done that day, that calculation wasn’t part of it.
How differently would this have gone for him if a flight to Canada and a night in a hotel hadn’t been available?
If he had gone down to the North Park Blocks?
If he didn’t have a brother who could afford to fly in for a week?
If he didn’t have a team doctor referring him to a private specialist?
If all that wealth hadn’t shielded him from the worst of this?
What would have happened to him then?
Jordan wasn’t sure what to make of Elliot.
He arrived at eight the next morning, directly from the airport, and Elliot answered the door in a pair of Dustin’s sweats and one of Dustin’s t-shirts. Not because they’d slept together – Elliot was in the spare room – but because Elliot hadn’t been back to his hotel to pick anything up.
He must’ve opened the door without thinking, and Dustin, who was brushing his teeth in the bathroom, heard it happen and suddenly realized he hadn’t told Jordan about Elliot, or Grindr, or the Ask Gay Men subreddit, or even the wingman bet.
There was nothing untoward about Elliot being there – Jordan had told him to have someone come stay – but Dustin was gripped by panic.
He spit and rinsed and sprinted out to find Elliot on one side of the door and Jordan on the other, looking equally surprised to see each other.
“Jordan!” He tried to look normal. “Hey! Uh…this is Elliot.”
“I’m aware,” said Jordan, looking slightly bemused and holding out his hand for Elliot to shake. “The new Bennet.”
Elliot shook his hand, looking like he’d just remembered he was wearing Dustin’s t-shirt, and had been rendered temporarily mute.
“He came to stay for a couple of days,” said Dustin. “Keep an eye on things.”
“I heard you were doing the off-season here.” Jordan let go of Elliot’s hand and bent to pick up his suitcase. “How’re you liking it?”
“Good!” Elliot stepped aside to let him pass. “Nice. Yeah, really good. Beautiful city, great town.”
Jordan didn’t seem to notice that Elliot was talking way too fast. He set down the suitcase inside the door, looking around the loft.
“Well, thanks for coming over. I guess I didn’t realize you guys were friendly. Sounds like Dustin got over his grudge.” He eyed Elliot’s borrowed sweats and t-shirt, and Dustin told himself it wasn’t weird that Elliot was wearing his clothes. People borrowed clothes.
Elliot glanced at Dustin. “We started training together, figured the whole feud was pretty dumb.”
“Great.” Jordan clapped Dustin on the shoulder. “This old man’s keeping up with you?”
Elliot caught Dustin’s eye behind his back as he turned and went to take a seat at the island. “He does alright.”
No one had eaten, so after he took his meds, Dustin drove them to a diner. Over eggs and bottomless coffee that was almost as bad as the stuff he made at home, he told Jordan how it went with the specialist.
“So you have to go into The Program?” Jordan reached across the table for the ketchup. “Does Dr. Wu need to tell your coach?”
Dustin shook his head. “Only if I was going on the active roster. I’m not gonna be playing until halfway through the season anyway because of the knee.
” He picked up his coffee. “So I can deal with this while I’m still in Injured Reserve, and no one really has to know.
Unless…you know, unless I’m still dealing with it in January. ”
“Why would you still be dealing with it in January?”
“Relapse,” said Elliot, not looking up as he pushed eggs onto his fork. They all went quiet and he looked at Dustin. “Right?”
Dustin hadn’t told him that. He’d either overheard a phone call with Dr. Wu, or knew it because of his uncle. He nodded. “Right.”
“Mm.” Jordan put a bite of eggs in his mouth. “But that’s not gonna happen, is it?”
Unless the little fucking moron realizes he needs something for his knee.
“No,” said Dustin. “It’s not.”
Jordan didn’t say anything to that. He looked down at his plate again, skewering potatoes, and Dustin wasn’t sure exactly how to read the look on his face.
They ate. He watched his brother and Elliot get to know each other. They got along great – it was weird.
“You quit the league in twenty-seventeen, right?” said Elliot, reaching across the table for the syrup.
Jordan nodded, chewing. Elliot poured, and Dustin recognized his thinking face.
Which was nice: knowing Elliot well enough to recognize a face he made.
He finished pouring and set down the syrup, sucking some off his thumb. “What was that like?”
“Quitting the league?” Jordan tongued something out of a molar while he thought about it. “Really hard. I didn’t even think I was doing the right thing. I was only twenty-five.”
“Yeah, I remember the headlines.” Elliot picked up his fork. “Because Dustin had just started and you guys were supposed to be the Bennet Brothers.”
Jordan glanced at Dustin. “Right.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“Burned out. I was done. My entry-level contracts were expiring and nothing amazing was coming my way in terms of offers. And I had this shoulder thing that was just…grinding away.” Jordan picked over his potatoes. “I guess you probably know about our dad.”
Elliot quietly nodded.
“It’s pretty common knowledge,” said Jordan.
“But yeah. He was a big part of why we both played, and to be honest, I probably only kept doing it as long as I did because I figured that’s what he would’ve wanted.
But then I met Sarah and she helped me see that there’s life outside hockey.
Felt good, honestly: like I was finally getting out from under the old man.
I think she saved me; I didn’t know what I was gonna do – I went to Europe for a while, but I fuckin hate Europe, man.
The French over there is…so fucking French. ”
Elliot snorted and Dustin had to turn his eyes down to his plate, because seeing Elliot laugh made his chest ache badly, and he was afraid it was written all over his face. He sipped his coffee. It was helping his headache.
“So I went back to Canada, got into real estate – which is pretty par for the course for a hockey player,” said Jordan. “That led to contracting and now I run a roofing company. I work like a dog. But I do pretty good.”
Dustin snuck a look at Elliot and saw him making a face of disbelief. “And you like that?” Elliot said. “Roofing?” Dustin looked down again to hide his smile.
“I don’t hate it.” Jordan lifted one shoulder, picking up his coffee. “I go home at the end of the day to my daughter.”
Elliot looked like he couldn’t possibly fathom a world in which this was an acceptable way to live. Dustin watched him picking at his food. “There’s other stuff, though,” Elliot said, like he was reassuring himself. “You don’t have to go into real estate.”
“Honestly,” said Jordan, “a guy like you will retire after a long, illustrious career, and never have to work again. That was never me. I was never Dustin Bennet-level talented.”
Looking embarrassed, Elliot mumbled, “I don’t know if I could just do nothing.”
“You can run a foundation or something, if you really want to.”
“I don’t wanna run a foundation. I wanna play hockey.”
Jordan caught Dustin’s eye as the table went quiet. How many times had Dustin said exactly that to him? They all ate while the server came to refill their coffees. When she’d gone, Jordan said, “You don’t have to stop just because you retire. You could coach. Get into management.”
The word retire snagged in Dustin’s brain. He wasn’t sure if Jordan was saying that for Elliot or for him. He hadn’t heard him slip it into a conversation in a while.
“Hell, Rodriguez, you could do the media circuit if you wanted.” Jordan chuckled and sipped his coffee. “You’re pretty enough.”
Elliot went bright red, and his eyes went straight to Dustin. Then Dustin went bright red, and they both looked down at their plates.
Dustin was sure Jordan was watching him suspiciously as he skewered a potato and put it in his mouth. But when he looked up, Jordan was sipping his coffee and looking out the window. Dustin glanced at Elliot again. As their eyes met, the same bolt of electricity went through Dustin, and he smiled.