Chapter Twenty-Eight #3
“If Gallagher’s actually positioning himself as an ally who wants to be useful to queer players? No. He should be happy to answer questions, and professional and discreet and it should be absolutely fine.” He watched Elliot thinking this through, and added, “But you know what else you could do?”
“What?”
“Not trade.”
Elliot frowned again.
“Because it’s not Reef’s team, is it?” said Dustin. “It’s your fucking team. And yeah, you could let him chase you out and run away to somewhere you don’t really want to be. Or you could tell him to go fuck himself. And keep your team.”
Elliot’s face cracked into a smile that Dustin was half-afraid might turn into tears. He reached over and cupped Dustin’s face in his hand. “You’re very wise, Abuelo,” he said, and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “With your shaggy beard.”
Dustin snorted. “Uh huh. Yes, very wise, with my Mild Opioid Use Disorder.”
“With your triangle of interlocking factors.” Elliot held his face firmly. “It has nothing to do with wisdom.”
Gratitude swelled inside him, and Dustin very nearly said the fucking thing, and managed not to.
Instead he said, “But you shouldn’t stay in Tampa if it’s not good for you.
Or safe. You don’t have to prove anything.
You don’t have to push through or deal with someone’s shitty behavior if you don’t want to.
If walking away is better for you, then you should do that. ”
Elliot smiled. “See? Very wise.” He let go of Dustin’s face and bent his arm behind his head. “What about you? What are you doing next season?”
“What do you mean? Going into Injured Reserve. Starting in January, I hope. Why?”
Elliot was quiet, putting something together in his head. Eventually, he said, “I heard you and Jordan talking. About retirement.”
Dustin felt the word sink through him like a stone and closed his eyes. He wasn’t retiring. That was Jordan’s thing.
Jordan kept asking him realistically what was going to happen when he went back on the roster in January. Dustin kept saying realistically he’d be playing fucking hockey again. Jordan kept asking why Dustin was clinging to this thing. He also kept talking about Dad.
When he looked at Roddy, Roddy was looking back with sad, fierce eyes.
“I don’t want you to retire, Bendito,” he said.
“Yeah.” Dustin sighed. “Me neither.”
“But maybe I’m being selfish? Because I’ve been watching you my whole life, and if you’re not there, then I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Dustin scoffed. But Elliot didn’t laugh, and he realized he realized he meant it. He sat up on his elbow. “Roddy…are you serious? What do you mean you don’t know who you are? What happened to being the first Elliot Rodriguez?”
Elliot shrugged, quiet. “I only got here by doing it like you did.”
“Kid, you don’t do it anything like I did. I watched you. You sing.”
He laughed. “Claro. Do you not? It’s fun.”
“Yeah.” Dustin sighed and lay down again. “That was never really what it was about for me.”
“Fun?” Elliot frowned. “Then why do you do it?”
Dustin took a moment to think about the best way to answer this, and realized…he couldn’t.
And it hit him.
Why was he doing it? He truly didn’t know anymore. Because there was nothing else. Because it was all he knew how to do. Because Ol’ Dustin Bennet didn’t have anywhere else to go.
He was clinging to this. And he was standing in Elliot’s spotlight.
What happened to his brain when he went back on the roster in January? Realistically. Realistically, would he keep examining it, like his psych said he needed to?
Or would he go right back to where he’d been? Refusing to stop, or slow down, or ask for help. To let anyone see him bleed. Picking himself up off the boards and telling everyone to fuck off even though you know your nose is broken, Bennet.
And if that’s what he did, how long would it be before he was back in a hotel room in Vancouver? Or somewhere worse.
What would he be teaching the kid by doing that?
Hadn’t he just told Roddy that he shouldn’t stay in a thing if it wasn’t good for him? Or safe? Hadn’t he told him that if walking away was better for him, then he should do that? That he didn’t have to prove anything?
He was pointing the finger at Rodriguez again. And three more were pointing right back at him.
For the first time since March, Dustin saw, clearly and painfully, what he had to do. He heard it in his head again, and weirdly, again, it was Tom:
“Stop.”
He turned to Roddy. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to say it out loud without breaking down, but luckily, Roddy wouldn’t care about that. He’d cried in front of Dustin so many times now that watching Dustin do it would only be reinforcing for him that it was perfectly acceptable.
Shit: was he mentoring? Was he finally doing it? He was. He finally got it. Jesus fucking Christ, it was so fucking obvious: you didn’t mentor the kid by telling him what to do. You did it by mentoring yourself.
He reached down and took Roddy’s hand.
“I think it’s time you started being the first Elliot Rodriguez,” he said. “And I think it’s time I got the fuck out of the way.”