Game night. Rays vs Kraken. Home game. It’s my first game in three weeks. The cortisone shot helped reduce inflammation and Rachel added a gel shot last week. The joint lube has improved my range of motion significantly. The two treatments, combined with rest, have me feeling like I’m back up at eighty percent. It’s enough. It’ll have to be because the FIHA reps are finally here.
Warm-ups are done and everyone is getting ready to hit the ice. In the stall next to me, Morrow curses. “Fuckin’ stupid piece of shit.” He gets up and hobbles across to the other side of the locker room, complaining about a frayed skate lace.
As soon as he’s gone, Compton slides down the bench, nudging my elbow. “Hey. How you feeling tonight?”
“Fine.” I focus on adjusting the straps of my pads.
“Anything I need to know?” he presses, voice low. “You know, before we get out there…anything I need to do or not do?”
I glare at him. He’s breaking my concentration. I don’t like to engage in conversation before the game. And I really don’t like him doubting my readiness to play. I gesture to my pads. “You want me to take these off, Compton? You want to wear them, is that it? You think you can play my position better than me?”
“Hey, man, don’t get defensive. I’m just tryna help you out. I know this is a big game for you with the scouts here. You just tell me how I can help show you off—”
“Just do your job,” I mutter.
He huffs, clearly upset by my rudeness. “Yeah, you know what, I think I will just do my fucking job.” Just when I think he’s about to slide away, he leans in closer, his voice lowering. “Is this about the other day in the storage room? You still pissed about the whole goalie net thing? Because if you’re not cool with sharing, that’s really something we gotta know.”
I go still. The last thing I need to be thinking about right now is Rachel. Or me and Rachel. Or me and Rachel and Jake Compton fucking like champions against my damn nets.
In no version of my future did I ever imagine I might be considering sharing a wife and a life with a teammate. Certainly not an optimistic, fun-loving, sushi-eating, obnoxious defenseman.
This is why I had reservations about Rachel. Maybe part of me always knew she would complicate my life beyond my medical care. Now she has Jake Compton trying to treat me like more than a teammate. He’s trying to be my friend.
But I’m no good at this. I’m quiet and awkward. I live in my head. Rachel doesn’t try to pull me out. She just climbs inside with me. She’s in and I can’t get her out. Even Caleb seems to understand me. We get along. We did even before Rachel. We share a mutual fondness for silence and order.
But Jake Compton is loud and outgoing and messy. He makes friends with anyone and everyone. He’s always laughing, always teasing, always fucking smiling. This can’t work. He’ll get sick of my moods and my melancholy, and he’ll force me out.
Not that Caleb is any less moody, but he’s Compton’s DLP. He’s not going anywhere. Compton can’t possibly tolerate a second man in his life who is so difficult to live with. So, I’ll be out. This can’t last. Compton won’t want it to last, and I won’t blame him. There’s no way, with our clashing personalities, that he’ll ever let me stay.
“Move away from me, Compton,” I mutter.
“Jeez,” he huffs. “Good fucking luck, asshole.”
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I can’t think about him right now. I can’t think about Rachel…about losing her to him. Tonight, I have a job to do.
“You ready, boys?” our captain calls across the locker room. “Let’s go kick some Kraken ass!”
As one, the team gets to our feet. It’s time to play.
