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1
Off-Season
Ben
“Little dude, I thought it’d end different for you.” I heave a breath, shaking my head as I carry the fallen soldier to my bathroom. “Saw you going out in a blaze of glory. Belly full of the good stuff. Final hours spent in the land of milk and honey.”
Jesus, I haven’t had to toss an expired rubber since high school.
Back then, my girlfriend kept saying she wanted to do it then changing her mind. Fair. No one should do anything before they’re ready, so I never pressured her. Ever. I was good with waiting, good with throwing away one unopened box of condoms a year for three years straight… until I found out said girlfriend had been doing Steven Huang since New Year’s our senior year.
Yeouch.
Next time I bought a box of rubbers, I was back to buy a second box less than twelve hours later.
Been that kind of steady turnover ever since. At least until six months ago when my left nut went rogue and?—
“Yo, Boomer, got a minute?”
I turn to where my teammate, roommate, and bromantic bestie, Grant Bowie, is leaning against the doorjamb. “Dude, moment of silence here?”
He closes his eyes, but instead of acknowledging the loss like a normal human being, the guy who stole my little sister runs a hand over his face and groans. “Knock off the somber bullshit. Condoms don’t expire in one year.”
Rude.
“Not by the manufacturer’s standards, but I like to keep a solid buffer between me and the edge of iffy… especially when it comes to protection.”
He considers and gives me a nod. “Okay. For you, that’s probably good practice. But your sister wants to talk. Let’s go.”
Ignoring the dig, I toss the rubber and follow Bowie out to the front of the apartment where Piper’s sitting at the table she made us buy because she was sick of eating on the couch or floor, and felt that as professional hockey players in the NHL, we could definitely afford it. She’s got a glass of water in front of her and a sweet smile on her face that reminds me of when she was little. Cute. Not dating my teammate.
Good times.
Bowie drops a kiss at her temple and slides onto the chair beside her while I take the one across from them. “This about your trip? Need a ride to the airport?”
They’ve already shared their itinerary, and Bowie promised to hit a couple virtual workouts with me while they’re gone.
“No, we’re all set. There’s something else, Ben.”
Uh-oh. “My hockey gear?”
She glances at the clothesline I strung across the living room last week to air out my equipment… and possibly just to see what she’d say because I’m maybe still the tiniest bit butthurt about the fact that she’s usurped me as the most important person in Bowie’s life.
“No. It’s not about the gear.” She levels me with a look. “But that’s gross and you should put it away.”
I’m planning on it. Eventually. “The oatmeal? Because I learned my lesson about leaving it in the bowl, and the new dishes are going to be here tomorrow.”
“What?” she chokes as Bowie’s head whips toward the kitchen.
Not the oatmeal then. “They’re really nice.”
My sister nods. Sighs and then smiles.
And that’s when I notice the boxes.
Oh shit. “Just what exactly is happening here?”
“Ben, listen,” she says with a voice so calm I think I might puke, because no good thing comes from that soothing tone. “We’re getting our own place.”
