And I really, truly didn’t mean that in a creepy way. Like I was some guy going after a man entirely disinterested and hoping to convince him otherwise.
I could tell by the way Micah clung to me, like a man starved of affection. He kissed like he was new to having lips and tongue—and he was eager to prove that it didn’t matter he was inexperienced.
He was the exact opposite of what everyone believed, and I was hoarding that information to myself. It allowed me to have a piece of him that no one else did.
And eventually, I would want the world to know who he really was. For them to stop assuming everything about him because I knew it hurt him.
But I was going to be selfish for this little while.
I didn’t have a lot of time to think on it though. We had a game early in the evening, which meant a morning practice. I showered, choked down a giant protein shake, then stuffed several pieces of fruit into my bag before heading out the door.
I gave the neighborhood a quick glance—a sorry spark of hope in my chest that I might see Micah waiting for the bus—but of course, that was ridiculous.
He lived in Salem, and they also had a game tonight, which meant he was long gone in some fancy car he had ordered.
I put it out of my head as I made my way to the arena, but the ghost of him was still with me. The scent of him clung to my skin, in spite of the shower.
And every time I breathed, I felt the weight of him on my chest.
I would make it right later. Our game was over before his. When it was through, I would skip press, head down to Salem, and find out if he’d fled because of something I did or if he was once again running from how he felt.
“Alright, swap! I want Reddy to have at least half an hour stopping pucks before we call it!”
Noah was being uncharacteristically nice this morning. Though his version of nice was nothing more than not telling us what pathetic pieces of shit we all were on the ice.
It probably had everything to do with the fact that he was taking a new job with the AHL, and while everyone was pretending it was his choice, we all knew the truth.
The Glaciers’ ownership was changing hands,though no one had any idea who was taking over, and the new owner wanted a regime change. Noah was the first to go, and I knew there were also going to be some trades, though I felt secure in my position.
As our newest rookie skated toward me, I gave his mask a tap with my stick. “You good, new friend?”
Ferris’s eyes met mine through the cage in front of his face. “Anything I should know?”
I glanced over at the guys who were lined up to take shots against him. “Zeki always feint to the right. He has strong slapshot, especially this year. He will go for throat.”
“Literally?” Ferris asked.
I laughed softly. “No. But is…” I searched for the word. “Initiation.” This wasn’t Ferris’s first practice with us, but this would be his first game where he was on the bench, waiting to get called in.
Caddy was out for the rest of the season after fucking up his ACL on a hike gone wrong. There was a very good chance his name would be up when one of the West Coast teams came calling, but no one would be sad about it.
We would miss him, but it was his time to shine, and I wasn’t ready to leave yet.
“They’ll give bruises. They’re mark of honor, okay? Don’t let them get to you.”
“I won’t,” he said. From what I could tell, he took everything very seriously.
I liked that about him. I also liked that he was sweet. He showed up his first day with a smallgrocery bag full of tiny, crocheted stuffed animals. He let me pick four, so I had a chicken in a cowboy hat, an alligator, a penguin, and a panda on the shelf in my stall.
I liked that he was Pakistani, just like me, though I was jealous he still had his mother and a connection to his culture that I had lost when mine passed and my dad remarried. But I felt a little kindred with him in ways I didn’t feel with anyone else on the team.
He was going to be a good fit here if he didn’t let the pressure fuck him up.
“Do good hockey!” I called as I skated toward the bench.
I plopped down next to Monty, who was pulling a thread off the A on his sweater, and leaned against him.
“Find your own fuckin’ pillow,” he snarled.
