“I’m fine.”
“You don’t normally lie to us, bud,” he added.
Closing my eyes, I groaned and rubbed my hands down my face. “Look is…big personal problem, okay? Not your business.”
“It is if it’s going to affect your ability to defend the net,” Alexio said, ever the fucking pragmatist.
And it did piss me off. So far, I’d shown zero indication that my mood was going to affect my game. “Is that all?”
“Vanya…”
“Was trying to take pregame nap. If I’m bad tonight, might be your fault.”
Alexio’s face fell, and suddenly, I felt like a complete asshole. “Sorry.”
He and Rene were gone, moving two rows up before I could collect myself and apologize. Shit, I had to be better. I needed to control my frustration with this situation.
It wasn’t fair to the people I cared about.
“Vanya?”
I glanced up, startled to find Ferris hovering near the edge of the now empty seat. I sat up and shifted my legs around. “Little Reddy. You okay?”
He was worrying something between his fingers, and I realized it was one of his little crocheted creations. “I know rookies are meant to stay at the front of the bus, but?—”
“No, no. That’s stupid rule. Sit down.”
Ferris dropped down like it was some kind of military order and I was his commander. He swallowed heavily, twisting the brightly colored yarn animal in his hands.
“You’re nervous tonight?”
“There wasn’t a chance I was going to play the last roadie. I didn’t even bother putting my cup on. But this time…not that you’ll fuck up or anything, but…”
“No. I understand. You’re getting ice time. Coach might pull me to give you more. It’s okay.” I thought about reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, but he’d always recoiled from touch, so I kept my hands in my lap. “You can be nervous. Maybe it will be bad game—maybe you will be terrible. But you can’t get better without being terrible first.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I mean…I guess? My boyf—my…” He stopped, then shrugged. In truth, everyone knew about Quinn. He was gone before my time in the NHL, but people talked about him and his injury.
And people talked about the fact that Ferris had almost gone the same way before his career even started. I’d seen a couple of paparazzi shots of them on the internet, and they were an odd but very cute couple.
“Yes, your boyfriend,” I encouraged.
“It feels weird to call him that.” He let out a breath. “Anyway, he told me that his first two rookie years were really rough. It’s different when you’re agoalie though. It takes so long to be allowed on the ice, and then it’s usually for a failing third period.”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t get a real chance to show off my skills for the first couple of years after I’d been drafted. And Ferris hadn’t gone to the farm. He’d come straight here from collegiate, which was rare.
But it also meant he was good.
“You’re better goalie than me.”
He laughed, and then his eyes widened. “S-sorry. Sorry. I thought you were telling a joke! I suck at understanding when people are kidding. But…but why aren’t you kidding? I’m not better. You’re old.”
I winced. “Okay, that hurt a little bit.”
He glanced off to the side, his cheeks going a little dark with a flush. “I didn’t mean…I’m…” He licked his lips. “I’m autistic, so sometimes I say whatever pops in my head. You’re old. But in a good way. You have years of experience on me.”
“Yes, but at your age, I had to work much harder to get to where you are now. So you are better. You willbebetter.”
