Evan flinched like I’d hit him. “I just thought maybe we were friends, man. I’m trying to help.”
I stopped short of telling them we weren’t friends. Before two weeks ago, I thought I was friends with everyone. But I’d learned how quickly that could all turn to shit. So what was the point of any of it?
“You have anything else you want from me, Captain?”
He shook his head and let out a breath. It almost felt like he was disappointed. Why? Why did he care? I was winning games. Wasn’t that all that mattered? Wasn’t that the most important thing? We were here to play hockey, not braid each other’s hair.
I went back to my routine of taping my stick, lacing up one skate, checking my stick, lacing up the other skate. I didn’t have special socks or much of a routine at all. I always used black and white tape on my stick. Zebra stripes. I had even before I met Silas. But after I met him, it took on a whole new meaning, and I just kept the tradition.
My eyes became blurry as I stared at the black-and-white stripes. It didn’t help me to focus. In fact, it was probably making it harder. But every night I went onto the ice, I was confronted with four of his fucking look-alikes. I refused to let myself look at the schedule and know when I was going to be playing on the ice with him. I couldn’t bear to know.
I ached to know how he was liking his job. He was so passionate about the game, more than some of the best players I knew. And he put up with so much shit from the players and coaches. Even the announcers weren’t always kind to the officials. Yet he never complained.
Without my headphones, the sound filtered in, but I didn’t let it bother me. The guys gave me pats on the back, tried to engage me in conversation. I just gave them groans and head nods.
Then we were on the ice.
Then the game was over.
Three to two. No hat trick for me, but two assists and a goal was good enough. As was the win. After all, hockey was the most important thing.
Coach didn’t ask me to talk to the press. That never went well, even when Silas was in my life. I showered, put my suit back on, and walked out of the stadium. My teammates mentioned going out after the game. Half of them were hitting the clubs, the other half were heading back to their hotels. I would go to my hotel. I shared a room with Nix. He liked to go out after the games.
I didn’t know what was worse, sitting alone in the room or avoiding conversation when he was there. At least if he went out, I could just pretend to be asleep when he returned.
Sleep wasn’t something that came easily despite the exhaustion. I didn’t like pills or booze, so I relied on good old-fashioned sheep-counting. It never worked.
All I saw was Silas and the endless question of how could we make this work? How could we be together when he was an official and I was a player?
There wasn’t an answer. And I hated that.
Either one of us had to quit or we had to accept that we couldn’t be together.
Maybe Silas had already accepted it. On the outside, it looked as if I had, on the inside, I was dying.
Chapter 10
Silas
The Badgers had yet another win that brought them closer to the playoffs. They were going to win the cup this year. I knew it. I knew it in my bones. The way they were playing, their synchroneity on the ice. It was perfection. Evan and Elliot were closer than ever, totally in sync. Nix was unstoppable. His counterpart, Tommy, was just as good.
I took a swig of my beer and kept my eyes glued on the screen that covered the wall of the bar. I was surrounded by Elliot, not just in my thoughts but in my every waking moment. Every game I watched, every time I interacted with anyone in the industry, they mentioned him and the hot streak he was on.More than one person had pondered what had changed to spark such a change in his play.
I knew.
The Badgers all went to do a group hug, there were slaps on the back, sticks in the air. They were all excited about their win. Once the buzzer went off and they were declared winners, Elliot flashed a smile that the cameraman happened to catch. He was happy. He looked so fucking happy.
What had I expected, really? For his game to suffer just because he had broken up with me? I didn’t want that. I never wanted that. But to realize that I was so insignificant to his life that it appeared that nothing had changed for him. Fuck, that kind of hurt.
If anything, he was playing better. According to the ESPN commentators who would not shut up about him, he was going to break some records this year if he kept this up. Good for him.
Truly, I was excited for him. I wanted nothing but the best for Elliot.
“Elliot Shaw is a force to be reckoned with this season, playing his best hockey we’ve ever seen from him. Reminds me of his days back in the lower league,” Blaine Wilkes, a retired center who now had his own post-game show on ESPN, prattled on and on about Elliot. I wanted to bash his face in. I’d never been the violent type, but I was tired and cranky and so fucking lonely.
“That’s right, Blaine. He is on fire out there, unstoppable. But goddamn, you can’t get a word out of him for the press. In fact, rumor from our sources is that he isn’t even being selected to talk to the press after the games because he never has anything to say. You think something’s going on inside his head?”
“I’m not sure about that, Morgan. But honestly, I don’t care. Whatever is going on that’s keeping him on top of his game has got to be a good thing.”
