Page 91 of Wingmen

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” said Dustin. “But…maybe you already know this: My dad died when I was pretty young. So if you ever do wanna talk about it, we can.”

“I know,” said Elliot. “It’s on your Wikipedia page.”

And that, thank God, for now, was that.

He sleptin the spare room.

When he woke up at ten the next morning, Dustin was making eggs. He had the burner up way too high, and Elliot told him so as he slid onto a stool at the kitchen island.

“That’s why they keep sticking. You don’t got anything else to eat?”

Dustin shook his head. “Seemed like a safe place to start.”

“How do you feel?”

“Bad. But better than yesterday. These are for you. I can’t eat them.”

Elliot sighed and accepted a cup of coffee. “Do you need to go to Force today?”

Dustin shook his head.

“So what are you doing?”

“I don’t know, the knee hurts pretty bad. Like…worse than before, even.”

“Yeah, that’s because it doesn’t just go back the way it was when you stop taking the stuff. It gets worse.”

“Oh yeah?” Dustin glanced cautiously at Elliot as he sat beside him, sliding two plates onto the counter. “How do you know that?”

“Because that’s what they told me after my uncle died. They said that’s probably why he kept taking it.”

Elliot said this fast and flat, so he could get through it before all the stuff came out with it. Dustin nodded and seemed like he was waiting for more, but Elliot couldn’t give him any. He picked up his fork.

“Have you talked to anyone in the league yet?”

Dustin sighed. “I told my brother I would call Dr. Wu. I haven’t yet.”

“Why not?”

He put eggs onto his fork as Dustin stared across the kitchen.

“Because I think if I do that, she has to put me in the Assistance Program,” he said. “Which is like therapy and treatment through the league. And if that happens, people find out. They have to do a press release. They won’t release details, but…everyone knows what The Program is. And then it’ll be speculation and rumors, and someone finds the pharmacist in Canada or something… And that’ll be it. That’s all anyone will ever remember about my career.” He picked something off his sweats. “But your mom seems to think that asking for help is something I’m good at. And it would be a real shame to disappoint her.”

Elliot thought about Dustin on the agility ladder that day with Marisol. Sitting in the recovery room afterward. Dustin in that YouTube clip, getting up off the ice, bleeding from the nose and waving off help. For hockey.

“I guess your career is not gonna be very well remembered if you overdose and die halfway through next season, is it?” he said, very fast and flat again because he felt like he would cry.

Dustin nodded. “No. It is not.”

Elliot pulled the phone out of his back pocket and set it on the counter between them. “Call her.”

He overheardbits and pieces of the conversation through the bedroom door. Dustin looked relieved when he came out.

“She’s actually not allowed to report anything to the league yet,” he said, handing Elliot’s phone back. “Patient confidentiality. She referred me to a private specialist this afternoon.”

Elliot watched him cross to the couch and pick up his own phone to send a text. “Meaning what?”

“They tell me what I need to do to make sure this doesn’t get worse, or happen again. She said the word ‘psychologist’ a lot.” He finished the text and looked up. “What are you doing today?”