Page 31 of Caught Offside

A bar near the hotel took all twelve of them at a back table. Patrick ordered one beer and made it last. Dev sat beside him, nursed two beers, and didn’t try to make him talk. Patrick had always liked that about him. Pruitt told a story that grew a foot each lap of the table. Down at the end, Lindy, the kid on the third pairing three weeks up from the AHL, laughed in the right places and didn’t try to be louder than he was. Patrick noticed because it was what he’d done at that age, when the room was still deciding about you. Once, under Pruitt’s noise, Lindy muttered something dry that only Dev was close enough to catch, and Dev huffed a laugh into his beer. That was the whole of it.

Patrick’s phone buzzed against his thigh.

Yeah, baby! That stretch pass was filthy as hell! You should know I rewound it four times just to watch you in action.

The next one landed a minute behind it.

Congratulations, Patrick.

The first was Asher at full volume. The second came in quieter, no exclamation point, no bit, just his name. Patrick had learned to listen for the second voice under the first.

Thank you.

Probably for the best I’m out of town. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to drive down there and give you a proper congratulations. What’s your schedule looking like?

Patrick read the question twice. He didn’t have an answer to give. Round one opened the following week, but the league hadn’t set the bracket yet. He didn’t know who they’d draw, what nights, what cities. He knew the trip ended tomorrow. He knew that two states west, Asher had a game tomorrow and the day after and most of the days after those.

That was the trouble with the question. Neither of them could answer it yet.

Not sure yet. You’re home next week, right? Maybe I can come up and watch you play for a change.

I’d lose it if you actually showed up. No pressure though. I know what your next month looks like.

He put the phone away. Dev was watching him.

“Good news?” Dev said.

“We clinched. You were there.” Patrick reached for his beer.

“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it.”

“I know.”

Dev took a sip and left it alone.

Home was the way he’d left it. Clean counters, filtered light, the quiet he used to think of as the point of the place. He didn’t think of it that way anymore. The quiet had started sounding like what it actually was: empty.

What was left of the regular season was a short stretch, a few home games and a last road trip, then the playoffs. None of it had room for Asher. What they had instead was the phone.

The calls landed late, after both their games, and ran short because they were wrecked by the time they aligned. One night, Asher fell asleep mid-sentence. Patrick stayed on the line and listened to him breathe a while before he hung up. They went over the schedules aloud more than once. Between them was a wall of games with no door in it, until the season let one of them go.

“It’s a stupid amount of work,” Asher said one night, not complaining, just naming it. “Wanting to be in the same room as a person.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said.

“I’m in, for the record. In case all the scheduling talk made it sound like I was hunting for an exit.”

“I know.”

“Just making sure you knew.”

On the flight to the last road series, Dev took the seat beside him, headphones around his neck, and didn’t put them on.

“You’ve been smiling at your phone,” Dev said once the plane leveled off.

“I haven’t.”

“You did it twice at the gate. I’m not making it a thing.” Dev tipped his head back against the seat. “Just saying you’re easier to be around than you were in January.”