Page 19 of Misconduct Zone

“We need to do better,” Ace says conversationally. The men around him grunt in response.

“We all have off nights, and tonight wasn’t our night.” Caleb scans the table, hoping to ease the tension, then ducks his head.

“It is true,” Liska says. “Ve vill shake this off and get back to vork tomorrow.”

I nod in agreement, but my mind is on Dylon, not hockey. His confession shocked me into silence, and he has avoided me since. Since we do everything together, the guys noticed when Dylon boarded the bus and didn’t sit with me. He asked Gray about his ankle and ended up sitting with him. The seats between us formed an emotional wall and put me in a bad mindset.

Ace and Gray always sit together, and that’s part of Ace’s pregame routine, so our line was off from the start. Rituals are key to winning. In warm-ups, Dylon kept Ace between us, and we missed our pregame stick bump.

There were so many ways to respond to him coming out, and I failed him. All I could think about was how he’s attracted to men but not me. The hope I had for us falls into a deep well of despair. Cruelly, my silence made him uncomfortable. No matter what happens, he’s my friend first, and I can’t lose that.

There’s an empty ache where he should be that has nothing to do with the physical distance between us.

After the meal, we throw all our credit cards on the table and ask the server to pick one to pay. She chooses mine, and there’s no one here to jab me and tease me about if he’d known I was buying, he’d have ordered the most expensive dinner on the menu.

Dylon and the guys who stayed for the WCHL aren’t at the hotel when we get back.

“Come play cards,” Caleb begs as if he doesn’t have Mason and two D-lines to play with.

“Not tonight,” I say, and his face falls. “Another night and I will win all your money.”

Caleb’s answering grin shows his excitement. “You can try.”

Back in my room, I order dessert and contemplate what I’ll say to Dylon.

Me: Come to my room when you are done?

Dylon: What’s in it for me

Me: Red velvet cake

Dylon: Done

An hour later, I hear the guys return, yelling and joking in the hall, and I wait. And I wait. We don’t do this. I do not need to be polite so I walkdown the hall and bang on his door. Dylon takes a minute to answer, and when the door swings open, his matted hair frames his droopy eyes.

“Sorry. I laid down for a minute to decompress after talking to my family, and I must’ve fallen asleep.” He stands aside so I can enter.

“How was it?” Seeing him releases enough tension in my chest to take a deep breath. I forgot the cake, but I doubt he cares.

“Same old shit.” He flops down on one of the queen beds and motions to the other. I nod but refrain from offering my opinion. “I know. I know.” He sighs. “They don’t get it, or they don’t care. It’s hard to say which one is worse.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I fold my hands in my lap. Everything I intended to say does not matter when he’s hurting because of his parents.

“Did they come to the game?” He sends them tickets for every game in Detroit, but oftentimes, they watch the game from his uncle’s bar.

“My dad came with a buddy, and then my mom came to yell at me when I said I wasn’t going to the bar after the event. Which, by the way, was a huge success. Detroit had five Midwest players there as well, and they had a lot of people sign up who’ve never played hockey. But as only my mom can do, she made a scene and talked to a local reporter about her ungrateful son. That’s going to be fun. Finn stepped in after my mom left and told the reporter that the Enforcers ask players participating in charity events to skip the bar scene so that any extracurricular activities don’t accidentally overshadow the cause we’re trying to bring attention to.” His arm shields his eyes, and he delivers the information with detachment as if he cannot bring himself too close to it.

“Finn’s great at his job.” I shift my feet and stretch my legs between the beds. “I’m sure he told the other players to stay in tonight.”

He nods, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“I wish…” All the things I should say filter through my mind, but they all sound inadequate and surface level.

“Thanks for checking on me.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up. Get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow.” I stand and he flings out an arm.

“Can you stay? I’m not much fun, but being alone sucks.”

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