Page 2 of Misconduct Zone

His parents have visited once since I moved in with him, and once in a while, I’ll pop in on his video calls. I think I’m growing on them. They’re like Lars, reserved and quiet. I’m the opposite of that.

“You could come with me,” he offers for the millionth time.

“Nah, go see your family, and I promise I won’t burn your place down while you’re gone.” For extra reassurance, I pat his back.

“Our place.” He sighs with a look I can’t decipher. “Call if you need anything.”

“Will do.” I salute him as he finally opens the door. “But I’ll call the guys if something comes up, and I have my sponsor.”

He nods, leaving an empty and lonely apartment behind—along with me. It’s large by New York City standards, two bedrooms, two and a half baths, an open kitchen, and a living room with a decent view of the city you can see as soon as you walk in. The silence presses in on my ears, and I shake it off.

Lars has been my rock and deserves a break from being my lifeline to the world. He’s the ultimate ride-or-die friend because I wouldn’t have survived without him. I certainly wouldn’t have had the discipline to stick with forced rehab and get back to hockey.

Being alone shouldn’t be so hard. Before Lars asked—or rather, insisted—I move in with him, I lived alone and had gotten used to quiet. I welcomed the peace after my unstable upbringing. I have to find my way back to the person I was before. No, scratch that. I need to become a healthier version of who I was before. A person capable of staring at my demons and resisting.

His calm demeanor and steadfast routines are the foundation I’ve rebuilt my life around. When I’m with Lars, I know exactly what to expect. It’s the opposite of living with my family and their chaotic mood swings, irrational behavior, and blame. They’re constantly the victims of circumstance and never take responsibility for their actions.

Lars has seen me at my worst and never judged me. He should’ve kicked my ass to the curb. I wouldn’t have put up with me. I called him my jailer and treating him as if my bad decisions were his fault. A learned behavior, according to my therapist.

I’ve apologized but can never do enough to thank him.

The fridge kicks on, startling me, and I take a steadying breath. He insists the apartment is ours, but without him, loneliness eats away at me. My skin’s too loose, as if I don’t fit right in my body. As if part of me has gone missing in Lars’s absence. He has become my comfort.

My seat on the couch is the same as always as I pick up the controller, but he’s not on the other end to harass me about my game choice or inability to win. It’srare for him to insult anyone, and it’s my favorite thing. Like I’m the only one he can relax around enough to trash talk.

I wander into the kitchen and open the fridge, staring inside for a few minutes. Suddenly I’m hyperaware there’s no beer sitting on the shelf waiting to take the edge off. No cabinet with a bottle of Maker’s Mark calling my name. That I’m on my own to deal with the desperation—without Lars.

My phone vibrates with a text from Austin Lapointe, a.k.a. Ace, our captain, asking for a rematch of the new video game I bought. I would bet money Lars asked him to check up on me, but it’s important I prove to Lars—and myself—that I can do this on my own. I don’t want him to see me as someone he has to take care of. Our friendship has to be equal, and it can’t be if he’s constantly worried about me.

Me: Not today, Satan

Ace: Are you and Drakey worried?

Me: He left

Ace: Shit. We’re definitely coming over

Maybe Lars didn’t ask him and his roommate, Grayson, to check on me.

Me: I’m an adult. I’ll skip the twin babysitters

Ace: We’re not twinning today

I laugh out loud.

Me: Because one of you changed?

As a team, we’ve decided that they share a brain. They’ve been friends since middle school and dreamed of playing in the NHL together, but an injury ended Grayson’s hockey career. He’s our trainer, and he and Austin are like an old married couple, finishing each other’s sentences and wearing the same things. Granted, most of the time, it’s team gear, but we have so much thatit seems impossible for them to accidentally keep pairing identical tops and bottoms on the same day.

My phone rings, and before I can say hello, Austin starts talking. “Listen, I think our apartment is haunted, and the ghosts play tricks on us, making us wear the same thing.”

All I can do is laugh in response.

“I’m serious.” He chuckles at the absurdity of it. Then his voice gets low. “Listen, can you come here if you don’t want us there? Gray’s in a mood.”

Glancing around my empty apartment, I decide it doesn’t matter if he’s telling the truth or not. They’re my friends, and I’d rather hang out with them than be alone. I can try that tomorrow.

“My place has a better gaming setup. Bring food.”

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