Page 55 of Misconduct Zone

My career. Lars. Self-respect.

I unscrew the cap.

Lars

There’s my irrational panic, and there’s my boyfriend leaving for hours, which is not like him. He will text me while we’re in the same room. We haven’tgone this long without speaking since the day he moved in. Even before that, if I texted, he would answer almost immediately.

We don’t share our location because we’re together 95 percent of the time. He gave me his sponsor’s number as soon as he was serious about getting sober. I have never used it, and I hate checking up on him, but I’ve texted our friends and although I didn’t outright ask, Dylon isn’t with them.

Me: Hi, this is Dylon’s roommate, Lars. He must have his phone off. Can you have him text me?

Sponsor: I haven’t seen Dylon in a week

Sponsor: Are you worried about him?

I stare at my phone, and my panic turns into terror.

He lied.

Dylon lied to me.

I dial his number, and it goes to voicemail.

I dial again and again and again because I don’t know what else to do.

If I call the police, the tabloids will be alerted. They have cops on their payroll and listen to scanners. If I call the team… I’m catastrophizing again.

Sponsor: Dylon didn’t pick up my call

I dial another number, and when he picks up, I blurt out, “Finn, I need help.”

Dylon

The vibration of my phone startles me again, but the swirling amber liquid holds all my attention.

This is the most important thing right now.

I close my eyes and inhale the scent. It’s been over a year, and the ghost smell in my brain can’t compare to the real thing. It makes my nose hair tingle.

I hope the tip I gave the front desk agent is enough to keep them from calling the tabloids. No one can know where I am until this is over.

This is the only way.

Lars

“What are you talking about?” Finn speaks so quickly my mind can’t separate the words. My brain diverts to Swedish, and his English is nonsense about a shirt being private and pictures.

“Slow down,” I bark but then realize I spoke in Swedish and take a breath to repeat it in English.

“I told him not to wear that damn shirt in public. It was a private joke for the team and me and Trevor. You two fucking idiots practically screamed to the world, hey, look at us, a couple of gay NHL players,” Finn says indignantly.

“You are not making sense.” I rub the heel of my hand in my eye sockets.

“I’d ask if you went on a bender, but I know better. Here, I sent a link.”

I open my texts and press the button to see a photo of me and Dylon, him wearing the shirt that clearly saysDaddy Drake’s Propertywhile I’ve got my hands on him, guiding him into the car. He’s grinning, staring into my lust-filled eyes.

Last night, I dared to believe in us. Is he running because he could tell I began spiraling out of control or from the fallout of these pictures? He’s missing and avoiding me on purpose.

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