Page 10 of Drop the Gloves
Once they were friends, he wouldn’t be interested in Abernathy anymore.
“Thanks, Sophia.”He pulled the cat up and kissed the top of her head.She mewed in annoyance but allowed the manhandling.“I appreciate your helping me talk it out.”
5
The pre-season cameand went in a whirlwind.It felt great to get back on the ice with his team, to hear the fans cheering them on again.He wasn’t as much in shape as he’d like, and he was thankful for that because while he was struggling through the burn in his legs, he couldn’t focus on the fact that Riley Barczyk was his right wing.
When he did make the mistake of thinking about it, well, then he made sloppy plays.
Like a bad pass to Barczyk against the Brooklyn Bootleggers that led to a turnover and a goal the other way.
Or the flubbed shot after Barczyk set him up beautifully in front of the net.Evan had looked up, recognized it was Barczyk curling out from behind the net because he was chewing on his stupid mouthguard, and messed up what should’ve been an easy backdoor goal.
Or the time he lost a face-off because all he could hear was Barczyk to his right, chirping the winger on the Buffalo Bears about a stain on his jersey.
Worst was the time he skated directly into Barczyk in the neutral zone because he’d been too busythinkingthat he forgot to justplay.
“Jesus, Abs,” Barczyk grumbled on the bench after the collision.“You like 250 pounds?Like running into a brick wall.”
“220 pounds,” Evan said self-consciously, more embarrassed about his mistake than his weight.
“What are you, Barzy?”Woodward teased.“A buck thirty?”
Barczyk threw his head back and cackled.“Look at this guy,” he said, jabbing Woodward with his elbow.“Fucking clown.I’ll have you know I’m 175 pounds, thank you.”
This got all the guys laughing.If true, that would put Barczyk a good ten pounds under their next smallest player, one of the rookies who was at least taller than Barczyk though not leaner.
“You’re like a chihuahua,” Pope said.“Small, mean, and loud as fuck.”
Evan thought the comparison was pretty on the nose, but Barczyk scoffed.“I ain’t mean.I’m a nice guy, honest.Just not to anyone wearing something other than green and yellow.”
By the time they reached Toronto, Evan had locked in enough that he was playing actual hockey with only the occasional Barczyk-related hiccup.He still made poor plays that the coaches chewed him out for, but they were infrequent enough that they didn’t connect them with Barczyk.It was a blessing and a curse that they hadn’t.He secretly hoped they’d notice the bad line chemistry and make a change, but that would require there to actually be a problem: they had a decent number of goals for and few against.It might not be ideal for Evan, but he couldn’t deny it was working.
Or at least…working well enough.
“You hesitate a lot,” Barczyk said in the locker room after their game against the Toronto Terrors.They’d lost 3-2 in a shootout.Evan hadn’t scored, but his cousin had in the shootout; he’d have to remember to text him about it.They’d made a bet at lunch earlier about who’d get the most points, and he now owed his cousin a pack of beer that he’d have to pay up on when the Terrors came to town in November.
Evan tensed.“What do you mean?”He knew exactly what Barczyk meant.
“On the ice.”He still had his gear on from the waist down; from the waist up he was naked, a gold necklace of large interlocking chains dangling around his neck highlighting the smooth planes of his chest.His hair, normally a wild mess of curls, was sweat-damp and clung to his forehead.“You hesitate.”
Fuck.It was true, and while a lot of it currently was Barczyk-related, Evan couldn’t blame all of it on him.He did hesitate whenever he got the chance to check.When he was in the zone, he played hard and didn’ttryto avoid big hits…but then he’d hit someone, and it would look like it hurt.Evan knew he was a big guy—his mom often said watching him play was like watching a tiger cub trying to play with house cats, unaware of his size and strength—and he didn’t want to injure anyone, a sentiment that had crystalized even more after his injury last season.After those bigger hits, he would find himself slowing down before making contact, never quite following through and going too easy on opponents, especially if he’d already made contact with them that game.
It had on a couple of unfortunate occasions resulted in the other team scoring.
But that was a can of worms Evan didn’t want to get into, period.He 100% didn’t want to get into it with Barczyk, the last guy on the planet who’d understand.Barczyk didn’t play easy on anyone ever, as evidenced by how rough he’d played this pre-season.It was the fucking pre-season, and they were both players with rostered spots (read: absolutely nothing to prove), and he’d gotten into three fights so far.Three!That was more than Evan had in his whole career!
(Easy enough, since Evan had exactly zero career fights.)
So instead, he pulled the one thread that would look the least bad and might seem the most relatable.
“My cousin’s on the Terrors,” he said apologetically.
Barczyk considered this.“So you were going easy on him?”he asked skeptically.
“Probably?”Evan admitted.“I don’t want anyone to get hurt, but Ireallydon’t want to hurt him.”
“You’re so Canadian.”Barczyk said it like an accusation.He bent over to untie his skates, exposing his back and a purple bruise on his ribs.
