Page 89 of Two for Holding
“Do they even still do charts?”Tom asked.“Isn’t everything streaming now?”
Phil considered.“You know what?I have no idea.Breezy would know though.Or if he didn’t, he’d look it up.Maybe he’ll even let the other guys pick a song for the playlist too.Give him a chance, and he’ll make something of it.”
Tom sighed deeply.“You’re right.But I’m not ready to take theAaway from you yet.”
“Good.”
“And I’m not ready for Russian techno in the locker room.”
They ate in the living room, thankfully, because even Phil had to admit it was too cold to eat outdoors.Phil put the game on—the Winnipeg Pirates against the Minnesota Fury.The Fury’s goalie was on fire, and the Pirates had been struggling as a whole this season.By the second intermission, the score stood four–nil with the Fury headed for a shutout.
“Brutal,” Phil said, wiping up the last of his steak juice with garlic bread.
“Don’t remind me.We haven’t played the Fury since they got their new tendy.”
“Eh.”Phil wobbled his hand back and forth.“You’ll be okay.Dmitriyev isn’t quite as good yet, but with the defense tightened up, he should be okay.And you and Jax can decimatetheirdefense easy.”
Tom’s face did something between a smile and a grimace.What cruel joy that he and Jax were so good together on ice.On the one hand, it filled Tom with pride.They were playing some of the best hockey of his career, both as a team and him individually.On the other, he wanted to hide their chemistry, protect it from the world, so no one could see how good he and Jax were together, not when they couldn’tbetogether the way they were supposed to be.
The way Tom wanted to be.
As the TV went into an ad break, Phil pressed mute and turned to Tom, maneuvering to keep his leg stretched out straight.“So.”
“Hmm?”The TV ran an ad for men’s shampoo, the same brand Tom had done that stupid sponsorship deal for five years ago.With the color scheme all dark and red and the sound off, it really brought to the fore the ridiculousness of the industry gendering soap of all things.But Tom couldn’t help thinking about Jax and the supply of body wash he didn’t particularly like but felt duty-bound to keep working through.Maybe he should buy a different brand, just to switch it up.Just to make it easier on them both.
“What happened with you and Jax?”
Tom jerked away from the TV to stare at Phil.
“See, last I checked, you two were tearing it up on the ice and actually becoming friends off the ice for once in your life.But then today, I get a text from Jax telling me to invite you over because you need to, and I quote, ‘Get out of your head,’ but not to ask why.”
Tom’s throat closed up.Jax couldn’t help but always take care of him.
“I made friends with you,” Tom pointed out.
“Nice try, but no.”Phil flicked his ear.“We were road roommates before the NHLPA bargained their way into single rooms, and I wore you down by proximity.That’s not the same thing as going out of your way to spend time with someone.”
Tom forced a laugh.“I wasn’tthatbad.”
“Oh, buddy, you were worse.You’d have stayed in every night of every road trip if I had let you.The first month sharing a room, the only things you would talk to me about were how to fix your back-check and theweather.”
It had been a long time since Tom had thought about his first season.He’d been eighteen and brand-new in the NHL.Everyone had expected great things from him, but the nerves caused by heightened expectations combined with the grueling travel schedule and the media attention made him so anxious it took a month or two for him to hit his stride.A slow start meant everyone called him a draft bust both in the press and sometimes to his face, which didn’t help.To top it off, he still lived in fear that each new day would be the one Sean slipped up and told someone about the time first-overall-pick Tom Crowler got drunk and sucked him off.All he had going for him were the texts from his mom after every game, telling him honestly whether or not he’d done well.
“I was so scared,” Tom said, caught up in the memory.He’d only felt safe on the ice or holed up in the huge apartment the team had organized for him.
“Of me?”Phil frowned.
Belatedly, Tom remembered the things hockey media said about Phil.Peoplestillcalled him an overpaid draft bust, even though he’d been a solid wall of a defenseman for a decade before his knees started giving out.Whenever he took a penalty, they called him a goon or, worse yet, a dangerous player.Tom could name twenty guys off the top of his head who played a much more dangerous game than Phil—Vanderbilt and Howie among them.Anyone could play hockey, but most who did were straight white men.
“No, not ofyou.”Tom took a deep breath.“More of you…finding out about me.”
Phil’s brow furrowed.“What about you?”
Tom’s pulse sped up.“I felt like such a liar that season.I thought I’d tricked everyone into thinking I was ready for the NHL, and I was terrified they’d realize their mistake and I would get sent down.”
“I think we all feel like imposters our first season in the show.”
“Yeah.”Tom tried and failed to smile.He could leave it there.Phil believed him.Phil had no reason to question him.Tom could move on, and the whole conversation would end without him revealing any more about himself than he had to.
