Page 133 of The New Guy
I pop up off the sofa and pace my way to the fridge, where I grab a second beer. I’m usually a one beer kind of guy, but now my head is full of awful thoughts. Hudson and the trainer rediscovering one another. Having sex on a giant bed in a mountain chalet, while snow falls gently past the window outside.
Wait. Is it snowing in Colorado yet? Should my unhappy subconscious be picturing autumn leaves instead?
I take a gulp of my second beer and pace behind the sofa. On our screen, Hudson skates like a Tasmanian devil. He trips a Chicago player and doesn’t get called for it, and his teammates high-five him when he returns to the bench. I squint at the screen, trying to see if the trainer says anything to him, or smiles.
Jesus Christ. It’s going to be a long season. I’m definitely canceling this channel when the trial is over.
I take out my phone and open up our secret app, tapping in my pass code. There’s our old thread, from the morning he got traded, frozen in time. Eggplant emojis and smiley faces and hearts.Can’t wait to see you, he’d written.
If only.
Later I’ll blame it on one and a half light beers, which is bullshit, but there isn’t a better reason for me to tap out a message.
Jordyn made me get ESPN+ tonight so we could watch your game. You look great.
On the ice I mean.
Whatever. You probably look great in general, you dick.
I’m still so mad at you. But I honestly hope you’re doing okay. I hope someone in Colorado makes you play ping-pong and eat carbs once in a while.
I hit send, but then I read it back and realize how stupid it all sounds. So of course I double down.
Really, she made me subscribe. She held me down with her short little arms and threatened to sing Frozen from start to finish unless I said yes to the free two-week trial.
Which I’ll cancel. It’s probably expensive so at least I only have fourteen days for self torture.
Please score another goal in the next two weeks. Kthx.
PS: Your coach is hot. I can’t see the trainer well enough to know if he is also hot, but if that’s your ex please never tell me. I really don’t want to know.
I read it back, and groan.
“Whatsa matter, Daddy?” Jordyn asks from the sofa.
“Nothing. Just, uh, need to see if this app lets you delete stuff you sent.”
It doesn’t.
Fuck my life.
Colorado scores, and Jordyn applauds, and I power my phone all the way off so I’m not tempted to embarrass myself any further.
FORTY-SIX
Hudson
We beat Chicago.
That game felt good. Really good. I’ve been skating like a superhero at practice. I work out like a beast, eat a great diet, and watch game tape like there will be a quiz later. From the moment I wake up in the morning, I’m all about hockey.
Brooklyn is going to be sorry. Those are the only two things keeping me going—revenge, and hockey. Plus, wearing myself out at the gym and on the ice is the only way I can get any sleep.
I drive the blue SUV home from Denver to my townhouse, and park in my designated spot. Four other players on my team live in this development, in a highly desirable neighborhood. It’s a sweet setup, and I have no complaints with management.
Except for the only one that matters—I’d rather not be here at all.
After tapping in the code for the front door, I step into the quiet space. I bought the furniture from the rental company, and haven’t added anything much to the house except for my favorite rug, which Heidi Jo shipped to me a week after I left Brooklyn.
