Page 16 of The Last Guy On Earth
“We can do that after practice tomorrow,” Jethro says sleepily.
“Just checking for crumbs. And spilled beer. It stinks if you leave it.”
Jethro is full of relief that the apartment is all theirs again, and he doesn’t care about a few crumbs. He helps, though, before checking their darkened bedroom, which is happily unscathed. He brushes his teeth, then gets in bed, listening as Clay makes his final rounds, locking the door and shutting off the lights.
He’s still feeling drunk when Clay comes in a few minutes later and promptly trips over Jethro’s hockey bag which is stillwedged awkwardly between the beds. He loses his balance and topples sideways toward Jethro.
Jethro, with a goalie’s reflexes, catches him by the arm and eases him down on the mattress.
“Sorry,” Clay says. “I’m kinda drunk.”
“Same,” Jethro says. “But that was totally the point, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Clay stretches out beside him. “I talked to literally everyone, though, and never figured it out.”
“Figured what out?” Jethro asks sleepily from a few inches away.
“What’s wrong with the team vibe. Why the hell Laytner and Coach want to kill each other.”
“Oh, now hang on,” Jethro says, opening his eyes. “I heard some guys joking about this during beer pong.”
Clay perks up. “Really? What did they say?”
Jethro props himself up on an elbow, and now they’re so close that he lowers his voice. “They said Coach has a new girlfriend, and they hope shit won’t go down the same way again. That maybe this time Laytner will keep his hands to himself.”
Clay’s eyes widen. “Meaning…?”
“Laytner slept with Coach’s girlfriend.”
“What?” Clay gasps, probably because their coach is sixty years old if he’s a day.
“Apparently Coach likes ’em young. And after the team beat Muskegon, they were all at a bar, and she just couldn’t resist.”
Clay doesn’t laugh. He covers his face with his hands. “This is terrible. That’s the kind of grudge that lasts alongtime.”
Jethro doesn’t have an opinion about this. He’s watched plenty of people fuck up their own lives, and it doesn’t even surprise him anymore. But Clay’s shoulders are up around his ears again.
“How can you be drunk and stressed out at the same time?” Jethro asks. “It’s a skill, dude.”
“I’m special like that,” Clay mutters.
Jethro clasps the muscle between Clay’s shoulder and his neck. Rock hard, as usual. “You need to get called up to the big league, if only for the on-staff massage therapist.”
“Seriously.” Clay snorts, glancing over at him with a fond expression in his eyes. “I’d be all over that.”
Jethro finds himself smiling back. Having survived Clay’s party, he feels loose and happy again. Which is why he pulls off a tipsy maneuver, rising quickly to pounce on Clay, pushing his shoulders down onto the bed. “Relax, fucker. You got two goals tonight and then threw the best party to ever hit this shitty town.”
Clay doesn’t smile though. He sort of freezes.
Some people are too uptight for this world. So Jethro moves his hands to Clay’s shoulders and squeezes. “Christ, ease up on the tension already.” He looms over Clay and tries to work his fingertips into his shoulder muscles. But usually he does this from behind, so it’s a little awkward.
Clay finally relaxes under his touch. He tilts his head to the side, giving Jethro better access to his left shoulder, which is always the tightest one.
Jethro uses both hands on that side—lifting his buddy’s shoulder an inch off the bed with one hand and using the other to work into the muscle. Clay groans and closes his eyes.
It’s late, and they should probably be sleeping. But Jethro gives it his best. He’s led a frustrating life, where the hockey rink is the only place he ever feels useful. Growing up, he always felt crowded out at home by his mother’s lovers and his sister’s tantrums.
But it’s different here with Clay. Their house is a sanctuary. And even if Clay is a rich kid, and the sort of golden boy that Jethro will never become, somehow, they’re on an even footing. Clay has needs that only Jethro seems to notice. He has varioushang-ups and tensions, and it’s gratifying to sort them out with something as simple as listening to him vent.
