Page 37 of The Last Guy On Earth
On the mat, I start with big muscle groups. Quads and hamstrings. I’m stretching my hips when a face appears in the doorway. It’s the man of the hour, Hudson Newgate.
“Hey,” I say. “There’s plenty of room. And only one of us made it onto the starting lineup.”
“A little bitter, huh?”
“What? Aren’t I hiding it well?”
He snorts and flops down on the mat beside me.
“You want the space?” I ask. “Maybe you need a break from people.”
“Nah, distract me,” he says. “Believe it or not, I don’t really enjoy being the center of attention.”
My heart rate bumps up a notch, because I can’t even imagine what kind of a day he’s having. “You okay? You feel solid? Do people keep asking you that?”
“Only all of them.” He leans forward, stretching his hamstrings.
It costs me a lot, but I add, “For what it’s worth—which is not much—I think you’re really brave.”In a way that I could never be.
“Thanks. But that’s the funny thing; it’s not about being brave. It’s about getting to a place where my personal life is more important than what the hockey world thinks.”
“Okay. I can understand that.” Maybe? The truth is that I’m incapable of looking at anything that way, because hockeyismy life. There’s no separation.
He shrugs. “Hockey can be so insular. And conservative, in the classic sense. We don’t like change.”
“Yeah. I’m just barely used to having quick-release blades.”
“Exactly.” Hudson leans into a stretch. “But where fans are concerned, somehow I ran out of fucks to give. Coach Powers made this possible, by the way. He’s a great guy once you get to know him.”
I crack a smile. “We played together fifteen years ago in the minors. Back when Earth was green.”
He sits up and smiles. “No lie? You must have some good Coach Powers stories, then. What was he like as a teammate?”
“Uh…” I chuckle uncomfortably. When I think of twenty-four-year-old Clay, I don’t picture him skating. I picture him stirring his homemade tomato sauce in our kitchen.
Shirtless.
But that’s not the image I need right now. “He was flashy as a player. But always responsible, too. A natural leader. He had some of Kapski’s dad energy even then.”
“Yeah?” His smile widens. “Come on. Give me one good story.”
“Well…he used to get the whole bus singing. One time he got the whole team to sing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”
Newgate laughs. “Please tell me there’s video.”
“Sad to say there’s not. Another time the bus broke down before our dinner stop, and we were all starving. We ended up at this truck stop with a strip club but no restaurant. Coach wouldn’t let us go into the club. So we’re standing around helping the bus driver change a tire, and Clay sneaks into the strip club and asks for forty dollars change. ‘Because strippers always have singles…’”
Newgate hoots.
“Yeah. He came out with the cash and bought out the vending machines for us.”
The moment Newgate lifts his gaze toward the doorway, my neck heats.
“You telling tales?” Clay booms from behind me.
I turn around to find him leaning against the cinder-block wall, looking too classy for this world. “Just a couple,” I say, suddenly embarrassed. It’s a really inconvenient time to remember how attractive I used to find him. “In my defense, he asked me to distract him.”
Clay suddenly looks worried. “You okay?” he asks Newgate.
