Page 63 of Game Misconduct

“Toton.”

“Iknow.” He was smiling now.

“Tabarnak, I think we both need a drink after that.”

“Hell yes.”

Bee leaned over and, impulsively, kissed him on the cheek. “You’ll figure it out, Michael.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You will. I know you. You will.”

She hooked her arm through his and took him back into the bar.

Chapter Five

January

After the disastrous game and conversation with Mike, Danny really did try to cut back on his drinking. He made it three days without anything at all, although he still had to take the Percs to deal with his fucked-up hip and knee and he felt weird and shaky at the end of it. He managed to get a lot of shit done in those three days. He had an uncomfortable meeting with Coach where Danny had had to trot out all the old lines he always trotted out. Yes, he’d made a mistake, no, he didn’t have a problem, no, he didn’t think he needed to go to rehab.

The thing was, even if he had been ready to do it, there was no reason to trust that he wouldn’t get fucked over somehow by agreeing to go. He’d seen it happen to colleagues of his, guys who had legitimately needed help, wanted help, and promptly found themselves traded or on waivers afterward. It wouldn’t have been such a big fucking deal to Danny, at least years ago, but when he only had two years left on a league-minimum contract, he couldn’t riskanything. So he’d lied his fucking ass off, hated himself while he was doing it, and got the fuck out of there as soon as possible.

“You’ve been doing a good job with the younger guys,” Coach had said. “Girard especially really looks up to you, and he listens to you in a way he doesn’t listen to our coaching staff. And that’s another reason I didn’t scratch you for more than one game. But you need to get your shit together, ASAP. You hear me, Garcia?”

“Yes, Coach.”

It was hard not to drink, though, on a hockey team where the primary bonding activities consisted of skating and drinking, and they were coming up on New Year’s Eve. It was hard not to drink whenever Danny thought about Mike, and how Mike probably had no idea why the fuck Danny wasn’t talking to him as often as he usually did, and the guilt was both overwhelming and self-feeding. The worse he felt the more he avoided him, which made him feel worse, which made him want to drink.

hey, Mike texted him before they were both due to head out onto the ice,call me at midnight?

I’ll be an hour behind you, but I can try.

ok.

I’m sorry. It’s been busy here.

ok.

They beat Minnesota, 6–3, and Danny let Gears and Landry drag him out. Things with Landry had been awkward since the on-ice incident, but at least he appeared to be trying to mend fences. He hadn’t said anything and he’d sat next to Danny on the bus to and from the hotel, steadfastly playing a phone game and not saying anything. In practice, he’d gone back to chirping Danny the way he’d always done, no malice in it, just a faint hesitation.

So Danny went, and Danny got drunk, even though he hadn’t really meant to. It was almost a relief, the warmth that it brought him, the comfort of it. He checked his phone. It was almost eleven o’clock, which meant that it was almost midnight in Nashville.

Danny said, “Gears, save my seat,” and went outside.

It was freezing, but not cold enough to kill his phone, so he found a quiet corner of the street to make the call.

Mike picked up on the third ring, although it was hard to hear him over the background noise. “Hey!” he said, voice warm and slurred, and Danny thought about the night he’d called wasted with his fucked-up mouth and all of the things he told Danny he’d let him do and felt a sharp pang of wanting. He could hear Mike mumbling something away from the speaker, the words lost in the background din, the sounds of people yelling wordlessly.

Danny waited, patiently, slumped a little against the wall.

“Hey,” Mike said, after a minute. “Hey, Danny.Danny.Hi.”

“Hey, babe,” Danny said, more easily than he felt. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy—Jesus, I miss you.”

“I—Mike...”