Page 74 of Game Misconduct
“Buddy, it’s scary as fucking hell when you gotta retire, I can tell you that from firsthand experience. And I’m not saying you gotta retire; I don’t know what’s going on. But that doesn’t mean it’s abadthing, and that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy doing something else, and it doesn’t mean you won’t find benefits from doing it. Retiring probably saved my marriage, for one thing.”
“But how do you know what you want todo?”
“I can’t tell you that, bud. I know you’d make a fantastic coach, for one. But you could do anything you wanted to do. You’re smart, and you’re hardworking, and you got a damn good heart. You don’t have to know right away. I’d trust you to figure it out.”
Danny looked down at his feet. He felt like he should be crying, but there was nothing behind his eyes. “Marty... I don’t fucking deserve that. I don’t fucking deserve any of that. I’m—I’m a piece of shit, Marty, I’m a lying piece of shit, and I don’t know how much longer I can, uh, I can do this, I’m kind of losing my fucking, my fucking mind.”
“You sure as fuck do deserve that. Look, Danny. I don’t know what kind of trouble you got yourself into, but I’ll tell you what you deserve. You deserve a chance to get your shit together, and you deserve a team that will let you do that, and youdeserveto be happy and healthy.”
Marty couldn’t see him, of course, but Danny caught himself shaking his head anyway. “So what—what should I do?”
“If you’re asking me? Without details, and based on the way you sound tonight, bud? At least a sixty-day inpatient and outpatient afterward. And then we’d go from there.”
Jesus, he must have sounded worse than he thought. “Marty...”
“Danny, buddy, I love you, okay? You’re like a son to me, even if you call me about as often as my actual children do. If I can do anything to make this easier for you, you let me fuckingknow.”
“I—I’ll think about it. Marty...thanks for...thanks for listening. And uh, please don’t, please don’t worry about me.”
“Danny, you fuckin’ idiot, I worry about all of my guys, all the time. But I trust you to do the right thing, okay? To do the right thing for yourself.”
Danny thought,you shouldn’t, but what he said was, “Sorry to wake you up, old man. Go back to sleep.” He sat up for a long time after that, because he couldn’t follow his own goddamn advice.
It didn’t get any easier.
The All-Star Game had been like one of Mike’s top five experiences that didn’t involve actually playing hockey, and it was probably almost number one on the list. It was actually difficult to think of something that had topped it, with the exception of Danny visiting over Christmas. He didn’t really want to think too much about the fact that most of the best memories he had involved Danny, especially considering that Danny had been doing that thing recently where his eyes looked so fucking sad but he wouldn’t talk about it no matter how much Mike tried to pry.
He alternated between reliving a pretty baller fantasy—fucking Danny in front of a huge open window in a five-star hotel—and worrying about Danny after they hung up at night. It was bad enough that Mike, who hated thinking about things for too long, had actually started doing research. He’d read a few Players’ Tribune articles about depression and substance abuse, freaked himself the fuck out, and ended up spending an hour reading forum posts about alcoholism.
What did you do, though, when you thought your boyfriend had a problem, and he probably knew he had a problem, but he was just determined to pretend that everything was fine because he was too fucking proud to ask for help?
On one of the few nights that Bee was home, he worked up the balls to ask her about it again. Mike made them both bison burgers and a quinoa salad, and it wasn’t the best-tasting food in the world, but it was edible, which was more than he could say about anything Bee had ever cooked for him. They were sitting on the couch, his legs propped up on the coffee table, her legs in his lap, when he glanced sideways at her.
“You’re thinking about something,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, so, uh...it’s, uh, my...boyfriend.” Like, that’s what Danny was, but it still felt weird to say it out loud. Bee just looked at him, because she was smart enough to know it wasn’t something good but understanding enough not to press him until he was ready. Mike exhaled. “The shit I told you at New Year’s? It’s not getting any better.”
“Is he okay? Areyouunhappy?”
“Unhappy? I mean—only with that. Everything else, he’s really...” He knew he probably had a goofy smile on his face, the kind of expression that just happened against his will whenever he talked, or really even thought about Danny. “But I just...the fuck do youdowhen someone doesn’t wanna get help, Bee?”
“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. I wouldn’t know, though. The only other hockey players I really know outside of the team are my brothers, and they’re perfect.”
Her voice was sour enough that Mike almost laughed, because fuck, did he know that feeling. “I just hate watching it,” he said. It was the first time he’d said that aloud either. He did hate it, especially now, when he wasn’t there to chase the bleakness from Danny’s eyes.
Bee frowned at him. “You could suggest that he talk to the players’ association and player assistance but...if he doesn’t think he has a problem...”
“I think he knows; the problem is he doesn’t wanna do anything about it. It just fuckingsucks.”
Bee patted him on the leg, but she was frowning too. “I worry about you, Michael.”
“I’mfine. I’m like—legit better than I’ve ever been. I just wish he was too.”
Sometimes, he wondered whether Bee had put two and two together. She was smart, but sometimes she was oblivious, like the fact that she hadn’t realized she was in love with Mäkelä for almost an entire year. They’d been watching other teams’ games together for long enough that it wasn’t completely out of the question to watch Danny’s together, even though he had to school his reactions. It was hard, because Mike thought he could, like, see Danny’s play coming apart, a little bit. He was slower, and sometimes when the camera swept over him on the bench, regardless of whether he’d been fighting, he looked like he was in pain, and Mike had to clench his goddamn fists.
But Bee was barely home anymore, so that was...fine. It was quiet and lonely, but it didn’t matter, because he was working so hard in practice, and FaceTiming Danny when he could at night, and looking forward to the next time they’d be in the same city.
The home crowds were always most intense when they played the Hornets, and even more so now that they were regularly jostling for first and second place in the division. The Cons had won last time, so the fans were happy, but the Hornets had something to prove. Mike just felt on edge because it was the first time he’d be playing Danny since he’d worked on his game, and it was almost like he was in fucking elementary school again, trying to get the teacher’s attention but always getting the answer wrong.