Page 77 of Game Misconduct

“Can we talk in your room?” Gears was chewing on his lower lip, unable to look him in the eye.

Danny had a bad feeling about it. But he had a lot of bad feelings about a lot of things, and if he’d given in to every bad feeling, he probably wouldn’t be around anymore. “Sure,” he said, more easily than he felt.

Gears followed him in, watched while Danny sat down in the desk chair and turned it around to face him. Gears didn’t sit. He stared at Danny, twenty years old and incredibly, awkwardly brave, and Danny stared back at him.

“So Lands and I have been talking,” Gears said finally.

“Gears—” Danny started, because he knew where this was going.

“No! Shut up, dude, hear me out. Seriously.”

“It’s not—”

“Lands and I have been talking, and we want you to like...dude, yougottado something about this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you fucking don’t,” Gears said, bitterly. “You’ve been a fucking mess at practice, dude. We can tell, even if no one else said anything to you yet. We’ve been watching you when the team goes out. We’re fuckingworriedabout you.”

“You don’t have to be worried about me.” The words were easy to say; he’d said them in some form or another, over and over, for a decade. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Nothing’swrong? Dude.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Danny repeated. If he said it enough, maybe Gears would listen.

“It’s just, buddy, you’re like our dad. I had a rough-as-fuck rookie year and you’ve really helped me. With my game and, you know, just feeling like part of the team? Like I deserved to be here? Same for Lands. You’re important to us, dude, okay? I don’t wanna see you like this. I dunno what’s going on, but you look fucking miserable, and at this rate, Coach is gonna notice.”

“I’ve already talked to him. It’s just my hip again. But it’s fine. I’m working with the trainers.”

Gears looked at him like Danny had just slipped a knife between his ribs. “I thought you had more respect for me than that.”

“Gears—”

“No. It’s cool. It’s fine. I’m not gonna—we just wanted you to know we’re here for you, all right? But it’s okay. You don’t want that.”

“Gears, it’s just—you’re really fucking young, and you don’t understand.”

“You want totryme? Or Lands? Or fuckinganyone? Your boyfriend? I’m sure he fucking cares if you’re drinking yourself stupid, dude.”

It was strange. There was no reason his ears should be ringing like that, but he felt like he’d just been boxed hard around them. So Landry and Gearshadbeen talking about more than his drinking. “That’s a low fucking blow, Girard.”

“Yeah, well. We’re fucking worried about you. Like. It sucks. Andyousuck. Okay, fine. You don’t wanna hear it, I can’t do anything else about that. I’m fucking out, man.”

Both of them avoided him for the rest of the week. Danny understood exactly why and gave them their space. He was surprised to find that he missed their stupid banter and shoving each other and the small periods of joy that brought him. He was so used to things ending, having to leave a team or having people leave him, that it was unexpected to feel like this.

It all came back to Mike.

“Dude, you look really sad today,” Mike said to him on one of their video calls. “What’s up?”

Mike was in a hotel room in Calgary, sprawled on the bed in front of the computer. The beginnings of a black eye were starting to bloom on his face, and he had two stitches in his cheek. Danny didn’t have to ask who’d hit him because he’d watched the game. One of the Calgary forwards, Graves, had started something Mike had finished. He’d gotten stitched up, come out of the penalty box, and went right back to the game.

Danny hesitated. The conversation with Gears still felt raw. He couldn’t...he didn’t want Mike to look at him that way. “I—can we talk about it in person? The next time I see you?”

Mike didn’t answer right away. He looked at Danny, carefully, with the kind of intense scrutiny that he’d always had. Without the anger. Danny was struck again by how much Mike had grown this year, how grateful he was to have been able to see it and allowed to have been part of it. That was raw, too.

“Sure,” Mike said, finally. “But seriously, dude, are you good?”

“I’m an old fucking idiot, but I’m fine. Hey, I gotta go. I’ll see you this weekend.”