Page 89 of Game Misconduct

“Look,” Mike said again. His teeth worried his lower lip and his eyes were bright with tears that hadn’t fallen yet, and he looked so unlike his usual self that Danny wanted to reach out and pull him off of his knees, tell him that no matter what happened, things were going to be fine. “Please, Danny. I love you, okay? I love you, you stubbornasshole, and if you kill yourself out on the ice, I’m—I don’t know what I’d do, but please, don’t fucking make me find out, okay?”

“I’m not—you—what?”

“I love you,”Mike said, like he was angry about it. Maybe he was just angry at Danny. He’d pushed himself off of his knees and climbed into Danny’s lap, his hands smoothing out Danny’s hair, his shirt. “I love you so fucking much—”

“You shouldn’t, Mike. You really shouldn’t.”

“Well, I fuckingdo, all right?”

“Mike—”

“I really fuckingloveyou. Don’t play tomorrow. Tell your coach you need to get your head looked at again. Let me take care of you.Please.I’m not asking, I’m begging, dude.”

The ice in his chest, the thing that had begun cracking that day in Vegas and probably even before, shattered. He took a deep, heaving breath. “I—Mike, I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t play. If I have to retire. What’s going to be left of me.”

Mike tucked his head into the space between Danny’s chin and his chest, one of those affectionate gestures that casually murdered him. “We’ll figure it out together, dude. You’re not gonna, like, bealonefor this, okay? I promise. You have your family, and you have me. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mike, I—” He could hear his voice, thick with unshed tears, with the weight of years of not letting himself rely on anyone else. The weight of years of disappointments and quiet houses. And here was Mike, who’d fallen into his life by accident; Mike, who it was hard to imagine not having in it anymore. Here was Mike, asking him to take care of himself, for no other reason than because he loved Danny. His hands were tangled in Mike’s hair, an anchor. The weight of his body, a comfort. “Okay. I’ll... I’ll make the call.”

Mike’s arms around him were crushing.“Thank you.”

“And I—I love you, too.”

Mike pulled away, and even though his eyes were still too bright, he was grinning. “Of course you do, dude. I’m fucking awesome.”

Danny laughed, unsteadily, and somehow so relieved. “Arrogant little shit.”

“Same thing, babe,” Mike said, and leaned forward to kiss him, carefully, so fucking gently that Danny’s eyes were burning again before he pulled away. “Come on. Make that call, and I’ll get you something to eat.”

V. SUMMER

Chapter Ten

June

The first thing Mike had thought when Danny had let him in—besides his genuine worry for Danny—was that Danny’s house was fucking depressing. It wasn’t that it was a disaster, exactly. It was partially renovated, but the parts that hadn’t been fixed had seen better days. And he was worse than any hockey player Mike had seen about buying furniture. There was the couch and the TV, a kitchen table, and his bed, but that was about it. There was almost no decoration. Mike thought about Danny living in that miserable fucking house all alone, except for Buddy, and his heart kind of clenched.

He wrestled Danny upstairs and into bed that first night, and texted Bee,we’re good.

I love you, Michael, she’d written back.You’re very brave.

stfu, he wrote back, then sent her a picture of Buddy, who still viewed Mike as a threat and hissed and puffed himself up every time Mike came near.

That thing is horrifying.

that’s what i said!

Okay, okay. Go see to your man.

thx, bee. tell mäkelä thx too.

Danny had called the Hornets’ coach, gotten checked out again, and had been diagnosed with a stage three concussion. Luckily, there were a couple days in between games, so the worst of the puking and dizziness was over by the time the Hornets were playing again.

It wasn’t like things were better: he was still worried as fuck about Danny on a number of levels, both health-wise and drinking-wise. At least he was here to help out. It had been kind of eye-opening how easy it was to just slot into life at Danny’s, the morning routine of helping him get dressed and out the door to doctor’s appointments or making him breakfast and dinner. He still didn’t really know what to do with himself, so he did shit like order groceries online so Danny would have something to eat besides, like, expired eggs and alcohol, and poked around the house for small things he could clean or fix. It wasn’t like he ever enjoyed sitting doing nothing, and Danny’s house had plenty of shit that needed fixing.

And he watched at home while the Hornets played their third and fourth games and Danny sat in the press box in the CEC and San Jose. They won the third game, putting the series at 2–1, lost the fourth, 2–2, and went back down to San Jose for the fifth game, which put the Hornets ahead at 3–2. There wasn’t really a reason for Danny to go, but he was determined to be there in the event that the team did win and determined to be there if they lost. He’d told Mike,It’s Gears’ first playoffs, I have to be there, and that, at least, Mike had understood.

Each time Danny left, Mike stayed at the house in Pittsburgh, checking in on him in the evening.