Page 90 of Game Misconduct
“You know, you really shouldn’t like...be drinking with a concussion, dude,” he said, as Danny was packing up his bags to come back to Pittsburgh for what was hopefully the final game.
“I know,” Danny said, and didn’t make any other excuses.
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I know.”
“Danny—”
“Can we talk about it in the offseason, babe?”
“Sure,” Mike said, unhappily.
“Hey—Mike,” Danny said, notexactlytrying to change the subject but close enough that Mike felt kind of suspicious about it at first. “Celi and Chris normally have tickets to the last game, but Josie’s got a bad cold, so Chris is staying in the hotel room with her. Would you want to sit with Celi for the game?”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.”
“I’d really like you to be there. If we win it.”
Mike ran his hand through his hair, which he really needed to fucking shave again. It was weird, having it that long. “You will,” he told Danny. “Just don’t—just be careful if you do.”
When he hung up the call, Mike wondered how long this was going to be tenable, watching Danny slowly killing himself, even if he wasn’t like, being flashy about doing it on the ice. It was, like, kind of life-changing to admit that he loved Danny, wasin lovewith Danny—but it was another thing to just do nothing while Danny did everything he could to kill himself slowly. He put it out of his head for now, because there wasn’t much he could do at the moment.
But after the playoffs, they’d see.
And maybe he’d look into the school thing more seriously.
Both of them had some shit to work out. But it could wait.
Danny had finally called Marty back from a cab to the stadium, and he still felt kind of shell-shocked by the conversation. Marty had been calling to check in on him like he always did when Danny got benched with an injury, but he’d also been calling to offer him a job. One of Marty’s assistant coaches had quit suddenly in the offseason, and Marty wanted Danny to take the job, contingent on completing a stint in rehab.
Danny had hesitated. “Can I think about it, Marty?”
“Sure, bud. I told our GM you probably wouldn’t be able to make up your mind until after the playoffs are over. But get back to me soon, because I gotta make some moves.”
“Marty...do you really think this is a smart idea? Do you really think this is something I coulddo?”
“If you get healthy, Danny? You’re gonna be perfect.”
Danny didn’t quite know if he believed it, but he didn’t have much of a choice. It was rattling around in the back of his head as he sat in the press box waiting for the game to begin. It was an opportunity to keep hockey in his life, to do the kind of work he’d found most satisfying this last year: helping Mike reach his potential, helping Landry grow the fuck up, gaining Gears’ friendship and trust, before he’d ruined that too. But it would require doing something he still couldn’t quite accept as necessary.
It rattled around in the back of his head while his team played. They were on fire, like the injuries they’d taken over the course of the playoffs had only galvanized them further, made them want it more. It was still hard to focus on the play, because his head felt fuzzy and a little confused. But he did his best. It was almost anticlimactic, in a way, because up in the press box, he wasn’t able to be there on the bench to participate. He cheered, reservedly, so he didn’t move his head too much, when the guys tied up the score. Cheered again when they pushed it ahead by one, groaned when San Jose tied it up again. In the last two minutes of the third period, San Jose pulled their goalie, and Gears, trying to clear the puck from the blue line, watched it fly past the two defenders and hit the back of the net.
The seconds ticked down until the time ran out and then the ice erupted in screaming, and Danny missed some of the celebrations because he was heading down onto the ice to join it, buffeted by hugs from teammates who really should’ve remembered the concussion thing but were too excited to care.
Gears skated up to him then, a huge smile on his face, and Danny said, “You won it for us, bud,” and Gears’ entire face went bright red with embarrassed pleasure.
“I mean, so did everyone, so did you—”
“Andyouscored the game winner ontheCup game,” Danny said, patting him on the back. “I’m really proud of you.”
He looked up on the Jumbotron and saw Celi, tears streaming down her face, clutching Mike’s arm while he patted her reassuringly on the back, and felt almost poleaxed with how important Mike was to him. How much he wanted him to stay. All of this time he’d been worried about Mike leaving once he realized all the shit that was wrong with Danny, with his life, but they were things that were within Danny’s control—if he accepted the help he’d been offered. The opportunities people who loved him had made sure to extend to him.
“You okay, dude?” Gears asked.
“I—have to make a phone call—”
“Youwhat?Now?”