Season's Change Read online

  It had a view of high-rises and the Potomac, bisected by a bridge Olly would learn the name of at some point. He leaned his forearms on the railing. This was nice, actually, looking out at the river and feeling a breeze ruffle his hair. And Benji seemed okay. Chill, not like the kind of guy who sucked the air out of every room he stepped into. He told Olly about a trail by the river, sounding more animated than he had in the apartment without his sister hovering.

  Olly knew that he had to try right now. Once Benji’s description of the trail had tapered off, he asked, “So you like to run?”

  “Used to hate it. But I figured anything that felt that bad had to be building character, or some shit. And eventually I started liking it. It’s peaceful.”

  “It’s gotta be hard, running with that big body.”

  Olly immediately wondered if he’d said something weird, but Benji looked philosophical as he slapped himself on the bicep. “This is my summer body. I’ll lean out in the season.”

  “Same.” Only he had no weight to keep on, courtesy of his fuckup summer.

  “You’re okay,” Benji said, after what had absolutely not been an assessing once-over. “You cook?”

  “I specialize in takeout.”

  They covered some more basic roommate shit: yes, they should get a house cleaner; Benji liked to party; Olly was trying to be chill but wasn’t going to be uptight about it; sure, Olly would go running with him; yes, getting a dog would be stupid with their schedules; and yes, they needed furniture.

  “But like,” Benji said, “maybe less expensive shit than whatever Krista bought today.”

  “I heard there’s an IKEA.”

  “Thank Jesus.” Benji was leaning against the railing, back to the view. He gave Olly a cheerful, crooked grin, showing off a hockey gap. There was also a bump in his nose, like he’d broken it at some point. “I need to make sure I’ve got enough money left to get my teeth fixed.”

  “But all the real blueliners go for that toothless badass look,” Olly chirped on autopilot. He leaned in, which he realized was a bad idea when he caught a breath of Benji’s smell: crisp and clean, like fresh laundry. “You gotta be missing at least four to be eligible for the Defenseman of the Year trophy.”

  “Fuck you,” Benji laughed. He turned to look at the view again. Their forearms brushed, unintentional. Olly edged his away. “Fuck, man. I’m gonna be in the NAHA,” Benji said, like he couldn’t believe it.

  * * *

  Olly moved in the morning of their first day off. It didn’t take any time at all, especially with Benji’s help carrying shit in from the car. His sister was camped out in the kitchen prepping for Dewitt’s barbecue, and Benji had grinned down at him and mouthed Save me? and Olly hadn’t been able to come up with a reason to refuse.

  He’d left all his furniture in the apartment in Minneapolis: no bed frame or dresser was worth going back there, and he’d managed to grab most of the shit that he cared about when he picked up his clothes. His favorite mugs. The coffeepot. Nothing that had needed a second pair of hands, nothing that wouldn’t fit in the trunk of his car.

  Most of that was still in his parents’ basement in Duluth. All he’d brought to DC was a couple of suitcases and his hockey gear. It didn’t seem like there was any point to going to the trouble. Who knew how long he’d even be here, no matter what sense of optimism was motivating the Eagles to get him housing now. Or more realistically, their weakness through the center of the ice.

  So he had his suitcases, and he’d ordered an air mattress and sheets online. Benji’s sister had acquired a sofa. Benji said he had a truck; they’d go to IKEA. It was fine, or as fine as it was going to get.

  Still, Olly didn’t know how he was going to make it through the meet-and-greet barbecue that afternoon. His body was shredded from camp; he’d spent last night staring at the backs of his eyelids, listening to the hotel elevator grind up and down on the other side of the wall.

  He tried to take a nap—laid down on his air mattress, turned on a podcast—but it only emphasized his inability to sleep.

  Olly had to get through it, the same way he was going to get through camp, the same way he was going to get through the season. New shift. Clean ice, if he could stop fucking up and take advantage of it.

  He made himself get up. There was a built-in mirror on the back of his closet door—he looked okay, wearing the same generically appropriate shit he’d been wearing to mandatory team bonding events for years. Khaki shorts, a navy polo. Clean-cut, dark red hair knotted back, nothing that made a statement.

  Olly could hear Krista out in the hall, yelling at Benji about whatever he was wearing, and Benji complaining back at her. It made Olly tired, but then, everything made Olly tired.

  He picked up his phone. He had a few texts from his parents and his brothers Sami, Joey, and Levi, all wishing him luck, saying they hoped he liked his new place and that camp was going well. He didn’t bother answering.

  “You wanna carpool, right?” Benji asked him.

  Krista cut in. “I can drive. We’re not taking your truck.”

  Benji made a face. “Don’t start, K.”

  “I’m driving,” Krista said with finality. “I’ve got lots of space.”

  Olly helped load the car with a big thing of sangria, covered bowls. He ended up in the back seat, Krista and Benji and the GPS arguing at each other in the front. Olly was familiar with long-running sibling arguments, and he did not want to get dragged into this one.

  He didn’t want to get dragged into anything, much less casual chitchat with his new teammates.

  That wasn’t the attitude you had if you were coming into a new team.

  Olly knew that.

  The preseason get-together was exactly what he was expecting, from the two times he’d been the new guy on a NAHA team before. A massive house in a way-distant development. Lots of guys; rookies up for their first round of camp, terrified and trying to hide it; wives, kids. Benji waded into his buddies from the D-League, grins and backslaps and fist-bumps all around. Krista was trading air kisses with another pretty blonde—Anna Dewitt, presumably—so Olly let himself get carried along in Benji’s wake.

  Benji knew everybody, because he’d been in the Eagles pipeline since they’d drafted him, and because he’d apparently never met a stranger. Olly stayed in his radius, smiled at the appropriate moments, kept his mouth shut. At least Benji didn’t seem to mind Olly following him around, and God knew he was loud enough for the both of them.

  He tried not to wonder what every guy he met would say if they knew about him. What expressions would twist over their generically hockey-handsome faces. What they’d say, what they’d do. Which of their juniors buddies they’d been talking to over the summer.

  Olly plastered on a smile, shook someone’s hand, admired a new baby. He had a bunch of nieces and nephews; he liked kids. Maybe he could put himself on babysitting detail for the rest of the barbeque, instead of following Benji around like a lost puppy.

  * * *

  A couple of hours into the party, Benji realized he hadn’t seen Olly in a minute. Which was fine. Olly didn’t need Benji looking out for him; except that at the same time, Benji kind of thought he might. He’d looked nervous when they were walking up. It made sense: new team and all that, and he seemed like a quiet guy.

  Benji didn’t go looking for him, specifically, but Krista asked him to get her phone charger from the car, and there he was: at the basketball hoop in the driveway, playing horse with two mini-sized Mike Dewitts. Benji watched as Olly drained a three-pointer, nothing but net. One of the kids gave him a high-five; the other missed a layup and demanded another shot.

  “Didn’t know we were getting LeBron in this trade, too,” Benji called, while the twins were arguing about the rules.

  Olly shrugged, making a face like he’d gotten caught. “I’m not that good.”


  “Better than me. I’ve made, like, ten three-pointers in my whole life.”

  “I’ve made a hundred,” one of the kids said.

  “I’ve made a thousand,” countered the one who’d missed the layup.

  “Yeah, yeah, okay.” Olly shook his head, smiling. It was one of the first real smiles Benji had seen on his face. He looked a lot less—tense? was that the word?—out here, even though it was hot as fuck, even though Benji had heard a few stories about how hyper the twins were.

  Benji headed back down to the car, the yells of the kids and the thunk of the basketball following him down the driveway.

  When he got back inside, Krista was in the kitchen with a collection of other wives and girlfriends. She flashed him a sparkler of a smile, plugged her phone into one of the sockets on the counter. It buzzed; kept buzzing. Benji only saw her expression flicker because he knew to look.

  “I need to make a real quick call, okay?”

  The WAGs were talking about spin classes, so he drifted back outside to watch the game. It had devolved into the twins shooting and Olly helping them with their foot positions or release or whatever, he didn’t know shit about basketball.

  A twin made a three-pointer. The other kid missed, shot again, missed, finally made one. Benji should be out back with the rest of the guys. He wasn’t contributing anything to the great sport of basketball, and Olly wasn’t talking to him. Or anyone, other than Dewey’s kids.

  “You want to shoot?” Olly asked, after the twins had rattled in a few more three-pointers.

  The door opened behind him before he could answer. Krista stepped out. She had her tension-face on, white knuckles around her phone. “What are you doing hiding out here?”

  He nodded toward Olly and the twins. “Helping babysit. Man-to-man defense.”

  “You can’t disappear at a team event. I don’t think you know how important it is that you fit in with these guys.”

  “I got it,” he said, levering himself to his feet. “I know everybody. We’re chill.”

  “You can’t afford to be chill.”

  Benji opened his mouth, closed it. He’d been fighting with Krista long enough to know a lost cause when he saw one. He knew who’d been leaving her messages. None of this was about him, except that sometimes he thought she tried to control everything about his life because she couldn’t control one of the biggest things in her own. “Yeah, okay,” he said, instead. “Olly, you wanna check out the grill?”

  Olly shrugged, rebounded a shot off the rim, then sprang up and dunked it. “I guess,” he said, like it was his execution.

  * * *

  Krista left first thing in the morning. “I’m so glad I came down and helped you get off on the right foot with everybody,” she said, quickly, like she was performing it for herself. Couldn’t be for Benji.

  “You can stay as long as you want.”

  She shook her head. She already had her expensive sunglasses perched on top of her perfect blond hair. “Rob wants to have some of the guys over tonight. The house is a mess and I’m sure pictures are going to go up on Instagram. My social media partnerships expect a certain kind of presentation, you know? And I won’t have this kind of market position forever.”

  “Are you sure Instagram pictures are worth going back to your cheating fucking husband?”

  Krista’s face froze. “You still don’t understand that I’m building a business. Being married to Rob helps me do that.”

  “You don’t need him.”

  “You don’t get to tell me how to live my life,” she shot back.

  There was nothing Benji could say to that. Nothing that he hadn’t said before, nothing that would make any difference. He’d tried everything he could think of before he turned twenty years old. And here she was: going back, again.

  “Love you,” he said. “Drive safe.” Because it was all he could say.

  After she left, the apartment got quiet. Olly had his door shut. Benji thought about knocking, then rolled his yoga mat out in the living room instead. It was never the wrong time for the one-two punch of injury prevention and mindfulness.

  He could only control himself, and he’d be damned if he fucked up his career because he was too busy worrying about his sister. Or his new roommate, for that matter.

  Chapter Three

  On their next day off, Benji texted his billet mom from Hershey for a shopping list for the kitchen. Things still felt a little weird with Krista, and his rookie salary might not cover whatever fancy-ass store she thought he’d need to go to. But Alise FaceTimed him back immediately.

  “Heya, baby,” she said, a big smile on her pale, freckled face. “You settling in okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s all good. Trying to get all the stuff we need before practice gets any more intense.”

  “I asked around and your roommate’s supposed to be a good kid. Shame things didn’t work out in Minnesota. Andre told me he’s got talent.” His billet brother played for LA; between Andre, Alise, and his billet dad, Marc, who used to play in the minors, the Deveraux knew everyone in hockey.

  “Um, yeah, he seems good.” Olly had stayed in his room or in his own little corner at the practice facility, other than shadowing him silently through the barbecue. Benji was used to being buddies with everyone; he didn’t know what to make of Olly. “Quiet, though.”

  Alise made a humming noise. “Maybe he needs a friend.”

  “We’re going to IKEA,” he said. “We can talk then, I guess.”

  She gave him the most basic list of kitchen shit possible, all stuff they’d used when she taught him to cook his first year back in Pennsylvania. “Send me some pictures of your dinner, okay? Make some for Olly.”

  “You ready?” Olly asked. He’d drifted out from his bedroom while Benji and Alise were saying their goodbyes. Olly hadn’t brought much down from Minneapolis: himself, his gear, a couple of bags. It was sad—didn’t he have the money for nicer stuff than that?

  At least he didn’t seem to be judging Benji for his truck as they buckled themselves in. Okay, maybe Benji was judging himself a little bit, after going to the Dewitts’ and seeing the line of luxury imports. Olly had a silver Audi; hopefully they could carpool to anything important. Benji couldn’t give up his truck. He gave it a pat on the dashboard.

  Olly fiddled with the GPS on his phone.

  “I should probably get a stereo with an aux cable.”

  Olly shrugged. Moved on to fidgeting with the radio as Benji pulled out of the garage, and immediately got stuck in the 24/7 gridlock. He settled on a station playing old pump-up hairband rock.

  “This what you listen to?” Benji asked. Olly was giving him nothing to work with.

  “Sometimes.” He shrugged again, then looked out the window.

  Benji got to take his foot off the brake, and they moved forward about twelve feet before stopping at a red light.

  “I know the team kinda put us together, but do you want to find somewhere else to live?” Benji asked, over the howling of Def Leppard. What a soundtrack for a kind-of-serious question. “‘Cause I don’t know, man, it seems like you might be happier with your own space. That new goalie from Quebec got them to let him do it, so it’s not a total no-go.”

  Although Olly was sleeping on an air mattress, for fuck’s sake. He was a professional athlete. That was not a good look.

  “It’s not that,” Olly told the window. Benji could see his knee start bouncing. “No, I mean...no. I don’t want to find another place.”

  The therapist Benji had seen at Quinnipiac would always sit there until he said something. So he focused on the traffic, inching his way through the green light. It would take three hours to get to IKEA at this point, so Olly would have plenty of time to think about what he wanted to say.

  “Stuff got kind of fucked up, in Minnesota,” Olly said, finally. When Benji flick
ed him a glance he was clenching and unclenching his right hand, looking down at it like it belonged to someone else. “With everything. I was living with Crowder—” one of their third-line wingers “—and then the coach who was there when I came in got fired, and the system the new coach was running wasn’t a fit for me. And it’s not like Crowder and I were ever friends, really, just kinda coworkers who ended up living together.”

  Olly was on the smaller side, if only in hockey and not in the real world. All the guys going to Minnesota over the summer had been twice his size, and Crowder the roomie was a fucking goon. Benji didn’t think that would get them too far: speaking as a big bruiser of a D-man, he had plenty to contribute out on the ice, but you needed skill players, too. Players who could find space where there was no space, create something out of nothing.

  “It got to me,” Olly finished. “I didn’t handle it...well.”

  “What’s that got to do with staying locked in your room all the time?”

  “Ouch, man.” He was smiling, though, a little. “It would have been easier if I’d had some space from it, is what I’m trying to say. But he was up in my shit all the time, and then we had a big blowup, and, well.”

  “Here you are.”

  “Here I am.”

  “Is Crowder as much of an asshole as he seems like in his interviews?”

  Olly snorted. “Worse.” It looked like he might keep talking, but he shut his mouth again.

  Their little heart-to-heart had gotten them out to the Beltway, which was a literal highway to hell. Fitting, since Olly’s dad-rock station was playing AC/DC. He had to focus on driving too much to keep interrogating Olly, but at least they’d talked. Or something.

  * * *

  Olly took a second, after they’d parked and Benji had gotten out of the truck, to breathe. His chest was tight and his heart rate was up, even though Benji had laid off the interrogation and gone back to humming along to Lynyrd Skynyrd.