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“He said he wanted to be my friend, Ethan,” I explain. “It sounded like a genuine offer.”
Ethan wraps an arm around me, his eyes full of compassion and a bit of pity.
“You’ve known Ryan for quite some time, but I’ve known him for longer,” Ethan starts, his tone low and wise. “Ryan might be genuine in his way, but he’s got his insecurities, you know? He tends to make things about himself when he’s feeling threatened or left out.”
“Are you saying he’s jealous?” I look at him, with knowing disbelief.
“Not saying that. But he did always want to be better than me,” Ethan says.
“Oh, that part I know,” I reply, dispirited.
One of the waiters approaches us with the menus, looking far too happy for a Wednesday afternoon.
“The gentleman who just left has dropped five hundred dollars in credit for you two,” he says, and now I understand his happiness. With such a big amount of money, there’s going to be a lot left for his tip. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”
“Oh, I want an expensive bottle of wine!” Ethan buries his face in the menu.
“And I want dessert for lunch!” I say, digging into the options too.
Despite the awkwardness, I’ll have to remember to thank Ryan for his generosity when I can.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ETHAN
The New York Stormbringers’ defensemen are a pain. They’re not letting any of us through, blocking each shot with robotic precision.
I urge the team to be more aggressive with them. From the penalty box, the coach gives me a thumbs up, signaling a more violent charge against the home team.
Between body checks, tackles, and face-plants against the ice, I manage to get the puck. It's just me and the goalie now, nothing in my way. I go in too fast, slide too far, and the goalie's stick hits me right in the mouth.
I see stars as I fall on my back, the back of my helmet hitting the ice. Sharp pain shoots through my jaw and I tear off my helmet.
I bit my tongue, but when I go to wipe it in my glove, I find far more blood than I expected. Feeling around my cheeks, I find cuts and jagged edges. Both teams surround me as I sit up and spit out a tooth.
The referee whistles, pausing the game. “Off to the dentist’s chair with you, Matthews,” he says, helping me up.
“Shit,” I mutter, spitting more blood. I hold the pieces of my teeth as I leave the ice.
I’m quickly taken to a nearby dentist who works with the team. Still in uniform and sweating bullets because I hate dentists, I get the full treatment: my mouth is rinsed and an x-ray is taken, which reveals that I have five broken teeth. It’s a good thing two of them were already fake.
Stitched up and on medication that makes me feel stoned, I head to the locker room. At this point, everyone is long gone. It is a sad place when it’s empty. It’s normally full of voices and companionship. The only good thing is that I can scream my anger without anyone hearing.
Putting on a polo shirt is a struggle. My face is swollen, and I’ll be on medication for a while.
After I change, I make my way to the wives’ room to find Mia. I’m starting to feel sleepy, and I hope there’s some caffeine in the wives’ room.
Dragging my feet like a zombie, I finally reach the room. Mia spots me from across the room and rushes over, calling out my name.
“Ethan?” Her eyes crease in worry as she comes to my side. “Are you okay?”
“Just a bit roughed up,” I moan, my voice sounding nasal due to my swollen nose.
Mia holds me tightly and gently kisses my neck.
“Sit down, I’ll get you something to drink,” she says, patting my shoulders.
“Energy drink and a straw, please,” I request, collapsing on the lounge couch.
