Page 116 of The Tryout

“Hello to you, too, Avery. Nice to chat. How’s the weather in Iowa?”

I roll my eyes petulantly, even though he can’t see it.

“Warmer than Minneapolis. Speaking of which, Finn’s on the phone with a 612 area code. Figure you might know something about that?”

“Jamie told me I couldn’t punch Price, that he’d sue me.”

“So you got him traded instead?”

I’m aiming for a snarky tone, but I know I miss, sounding distinctly bitter.

“I thought you’d be happier about this. Jamie said you’re Finn’s number one fan. Once the coaching staff saw how well he fit in up here, I hardly had to ask.”

“I am happy.”

Ethan is silent, which is fair. My voice certainly doesn’t sound happy. Come to think of it, I don’t feel happy.

But I am. Of course I am.

Ethan decides to change the subject, for which I am grateful.

“When Finn was up here, he mentioned you told him he should talk to me. About…figuring out that I was gay.”

I hum, vaguely remembering our conversation from October.

“That…surprised me, a little. You’ve never given the impression you view me as some sort of gay role model. God knows I don’t.”

I snort at this, appreciating his honesty.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have it easy. Neither did Finn. I thought you might be more helpful than some brat from California who always knew it would all be okay in the end.”

My voice is a little rough, but I can’t figure out why. My eyes are aching, so I close them, leaning my head against the window.

Ethan is quiet, not agreeing with me like I half expected. Instead, I just hear his quiet breaths, proof that he’s still there. The space is just enough for me to ask something I’ve been wondering for a while.

“Hey, Ethan? What would you do if Jamie got traded?”

It’s something I’ve thought about since last year, something I frankly thought they didn’t think through well enough before getting together. Now I’m not so sure.

“I think you know the answer to that, Avery.”

“Can you tell me anyway? I mean, I know it isn’t going to happen. They’re building that whole team around him, I get it. But shit does happen, trades and injuries and offer sheets. So what would you do?”

He’s quiet again, but in the background I hear movement, the sound of a closing door. Finally, he responds.

“I’d retire. In a heartbeat.”

I suck in a breath, even though it’s the answer I expected.

“Even though you have good hockey left in you?”

God knows that’s a thought I came back to over and over again during my recovery. That if I could only get through the pain, the work, that there was good hockey left to play. Leaving that on the table had seemed impossible.

“Hockey won’t last forever. And even if I decide to coach or manage or whatever, it won’t keep me warm at night. Won’t bring home soup when I’m sick. Hockey is great, but it isn’t everything. It doesn’t have to be. Not anymore.”

I don’t know what to say, and I’m not sure I could speak if I did. Instead, I stand there, feeling the cool glass against my hot face and willing myself to keep breathing.

“Hey, Avery? Christmas isn’t too far away now. You get a break, right?”