Seventeen

SEVENTEEN

REN

Keeping an eye on Felton throughout the game is difficult. One puck gets by him halfway through the first period and I can see the sting in his eyes. The way his lips purse together. We answer that point with one of our own almost right away, which seems to help bring his spirits up.

A few minutes into the second period, another gets by him, and I can tell he's getting frazzled. As soon as I can get back on the ice and there's a window to approach him, I do. Gripping his mask, I can see the doubt and storm clouds in his dark eyes.

"What did I tell you, Fel?"

He takes a breath. "Me, you, our team, and hockey."

"Very good. Everything else is just noise. Tune it out, Felton. You got this! I know you do."

Felton visibly relaxes in my hold and nods. "Yes. Just us. Just hockey."

I nod and release him, taking my position on the ice again. I won't say it's a magic recipe, but for at least this game, Felton doesn't let another goal in, and we win 4-2. When he meets my eyes at the buzzer, I smile and give him an approving nod.

Dasan and Willits surround him, congratulating him. When Felton pushes his helmet up, there's a smile on his face. A smile that hasn't been there in ages. It's not quite as big and ready as it used to be, but he's smiling all the same.

I lose track of him when I get to the locker room and quickly peel out of my gear to head into the shower. Returning to the locker room to dress, it's a far more positive environment than it had been. Not that it was negative before, but there's something lighter about it.

My teammates are louder, rowdy. Happy. Celebrating this win like it's something more than a regular season win.

"Ho," Coach Shively calls, and I look up as I pick up my bag. "Press."

I drop my bag in front of my cubby and follow him out. There's an anchor for Sports Spot—Reese Davie. He's not one of my favorites, but he typically keeps the conversations to hockey.

He smiles and gestures for me to take a spot in front of the camera to his right. "Ready?" I nod and we wait for whatever signal he's waiting for. Maybe that means we're going to be live. Also not my favorite, but whatever.

Reese nods. The cameraman gives a gesture in return, and Reese's smile is full blast. "I'm here with Winnipeg defenseman Ren Ho after their win against Calgary moments ago. Ren, what're you feeling right now?"

That's a stupid question. I wonder what would happen if I said ‘next.' "Feeling good. We play the game to win and we did that. It was a good game, a tough game. Calgary is an excellent team."

"The game started out a little rough. What do you think happened there?" Reese asks.

"We're just coming off holiday and filled with turkey," I answer, earning myself a chuckle from Reese. "In all honesty, every team is different. The best teams are able to adapt to their opposition's playing style."

"Badcock was a little rough in the beginning. What did you say to him that made such a profound difference in his play?"

My hackles rise at the dig at Felton. "He's one man on a twenty-plus person team. It's not his responsibility to carry us. Winning the game is more than just preventing goals. We have to score goals too."

"Oh, absolutely," Reese agrees. "Definitely. I didn't mean to imply otherwise."

I appreciate when they backtrack. "I reminded Felton of as much. There's a lot of pressure on everyone's shoulders during a game, but the goalies often feel it a little more because they're in for the duration while we get to rotate out when we need to catch our breaths."

"Why do you think Calgary was able to get so many shots on goal compared to Winnipeg?"

"We're going for accuracy more than taking every open opportunity. If the shot isn't open and we have a chance to keep the puck and try for a different angle, we do that. That means we have a higher possibility of making a goal when the opportunity presents itself, rather than taking a shot we're confident won't make it in and taking a chance of not recovering the puck afterward."

This turns into a very long interview. He has a lot of dumb questions that I'm not entirely convinced he wants to ask. There's probably a voice in his ear telling him what to ask next. Who writes them down? Who really cares about some of these stupid things, like the time the puck bounced off Jordan's puck and right into one of Calgary's sticks, leading to them taking possession of the puck? Hell, I don't even remember that moment.

By the time I return to the locker room for my bag, I'm more exhausted than I had been after the game. The locker room is empty except for Felton, who's still sitting on the bench, half undressed. Like he'd started peeling out of his gear and lost the energy to finish.

The good place he'd been in has apparently bled away. He's leaning back in such a way that looks uncomfortable.

"Fel?" I ask and he opens his eyes. He just looks… tired. "Want to come home with me tonight?"

His chest expands with a deep breath, then he nods.

"Finish changing and take a shower. Wash all the hockey off you. I'll wait here."

Felton moves again as if I just reanimated him. He finishes climbing out of his gear before wandering toward the showers.

While he's there, I take out my phone and scroll social media.

I look up when Coach asks, "Everything okay?"

Everything seemed really good. I'm not sure what happened. Maybe someone said something. "Felton's in the shower," I answer.

Coach sighs. It's not in frustration or irritation, for which I'm glad because we'd have had to have some words. I can see his concern. "What can I do to support you both right now?"

Shaking my head, I shrug. "I'm not sure what he needs." That's not entirely true. I think he'd be in a very different place if he had familial support instead of the shitty parents he's been dealt.

"No?" Coach asks, and I can tell he doesn't believe me.

I smile. "I don't know how to make what he needs happen," I amend. "It's been building for a long time and I think the bullshit with the ReachMe account just snapped and the walls he'd so carefully constructed came tumbling down with that one blow."

Coach Shively scowls. "I'd love to smack some idiots," he mutters, then meets my eyes. "You didn't hear that."

Shrugging, I say, "Hear what?"

He gives me a nod.

"There's still no definitive proof linking Felton to the content creator. Except everyone is taking the disappearance of Benny as proof enough." Coach shakes his head.

"It had to happen."

"It did," he agrees. He glances toward the showers when the water stops. "Let me know if there's anything you need. I'm not sure what I can do, but he doesn't deserve this."

"Thanks, Coach," I say genuinely. I agree, Felton doesn't deserve this. As Coach Shively leaves, I consider how fortunate we are that we have a coach who cares about the individuals as much as the team.

Felton returns and wordlessly dresses. When he's back in his suit, he falls into stride beside me and I lead him to my car. I think he has to fold himself to fit inside. Maybe I should consider a bigger car.

The drive to my house is quiet. His hands are constantly moving in his lap, fidgeting nervously. After a few minutes, I rest my hands over his. Felton takes a long, deep inhalation and holds it.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Fel. But I promise, everything is going to work out."

His gaze shifts toward mine and I nearly wince. I've always tried really hard not to say those words to anyone because I can't guarantee them to be true. Especially things that are out of my control, which is true for basically all of Felton's life. Somehow, I'm confident when I say them this time. As if I can personally make sure that outcome comes to fruition.

I will make it happen.

Felton nods. For one startling second, I thought I'd said the last words out loud but then I realize that he's only acknowledging what I'd said a moment ago. The errant promise I made.

When we get back to my house, I dig around for some shorts and a shirt that Felton can change into and produce a couple hangers for his suit. I'm not a small guy but Felton is a really big guy, so he looks like a grown ass man wearing child's clothing when he comes out.

I like the bemused look he gives me as he looks down at his body. "I only truly realize my size difference in moments like these," he says.

I chuckle. "Have a seat. I have a small meal and some tea warming. Then we'll head to bed."

Felton takes a seat, even as I pause. It sounded like I was suggesting we go to bed together. However, Felton doesn't seem to have interpreted it that way. I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or disappointed. Either way, I sigh.

When the small portions of casserole are heated through, I place one in front of Felton with some sleepy time tea and leave him momentarily to change out of my suit. Then I join him and we eat in silence.

There's an extra toothbrush in the spare bathroom. While he gets ready for bed, I do as well in my bathroom. As I brush my teeth, I glance at the second sink that's never used and imagine Felton standing over it, brushing his teeth with me. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and he smiles around the toothbrush.

Leaning over, I spit into the sink. What is wrong with me tonight?

It's Reese Davies' fault for making me feel so defensive on Felton's behalf. Maybe that's the cowardly way around explaining away this strange feeling, but it's the excuse I'm going to make for myself.

Leaving the bathroom, I spy Felton lingering in the hall. Looking unsure and out of place. Also a little ridiculous in my clothes. Yet, I love it. I love that he's wearing them.

I step into the hall. "You need anything?"

Felton shakes his head.

"Ready for bed?"

He sighs, nodding.

Pushing the spare room door open, I step back so he can get by me. When he's laying down, I bring the covers up and around him, pushing the edges around his body. My mother used to do this for my brother and me when we were sick. As ridiculous as it sounds, I think that show of affection and care are what made me feel better more than medication or rest. Maybe that's why I keep doing it for Felton.

The light is already off, and the curtain's pulled from earlier today. I kneel next to him and brush his hair. "Sleep, Fel. Tomorrow is a new day. Each day is going to get better."

He sighs. Unlike earlier, he doesn't fall right asleep. He seems restless. Constantly twitching and shifting minutely. Under the blankets, his arms circle his stomach.

After twenty minutes, I say, "Move over."

His eyes open and he watches me as he pushes himself backward on the mattress. I climb on with him, pulling him close. Felton's weight covers me. He sighs again and this time it sounds content. It's mere minutes before he's asleep. Though my eyes stay open long after as I try to determine what's happening between us.