Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

Toronto isn’t able to tie it up. We lose to the home team, and while I’m disappointed, I also can’t deny that I’m secretly happy for Jamie. His teammates swarm the ice and I lose sight of him in the massive show of celebration, but I know he must be over the fucking moon. And I’m glad for him. He deserves every bit of praise that’s going to be poured on him tonight.

He deserves the world.

6

Wes

“Where. The fuck. Are we?” Blake asks, his eyes roaming the sleek, achingly hip room. “Silicon Valley does weird things to its bars.”

He’s not wrong. I’m holding a twenty-two-dollar cocktail, while blue light and techno music washes over us. “This is how I’d picture a bar on the Starship Enterprise.”

“Nah,” my teammate Will O’Connor says. “Where are the alien women with three tits?”

Forget the alien women. Where is Jamie? I take a sip of my over-priced cocktail and scan the room again. I’m aching to see his blond head pop out of the crowd. But no. It’s just us.

After their win, San Jose sent a messenger to our locker room to tell us to meet ’em here. You can have your goalie back after we buy him a drink, the note said.

So I guess Jamie made some new friends tonight. He must be out of his mind right now. Honestly, my head is sort of blowing up with ideas about what might happen next. Was that Ottawa scout in the stands tonight when Jamie became San Jose’s hero? I bet he was.

My man’s whole life is about to change. And I feel all the things. Excitement. Astonishment. Disbelief. Worry. And—fine—a twinge of fear. He won’t have as much time for me now. I don’t need to be the center of attention. But I like being the center of his attention.

But I push that ugly emotion back into its cave. This is Jamie’s night and I can’t wait to watch what happens next.

Some of my teammates hit the dance floor, burning off their post-game energy. Lemming corners a leggy woman at the bar and starts turning on the charm. But I only slurp my drink and watch the door.

Just when I’m sure he’s been kidnapped by my opponents, that golden head bobs into view, surrounded by a bunch of guys in teal jackets. I feel a rush of relief that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. And then

I’m on the move, crossing the space, plopping my empty glass down on the nearest surface and hug-tackling him like I’ve needed to do all night.

“Hey!” he says with a laugh as I squeeze him. “Sorry about your scoreless period. Better luck next time.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile, and everything is right in my world. “I’ll get you next time.” I take his handsome face in two hands and smack a kiss onto his cheek.

When I step back, a whole bunch of hockey players are staring at me. Pitti—the goalie whose arm is now in a sling—looks particularly stunned. As if I’m the alien with three tits.

They already know I’m that guy—the dude who’s married to a dude. But apparently they’ve never seen it up close.

“So are we drinking or what?” Jamie says easily.

“Yeah,” Nik Sokolav says, snapping out of it. “And Pitti is buying, because you saved his ass tonight.”

“Aw, man,” Pitti says with a chuckle. “Fine. Cheap beer for all my friends.”

“Cheap beer here is nine bucks,” someone points out. “Ouch.”

“And don’t forget your thirsty opponents,” I put in. “We lent you Toronto’s best goalie coach. It’s time to pay up.”

“We better get started, then.” Pitti slaps Jamie on the back with his good hand and leads him toward the bar.

* * *

Several beers later I’m feeling high on life. Jamie is busy exchanging war stories with his new friends from California. But I’m making plans. It’s a four-and-a-half-hour drive between Toronto and Ottawa. But a little research on my phone shows me a couple of towns between Toronto and Ottawa. Like Belleville and Kingston. We could buy a small house on Lake Ontario, and rent Jamie a studio in Ottawa.

On the nights when both teams are at home, we could make the two-hour drive and meet in the middle. It would be our getaway place. Also, if Jamie is in the minors for a while, his season would be shorter than mine by a couple of weeks.

And we’d have our summers. Sure, they’re only six weeks long. But I fell in love with Jamie over a few summers that weren’t much longer than that, right? He’s made all the sacrifices so far. I’m willing to make some for him.

When it’s finally time to leave, I’m just bursting with ideas. They come spilling out in the cab on our way back to the team hotel.