Page 14 of Over the Line

“Don’t mention it.”

“Are you going to be playing again soon?” His face was earnest with real concern.

I smiled, signed his photo, and handed it back. “It’s up to the medical staff right now, but I think I’ll be back soon.” I rolled my shoulder for emphasis. “It feels a lot better than it did, that’s for sure!”

The relief that broke out across the kid’s expression—along with everyone around him—was incredibly endearing. Reporters and commentators could sometimes talk about us like we were livestock when we were injured. The fans, though, always seemed genuinely happy to know we were on the mend.

“Glad to hear it!” the kid said. “Can’t wait to see you play again!”

“Can’t wait to play again,” I replied, and continued down the line.

There were more thrilled kids and more well wishes for my recovery, and then I reached the last person. After I’d signed a jersey for her, I gave the line a wave, then pulled back into the lane and headed away from the arena.

My house in Sewickley was about thirty minutes out of downtown Pittsburgh, and I spent the whole drive in this weird melancholy haze. Signing for fans usually lifted my spirits, and to some degree, it did that tonight.

But it also made a fresh ball of lead settle in the pit of my stomach. My mind kept drifting back to the little boy whose dad had picked him up to reach my window.

And to the man who’d been sitting beside me in the owner’s box tonight.

And to his son… my teammate.

Chris was twenty-three. I’d been drafted before he was in kindergarten, and he’d been a hockey fan his whole life. That meant there was a non-zero chance Garrett had once lifted Chris to hand me something to sign.

Fuck. That was a weird thought.

It was unlikely that it had ever happened, but it was strange to imagine the possibility. Why? I couldn’t even say why. Because I was suddenly attracted to a man who was old enough to have brought his kids to one of my games when I was a rookie? Because I was old enough that it made more sense to be into a man that age than the men I’d dated early in my career?

Was I getting old?

Well, I mean, I knew that. The word “retirement” was getting thrown around a lot more these days. I was aging and everybody knew it. God knew I felt it after every game.

Did Aleve or Advil need an endorsement? Because I could totally be the spokesperson for like four brands of over-the-counter pain relievers.

I chuckled at my own thought, and I amused myself for a couple of miles imagining those commercials. Commercials featuring hockey players were usually hilarious, and I doubted these would be any exception.

Strong enough for a hockey player who gets knocked around by bigger hockey players!

Check that pain into the boards!

What the fuck do you think keep us old guys playing? Witchcraft?

I laughed, shaking my head.

It didn’t take long, though, for my thoughts to again drift back to my teammate’s incredibly hot dad. And all the reasons I shouldn’t even think about getting involved with him even if he was queer—which, odds were, he was not.

Minutes later, I was home, that melancholy feeling having replaced my brief amusement over starring in ibuprofen commercials.

In my garage, I shut off the car but didn’t get out. For a long time, I stared at nothing, trying to pull my racing thoughts into order.

I let my gaze drift to my left, where two of the four bays were empty. One because my Porsche had met an unfortunate end and I’d never replaced it. The fourth…

That one had been empty for a long time for very different reasons. Sometimes I thought I was used to it. Other times, like now, I imagined someone’s car pulling into it.

I wonder what kind of car Garrett drives.

I didn’t really care that much about his car preferences—I just wished I knew what to mentally superimpose on that empty space.

You’re an idiot, Liam. What the hell.