After I greet Otis, I snoop around Easton’s apartment a little. I was here before, but now that Easton’s not here I take my time studying the place. I knew it would be way nicer than mine. Dark hardwood floors stretch from the entrance to the big window in the living room and down the hall. Light taupe walls keep it airy, and although the furniture is minimal, it’s stylish and new. Two dark brown leather couches flank a big-screen television, anchored by a thick rug patterned in shades of gray and taupe. The living room is mostly neat, other than the dog bed in the corner, the chew toys and squeaky toys, and a couple of dog biscuits strewn over the floor. I have to smile at that.
His kitchen is all white and stainless steel, and spotless, with a healthy bowl of fruit on the quartz counter.
Easton hasn’t done a lot of decorating in the time he’s been here; there aren’t any family pictures and only a couple of pieces hanging on the wall—a jersey in a big frame for a team I don’t recognize—the Warriors—and a few pucks. Presumably these mean something to him. I stand in front of a shelf on the wall and study the books there—sports and performance ones, but also some fiction. He apparently likes Harlan Coben. And graphic novels. Interesting.
I walk over to the big windows in the living room to gaze down on the Hudson River and New Jersey beyond that. Nice view.
I turn to see Otis sitting on the carpet, watching me. I grin. “Hey. Don’t tell your dad I was snooping around.”
He cocks his head.
“Attaboy. Ready for your walk?”
He knows that word and starts jumping. I find his leash and a couple of bags and we head out to the park.
We take our time and don’t rush back. When we do get back to Easton’s place, I feed Otis his supper. But I feel bad leaving Otis when Easton won’t be home for hours, so I take a picture of Otis and text it to Easton. Then I sink into one of the big couches and grab the remote on the coffee table to try to figure out how to operate the TV. I make a note of what channel he has it on so I can change it back when I’m done. Then I find the game.
I’m sure Easton wouldn’t mind me hanging out here with Otis. I don’t know why I think I need to hide it. But since we didn’t discuss it, I feel a little guilty. Well, to make myself feel better, I’ll do some training with Otis.
I retrieve a bag of small treats from the kitchen and sit on the living room floor with him. It would help to have another person to push his butt down when I say “sit,” but he remembers it after a few tries. Then I work on getting him to give me a paw. That one’s easier. I feel I’ve made progress; he just needs more practice.
“Good boy!” I give him lots of praise along with the treats.
On the TV, the crowd at the game roars and the goal horn blares.
“Damn, I missed the goal!” I turn to see the Bears celebrating their goal. Easton is one of the guys on the ice, and he skates past his bench to bump his glove against his teammates’. I wait for the replay and watch him feed the puck to Bobak for the goal. Nice!
I wait until the first period is over, then walk home during the intermission. I feel sad leaving Otis, but it’ll only be a few hours until Easton gets home after his game.
As I walk, I check my phone. And hey! There’s a response to one of my ads, asking about dog walking. Whoop! I pick up my pace so I can answer when I’m home.
And an hour later, the Bears are up three–two and I have a new client. His name is Apollo and I can’t wait to meet him.
Easton
“Look, Nancy, I know you’re not the biggest guy, but maybe if you worked out a little harder, put on a bit more muscle, you’d do better in the corners.”
My entire body stiffens. I’m afraid to look around the dressing room after the game we just lost. I risk a glance at Wendy, who Coach has just singled out.
Nancy.
Jesus fucking Christ.
My blood simmers in my veins.
We all have nicknames. Wendy is short for Wendell. Cookie is Owen’s nickname because his last name is Cooke. We call Igor Barbashev “Barbie.” None of us take offense at those handles. But calling someone Nancy is deliberately insulting.
And our coach just did that.
The atmosphere in the room has gone thick. I bend to pull off my skates. Not only am I angry, I feel fucking helpless. I’ve spoken up before and attracted Coach’s wrath. I can’t keep doing that. Hockey’s all I have left. I can’t risk losing that too.
“That was a display of weakness out there,” Coach continues, pacing. “I never want to see that kind of pansy-ass forechecking again. Come on!” He points at JBo. “You! You wouldn’t even drop the gloves!”
“Bolton got a penalty,” JBo says quietly. “Taking a fighting penalty would have taken me out of the PP.”
“Fuck that!” Coach stands still. “You think you’re the only center who can play the power play?”
JBo’s jaw tightens and he drops his chin.
He is our best center on the power play. For fuck’s sake.
Coach rants on then storms out. We all exchange fuming glances as we finish undressing and head to the showers.
I don’t feel like going out. All I want to do is go home. Otis is waiting there for me.
I know I shouldn’t get used to that. I know I shouldn’t get attached. It’s just another thing that’ll be taken away from me. But right now, it gives me something to look forward to.
Cookie, Russ, and I take the subway home together since we live in the same building. We’re all quiet, looking at our phones during the short ride. I have a text message from Lilly with a picture of Otis sitting on my couch.
Just leaving now! We had a good walk. See you Wednesday!
One corner of my mouth lifts in a reluctant smile. Wednesday we’re off to Detroit so I’m taking Otis to her place for a sleepover.
We emerge from the station onto 72nd Street to walk the few blocks to our building. Once we’re across Broadway and alone on the dark street I blow out a breath. “That was bullshit,” I say quietly.
“Yeah.” Cookie shakes his head. “What the fuck.”
Russ says, “I know.”
“It’s getting to me, guys. I’m afraid I’m going to punch him.”
They chuckle, but I’m not really joking.
“I know, it’s getting to me too,” Russ says. “It’s getting to all of us. Nobody wants to screw up because you’re going to get humiliated.”