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Uhhhh.
I know I'm not crazy.
I know I brought a change of clothes into that bathroom with me. I know it because it's one of my favorite shirts, a shirt I've had since my Junior days. But now I can't find it anywhere. Not in the bathroom, not in my suitcase, not anywhere else.
And even if I'm somehow wrong about that one – I know, for sure, that there was a bath towel in that bathroom with me. I'm 100% positive on that.
So what's the explanation? Is this hotel haunted? Was it aliens?
Seriously, bro. I don't get it.
I mean, maybe, possibly – Vance did something? Like maybe he snuck in and took my clothes and my bath towel. But, err, why he would do that would be my first question.
The second question would have to be so cringe-ifying my soul hurts. But, if it was him ... did he – y'know – see anything?
Just the thought of that makes me wanna die. As if this year hasn't already been fucking weird enough. That would take the cake.
Whatever, though. I leave the bathroom, grab a new towel to dry off with, and change into a separate set of clothes.
I'm not sure where Vance went, since he's not in the room anymore. I'm trying to ignore that dreadful feeling inside me that knows his disappearance is related to the missing clothes.
Maybe he's playing some kind of prank. Maybe he didn't see anything at all.
“Enough!” I tell myself, sick of all the questions buzzing around my mind and driving me mad.
So I lay in bed and turn the TV on. And, after a half-hour or so, I hear the key-card pass into the door lock. My stomach wrenches.
Oh God here we go. Moment of truth.
Vance walks in. He keeps his eyes low. Mumbles “hey,” but doesn't look at me as he walks past my bed to his own.
“Hey,” I say. “Where'd you go?”
“Had a drink at the bar,” is his curt reply. He looks like he's seen a ghost.
A drink at the bar? My eyes narrow. Vance isn't one to just go out for a drink by himself. He needs a reason – like going out with the boys, or having a drink with dinner.
A reason.
But that's as far as I'm willing to go on that topic, because my chest is getting all tight at the mere thought of what that reason could be.
Oh well. I'm not about to ask him where my clothes went. Even if I do want them back. So what's done is done, I guess. Back to focusing on hockey.
“So uh, big game coming up next,” Vance says. “The last game of the season.”
Ugh. Then there's that topic.
“Yeah,” I croak. “The Jets. My old team.”
Vance turns away from me and rolls on his side, facing the wall. “You nervous?”
I wince. Truth is? Yeah, I'm a little nervous. But not about the outcome of the game. We're already in the playoffs, no matter what. I'm just nervous about what might be said during the game.
“No ... not really,” I say. “I just wanna win.”
I see Vance nod, but he doesn't say anything else.
What the hell.
We don't say another word to each other. It's late anyway, I guess. I turn the lamp off and toss and turn until I finally fall asleep.
***
ME AND VANCE DON'T talk much on the ride to the airport, or on the flight back to Chicago. In fact we don't sit by each other on the plane like we normally do. That's alright, I guess. A little space could be good. At least I won't have to think and obsess over what he might have seen when he's sitting next to me, being a big awkward weirdo.
Besides, it's not my fault. If that guy snuck into the bathroom while I was in there showering, and he saw something that he wasn't meant to see – really, whose fault is that? Not mine. So I don't have to feel bad, guilty or shameful over it.
And it's not like he could see what it was I was thinking about while I was jerking myself. Thank God no technology for that exists yet! ...
So he made a mistake. And now he lives with the consequences. Done.
I just want my shirt back already.
Our plane touches down in Chicago, and we all go our separate ways back to our own lives. Me and Vance take separate taxis back to our hotel, even if we normally grab one together.
That's fine too. Whatever.
By the time I get back to the hotel, and take the elevator up to my floor, and walk down that hallway – I happen to get a glimpse, just as I enter the hallway, of Vance entering his room. He beat me back to the hotel, only by a half-minute or so, and I see him hurrying into his room and shutting his door quickly. He looks like some kind of operative on a mission.
Somehow, the sight makes me angry. I didn't do anything wrong, but now he's being all weird around me.
And for the first time since I arrived? I'm starting to think it's time to get out of this hotel. I realize I should make a call and find an apartment. Me and Vance room together on the road – is it really necessary to be this close to each other when we're at home?
I mean, if I'm being honest with myself, I know there's no way I would've stayed in a hotel this long if it weren't for my friendship with Vance. I would've gotten an apartment first thing, because I hate living in a hotel. Something about it feels so temporary, so fleeting, like vacation is about to end any minute.
And maybe it finally has. Because let's be real – I was getting something of a crush on my teammate, my captain, my roommate, my hockey idol ... straight guy Tyler Vance. I mean what the fuck? Can I get any more unrealistic? Is there a fantasy any more ridiculous than that?
In a way, I'm lucky things didn't turn out worse! And really, this might even be the best case scenario. Because now the situation can quietly, if a little awkwardly, defuse. I'll move on, he'll move on, and no one will ever have to talk about this again. And I can finally, at long last, truly dedicate myself to playing hockey without other things getting in the way.
***
IT'S GAME DAY.
I walk to the arena – by myself – thinking about the game to come. First of all, if the comments on Twitter this morning are any indication, I'm totally expecting a media circus today. Talk of 'the trade' has died down a bit in recent weeks, but this game against the Jets has given the rumors new life.
The narrative is just too juicy for them to resist: 'Young star traded over mysterious circumstances, rift with former teammates.'
But even I'm surprised when I walk to the arena and see just how many cameras are there, all being pointed right at me, a horde of microphones jammed into my face as I try to hurry past.
“Callan! Callan!” the reporters shout.
“What are your thoughts going into this game?!
“Have you talked with any of your teammates since the trade?!”
“What do you really think of Dimitri Burkhardt and the Jets?!”
“No comments,” I wave them off as I strut by the crowd and into the arena. “I'll answer questions after the game.”
I burst into the arena and find myself in a quiet hallway leading to the dressing room. Holy crap, I pant to myself. I take a second to catch my breath and clear my mind. I don't want my teammates to see me like this.
When I'm good, I burst into the dressing room with that Callan Jones grin on my face.
“Heyyy!” the boys cheer. “There he is!”
“Man of the hour!”
“The locker room cancer himself!”
I crack up with everyone else. “That's me alright.”
Vance is here, too. I nod at him, and he nods back.
“So how much cheddar you puttin' up tonight, Jonesy?” Nelson asks.
In games like this – a hockey player facing his old team for the first time – it's a tradition for the new player to put up some of his money as prize for the player who gets the game-winning goal. A little something extra to motivate the team to get the win for the new guy.
“Hmm,” I tap my chin. “How 'bout ... a grand?”
“That's it?” he laughs. “A grand? That's how bad you want this? I bet you Fresno's putting 10 g's up against us!”
“Hey, a grand is a lot to me, alright! I'm not making the big bucks like Fresno is!”
A good-natured squabble about what a cheap-ass I am takes up the next few minutes. I shake my head, laughing at all their jokes, while I get dressed. And I hope no one picks up on my nervousness. Because while I've grown to love this team – I've got a sinking feeling that it could all end tonight.
Soon, the jokes start to fade. Guys start to get quiet as nerves set in, and we start to focus on the battle ahead.
“Alright,” Vance says at last, once we're all suited up and ready to take the ice. “Let's do it for Jonesy.”