“Yes, Coach.” Shit. Hawk struggled out of his pads and shrugged into sweats, a hoodie and some shower slides before stepping into the hall.
“Okay, so what’s with you, Montineau. Jet lag? Letdown? You’ve never been so sluggish.”
“A little bit of both, I think, Coach. Sorry.”
“You’re lucky Lindstrom was on fire tonight,” Coach said, meaning their goaltender, Danik.
“I know. I’ll be right as rain next game.”
“I’m not mad, son. Just worried. You’ve been fire since we drafted you, and this concerns me.” Coach clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, go get a shower and go home. No partying with the guys until you get over the whatever this is.”
“You got it, Coach.” He nodded. “Thanks.”
“You got this.”
“Sure.” He dragged his ass back to the locker room, thanking Danik, congratulating their captain, Joss Landau. He was glad to be mostly alone when he stepped into the showers to rinse off, then get dressed and head home, having refused the invite to go have a beer.
When he got home, he stuck a frozen dinner in the microwave, some organic thing his housekeeper had bought for him thinking it would help him when he resorted to buttered noodles, and then he threw it away. He grabbed a beer and a packet of Nutter Butters before heading to the big sectional to flop down and grab the remote.
The TV barely came on before he hopped back up and headed to the shower. He needed a real one, with his rain bath shower head and his fancy body wash, dammit. Screw the cookies.
Honestly, Hawk knew what was wrong with him; the idea never strayed far from his thoughts. He was missing Caleb,which was fucking ridiculous. He’d known the guy a week, had talked with him about how it was just a hookup, and had left knowing they probably wouldn’t see each other again.
So what the actual fuck?
Half an hour later he was back on the couch with an action movie on, having traded his beer for decaf, and munching cookies.
Which was when his mom called, of course. She had radar for when he was down in the dumps, and she watched all of his damn games.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Allo, Hawk. ‘Ça Va’?”
“‘Ça Va bien, Maman.” He was lying. And she knew it, no doubt.
She switched to English. “You were very slow tonight. You look unhappy. Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?”
“Oh, you know, the Games were amazing until they weren’t. And I’m still on Korea time.”
“Bullshit.”
“Mom.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Hawk heaved a sigh. “I met a guy.”
“Ah. I see. It’s love.”
Hawk gagged, making it loud and obvious. “Non.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing.” He didn’t mean to sound so damn pitiful, but he did. This was his mom.
“Oh.” He could tell from her tone she understood. “Your father and I should come for a visit soon.”
“Mom…”