Into Overtime

Ezra

Toronto was supposed to feel like the beginning of something.

Instead, standing in the middle of Pearson Airport with my suitcase tipped against my leg and my backpack digging into my shoulder, my first coherent thought was that I wanted to turn around and get back on the plane.

That seemed promising.

I pulled my phone out the second I was clear of the crowd around baggage claim.

Airplane mode off.

Three messages appeared almost immediately.

Toby:

alive?

Mom:

Let me know when you land ❤️

Rhett:

LAND

I stared at the last one.

Then another came through.

Rhett:

COOPER

I laughed despite myself.

Me:

I landed

The typing dots appeared before I’d even finished putting my phone back against my palm.

Rhett:

call me

Of course.

I hit the button.

He answered before the first full ring.

“Hi.”

Something in my chest squeezed.

It had been a few hours.

That was it.

A few hours since I’d kissed him at the airport and walked through security while he stood there refusing to leave.

Apparently that was enough time for hearing his voice to feel different.

“Hi.”

“You there?”

“No. Plane crashed. This is a ghost call.”

“Asshole.”

I smiled and started toward the signs for ground transportation.

“I’m here.”

“How was the flight?”

“Boring.”

“Did you sleep?”

“No.”

“Eat?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“There he is.”

He laughed quietly.

God, I missed him.

Already.

That was pathetic.

I had been away from Rhett before. We’d had nights apart. Whole days where hockey or classes or life meant we barely saw each other.

This wasn’t different because of the number of hours.

It was different because there wasn’t a dorm room waiting for me at the end of the day where I could knock on his door.

There wasn’t practice tomorrow where I’d see number thirty-three skate past the bench.

There wasn’t breakfast.

There wasn’t his stupid face appearing outside my classroom because he’d decided walking across campus was apparently worth it if he got to steal ten minutes with me.

There was Toronto.

And me.

“Where are you?” Rhett asked.

“Trying to find the car they arranged.”

“You have the driver’s information?”

“Yes.”

“Address?”

“Yes.”

“Ezra.”

“Yes, Rhett.”

“You’re being annoying.”

“I’m trying not to tell you that I already hate this.”

Silence.

Fuck.

That hadn’t been the plan.

I stopped beside one of the giant windows overlooking the pickup lanes.

Rhett’s voice changed when he answered.

“You hate Toronto?”

“I’ve been here fourteen minutes.”

“So probably not Toronto.”

“No.”

“Then what?”

I closed my eyes.

“You know what.”

Another pause.

“Yeah.”

There was no point pretending.

“I miss you.”

He exhaled softly.

“I miss you too.”

“It’s been four hours.”

“Five.”

I opened my eyes.

“You counted?”

“No.”

“You absolutely counted.”

“Shut up.”

I smiled.

Then somebody bumped my suitcase trying to get past me, and reality returned.

Toronto.

Internship.

Housing.

An actual job beginning tomorrow morning.

I couldn’t stand in the airport feeling sorry for myself forever.

“I need to find my ride.”

“Call me when you get settled.”

“You’re still at Northpoint?”

“Yeah.”

That hurt more than it should have.

He was still there.

In the place we’d both left together at the end of the year, except now I’d actually gone.

“What are you doing?”

“Training later.”

“Of course.”

“Michael wants me following Boston’s conditioning plan before development camp.”

“And how excited are you about that?”

“Disgustingly.”

I laughed.

“Thought so.”

“Ez?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

My throat tightened.

“I love you too.”

Then I made myself hang up.

That was harder than walking through security had been.

The housing MLSE arranged wasn’t some glamorous downtown apartment overlooking the skyline.

Thank God.

If they’d put me somewhere that looked like a billionaire’s vacation property, I probably would’ve spent the entire summer waiting for someone to realize they’d made a mistake.

Instead, I got a furnished studio in a building used for interns, temporary employees, and visiting staff.

Small kitchen.

Desk.

Bed.

Bathroom.

Couch that looked like it had personally survived several terrible life choices.

A window with a partial city view if I leaned far enough to the left.

It was perfect.

I hated it.

I stood inside after the building coordinator left and listened to the door click shut.

Silence.

Actual silence.

Not dorm silence.

Dorm silence wasn’t real. Dorm silence came with somebody yelling three doors down, music through a wall, Toby complaining about something, footsteps in the hall, or Rhett knocking even though he had eventually become incapable of respecting normal visiting hours.

This was just quiet.

I dropped my backpack on the floor.

The room suddenly looked even emptier.

“Great.”

My voice sounded weird in it.

I unpacked because apparently functioning adults unpacked.

Laptop on the desk.

Chargers.

Clothes.

Toiletries.

The extra phone charger I’d bought specifically because Rhett had made fun of me for leaving mine behind so often.

I found one of his shirts halfway down my suitcase.

Not accidentally.

I’d stolen it deliberately.

Dark gray.

Soft.

Too big.

Smelled faintly like his detergent and, if I was being embarrassingly sentimental, him.

I sat on the edge of the bed holding it.

That was where the whole brave-new-future thing nearly fell apart.

Toronto had offered me something incredible.

I knew that.

Tomorrow I’d walk into MLSE and start an internship most freshmen in computer science would kill for.

Real systems.

Real engineering teams.

Real data.

A chance to spend twelve weeks finding out whether I actually knew anything useful when assignments stopped coming with rubrics.

I wanted that.

I really did.

And somehow wanting it didn’t make me miss Rhett less.

That felt unfair.

I pulled his shirt on.

Then immediately texted him a picture.

Nothing dramatic.

Just me sitting on the bed in his shirt with my suitcase still open behind me.

Me:

stole this

His response took less than a minute.

Rhett:

I KNOW

Me:

how

Rhett:

because I packed three and now have two

Me:

sounds like a you problem

Rhett:

you look good in it

I stared at that longer than necessary.

Me:

gross

Rhett:

send another

Me:

absolutely not

Rhett:

cooper

I laughed and put my phone down before he could win.

Then I opened the internship packet.

Tomorrow.

8:30 a.m.

Orientation.

Security badge.

IT setup.

Team introduction.

First meeting with Ryan Patel.

Then onboarding with software and data engineering.

My stomach flipped.

That was better.

Nerves I understood.

I opened my laptop and went through everything again.

Transportation route.

Building access.

Dress expectations.

Emergency contacts.

Where to report.

What to bring.

Then I checked my email.

No Northeastern update.

Obviously.

I’d submitted the application days ago.

Admissions offices did not rearrange people’s lives on demand just because waiting made them insane.

Still, I refreshed.

Nothing.

Boston sat there in the back of my mind anyway.

Toronto was real.

Northpoint was still available.

Boston was maybe.

That remained the strange part.

I’d made one decision without knowing what the next one would be.

Toby had called it being reasonable.

I called it terrible planning.

A notification appeared on my screen.

Bruins development camp information.

I blinked.

Then remembered I’d subscribed to everything connected to Boston approximately thirty seconds after Rhett signed.

Of course I had.

I clicked.

Development coverage.

Prospect information.

Training camp dates.

Articles.

Nothing about Rhett yet beyond the usual signing announcement and championship references, but that didn’t stop me from looking.

I imagined him there.

Boston.

New facility.

New coaches.

No Northpoint jersey.

No Coach standing behind the bench yelling at him for trying to beat three players himself.

No Nolan.

No Brady asking questions that made everyone regret literacy.

Just Rhett walking into professional hockey at nineteen and trying to prove he belonged.

My chest tightened again.

He was probably going to be incredible.

He was also probably going to drive everyone insane.

I smiled.

Then the smile faded when I realized I wouldn’t be there for his first day.

That sucked.

Actually, everything about the timing sucked.

My internship started now.

His development camp started in two weeks.

He’d still be home while I was in Toronto.

Then he’d leave for Boston while I was still here.

Two separate cities.

Two separate schedules.

And if Northeastern didn’t happen, possibly two separate lives for most of next year.

I shut the laptop.

No.

That was exactly what I’d promised myself not to do.

I didn’t need to solve September on my first afternoon in Toronto.

Today had enough problems.

Food.

Groceries.

Figuring out whether the building laundry room required coins like we were living in 1997.

Maybe seeing something beyond this apartment so my first memory of Toronto wasn’t me sitting on a strange bed wearing my boyfriend’s shirt and stalking the Boston Bruins website.

My phone rang.

Rhett.

I smiled before answering.

“You lasted forty-seven minutes.”

“That’s restraint.”

“Impressive.”

“What are you doing?”

“Planning my exciting Toronto life.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m going to find groceries.”

“Wild.”

“Maybe detergent.”

“Slow down.”

“I know.”

I heard movement on his end.

Then a door.

“Are you going to the rink?”

“Yeah.”

“Already?”

“I was bored.”

I smiled.

“Without me?”

That slipped out before I meant it to.

Rhett went quiet.

Fuck.

“Ez.”

“I’m kidding.”

“Not entirely.”

“No.”

I sat back on the bed.

“I know you still have to train.”

“I know.”

“It just feels weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Like you’re still doing our normal life and I’m suddenly somewhere else.”

He didn’t rush to correct me.

That was one thing he’d gotten better at.

Not trying to fix every uncomfortable truth.

“I walked past the equipment room earlier,” he said.

My chest squeezed.

“Oh.”

“Almost texted you asking where you were.”

That hurt.

Good.

At least I wasn’t alone.

“I would’ve answered Toronto.”

“Smartass.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

I smiled.

Then Rhett said, “Go outside.”

“What?”

“Go see Toronto.”

“Bossy.”

“You didn’t move there to sit in an apartment missing me.”

“I did not move here.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did.

“And tomorrow you start.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re going to be good.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You cannot possibly know whether I’m going to be good at professional software engineering.”

“No, but I know you’re obnoxious enough to keep asking questions until you figure shit out.”

I laughed.

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get emotional.”

“Too late.”

He paused.

Then, quieter, “I wish I was there.”

There it was.

Not I wish you’d stayed.

Not come home.

I wish I was there.

I closed my eyes.

“Me too.”

“Soon.”

We hadn’t picked a date.

Couldn’t.

But the word still worked.

“Soon.”

After we hung up, I actually listened to him.

Which was becoming an alarming habit.

I changed out of Rhett’s shirt because walking around Toronto dressed entirely in my boyfriend’s clothes felt like surrendering too early.

I kept it folded on the bed.

Then I grabbed my wallet, phone, and keys.

The elevator ride down took forever.

Outside, Toronto hit me all at once.

Traffic.

Streetcars.

People.

Glass buildings reflecting late-afternoon light.

Restaurants I’d never heard of.

Voices.

Movement.

The city didn’t care that I missed Rhett.

Maybe that was good.

I walked.

No destination at first.

Just figuring out where things were.

Coffee shop.

Pharmacy.

Grocery store.

A place selling dumplings that smelled incredible.

Subway entrance.

A little park wedged between buildings.

I bought groceries.

Too many snacks.

Not enough actual food.

Rhett would’ve complained.

I bought detergent.

No coins required.

Progress.

By the time I headed back, the city felt marginally less hostile.

Not home.

Definitely not home.

But maybe somewhere I could exist.

My phone buzzed while I waited at a crosswalk.

A photo from Rhett.

Empty Northpoint rink.

His skates visible at the bottom of the frame.

Rhett:

wrong without you

My eyes burned.

Asshole.

I took a picture of the Toronto skyline between two buildings.

Me:

same

Then I thought about it and sent another.

Me:

but maybe we get used to new

His response came after a minute.

Rhett:

maybe

Then:

Rhett:

doesn’t mean I have to like it

I laughed.

Me:

agreed

That night I ate takeout on the floor because I hadn’t figured out the tiny table situation yet.

I video-called Toby.

Then my mom.

Then Rhett.

Rhett stayed on longer than everyone else combined.

He was lying across his bed at Northpoint, shirtless after training, complaining about Boston’s conditioning plan while clearly loving every second of it.

I propped my phone against the lamp.

“You realize you’re smiling while complaining.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“Bad camera angle.”

“Sure.”

He looked at me.

Then around the room behind me.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Your place.”

So I gave him the tour.

It took thirty-eight seconds.

Kitchen.

Desk.

Couch.

Bed.

Bathroom.

Window.

“Fancy,” he said.

“Try not to be jealous.”

“Where’s my shirt?”

I pointed toward the bed.

His smile softened.

“Good.”

I sat back down.

For a while, neither of us said anything.

He was just there on my screen.

I hated that a screen was suddenly the closest I could get.

“You need sleep,” he said eventually.

“So do you.”

“I don’t start a job tomorrow.”

“You train at eight.”

“That’s different.”

“No.”

“Cooper.”

“Slater.”

He smiled.

Then neither of us hung up.

Five more minutes.

Then ten.

Eventually I yawned.

Rhett noticed.

“Go to bed.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No.”

I looked at him.

“I really don’t.”

His expression softened.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Call tomorrow.”

“After work.”

“Before if you need me.”

That mattered.

“Okay.”

“And Ezra?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t hate it yet.”

I smiled.

“I’m trying.”

“Good.”

We finally hung up.

The apartment immediately became too quiet again.

I put my phone on the nightstand and climbed into bed wearing Rhett’s shirt.

Tomorrow morning, I’d walk into a professional sports organization as a software-and-data engineering intern.

I’d get a badge.

Meet people.

Probably embarrass myself at least once.

Maybe write code somebody actually used.

Maybe discover I had no idea what I was doing.

Somewhere back at Northpoint, Rhett would train for Boston.

In two weeks, he’d leave too.

And somewhere beyond both of us sat Northeastern, still silent.

I missed him so much my chest hurt.

That part wasn’t going away tonight.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to.

Missing Rhett didn’t mean Toronto was a mistake.

It just meant something good had been left behind while I reached for something else good.

Apparently growing up involved an unreasonable amount of that.

I turned onto my side and looked at my phone one last time.

A new message waited.

Rhett:

still here

I smiled.

That fucking phrase.

I typed back.

Me:

me too

Then I put the phone down.

Tomorrow, I figured out Toronto.

Tonight, I let myself miss him.