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“We talked. And then we argued. Loudly. I’m glad everyone was downstairs, because I’m sure everyone could hear me screaming at him. Fuck. He tried…fuck, I nearly punched him. The only way I could stop myself from doing it was to leave. So I left my own fucking room and now I’m…” He made a frustrated sound. “Now I’m sitting outside Nover’s room because he’s having fun with his kids, and I’m a wet blanket ruining his last day.”
Henri took a deep breath. Ran a hand over his chest to see if his heart was still beating. He felt so guilty for thinking…
“I’m sorry,” Henri said with feeling, for his own lack of faith and for Dylan’s shitty evening. “Are you okay?”
“No. I miss when Alexei wasn’t a complete asshole. I don’t even know him anymore, which is just…” He hiccuped, and there was a thud like he’d hit his head on a wall. “It’s not that I don’t know him anymore, is it? It’s more like I never knew him to begin with, which is fucked. This is who I was with all those years and had no idea.”
That was unfortunately probably true.
“I miss you,” Dylan went on. “I want to go home. I want to practice with you and play with you and go home with you. I will never come to one of these fucking weekends ever again. FUCK!”
The shout startled Henri.
“I miss you too,” he soothed. “You leave tomorrow, right?”
A sniffle. “Yeah. My flight’s at ten. I’ll be back in Albuquerque in the afternoon.”
“Novak on the same flight as you?”
“I dunno.”
“Do you know where he—?”
And then there was the muffled sound of talking. A familiar voice, words indistinct but calm. Dylan’s reply was muffled too. He was probably holding his phone against his chest. After a brief discussion, the muted sound gave way to a loud silence before he heard a questioning, “Baps?”
“Novak?” Henri was so relieved. “Is everything okay?”
“Not so much, no. He’s drunk as fuck. I’m going to…handle this, I guess.”
“Is it bad?”
A pause. “It’s not good. I’ll get him to sleep it off. And maybe murder Sokolov.”
“Let it go,” Henri said. He was both exhausted and wired, wishing he could be on the other side of a whole continent and actually useful. Dylan would be in Albuquerque Sunday afternoon, but Henri’s flight wouldn’t land until early Monday. The difference seemed monumental now. “Only one of them is worth our concern.”
“Fuck, Baps. You’re a way better man than me. Or Sokolov.”
“You’re a great friend,” Henri assured him. “Thank you for taking care of Dylan.”
This pause was longer, painfully so. “Dylan, huh? Yeah, I’ve got him. C’mon, buddy. Let’s get you some water, aspirin, and a blanket. Hope the hotel couches aren’t shit. Hey, Baps, I’ll call you back in a bit.”
“Thanks, Novak.”
Unable to sleep, Henri sat in his room and practiced all the mindfulness techniques trainers had taught him in his youth. He only used them when he truly needed a way to keep from unraveling, typically when he was on a plane to some new team.
Five things he saw: his nightstand; the book he’d been reading last summer; the coaster with a coffee stain; his charger on the floor; the drawn curtains.
Four things he felt: the comforter bunching at his legs; the grooves of his phone case; a cowlick in his hair; the headache building behind his eyes.
Three things he could hear: the thrum of the heater; a car passing on the street; his heart racing in his ears.
Two things—
His phone rang, an unknown number. He picked up.
“Novak?”
“Hey, Baps.” He blew out a long stream of air. “Sorry, I told him not to call and worry you. ‘Course that was when I thought you were his bff he was leaning on for support. Not…”
