Chapter Text
Jack had fallen asleep early on Wednesday night since he’d known Bitty was going out with his friends from Camp to play pool again. Which is why he doesn’t hear about the shooting in South Carolina until the following morning when he wakes up and checks his phone to find a string of texts from Eric:
I know you’re asleep but there’s been a shooting in Charleston
It’s all over the televisions here
They’ve turned up the sound and everyone in the bar is watching
It was at a church -- Emanuel AME
All black folks
God
They’re saying the shooter was a white guy
Of course
It always is
Angry white guys with guns
What do you want to bet he was homophobic too?
Okay, we’re getting out of here
Will doesn’t need to be watching this in a bar full of white folks
It’s just trauma porn right now
Fucking television journalists
Vultures
Okay I’m home
Will’s safe at home with his family
God they’ll have to tell the kids at camp tomorrow
What do you even say?
I know you’re asleep but
I love you and I miss you
Jack’s radio alarm switches on while he’s scrolling through the texts and the reporter on NPR is live on the scene in Charleston, talking about the ongoing manhunt for the shooter. As Bitty had said, the suspect was described as a young white man who had attended the Wednesday evening Bible study and then shot and killed nine of the attendees -- including the church pastor -- before fleeing the scene.
Jack switches off the radio as they start talking to the victim’s families because it’s all too raw and intrusive feeling.
He thumbs a response to Bitty:
They’re talking about the shooting on NPR this morning.
Shooter’s still at large.
I’m glad you got Will home okay.
I have to get to practice but let me know when you’re awake.
I’ll call.
I miss you and I love you.
Then he rolls out of bed and heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth before heading for the rink.
When he walks into the dressing room, it’s immediately clear that everyone’s heard or seen the news.
“--don’t understand the relationship you Americans have to guns,” Chris Roberts is saying, clearly mid-rant. He and Dan Currie -- who’s at the locker next to Chris pulling on his under-armor -- are both from Toronto, recruited together from the Marlies before last year’s season. Jack’s spent just enough time around them to wonder what’s going on between them, but doesn’t feel it’s his place to ask. Like Ransom and Holster, Currie and Roberts seem perfectly aware and completely at ease with the fact that everyone -- from their teammates to their fans to the reporters at ESPN -- assumes they’re fucking. But they’re comfortable letting it stay in the realm of unconfirmed rumor and fanfiction.
Jack wishes he had their equanimity.
“Just imagine, okay? Just imagine this motherfucker had a knife or even a hunting rifle instead of a Glock. How many people could he have stabbed fatally before being tackled, right? And don’t fucking try to tell me ‘if only the pastor had had a gun’.”
“I told you to stop arguing with those crazies on Twitter, man,” Dan says, like this is an old argument.
“Hey, I can’t help it if they show up in my mentions. I’m not going to let that shit stand.”
“The block button is your friend man.”
“I gotta platform,” Chris insists, “We’ve got tens of thousands of followers and a P.R. team behind us, dude. I’m a white guy with a big mouth. If I’m not the one to call it like I see it, who is?”
“I get it but -- I just think we can do something less fruitless than argue with racists on social media,” Dan sighs.
“Hey, everyone, listen up!” Georgia comes in through the locker room door with a giant iced coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts in her hand. “I know most, if not all of you, have already heard about the shooting at Emanuel AME down in Charleston, South Carolina last night. What you may not all be aware of is the fact that Jersey has family down in Charleston and relatives who belong to the Emanuel congregation. Now everyone in his family is safe, but he’s flown down --” she checks her watch “-- is flying down, rather, to be with them for the next few days. You’ll see we’ve already put a brief statement up on our website expressing our condolences to the families of the victims and condemning the actions of the shooter.”
She pauses, looking around at the dozen or so guys who are in the process of dressing for their morning skate. “Two things. First, we’ll be having a team meeting at 10:00 this morning for anyone who’s available and wants to help us think about an appropriate response. Your input is always welcome. Second, the temperature on social media this morning is -- predictably -- high and will only get higher. While your social media accounts are your own, I remind you all to please keep it civil. Have strong opinions, argue with assholes if that’s what you want to do with your time, but please do it in a way that makes less work for my team not more. Got it?”
There’s a mumble of agreement from the players as Georgia takes a ship of coffee and gives a couple specific people -- Chris included -- rather pointed looks.
“Yes Ma’am,” someone says from behind Jack, causing a smattering of laughter around the room.
Georgia snorts. “Good. See you at 10:00. Have a good skate, everyone.”
Jack watches her walk out of the locker room and thinks again how lucky he is to have landed here.