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Trevor rolled his shoulders as he stepped out of the SUV, trying to work out some strain that had lingered since he woke up. He took a long pull off his iced coffee and watched Barks trot off to meet up with Bumper, sending a steady stream of enthusiastic chatter the other rookie’s way. Nothing could get Barkey down, not even 3-0 against.
The parking lot was quiet at this hour but Trevor scanned it anyway, squinting into the sun. He wrestled his phone out of his hoodie pocket and stared at it, even though it hadn’t buzzed. Foot tapping on the concrete, he tried to will a new text message into existence, a response to the embarrassingly one-sided chain in front of him.
Travis Sanheim walked by and Trevor hurried to match his stride. “Hey, hey, Sanny, how you doing, buddy.” He held his phone up. “Is your phone working? I mean, do you have service?”
The look Travis gave him was one that was familiar to Trevor. A mix of amusement and “what are you talking about” and a gentle wariness, like Trevor might be about to take him down a road he didn’t have the energy for. Sometimes it was warranted, but today he just really wanted to know if maybe the aliens had invaded and the cell towers had come down and no one had told him, and that was the reason for the hot, scattered feeling in his chest. It would be a relief.
Sanny nodded. “Far as I know. Alex texted me on the way in, just got it.” Trevor pursed his lips and bounced on his toes. “You good, man?” Travis asked, concern in his voice. He took the “A” on his jersey seriously.
“Uh huh, uh huh.” So society probably hadn’t crumbled, Trevor supposed. Not that that really cheered him up much.
He bent to tie his shoe, giving Travis the opportunity to put some distance between them. Then he made his way into the practice facility, trying to get his head into the skate, the plan, what he could do to improve their dwindling chances. But his mind refused to shut up; people thought he was a yapper, a pest, but he gave it to himself worse than to any opponent.
Well, one thing was clear, then, if this day was going to be anything other than a total wash. He had to find Jamie.
It was easier than he expected. Here he was preparing for some hero’s journey, but there Jamie was, sliding out of the coaching office across from the locker room like a shadow, like he was trying to fold in on himself, fade into the scenery, hide between the electrons. Regardless, to Trevor Jamie might as well have been a foghorn, the last thing preventing him from bashing himself into the rocks.
“Hey, man,” he called, waving a hand in a gesture he hoped read as “let’s catch up real quick,” and not “please pay attention to me.” Jamie didn’t raise his head, though, maybe he hadn’t heard? He must have heard, this hallway was echo-y as fuck and there was no one else around. He could be deep in thought, Trevor considered, with that busy mind of his. People underestimated Jamie because he was quiet, but not Trevor. He knew just how tightly he grasped on to certain things, ideas, people, allowing them into his world and figuring them out. It was part of what drew them together; most people saw Trevor and thought they knew him, but Jamie had taken the time to get it right.
Jamie was reaching for the door that would lead him into the nonstop energy of the players’ hub. Once he was inside it would be impossible to get a quiet moment together. Trevor chanced a look behind him and then ran. “Jim, wait, hold up!” There was no way he could miss Trevor now, all movement and noise and need. He dropped his hand as Trevor skidded to a stop beside him, and his shoulders too, and his head. He didn’t make eye contact, just waited patiently for Trevor. It tugged at Trevor, how patiently he waited.
Something felt very off; it had felt off since last night but he had convinced himself he was overreacting, just being Trevor, addicted to drama. But now Jamie was in front of him but it felt like he wasn’t, and Trevor had a sharp pain in his stomach like when he was a kid and he had to go to school and take a test he wasn’t ready for. He wasn’t a kid anymore, though, he was a grown man, a professional athlete, a role model, and Jamie was…well, Jamie was someone he could always talk to. He pushed back at the sick feeling and tapped Jamie’s elbow, leading him a little farther down the hall.
“Hey,” he said, voice soft like Jamie was a horse he was trying to get to eat out of his hand. “What did you get into last night? I waited up.” He thought he did a good job of keeping his voice steady and curious, just a friend wondering about another friend’s night, not a clingy boyfriend demanding constant check-ins. Not that he was anybody’s boyfriend, exactly, but he knew the tone.
“Oh.” Jamie craned his neck, searching down the hallway for something or someone. Still avoiding Trevor’s eyes. “Sorry, I had plans.”
Trevor laughed. “Hot date?” But Jamie didn’t laugh back, didn’t shake his head slowly with that barely there grin and meet Trevor’s eyes from underneath his hat brim. He just looked back at the floor and Trevor thought about waking up alone. “Jim? I, I thought we were hanging out, maybe I got it wrong, though, sounds like me.” He laughed a little self-deprecatingly, needing Jamie to join in. Every moment they stood there, though, that seemed less and less likely. “Did you go out with the guys? Get into some trouble?” Please, please just tell me you did something normal and stupid and we can both forget it ever happened. “If you, like, made out with some chick at the bar, you can tell me, I won’t be mad.”
Jamie looked at him sharply then, that piercing stare that made Trevor sure he was the one who had fucked up somehow, even though all he’d done was go home and sit on his couch waiting, and then later lie in his bed, still waiting. “Mad?” Jamie asked, like it was absurd. “Why would you be mad?”
Reirden poked his head out of the door then and looked up and down the hall. When he saw them, he tapped his watch. “Hey guys, ice in thirty, got it?”
Jamie and Trevor nodded. “Got it, coach,” they chimed in unison. He disappeared back into the office.
“We should go get ready,” Jamie said, already turning toward the door.
Trevor held out a hand to grasp Jamie’s shoulder, felt him stiffen like Trevor was a stranger. “We have a few minutes, Jim, chill. I know the game hit you hard, but it’s ok, baby,” whispering that word like it had magical powers. “I get it if you needed to blow off some steam. I guess I kinda thought that’s what I was for.” He tried to catch Jamie’s eye from under his lashes. That look always got him going, always, but today he just pulled against Trevor’s hand, reaching for the door.
“Look, Trevor, I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea but we—you and I—it’s not like that. It was just some fun.” He jerked his shoulder away and disappeared into the locker room.
Trevor. Jamie hadn’t called him Trevor to his face in…had he ever? Trev, occasionally, usually when he was annoyed because Trevor was taking too long in the bathroom or had eaten all his Rice Crispies. But otherwise he was Z, had only ever been Z, Z when they were running drills, Z when he was passing over a beer from the cooler on their rooftop back in Anaheim. Z the first time they’d kissed, his hands warm on Trevor’s neck, his eyes terrified and then so full of joy Trevor might as well have been struck by lightning. And Z when he was getting on the plane that terrible morning in the Nashville airport, promising, “It’s just miles, Z, it’s nothing, we’ll figure it out. You’ll see.”
But now he was Trevor. He felt cold, and scared, and the only person who could help had just closed the door in his face.
—
“Hey, man, are you stoned or something?” Cam York nudged him with his stick.
Trevor jerked to attention. “What? No!”
Cam stared at him, stone-faced. “Then fucking pay attention. Do you even know what drill we’re doing?”
Trevor glanced around, hoping for context clues, but none were forthcoming. He shook his head, embarrassed.
“Jesus. Just follow my lead, dumbass.”
They ran through some thankfully straightforward maneuvers and practiced a few plays. Jamie was across the ice, Yorkie’s other half, drilling with Marty. Trevor tried to focus, fighting against the impulse to glance over. Finally, the desire was too great and he looked to see Jamie’s serious expression, his clear eyes behind a few messy locks of hair. He thought about how it felt to wrap his fingers through those strands and then—BAM. Cam came flying into him, pulling back at the last second but still knocking him into the boards.
“Fuck, man! Are you trying to take my head off?”
Cam skated close. “If that’s what it takes to wake you up, maybe. What is going on with you? You know Staal’s not gonna ease up on his checks because you’re such a fucking charmer, right?” They skated to the edge of the rink for a drink of water.
Trevor thought restlessly. Cam and Jamie were close now, he’d definitely know what went down. And Trevor wasn’t just being nosy; Jamie did seem out of sorts, he was legit worried. The Jamie he knew would never talk to him like that.
“Um, Yorkie, did you go out last night?”
“Me? Nah. It’s the playoffs, man, not spring break. Why?”
Trevor fiddled with the cap on his water bottle. “Do you know what Jamie got up to? He seems a little off.”
From across the ice he could hear Jamie shouting directions to Marty as they ran through a passing drill. Cam looked skeptical. “He seems fine to me.”
“I think yesterday really got to him, but he won’t say. I just want to make sure he’s ok.”
“Riiiiight. Well, J’s a big boy, I’m sure he’d reach out if something were up. Focus on your own game, man, this isn’t the time to spiral.”
“I’m not. I’m fine. Forget about it.”
Cam shot him a withering glance and flipped the puck into the air between them.
—
The locker room was loud and overflowing with the smell of men and sweat. Trevor sat in his stall and slowly unlaced his skates. Next to him he could hear TK telling Dvo a dirty joke, and a few feet away Andrae and Ers were chattering in Swedish. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits despite the ass-whupping Carolina was laying down. Or they pretended well.
He snuck a glance at Jamie. He was smiling and saying something to Cam that Trevor couldn’t hear. Trevor focused his eyes, knowing that Jamie would look at him eventually. He always did, said he could feel Trevor’s eyes like a poke in the ribs. But he just kept chatting with Yorkie, no hint of the pull they usually felt.
“…Ziggy. Hey, Zig, did your ears freeze shut?”
Trevor was rudely pulled back to reality. TK was looking at him like he had something on his face. “What?”
“‘What?’” TK replied, mocking, but not harsh. “I was asking you if we should cut you out of those.” He gestured at Trevor’s skates. “You’ve been undoing them for so long I think Marty may have hit drinking age.” He leaned in, quiet now. “You ok? I know yesterday was tough but we’ll bounce back, man. It’s all good.” His eyebrows were knit together and he looked like he believed what he was saying.
Trevor felt a sudden urge to unburden himself, to spew all the freaked out thoughts that were polluting his headspace and see if TK could get him back to baseline. He had such a talent for cutting through the bullshit and helping Trevor simplify. Not tough love, exactly; he just knew what mattered and what didn’t. His confidence was infectious.
But as close as they’d gotten, as much as they liked each other, Trevor had to live in reality. You were supposed to love your bros—you weren’t supposed to love your bros. At least not out loud.
“I’m good, just a little spacey.”
TK smiled ruefully. “Ah, I get it. You went out with those guys, eh? It’s important to have a good time, man, but the ice comes first, you know that.”
Shaking his head, Trevor interrupted him. “Which guys? Where?”
TK looked wary. “You know, JD, Foery, I don’t know who else. I just assumed you were in on it. You didn’t go?”
Trevor shook his head vaguely.
“Geez. Well, I don’t think it was a big deal. They probably just played video games and tried to DoorDash Tim Hortons, you know? Not exactly a couple of party animals.”
Trevor yanked his skates off, still partially laced. “Sure, right, no big deal.”
—
Walking to the car, Trevor felt panic like a drumbeat in his skull. Jamie and Foery. It was nonsense, right, Tyson wasn’t like them. But most people would have said they weren’t like them and yet Trevor knew exactly how Jamie’s thighs felt looped over his shoulders and trembling. Foery was Canadian, and gentle like Jamie. He wasn’t some brash, clingy monster like Trevor. It wasn’t hard at all to picture Jamie melting for him, no hint of annoyance, no fear. Just Tyson’s stupid, perfect face leaning in to kiss Jamie all romantic. Taking care of him, like Jamie took care of Trevor. And he was so fucking tall, Jamie would never say it but Trevor could tell by the gleam in his eye when they wrestled, just how much he wished Trevor was a bigger guy, a guy who could put him in his place, a guy who -
“Um, keys?”
Trevor jumped. Barkey was looking up at him patiently. “I can drive, I just need the keys.”
Trevor glanced around the lot frantically. If he left now, wouldn’t he basically be admitting defeat? Pushing Jamie into Tyson’s arms? Jamie’s BMW was still sitting quietly a few rows away. Maybe there was still time.
He tossed the keys to Barks. “You go. I uh, forgot something.”
Denver stared at him. “I can wait, Ziggy, it’s ok. This is your car!”
“Nah, nah, just go ahead, don’t wait on my dumb ass.” He pushed himself up off the smooth surface of the door of the SUV. “I’ll see you at home!” And then he was off at a sprint back towards the practice facility.
—
The locker room was empty, the ice was empty. Trevor held his breath and poked his head into the showers, ready to pull back and flee if he heard a gasp or groan of pleasure. Empty. Dining room, empty. Where was he?
He walked back into the hall, rubbing his hands through his hair, tugging hard at the ends. He hated this version of himself, so desperate for attention. No, not just attention. Jamie’s attention. “I was cool once,” he grumbled under his breath.
From a door across the hall he heard a muffled grunt, of pain or maybe aggravation. Wrinkling his brow, he tilted his head, getting his bearings. The sound had come from the tape room. He frowned and walked over, turning the handle hesitantly. “Hello? Anyone in there?” The lights were off but he could hear a shuffling sound, like he had startled someone.
“Trev?”
“Jamie?! What are you doing in here? Everyone’s gone. Right?” Could he be interrupting some kind of meetup? Some instinct told him to leave, that he’d be better off, but instead he walked deeper into the room. He had to know the score.
Jamie didn’t look like he was waiting on anyone. He had the remote in his hand and his little spiral notebook next to him.
He looked away, and Trevor saw that his knuckles were white around the remote. “Dunno.”
Trevor tried again. “What are you still doing here, Jim?”
Jamie finally looked at him, annoyance in the set of his jaw. “What does it look like?” He gestured at the screen.
“Right, uh, yeah, dumb question, I just meant -”
“Do you need something, man? I just want to watch this shitshow in peace.” And there it was. Jamie was still stuck in game three. He needed to get past it, obviously. Trevor chewed at his lip. Jamie didn't usually get lost in the failures; that was more Trevor. Jamie’s competitive side would sometimes push him to come back twice as ready, but Trevor had never seen him staring morosely at last night’s game, all locked up like he appeared now. When Trevor got that way, TK or Jamie could usually help him find a way forward. Maybe he just needed to be that for Jamie now.
“Why don’t I stay, we can talk it over?”
“No!”
Trevor took in a shocked breath. “What the fuck, Jim. Did I do something? Are you pissed at me? Maybe I’m an ass, but I honestly have no idea what I did here.” If Jamie was moving on, especially within the team…well, Trevor couldn’t really think about that without feeling like his lungs were full of lead. But he was pretty sure that if the absolute worst thing possible was happening, Jamie would at least be nice about it.
Jamie looked pained, like just being near Trevor was hurting him. “Can you just please leave me alone, Z, please? Just go.” His voice was so small. Trevor was reminded of the day they met, how fucking sad Jamie had been, how the look in his eyes in the handshake line had followed him all the way onto the plane to California. He’d barely spoken until Trevor sat next to him and just started blabbering. It was his move, usually the only one he needed. And it had worked; by the end of the trip he had extracted entire sentences from the taciturn brunet. But for the first half hour he’d had that same look, spoken in that same shaky timbre. Leave me alone, he had said with everything but words. Trevor hadn’t.
Now he was saying it outright, the years making him more confident maybe. Trevor felt a bizarre sense of pride, mixed with dawning horror. “Why? Why, Jimmy? I don’t get it.” If Jamie thought Trevor would just walk away, he hadn’t been paying attention all these years. “Is this about Foerster?” It just slipped out but Trevor was glad he’d asked. Not glad, exactly. But determined.
“Huh? What does he have to do with anything? No, I just want space, can you please?”
“You’re being so weird, J, I’m worried about you. I know last night was rough but we move on, right?”
Jamie stared at the floor. “Yes. We move on.” Trevor wasn’t a master of nuance but it was clear as plate glass that Jamie wasn’t talking about the game anymore.
Stomach roiling, he tried to change his approach. “Jim? Look, I’m sorry if I came on too strong, alright? I can give you some space, just would you call me tonight? Just so I know you’re ok.” He could hear the begging in his own voice. He wanted to shut himself up but he couldn’t hide anything from Jamie. It wasn’t worth the energy to try.
“I don’t know. Probably not, I might be here late.”
It was already late. “Look, Jim, if this,” he flicked a finger back and forth between them, “is done, you gotta say it. You know I can’t take a hint.” He huffed a desperate laugh. Surely Jamie would see how ridiculous the idea was, smile, chuck Trevor on the shoulder and apologize for being a dick now, right? Trevor would settle for the smile, honestly. He waited, feeling like a puppy with its leash in its mouth.
Jamie craned his neck, looking over his far shoulder into the dark corner of the room. “Fine. It’s done, ok? I’m done. Will you leave me alone?”
It was like being thrown into the boards when you weren’t looking. He wasn’t braced, even though he’d asked the question. On some level he’d been so sure this couldn’t be that. Even the Tyson stuff, his brain looked at it, rubbed it in his face—but he hadn’t actually believed it. But how could he deny what Jamie was saying, right here, right now?
He could try. “You don’t mean that.” Jamie clenched his fists and exhaled loudly. “You can’t, baby, it’s me, we’ve been through everything together, you can’t…”
“Fine, I’ll leave.” Jamie stood abruptly and put the remote down with a clatter. He shouldered past the immobile Trevor, who heard the door click open and shut behind him.
“What is happening?” Trevor whispered, to himself, to god, to the ghostly imprint Jamie had left on the room.
—
The Lyft home had Trevor crawling out of his skin. His driver was having a loud speakerphone conversation with her boyfriend about their weekend plans and the car smelled like a hundred packs of cigarettes. He wanted to be home, in his bed, under his covers, where he could feel this shitty in peace.
At home he flew past Barkey with barely a wave and crashed into his mattress like he was falling off a building. With his face pressed into his pillow, he shouted, pouring all his angst into the soft material. It was louder than he’d intended, and after a few moments he heard the TV click off and footsteps on the stairs.
“Z?” Denver spoke, tentative, from the other side of his door.
“What?” He tried to sound normal but he could hear the desperation in his own voice, the need to maintain belying his ability to maintain.
There was a faint metallic sound, like Denver had put his hand on the knob and then changed his mind. “Are you good, man? Do you need anything?” Such a sweet kid; Trevor hoped the league wouldn’t eat him up.
“M’fine.”
There was silence and then Denver continued, undeterred. “It’s just, we have a pretty important game tomorrow.”
“I’m aware, dude!”
“And you seem like maybe you’re having a rough day.” Trevor almost laughed at the way the conversation mirrored the one he’d try to have earlier. At the very least he could manage his end without being an ass.
“Totally good, man.”
Denver ignored that. “Should I call Jamie, or maybe Cam? I’m sure they’d, like, come over or whatever would help.”
“No! Don’t call anyone, Jesus.”
Another silence. “Ok. But, well, I already texted Jamie, so….”
Trevor dug his face back into his pillow, groaning deeply. Next to him, his phone buzzed. Goddammit.
“I just want to make sure you’re good for tomorrow!” Denver yelped.
“Yeah, ok,” Trevor said, not really wanting to make the kid feel worse. He was just being his junior captain self; how could Trevor blame him? He had no idea about the swamp he was trudging through.
The contact on the phone said Jamie, and Trevor accepted the call like he was shaking hands with a scorpion. It was weird to get a regular call from Jamie; they FaceTimed but rarely connected the old-fashioned way. Trevor was used to seeing Jamie’s face when they spoke, being able to read the little blushes that pinked his cheeks, the way the corners of his mouth would quirk almost imperceptibly and it was like a whole sunrise. But now he just saw the still shot of the two of them on the roof, a cruel reminder of simpler times.
“Hey.” Jamie’s feathery voice sprang to life in his room. Trevor could almost feel soft breath on his cheek.
“Hey.”
“Barks was worried, so I said I’d talk to you.”
“What a nice thing to do. For Barks.”
“Look, Trevor, the thi-”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What?”
“Trevor! What are we, work colleagues? Next time you score off a real laser should I shake your hand and approve your expense report? What the fuck, Jim?”
Jamie sighed and it seemed to take forever. “I’m sorry. I just think it’s for the best.”
“For whose best?? Not mine.”
“Both of us, the team…everything.”
“The team? What does this have to do with the team? Did someone say something?”
Jamie ignored him. “It was so hard, Tre-, Z, last time. I don’t want that again, for you. For either of us.”
“Jim. What the fuck are you talking about? What last time?”
“You know. The trade.”
The trade. Just the words flickered through his body like he had a short in his wiring. It hurt to dwell, so he usually didn’t. It took very little to send him back there, though, shading his eyes against the early morning sun, clutching the printed boarding pass for his ticket to Atlanta, purchased impulsively to get past security, and watching Jamie board his flight. BNA → PHL. At his lowest he had wandered into a tattoo parlor with those letters on a cocktail napkin. Thank god he had found himself in the chair of the most ethical tattoo artist in California or his drunk ass would have had that terrible moment carved right into his chest.
Why was Jamie bringing it up now, though? It was like he was going out of his way to cause Trevor pain. “No one’s getting traded, Jim. Are you worried about Tippy? Cause I really think they’ll hold onto him, but even if they don’t -”
“Not Tippy, Z.” Silence.
Trevor tried to connect the dots but there weren’t any, or they were the same color as the paper or something. “Who, then?”
“Z….” Jamie’s voice came over the line strangled, damaged, begging Trevor for understanding, or maybe release.
“You??!? You’re not getting traded, are you crazy? Everyone, everyone loves you. Where is this coming from?”
“I had a real bad game, Z.” His voice was full of dread.
“One not great game; Briere isn’t going to trade you because of that. Did Reirden tell y-”
“I’m too small.” The words sat there in the dark of Trevor’s room like something shrunken and broken, like a bird that had crashed through his window and was gasping for breath on the carpet. Trevor couldn’t dispute them, exactly, but was that really how Jamie saw himself? He had so much more to offer than just being a body.
Jamie continued, building up a head of steam. “We need a power play guy, someone stronger, more offense. I can feel it, I can feel it, Z. I couldn’t last time but this time, I know, I can tell. It’s coming, and the season is over, there’s nothing I can do. I don’t want you to be blindsided; I think it’s best if you just forget about me. You could have a great career here, a great life. But not if I’m holding you back.”
Trevor couldn’t speak, not a single word occurred to him; he was usually overflowing with them.
“I’m sorry, but I know this is right. It’ll hurt a little, and then it will be over and you can thrive, I know you will. You’re gonna be amazing, Z. Let’s just get through tomorrow, ok? And then, out of sight, out of mind, right?” He punctuated that with a nervous laugh.
Those words woke up the yappy shih-tzu inside Trevor. “How can you say that to me? Huh? How can you—‘out of mind’? Are you crazy, or lying, or…what? What, Jamie?” He threw the phone on the bed and rolled away. Hearing Jamie get him so wrong hurt almost as much as being rejected by him. More, maybe. The most.
“Z?” It was muffled by the comforter, a rude premonition of the distance Jamie wanted. “Are you there?” Trevor stared at the phone, breath building up inside of him until he realized he was holding back tears. It was so fucking humiliating, caring so much, but he couldn’t help it. Even after Jamie had left for Pennsylvania and their future had become so uncertain, he’d never even wanted to try to help it. Now, though.
He turned the phone over and tried to find something steady inside. The picture from the roof flashed back on the screen and he drifted back, back to those perfect evenings. He’d let himself believe they’d never end, but at least he’d had them, right? That was more than a lot of people got.
“Jim,” he surprised himself with how normal he sounded, like this could be any conversation. “I can’t make you do anything. If you want to, want to Harry and the Hendersons me, or whatever this is, I guess you can do that. But just know—it’s not for me. Do it for yourself, but don’t pretend like you really believe that having you out of sight did a single good thing for my mind. Honestly, fuck you a little for saying that. Own your shit, J.” He slapped at the screen, searching with his finger for the red End Call button. He heard the beginning of a word from the other end, but he didn’t wait. He poked roughly at the button, slammed quiet mode on, and turned into his pillow to do whatever his body was going to do in place of sleep.
—
The next morning he dismissed two missed calls and then turned his phone off. If anyone asked, he could always say it was to improve his focus.
The game…was what it was. Trevor was proud of his team for taking the Hurricanes juggernaut to OT, despite how exhausted they were, despite Tippy, despite Cates. Vladdy was a hero, even if he would never hear it. And Jamie kept throwing himself in front of pucks like he was hoping one would put him out of his misery. Trevor flinched from the bench as J put his body between the team and loss, until there were no more chances to be had.
The fans, well, the fans had the team’s back. At first Trevor wasn’t sure what he was hearing, couldn’t imagine it was anything good. But then, one by one, it clicked for the players. Trevor wasn’t sure who picked up on it first, probably Coots, but the fans were chanting for them. Despite the loss, despite the sweep, they weren’t jeering, they were giving them a standing O. After the last couple of days, it was almost too much to take, that anyone could give them that grace. But here it was. He touched his glove to his heart as he skated the rink. He had found his people.
Jamie kept his distance. He saluted the fans, of course, but he seemed a step removed from the awe the other guys were feeling. Trevor didn’t have to ask to know he was rerunning that final play in his head, the thwack of Vladdy’s stick against the crossbar when the puck went in an ever-present echo.
By the time Trevor had cleaned up and changed and talked to TK and said his goodbyes (for now, he was sure, for now), Jamie was gone, which wasn’t a surprise. Trevor let himself be herded by Denver out of the arena, through the parking lot, into the car. It was nice, especially at a time like this, to have a roomie that would take him in hand, anxious grandma style. Trevor watched the city lights reflect across his window and sank back into the comfortable leather seats, trying to let his mind go blank. He even let Barks control the music, which earned him a confused look. But all his own music reminded him, if not of Jamie specifically, then of these last few years, of the quiet, steady thrum of living in Jamie’s adoration.
Denver cleared his throat. “Um, I think I’m gonna go hang out with Bumper and those guys if that’s cool.”
“I’m not your mom, dude. You don’t have a curfew.”
Denver slowed for a yellow light, then turned to Trevor. “Yeah, it’s just. Are you going to be ok, Ziggy? Like, alone?”
At that Trevor glanced over through narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t need a chaperone to sit on the couch and fuck around on the PlayStation. Go, have fun.”
Denver didn’t seem reassured as he took a right onto their street. “You could come out with us, if you want. The guys would love it.”
Trevor pushed his cheek into the cold glass of the passenger side window. Great, a pity invite from the rook. “I’ll pass. Probably hit the hay early. Long day.”
Denver nodded with understanding but Trevor could feel his eyes on him all the way inside. He took up his usual post in the corner of the big sectional sofa and flicked idly through games, listening to Barks prepare for a night out. When he emerged, freshly shaved and in an ironed, maroon button down, Trevor almost laughed. He still looked like his mother dressed him whenever he went out, but at least his mother had decent taste.
Instead of heading out the door, though, he lingered, dawdling behind the couch so that Trevor finally had to crane his neck backward to see him. “You good?”
Denver looked up quickly, like a startled rabbit. “Yup! Uh, yeah. You good?”
Trevor nodded slowly and pitched his voice to let a little of his annoyance show. “Yeah, totally. Go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Denver smiled but the wrinkle in his lower lip said he wasn’t leaving yet. “Hey, Ziggy. Um. I just want to say. He’s an idiot, you know?”
Trevor picked a game almost at random and pressed start. He answered distractedly. “Who’s an idiot? Bumper?”
“Ha! Well, yeah. But no. You know. Jamie.”
Trevor let the controller fall into his lap as his spine went cold. He turned back to Denver then, eyes wide with shock.
“You deserve someone who appreciates you, I think. You’re a great guy, Z, you’ve helped me so much, and it sucks to see him ghost you. I’m so, I mean…I get that it’s not my place. I just wanted you to know, I’m on your side.”
Trevor didn’t move. The air itself felt fragile. How could he know? They’d been careful, hadn’t they? They’d snuck Jamie out early while Denver was on his morning jog, they’d played their music loud, kept the laundry separate. But Barkey was always watching, always learning. Maybe Trevor had been the idiot, for thinking he wouldn’t catch on.
“There’s no sides,” he said, with a voice like sandpaper. “Between Jamie and me.” Denver opened his mouth but Trevor didn’t wait for him to speak. “But thank you, buddy.”
Denver worried his lip for a minute and then nodded his head once, seemingly satisfied. He gave Trevor one more nervous look before exiting into the night.
Trevor sat back, deep into the cushions. This was ridiculous, and now it was entangling innocent rookies. He wasn’t seriously going to let Jamie walk away, was he? After their improbable coming together, after COVID and San Diego and the pain and the triumph of starting their NHL careers together, after the feelings that had almost killed their nascent friendship dead. After the embarrassment and the euphoria of that first, fumbling attempt, after falling into bed together and rooming together and turning I love you from bro chatter to the god’s honest truth. Being torn apart and broken down but never really destroyed. Coming back together, and making each other better, and being real with each other, and still meaning it. After all that, Trevor wasn’t just going to sit back.
He hopped off the couch and grabbed his keys, forgetting his phone in the rush. He opened the door with an off-kilter lightness in his body and a sense of something missing—but it didn’t matter. Because standing on the other side of his door, one fist raised to knock, was Jamie Drysdale, the love of his life.
—
“You’re here.” If Trevor had been thinking about playing it cool, well, he wasn’t now. His voice revealed everything, awed and hopeful and infatuated. Jamie, by contrast, looked miserable.
“Were you going out? I didn’t mean to…”
Trevor shook his head and moved aside to let Jamie through. “I was coming to see you.” Jamie’s face twisted at that. He turned away and looked around.
“We alone?”
“I’d fucking say.”
Jamie turned then, with a sad smile. “I thought it would be easier, if you were pissed at me. But it’s awful. I’m sorry.”
Trevor bounded forward and wrapped his arms around Jamie, digging his face into the scruff of his neck. “Forgiven.” But Jamie didn’t melt into him like he usually did. He didn’t pull away but his back went stiff and his arms stayed at his sides. “Jim?” Trevor murmured into the stubble along his square jaw.
Jamie gently pushed Trevor off and retreated to the far end of the room. “I’m too much of a coward to let you be mad at me, I guess, but nothing’s changed. I can’t put you through that again.” At Trevor’s indignant look he added, “Or myself. It was so bad, Z, you know I’m right.”
Trevor closed his eyes and tried to think through the anxiety that swirled within him. “Jim, sit down, will you? Why do you think you’re going to be traded? Where is this coming from?” He took up his usual spot on the couch and patted the cushion next to him.
“…I was listening to this podcast…”
“You listened to a podcast!?? Jim, why? Don’t do that.”
“Cam had it on, in the car, and he had to run into the store so I kept listening, and…they made all these good points, like, really reasonable points.”
“Jim….”
Jamie took a seat on the couch, but not next to Trevor, as far away as he could get, actually, and held his hands open on his knees. “They made all these good points and I realized, if it’s going to happen again, I can’t spend another year hoping. We’re not going to get lucky twice. So this time, we need to prepare. Clean break. Do you get it?”
His face was so serious that Trevor almost laughed. It was nuts, but it was so Jamie to be gaming this out.
“I don’t think I realized how bad the trade hit you. I knew you were sad,” he rushed to add, “but I think you have like, PTSD or something.”
“I don’t have PTSD, Trev, I’m just being practical.” He wrinkled his brow in a familiar way, and to Trevor it felt like a lifeline, like nothing had really changed if he could still annoy him like that.
“Geez, I was really worried I was going to have to fight Foery, and I did not want to. Maybe if I stayed on his weak side…” He shadow-boxed, mumbling to himself until he caught sight of Jamie’s aggravated expression.
“Why do you keep bringing up Tyson, Z, I’m trying to talk about us!?” Jamie blurted out.
Trevor waved a dismissive hand. “Jim, listen to me. We will get lucky as many times as it takes, do you hear me? As many times as it takes to be together. I will have you written into my contract if I have to. If I had known where your head was at I’d have gone to Danny weeks ago.”
Jamie’s pout deepened. “I don’t want them to keep me like that. I was a first round pick, just like you, this is my life, Z.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, like you’d be extra. I mean…” He traced a finger under his chin, feeling the tickle of the sparse hair there. “I mean that you should do the same! We’re in this together, and Danny should know.”
Jamie shook his head and stared at his hands. “I’m not telling Danny fucking Briere that we…my mom doesn’t even know.”
“Let’s tell her too! Aren’t you sick of all this? Don’t you want to find out what it would be like to just be? The people who love us would probably be thrilled; I swear to god Dvo refers to our friendship as a ‘dance’, whatever the fuck that means.”
Jamie looked at him then and there was a whole history in that look. Trevor could see them squeezed onto Mason’s rickety balcony, the backs of their fingers brushing in the sweaty night air, party roaring behind but it might as well have been a hundred miles away. He could feel Jamie draped on top of him, panting and gasping for breath after their first time, kissing Trevor at the base of the neck even as he sounded like he might honestly be dying. And the moments before, Jamie searching his face, how Trevor never wanted those eyes looking anywhere else. We live together, Z. It’s got to mean at least a little something, Jamie had whispered, one hand on Trevor’s fly. Are you kidding? Trevor couldn’t believe he didn’t know. It means…you know I’m like practically in love with you, right?
Every time their eyes met, Trevor felt fundamentally ok. He realized then that maybe it wasn’t quite the same for Jamie.
Jamie’s face was barren. “I can’t be the first gay hockey player, Z, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I want to do anything for you but I just can’t. You could be anything, but I’m just a hockey player. I need this.” He looked so sad.
Trevor pulled himself across the couch. “Woah, woah, I didn’t mean; I’m not asking you for all that. Not now. But our families, Danny, Cam—fuck, Barkey already figured it out…” Jamie’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t worry, that kid’s cool. He’s more of a grownup than either of us, I think. My point is, I will take any hit for you.”
Jamie smirked, something small shaking loose in his eyes. “Metaphorically.”
“Well, yeah, metaphorically. This,” Trevor drew a circle in the air around his face, “is the moneymaker.” He grinned. “Don’t give up. The Flyers aren’t Anaheim. Danny isn’t Verbeek. I have faith. And if he somehow makes the monumentally stupid decision of trading his best skater for some old man who can’t see the net, I’ll put in a request. Let the podcasters have a field day. I’ve got you, man. I wouldn’t let it be like last time.”
Jamie’s eyes were red-rimmed and his jaw was heavy, but for the first time Trevor saw a millimeter of hope work its way onto Jamie’s beautiful moon of a face. “Are you sure?”
“Are you?”
Jamie nodded then and at first it seemed involuntary, but then it got stronger, intentional, and the corners of his mouth started to twitch into the beginnings of a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, if you are, yeah, whatever it takes. Is this crazy, though, Z?”
Trevor swung an arm around Jamie and pulled him in so that he could smell his piney shampoo. “We get hit in the head for a living. Everything we do is crazy. This is good-crazy, though.”
They both leaned back, bodies in concert, and Trevor snuggled in close. He wrestled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a selfie, smile widening at the reflected image of them together. With two fingers he zoomed in on the photo, holding it so Jamie could see. “When you smile your cheeks make, like, extra smiles, J, look at that.”
Jamie looked, putting his own fingers beside Trevor’s so he could move the photo around. “Are you high, Trev?”
“Why do people keep asking me that? Look,” and he pointed to the divots of Jamie’s cheekbones. Like his whole face was happy, Trevor thought. “See? So fucking cute. How am I ever supposed to let that go?” Jamie ran a hand through Trevor’s long hair and then down the back of his neck the way he knew Trevor liked. He left his hand there, a steady centering weight that told Trevor, “You don’t have to.”
Trevor relaxed into Jamie’s touch for a moment, but then he was back in action, tapping into his messages and scrolling briefly. He found what he was looking for and started to type.
“Bored with me already?” Jamie asked, chin notched on Trevor’s shoulder.
Trevor sent a gentle elbow into his belly. “Doofus. I’m texting Pat.”
“Your agent? This is weird foreplay, even for you, Z.” Jamie bonked their heads together lightly.
Trevor finished typing and hit send, then tossed his phone to the side. He turned, finding Jamie’s lips with his own and closing his eyes into a kiss that ended with them horizontal.
“You, Jamie Drysdale, have no sense of romance.” He tapped him fondly on the nose.
Jamie folded his arms on Trevor’s chest and aimed a dubious look at him. “Romance.”
“Yeah, romance.” Pushing his hands under the waistband of Jamie’s khakis, he gave his ass a squeeze that made Jamie yelp and pulled them even closer together. “What’s more romantic than letting your agent know what your priorities are? We’re practically married now.”
Jamie let his head fall against Trevor’s, nosing against his pulse point like he might burrow inside. “I sort of hate you, Z.”
“Right back atcha, baby.”