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They snatch four out of a possible six points in California, get back to Washington only to head right back out after a single home game. Robbie doesn’t mind too much: it’s a three game jaunt, Pittsburgh, Philly, Boston, so at the end of it he’s technically home if not home, if you know what he means. They beat the Bruins, which is awesome, because fuck knows Nick and Tony would be rubbing his face in it if they lost. They’ll be sullen instead, probably, but that’s not Robbie’s problem.
Robbie’s about two steps out the door on his way to meet his family when there’s a ‘Robbie!’ greeting him. For a second he thinks one of the female members of his family broke from the herd and got past security, but there’s a sort of dim recognition thudding through his brain, and when he looks over, confirms the voice belongs to Georgie’s mother, bracketed by Georgie’s father, William, and Georgie. Georgie looks absolutely mortified. Robbie’s a little appeased by that. They can be fucking mortified together.
“Um,” Robbie says. “Hi Mr. and Mrs. Dineen. Hi William.” William looks — well, kid’s at Brown, obviously he’s an adult now, but it still fucking hurts to look at him and see missing years. The passage of time is less obvious with Georgie, his parents, than it is with William, who was shorter than Robbie and acne splotched when Robbie dumped Georgie’s cheating ass. He’s shot up to six feet or so, looks a lot like Georgie, clear-complexioned and good-looking. He still looks as serious as he always did, more serious than Georgie ever has, which is a dull relief, because if he didn’t he’d be the spitting fucking image of Georgie at eighteen, and Robbie thinks he’d hate him a little for that, for reminding him. As it is Robbie looks at William and just misses him.
“Sharon, please Robbie, how many times have I told you,” Mrs. Dineen says, the way she has so many times before, but it’s. Robbie never really felt comfortable calling her that, even when him and Georgie were — it’s awkward.
“Sorry Sharon,” Robbie says, regardless, because she has told him, and he shouldn’t be taking her son’s assholeness out on her. He’s always liked the Dineens. He still likes the Dineens. It’s not their fault. He doubts one of their parental lessons was ‘how to cheat and not get caught unless your boyfriend inconveniently shows up unannounced’.
“Came in for the game, huh?” Robbie asks, when the silence stretches. Even as a way to fill the silence it’s fucking stupid. Like, no shit, Georgie’s family came to see Georgie play? Great deduction, Roberto.
“Thought we’d come in to celebrate Georgie’s birthday,” Sharon says.
“I thought it was in January,” Robbie says, like he couldn’t recite the date from memory.
“You were in California,” Sharon says, and Robbie studiously avoids Georgie’s eye, because it’s one thing to ignore his birthday, and it’s somehow another thing entirely to acknowledge ignoring it in front of his loving, lovely family.
“Right,” Robbie says, then a little desperately, “I gotta — my family’s here too.”
“Oh, say hello to your mother for me?” Sharon asks.
They always liked each other, Sharon and his mamma. Maybe that’s an understatement. They seemed to bond like crazy when Robbie and Georgie got together, went on spa days and shopping trips and everything, and half the time Robbie went to Providence the summer after Sophomore year his mamma drove him and then hung out with Sharon while Robbie and Georgie tried and failed to find somewhere safe to hook up properly and inevitably had to settle for rushed handjobs in the laundry room or a sloppy blowjob with Georgie braced against the door of the room he shared with his brothers, telling them to fuck off when they startled rattling the doorknob. Robbie kind of thought them being buds would outlast all the shit that followed, but it didn’t. His mother didn’t say why, and he didn’t ask, but he wonders now what fucked it up, who ended shit, whether it was his mamma or Sharon or both of them, suddenly finding themselves on opposite sides.
“Yeah, of course,” Robbie says. “Um. Nice to see you guys.”
“You too, Robbie,” Mr. Dineen says, too late to respond to because Robbie’s already five strides away, getting away as fast as he can without breaking into a jog.
“What took you so long?” his father asks when Robbie meets them outside.
“Ran into the Dineens,” Robbie mumbles.
“How’s Sharon?” his mamma asks.
“Fine,” Robbie says. “She told me to tell you hi.”
“Hi back,” his mamma says, like Robbie’s going to ever see them again. Well. He might. Same team and all. But still.
“You okay?” Isabella asks, and Robbie shrugs.
“What can you do,” Robbie says. “Hello my dear niece,” Robbie adds when Gabbi marches right up into his space.
“You promised Chapman would sign my jersey,” Gabbi says, a little accusatory.
Robbie would have his back up a tiny bit if he hadn’t specifically asked Chaps to come meet his family and gotten an okay. As it is he’s just amused she’s showing signs of having inherited both the Lombardi lack of patience and the Lombardi temper. She was always such a mellow kid, but she’s getting less and less mellow as time goes on.
“Do do do do,” Robbie says when he hears Chaps approaching, making his mouth a trumpet, and Gabbi looks entirely unimpressed with his existence until Chaps shows up over his shoulder. There’s some shrieking right in Robbie’s ear after that, which fucking hurts, but hey, he’ll take it if it means he’s the extra cool uncle. His whole family gets kind of starstruck around Chaps in a way they never were with Georgie or Quincy or Matty or even Crane, who Robbie is pretty convinced is going to be a Hall-of-Famer one day. Not that Chaps isn’t — Robbie’s pretty damn sure he will be — but the point is that this is the first time the adults get all starstruck along with the kids.
Chaps signs Gabbi’s jersey, the Bruins jerseys of Tony’s boys, though he looks like it physically pains him to do it and every time he checks, all “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather a Bruin sign this?”, even though the answer is always “No, sign my damn jersey”. Takes some photos, clearly trying not to grimace and sort of failing. He books it about as soon as he possibly can, mumbling about plans he definitely does not have, rather than lingering the way teammates usually do, but that’s Chaps for you. Robbie doesn’t mind, even if Gabbi seems a little sad about it.
Robbie texted Matty while Chaps was getting swarmed, relaying his mamma’s message that he was invited to dinner. Matty’s practically extended Lombardi fam by now, the amount of times he’s met them, and he shows up right after Chaps books it, because Matty does not say no to food. His mamma and Isabella and Tony’s wife are all stupid happy to see him, because they think Matty’s whole ‘aw shucks’ country boy thing is adorable. Usually Gabbi’s the most excited, but this time he doesn’t get the Gabbi shriek at his entrance.
“Hey, it’s Matty,” Robbie says, poking Gabbi’s shoulder, and Gabbi gives him a disinterested eye. “You know, your biggest crush? The guy you want to marry?”
“I met David Chapman,” Gabbi says proudly to Matty. Robbie guesses she’s over wanting to marry Matty. She could definitely do worse, though. Like Chaps, for starters. Nothing against Chaps, but even beyond the whole into dudes and Jake Lourdes specifically — and fuck has that head over heels thing been a little much since something clearly happened between them during All-Stars — Matty’s still the better choice. Robbie genuinely has no idea how he’s single, let alone perpetually single, but maybe that’s the boss as fuck cross to bear. God knows Robbie’s bearing it.
“He’s pretty cool, huh?” Matty asks.
“Cooler than you,” Gabbi says, because tweens are dicks. Robbie knew this, but it’s still kind of disappointing to watch his niece go from undiscerning giddy fan to too cool for fucking NHL players.
“Totally,” Matty says, apparently unbothered. “Isabella, it’s great to see you.”
“You too, Elliott,” Isabella says. “Sorry for Gabbi.”
Gabbi gives her mother a look that offers like, a thousand middle fingers. Robbie’s offended on Isabella’s behalf, here, though she either doesn’t notice, or pretends not to well enough it fools Robbie too.
“Food,” his father says decisively, clapping his hands, and everyone follows. Dinner’s good, a place Robbie’s been to a million times, a lot of people talking over one another, Gabbi still chattering about Chaps and Tony talking about how the Bruins outplayed them, which, sure, they had 22 shots on goal to the Caps 37, but keep telling yourself that, Tony, and papa telling him about the highlights from his birthday, even though he’d already told Robbie before, and his mamma asking Matty a billion questions about Saskatchewan like it was some impressively exotic locale, and the boys alternately falling asleep and getting extra hyper in order to hide it, and —
It was good, but Robbie is thankful as fuck to get out of there too.
“Gabbi doesn’t love me anymore,” Matty says sadly when they’re on the way back to the hotel.
Robbie pats his shoulder. “She’s fickle,” he says. “And swayed by beauty.”
“Are you saying I’m not beautiful?” Matty asks.
“You have a beautiful soul,” Robbie tells him.
“Ouch,” Matty says, then shoves Robbie’s shoulder when he laughs.
They finally get back home the next day, a blissful, blessed two day break before their next game, nothing but optional practice Robbie thinks most of them are going to stay the fuck away from, because home. Robbie sprawls out on his bed basically as soon as he gets in the door, lies on crisp fresh sheets that were changed while he was on the road, cool against his skin, and appreciates the hell out of getting a moment to himself, finally, getting to just be.
His appreciation lasts about five minutes, until his traitor fucking brain starts replaying the conversation with the Dineens, how casual it’d been, like nothing had ever happened, like it’d been three weeks since he’d seen them instead of three years, like he was still Georgie’s and Georgie was still — and Georgie was ever his.
Be real, continues the traitor fucking brain. You still are his in every fucking way that counts.
Robbie gets out of bed, gets out of his silent, calm apartment, sends a text to Wheels and Matty that he’s coming over, because he can’t to be alone with himself right now.
We just saw you! Matty sends, and from Wheels he gets a Not invited.
Too bad, Robbie replies, and jogs the whole six blocks, gets there overheated and out of breath and almost calm again.
*
For someone who has never given a blow job, Georgie is annoyingly fucking good at giving blowjobs.
Like. Robbie’s mind is basically blown here. A good amount of that mind-blowing was the fact it was Georgie with his mouth around Robbie’s dick, but a not inconsequential amount was that it was Georgie being fucking boss at it.
“How the fuck were you so good at this your first time?” Robbie asks, kind of baleful, when Georgie crawls up the bed and squeezes in beside him. His first time trying to suck dick was more choking and gagging and tears, but of course Georgie’s a fucking pro from the get-go. Typical Georgie. Robbie can’t even be mad, though, because, like. He was on the receiving end of an amazing blowjob, and he’s no ingrate. “Life is so unfair.” Like, awesome too, but totally unfair.
“It wasn’t my first time,” Georgie says, sounding sleepy, burying his face in Robbie’s shoulder.
“Wait, what?” Robbie says. “Georgie, what. You’re like, the straightass bro.”
“I never told you I was straight, you assumed,” Georgie says, then pokes his head up. “And I told you I wasn’t. Also I literally just had your dick in my mouth.”
“Well, when you put it like that I sound like an idiot,” Robbie grouches. “Have you been secretly hooking up with dudes under my dumbass nose this whole time?”
“Not really,” Georgie says, then yawns. “I told you development camp was kind of gay.”
“I thought you were joking!” Robbie says. “Do I have to start side-eying the whole USA roster for gay shit? Was there a circle jerk? Please tell me there was a circle jerk. A circle jerk for America.”
“You are ridiculous,” Georgie says.
“So there was a circle jerk,” Robbie says.
“If there was I wasn't invited,” Georgie says.
“Who’d you blow,” Robbie says, then when Georgie doesn’t answer, he pokes him. “Come on, I’m curious.”
“Not telling,” Georgie says, then when Robbie keeps poking him, “Dude, no. I’m not outing a bro.”
“It’s just me,” Robbie says. “You know I wouldn’t say shit.”
“Still,” Georgie says, then, “How the fuck are you even more hyper after sex?”
“You love me,” Robbie says dismissively. “And I’m not hyper, I’m curious.”
Georgie looks at him with this expression Robbie can’t figure out, and Robbie realizes what came out of his stupid mouth. “I mean,” Robbie says, doesn’t know how to backtrack that one. Roberto Fucking Moron Lombardi, once again running his mouth straight into a fucking wall.
“I do,” Georgie says.
“Well, obviously,” Robbie says. “This is the best bromance you’ve ever fucking—”
Georgie puts his hand over Robbie’s mouth. Robbie scowls at him. “I do,” Georgie says. “Kay?”
Robbie considers, then, at a loss for what to do, chooses to lick his hand.
Georgie takes his hand back. “I don’t know why though.”
“Yes you do,” Robbie says.
“Yes I do,” Georgie agrees.
“I got a crush on you literally the day I met you,” Robbie says. “So.”
“I know,” Georgie says.
“You know?” Robbie sputters. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying you’re not the most subtle guy, babe,” Georgie says.
“I’m plenty subtle,” Robbie says.
Georgie doesn't even pretend not to laugh at him.
“Rude,” Robbie says, when Georgie finally quits.
“I love you,” Georgie says, so sincere Robbie can’t even deal with it.
It’s all he can do not to go ‘why’ like some ugly broken record, one he already knows Georgie’s sick of. “Man, this is moving so fast,” Robbie says, and genuinely wants to punch himself in the face, because right, the guy you’re head over heels for says what you never imagined you’d hear, you deflect. That’s some brilliant fucking self-sabotage.
Georgie laughs. Robbie cannot overstate how relieved he is to hear that laugh.
“You too, probably,” Robbie says, and once again thinks face punching is the way to go. That or a fucking muzzle.
“Me too, probably,” Georgie repeats, still sounding amused. Which. Thank fuck, because Robbie is apparently incapable of not saying dumb shit. Which Georgie knows. Georgie knows, and he likes him anyway — loves him, Christ — and Robbie has never felt more lucky in his entire fucking life.
But he doesn’t say that. Of course he doesn’t. Instead what comes out of his mouth is, “You bring out the romantic in me, I guess.”
“Clearly,” Georgie says, then takes Robbie’s hand, kisses the palm of it. He is apparently way, way better at being a romantic. It makes Robbie’s heart hurt a little.
“I’ve never felt more lucky in my entire fucking life,” Robbie blurts out, and against his skin he can feel Georgie smile.