everything was fine. normal. that was what surprised wyatt most in the days since that fateful night in that random hotel room. a part of him thought that maybe the fact that he had gotten a blowjob from a man, his best friend and teammate at that, should have surprised him more. and a slightly larger part thought maybe he should be more surprised about the fact that he had enjoyed it, loved it even. but no. all wyatt could think about was how everything was absolutely fine.
it had taken two days for his memory of what happened to come back to him and even now, two weeks later, there were still pretty huge gaps. but when he finally had filled in the largest holes and he understood why thomas had looked so hurt when wyatt had mentioned regret in the bathroom the next morning, he had expected the worst. but miraculously, the worst never came. there were no awkward pauses, no conversations filled with resentment or hurt, no innuendo. everything was fine.
so why did wyatt feel so awful? nothing had changed. so why did it feel like wyatt had lost something?
sometimes, he would find himself staring at thomas and the urge to say something was so strong it felt like a physical weight on his chest. but he didn’t say anything. even if he wanted to. even if he spent most of his time in his friend’s presence forcing himself not to think about it. even if, sometimes, when he was alone and allowed himself to revel in what had happened, the desire was so overwhelming he never lasted more than a couple of rough tugs of his own hand. he had taken the time to pick apart his feelings and he knew that he wanted more. he wanted thomas. but then his friend would make a joke and give him that easy smile and he knew he couldn’t risk it. because even if it felt like he had lost something, that wasn’t actually the case. he could handle it. push it down.
the sound of the goal horn blasted through the arena and it took all of wyatt’s restraint not to slam his stick into the low wall blocking in his team’s bench. he didn’t have to look up at the jumbotron to know that the score was now 4-1. he didn’t need to see the time ticking down to know they had five minutes left in this game and no chance of coming back. they were going to lose. the series would go to game seven in dallas. and if they lost it would be in front of their home fans.
the aftermath of the game, the ride back to the hotel, his shower, it all passes in a bit of a blur. like he is moving in slow motion while the rest of the world moves in fast forward. he doesn’t like losing. most professional athletes don’t, but it had always hit wyatt too hard. left a sour taste in his mouth like he had eaten something bitter. it’s like he’s in a bubble, all alone despite his teammates sharing the defeat. maybe that’s why he jumps when jamie says his name, a little too loud like he had tried to get his attention already. wyatt blinked a couple of times and focused in on his captain, who was sitting on the bed opposite his own.
“i think you should switch rooms with seggy,” jamie says, “apparently tom is having a rough time and tyler can’t get through to him.”
wyatt’s heart picked up to an unnatural and dangerous pace. “and you think i’ll be able to?”
“oh come on, kid, you two are thick as thieves. if you can’t get through to him, none of us will have a shot,” jamie says, “just pat him on the back. tell him it isn’t his fault. flash those puppy dog eyes. whatever.”
wyatt prays his cheeks don’t look as flushed as they feel. “i mean yeah, i can try. you know how he gets though.”
“if you get through to him, great, if not, just go to bed and we’ll work it out tomorrow on the plane.” jamie orders, always a captain.
“yeah, yeah, sounds good.” wyatt grabs his bag. “tell seggy to text me their room number.” he stops in the bathroom to grab his tooth brush and deodorant, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. deja vu hits him like a truck, and he takes a few deep breaths, willing himself to act normal. everything is fine.
when wyatt gets to the room, he barely has enough time to pull his hand away from the door before tyler is swinging it open. he gives wyatt a grateful smile and hurries down the hallway without a word, bag slung over his shoulder. wyatt takes a deep breath, puts his own feelings aside and enters the room.
thomas is pacing, like a caged animal. and his hair is sticking up like he’s been rubbing his hands through it. his cheeks are flushed red, and when he sees wyatt standing in the hallway he lets out a bitter laugh. “i’m fine, johnny. you can tell them to call off the suicide watch.”
wyatt nods and throws his bag on the bed, aiming for casual. “it was a tough game. it happens.” wyatt shrugs.
“yeah to me,” thomas mumbles.
“come on, tom,” wyatt says, ducking into the bathroom and then approaching him carefully. “we all have bad days. and no one was playing well tonight. the team lost. not you.”
for as much as wyatt hates losing, thomas hates it a million times more. he takes every lost game personally, like he was the only one on the ice. sometimes he is able to shake them off but a game this big? wyatt knew he was struggling. the sudden desire to go to him and hug him surprised wyatt, but he pushed it aside. “i played like shit, johnny. i cost us two goals. and please don’t say we all have bad days. because you don’t. you don’t get it, okay? your bad games are better than half the league will ever achieve.”
“tom, come on, you always do this. it’s oka-” wyatt tries, taking another step toward him. he isn’t looking at wyatt, but maybe if he could just catch his eye. but thomas doesn’t want to be comforted. he doesn’t want reassurance. he wants to wallow.
he cuts wyatt off harshly, “it’s not okay. we could lose wyatt. and if we do, it won’t be that you didn’t score enough goals, or that jamie wasn’t tough enough, or that miro was slacking on the blue line. it will be ‘we need to talk about thomas harley’ or ‘when are they going to realize harley isn’t worth it,’ okay? you are the golden boy. you rise above. i don’t. and i shouldn’t. not when it’s my fault. not when i’m letting everyone down.”
“you didn’t let me down. not more than anyone else, anyway.” wyatt says, keeping his voice steady and quiet. “no one blames you, man. and no one who knows anything about hockey doubts that you belong on this team.”
he scoffs again and a sense of desperation takes over wyatt. he’s talked thomas off this particular ledge before. countless times. and sure, sometimes it was easier or more effective, but it had never affected wyatt quite like this before. he felt like thomas’s pain was seeping into his bones. like he could feel how much thomas was hurting, how angry he was at himself. and wyatt wanted that to stop. he wanted to grab his friend’s shoulders. shake him. make him understand how special he was. how important.
“i’m not trying to be an ass,” thomas mutters, finally looking over at wyatt. he looks devastated. broken. “i just can’t stop thinking about it. i just need to take my mind off it. i’ll be fine, johnny. i always am.”
“okay so let’s get your mind off it,” wyatt says, like it’s nothing. “what can we do?”
“we have to be up early,” thomas says. “it’s fine. i’m sorry i was being a dick. let’s just go to sleep.”
but wyatt feels the desperate need to fix this. to help his friend. to wipe off that horrible expression that is way too similar to the way he looked in the bathroom after wyatt had lied to him. seeing thomas look so broken, so sad it bothered him before but things were different now. even though everything was fine and everything was the same, wyatt was different. and it hurt him to see thomas hurting. even now, as thomas turns to yank the duvet down the bed so he can climb in to go to bed, wyatt is searching every corner of the room for a distraction. something to think about besides the game. he’s watching the tense line of thomas shoulder, begging the universe for help.
and then, stupidly, desperately, wyatt blurts, “i remember!”
it’s almost comical. the way thomas freezes, his fist gripping the duvet. it’s like wyatt’s words were some kind of magical spell words designed to turn men to stone. he watches his shoulders rise once. then twice. he’s taking deep breaths. he drops the blanket but makes no move to turn around. “you remember?” he repeats, and his voice sounds strained. wyatt feels so many things, fear, anxiety, embarrassment, but he also feels a surge of respect that his friend didn’t pretend to not know what he was talking about.
“yes,” wyatt says, nodding to put emphasis on the world even if thomas still has his back turned to him. “i didn’t. at first. but then most of it came back to me. there are still…gaps…and there are some things that might have been more imagination than reality. but i remember.”
“why are you telling me this?” thomas asks, clenching his hands into fists by his side. he sounds angry and wyatt’s fear ratchets up a couple of notches. did i just make a terrible mistake?
“you said you needed to take your mind off the game,” wyatt replies lamely. and thomas finally whips around to look at him. his cheeks are red again, his eyes blazing, his brows furrowed. yep. definitely angry. “but i also…”
“you also what?!” thomas is yelling now. wyatt wants to take it back. to go back under the safety blanket of mutual dishonesty. he had made the mistake of thinking he was brave.
“i’m sorry, tom, i just, i need to talk about it. i can’t pretend anymore. you said you needed a distraction, well i need to talk about this so i just thought we could kill two birds with one blow job.” the words come out too quickly for wyatt to over analyze them and he flinches when he realizes what he just said.
“i didn’t want to pretend,” thomas says, the anger gone.
“so why did you?” wyatt asks, although he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. mercifully, thomas spares him the blame. he just looks at him. and wyatt nods. “i’m sorry, tom, really i am. i was just confused…and, i don’t know, i guess i was scared.”
“do you regret it?” thomas asks, crossing his arms and then dropping them again, like he doesn’t know what to do with his body. wyatt takes a step toward him.
“no.” his voice is firm. certain.
“but you don’t want it to happen again.” thomas is nodding to himself. like that makes sense. like there was no universe in which wyatt would want what he does.
“i didn’t say that,” wyatt wishes he could muster more than a whisper but he would take what he could get at this point.
“i don’t need your pity, wyatt. i get it, okay, i’m the sad sack and you want to take my mind off the game or whatever but you don’t hav-”
“for fuck’s sake, tom, why can’t you see how fucking amazing you are?” wyatt is feeling angry now. but he takes a deep breath, steps closer again, lets out a small sigh of relief when thomas moves too. they are standing close now. too close. not close enough. wyatt places a hand on thomas’s chest, feels his heart beating quickly under his palm, knows his own is matching that frenzied rhythm. “it’s not pity.”
brave or stupid. right place or wrong time. fate or choice. wyatt isn’t sure. all he knows is that his hand starts moving down his friends torso, stopping at the waistband of his sweats, and thomas isn’t stopping him.
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