#asexualdex

Fandom: OMG Check Please

Characters: Ford, SMH

Notes: SMH has a monthly sleepover/movie night. As the new manager, Ford is invited.

Thanks to Charlie @asexualdex for breaking me out of my writer’s block

The invite was taped to her dorm door when she got back from classes. Ford stared at it, a red envelope with her name written in black marker. She pulled it off and opened her door, dropping her bag next to her desk and flopping onto her bed. She opened the envelope and pulled out an index card. She read the card quickly, a grin breaking out as she realized what her hockey boys were up to.

 Ford still wasn’t quite used to entering the Haus without knocking. She paused at the door, but then decided to enter without knocking. After all, Lardo told her the Haus was hers as much as the hockey players. What she found in the living room was……… unexpected. The team built a pillow fort, and currently Ransom, Holster, and Dex were inside. Nursey had built himself a minifort next to the bigger one. Chowder was lying on a bed of….. Were those stuffed sharks? Lardo built a throne out of pillows, and a smaller one for Ford. Pillows and blankets were scattered across the floor. The team was currently debating whether to watch Miracle, Mighty Ducks, or Score: A Hockey Musical first. Bitty finally came in from the kitchen, the scent of fresh cookies and cupcakes following him.

 “Ford! Glad you could make it,” Bitty crossed the room carefully and led Ford in. “Welcome to SMH monthly Haus movie night and sleepover.”

 Ford was in too much of shock to answer. She’d seen some weird things working in theater, but a bunch of hockey players in pillow forts was one of the weirdest. Bitty led her over to her pillow throne. Lardo leaned over.

Fandom: OMG Check Please

Characters: Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle, Jack Zimmermann, Samwell Men’s Hockey team

Notes: Zimbits soulmate AU based on an idea of @asexualdex‘s. Basically everyone has a number on their wrist, and that number is how many times you’ll run into your soulmate before you know they’re your soulmate. Follows closely with Year 1 and Year 2 comics. Also I’m going to make an AO3 account to keep all my fic in one place.

52. Eric Bittle is born with a number on his wrist that does not change throughout his life. He enters high school and he’s scared; scared because he’s the only out gay boy in a small, rural, Georgia town; scared of what the others will do to him; scared of any kind of physical contact since he tried to play football as a boy; but most of all, scared he will never find his soulmate. His mother is excited, if his soulmate isn’t from his town then he gets the chance to travel, to see so many new places, until he finds The One. Eric embraces it, and applies to colleges across the country with hockey teams. He chooses Samwell, almost as far away from Georgia and the pitying looks of the townsfolk as he can go.

51. Eric checks his number at the end of the day, lying in bed, his ritual since he was little. His heart jumps when he sees the number has gone down. But who? When? He thinks back over the day, trying to remember any indication of who his soulmate might be. He remembers his wrist itching when he first meets the hockey team for the first time. Is someone from Samwell Men’s Hockey his soulmate? Are any of them even gay?

47. Eric is awake at 4am, standing in Faber, watching the sun rise. His wrist itches, and then he hears,

“Good, you made it.”

Eric turns to see Jack Zimmermann step onto the ice, and he knows who his soulmate is. Eric’s heart races every time Jack touches him, both from physical contact and because he knows. But Jack doesn’t, and Eric can’t say anything until the timer runs down.

45, 44, 43, 42. It’s Family Weekend, and they’re playing against Yale. Eric’s wrist itches in the locker room. He glances to the side, Jack is at his locker. Eric scores for the first time, and he almost doesn’t notice the itch from underneath the pile of hockey players. He’s talking with his mother when he feels the itch and turns to see Jack and his father walking up. Eric is excited a former pro hockey player is impressed with his skills. Eric raced to catch up to Jack later.

“It was a lucky shot.”

Eric breaks.

30. Eric is still hurt. He’s angry at Jack, and he’s angry at the universe. Why would he be paired with someone who hates him? This is never going to work out.

11. Eric is taking a class with Jack, and their final is to make a historical recipe. The kitchen is Eric’s zone, so for once Jack is taking instruction from him. Eric glances over, listening to Jack talk about where he wants to go in the future. Jack’s covered in flour, attempting to lattice a pie, and Eric feels an itch and a pang at the same time. He’s in love with Jacques Laurent Zimmermann. Eric tentatively hopes the soulmates thing works out, especially because his timer keeps counting down. But then he remembers: he’s the only gay member of SMH. He doesn’t have a chance with Jack, regardless of if they’re soulmates are not. Can the universe be wrong?

Fandom: OMG Check Please.

Characters: Jack Zimmermann, Eric Bittle, Shitty Knight, mentions of SMH and the Falconers, Random OCs.

Notes: TW for homophobia and swearing. I apologize if Jack seems OOC, despite writing a 3 part fic starring him I’m still not sure if I’m writing him correctly or not. Also, anxiety is a bitch.

@asexualdex for once I posted this at a decent time (where I live anyway).

Jack didn’t mean to out himself. It was after a particularly tough game, 3 periods of regular play, overtime, and 2 rounds of shootout. Marty had gotten the game winning goal, and Jack was thankful he could finally get out of his sweaty hockey gear and into the shower. Bitty was visiting from Samwell, and was going to meet Jack at his apartment. Jack was lost in thought he left the Dunk, thinking about the wonderful dinner him and Bitty were going to have, and the quality time they were going to enjoy. He wasn’t expecting a camera shoved into his face when he left the player’s entrance.

“Jack, how do you think the Falconers played today?” The reporter, clearly from out of town, asked him.

“Uh, we played well, the Rangers are a tough team to beat. We’re all really proud of Marty for his shootout goal.” Jack responded, trying to push past the reporter and his camera man.

“Do you think today’s performance is indicative of how the Falconers will play in the playoffs?” The reporter stood his ground. Normally calm, Jack grew frustrated. He was practically dead on his feet, he had precious little time with Bitty, and this reporter wanted him to talk about playoffs? It was October, for goodness sake! The season had just started!

“I think that I want to be at home with my boyfriend.” Jack shoved past the reporter, who had frozen in shock. It took Jack a moment to realize what he said. He stopped in the lobby of his apartment complex and quickly dialled Georgia’s number.

“Georgia? It’s Jack Zimmermann. I might’ve screwed up…”

Jack lay on his couch, head on Bitty’s lap.

“It’s going to be ok, honey,” Bitty ran his fingers through Jack’s hair. “Georgia will get it sorted out.” Jack grunted, eyes closed. Possibilities ran through his head, ranging from his comment getting no coverage and the rest of the team not finding out, to the entire world knowing he, Jack Zimmermann, was an openly gay athlete in a generally homophobic sport. The two sat together, Jack worrying, Bitty talking about some recipes his mother sent him that he was going to try on his vlog. Both froze when Jack’s cell phone rang. It was Georgia.

“Hello?” Jack said nervously, the phone on speaker so Bitty could hear what was going on.

“Jack? It’s Georgia. I’ve got…. News.” Jack gulped, anxiety levels skyrocketing.

“What’s going on?” Dread gathered in his stomach.

“The reporter is going to air your comments. He said it’s his First Amendment right. The team lawyers are looking into it, but if he can air that part, we need to have a plan.” Jack felt like his worst fears had been realized. He closed his eyes, trying to gather courage.

“I’ll stand by you, no matter what.” Bitty whispered. Jack nodded, smiling at his boyfriend.

“What’s the plan, Georgia?”

Both Jack and Bitty thought the best place for Jack to watch the press conference was from the Haus, one of the places Jack loved. Shitty came down from Harvard, and the SMH took the afternoon off their classes to support Jack. Jack, Shitty, Ransom, and Holster squished together on the couch. Lardo and Chowder were sprawled on the floor, working on homework at the same time as keeping an eye on the news. Dex was on his laptop, ready and willing to fight anyone online who wanted to shit-talk Jack. Nursey was in the kitchen with Bitty, finishing up baking cookies for everyone. Finally, the press conference came on. Jack watched himself come out to the world, explain that he was happily dating someone, and that, although his remarks to the reporter were made out of exhaustion and anger, he doesn’t regret them. Which was partially true, Jack thought to himself. He didn’t exactly regret coming out, but he did wish it had been a little more on his terms.

“Dude, you’re trending already,” Dex commented from the floor. The press conference was over, a group of analysts were talking about Jack. His phone buzzed, Georgia was calling.

“Gotta take this,” Jack said, holding up the phone.

Jack came up the right side of the rink, skated digging into the ice to give him more speed. He turned along the boards, looping around the net, turning at the last moment to shoot. The puck whizzed into the upper left corner, stretching the netting from the force of impact. Jack skated back to center ice, where dozens of pucks waited. He picked out another puck, this time skating up the middle of the ice and taking a slap shot.

“You know, Chowder won’t be too happy if you break his net.” Jack turned to the Samwell bench, seeing Shitty sitting there by himself. Jack skated over.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Just checking in, bro.” Jack shook his head.

“I’m fine Shitty.” Shitty snorted.

“How long have we known each other, Jack? I know when you aren’t entirely ok.” Jack sighed.

“Fine. You’re right.” Jack looked down at the ice. “I’m worried I made the wrong choice.”

“That’s valid. I mean, we both know hockey isn’t exactly the most welcoming sport all the time. Never mind the homophobia from the fans.” Shitty reached for Jack. “But you’ve got a great support system in place, Jack. You’ve got me, Bits, your family, the team. Dex said a lot of pro players have tweeted in support of you, especially Falconers players. You aren’t alone in all this.”

Jack walked to the Dunk, getting into his gameday mindset. He almost didn’t notice the protesters…. Almost. He could hear them yelling, but did his best to tune them out. Georgia had arranged for Providence Police to provide extra security today, specifically for this reason. He kept his head down, trying to get to the safety of the doors as quickly as he could. A glass bottle hit the wall in front of him, shards flying at his face. Jack flinched away, the glass missing his face and hitting his raised arm instead. Someone had broken past the security barrier and was yelling things at him, slurs and insults. Jack froze in fear. Time seemed to stop. Tater came flying out of nowhere, yelling at the attacker in a mix of Russian and English. Security rushed Jack into the Dunk, while a couple police officers and Thirdy and Snowy tried to restrain Tater from ripping the attacker apart.

“You alright?” Georgia asked Jack when he got into the stadium.

“Yeah, fine,” Jack said, clearly shaken. His phone buzzed, Bitty was calling. He stepped away from Georgia to answer.

“I’m fine, honey,” Jack said. He could picture the look Bitty had, a mixture of anger and concern for his boyfriend. “And I promise not to leave without making sure the protesters have left already.” The two talked for a few more moments before Jack had to go.

The locker room was another hurdle for Jack. Marty was the only one on the team who had known Jack was gay before he came out to everyone. On one hand, Jack knew the team was very supportive, and just judging by their reactions on Twitter and Tater almost mauling a guy this morning, he knew they’d be ok. Anxiety, though, tried to trick him into thinking the team would hate him. But the logical part of Jack was right, and he received more hugs and hair ruffles that day than any other time before.

The next day, protesters waited outside the Dunk again, but this time, a line of fans, all in Falconers gear, stood in front of the protesters, creating a wall. Jack had never appreciated fans more than in that moment.

After awhile, things died down. Eventually, protesters stopped showing up to games. The talk died down, and Jack was having a fantastic season.

“Uhh, Mr. Zimmermann?” Jack almost dropped the box of cereal he was holding. No one called him ‘Mr. Zimmermann’. He turned to see a young teenager, maybe 15, standing behind him.

“Just Jack,” Jack said, smiling at the teenager. The teen smiled back.

“Uh, Jack. My name’s Riley. I just wanted to tell you, you coming out really helped me a lot. I was able to tell my parents and my team that I’m gay.” Riley smiled up at Jack, in awe he was meeting his hero. Jack did a double take when he saw the shirt Riley was wearing. It was his jersey, but the number and words were done in rainbow colors.

“I’m glad I could help you, Riley.” Pride swelled in Jack. This was the kind of thing he wanted, to help kids be themselves.

“Um, do you mind if we take a picture together?” Riley asked. Jack shook his head.

“It would be my honor, Riley.”

A few months later, at Falconers Pride Night, Jack wore a jersey with rainbow lettering, the team wore jerseys with rainbow hearts, and Riley did the ceremonial puck drop at Jack’s insistence. The whole team signed a puck for Riley, but Jack signed one special for the boy, thanking him for reminding Jack about why he was out.

Jack’s phone rang, breaking him out of his focus.

“Hello?” Jack answered the phone.

“Any reason why you haven’t been up to visit recently?” Adrien said over the line.

“I, uh,” Jack stammered.

“Look if this is about you coming out, you should know we all support you. Irene wants you to bring your boyfriend up sometime so they can exchange recipes.” The last reservations Jack had about being out disappeared.

Fandom: OMG, Check Please

Characters: Jack Zimmermann, OCs that may or may not be based on real people.

Notes: I forgot to introduce the first and second generation French-Canadian group in Pt. 1. My bad. The stuff about the blizzard and high school hockey are accurate. Never say “Wow this was a bad storm” around anyone over the age of 40 because they’ll say something like “But it’s not as bad as the Blizzard of ‘78!!”. There’s even a Christmas ornament set about the blizzard. 

@asexualdex here’s part 1 1/2 out of 3. 

Jack pulled up outside gray, one-story house. Two other cars were in the driveway, the rest of the group must’ve carpooled or walked. He climbed out and went to the side door. Before he could knock, the door swung open, revealing an older woman.

“Jacques!” She exclaimed. “Come in.” She stepped to the side, allowing the taller hockey player into the house.

“Good afternoon, Irene,” Jack smiled as he entered the house. “I brought another present.” He held up the basket he held in one hand.

“Put it in the kitchen, dear. Everyone is in the living room.” Irene shut the door behind Jack. Jack stepped into the kitchen, sliding past another woman.

“Oooo, did your girlfriend bake us some more pies?” The woman asked, eyeing the basket in Jack’s hands. His breath caught in his throat. Jack wasn’t ready to be out, not with the pressures of being a professional hockey player, and he didn’t know how the group of older Woonsocket residents would react if they found out he was dating another man.

“Uh, heh, yes, she did. And some cookies, this time, I think.” Jack stammered an answer, placing the basket on the counter. “How’re you today, Jeanne? Grandkids still getting into trouble?” He redirected the conversation. Jeanne snorted.

“They’re both teenagers. Although at least Kara is starting to look at schools, Cat is still adjusting to high school.” She pulled plates and forks out of the cabinet. “Anyone want pie?” She called into the living room. About a dozen voices called back their affirmatives. Jeanne started slicing the first pie, handing Jack plates. “Be a dear and deliver those to the group, please, Jacques.” Jack smiled as he picked up three plates, crossing into the living room. He passed plates of pie to everyone, greeting them as he did so. Finally, everyone had pie, and Jack settled on the couch between Adrien and Irene.

“Where’d we leave off last time?” Gene, one of the older men asked.

“Blizzard of ‘78.” Pat answered. “Worst blizzard in Woonsocket history.”

“Woonsocket, and most of New England, got upwards of 30-40 inches of snow,” Adrien began, ever the tour guide and amateur historian. “People got stuck on the roads because they underestimated when the storm would start. Kids were out of school for a week or so, and some places lost power.”

“How’d you get rid of all the snow? Drifts must have been tall.” Jack asked. Gene laughed.

“Tall is an understatement, Jacques. Some places they were upwards of 20 feet tall. Snow was trucked out of the city to places where they would dump it.” Gene explained. Jack did the metric-Imperial conversion in his head.  20 feet was about equal to 6 meters.

“That is a lot of snow,” He said.

“Ach, enough of the history lesson,” Irene interrupted. “I believe congratulations are in order, Jacques. First rookie to make alternate captain, that’s a big honor.” The group congratulated Jack.

Fandom: OMG, Check Please

Characters: Jack Zimmermann, OCs that may or may not be based on actual people

Notes: Almost all of the information about Woonsocket is correct. I fact-checked everything myself. Autumnfest and the OLQM festival are both real, as is the mill fire. Dynamite is the best sandwich in the world. Nap Lajoie is real and was actually from Woonsocket, among other baseball players that didn’t get as famous. Mathieu Schneider is not from Woonsocket originally, but since he played for Mount St Charles I guess they claim him as one of their own. And yes, Mount does hold the record for most consecutive state titles. I’m gonna get to that in another part. Two other NHL players are from Woonsocket as well. The Dunk refers to the Dunkin’ Donuts Center, where the AHL team the Providence Bruins plays. 

@asexualdex I finally finished part 1. 

Jack paused outside his apartment building, staring up at the Dunk. It was still a weird experience seeing himself on the side of the building. It’s not that Samwell didn’t promote their hockey team, but the posters on the outside of Faber didn’t face Rt 146, where hundreds of thousands of people drove past hundred foot tall posters of Jack and the rest of the Falcs. Today, the southbound side of 146 was jammed with people trying to get to the beach. It was only 7:30am, but they day promised to be a scorcher. Who knew it would get so warm in Rhode Island in late July. Of course, Jack thought to himself as he stepped into the air conditioned lobby, Bittle would tell him this was nothing, Georgia summers were hot and humid, not a great combination.

Jack’s phone dinged on the counter. He reluctantly turned away from his laptop, one of his former professors sent him a really interesting article about some new historical locations opening in Massachusetts.

‘Good morning, honey!’ Jack smiled when he saw the text from Bitty, nearly forgetting the article. ‘I was looking for some bakeries to try the next time I visit, and I found something you would really be interested in!’ At the end of the text was a hyperlink. Jack clicked through, expecting a similar article to the one he had just been reading. He scanned the article, freezing on the words “French-Canadian”. A sudden pang of homesickness hit Jack, which surprised him. He was used to living away from home, but there was still a part of him that remembered being 10 years old, playing hockey with the neighborhood kids on the pond, their parents yelling encouragement in French. Jack scrolled back up and read the article again. He opened another web tab on his phone and searched Google for a few minuted. Writing down an address, he dialed a familiar number.

“Hey, Georgia. Can I borrow your car? There’s something I need to do today…”

Jack followed the directions of the GPS, travelling up 146. Eventually, he started to see exit signs for the city he was trying to reach. He passed through an intersection, the GPS telling him he was 10 minutes from his destination. He stayed in the far right lane, passing stores and such lining the highway. Finally, Jack crested the hill overlooking Park Square, Woonsocket. Directly in front of him, a church took up most of the block. Amusement park rides were being set up on the grassy area of the church, and brightly colored booths took up parking lot space. To his right, an old-fashioned candy shop advertising maple butter and other treats backed a strip mall, and to his left the parking lot of a grocery store was jammed packed. Jack didn’t realize he missed his turn until the GPS said “recalculating”. Luckily, it found an alternate route for him to take.

Jack turned right onto Providence Street, passing a small baseball field. A bunch of kids were playing on the field, not really an organized game, but pickup baseball. He followed Providence Street until the end, admiring the older Colonial houses.

“Must’ve been built during the early mill years,” Jack spoke aloud to himself. He turned right onto South Main Street, admiring the Baptist church. He finally entered Market Square, the dam on his left and the river flowing on his right. Most of the buildings looked original. Jack missed the entrance to the parking lot of the Museum of Work and Culture, so he followed traffic around the square. He managed to make his way to Main Street, admiring the original mill buildings. One caught his eye, and Jack quickly pulled into the parking lot next to the building. He stared up at the giant mural painted in the side of the building, large lettering reading “Bienvenue à Woonsocket, The French Quarter”. Jack couldn’t quite identify the emotions welling up inside him. It was part homesickness, part the feeling that he found home, and part something else. He was frozen in place, standing outside Georgia’s car, traffic passing by on Main St. Jack finally unfroze and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He took a picture of the mural, telling himself he would send it to his dad and Bits later on.

“Welcome to the Museum of Work and Culture,” An teenager greeted Jack at the information desk. “How can I help you today?”

“Uh, one adult ticket please,” He answered. The teenager processed his request.

“Are you visiting from Québec?” The girl asked him, taking his money and making change. She noticed the surprised look on his face. “My grandfather is from Québec, your accent reminded me of his,” She explained, handing Jack his ticket and change.

“Visiting, but not from Québec,” Jack said. “I play hockey in Providence.”

Recognition dawned on the teenagers face. “You play for the Falconers.”

“Uh, yes,” Jack answered. “Jack Zimmermann, right wing.”

“Lynne Gervais. My family are huge fans of yours and the Falcs,” The teenager introduced herself. Jack tried not to blush.

“Thank you. It’s always great to meet fans,” He answered. “Do you mind if I…?” He pointed into the museum.

“Of course,” Lynne answered. “Go on in. There’s maps by the door, if you’d like.” Jack nodded his thanks and entered the museum, picking up a map as he passed by.

Jack paused between exhibits, studying the map.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Zimmermann,” Someone spoke to Jack’s right. He looked up to see an older man standing there, with a nametag that identified him as Adrien Nadeau, tour guide.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Nadeau,” Jack shook the man’s hand. He was surprised they were almost eye level.  

“Enjoying the museum?” Adrien asked.

“Very much,” Jack answered. “I never knew there was a French-Canadian city in Rhode Island.”

Adrien laughed, commenting, “It’s a well kept secret. Here, let me show you around.” Jack followed the older man through the museum, to an exhibit hall with sports memorabilia and photos. Jack did a double take when he saw one of the hockey jerseys mounted on the wall. The jersey itself was red, with a blue stripe bounded by white stripes running through the middle. On the blue stripe was stitched an interlocking M, St, and C. The jersey reminded Jack almost of the Montreal Canadiens jersey his father wore for years.

“That’s a jersey from the 1985 Mount Saint Charles hockey team. Mount swept the high school division for hockey, recording 26 consecutive state titles. Plenty of those boys went pro, too. Still the best hockey program in the state,” Adrien explained to Jack. He pointed to a team picture, high school boys and their coaches surrounding a banner proclaiming Mount St. Charles the 1985 State Champions. “That’s Mathieu Schneider. Got drafted by the Canadiens two years after this picture was taken. Played for them for a few months before they sent him back to his juniors team. Ended up getting pulled back up and won the Cup with them in 1993.” Jack stared at the picture, trying to remember if Bob had ever told him about Schneider. “Of course,” Adrien pulled Jack’s attention to a photograph on the other side of the room. “Most baseball fans know Nap Lajoie, only Woonsocket resident to make it into the Baseball Hall of Fame.” Jack studied the picture of Nap, recognizing the French-Canadian features.

“You’re first generation, correct?” Jack asked Adrien. The older man nodded.

“My parents brought me and my brothers here when I was 10. My father’s grandparents moved here when they got married, but his parents moved back to Canada. When industry in Woonsocket boomed during World War Two, my parents moved back here for a few years. My father served overseas, in Italy, and my mother worked in the mills,” Adrien led Jack to another section of the museum, pointing to a picture of a mill building. “After the war, they had some business to wrap up in Canada, which is when I was born. Then we moved back here. My father worked as a photographer for the Woonsocket Call until he retired.” Adrien stared at the photograph, lost in thought. Jack the read the description. ‘Alice Mill, located on First Street. Established 1901, closed 2001.’

“Is this the mill your mother worked in?” He asked Adrien.

“Yep. The mill dyed cloth, some of it went on to supply the soldiers fighting the war, some of it stayed local.” Adrien moved to another photograph. “Unfortunately, the mill burned down in 2012. It was one of the biggest mill fires in the area, the smoke plume could be seen for miles.” Adrien shook his head, turning away from the dramatic photo. “Here, I’ll show you some of the better Woonsocket traditions.”

“On Main Street, there’s a mural. How much of Woonsocket is the French Quarter?” Jack asked, following Adrien back towards the front of the museum.

Adrien laughed. “Officially, the downtown area has been known as the French Quarter since the city was founded. But most of the city is French-Canadian, mostly third and fourth generation now. There’s a group of us first and second generation people that meet once in awhile and reminisce about the old days.” He stopped in front of a series of photographs, clearly showing the same setting in different time periods. “The city started Autumnfest in 1979. It happens every Columbus Day Weekend, and, if you ask me, it’s the best weekend of the year. No better place to get dynamite.” Jack broke away from one of the newer photos to stare incredulously at Adrien. The older man burst out laughing. “Calm down, Jacques. I’m not talking about the explosive. Dynamite is a sandwich, hamburger cooked with peppers and onions and red pepper, served in a torpedo roll. Strictly Woonsocket French-Canadian, and every family has their own recipe.”

“I passed a church setting up for a festival on the way in. Was that in Woonsocket or no?” Jack asked, wandering around the room to look at other pictures from Autumnfests past.

“Out in Park Square? That’s Our Lady, Queen of Martyrs. They have a summer festival every year, this year is their 60th anniversary.” Adrien answered. The two walked back out to the front, where Lynne was still tending the information desk. Adrien retrieved a piece of paper from the desk and wrote something down, then walked back over to Jack. The hockey player’s head was spinning, he’d learned so much about the small city in one day.

“Here’s my phone number and email. Call me sometime and come to one of the meetings of the old folks. Some of them have stories from before I lived in the city, they know it better than I do,” Adrien offered Jack the piece of paper. “And you’re always welcome back here, tell ‘em you know Adrien Nadeau and they’ll give you the VIP treatment.” Jack laughed.

“Thank you so much, Adrien. It’s been an honor getting a tour from you.” The two men shook hands again, and Jack left the building. He crossed the square and stood at the side of the dam. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, sending Bitty a text with the picture of the mural, then dialing his dad’s number. He heard the line ring for a few moments before Bob picked up.