#bv2020

1.

Providence is a nice place.  It’s a decent sized city; it would have to be to have their own NHL team, but it has a small town feel.  He can go jogging around his neighbourhood instead of in a cold, sterile gym or even worse, on a treadmill going nowhere.  But it’s not so small that he’s going to stand out and he’s going to get mobbed wherever he goes. Jack thinks he likes it.

He hasn’t really had too many chances to explore, even though he’s marked a few places on the map that he’d like to check out. He’s always been the kind of guy to be a regular, to show up at the same time and get the same thing, predictable and reliable.  It’s already past time for him to establish his Providence routine.

He passes by a sweet little coffee shop as he’s jogging.  It’s getting close to the end of his five- mile run and it is in the perfect location for a post-run snack.  Making a split-second decision, he diverts his path and heads inside.

He isn’t paying attention, already looking to see what’s on their menu, when he feels scalding hot liquid soak his running shirt.

“Oh my lord, I’m so sorry.” A much shorter man is standing in front of him and waving a handful of napkins in his face.  On reflex, Jack grabs for them, stilling both the waving napkins and the hands of the man standing red-faced in front of him.  “I hope I didn’t burn ya.”

“Euh, just a little steamed,” Jack says, finally succeeding in liberating one of the napkins from the man’s grasp and soaking up some of the rapidly cooling liquid on his chest. The man stops waving his arms and tries to help with the napkin he’s still holding.

With that handled, he takes a closer look at the person in front of him and he nearly swallows his tongue.  The guy is gorgeous, with blond hair and brown eyes so large they wouldn’t look out of place on a cartoon.  He’s small but holds himself like someone who is used to complete physical control over his limbs.  His chest is also splashed with coffee even though Jack had taken the brunt of it.  

“At least coffee is your colour,” Jack says.

The man stops mopping at Jack’s chest and looks up at him with a quizzical expression and Jack suddenly has the urge to run.  “Uh, goodbye?” he says before turning around and practically sprinting from the coffee shop.  Guess he can’t ever come back here again.

2. 

Jack’s been busy since moving to Providence.  He’s had near-constant practices and other team meetings as he’s getting to know his new teammates and they’re getting ready to start their season.  He’s heading out early in the morning and coming home late at night with barely a chance to inhabit his new home beyond the bedroom and the bathroom.

Finally, he gets a day off.   He starts it off the same way he has been so far, going for a run and only stopping in to buy coffee once he’s sure he’s not going to run into that blond man again.  

But once he gets home, he’s at a loss.  He bought a couch for the living room but he doesn’t have a TV and his books are all in storage until he has the time to go get them and unpack them.  It’s a little depressing.

Another hiccup occurs at lunchtime.  He decides to splurge and make his favourite chicken tenders. But since he’s mostly been eating out since he moved, he doesn’t even have a baking sheet.

He decides to go and buy at least a few things: a TV, a bookshelf that he can start filling, and the bare minimum for the kitchen.

He’s wandering a department store in the area and comparing two baking sheets, trying to decide if it matters that it’s nonstick, when he hears a familiar voice.

“I wondered if I might run into you again.”

Jack turns and sees the small blond who’s coffee he had spilled. He’s just as cute now and Jack isn’t finding it any easier to look him in the eye. “I was hoping I wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” the blond says, a strangely disappointed look on his face.  “Sorry, I’ll leave you to your shopping.”

“No...that isn’t…” Jack protests but he’s not entirely certain what to say and he can feel the red rising in his cheeks.

“I’d recommend the stainless steel pan.  It’s higher quality and I know they say that nonstick is safe but I’ve also read it leaves bits of Teflon in your food.  If you really want easy cleanup, just use parchment paper or a silicone baking mat,” the blond says, pointing to one of the baking sheets that Jack is still holding.

“Euh, thank you?” Jack says, but the blond man is already gone.

3. 

“Jack, can I meet with you for a moment in my office?” Georgia asks him after practice.  “It’s nothing bad,” she reassures him when she sees the look of apprehension on his face.

“Sure,” Jack says.  “Should I shower first or do you want me right away?”

“By all means, shower first,” Georgia smiles at him and leaves him there.  Even with her reassurance, Jack feels a pit open up in his stomach, just like the one he’d had every time in childhood when he had to talk to any sort of authority figure.  He knows they’re not going to fire him.  They have a contract.  But he’s a little afraid anyway.

A familiar blond man turns to face him when Jack enters the room.

“Jack, I want you to meet Eric Bittle,” Georgia says.  “He’s in charge of PR for the Falconers.  He’s here to talk about your Twitter account.”

Jack frowns.  “I need a Twitter account?”

Bittle turns and smiles at him.  It looks a little forced and Jack really wants to run away from the conversation he knows he needs to have.

“Eric will explain all about it.  You have a choice how involved you want to be but you will have to have at least one public social media account,” Georgia says.

“Oh,” Jack says.  “Um…”

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Bittle says.  “We don’t need to do it right now but we should set up a meeting.”

“Coffee,” Jack blurts out.

Bittle turns red.  “Do you think that’s safe?” he asks.

“No,” Jack says.  “I know it’s not.”

Georgia looks between them, a slight puzzled look on her face.  “Are you going to need my office or are you going to meet elsewhere?”

Bittle takes a card out of his wallet and hands it to Jack.  “Here, you think about it and when you’re ready, you can send me an email and we’ll set a time to meet.”

Jack nods.  Georgia and Eric are both staring at him.  He doesn’t know what they expect from him so he awkwardly turns and leaves.

4.

Jack hasn’t emailed Bittle yet.  He feels bad because he knows he is making Bittle’s job harder but every time he picks up his phone or his laptop, a cold sweat covers his body and he has to get out.  He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been so out of sorts in someone’s presence.  He thinks maybe it’s because Bittle is so completely his type and he hasn’t even entertained the thought of dating another man since Kent.  It shouldn’t be a big deal but it is.

It’s getting late and his stomach is growling. He hadn’t eaten anything after practice and he is paying for it now. He doesn’t feel like cooking or ordering takeout.  Maybe it’s a little weird, going out to eat alone, but the alternative would be to ask one of his new teammates and the anxiety at the thought of reaching out makes him more than a little nauseated.  Eating alone, it is.

He sits down and looks through the menu.  There are a lot of choices and most of them sound awful.  He regrets choosing this restaurant and he’s thinking about walking out.  He’s only ordered a water so far.

He can hear someone talking loudly from the next booth over.  “Oh yeah, sounds totally like a serious job and not an excuse to ogle hockey players in the buff.  I know your type.”

“Excuse me?” Jack recognizes Bittle’s Southern accent and suddenly, he is hyper-focused on the conversation happening behind him.

“Seriously, whoever hooked you up for that sweet gig, tell him I want to run PR for some of the local figure skaters.  That’s what gets my motor running.” The guy’s voice is loud and slurring and Jack can see looks of disgust from the other tables in the restaurant.

Bittle’s voice is frosty and nearly unrecognizable.  “I don’t think I like what you’re insinuatin’.”

“Aw, come on, it’s a compliment.  I way prefer that tight ass to some big muscle-bound goon,” the man laughs loudly.  Jack’s fist clenches.

“I think this date is over,” Bittle says.

“Don’t be like that.  Let’s cut the bullshit.  I know you’re gagging to go back to my place so I can pound that tight ass.”  

Jack can see Bittle standing to leave and he is about to relax when the man grabs Bittle’s wrist and pulls him in close to his side.  Jack hardly knows he is moving before he is looming over the man and prying his hand off Bittle’s wrist.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man blinks up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Hi, I’m a big muscle-bound goon.  I think your date said no,” Jack growls.

“This is none of your fucking business.  Leave us alone,” the man slurs.  He tries to stand up but thinks twice about it when Jack stares him down.

“Excuse me, can I get this man’s check?” Jack hails the nearest waitress.  She scurries away to get it.

The man tosses down some cash to cover the check.

“Tip too,” Jack says, counting the bills at a glance.  The man curses but throws down another $20.

“Did he drive?” Jack asks Bittle.

Bittle nods.  “He’s my ride.” He winces.

Jack holds out his hand.  “Keys.”

The man’s face grows apoplectic with rage.  He staggers out of the chair and tries to take a swing at Jack.  Jack easily dodges it and dumps him back in his chair. This time the man meekly holds out his car keys.

Jack hands them to the waitress.  “Call a cab for this man.  I’ll cover it.  He can pick his keys up here tomorrow when he’s sobered up.”

The waitress nods and stuffs the man’s keys into the pocket of her apron.

Jack drops another couple of bills on his table and guides a now trembling Bittle out of the restaurant.

“Lord, that was dramatic,” Bittle says.  

Now that the adrenaline has faded, Jack is suddenly tongue-tied again.  “Euh, Bittle...Do you like food?” he asks.

“Um...yes?” Bittle says, looking up at him in confusion.

“I mean I can just drop you at home if you want to go but I didn’t get a chance to eat and I noticed you hardly touched your dinner and then I don’t have to eat alone and the evening isn’t wasted,” Jack says in a rush.

Bittle’s face goes from confusion to a sunny smile.  “Jack, honey, that sounds absolutely perfect.  But if we’re gonna be friends now, you’re gonna have to start calling me Bitty.”

5.

Things are easier now.  He and Bitty meet up once or twice a week, sometimes to discuss new posts for his rapidly growing Instagram account, but mostly just to have coffee or dinner.  Jack’s never been much of a texter, but now, his phone is blowing up all day, every day.  He can’t help smiling every time he sees Bitty’s name pop up in his notifications.

Something is happening to him.  He thinks he’s been in love before.  Kent was all fire and passion and danger.  Camilla was all safety and comfort and security and routine and, if he’s honest, a tiny bit of boredom.  

But this is something else.  

There is passion, but he doesn’t want the side of secrecy that comes along with it.  He feels like he and Bitty have known each other all their lives, but he can’t think of anything he wants more than a lifetime to discover more about him.

The team teases him mercilessly.  Jack denies it but a little pit of sadness grows inside him as he tells them that he’s texting Bitty and of course he’s just a friend.

They go out for dinner and something feels different.  Bitty smiles up at him.  He touches his arm when no one is looking.  He touches his foot to Jack’s under the table and Jack lets him, maybe even presses right back.

Bitty blushes and Jack asks the waiter for a glass of wed rine.  Bitty laughs and Jack wants to make him laugh forever.

“Do you want to come up?” Bitty asks when Jack drops him off.

Jack nods.  Bitty’s apartment is as warm and cheery as the man himself.  Jack likes it.  He immediately feels more at home here than he has almost anywhere since he first moved to Providence, excluding only the feeling he gets in full gear at centre ice.

Bitty brings him a cup of tea and a slice of pie, maple apple and the best thing Jack has ever had in his mouth.

Bitty sits next to him on the couch and for once he’s quiet, content to sit next to Jack and enjoy his company.  

“Bits,” Jack says.  “I…”

Bitty leans in a little closer and Jack wants; it’s terrifying just how much he wants. 

“I…have to go,” Jack says.  “Thanks for the pie. It was delicious.”

He’s outside the door by the time logic kicks back in and it’s too late to go back inside.

+1

Bitty looks sad.  For the first time in several weeks, Bitty wasn’t the one to text first.  Jack knows he did something wrong and he wants to fix it.  But a small part of him also wonders if maybe this isn’t for the best.  Bitty makes things complicated.  He can’t come out anytime soon and Bitty deserves better than that.  Plus, there is the whole ethical dilemma of him dating a member of the team.  What if Georgia fired Bitty for this?  He couldn’t have that on his conscience.

It might be too late anyway.  Bitty doesn’t look at him when he enters the locker room.  He’s there talking to Tater and he keeps his focus steadily on the big Russian’s face.  He leaves without a look at Jack.

“Your boy mad at you?” Tater asks.

Jack’s heart skips a beat.  “What are you talking about?”

“Little B.  He not flirt with you or make googly eyes.  No maple apple pie in nook this week,” Tater says, clapping Jack’s shoulder with one big hand.  “Is lover’s quarrel, right? You say sorry.  We get pie.”

“You think Bittle and I are…” Jack’s voice trails off.

“Boyfriends, right?” Tater asked.

Jack is practically ready to pass out.  Tater talks so loudly and surely the rest of the team can hear this.  He looks around but no one seems to care.

“I thought we weren’t getting involved,” Marty said with a raised eyebrow.

“That was when they happy and flirting.  Not when Little B look like he might cry,” Tater says.

“Jack, we haven’t said anything because it’s not our business.  But we’re glad you and Bitty found each other,” Marty says.  “If you need to straighten something out, better to do it now than to take it on the ice.”

Jack nods and runs out of the locker room to find Bitty.  He catches Bitty in the entrance way, heading to his car in the parking lot.  He’s breathing hard and he realizes, staring at Bitty, that he has no idea what to say.

“Jack, are you alright?  Did you need something?” Bitty asks, holding his clipboard like a shield in front of him.

“My team just informed me we’ve been dating for weeks?” It comes out like a question and a shutter falls over Bitty’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.  It’s my fault.  You were so nice and we spent so much time together.  I really thought...but it’s okay.  Message received, loud and clear.  I won’t get you in trouble with your team.  I should have known better than to fall in love with a straight boy,” Bitty says, misery on his face and in his voice.

“I’m not,” Jack says.

“Not what?” Bitty asks.

“I’m not straight.  And I’m not in trouble.  And I really wasn’t sending you a message, at least not that message,” Jack says.  He takes a step closer to Bitty and Bitty drops his arms.

“What message were you sending?” Bitty whispers as Jack takes another step.

“I…” Jack still can’t get the words out.  Bitty is waiting, hope in his eyes, but that hope is fading with every second that Jack can’t find the words.  He forgets about words entirely, leans down and kisses Bitty.

When he pulls back, there are tears standing in Bitty’s eyes.  “Oh,” he says.  “Good.”

Not twenty four hours ago, Eric had been lounging in front of a fire in the den of the Zimmermann family lodge, getting drunk on Perrier-Jouët and watching the snow fall as he cuddled with his newly minted fiancé. 

Now, Eric is navigating the same, now crowded room to snag a glass of champagne from one waiter and some kind of crab cake from another as he slowly realizes the annual Zimmermann Boxing Day celebration has become an impromptu engagement party.

“So you’re the little spitfire that dragged Jackie out of his shell? Congratulations!”

For the nine-billionth time this evening, Eric does not know who he’s speaking to and has to formally introduce himself.

“So it would seem! Eric Bittle, and you are?”

“Mark.” The man takes his hand, gives it a hard shake, and Eric is at a loss because he’s been given no last name. Again. Jesus. “You have a few? Tell me about Samwell, Bobby’s been talking that school up and down forever, you must have been a hell of a Captain to get those boys to a championship, especially without Jack, how the hell haven’t you been scouted?”

Southern hospitality will always reign supreme in Eric’s life, but he finds it difficult not to be overly candid as he’s already answered the same line of questioning with at least six retired pros. 

“If I had to guess, it’d be the whole gay thing,” Eric taps his glass against Mark’s and winks, earning a boisterous laugh that seems to summon Eric’s soon-to-be father-in-law. Bob comes into view wearing a surprisingly elegant blue velvet suit jacket and a pair of light-up reindeer antlers that nearly take a tumble when he grabs Mark round the middle and gives him a good shake.

"This where you've been keeping Eric? Let the boy mingle, you old goat, it’s his party!”  

“Which was news to me,” Eric laughs, hoping the stress he hears in his tone is only in his head. Regardless, Eric takes the opening and slips away, past another throng of well wishers, an actress he’s definitely seen on Netflix, and someone he really hopes isn’t Celiné Dion. He’d been expecting hockey legends — of which, yes, there are many — but the ratio of rich and famous is far more skewed than he’d been expecting if the pile of gifts near the bar is anything to go by.  

Eric downs his champagne and slips out onto the patio to catch his breath, refusing to think about the optics of abandoning his own soiréee as he drops onto a bench overlooking the wooded backside of the property. 

Eric can see the moon through the clouds and the snow flurries, watches the light distort through the vapor of his breath.  He should probably go back inside and mingle, he’s starting to lose feeling in his fingers, but for the first time all evening, he’s enjoying himself. Someone opens the door behind him, spilling music and merriment out onto the porch and reminding Eric he really should go back in and enjoy his own party.

“There you are. What, you hiding?”

“Yes, I am.” Eric brushes some snow off the bench and waits for Jack to settles in, immediately leaning into the space Jack makes when he rests his arm over Eric's shoulders. Jack offers his mug, curls of steam warming Eric’s face as he takes a sip, detecting more than just spices and apple. “Did you spike this?" 

"There might be some Crown in there. You feeling any better?"

"I'm in a tuxedo, surrounded by our loved ones and their famous friends, and your parents just gave me this," Eric shoots his cuff to reveal the gleaming silver watch. "I’m bona fide, Sugar. Top shelf, grade-A Zimmermann approved.”

Jack whistles, taking Eric's wrist gently to inspect it closer, brushing a thumb along the bezel, angling the face so the small silver moon beneath the hands catches the light. It’s a beautiful piece, the nicest thing Eric’s ever owned, and what can only be the start of a lifetime of extravagant gifts from his wealthy in-laws.

“Papa had a whole speech planned. I told him you needed a break. Also didn’t want his proposal to be nicer than mine. You feel how heavy that is?”

Eric bounces his wrist as Jack watches, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

“It’s steel.” 

“It’s not steel.”

Oh, and isn't that just a lovely thought; receiving a gift that triples Eric's net worth in front of a sea of his betters on a night that’s already a panic-inducing celebration of Eric’s ability to weasel into the upper crust.

"Your mom filled me in on the championship tradition.” Eric rubs a hand over his chest, trying to ease the twinge of discomfort. "On the one hand, flattered, on the other, horribly embarrassed I'm not keeping myself together near as well as I’d hoped.”

“While it’s a relief not to be the one melting down in public, the good news is that people think you’re overwhelmed with joy.” Jack’s tone is just shy of apologetic. “Which is also what I was hoping, given the alternative is you’re freaking out because my parents went all out on an engagement party.”

“You told me this was a Christmas party,” Eric presses his face to Jack's chest, wishing he could drag himself out of his own head long enough to enjoy what has otherwise been a red letter evening. 

“Boxing Day.” Jack corrects softly. “And it was supposed to be an intimate, pleasant surprise. Imagine my surprise at how badly we stressed you out. What is going on? You're usually so good with social stuff, and you’ve been looking forward to the non-engagement version of tonight for weeks.”

“Just unearthing some self-worth issues, you know how it is; get confronted with the realities of marrying into your famous boyfriend’s wealthy family and start to question your place in the world.” 

“Is this about the watch. We can pretend it’s not platinum.”

Eric tries to play off the concern, but he's gotten something across, as Jack's hand comes to rest on the back of Eric's neck, fingers gently massaging muscles he hadn't realized were tense. He wants to cry. He just might. 

"Lucky for you avoidance is where I shine," Jack gives Eric's knee a little shake, dropping his fingers a touch to tickle the underside of his leg. “What do you say we get some of this negative energy out. Go hide in the rink out back.“

“Still amazes me you have a rink here.”

“What, that doesn’t strike you as being on brand?”

Eric twists away to only give Jack more access to his ticklish spots. Jack is chanting 'skate, skate, skate' under his breath with an earnestness that forces a smile to Eric's lips. 

"How is the solution to everything skating? Oh, my Lord, fine. Fine! Maybe it won't hurt to get a lap in."

Jack stands, stretching his arms high in celebration, making his suit jacket look two sizes too small before dropping them down again around Eric and hugging him tightly. "Lapin," Jack consoles, taking care to pepper kisses along Eric's hairline without mussing his coif. “I’ll get you something warm. You head to the shed. We'll call it checking practice."

"They'll think you're talking about sex,” Eric chides at Jack’s retreating back.

"Good thing we’re engaged, then, eh?"

Eric brushes the snowflakes from his slacks and follows the lighted path, staying on the shoveled walk but still managing to get snow in his dress shoes; knocking his foot against the mat, he notices a small plaque on the door, engraved 'Jack Laurent's Glacière - Est. 2009'. Eric scratches away a bit of frost to reveal 'Sin-Bin’ scrawled below the epitaph in Jack's familiar handwriting.

"Oh, hell's bells.” Eric breathes, putting together why the Zimmermanns would have gone to so much trouble to build a rink behind their winter home in 2009. As Eric gets the door open, he realizes it isn’t a ramshackle covered backyard pond, the ‘shed’ is a fully built private rink with boards, glass, and even a zamboni in the back corner. 

And Eric’s insecurity is back in force. 

He’s examining the ‘snack bar’, consisting of a small popcorn maker, a mini fridge, and a microwave, when Jack returns with a thermos shoved under one arm, two pairs of skates draped over his shoulder, one hockey, one figure — two of Eric’s many gifts from the Zimmerparents over the last few days.

“Hey. Feel like explaining why your vacation home has a nicer rink in it than the one I grew up training in?” Eric gestures around the rink at large wooden beams, the boards, the glass ceiling, a sanctuary built just for Jack. “Seeing as your name is on it.”

“Ha, well you get cool presents when you almost die and your parents think you’re suicidal.” Jack looks up and around, like he might find something new to inspect. “Was nice to get out of the city after rehab. I think we spent like eight months up here?”

Eric’s known Jack long enough now to recognize when he’s covering up his own pain, and this is not that. He’s genuinely joking.

“I’m really glad you didn’t die,” Eric offers, unsure of what else to say.

“Hey, no way, me too.” Jack smiles. “We have so much in common, maybe we should get married or something.”

Beside the door rests a rack of hockey sticks and shelf holding at least six pairs of skates in various states of disrepair. Jack brushes his fingers over a particularly ratty set of Bauer Supremes with ‘JZ’ in faded sharpie on the heel, nods, and grabs the pair.

“There’s no way those will still fit you,” Eric chides, lifting his own skates, the hockey set, from Jack’s shoulder to start loosening the laces. “But I really want to see you try.”

“Oh, they’ll fit. I was here before you got up this morning. I put new blades on every year and I’ll wear these until they fall apart.”

There’s a pleasant silence as they both sit to gear up, a far cry from the revelry a few short meters away. 

“I’m terrified you’re going to wake up one day and realize you’ve made a mistake choosing me,” Eric relents, keeping pace. “What do I bring to the table? I can cook, sure, but I have a worthless degree, I’m unemployed, one day I’ll probably look like my father —”

"We aren't our hobbies, Bits." Jack pulls a hard stop to kick up some ice shavings before doubling back and doing the same on the opposite side of the rink, scarring the ice. "Or our jobs. You aren't your culinary skills, and I'm not defined by hockey. We're just guys who love each other, who are going to get married, and despite current concerns, are very excited about the prospect. Also, not to make it weird, your father isn’t a hideous guy. I’ve met your family, you’ve got good genes.”

“Well, your dad is hot, too, I guess,” Eric sighs, spinning in a lazy circle.

“Thank you, I’ll pass that along he’ll be thrilled you think so.”

Jack pulls to a stop, his black slacks covered in bits of ice, suit jacket abandoned, showing off the white dress shirt straining around his midseason bulk; a pair of black suspenders working overtime to keep his ass looking as spectacular as Eric has ever seen it. 

"Bitty. Bits. Eric." Jack tugs off his gloves so he can take Eric's hands into his own. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Fuck, I loved you so much it circled around to hate and then back to love again."

"It's weird you'd mention that, like, right now," Eric's unable to keep himself from interrupting, and Jack's cheeks go pink from something other than cold. “While I'm already at critical emotional overload.”

“I love you. My parents love you. My parents’ friends love you. My teammates love you. You are very, very lovable.”

“Jack, I’m really not.” Eric’s voice wavers, but not because he’s lying. “And one day you’re going to figure it out and leave me.”

"Listen to me, Bits. I don’t know what you need to hear to make this okay, but there is no end date on us. No shoe to drop, no morning where we wake up and think about what could have been. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You can be scared," Jack circles around Eric, reaching for his hand. "Just, please, don't be scared of me.” 

Eric finds himself squished against Jack’s chest, inhaling his partner’s familiar sweaty musk and the remnants of a cologne he probably borrowed from Bob. He wants this so badly, and he wants it forever.

“I can be a little scared, though?” Eric asks. “Just a tiny bit. For perspective.”

“Of course. Fuck, I’m a lot scared right now.” 

“I love you, Jack.” Eric whispers, hiding his face. “I do. I’m sorry.”

“But, I don’t have any problem being scared of the future, as long as we’re freaked out together. Let’s be scared of real things. Like climate change. Baking using salt instead of sugar. Bears. The list goes on.”

“Keep talking about scary things,” Eric slides back, tugging Jack with him as he slips into an easy rhythm around the rink. “Keep talking. Make me feel better.”

Jack’s smile is broad and goofy, not his polished media smirk, the one he saves just for Eric. On the list of romantic gestures in their relationship, this one doesn’t rank very high at all, but it might be the most appreciated. 

Dex didn’t mind that Nursey and him weren’t best friends.

  They didn’t have to be like Ransom and Holster and be in sync every second of every day.

  They tolerated each other off the ice and got along well enough on the ice.

  And if sometimes they would crash into each other after a goal and Nursey would be grinning and wrapping his arms around Dex and if Dex wrap his arms back around him, his heart pounding against his chest in a way that must have been from the game, well, that was just the spirit of hockey overtaking them.

  And sometimes they could get along off the ice, bonding over teasing Chowder while playing monkey in the middle with his hat, chirping over music tastes, still managing to sit together during roadies even after fighting.

  They could drink together at parties and laugh when Holster got shot down by girls and lean against each other for support when they drank too much.

  And maybe it was in one of those moments during his freshman year, when everything was still new and exciting and made him nervous and he felt his most vulnerable, that he began to notice something about himself, something he may have always denied.

  Something that made him blush and lash out when Nursey got too close.

  Something that had him searching for the nearest exit when Bitty had taken Dex’s hands in his and tried to teach him to knead dough.

  Something that just the thought of made his stomach churn.

  And maybe Nursey just made him nervous because they were getting along better now, and maybe he just really admired Bitty, and maybe the reason he couldn’t stop staring at the boy in his early european history class was because of his green hair and not because he found himself speechless every time they locked eyes.

  And if Shitty hadn’t been around, Dex would have continued to ignore these feelings. 

  Shitty had taken it upon himself to educate Dex, sometimes doing it gently and sometimes harshly, reminding him that close minded shit may have been normal back home at his home but it wouldn’t fly at Samwell.

  Dex was from a conservative home and Shitty understood that, he gave Dex something he hadn't realized he needed, the chance and space to learn and admit that he was wrong, and change.

  And so he went to Shitty and opened up about what had been feeling, the nervousness, the lingering thoughts, the fear and anger that sat in his gut, he told him everything.

He got a slap on the back, was called a ‘beautiful repressed lobster,’ and listened as Shitty launched into a rant about internalized homophobia, sexuality, and gender identity.

And although he was left reeling, Dex had managed to come to a realization.

    Chowder was the first one Dex came out to, sitting together in his dorm room and watching some old movie about a magic car.

  “I think I’m bisexual.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

  “Dex!” And despite how surprised he looked, Chowder was grinning and Dex felt his shoulders drop. He hadn’t realized how nervous he had been.

“That’s amazing! Thank you for trusting me with this, have you told anyone yet?”

“Just you and Shitty know.”

“Are you going to tell Nursey?”

“I..” And maybe he should? Nursey was his teammate, but then his gut was twisting and what if this ruined the already fragile friendship they barely managed to form.

“I’m not sure yet..  Don’t mention this to him?”

“Of course, whatever you need man, I’ve got your back.”

  And despite the nervous churning of his gut Dex found himself grinning, glad to know that no matter what, Chowder would stay by his side.

      And then in the blink of an eye, their first year ended. Jack and Shitty graduated, Chowder got Jack’s dibs, and everyone headed home for the summer.

  When Dex wasn’t working on his uncle’s boat he was snapping pictures of lobsters to Chowder and receiving poorly edited pictures of them with top hats and canes in return.

  It was the middle of summer when a new routine had somehow formed and Dex Nursey and Chowder would start up a group call every friday night, just to talk about their weeksor their families or to listen as Chowder raved about the Shark’s newest statistics.

  And sometimes Chowder would leave early, leaving him and Nursey on the line.

  It was awkward at first but somehow Dex found himself looking forward to it, they found themselves talking about everything and also nothing, laugh in hushed voices at dumb jokes and taking turns impersinating different teammembers.

  And then they’d have to hang up and Nursey would murmur a ‘Sleep well, Dex.’ before the call would drop.

It was one such night, Dex lying there after he hung up, his chest tight and his body warm, and a voice echoing that he had another realization.

  He liked Nursey.

  Fuck.

    “I need you guys to set me up.” He told Ransom and Holster two days into the new school year.

“Oh hells yeah, I’ve got just the list of ladies for this.”

“We’ve been waiting for this Dexy boy, what kind of lady you want?”

  “I was actually thinking, maybe someone…. not….. in the women category?”

And then there was a pause and Dex was forcing himself to continue, staring down at where his hands were clasped together on the table.

“I’m not against women, but I was more thinking you could set me up with a man? Shitty listed a lot of different terms and I’m still kind of confused on some, but, I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual?”

  And then the silence broke.

“Well Shit, Dexterino, your options just grew by like, a billion!”

“Yeah man! Do you know how many men and women want to be with a hockey player”

“There’s practically a waiting list!”

Dex couldn’t help but laugh, how could he have been so worried about coming out to these two doofuses.

“What’s your type, Poindexter?” Holster had pulled out his phone, swiping through pictures of guys and showing them to Dex.

“Hair color, body type, height?”

  “My…” And Dex paused, because what was his type? He tried to come up with something but all that came to mind were deep hazel green eyes.

Fuck

He really needed to stop.

  “Any color hair is fine, strong but not ripped? And, my height?”

  “Don’t you worry, Dexy my boy, leave it to Ransom and me and you’ll be experiencing a whole new world.”

“I really appreciate this.”

    Dex was no longer appreciating it.

  “-he’s like a genius but he feels misunderstood and alone, like an outsider. It’s a really deep story, I’m not sure you could understand.”

  Dex sipped his coffee, biting his tongue to fight back a groan.

He hadn’t said a word in over five minutes and wasn't sure his date had even noticed.

  Ransom and Holster had kept their word and over the past month Dex had been set up on a handful of dates. Some actually ended pretty well, not good enough for a repeat performance, but good enough.

  This one however, was one for the history books.

  The guy, ‘Call me Lare’, had shown up late, gave Dex a once over, and the first words out of his mouth were “You have big ears.”

Dex should have hit him right then.

And now, as he had to hear him slurp his 90% milk and 10% coffee, he was regretting deciding not to.

  “I’ve already submitted it to some big name publishing companies, none of those shitty indy ones.”

Dex needed to leave.

“I should be hearing from someone pretty soon, you’re pretty lucky to have met me before my big break. Maybe I should give you my autograph now.”

  And yeah, that broke him.

  Dex practically slammed his cup down on the table, not caring about the screeching of his chair or the looks he got as he stood.

“Well, it’s been…. Anyway, I need to get going. I have.. Hockey practice.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot you’re a jock. Well, I can spare some time to walk you there, I didn’t tell you about the succubus.”And then Lare started to stand and Dex was mentally scrambling, trying to find a way out.

  “No! I mean, no, thank you, really, that’s alright. I’ll be fine on my o-”

  “Dex?”

  And never in his life had he been so relieved to be interrupted by Derek Nurse.

Without thinking he turned to where Nursey was standing and grabbed his arm.

 “Well it’s been real, but as you can see my teammate is here and we have to… talk about hockey pucks and cups and jock stuff.”

  “Oh, well can I have your nu-”

“Oh! Look at the time, we had better be going, bye!” And then Dex was dragging Nursey with him out of the coffee shop.

  They made it a few blocks before Dex let them slow down, glancing behind them to make sure they weren’t followed.

“You have great timing, Nurse.” Dex huffed ignoring the questioning glance. “If it weren’t for you, he would have followed me all the way to faber.”

  There’s a beat of silence before Nursey finally spoke.

  “Who was that guy?”

  “Ugh, that was Lare, because ‘Only my Mother calls me Larry,'.” Dex mocked with a scoff, Nursey laughing next to him.

“Bro looked like an asshole.”

  And that had Dex laughing too, bumping his shoulder against his teammate’s as they walked. “You don’t know the half of it, I mean the guy’s nearly half an hour late, doesn’t even offer an apology, ‘forgets’ his wallet and just looks at me when it came time to pay for his nasty 90% milk ‘coffee’.”

  “Wow, what teacher paired you up with him?”

  “What? Oh, no, I think I’d drop the class if that were the case. Ransom and Holster set me up, which is the last time that’s happening.”

Dex looked up to say something else but stopped when he realized Nursey was no longer beside him.

  “Nurse?” Dex looked back to where Nursey was, frozen in his tracks and staring at Dex like he had grown a second head.

  “Was that a date?”

  And fuck. Dex may not have been keeping his sexuality a secret anymore but he forgot one important thing; telling people.

  Their friendship was more solid now, more real, he wasn’t worried about ruining it by coming out. So why was a knot forming in his stomach?

  He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, forcing a response. “I mean, if you want to call that shit fest a date..”

  “You’re…gay?

  “I’m Bi, I guess? This is all still pretty new to me.”

  “Huh..” And then there was a look in Nursey’s eyes that Dex couldn’t read, but he just nodded and started walking again. “Chill.”

  “Huh.” Dex found himself echoing as he followed after. “Chill?”

  -

Dex, true to his word, dismissed his teammates matchmaking services, he could try to find his own dates.

  He was working on the dryer, Chowder keeping him company in the basement, when he mentioned his plans.

  “Only thing is,” he started, nearly waist deep inside the dryer, “how am I supposed to meet people?”

“You could try a dating app,” Chowder suggested before he was drowned out by Shitty.

“GET GRINDER AND FIND SOMEONE TO GRIND!”

  And there were three things Dex wasn’t sure of: how long had Shitty been there, did he actually attend his classes at his law school, and the third he voiced aloud-  “What’s Grinder?”

  “It’s a hookup app.”

  And Dex was glad that he had been concealed by the dryer when he heard Nursey asking from somewhere, “Who's hooking up?”

  “Dex is trying to hook up.”

  Dex smacked his head on the inside of the drum and pulled back with a start. “Chowder!” He turned, fixing his friend with a glare.

“I am not looking to ‘hook up’ with anyone.”

“But you want to,” He retorted, waggling his eyebrows and where had his shy friend gone?

“Shu-shut up! I haven’t even gotten to second base yet.”

  “Oohhhh, Nursey, you hear that? Dex has made it to first base.”

  And then a series of thuds and a groan had him turning quickly to where Nursey was now lying on his back at the bottom of the stairs, face bright red.

“Nursey!”

“Jesus Christ Nurse!”

Both Dex and Chowder knelt next to him, trying to look him over.

  “Are you okay? Meet my eyes, do you have a concussion? Oh god are you bleeding anywhere?”

Nursey pushed their hands away, voice tight as he spoke. “C, I’m fine, it’s chill.” And then he was pushing himself to his feet with Dex followed after, grabbing his arm when he stumbled.

  “Poindexter, I’m-”

“Don’t, say chill.” He warned.

“-fine, I was going to say fine.” He mumbled but he was leaned against him and Dex tried not to think about how warm his teammate felt against his side.

  “DID NURSEY JUST EAT ASS?”

“I think the saying is ‘eat shit’?”

But then Nursey was mumbling “Not since highschool” and Dex was blushing as Chowder laughed.

  “Wha-What the fuck man, how hard did you hit your head?”

    “Didn’t know you cared this much, Poindexter,” Nursey grinned, laying on the couch as Dex propped his head up with a pillow.

  “Sh-shut it,” Dex sputtered,. “Just rest here, Chowder went to find Ransom.”

He turned to walk away but was stopped by a hand on his wrist, turning him back around.

  “Wait,”

His heart stopped as they locked eyes, Nursey’s hand sliding down his wrist and giving his hand a squeeze.

“Thanks, Will.”

And then he was releasing his hand and Dex was quickly retreating back to the basement, trying not to focus on the fluttering in his chest or the warmth that lingered on his hand.

    Dex felt like he was losing his mind, had Nursey always been around this much?

It was like every time he turned, there he was.

If he was fixing something in the Haus and asked for a screwdriver, Nursey would be there with a hammer and a smirk.

When Dex went to the gym, Nursey was there on a machine next to him, body already glistening with sweat and, fuck, had Nursey’s arms always looked that good?

  And once when he had been studying with Chowder and Farmer, Nursey showed up toting a tray of coffee.

“Are any of those,” Dex had been about to ask but was cut off as Nursey set a cup in front of him, “It’s almond milk, no dairy, two sugers.”

  “Oh”

  And then they locked eyes and gave Nursey a small, almost hesitant smile, and Dex found himself returning the look.

Nursey had remembered his order.

  If Dex’s heart was beating a little faster, well, it wasn’t just because of the coffee.

    It wasn’t until a kegster a few weeks later, to celebrate the ending of fall semester, that things seemed to come to a head.

  Dex was free to drink, Nurse would be remaining sober because he had an early morning the next day. He was free from Nursey patrol.

  And so he let himself have fun, he did a shot of Whisky with Whiskey, -ignoring Nursey’s laugh about the irony- got beat with Chowder at beer pong by Lardo and Bitty, and still avoided the tub juice.

  He had been in the kitchen, getting a drink, when someone called out to him.

“Will?”

And he was turning around, surprised to see the guy from his freshman year history class. “Hey, Micheal, right?”

“Yeah, It’s good to see you again.” And Dex couldn’t miss the way he bit his lip when he said that.

  And that was how Dex found himself leaning into Micheal, talking and laughing quietly despite the loudness around them.

  “I’ll confess,” Micheal whispered, hand sliding down Dex’s arm, “I had a hard time keeping my eyes off you during class.”

“Yeah? I did too..”

  And then Dex was leaning in closer and cold hands were sliding under his shirt to rest on his hips, sending a shiver down his spine.

  Lips brushed over his and he leaned into it, ignoring the fact that the lips he were kissing belonged to someone with hands that were too cold and eyes that weren’t quite the right shade of green and his head was being craned back in way that hurt his neck.

  But god, did it feel good to have someone want him.

  And then suddenly the contact was gone and Dex was opening his eyes with a start, looking to see that Micheal, who looked shocked, was suddenly a few feet away.

  “Woah! My bad man, I thought he was single, I wouldn’t have kissed him if I thought otherwise.”

  “I, Wha-?” and Dex turned to see Nursey, looking probably as unchill as Dex had ever seen him, glaring at Micheal, fists clenched at his sides.

  “Nursey? What are you doing?”

And then, in a move reminesiant of his own a few months back, Dex was grabbed by the arm and swiftly pulled through the crowd and outside.

  “Dude, what the fuck?” Dex demanded, pulling his arm back, suddenly pissed.

And maybe he was thinking with his horny brain or his still kind of drunk brain or maybe both, but who was Derek Nurse to pull him away when he was finally about to have a good time.

  And Nursey said nothing, ignoring Dex and instead stomping out into the grass.

  Dex following after him, arms wrapping around himself in a poor attempt to shield himself from the cold.

“Would you say something?”

He stepped to Nursey’s front, who then turned his body in the other direction.

  And then they were playing some weird game, one where Nursey kept turning away and Dex was circling around him, trying to make eye contact.

  And when he had enough he reached out to grab Nursey’s arm, forcing him to stop turning but he still didn’t look at him.

  “Derek!” And he flinched but he finally lifted his head. His jaw set firm and his eyes held that determined glint that Dex recognized from the ice and every fight they had.

  “I’ve had enough, either you tell me what jumped up your ass or I’m heading back inside.” And he hadn’t registered the hands that were suddenly on his shoulders or how close Nursey’s face had gotten until suddenly warm lips were ghosting over his.

  And something in him snapped.

Dex grabbed Nursey by his shirt before he could pull back and crashed their lips together in a bruising kiss.

 It wasn’t a great kiss but it was the best Dex had ever had.

  This time the hands that slid under his shirt were warm and his neck didn’t hurt as he kissed him back and when they pulled back, panting softly and resting their foreheads together, the eyes that stared back at him were just the right shade of hazel green.

  “Will I,” “Derek, we,”

  And they spoke at the same time and laughed and Dex let himself wrap his arms around Nursey’s neck, pulling them closer together.  

“What time do you have to leave in the morning?”

“About 8..”

“You know we’re going to have to talk about this..”

 And Nursey didn’t have to say anything in return, Dex knew what he wanted, it was the same thing he wanted for a long time.

“But, how about we talk about it in the morning, over coffee, before you leave?”

“Sounds chill.”

“Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person” ― Sylvia Plath

“Jack... Jack”

“Hmm?”

“It's snowing.”

“Yeah.”

“A lot.”

“Right on.”

“No, I’m serious. I mean like a lot.”

Jack, who still had his eyes closed, reached over to Bitty's side of the bed and pouted when he felt it was empty. He opened his eyes and slowly sat up as he stretched while he loudly yawned.  

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked over to Bitty, who peered out their bedroom windows. 

“Look at this,” he said as he pointed at the windows.

Jack pulled on his jogging pants and padded over toward Bitty.  Sure enough, everything was white. Fluffy snow blanketed everything as far as the eye could see.  Their backyard grill was almost completely covered, and it was still coming down.  

"This is a lot more than what the news predicted," Bitty said, shaking his head. 

"Guess it's a good thing we don't have to be anywhere.  Come back to bed, Bits."

“Look at it,” Bitty said in disbelief.

Jack draped himself over Bitty and brought him in tight for a hug, chest to back.

“Come back to bed,” he accentuated each word with a kiss to BItty’s neck, then padded back to the bed.

Bitty took one more look at the snow, then back at his sleepy grinning husband and figured there were definitely worse ways to weather the storm.

+

Bitty started the coffee brewing, and Jack entered the room in full-on lumberjack gear with a flannel shirt, some long underwear, thick wool socks, and what Jack liked to refer to as his “favorite toque.”

Bitty’s heart fluttered as he took Jack in with wide eyes.

“Aren’t you looking like a winter wonderland?”

Jack laughed and took the mug Bitty offered him.

“Bits, that was terrible―like, even for us, that was bad.”

Bitty chuckled. “Yeah, not my finest moment.”

“So, I’m going to go shovel, and then do we want to make some waffles and bacon?”

Bitty smiled.  “I love how you say ‘we’ when what you’re really saying is ‘Can you please make some waffles and bacon.’”

Jack kissed Bitty. 

“Can you please make some waffles and bacon?” he said sweetly.

“Get outta here, you schmoozer, and go shovel.”

Jack laughed as he returned to the bedroom to finish getting dressed.

+

They weren’t looking to buy a house, not yet.  Jack’s contract was up soon, and they didn’t feel it would be wise to buy a place if they were going to end up moving.  Providence loved Jack, but he wasn’t naive.  He knew it didn’t mean anything when it came time for contracts and potential trades.

Once his contract had been renewed (“Seriously, Jack. The only way you’d ever leave the Falconers is by your own choice,” George had said afterward), Jack and Bitty let themselves start looking.  Just a little bit…

One day, Bitty was perusing real estate online, and there it was, a quiet, unassuming home in Fox Point.  It was a sunny historic cottage built in the late 1800s.  The realtor had charmed them with the open floor plan and two-story addition.  The fireplaced living room, vaulted ceilings, and gourmet kitchen only sweetened the deal.

“You can walk to everything from here,” their realtor, Melissa, had said, “but it still has a small neighborhood feel.”

The history buff in Jack fell in love with the home’s past and Bitty, well, he fell in love with its future, picturing themselves growing old together in that home.

“Do you like it?” Jack asked quietly as they stood in the kitchen while Melissa gave them some privacy.

“Do you?”

“Bits,” Jack asked again, “do you like it?”

“Jack, I love it.  It has a red door!” 

“Then I guess it’s ours,” Jack said as he grinned while Bitty jumped into his arms.

They moved in a few months later, after a couple of final renovations.

“How did we have this much stuff in the apartment?” Jack asked.  “How?”

“Mama finally had the rest of my stuff shipped here.  The trophies, books, old clothes, baby clothes, costumes, everything,” Bitty said as he polished MooMaw’s silver platter and gently placed it on the counter.

“Was she in cahoots with maman?  I just got some boxes of stuff, too,” Jack said, bewildered, as he unpacked old hockey gear from his pee wee days.  “I don’t need this,” he said as he held up an old skate with broken laces.  “Do I?”

Bitty laughed. “Aw, what about our kids?”

Jack looked at his skate and smiled. “We’ll get them new ones.” 

He tossed it aside and pulled out some more books from the box. “Also, I like that subtle segue into the topic of parenthood.”

“It’s not subtle or unsubtle; it’s just practical talk, Mr. Zimmermann.  I mean, it’s not like we’re going to have kids tomorrow.  Maybe in a couple years we’ll see.”

Jack looked at his husband, who unpacked various kitchen odds and ends and smiled as he did.  They had talked about children in the past, peripherally, but they had talked about it.  Now, being married with a house of their own and feeling settled… it seemed like a real possibility.

“Soon, Bits.  Soon.”

Once every dish was finally in place, every book, every cushion, every trophy just so, the very first snowfall of the year began.

“We’re home,” Bitty said as they sat in the window seat, eating pizza, and quietly watching the snow come down.

“Yeah, we are,” Jack said as he smiled and watched Bitty admire the newly fallen snow.

That was two years ago.

+

“What are you doing out here?”

Jack stopped shoveling when he saw Bitty approaching.  He was dressed in his full winter wear, which included an enormous down parka―which Jack continuously chirped him about―a thick knitted cap, and a scarf which wrapped around his neck twice.

“I came to help,” he said.

“But you hate shoveling,” Jack said.  A huff of frosty air came from his mouth.

“But I love you, so,” Bitty shrugged, “it all evens out.”

“The salt is still in the garage.  Wanna get it?”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Bitty said with a salute.

After a while, Bitty seemed to get in the groove, salting their walkway when all of a sudden, he screamed as a colossal snowball landed right in his face.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann!  I’m going to kill you!”

Jack laughed as Bitty began to chase him around their backyard, still wiping snow out of his eyes.  His scarf flapped in the wind behind him.

“You’ll make an adorable widower!”

When Bitty finally caught up to him, he jumped onto Jack’s back and pulled him down onto a massive pile of snow.

“You are such a stinker!”

“You should have seen the look on your face, Bittle,” Jack said. 

“Was it anything like this?” Bitty asked as he threw a mound of snow onto Jack’s face.

The two laughed and wrestled, each one turning them both to pin the other down, until Jack finally pulled a dirty move and licked Bitty’s face.

When Bitty rolled off him, swearing up a storm, Jack was laughing so hard, he could barely breathe.

Half an hour later, they came back inside.  Jack and Bitty shook the snow off their boots and bodies, in the back mudroom, and hung up their coats.

“I’m going to change because my husband is a hooligan, and then I’m going to make myself some waffles and bacon.”

Jack smirked, a piece of snow still clung to his beard, “Guess I’ll just sit sadly and watch you eat.”

Bitty winked.  “I guess you will.”

Jack pulled off his sweatshirt and tossed it on the couch as he went straight to the kitchen.  He took out the eggs, milk, bacon, and the giant glass mixing bowl.  He turned on the oven to 400° and washed his hands.

“Should I make all the bacon?” Jack called out.

“Yeah,” Bitty replied as he entered the kitchen. “I’m starving.”

“More coffee?”

“Mmm, yes, please,” Bitty said as he took out the waffle maker.

The two worked in quiet unison, each one familiar with the other’s breakfast dance.  Jack paused to admire the snowfall, still going, then paused once again to admire Bitty.  He wore an old Falconer’s t-shirt and his well-worn Samwell joggers.  The back of his hair stuck up in a million little pieces. 

Jack looked at Bitty’s bare feet and smiled.

“It doesn’t seem like the snow is going to stop anytime soon, does it?” Bitty said.  He cracked 

two eggs into the bowl and stilled when he saw Jack watching him closely.  “What?  Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jack put down the coffee filter and walked over to Bitty in two long strides.  He took him in his arms and smiled.

“Look at you, in your pajamas, always making our house feel like a home even in the coldest, wintry days…”

“Yeah?”

“I think we should do it, Bits.”

“Do what?”

“Should we finally start a family?”

“Really?” Bitty asked so quietly, Jack barely heard him.

“Yes.  I mean, if you’re ready.  If you’re ready, I’m ready, and if you’re not, we can wait… but...”

Bitty looked at Jack, then jumped onto his back like he did outside in the snow, and began laughing. “I cannot believe you!  You spring this on me when I look like this?”

“What does that have anything to do with it?”

“It has everything to do with it, you moose!”