Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It isn’t that David regrets telling Robbie. After their conversation, Robbie told Whelan, Matthews, and Crane something. Maybe it’s what he told David he would say, maybe not, but whatever it is he told them, they’ve stopped giving David those awful looks. Robbie’s talking to him again just as much as he had before. There’s this — weight, or something like weight that has disappeared. David’s not sure when he started feeling it, but he doesn’t mind its absence.
It isn’t that David regrets telling Robbie, it’s just —
“So,” Robbie says in a whisper as they’re flying out of Tampa Bay, another win under their belts. “If you could nail anyone on the team, who would it be?”
David chokes on his own saliva. “No one!” he whispers back, hoping he isn’t blushing as furiously as it feels like he is, and trying very, very hard not to think about kissing Georgie, as if Robbie will read his mind and then kill him. Or maybe he’ll kill Georgie, even though it isn’t his fault, since Robbie doesn't seem particularly rational about Georgie. Or maybe he’ll kill both of them. Most likely he’ll kill both of them.
“Not saying you would, but if you had to or something,” Robbie says.
“No one!” David repeats. “Why are you even—”
“C’mon,” Robbie says. “Let me have this. When I asked Matty he just stared at me and then walked away.”
Matthews had the right idea, but unfortunately, David’s sitting in the window seat, so he’s effectively trapped.
“I’m not answering that,” David hisses.
“Worst,” Robbie says. “I’ll tell you who I would—”
“Haven’t you already—” David says.
“Not him,” Robbie says. “It’s you, Chaps. It’s always been you.”
David stares at him.
Robbie stares back for a second, then cracks up.
“You’re such a jerk,” David says, and shoves Robbie’s shoulder while he’s too busy laughing to protect himself.
“Probably Quincy, though,” Robbie says once he gets his breath back.
“He’s our captain,” David says. “And he’s old .”
“Age, just a number, etc.,” Robbie says. “Anyway, Matty agreed with me.”
“I thought you said Matthews walked away,” David says.
“Yeah, the first time I asked,” Robbie says. “He cracked the fourth time, though.”
“He’s our captain ,” David says again, utterly aghast.
“You are adorable,” Robbie says. “I might actually change my answer for reals.”
David shoves him once more, which starts Robbie laughing again, loud enough that Crane, sitting across the aisle, threatens to gag him.
“Please do,” David says.
Crane eyes him for a second. “I like you,” he declares.
“I…like you too?” David says.
“Just ignore Craney when he gets extra goalie,” Matthews says from beside Crane, eyes shut. “Better for your mental health.”
“I don’t like you,” Crane says to Matthews.
“Love you too, bud,” Matthews says. “And shut up, Robbie, I’m trying to nap.”
“I wasn’t even making noise,” Robbie argues.
“You were gonna,” Matthews says.
“Do I need to turn this plane around, children?” Quincy calls from two rows ahead. “Because god help me, I will do it.”
Everyone quiets down after that. David's not sure why it was so effective, considering Quincy isn’t flying the plane.
"He can’t actually turn the plane around,” David says. “That’s a completely empty threat.”
“The most adorable,” Robbie says, and slings an arm around David’s shoulders when he frowns at him.
*
They have a two day stretch without obligations when they return to Washington, at least of the professional sort. It’s the first time they’ve had multiple days off since November, David thinks – a full day off and then an optional practice the next morning that David will go to but suspects will be sparsely attended.
He considers doing something productive, but he has nowhere to be until he goes to the Kurmazovs for dinner, so he doesn’t bother to set his alarm for the first time in — David genuinely can’t even remember the last time he slept in, it’s been so long. The best possible remedy for the exhaustion flickering through him is a good night of uninterrupted sleep.
He calls Kiro before he goes to bed, because since he last saw him there hasn’t been a convenient time when they’re both free and alone. David’s reluctant to put anything in writing, so he simply texted Kiro that he fixed things, and, once Kiro started nudging him for details, texted that he’d call him and talk about it properly when he had a chance.
“Orange is proud of you,” Kiro says when David tells him about his conversation with Robbie — not the one on the plane, though he’s sure Kiro would find it amusing, but the one that seemed to fix things.
He’s careful not to talk about the conversation he had with Georgie. Every time he thinks about it — or more accurately, the non-conversational aspect — he feels mortified, and he could use it to give Kiro an example of how clearly he should not be going out and doing — whatever Kiro told him, but that would mean talking about it. He trusts Kiro, but it’s not exactly something he wants anyone but him and Georgie to know.
Honestly, he’d prefer it if Georgie didn’t know. He’d prefer it if he didn’t know.
He hasn’t mentioned his conversation with Jake either, hasn’t mentioned how, exactly, he came out to Robbie. He doesn’t know why. Maybe he’s afraid Kiro will say something smart that lets him know just how stupid he’s being, clinging to Jake like this, how pathetic it was to use him as a crutch when he hadn’t even talked to him properly in over a year. David already knows this, but if Kiro says it, it won’t be something David can push down, attempt to ignore.
“I don’t think Orange cares,” David says belatedly. Perhaps that goes without saying, since she’s a cat, but he says it anyway.
“Wrong,” Kiro says. “Orange is proud. She told me.”
“She told you,” David repeats.
“Yes,” Kiro says. “And I said ‘yes, exactly, I agree. I am proud too.’”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” David mumbles.
“Yes it was,” Kiro says.
David chews his lip.
“I am proud of you,” Kiro repeats.
“Thank you,” David says.
“You should be proud too,” Kiro says.
“Maybe,” David says.
“Davidson,” Kiro says.
“Okay,” David says. “Fine, I’ll be proud too.”
“Good,” Kiro says. “Never good to be on other side of Orange. She is a very smart cat.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” David says.
*
Perhaps David should have set an alarm after all; when he’s woken by his phone, he’s been asleep almost twelve hours. He swears first at the time, then at the fact the number is Jake’s, and sits up, pressing ‘accept’. It feels inappropriate to talk to Jake while he’s lying in bed, even if Jake wouldn’t know.
“Sorry, I don’t know if it's cool to call you?” Jake says. “But I had a question that’d take like a billion texts, so. Sorry if it isn’t?”
“If it wasn’t cool, I wouldn’t have picked up,” David says, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
Jake laughs. “Fair,” he says. “So you know Casey Hearst?”
“Captain of the Barons, what about him?” David asks.
“He’s captaining one of the teams for the All-Star game, asked me to be one of his As,” Jake says.
“How do you know everyone ?” David asks. “He’s like ten years older than us, so you can’t say Team USA.”
Actually, he might be able to — David doesn’t remember if Hearst was on the Sochi roster or not. He hadn’t really paid that much attention. Or, more accurately, he had purposely not paid attention, but it comes down to the same result.
Jake laughs. “He’s originally from Ann Arbor,” he says. “I trained with him the last couple summers. He’s a really cool dude.”
“Okay,” David says.
“Anyway, he told me to make a shortlist of guys I think we should angle for early on,” Jake says. “I want to put you on it, but I won’t if it’s weird playing on a team with me or something. Not that I can really control if Casey picks you, but I won’t put you on my list or anything.”
“Why would it be weird?” David asks.
“I dunno,” Jake says. “I just wanted to check.”
“You shouldn’t just be picking me because—” David says, doesn’t finish, because what’s he supposed to say there? Because they used to have a thing? Because they’re friends? David doesn’t even know if they are, if they ever really have been. Everything between them was so tangled up David can’t begin to define it.
“You know we play well together,” Jake says, and that’s true. They did even when David actively disliked him. It’s rare, that kind of chemistry. David has had chemistry with various players to equally various degrees, but the only one comparable is Oleg. Obviously not the same kind of chemistry he has with Jake, but the same knowledge of what the other person will do before he does it, the seamlessness of play. It’s special, finding that. David supposes he should consider himself lucky for finding it twice, even if Jake isn’t on his team.
“You should be picking the best player for your roster,” David says.
“So you do want me to go to bat for you,” Jake says.
“Jake,” David says.
“What?” Jake asks. “You’ve got an Art Ross and you’re a league leader in points this season. Any team would be nuts not to take you early, and you know it.”
David feels his cheeks heat. “Thanks,” he mumbles.
“Just stating facts,” Jake says. “So can I?”
“It’s a meaningless game,” David says. “I wouldn’t think too much of it.”
“Yes you would,” Jake says, and David would argue, but honestly, if he were picking the rosters he probably would. “Meaningless or not, I want you on my team, okay?”
“Go for defencemen first,” David says. “Then. I guess.”
“You guess,” Jake says, sounding amused.
“I guess I wouldn’t mind playing on a team with you again,” David says. “Even if it’s always—”
“Meaningless,” Jake interrupts. “I know.”
“I mean the scores,” David says, “Not the—”
Not playing with Jake on his opposite wing, seeming to anticipate everything David does on the ice as well as he anticipates David off it. On the ice might be the one time David knows exactly what to expect from Jake.
“I know,” Jake says again, a little gentler.
It’s exactly what David thought he would say. Maybe on the ice isn’t the only time David can read him. He’s certainly better at it than he was at the beginning, when he thought everything Jake did had an ulterior motive, giving Jake too much and too little credit all at once. Jake’s easy to read: he just says what he’s thinking. David used to exhaust himself, trying to figure out what Jake meant, but it turned out it was all right there on the surface.
“I’ve got to get to practice, but I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Jake says.
“Sure,” David says, and in turn exhausts himself thinking about what Jake meant by ‘later’, so he guesses some things remain the same.
*
David has a text from Robbie waiting for him when he gets out of the shower, inviting him over to Whelan and Matthews’ apartment to play video games. He’s a little self-conscious, because he knows he isn’t very good at them, but Robbie’s informed him that Whelan is terrible, so hopefully David won’t be the worst player there. Even if he is, the address Robbie texts him isn’t too far from Oleg’s, and it isn't a bad way to spend the afternoon before he goes to the Kurmazovs.
David stops at a Russian bakery Oleg likes on his way, picking up an assortment of pirozhki, because he knows the girls like them, and he doesn't want to show up empty-handed.
“Dude, you brought food?” Matthews asks when he opens the door. “You are invited always.”
“They’re for Kurmazov’s daughters,” David says. “I'm going there for dinner. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to bring anything.”
“Oh my god, you actually do a Sunday dinner thing with Papa Kurmazov?” Robbie asks, coming up behind Matthews and getting on his tiptoes to put his chin on his shoulder. Matthews doesn’t even blink, and David thinks it’s weird, because Matthews knows about Robbie’s — Matthews knows about Robbie, apparently. But then, Kiro knows about David, and he’s never shied away.
“He’s not my dad,” David argues.
“He’s so your dad,” Robbie says, then snatches the bag out of David’s hands.
“Bardi, are you literally stealing food from children?” Matthews asks.
“That makes me sound evil,” Robbie says thoughtfully. “So I guess you can have the bag back.”
“You guess,” Matthews says, sounding amused, then takes the bag from Robbie, giving it back to David.
“Thank you,” David says.
“Someone’s got to keep him from going feral,” Matthews says, then, “Robbie if you bite me I am going to grind your face in the snow on the balcony.”
“Again?” Robbie whines, then darts inside, yelling, “Wheels, Matty’s threatening me!”
“I'm sure you deserve it!” Whelan yells back, and David can’t help but laugh.
“Want me to hide those for you, keep Robbie from getting his hands on them?” Matthews asks. David considers for a moment, before deciding Matthews is trustworthy. Or at least more trustworthy than Robbie.
“Okay, thank you,” David says. "And thanks for inviting me over."
"Need new cannon fodder," Matthews says. "It's too easy to beat Wheels, and Bardi's the sorest loser ever."
Whelan isn’t as terrible as Robbie and Matthews said, or, more likely, David’s just worse, because he winds up fourth place in the first three games they play.
“Why is your face doing that?” Robbie asks, after the third round.
“What?” David says.
“I just wiped the floor with you,” Robbie says. “And you look like you won something.”
“I don’t know,” David says. “Maybe I’m just not as sore a loser as you are.”
“Burn!” Whelan says, reaching out for a fist bump that David meets. “Dude’s got you pegged, Lombardi.”
“I’m not a sore loser,” Robbie argues, then after Whelan and Matthews loudly overrule him, “Where’s that bag, I deserve a snack if everyone’s going to be an asshole.”
“Chaps’ bag?” Matthews asks. “I hid it for him. Because I know you, and I like him better than you.”
“You’re a fucking traitor, Elliott,” Robbie says.
“Cry more,” Matthews says, and slings an arm over David’s shoulder. “I’ve got your equally pocket-sized upgrade right here.”
David would be more offended if Matthews didn’t have half a foot on both him and Robbie. He supposes to Matthews, they would be. Robbie gives him two middle fingers before breaking the pissed off facade with an infectious laugh, and when it catches on, it catches David first.
*
The video game tournament is still in full swing, with vague plans of ordering food and drinking some beers starting to materialise when David excuses himself to head to Oleg’s.
“You want a ride?” Matthews asks.
“It’s fine,” David says. “It’s a nice night out.”
It is a nice night, cold after Florida but still warmer than the winters David’s used to, and the Kurmazovs live a fifteen minute walk from Matthews and Whelan’s place. Everything’s dark, quiet, and still. David takes a moment to appreciate it, because Oleg’s daughters aren’t particularly still or quiet.
“What do you have there?” Oleg asks, instead of saying hello, when he opens the front door.
“Pirozhki,” David says. “Did I say that right?”
“No,” Oleg says. “But you brought it, which is more important.”
“It was on my way,” David says. “It’s no big deal.”
“Why do you look like that?” Oleg asks suspiciously.
“Why do people keep asking me that?” David complains. “What do I even look like?”
“Happy,” Oleg says. “Did you forget I have monsters?”
David laughs. “They’re not monsters,” he says. “You always say they’re amazing.”
“They are,” Oleg says. “But you look scared when you come. Of monsters.”
“I do not,” David argues.
“Not today,” Oleg agrees.
“Is that David?” he hears, shrill, in the background, and can’t help but wince.
“Too loud again, Tanya!” Oleg calls. “Tatiana is excited to see you.”
“I…heard,” David says.
“Ah,” Oleg says. “Now you look scared of monsters.”
“I’m not scared,” David argues, then says, “Shut up,” to the smirk on Oleg’s face.
“Shutting up,” Oleg says. “Come in. Girls are waiting. Tatiana made you another picture. You and Lombardi this time. At least I think it’s Lombardi. Too short to be me.”
“I’ll put it on my fridge beside the one of you and me,” David says, walking inside when Oleg steps aside for him.
“Careful,” Oleg says. “Soon you will have no fridge left.”
“That’s okay,” David says. “I don’t mind.”
Oleg frowns at him.
"What?" David asks.
"The look on your face," Oleg says.
"Yes?" David asks.
"It's good," Oleg says. "Hang on to it."
"I'll try to?" David says.
Oleg nods. "Good," he says, then shouts in Russian, the only word David recognises his own name, and David hears at least three sets of feet approaching. He thinks Tatiana's are the loudest, and it's confirmed when she clomps down the stairs in hard-soled slippers.
A couple feet away from David, she skids to a stop. "Hi," she says, suddenly shy.
"Hi," David says. "How are you?"
"I made a picture of you," Tatiana says.
"I heard," David says. "Can you show me it?"
"Okay," she says.
"David?" Oleg says, just as Tatiana reaches up to take his hand. David glances over. "The look is still there."
"That's good, right?" David asks.
"Yes," Oleg says. "That's good."