Chapter 16
ROWAN
Rowan didn’t skip hockey games for nothing.
Since he started playing in the NHL, he had played with a fever more than once.
He’d gotten a puck to his jaw that later needed surgery, but he still finished the game out.
It was a stereotype, but he loved feeling tough in that hockey-specific way. He loved being there for his team.
His body felt weird all day, but he survived morning skate. He could make it through the game. He got suited up and almost made it out to warmups before it finally hit him, and he had to sprint in his skates to a garbage can to empty his stomach.
A trainer pulled him to the side and grabbed the coach. Coach Peters told him he looked “sickly pale,” and when he asked if Rowan thought he could handle playing, he had to turn back to the garbage can again.
“Alright, change out of your gear and head to the press box.”
Rowan put his suit back on, and by the time he made it to the press box, he knew he must have a temperature.
He was freezing cold and burning up. He grabbed a little garbage can from the corner of the press box and sat by himself, shaking.
By the second period, he couldn’t use his brain to process what was happening.
And he still felt guilty for not being on the ice.
Hockey guilt was a fucking trip.
Tommy, who was out with a separated shoulder, brought him back to the player’s lounge after the game, and he plopped himself in one of the leather chairs.
They’d lost the game, which made Rowan feel worse, and he wallowed while the rest of the team undressed, did media, cooled down, showered.
One of the trainers came to check in on Rowan and told him that if he found out Rowan wasn’t guzzling fluids at every available opportunity, he would be pissed.
In a caring way. Rowan just accepted the BioSteel from him.
“Hey, bud. Time to go home.” He could tell Vic’s deep baritone from a million miles away, which is about where he felt at the moment.
Rowan stood and followed Vic toward the car. Vic bundled Rowan into the back seat of the car, and he fell asleep on the twenty-minute drive back to their house.
“I was planning on going over to Julia’s,” Vic told Theo as the three of them made it inside the house. “Her birthday is during the roadie, and she’s bummed. T, can you keep an eye on him? Keep him alive?”
Theo sighed and huffed, his arms across his chest, defensive. Rowan didn’t need another reminder of how much Theo hated him right now.
“Please be a grownup about this. I promised Jules…”
“Fine, fine, you can go,” Theo told him, like making sure Rowan wouldn’t die was the ask of a lifetime. “Get away from the germs. He doesn’t need two minders.”
“You sure?”
Theo let out a heavy, full-body sigh. Rowan was barely still on his feet. “Yeah, bud. Go see your girl. I’ll deal with pukey over here.”
Vic went upstairs to change out of his suit, and Rowan remembered he needed to do that too. It sounded exhausting. He must have looked as tired as he felt, because Theo nudged him toward his room.
“Trying not to violate you here,” Theo told him, as he started carefully stripping him out of his suit.
He tossed the suit pieces onto the chair in the corner of Rowan’s room and slid the shoes under it.
He left Rowan in his undershirt and boxers, and pulled the edge of his covers back so he could climb into bed.
“I’m going to go change, too. You need anything else?”
Rowan shook his head and immediately regretted it. “Garbage,” he said, and Theo grabbed him the one from Rowan’s ensuite.
“Alright, aim your puke right here,” he said, placing it right next to Rowan’s bed.
“I’m sorry.”
There was a pause as Theo leaned against the doorframe and looked at Rowan’s pathetic form. “Nothing to be sorry about.”
Theo disappeared out of the room, and Rowan’s thoughts mashed into a sticky sludge that hovered on the edge of sleep.
He didn’t know how long Theo was gone for, but Rowan’s door cracked open again, and there was Theo, in his pajamas, a bowl of soup in his hands.
“It’s canned, but I figured it was better than nothing. You think you can eat?”
“I dunno,” Rowan said.
“You wanna try?”
Rowan sat up. Resting for a little while had helped a bit, and he accepted the soup bowl from Theo’s hands. He ate a spoonful. Chicken noodle.
“It’s good,” Rowan said. It was even the right temperature. Theo was such a temperature baby—he always ordered his lattes at kids’ temp—so Rowan chalked it up to that.
“Good,” Theo said, smiling at him.
“Am I hallucinating this?”
“What?”
“You smiling at me?”
“Shut up,” Theo said, a soft dismissal. “Just fulfilling duties from the captain.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“I’m glad you haven’t died on my watch. Coach would have my head.”
“Tooth hole is still cute,” Rowan said, reaching out to poke at the gap between Theo’s teeth like he did when they still loved each other.
“Alright, bud, focus on the soup, and not spilling it, please.”
He had forgotten he was holding soup, which was not a good idea.
He ate most of the bowl, and Theo took it back to the kitchen. He made one more appearance for the evening, bringing him a bottle of water and a Pedialyte. Where had he gotten Pedialyte?
“I’m going to sleep on the couch, alright? So holler if you need me.”
“You can sleep in your bed.” Rowan wasn’t so sick that he needed a 24/7 nurse.
“Just holler,” Theo repeated. He left Rowan’s door open just a crack, and Rowan could hear him padding around the house in his socks, flipping off lights and locking doors. He was asleep before he could hear Theo get settled on the couch.
Rowan woke a few hours later, the red numbers of his alarm clock telling him it was three a.m. His stomach had rejected his soup.
The garbage can had been in the perfect place, but now he had to get up and deal with it.
Before he could pull his exhausted body out of his bed, Theo was pushing his door open.
“Alright?”
Rowan could only manage the kind of moan a dying animal makes.
“Stay put,” he said, and brought back a glass of water. Rowan rinsed his mouth out, then Theo got him a shitty disposable toothbrush and a little bit of toothpaste to brush the bad taste out of his mouth. He spat in the garbage can Theo was holding up for him.
“I’m going to take care of this,” he said, holding the garbage can. “You need to drink some water. A few sips, at least. More is better.”
Rowan was sick enough that the idea of Theo dealing with his puke bucket was only slightly embarrassing, instead of being completely mortifying. He was sure he would reach mortification when he was feeling better.
Theo came back and put the clean garbage next to him again.
“Need anything else?” Rowan must have been hallucinating, because he could have sworn that Theo smoothed his hair off his forehead.
“I’m good. Thank you.”
“Yeah, bud. Day off tomorrow. Try to sleep in, alright?”
“Mmm,” Rowan agreed. Theo pulled his covers back up over his shoulders so tenderly.
He was living in an alternate universe.
* * *
Somehow, Rowan slept in. At least until 9 a.m. He got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but having a night of sleep did a lot for him. His energy was still incredibly low, and he was thankful he got to be sick on an off day.
Theo was at the breakfast bar when Rowan made it to the kitchen.
“Hey, morning,” Theo said. He was watching Rowan with concern instead of disdain. His recent jumpiness around Rowan and desire to get away from him as quickly as possible must be on pause.
Maybe Rowan needed to get a stomach bug more often.
He made his way to the breakfast bar to sit next to Theo. He’d had the idea of trying to figure out something to eat, but once he’d made it out there, he realized how tired he was. All he could do was fold his arms on the counter and rest his head on them. Theo rubbed his back.
“Let me make you some food,” he said, not giving Rowan the chance to decline. He kept his head on his arms as Theo tried to cook as quietly as he could. The plate he placed in front of Rowan ten minutes later had a couple of scrambled eggs and two pieces of toast.
“Should be pretty inoffensive,” he said, and Rowan took a bite.
“It’s good. Thanks, T.” Theo hovered as Rowan ate, and when he was done, Theo hustled him into the bathroom and made him take a shower.
He even started the water. It wasn’t the most comprehensive shower Rowan had ever taken, and he had to sit on the toilet lid to dry himself off, but he did it, and Theo was right.
It made him feel a little better. When he came out of the bathroom wearing the sleep pants and t-shirt Theo had picked out for him, Theo was pulling the corner of a fresh set of sheets over the mattress.
“You didn’t have to—”
“But you weren’t going to. It’s okay. I wanted to.”
Rowan let him finish, then climbed back into bed. He was tired, but he didn’t want to go to sleep yet.
“Do you have shit you need to get done today?”
“No,” Theo said. “What shit do I ever need to get done?”
“Good point. Do you wanna play video games?”
“Sure,” Theo said. It was a hesitant agreement, but it was agreement. Rowan’s room had a TV mounted over a dresser, where he had his Xbox and Switch set up. Theo headed over to grab controllers for them.
“Grab Switch controllers,” Rowan said. He had Mario Kart on Switch now, and was still working through unlocking all of the characters and vehicle configurations.
“Oh, shit,” Theo said, when he realized what was happening. “Do you still play as Peach?” he asked, his voice honey warm and sweet. God, he hadn’t used that voice with Rowan in so many years, he’d almost forgotten it.
“Yeah, yeah,” Rowan said, as Theo selected Mario. He liked being Theo’s metaphorical second player. He couldn’t explain it. There was something about being a matched set with Theo. It was a feeling he missed.
Rowan set them up to play forty-eight continuous races, and it only took a couple for them to fall right back into the rhythm of playing this game together. Like they could have put their controllers down for the last time yesterday, instead of eight years ago.
“Mario Kart still hits,” Theo said. He’d perched himself on the edge of Rowan’s bed when they had started playing, but six races in, he’d crept closer to Rowan, still on top of the sheets, but lounging against the pillows stacked against the headboard.
The last time they had been in bed together back on that terrible night in Winnipeg, Theo had made it clear that he wanted to be anywhere else in the world. This time, he was next to Rowan willingly.
“Does this mean we can be friends?” Rowan asked him, thirty races into their marathon. He looked over at Theo, whose lips were curving up into a soft little Theo Lane smile, just a peek of his missing tooth.
“No.”