Chapter 43 Finn #2
“Jackson Armstrong. You played linebacker at Florida State. 2019 through 2022.” Skyler’s face was lit with something between childlike awe and disbelief. “I watched you play. I’m from Tallahassee. I went to every home game your senior year. You were incredible.”
I glanced at Benji and found him staring between the two of them, his head swiveling back and forth like he was watching a tennis match, his mouth hanging open.
“I—” Jacks’s face was bright red now. “You know who I am?”
“Know who you are? Dude, you had 127 tackles your senior year. You were projected to go first round in the draft until—” Skyler stopped himself. “Sorry. I’m being weird. I just—I can’t believe you’re here. I mean working here. In Tampa. Shit, sorry, this is coming out all wrong.”
“Oh, God, there are two of them now,” Benji whispered. I had to smother a laugh.
“I can’t believe you know who I am,” Jacks said weakly. “You’re Skyler Shaw. You’re the—you’re—” He gestured. “You’re you.”
Skyler laughed, and it transformed his whole face. “I’m just a hockey player from Tallahassee who used to watch you destroy offensive lines on Saturdays. You were my favorite player.”
“I was . . . your favorite player?” Jacks repeated, like the words didn’t make sense.
“Absolutely.” Skyler extended his hand. “I know this is weird, but can I shake your hand? Because teenage me would kill me if I didn’t.”
Jacks took his hand, and I watched the handshake last just a beat too long. I watched the way neither of them seemed to remember to let go until the Asian cleared his throat.
“Oh . . . my . . . gawd!” Benji whispered so only I could hear. “They’re both starstruck. They’re mutually starstruck. This is—I can’t—”
Mark whistled low. “Those are Lightning players. In our bar. Holy shit.”
My brain was still trying to catch up. “What?”
“Lightning players. Actual Tampa Bay Lightning players.” Mark was staring, his eyes wide.
“The tall blond one? That’s Erik Lindqvist. He’s Swedish, plays defense.
The Asian guy is Tyler Chen—he’s one of their top scorers this season.
And the one who’s currently having a mutual fanboy moment with Jacks?
” Mark’s grin widened. “Skyler Shaw. Center, team captain. One of the best players in the league. He’s a fuckin’ stud. ”
“And apparently a huge Florida State football fan,” Benji added, his grin enormous.
The tall one—Lindqvist—stepped forward with an amused smile. “Sorry, Skyler is having a moment. We’ve been listening to him talk about Jackson Armstrong for years. He has your jersey framed in his apartment.”
“Erik!” Skyler’s face went even redder.
“What? You do. The number 52 jersey. It’s hanging in your living room.”
Jacks looked like he might pass out. “You have my college jersey? People do that?”
“I mean—yeah. I do. That’s—” Skyler ran a hand through his hair. “That’s probably weird to hear. Sorry. I’m being weird.”
“No!” Jacks said. “No, it’s not weird. It’s—I mean—you’re the Skyler Shaw. You can have anything in your bedroom you want. Shit. I didn’t mean it like that, although you probably could. Still, I just meant . . . fuck . . . I don’t know what I meant. Please ignore me.”
I had to elbow Benji to stop his laughing.
The guys were staring at each other again, and this time even Tyler Chen was grinning.
Tyler stepped forward and leaned against the bar. “Skyler, you want to introduce us, or are you going to keep staring like a fucking creeper?”
“Right. Yes. Sorry.” Skyler seemed to shake himself. “These are my teammates—Erik and Tyler. Guys, this is Jackson Armstrong. He played—”
“Oh, we know,” Tyler said. “We’ve seen your posters.”
“I don’t have posters!”
“Just Jacks,” Jacks said quickly. “Everyone calls me Jacks now.”
“Jacks,” Skyler repeated, like he was testing how it sounded. “I like that.”
Benji’s head was still swiveling. I elbowed him again. He grabbed my arm and squeezed it so hard it hurt.
“Are you seeing this?” Benji hissed. “They’re both doing the thing, the mutual attraction googly-eyes thing you and Chase were doing earlier today. The ‘I can’t believe you’re real’ thing. This is—Finn, this is—”
“I see it,” I muttered back.
Erik cleared his throat and addressed me directly, apparently deciding someone needed to be professional.
“Hi. Sorry about the fanboy moment happening here. I’m Erik, this is Tyler, and that’s Skyler when he remembers how words work.
” His Swedish accent made everything sound a little more charming.
“We’ve been hearing about Barbacks, how you guys turned into Lightning Central in Ybor.
We thought we’d check it out for ourselves, say thanks for all the support. ”
I found my voice. “You’ve heard about us?”
“Everyone’s heard about you,” Tyler said, pulling out his phone. “Half the team follows your Instagram. Your videos are hilarious. That kiss was epic, ya know, for dudes, a real Horny Rivals moment.”
Benji finally spoke. “You’ve seen my videos?”
“The whole team has,” Skyler said, though his eyes kept drifting back to Jacks. “The one where you got the whole bar singing ‘We Are the Champions’ after we clinched the playoffs? Coach actually played it in the locker room.”
“I was there for that game,” Jacks blurted out. “I mean, here. I was here, at the bar. But I was watching. We always watch. We love watching. Hockey, not creepy things. Shit. I’ll stop now.”
Skyler’s smile was brilliant. “That’s—that’s so cool.”
“Oh my God,” Benji muttered. “I can’t. This level of adorable, it’s too much.”
“Benji,” I said. “Focus. They probably want drinks.”
“Right! Yes! Drinks!” Benji snapped into bartender mode, though his grin didn’t fade. “What can we get you guys? And don’t say you’re paying because that’s not happening. First round is on the house.”
“We insist on paying,” Erik said. “But beers would be great. We’ve been at practice all day.”
“Three beers coming up,” Benji said, already moving. “Jacks, can you get them menus? Or are you too busy having a moment?”
“I’m not—I’m not having a moment,” Jacks protested weakly, but his face was still bright red.
“You’re definitely having a moment,” Tyler said. “We all see it. It’s very cute.”
“Tyler,” Skyler said, shooting his teammate a look.
“What? It is! You’re both being adorable. It’s like watching a rom-com in real time.”
Other customers were starting to congregate around the players, recognizing them, asking for more photos and autographs.
The three of them were gracious about it, friendly and patient with everyone, but Skyler kept glancing at Jacks, who was trying very hard to look busy with stacking and re-stacking menus.
“Here you go,” Benji said, sliding three beers across the bar. “And before you ask—yes, that’s our house IPA. It’s good. Trust me.”
“Thank you,” Tyler said, raising his beer.
One of the customers, an older guy in a Lightning jersey, cleared his throat. “Can I ask you guys something?”
“Of course,” Tyler said.
“Why here?” The guy gestured around the bar. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love that you’re here. But . . . why a gay bar specifically?”
The three players exchanged a look, and Skyler set down his beer.
“Honestly?” Skyler said, his voice carrying in the sudden quiet. “The whole team’s been hearing about Barbacks for months, about how the Ybor community has been showing up to every game, every watch party, supporting us so hard. We wanted to come say thank you. To show that we support you back.”
Tyler nodded. “You’re part of the Tampa community, and we wanted to make sure you knew that we see and appreciate you.”
The bar had gone silent.
“The NHL may have banned Pride Tape,” Erik added, his Swedish accent more pronounced now, “but we’re still proud to stand by your side. You’re our community, too. We wanted you to know that.”
Skyler looked around at the crowd, at the rainbow flags hanging from the ceiling, at the Pride stickers on the walls. “We can’t wear the tape anymore or use the jerseys during warmups, but we can be here. We can show up. And that’s what we wanted to do.”
For a moment, no one moved.
Then someone started clapping.
Before I knew it, everyone was clapping. The old guys at the bar were actually crying, and the energy shifted from surprised to something warmer, something that felt like belonging.
“Thank you,” someone called out.
“We love you guys!” another voice added.
Skyler smiled—a genuine, warm smile that reminded me of our resident Golden—and raised his beer. “We love you, too. Now who wants to watch some game footage and tell us everything we’re doing wrong? Because I know you all have opinions.”
The bar erupted in laughter and conversation, and just like that, the formality dissolved. The players were just three guys having beers, and my customers were just fans who loved hockey.
Jacks appeared with menus, and I watched as he very carefully avoided looking at Skyler as he handed them over.
“Thanks,” Skyler said, his voice doing something that made Jacks’s hand falter. “And hey—Jacks?”
“Yeah?”
“I meant it, about being a fan. You were incredible at FSU. I’m sorry about—” He paused. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to keep playing. That must have been hard.”
Jacks’s expression flickered as something vulnerable crossed his face. “I’m okay now. I like it here.”
“Good. That’s—that’s good.” Skyler smiled. “Maybe we could talk sometime? About football, or hockey, or whatever?”
“Yeah,” Jacks said. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Cool.” Skyler’s smile widened.
Benji grabbed him the moment he was in reach. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know!” Jacks’s eyes were wild. “He knows who I am, Benji. Skyler Shaw knows who I am. He has my jersey and everything.”
“And he wants to talk to you.”
“I know!”
“And you want to talk to him!”
“I KNOW!”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled out my phone and texted Chase.
Me: 911. Seriously. 9-1-1.
Me: You need to get down here right now.
Me: You’re not going to believe what just happened.