Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After the All-Star Draft is over, the cameras turned off, the topic of discussion invariably turns to where everyone is going for drinks. David, armed with Georgie’s advice, veers directly towards Casey Hearst. The fact Jake’s standing right beside him is incidental, though David will admit he considers it a bonus.
Hearst relays something to Jake, who nods, giving David a small smile before he walks over to a cluster of their newfound rivals, presumably to tell them where exactly they’re going.
“Ready?” Hearst asks.
“Where we headed, boss man?” Davies asks.
“Not far,” Hearst says, and it isn’t, maybe a five minute drive in one of the cars waiting outside for them. It’s a good thing it’s close – David somehow ends up crammed between Hearst and Davies in the back seat, and he's already sweating in his suit jacket after the first minute, feeling desperately relieved when they pile out into the cold night outside Hearst’s choice of venue.
“It’s practically deserted,” David says. He’s heard a few jokes about the Cleveland nightlife, especially after Georgie joined the team, but it’s ten on a Friday night, so he expected at least a small crowd. There are some people at the bar, but most of the tables and booths are completely empty.
“Good,” Hearst says. “I made a reservation for fifty.”
David looks over. “You can do that?” he asks. This doesn’t really look like a reservation sort of place.
“You can when you tell them the average income of the group is approximately six million,” Hearst says. “They tend to be cool with it then.”
“You telling me I’m not allowed to drink Bud, have to live up to the millionaire image?” Davies asks.
“You can,” Hearst says. “I’ll judge you, but you can.”
“Nah, screw it, they have Goose Island,” Davies says. “I’ll open a tab, grab a few pitchers. You sit down and get off your feet, old man.”
“Thanks Jordy,” Hearst says.
The bar fills up quickly – mostly All-Stars, but also a few Barons who apparently didn’t bother to leave town for the All-Star break, followed by an assortment of people arriving in quick succession, David assumes after word of mouth got out about who exactly showed up.
There’s a crush at the bar now, so David gratefully accepts a pint from Davies when he returns. He isn’t much of an IPA drinker, but it’s that or stand shoulder to shoulder with someone at the bar for ten minutes, waiting for the bartender to notice him.
Most of the guys are still milling around, but the tables are starting to fill, and David looks for a likely one. Hearst is sitting at the de facto Barons table, Davies delivering pints. It takes him a minute to locate Jake, but he’s deep in the crowd at the bar, and David would have to wade through people to talk to him.
David walks past a table Matt Bradley’s sitting at, wincing when Bradley waves. He waves back, before immediately beelining for the nearest table with an empty seat, no longer picky.
It’s not that he doesn’t like Bradley — he was always perfectly nice when he played on David’s line — but if he sits with Bradley, the conversation is inevitably going to turn to the Islanders, and David doesn’t want to hear an update on every single player, discuss the season with the understanding that their nosedive in the standings is a result of Oleg and David leaving.
Anton Petrov’s sitting alone, staring at his phone. David sits down opposite him, even though he hasn’t seen him off the ice since the first summer he went to camp in Toronto. He was on the opposing team, and David exchanged maybe a dozen words with him in total, but he seems safer than Bradley. At the very least, the Islanders are less likely to come up.
Petrov glances up from his phone. “Hi?”
“Is it okay if I sit here?” David asks, maybe belatedly.
“Sure,” Petrov says. “If you’re okay with me ignoring you for the Greyhounds recap.”
“Who were they playing?” David asks.
Petrov’s eyes flick back to his phone. “Knights,” he says.
“Final score?” David asks.
“You actually give a shit?” Petrov asks.
“Why not?” David asks.
“Avoided looking it up. Here,” Petrov says, moving to sit beside David, tilting his phone in David’s direction so they can both watch the highlights.
David pays attention to the OHL the way he pays attention to all the CHL teams, the NCAA round ups. It’s useful information, especially since the names that come up over and over are more likely than not going to be opponents someday, maybe even teammates. That mostly involves checking box scores, though, not watching highlights, let alone games.
David quickly becomes aware that his knowledge of the current season sits well below Petrov’s, which is slightly embarrassing, considering David’s from Ontario and Petrov’s American, and they both played in the Q. Petrov’s been in Montreal his entire career, though, has lived in Canada longer than David’s been away, so maybe that makes a difference. There’s distance, since neither of them ever played for an OHL team, but maybe that’s the allure.
David doesn’t enjoy watching NHL hockey like he did when he was a kid. There’s too much personal stake in it now — games whose finals matter to his team’s standings, players on every roster David has had run-ins with. If he does watch a game, he finds himself cataloguing weaknesses, deficiencies to capitalise on in the future. It’s work now – game tape to study instead of a game to enjoy.
Maybe watching Juniors is different. David should catch a game sometime, see if he can capture the joy of it again, the investment with no incentive beyond watching a team you like win.
“I don’t understand how a team can be a dynasty when they have to recycle their roster every three years,” Petrov mutters after the Knights score a goal in the final minute, ending the game up 5-2.
“Good management?” David asks, and Petrov grunts noncommittally.
“I heard the Knights mentioned like four times, I couldn’t not come over, alumni rule,” Jake says, and David startles as he appears behind his shoulder. “Mind if I sit? I have a pitcher coming if you need bribery.”
“Sure,” David says, which is echoed by Petrov. He expects some sort of complicated handshake or bro hug, since they played together in Sochi, but Petrov doesn’t stand up, which settles David’s indecision over whether he should get up and give Jake a hug himself. He already gave him one during the draft, and that was only a few hours ago. He’s not sure how many more he can give.
“It was nothing good about the Knights,” Petrov says.
“I heard the word dynasty,” Jake says. “That’s a good word.”
“You also hear the word ‘smug’?” Petrov asks.
“Must not have heard it over dynasty,” Jake says, and David stifles a laugh. Jake grins at him, and David can’t help but smile back.
“Knights are flashy,” Petrov says.
“That is not a bad thing, Tony,” Jake says, which devolves into low-key bickering about the Knights David doesn’t know enough to participate in, but can follow along with well enough. The pitcher arrives, thankfully a lager this time, along with three clean glasses, and David carefully fills everyone’s glasses while Petrov picks apart the Knights’ defence.
“Thanks,” Jake says, warm, when David nudges a glass his way. “This remind you of anything?” he asks as Petrov takes a break to sip from his own glass.
“What do you mean?” David asks, but he thinks he knows.
Ever since he sat down he’s been thinking about that day in Toronto, the one when Lapointe was outed, when the only break in the ugly knot of fear that sat in him was Jake and Vincent arguing about the rankings of the OHL draftees. At least until he went over to Jake’s after, and Jake — he wonders if Jake replaced the couch like he said he would.
David can’t help the blush. “Vincent?” he asks. He’s Petrov’s teammate, and Petrov mentioned him a few times in the context of the Greyhounds, which might be why Jake’s thinking about it. It does feel like an echo. A ripple in still waters.
“Yeah,” Jake says. “Exactly.”
“Kind of,” David says.
David doesn’t know if Jake opened a tab and told them to keep the pitchers coming, but that’s exactly what happens, more beer appearing every time their glasses get low. They’ve gone through three by the time Petrov gets up. “I have any more and I’m going to embarrass myself during hardest shot,” he says.
“Good luck,” Jake says.
“He’s not on our team, Jake,” David says in an undertone.
Jake snorts.
“Yeah, thanks,” Petrov says. “Later.”
There are several flashy showcases of skill scheduled tomorrow, but David isn’t involved in any of them. He wasn’t invited, except as a backup in shot accuracy if someone was unable to make the weekend.
Honestly, he’s relieved. He’s never liked the showmanship aspect of things, and he’s sure if he had been asked to do certain events, he would have spent his time concerned he’d make a fool of himself doing exercises that belong in practice, if that. Certainly not in hockey games.
Jake wasn’t invited to participate in any either, at least as far as David’s aware, and David would have a comment about skill versus brawn, but then — well. David received just as many invitations as Jake did.
If he were participating, he’d be heading up to bed around now, but it’s not even one, and most of the players are still there. Some have switched to shots, and David tries not to catalogue whether the players drinking tequila are teammates or opponents.
Meaningless competition, he reminds himself, and accepts the beer Jake pours him from the next pitcher.
“This should probably be my last, though,” David says.
“Sure,” Jake says. “Give me a sec, and I’ll close my tab.”
“You don’t have to,” David says. “You’re welcome to—”
“Nah, should quit after this pitcher,” Jake says. “We’re going out tomorrow too, I should pace myself.”
“That’s fair,” David says.
David sits while Jake goes up to the bar, running his finger over the condensation on his glass, making idle patterns.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Jake says when he comes back, sitting in Petrov’s vacated spot.
David shrugs. “I didn’t mind,” he says, and when Jake takes a sip he mirrors him.
“So, like,” Jake says. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” David says.
“Things with your teammate?” Jake asks.
“Good,” David says. “They’re fine.”
“I’m glad,” Jake says.
“You?” David asks. “How are you?”
That prompts the expected update of the lives of people David’s met once or a few times or not at all, but he doesn’t mind listening, and finds himself laughing at the assorted mishaps Forster experienced proposing to his girlfriend, almost as much at Jake’s visible amusement as the story itself.
He vaguely remembers Jake telling him, years back, about Forster finding the only other Albertan in Sunrise. It feels like a long time ago. Maybe because it was.
“Is she the Albertan?” David asks.
“Yeah,” Jake says, sounding surprised.
“He did get engaged in the end, right?” David asks.
“Yeah,” Jake says. “Somehow Jenn said yes.”
“That’s good,” David says. “He seems nice.”
Forster had as much inside information on David and Jake as anyone, and he never did anything with it, unless he counts warning David off breaking Jake’s heart, long past the point that was a valid concern.
“He really is,” Jake says. “I think you two would really get along.”
“Maybe,” David says. “What do I owe you for the drinks?”
“Nothing,” Jake says, then when David pulls out his wallet, “Seriously. I wasn’t breaking the bank, here.”
“Then I’ll buy your drinks tomorrow,” David says.
“Promise?” Jake says, and the way he says it, it sounds like — something else.
“It’s only fair,” David says.
“Wouldn’t want to be unfair,” Jake says.
“Exactly,” David says, and takes the final sip of his beer. “I should head back.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jake says, and when David looks dubiously at the remaining beer in the pitcher, “I guarantee it’ll take me two seconds to find a taker, I’ll meet you outside.”
True to his word, he quickly hands the pitcher off to Boucher, who seems remarkably willing to take drinks from a divisional rival, catching up with David at the door.
“You don’t have to escort me,” David says. More than half of the guys are still there, and Jake’s never been the type to leave early if he can help it. He’s an A, too, and Hearst has already left, so he should probably stick around. David doesn’t want him to duck out early out of some misplaced sense of obligation. “I can get back to the hotel. I’m not that drunk.”
He is drunk, at least a little, but the cars appear to have been rented for the night, so it’s simply a matter of getting from the lobby to his room. David thinks he’s capable of that.
“Honestly, I want to head back,” Jake says. “I’d prefer a good night’s sleep and not waking up hungover.”
“Not like our first All-Stars,” David says.
“Guess you rubbed off on me,” Jake says, and when David goes red, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like — I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, I know,” David says.
“Okay, good,” Jake says. “I feel like such an asshole.”
“You’re not an asshole,” David says.
“Maybe just an ass?” Jake says. “I keep acting like an ass in front of you.”
“No you don’t,” David says.
“I really do,” Jake says. “Like a little kid with a crush who keeps doing dumb things.”
“You have a crush on me?” David asks before he can stop himself.
Jake laughs, and something inside David sinks.
“Yeah,” Jake says. “Sure, let’s go with total understatement.”
“Um,” David says.
Jake looks over at him. “To be clear, I do have a crush on you, if that’s what we’re going to call it.”
“Oh,” David says.
“Total ass,” Jake groans. “Again.”
“You’re not,” David says. His heart’s going too fast. “You’re not an ass.”
“Thanks,” Jake says, not looking at him.
One of the cars pulls up, and they get in. The backseat, so tight when David was squeezed between two players, feels like a long stretch of leather and space on their way back. David presses his fingers against his cheek. Despite the temperature, his skin’s hot to the touch. Maybe he’s running a fever. He feels like he might be.
They’re quiet on the drive back, through the lobby, in the elevator. Jake gets off on the sixth floor, same as David. “Think we took this floor over,” Jake says, and pads after David. There’s no way David’s room is on the way to Jake’s, since it’s at the end of the hall, but Jake still walks him to his door.
“You didn’t have to—” David says.
“I wanted to,” Jake says. “I just wanted — maybe I could have said this at the bar, it’s not like it’s — I really miss — I miss being your friend, and I was just —”
Jake’s gone red. He’s not meeting David’s eyes, sharply cutting off each sentence before it reaches its endpoint, and David’s reminded of nothing more than himself, like Jake’s tapped right into that, is saying exactly what David would, and exactly as clumsily, as awkward. Like he’s taken the words out of David’s mouth, and the words in David’s mouth are inadequate.
It hurts to listen to.
“Jake,” David says. Glances down the hall, but it’s deserted, and they’re in front of the last room. It’s not safe, but it’s as close as it can be to private.
“Hm?” Jake says.
“Can you look at me?” David asks, and when Jake turns to look at him, he reaches out to touch Jake’s cheek, heart nearly pounding out of his chest.
“Hi,” Jake says softly, the word still on his lips when David kisses him.
It’s over almost before it begins, a brush of lips before David pulls away, looking down the hall again. Still all-clear.
“Wow, okay,” Jake says, then starts laughing, this giddy little laugh that David knows isn’t at him, a laugh so contagious David can’t help but join in, until they’re laughing at each other, standing close together – too close. Compromising, if not as compromising as the moment before.
Jake’s laugh fades into quiet after a moment, and the silence stretches, Jake looking at him, David looking back. David can usually trust Jake to break these silences, but this time he doesn’t. This time it’s David’s to break.
“Do you want to come in?” David asks. “My roommate — it’s Hearst? He went home, so it’s —”
“Like, more than anything?” Jake says, words tripping over one another as they come out of his mouth. “But you’ve been drinking and I’ve been drinking and we have baggage so um. No. Let's not do that right now. But I really want to, yeah.”
“Oh,” David says.
“So I should,” Jake says, jerking his thumb in the direction back towards the elevators. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” David says numbly, unsure what it means when Jake reaches in to hug him, two conflicting messages that David can’t reconcile.
Jake isn’t wrong – it isn’t a good idea, not with the alcohol coursing through them, the baggage they have, though David doesn’t like the word, wishes Jake had used another. It isn’t a good idea, but David already knew that when he kissed him.
If it were Jake’s door they were standing in front of, if Jake were the one inviting him inside, they would already be through that door, because David wouldn’t hesitate. But it isn’t, and he isn’t, so instead David’s numbly accepting Jake’s hug goodbye.
“Night,” Jake says when he pulls back, and David gives him a weak wave, unlocks his door, taking a few uncertain steps before sinking down on the edge of his mattress, exhaling shakily.
He doesn’t know how to feel. Rejected, but every single thing Jake said — maybe David’s putting too much stock into what he said. Or maybe David’s misinterpreted. He’s done that before. He’s done that a lot. Maybe he’s missed something. That isn’t uncommon either.
David thought he knew what a crush meant, but maybe he didn’t. David didn’t even ask first, just kissed him, assuming it’d be — maybe Jake didn’t want to kiss him, crush aside. Or maybe kissing him wasn’t worth dealing with all their baggage. It’s been a long time, after all, and David knows that the way he’s dwelled on things isn’t the norm. Maybe he was just letting David down as gently as he could. Jake’s a nice person. He’s always been a nice person. He’d be kind about it.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he reaches for it, hands unsteady.
can we talk properly tmrw? the incoming text says, which sounds ominous.
Sure. David replies.
awesome Jake texts back. Which seems less ominous, but might not mean anything considering the frequency Jake uses the word. Then sleep well followed by a heart, which David doesn’t know how to take. He knows what it means to him. And he knows what it means to Jake too, or at least he used to, but ‘talk’ doesn’t usually mean good things.
It could be exactly what David’s worried about — David was misinterpreting things, overestimating Jake’s interest, David’s too much work. David knows he’s too much work. But staring at the final message, the heart sitting at the end like a punctuation mark, thumbing his phone every time it starts to go dim —
David can’t help but look forward to tomorrow.