Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
David’s sitting on a generic white duvet when the clock strikes midnight, ushering in a new year. This isn’t the first time he’s spent New Year’s in a hotel, and he’s sure it won’t be the last, but he doesn’t mind it the way most of the Capitals seem to. They’re playing the Winter Classic that afternoon in front of almost 70,000 hostile fans at Heinz Field, and David’s looking forward to it.
The Capitals play three other games this week, one of them in Sunrise. David turns twenty-six while they’re down there – Jake and Kiro were both delighted by the scheduling – and finds out whether he’s made Team Canada’s Olympic roster. He’s never had a more eventful start to a year, and considering the amount of tournaments he’s played in, there’s no shortage of competition. Perhaps it should feel overwhelming, and it does, but not in a bad way, he doesn’t think.
Still, fifteen minutes before midnight, David slipped out of Quincy’s room, where most of the unattached players had congregated. He isn’t one of them anymore, but Jake isn’t here, so he may as well be. Quincy isn’t one of them either, but his wife was due yesterday, and Quincy said they’d be damned if their kid was born in Pittsburgh, so while most of the wives and girlfriends came along for the trip, she’s still back in Washington.
David didn’t really intend to be sitting in his hotel room at the stroke of midnight. He just left to take a call from Kiro, who wanted to wish him a happy new year before anyone else could, and didn’t seem to care much that it wasn’t actually the new year yet. But he was reluctant to return to the crush after he hung up, so he slipped down the hall, back to his room, and he prefers it like this, ringing in the new year in privacy and relative quiet, laughing as texts from Kiro, Emily, and Jake arrive almost simultaneously, every single one of them including the kiss emoji.
David tucks his phone in his pocket when someone starts banging on his door, getting up to answer it. He figured his absence might be noted eventually, but he had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.
“You disappeared,” Robbie says. “How was I gonna give you a New Year’s kiss if you disappeared?”
“I’m sure you gave it to someone equally deserving,” David says.
“Not untrue,” Robbie says. “I’m not going to be able to convince you to come back to Cap Q’s room, huh?”
“It’s already past midnight,” David says. “We have a game this afternoon.”
“Like five minutes past,” Robbie says. “And don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll send us all to bed in an hour like the boring dad-to-be he is.”
“I’m just going to head to bed,” David says.
“Fine,” Robbie says, sighing loudly. “Can I steal some hair gel first, though? I saw my reflection and it was not a pretty sight.”
“Hair gel before you go to bed in an hour?” David asks sceptically, but then, “Fine,” when Robbie gives him a pleading look.
Robbie’s in the bathroom, humming loudly and fixing his hair, which is, admittedly, a complete disaster – he suspects the headlock Crane had Robbie in earlier that night may have something to do with that – when David’s phone goes off again.
“I couldn’t get away until now,” Jake says. “Happy New Year.”
“You too,” David says.
“Is that Volkie?” Robbie asks, somehow suddenly right behind David, then snatches David’s phone right out of his hand. “Hi Volkie!”
“Wrong Panther,” Jake says. His voice is tinny and distant but David can still hear the grin in it.
“Hi Lourdy,” Robbie says. “David got that gooey smile on his face so I figured it was Volkie.”
“Robbie,” David hisses, grabbing for his phone, but Robbie just cackles and ducks away. He puts it on speakerphone while he’s at it, Jake’s laughter coming through loud and clear.
“You’re killing my self-confidence, Bardi,” Jake says.
“Whatever, you know what’s up with your boo and his boo,” Robbie says.
“Go away , Robbie,” David says, and then, because he’s concerned Robbie will do exactly that, absconding with Jake in the bargain, “And give me back my phone.”
“Fine,” Robbie says. “I know when I’m not wanted.”
“Because I literally just told you,” David says.
Jake laughs again, and David grins.
“You should see the look on his face right now,” Robbie says. ”It’s so sappy I’m gonna throw up.”
“I’ll go get a mirror,” Jake says.
“Ugh, you guys are so gross,” Robbie says. “Here’s your phone. Don’t stay up too late with the phone sex – we have a game tomorrow afternoon, young man.”
“Go away, Robbie!” Jake says.
Robbie walks backwards out the room, holding both middle fingers up. The impact is undercut when he gets caught on the door handle for a moment, but he sheepishly frees himself before David has to intervene.
“We’re not having phone sex,” David says after the door’s clicked shut.
“I’m standing in Joe and Jenn’s backyard,” Jake says agreeably. “Seems like it’d be a party foul.”
“Even if you weren’t,” David says.
“I know,” Jake says. “I just wanted to wish you a happy new year. And talk about next week. You know, plans for when you come. I mean, before you come over, not what happens when you come — not phone sex.”
“Oh my god, Jake,” David says, face hot. He is so glad Robbie’s no longer in the room.
“I’m sorry,” Jake says. “Champagne is my worst enemy. Plans. Not sex plans. Normal plans.”
“I don’t want it to be like last time,” David says.
Last time they ended up at a bar with half a dozen Panthers, almost as many Capitals. Between the bickering about the refereeing and the fact he ended up sitting an entire table away from Kiro and Jake and Robbie, sandwiched between people he barely knew, David was miserable. Kiro joined David’s table after the first round, and Jake went home with him at the end of the night, but their time together during the season is so limited that it felt like a waste.
“Like, the whole — everyone,” David says. “I don’t want to do that again.”
“Just us?” Jake asks.
David hesitates.
“Volkie’s totally welcome too,” Jake says, before David says anything. “I know you don’t see each other much during the season.”
“ We don’t see each other much during the season,” David says.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you ditch him on my account,” Jake says. “It’s totally cool with me, just, like —”
“Like?” David prompts.
“He’s not coming to my place after, right?” Jake asks.
David laughs. “No,” he says. “Just me.”
“Okay, then he’s totally welcome,” Jake says. “I mean it: if you don’t invite him, I will.”
“Fine,” David says. “I should sleep, I—”
“Big game tomorrow, I know,” Jake says. “Can’t wait to see you.”
“I saw you less than a week ago,” David points out, but. “Me too.”
*
David puts off talking to Kiro over the next several days. They text a bit, but David is hesitant to actually call him. He’s sure Jake meant it about Kiro being welcome — Jake says what he means, mostly, but —
“I invited Volkie,” Jake says the next time he calls David. “Just for the record.”
“Jake,” David says.
“What?” Jake says. “I told you I would if you didn’t. I’m not splitting up the bromance, babe.”
“Don’t call it a bromance,” David says.
“Emily had an even better word for you two,” Jake says. “Something about comrades. But I forget what it was, so bromance.”
“It’s not a bromance,” David protests.
“It’s a beautiful bromance,” Jake says. “Anyway, I invited him, stop avoiding him.”
“I’m not avoiding him,” David says.
“He looks so sad,” Jake says.
“Fine,” David says. “I’ll call him, happy?”
“So happy,” Jake says.
It’s not — whatever Jake thinks, it’s not really about him. Jake didn’t like Kiro at first, that wasn’t exactly hidden, but they like each other now. They’re teammates. Sometimes David resents it, though he tries really hard not to. It’s more —
David hasn’t played very well this season. He knows if he said that aloud he’d get immediate protests, maybe even hear just what percentile he’s playing in, if he’s talking to Dave. But David isn’t comparing himself to other players; he’s comparing himself to the player who was invited to Olympic training camp last summer. It isn’t a favourable comparison, and he’s afraid Hockey Canada will see that too.
David has been checking for any updates, even scanning the rumours when he can’t find any actual news. He knows he shouldn’t be doing that, knows it’s the opposite of helpful. He also knows that if he makes the roster he’ll find out from Dave, or directly from Hockey Canada, not from someone on the internet. Still, it’s a bad habit that’s hard to break, and even though he knows the roster isn’t coming out yet, he checks once he gets off the phone with Jake, just in case he’s wrong.
There’s nothing there. Well, nothing except speculation, reporter’s mock rosters, another thing he shouldn’t have been looking at, but did anyway. He made some of those rosters, didn’t make others. Made Team Canada’s training camp last summer, but that’s hardly a guarantee they’ll pick him. He thinks he did well there, but inevitably, good players are going to be cut. Great players are going to be cut. It’d be the height of arrogance for David to assume he’s safe.
Kiro, with a chance to prove himself on the top-six in Florida, made Team Russia’s training camp, and by all accounts — or Oleg’s account, which is all that matters — he did extremely well. And David’s happy for him, of course he is, he’s just not sure what he’d do if Jake and Kiro and Oleg all went to the Olympics, and he stayed back.
There’s no doubt in his mind that Jake will make Team USA, no doubt in his mind that Oleg will make Team Russia, and if Kiro makes it too, it’s —
It’s so petty, and he hates himself for thinking it, but he doesn’t know if he could handle it.
*
The rosters of Team USA and Team Russia are announced the day the Capitals fly to Florida. Jake sends David — and probably everyone else he knows — a barrage of smiley faces first thing in the morning. When David calls to congratulate him, he sounds like the human version of his text, and by the time he hangs up the phone, David’s smiling too.
David hasn’t heard anything from Oleg, but that isn’t surprising, since he’s sleeping off a bad case of the flu. Nothing from Kiro either, which is more concerning. His stomach is in knots as he reads through Team Russia’s roster, and it stays that way until he picks out two familiar names.
He isn’t sure what he expected to feel. Maybe the knot tightening.
All he feels is relief.
Kiro must be sleeping in, because he answers the phone with a grunt, Orange plaintively meowing in the background, presumably because Kiro dislodged her when he grabbed his phone. Her favourite place to sleep is on Kiro’s face. David has no idea how he hasn’t suffocated yet.
“Congratulations,” David says. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Thought you’d — want to celebrate together,” Kiro says through a yawn. “When Canada finally announces.”
“I’m happy for you,” David says honestly. “I’m so happy for you.”
Kiro’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” he says finally, sort of soft.
And it isn’t his victory, but he is. He’s so happy. He doesn’t quite know what to do with the feeling.
*
David dislikes Tampa Bay. It’s unfair, but he doesn’t like landing in Florida and still having to wait at least another day to see Jake and Kiro. He doesn’t like playing Tampa either, because they’re good, far better than the Panthers, and Washington loses to them as often as they win.
More than anything, he doesn’t like playing Sebastien Boucher, as much for his attitude as his skill, showy and French in a way David hasn’t seen so purely since Juniors, would never make the mistake of disparaging aloud. But Boucher’s made Team Canada before, presumably knows how everything works, and he’s the only one David can really ask.
David watches him stretch at centre ice during warm-ups, smirking as he says something to Quincy. It could be congratulations on the birth of his son, but David doubts it. When Quincy skates away David hesitates, but the twisting in his gut overrides the awkwardness of asking, and he skates over to centre.
“Have you heard from Hockey Canada yet?” David asks, perhaps too abruptly. He probably should have at least said hello first.
“Nah,” Boucher says, then moves to stand. “Trust me, they’ll call you an hour or two before they release it, they’re way too paranoid about leaks to do it any earlier than that. And they always wait until everyone else’s roster is already out in case they need to tweak it.”
David finds himself dimly comforted. Boucher’s as close to a lock as anyone can be, so if he hasn’t heard from them yet, no one has.
“Don’t worry,” Boucher says. “You’ll be on it.”
David shrugs. “I hope so,” he says.
“You will be,” Boucher says, and David doesn’t even mind when he pats his shoulder.
He does mind when the Lightning shell them. He also minds when Boucher celebrates a three goal lead with a ridiculously over the top celebration right in front of the Capitals bench.
“Boucher’s a douche,” Jake says when David calls him after the game. “But he’s not wrong.”
“No?” David asks.
“Man, I hope you’re not on his line,” Jake says.
David hadn’t even considered the possibility.
“We don’t even know if I’m making the team,” David reminds him.
“I really hope you’re not on his line,” Jake says.
“Me too,” David says.
*
They beat the Panthers, which is gratifying, even if it’s unsurprising. The Capitals are currently hovering in a wild card position, and David would really prefer not to have to play for their collective lives for the rest of the season. He’s gotten spoiled, playing for Washington. Contention is no longer the goal: it’s the bare minimum.
After giving a few soundbites to the media, David gets ready to meet Jake and Kiro, trying not to rush through his routine. He’s sure it’d be obvious why, and anyway, he doesn’t have to, since he doesn’t have curfew tonight.
David has had few conversations that made him as uncomfortable as asking his GM to make Sunrise an exception for curfew. Before the meeting, he practiced the lie that wasn’t a lie over and over in his head until it was worn thin.
“I have a lot of friends there,” was said to his mirror, the ceiling of his bedroom, Jake, who listened patiently through multiple versions of his speech, Robbie, who snorted and repeated ‘friends’ in finger quotes then stuck his tongue in his cheek.
Rutledge didn’t even ask why, though, just said “Yeah, no prob,” and David was left buzzing with adrenaline, feeling like he’d just cheated his way through a test, not that he’d ever done that before.
David makes sure to remind Robbie that he’s cleared things with Rutledge, will meet the team at the airport for the flight out to Nashville. If someone’s wondering where he is, they’d ask Oleg first, and then Robbie. Since Oleg’s still in Washington, it’s Robbie they’d find.
“Off for your conjugal visit, gotcha,” Robbie says.
“That’s for prisoners,” David says.
“You’re a prisoner to love,” Robbie says, and ducks when David throws his glove at him.
“Don’t worry, man, I’ve got your back,” Robbie says. “Have a good birthday.”
“It’s tomorrow,” David says. “You’ll see me.”
“Yeah, but I hope your main man will make it extra good before I see you, if you know what I mean,” Robbie says in a low voice, then waggles his brows, like his statement wasn’t obvious enough.
“I have another glove,” David threatens.
“Oh no, not another glove ,” Robbie says. “Go make yourself pretty.”
David knows, coming from Robbie, ‘pretty’ doesn’t mean the same thing it meant in Benson’s mouth, Team USA’s. Not even the same as it does in Jake’s. When Robbie says it, it sounds faintly annoyed, but mostly affectionate. When Robbie says it, it doesn’t sting.
“I thought I was already pretty,” David says.
“Point,” Robbie says.
*
David heads directly to the bar where he’s meeting Jake and Kiro, since meeting up at the arena was just asking for other guys to invite themselves. David likes his team, David even likes the Panthers, at least off the ice, but it’s his birthday in just over an hour, he’s still on edge about the Olympics, and frankly, he just wants Jake and Kiro right now.
They’re already there when he arrives, which is frankly amazing considering Jake’s the go-to interview for media after the games, and David makes it about two steps in the door before Kiro jumps him. Jake hangs back until Kiro’s done, then gives him a more deniable hug, the kind that involves an excess of back patting. It isn’t enough, but, well. They have later.
“Where’s Emily?” David asks once they’ve gotten their drinks. He’d just assumed that when Jake invited Kiro he invited Emily too. Jake likes Emily. David likes Emily too, but Jake and Emily have bonded, even hang out without Kiro sometimes. Jake says she reminds him of his sister Allison, and David can see why – they’re both level-headed, sensible people with a quiet sense of humour. So quiet, in fact, that David often doesn’t realise they’re joking until other people start laughing.
“She is in Boston,” Kiro says. “Her cousin’s wedding is tomorrow.”
“And your wedding?” Jake asks. “It’s been, what, ten years you’ve been together?”
“Shh,” Kiro says. “Shh, Jacobson. Davidson, tell Jacobson to shh.”
“I’m kind of curious too,” David admits.
“Shh,” Kiro says. “Shh.”
“What’s that line, again?” Jake says. “Something about how you should put a ring on it if you like it?”
David doesn’t see the look Kiro gives Jake in response, but it’s enough to make Jake go red and mutter, “Whatever, Kirillson.”
“Kirillovich,” David says. He remembers at least that much from his aborted attempts at learning Russian.
“What?” Jake says.
Kiro grins at David. David grins back.
“Oh, Russian in-joke, my bad,” Jake says.
“Honorary Russian,” Kiro says, patting David’s hand.
“If Team Canada doesn’t take me, do you think Team Russia will?” David jokes.
He expects at least one laugh, but instead he gets two identical annoyed looks.
“What?” David asks.
“Stop saying,” Kiro says, overlapping with Jake’s, “You’re going to make the team.”
“And if I don’t?” David asks.
“If you don’t, I am personally going to Hockey Canada headquarters and telling them to get their heads out of their asses,” Jake says. “Not even lying.”
“Me too. Road trip,” Kiro chimes in, and David watches as they link their fingers together over the table.
“What was that?” David says. “Is that some weird Panthers thing?”
“It was a pinkie swear,” Jake says, frowning at David. “We made a promise.”
“Obviously,” Kiro adds.
“Sorry, I wasn’t aware I was talking to children,” David says.
“Yes you were,” Kiro says.
“You totally were,” Jake agrees.
David rolls his eyes, tries to suppress a smile.
“He thinks we’re cute,” Kiro says in a loud whisper.
“The cutest,” Jake agrees.
“I hate that you two are friends,” David says.
“Liar,” Jake says.
“So many lies from Davidson today,” Kiro says.
“And I hate both of you,” David scowls.
Jake squeezes his thigh under the table, Kiro kicks his foot, and David smiles down at the wood grain.
*
At five to midnight Kiro goes to the bar, returning at midnight exactly, carefully balancing a tray of shots while he loudly hums ‘Happy Birthday’.
“Kiro, I don’t—” David says.
“It’s whisky,” Kiro says. “You sip, Jacobson and I shoot.”
“Oh,” David says. “Thank you.”
“Twenty-six,” Kiro says. “So old.”
“You’re turning thirty this year, right?” Jake asks.
“Fuck you,” Kiro says cheerfully.
“You too,” Jake says. “To David?”
“To David,” Kiro agrees, and they down two shots apiece in the time it takes David to carefully sip his way through one.
Kiro’s not drunk when they head their separate ways — David doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kiro truly drunk, though according to Emily it’s ‘epic’ — but he is tipsy, which means he’s even more affectionate than usual. He kisses both of David’s cheeks in farewell, then holds him by the face so tightly that David must look like a goldfish.
“Love you,” Kiro says very seriously.
“You too,” David says, and shuts his eyes when Kiro gives him one last kiss on the forehead before getting into the Uber he’s called.
David’s a little concerned about what Jake’s expression will be when he turns around, but he’s smiling. “Back to mine?” he asks.
“Yes,” David says. “Please.”
At some point, David’s going to make it more than a couple feet into Jake’s apartment before attaching his mouth to Jake’s. It isn’t today, but in his defence, going from not seeing him at all to sitting beside him for hours in public without being able to touch him was simultaneously foreplay and torture, and he’d rather not keep waiting.
They’ve gotten extremely good at multi-tasking kissing and shedding their clothing. David thinks that might have been the most useful aspect of training with Jake last summer: the mix of coordination, concentration, and communication that means when his back hits Jake’s bed, they’re both down to bare skin.
“What do you want?” Jake asks. “Seriously, like, birthday sex, anything you want.”
“Um,” David says, suddenly self-conscious.
“If what you want is not to have to tell me what you want, that is also totally cool,” Jake says.
David knows it’s a stupid time to think this, but — fuck he loves him.
“That one,” David says.
“One fucking awesome birthday blow job, coming up,” Jake says.
David laughs. “Arrogant,” he says.
“Like you’re gonna disagree,” Jake says confidently, and, no, David probably will not.
*
He doesn’t disagree even a little.
*
David’s birthday apparently calls for morning sex. It isn’t something David is typically in favour of, but that’s because he usually has somewhere to be, can’t fully enjoy himself if he’s worried about time. He doesn’t have to be anywhere until this afternoon, and he isn’t going to see Jake for months, except potentially across the ice in Pyeongchang. He can take the time.
“You are the most predictable person alive,” Jake says when David calls dibs on first shower after. “Use the green shampoo, it smells like you.”
It does smell like David’s shampoo. Not exactly, but close, faintly minty instead of whatever tropical fruit Jake’s shampoo is meant to smell like. David thinks about Jake sniffing shampoos in a drug store, trying to find the right one, and can’t help smiling.
“Someone called,” Jake calls as David gets out of the shower.
“Did you see who?” David calls back.
“Didn’t recognise the area code,” Jake says. “I looked it up and it was Calgary, though. That’s Hockey Canada HQ, right?”
“Oh shit,” David says, and scrambles out of the bathroom to find Jake holding out his phone. There’s a voicemail from the President of Hockey Canada, curt, just identifying himself and giving David a number and extension to call.
“I need a pen,” David says.
“Pants first?” Jake says.
“Huh?” David says.
“Not saying I mind the view, but I feel like you might want to be wearing pants for this,” Jake says.
David looks down at the towel wrapped around his waist. He does have to concede that it might not be appropriate attire for an important phone call.
He brought a change of clothes, but he’s too impatient to change into a suit. Instead, he borrows a pair of Jake’s sweats and one of the few t-shirts Jake owns that isn’t emblazoned with the logo of some team he’s played for.
Jake gives him the thumbs up when he comes out of his room. “Want me to go somewhere else?” Jake asks.
“No,” David says. “That’s — stay?”
He doesn’t know if Team Canada only calls the players who make the team, or if they also make courtesy calls so no one finds out from the internet. Maybe they do, and that’s why the message was so terse. And if it is rejection — he wouldn’t have thought he’d want Jake to be there, not if it’s bad news, but he does.
“Sure,” Jake says. “Of course.”
David listens to the message again, writing down the number. Listens once more to make sure he has the number right, then stares down at the paper, taking a shaky breath.
“I’m right here,” Jake says.
“Thank you,” David says, and dials.
The phone rings for some time before David’s finally put through to Ernst’s assistant, who tells him Ernst is already on the phone. It’s earlier than normal business hours in Calgary, but David supposes it’s a busy day. He waits on hold for a minute, rehearsing what he’s supposed to say, how to take rejection gracefully, but the moment the call’s transferred he forgets every script that he’s ever been taught.
“Mr. Ernst, it’s David Chapman,” David says. “Um. Of the Washington—”
“I know who you are, David,” Ernst says, laughing a little.
“Sorry,” David says. “I was just um. I was in the shower when you called. I don’t know why I’m telling you that, sir. Sorry.”
Jake audibly snorts, then covers his mouth when David glares at him.
“That’s fine, son,” Ernst says. “We were just calling to ask if you’d like to play for Team Canada in Pyeongchang.”
“Yes,” David says, almost before Ernst has finished his sentence. “Yes, that’d — I’d be honoured, sir.”
“Wonderful,” Ernst says. “We’ll be sending your reps the information — Dave Summers is your agent, right?”
“Yes, sir,” David says.
“We’ll send Summers the paperwork we need, insurance and all that, but we wanted to give you a call first, see if you were interested,” Ernst says.
“Has anyone ever said no?” David asks, disbelieving.
“Not yet,” Ernst says. “But it’s polite to ask.”
“Right,” David says. “Of course. Thank you so much for the opportunity.”
“I have to make some more calls, but,” Ernst says.
“Right,” David says. “Of course. Thank you, sir.”
David hangs up, blinks twice.
“I’m not a genius or anything, but I’m thinking they want you,” Jake says.
“They want me,” David says, and it’s — strange, saying that, like once he does it suddenly becomes real.
“I don’t know if you said ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’ or ‘sir’ more,” Jake says. “That was the most adorably Canadian conversation I’ve ever heard.”
“Shut up,” David scowls. “Like you didn’t say thank you.”
“I said ‘fuck yes’,” Jake says.
“No you didn’t,” David says.
“No I didn’t,” Jake says, then holds his arms out. “Come here.”
David walks right into them, pressing his forehead against Jake’s throat and letting out a laugh almost as shaky as he feels.
“I’m crazy proud of you,” Jake says into his hair.
“How’re you going to feel when we beat you?” David says.
“I’ll still be crazy proud if you beat us,” Jake says.
David looks up sceptically.
“Also maybe a little pissed, but still proud,” Jake says. “Seriously.”
“Thanks,” David says.
“So, like, Hockey Canada totally kicked my ass at birthday presents,” Jake says, pulling back. “But I kind of figured they would, so. Do not tell Georgie or Robbie I did this, I’ll get in so much shit for being a traitor.”
He crouches over the couch, and David takes a split second to admire his ass in briefs before he gets distracted by more pressing matters.
“Did you stuff a Team Canada jersey under your couch cushion?” David asks. It’s a rhetorical question: Jake clearly did, and he pulls it out with a flourish like a magician doing the handkerchief trick. David feels like a bad Canadian just watching him. “Have you been sitting on Team Canada ?”
“Perfect hiding place,” Jake says.
David’s about to retort, but when Jake shakes it out he sees his last name, his number, and he’s suddenly not sure what to say.
“You’re going to have your own, like, official one, but,” Jake says. “Thought I’d get the jump on it. And you might not get 11, so I wanted to make sure you had at least one Team Canada jersey with your number on it.”
“What if they hadn’t called?” David asks.
“I knew they were going to,” Jake says. “They were supposed to release it today.”
“But what if they didn’t pick me?” David asks.
“I told you last night,” Jake says. “Me and Volkie, road trip to go yell at Hockey Canada. We pinkie swore on it.”
David laughs.
“Put it on,” Jake says.
“It feels — it’s not mine yet,” David says.
“It is,” Jake says. “You earned it. Put it on?”
David pulls it on. It’s too loose without pads under it, but it still feels — good. Right.
“I’m jinxing it or something,” David says, fighting the urge to take it off, the urge to keep it on as long as he possibly can.
“David,” Jake says. “Hockey Canada literally called to tell you you’re one of the best players in the world.”
“In Canada, you mean,” David says.
“In the world,” Jake says. “And you know it.”
“Well, you are too, then,” David says.
“I’m not even close to as good as you,” Jake says.
“That’s not—” David says, frowning. “Don’t say that about yourself.”
“I’m not insulting myself or anything,” Jake says. “I’m just being realistic here. When’s the last time I cracked the top twenty?”
“You—” David starts.
“Not in hits,” Jake says, then grins. “Or penalty minutes.”
“Jake,” David says.
“You deserved to go first,” Jake says. “You deserved the Calder.”
“Don’t,” David says.
“It’s true,” Jake says.
“I don’t care,” David says.
“You don’t care?” Jake asks.
David — he doesn’t, really. Jake’s not wrong, exactly, but —
“You’re — you’re the captain. Your team loves you,” David says. “Your fans love you. You ended up exactly where you should—”
Jake kisses him. David’s entirely lost his train of thought by the time Jake pulls away. Jake has that effect on him.
“I was saying nice things,” David says, a little sulky.
“I know,” Jake says, then, grinning again. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“It’s not hard to say nice things about you,” David protests.
“Anymore,” Jake says.
“Anymore,” David admits.
Jake kisses him again, and David’s not sure he deserves one for that, but he’ll take it nonetheless. He always will.
*
David looks out the airplane window, but with the night dark around them, the ocean far below, the only thing he can make out is his own reflection. Beside him, Oleg’s fallen asleep with his mouth wide open, head at a disconcerting angle. David takes a picture, then considers who to send it to. Robbie would enjoy it, Kiro and Vladislav as well, but in the end David decides just to send it to Maria.
Scattered across the plane are players from six international teams, just as many NHL ones. Not the Panthers, who left earlier that day with some of the other southern teams. Before the flight, Kiro had sent him a picture of him and Jake pulling faces, accompanied by last time we are friends until someone wins , then a picture of them both frowning when David sent back Until Canada wins.
David feels — not calm, exactly. He suspects the nerves will overwhelm him if he thinks too hard about the stakes, about what lies ahead of him. But for now, in the dim, close space of the cabin, the only sound Georgie murmuring something to Davies a row ahead of him, he feels almost…peaceful, he supposes.
David thinks about other tournaments he’s gone to, how he’d spend his journeys thinking of exactly what he wanted, picturing it so vividly that it was almost unfathomable, the idea that anything else could happen. Thinks about what he wanted at sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. How all he wanted was to defeat Team USA, make them take it right between the teeth. To make Jake take it. How he wanted that even more than he wanted to win.
He still wants to win. He won’t apologise for that, not ever, and he won’t feel guilty if he does. But if they do face the US, if he does face Jake — he’ll be happy to win, but he doesn’t think he’ll feel that sharp, dark satisfaction he used to. He thinks it’ll feel good, and he hopes for it, and he wants it badly, but —
He wants to earn it. He wants them to earn it. And if they don’t earn it, if they don’t deserve it, well.
That’s fine. Or — it’s not fine, but. It’s okay.
*
“May the best team win,” David said to Jake before they left, and for the first time, he thinks he truly meant it.