Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The flight to Vancouver is thankfully only a couple of hours, which is enough time for Mack to have a decent nap with his head slipped down to Will’s shoulder, with his hand splayed over Will's knee. Fortunately, it’s also a pretty quiet flight. For some reason, the only flight was at an hour early enough to verge on inconvenient, and waking up at 5 am had left Mack irascible and irritated, so Will is a little relieved when he clocks out not long after take-off. 

Immigration is quick too, and they’re soon at the Enterprise counter selecting some bog-standard SUV for the week-or-so they’ll be there - they haven’t actually booked their flights home yet. Will suspects this is a bid on Mack’s behalf to be chill about the whole thing: a fool’s errand. After a stop at a Tim Horton’s somewhere east of the airport, they’re headed to the ferry terminal, and Mack’s still a little unnaturally subdued in the car, but seems to be gradually relaxing. Once they’re out on the deck of the car ferry, crossing Schwartz Bay, Mack is fully awake; he starts reminiscing about trips as a child. He and Aiden chasing each other across the deck, crossings so rough they were seasick, the taste of saline on their lips from the sea breeze. Standing on the deck on a bright summer day, Will can see the appeal. 

Will had insisted on driving; Mack had protested - made some references to the one or two minor scrapes he’s had recently - but acquiesced pretty quickly. This leaves Mack free to yap along happily; he tells Will about the orcas and whales they’ve spotted over the years, the encounters with bears or elk blocking the roads, about the rail service his Mom used to ride up and down the island when she was young. Mack seemed much more like, well, like Mackie here; Will could see the boy beyond the hockey persona. Bubbly and relaxed and easily distracted, and the brisk wind of the bay had whipped a flush into his cheeks. He looked beautiful. 

“... and then it came to picking where to buy a summer place. Dad insisted on the east coast, Dolphin Beach or somewhere, but Mom was set on Tofino. We only stopped at Sproat Lake ‘cause Aiden used to get car sick when he was little. But then Dad spotted the for sale sign on one of the cabins, and well it was halfway between both coasts.” 

After a little more reflection, staring out of the rolled-down passenger window, he goes on. “‘O’ course, I wanted somewhere in the BC interior, with the winter sports and stuff… I sulked for weeks, said I’d refuse to go anywhere as boring as Vancouver Island.”

Ah yes, Bratlin Celebrini, a familiar figure, Will adds mentally, but doesn’t have the heart to verbalize it. Not when Mack is so soft and smiley. Instead he flashes Mack a knowing grin, who just rolls his eyes. “But in the end, I’m glad… here feels special - feels right.” Will was starting to get an idea of what it meant when Mack insisted that Will join them here. 

Eventually they drew close to the lake and stopped at a nondescript supermarket on the edge of Port Alberni for some supplies Robyn had texted they needed. Will grabbed a cart and strolled in, Mack trailing in tow; after a few minutes, he joined Will in pushing the cart, their fingers overlapping on the handle, his face with a soft smile. 

Sunday-morning-Mack. Will does follow the list: some Greek yoghurt, ground beef, fresh berries, etc. When he slips in a couple cartons of definitely not Sheriff Rick-approved ice cream, Mack pretends not to notice. Will, remembering the sort-of success of the meal last time he saw the Celebrinis, picks up a couple of bottles of wine despite Mack's puzzled look; they may prove useful. 

With some bickering about the quality of Mack’s verbal directions, and his absolute insistence that Google Maps doesn’t work properly out here, they pull to the Lake house. Will can see that ‘cabin’ was definitely overly modest, as there stood a fine wooden two-storey house with wide eaves and an enclosed porch, a little way back from the road, only a few feet from the water’s edge. Will was reminded of Rick’s very well-paying job. Still, it looked homely and comfortable, with just the edge of peeling paint along the roof line. 

***

The interior confirms Will’s suspicions. The house was not as rustic as it appeared; it was instead rather subtly but beautifully put together, almost certainly the work of Robyn. Bare pine walls and soft furnishings in cool neutrals, with just the right sort of warm-light lamps round the big main living room. The only factor that took away from this tranquillity was the sheer amount of stuff: piles of old board games, wooden oars, stacks and stacks of books, craft supplies. It looks a bit like a dumping ground for excess things. Dad doesn’t like us using our phones much out here, Mack had explained with a shrug. The present tense sticks out to Will. 

Will volunteers to help Robyn with the food; she makes some fuss about him being a guest, but agrees with the help of one of his brightest smiles. Like mother like son - that one worked well on Mack too. Robyn engages him warmly in some conversation, all while tasking him with washing salad leaves, slicing tomatoes, and mixing a dressing. They talk about his cooking abilities, how much he’d picked up from Grace or Colleen over the years, how many recipes he finds online and wants to try, or even stuff Mack sends him, all but begging him to make. They discuss Mack’s cooking skill too, or lack thereof. 

“Well, I’m sure glad to have your help, Will. Those boys, particularly Mack and RJ, it can be so hard to get them to concentrate on a task and get it done - especially if there's no ice involved.” 

“Thanks, I’m just happy to help honestly. It’s a real pleasure to be here.”

Robyn returns with a warm smile, “You’re more than welcome, Will. I’m happy you’ve come… and I think Mack is too.”

Will is a little uncertain of what to say; it’s all new ground to him. He busies himself slicing a bell pepper instead. But Robyn doesn’t seem discouraged.    

“I’ve been thinking a little,” she continues, “about Mackie going to your grandfather's funeral with you, and the two of you living together and- well, being together. And… I’m glad it’s you, Will; I’m glad you’re there for each other, to help each other do the hard stuff.” The knife stills in his hands, but he can’t meet her gaze. 

“I don’t think Mack would have come out to us without you, Will. I mean he’s a brave soul, always has been, but he finds these things hard, I think.” Will looks up to her face and sees that her eyes have the little misty look of someone gazing into the past, or possibly into the future. 

“You mean that he’s bi?” He asks meekly.  

“Well, that, but not just that. I mean that with you there, he could tell Rick… something that wasn’t part of the plan, that he wanted to come out during his career - do something that might damage his career even.” Her face crumples a little at this last thought.

“Younger Mack could never have said that to his Dad. He’s… becoming his own person, and figuring out what he wants. So Will,” she leans in, places a warm hand on his shoulder, “thank you for giving that to me, for showing us how brave Mack can be.”

Without another word, she turns away and carries a wooden salad bowl to the dining table; Will can still feel the warmth of her hand on his shoulder long after she’s left.    

***

They eat at a long wooden table on the screened-in back porch; well, really it’s two identical tables pushed together, surrounded by some rustic chairs that nearly match. Robyn lights some citronella candles. Various plates and salad bowls are passed around: some baked chicken, grilled zucchini and eggplant, cucumber and feta salad, and a wooden bowl filled with pasta salad. Water jugs and glasses are negotiated around the table, likewise with a couple of wine glasses for Robyn and Rick. The mood is warm, with RJ breathlessly narrating all the details of his latest hat trick to Will. But Will still feels a little awkwardness, uncertain of how close to move his knee to Mack’s, who sits beside him, how close to lean in when reaching for some bread across the table, how long to linger his eyes on his face when he starts speaking. He doesn’t know how much he can share, and how much he gets to keep. Thankfully everyone else seems unaware, except for a little stiltedness from Mack. 

Regardless, things seem to be settling, and the Celebrinis appear more or less relaxed. Relaxed enough that when Mack goes to put a second helping of pasta salad on his plate, Rick makes an awkward cough, then Mack freezes in place. Spoon halfway to his plate.

“Macklin, I know it’s off-season, but there’s no reason to go wild on carbs; we don’t want you to ruin all your hard work now.” Robyn cuts a sharp glance to Rick at this. 

The line of Mack’s mouth tightens, his easy disposition vanishes. “Dada… I-” God, he looks miserable. Will tries something desperate. 

“Hey, isn’t the sunset over the lake meant to be pretty? Mack, I think we have to go now - to not miss it.” It’s not particularly elegant, but it’ll probably work. He doesn’t give Mack a chance to respond, just rises from his chair and pulls him by his wrist towards the porch door. 

“Now hang o-” Rick starts, but Robyn verbally barrels straight past with a big smile and hurried nod. “Yes, what a great idea. Mackie, why don’t you show Will the sunset on his first night here.”

Only, of course, it’s Will who pulls Mack outside, glad that Robyn was fast enough to catch on. He immediately pulls them down along the lake shore, walking in any random direction; he’s not really sure where he’s going - he’s not had time to explore. And Mack’s still unnaturally quiet behind him. After a few feet, Will drops his tight grip from off his wrist, but Mack keeps following behind. Will lifts his head to admire the lake; really, it is beautiful: a bright, warm orange, just edging on pink, swallows the blue of the lake, and his pace slows. He understands how someone could feel themself here. 

Eventually Mack speaks. “You’re not that slick, Smith.” Will looks behind to face him, and is struck blind by the way the orange glow lights Mack’s broad features, how it changes the green of his eyes, edging on hazel. 

“What do you… I-”

“I mean,” says Mack with a huff, “to say thanks, I guess. For trying to help with Dad, even if… I think you don’t entirely understand it. I know you just want to scream at him or whatever.” Well, that much was true. “It means something to me that you’re trying to distract me and stuff.” Will feels a little uncertain with Mack’s sudden keen ability to read him on full display. 

With a little sigh, Mack draws near, “Why don’t we walk in the lake?”

“Huh?”

“I mean like, we can just carry our shoes and socks and walk in the lake. It’s nice and cool.” At Will’s facial expression, he turns a little defensive. “Look, it’s not weird, you know, I used to do it a lot as a kid.” 

Will decides this is really not the time to comment on the various idiosyncrasies of the Celebrini family, and instead plasters on a small smile and removes his shoes and socks, then rolls up his jeans a little at the ankle. Mack does the same, and they shuffle down the pebbly shore to walk westwards, squinting against the sun. Gradually their free hands gravitate towards each other, and their paces fall into step, just as on the ice. 

Occasionally Will tries to swat the inevitable mosquitoes that fill the lakeside, flailing his hand that’s effectively occupied by his shoes, much to Mack’s amusement. 

“Hey, I don’t know why you’re laughing; I could catch dengue!”

Mack rolls his eyes, and since the lakeshore close to dark is effectively devoid of anyone else, he places the barest kiss to his cheek. Will hopes it’s too dark to see him blush, enjoying the sensation of their fingers laced together. They stroll along, ankles pushing through the water, arms swinging between them until the night has well and truly drawn in.

***

The knock comes heavy and loud, filling the bedroom. Will is roused from sleep sharply, raising his head from where it was tucked tightly behind Mack’s neck, an arm still thrown over his waist, plastered to his back. Will lets out a groan, but Mack remains sleeping like a rock. 

“Up and at ‘em, boys. 5 minutes!” Comes Rick's voice. Will checks his phone; it’s seven thirty in the morning. Rick Fucking Celebrini. 

Will finally managed to get Mack up and awake and sort-of in workout gear - though it takes all but threatening to waterboard him with coffee; they step outside to find Rick, arms on hips, a whistle round his neck. 

“Just cause you’re on vacation doesn’t mean you skip pre-season prep; pre-season is-”

“Where the season is made.” Mack interrupts, the script obviously familiar. 

“We’ll start with an eight-kilometer run, the south shore trail.” 

Mack mutters something foul under his breath. 

“I heard that, Macklin.”

“Good.” Two pissed-off Celebrinis were definitely not better than one Will thinks. 

The trail is filled with root branches and larger rocks; Will has to keep his eyes mostly fixed to the path, occasionally making a sudden leap over a protruding object. Mack sets a brutal pace; Will suspects this is more to do with being angry at his Dad than a burning desire to train - but still he seems curiously unsurprised about this turn of events. Will thinks back to snippets Mack has told him, of suicides up Grouse Grind at ungodly hours in the morning. 

Then comes the work out on the dock, thirty push-ups, forty sit-ups, holding a plank for a minute, and on and on. Only halfway through, and Will already feels sweaty and exhausted, like he’s been double-shifted; Mack looks barely affected. Just as they start, RJ comes peeling out of the house and demands to join them, but not at Mack’s side; he joins Will’s left instead. Will suspects it’s probably less to do with a desire to exercise and more to spend time with a real NHL player he isn’t directly related to. In any case, he doesn’t last the full set - getting bored and jumping in the lake instead. Rick seems to just ignore this, too focused on Mack.

Will starts to detect a pattern that makes him uneasy - Rick is noticeably more complimentary of Will’s performance than Mack’s; even though the latter is better: he spirits the last of the trail, he planks longer than the minute already specified, his push-ups are faster. Even Rick seems to become aware, and begins to give Mack the odd word of praise, but if he thought this would defuse things, he was wrong. Each variation on ‘“God job, Macklin” only seems to set Mack’s jaw tighter and tighter, refusing to look up at his father.

Rick sends them to stand in the lake for ‘recovery’; despite it being summer, the water is still freezing for an adoptive Californian like Will. Mack’s body is wound tight, not good. But what strikes Will is that he’s still doing what Rick orders them to, despite hating every minute. Rick, too, seems perturbed that his praise, such crumbs as are given, isn’t having its intended effect of winding Mack down. Will wades his way over to Mack, who is starting to gain just a slight tremble in his frame, and places a hand over the small of his back. The effect is immediate, like cutting the strings on a puppet, and out of the corner of his eye Will thinks he can see Rick notice this too from where he stands on the dock. 

“Alright - Will, Mack… you can head in.”

Will just nods in silent acceptance; he tries to hide Mack’s face from Rick as they climb the shore towards the house. Mack’s head falls heavier and heavier into the crook of Will’s neck.

***

After a quick shower, and it really is a quick shower - they both being too exhausted after Rick’s overly vigorous training plan to try anything - they come downstairs to fix some lunch. Robyn is patiently teaching Charlie to make a Caesar salad dressing, which mostly consists of Charlie bashing to death some garlic and anchovies in a mortar and pestle, displaying at least some late-teenage aggression. Will finds himself writing down the instructions in his notes app, with Robyn giving him a wry smile when she notices, but says nothing; instead, cajoling Mack into washing some lettuce. 

Soon enough it’s time to pick Aiden and Rachel from Nanaimo - originally Rick had said something about going, but thinking about, well… everything, Will volunteered himself and Mack to instead. 

The drive is warm and pleasant, with Mack finding some old Best of Fleetwood Mac album to put on, leaning his head quietly against the window, the knuckles of his hand just brushing against Will’s jeans. One of those moods then. 

Will can’t help but feel the temptation to push Mack a little. 

“Why did you ask them to invite Rachel?” Will winces a little about being so blunt. Usually he’s more strategic than this. 

“What?” Mack raises his head off the window a little to look at Will directly, “cause she’s Aiden’s girlfriend, of course… Oh, and Aid says she used to spend summers here as a kid just like us.”

Will glances away from the road for a second. “Mack… you know that’s not what I was asking about. I mean neither of you have brought girlfriends here before, have you?” Or, Dear God, boyfriends for that matter. Mack’s silence was answer enough, and for a small while that’s all Will thought he was going to get out of Mack. 

“I just kept thinking about having you here,” Mack confesses quietly. “And about having you at dinner with my folks, when I came out and stuff. How you make me feel like a kind of whole person, not just like a hockey persona, or some dumb boy-wonder or whatever, and… I just wanted Aiden to have that too. Like maybe I don’t get why he wants to leave hockey, but the least I can do is make sure he’s got someone there who like… gets it.” 

“You get it, don’t you, Smitty?” Will doesn’t even think it's a real question, but gives a little nod anyway. Mack's voice trails off, “You always get it, even when I don’t.” Will can’t help but think back to Chicago, and wonder if there are things that Mack is ahead of him on. The rest of the journey is quiet.

It doesn’t take long for Will to spot them at the ferry terminal; Aiden’s smile looks just a little uncertain.  As for the tall, dark-haired girl next to him, her smile is more confident. She was almost Aiden’s height, with strong features that almost edged on handsome. Will jumped out of the driver’s seat, walking up to greet them properly. Mack trails behind a few seconds later, mind still a bit fuzzy. 

“Smitty!” Up close, Aiden’s smile looks wider now, and he goes to dap Will up. “Ha - I’m glad it’s you here and not my Dad, not gonna lie-” he trails off and turns to face his girlfriend. “And this is Rachel.” She embraces him in a quick hug; they shove the bags roughly in the back of Will’s hired SUV and hit the road westwards once again. 

***

Not long after they arrive back at the house, Aiden suggests they go out canoeing on the lake; it’s late afternoon, so there’s enough time for a couple of hours or so. Aiden calls it a ‘couples’ trip, after RJ says that he wants to join too, and delivers this with a wink; it’s a jab to the ribs that’s certain to both annoy and embarrass Mack. Will, however, could not possibly feel embarrassed; he’s too busy fondly admiring Mack’s red face as he stomps around, looking for his sunscreen. 

“Oh shit, you guys have got wooden canoes?” Will asks, following the brothers round the side of the house to the lean-to. Lean-to being an understated word for what was essentially a massive one-and-a-half storey shed attached to the side of the structure, filled with multiple Kayaks, at least four decently sized canoes, as well as life jackets, paddles, oars, an upturned row boat, a ride-on mower and spurious other lake-side items. 

Both Will and Rachel stop, a little in awe, once past the heavily padlocked barn-style door. 

“A higher tax bracket, eh?” She quips, and Will flashes her a smirk in return. He didn’t feel compelled to mention his own parents’ (at least!) equally high tax bracket. 

“Will, are you actually gonna help or what?” Mack asks, already at one end of one of the canoes on the wall, voice petulant either at being once again called a rich boy, or at Will smirking at anyone that isn’t him. Rachel walks easily over to Aiden and stands where he directs her, Mack’s attitude so familiar to him he doesn’t even chirp him for it. 

One after another they lift two canoes off their mountings, inside each they place paddles and life jackets, and carry them down to the lakeshore, not far from the Celebrinis wooden dock. Mack bitches at Will the whole way down about not letting it drag on the ground, and Will, I’m serious. Will is tempted to let the canoe dip to scrape the ground just a little, but knows that it’s probably not a good idea to push Mack too far, especially when they’re about to spend two hours on the water together. Chances were already quite high that he was gonna hit Will ‘accidentally’ round the head with a heavy wooden paddle. To make it worse, he’s pretty sure Robyn and Rick would help him dispose of the body too, with Rick giving an impromptu lecture on properly hiding fresh-cut grave sites. Oh well, at least the lakeside view would be nice. 

He can’t help but notice that Aiden and Rachel are sharing private, amused smiles at their antics. Ultimately, with just a bit more bickering on Mack and Will’s end, they manage to launch both canoes off the pebbly foreshore. Both Celebrinis assume their God-given positions at the front of the crafts, of course, and start arguing about arm strength and stroke game with very little self-awareness; this naturally leads to them splashing each other with their paddles, and then a race. Aiden and Mack, being utterly unable to have any leisure activity that doesn’t become insanely competitive, start screaming directives at their respective partners to paddle faster for Fuck’s sake and push yourself, Asshole. Although Will notices that neither he nor Rachel are, in point of fact, paddling all that hard, not that either of the brothers can tell, both are too focused on insulting each other and trying to gain the upper hand.  Rachel gives Will a wink just as their canoe eventually edges ahead, clearly enjoying proceedings - she’s fitting right in, he thinks. She’s certainly physically strong enough to keep up. 

In the end, Aiden and Mack seem to tire themselves out, and the canoes go off, at a more measured pace this time, in different directions. Will and Mack paddle much more placidly once separated from the others, Mack pointing at various sights round the lake, recounting some stories of getting stuck in islets or falling in. Will wondered if this was the most relaxed Mack he’s seen since arriving; he knows how competition helps Mack decompress. 

Eventually the sun passed behind some faint clouds, and the chill in the breeze picked up - this appeared to be some clue from nature to the Celebrini boys to end their little trip. It would, in all likelihood, be dark soon enough. The two canoes meet in the middle of the lake once more, and the siblings pull the canoes alongside as they paddle, leisurely this time, towards the Celebrini's dock. Easy conversation passes between them, Mack asking about BU’s first line, about this year’s freshmen, Aiden about Toff and Bedard and a few others. Despite the breezy atmosphere, Will notices they conspicuously don't talk about Aiden’s plans, or the future, or their Dad. Rachel takes the opportunity to chat casually with Will, but he finds it's not long before she’s asking all sorts, about the Sharks, life in the league, Olympic prospects, etc. He does feel slightly like he’s undergoing a surgical operation - but it's in an affable way at least.

They beach the canoes on the foreshore, Mack and Aiden still happily chirping at each other and bickering about something stupid that happened in Mack’s BU year. Will steps out of the canoe and helps to lift it further up the shore away from the water, wiping his hand on his swim shorts once this has been achieved; there had been some horrible cack on it from the boat’s side. He’s suddenly surprised by the weight of Mack as he throws himself at Will, kiss firmly planted on his lips with two hands to bracket Will’s face. Still flashing Will a bright smile, he links an arm over his shoulders and guides them towards the house. Will is a little stunned but not unperturbed; he tries to act easy and unbothered. 

“Eh, we can probably just ditch these here, right, Aid?” Mack throws over his shoulder. He remains gazing at Will’s face, not really looking at his brother. 

Will can see Aiden roll his eyes and share a look with Rachel. “Not shy of PDA with his boyfriend then.” He taunts, but is smiling. Whilst they languidly walk towards the house, Will is pretty certain he faintly hears some comment he passes to Rachel about the pressures of being a boyking. Well, he’s not wrong there at least. It was hard to find a moment where at least some part of Mack was not thinking about being a ‘generational talent’ or whatever. 

Will knew what it felt like to fall into Mack’s orbit, to be aware that all the while you’re being eclipsed. Giving up his hopes of being a star center, gladly playing wing to Mack was a price he had accepted long before they started fucking. Somehow, placing a tender hand on Mack’s shoulder, being the one to talk him down in the locker room, the one to grind his hips down, shove his sweaty back down onto the bed, hear him muffle a curse into the pillowcase he bottomed out… It was worth it. Or it became worth it somewhere along the way; Will wasn’t sure. 

Months ago, he overheard Dickie and Misa call him the Mack Whisperer. Naturally, this had pissed him off and he’d chirped something stupid back to them - but it wasn’t helped by the fact it was probably accurate. Looking back on it, he wondered how long they could realistically keep this from the team. The besotted face Mack often wore when he looked at Will was about as subtle and underplayed as a red square May Day parade. 

The warmth between them dissipates a little, of course, and by the time they’re sitting at the dinner table, passing the water glasses and bread basket round, the mood is considerably cooler. Robyn, admirably, makes some chatter about their time canoeing, trying to engage Will and Rachel, making some apologies about having to give Rachel and Aiden the sofa-bed in the den. But Will can sense a certain sullen silence between the Celebrini men. Not a good sign - it usually means Mack’s upset about something but doesn’t know how to express it, or possibly does know how to express it but is aware it won’t be pretty. Is it some sort of curse that they should all be so alike? 

Rick is still uncharacteristically subdued but at least has the manners to ask Rachel about herself. When she mentions her recently acquired place on a Master’s program, Rick congratulates her with a genuine smile. At least he can do that bit right, Will thinks. But pretty soon after, there is an awkward, driving silence. 

Rachel gives an unsubtle subtle cough, and when this doesn’t have its intended effect, she ploughs on. A fast learner then.  

“You know… Aiden got accepted into med school as well.” She prompted, and then gave her boyfriend an affectionate look. “He worked really hard, did the MCAT and his interview, and it paid off.” She raises an eyebrow and turns it on Rick. 

Rick shuffles uncomfortably in his seat for a moment, then comes out with something along the lines of: “Oh well… Well done to him, I suppose, for er- working hard at something.” 

And to just say that, in front of Aiden’s younger brothers, in front of Will, in front of his girlfriend. It’s pretty damn humiliating. 

At the other end of the table RJ and Charlie stop bickering about who gets the first shower, Robyn turns sharply, and the equivalent in silence of an atomic bomb falls on the table. It starts small, before expanding exponentially; he feels Mack hurriedly put his hand on Will’s thigh in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Three… two… one.

Aiden jumps up fast, his waist accidentally bashing the extended leaves of the table, cutlery and glasses rattling. In effect, he detonates.

“Oh for Fuck’s sake, Dad, why can’t you ju-” Rick is already starting into some angry protests, Robyn raising her hands in placation. 

But it’s Rachel’s voice that cuts through the clearest. Not that she’s louder, or stands up in blazing fury like Aiden, but it’s through sheer certainty and authority. 

“I think it’s cruel, Rick, to say that.”

“Aiden has worked hard at hockey; he’s done nearly everything you ever asked of him. I admire him, for trying, for working hard, even when that wasn’t enough, especially when it wasn’t enough.” Aiden slowly falls back into his seat; he looks a little awestruck; Will wonders privately if it’s the first time anyone’s ever said that to him. Already the anger is starting to slide off Rick’s features. 

“I know a thing about disappointed fathers, believe me. Kids grow up, and sometimes they’re not the people you hoped they’d be.”

Her expression is still solid, serious. “But if you shout at them to get in line, to be who you’ve planned, you’ll miss out on seeing them become something more.”

Will could clap, honest to God he could, but the table was still too tense, the situation too volatile. Instead he tried for a well-patented Will Smith technique: diversion.

“Robyn,” he puts on a frankly award-winning smile, “why don’t Mack and I take the den? Aiden and Rachel can have the double we slept in last night.”

“Oh Will,” she’s a little perplexed but seems to catch on fast, “that’s very kind of you, but you don’t have to offer that.”

“Nonsense,” he replies with easy charm and a gregarious smile. The Celebrini men are turning to face them now, the bizarre charade of regency politeness effective in distracting them from their brewing stand-off. “It’s only fair; we slept there last night. We don’t mind taking the den, really.” Robyn at least looked convinced, or possibly is trying her best to, relieved by the distraction. 

Mack is, well, less pleased with this offer, still having some weird childish thing about not getting the best. He looks at Will like he had just announced to his parents their proclivities for post-game frotting. “Will”, he hissed. 

Will prepares his most teen-idol smile, and weaponises it against Mack. “Come on Mackie, it’s only fair.” He watches Mack melt with smug satisfaction.

***

Aiden, Mack and RJ make some noise about setting up a game of Catan, with RJ absolutely insisting on doing it in four teams of two: the three sets of couples, and he and his sister, or better yet he and Will against Aiden and Mack. For some reason RJ still held Will in a kind of pre-teen awe, an adoration for this actual NHL player amongst them, that he utterly lacked for Mack. The few times Mack had peevishly commented on this, about being Canada’s Captain at Worlds and such, had been treated with such utter contempt by RJ that Will had had to stifle a laugh. Will thought that a couples Catan game sounded about as much like an open declaration of hostilities it was possible to get. 

Instead, Charlie managed to wave RJ off and put on a DVD of some Wes Anderson comedy she’d found stacked behind the ageing flat-screen TV. Will sank deeply into the living room’s leather sectional, not really paying attention to the film, and felt Mack lie with increasing weight against his side. His face grew slack with sleep. The tension was at least dissipating. Will noticed Robyn excused herself to tackle some laundry, and after forty minutes or so Aiden disappeared out of the room without a word. 

After making sure Mack was gone to the world, Will slipped into the hall corridor, heading for a drink and idly stretching his limbs, when he overheard Robyn’s voice carrying from the upstairs landing. He felt caught, awkward, but unable to leave. He carefully stepped closer. 

“... of course your Dad and I are proud of you, honey. We always are.”

Will risked a glance up the stairs from the bottom; in the soft diffused light of the landing, he could see Aiden and Robyn, her hand reaching up and gently cradling his cheek. 

“Your Dad… when he gets a big idea, he just has a hard time letting go.” But Will’s mind strays to Mack at her words. “He’ll come round, and when he does, he’ll be your number one supporter. He just needs time.”

Will stays stock still at the bottom step. Fortunately, Aiden doesn’t look down, instead disappearing into the guest room Will and Mack had vacated just after dinner. Will is not quick enough in his retreat, and Robyn spots him; her smile is tight but not scolding. She says nothing about what he’d just overheard, but she must know he had. 

“I err-” he starts, feeling out of sorts, uncertain of what to say, of where to land. In the end it’s moot point, as Mack slides silently next to him. It’s a skill he poses but rarely seems inclined to use. He slides an arm around Will's waist, and drops his head to his  shoulder. Robyn’s expression warms a little at his open affection. 

“I’ll just get you boys some fresh bedding; I’m sure Mack can show you how to unfold the sofa-bed.” She turns to go but pauses. “Oh, and… well, I’ll just make RJ knows to stay out of the den whilst you’re there. Give you some privacy, hmm?” She gives Will a knowing look, and he feels his cheeks color. 

“Mom,” Mack’s whine is instantaneous and affronted. 

“What?” She replies with a grin, “You’re both young men; it’s perfectly natural. Just - be respectful, okay? Keep the noise… y’know, down.” And with that, she left, ritual humiliation apparently over. Having your boyfriend’s Mom allude to your sex life was a fresh and novel Hell to Will.

***

The den is surprisingly comfortable as a bedroom, if admittedly not a massive room; a slightly dated lamp was tucked into the corner, its beige shade cast the room into a soft warmth. With just himself and Mack in the room, Will could feel himself exhale just a little bit more. Mack directed them into unfolding the double bed out from the slightly creased sofa, and rather like the room, it’s not very large. Though, he had perhaps been longing for a night pressed up to the firm line of Mack’s back, warm with sleep. Well, they had been apart a lot of the summer - sue him for getting sentimental. 

It didn’t help either just how soft Mack looked as he pulled on a pair of plaid flannel pants. Being Mack and running hot all the time, he’s foregone the pretence of a shirt - and Will makes sure to get a good eyeful - strike whilst the iron is hot, etc. Mack, as usual, is not as oblivious as he seems, and shuffles round the room with a wry little smile. He’s definitely overdoing it, however, when he bends double to rummage for something in the bottom of his case; regardless, Will jumps at the opportunity to get a good look at his muscular glutes. His mouth runs dry. 

It’s only once they slide under the covers together, Mack soppily crawling up to rest on Will’s chest, that he realises what he had been looking for. Mack scrunches into his preferred position when he’s feeling a little emotionally vulnerable, face tucked into Will’s neck, hair just tickling Will’s chin, and Will looks down; he feels something felty from too many wash cycles rest against his sternum. It’s Sharkie; Mack had brought him from California. Will isn't entirely sure he gets it, frankly; he’s not really capable of being tender in that way, but hasn’t ever questioned Mack on it either. Like many things with them, it’s a stalemate, a temporary armistice. Nevertheless, he does get the sensation that Mack has caught him staring quizzically at the plushie.

“It’s not… weird.” Mack’s voice is subtle in the dim room. It’s a statement, but he’s not very sure about it. This is something he needs to do sometimes, Will has realised: to think aloud, just Mack and Will.

“It’s just- he helps me. Reminds me of who I am, I think.” He mutters it into Will’s clavicle, who can feel the gentle ghost of his breath and his lips as he does so. Will chooses to stay still and see if Mack will step out a bit further, put another foot onto the tightrope. 

“My Mom… She bought him for me when we moved to the Bay Area. Said I was gonna start playing for the Sharks Juniors. Of course I hated the whole idea - loyal Canucks fan, see?” Will can feel a smile stretch out against his skin. “I could be very stubborn, and I- I found change hard. I still do, I think. But Mom, she bought me Sharkie, and said he was my first new friend in California, said I was gonna do great things, even though it was scary, because she knew what kind of person I was.”

There was another silence; Will just wrapped an arm carefully over the broad expanse of Mack’s back. He was aware of the juxtaposition of a heavy-set, six-foot hockey player and a squishy, aging plush toy. That was perhaps the point.  

Mack pushed on. “I was probably too old for that to work, like twelve or so, but it did. It… he reminds me I’m still that kid. And for ages, when I was in Chicago or at BU, I left him behind. I thought it was weird, and that I was too old. But Mom, she found him in my old room, and gave it to me before Worlds, y’know, not long after the first time we… Anyway, when she gave him to me again, she- she said it’s important to know who you are, to be reminded of your past, and like… to be kind to yourself.” 

Will’s mind is drawn to nights, after a bad loss especially, of slowly coaxing Mack to eat or to shower or just to lie in bed together. Robyn knows her son too well - it’s funny now to think that they earnestly thought they could ever hide their relationship from her. And it’s true, it’s something he’s in awe of - Mack’s wellspring of belief in himself, and in Will too. That last part is especially terrifying. How can he know? How does he know he’ll be the youngest captain ever on Team Canada? How does he know we’ll win the Stanley Cup? How can he know I won’t hurt him? 

Mack pulls his body up the bed, so that now he lies on Will’s pillow, their faces just barely apart; they don’t make eye contact, though. That would be just too much; it might break whatever delicate balance had filled the den. 

“And when I look at Sharkie, I feel a bit like a stupid kid again. But then I remember that I love hockey - that I always did. That this-” now his eyes do creep up towards Will’s face, “is always something I wanted. I never really doubted it.” 

Will can feel the pulse of his heart in his ear, squished as it is against the downy pillow, the warmth of Mack’s breath so close. They let the silence fall gently, rest over them, blanket-soft, bodies heavy with sleep, at once suffocating and comforting. 

***

Rick’s knock is just as loud and forceful the next day, but comes at eight fourty-five this time. Will supposes that this was meant to be a concession. This time round, Mack rouses more easily, but if anything looks even more anguished than before. Will feels compelled to reach out, wrap an arm under his neck, place his face to Mack’s open throat. 

“Baby,” Will starts; he can hear Mack’s breath hitch. “You know… we don’t have to. Rachel and Aiden, they’re going surfing today - we can join them.” 

“Dad won’t like that - Aiden skipping on training.”

“Well… he’ll just have to suck it up.” Will pulls back to look at Mack, only to see his face crack a little. 

“It’s just… I hate being this angry with him, I’m so frustrated, and he won’t listen.” Mack’s voice creaks in anguish. “I don’t mind some summer training, but I want to spend time with you too… and he doesn’t even think about what I want. That I might need something other than constant training.”

Will smooths his thumbs over the corners of Mack’s eyes, where tears are threatening to spill over. 

“Come on.” Is about all Will can say. He gets them up and sort-of dressed. He finds Robyn downstairs making breakfast; she greets them with a kind smile; Will thinks there’s a little sympathy in it too. 

They chew on nutrigrain whole-wheat toast - a Rick prescription - although Robyn slides a pat of butter over to them, to help, she says. Will’s considering trying for another cup of coffee when he starts to hear the argument really take off. It’s Aiden’s voice, carrying from upstairs, down through the kitchen’s open door. Will’s pretty sure he can hear Rick’s low tones rising in volume too, although he can’t make out any of the particulars; he’s pretty damn sure what it’s about. Mack’s gone rigid, acting as if he can’t hear it, although Will’s certain he can. 

Five minutes or so later, Rick strolls into the kitchen, some affectation of being cool and calm. 

“Outside and ready for the trail run in ten, okay boys?”

Will gives a curt nod. 

“No.” Mack’s voice is low, pitched at the wood of the kitchen table. 

“What’s that, Mackie?” Rick asks, in slight disbelief. 

Mack looks up; God, does he look a little wrecked. 

“No, Dad, we’re not doing that.” Rick’s expression soon goes from surprised to stony. His jaw sets firm, just as Mack’s does; Will notices. 

“We’re not doing that. Instead, my… boyfriend and me - we’re going surfing with Aiden and Rachel.”

“Fine.” Is Rick's reply, although his facial expression suggests it’s anything but. 

Mack apparently considers the conversation settled; he rises quickly and shoulders past his dad, out of the kitchen and towards the den. Will scrambles after him, intentionally keeping his gaze off Rick.  

***

Half an hour later, they meet Aiden and Rachel beside Wil’s hired SUV; the pair are packing a cooler and happily chatting. “How’d it go with Dad?” Aiden asks, face falling when he sees Mack’s expression, “Oh.”

Mack opens his mouth once or twice, but nothing much comes out. Will can definitely see pity in Rachel’s eyes.

Will jumps in, “I think it’s best we just hit the road now - y’know, nice and early.” 

He unlocks the car, and the other two get in. He guides Mack round to the passenger side; he places a peck to Mack’s face, more sincere than he was aiming for. With no response from Mack other than a slow blink, he carefully puts his hand on Mack’s chin and turns his face towards his own. 

“Hey, you did the hard thing okay; you told him no. That’s a big step, right? I’m... proud of you.” Mack just gives a small nod of agreement, a slight look of embarrassment on his face alongside something else. Wordlessly, he gets into the passenger seat. 

Will puts Tofino into Google Maps, but Rachel ends up directing them to Cox Bay, says she knows a guy. Boy does she, it turns out.

She has them drive to almost the northernmost end of the Bay, then shouts a directive to stop here outside an open, weather-beaten old shack. A large guy with a scraggly beard, six-five at least, comes out - he could easily be mistaken for a Bruins defenseman. She wraps him in a big hug. Will and the Celebrini brothers slide out of the car, enraptured by unexpected events 

“Dazza!” … Is apparently his name. “I thought you were gonna give it all up!” She shouts with unabated glee.

“Ha - just one more season. That’s what I keep saying - Julie isn’t too happy about it though.”

‘Dazza’ looks over her shoulder to the three boys; Rachel suddenly realises who she’s here with. 

“Dazza, this is Aiden, my boyfriend,” Aiden gives an awkward wave, “and this is Mack, his little brother,” middle brother Mack mutters, “and Will, Mack’s boyfriend.” Will freezes at this sudden public outing, but Dazza only gives them a cursory once-over before beckoning them inside. 

“Dazza’s an old friend from my days here. He’ll get us set up with boards and wetsuits an’ all. And with an employee discount too - taught at that damn surf school for long enough.” Rachel explains. 

Mack and Aiden follow Dazza inside, but Will rushes to Rachel’s side as they head in. 

“You just told him I’m Mack’s boyfriend,” he whispers harshly, “what if he recognises like - the next face of Hockey Canada?!”

“Please, the man’s Australian, he wouldn’t know a hockey puck if it hit him on the head,” Rachel replies in easy dismissal. To be fair, it hadn't looked like he’d recognised them. 

“One’s not likely to, out here at least.” Will mumbles, but follows the others to find a wetsuit.

Once they are suited up, freshly rented boards being dragged out to the ocean, Rachel starts to talk. 

“When I was a kid, Mom inherited some little vacation home around here, and when it got a bit too much at home in Van, I’d beg her to take us up here. My brother got really into the surf one summer, and so did I - but he lost interest whilst I… just kept doing. I was probably only about fifteen or so.” She adds with a rueful smile, “and of course Dad hated it - I think that kept me going.” 

They’ve hit the sand by this point. “I was determined to be a surfer; that was my dream then. So I got to know all the local guys; I taught at the surf school Dazza ran then. I got some shifts at the food shack down the beach too, and surfed practically every day.” She indicates the way. 

This is clearly all news to Aiden, only familiar with the Rachel he knew from Boston. He asks meekly, “Babe - what happened?”

“Eh,” she starts, with a slightly false breeziness, “summer ended.”

And then quieter than before. “Plus I tried a few competitions, even won one or two - but then- then I found out about the Men's surfing world. About just how much more the men won, that they could make careers, but we-” She stills, looking out to sea. “Well, my grades were good anyway so I could go to college like Dad wanted.” 

Rachel guided them into the surf, her melancholy seeming to fade as the minutes went by, with each fresh wave crashing in. It was no surprise to find that she was amazing. Will was fascinated by her grace and poise as she pushed herself into the waves, instructing the others how to do the same, even intentionally rolling in the waves a couple of times to show them how to recover. The skill of an athlete in every move. Will definitely found it harder and that required quite a lot of effort, but he managed to get to his knees and even crouch for a few seconds to uproarious encouragement from Rachel. 

Unfortunately, Aiden and Mack appeared to be naturals, just as in everything else. Will is more than a little annoyed by this. They repeatedly manage to stand to ride the waves, and their innate competitiveness only seems to push the brothers on; at once chirping and encouraging. 

“Hey! Get out of the way, Mackie, I’ll show you how it’s done!” Aiden shouts over. 

“Ha! I fucking doubt it amateur!” 

“Now, now, come on Mack, I know you’ve always admired my ability to be better than you.” The glaring fact that Mack is the one with the NHL career and Aiden without one goes unmentioned. 

“Yeah! That’s fuckin’ right - you’ve always been my hero!” Will thinks Mack is going for sarcastic, but instead he just sounds sincere and honest. He probably is, although inadvertently. Mack’s absolute inability to act is striking again. 

Aiden catches this too. He pauses, holding off on running at another wave, his smile falling only slightly. “That’s okay, bud; I know that.”

Mack is awkward, and doesn’t chirp back. Instead Aiden turns like he’s going to make for another wave, but aborts his motion halfway through. “You’re Dad’s favorite anyway - you know that!” It sounds a bit like a dig but isn’t very successful; he adds, “especially now.” 

Mack’s shoulders visibly slump, both boys still, waist deep in the water, not fully committed to waves nor to the beach a few feet away. Rachel and Will draw closer, distracted from where she’s been trying to show him a new board angle. 

“It’s- it’s not exactly fun being his favorite either, Aid,” Mack responds after a pause, his gaze fixed firmly on the water, away from Aiden's crestfallen look. 

Aiden draws near, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Buddy - I know, trust me, I know.” 

After a while, he gains the confidence to keep going. “You know, with Dad… if you do what he says all the time - it still won’t ever be enough.” Mack looks up at his brother sharply. 

“What…?” Mack’s voice dies in his throat. Had he not… realised this? 

“Dad, he’s not really your coach, Mackie, and like- to be a good coach, you have to know when to switch off. When to be a Dad instead, and Rick- he hasn’t learnt that trick yet.”

Mack is unusually still; he asks, “Is that why he stopped running Charlie’s practice sessions - after… that fight at Thanksgiving?” 

Aiden looks a little shocked to hear Mack ask that, shocked that he hadn’t figured that out on his own. Me too, he thinks. “Yeah bud, that’s why,” he says, voice tender.

At this point Will is close enough to place a hand gently over Mack's elbow, but he still doesn’t look at Will. Instead he seems just content to know he’s there.

Aiden gathers himself. “Come on bro, that last wave was shit! I’ll show you how it’s properly done! Right, Rachel?” He throws her a wink, fully committing to the bit of asshole older brother. She shakes her head affably. Mack springs from Will’s touch to chase his brother into the surf.

***

The sun is lost, far out to sea, far to the west, and the sky is just starting to turn. Their wetsuits have long been returned. Aiden and Mack walk ahead, their figures in animated conversation, their energy the sort that comes from too many weeks spent apart. Instead of rushing to keep up, just one step behind Mack, to orbit round him as he would on the ice, he holds back. He and Rachel fall into a companionable step together. He finds the more time he spends with her, the more he likes her. If he weren’t so deeply, sickeningly in l- well with Mack, he’d feel a little jealous of Aiden.

Will tries not to stumble over his own thoughts too much, but from the expression on Rachel’s face he knows she’s noticed. Apparently she’d just said something. With a heavy eye roll, she pulls out of her shoulder bag a vape and shakes it in Will’s direction. He pauses a little, but it’s more from a recalibration to events than to decline.  

Will takes it wordlessly and drags in a puff; as he expected, it’s pretty strong. He puts in a valiant effort not to cough. Rachel, at least, looks entertained by the performance. 

Passing it back to her, he asks, “Jesus, how often do you whip that thing out?”

“Not that often. But I find it helps.” Her face is somewhere between a smirk and a smile. 

“Helps? Helps with…?” He prompts 

“Oh, y’know, with Aiden. When he’s got a little too much Rick in his head.” Ah. 

She’s definitely smirking now. Her expression turned a little lascivious.

“But I suppose you’ve got your own methods of dealing with that in Mack.” She gives him a wink. How could she possibly know ab-

Rather than reply, or possibly even confess, he just makes grabby motions for the vape again, and takes a hefty drag. 

They stroll on, silently admiring the muscular outlines of the brothers in the orange-pink-ish light. Will wonders if this is what the rest of his life will feel like, trailing just a few steps behind Mack; he wonders if that would be enough for him. 

Fortunately, Rachel drags him back, out of his plaintive feeling. “My Dad… he was always a bit of the stereotype, you know? He’s Taiwanese, and, well- pushy wouldn’t begin to cover it.” 

They keep their gentle pace up the beach, Will unwilling to interrupt. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what embarrassed me worse as a kid, his attitude, or that it was all so stereotypical, to be Chinese-Canadian with a tiger parent ha… Of course, it all ended up blowing up. I’d tried various attempts at rebellion as a teen; they didn’t really help though. Then when I went to college in the States I just… cut  him off.”

Will looks at her face, but her eyes are fixed westwards, out into the Pacific. 

“Have you…? Do you still…?” He tries to ask but is not quite sure how. 

Rachel gets it anyway. “Yeah, we’re back to talking. He’s not really there yet but… he’s closer to it.”

“What helped?”

Now she looks at him. “Honestly, I think it got better when I stopped treating him like he was some minor God I was trying to appease, or possibly anger. My Grandma dying helped too - they had a fucked up relationship, just like us.” She takes another drag. “I think after that he did some reflecting.”

She falls silent for a while, but whatever’s eating at her brain, she has to let it out. 

“Rick, he’s- well, even I can tell he really cares, but doesn’t really know how to be anything other than a coach. Aiden says their grandfather was kind of a dick too… Perhaps everyone’s on their own timetable, but they’ll all get there… eventually.”

“I’d like to think so,” Will says simply, because well, what else is there? 

***

Breakfast is stilted and awkward; Will sits himself down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, waiting for Mack to finish one of his marathon-length showers. Will suspected it might also have been a delaying action on missing the awkwardness of breakfast, but if so, it was probably in vain. He noticed that, sagely, Rachel and Aiden had slipped away for more surfing without eating first. 

The source of the cold front in the atmosphere was Rick, who was humorlessly busying himself making eggs and turkey bacon. Fortunately, RJ was at the table too, still filled with his teenage admiration for the only NHL player in the house he actually thought was cool. Currently, he was quizzing Will about the hat trick against the Avalanche he’d scored back in March, stretching Will’s memory for an on-the-fly, play-by-play breakdown as far as he could. 

Fortunately, Mack entered the room, hair still damp, before Will is forced to reveal he doesn’t remember all that much on account of getting as absolutely shitfaced drunk as Mack’s fake ID would let them, before Mack took him to the hotel room and gave him about the best blow job of his life. Mack dropped down in the seat next to Will, who in turn placed his hand delicately on the back of Mack’s neck, nursing his thumb along the other’s nape. Mack hummed a little in appreciation. 

Rick wastes no time and takes some pot-shots from the defensive perimeter. “Are you boys gonna train this morning then?” 

“Err-” Will’s brain still isn’t fully in the room 

“Actually we’re gonna take the canoe out again.” Mack’s tone is easy, but firm. 

“Fine.” His general demeanor suggests that really, this is anything but. However, he doesn’t push; the ceasefire seems to hold. 

***

Will follows Mack outside, who’s striding down towards the beached canoes.

“Err- where’re Rachel and Aid?” Will asks, not really sure where any of this is going. 

“Torfino, I think, or still in bed - I’m not sure.” Mack’s tone is breezy and dismissive, which usually means he’s faking it. He stops, almost at the shore, and turns to face Will. 

God, even squinting against the light, his face is beautiful, angular, angelic even.

“I thought maybe… it could be just us, y’know?”

Will nods, rendered dumb by Mack's earnest desire to be together, by his ability to voice it freely. Fortunately, Mack seems to be satisfied with Will’s response. 

It’s only once Mack has set a brutal pace to their paddling that Will actually grounds himself long enough to ask where exactly it was that they were going. 

Mack doesn’t turn around. “It’s on the other side of the lake; it’s called K’aka’win. Mom used to take us when we were younger - said something about culture.” The tone of Mack’s voice suggested he held it in about as high esteem as vacuuming.  

“But what is it?” Will asked, genuinely curious. 

“It’s like, what’d’ya call it? Carvings in rock and shit? Like of-  animals and shapes.”

“Petroglyphs you mean?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Will is occasionally reminded of the… deficiencies of Mack’s non-hockey education. For all that he insisted that his BU classes were actually difficult, Will was pretty damn sure that it just meant having to hold the pencil without breaking it and concentrating for more than twenty minutes at a time.  

The canoe travels far across the lake, but Will finds he is pleasantly distracted by the woodland along the shore, beautiful mature pines, occasionally surrounded by something more deciduous, distant rocky mountains beyond, the water’s mirror sheen reflecting a boundless sky above. Eventually they draw close to the far side of the lake’s edge, heading for a little floating dock Will can just see if he squints. Fuck, maybe he does need glasses. 

Will climbs out of the canoe with a slight tremor to his legs - Mack had pushed them hard, okay? It was not news to Will that despite being the younger one, Mack managed to pack on more muscle. Mack was busy fiddling with tying the front of the canoe to some ring on the floating dock, so Will turned towards the rocky cliff over the water instead. In brighter light he might have missed them, but under BC’s dappled sky, with the constant threat of clouds even in summer, he saw them. Undulating, moving grooves in the rock, fish slipping by, the peaceful slide of waves, the distant call of birds, hanging frozen, momentarily caught in rock. 

“Pretty awesome, eh?” Will could feel Mack’s breath lace along his neck. He had the slow sensation of warm arms wrapping around his torso, all the while not moving his eyes from the glyphs. 

Mack steers them gently to the left, clearly having something in mind. 

“See that?” He indicates with his chin, though Will can’t really see him. “See those wavy lines above the water, and the kind of shape rising above them.” Will did see it now; the form was striking but… unknowable. 

“Mom said it’s like-  an orca, or, like… the spirit of an orca anyway.” Will thinks maybe he could see that, the way the lines turned, writhes gave a sense of - well, mass. “That’s what the First Nation from here say, she told me.”

Mack peels him away from gazing at the rock, Will almost embarrassed to fall under the power of just some carved, undulating lines, and they reenter the canoe. Mack sets another fast pace, but Will is definitely flagging this time; he allows himself to marvel at Mack a little. The almost limitless effort that he seems to apply to just about anything, his inextinguishable enthusiasm; how well it works on Will when he weaponises it. 

That’s the thing about being pulled into orbit: you are drawn in, like it’s inevitable. Worse still, you feel grateful, grateful to circle the heat of a vast star, to bask in its warmth. You feel yourself change, morph in shape to orbit better, willfully helpless to its gravitational pull. 

But maybe that was unfair. Needing Mack, having Mack need him, getting to have him… it wasn’t the price you paid, it was the whole point. 

He realises he’s effectively stopped paddling. Mack has realised this too, for that matter. 

“Hey man, this ain’t the Oilers - it’s not a one-man show y’know!” Mack swivels round to face Will. 

A weak shut up is about all Will manages. 

Something makes Mack pause. “I know that face… that’s the emotionally constipated Smitty face.”

“Fuck off, Mack - there’s no such thing.”

“Yes there is, Will.” His smile is wide and gummy now, faintly predatory. 

“You look so pouty when you’re like that… and all red as well.” Mack is slowly moving himself down the canoe towards Will. 

In an effort to keep some stability, Mack basically crawls on his hands and knees, sliding up the canoe towards Will, whose blush is deepening. He’s hoping, naively, it’s just wind chill. He feels Mack’s finger tickle over his kneecap, before a firm hand starts moving up his loose-fitting board shorts - from underneath. 

“Mack.” Half-whine, half-protest. 

Mack tries for innocence and misses by a country mile. “What, Smitty? Come on, you look so pretty when you’re thinking too hard, just can't expect me to resist.”

“Mack, we’re in the middle of a fucking lake.” But his voice is definitely breathless, and he makes absolutely no attempt to remove Mack’s wandering fingers. Mack clearly has one destination in mind. 

Mack’s eyes are hot on Will’s face; he feels his breath hitch as Mack gets a firm grip on Will’s erection already visible through his shorts. From the sun or the exertion or just Mack’s gaze, Will feels faint, all the blood rushing from his head to… somewhere else. 

“Come on, Will.” Christ, how does he make a petulant moan sound sexy? Will is completely fucked. 

He musters the strength to wrap his fingers round Mack’s wrist, before he has a chance to get vigorous. 

“Please Will, I just wanna suck you off.” Yep, fully hard now.

“Mack.” His voice felt steadier than he did. “We can’t do that here.”

“Smitty…”

“No. I really mean it, Mack.” Schooling his face as firm as he thinks he can, whilst y’know, still having his boyfriend’s hand on his dick. 

Mack makes some sort of wordless, pathetic complaint, but slowly draws back. 

Dear God, does Mack have a problem with that word sometimes. It’s probably a side-effect of getting everything you ever wanted, of going first overall. Will’s pretty certain that Mack knows that it’s bad, but not really how to deal with it. This doesn’t, however, make it any less annoying. 

“Mack… let’s - just get on dry land first, okay?”

***

Early evening comes, and finds Will and Mack scrunched up on the sofa, Mack stretching out on Will’s chest. He’d found some DVD of 10 Things I Hate About You that was probably Charlie’s, and Mack had declared that he’d never heard of it before, being an uneducated slob who’d never had the benefit of Grace as a sister. Will decided to go with it; he was pretty sure Mack would like the Heath Ledger factor of the film anyway. Now with Will as a boyfriend, Mack has a track record of liking pretty boys.

Charlie was in her room; Rick and Robyn had gone to town for more supplies, RJ went to the cinema with some neighbouring girl he knew - Mack had overdramatically mouthed the word Girlfriend and received a punch to the shoulder from RJ in return. 

Aiden had muttered something about an evening swim with Rachel, who had then arrived promptly and dragged him off. Will got it; it wasn’t a hardship to spend time with the Celebrinis, currently conflicts aside, but you did sometimes just want five minutes of peace with your significant other. They probably should be using this rare time in the house alone to fuck, but Will was just too lazy and contented at present to do much more than cuddle on the couch. 

RJ eventually bursts through the front door, rocketing his shoes off into a pile, and goes to grab a soda from the fridge. 

Mack stirs, “Hey buddy, how was your date?” He sits up, sliding an elbow over Will’s shoulder instead. Evidently, being spooned by your boyfriend on the sofa was a little too soft for your little brother to witness. 

“It wasn’t a date!” shouts RJ, moving to the living room, but his voice isn’t particularly fierce. 

“Ah, okay bud - sure.” Mack has the actual audacity to wink at Will. 

“What’re you watching?” 

“Just some dumb chick film Smitty found.” 

“Hey!” Will collided their shoulders together in protest. “You seemed to be pretty interested in Heath Ledger’s tight nineties jeans.” Will saw Mack definitely shade pink, his mouth open about to retort. 

It was RJ that broke the scene. “Would you still love Will if he was a worm, Mack?”

And where the fuck had that come from?! 

Mack burst into peels of laughter, doubled over, clenching his stomach. “Where the Hell did you pull that from, buddy?” he managed to ask after a few seconds of hysterics. 

RJ seems to have asked the question in earnest, as evident by his embarrassed face - with a patented my older sibling is mocking me pout. 

“It’s just some dumb question Megan asked me after the film…” Ah, so it was a date then. 

Mack seemed to have mostly recovered from his gaffawing laugh. 

“Aww - she likes you then!” 

“Shut up,” RJ replies shortly. 

And then… Mack seems to pause and think, face in the contortions of genuine deep philosophical enquiry perhaps for the first time in his life. 

“Hmmm... well, if I was a worm too then absolutely, I’d still love him, we’d still play like, soil hockey together or whatever. And if he was a worm and I was a man, well - I’d probably still love him even then.” 

He looks at Will openly and earnestly. Will sits frozen, unmoving. He didn’t think Mack had worked that out yet; I mean, he kind of knew somewhere that Mack loved him, but he didn’t think he could just say it so carefree, like it was obvious, to his little brother no less. 

RJ doesn’t appear to have noticed Will’s reaction to the ‘L’ word, instead, he seems to be genuinely appraising Mack’s answer for any future utility with Megan, should she ask again. He seems vaguely satisfied. 

“Eh, I guess I could say something like that, next time she asks.”

Mack leaps at another chance to rib his brother. 

“Ha! So you like your chances of getting another date then? Gonna make out this time?”

“Fuck off, Mackie,” RJ replies mildly, leaving the living room to go upstairs. 

***

Mack had volunteered them to make dinner that night, with the bright smile and enthusiasm of someone who knew they absolutely wouldn’t be trusted to do any of the hard parts. He did soothe Will’s ego with lots of praise of Will’s culinary mastery to Rachel and his mom - and then made it up to Will in the shower.

So Will stands in Walmart in Port Alberti, desperately trying to stop Mack from inadvertently ramming the legs of strangers like a child, squinting at the recipe for Eggplant Parm Aileen had sent him. Trying to impress the in-laws, are we? She had texted back in reply to his thanks, which Will was fastidiously trying to ignore. He also pulled up an old TikTok for Lemon Baked Chicken he tried a few weeks back that Mack had liked. None of it was especially fancy, but Will thought that probably wouldn’t matter, for reasons he wasn’t entirely cognizant of. 

Mack really does try his best to help, dutifully slicing up eggplants before the knife almost slips disastrously - fortunately, Rachel takes over with some breezy quip that soothes Mack. His determination to help Will is niggling at him, indicating it’s a bit more than just helping Mom out he had made it out to be at breakfast. 

Still, thanks to Rachel’s help, and a quick rescue of the chicken from the oven by Robyn when Will forgot about the timer, it seems a moderate success. It’s only once they’re sat at the table, plating out portions of the Parm that Will really notices Rick’s facial expression. Fuck.

“I’m sure your Aunt’s recipe is all very good, but you boys really need to watch your macros. You’ve already relapsed on the training.” Mack has gone rigid again. Fuck that.

Robyn tries for a bomb defusal. “Really, honey, it’s only a couple of days they’ve-”  

“What really is your problem, Rick? It’s the off-season; we worked hard. I think we deserve this much.” Will cuts in sharply.

Rick rises to the bait. “Deserve? Huh, Smith. You might think so, but Mackie knows better.” His smile is mirthless and cold.

Anger surges in Will; he jerks upright. 

“Oh, so you think Rick?! I’m just your son’s dumb distracting boyfriend, like I know fuck all about hockey? Not like I’m a damn NHL player! I just don’t understand Mack well enough to know-”

“Oh come on!” Rick replies hotly. “It’s not like I don't approve, but I just don’t want you dragging him down, Will. You’re a great player, but Mack - he’s a once in a generation-”

Mack responds with sharp, genuine anger; it’s the first instance that Will has seen him react like this in a long time. He rises suddenly to join Will in towering above the table.

“Dad, shut the fuck up.” Suddenly leaning forward to face his father directly, smashing his hands down firmly on the tabletop, to the rattle of cutlery and plates. 

“You don’t ever get to talk about Will like that.” 

And for one terrifying moment Will was genuinely worried he was going to lay out his father; from Mack’s contorted facial expression, he seemed to be seriously contemplating it, but he hesitates just a beat too long. The moment passes. Instead, Mack storms away from the table, delivering a hard kick to a corner leg, jerking the table over several inches; a couple of empty serving dishes come crashing to the floor. 

Will doesn’t even register him storming out, just the porch door swinging on its hinge, and Mack’s backwards Sharks cap disappearing into the dimming light beyond the porch. 

The room remains silent for a while longer, Will not moving from his standing position; even Aiden seems to think better of adding anything. Will’s jaw feels impossibly tight, but he still manages to get his words out in an almost even tone. 

“Listen, Rick… you can say whatever dumb shit you want about me - I don’t care. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be right in the end...”

Rick is stony and rigid again. Determinedly not saying anything. 

“But Mack… he’s trying so hard at games, at training, at- at figuring himself out, okay? He’s the hardest working fucker I’ve met, and I love him for it. And the worst thing - the fucking worst thing Rick, his that Mack is trying to be like- compassionate and understanding to you. Mack is the one in your guys’ relationship that’s trying to give you grace.” A little thought clicks in place.

“Because he thinks he can always do better - because you taught him that, Rick.” 

And really Will can sympathize; he understands what it’s like to be crushed under the weight of realising that Mack thinks you can improve, that you can be better than him even. 

Will slowly exhales a breath. 

“But what Mack needs right now is a Dad - he’s got coaches. Coaches at the Sharks, coaches at Worlds, at Team Canada - too fucking many of them probably, but for a Dad he only has you.”

He retreats further into the house, his piece said. If it all blows up from here… so be it.

***

Will takes his time, and a good portion of it is spent in Rachel and Aiden’s room upstairs, Will snorting at the TikToks she sends him from across the room. Aiden occasionally comes barging over, demanding to ‘see’, with some dumb episode of Gilmore Girls playing on Rachel’s MacBook at the foot of the bed - she had insisted, saying it was educational. It’s blissfully normal for a while, if a little contrived and artificial. Mack… well, any shouting and stomping will have dissipated by now, and Will wonders really if there was actually that much this time, and instead Mack would be feeling cold and regretful. He slides off the bed with a nod to Aiden and Rachel, who seem to understand, and heads downstairs, bare feet silent on the wooden treads. 

As he passes the den, he sees the door is cracked open just a little and the corner lamp is on. He angles himself differently to peek from the crack in the doorjam. He thinks he can make out Rick, sitting on the armchair holding a pile of some of Mack’s clothes, but on top Will can just about distinguish the Sharkie plushie. Will walks away before Rick notices him; he has no idea what he’d say if he had. Sorry, possibly… or just me too.

Will sees Mack’s distant form once he steps out of the closed-in porch; his feet are in the lake, silhouette still visible against the last of the sun’s retreating rays. God, the lake really is beautiful. As he draws near, he sees, just like the other night, Mack’s shoes are off, abandoned near the shore this time, and sweats rolled up his calf. His feet are in the lake, but Mack is squatting, fingers flashing through rocks on the lake's bed, turned away from Will. 

Will places his Birkenstocks next to Mack’s trainers, and approaches carefully. Some small egotistical part of Will finds this almost embarrassing; the way Will just inevitably circles Mack, is drawn to him, on the ice, off the ice. His need, so raw and apparent. But perhaps now he understands that to share, you must give away something - just a little. 

“I just couldn’t stand to hear him talk about you like that.” Mack doesn’t look up; his voice is small. 

“Smitty,” 

Will is now close enough to see the glimmer of moisture on his cheeks. 

“When it’s me that’s one thing - but you? I- I realised then that he… just didn’t get it. He didn’t understand why I loved you…”

Mack stands, shakily, and just sort of falls slowly, and gracefully against Will’s chest. Will thinks of a documentary on deforestation in the rainforest he saw in grade school, wooden giants of the canopy tilting sideways into a green abyss. 

“And then I realised… that’s ‘cause- ‘cause I never told him - I never showed him…” Will can definitely feel wetness against his neck now. “... how you hold me together. How you always know where to be. How much of yourself you give up to be where I need you… even- even though I know it’s the thing you struggle with most.”

“Mack…” Will tries to be comforting, but feels utterly bereft. 

After a while, Mack seems to gather himself, but still rests his head at the juncture of Will’s neck and shoulder. 

“I just… didn’t know how to handle him. I thought it was just another thing I could just play through - or maybe, I don’t know… I thought that he was right?” Will smushes his face into Mack’s hair, an arm snaking round his waist. 

“I still love him, Will… I still want him in my life… just not like this. Not anymore.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

***

Will finds Rick more or less where he left him, sunk down on the armchair in the den, bent over, hands scrunched in a Sharks hoodie Mack had worn yesterday; he doesn’t look up at Will. It’s only now that he realises it's marked ‘2’. Mack had gone about his day wearing Will’s number, and Mack stole his clothes that often Will hadn’t even clocked it. Rick, evidently, had. 

“Go find your son, Rick,” Will says as he leaves the doorway.

Will retreats to Aiden and Rachel’s room once again and takes some time to answer a few emails he's been ignoring, then scrolls on social media for a while - smiling at the stupid reels Leno had sent him. He heads downstairs an hour later at least, and slips outside. The sun had definitively set, but as he stepped off the screened porch, softly closing the door behind him, he made out the silhouettes against the lake. The dimming blues of the Isle’s sky contrast just enough with the two figures sitting at the end of the dock. Will fancies he can see their feet dangling in the water; however, the soft sound of their quiet conversation doesn't reach him from here. He meanders closer, but doesn’t really get far before he feels the tug of a hand against his elbow. Will almost jumps clean out of his skin. 

“Sorry Will, I didn’t mean to spook you,” says Robyn Celebrini; she at least had the decency to look contrite. “But I think it’s best if you- just let them talk for now. Just… stay back with me, I’ll make some tea or cocoa perhaps?” Her face was earnest and warm. 

“But… I er-” He stammered, uncertain. 

“Will, I know what you and my son have is- well, special.” Her eyes reflected the dim light of the night’s sky as she intensely examined his face. “I’ve seen how you look at each other - I know what that is.” Will is dumbstruck. Why does his life consist of women-of-a-certain-age reading him so perfectly?

Robyn is unperturbed. “What I mean, Will,” she gently guides him by the elbow to sit in one of the cushioned wicker chairs on the porch, “is that there are some conversations that are for fathers and sons…. and just for fathers and sons.”

But her smile is not unkind. “Rick’s been hard on him, Mack’s still learning to himself, give them this moment, okay?” 

Dear God, does she remind him of Colleen. He misses her fiercely at that moment. 

So Will stays in one of the wicker porch armchairs, his limbs growing heavier and heavier. Robyn lights some citronella candles; they provide the only light on the porch, bar the dim moonlight over the lake. After a while she hands him a warm mug of cocoa, welcome on a BC night when cool air is settling in. Without being entirely conscious of it, and still with the half-drunk mug in his hand, Will falls into the arms of sleep in the chair, one eye fixed as long as he can manage on the distant end of the dock. 

***

Will wakes to warm breath disturbing the hair at his temples, surfacing to consciousness as he feels a warm kiss placed carefully to the side of his forehead. Opening his eyes, he is met with the slightly blurry form of Mack, half crouched over him in the subtle candlelight. After a moment hanging in confusion, his body starts to come online, aware of how uncomfortable he is. Slouched down in the big wicker armchair, neck kinked in sleep, shoulder twisted at some distorted angle. He finds that the half-drunk cocoa from Robyn was still weakly in his grip, fingers creased and aching from holding it tight for so long.

He barely registers any of it, instead focused on Mack’s gummy smile. It’s not heated or begging or the start of something - instead it’s small, warm, personal. Mack rubs his arms along Will’s stiff shoulder automatically; the friction of the fabric of Will’s shirt and the radiating warmth of his palm is enough to start loosening the knot of muscle. Words don’t pass between them in the moment; the look they hold feels older than words. Mack’s never been good at them anyway. 

The slight light casts Mack’s pallid face in warm yellows, the shadows of oranges and browns hiding in the creases of his smile. His hair flops boyishly over his forehead. It’s probably getting too long, another casualty of summer. The scent of citronella lingers, and Will can’t help but think that ever after, when he smells it, he’ll be taken back here. It seemed foolish to think he could ever return to this moment; when you came off the ice, ears ringing to cheering and screaming, that was it, the moment passed on and so did you - but he thought he could just stay there still, immured in this little part of time a little longer still.

“Smitty… let’s go upstairs.” He holds out a welcome palm to Will, golden and warm and half-cut by deep shadow. It’s not his hand that Will focuses on, nor Mack’s open face, slack with certainty, but Mack’s soft blue henley, almost black in the light, the top three buttons like open, and Will spies just the glint of something beyond. His face snaps up to Mack’s. 

“Since when did you wear jewelry?” 

Mack fastidiously ignores the question. 

“Com’on Smitt,” Mack hauls Will up with an arm reaching in one warm line beneath his shoulder, “let’s go to bed.”

They grab showers first, of course - Will insists. The lake may look beautiful, but he didn't want a Mack who’s been walking in it all over their sheets. The lack of an ensuite in the den also put an end to the prospect of any sort of prolonged shared shower time, much to Mack’s chagrin. Will waits sprawled out on the foot of the pull-out bed, curls still a little damp but smelling of his coconut shampoo, idly scrolling on Insta. Mack enters after a while, his hair still a little wet, but dressed in sweats in a faded grey shirt that’s definitely for someone with a smaller frame, and the way the fabric stretches leaves no doubt as to the ripple of muscle on Mack’s torso. 

It’s then that Will notices the large, red interlaced BC on the front. It’s an old one of Will’s, stolen from his room no doubt. It was Goddam embarrassing how endearing Will found it. From the sly smile on Mack’s face, he knew that too. He dips down, dropping his towel from his shoulders, to plant a kiss on Will’s still horizontal face. Will tries to stop him before he can deepen it too much. 

“Mack - before… with RJ…”

“Yes?” he exhales in a whoosh, annoyed by this derailment in the make-out session.

“Did-did you mean it?” Mack’s blank face implied Will was going to have to work for it. “I mean - that you love me?” 

“Yes, Will, of course. You know this.”

Will feels suddenly very small, squashed a little by the weight of Mack’s certainty. 

“Yeah, but you just said it so easily to RJ like that. You didn’t even have to think.”

Mack pauses, before slowly stooping, and climbing onto the bed, moving up to bracket Will, with the kind of gentle poise of a poacher approaching a sprung trap.

“Will… I love you, you have to know that by now.” He places a gentle kiss on Will's cheek; it’s so intimate and warm and new. “And I’m pretty sure you love me too.”

“What?” His voice is tight, constricted. But Mack’s reaction is jovial.

“Will… you’ve told me so.” He adds with a little chuckle. “I think you’ve been very sleepy when you’ve said it - but it’s been cute, kind of mumbled. Oh! And that night in Ottawa where you got way too drunk ‘cause Wenny introduced you to Vespas? I got us back to the hotel room, and you just wouldn’t shut up about how much you loved me.” Mack’s grin is gummy but endearing. 

And thank God that Macklin Celebrinin was a much more embarrassing drunk than Will has ever been, or he’d never live this down. 

Will weaponises Mack's mood to the fullest; he pushes up and gently captures his lips with his own, chaste kisses at first, before he starts to deepen them, slipping a tongue just past his incisors. He feels Mack’s back slump, muscles relaxing, a low moan starting deep in his chest. Good. He strikes, a sudden swell of momentum to flip their position, to now be the one pinning Mack to the mattress, perched over his hips, one thigh on either side to bracket him in. But far from causing protests from Mack, his gaze darkens, enjoying the shock of sudden usurpation. 

Will knows Mack too well to stop there: with Mack you have to keep going, keep pushing. He moves back to his haunches and slides both hands down Mack’s torso, slowly gliding from collarbone to stomach - and Mack really shouldn’t find it as erotic as he obviously does, letting out a half-strangled noise. Will has pity and bends down once again to place placating kisses down Mack’s neck, trailing them down, past the plush depth of his well-developed pecks, towards his navel. Beneath the weight of his thigh, Will feels the strain in Mack’s sweats, and knows just how much he’s enjoying this.

Will gradually shuffles himself down the bed, lowering his head to rest just above Mack’s hard dick, tenting in his grey sweats. However, before he can really get anywhere, he makes the mistake of looking up the bed… and comes face to face, or eye to beady eye with Sharkie. He audibly groans. This snaps Mack out of whatever heated revelry he was entering. 

“What?”

“Mack - I refuse to suck you off with Sharkie as witness. It’s too weird, I’d never be able to look at him on the ice again.”

“Will,” Mack exhales in exasperation, but lazily and rather awkwardly slides up the bed to outstretch an arm and gently turn Sharkie around so he was no longer facing them. 

“I thought you’d be into a threesome - given your BC days with Gabe and Leno,” Mack mutters. “Don’t tell me you never tried.” He looks thoroughly unimpressed, but thankfully not in a state of blind jealous rage.

“I told you that never happened, asshole. Next time you fantasize about threesomes with me - maybe include yourself, hmmm?” 

Mack has the decency to grin at least, and Will crawls up the bed to once again hover over Mack’s waist. He pulls his face to once again pause over Mack’s hard dick; he feels the other boy shudder under him before dropping to mouth along his length through the fabric. After thoroughly making Mack squirm, he wrests down his sweats and so slowly places his mouth over Mack’s hard cock, tongue slipping into the slit at the head. Mack moans; his hand slips onto Will’s nape, encouraging. 

“Come on, Will.” He begs breathily. Will takes his time, slowly licking stripes along the length of Mack’s dick, his hands slipping under his muscular thighs. Mack’s impatience is growing, and his hands are sliding up to grip Will’s curls; Will swallows him deep in response. The sound he gets out of Mack at this sudden move is definitely worth whatever vague bruising to his mouth he’d just caused. 

Will decides just to commit, and starts bobbing his head along Mack’s length, only pausing to occasionally lick and suck the tip when he thinks Mack’s getting a little too close. Mack’s legs are writhing, his toes curling, breath is coming out in pants. 

“Stop… Will stop.” He yanks Will away his dick with a strong hand in his hair; Will’s too blissed out to notice the pain from the sharp tug on his scalp. 

“What?” He asks irritably, but it’s probably muted in its effects by his swollen, pink lips, the string of spit and Mack’s precome slick over his tongue. 

“I- I don’t wanna come yet.” Mack just about stammers out. “Please Smitty…”

Will grins wickedly; he’s pretty damn sure he knows where this is heading. “Go on, Mackie, tell me what you need.”

“Please Will… fuck me.” He grinds his hips into the mattress just to make his point. 

And who is Will to say no to that flushed and heated face? He trails kisses over Mack’s taint until he finds his hole, where he flutters little licks. 

“Come on!” Mack’s getting seriously frustrated now; Will feels a kick to his shoulder delivered by one of Mack’s heels from where it rests over his shoulder. 

“Alright, alright.” He slides off the bed to grab a bottle of lube tucked into the top of his duffle bag. He slicks his pointer and index fingers just dramatically enough for Mack to notice, his face turning distinctly hungry.

He finds the two fingers gliding in easily, and raises a questioning eyebrow.  

Humiliation is plastered over Mack’s face. “I may have… prepped a little in the shower…”

“That sure you I was gonna fuck you, were you sweetheart?” Will’s smile turns smarmy, but he’s pretty sure Mack likes that. 

Will starts to set a faster pace, fingering Mack’s hole more energetically, his mouth trailing down Mack’s length again, mouthing over his balls once he reaches them. Mack is back to squirming into the bed, cantering up his hips. 

Mack’s increasingly breathy pants indicate his growing frustration, but Will soldiers on, unaffected, scissoring his hole open and licking warm wet lines along his dick. This obviously gets to be too much, and Will finds himself suddenly gripped by Mack’s legs over his shoulders, and effectively flipped onto the mattress - their positions now reversed. He feels a little dizzy, but Mack soon takes firm charge; he wrenches down Will’s basketball shorts and immediately starts stroking along his already painfully hard dick. Will whimpers pathetically at this, and feels the sharp, cool wetness as Mack squeezes out lube onto his cock. Before opening his mouth to complain, Mack sheathes himself on Will, only stopping once he fully bottoms out, resting his slightly damp forehead against the tops of Will’s curls, pausing to ground himself. Will’s familiar with the first painful stretch from when they do this the other way round, and he knows, with some smugness, that he’s even bigger than Mack. 

After a few controlled breaths, Mack starts rolling his hips - and this time it’s Will's turn to start panting and writhing on the bed, the heat and energy of Mack just too much. It’s then that Mack pauses, increasingly hot and sweaty, and rips his (well, Will’s) grey t-shirt from off his chest, throwing it with gusto into some distant corner. Last pretense at clothing firmly discarded, Mack sets an absolutely brutal pace, riding Will’s dick, rising as far as he can, before slamming all the way down with athletic satisfaction, and fuck if Mack’s doesn’t fuck like he plays. Will’s pretty sure the pull-out bed won’t take this level of abuse, but damned if he’s gonna get between Mack and an orgasm at this point. 

It’s only then, when he’s admiring the flush to Mack’s chest, that he notices it, for the second time. On Mack’s chest, looped on a chain, is a small gold signet ring, with little letters incised along its outer perimeter; it’s extremely familiar - but in the haze of Mack and sex, he can’t place it. He is definitely not in a position to form words at the moment, so he puts himself to better use and starts stroking Mack’s dick instead. 

A deep ‘Will’ is his reward, and he tries desperately to match the pace of his strokes with the thrust of Mack’s hips, but it requires a level of concentration he’s just not capable of in that moment. In any case, he can feel a familiar tightness settle in his groin, his lungs constricting tighter; Mack spots this too - if his blissed-out grin is anything to go by. Sure enough, within a few seconds, he’s coming into Mack’s tight heat, furiously stroking Mack into oblivion too. 

Mack stills his hips after some complaints from Will about being too sensitive, and his legs going numb under the weight of a fucking six-foot, two-hundred-pound NHL player. Not to mention Mack’s come plastered all over both their stomachs. He’s pretty sure Mack knows it is all bluff; he could easily have died happy in that moment. 

Mack skips off the bed and returns with a pack of wet wipes he’d sequestered somewhere near the floor, and after thoroughly wiping himself and Will, shoves the soiled wipes in a plastic bag. Evidently tomorrow’s problem. He changes into a fresh pair of sweats and climbs on top of Will’s still limp body, holding himself above Will, tracing the lines of his face. Will’s gaze is pulled magnetically to the small ring Mack wears on a golden chain that circles Mack’s neck. It’s… his Grandfather’s ring; he’s certain of that now. 

“Your Mom gave it to me.” 

What? Will's eyes snap up from the ring to Mack’s face; his expression is unguarded and perhaps a little anguished. Why would she give his ring to Mack? 

“She gave it to me, but I didn’t have the… courage to wear it until tonight. She told me about- about someone, Will. She told me about Patrick.” Every tendon in Will’s body tightens, his limbs fill with lead, he feels like an elastic band stretched, pulled tight. 

“She um- told me... She called him spoiled - Ha - she said the boys always are in her family.” Will’s mind was slipping, sprawling too much to catch the jab. “She told me about how much he loved baseball as a kid, about how your Granddad used to get the best tickets he could, through money or family or whatever way he found.” Mack’s lips curve in a small smile of second-hand love. 

“And… she told me about him… coming out.” Mack reaches up and places the barest touch of his palm against the skin of Will’s cheek. Despite its lightness, he feels its grounding effects deep in the marrow of his bones. 

“About the fight, about leaving home, and going to New York - about not hearing from him for years. She told me about meeting him when she was older, finding his number from old friends, about visiting him at his loft in Greenwich Village, about staying there with Aileen and Trish, about his life and friends. About staying there when she had nowhere else. How normal it all felt.”

Will knew what was coming; he felt its approach like a cold dawn over frozen ground. It was a story he knew. 

“She told me too, about hospital visits, and tests, and nurses' faces, doctors not trying to hide their disgust. About growing sick and pallid, and worse by the day. She talked about him coming home… a conversation with your grandfather she never heard -  behind a locked door.” Mack scrunches up his eyes, breathes deeply, trying to push on. 

“Your Mom…. She talked about the little bed her Dad moved into his office, the nurses' visits he organized around the clock. She talked about how he sat, working at his desk, next to Patrick, on hand at any hour, of him sleeping at the desk, slumped over.” Mack is blinking away tears. 

Images fill Will’s mind, of loyal dogs, sitting at the ends of beds or patiently at doors, waiting for the echo of long-gone footsteps. He thinks of people sat up all night with the dead at wakes, of candles casting the darkness only into deeper shadow. Will thinks of what gets lost in the gaps between two lives, words that fall into an abyss. 

“Will…” earnest tears in Mack’s eyes. “She gave me the ring… said I deserved to have it that- that I should be proud - proud of knowing who I am.” Will’s eyes look once again at the little gold signet ring at the end of Mack’s chain. “She said… It means ‘know yourself’ in Greek... Please Will, how- how could I refuse it?”

Will looks to the gleam of gold; sure enough, even in the diffuse light of the den, he can see the Greek letters Γνῶθι Σεαυτόν. 

Once, when he was very young and asked his grandfather about the ring and got no reply, Aileen had taken him aside and told him: it was meant for your Uncle Patrick, but please Willy, don’t ask him about it again. It’s now Will’s turn to blink away tears. 

Mack, against the strain of his own muscles, lowers himself infinitesimally slowly to rest his head against Will’s chest. The silence stretches out before them. 

Mack lies flat on Will’s chest for a long while, Will drawing his hand through the silken strands of his barely-damp hair. Utterly bereft of language, quiet, slow tears roll away from the corners of his eyes, away to his hairline.

The voice that comes from Mack is meek, soft, but Will knows that just means he’s been thinking about these words for weeks. 

“Y’know, there are great hockey pairings out there: Lemieux and Jagr, Crosby, Malkin, McDavid, Draisaitl… they have such incredible chemistry on the ice. It’s unbelievable. They know exactly where to find each other, what the other is thinking…”

“But Will… that’s all it is - on the ice. When the tarp is off, that magic ends… But us, we get to keep going, to keep supporting each other. Whatever we are to each other, it’s boundless, and it’s ours; that’s all it’ll ever be…”

…There’s no Stanley Cup for loving each other, Will thinks. What would be the point? The victory is obvious. 

***

Will flies to Boston a few days later; Robyn and, to his surprise, Rick both give him huge great bear hugs goodbye, tell him to come for longer next year. It feels wrong or cliché to say he feels like he’s changed… yet. 

He asks his Mom if Mack can come to the wedding in Ireland, as his partner. Colleen gets a little teary-eyed; she places a kiss on his forehead that makes him feel like a little boy again, and hugs him. He thinks of standing at the Cliff of Moher as a six-year-old, or running into the Atlantic on a Co. Mayo beach somewhere, a preteen Grace following, screaming in joy, joining him in the frigid water. Of course you can, Will, she says. 

***

It’s not like they have to tell absolutely everyone; in fact, the number of people they tell is pretty small. One day they will have to tell more people - one day Will might want to - that idea isn’t quite as fierce as it once seemed. Still bringing Mack to a family gathering, bringing him officially, felt like enough. For Today anyway. 

Gráinne’s wedding is in the grounds of some elaborate country house in Mayo, made to look like some fantasy castle, built by some rich English lord or other. He and Grace spend a good couple of hours fully scouting the venue out from the glossy, and admittedly beautiful, photos available online. It's apparently, these days, a luxury hotel too, with the happy couple hiring the - exorbitantly expensive - honeymoon suite. Whilst gossiping with Grace about it, scrolling through her Mac, he realises they also have another couple of luxury suites available. It only takes three photos, and he’s on his phone, angled away from Grace’s prying gaze, laying down almost ten thousand Euro on a three night booking. 

He later feels guilty about it, about not even asking Mack. The moment Mack gets in the room and sees the view of Lough Corrib beyond the garden wall, he knows he was right. Mack spends so long showing his appreciation - fucking him till he’s drooling onto the mattress - that they almost miss the rehearsal dinner. Will gets it; the room is furnished in tasteful Colleen-approved antiques, the castle covered by elegant gothic windows mounted in cool-toned granite, the gardens lush and neat - with quite possibly the greenest lawn Will’s ever seen. It’s no Sproat, he concedes to Mack, full well knowing he’s won this one. 

The ceremony itself is beautiful, held in some large outdoor marquee in the gardens of the house, and though the weather holds well enough for the photography, the heavens open during the reception. It is Ireland in summer after all - that much matches Will’s memories of childhood vacations. Will and Grace take a sick thrill in forcing Mack to drink a pint of Guinness again, and he’s so stubborn and single-minded that it’s all he drinks for the rest of the night. The nod of approval from his cousins at the half-drunk pint glass has Mack preening. Will finishes a conversation with Lochlan about college sport and finds Róisín and Séan teaching Mack to ‘split the G.’

The disco was, of course, inevitable. There was just no way it wasn’t happening. What surprised Will was that among the typical slew of modern pop and classic rock tracks were a few slower numbers, especially as the night drew on. It was probably on account of the Guinness, and the baby Guinness shots Grace had foisted on him, but he was feeling the vibe. Luckily, Mack seemed to catch on pretty quickly, happy to have a half-drunk Will plastered along his side, swinging somewhat arrhythmically. 

It was… nice, pleasant. Just slow dancing with Mack, being pressed close together, surrounded by family. Eventually Grace pulls him aside, with some fat juicy gossip she had just bullied out of Trish, pressing fresh pints into both Mack and Will’s hands.

Guests are slowly trickling out, away to hotel rooms near and far, saying long goodbyes standing by the marque’s exits, easily chatting for an hour. Will finds his Mom; she’s sat at the edge of the dance floor at one of the large, white, round tables that they had eaten from a few hours prior. Her heels are discarded on the floor, her feet stretching out, rubbing her ankles. Will’s pretty sure his Dad is off somewhere sorting her a gin and tonic. He pulls up the chair next to her and turns it to face her, his back to the dance floor. 

“It’s the dancing - I just need a minute. Grace wore me out trying to céilí dance.”

“Sure, Mom.” He says with a little grin. 

Her gaze looks up and over his shoulder. “I’m glad to see Mack enjoying himself.” He turns round and follows her line of sight; Mack stands in a heated discussion with Aoife and her girlfriend, with a slight flush that's perhaps just the alcohol; he’s wearing his classic ‘I’m arguing, but I’m enjoying it’ face. 

“Lulu - Aoife’s girlfriend - she’s Canadian, it turns out. Unfortunately, a Habs fan, but pretty fun anyway.”

Colleen smiles warmly at him. “He’s trying hard to fit in.” But he knows she doesn’t mean it unkindly. 

“It’s working… I’m glad I got to bring him,” Is all he can add - it’s true. There’s a pause that stretches out, just a little too long. 

“You know Will, you’re not actually that much like him… Save in a couple of ways, mind.”

“...Who?” He chews his bottom lip. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t mean Mack.

“Darling - you know who.” Her voice is quiet, intimate. 

Will fixes his eyes down to the white cloth of the table.

“You mean that - I’m like… queer, you mean?” He looks at her round, honest face. He wonders if she knows it’s the first time he’s said it. 

“No honey,” she says softly. “You’re like him in that you’re kind, and compassionate, you want to help - even though sometimes you can't.” He was going to cry; he could feel his face heating. Colleen appears unaffected, gently picking up his hand, caressing his long fingers with her thumb. “It’s the way you know who you are too - once you’ve done some thinking that is.” She laughs softly. 

“Sweatheart… you have to show people you love them however you can, and you do that, I’ve seen it. Mack and I...” Here, a little smile “... we keep in touch. Look after each other, okay?”

They sit, just the two of them in their little moment, hand in hand. 

After either a few minutes or possibly hours, Will feels a tender hand on his shoulder. The hand moves slowly and rubs a caress across his shoulder blade; he looks up to Mack, trying to express- well, everything. Mack's mouth opens slowly; Will thinks he’s about to speak when across the room he hears Trish and Aileen’s sonorous voices. 

Of all the money that e’er I spent,

I spent it in good company. 

Mack looks behind to Will’s aunts in confusion. Someone dims the lights.

And all the harm I've ever done

Alas it was to none but me

“Ah,” Colleen says softly; the boys turn to her. “The Parting Glass” she explains.

And all I've done for want of wit

To mem'ry now I can't recall

“It’s time…” She gives them a soft smile, and stands, and guides them with a hand to each of their backs into the center of the room. 

So fill to me the parting glass

Voices rise for the chorus. “It’s the last song of the night, boys,” she whispers

Good night and joy be to you all. 

Will can hear his Mom's voice join the swell.

And Grace’s… And Gráinne’s… 

So fill to me the parting glass 

Will can hear Bríd’s voice, and Seán’s, and Aoife’s and all sorts of family and friends he has seen that night. The groom's mother, and her mother, and cousins join too, aunts, uncles, friends, husbands, wives, grannies. A great soft chorus fills the space.

Good night and joy be to you all 

Will turns to Mack’s poleaxed expression; he puts his hand in Mack’s, their fingers entwine. He thinks about the things that are beyond words, the feelings that are older than voices, more ancient than sound.

***

Despite protests from Grace, and occasionally Mack, Will isn’t stupid. He knows that his folks are in town for tonight's game - the first of the season. He also knows that Aiden and Rachel are in town. He is almost certain that they’ve got some sort of big meal-thing planned for tomorrow night, and was damn sure that Mack knows about it too, but is being uncharacteristically unyielding about it, despite Will’s vigorous efforts. He doesn’t know why - he isn’t even really opposed to the idea. He realises now, in hindsight, they both already did the meet-the-parents thing - the hard part was over.

So it’s not a major surprise, as he skates out for the Sharks’ fifteen-minute pre-match practise slot, to find Bill, Colleen and Grace screaming his name from the friends and family box. And God Damn if his heart still doesn’t sore a little bit at that; it never gets old. What is more of a surprise is to find the whole clan of Celebrinis standing alongside them, Rick and Robyn wearing big smiles, Rachel in full Sharks merch, all three siblings screaming and hollering in the already-loud SAP arena. 

Will’s eyebrows climb further on his face when he sees their signs. Colleen and Robyn stand arms interlocked, wearing matching smiles, a large cardboard sign held between them. Words stacked vertically, it reads: WE <3 YOU. To either side stand Grace and RJ, each with their own handmade sign, one with a large WS, the other with MC. He stops dead in his tracks, stock still on the ice. 

Mack flies over, a pass from Misa zooming past him half-abandoned, alarmed that Will would so suddenly stop and stare. When he pulls up to Will’s side, he follows his line of sight, and he too freezes at what he sees. 

It is not lost on him that, read left to right, with their Moms’ sign in the middle, it reads WS <3 MC. He is almost certain his Mom winks at him, but they’re too distant to be sure. 

He turns to Mack. “Do you-”

Mack’s smile is blinding. Yes, it says, I see it too.

***

Aimer ne suffit pas, il faut savoir le montrer.