Archive of Our Own

malneirophrenia: the state of depression following a nightmare

Jack doesn’t remember how he ended up on his back.

His entire body is shaking. The world is whirling around him and he can’t make sense of it. The cacophony of cheers, boos, the sounds of skates coming to an abrupt halt, the murmuring of other players on the ice. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. And oh god, his head hurts. He reaches up to tap his helmet – his gloves are missing – and his bare hand meets his sweaty hair.

The fear paralyzes him. Jack’s brain stops churning in attempts to right the world. He’s stuck on a single word:

concussion.

He’s drawn out of his catatonia when someone arrives at his side. The world is still spinning and Jack’s vision is swimming, but a dark blob skates over and abruptly drops next to him. Bare hands are on his shoulders carefully bringing Jack to a sitting position. Someone’s yelling – don’t do that– but Jack feels a pressure relieve from his chest once he can make sense of the arena, no longer staring at the ceiling.

Suddenly Kent fucking Parson’s face is thrust into his vision. It comes in sharp contrast to the blurry world at the edges of Jack’s vision. Eyebrows knotted together and eyes so fucking blue with concern, Kent is talking at a rapid fire pace, worried, apparently about Jack. It confuses the hell out of him. And after the initial confusion passes, he’s just angry.

He doesn’t like Kent. Jack hates Kent. They haven’t talked in years, civilly or even with cruel barbs. Jack’s resentful that he has a concussion and the Falconers are fucking nowhere to be seen and for whatever reason Kent fucking Parson thinks he has a right to be in Jack’s space.

So Jack reaches out, gloveless hands easily grabbing the fabric, fists his hands into Kent’s jersey (he gets a viscous sense of glee as he eclipses the C) and shoves.

Kent is caught off guard – he wasn’t holding his ground. With a significant weight difference between them, Jack easily sends Kent flying. He gets thrown several feet, falling backwards onto his ass. Kent’s own helmet gets thrown off and he looks at Jack with impossibly wide eyes. Blond hair in complete disarray, Kent looks so stricken and it makes Jack’s heart clench for a moment before he slams the walls down. He hates Kent. Hates him so fucking much.

Skittering up to his feet, Kent takes a few abortive steps forward but comes to an abrupt stop. Jack knows he has a mean look on his face. If possible, Kent looks even more hurt. Moretti skates over and presses a hand to Kent’s chest. Immediately Kent schools his look to one of cool indifference. They murmur to each other for a few moments before Moretti shepherds Kent backwards, heads bowed together.

Jack looks around for his teammates. He looks for Bitty – who always sits at the boards so Jack can see his smiling face. He can’t find anything but a huddle of red and white jerseys at one bench and black at the other. No blue anywhere. Looking down, Jack finds himself staring down at the Las Vegas Aces logo on his chest and the A over his heart.

Head continuing to spin, the world is falling apart for Jack. He has no idea where he is – who he plays for. All he wants is something familiar – with the caveat of that something not being Kent. From the Aces bench, multiple trainers are making their way across the ice now that it’s known something isn’t right.

“Hey, what the fuck,” Oyer, another Aces’ defenseman, whispers as he skates over.

Oyer is staring down at Jack with the intensity of a thousand suns. He’s the fighter and Jack did just shove his captain. Jack’s captain, too, apparently. The scar on Oyer’s cheek – Scraps his brain supplies helpfully for the first time – makes him look menacing.

“I – I don’t know where I am or what’s going on,” Jack confesses in a rush.

Scraps’ face falls and loses all colour. He turns and begins hurrying the trainers over. The arena is ominously silent. The world begins to waver around him, the swimming at the corners of eyes starting to take over. Things are starting to grey.

One of the trainers skids to Jack’s side, supporting him. They don’t even look like the staff Jack remembers. He has no idea who any of these people are. He wants Bitty. He wants Shitty. He wants his maman.

“I got you Jack,” the trainer mutters. “Take it easy alright? We’re going to get some help to get you of here.”

Jack stares at the little spade on the trainer’s sweater and promptly passes out.

XXX

The world is white and sterile when Jack comes to. He has more awareness of himself than the last few times he woke up – on the ice, in the ambulance, in the ER, through many of tests. Each moment he re-entered the conscious world, he collected more pieces of himself. Right now, he knows he plays for the Aces – has for two and half seasons – and all the little pieces are falling in line. More or less, Jack feels confident in reality.

But there’s still the little things.

Like when he opens his eyes, he half expects Kent to be there. Curled up a visitor chair, hair unwashed and face grey, still wearing his suit from the Draft. So young and innocent compared to Jack’s life aged by anxiety and overdose. The anger surges up in his chest and Jack tries piteously to stamp it out. He wants to feed into it – it’s so easy to be angry with Kent. The feelings felt so real, like the last time they spoke was that horrid interaction trapped in Jack’s room at the Haus.

If the real Kent had been there, probably looking the same – stricken, worried, and caught up how Jack is doing – Jack doesn’t know how he would’ve reacted. Probably would’ve told him to leave. The thought that the two are dating – happily so for a year and a bit – makes Jack a little queasy.

But then again, the absence of his significant other – waiting for him makes his chest hurt. The naked relief Jack knows intimately well would appear on Kent’s face when he saw Jack was awake. That moment doesn’t happen. Jack is alone in the hospital room.

It’s dark with the blinds shut tightly. The tv is off, the monitor’s brightness is down low, and only a quiet beep keeps him company.

Concussion.

His head hurts like hell, worse than anything he’s ever experienced. He’d take the hangover from the night they won the Memorial Cup a thousand time over if he could get rid of the beating in his head. At least the world isn’t spinning anymore. It’s mostly stable. Except for the lingering feelings regarding Kent. Like the fear clinging to your skin after a nightmare for the rest of the day. Jack can’t shake it. He’s torn between the affection he feels for Kent and how it’s inexplicably tied to a torrid mix of anger and resentment. Like that first time Kent arrived at Samwell.

There’s a knock and Jack jerks a bit, surprised by the noise. He sits up in bed and waits for the visitor, trying to appear presentable and well. When he sees it’s just Troy, he lets his guard down but slams it back up when he sees Troy’s unsmiling and serious face. Jack’s heart falls. He was hoping for Kent, but if Kent had walked through that door, Jack might have thrown something.

“Hey,” Troy murmurs. “How you feeling?”

“My head hurts,” Jack says plainly.

“Yeah, there’s nothing like your first concussion,” Troy says. “Hell of a hit you took.”

“I don’t remember.”

Troy’s face twitches.

“I guess you can’t watch the highlights yet. You’ll see once you’re cleared for screens in a few days.”

They sit there in an awkward silence. Jack remembers the first few nights at Troy’s when he arrived in Vegas. An unspoken tension as Jack wondered what stories Kent had told Troy about them. Eventually, it broke – Troy apparently determining Jack wasn’t all that bad. Then came the shovel talk. They were never quite comfortable and Jack was happy to move out of Troy’s place. Out of all of Kent’s friends, Troy remains the only one Jack hasn’t developed a significant relationship with. Likely due to the fact they never developed a bond on the ice.

(In a lot of ways he’s Troy’s replacement. And in a lot of different ways, Jack never met expectations. There was bound to be a misconnection between them. Even if Troy wasn’t Kent’s pseudo hockey dad.)

“The nurse is coming to explain everything to you and then you’re getting sent home,” Troy explains after a few moments.

“I’m not going to remember anything,” Jack admits.

Even though he’s not sure, everything still feels hazy. Important things like medications, routine, follow-up appointments and such will likely just slip through his fingers.

“Lucky for you, I’m here. Jeff Troy: Professional NHLer Babysitter. I should get a card made.”

“Did management or Kent put you up to this?” Jack asks.

Troy shrugs him off. Jack sort of figured he wasn’t getting an answer for that one.

“Where is Kent?”

He tries to not sounds bitter. Everything is confusing. The weird desire to have Kent with him and as far away from him dominate his thoughts. It’s a murky mix Jack thought he dealt with years ago.

Troy gives him a heavy look. There’s a little bit of judgement, but not enough to be rude. More of the annoyed exasperation of dealing with someone who keeps saying ‘what’ after you’ve explained to them the same thing multiple times. But Troy relaxes and his face loosens a bit too. He smiles at Jack. Slightly.

“Two game road trip. Aces are in Pittsburgh,” Troy explains briefly. “Hockey doesn’t stop. Not even for its golden boy.”

“Thought that was Kent,” Jack mumbles.

“He’s not Canadian.”

They both laugh a little. Kent’s biggest flaw, especially for Canadian fans, is his distinct lack of Canadian-ness. Despite the mannerisms he’s picked up and Jack’s trained into him, Kent maintains some rather aggressive American-isms.

This time when they lapse into silence, it’s more comfortable. Troy messes around on his phone and Jack gets amusement from watching his face shift. Eventually the nurse arrives with a packet of information. Troy takes notes. Jack listens and tries his best to memorize what he can. He catches on to every third or so instruction. The words ‘minor’ and ‘fortunate’ stick out. Jack will probably be playing again in a handful of weeks, maybe less if he heals well.

After the nurse is done, Jack says thank you and Troy follows after the nurse with a few follow up questions. There’s an unspoken suggestion for Jack to get ready. He takes his time getting out of bed, sitting at the edge for a few moments and testing the steadiness of his feet. It takes some time, but eventually Jack feels confident enough to stand on his own.

There’s a bag of belongings sitting on a chair next to the bed. Carefully packed and selected, the contents are Jack’s favourite Samwell sweatshirt and a black pair of sweatpants Kent likes to wear. Troy definitely didn’t pick these items. Jack knows in his heart, Kent packed this bag. Probably sad and hurt and most importantly worried about Jack. It sends a fluttery feeling down his spine as thinks about it.

A surge of uncomfortableness follows. Jack feels nauseated by it. Or maybe it’s his head. But he falls back onto the bed, sitting down heavily and trying to shut out the world.

Troy returns and he smiles at Jack easily.

“Good, you’re dressed. Let’s get you home.”

And that’s all Jack really wants.

XXX

By the time Jack wakes up the next morning, he knows he still has all his marbles. He rolls over in bed looking for Kent and welcomes the disappointment when he finds it empty.

The lingering feelings are fading. Maybe by tomorrow, Jack will feel up to actually seeing Kent. Well, Kent won’t be back in Vegas for another few days. A long road trip for only two games. Pittsburgh was last night (Vegas lost as Jack listened helplessly to the radio feed) and Philadelphia is tomorrow. Likely, Jack won’t see Kent until the day after tomorrow.

But the things Jack forgot before his injury remained forgotten. Until Bitty is at his door smiling brightly, a wrapped pie in his hands.

“Bits,” Jack says surprised. “I forgot you were coming.”

Bitty’s entire face changes. He marches into the apartment, a flurry of energy. Immediately he’s pressing Jack back into his cocoon on the couch, demanding to know who is taking care of Jack (Troy said he’d be back sometime around noon today), and wanting to know the exact details of Jack’s injury.

“I’m fine,” Jack asserts as Bitty shoves a piece of pie into this hands.

“You forgot I was coming,” Bitty frowns. “That isn’t good, Jack.”

“I wasn’t supposed to see you,” Jack points out. “You were coming to enjoy a Vegas vacation and I was going to see you on the weekend once I got back from Philly.”

Bitty makes a face, apparently mollified by Jack’s logic.

“Okay,” he agrees slowly. “How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts,” Jack says.

He’s being saying that a lot lately. Whenever Troy asks, whenever his mother or father asks, or a trainer. It’s the only thing he has to say. His head hurts. That and he misses Kent like hell but also isn’t sure how he’ll react if Kent does show up, but it’s one thing he won’t say aloud.

“Can I get you anything?” Bitty asks.

Jack shakes his head. Troy left the morning’s dose of pain medication on the counter for Jack, but Jack slept in and is now just waiting for it to kick in.

“I’m just glad you’re here, Bits. It’s really nice to see a familiar face.”

Bitty frowns.

“Why? None of your Vegas friends been around?”

“Road trip,” Jack says shortly.

“Not even a late night hospital visit?”

Jack shakes his head. Not that he really remembers. He had been in and out of consciousness most of the night. The packed bag is the only sign Kent was there. Probably slipped in and out, hoping to avoid any issue. Jack’s kind of happy he missed the visit.

“That’s terrible, Jack! I’m glad I decided to come here first. You’re in desperate need of a touch of home.”

Bitty takes Jack’s plate even though there’s barely a bite out of it and aggressively tucks Jack back into the couch. His medications start to kick in around then and he drifts off, listening to Bitty move around his apartment.

When he wakes up, Jack hears a rather heated discussion coming from the kitchen. It’s muted and fuzzy that Jack can’t make out specific words. Just the aggressive tone. And when he shifts on the couch, the voices go silent. It’s a bit of an effort to sit up, joints sore from the awkwardness of sleeping on the couch, but when he manages to look over the couch he sees Bitty and Troy.

The two are standing rather combatively. Bitty has an apron on, chopping some apples with startling intensity. He’s the obvious one. Troy, from Jack’s experience, is far more subtle. But from the sharp lines of his shoulders and arms locked at his sides, Jack can see Troy’s anger.

“Jack!” Bitty greets.

The line of his mouth is tight as he tries to smile.

“Uh, sorry Bits I didn’t give you a heads-up Troy was coming to check up on me.”

“Oh no worries. He’s been helping me out with lunch, bless his heart,” Bitty says, voice saccharine sweet.

Troy scoffs. It’s so quiet and quick, Jack almost misses it. He does miss it. The only thing that tips him off Troy did anything is the narrowing of Bitty’s eyes.

“Yeah because Bitty here was the one who needed a heads up,” Troy says sarcastically.

Jack recoils a little. He’s never heard Troy so openly aggressive. Troy is direct, but never mean.

“Sorry,” Jack says sheepishly.

“Well, I should probably go seeing as you have things squared away here,” Troy says. “I’ve gone over everything with your buddy here.”

“Troy,” Jack calls out.

Troy ignores him as he heads to the door. Jack doesn’t want him to go. He wants to fix this situation before it gets even more desperately out of control. Troy is reading into things here – being a good friend to Kent but not to Jack. He doesn’t even get the benefit of the doubt.

The door opens and Troy pauses. He turns to look at Jack over his shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he warns.

The door slams shut behind him. Jack falls back on the couch, sighing deeply.

“Well that could’ve gone better,” Bitty says mildly.

The chopping continues. Endless and familiar.

“He’s just protective,” Jack says.

He’s not sure why he’s defending Troy. Troy was a dick. He was an asshole to Bitty and Jack thought they had come to an understanding. Jack’s not going to cheat on Kent. Bitty is Jack’s friend and Kent understands that.

“Sorry about him,” Jack says.

“It’s fine,” Bitty says.

“What were you talking about?”

Bitty makes a noncommittal noise and says something that sounds a long the lines of ‘oh you know.’ Jack decides it’s best to drop it.

XXX

Bitty takes excellent care of Jack. He’s always been very doting and only ups the ante now that Jack is injured. Jack gets his medications on time, is appropriately fed, and his apartment is concussion proof. He’s even talking about taking Jack to his doctor’s appointment tomorrow if Kent is unavailable. Jack, having woken up more unsure about Kent than before, doesn’t know how he feels about the idea.

The days are spent in relative peace and reminds Jack of the quiet days in the Haus. Everyone was out and somehow it was only Bitty and Jack. Bitty would be in the kitchen, making pies, and Jack just enjoying the silence.

Jack reads in intervals, stopping when he starts to feel the pressure behind his eyes. Other than that, he slips in out of consciousness or loses himself in Bitty’s senseless ramblings.

Bitty sets up Jack’s phone to play the radio coverage of the Aces game and they follow along. Jack follows the action intently, but Bitty isn’t as interested. Unlike Troy, he doesn’t see the appeal of listening to a game. It would be better if they could watch, but Jack knows a disaster headache when he sees one.

So Bitty gets up, on and off, continuing with his mindless tasks. He takes a few phone calls, Jack assumes from the Samwell gang, but he’s not listening to deeply. Focused on the game, Jack is trying to get a read on how the Aces are playing. It would be easier to have visual. Their behaviour on the ice would be a dead giveaway. The Vegas commentators are kind to the Aces and don’t reveal too much.

If Jack had more time with Troy yesterday, he would’ve ask Troy about it. No doubt he would’ve checked up on highlights and reported back in full detail. The loss to Pittsburgh was only 3-2, but that could mean anything.

The first period is goalless and Jack thinks the Aces are probably okay. Then the Flyers score within the first minute of the second, and again, and again, and again. It’s 4-0 by the end of second and Jack swears loudly enough Bitty jumps. The Aces are a mess out there and he knows it’s because of Kent. Kent is the heart and soul of the team and if he’s not in it, the Aces collapse around him.

But the worst is yet to come.

In the third, Kent’s line has been shifted. The coaches have picked up on the fact he’s not playing well and he’s losing playing minutes. Jack thinks Kent’s the only real chance they have to make up for the goal deficit. No one can score like Kent. If he were in the right mindset, everyone has had a game where they got their head screwed back on for the third, no doubt he could pull it off. Instead Kent is having sloppy giveaways and failing to perform both offensively and defensively.

All together, he plays about four minutes in the third which isn’t entirely Kent’s fault. During his second shift Kent takes a nasty shoulder check – clean hit the commentator decrees – and loses possession of the puck.

“Parson looks rattled, but he’s back on his feet! The Flyers are on a breakaway – and Parson’s catching up. There’s some of those fancy feet we’ve been missing all game! Parson with the poke check and he’s got it back, but the Flyers don’t like that. They’re heading back and the roles are reversed. Like a bat of Hell, Parson is on the breakaway. He could score this and stop the Flyers from shutting them out completely!”

The announcer rambles on and on and Jack sighs in frustration. He just wants the play by play.

“Parson with the shot! And the puck is loose – Parson behind the net and look at the scrum. Sticks flying and –” the commentator pauses and Jack leans forward eager to hear what he has to say. “Parson is down!”

Jack feels his stomach drop. Bitty clambers over, dropping on the couch with his hands over his mouth as the commentator tries to describe what is going on the ice. The trainers are called – and after a few moments the commentator says, with finality, that Kent has taken a stick blade to the face. Kent is escorted off the ice and doesn’t return for the rest of the game.

Following the commentator, Scraps hip checks the player who hit Kent in the face and continues to bully him for the rest of the game. Scraps gets a penalty for slashing and the Flyers get another goal on the power play. It’s not like Scraps lost the game for the Aces, but Jack’s still pissed at him. When the game ends, it’s 5-0.

They listen for a bit long for news about Kent, but there’s nothing. Jack turns it off when Connelly starts talking about how their heads weren’t in the game.

“There’s nothing on Twitter,” Bitty murmurs, scrolling on his phone.

Jack sighs and puts his heads in his hands.

“Why don’t you just text him?” Bitty asks innocently.

Because Jack’s been avoiding him. Because Jack doesn’t know what to make of the radio silence Kent is giving him. Before, Jack could rationalize not texting due to his concussion. With Kent obviously injured, Jack really has no excuse. However, he still can’t bring himself to do it.

“It’s complicated,” Jack says slowly.

“Did you have a fight?”

Jack shakes his head, but then stops and shrugs helplessly.

“I forgot where I was, after I hit my head. I thought I was still playing for the Falconers and when I saw Kent, I just remembered how much I hated him,” Jack says. “I haven’t been able to get over it. I’m stuck in the past; lost in my own head.”

“And how do you get over that?” Bitty challenges. “You talk to them and realize how dumb you’re being.”

Jack turns away and refuses to accept Bitty’s correct logic. He can’t shake the feeling. He spent so long wrapped up in it, hating Kent and resenting him for every little thing. It’s easier to fall back into than Jack expected. Even after everything they’ve been through in the last three years.

“Jack,” Bitty tries.

But Jack shakes his head.

“It’s a lot, Bitty. My concussion – it’s hard to be stuck here and doing nothing. It’s easier if I just leave Kent on the outside for awhile. One day at a time.”

Bitty bites his lips. Then he nods and murmurs “Okay.” He leans over and pats Jack’s knee before getting up.

“I’m going to start dinner. I’ll keep an eye on Twitter for any news on Parse.”

“Thanks.”

He means it. He really is concerned about Kent. A stick to the face is straight to the quiet room and concussion protocol. And Kent not even returning to the bench is concerning. Jack just really wants to know if Kent is okay – even if he’s not sure if he’s ready to face him.

Curling back up on the couch, Jack takes a restless nap while Bitty works away in the kitchen. When he wakes to Bitty presenting a plate of warm casserole, he feels overwhelmingly guilty. This is supposed to be Bitty’s vacation. Instead he’s playing nursemaid to Jack. He should send Bitty away and see if Troy will agree to check up on him periodically.

“Sorry,” Jack mutters.

“For what?”

“This is your time off. Instead I have you stuck here.”

“I get to spend time with you,” Bitty says cheerily. “I barely see you anymore. It’s nice to spend so much one-on-one time together.”

Jack smiles gratefully. They eat in a companionable silence while Bitty continues to search Twitter for any mention of Kent. Afterwards, Jack forces Bitty to relax while Jack does dishes. It’s the least he can do. Pushing his luck, Jack gets Bitty to leave the apartment to explore the strip with explicit instructions to not return for at least for two hours. Reluctantly, Bitty agrees but not after preparing for any emergency Jack might face (he has a concussion, he’s not bed-ridden).

He’s gone for three. Jack sleeps for most of it, waking to find Bitty banging back into the apartment – arms full of shopping bags. Bright-faced and full of joy, Bitty’s clearly far happier than he was cooped up in the apartment.

Then Bitty just talks. He tells Jack about every single thing he saw while he was out. Jack’s chest warms through Bitty’s enthusiasm. Even though Jack has seen everything Vegas has to offer many times, Bitty’s first time truly exploring the city is magical to hear. Hands waving and taking many tangents, Jack is just content to listen to Bitty talk. It gets his thoughts away from everything that’s troubling him. Finally the topic of the conversation isn’t on Jack either – Bitty’s the whole focus here.

Jack makes them some tea and Bitty doesn’t even complain that Jack should be taking it easy, just charmed by Jack’s hospitality. He should’ve sent him out yesterday. It would’ve made Jack’s life so much easier.

Cheeks flushed and eyes bright, Bitty goes on and on. He’s telling a story about a street performer when Jack notices how much Bitty has grown over the years. He’s no longer the nineteen year old Jack fell in love with. He’s a successful man and his body reflects that. Bitty will always be tiny, but he’s lost a lot of childlike softness. It’s an attractiveness Jack never noticed.

Eyes moving to Bitty’s lips – they’re pink and rosy and Jack remembers kissing them like yesterday. There’s a pang in Jack’s chest and he just really misses Kent. He wishes it were Kent telling him stories, laughing and teasing him. Forcibly caring for Jack and grumbling when Jack refuses to stay in bed. Jack misses him. All he wants is to know Kent is okay and everything is alright between them.

Bitty stops talking and seems to have noticed Jack’s change. He looks visibly uncomfortable under Jack’s gaze. It’s not really fair for Jack to subject Bitty to this. And before he has a chance to explain, he’s cut off by the jingling of keys and the door is pushed open.

Looking wrecked in the doorway is Kent.

His hair is dishevelled and his clothes are suitably rumpled from the plane ride. His lip is fat and split with a nasty bruise under his left eye. Jack thinks his nose might be a little crooked. The sight of him takes Jack’s breath away. He can’t believe how much he missed Kent. Spending so much being irrationally angry was a waste of energy. Jack loves Kent. Loves him so much he wants to stride across the room and just take Kent into his arms.

But he doesn’t.

He’s frozen to his spot on the couch.

Kent’s eyes are a dull grey, exhausted and wary.

Jack looks to Bitty. They are close on the couch, knees bumping against each other.

“I thought you’d go home first,” Jack says.

Get some rest and come over the next morning, giving them both a fresh start. It’s what Jack half-wanted – what he knew would be best. But it’s not what he knew Kent would do and Jack sort of wanted Kent here as soon as possible too.

“Why?” Kent challenges and there’s a flinty look to eyes. “I wanted to see you. I haven’t seen you,” his voice breaks somewhat, “since you got hit.”

“You look like shit,” Jack says.

He means it as a joke, to try and lighten the mood. He and Kent joke about it all the time, calling each other out for little missteps in their appearances. It’s their thing. Jack spills something on his game day suit, Kent calls him a slob. Kent fusses with his hair and Jack chirps him for it. It’s something they’ve done since Juniors.

But maybe Jack’s tone is all wrong or Kent’s already too defensive. The joke falls flat, eviscerated by the tension in the room.

“Yeah, thanks Zimms,” Kent says coldly as he drops his bag to the floor. “Hi Bittle, I heard you were here.”

Bitty opens his mouth to speak, but Kent continues on.

“Why did you kick Troy out? He knows how to deal with concussions. I thought he could the fort down ‘til I got back.”

“He was an ass to Bitty,” Jack says. “And I didn’t kick him out. He left.”

Kent sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look Jack, I’m fucking tired as hell and don’t fucking feel like fighting with you right now.”

“I’m not the one who came in here looking for a fight,” Jack challenges.

He immediately wants to bite his tongue, take back his words. There’s an attempt to apologize but Kent snaps in front of him. It makes sense Kent was on the defensive coming in here. Jack forgot their entire relationship and told him to stay the fuck away. Kent’s not an insecure guy, but Jack fed into all of his insecurities. Of course Kent is going to be wary, trying to both respect Jack’s space, an important boundary they discussed years ago, and support Jack through his injury.

“Fuck you, Jack. I missed you and wanted to apologize and make things right. Instead I came home to find you making eyes with your ex-boyfriend. Troy was right, I shouldn’t have come,” Kent hisses.

“You think I would cheat on you? That’s what you think of me?” Jack exclaims.

“What am I supposed to think Jack? You shove me away, look at me like I’m your fucking enemy. So I think maybe you need space. Instead you ghost me, kick Troy out, and get cozy with Bittle while I’m away.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Whatever, Jack. Message fucking received.”

Kent, who Jack didn’t even notice was fidgeting with hands, pulls the key to Jack’s apartment off his keychain and drops it on table in the entranceway. He picks up his bag and silently leaves.

Stunned, Jack stares at the door. He just – all he wants is Kent. To go to bed with Kent at his side and wake up with him plastered to Jack’s side, having pulled all the blankets off the bed and now seeking warmth. He wants to wake up with Kent next to him. To kiss him. To be miserable as Kent laughs at him but ultimately pull Jack’s head into his lap and combs through Jack’s hair as they discuss hockey plays. To talk about the Aces shitty road trip and laugh at something Swoops did. He’s let himself fall into the pitfalls of their past.

“I should go,” Bitty says quietly.

Jack turns to him. Bitty’s face is ashen. He looks miserable. Guilty.

“It’s not your fault,” Jack tells him desperately.

“It’s not that Jack. Parse’s right, this doesn’t look good. This hurt him,” Bitty says. “I don’t know him as well as you do, but I think me being here is hurting him. I know he knows you wouldn’t cheat on him but – you two have been through a lot. This whole situation is dredging up the past and it would be better if I wasn’t here while you sort through things.”

“Please don’t go,” Jack begs.

“I can’t be here. It’s not my place.”

Jack retreats to his bedroom to give Bitty some privacy as he packs. He strains to hear the door quietly closing behind Bitty, trapping Jack in his apartment.

Alone with his thoughts and a concussion.

XXX

Jack takes an Uber to his doctor’s appointment the next morning. When Doctor Madison sees him, she automatically assumes he’s not doing well. He hasn’t looked at himself in a mirror until that point. When he turns his head and catches a glimpse of his reflection, Jack understands where she’s coming from. Hair askew and face pale, Jack looks miserable.

“It’s not my head,” Jack insists. “I feel fine. The pain is manageable and everything is stable. Just personal stuff."

The morning had been hard. Jack hated the feeling of emptiness when he looked at Kent’s side of the bed. All wanted was Kent. Every part of his body screamed for Kent. The last piece of his brain, dredging up feelings from 2009, had vacated, leaving only the want for Kent. Only hesitancy after last night remains. How can he face Kent after handling the situation like he was 19 again?

Doctor Madison makes a face, unimpressed, but nods. Injuries take an emotional toll on players and their families. Jack’s been to the seminars, read the papers, and lived it. She has to understand he knows a little bit about sorting through the physical pain and the mental turmoil.

“Your tests are clear and you’re responding well,” she agrees. “But you worry me, Jack, so I’m going to say you need a few more days of rest. We’ll re-evaluate at the end of the week and if I like what I see, I’ll clear you for light skating. No contact for a few days and with the trainers keeping a close eye.”

Perking up at the thought of returning to the ice, Jack gives Doctor Madison a small smile.

“I like the sound of getting my feet into a pair of skates.”

She smiles at him.

“Take it easy okay? Is there someone you can call to help you? You said earlier you’re alone right now.”

Jack chews his lip. A situation of his own making.

“It’s fine. I can always call my mom and she’d be here by dinner,” Jack assures.

Doctor Madison hesitates but nods.

“Alright, head home and get some rest. I’ll see you on Friday. You can add some screen time to your routine if you haven’t already. But if you feel even the slightest discomfort, stop immediately.”

“Thanks Doctor,” Jack says.

“Don’t hesitate to talk to one of the trainers or get in touch of with me either,” Doctor Madison says. “Your health is our priority. Lying to us is just going to make things worse in the long run.”

“You’ll update the team for me?” Jack asks.

Doctor Madison laughs. He’s hesitancy must be endearing. Or the idea of facing a team of overly involved hockey players with no boundaries is what Doctor Madison thinks he’s afraid of. Certainly it’s normally the reason. Updating teammates is overwhelming. Especially for Jack. Instead, Jack knows the team has picked up Kent’s mood and no doubt Scraps and Swoops are not helping. Facing Kent in any capacity at this moment in time is – Jack can’t really put the feeling into words.

There’s a near crippling fear of looking Kent in the eye after their catastrophic last meetings mixed with need to be as close to Kent as humanly possible. It’s Jack and Kent circa 2010.

“Of course, Jack.”

He scuttles out of the doctor’s office and does his best to avoid anyone he knows. Keeping his hat pulled low (he only realized it’s one of Kent’s All-Star snapbacks after he left home), he shuffles out of the building. He calls an Uber on his way out and slips in as quietly as he arrived. During the twenty minute drive back to his apartment, he takes advantage of the lifted screen ban and looks at his phone for the first time in days.

His notifications are a mess. Dozens of unanswered texts (he dealt with the most important – his parents, Shitty and Lardo, Rans and Holster, and Bitty – with a phone call) and various alerts (set up by his friends to “keep in informed” and not “socially under a rock” – Jack still clears most of them away). He clears everything before his head starts hurting for reasons unrelated to his concussion.

Instead he heads to Google and immediately looks up the hit. The NHL hasn’t posted it in their official highlights, always trying to distance themselves from their piss poor concussion protocols. It isn’t hard to find however. The official hockey reddit has several threads dedicated to it.

The hit itself isn’t dirty. It was a series of unfortunate events. Jack was caught unaware, hit the boards awkwardly, and his helmet popped off on his way down. The entire stadium is roaring as Jack hits the ice. It’s a fraction of a second before Kent is there – he hadn’t been far away when Jack was hit in the first place. Some of the major thoughts, Jack remembers. The tiny details of the play, not so much.

The Aces were crashing the net for a penalty kill when Jack was watching one of the Detroit players attempting to get open on the other side and intercepted the puck along the boards. He was trying to avoid an icing call – and get the puck down the ice. Maybe to Kent, maybe to Scraps. Jack can’t remember that part, only knowing many of these events through a third person view. He had his head up, trying to move when a Detroit d-men hit him. Jack’s a power forward, bigger than most. Still, many d-men in the league have a few pounds on him.

Kent sheds his gloves as he skates over and collapses at Jack’s side. The camera briefly catches a glimpse of the utter terror on Kent’s face before his back is flipped to the world and he’s down by Jack’s side. Seconds later, Kent is shoved away and is scuttling back on to his feet. The world gets to see the confusion and pain on Kent’s face. It quickly disappears when Swoops skates to Kent.

The rest Jack remembers clearly. He feels ill looking at the hurt on Kent’s face. It’s way too familiar. The look Kent gave him in the hospital after the Draft, when Jack kicked him out of the Haus the first time. A raw moment of pain and sorrow as Kent processed the rejection. Something Kent has historically never handled well.

Skimming through the comments, Jack sees he’s not alone in noticing Kent’s face. Everyone is speculating, some even bringing rumours dating back from the Q into the argument. It’s easy to see everyone wants to why Kent looked so devastated when Jack pushed him away.

Finally, someone links a post-game interview from Kent. It’s after the Pittsburgh game. Kent skipped out on press after the game Detroit game. The media is clamouring for him to say something. The Parson-Zimmermann story is the NHL’s favourite soap opera.

“Have you heard anything about Jack?” one of the reporters asks.

Kent’s look is haunted. Only momentarily. And it’s enough to write off as exhaustion from a bad loss. He puts on a Media Smile but his eyes remain grey, tried and wary. Worried and missing Jack.

“Jack’s the most stubborn guy I know. I’d be surprised if he’s out for long. He’s got a thick skull.”

There’s some scattered laughter. Kent’s shoulders only seem to tense as a result.

"Care to comment about the incident that occurred after the hit?”

Kent runs his hands through his sweater hair. He pulls an LVA hat onto his head to fix the problem. Jack likes to tease Kent that he never enters a media scrum without his shield. Kent retorts and calls Jack a history nerd. (They both know Kent secretly likes thinking of media scrums as a battle and Kent as a warrior.)

“When Jack pushed me? He’s got a big personal space bubble and an attitude. Doesn’t like me mother henning him all the time.”

There’s some more laughter from the media.

“Like you did when Moretti got hit last month.”

Kent’s eyes light up, the topic gets easier. Swoops loves getting babied by Kent. The media loves it too.

The clip ends and Jack sighs. He watches more non-NHL sanctioned highlights from the Aces-Red Wings game. Jack’s removal from the game. The Aces’ utter collapse as Kent becomes reckless and unpredictable on the ice. Connelly can’t keep up and the Aces’ lead is shot. At the end of the game, Kent smashes his stick on the boards and disappears down the tunnel.

Reddit points out that it’s one of the very few games Kent hasn’t given a post-game interview. He always comes of bad losses with words of wisdom and support for the team, often owning up to his mistakes. Jack feels Kent’s pain deep in his core. He was devastated by Jack’s reaction, no doubt sent back to 2009 like Jack.

Jack – Jack fucked up. Sure he’s the one who got hurt, but he hurt Kent in the process too. And knowingly played into Kent’s fears because he was feeling petty when Kent wasn’t at his beck and call afterwards. And Kent, reasonably so, kept his distance after the hit – allowing Jack time to figure things out. Still showing he cared – sending Troy, coming straight to Jack’s apartment after a bad road trip – Jack has been an idiot.

He needs to make this right. The fog has lifted and Jack can see clearly. There’s no hatred or confusion, just his love for Kent and Jack’s want for him. No more unsureness or confusion. The past is locked back neatly in its box, perfectly concluded with closure.

The Uber driver is pulling up to the front of Jack’s building when Jack leans forward.

“Change of plans,” he says.

He rattles out Kent’s building’s address. It’s only a handful of blocks away and they arrive a few minutes later. The driver doesn’t seem too annoyed about it, especially when Jack gives him a hefty tip and a five star rating.

Jumping out of the car, he hurries into the lobby. The doorman smiles at him gently. Jack forgoes the normal brief conversation and marches straight to the elevator. It can’t go fast enough as he rides up to Kent’s floor. The doors are barely open before he forces his way out and to Kent’s door.

He knocks once.

Then twice.

And a third time.

Each with ample time in between, giving Kent time to answer the door.

Kent gets a bit of leeway because Jack’s been a complete jerk, but that doesn’t warrant behaving childishly and ignoring Jack at the door. Jack pulls out his own keys and fumbles for his copy to Kent’s apartment. He pushes in carefully, peeking around for Kent.

All the lights are off. The apartment is completely empty. For posterity’s sake, Jack does a quick sweep. Kent’s bed is made and not slept in. There’s no indication Kent even came back here after leaving Jack’s apartment. His game day suit and road trip bag are missing from the closet. Kit’s food bowl is full and her water fresh meaning the cat sitter has at least been by, but not Kent.

Clearly spiralling, Kent doesn’t want to be alone and is no doubt at one of his friend’s homes. Jack’s chest squeezes painfully with regret. He needs to know how Kent is.

He has a list of people to go through to get that information. Calling Troy is immediately off the table. Though he’d pick up, Jack knows Troy well enough he’d only answer to get the satisfaction of hanging up on Jack.

There’s a big red line through Scraps’ name. Kent and Scraps are close – closer than Jack imagined when he met Scraps. The two seemed friendly and relaxed but watching them on the ice and the startling intensity Scraps gets when Kent is targeted is a force to be reckoned with. Kent’s admission of his not so platonic history with Scraps during their rookie year painted a visible picture of their dynamic. Jack’s not really up for what Scraps will have to say to him.

That leaves Swoops. Kind, somewhat naive, and always eager to help Kent. Jack carefully crafts a text and hits send. He stares at his phone as the text bubble pops up immediately. Then disappears. Then comes back. He sighs. It’s predictable that Swoops is waffling. Then after a long minute, a response finally arrives.

Fuck off.

Staring at his phone, Jack immediately knows it wasn’t Swoops who replied. He must be with someone else on the team. The hostility screams Scraps, but Jack can’t be certain. It’s a rest day, making it easier to avoid everyone earlier, but harder to find his teammates. Kent is in the wind.

But Jack has to do it. Somewhere in the city of Las Vegas, Kent is sad and hurting and Jack is the only person who can fix it. He’ll have to brave, at the minimum, Troy’s house to find him. Kent likes to curl away in the basement that healed his heart after Jack in 2009. It’s a safe place. Jack felt like an intruder when he lived there for those handful of months in 2018, invading a sacred Kent space. Like Kent in the Haus. Troy only ever seemed the tiniest bit resentful at Jack pushing into Kent’s space, but Kent never said anything. He always seemed happy for Jack to be a part of Kent’s early NHL history.

Calling up another Uber, Jack heads back to the lobby. The doorman is waiting for him, patient smile on his face.

“I was going to tell you Mr. Parson hasn’t been home in a few days,” he says not unkindly.

Feeling appropriately scolded, Jack quietly thanks the doorman and hurries back out. The same caris waiting for him, the driver looking amused at the whole situation.

“I made it halfway around the block,” the driver says.

“Sorry,” Jack says sheepishly and gives him Troy’s address.

“There are worse ways I could spend my day than chauffeuring Jack Zimmermann around,” the driver says. “Just wishing I brought my Aces jersey so I could get you to sign it.”

“I’ve got your info on my phone, I’ll get you a new one with the whole team,” Jack promises.

The driver lights up and starts to hum happily to the music as they drive. Fortunately, they don’t force Jack into any other conversations. Maybe they sense his urgency and anxiety or just understand the courtesy of not talking to their patrons.

When they arrive at Troy’s house, Jack instructs the driver to wait. He’ll let them know if he doesn’t need another ride. Kent’s car isn’t in the driveway, but Jack doesn’t give up immediately.

Getting out, he makes his way to Troy’s front door. A wave of anxiety comes crashing down on him. What is he supposed to do if Kent is here? Apologize for one. But what else? Jack did some really awful things over the last few days.

Ringing the door is a monumental task. Waiting for someone to answer the door is an eternity. Troy pulls the door open slowly like an asshole, clearly making Jack pay.

“You got some nerve,” Troy says blandly.

“I’m sorry,” Jack blurts. “I should’ve let you know Bitty was coming.”

“I’m over that,” Troy says. “I was being an ass about the whole thing. What I’m pissed about is you not telling Parser. He’s in fucking pieces over this. He thinks you two broke up.”

Jack freezes.

“He what?”

“You know how his head works. He gets an idea in there and then looks for reasons to make it true and gets himself worked up about it.”

Troy looks almost fond talking about Kent’s self-destructive tendencies.

“Except you played into those fears like a fucking asshole,” Troy cuts in suddenly. “And now that idiot can’t even function he’s so miserable.”

Jack’s shoulders drop and he feels himself crumple.

“Yeah he looks kind of like that. Go fix him so he’ll go back to being annoyingly happy.”

“Where is he?” Jack asks.

Troy grins at him, wolfish.

“Scraps’.”

“Fuck.”

“Good luck with that,” Troy says.

He slams the door in Jack’s face. Jack stands there for a few more minutes before turning around and walking back to the Uber. He’s at the car door when Troy pulls open the front door and calls out for him.

“How’s your head?”

“I’ll be back on the ice next week.”

“Good,” Troy says, nodding emphatically. “Tell Bittle I’m sorry for being a dick to him. I’m sure his grandmother’s pie is delightful.”

Jack chuckles as he slips back into the car.

“Where to next, chief?” the driver asks.

Jack sighs as he lists Scraps’ address. This is the worst case scenario. Kent turned to Scraps in his time of need, the one person who hasn’t been afraid to voice his anger towards Jack. It’s probably because Scraps knew Kent before the Draft. He has a bit of insight into just how badly Jack’s overdose affected Kent. An idea of how Jack’s absolute rejection of Kent fucked him up.

Scraps and Kent met at the 2009 Combine, Jack remembers Kent telling him about the huge d-man who threw Kent over his shoulder. They were both drafted by the Aces that year and spent their rookie year inseparable and trading bro-jobs. Then Scraps met Arielle and he and Kent broke off their friends with benefits arrangement amicably. Their friendship is comfortable and calm, with the two of them both having fierce mean streaks when it comes to protecting the other.

(Jack has woken up to more than a few hushed conversations between Kent and Scraps as they discuss their worries. Some might say he should be concerned, but Scraps and Arielle have a great relationship. And so do Kent and Jack. It’s good Kent has a confidant outside of Jack, like Jack has Shitty. It’s important.)

Arriving at Scraps’ house, Jack’s takes more time to psyche himself up. This time he dismisses the driver with another big tip and a promise to deliver on the jersey. Kent’s car is in the driveway, as is Swoops’.

It’s both easier and harder to ring Scraps’ doorbell. Jack wants to see Kent. Scraps is just one last obstacle.

“You’re here,” Scraps says with little inflection as he answers the door. “Good.”

“Hi,” Jack replies uselessly.

Scraps takes a step out onto the porch and Jack pulls backwards just a little. But Scraps just shuts the door. He laughs when he sees Jack’s defensive position.

“You think I’m going to fight you?” Scraps asks.

“Your nickname is Scraps,” Jack points out.

“Because when we were rookies, I use to eat all of Kent’s leftover food. He was picky as shit and I was hungry. The vets called me Scraps ‘cause I ate all the scraps.”

“But the media...”

“Knows jack shit. Doesn’t help I drop the gloves a little more frequently than most, but I’m not a fighter off the ice Zimmermann.”

Jack avoids eye contact, feeling like an even bigger fool. Now he’s insulted Scraps personally, on top of hurting Kent. They’re both quiet for a few moments, Jack mortified and Scraps in quiet amusement.

“I came to talk to Kent,” Jack says finally.

"I know. I’m giving Parser time to prepare himself.”

“Troy called.”

“Troy called,” Scraps confirms. “Look, I’m going to level with you – Parser came here in bad shape. I was thinking he should never give you another chance. I thought a second was a bad idea, but Parser was happy and that’s all I really want. A third? You’re a lucky guy, Zimmermann. I don’t know many people who’d let someone hurt them the way you hurt Parser and be forgiven.”

“I know,” Jack agrees. “I know I screwed up. I need to make this right.”

“I don’t like you,” Scraps admits. “But Parser loves you and he’s the closest thing I have to a brother. So I’ll love you too. Don’t pull this shit again because next time I’m not going to talk Parser off the edge about you. You get one ‘Scraps is your cheerleader’ and that’s it."

“Thank you,” Jack says. “I don’t want to fuck this up again.”

“Good,” Scraps says as he opens the door. “Now get in there and kiss and make up. I’m tired of hosting the Parser and Swoops never ending slumber party. I’d like to not completely screw up my daughter’s sleeping routine.”

Jack steps into the house and carefully takes off his shoes. Certainly fellow Canadian Scraps is scrutinizing all of his behaviours.

“Basement,” Scraps murmurs from behind him.

Jack nods, not looking back at Scraps. He’s familiar enough with Scraps’ home and needs no direction to reach the basement.

It’s a disaster area. There are blankets and pillows everywhere. But on the couch, at the centre of all the chaos, is Kent. The swelling of his lip has gone down and the bruising is fading, but the injury still looks ugly as hell. Other than that, Kent looks better than he did last night. Well-rested, fading edges of the glow Daphne always brings out, and blond hair falling attractively around his face.

Jack surges forward. Kent doesn’t move – doesn’t even breath – as Jack gently handles his face, brushing his thumbs over the bruises and marks on Kent’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” Jack whispers.

He leans forward and presses a light kiss against Kent’s lips. Pulling away, he looks in Kent’s eyes searching for the recognition that they just had a fight. A bad one, but still just a fight. They didn’t break up. Kent blinks once and Jack watches as it dawns on him. Then Kent pulls away, scoots down to the edge of the couch and folds up on himself.

“Kent,” Jack tries.

“What the fuck are we doing, Jack?” Kent asks quietly.

“We’re going to talk through what happened. I’m going to apologize and then we’re going to go home and put this whole thing behind us.”

Kent pauses and stares at Jack, looking for some sort of motivation. It’s not easy for Jack to hold his gaze, to remain open for Kent – but this is Kent, someone he loves dearly. For that, Jack would expose his entire soul.

“Okay,” Kent says quietly.

Taking a wavering breath, Jack attempts to organize all the swirling thoughts in his mind. There’s a thousand feelings and words he wants to get across all at the same time. He wants Kent to understand – to be in his head the way they are on the ice where words aren’t necessary. If their relationship were always that easy – they’d never fight. But Kent can’t read his mind, Jack’s never made himself as available off the ice. It’s unfair to everyone. Kent. Bitty. His friends. His parents.

He’ll have to do his best to put this into words. And work harder to continue to do so in the future. Maybe he owes Bitty a few more apologies.

“I didn’t know where I was,” Jack says. “After the hit. I was lost. I thought I was still playing for the Falconers and when you came up to me, I couldn’t figure out why you were so concerned. In that moment, the last time I saw you was after that mess at the Haus.”

To his credit, Kent doesn’t flinch. He’s gotten very good about talking about that terrible night. Open and willing to own up to his mistakes and faults. Sometimes far better than Jack. And Jack loves Kent more for it.

“I panicked, got angry, and just reacted. I couldn’t figure it out and then I blacked out again,” Jack continues. “Then when I woke up alone in the hospital, I was mixed between 2009 and now. I couldn’t get my timeline straight. I was angry you weren’t there – you were all I wanted. But I didn’t want to see you because I still thought it was 2009. I missed you so much, but it was like all I felt for you was anger.”

“Like that dream a few months ago when I woke up angry because I thought you forgot to feed Kit and was mad at you for the rest of the day about it,” Kent says.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “Exactly like that. I couldn’t sort myself out. The concussion was too much and everything was way too overwhelming. Then Bitty showed up and decided to stay and things just sort of spiralled out of my control.”

“I walked into the apartment defensive. I should’ve gone home,” Kent admits.

“Kent,” Jack murmurs leaning forward and putting a hand on Kent’s forearm, “you know everything with Bitty is done, right? I have no feelings for him whatsoever.”

“Of course I do,” Kent says defensively. “I’m a catch and everyone agrees you’re the reacher.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“I need you to understand. I was an ass and should’ve known I was playing into your insecurities. I’m sorry, Kent.”

“I get it,” Kent replies and he, at last, unfolds his body. “It sucks, but I get why you did what you did.”

“It still wasn’t acceptable.”

“I know. I just, we both made mistakes, so don’t go all martyr on me. I’m sorry too.”

“Let’s not do that again,” Jack says.

“Agreed,” Kent says. “So how’s your head?”

“Doctor says I should be back on the ice by Friday. Non-contact probably, but after that it won’t be too long until I’m game ready, barring any setbacks.”

“Really? You had memory loss, I’d expect more rigorous testing,” Kent scoffs.

“I know you miss me on the ice,” Jack teases.

“I just miss you period,” Kent says.

He leans in and kisses Jack.

“Let’s go home before Scraps loses his damn mind with Swoops and I,” Kent says.

That’s the best thing Jack’s heard all day.

XXX

(BONUS)

“You know Jack thought I was going to fight him for your honour?” Scraps says as they’re lacing up for practice.

“You wouldn’t? I’m insulted,” Kent laughs.

Scraps slaps Kent across the chest with his glove.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I mean that Jack thought people call me ‘Scraps’ because I like to fight.”

“Better than those assholes on the Schooners who chirp you because they think you just really love Scrappy Doo,” Kent says. “But everyone knows why you’re Scraps.”

“No they don’t. All those guys – our vets – are gone. We’re the vets on the team now, Parser,” Scraps says seriously. “Look around us.”

Kent pauses and follows Scraps’ instructions. Swoops is down the line talking to some rookies. Connelly’s not even a rookie anymore, Kent watches him take bigger roles on the team everyday. It’s wild to think Kent and Scraps have been playing for the Aces together since 2009. The team’s landscape has changed vastly over the years. Tady getting traded last season marked the last player, besides Kent and Scraps, who played on that first Cup winning team.

“We’re the only ones left from 2009,” Scraps continues. “We’re the old men.”

“And we’re still better than most of them,” Kent says.

This is their team. Scraps has had the A as long as Kent has had the C – he has his back on and off the ice. No matter how their tenures as Aces end, Kent knows he and Scraps will remain inexorably bonded. He remembers their first NHL game, both of them straight from the CHL to the NHL – no stopping for the AHL. They had joined forces against the vets at training camp and worked hard to prove themselves.

Kent remembers the vets chirping them, sending them out for their solo laps, and more often than not the humiliating pranks. He remembers standing on the edge of the ice, looking at the empty arena after a particularly cruel joke. Scraps joined him and they made a promise underneath the Aces’ bannerless ceiling.

“Hey Scraps, still us against the world?”

Kent holds out his fist for Scraps to bump it. Scraps meets him halfway.

“Always.”