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There’s something poetic about the anger simmering through Jonny’s body right now. He doesn’t really know how to describe it, but it feels bitter and acrid, tastes the same as when he accidentally drinks the wrong kind of milk. For his entire life, Jonny’s temper has been fragile, exploding out of him in bouts of screaming and clenched fists. That’s not how he feels right now though. The emotions are thrumming through his body the same way sinking into a hot tub feels. A little too much and not enough at the same time, heat coursing through him from head to toe. Taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain some semblance of control only makes him feel marginally better.
As soon as the reporters move away from him, mics and lights gone, he can feel the sharp intensity of Patrick’s gaze on him. Pat’s sitting in his stall with just his leggings on, a towel around his neck and he’s looking Jonny’s way. No, he’s staring at Jonny and he looks worried.
Shit.
Jonny doesn’t want to deal with Patrick bleeding concern all over the place right now.
He locks eyes with Patrick and shakes his head minutely, hoping that’s enough to get the message across. Hurt flashes across Patrick’s face but it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by a blank mask as he looks away. Jonny can still see the hurt in Patrick's movements though, the way he’s getting dressed in short, jerky motions and the tight clench of his jaw. Jonny looks away distracting himself by watching Shawzy slam his helmet into his bag and muttering loudly.
“Stupid fucking Kings. Fuck Doughty and Pearson and stupid fucking Toffoli.” Each of Shawzy’s words are punctuated by another item being thrown into his bag. Jonny can feel the frustration rolling off him in waves and he gets it. They didn’t deserve to win that game but fuck, they were so close. He glances at Patrick again, quick enough so he doesn’t notice him looking and makes a mental note to talk to him on the bus so they don’t have to do it at the hotel. So they can just shower, eat a late dinner in silence and go to bed. Jonny just wants this day to be over.
But Patrick doesn’t sit with him on the bus.
Jonny’s left an open space next to him and everything, hoping for an opportunity to talk – even shooed Dacher away when he looked like he was about to sit in the empty seat. Just said the word ‘Kaner’ and Dach had nodded, an understanding look crossing his face and moved to sit with Nylander instead. Jonny’d debrief with the rookies on the plane. Right now, he had other things to worry about.
Patrick finally gets on the bus and glances at Jonny for a split second, then at the empty seat next to him and deliberately turns away. Jonny stares as Pat follows Seabs towards the back of the bus and drops into the empty seat next to Caggs. What the fuck? Jonny’s dazed and a lot confused, but mostly hurt. He was sure Pat got the message in the locker room so why was he ignoring Jonny now?
Jonny can feel a lump forming in the base of his throat and he tries to force it down, blinking furiously, his eyes suspiciously watery. The feeling of shame and self-loathing curls hot in his stomach and he feels a little sick. Mentally, he berates himself for overreacting. Patrick probably just needed some space and it’s fine, they can talk at the hotel anyway.
Only, they don’t.
Even though he was sitting near the back, Patrick’s one of the first people off the bus and has disappeared into his room by the time Jonny gets to the floor that the team is on. Jonny gets inside his room and immediately goes to try the adjoining door, knowing before he’s even twisted the handle that Patrick’s side is locked. He feels sick for real now. That feeling in his stomach is only increasing and he’s got a sour taste in the back of his throat. Shit, he must have really fucked up because the doors between their rooms are never locked. Patrick has a weird thing about it. Jonny’d tried to get him to explain once but Pat had just mumbled something about trust and metaphorical locked doors, before going red and shutting up no matter how much Jonny needled him about it.
Jonny sits down on the bed heavily, his hands automatically coming up to loosen his tie. Does he knock? What if Patrick doesn’t want to see him? Maybe he should just send him a text. But what if he doesn’t reply? God, it shouldn’t be this hard to figure out what was wrong with his boyfriend. The thing is, Jonny doesn’t get what he did wrong. He doesn’t understand why Patrick gets to shut him out like this when Jonny wanted to talk about the game. It isn’t fair on him. He shakes his head a little and as he gets up to knock on the door, he can feel the anger from earlier returning slowly, feeling like a burning piece of coal in the pit of his stomach.
He pauses, no noise coming from the other side besides the low hum of the TV playing some program. He knocks once. Then again. And again. He knocks four more times before he hears movement. Someone getting out of bed and padding over to the door. Jonny’s really mad now. Where does Patrick get off ignoring him like his? As he’s thinking that, Patrick opens the door slightly and Jonny pushes it the rest of the way, a little too aggressive. He stops short when he sees that Pat’s dressed like he’s about to go to sleep and – what? Jonny can’t remember the last time they slept in separate beds on the road, or at home for that matter.
“What the fuck Pat?” Jonny blurts out, unable to keep himself silent any longer.
Patrick looks up at him and clenches his jaw slightly. “What do you mean ‘What the fuck Pat?’?” he spits out, the words sounding harsh and jagged.
Jonny gapes at him in disbelief and turns around, shaking his head as he walks back into his room with Patrick following. “Why are you ignoring me? I didn’t even do anything. I wanted to talk to you on the bus about the game but you blew right past me like I didn’t even matter. And locking the door? Since when do we do that?”
“Since you’ve been acting like I don’t exist except for hockey shit.”
“I don’t fucking do that, what are you talking about?” Jonny is so confused by Patrick’s anger and the swirling hot shame feeling in his stomach has been replaced by annoyance.
“You’ve been pushing me away for a week now and when I do it once, you’re suddenly angry at me? We promised we wouldn’t do this. We agreed to talk things out.” Patrick’s voice is laced with anger and Jonny can see him flexing his hands in and out of fists, trying to curb the urge to punch something – Jonny, maybe. Jonny says nothing, lips pursed together and eyes staring intently at the wall behind Patrick’s head. He can’t look at Pat’s face – it’s too much all at once, raw emotion, flushed cheeks and red, bitten lips.
He thinks about it though. Thinks about the last time they said more than hockey words to each other, thinks about Patrick trying to start a conversation over breakfast, lunch, dinner, in bed before they nodded off. Jonny can see himself changing the subject back to hockey or turning over and going to sleep. He didn’t even notice he was doing it. He doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse.
Patrick pauses for a second, visibly trying to relax before he continues. “I’m trying here, Jon.” Jonny’s lips part and he sucks in a sharp breath at that. That fucking hurts. Patrick never calls him Jon. It’s the name Jonny uses when he introduces himself to people he doesn’t know very well, strangers at PR sanctioned events or people they meet on holiday. Jon Toews, nice to meet you. It’s impersonal and doesn’t hold any meaning for him. Playing hockey his entire life meant that what people called you mattered, even when it was a nickname you hated. It was why he put up with Captain Serious for so long – it meant his team cared about him.
But Patrick only calls him Jon when they’re arguing, when he wants it to hurt and every single time he has, the name cuts Jonny the same way. For Patrick, he’s always been Tazer around the guys, Jonny and an assortment of pet names around family or when it’s just them – everything ranging from darling to sweetheart to baby. So, Patrick wants this, wants the name to dig in and eat away at him for a couple hours before he lets the anger give way to clarity and recognises his fault. It’s learned behaviour, they’ve cycled through this countless times and no doubt will do so countless more. See, the thing about knowing someone better than they know themselves is you know exactly where to press when you want to cause pain– and Patrick’s doing exactly that.
Jonny finally looks at Patrick’s face. Where he glimpsed anger earlier, there’s just exhaustion and sadness. Pat’s eyes are a little red and look suspiciously glassy. Jonny feels his stomach drop, the simmering anger from earlier replaced by a hollow emptiness and a slight ache. He can’t believe he’s done it again; managed to push away the only person who has faith in him wholeheartedly, who he trusts with anything, who he loves completely.
“Patrick, I’m sor–”, Jonny starts, voice rough with unsaid emotion, but Patrick cuts him off, a hand coming up to brush through his curls roughly.
“No, I’m tired of this Jon. I’ve been trying. But this isn’t supposed to be one-sided. I can’t just push at you until you break. The last time that happened, you kicked me out and it ended with me getting shitfaced in Madison and you finding out from fucking Twitter. That was seven years ago, Jonny. Seven! So I don’t know why your emotional maturity has suddenly regressed into what it was when you were 24 but I’m not dealing with it. We fucking talk through things now, okay? You’ve been brushing me off for a week and I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to figure out what I did wrong.” Jonny can only listen, let the words wash over him as he realises what he’s been doing for the past week. Madison is still one of the sourest points of their relationship and to hear it mentioned in relation to now is like getting hit with a two-by-four. The magnitude to which he fucked up is descending on him rapidly.
Patrick looks down at his feet, huffing out a soft, disbelieving laugh as he shakes his head. He sounds derisive now, almost self-deprecating. “Turns out, you were just doing your self-sacrificial woe-is-me bullshit and hanging me out to dry. I don’t even blame you because I know how intense you get about the game. I get it okay. Hockey fucking sucks right now. Colliton’s line blending is worse than Q’s, our defense is shit and no can fucking score a goal to save their lives. But you don’t get to take that out on me, okay? You can’t take that out on me. I’m your boyfriend, not a punching bag. I just…you can’t do that, okay Jonny?”
Patrick sounds broken and tired and so so done. Jonny’s never heard him sound so defeated before. There’ve been screaming matches with words spit out like venom, meant to pierce and wound, and phones thrown at walls in fits of rage. Nothing like this though. Nothing that made him feel so horrible before, like the worst boyfriend ever. Somehow, he’s managed to forget that there is a person who cares about him and depends on him and loves him more than anyone in the entire world. Jonny doesn’t even know what to say.
He takes Patrick’s hands into his, thumbs rubbing slow circles over the knuckles, and tilts his head to make Patrick look him in the eye. Jonny always forgets how much difference there really is between their heights but it’s extremely noticeable now with Pat looking up at him, eyes wide with unshed tears of frustration. Jonny loves him so much and he has to fix this. He just does.
“Patrick, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to tell you. I know we talk things through now. We promised and I’m sorry I pushed you away this week. Just – with the media and the games and, just everything, I didn’t wanna have to face it, you know? Like, if I just didn’t talk about it, it’d go away – we’d start winning games again, I’d be scoring goals and I’d have you back on my wing. I didn’t want to talk to anyone because it’d feel real and I felt so much pressure already. I’m so sorry though. I never meant to make you feel like you did something wrong or it was your fault. I wasn’t thinking.” Jonny takes a deep breath. Once he got going, the words had just spilled out of him, raw and honest.
Jonny feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He feels like he’s been underwater for thirty seconds too long and just broken the surface, the fresh air welcome and needed. Telling Patrick everything that’s been eating at him for a week feels freeing in a way that he only feels when they've won a tough game. God, he’s been so stupid, keeping everything bottled up when he knows it’s not healthy.
He looks down at Patrick and moves his head down a little so their foreheads are touching. Patrick slowly blinks at him and then drops his hands from Jonny’s grasp to wrap them around his waist. Jonny’s arms instinctively curl around Patrick and pull him in, face turning into Pat’s freshly washed hair and pressing a light kiss into the crown of his head.
“Jonny, you can just tell me that you don’t want to talk about it instead of avoiding me, you know? Telling me you don’t want to talk still counts as talking, dumbass. It’s called communication.” Patrick voice is soft and slightly muffled from where his head is cushioned into Jonny’s collarbone, lips brushing the sensitive skin of Jonny’s neck with every word. “No more of this though. It fucks with my head too much and I need something in my life to be going right. I don’t know if I can deal without you and hockey.”
There’s a pause and then slightly quieter Patrick says, “I love you Jonny. More than hockey. More than anything. It scares me sometimes, the things I would do for you.”
Jonny’s silent for a beat, then he pulls away and raises his hands from around Patrick to cup his face. He presses a soft kiss to Patrick’s nose, watches as his eyes fall closed and then kisses each of his eyelids. “I love you too. I can’t imagine my life without you. Hockey is temporary - you will always, always be the most important thing in my life. There is nothing I don’t want to do with you, Peeks.” Patrick’s lips curve up into a smile and Jonny has to lean down and press a tender close-mouthed kiss to his lips. Jonny can feel himself smiling too. This is it.
Where seven, even six, years ago there would’ve been screaming and slammed doors and thinly veiled insults hurled at each other like missiles; today there’s talking and hugging, and honestly, Jonny prefers this. This means he gets Patrick in his bed at the end of the day – not on the couch, or in the guest bedroom, or at Sharpy’s. Jonny knows they’ll never stop arguing. It’s an integral part of the Kane and Toews show now. But it’s part of why he loves Patrick. Patrick challenges him and makes him want to be better every single day.
His mother always said that he was oblivious to anyone showing even the slightest hint of affection towards him and for the most part that was true - but Patrick stumbled into his life, aggressively flirting yet ridiculously shy and that was it.
For Jonny, hockey will always be second best to Patrick, but it’s a pretty good one-two punch to have.