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“Easiest shot of my life,” Patrick says right before sending a stone off that over-curls, tapping at two of their own house rocks and making a huge pocket for the other team to access the pin. And of course Sweden pulls it off and lands their penultimate throw dead center.
Crossed arms, David is waiting for him when they join up at the hack. “Overconfidence is unattractive.”
“It’s worked out for me in the past.”
The next stone David throws misses its target entirely. He wants to walk off court. He doesn’t miss like that. The camera follows him pacing, way too close for comfort. He glares into the lens and can practically hear the commentator spewing something generic about ‘body language speaking volumes’ and ‘a tough play for Canada to come back from’. They always say the same shit at this point in a game.
It’s not possible to score with their last rock of this end. David sends it hard down the side of the ice, conceding a single point to the other team.
While they wait for the next round to turn over, Patrick, Ted, and Jake huddle around their bags. David, just to grab his water, has to join them. When Patrick holds up his hand for a high five, David only raises a brow and turns away from their cheery circle. Everyone’s been on the team long enough to know that a pout at the halfway does David good.
But not good enough to win this game, it turns out. He takes a huge risk in the eighth end (aided by his team’s misplaced support of the farfetched strategy), trying a precise cross-house double takeout, failing, and setting up a three point lead for the other team.
They play the remaining two ends without further damage or further gain.
“I can’t believe you’ve convinced me to trust you,” he spits at Patrick as they sweep their stones to the side of the course.
“Forgive me for worming my way into your cold, skeptical heart.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Just what I heard.” Patrick taps him lightly on the ankle with his broom.
“If we don’t medal, I’m divorcing you.” David steps off the ice. “And I hope they got that on mic, because I’m serious.”
Well, they did get it on mic and it becomes a bit of a Thing.
There’s always something, every Olympic cycle. A heartwarming human interest story or a great comeback or a couple on and off the ice. David thought he had his moment already, when he debuted 12 years ago as the rookie alternate who was thrown last minute into the bronze medal game, the unlikely new kid on the sheet, leaving with an unlikely medal around his very stylish neck. He gave a stunned but sassy exit interview live on primetime and his name recognition shot past the veterans of the team overnight. There were a fair amount of hard feelings with the old guard, but it worked out for Canada in the end. He got them to gold.
This thing with him and Patrick, however. This is… next level. David’s called for comment by no fewer than a dozen podcasts. He calls precisely zero of them back. His Twitter mentions are full of armchair diagnoses of his narcissistic personality disorder. And apparently he’s become a trending sound on TikTok? He doesn’t even want to know what that means.
On the one hand, it takes a bit of the spotlight off the story that was previously dominating their coverage, the pressure of being returning champions. On the other hand, it’s not less pressure to have every CBC anchor from Quebec City to Kamloops speculating on the downfall of his (still rather fresh!) marriage.
Of course Patrick thinks it's hilarious, and keeps quizzing David on who his rebound hookup will be, lying too-casual back on the bed in their shared suite.
“Do we think you’ll stay in-sport, or aim higher?”
“Shut. Up.”
“Hamilton? We know you like redheads.” David chucks a pillow at him. “Me, I think I’m gonna lay low, play the heartbroken bachelor for a while. See what that gets me. Maybe release an EP of moody acoustic guitar covers—”
“You fucking better act heartbroken—”
“—Then, a year later, I’ll do a cover story in OUT with my new hot model boyfriend.” David’s run out of pillows, so grabs a nearby panda plushie. Patrick just catches and cuddles that. “And everyone will be on my side because you were the one with the ultimatum.”
The only thing David has left to throw at Patrick is himself.
Alexis, too, is entirely unhelpful, tweeting I told you to sign a prenup david before the results of their seeding match were even certified. It was nice to know she was watching live, but that goodwill is undone quickly by the tell-all she invites about him and Patrick for the rest of the weekend. Whatever compelled her to share about that time David played matchmaker with Patrick and Ken as “cute backstory,” well, the public doesn’t agree.
They make it to the semifinals with a 5-4 record. Not exactly the margin of comfort David was looking for when it came to his relationship. His medal chances. When it comes to his medal chances.
“We’re not actually getting divorced if we don’t win tomorrow, right?” Patrick asks as they’re walking back to transport, through a laugh covering something else up. Like he’s been trying not to ask but can’t hold it off any longer.
David doesn’t turn around to look at him as he says: “We’re gonna win.”
In the morning, they kick Switzerland's ass, 9-3, which puts them in a guaranteed medal position. A wild, fantastic throw from Patrick set them up for four points in the fourth end. A risk David would never have taken alone. Maybe the threat had been motivating. Maybe they were just talented.
Patrick certainly knows how to play David, during a match. David always performs better the more his personality is allowed to show. So Patrick forces it out, questioning his strategy just to give David the space to fight back, catcalling when David bends down at the hack. Has anyone else noticed how his eye rolls transfer into the spin of the rock? Is anyone else looking at David that closely?
Theirs was a romance courted on court, learning how to negotiate and make choices and, yeah, trust. Something goes on between a skip and their mate. Something that has to work for the team to succeed. Not that a romantic relationship was necessary or given, but for David—for David who has trouble with these things outside of the game…
“How are you feeling about my overconfidence now?” Patrick kisses him just to the side of the sheet when the game ends, which they sort of had a rule about not doing. But maybe. One kiss for the fans? It is the start of the rest of their continuing marriage.
It’s not the most courteous, pushing past the press on their way off-rink, but they’ve got a non-divorce to consummate. David will even do a round on the morning shows if that’s the punishment for skipping out on this now.
“Thanks, thank you everyone for your support,” he says broadly to the waiting crowd at the exit.
A local teen holds out her phone on a selfie stick. “Can I get a photo?”
Patrick answers by dragging David closer to the stanchion and leaning in. “What’s your name?”
“Wei.” She melts a bit under Patrick’s attention. David can relate. “I’ll be out here rooting for you guys tomorrow, silver or gold.”
“Oh, we’re going for the gold.” David crowds in for the photo, nudging Patrick’s shoulder. “This one’s not off the hook yet.”
He really hadn’t even noticed what he said, not until they got back to housing and the anchor on the lobby TV is covering it.
David stops to watch. “They know I was joking, right?”
Patrick sighs, walking past him for the elevator. “Didn’t seem to stop them the first time around.”
“Okay,” David chases after him, “and, I can’t believe I even have to ask this, but you know I was joking, right?”
“I—” Their ride starts up. “I don’t know David. Were you?”
“Are you being serious right now?”
Patrick leans against the wall. “I mean, no, I don’t think you're actually gonna divorce me—”
“Well, good—”
“But it doesn’t matter because—”
“Of course it matters—”
“—because I do really want to win this for you—”
“It’s not only your—”
The doors ding open and a gaggle of German skiers stare them down. David winces a pardon and shuffles out.
He and Patrick continue silently down the hall to their room. David taps his key card and pushes at the handle. Patrick stops him with a grab to his arm.
“I want to be a good husband, and a good teammate.”
“Okay?” Why are they doing this out here?
Patrick looks at the carpet. “You’re just, better at both.”
This is, frankly, uncharacteristic insecurity. Sure, everyone has their moments, but Patrick’s are never about David, about them. And obviously David was the one swinging above his league, not Patrick. Not People Canada’s Most Eligible Bachelor of 2015. The closest David got to a cover story in 2015 was when Roland sold a photo of his turkey shoot camo to The Fashion Police.
Patrick is wrong. Just, totally wrong.
“But you’re… you?”
Patrick’s face hardens. “Exactly.”
David rushes to clarify. “No! I mean—fuck. It’s a good thing, It’s a good thing you’re you!”
This is a ridiculous conversation. Patrick must feel it too. He lets go of David’s arm and taps open the door with his foot. “Maybe we just need to get some rest.”
David can’t identify his own needs anymore. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yeah, I. Yeah,” and Patrick leads them inside.
It used to be everyday that one of them would reveal a history or preference that had never come up before. Over time, the frequency shifted away from revelation and towards depth. Today, this, it feels like that early knowledge, something to hash out in year one. Was it an accidental omission, or intentionally concealed? Patrick thinks David’s love is conditional.
They go about their separate evening routines before ending up across the seam of two mattresses. They’d pushed the twin beds together last week.
“Sorry if I wasn’t taking this seriously,” David says, “Or I didn’t realize how—”
“It’s okay, David. I’m fine.”
“You know...” Is it going to be better or worse if he says it? “You know the medal’s not more—”
Patrick doesn’t let him finish, kissing him sweetly on a shhh sound. “I love you.”
As unseated as David is by the revelation that he has, perhaps, read their entire partnership backwards, he’s determined not to let it get to his game. Patrick’s posture projects the same headstrong avoidance as they file out onto the ice with the opposing team. Sweden, again. It alllll comes back around.
After a tense/unsurprising seven ends, they’re tied 5-5. With four stones left each, Sweden places a corner guard, and Patrick follows that with a weighty throw, knocking the red stone on the pin back to the 8ft button, but sacrificing one of Team Canada’s own from the house. They had considered the possible repercussions together, so David’s not surprised. Still, games of strategy are painful while you wait for the payoff.
It’s clear from the moment the Swedish team plants their third attempt at the shot rock just left of center and in a conveniently perfect line with their only remaining house stone that this could be a huge point round for Canada.
“Peel? What do you think, two thirds?” David calls down the sheet as he slides backwards towards the hack.
Patrick considers, looking down at the house. “I like it.”
David lines up his shot.
Patrick’s there, broom ready. “Don’t make it easy for them.”
He pushes off, releases, and watches his teammates chase the stone down the ice.
“Hold!” David shouts as their yellow rock advances. “Line’s good, hold.” It’s a meter from the house. “Go!”
Patrick and Ted start sweeping with abandon. Their stone hits target and Patrick rushes to assist the red one all the way out of play.
Sweden calls a time out, David waits. Sweden throws, David waits. Sweden’s play misses the double and only gets buried a quarter under the guard and now it’s last rock. His last rock.
They don’t even have to talk about it, it’s that obvious. They just take their positions, trading silent nods. David bends down and lines up his shot. If he makes this, it’s a chance to score five, a game changing number in a life changing match.
He makes it.
“Let’s go!” Patrick pumps a fist in the air as the last red stone clears the house.
David slides fast down the ice towards the guys at the other end, probably wearing some dumb, gigantic grin, but he’s met by equal company.
It would be just his luck that the game somehow turns disastrous in the final two, so they play simple and defensive, giving away a point to hold the hammer for the last end. Finally, quietly, the game comes to a stop.
The real adrenaline came after their big score, and by now everyone on David’s team, him included, greets the win with a softer excitement. They shake hands with the other team, then line up for photos. They’re all grabbing on to each other to get in frame, to get out the energy of the win, so it’s not like David needs to disguise any intimacy. He pulls Patrick close at the waist, turns to smile at him, and finds their faces so close together he can smell his husband’s shampoo, see the tiny hairs poking out after a few days of not shaving.
Everyone knows ‘don’t go to bed angry’, but what about ‘don’t start the victory tour before working out your personal shit’?
“Are we okay?” David asks, close into Patrick’s ear.
Patrick blinks, a camera flashes. “What? We won, David.”
Which is completely missing the point. “Yeah, but,” and they get pulled over to the NBC anchor for a post-game spot.
Patrick is quiet, deflecting most of the praise to David but offering easy, small smiles when asked about their relationship status.
“Honestly the medal is just a consolation prize to a life with this one,” he says, sending the host cooing while David goes red behind the microphone.
David’s learned over the years that it can be easiest to just let the press spin the narrative they want without trying to correct them. That only invites more questions and scrutiny, delaying the turnover of the news cycle the longer you keep yourself relevant by feeding the fire. But when those stories are nothing but a footnote in his Wikipedia entry, he’ll still be living his life. Sometimes a public scandal demands a public response, if for nothing else than to get it on the official record. Maybe his sister can show him how to have one of those animated GIFs made, so he can text it to Patrick when he’s being dense.
David looks straight into the camera. “He’s a good teammate. And a good husband.” Back to the reporter, “You can quote me on that. Now, I think we have a medal ceremony to get ready for.”
David drags Patrick away; he wasn’t lying about needing to change. Shutting the door behind them in the small locker room is the first private moment they’ve had since they left the suite this morning.
“Give me your ring,” David says.
Patrick still looks the good side of confused. “What?”
“Give me your wedding ring.” David holds his hand out flat.
“Uh,” Patrick hesitates, all while twisting the gold band off. Trust before explanation. He sets it in David’s palm.
David combats insecurity by letting it all hang out. He has to be direct in asking for reassurance or the fear grows destructive inside of him. Patrick is a great partner in that respect. He never denies David the comfort of knowing for sure. David needs to ask less and less because of it. This is payment in kind. David bends down on one knee.
“I never got the chance.”
“What—?”
“You asked me first, so I never got to.”
Patrick looks down at him, tries to speak, stops, tries again. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“You are a very good teammate and a very good husband and if I don’t tell you enough that's on me so maybe you should break up with me for negligence but if not I’d very much like to remain still married to you so, will you please still be married to me?”
“Are you sure?” Patrick asks, and the past reference cuts through David's nerves. He laughs as Patrick pulls him up off the carpet and into a hug.
“I absolutely am.” He slips the ring back on Patrick’s finger where it came from. “I wouldn't be here without you. And not just because of that takeout in the seventh end.”
For a moment, Patrick is all speechless blush and smile. Then his game face resurfaces. “Do you think I could get that in writing? I’d like to submit it to the press.”
“I’m sorry,” David presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. It’s warm. “But you’ll need to sign an NDA. I’ll have my lawyer call you.”
“You know what’s great,” Patrick zips out of his jacket, “is that success hasn’t changed you. You’re still so easy going.”
“And you’re still exhausting.”
“Yeah, but I’m an Olympic gold medalist now. I’m a catch.”
“Glad to see we’re already back to defining ourselves by our medal status.”
“In which case, you still have the advantage.”
David hums. “Factoring everything in, let’s call it a tie.”
“A tie,” Patrick considers, smiling back at him. “I like it.”