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sharkcastic · 1 month ago

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'I Wanna Be Like You'

Filling a prompt from @goddess47: A new rookie has broken one of Jack's rookie records and Jack finds he's really upset; Bitty offers comfort.

The puck thwacked against the tape on Jack’s stick just as he drew it back, and Jack fired it toward the net in one motion, sending the frozen rubber disc sailing over the goalie’s right shoulder and into the back of the net.

In an instant, Willie was embracing him against the boards while Poots and Connie skated in to join the celebration.

Hold on for another thirty seconds, and the game would be theirs.

Sure, it was a meaningless game at the end of another lost season, at least for the Falconers. The best that could be said about it was that the team was playing spoiler, ruining the Blue Jackets bid for the last playoff spot in the east.

Well. They wouldn’t have beaten Carolina in Round One anyway.

The buzzer sounded and Jack started to join the team as they filed down the tunnel towards the dressing room, stopping when one of the broadcast producers plucked at the sleeve of his sweater.

“Number two star,” the producer said.

Jack nodded, waited for Montblanc, the goalie, to take his turn and salute the crowd as number three star, then skated out and raised his stick to the Providence crowd’s cheers.

Willie, who had scored the first goal and gotten the primary assist on the third — Jack’s goal — was waiting to go out as first star.

“You mind waiting here a minute?” the producer asked as Jack tried again to go to the dressing room.

He was tired, his shoulder hurt and his gear was starting to feel uncomfortably clammy. He didn’t know why they would want him for the post-game on-ice interview; that was the first star’s job, although sometimes it got passed to the second star if the first one was new to North America and wasn’t comfortable speaking in English.

That wasn’t the case for Willie, though. Matty Wilson had been drafted by the Falconers in the first round last summer, a product of Minnesota who had moved to Canada in high school to play major juniors. He wasn’t huge for a hockey player, but he was compact and strong, with a powerful first step and a cannon of a shot. He also had the good looks and winning personality that meant he was likely to be the next face of the Falconers.

That was fine with Jack. A decade into an NHL career that he had thought wouldn’t happen at all, Jack was ready to pass the torch. And Willie had had a good season. A great season for a rookie.

Valerie, the broadcaster who did the rink-side interviews, positioned herself between Willie and Jack at the boards.

“Congratulations, Matty!” she said. “With your goal and assist tonight, you have 65 points for the season, a new record for a Falconers rookie.”

“Thanks,” Willie beamed. “It’s been a great season, and I’ve learned so much and developed so much more as a player.”

“Do you know who set the previous rookie scoring record for the Falconers?” Valerie asked, turning to Jack.

Because of course. Jack had set the previous rookie record, at 64 points.

Valerie explained that in case anyone in the arena had missed the point, while Jack offered congratulations to Willie.

He meant his congratulations. It was a huge accomplishment, something that wouldn’t have happened without Willie playing almost every game of the season, without him playing serious minutes in those games, without him becoming a very real scoring threat nearly every shift.

Almost like Jack, who had eclipsed his rookie point total five times in the last 10 years, but not this year.

Willie thanked Jack, and went on to say, “It’s a real honor to be mentioned with Jack, let alone play on the same line. I can only hope to have a career like his.”

Then they were headed down the tunnel side by side, Jack working to make sure he didn’t have a sour expression on his face.

Bitty was still up when Jack let himself in the back door of the house they’d bought three years ago. That was when Jack had signed his last contract, the one with the no-movement clause, and he and Bitty had agreed it was time to think about raising a family. No kids yet, but Bitty adored the dog they’d adopted two weeks after moving in.

The house wasn’t far from downtown Providence, but it was on a big enough lot for Bitty to have a large garden with room left over for an eventual play structure, and, maybe someday, a tiny rink in the winter. Bitty loved it because it backed up to the water, and the kitchen had marvelous natural light for taping his cooking segments.

Jack liked it because he could go out on the back deck at night, and it was magnificently quiet.

“Nice goal in the third,” Bitty said, looking up from his laptop on the kitchen table. “Protein shake is in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, letting one word serve as answer for both things Bitty told him. “Puck go out yet?”

Puck lifted his head from the rug in front of the sink when he heard his name.

“Not yet,” Bitty said.

“Come on, chiot,” Jack said, still carrying the tumbler with his shake.

He stood on the deck while Puck sniffed around the yard, watched the dog’s ears prick forward when a rabbit passed by on the far side of the fence, gazed out at the bay. This was better, right? Better than being a rookie, wondering how his career would turn out? He had a home, and a husband (and a dog) who loved him, they were planning to raise a kid or two or three together, his name was on the Stanley Cup twice … this was better.

Better than having his whole life ahead of him? Better than having his face on all the billboards and the sides of buses. Well, yes, for that part. Even though he was still on some billboards.

Some things were worse. The way his shoulder hurt after a hard game. The ache he was starting to feel in his hips every day when he got out of bed. How intentional he had to be to recover from one game and be ready for the next.

“Jack?”

He hadn’t heard Bitty come out behind him. Jack looked over to see his husband wrapped in old oversized hoodie, wearing flannel pajama pants and fuzzy slippers, carrying a steaming mug of what smelled like chamomile.

“You okay?” Bitty asked. “Puck should be ready to come in by now.”

“Ouais,” Jack said. He sighed and looked up at the sky, imagining the stars he knew were there from the nights he had spent at the family cabin in Nova Scotia. “Sorry. Just … thinking.”

“About what?” Bitty said, coming to stand right next to Jack, so that when Jack lifted his arm it settled naturally around Bitty’s shoulders, pulling him even more closely to Jack’s side.

“Willie. Matty Wilson. He broke the Falconers rookie scoring record tonight.”

“I saw,” Bitty said. “Is that what’s got you down, that he broke your record?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Jack said.

“No, sweet pea, I didn’t mean —”

“No, I know you didn’t,” Jack said. “It’s just, it’s not the record, really. Records are made to be broken. It’s a cliche, but it’s true. I didn’t expect it to last forever.”

“But you didn’t expect to score the goal that let someone break it?”

“I didn’t even know,” Jack said, with a little huff. “I’m his captain. I should have known. I mean, I knew he was having a great season, I knew he was close, but … maybe I didn’t want to know? I didn’t know when I set my record.”

“That’s because the previous record was like, forty points or something,” Bitty said. “You didn’t break that record, you obliterated it.”

“And we had so much success early on,” Jack said. “Then these last few years have been tough. I wanted to stay around until the team gets better again, until we have a chance … but I don’t know if I can. Did you hear him, Bits? Saying that he hopes he has a career like I’ve had? Like it’s over?”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t actually say that,” Bitty said.

“Maybe not,” Jack acquiesced. “But the implication was there.”

Bitty hummed a noncommittal response.

“I guess I was just remembering what it was like, back when I was a rookie,” Jack said. “I was so worried about everything. I thought I’d ruined everything and would never play in the league, but I did … and I was afraid I’d ruin it again and there would be no more chances.

“And we were new, too, you and me — really, maybe not the best idea for either of us, timing wise, but we made it work,” Jack said.

“That we did,” Bitty said, nuzzling a little into Jack’s shoulder.

“Once we got to the end of the season, and made the playoffs, it felt like — like anything was possible,” Jack said. “And once I retire, it won’t be anymore.”

“No,” Bitty said. “It won’t. Every choice you make — every choice everyone makes — closes off other choices. We bought this house, not the one in Warwick. I went to Samwell, not Georgia. Sometimes we miss out on things just because we got older, or because things don’t go our way. I hate to have to admit this, Jack, but I will never be an Olympic figure skater. And you will never be an NCAA hockey champion. Even though you deserved that so much more than me.”

“You deserved it,” Jack protested.

“I’m not saying I didn’t.” Bitty answered. “But you did too, more than I did. … I don’t know what I’m saying, really. Just that, no one gets everything they want, and I don’t think anyone’s life is really easy, not when you know them well enough to really know. But I hope you don’t have too many regrets. Not about your career, at least.”

“No,” Jack said. “Not about my career. Not about us, or our life, either. I could never have imagined this when I was growing up. It’s just — I got jealous, I think. I got jealous, because Willie still has everything ahead of him, and that feeling that everything is possible. And I remember how exhilarating that was, and how scary. Why did I waste my time being scared? Why didn’t I enjoy it more?”

Jack felt Bitty shrug.

“Because it is scary, when you don’t know how it all turns out,” he said. “People forget that part. Somebody saying they want to be like you — that’s a compliment, Jack. Take the win.”

“I guess,” Jack said. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

He turned to kiss the side of Bitty’s head briefly.

“And I know I got lucky,” he said, before releasing his husband and calling the dog, who had been sniffing at the bottom of the fence in hopes of finding another rabbit.

“And I know one more thing,” Jack added, as the three of them turned towards the door. “Willie won’t get to win a Stanley Cup his first year. I guess I’ll always have that.”

Bitty shook his head as Jack waited for him to enter the kitchen first.

“That’s the spirit,” Bitty said. “Is there anything you won’t turn into a competition?

#omgcp #zimbits #fic rec

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