#being brought out of his funny business retirement to beat up what I'm betting is either a lord ravager or the annihilation gang

[fatedroses]

-An old-timer like me.

[justlookfrightened]

I'm torn between 26 and 31 with zimbits. So idk, pick one?

I already posted a response for 31, so this is 26: “It was you the whole time.” Call it angst with an optimistic ending.

Jack knew better than to rub his sweaty palms on his trousers, but it was all he could do to stop himself. Something about being back here made him feel like a kid again. 

Funny how he hadn’t felt young while he was here. Then he felt so much older than his teammates, almost more like one of the coaches. But he’d had so much growing up left to do.

Now, a career and two Stanley Cups later, he could look back at the young man he had been and be grateful for everything Coach Hall had done for him. Grateful enough to come back for Hall’s retirement tribute.

Jack took a breath, opened the door to the alumni center, and stepped into the air-conditioned interior. He was here to express his appreciation to Coach Hall. Sure, some of his former teammates were probably inside, but so were five years of hockey players from before his time and those from eleven years after he graduated.

In the end, Hall was one of the few people from SMH he’d stayed in contact with, emailing once or twice a month, usually inviting Jack to come back at least once each season to meet the new players. 

When he graduated, Jack thought he’d be close to some of his college team his whole life. Shitty, definitely. And Lardo. And Bitty. Of course Bitty.

It was funny; at Jack’s graduation Bitty had said something about not seeing him except on TV. Jack had assured Bitty it wouldn’t be like that. Less than an hour later, Jack had run all the way across campus to find Bitty crying in Jack’s old room, and Jack had kissed him, and it felt so right.

Until Jack’s phone buzzed and he had to leave Bitty right where he found him. Kind of like their whole relationship.

And for the last 10 years, he hadn’t seen Bitty at all — except for once, on television, when Bitty was promoting one of his cookbooks on a daytime talk show, and a few times when Jack looked him up on YouTube. Jack wondered whether Bitty had watched any of his games. Maybe the cup finals?

Jack stopped at the sign-in counter, but before he even found his table assignment, he was corralled by a young man with a Wellie-red tie and a name tag identifying him as Luke, the team manager for the recent season.

“Mr. Zimmermann? If you could step over here, I can go over the program with you,” Luke said, plucking Jack’s name tag from the table and steering him down the corridor. “You won’t need a name tag here, of course, and you’re at the first table with Coach Hall. Coach Murray is going to speak first, and then you’ll present the plaque and say a few words.”

Luke paused and looked at Jack. “Do you have something prepared?” he asked. “About how Coach Hall helped you become the great hockey player you turned out to be?”

Crap. He must really look nervous if Luke — all of 21 or 22 years old — thought he needed coaching on what to say at a retirement party.

Jack forced a smile, patted the breast pocket of his jacket, and said, “I brought some notes. But they’re really more about how Hall helped all the players he worked with grow into the people they were meant to be.”

Because the banquet room was full of men (and women who had worked with the program — he mustn’t forget them) who had graduated and gone on to careers as artists and lawyers, doctors and writers and programmers and cookbook authors, people who made the world a better place. Whisk was the only other Wellie who’d played in the NHL.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Luke said, already reaching for the plaque that would announce a scholarship in Hall’s name. All the alumni had contributed, and many had been very generous, but Jack was pretty sure he gave the most. It was only fair; Hall took a chance on him and gave him his life back.

Jack peeked through the doors and saw Hall standing near a front table, shaking hands and exchanging greetings. He saw two pairs of large, well-tailored shoulders at the next table, and yes, there was Shitty across from Ransom and Holster. He still had a magnificent ’stache, accentuating the lines that were etching themselves into his face. Lardo, still petite, still looking like she take over the room with one look, was at his side.

The last time Jack had seen the four of them all together had been the morning of Lardo’s graduation. Ransom and Holster’s too, but he got permission to miss morning skate that day to see Lardo and congratulate her before the ceremony, which he had to miss because the Falconers were in the playoffs.

When Jack had arrived at the Haus that morning, he was surprised to have missed Bitty, who apparently left only an hour earlier to catch a flight home to Madison for the summer.

Before Bitty left, he’d made pancakes (warming in the oven), fruit salad and muffins, and chopped vegetables to go into scrambled eggs.

“Well, he actually said to put them in an omelet,” Holster said. “But scrambled eggs are easier.”

“I can make omelets,” Jack had said.

Holster thrust the carton of eggs at him and said, “Sweet!”

“You talked to Bitty lately?” Shitty asked. “Random and Holster say he spent the last semester carving a swath through the eligible dudes of this fine institution.”

Jack was glad his head was buried in the cabinet, looking for the skillet Bitty used to make omelets. The skillet Bitty used when he taught Jack to make omelets. But that was before graduation, even.

“No, I haven’t,” Jack said. “I’m sorry I missed him. I thought he’d be here.”

And that was true. The thought of seeing Bitty with his friends, in his kitchen, was uncomfortable, but Jack figured it was something they’d just have to learn to get past. They’d managed being with their friends when no one knew they were dating; Jack didn’t see why they couldn’t do it now they’d broken up.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Shitty went on. “I guess I always thought he had eyes for you. Probably better that he got over that, though, since you don’t date guys. At least to the best of my knowledge.”

Jack busied himself cracking eggs so he wouldn’t have to look Shitty in the face when he said, “I doubt Bitty sees me like that, Shits.”

“Not really cool to talk about him when he’s not here anyway,” Lardo said.

“True that,” Shitty said. “I was just trying to decide if I should be worried about the little dude, given the marked change in behavior noted by his most recent captains.”

“The little dude is a 21-year-old grown-ass adult,” Lardo said. “Who doesn’t need you slut-shaming him.”

Shitty sputtered and Jack beat the eggs and the next time anyone talked, it was Ransom announcing that he had taken a job at the same consulting firm that hired Holster. 

Jack had comforted himself then with the idea that at least he hadn’t broken Bitty’s heart, and he went out and scored two goals that night on the Falconers’ way to their first Stanley Cup.

Jack craned his head further around the banquet room door, trying to see if Bitty was at the table with Shitty and Lardo. He knew they kept in touch. The last time Jack had been at Shitty and Lardo’s for dinner, what, almost two years ago now, he’d remarked on Bitty’s third cookbook on the kitchen shelf, and Lardo said, “He couldn’t wait to come over and sign it for us — he was just as excited as when the first one came out. I bet you have the full set too.”

Jack did, because he bought them off Amazon. Not because Bitty was bringing them over and signing them.

“We’re almost ready to start.” Luke was next to Jack, nudging him into the room.

Jack took a breath and stepped in, went to greet Coach Hall, hugged Lardo and then Shitty.

“Retirement looks good on you, old man,” Shitty said. “Way to go out in style with the second cup win, too.”

“Thanks, Shits,” Jack said, hoping Shitty couldn’t see him peering over his shoulder, looking to see who else was there. Looking to see if Bitty was there. “You look good. Lardo too. All of you.”

There was food on a buffet table in the back, next to the bar, and it looked like most people had already eaten. Jack excused himself to get a drink, walked to the bar and looked around the room. Dex and Nursey and Chowder were all there — Bitty’s frogs — and Ford, the manager after Lardo.

Jack got soda water with a lime because alcohol would not improve this situation at all and headed back towards the front table. Chowder waylaid him with a wide smile and a handshake, saying, “We all watched, Jack. I bet they retire your number next year. You were awesome. I was telling everyone at work that I used to play for you, but I think half of them didn’t believe me.”

Chowder hadn’t changed much, Jack decided. He always had a tendency to chatter through any tension caused by Dex and Nursey, who worked together on the ice like one of Dex’s programs (or one of Nursey’s poems), but clashed once they hit dry ground.

They didn’t seem tense tonight, though, leaning back in their chairs and talking idly. Both got up to greet Jack, but less effusively than Chowder.

It was the same as when the three of them came to a Falconer’s game during Bitty’s senior year. They’d bought tickets themselves, which was silly when Jack could get them comped, and then Chowder wrote a painfully polite email asking Jack if he’d want to say hello afterwards. Jack hadn’t paid enough attention to the email, or maybe Chow hadn’t been clear. After the game, Jack had been surprised Bitty wasn’t with the frogs. Wasn’t he always shepherding them around, mother-henning them like they couldn’t find their way home without them?

“No Bitty tonight?” he asked after their initial greetings.

“No, I think he had plans with Drew,” Chowder said.

“Drew?”

“His boyfriend?” Dex said. “The guy from the Daily.”

Like that would help Jack know who it was.

“I didn’t know he had a boyfriend now,” Jack said. “Good for him.”

“It’s kind of sweet,” Chowder said, “if I can say that about Bitty. I think it’s his first real boyfriend.”

“And a little sickening,” Dex said. “But if they keep up with the fines, we might get that new dryer this year after all.”

“You need a new dryer?” Jack said, the same time Nursey sighed, “Young love,” and pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

“We’ve needed a new dryer,” Dex said. “Like, since before you graduated.”

“I can do that,” Jack said.

“You don’t have to,” Chowder chimed in. “It’s a Haus responsibility.”

“Chowder, I think I’m good for it,” Jack said gently. To Dex, he said, “Let me know what you need and I’ll get the money to you.”

That started Dex off on a tangent about what kind of dryer would be best, and the moment passed.

Jack knew Bitty hadn’t told anyone about their relationship — that was their agreement, and that was one of the things that led to their breakup. Trying to see Jack and do everything else without letting on to their friends was too much for Bitty, too much sneaking around, too much lying, too much not being present with his team.

It had been easier for Jack, living on his own in Providence, with hours and occasionally days at a time when no one had to know where he was or what he was doing.

It still stung to hear the frogs mention Drew as Bitty’s first boyfriend. Bitty had told Jack that Jack was his first everything. Having the frogs not know that didn’t make it less true, but Jack found himself wishing they did know.

Now, ten years later, he grinned at the thought of saying, “Bitty and I dated for six months while he was still in school,” to see the look on their faces. But it wasn’t his secret to tell, or at least not his alone.

People were shuffling into their seats and Murray was standing up, so Jack went to sit next to Hall’s wife and listen.

Once Murray was done with his list of the years Hall had worked, the accomplishments of his teams, the accomplishments of his players, he introduced Jack, who walked to the lectern and spread his notes out.

“Hi, I’m Jack Zimmermann and I graduated in 2015,” he said, adjusting the Stanley Cup ring (from the 2016 win) on his finger to catch the light.

That drew a chuckle from the room, so he continued.

“Most of you know my story — I played in juniors, then overdosed on prescription medication during a mental health crisis. I had to step away from the game for a while, and when I decided I wanted to go to college, and to play hockey again, I had to petition the NCAA to allow it.”

He also had agreed to not take a scholarship, but that hadn’t been an issue for his family.

“Not many coaches wanted a 21-year-old freshman with a demonstrated history of screwing up that badly,” Jack said. “And some of the ones who did just wanted me to play hockey, not worry about classes. But Coach Hall wanted me to come to Samwell and play hockey and get an education and figure out what I wanted. He saw the potential for me to have a hockey career —” 

That drew cheers, especially from those who played with Jack “— and also for me to get a degree and open up other paths. The opportunities he gave me showed me worlds I didn’t know existed, so much that I’m going to start working on a doctorate in history this fall.”

Jack took a sip of water and continued.

“At the same time, he was an excellent hockey coach. I know; I’ve had a lot of them. He demanded hard work and perseverance, not by yelling, but by setting high expectations and then by setting an example of how to meet them. He showed me — us — how to have pride in ourselves and in our team, but also have humility at the same time. He showed me not just how to be a better player — a better person — but also that I could be so much better if I didn’t try to do it on my own.”

Jack looked up, and was about to continue, but there in the back was Bitty. It looked like he was setting out dessert — mostly pie — on the now-cleared food tables, but he had stopped what he was doing to watch Jack. When he saw Jack looking, he gave a small smile.

“I haven’t always been perfect,” Jack said, now looking directly at Bitty. “I haven’t always gotten it right. But skating for Coach Hall did so much to set me on a positive path, a path where I can make a difference by setting an example and extending a hand to people who need it. And I know he did that for all of you, too.”

Bitty was still looking at him. Jack took another sip of water, and continued.

“That’s why we all wanted to show our appreciation to you, Coach, by setting up this scholarship in your name. It’s to help players who can’t get a full athletic scholarship, or managers or any other students who are involved with the hockey program, so you can keep helping young people find their way.”

Coach Hall got up and Jack handed him the plaque. As Hall took the microphone, Jack headed straight for the back of the room.

“Can we talk?” he asked Bitty.

“Shh. After Coach Hall is done.”

Jack didn’t know how long Coach Hall spoke, just knew that he spent that time looking at Bitty. He was here as a guest, mostly, Jack supposed, in a suit and all, but just as clearly he wasn’t going to leave the dessert table to the university food service company.

Bitty looked good. Jack tried to see him as objectively as he could; Bitty was still trim and fit, maybe even a little broader across the shoulders and chest. His hair was the bright gold it turned in the summer, and his eyes were still clear, warm brown. His face was more angular, and Jack could see a dusting of pale stubble along his jaw. The beginnings of laugh lines were just visible around his eyes, and there were some scars exposed on his forearms where he’d turned his sleeves back. Jack recognized them as burn marks.

Jack knew Bitty had published his cookbooks, of course, and that he still had his YouTube channel. He knew Bitty had guested on several food network shows — it came up whenever he saw anyone else from SMH — but he wasn’t sure what else Bitty was doing. He kind of thought if Bitty had gotten married, he would have heard, but maybe he was dating someone? Bitty had moved back to Georgia after he graduated, and while he kept in touch with Shitty and Lardo and some of the others, Jack didn’t think it was as frequent as any of them would have liked. 

Bitty didn’t owe anyone information, especially Jack, not after the way they’d broken it off. Jack was glad Bitty had dated after the breakup — the last thing he wanted was for Bitty to be miserable — but he had always wanted a second chance. He just wasn’t sure he deserved it.

After Bitty avoided him for the rest of Bitty’s college career, Jack thought Bitty probably didn’t want to risk it.

Hall was finishing up his remarks, talking about how proud he was of the people who had moved through the program. Jack turned to Bitty, who said, “Go talk to everybody. People will hang around for dessert. I’ll be here after.”

Then Bitty handed him a slice of apple pie on a plate. “So it’s not all gone when you come back.”

Jack wandered back toward the front, where he was being beckoned for photos. Once he stood with Hall, and with Hall and Murray, Shitty came to demand a photo with Jack and the rest of the 2014-2015 team.

“Lardo’s getting Bitty,” Shitty said, pushing Jack into a spot next to Ransom and taking up a position on Jack’s other side. “And don’t think I didn’t see you snagging the first piece of pie.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s been a long time since I had Bitty’s pie.”

“Too fucking right,” Shitty said. “Bitty hasn’t made a pie for us in like, three years. How long has it been for you?”

“Longer than that,” Jack said.

Lardo returned with Bitty, who was pulled into place in front of and between Jack and Ransom. Lardo was next to Bitty, in front of Jack and Shitty. Bitty stood a careful six inches in front of Jack, glancing back and mouthing a “sorry,” although Jack couldn’t figure out why.

Jack made small talk for a long while after that, let some of the SMH alumni try on his cup ring, even signed some autographs for the younger guys.

He embraced Hall before his old coach left, and promised to spend more time with Shitty and Lardo now that he was retired. All the time, he had one eye on Bitty, who by the end was collecting platters and serving utensils from the buffet table.

Jack swallowed the rest of his pie (which was, if anything, better than he remembered) and went back to where Bitty was boxing up his things.

“Can I help you with that?” Jack said.

“I got it,” Bitty said. “I got the primo parking because I was bringing this stuff.”

“I did want to talk with you,” Jack said. “I think Annie’s is still open.”

“Okay,” Bitty said. “Let me move the car to a legal spot and we can walk over.”

The walk was quiet, Bitty apparently as lost in his thoughts as Jack was. When they approached, Bitty slowed and said, “The last time I was here with you, you broke up with me.”

“I know,” Jack said. 

It was the last time Jack had been at Annie’s at all. 

Bitty had called him the night before, leaving a long tearful message on his voice mail about how their relationship was too hard, how keeping it secret was too hard, how Bitty was suffering from lying to their friends and from lack of sleep and time and … and then he had called Jack and asked him not to listen to the message, but it was too late. 

It was too late for Jack to head to Samwell right away; it wouldn’t have been safe for him to drive before he got some sleep. When Jack met Bitty at Annie’s the next morning and took in his red, tired eyes and slumped shoulders, he knew what he had to do.

“You can’t keep doing this, bud,” Jack said. “I’m sorry. I had no idea how rough it would be on you.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Bitty said. “I just have to be stronger.”

“That’s not fair,” Jack said. 

“But you can’t come out,” Bitty said. “Not now, in your first season.”

“No, I can’t,” Jack agreed. “I don’t think we can keep doing this, bud. I’m sorry. I can’t see you this way and know it’s my fault. I’m sorry, bud.”

“Wait, are you breaking up with me?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said again.

“But I love you,” Bitty said. “We can — I can try harder.”

“I love you, too,” Jack said. “But you should be with someone who can actually be with you, in front of everybody. You deserve to be happy.”

Then he had pushed his chair back, stood up and walked away.

This time, he gestured for Bitty to take a seat and said, “What can I get you?”

“Coffee,” Bitty said. “Black.”

“Not decaf?” 

“Nah, I got a long drive ahead of me.”

Jack put two black coffees — one decaf, one regular — on the table.

“I never figured you’d come around to plain coffee,” Jack said.

“It turns out that unlimited sugar isn’t good for any of us as we get older,” Bitty said. “I prefer to save mine for pastry.”

Jack nodded.

“You’re not driving back to Georgia tonight, are you?”

“I don’t live there anymore,” Bitty said. “I moved to New York last winter.”

“You moved to New York? In the winter?”

“Hush,” Bitty said. “I have a show in development for the Food Network.”

“Good for you,” Jack said. “You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Bitty said. “I’m a little worried, because I had to close my business in Atlanta, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

“You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take?” Jack said.

“Something like that,” Bitty said. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to say I was sorry for the way I ended things,” Jack said.

“You said so at the time,” Bitty said. “I believed you then. Lord, Jack, I didn’t want to break up, but maybe you were right. If things went they way were, I would have had a breakdown of my own.”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “Or maybe we could have figured out how to make it easier for you. Maybe we could have told the people who lived in the Haus at least. Or some of the Falconers. They would have been fine with it.”

“You know that now,” Bitty said. “Twenty-twenty hindsight’s a wonderful thing.”

“I still think I should have tried something else,” Jack said. “You didn’t want to break up. I was afraid, of coming out, of things going as badly for you as they went for me in juniors … but I gave up too easily. It’s one of my biggest regrets.”

“Aw, sweet pea, don’t beat yourself up,” Bitty said. “I loved you. I really did. And that day, it hurt like hell. Hurt for a long time after, too.”

“Is that why you didn’t stay for Lardo’s graduation?”

“My flight was at 8 p.m.,” Bitty said. “Thank God Logan has charger ports in its waiting areas.”

“Fuck, Bits, you should have stayed,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t have come if you didn’t want me to.”

“It was fine,” Bitty said. “Lardo and Ransom and Holster — they were all your friends first.”

“Then the frogs came to a Falcs game without you,” Jack said.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “I did already have a date before they asked if I wanted to go. But I probably could have gotten out of it if I tried. I didn’t want you to think I was pining after you, though.”

“What if I was pining after you?”

“Come on, Jack, you’ve dated some people since me,” Bitty said. “I read about a few, all better looking, more successful and female.”

“None of them went anywhere,” Jack said. 

“Yeah,” Bitty said softly. “I know how that goes.”

“Yeah? You had a boyfriend the next fall,” Jack said. 

“For like two months,” Bitty said. “I’ve dated some, too, of course, but no one ever measured up. It was you the whole time.”

“Really?” Jack said. “You mean that?”

“I do,” Bitty said. “But you know I can’t go back in the closet.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Jack said. “Maybe it’s time for me to come out.”

“You are retired,” Bitty said.

“I almost wish I wasn’t so that I could prove how serious I am about this.”

“By coming out while you were playing?” Bitty said. “It would have made a statement. But I think you’ll still get plenty of attention. More than you want, maybe.”

“It will be worth it,” Jack said. “If you really want to do this?”

“I think I do,” Bitty said. “I really do.”

“So how important is it that you make it back to New York tonight?” Jack said.

“Not at all,” Bitty. “Not at all.”