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Jack Eichel has-
-Yes, “Jack Eichel,” what, can’t a guy narrate his own story in third person?
-Well, I’m going to, so you can deal with it. Anyway.
Jack Eichel has the greatest-
-Oh my god, shut up. No, I wasn’t going to say I have the greatest skating, just stop interrupting for five seconds. Alright? Okay.
Jack Eichel has the greatest boyfriend, but-
-Yes, boyfriend, yes, mine is better than yours-
-Well, you want him to be, that counts. Where was I? Yes, I am trying to tell you what fucking happened.
-I’ll fucking sigh if I want to sigh, it’s my story. God, you’re so annoying.
Jack-
JACK EICHEL HAS the greatest boyfriend ever, but lately the two of them have been having one little problem.
-No, there’s nothing wrong with my dick, you asshole. Sam just-
They haven’t had, like, mutual orgasms in a while, is all.
-There’s nothing wrong with Sam’s dick either.
-Because we did some stuff recently, that’s how.
-The story starts in the past, okay? It’s in present tense because that’s how people tell stories-
-Fuck, I don’t know, just fucking listen! So.
The first week, they’re just busy, since it’s a new season and Jack’s an alternate captain now.
-No, I didn’t mention it to rub it in, you crowbar. It actually takes, like, serious work and shit.
-Well, what do you know about it?
Anyway, they’re busy. Jack still tries to get alone time with Sam, though, and it kind of works. They go out to dinner, Sam buys him a nice steak, they hold hands in the car on the way home-
-No, shut up, it’s fucking adorable.
But they fall asleep before anything... carnal happens.
-Ugh, no, stop. Just because you can make a pun doesn’t mean you should.
-There’s no excuse for that one.
Jack is kind of a worrier, but this is nothing. He just resolves to make more time for Sam soon. It’s a lot easier to say than do.
-No, I didn’t say it out loud. I mean, maybe I should have, because talking is good for relationships, but you have to stop pretending to be an idiot.
Jack works hard to make sure Bogo, Ryno, and Okie are available to tackle rookie emergencies and stuff. He has to offer up a lot of favors, but it should be worth it.
-Why are you making that face?
-Oh, fuck off, you facewash, not that kind of favor. Like, babysitting, dinners, shit like that.
So Jack promises anything they want, because he really wants to get into Sam’s pants again, like, yesterday. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.
On Monday, they lose to the Devils so bad that Tuesday’s practice pretty much consists of bag skates. Still, that does mean the room clears out pretty quickly, and Jack is enjoying kissing Sam in the showers with everyone else gone-
-Dude, you can’t even take offense. I’ve seen you “defiling the sanctity of the room” enough times, you hypocrite.
-No, that definitely counts.
-Well, we didn’t even get-
Sorry, they don’t get to that part, because Jack’s phone rings. Actually rings. Someone is calling him. And since it’s a call, he knows it’s his mom, grandma, an emergency, or all three, so he can’t not answer.
-Don’t interrupt to ask who it is, you cheese.
-The kind that’s square and tastes like plastic, obviously.
Jos is on the other end. He doesn’t sound freaked out except that he’s taking a long time to come up with words, which normally only happens when he’s doing media. It takes Jack a minute to understand the problem: he’s lost in the arena.
“You couldn’t find security to help you? Okay, let me get some pants on, I’ll find you. Tell me what you can see.”
“I can’t see anything,” Jos says. “It’s dark.”
“Then find somewhere that isn’t dark,” Jack says, very patiently.
-Fuck you, I’m way more patient.
-Yeah? Then why did you literally try to murder me when I accidentally cockblocked you?
-That’s what I thought. Now, as I was saying-
Jack eventually finds Jos, and gets him to his car, but then he and Sam have to pack for their West Coast roadie instead of continuing their shower, and after that they totally crash again.
In the morning they wake up late and slow, just how they both like it, and morning sex seems like an awesome idea until Jack’s phone rings.
It’s Beau. “Hey, quick question, could you remind me how long it takes to get to the airport?”
“Just leave in an hour,” Jack tells him, hanging up.
They’re getting to the well-maybe-we’re-overdressed-actually stage when Beau calls again.
“Hey, it’s gonna be pretty warm in California, right?”
“Beau, don’t you have a weather app?”
“Oh, sorry, right,” Beau says, still apologizing when Jack hangs up.
He’s less interested after that, but Sam coaxes him back into it to the point where he’s about to start grinding off against his leg - until his phone rings one more time and kills the mood, and it’s obviously not going to happen this morning.
“Hey,” says Beau, “What’s the best way to get there? To the airport, I mean-”
“GPS,” Jack practically growls. But he feels bad, and, against his better judgement, asks, “Why call me?”
“Well,” Beau says, “nobody else answered.”
-Yeah, I have no fucking clue what the promises were good for either, because they sure as fuck didn’t hold up their ends. Whatever, I don’t want to think about it.
-Because you asked me to tell you this story.
-Look, the story is the advice, eventually. Just be patient or something.
-Well, fuck you, I guess you’re proving it.
They lose on Thursday; Friday is the thirteenth, and after a long day of travel someone practically knocks down Jack’s hotel room door. Sam sighs, re-fastening buttons. Jack takes his own shirt off and answers.
Lehny pushes his way in, wordlessly, sitting on one of those weird fucking chairs that LA hotel rooms always have.
-I know, right?
Lehny doesn’t seem to notice that Sam is there and the bed is rumpled, but neither of those things is a puck, so.
-Um, no, Lehny is way better than your goalie.
-Well, maybe he noticed and didn’t give a shit, or he was too goalie-ish to say anything.
-Oh, please, you know I’m right.
Lehny sits there for a while, and they just watch him. Then he pulls out a hairbrush from somewhere, handing it to Jack. It’s old-looking, maybe silver-plated, and Lehny says, “Brush my hair, please. Seven times on each side until I say stop,” before he lapses back into silence.
If it was anyone else Jack would kick him out, but goalies will be goalies. So Jack sits behind him - wishing he was sitting behind Sam instead, with a lot less clothing - and brushes. For an hour and a half. And Sam taps in for another forty minutes.
When Lehny leaves, they’re exhausted, falling asleep even though in California it’s only nine.
The next couple weeks are even busier, all back-to-backs and hard questions. Jack doesn’t notice-
-Am I boring you?
-No, I’m not your fucking algebra teacher, why-
-Look, you asked for advice, I am trying to give it to you, and you’re just dicking around on your phone! What’s even on there that’s so interesting?
-Wait, are you texting him?
-Oh my god, you ask for help and then you go texting him before I can finish my damn story.
-You’re not fucking sorry, don’t even.
Jack doesn’t notice at first that Sam is avoiding him. It takes him like three days to be totally sure, but it’s true: he’s deliberately staying away. It doesn’t help that they keep losing, either, not only because it sucks generally but because it means they don’t sleep in the same bed much.
-Yes, it’s “a thing we do,” you toaster.
-It’s supposed to be motivational or something.
-No, not anymore.
They do get four whole nights between beating Boston and Detroit, but Sam claims tiredness on two and comes to bed after Jack is asleep on the other two, so nothing happens.
The answer comes to him on a Thursday off. Sam would normally be here with him, playing video games, watching sad game tape, having conversations, but he’s not. Jack doesn’t know where he is, even though Sam usually tells him everything and is truly awful at keeping secrets.
Oh. Sam is trying to keep a secret.
-I won’t spoil the ending of the story, you toenail.
Jack’s pretty sure Sam wants to break up with him, but is waiting until after his birthday. Like that’ll hurt less. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because said impending birthday means his family comes to visit. He takes them to dinner the night before, breakfast the day of, and gets them tickets so they can watch him lose to the Sharks.
He breaks his stick in the tunnel.
Jack is sort of hoping Sam will come sleep with him despite the loss, but he wakes up alone, disappointed in spite of himself. He wants coffee, and to pretend everything’s normal.
Sam is standing outside his door, wringing his hands. “Hey, can we..? Uh. I need a new suit?”
Jack is embarrassingly thrilled that Sam wants to spend time together. “Sure, just let me eat breakfast,” he says, heading to the kitchen.
Sam looks good leaning against the counter, relaxed and happy and not at all the bundle of nerves he has been recently. Jack is suddenly reluctant to let him go. He crouches to get the milk from the fridge door, notices his own boxers, and has a beautiful, stupid idea.
-Shut up, you’re ruining the best part.
Standing, Jack puts the milk on the counter, shuts the fridge, and takes a deep breath. “So, I know we’re going suit shopping this morning, but,” he gestures vaguely towards his American-flag-clad dick, “On a scale from one to America, how free are you tonight?”
-Yeah, use the line if you want, but listen to the rest of the story first.
Sam opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.
“Surprise!” the team yells from the doorway.
-Yeah, same:
“What the fuck?” Jack asks.
At the same time, Sam says, “But you were supposed to come after we left!”
“You sleep like dead men,” Risto says.
“We just needed a key,” Lehny adds.
Okie says, “Your birthdays are pretty close together, you know? We figured we’d throw one party instead of two.”
“And, speaking of parties, where’s your grill?” Pommer asks.
Jack ignores him. “Why didn’t you ask me? You know how bad Sam is with secrets.”
“Yes,” Gorgy admits, “he is. But you’d have known we were lying, kid.”
“Oh,” says Jack, and takes Pommer to the backyard before anyone can mention his clothing choices.
-Fuck you, there are no pictures. I made everyone delete them. The league has already seen me dressed as a pretty unicorn, they don’t need to see that too.
When Jack has gotten dressed and double-checked everyone’s phones, when the party’s over and everyone’s gone, when Jack has finally, finally, slept with his boyfriend again, they’re cuddling in bed.
“I thought you were gonna break up with me,” Jack says, quietly.
“I wouldn’t, not like that,” Sam tells him, and he knows it’s the truth.
Jack says, “I love you,” into the darkness, instead of all the things he wants to say but can’t.
Sam smiles against the back of his neck. “I love you, too,” he says, like he understands. The sound of their quiet breathing fills the room as they fall asleep.
They win the next game.
-So, moral of the story: just fucking talk about it.
-Fuck off about the texting, I wasn’t done telling the whole thing yet.
-Well, it wouldn’t have taken so long if you hadn’t kept interrupting.
-Yeah, fuck you too.
-What?
-Oh. You’re welcome.