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Sidney was just so great.
He was so nice, and he was so good at hockey, and he only yelled at Jake and the rest of the rookies when they did something truly stupid when they were supposed to be playing the kind of hockey that won the team more Stanley Cups.
When Jake thought back over his first few weeks with the Penguins, past the constant feeling of nervous exhilaration that had nearly crushed him, he thinks he might have had a crush on Sid. That’s not his fault, though: it’s really hard to avoid having a crush on Sid.
Sid was just so genuine and so nice, and he told you right to your face when he thought you’d played well, frequently in the locker room, when you had just showered, and were naked.
When Jake first got called up from Wilkes Barre Sid gave him a gift card to Primanti’s, and texted him before his first practice to welcome him to the team, and rubbed his shoulder when Jake cried into the neck of his jersey a little bit when Dana gave him the puck from his first NHL goal.
“You’re such a good captain,” Jake’s mouth said, which was embarrassing. He’d only had two beers, but he’d had two goals against the Rangers that night, and he was a little drunk on adrenaline.
Shearsy and Dumo overheard, of course, and laughed at him, but Sidney just smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Thanks, man,” he said, and took the shot glass Dumo handed him.
Sid swallowed his shot down with the others as Dumo counted down, and Jake grimaced and took his a beat after everyone else. Dumo cheered and turned his glass upside down on the bar, and Sidney laughed, and picked up a handful of tiny cocktail napkins to clean up the mess. He handed Jake a pile too, and Jake obediently wiped down the bar in front of him, and then elbowed Shearsy in the gut until he did the same.
The bartender was flirting with Sid, and she was very pretty, with tight dark curls, and big gold earrings that looked nice against her skin. Sidney was being polite, smiling and nodding at her in between turning to moderate the shit Dumo and Shearsy were talking at Jake’s side.
Maybe, Jake thought. Maybe now was the time to tell him.
Geno came to collect Sid eventually, the way the older guys always did, dragging Sid away from rookies and shot glasses and bartenders with bright eyes and nice smiles and whatever else he managed to get himself stuck in, by virtue of being too damn nice to ever stop talking to someone.
Geno muscled his way in between Jake and Sidney, effectively stealing Sid’s attention. He was slouching so he could look Sid in the eye, and that meant that Jake could see over Geno’s rounded shoulders as Sidney’s face got softer and more real than it had been with the bartender.
Maybe, Jake thought, a little louder this time.
“I’ll see you guys later,” Sidney said, smiling up at Geno as he left a generous tip for the bartender. The guys groaned, and Jake blinked and made a split-second decision as Sidney walked off, Geno shadowing him like a bodyguard.
“Sid!” He called, sliding clumsily off his stool, and ducking into the crowd after them.
“Jake,” Sidney said, “You need help getting home?”
Something immensely fond swooped in Jake’s stomach, and he shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll call an Uber. I just.” He took a deep breath, and steeled himself, looking Sidney straight in the eye. “I just wanted to see if I could talk to you. Tomorrow? About. Uh.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Stuff.”
He glanced at Geno, who was watching him curiously, and then snapped his gaze back to Sid, who was already nodding.
“Yeah, of course. I’ll text you in the morning to figure out when. You sure you don’t need help getting home?”
“No, it’s okay,” Jake said, backing away. “I’m going to call an Uber.” Geno was still watching him with a strange look on his face, and Jake could feel himself turning red and backed away some more, calling: “Okay, bye.”
He did call an Uber, and then drank a large glass of water and ate an Eggo waffle straight from the freezer when he got home.
He snagged his laptop from the coffee table and got in bed with it, typing with one hand as he opened up Netflix and found a show he’d seen a million times to turn down low and help him sleep – Gilmore Girls usually did the trick.
He slid beneath the covers, wriggled a little, and closed his eyes to the soft sounds of Lorelei and Rory bickering over Pop Tarts.
+
Sidney texted him the next morning at ten o’clock on the dot, startling Jake awake.
I’ll be home most of the day if you still want to talk, the text read, and Jake flopped back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.
Okay cool, he typed, then cringed and deleted it. Thanks man, he typed and sent before he could second-guess himself. I can be there in an hour?
I’ll be here, Sidney responded a moment later. See you soon.
Jake got up, showered, and was out of his apartment in fifteen minutes. It was a half hour drive to Sewickley, and even longer during the snowy months, but he understood why Sidney liked it out there. It was quieter than the Pittsburgh city proper, and the houses were farther away from each other, providing the privacy Sidney valued so highly.
Sidney’s house was on a quiet block, with a tall gate that he texted Jake the code for, and a winding drive leading up to the house, lined with low hedges. Sidney opened the door as Jake was parking, and Jake had the sudden, terrible realization that he was thoroughly unprepared for this conversation.
Sidney waved from his front door, open and smiling as always, and Jake swallowed dryly. It was too late to back out now.
Sidney let him in and showed him where to put his shoes before leading Jake into the kitchen where he offered, in succession: a bottle of Gatorade, an apple, a protein bar, a protein shake, and an omelet. He had just pulled open yet another cupboard, which seemed to be entirely full of plastic bins of nuts, when Jake curled his fingers tight around the marble countertop of the kitchen island and said:
“I think I’m gay.”
Sidney froze, his hand halfway to a carton of almonds, and turned around to look at him. Jake felt like his blood was rushing… everywhere. To his temples, his heart, his shaky knees.
He sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island and accidentally sent a stack of important-looking papers fluttering to the ground.
“Fuck.”
“Jake,” Sidney said, his voice very low and gentle, and Jake started talking over him in a nervous babble of conversation.
“I mean. I don’t think I’m gay,” he said. “I know I’m gay. I’m like, I’m pretty sure. I haven’t acted on anything yet, but there’s this guy....” He felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he shook his head fiercely. He should have practiced, this was probably the most disastrous coming-out there had ever been
“Fuck,” he said again. He put his head down on Sidney’s kitchen island and contemplated never looking anybody in the eye again.
“Jake,” Sidney said, “Jake, hey.” His voice was a lot closer than it was before, and when Jake peeped to the side, he could see Sidney’s knees. “Jake, I’m proud of you. And I’m really grateful you trusted me with this. And. I, uh.” He coughed, and he sounded so strangled and awkward that Jake sat up and looked at his red face.
“Jake, I’m gay, too.” Sidney said. He said it quietly, but steadily, like it wasn’t a thing to be ashamed of. Like it was a thing he’d been comfortable with for a very long time. Jake nearly fell off his stool.
“What?” He squeaked, and his voice was far too loud in the otherwise silent kitchen. Sidney flushed even redder, and stepped away to open his refrigerator and stare inside of it.
“You want some orange juice?” He asked, “With vodka in it?”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “I do.”
Sidney made them screwdrivers with vodka from a bottle he pulled out of his freezer, and then he sat on the bar stool beside Jake, scooting it backwards to accommodate his thighs, and talked while Jake sipped his drink and tried not to stare.
“I don’t usually tell people,” Sidney said. “Mario knows, and Sully. Some of the older guys: Kris, and Flower knew, and, uh. Geno. I never wanted my personal life to be a part of the game, so I kept things quiet. It shouldn’t matter, right? Hockey is for everyone.”
“I don’t know if I believe that,” Jake said dully, and Sidney bit his lip.
“I choose to believe it,” he said slowly. “We can talk about that more later, but I should tell you that, uh.” He looked visibly nervous, which was strange. Sidney never looked nervous, not when he was talking about hockey. “I’m dating someone,” he said, finally. “Another hockey player.”
“Oh my god,” Jake said. His ears felt like they were ringing.
“It’s someone on the team,” Sidney said, and Jake stared at him harder. “Um.” Sidney cleared his throat a couple of times, and shifted uneasily. “Geno. It’s Geno.”
“Oh my god,” Jake repeated. “Holy shit.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell anyone,” Sidney said, and he looked a little pained.
“I won’t,” Jake promised immediately. “But, I mean, holy shit. Really? Geno?”
“Geno,” Sidney said, and the little smile he couldn’t quite keep from his face was all Jake needed to know that he was telling the truth. “For about two years now.”
“I had no idea,” Jake said. “I had no idea Geno was so good at keeping secrets.”
Sidney laughed, and drained the rest of his drink. “You want some food?” He asked, and said: “I could crush an omelet.”
Jake watched him pull things out of the refrigerator, and marveled at how calm he seemed, puzzling over whether he should put pepper and onions and ham, or peppers and onions and turkey in the omelet. Swiss or cheddar. Wholegrain toast or rye.
“You should come for dinner one night,” Sidney said, interrupting Jake’s staring. “I’ll invite Geno over, and we can all talk.” He put the swiss back in the fridge and then paused, tapping it thoughtfully with one finger. “You have my support, one hundred percent. You know that, right?”
Jake nodded. “I haven’t told anyone else,” he admitted, confessing to Sidney’s broad back when he turned around to wash the bell peppers.
“Have you thought about telling your family?” Sidney asked, turning back around to pull a skillet out of a cupboard and set it on the stove. “Or anyone else on the team?”
“I wanted to tell my parents last time they were in Pittsburgh, but there was no time. I only saw them for about half an hour after the game before they had to get back to the airport.”
Sidney grimaced. “That’s rough,” he said. “You’ll have a little time over winter break, though, right?”
“It’s really scary,” Jake admitted. “They could take it badly.”
“Do you think they would?” Sidney asked, turning away from the sizzling pan on the stove to look at him.
“No,” Jake said honestly. “But they might. They might be scared for me, which would be worse. My brother will probably try to fight every hockey fan on the face of the planet and he’s just a financial analyst so they’ll break all his limbs.” He sighed. “What did your parents do?”
Sidney’s lips twisted. “My mom cried,” he said, “and it took my dad a long time to understand this part of me. He’s good about the hockey part, but not so great at the other parts. But they’re good now, they’re very supportive. It just took some time.”
He pulled clean plates from the dishrack, and slid them onto the kitchen island, slicing the omelet into neat halves and plating it carefully. “You’re always welcome here,” he said, topping up Jake’s drink. “I mean it, you can always come to me with questions, or for advice, or whatever. Geno likes to tell me that I’m not very smooth, but I know some things.”
“Can we talk about something else for a little while?” Jake asked, poking at his food. He knew he sounded whiny, but he felt like he’d turned his soul inside out for inspection, and even Sidney Crosby offering him relationship advice wasn’t enough to make him feel settled.
Sidney just laughed, though, and said: “Please,” and made Jake talk to him about net-front presence for nearly two hours.
+
Two weeks after Jake came out, Sid invited him to Home Depot, because he needed lumber for something. Geno was sitting in the passenger seat when Sid pulled up outside Jake’s apartment complex in his sensible truck, and they lost him almost immediately inside the store, and Jake watched Sidney watch him go fondly, disappearing down and aisle full of doorknobs.
“That man is going to find the weirdest thing in this entire store, and ask me if we can buy it, and when I say no, he’s going to remember that he also has a functioning bank account and he’ll buy it, and we’ll end up with yet another weird garden ornament.” Sidney said, snagging a bright orange cart.
Jake stared at him. “How did I never realize you two were dating?” He asked, following Sidney down an aisle full of leaf blowers. “You’re so obvious.”
Sidney made a face at him, and Jake made one back. “You are! You’re like an old married couple.”
Sidney turned an interesting shade of red at that, and Jake studied him. “…You’re not married, are you?”
“No, Jake, I’m not married,” Sidney said wearily.
“But you want to get married.” Jake said. Sidney made a face that was so incredibly fond he found he couldn’t look at it, so he turned around and studied the shiny, enormous grills that were on display in the aisle they were walking down.
“It’s legal in Pennsylvania,” Sidney said simply. “But we decided that we’d wait until after we retired.”
Jake stopped in the middle of the aisle to stare at him, and then had to scramble to catch up when Sidney kept walking, and disappeared down another aisle. Jake found him contemplating paint strips, looking back and forth between two identical shades of navy blue.
“How can you know you’ll be together when you retire?” Jake asked. “That could be years from now.”
“I hope it is,” Sidney said.
Jake took a minute to digest that, following Sidney up and down various aisles as he thought it over. Sid moved through the store with a quiet confidence, poking at screws and power tools, picking up two cans of high-gloss paint, and pausing in front of a stack of wooden boards to measure them with his fingers and look at something on his phone and then measure them again.
“I’ve never really been in a relationship with anyone,” Jake said, after a Home Depot employee had come and gone, helped Sid select a stack of boards and then asked for a selfie with both of them. “There was never time in school because of hockey, and there’s not a lot of time now.”
“When you came over you told me there was someone you liked,” Sidney said, shifting the stuff in his cart around so he didn’t whack his head on a plank of wood when he pushed it. “Have you thought about a relationship with them?”
“I just don’t know if I’ll be any good at it,” Jake admitted. “Being with only one person for the rest of your life is pretty scary, right?”
“It depends on the person, I guess,” Sidney said. “And it’s hard work. Something I didn’t realize when I was younger is that it’s hard work, and it’s work you have to do every day, year after year. But it’s kind of nice work, you know? You get to choose to stay with the person you want to be with every day you wake up beside them.”
Jake pondered that, and only just managed to move out of the way before Sidney ran his foot over with his full shopping cart.
“Is it a hard choice to make?” He asked, and Sidney sighed, looking past Jake to the end of the aisle they were walking down. Jake turned, and saw Geno striding towards them with a huge smile and what looked like four flamingo lawn ornaments tucked under his arms.
“It’s usually pretty easy, actually,” Sidney said, looking resigned to his choice of a life with Geno and a brood of plastic flamingos. “Usually.”
+
The season winds on and on, and they’re winning and then they’re losing and then they’re winning again, and there’s hardly ever time in between.
Jake goes to practice, and follows his diet plan, and plays hockey, and he thinks a lot about telling his family, and a little about telling some of the other guys on the team.
Toward the end of April, he’s sitting and thinking about it a little more, idly watching Dumo rib Shearsy while he unpeels the tape from his socks. Would it be so bad if a few of the guys knew? There were a couple he’d trust to keep it quiet, not be weird about it. Shearsy, maybe. Maybe Dumo. Dumo was an idiot, but he was also a pretty good dude.
He was jerked out of his daydreaming by Geno, who threw a sweaty sock in his face, and then dropped down heavily to sit in the stall beside him. He took up the space that was usually Sid’s easily, leaning back into the stall like he owned it.
“So slow,” he muttered, managing to dig his bony elbow between Jake’s ribs in a way that hurt. “Hurry up, I’m take you somewhere.”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “Where?”
“You see,” Geno said, and slapped him on the thigh, hard. “Get dressed and I show you.” He stood up and walked away, out of the change room, and Jake shrugged and pulled his sweaty undershirt off to hurry into the showers.
Geno was still there when he got out, frowning at his cell phone.
“Sid’s say you come for dinner,” he said, shoving his phone in a pocket while Jake tied his shoelaces. “But I’m take you somewhere first. Then dinner.”
“What if I’m hungry now?” Jake asked, following Geno out into the parking garage.
“You starve,” Geno said blandly, and unlocked his little sports car. He waited until he was driving through downtown Pittsburgh at about ten miles above the speed limit to look at Jake skeptically and ask: “You really hungry? I get you food if you want.”
Jake grinned, and slouched down in his seat. “I’m okay. I wouldn’t say no to a burger, but I’m okay.”
Geno hmmphed at him, and took the next corner a little too fast.
They pulled into a parking lot beside a church finally, just a couple blocks away from the Monongahela, and Geno parked his ridiculous car and got out, then ducked down to stick his head back in the car to stare at Jake, who was staring at him.
“What you do?” Geno asked. “Get out, we go to church.”
“Why?” Jake hissed. “Geno, I can’t go to church, God will smite me.”
“It’s Russian church,” Geno said, like that answered anything. “Come on, we go.”
“If it’s a Russian church, that means Putin himself is going to come and have me disappeared,” Jake said, pushing himself back into the seat. “Geno, no.”
Geno made the face he made whenever anyone mentioned Putin, where he looked resigned to both defending and distancing himself from his country. “It’s good,” he said. “Jake. I promise. It’s good.”
Jake stared at him, and Geno stared back, disarmingly earnest for once. “Okay,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt. “Okay, fine. But I don’t remember what to do in church.”
“Just go,” Geno said, rolling his eyes. “Not need to remember anything.” He strode away, and Jake followed tentatively after, catching the heavy wooden door just before Geno let it slam behind him.
The church was empty, which was a relief. It was also beautiful, with vaulted ceilings that soared to the sky, and walls covered in burnished gold mosaics, intricate wooden carvings and Cyrillic text. The altar was draped in red velvet and there were rows of slim candles near the backs of the pews, burning themselves down into waxy lumps.
Jake hadn’t been in a church in years, hadn’t even gone to midnight Mass on Christmas since he got serious about hockey and started having to play in tournaments on Christmas Eve.
Geno dipped his fingers into a shallow marble bowl full of holy water near the entrance and crossed himself smoothly, before shuffling forward and taking a seat in a pew.
Jake reached out a hand to do the same, and then made a conscious decision not to, shoving his hands into his pockets instead, and sitting down beside Geno. He tried not to stare at Geno’s bowed head, but when he bowed his own and tried to remember how you were supposed to pray, his mind was blank.
There was one other person in the church, Jake noticed after a little while. An older woman, who was moving slowly from place to place, dusting, tidying, and replenishing the supply of candles.
She walked over when she saw them, and spoke to Geno for a long time in a flow of Russian that Geno didn’t bother to translate, but which sounded warm and welcoming. She bent over to kiss Geno on the cheeks, finally, and swatted him gently on the shoulder before walking away, and Jake snuck a look at Geno, who was looking at the crucifix above altar and smiling a little bit, radiating serenity.
“This is weird,” he whispered, when the silence became too much to bear. “Geno, who was that?”
“Galina,” Geno whispered back. “She’s take care of the church.”
Jake nodded, and then spent the next five minutes fidgeting, as Geno continued to sit silently. “Geno,” he hissed again, finally, and Geno sighed.
“I’m come here in my rookie season,” he said softly. “Come with Gonch, listen to service in Russian, speak Russian with people and it’s good. Quiet. Can pretend that outside is Moscow, you know? Not America.” He leaned back in the pew, slouching a little.
“Then I start….” He made a face and a hand gesture that Jake couldn’t interpret. “I start with Sidney,” Geno continued softly, and, oh. Jake swallowed roughly, and looked away from the raw emotion on Geno’s face.
“I start with Sidney and I stay away from here for a long time.” Geno said. “Whole season. Many months. Galina’s very angry at me, when I come back.”
“Why did you come back?” Jake asked.
“I tell my parents everything,” Geno said, tipping his head up to study the church ceiling, which was patterned with swirling mosaics. “They’re scared for me, you know? Scared for our family, scared for Sid. Scared maybe I never come back to Russia. It’s take me long time to tell them, because for long time I don’t want to be this way, you know? Want to be normal.”
“You are normal,” Jake said immediately. “Some of the shit you do on the ice isn’t normal, but this is normal. Totally normal.” Geno gave him a look, and he flushed. “It is!”
“Now I’m happy,” Geno said, ignoring him. “I have some Russia here in this church. Some more Russia in restaurants in Pittsburgh, some more at home, more with Gonch. I’m want to show you can always make home, you know?”
Jake blinked at him. “Are you telling me I should tell my family I’m gay?”
Geno sighed expansively, and Jake frowned. “I’m tell you everything is okay. Everything is good. No matter what you do. You will be okay. You will find home.”
“That’s.” Jake said, and turned away to look at the domed ceiling of the church along with Geno, blinking through the rush of emotion behind his eyes. “That’s nice.”
Geno shifted, and slung a long arm around his neck. “Yes, I’m know is nice,” he said smugly. “I’m best.”
“Sid’s best,” Jake said automatically, and Geno grinned at him.
“Yes, true.” He said, and then stood up abruptly. “Let’s go eat dinner. I get Sid to make us burgers, you see.”
+
On the ride out to Sewickley, Geno seemed to decide that they had had enough deep conversations for the day, and turned on some Russian hip hop excruciatingly loudly. He sang along badly, and Jake opened his window to try and let some of the noise out of the car, which only made Geno sing louder.
Sidney was outside when they got there, puttering around the lawn, and he jumped when Geno drove in and leaned on the horn.
Jake laughed, and Geno looked pleased with himself, which was probably why he did it.
“Sid!” Geno said, unfolding himself from the sports car and loping across the lawn. “Burgers! We do for dinner?”
Sid met him halfway across the lawn, and Jake nearly died of shock when he tilted his head up just a little, and Geno kissed him softly and then kept going into the house, still talking about hamburgers for dinner.
By the time Jake untangled himself and his emotions from the sports car, Geno was inside the house, and Sidney was in the doorway, body angled inside and talking to Geno, holding the door open for Jake.
This, Jake thought, as he made his way slowly into the house. This was what he wanted.
Hockey and a nice house and a sweet boyfriend. Maybe a sports car or two, and another Stanley Cup, and a relationship strong enough that it didn’t suffer from being kept hidden, and was so much like coming home it made up for never being home anymore.
Sidney smiled at him when he walked inside, and then wandered off to the kitchen to join Geno, who was pawing through the freezer, and somehow already had his weird Russian music playing on the kitchen speakers.
“Burgers okay with you?” Sidney asked, nudging Geno out of the way and pulling hamburger buns out of his freezer.
“They’re great,” Jake said. “I’m just gonna.” He paused and took a breath. Sidney took a head of lettuce out of the fridge and looked at him. “I think I’m gonna go call my parents real quick if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” Sidney said. “You can use the living room if you want. We’ll stay in here.”
Geno bopped him on the shoulder with his fist as Jake walked past him and out of the kitchen, and Jake socked him in the ribs and darted out of the room before Geno could retaliate.
He dialed home before he could second guess himself, and settled into Sidney’s comfortable leather couch, staring through the glass sliding doors that led out to the yard.
“Hi mom,” he said, when she picked up. “Is Dad home? I have something I want to tell you both.”
His mother cried, and his father’s voice broke with pride when he said how proud they both were of the man Jake had become, and that made Jake cry. He put the phone on speaker and rested it on the cushion by his thigh, pressing his hands against his face and leaning over, as if it would help him contain his emotions. There was a small noise behind him, and when he straightened up and turned, Geno was standing there, holding a colander and looking concerned.
“Jake, you need…?” He asked, and Jake shook his head.
“No, no, it’s good. I’m good.” Geno nodded, and darted forward to mess his hair up before disappearing again into the kitchen.
He made promises with his family to FaceTime them that evening, after dinner (“Dinner with Crosby and Malkin,” his dad said, while his mom laughed tearily. “Who’d’ve imagined such a thing?”) and told them he loved them before slumping back into the couch, shaking with adrenaline and gratitude.
Sidney and Geno were talking in the kitchen, chirping each other by the sound of it, and Jake grinned at the weird nautical décor on the walls in Sidney’s living room and went to join them.
+
“Who you like?” Geno asked, dropping down next to sit next to Jake on the bus two weeks later. Jake startled, banging his head off the seat in front of him.
“Careful,” Geno said, patting him on the head a little. “No concussions.”
Jake just stared at him, and Geno leaned back, spreading his legs wide enough that his knee knocked against Jake’s. He had his toque pulled low, and his dress shirt unbuttoned a little at the throat.
“Come on, tell me,” Geno said, nudging him again. “Who you like?”
“Can we not talk about this here?” Jake whispered, his voice cracking with his discomfort. “Please?”
“Why not?” Geno asked. “Now perfect, everyone’s asleep. I’m know you like someone. Sid says.”
Jake heaved out a sigh and slumped down into his seat. His suit jacket puckered around his ears and he hid behind the lapels. Geno was patient though, and an asshole, and he was perfectly content to wait Jake out.
“It’s no one,” Jake tried, eventually. “It’s just some guy.”
Geno gave him a look that was so flatly disbelieving Jake giggled a little.
“That was a secret, by the way.” He grumbled, elbowing Geno. “Your boyfriend has a big mouth.”
Geno grinned, smug, and Jake covered his mouth before he could say anything traumatizing. “No sex jokes about Sid,” he demanded, and Geno waggled his eyebrows and licked Jake’s palm.
That led to a slap fight, of course, and Geno dug his fingers into Jake’s side until he squeaked with laughter and they both got yelled at by Tanger, who flung an empty coffee cup in their direction, and told them to shut up.
“You are such an asshole,” Jake whispered hoarsely, when they finally subsided, and Geno grinned at him. He splayed his limbs everywhere, and smiled at Jake in a way that made his eyes crinkle. Jake sighed.
“I don’t know what Sid sees in you,” he lied, and Geno smiled even wider, his gaze going soft and fond around the edges. He glanced up to the front of the bus, where Jake could just barely see the back of Sid’s head from where he was sacked out against a window.
“Sid’s love me,” Geno said confidently. He said it quietly, and Jake slumped back into his seat, staggered by the weight of Geno’s conviction.
“Yeah,” he said, softly, and bit at his lip while Geno struggled out of his suit jacket and balled it up to use as a pillow. It was only when Geno has his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest, and looks ready to sleep the rest of the bus ride away and stop bothering Jake, that he elbowed Geno lightly.
“His name is Mateo,” he whispered. “He works at the Starbucks near where I live.”
Geno cracked an eye open and studied Jake with an intensity typically reserved for games where they were down a goal with two minutes to go in the third period. “He make you coffee?” He asked, shifting his body towards Jake, his voice equally quiet.
Jake bit his lip again and glanced out of the window. His heart raced like it was trying to jump out of his body, and he focused on the lights on the highway outside.
“Yeah,” he said, finally. “Well, I mean, not always. Sometimes he’s working the register, and sometimes he’s not there, but he always remembers my name. He’s….” Jake took a breath, and swallowed nervously. “I don’t really know anything about him, but I. I really like him.”
He looked away again, staring out of the window and feeling pathetically grateful that the lights in the bus were too dim for anyone to see how red his face must be. He jumped when Geno wrapped a hand around his arm and shook him gently.
“I’m glad you tell me,” Geno whispered. “Mateo. That’s good name.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. He felt a little shaky with all the adrenaline in his system. He felt like they were forty seconds from winning another Stanley Cup, and he leaned into it when Geno pressed their arms together and stayed there, solid and comforting until the nerves drained away.
“Maybe I’m need coffee when we get back to Pittsburgh,” Geno said, a while later, thoughtful. “Maybe I’m meet him.”
“Oh my god, no,” Jake hissed, and Geno grinned at him.
Geno didn’t follow through on his threat to follow Jake to Starbucks when the bus finally pulled back into Pittsburgh in the early hours of the morning, but he did grab Jake around the shoulders before they all dispersed into the parking garage.
“You look good in suit,” he said. “Go show your coffee boy.”
“Go away, Geno,” Jake whined, and rolled his eyes at everyone who was watching them.
He threw his stuff into the backseat of his car, and pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, taking a long moment to relish the silence. They didn’t have practice until the next afternoon, and he had big plans to go home, take a long shower, jerk off, put in a FreshDirect order, and spend the rest of the day playing video games.
He drove home carefully, paying as much attention to his turn signals as possible, so that he didn’t have to think about anything besides driving. He got honked at when he hesitated at the intersection that either took him home or to Starbucks, and made a split-second decision to go to Starbucks. It was early, after all. He could use a cup of coffee.
He parked, and took a deep breath, glancing at himself in the rearview mirror. He was still in his game-day suit, which was tailored specifically for him, and looked pretty good when it was freshly ironed. He’d played three periods of hard-fought hockey, though, and then slept in the suit, so it was pretty wrinkled, and his hair was a mess, and he wasn’t entirely convinced he was pulling the look off.
He poked at his hair for a minute, then decided he was being an idiot and a coward, got out of the car, locked it decisively, and strode into Starbucks.
It was still a little too early for the morning rush, and there were only two baristas on duty. One was bent over, pushing pastries onto their little trays in the display cabinet, and the other was Mateo, who saw Jake mid-yawn and burst into one of the nicest smiles Jake had ever seen. He actually felt his heart skip a beat, and curled his hands into his suit pockets to stop himself from doing something ridiculous.
“Jake!” Mateo said, and Jake willed himself to not blush as Mateo put his hands on his hips and gave him an obvious once-over. “You look sharp.”
“I slept in the suit,” Jake told him, because he didn’t know how to be smooth, no matter how many drunken lessons Tanger gave them all on how to be more suave. “On the bus back from Philly. And I think I might have forgotten to put deodorant on.”
Mateo laughed, and it did a better job of waking Jake up than any espresso shot. “You’re pulling it off,” he insisted.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Mateo said, leaning over the counter to study Jake again, while Jake looked down at himself and noticed that one of his shoes was untied. “It’s kinda sexy, like James Bond played a hockey game and then slept in his suit.”
Jake was fairly sure he was being made fun of, but it was hard to tell over the roaring in his ears. In front of him, Mateo straightened up with a small smile. “Vanilla latte?” He asked, writing the order on a venti cup without waiting for confirmation.
“I’ll order something else one day,” Jake said, and shoved his hands back into his pockets for his wallet. “Fuck.”
Mateo raised his eyebrows at him, and Jake felt himself get even redder. “I left my wallet in the car. Fuck. Give me one minute, it’s in my gear bag, I’ll go get it.” He fumbled for his keys, and dropped them, of course, and almost missed Mateo saying:
“Hey, no, no. It’s on me.”
Jake blinked at him. “No, no way. I just left it in the car. I’ll go get it.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” Mateo said, pushing something on the register that made it shoot open with a loud noise. He knocked it with his hip and it shut again with a satisfying clang. “I’m serious, I’ve got this one, don’t worry about it.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Sure you can,” Mateo said, turning away from the register to the espresso machine. Jake followed his progress on the other side of the counter, staring. “You can pay me back some other time.”
Jake blinked, and nodded fuzzily. He wondered if he was maybe being flirted with. Mateo spun the thing on the espresso machine that made steam shoot out loudly and that seemed to be that. Jake picked up his keys and pushed them deep into his pockets, pressing his hands flat against his thighs.
Mateo made his coffee quietly, with a soft smile, and Jake watched him steam milk, pull espresso shots and pump vanilla syrup into the cup. He turned away to grab a lid, and bent over the cup for a minute, before handing it over with a big smile.
“There you go,” he said. “One vanilla latte on me.”
“Thank you,” Jake said. “I, seriously. I owe you one.”
“You can get me later,” Mateo said, waving him off. “You just got back from an away game, right? Get some sleep.”
Jake drove home in a daze, and dropped his bag on the floor of his apartment, where he’d probably stumble over it later. He set the coffee on his kitchen island, and went into his bedroom to change out of his suit. He stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment before stripping down. He tried to see the sexy James Bond until he felt ridiculous, and turned away.
He plugged his phone into a charger in the kitchen and slumped down onto the couch with his coffee, picking at the sleeve as he drank it until one end came unglued from the other and fell apart. He bent over to pick the cardboard sleeve off the floor, and didn’t see the string of numbers that had been hidden beneath it until he sat back up.
“Oh, shit.” He said. The numbers were written quickly in sharpie, with a Pittsburgh area code. “Oh shit. Fuck. Fuck.”
He did three quick laps of his apartment, speed-walking between bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom, trying to control his breathing while his heart raced out of control.
Taking a deep breath, he unplugged his phone and opened a new text to Geno: Went to Starbucks and got his number.
He sent it, and Geno sent him a string of fifteen emojis a second later: three eggplants, four praying hands, three winking faces, and five flexing biceps. Jake grinned at the text until his cheeks hurt and jumped when his phone vibrated again with a text from Sid that he thumbed open cautiously.
Geno just told me what happened (I hope that’s okay). Congratulations! Let me know if you want to talk some more.
Jake clenched his phone and pressed it against his chest, breathing through the swell of emotions.
I don’t know what I should text him. He sent to Sidney before he could think better of it, followed by a string of thumbs-up’s to Geno.
Actually that’s probably a Geno question. Sidney texted, and Jake snorted.
Send dick, came from Geno three seconds later and Jake laughed out loud, burying his face in his hands.
Neither of you are helpful. He texted, and left his phone face down on the kitchen island when Geno texted him a dozen eggplant emoji and went to go take a shower.
He found his phone after he dried his hair and entered Mateo’s number into his contacts, hid the phone in his dresser for a while, paced around his bedroom some more, then took a deep breath, picked up his phone, and typed: hey this is Jake and sent it.
It made a little whooshing sound as it went, and he said “FUCK” incredibly loudly, shoved his phone beneath his mattress, and threw himself face first into the couch.
+
Like an idiot, Jake fell asleep on the couch and woke up hours later, disoriented and starving. He remembered texting Mateo halfway through making himself an enormous sandwich with everything left in his fridge and panicked, hurrying into the bedroom to tug his phone out from under his mattress.
He had two texts from Mateo and eight from Geno, all nonsensical sequences of emoji and eyeless but suggestive smiley faces. He brought his phone back into the kitchen and finished making his sandwich before opening the texts from Mateo.
Hi Jake :) the first one read, and the second, sent two minutes after the first, said: What are you up to tomorrow night?
Jake read and reread the second text, then ate half his sandwich just in case low blood sugar was making him see things that weren’t there. It was flirtatious, right? He was being flirted with.
Done with practice at four, and I’m free after that. He texted, then clenched his teeth and decided to be brave. Do you want to get dinner or a drink maybe?
Yes, Mateo texted immediately. I’d love that. Is five too early for dinner?
Jake bit his lip and grinned at his phone. I’m always starving after practice, he texted. I could definitely eat dinner at 5.
Mateo sent him a grinning emoji and Jake blushed and grinned at his phone like an idiot.
He was distracted all through practice the next day, and he caught an edge and went sprawling towards the end of their ice time, sliding across the goal line until he bumped gently into the boards, laughing at himself.
Sidney was beside him when he fell, which was a little embarrassing, but he just tapped Jake’s skates good-naturedly with his stick and held out a hand to help haul Jake back to his feet.
“You good?” He muttered, moving smoothly beside Jake as they skated a handful of laps to cool down.
“I have a date,” Jake said, trying and failing to bite down on his smile, and Sidney grinned at him and bounced his fist off Jake’s shoulder.
“That’s great,” he said, “get out of here and enjoy yourself.” He shooed Jake off the ice, and must have said something to Geno, because Geno whacked him across the shins a towel when he came back into the locker room from the showers.
Jake escaped Geno’s clutches and ignored the wolf whistle that followed him out of the locker room, throwing his bag in the back of his car and then climbing into the back from the drivers’ seat to pull his phone from the depths of it.
They’d agreed to meet at an unassuming diner in the Strip District, and Mateo was there when Jake walked in, sitting at a booth by the windows and reading a book. The sun was starting to set, and the last of the light was slanting in through the window, catching in his curls and turning Mateo’s hair golden.
Jake’s heart was beating like he’d taken a hard shift at the bottom of the third and then Mateo looked up and saw him and smiled and his heart leapt in his chest, fluttering wildly as he slid into the seat across from Mateo.
“You look good,” he said, and could feel himself turning red from the ears down.
“Thank you,” Mateo said, glancing down at himself. “I like your… track suit?”
Jake looked down at the track suit jacket he’d thrown on after practice and laughed. “I did make an effort,” he said, unzipping the jacket and balling it up on the seat beside himself. “Not all my clothes have sports logos on them.”
“No, no, it’s good,” Mateo said. “Very athleisure, very cool.” His eyes were sparkling and he ducked his head to take a loud sip from his water glass when Jake laughed.
They ordered burgers from a waitress with intricate henna designs on her palms and wrists, and they talked. Mateo told Jake about the art degree he was paying for with early morning shifts at Starbucks and two scholarships and Jake told him about how it felt to hold the Stanley Cup high above his head at 22 and wonder (just briefly) what it meant that all his dreams were coming true while he was still so young.
Mateo told him about his abuela in Oaxaca who’d hand him tortillas fresh from the stove when they were able to visit her and who taught him how to make tamales over Skype when they weren’t. Jake told him about his older brothers and how Ryan had cried with pride when he scored his first NHL goal, and had cried again earlier that morning when Jake came out to him over the phone, still so proud and promising to hurt anyone who said anything against his little brother.
They ate their burgers and Mateo put Tabasco sauce all over his French fries and blushed when Jake teased him, and pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket to sketch out an intricately carved cornice he’d seen the other day on his walk to school.
When they finished their burgers they shared a slice of strawberry pie that was sticky and sweet and clung to the corners of their mouths and when they’d finished that and argued over the check, Mateo looked at Jake and said: “Cards on the table?”
He put his hands down flat, halfway across the table and Jake hesitated and then did the same. Their middle fingers on each hand overlapped slightly, and he shivered. Mateo’s fingers were warm, and he had a tattoo on his right arm that began at his wrist and continued up to his shoulder, all geometric shapes and overlapping patterns. He was so, so far out of Jake’s league.
“Cards on the table?” Jake echoed, and Mateo ducked his head to look at where their fingers touched.
“Have you done this before?” He asked quietly. “Like, any of this? With a guy?”
“Never,” Jake admitted. “But I’ve never done any of this with a girl either, so…”
Mateo looked up from studying their fingers and shook his head, grinning at him. “Jake Guentzel,” he said, “I like you a lot.” He turned his hands palms up, and Jake grinned at him and slid his hands over Mateo’s.
“I like you a lot too,” he said, and Mateo squeezed his fingers and then picked up one of his hands to study it.
“Your hands are so callused,” he said, poking at Jake’s palms.
Jake shrugged. “Hockey,” he said, and Mateo nodded. “Do you want to get out of here?” He asked, trying to be bold. “I live right around the corner.”
Mateo squeezed his hand once more and slid out of the booth smoothly. “Lead the way.”
+
It was weird seeing Mateo in his apartment. He’d only been renting the place since the start of the year and it still lacked the things that made his childhood bedroom his: old hockey trophies and memorabilia, posters of Sid that he could never tell Geno about, photos of his friends framed on the wall.
His new place had come furnished, but it was a little soulless, and Jake followed Mateo into the living room with an apology on his lips that died when Mateo slung his jacket across the back of the couch and wandered over to look at the photos on the mantelpiece of Jake, Dumo, and Shearsy drunk at the Cup parade last summer.
He smiled at Jake when he turned back and around and Jake swallowed down a rush of emotion. He remembered the ease with which Geno had moved through Sid’s house, and tugged open the fridge, staring inside and trying to catch his breath.
“Can I offer you some… Gatorade?” He asked, and Mateo appeared at his shoulder, peering into the fridge alongside Jake.
“You’re such a jock,” he said, fondly. “If I’m going to date you, you have to know there are certain things I will insist there be in the fridge at all times.”
Jake snagged a bottle of Gatorade and leaned back against the counter, raising an eyebrow at Mateo. “And those are?”
“Hot sauce,” Mateo said, “junk food. Chocolate. Things that are probably not allowed on your nutrition plan.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Jake said, and Mateo laughed at him and put a gentle hand on Jake’s shoulder.
“Is it okay if I kiss you?” He asked, and when Jake nodded wordlessly, he put his other hand on the back of Jake’s neck and pushed his fingers into the curls at the back of his head that were getting just slightly too long. “If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, tell me, okay?”
“I don’t think you could do anything that would make me uncomfortable,” Jake whispered. His eyes were stuck on Mateo’s mouth, but he looked up when Mateo pulled softly on his hair.
“I’m serious,” he said. “If there’s anything you don’t want to do, tell me, okay?” Jake inhaled shakily and nodded, and when he exhaled Mateo leaned forward and kissed him softly.
It was a great kiss until Jake forgot he was holding an unopened bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade and spilled it all over Mateo’s shirt, but after that there was laughter, and Mateo took off his t-shirt and pulled Jake’s off too, and pushed Jake against the counter and laughed into his mouth while Jake pulled him into his bedroom and then it was perfect.
+
Jake opened his eyes slowly, and then startled a little, sleepily, when he saw that Mateo was awake and watching him.
“Sorry,” Mateo whispered. He had a little smile on his face, and something clenched in Jake’s chest when he reached up to run his fingers through Jake’s early morning hair.
“Are you leaving?” Jake asked, trying to force himself awake.
"No, no," Mateo said. "I was going to make us breakfast, but you don’t have anything in your fridge except for Gatorade.”
Jake stared at him and then flopped back against his pillow, laughing. Mateo pinched him, and he rolled over, scanning for his boxers in the mess of clothes on his bedroom floor. “I have pancake mix somewhere,” he said. “And there’s syrup in the freezer.”
He got out of bed and found a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt, slipping out of the bedroom while Mateo rolled out of bed after him, and went to dig for the pancake mix in the pantry.
Mateo followed him into the kitchen while he was trying to find a mixing bowl, wearing a shirt that was too big for him. It had a little Penguins decal, right over his heart, and Jake was pretty sure that if he turned around the number 59 would be printed over his shoulder blades.
Mateo grinned at him, and hopped up onto the counter, swinging his legs. The neck of the shirt was stretched loose, and it slipped down his shoulder, revealing smooth, tan skin. Jake couldn’t stop staring at him, and Mateo met his gaze evenly, a smile playing around his lips.
"Are you flirting with me?" Jake asked, finally, putting a mixing bowl on the counter beside Mateo’s legs. He felt like an idiot as soon as he said it, because they’d been tangled up in his bed until fifteen minutes ago, and they’d probably moved far beyond flirting.
Mateo laughed. "I've been flirting with you for months, Jake. Keep up."
Jake stared at him, at his twitching lips and bright eyes and the reddish patch on his shoulder that was from where Jake had bitten him last night when they were kissing and he was trying to be sexy.
"You're so hot," he said, and then blushed, because no one actually said things like that.
Mateo just laughed again, though, and when Jake went to him and kissed him he spread his legs wide and wrapped them around Jake's waist, and let Jake kiss him for the rest of the morning.
+
Shearsy got married in Massachusetts in August, and Mateo spent the entire ride out the venue fidgeting nervously in his suit, smoothing his lapels and his hair in turn. Jake wasn’t sure how to tell him that everything was going to be fine.
He looked great: his suit was slim cut and fit him perfectly. His legs looked miles long in the dark fabric, and Jake wanted to stick his hands down his pants. He settled on patting Mateo’s knee instead. “It’ll be fine,” he said, as they pulled into the crowded parking lot at the venue.
Mateo batted at his hand anxiously. “Stop that, you’ll wrinkle me.”
Jake rolled his eyes fondly and got out of the car, and when Mateo didn’t immediately follow him he walked around the car and pulled the passenger side door open.
“Hey,” he murmured, and when Mateo looked at him, he sighed. “It’s really going to be fine.”
“If anyone says anything, I’m going to need you to drop your fucking gloves, okay?” Mateo said lowly. “I’m a bantamweight, I can’t take out any of your teammates on my own.”
“You don’t have to take out anyone on your own,” Jake promised. “I’m here, and Sid talked to the guys. And I’m pretty sure Geno will strangle anyone who says anything bad. They’re mostly going to make fun of me, anyway.”
Mateo smiled at that, finally, and got out of the car. He smoothed his lapels, and fussed with his tie, and Jake stepped forward, wrapped his hands around his shoulders, and pushed him up against the car, kissing him soundly.
Mateo mumbled something against Jake’s mouth, and then lifted his arms, his wrists crossing loosely behind Jake’s neck.
There was a wolf whistle from behind them and when Jake pulled away to glare at whoever it was he caught the tail end of Geno smacking Dumo across the back of the head while Sidney and Dumo’s fiancé elbowed him in the stomach and punched him in the arm respectively.
Jake leaned against Mateo, letting his head drop to the soft shoulders of his boyfriend’s suit and laughed helplessly, his shoulders shaking while Mateo kissed the top of his head and introduced himself to Sidney and Geno.