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SNACK ZIMMERMANN
With stunning parents such as model and actress Alicia and ice hockey legend Robert “Bad Bob” Zimmermann, you’d think seven-year-old Jack would be a gorgeous kid.
Unfortunately, that’s not the case. The sharp-sighted photographers here at Celeb Hunt snapped pictures of young Jack gorging himself on ice cream while on vacation with his beautiful parents in Nova Scotia. Looking very much like a goggle-eyed beached whale, Jack perches on the sand with his creamy treat, while his parents sunbathe like a Greek god and his lovely wife.
It’s been noted that Jack’s weight continues to increase despite taking up his father’s sport. It makes one wonder if the Zimmermanns care for their son’s health if they allow this to happen. Child obesity is on the rise and this sets a bad example for those that see the celebrity couple as role models. It’s quite possible that parents these days could outlive their chubby kids and that is a scary thought.
It isn’t the first time the Zimmermanns have been under fire for negligence towards their fatty offspring either. Last summer successful fat camp pioneer Tobias Stump offered Jack an all-expenses paid place at one of his award-winning boot camps. Alicia publicly refused the offer, stating that she and her husband were unconcerned with their son’s weight and believed children should not be subjected to Stump’s rigorous exercise and diet regimes. The Zimmermanns’ stubbornness and ignorance scream denial to us.
The saddest thing is Jack does not realise how his parents could be ruining his life before he is even old enough to live it.
Alicia slammed the magazine down on the counter. Her husband glanced up from his morning paper, taking in her shaking fist and furious expression. He caught the name of the magazine out of the corner of his eye and didn’t even need to ask what the problem was.
“I don’t know why you still read those, Leesh,” he sighed, putting his paper down. If he knew his wife, and he did, she was about to launch into a tirade that demanded his utmost attention.
“A beached whale, Robert,” she hissed, violently thrusting the offending article under his nose. “They’re calling him a goggle-eyed beached whale for eating an ice cream on the beach. In summer! On vacation!”
Bob took the magazine and briefly read it, grimacing at the less than flattering picture of their son. It wasn’t the first time articles and photographs like this had appeared, but the tone of them were all the same. It was futile to attempt arguing them – they had already tried. No matter how many times they insisted Jack led a healthy lifestyle, the media did not believe them. Instead they were accused of being bad parents for supposedly allowing him to be lazy and binge on junk food.
“I thought we agreed not to pay attention to this?” He reminded her gently. “We know Jack’s a healthy kid, and so does his paediatrician. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.”
“Because I’m sick and tired of it,” she snapped back, firmly planting her hands on her hips. “Jack is a child. It’s bad enough that every ridiculous gossip magazine feels the need to comment on my cellulite. Jack does not deserve this.”
Bob couldn’t argue with that. Alicia often aggressively spoke out against negative articles like this one, and wasn’t interested in promoting extreme diet fads or fuelling the media’s obsession with body image. It was a noble cause, except it meant that since Alicia couldn’t be shamed into agreeing with them, their attention had turned to young Jack.
As of yet, Bob was confident they’d managed to shield Jack from the majority of the negativity. A child his age didn’t need to be worrying about his weight or his image. Jack was an anxious and sensitive kid without adding that to the mix. His doctor and his peewee hockey coach both agreed Jack was doing just fine, and a little puppy fat was nothing to be troubled about. As far as Bob was concerned, that should be the end of it.
“I don’t know what else we can do,” he sighed. “You remember what our solicitor said.”
It was an old discussion. Unless a photographer harassed them in any way or an article was evidently slanderous, there was very little they could do. Bob just hoped the media cooled off before Jack was old enough to realise what was happening.
“Oh, I’ll think of something, don’t you worry,” his wife huffed, snatching the magazine back up and glaring at it. Bob wouldn’t have been surprised if it burst into flames.
He didn’t doubt that she would think of something. A very angry and passionate press release or interview would probably be on the horizon soon. He wasn’t confident that it would help much, but if it would make Alicia feel better then he would support her as best he could. It would be harder when September came, and he went back to the eighty-two, but they had the routine down to an art by now. He was sure it would be fine.
***
September came. Jack wasn’t a popular child, but it was more a result of his lack of trying. He’d always been shy and nervous, and there were so many things about school that set his teeth on edge. The shouting in the cafeteria or the playground nearly always created a trickle of cool sweat at the base of his neck. The possibility of being called on to answer a question during class made his fingers tremble. He spent a lot of time in the library. The teachers never seemed to mind. Or care.
The other children had learned not to ask him to play with them. It wasn’t that they disliked him. He was quiet, considerate and observant. But there were only so many times they could be told ‘no thank you’. He faded into the dusty aisles between the bookcases, and that suited him just fine. The books never asked him about Bad Bob.
It was during his first week back at school when he encountered his first bully. His dad was around less again, and he’d fought with his mother that particular morning. He hadn’t wanted to go to school. He’d woken up with that funny feeling in his tummy again, the one that made things fuzzy and irritating. The whole morning had been full of vehement no’s. No, he wouldn’t get dressed. No, he wouldn’t brush his teeth. No, he wouldn’t eat his toast. No, he wouldn’t put on his shoes and coat.
Alicia had grown frustrated, and that only made Jack angrier. He remembered yelling and kicking at her, but she wrestled him into the car and took him to school anyway. He’d been in a foul mood since and had similar fights with his teacher. He’d made it to lunch time, but not without stern words and threats to call his parents. He wished they would. He wanted his mom. He wanted his dad too, but he barely ever came, not to school.
He holed himself up in his favourite corner, the one that wasn’t too dusty and was warmer than the rest and had a light just above it. It was between the shelves that contained history books, and he’d probably looked at them all a dozen times, but he still pulled one down and into his lap. He liked reading about soldiers best.
He fell into another world when he read. His brain seemed to shut off all that was around him, and he envisioned each historical event in vivid detail, fascinated by every word. He’d often missed the bell back to class, or forgotten about his bedtime, because his head was buried in a book. It was almost his favourite thing to do. Hockey just felt that bit better.
He was engrossed in a book about pirates, when he realised someone was standing in front of him. He tried to ignore them, but he couldn’t help feeling annoyed. This was his corner, everybody at school knew that. His fingers tightened around the hard cover of the book and he narrowed his eyes at the picture, finding it harder to return to his zone now he’d been interrupted. The person didn’t go away.
“Jack!”
“What?!”
He didn’t mean to snap, but it came out anyway. He looked up with a scowl, recognising a boy from his class. Jack didn’t really like loud boys much, but he usually found himself watching them in interest anyway. Jean-Luc was a loud boy. Jean-Luc was a loud boy who made the class laugh and always played rough tag games at recess and had a dad who was at home a lot and took him to the cinema. Jack didn’t like Jean-Luc.
“My mama said you’re a fat kid,” Jean-Luc told him matter-of-factly, staring down at him. Jack glared back with his brow furrowed. “She said I can’t have too many sweets ‘cause then I’d be too fat like you are.”
Jack frowned harder, taking a moment to process his words. Fat. That was a bad word. The school nurse gave them a seminar yesterday and told them to eat healthily and exercise, so they didn’t get fat. He saw pictures in magazines at home of thin people who were said to be good looking. He saw a cartoon where baby cat teased daddy cat for being too fat. Fat was bad. He didn’t want to be fat.
“No, I’m not,” he argued, closing the pirate book with a thud. “I’m not fat.”
“Yes, you are,” Jean-Luc sneered at him. “You have a fat belly and that’s why you have to have big clothes.”
Jack paused. He did have to have big clothes. He had to have clothes that had higher numbers on the label. Jean-Luc didn’t have to have big clothes with higher numbers on the label. Maybe he was fat. He clenched his teeth hard, his heart starting to sink in his chest.
“Your picture is always in my mama’s books,” Jean-Luc went on with a big smirk on his face. Jack wanted to shove him until he stopped smirking. “They said you’re a whale and everyone knows that whales are the fattest animal on the whole planet!”
“Shut up,” Jack muttered lowly, feeling the anger start to build in his chest. He was gripping the book so firmly he was leaving crescents in the cover from his nails.
“You should lose weight,” Jean-Luc continued with that same scornful expression. “Maybe then you might actually get some friends.”
Jack didn’t tell him to shut up again. Instead he threw the book aside and lunged for him, knocking the boy clean off his feet. Jean-Luc screeched and landed on his back, immediately kicking out his legs as he fought back. Jack flailed like a wild animal, snarling in his face and pulling on his clothes as if trying to shake him. He didn’t seem to care or even notice that Jean-Luc was frantically kicking and punching at him.
The tunnel vision abruptly broke when two teachers yanked them apart. Jack strained against the librarian’s arm, desperate to shove the other boy again until he said sorry. Neither of them were really harmed, but Jack had to be forcibly pulled away from the library. He was still hissing when he was dragged out of the door.
It took a long time for him to calm down. Eventually the mist cleared, and he curled up in one of the comfier chairs outside the principal’s office like a scolded animal. The teachers had given up trying to talk to him. Jean-Luc had declared an unprovoked ambush and Jack refusing to explain what had happened didn’t help his case. He couldn’t quite name what he was feeling, but he knew he didn’t want to even look at anyone, let alone talk to them. They’d called his mom. That was good. He wanted his mom more than anything.
His little fight meant he lost afternoon recess for the next week, though that wasn’t much of a punishment. His parents weren’t happy though, and removed television privileges. It didn’t seem to bother him, and he sat through a concerned lecture without speaking a word. He didn’t care about recess and he didn’t care about television. He cared about history books and hockey. And he cared that he was fat.
Jean-Luc returned to the library the next day, with friends.
***
Jack didn’t know much about dieting. All he could gather from school and the books lying around at home was that if he didn’t want to be fat anymore then he had to eat less and move more. That sounded simple enough. He had always been a fussy eater. Some things just felt wrong in his mouth and he couldn’t even bring himself to swallow them. It wouldn’t be difficult to eat less.
It wouldn’t be difficult to move more either. He went to peewee hockey twice a week, but that wasn’t enough. He liked being on the ice so much he would spend all day on it if he could. He didn’t like that he had to play hockey with other people, but it was a necessary evil. He’d tolerate the excited shouting and fooling around from the other boys and girls on his team if it meant he could continue to play.
Plenty of people asked him what it was about hockey that he liked, and he never had an answer for them, not even his parents. Children at school accused him of only liking it because his dad was a professional player, and though that might have been the reason he became interested in the game, it wasn’t the case now. There was just something about being able to hit the puck as hard as he could towards the goal and being able to skate as fast as he could that gave him a happy swelling in his chest that he couldn’t express. The fact that he was encouraged to do those things just made it even better.
It wasn’t hard to persuade his mom to let him have some more rink time. She was hesitant at first, but when his coach assured her that extra skating would only be beneficial for his game she changed her mind. He wasn’t allowed a stick or a puck outside of practice, but he could just skate and skate as fast as he wanted for a whole two extra hours a week. He enjoyed weaving in and out of other people the most. He’d imagine he was his dad, swerving between other players in his quest to get that next goal. He was always disappointed when his mom called him at the end of the sessions and broke his reverie.
Alicia noticed how much happier Jack seemed to be after skating. She was reluctant when Jack first announced he wanted to be a hockey player like his dad. It was a dangerous sport, and Bob had often come home with fractured ribs or concussions or missing teeth. She didn’t want that for her son. But after that very first practice, when five-year-old Jack leapt at her and squeezed her tightly with a huge smile on his face, she couldn’t deny him. She knew he didn’t find things easy, and if hockey helped him find a little solace then who was she to tell him no?
She didn’t notice him gradually eating a little bit less every meal time. It wasn’t rare for Jack to suddenly dislike foods or develop sudden obsessions with others. So, if he happened to leave a few mouthfuls of his dinner or breakfast untouched and claim he didn’t like how it felt on his tongue, she didn’t think anything of it. Eight-year-old boys were odd creatures, she would think with amusement as she emptied his dinner plate into the garbage.
School was getting harder. He had no more fights with Jean-Luc, but that didn’t mean the boy left him alone. Jack was getting good and finding safe, secluded spots. He mourned the loss of his corner in the library, but that was where Jean-Luc and his friends would always find him. Instead he stuffed books up his sweatshirt and hid behind the building or crept underneath the bushes on the edge of the playground.
He was still found on occasion. He became very good at learning how to block out noise, planting his hands very firmly over his ears and staring hard at the pages of his book. He still picked up their words and each one dug in deep like a barb he couldn’t quite remove. He didn’t start any more fights, though he very much wanted to. His mom had been so disappointed last time. He didn’t like disappointing his mom. So, he clenched his mouth shut so hard his jaw ached and sat still and quiet while the horrid names rained down on him.
He didn’t lose any weight, and Jack found himself getting more frustrated with himself than the boys at school. Though he continued to grow tall over the months, his body still needed the clothes with the higher numbers on the labels. Jack began to fixate on them, finding he was elated if by chance the number was smaller, but then became bitter and angry if the number crept back up. He despised clothes shopping more and more the older he got.
The years started to drift by, and he was almost twelve when he found himself staring into the long mirror in his parents’ bedroom. He didn’t like what he saw, and he realised it was something that he had been feeling for a long time. His eyes picked out the roundness of his cheeks, his stomach, his hips. The longer he stared unhappily, the more he felt his brain buzz. His brain was never quiet these days, always whispering worrying thoughts in his ear that made his heart rate pick up. He made himself turn away.
***
Sixteen brought him Kent Parson.
It was a moment he knew he’d never forget, even as it was happening. Newly diagnosed with an anxiety disorder and wrestling with new medication and therapy, sitting down to eat a welcome meal with all the other new boys in the Q felt like torture. A few of them he already knew from his time in junior hockey, but a lot of them he didn’t recognise. Some were American too, forcing the others to speak in accented English.
Jack chose a seat at the end of the table and kept quiet. Those who knew him quickly warned the other boys not to speak to Bad Bob’s weird son. That was fine. Jack didn’t want to speak to them anyway. It was a restaurant he wasn’t familiar with, and he was already internally freaking out about the food. He figured it might be safer not to eat at all – doing so in public always triggered him. It didn’t matter what he ate, he always felt like he was being judged. If he ate healthily, people would think he was fooling himself. If he ate junk, then it was obvious to people how he became fat in the first place.
It was a fight he could never win, he’d noticed. Yes, he was tall now, only a couple of inches from being six two, but there was still a roundness about him that turned his stomach every time he looked in the mirror. He was fit and healthy, his doctor confirmed that before he started this new venture, but he was still fat. He’d pinch and pull at the softness on his tummy or his thighs, wishing he could cut it away with a knife.
When the waitress came around for their orders, he asked for diet soda in quiet French, avoiding eye contact. He shook his head when she asked if he was eating, and he knew it looked weird, he could practically feel the boys’ eyes staring at him. He didn’t care though. He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to play hockey.
And that was when Kent Parson walked through the double doors.
The boys all looked up and called cheerful greetings. The noise pierced his brain and Jack fought the grimace to glance up curiously. The new boy was so strikingly good looking that it almost took Jack by surprise. He was bright eyed and freckly, with a mess of golden blonde hair that stuck up in all directions. The part of him that was still figuring out who he was attracted to flickered in interest, but Jack quickly squashed it down.
Kent was loud, but not like Jean-Luc had been. Kent was everything Jack wished he could be. He was bubbly and lively and gregarious, and Jack had to hang onto his every word like he needed air. There was just something about extroverted boys that drew Jack in like a flame. Maybe he hoped that some of their enthusiasm would rub off on him. Or maybe he was just insanely attracted to them. Either way, he tried not to think about it and watched Kent from the corner of whichever room they happened to share.
Jack hadn’t told anyone about these attractions. It was mostly because he knew he still liked girls too, and it wasn’t like he was interested in dating anyway. He never participated in locker room talk, or discussions about girls with the rest of his team. He knew mentions of boys wouldn’t be received well, so he hid it deep down. It bothered him sometimes, but most of the time it was something he would acknowledge and then dismiss. Hockey was of the utmost importance. Besides. It wasn’t like any of these boys ever gave him the time of day.
Except Kent Parson did. Jack didn’t know why, but it was like Kent had made it his personal mission to be Jack’s New Best Friend. Jack found it both irritating and flattering. After practice Kent always invited Jack to hang out with him, even though Jack said no every time. Kent always offered to share his fries at team lunches, even though Jack said no every time. Kent always attempted to chat about video games or television, even though the conversations were nearly always one sided. Jack mostly gave him one-word answers, confused and embarrassed as to why Kent was keen to talk to him at all. Once, Kent asked him what he was interested in, and Jack was so dumbfounded it took him a whole minute before he could blurt out that he liked learning about history.
People had mocked him before for that, but not Kent. Kent seized that information with both hands and ran with it, asking Jack all sorts of questions about books he’d read and documentaries he’d seen. It took Jack a while, but eventually he opened up, finding that he enjoyed talking about the things he liked to someone who wasn’t his parents or his therapist. That day was probably the most he had ever talked to a person.
Their chemistry on the ice was something to be marvelled at, even from the early days. Kent was fast on his skates, faster than Jack could ever hope to be. He shared a sharp eye too, always seeming to know where Jack was going to be. It was obvious to everyone how well they worked together, and the coaches soon had them on the same line and encouraging the budding partnership.
As the weeks went by, Jack found himself wanting to spend more and more time with Kent off the ice, and that was a scary and unknown want to him. He’d never met someone he wanted to know more about. Kent offered information about himself freely – where he was from, when his birthday was, his favourite video game. But it wasn’t what Jack wanted to know. Jack wasn’t entirely sure what he did want to know, it was a hard thing to put into words.
Three months after they became teammates, Jack finally surprised Kent by saying yes, he would hang out. It was worth it just for the look on Kent’s face. His blue eyes lit up and he grinned so wide Jack could see his teeth. They didn’t go to the diner or the arcade with the rest of their teammates. They ended up going back to Kent’s billet family’s house where they played Metal Gear Solid on Kent’s PS3 and ate chicken nuggets without a care in the world. It was one of the best nights Jack had ever had.
Jack had never had a best friend before. He’d never really even had a friend. There were a few boys on his old team he would say a quiet hello to, but no one he valued as important. The last seven years of school had been spent dodging Jean-Luc and his gang, as well as figuring out why his brain was so weird, leaving no time for making friends. Jack didn’t think he’d been missing out, but when he and Kent were playing video games, or hanging out at McDonalds, or grinning at each other across the ice, he realised he had.
The best thing was Kent didn’t seem to care about what he looked like. Kent didn’t care that he was chubby, or preferred to wear sweatpants and caps, and Kent didn’t care what he ate. It was hard to shake old habits at first. Jack would find himself worrying about their burgers being fattening, or about the number on the label in his clothes, and he’d withdraw into himself. But the freaky mind-reading they seemed to have on the ice worked in real life too. Kent would notice Jack’s plummeting self-esteem and compliment him on something like his new trainers, or his stick handling that day.
Jack wasn’t used to compliments that weren’t from his parents or their coach. Each nice word made his tongue dry and his fingers tremble, but not in the ways he’d begun to associate with his anxiety. He wondered if Kent was joking, but he never laughed. Jack always hoped he was sincere about them. Either way, they helped. Gradually, Jack found he cared a lot less about how he looked or what he ate in Kent’s company.
***
Until he suddenly did.
He wasn’t sure what changed between them, or how. He thought it might have been after that summer of constant texting, where he turned seventeen and missed Kent Parson every day until September. But even then, it wasn’t obvious. He remembered Kent’s extra-freckly and tanned skin, and he remembered noticing that he’d sprouted a couple more inches, but he didn’t think too much of it.
In fact, he’d changed a bit over the summer too. The sun had helped clear his skin a little, and he’d even managed to buy a few pair of sweatpants with a smaller number on the label. They were probably little and insignificant things to other people his age, but it was enough to make him perform a happy dance around his room. He wasn’t sure Kent noticed the differences when they met up again, but he didn’t think Kent would say anything anyway.
It was near Christmas when he realised he’d started to care about these things again. Kent and a few of the other boys had started venturing out to parties. Jack had flat out refused to accompany him, knowing that the loud music and crowds would only trigger his anxiety. Kent hadn’t pushed him and went to the parties anyway, but Jack found himself wondering what his friend got up to. He knew they sometimes involved alcohol, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
One night in early December, Jack found himself agreeing to an invite. The curiosity was eating him up every weekend now, and honestly, he was jealous. They still hung out almost as much as before, but he was alone with his thoughts every Saturday night. He imagined Kent laughing and dancing with a drink in his hand, attracting new friends and even kissing girls. The idea made Jack’s heart clench, despite Kent never once mentioning girlfriends. It was something they’d never needed to speak about, and now that mystery was driving Jack crazy.
He was fine, until Saturday afternoon. He’d agreed a curfew with his billet family and discussed with them where he was going to be (an older teammate’s apartment) and how he was going to get home (walk back with Kent). The plan helped settle his nervous fidgeting, and initially he felt genuinely excited to be going to his first party. The problems started when he tried to figure out what to wear.
He didn’t like jeans. They were too restricting and made his skin itch until he just had to rip them off. But jeans were smarter than sweatpants, and he had to look smart because Kent always looked smart. More than smart. Kent always looked handsome. Jack could never be handsome, because he was fat and fat people couldn’t be handsome. But he had to try and look presentable because he wanted Kent to be happy standing next to him.
With a reluctant sigh, he pulled out his only pair of jeans. They were a faded blue and he was pleasantly surprised to find that they were slightly too big for him now. At least they wouldn’t be too tight. He stared back into his wardrobe again, chewing hard on his lip as he tried to choose a shirt. They were all for working out in, or they were too casual. He pulled a face, trying not to get frustrated, and picked out a plain white tee.
He looked in the mirror after slipping the shirt on and instantly turned away, his stomach churning sickeningly. Fuck, that looked awful. The shirt clung to his rounded stomach and hung at an awkward angle, emphasising every curve. He tore it off and threw it aside, his heart rate picking up instantly. He glared at his clothes again, his hands clenching into fists. None of them were right. He could feel his mood start to darken, his disgust at his body eating away at him.
For the briefest of moments, the urge to hurt himself flashed through his head. It was gone before he barely registered it though, and he wrenched his clothes aside instead to look again. He hadn’t purposely hurt himself since he was small, and he didn’t want to start now. He laid his hand on the wardrobe door, digging his fingertips into the grooves of the wood. It helped if he focussed on the patterns, rubbing his thumb over the chips until he felt a little calmer.
He didn’t like white anyway. White got dirty too quickly. He took a deep breath that rattled his lungs and started looking again, forcing himself to take his time and properly consider each shirt he owned. He swallowed down the growing frustration. Kent never got upset about what to wear. Kent looked good in everything because Kent wasn’t fat.
Three shirts and another half meltdown later, he found a tee. It was mostly black, with a little white detailing around the hems. He remembered pulling a face at it when his mom bought it for him for his birthday and had shoved it into the back of his wardrobe. It was slightly fancier than his usual things, and that had instantly put him off. He was grateful now though, relieved when the shirt seemed to skim past his stomach and give him an almost normal looking body. It wasn’t perfect, but at least he felt a bit more presentable.
It was only as he was walking to Kent’s did he realise he was really nervous about what Kent thought he looked like, and he hadn’t felt like that since they met. It wasn’t a nice feeling to him, and he spun it over in his head all the way to Kent’s front door. He wanted Kent to think he looked nice, but why? He didn’t want Kent to abandon him and find better friends. He wanted Kent to look at him. Really look. And like what he saw.
Kent opening the door made him forget what he was thinking about. He couldn’t resist letting his eyes sweep over his friend’s form, admiring the tight-fitting jeans and casual button up under his open leather jacket that matched his eyes. There was a smell he didn’t recognise but definitely liked, and he found himself stepping that bit closer so he could smell more of it. He was surprised when Kent took a step too.
“Hey!” Kent greeted, always bright. “You look really good. I love that shirt.”
Jack’s tongue was suddenly too swollen in his mouth. He accepted the compliment with a dumb nod and mumbled thanks. Cheerful Kent always had that kind of effect on him, though he felt even more dazed this time. He tugged on the hem of his tee self-consciously, hoping he wasn’t too red. Kent didn’t seem to mind, he had already set off in the direction of their teammate’s apartment.
“I’m so glad you said yes, Zimms.” Kent flashed him a grin over his shoulder that made Jack’s stomach flip flop. “It’s gonna be a blast.”
It wasn’t a blast. Not to begin with, anyway. As soon as they walked through the door Jack was hit by a wave of ear-splitting music. He instinctively stepped closer to Kent, though he resisted the urge to shrink into his shadow. There were bodies everywhere, including plenty of girls, and most of them were holding red plastic cups and dancing around one another. The place smelled really gross too, of stale beer and burnt pizza and sweat.
Kent didn’t care. He grabbed Jack’s wrist and dragged him through the crowd like he’d done it a hundred times before. Jack found himself so much closer to strangers than he would have ever liked to be as they weaved their way through. He flinched away whenever anyone touched him, already wishing he could go home. Kent continued to pull him, shouting out greetings to various team members and other people he knew. Each name called from his lips made Jack’s stomach churn.
Kent didn’t let go of him until they reached the kitchen. It wasn’t much quieter, but at least there were less people. It was a mess though, and Jack stood helplessly in the middle of the room and tried not to be grossed out by the spillages and dirty dishes. He watched as Kent chatted to some skinny goalie three years older than them, pouring a bottle of dark liquid into two red cups. Jack didn’t know what it was, and he wasn’t sure Kent did, or if he even cared. A splash of coke later and one of the cups was being pressed into his hands.
“To Zimms’ first party!”
He only took a mouthful because both Kent and the goalie were watching him expectantly. Their eyes made his skin crawl, but he obediently raised the drink to his lips and swallowed. It didn’t taste as horrid as he thought it would, almost vaguely spicy, but it was still stronger than he expected. He managed not to cough, and Kent’s huge, pleased grin was worth everything.
They stayed in the kitchen for a little while longer, while Kent and the goalie chatted. Jack wasn’t really interested in the game they were talking about, but he offered his quiet and small opinion when prompted. He’d gotten a little better at talking to people as he got older, and he though believed the medication and therapy had helped a little, he knew Kent had helped the most. People still confused the fuck out of him however.
It was halfway through his second drink when he felt himself relax a bit. He felt a little more used to the environment now, the noise more of a mild annoyance than a piercing screech. The drink had grown on him too, and he didn’t argue when Kent topped his cup up for him. It was starting to get stuffy, so he was grateful when Kent suggested they went outside for some air.
The December chill meant there were even less people outside the front door, and Jack took a deep breath of it. Kent stood close, a little less tolerant of the cold than Jack was, and Jack pretended he didn’t notice. They were quiet for a few moments, watching some guy and his girlfriend yell at each other across the street.
“What’s in this?” Jack finally asked, indicating the cup he’d just taken another drink from.
“Rum. You like it?” Kent smiled up at him, brushing their shoulders together. Jack nodded, his words suddenly stolen. “Me too. Beer tastes like shit, you don’t want that.”
Jack couldn’t help but smile, thinking that was very typically Kent. He couldn’t exactly say why, he supposed it was because Kent knew what he liked and wasn’t afraid to say so, even when it came to something small like alcohol. They stood out on the porch for a long time, mostly in silence, and Jack wished the moment could last forever.
***
Each pill on his tongue tasted bitter. He swallowed them each morning with a glassful of cold water, but it didn’t make them stick any less. He never missed one, clinging to any form of routine in what was becoming a frantic mess. His doctor had assured him they’d help, but after nearly two years he was sure his doctor lied.
And now he lied. Every time he spoke to his parents, he lied. Yes mom, I’m fine. Every time he spoke to his coach, he lied. Yes sir, I’m fine. Every time he spoke to his doctor, he lied. Yes doctor, I’m fine. If he still saw a therapist, he’d probably lie to them too. Except he’d worked out exactly what they wanted to hear and got himself discharged after eight months. His mom had been thrilled and told him how proud she was. The thank you felt like spitting acid.
The only person he didn’t lie to was Kenny. Kenny knew everything. He didn’t know when Kent became Kenny, but he knew that Kenny was worth everything now. He was almost as important as hockey. Both of them tugged at him, tearing him in two different directions. Sometimes he woke up in a cold sweat when his unconscious mind realised he couldn’t have both of them, but then he took another pill and went back to sleep.
A logical, niggling voice at the back of his mind told him he should see his doctor again. The pills helped, he just had to take a few more of them. He knew that probably wasn’t ideal, but between hockey games and training and working out and partying with Kent, he’d rather just keep taking the medication. The pills didn’t ask him probing, awkward questions he didn’t know how to answer. The pills kept him sane.
Mostly.
One didn’t do much. It took the edge off the buzzing, but it never lasted long. Two made a noticeable difference, easing some of the tightness in his chest so he could take a deeper breath. Three were the golden ticket. Three quietened his mind, pushing away his frenzied, illogical worries. Three helped him play hockey and function like a semi-normal teenager.
Three were even better with alcohol. Again, that irritating voice told him that mixing his anxiety medicine with alcohol was a bad idea. It was just too easy to down a shot and ignore it. Especially as they were partying at least twice a week now. There was always some get together happening at an older teammate’s apartment. And even when there wasn’t, there were clubs. Clubs where the legal drinking age was eighteen and it didn’t matter that they were only a couple of months off that age.
On a cocktail of Prozac and whiskey, Jack actually felt like a real person. A real person who was probably floating a little too much, but a person who had no problem walking to the middle of the floor and dance without a care in the world. A person who could talk to both his team mates and strangers like they’d been friends for years. A person who could make eyes with Kenny across the room and not give it a second guilty thought. And feeling like that kind of person was addictive.
Sober Jack was pretty sure Kent flirted with him. Sober Jack wasn’t quite sure what to do with the charming grins and playful winks Kent shot his way. Nor did he know what to do when Kent briefly squeezed his knee under the table at dinner, or fondly adjusted his shirt collar before they went out to a party. They always sat together on roadies, sharing an earbud connected to Kent’s mp3 player and picking their favourites from a bag of gummy bears. That was fine. Until Kent rested his head on Jack’s shoulder, or pressed their thighs together, and then it suddenly wasn’t.
Drunk Jack however, knew exactly what to do with this. Drunk Jack would take another shot and dance that little bit closer, taking advantage of the dark club and the heaving bodies. Drunk Jack would grin back carelessly and laugh all too easily at anything vaguely amusing. Drunk Jack was fun, and confident, and flirty and much better than sober Jack. If drunk Jack was good at hockey, he’d probably be that person all the time.
But he wasn’t. To play hockey, Jack needed to be sharp and observant and fit. He was struggling to find a balance between the two, suffering through hangovers to make it to the gym or to the rink on time. He had a slippery grasp on his mental health, and with the Draft looming in the distance, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.
There was one bonus though. Before a party he would steal a look in the mirror and admire his slender frame under his baggy clothes. His body was finally catching up to him, and he liked his new svelte form. It probably wasn’t healthy, this combination of too much working out and too much drinking and too much medication, but he was starting to look good.
It was something he only noticed when the medication was pumping through his system. Sober Jack would look at himself in the mornings and still see a rounded face and a too wide body. He would pinch and pull at the silvery, jagged lines that danced across his stomach, his thighs, his arms, wishing they would disappear. Sober Jack would look at himself and wonder why the hell anyone like Kent would even want to hang out with him, let alone flirt with him.
He never asked Kent this. He never mentioned his weight or how he felt about his body to Kent, far too afraid of opening his friend’s eyes to the truth. Better to ignore it and pretend everything was fine. Maybe he was lying to Kenny after all.
One Friday six months before the Draft found him alone in his room. His billet family were away for the weekend, and funnily enough, Kent had decided he didn’t want to go out to a party. Jack had been secretly annoyed. He’d had a rough night and was looking forward to letting loose. Kent had suggested a night at Jack’s with video games instead, ‘just like old times’. Jack inwardly turned his nose up at the idea and hoped Kent would bring alcohol on his way. His billet family never kept it in the house.
It had been an odd day. He’d woken up with shaking fingers and a tight chest, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. It was like that sometimes. He just assumed that at this point it was just an amalgamation of everything that was stressing him out in his life. Despite taking his pills, the day still continued to be weird. He found himself getting frustrated at little things, like fumbling and dropping his house keys. He couldn’t focus during his weight lifting reps at the gym, staring instead at the wall and drifting off. That made the whole work out feel like a waste of time.
Few of his teammates worked out at the same time he did, preferring a lie in and exercising later in the day. There were a couple though, and they usually greeted him amicably when he walked in. They didn’t today, too engrossed in their own conversation, and that raised his hackles. A thousand questions bounced around in his head as he stomped on the treadmill. Were they ignoring him? Were they talking about him? Had he done something to piss them off?
Eventually he walked out after only an hour, too annoyed to carry on. He tried to nap away the bad mood when he got home, but his skin was crawling far too much to relax. Another pill helped lull him to sleep, curled up tight underneath his throw like he was protecting himself. He wasn’t as pissed off when he woke up, but the anxiety remained like an itching scar.
Kent was due in an hour. Jack had had to dig his old PS3 out of his closet, having lost interest in video games months ago. He set it up on auto pilot, his fingers instinctively knowing how to hook up the console to his TV. He dug out their old games, trying to kill time by inspecting each disc for scratches and make sure the instructions were all intact.
The last game in the box was in a cracked case with a faded cover. He ran his fingers over the broken plastic, staring at the NHL players on the front. It had been their favourite game. He remembered arguing over the teams and practicing complicated plays and cheering each victory as if they had been real. Jack swallowed. His chest was suddenly very tight.
This right now was the last opportunity he and Kent had of playing together. The thought struck him like a knife in the chest and he gripped the case so hard it splintered even more. It didn’t matter if they won the cup or not. Once it was over, they were going to be wrenched apart. It was probably a little dramatic, but it was exactly how he felt in that moment. Wrenched.
They would not be drafted to the same team. Why had he forced himself not to think about this? For the very first time, he didn’t care if he was drafted first or second. It didn’t matter which place he came. He wouldn’t be with Kent and suddenly that felt like a loss. The players on the case started to blur and tremble. His eyes felt hot and his throat felt scratchy, but he refused to let himself cry. Crying about this would be stupid, unhelpful. But it all felt like a betrayal.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. The next thing he was aware of was a hand on his shoulder jolting him out of the grief-stricken trance. His head snapped up and he flinched before he realised it was Kent kneeling in front of him. He looked concerned – at least that’s what Jack thought he looked. It was still difficult to pick up on things like that sometimes. It was at that moment Jack realised his breathing was a little laboured, and his knees were sore from being locked in one position for so long.
“Jack?” Kent whispered, searching his eyes. His hand on Jack’s shoulder was too hot. “Are you okay?”
Jack’s tongue felt too big to squeeze words past, but he swallowed and forced them through. He gazed back, surprised at how hoarse his voice was.
“We’re not going to be on the same team,” he rasped.
Kent’s brow furrowed slightly as he tried to make sense of his words. Jack saw the exact moment it all clicked, because Kent’s eyes went wide, and he went a little pale under his freckles.
“We’re not, no,” Kent confirmed quietly, and Jack felt his gut churn unpleasantly. “You only just realising this?”
Jack opened his mouth but then shut it with a snap. Embarrassed, he nodded, lowering his eyes. He felt stupid, childish, pathetic. Kent had obviously already come to terms with this. Kent wouldn’t feel wrenched apart by this. Jack wasn’t everything to him. He heard Kent give a little sigh, and he resisted the grimace, and the need to cry again. That would be even more humiliating.
“Jack.” Kent tried, his voice calm and clear. “Jack. Look at me.”
Jack didn’t for a long minute. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to hear Kent try and let him down gently. But Kent nudged him, unwilling to be ignored. Jack steeled himself and lifted his head. He wasn’t prepared for the look in Kent’s eyes. Jack couldn’t name it, having never seen anything like it before. But it was intense, and made his words die in his throat and his blood run cold and his heart rate speed up all at once.
Kent kissed him before he even realised what he was doing. He froze completely, eyes wide, as Kent pressed his mouth to Jack’s. His lips were softer than he imagined, but the intent behind them was hard. His brain was running a hundred miles an hour and Kent was pulling away far too soon, worried he’d overstepped. Jack didn’t even give him a moment to dwell on it. He grabbed a fistful of Kent’s shirt and dragged him back in.
***
Jack couldn’t make sense of it. Kent’s lips on his skin broke his brain in a way that was totally different to pills or whiskey or hockey. A month. A month of frantic making out in their billet homes or a vacated bedroom at a party or even the back of the roadie bus before any of their teammates had even finished showering. It felt like they had been doing it forever and not long enough both at once.
It wasn’t natural. Jack didn’t think he would find anything natural other than hockey, and that was only because he’d worked so hard at it for so long. Touching Kent was something he ached to do twenty-four seven, but he never found it easy. It was always so difficult to build up his courage and just press his fingertips to Kent’s skin. Even in innocent places. Especially innocent places. For some reason, it was a lot more intimate caressing Kent’s soft cheek than it was fondling his rigid cock.
That didn’t mean Jack disliked it. He loved it so much he was ashamed to even admit it to himself. He can’t remember exactly when or how they became physical, which meant it happened while he was drunk or in a medication-induced haze. He just knew that one day their frenzied making out involved over-the-clothes groping, and the next day Kent stuck his hand down Jack’s sweatpants like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Maybe he had. Jack didn’t like to think about just how many other guys Kent had slept with. They never spoke about it. They never spoke about the fact that Jack was very clearly a virgin either. They didn’t talk about a lot of things. Jack didn’t mind. His brain was dealing far too much to try and analyse what this thing was between them. He was happy to just shut up and enjoy it.
And that’s how he found himself, four months before the draft and definitely buzzed on rum, crushed under Kenny’s weight and furiously kissing him like his life depended on it. They’d left the party early. Jack hadn’t wanted to at first, but Kent’s hand gripping his ass tightly yet discreetly as he chatted to some face Jack didn’t recognise seriously made him reconsider. They stumbled back to Kent’s billet home and scrambled up the stairs to his room, muffling their drunken giggles with their hands.
The family Kent was staying with never cared enough to check up on them, used to junior hockey kids flitting in and out of their lives. It was convenient that Kent’s room was all the way across the hall too, as neither of them wanted to draw too much attention to the state they were often in when they crawled into the house during the early hours. Jack’s billet family was equally as disinterested. Boys would be boys, after all.
He’d lost his shirt at some point, and if he’d been sober he’d have been embarrassed. They didn’t often have sex when they were sober, but only because they rarely found time between hockey and classes and teambuilding. Jack preferred sex when they were drunk. Kent didn’t look at him with an odd, soft expression that made Jack want to pull the sheets over his head and hide. When they were drunk all they cared about was getting the other off.
It was obvious that Kent adored touching him. It didn’t matter how or what with – his mouth, his hands, even his dick. Kent loved exploring every inch of Jack’s body, and Jack really couldn’t understand it. Jack would always insist on fucking underneath the covers or turning the lights off. Kent didn’t like it, but he went along with it just to help Jack feel comfortable. Allowing Kent to see him so exposed made Jack’s chest tighten and his breath quicken.
The initial nerves always faded away after fifteen minutes of Kent’s mouth on him. He was leaving angry red marks along his chest and Jack couldn’t bring himself to care. At the moment, he was doing okay. His erratic trembling was because his body was lighting up at every brush of Kent’s lips and all he could think about was how much lower they were travelling. For once he wasn’t thinking about the lights or that they were on top of the covers. He was lost in the moment.
Kent’s fingers finally found Jack’s waistband and tugged them with a sense of urgency. Jack helped without question, lifting his hips and letting both his sweatpants and boxers be dragged down and tossed aside. He wasn’t given chance to think about anything, as Kent’s mouth resumed its journey downwards and traced the tight, coarse curls on his pelvis. Jack’s breath caught in anticipation and he held himself tense, just waiting for the first spike of pleasure.
It didn’t come. After a couple of seconds of holding his breath he realised Kent’s lips were no longer caressing the soft skin. He lifted his heavy head to peer at him in confusion, brows furrowed. A chill ran through his spine when he realised Kent’s eyes had fallen on the pale, silvery lines littering his inner thighs. His throat constricted tightly as he watched Kent tenderly brush his fingertips along them like they were something precious.
Five seconds later Jack pulled away, burning with shame. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees, suddenly very, very sober. Kent had seen him naked in the locker room many times, but had never been given the chance to study his body up close. Knowing that he had now made Jack feel sick to his stomach.
“Jack?” Kent asked gently, looking up at him with clear confusion on his face. “What’s wrong?”
Jack couldn’t answer him for a long moment. Something had robbed him of words and he dug his fingers hard into his calves to stop them from trembling. He didn’t feel like he was going to have an attack, but he did feel like crawling home and never emerging from his bedroom again.
“I can’t…I don’t like…you looking at me. Close. Like that,” he eventually mumbled, grimacing at how stupid he sounded.
Kent was quiet for a moment, and if Jack dared to look at his face he’d see how concerned he was. He felt Kent’s hand lightly touch his bare knee and he jumped, looking up at him quickly.
“Why?” Kent murmured, scooting a little closer. He seemed to have sobered up too. “Jack. Talk to me.”
Jack closed his eyes, wishing that the mattress would just swallow him whole. Why did this conversation have to take place while he was naked? He opened his mouth several times, but the words failed him. As if reading his mind, Kent nudged the throw towards him and Jack seized it, pulling it over his front and cowering beneath it.
“I hate the way I look,” he finally admitted, his voice catching in his throat. “I hate everything. Every part of me. I still feel so fat.” The word felt bitter and dirty on his tongue and he had to force it out. “It’s like I’m just waiting for you to realise I’m ugly and you don’t want me anymore.”
It was the most he’d said in a long time, and the effort of tearing the words up from deep within his chest was exhausting. He dipped his head, pulling the throw tighter around himself like a shield. He wondered how rude it would be to grab his clothes and leave, though he was pretty sure Kent wouldn’t want him to stick around now anyway.
It was quiet for a very long time. Jack’s throat grew tighter the longer nothing was said. He gripped the material in his hands tighter, rubbing the rough thread against his fingertips. The silence was crushing him. When Kent finally spoke, his voice was soft but it still made Jack jump.
“I really like the way you look,” Kent whispered. When Jack dared to look up at him in surprise, Kent held his gaze steadily. “I always have. Since we first met.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. The words echoed around his brain, but he still struggled to process them. His confusion must have shown on his face because Kent gave him a weak smile. It still made Jack’s heart flutter against his ribcage. He’d only been sixteen when they’d met. His cheeks had been chubby and his belly soft and round. How could Kent like that?
“It’s true. And I know you’ve lost a bunch of weight, and trust me, you look crazy good right now.” Kent gave him a brief, excited grin. “But even if you hadn’t, even if you were still like you were, I would still really like you.”
Jack stared at him. He couldn’t make his mouth work to question him. He didn’t want to question him. He wanted to believe him more than anything. It was difficult though. His brain instantly wanted to reject the idea and decide that Kent was lying to him. But as Jack peered at Kent’s earnest face, he could see that he was telling the truth.
“I really like you too,” he forced himself to mumble back.
The smile on Kent’s face lit up his eyes, somehow making them look even more green. It made Jack feel good, knowing that it was him that put that smile there. Perhaps, if Kent liked the way he looked, he didn’t look so bad after all. Perhaps there were people out in the world that liked fat people. Perhaps being fat wasn’t a bad thing.
Kent slowly and carefully crawled forwards, the bed sinking slightly under his weight. Jack watched his every move, obsessed with the way Kent was looking at him. It almost looked like a kind of hunger. A moment later and they were kissing again, firm and determined with each touch. Jack felt the throw slip down, and surprised himself when he didn’t feel the need to tug it back up again.
The pale, freckled skin underneath his palms felt smooth and perfect, and Jack wondered if it had always been this way. If Kent had just been born looking like a Greek masterpiece. He didn’t ask because he knew Kent would probably laugh at him. Instead he continued to explore, gliding his hands down the chiselled planes of Kent’s pecs. His fingers brushed over the small, pert nipples, and the quiet gasp Kent gave made Jack slide his hands back up and squeeze them.
It was nothing new, but it still made Jack’s heart rate pick up with excitement. He figured it probably always would, and he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Kent, though he was clearly enjoying the stimulation, was suddenly desperate. Jack sat back as Kent clumsily scrambled out of the rest of his clothes and was back in his arms in a flash. The kiss that came next was hard and heated, and the weight of Kent’s body pressing him into the mattress made Jack shudder.
The last rational thought Jack had was that he couldn’t imagine himself having sex with anybody else for as long as he lived. He knew that at their age it was probably a silly thing to think, but he knew he could never be this vulnerable with anybody else, ever. How could he trust and adore anyone like he did for Kent? He wasn’t capable of it.
His brain turned to mush after that, at the precise moment Kent’s hardened cock grazed his own. A quiet whimper escaped his throat and he couldn’t resist wrapping his hands around Kent’s firm biceps and squeezing hard. He wanted Kent as close as possible. He wanted to suffocate in him. He wanted to drown in him. He wanted to taste him.
He’d never sucked dick before. He hadn’t really wanted to, very content with pumping his palm up and down the length of Kent’s erection and watching the pleasure dance across his features. Kent had mentioned wanting to before, but they’d both been drunk and it was quickly forgotten. Now it was all Jack could suddenly think about. He fantasised about stretching his lips around that tender pink skin and letting Kent’s cock smoothly sink into his throat. And then he imagined Kent’s slick tongue painting patterns along his balls and surprised himself with an unexpected, wanton moan deep in his throat.
“Kenny,” he managed to gasp between their frenzied kissing. “Kenny, I want to blow you.”
The words were hard to choke out, but the ecstatic look on Kent’s face made the struggle worthwhile. He knelt up but paused, his expression abruptly thoughtful. Before Jack could second guess himself though, Kent flashed him a wide grin, making all of his freckles stand out in the dim yellow lamp light.
“I have an idea,” he announced, clearly proud of himself.
Kent turned around, giving Jack a perfect view of his sharp shoulder blades. Jack was briefly tempted to lick the soft skin there, but was too occupied with what the hell Kenny was doing. Before he had chance to question it though, Kent bent forward on his hands and knees and his solid dick was suddenly waving in Jack’s face. He didn’t have time to be pleasantly shocked, not when Kent’s mouth pressed a hot kiss to his inner thigh. Now it all made sense.
Jack thought he would be apprehensive. The idea of giving a blow job before had always worried him slightly. What if he wasn’t good at it? What if Kent was too big for his mouth? What if he choked? And what on earth was he supposed to do with his teeth? But as he lay there, watching the pearl of precome trickle down the length of Kent’s dick, all he could think about was taking it into his mouth and making Kent feel damn fucking good.
He tried to ignore Kent’s mouth tickling his thighs for a moment, and just went for it. He opened his mouth wide and eagerly wrapped it around Kent’s erection. Perhaps it wasn’t very graceful, but Kent’s reaction was instantaneous and the pleased grunt he received was music to Jack’s ears. His mouth filled quickly, and he pressed his tongue down and pushed a little further.
It didn’t take long for him to get to a point where he thought he might choke if he forced it anymore. He paused to adjust and get used to the feeling of his mouth being so full, and lightly placed his hands on Kent’s hips to steady himself. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the right thing to do, but once he felt comfortable, he began to bob his head.
Once he had slid his mouth up and down the length a couple of times, he fell into a smooth rhythm that he actually found easy. Kent certainly appreciated it if the noises he was making was anything to go by, and Jack started to enjoy himself. It was fun, moving his mouth and flexing his lips in various ways against Kent’s dick to see which one worked best. He wanted nothing more than to make Kent come. He wanted a mouthful of pleasure instead of licking it off his fingers.
It was all going so well, until Kent decided to even the odds. A tight, wet heat suddenly enveloped his aching cock, making him jolt in surprise. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and the unexpected spark of bliss almost had him coming right then and there. He managed to control himself though, letting out a rough moan even with his mouth full of dick.
At that point he felt like he had been split into two. Somehow his mouth kept up its familiar rhythm, smoothly gliding up and down, but his body felt like it was on fire. Kent was way too good at this for it to be fair. It was as if his tongue knew all of the sensitive spots that would make Jack twitch and gasp. It slid over every inch of him before Kent swallowed him down, clearly unafraid of choking when his nose nuzzled Jack’s coarse pubes.
It turned into a competition. Neither of them meant it to, but Jack felt like he needed to up his game and wondered what would happen if he started sucking hard with each upstroke. Kent actually cried out, the noise muffled but obviously delighted. The resultant vibrations against his cock made Jack’s head spin. And so they tried to outdo one another, a silent battle to see who would succumb to ecstasy first.
It was Jack. He could barely mewl a warning and the next moment he was tipping over the edge, his hips jumping erratically as his orgasm melted every nerve in his body. There was something hugely erotic about the way Kent abruptly held still and allowed Jack to fill his mouth without hesitation. Jack’s fingertips dug harder into Kent’s hips, his face screwed up as he enjoyed the wave.
It didn’t feel long enough, and all too soon he was coming down from the high. He felt boneless and floaty, but Kent’s impatient nudge cleared the haze. Jack’s desire to make Kent feel good was quickly renewed, and he resumed his sucking with vigour. Kent had to know what that felt like, and Jack had to be the one to give it to him.
Kent moaned freely now, and each noise made Jack’s stomach churn pleasantly. Kent’s breath was heavy and hot against his dick and it kept him rooted to the bed. He braved an inch more, feeling the strain on his throat and the appreciative spasm of Kent’s erection. His jaw was starting to get stiff, but if the gentle roll of Kent’s hips was anything to go by, he was on the brink of completion.
A teasing swipe of his tongue across the swollen crown was what broke him. Jack quickly caught the shot, wrapping his mouth tightly around him again. He stayed still just like Kent did, closing his eyes as his mouth was filled with hot, thick come. It was erotic, tasting the bitterness as it hit the back of his throat and knowing that it was because Kent felt amazing right at that moment, because of him. Jack didn’t know what else to do so he swallowed, grimacing slightly at the intense taste. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but it was worth it to see how much Kent had enjoyed it.
Kent fell beside him, facing up towards the ceiling. The cool air on his sensitive cock made him shudder, but Jack laid still. They were silent, save for both of them trying to catch their breath. For once, Jack felt completely calm, a pleasant fog drifting around his brain. He also felt something else. Something that confused him as much as it thrilled him. He felt wanted.
Numbly, he searched for Kent’s hand and gripped it tight. Kent squeezed back, and they were silent for a moment longer.
“Wow,” Kent finally whispered.
They both had to press their hands to their mouths to stifle their giggling.
***
There was cotton wool in his brain.
Stiff, starchy linen scratched at his skin.
His mouth was dry and there was a tightness in his chest that hindered every breath.
The voices that surrounded him sounded like they were calling his name through rough waters.
He couldn’t remember much and trying to felt like dragging memories through sludge.
Cold tiles and colder hands that choked his lungs with bitterness.
There had been a relief – he remembers that much.
A relief that felt like swallowing a huge breath of clean, white air.
It was gone now.
He didn’t think it was going to come back and he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He couldn’t bring himself to care about anything.
He thought it might have been an accident, but he couldn’t be sure.
He wished it hadn’t been an accident.
He wished he hadn’t been found.
There was cotton wool in his brain.
***
TOP PROSPECT LOSES DRAFT
Jack Zimmermann, son of ice hockey legend Bad Bob Zimmermann, has officially withdrawn his entry to this year’s NHL draft.
It was reported last week that Zimmermann, 18, had been rushed to hospital after a suspected drug overdose had left him fighting for his life. The cause of the overdose has not been announced, but there are rumours that Zimmermann was hooked on cocaine and often partied hard between matches.
An NHL spokesman said “we are very disappointed that Jack has chosen to withdraw this year, as he was a very promising player who was destined to do well. We wish him all the best in his recovery.”
The Zimmermanns themselves have yet to comment, but it is clear that Zimmermann has dashed any hopes of a professional career. It is expected that Zimmermann’s teammate, Kent Parson, will now take top spot in this year’s draft.
***
The hardest thing about rehab was trying to think of something different to say every time a doctor asked him how he was feeling. He’d been staying here three months now, and he still didn’t think he could say anything other than ‘fine’. He wasn’t of course, but he hoped that the more he said it the quicker they’d believe him and he’d be allowed to go home.
Withdrawal was a bitch and had him up at all hours, wide eyed and trembling and feeling like he was a scared little boy again. The worst thing was he didn’t know what was causing it. There were several contenders.
Cutting out alcohol and drugs.
Quitting hockey.
Losing Kenny.
The therapist he saw every morning told him that grief gets easier with each passing day. So far he thought his therapist was a liar because the hurt just burned deeper every time he woke up. Kenny’s name only had to briefly dance across his mind and he’d find himself spiralling. He spent a lot of time curled up in a corner underneath his heaviest blanket. It didn’t stop the crash, but at least it was dark and quiet and warm while he fell.
He missed Kent so much he ached. But he hated him. He hated him so much he felt sick. And he didn’t know what he wanted more – to drown himself in Kent Parson or to cut him out of his life permanently. He figured the latter was the safest for his wellbeing, but it didn’t mean he liked it.
Removing Kent from his life also meant removing hockey. His body always felt weird these days, like he wasn’t complete without a pair of skates strapped to his feet and a stick in his hand. Not being able to play was a constant ache in his chest. But at the same time, the thought of playing on a team again and feeling that dreaded weight on his shoulders, made his breath quicken and his chest constrict. He didn’t think he’d be ready to get back on the ice for a very long time.
He didn’t need his dad to tell him Kent had gone first in the draft. He could feel it in his bones the minute he was lucid enough to have a coherent thought. Part of him wondered how it would have gone if he hadn’t freaked out and tried to swallow a whole bottle full of pills, but the other part of him decided he didn’t want to know.
He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There were a couple of things he wanted. He wanted his mom to stop talking in that delicate voice, like she was afraid he was going to shatter into a thousand pieces at any given moment. And he wanted his dad to stop looking at him with pity in his eyes. Bob had never said he was disappointed, but he didn’t need to. Jack was well versed in knowing what Bob was saying without him ever really saying it.
He remembered crying that first night. He’d sobbed like something was being wrenched from his chest, like something had died. His mom had held him and cried too, but they were soft tears. He figured they thought he was upset about missing the draft, but it wasn’t that at all. In the days that followed, when Kent’s name made him flinch and his picture on TV or in the newspaper made his eyes shine, he knew they worked out the real reason he was so heartbroken.
No one had been brave enough to broach the subject, and Jack was going to take it to the grave.
***
The kids called him Mr. Zimmermann. It was a weird thing and he wasn’t sure he liked it. It suggested that he deserved some kind of respect, and he didn’t think that was true. But he liked them well enough, and they seemed to like him too. Well, most of them. Phillippe still scowled at him every time Jack skated anywhere near him, but Phillipe scowled at everybody so Jack wasn’t too concerned.
He didn’t think he would ever enjoy coaching peewee hockey. Before the overdose, as a general rule, he disliked kids. They asked stupid questions and they were loud and they demanded far too much attention. Jack had never been patient, or understanding, and had avoided his billet family’s kids like the plague. Coaching peewee hockey would have been pre-overdose Jack’s worst nightmare.
But post-overdose Jack had learned a few things. Recovery had been a hard road, and he was by no means done, but he at least knew not to put so much pressure on himself. He’d been reluctant at first, when he’d received the call from his first coach at the end of last summer. He’d been trying very hard to ignore hockey in all its forms, and had done reasonably well up until that point. But his parents were keen to start repairing his public image and get him out of his own head.
Since finishing his stint at rehab, it kind of felt like he had been stuck in limbo. He spent his days up in his room reading mostly. It had been a long time since he’d picked up a history book and even longer still since he’d watched a documentary, but lately he’d found himself devouring anything he could find. His passion for the subject had been renewed, but it couldn’t fill the void left by hockey and Kent Parson.
He figured he’d give it a month and see how it went, but he’d found it enjoyable. There was something really rewarding about teaching these kids. The game wasn’t about scoring goals to them. It was about making it across the rink without falling over. It was about guiding the puck neatly down the ice. It was about smiles and laughter and fun. It had taken Jack a long few weeks to realise that. He’d been disappointed when not one single goal was scored in a whole game. But then he’d seen the ecstatic grin on Jeanette’s face when she managed to whack the puck in the correct direction and goals didn’t matter anymore.
Very slowly, he found himself falling in love with hockey all over again.
It was becoming easier every day to shower these kids with praise, especially when their faces lit up with every compliment he gave them. He wasn’t supposed to have favourites. He certainly didn’t have any kids that he disliked. But there were a certain few that tugged on his heartstrings a little more than the others. Jeanette was one of them.
She was only nine, but she reminded him so much of himself at that age that it had been a little jarring at first. She was a chubby kid, with a shock of red hair and wide brown eyes, and was very quiet. She didn’t interact as much as the others, preferring to watch from the side-lines while the other children joked and played around. She wasn’t bullied necessarily, and Jack would have stamped that out instantly If he witnessed it. But there was a barrier around her that the others didn’t cross, and Jack recognised it well.
It was a sunny but mild day in early April when he found her sat alone by the rink. Practice wasn’t due to start for another hour, but Jack always volunteered to open up so he could treat himself to a solo skate. It was hard to crush a habit of a lifetime after all. Upon seeing her, a flash of worry overtook him for a moment. It looked serious, and Jack wasn’t sure he had it in him to be what she needed. But then he remembered how alone he felt at that age, and wished there had been someone around to watch his back.
“Hey.”
He didn’t make his presence a secret, not wanting to startle her. She didn’t turn around, and when he sat next to her she continued to gaze out onto the rink. She looked mournful, and Jack had to look at the ice too. He set his skates down on the floor and just waited.
“Hi,” she eventually mumbled. Her voice was even quieter than usual, and Jack had to lean a little bit in her direction to hear her.
“You’re early, is everything okay?” Jack asked gently.
“I told my dad we were starting early,” she replied, little fingers pulling at the sleeves of her jersey. “Wanted to be on my own.”
“That’s okay,” Jack reassured her, fighting the urge to fidget himself. “Do you want to talk about anything?”
Part of him, and he was really ashamed of that part, wanted her to say no and that everything was fine. But the other part, the part that was still a scared little boy who felt like he didn’t have anyone to turn to, really wished she was brave enough to say something. For a long time, she said nothing at all.
“Nobody likes me,” she finally answered, sounding so sorrowful it made Jack’s chest clench. “I don’t have any friends.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Jack argued softly, seeing himself in her even more. “Your teammates like you very much.”
She turned and gave him a look so dry he would have laughed if the circumstances were different.
“If that’s true, Mr. Zimmermann, then why does no one pass to me? Why do I always get picked last for scrimmages?” She demanded, like the answer was obvious.
For a moment he didn’t know what to say, recalling the horror of Phys Ed classes and pretending he was sick so he didn’t have to face his classmates. He looked down at the grubby floor – suddenly the ice was too bright to stare at.
“Because you’re different,” he said eventually. “And sometimes different can be a little bit scary. But being different is never a bad thing.”
“It feels like a bad thing,” she muttered petulantly, almost making him smile.
“I used to think so too,” he agreed. “I didn’t have any friends at school either. But I made some eventually, when I was older.”
When she didn’t look very reassured, he ploughed on. Thinking about Kent still hurt more than anything, but he had been Jack’s very first friend, and that was still worth everything.
“Don’t wait as long as I did to make a friend, Jeanie,” he smiled weakly at her. “All you need to do is show them that being different is a really good thing.”
“But how do I do that?” She frowned up at him.
Pre-rehab Jack would have told her that he had no idea how to do that. Pre-rehab Jack would have said that he’d rather fade into the background than celebrate what made him different. Post-rehab Jack had learned to be a little bit kinder to himself.
“By just being you. Every day, think of all the things you like about yourself, and soon everyone else will like them too,” he explained.
Jeanette was quiet for a long time, looking back out onto the ice as she thought about what he’d said. Jack didn’t push her, but after several minutes he didn’t think she would say anything else, and was surprised when she did.
“I like that I’m getting good at passes,” she hummed thoughtfully, her face lighting up that little bit. “And my teammates like it when I make good passes.”
“There you go,” Jack smiled, gently nudging her. Her shy little laugh made everything worthwhile. “Pretty soon you’ll have more friends than you can count.”
She nodded, clearly delighted at that idea. She turned away from the rink and gazed up at him with the full force of those big puppy dog eyes. Now that she had snapped out of her funk, Jack suddenly felt like he was under the kind of scrutiny only a nine-year-old could deliver.
“Do you have lots of friends, Mr. Zimmermann?” She asked curiously.
Jack fought the instinctive flinch and somehow managed to keep his face impassive. He certainly couldn’t tell her that he had no friends at all and lost the best one he ever had because he couldn’t keep himself together. He knew some of the parents weren’t exactly happy about a supposed ex-addict teaching their kids, and he didn’t want Jeanette to buy into that idea.
“A couple, not many,” he said breezily with a casual smile. “I’m too busy for friends.”
It wasn’t a total lie. Coaching and his therapy appointments left him too exhausted to do much socialising. He didn’t mind too much, he still struggled facing people sometimes and had always found social situations a difficult thing to get his head around.
“My big brother plays hockey at college,” she bragged with a huge, proud smile on her face. “He has lots of friends. Maybe you should go to college too, Mr. Zimmermann!”
“I don’t think so,” Jack laughed, finally reaching to put on his skates. “I don’t think I’d be happy at college.”
***
Jack was surprised to find he liked college.
Coaching peewee hockey for a year had renewed his passion for the sport in a way he didn’t know was possible. Watching little Jeanette score a goal in one of their late season games and then be crushed under a screaming celly by her teammates, made something within Jack flare up again. He suddenly wanted that. He wanted it more than anything.
He hired an agent. They spent hours with his dad, poring over all of their options. Jack wasn’t stupid – he knew an NHL team wouldn’t touch him after his so-called Lindsay Lohan stunt. They doubted whether even AHL teams would consider him. Besides, Jack didn’t know if he was quite ready to jump straight into the league. He’d been away for so long and suffered through so much, he felt like he needed to learn how to be a team player again.
College was the next option. Jack was uncertain at first, but then decided he didn’t have much of a choice. The thought of attending one of the big NCAA colleges like Boston or Denver was intimidating though, and Jack wasn’t sure he wanted the pressure. Wherever he turned up he knew ESPN would pounce on him, but he felt like a lesser known university would give him a bit of a safety net. It was all about being that little bit kinder to himself.
That was when Samwell was suggested. He knew it was where his mother had graduated from after studying performing arts, but wasn’t aware that it had a decent hockey programme. Jack conducted extensive research, and was fairly impressed by what he found. If he could get this team to the Frozen Four and win, his chances of a professional hockey career would be golden once again. Getting to study history alongside that would be a bonus.
It had been hard work, but three years later, sitting at the back of their roadie bus with Shitty snoring on his shoulder, Jack finally felt like he was getting his life back together again. Well, almost. The little blonde ex-figure skater had thrown him off course a bit, but he showed potential and Jack was determined to get it out of him. He wasn’t about to let Eric Bittle ruin their chances of winning the championship.
All in all, Jack had created a nice routine for himself. Nice was comfortable. He liked being comfortable. Routines kept the anxiety at bay, and with the help of the correct medication and regular therapy sessions, Jack was doing okay. There were moments when he wobbled, but he expected those. He wasn’t naïve enough to hope that one day his brain would be miraculously cured. He knew it took effort on his part and all the help he could get, and he was fine with that.
He wasn’t fine with people like Kent Parson showing up and ruining that carefully mapped out routine. It had been a year ago, when Jack and his team were just gearing up for preseason and the start of school. Jack avoided college parties – the memories they brought were always painful, and he was always careful regarding his alcohol intake. The kegster his teammates had thrown was no different than the others, and Jack spent it in his room with his large headphones and a good book.
Until Shitty knocked on his door to let him know that Kent motherfucking Parson was downstairs waiting for him.
Jack didn’t believe him at first. What would Kent be doing in a frat house in the middle of Massachusetts three months after winning a Stanley Cup? But Shitty had been insistent, and Jack did indeed find Kent stood in the filthy Haus kitchen, surrounded by red solo cups and sriracha bottles. Jack knew he’d never forget that sight as long as he lived.
The years had been good to Kent Parson. Professional hockey had bulked him up enough to make Jack’s knees weak all over again, and the Las Vegas sun had given him a gorgeous tan. But the smirk on his face turned Jack’s stomach. He couldn’t remember much of the argument, but he would always remember Kent storming out of the Haus and the feeling of his heart breaking all over again.
Jack thought about that night a lot. The regrets ate him up, but he tried not to dwell on them for too long. He’d done that before and it just made him miserable. So once again he tried to push Kent Parson out of his mind. His junior year was going to keep him busy enough anyway. It wouldn’t be long before his ex’s name would just be another hockey statistic on the television. It was easier that way.
Jack let out a sigh and settled down for a short nap himself. The rest of the team were sleeping already, last night’s game and the early start had wiped them out. Jack folded his arms against his chest and watched Bitty’s haphazard hair as it waved with every bump they drove over. He eventually fell asleep.
***
Jack had had sex with girls before.
He’d ended up sleeping with both his previous winter screw dates in his freshman and sophomore years. They had been nice girls and he found them attractive. He had been following both of their leads when he fell into bed with them, but he didn’t complain. It felt like the right thing to do at the time.
Sex with a girl hadn’t been too different than sex with Kent. He’d been a little clumsy to start, but fellow freshman Kate had been sweet, and they fumbled through the awkwardness together. They didn’t date, and the relationship fizzled out before it even had chance to begin. Sophomore Samantha had been similar, though they did manage a few dates before they both lost interest.
His junior year he was set up by Holster and Ransom. He’d insisted that he wasn’t interested in attending winter screw. His head at this point was crammed full of hockey, hockey, hockey, and it didn’t matter how nice the girl was, he still wasn’t interested. He didn’t think he’d have been interested if it was a guy either, but he hadn’t allowed himself to even think about dating another man. He knew he wasn’t ready.
It was good old peer pressure that convinced him to go. The entire team begged him for days, and he eventually only agreed to shut them up. He told himself that good captains make sacrifices for their teams, and that worked for the most part. Parties and alcohol still set his teeth on edge, but at least there were plenty of places he could hide and take a breather. He’d just have to make an excuse to his date.
Except Camilla Collins was actually really cool. She was probably the coolest girl he’d ever met, not including Lardo (no one was cooler than Lardo). She was definitely attractive – all long, tanned legs and waves of blonde hair framing her pretty face. Her beauty was the first thing he noticed but it was everything else that interested him. For starters, she was captain of the Samwell Women’s Tennis team. If there was anyone Jack found himself attracted to, it was talented sportspeople.
They didn’t dance. Jack didn’t care, he hated dancing. For someone so co-ordinated and graceful on the ice, he still felt like an awkward mess on the dance floor. Instead they found a place outside and chatted for hours, wrapped up tight in coats and sipping hot chocolate from the drinks stand. Jack hadn’t been able to talk to anyone like this since meeting Shitty, and it gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling that he didn’t think had anything to do with the cocoa.
They didn’t have sex. They didn’t even kiss. As they walked back to the house Camilla shared with her team they passed plenty of drunken students hollering and stumbling down the street. It was clear that a lot were going to hook up, but Jack didn’t feel the need. He left Camilla at the porch with a brief hug and his phone number, and that appeared to be enough for the both of them.
They didn’t hang out often, mostly speaking via text, but that suited Jack just fine. He could put a lot of thought into a text. He didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or tripping over his words. And even if he did, Camilla just seemed to get him, and that meant a lot. By the time his junior year ended, they were firm friends.
So, it seemed only natural that they were to attend their senior winter screw together. Jack had no intentions of going with anyone else. If he was going to spend a few hours in the overheated, cheaply decorated college gym with awful music blasting in his ears then it was going to be with Camilla. He’d promised his team that he would actually dance and enjoy the evening with them this time. Well. He’d promised Bittle, but the others seemed just as excited that he’d agreed.
Speaking of Bittle, he was the only one who Jack trusted to ask about clothing choices. Rans and Holster dressed like lazy frat boys most of the time and Shitty didn’t even like wearing clothes. Jack wasn’t sure why he was suddenly concerned about what to wear. Usually he’d be happy to spend the rest of his life in sweatpants and a hoodie. But lately he would find himself staring at the contents of his wardrobe, chewing his lip.
He concentrated on the mirror again, turning his body to the side as he scrutinised his shirt. He used to like this shirt. His mom bought it for him and it was the nicest one he owned. But right now, it just didn’t seem to sit right. He pulled on the hem, frowning at the way the buttons strained. Images of his younger, chubby self struggling to fasten his pants flashed before his eyes, and before he allowed the anxiety and self-doubt swallow him whole he called for Bittle.
Bitty never rushed anywhere. Jack wondered if it was from growing up in the south. He imagined that Georgians refused to rush at all in that heat. Instead Bitty danced over from his own room, always full of a figure skater’s grace. He was fixing a cute suede bowtie without even needing to concentrate, as his eyes instantly roamed up and down Jack’s body. Jack tried not to grimace.
“Well don’t you look handsome,” Bitty smiled, his drawl a little more pronounced.
Jack had noticed that Bittle’s accent was always a little stronger when he was nervous. It was usually at four am checking practice, or when he was giving a presentation, or explaining a play. Jack figured it was because he was nervous about impressing his winter screw date. He was glad that Bittle’s accent also grew stronger when he was really relaxed, like when they had SMH movie nights, or when he and Bitty hung out in the kitchen together. Bitty’s voice was soothing.
Jack couldn’t thank him for the compliment – his brain hadn’t recovered that function. Instead he tugged again at his shirt, frowning down at it. He could have sworn he felt fatter by the second.
“It’s too small,” he muttered, sounding dejected.
Bitty didn’t answer him right away. He paused fixing his bow tie and tilted his head, examining the shirt a little closer. Jack turned his head away, his cheeks burning in shame.
“Only because you’ve bulked out,” Bitty eventually replied, taking a few steps closer. “You’re broader on the chest now. Here.”
Jack looked up in time to see Bitty reach out and pop the first few buttons on the shirt. He would have recoiled if he wasn’t so surprised. He stood very still, allowing Bitty to shake out and adjust the collar. Immediately the shirt felt better across his chest, and though it still felt snug around his middle, the material seemed to fit him rather than choke him.
“There you go. You don’t need a tie now,” Bitty hummed, his big brown eyes raking over Jack’s outfit again. “Does that feel better?”
Jack nodded numbly, glancing at himself in the mirror again. Aside from looking a bit pale, he actually looked okay.
“Um. Yeah. Thanks, Bittle.”
“You’re welcome.”
Bitty sang out the words as he skipped back into his own room to finish getting ready. It took a few long moments before Jack broke out of his daze. By then it was too late to tell Bittle he looked handsome too.
***
It was as Jack’s face was crushed between Camilla’s thighs that the realisation came to him. He didn’t exactly know how all this started. He knew it was an odd time to think about it, but the thought had come to him nonetheless. He and Camilla had been fucking for weeks now, and honestly? Jack was loving it.
He loved that there was no pressure and no expectation. It was just damn good sex. Afterwards they’d return to their studying or go and grab chicken tenders at the dining hall, just like they always did. Camilla was a close friend who he just happened to have sex with. And it was so easy. He never had to worry about hockey, or his dad, or his anxiety, or Kent, when he was with her. Neither of them were interested in dating, and that just made the situation even more perfect.
He pushed the thought from his mind and focussed on the job at hand. Eating her out always gave him a thrill, mostly because she was so responsive. Right now, her thighs were clamped around his head and her hand was buried in his hair and she was making all the right noises. He always liked to be appreciated, and each breathless moan and uncontrollable twitch of her hips made his stomach churn pleasantly.
He swiped his tongue relentlessly over her clit, delighting in the way she tugged his hair eagerly. His hands held her hips firm, his fingertips pressing into her pelvis hard enough to bruise. He knew all of the tricks by now. He knew just how to get her screaming his name and pulling at the sheets in a frenzy. It was only because he just loved finding out. He’d noticed it was something he enjoyed with all his sexual partners. He wasn’t happy until he knew exactly how to make them feel good.
He could tell when she was on the brink. Her moans became whimpers and she tightened her fingers around his hair as he licked every drop from her slick folds. A moment later she surrendered to the orgasm, her body arched and tense as it was wracked with pleasure. He slowed his mouth and loosened the hold on her hips, easing her through the wave.
Her legs fell open once she was over it, trembling from the exhaustion of holding herself tight. He crawled upwards, trailing kisses up the smooth skin of her panting chest. His lips traced nipples that were still deep pink and swollen from his eager mouth earlier, and she couldn’t resist letting out a breathless giggle. When he finally reached her own lips, the kiss was filthy and hard. It was often like this. By the time they finished foreplay, they were both usually so worked up it turned into frantic, carnal fucking.
His fingers trembled with want as he fumbled with the condom, trying his best while Camilla was still kissing him. He gasped as he slid it over himself, still sensitive from her talented mouth. The sight of her laying back, her legs spread wide for him and her blonde hair splayed over the pillows made him shiver excitedly. He crawled over her and pressed the head of his dick to her pussy, neatly sliding in.
It wasn’t a new sensation, but it still made him sigh happily. He paused for a moment, allowing both of them to enjoy the feeling. She was soon pulling at him impatiently though, and he began to thrust. He was gentle to begin with, enjoying the caress of her body fastening down on him and seizing him tight. The tenderness never lasted long. A couple of snaps of his hips later and he was suddenly pounding into her so hard their hips slapped together, and the bed rocked against the wall.
It didn’t last long when they got like this, but neither of them cared. She wrapped her long, lean legs around his waist and drove him deeper, letting out an ecstatic moan at her efforts. She held onto him for dear life, dragging her nails down his back and leaving slithers of sore skin. It only spurred him on further and soon they were fucking like animals, loud and sweaty and delirious.
Neither of them were cuddlers, and afterwards they laid side by side, staring up at the ceiling as they caught their breath. The sheets beneath them were a mess, and Jack was still wearing the gross, sticky condom, but they didn’t move for a while. It wasn’t uncommon for them to lie together for hours, chatting into the night in quiet voices.
He never ran out of things to tell her. He still couldn’t remember just when the sex started, but he knew he didn’t want it to end.
***
It ended.
Camilla began dating someone else, some guy from her sports science class. Jack wasn’t as disappointed as he thought he would be. In another life they probably would have been really good together, but Jack couldn’t conjure romantic feelings out of nowhere. He often wondered if he’d ever be able to again. He didn’t think he’d mind too much. He was in so many talks with GMs he knew that hockey was going to be in his future. He could live without a romantic relationship. There would always be girls like Camilla. Maybe even guys.
He knew he was doing better when that was a thought he could consider. His attraction for men certainly hadn’t dwindled over the years, but his relationship with Kent had left him burned and bruised. The idea of being intimate with a man again no longer seemed scary. In fact, it seemed pretty exciting.
He wasn’t stupid though. He knew secrecy would play a huge role in any same sex relationships he had. He didn’t like it, but he’d worked so hard for another chance at the NHL and he couldn’t let anything ruin it. His dad had danced around the subject for the last couple of years, and Jack couldn’t help but be amused. He wouldn’t be surprised if Bob had bought himself a shirt emblazoned with I Love My Bisexual Son and was just waiting for the day Jack came out of the closet.
He’d be waiting a long time, but the thought was comforting nonetheless.
Sometimes he wished he could be more like Bittle. Jack knew that coming to terms with his sexuality hadn’t been easy, and still struggled every time he returned home to Georgia, but here at Samwell, Bitty thrived. He was so unashamed of who he was and wore his sexuality like it was something to be celebrated. Jack wished he could be that open and unapologetic one day.
He could see it now, in the way Bitty took grinning selfies with everyone, the way he danced freely and sang loudly to any pop song on the epikegster playlist. Jack had been reluctant to join the party at first but figured it would be his last one at Samwell. He had to make an appearance. He stayed in a corner, nursing a single red solo cup of beer, but still enjoyed himself. When Bitty finally spotted him and skipped his way over, Jack couldn’t help grinning to himself.
Bittle wasn’t drunk, not yet. He was still smart enough to leave the tub juice alone. Jack knew Bittle would eventually find himself wasted, shirtless and dancing on the kitchen table if plied with enough alcohol. Jack hadn’t been present at the last kegster, but he’d heard the stories. He half wished he’d stuck around after all.
For now though, Bitty was sober and bright and already chirping Jack’s lack of partying ways. Bitty held his phone tight, tapping away on it with his thumb as he live tweeted the night’s events. Jack used to find Bittle’s constant attachment to the thing annoying, but it had grown into endearment over the year. It just seemed a part of him now, Bitty holding his phone was as natural as Jack holding a hockey stick.
Jack didn’t know why he felt so chatty. He supposed it was a mix of things. The slight buzz from the beer. The music that wasn’t too loud. The good mood he was in. Bitty was an attentive listener. Jack barely had chance to retell his football player story, and Bitty was eating up every word. That was probably why he suggested a selfie. He didn’t really get the idea of flashing his face across the Internet, but something in him just wanted to preserve that moment right there.
Until it all came crashing down.
Parse looked good. Parse always looked good. Jack had seen glimpses of him on television – match interviews and promo shots, but he’d always been in hockey gear and usually sweaty (not that that wasn’t attractive. At all). But right now, Parse took his breath away in a way he hadn’t done since he was eighteen. It was pretentious, with his backwards cap and flashy Rolex, but the shirt sleeves pushed up to the elbows and casual, unbuttoned collar made Jack’s legs go weak.
For a moment all he could do was stare. He murmured Kent’s name in a daze, lost in the grey colour of his eyes. It was the self-satisfied smirk and the cocky way Kent asked if Jack had missed him that broke him. Air was suddenly hard to come by and he knew he had to get out of there. He shoved his beer into Bitty’s starstruck hands and weaved through the staring bodies to march straight upstairs. He was relieved when no one followed him.
He didn’t know how he managed to stave off the panic attack. He could feel it tingling in his fingertips but a few deep breaths and a splash of cool water on his face kept it at bay. He didn’t understand why Kent had shown up, especially after the disaster of last time. He hated that just setting his eyes on him triggered him over again. He had been doing just fine without Kent Parson in his life.
He knew he’d end up meeting with him at some point in his NHL career, but he’d figured he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, he felt flung into the deep end and unable to swim. He sat slowly on his bed, staring at the papers of his thesis on his desk without really looking at them. He’d come a long way since rehab, he knew that, but things were still difficult sometimes. And part of that was because there were so many words hanging between them. They’d never reconciled. Jack had left him as a cold body on colder tiles.
Maybe they both deserved an apology.
He wondered what Parse was doing downstairs. He knew he hadn’t left. He could see the ridiculous bright red Porsche still parked across the street. Probably caught up in a selfie mill. The noise had gotten louder, everyone was clearly excited by his presence. Jack felt sick. He didn’t think he could ask him to leave, but he didn’t have the guts to ask him to stay either.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, in a weird state of limbo, but eventually the decision was made for him. The loud music drowned out the footsteps on the stairs, but Jack heard the small knock and the gentle voice. He’d forgotten that Kent knew how to be gentle.
“Jack? It’s me. Please let me in.”
Jack nearly didn’t. He nearly stayed rooted to his bed with his eyes locked on the window. But something inside of him ached for Parse all over again. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t think he had anything left in him to fight. Perhaps now they could talk like adults. Maybe an apology was what he needed to put his feelings for Kent to bed, once and for all.
When he opened the door, Kent was smiling, but it was different to the smug look he was wearing before. It was softer. He could be vulnerable away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. For a moment, they just looked at each other again, coming to terms with the fact that they were actually face to face.
“Hey,” Kent murmured quietly.
Jack didn’t answer him. He paused for a second, then nodded minutely and stepped aside to let him in. Kent wandered in and looked around, hands casually hooked into his jean pockets. If he noticed that Jack’s room barely looked lived in, he didn’t comment. Jack watched as Kent’s eyes fell on the half empty bottle of anxiety medication, and if Jack didn’t know better, he could have sworn Kent’s jaw and shoulders tensed. But when he turned around to face him, he was relaxed and smiley again. They were silent.
“So, your team manager is pretty badass,” Kent finally began with a weak grin. “She just whipped my ass at pong and belched in my face.”
Jack couldn’t resist his lips quirking in a small smile. If Lardo was anything it was definitely a badass. But he’d never dealt well with small talk, and Kent should have remembered that.
“Why are you here, Kent?” He asked quietly. He knew he looked defensive, fists tight and shoulders squared. It was his only chance at fighting off his own feelings.
Kent sighed, his own shoulders slumping into a shrug. His lack of self-assuredness made Jack’s heart clench.
“I guess I wanted to talk to you about your next move,” Kent replied, holding his gaze. “I know a lot of teams are eager to snap you up.”
It was Jack’s turn to sigh, almost relieved. Hockey was safe. He could talk about hockey. Providing they didn’t start talking about the game they used to play in the past. He gave a half shrug, relaxing a little bit.
“Honestly? I really don’t know right now. I’ve thought about going back to Canada, but I’ve had offers from all over. Boston, Dallas, New York…even expansion teams have put in good offers. I’m considering the Providence Falconers as much as I’m considering anyone else,” he explained.
He was still a little in awe of it. So many teams genuinely wanted him to play for them. He once thought he’d ruined his hockey career forever, and to realise that he was actually going to be playing in the NHL come September…well. It was a lot.
Kent didn’t look like he thought that was a good answer. Jack should have known Kent probably didn’t remember just how much thought Jack needed to put into a decision like this. It wasn’t as if an NHL draft could make it for him.
“You have no clue?” Kent asked, raising one of his perfectly plucked eyebrows.
“I mean…it could be Montreal, it could be L.A, okay? I don’t know,” Jack replied quietly, holding Kent’s eyes.
He was only half a foot away. Jack could clearly see every freckle on his nose. Kent’s expression softened, seeing how the weight of his choice was weighing down on Jack’s shoulders. He took a step closer.
“…what about Las Vegas?”
Kent’s voice was tender and hopeful, and it made Jack’s chest constrict. Images of their possible future flashed before his eyes. He could see it so clearly. Wearing an Aces jersey, standing just behind Kent on centre ice, ready to destroy the record books once again. Maybe even one day being together off the ice too. Fuck it was a wonderful thought.
But Jack was too scared to risk going down that route again. He’d worked so hard.
“I…I don’t know, okay?” He huffed, breaking Kent’s gaze and awkwardly rubbing his face.
For a long moment, nothing was said. When Jack finally looked up again, Kent’s expression was unreadable. Jack swallowed with difficulty, clenching his fists again to stop his hands from trembling. Kent took a step forward. And then another. And another. When he was mere inches away, Jack’s breath caught in his throat.
“Pars-”
Kent cut him off with a kiss.
Jack was so surprised he froze on the spot. Kent’s mouth was a beautiful, bittersweet memory. He was less gentle than he was at sixteen, having lost so much. Jack didn’t care. He was rough around the edges now too. When Kent pulled away, mistaking Jack’s stillness as rejection, Jack pulled him straight back in.
It wasn’t long before the kiss turned fierce. Years of hurt and grief had built up in the both of them and was only now being released. Jack didn’t know who deepened it first. One minute it was a firm press of their lips, the next it was frantic, involving teeth and tongues and hands grabbing at the other. It was exactly as he remembered and completely different all at the same time.
Jack could feel himself falling. He felt hyper-aware of everything. The heady smell of Kent’s fancy cologne. The brush of his expensive shirt in his fists. The taste of soda in Kent’s mouth and cheap beer in his. He felt dizzy. He was drowning in Kent Parson all over again and the worst thing was he didn’t want it to stop.
It felt like coming home.
He didn’t know how long they made out for. It wasn’t until he suddenly felt Kent’s erection pressing against his thigh did he come to his senses. This couldn’t happen. They couldn’t happen. They were bad for each other, he remembered that much at least. No matter how much he was drawn to Kent, he would be Jack’s downfall. Kent was the tempting flame to Jack’s troubled moth.
“Kenny,” he eventually managed to gasp when they pulled apart to recover. “I can’t do this.”
The nickname tumbled from his mouth as naturally as breathing. But it wrenched something from him too, and by the looks of it, Kent had lost something of himself also.
“…Jack,” Kent began weakly, his fingers drifting up and ghosting along the smooth skin of Jack’s jaw. Jack refused to close his eyes. “Come on,” Kent begged.
It took all of Jack’s strength to say no.
“No, I…um…”
He shifted, trying so hard to ignore his own arousal. Jack could feel his resolve crumbling as he took in Kent’s desperate eyes and swollen lips. His hair was extra messy. Jack didn’t remember knocking Kent’s cap off and raking his fingers through the blonde curls, but he must have done at some point.
He took a deep breath, filling up his lungs to steady his racing heart. Again, he told himself he could do this. He could say no. He deserved to step out onto the ice on his own hard work and determination, and not because Kent Parson got him there. He lifted his chin, feeling a new strength in his chest. From the look on Kent’s face, he saw it too.
“Kenny-”
“-Zimms.” Kent cut him off, his eyes suddenly ablaze. “Just fucking stop thinking for once and listen to me. I’ll tell the GMs you’re on board and they can free up cap space. Then you can be done with this shitty team. You and me-”
Jack snapped. He was no longer interested in anything Kent had to say. There was nothing dearer to him than the SMH team, and for Kent to sink low enough to insult them like that, well. Jack realised that maybe Kent hadn’t grown up as much as he’d hoped he had.
“Get out,” he demanded, his voice unexpectedly low.
“Jack,” Kent tried again, determined not to let go without a fight.
“You can’t – you don’t come to my fucking school unannounced!”
“Because you shut me out!”
“And corner me in my room-”
“I’m trying to help!”
“And expect me to do whatever you want!”
“Fuck, Jack!!” Kent finally exploded.
He looked more fraught than Jack had ever seen. His grey green eyes were wide, and he was pale underneath his freckles. Jack swallowed as Kent took fistfuls of his shirt and held on so tightly his knuckles went white.
“What do you want me to say? That I miss you? I miss you, okay? …I miss you.”
Kent’s voice broke at the end of his words, and Jack’s heart went with it. He couldn’t do this anymore. They’d been through so much together, and though Jack still cared about him deeply, he couldn’t spend his life with the emotional rollercoaster that was Kent Parson.
“…you always say that,” Jack muttered, forcing himself to look away as Kent’s head dipped. Kent didn’t want to show how upset he was and Jack didn’t want to see it anyway.
It only too Kent a moment to compose himself. He took a step back and released Jack’s shirt, glaring up at him in scorn. Jack lifted his chin, staring back and doing his best to hold his ground.
“…huh. Well. Shit. Okay.” Kent drew a breath, like he was preparing the both of them for what he was about to say. “…you know what, Zimmermann? You think you’re too fucked up to care about? That you’re not good enough? Everyone already knows what you are but it’s people like me who still care.”
Kent’s words pierced him like wasp stings, and Jack could feel himself cracking with each one. There was truth in what Kent was saying, and they both knew it. After all these years Kent knew exactly what to say to tear Jack apart at the seams.
“Shut up,” Jack tried to tell him, but his voice came out as a whimper.
“You’re scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless, right? Oh, don’t worry. Just give it a few seasons, Jack. Trust me,” Kent snapped venomously, his face twisted into a scowl.
Jack had to force his voice to work, though the words were fractured and quiet.
“…G-get out of my room.”
“Fine. Shut me out again,” Kent scoffed, spinning and snatching his hat up from the floor.
“And stay…stay away from my team,” Jack tried to continue despite his throat closing up.
“Why? Afraid I’ll tell them something?” Kent sneered, barging past him and reaching for the door. He paused, giving Jack a final quirk of his brow as if waiting for something.
“Leave, Parse!” Jack demanded with the last ounce of his strength.
Kent wrenched the door open without hesitation. He paused though, and Jack turned to see what was stopping him. He paled as he saw Bittle crouched on the floor, key in hand and a guilty expression on his face. Jack wanted the floor to swallow him up whole. He hoped Bitty didn’t notice his rumpled shirt and messy hair and knew that he probably would.
This was all too much to handle.
Kent cleared his throat and stalked past, casually fixing his Aces cap back onto his head. He didn’t even look back.
“Hey. Well. Call me if you reconsider or whatever. But good luck with the Falconers. I’m sure that’ll make your dad proud.”
It was a low blow. A low blow that shattered him. Jack stared after Kent as he strolled down the stairs, unable to move for a moment as he felt his fears overwhelm him. Kent could always cut him deep and the years had only sharpened his edge. He could feel every muscle in him start to shake, and the room started to spin. Without even glancing at Bitty he hurried back into his room, slamming the door behind him.
The anxiety attack lasted all night.
***
Madison, Georgia, was hot as balls. He’d been here two days already and Jack still couldn’t handle the heat. It wasn’t fair that Bittle skipped around in his tank top and shorts looking like the soaring temperatures didn’t bother him at all. All Jack had to do was sit on the couch and he would start sweating. He took comfort in the fact that should they go to Montreal, it would be the opposite.
Besides, it was totally worth it. From the minute he stepped off the plane and saw Bitty’s excited grin he knew it would be worth it. Skype calls every night, though nice, were nothing like the real thing. They’d had to wait until Bitty had pulled off onto an abandoned slip road and parked the truck before they could kiss. The wait had been agony, but the resultant kisses were hotter than the weather.
Jack had always known Bitty to be bright and bubbly and energetic but seeing him light up as he danced around the sweltering kitchen with his tanned skin and freckles made Jack fall in love with him all over again. When it was just the two of them, in the rare moments Mrs. Bittle did the grocery shopping, or helped out at church, or visited their neighbours, Jack felt like this was all a dream. That it was some fantasy in his head that he couldn’t have in reality.
It was only when he was stood with Mr. Bittle and a few other of Bitty’s male relatives, sipping beer and pretending to be interested in football, did Jack start to think it was genuinely happening. He watched Bitty gossiping with his moomaw and suddenly realised that Bitty was probably the best thing that ever happened to him. He had to turn away and take a big swallow from his bottle to try and compose himself.
They were allowed to take the truck and drive up to the lake to watch the fireworks. It had been moomaw’s suggestion and Jack wondered if the whimsical old woman knew more about their relationship than she was letting on. Jack didn’t mind. It was nice knowing there would be someone in their corner whenever they decided to come out.
It was an overwhelming thought and one he didn’t allow himself to spend too much time dwelling on. They would cross that bridge together when it came to it. Right now, he was more than happy to get to know Bittle in ways he never thought he could.
The back of the truck was uncomfortable, but Bitty had packed blankets and cushions and leftovers. Jack had eaten so much food that afternoon he thought he would burst. The Bittles and the Phelps certainly loved their food, and Mrs. Bittle had been delighted every time he cleared his plate. At least he had that going for him.
There was making out. Jack held Bittle close and kissed him delicately, in love with the way they seemed to slot together. They’d been intimate in the snatched moments in Bitty’s childhood bedroom, but right now, in the open air with the smell of smoke and burgers and fireworks exploding above them, Jack found he was content just to lie and enjoy the moment. It was the most romantic thing he’d ever experienced, and that was a little overwhelming.
It was as he watched Bittle’s profile, admiring the way the bright fireworks lit up his eyes, that Jack had a thought.
He was pretty sure he was going to marry this boy one day.
***
The sunlight poured in through the large glass windows, bathing their bed in a halo. Jack laid still, one hand slowly rubbing circles on Bitty’s bare back. It was mid-morning on a lazy Sunday, and after Jack’s usual run and sharing breakfast together, they’d retreated to bed again. Jack had to kick their golden retriever off, so they could climb in, but she soon hopped back on and settled at their feet.
Jack’s eyes were closed, listening to the scratch of Bitty’s pen on the fancy, gilded paper and Maddie’s soft snoring as she dozed. Bitty was writing out their wedding invitations very carefully from a short list. There weren’t many names on there, as both of them wanted a small, private affair. Just their parents, a few close friends and relatives. It was all they needed.
Jack knew people thought it was far too early for them to get married. Jack had proposed not long after Bitty graduated from Samwell, but he just knew in his heart that it was the right thing to do. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Bitty, so why not start right now?
He opened his eyes when Bitty had paused his writing for a few minutes. The pen was poised over a fresh invite, like Bitty was unsure what to write.
“Honey,” he began softly, not looking up from the fancy gold lettering.
“Yeah?” Jack asked around a yawn, turning his eyes back up to the ceiling.
“I think…I was wondering if we…should invite Kent. To the wedding.”
Jack didn’t say anything for a long time. The name no longer felt like a knife in the chest, but it still dredged up plenty of feelings. In his two years playing for the NHL, run ins with Kent had been rare. It had been so difficult, that first game, but Jack had found the strength to play it just like any other. It got easier after that, and whenever they had a match against the Aces, Kent was just another player.
It didn’t mean he didn’t think about him. He did, most days even. It took a while initially, but the thought of Kent Parson no longer made his blood boil. He hoped Kent was doing okay. He half wished Kent had reached out after Jack and Bitty had come out, but he hadn’t, and Jack wasn’t brave enough to reach out to him. He wanted nothing more than for Kent to be happy. He deserved it, after everything.
Still, Jack didn’t think inviting him to the wedding was a good idea.
“I’ll think about it,” he replied honestly.
That was enough for Bitty, and he nodded in satisfaction. He leaned over and laid aside the pile of invites very carefully before flopping back onto the soft mattress. He groaned dramatically and held his hand up in the air, massaging the writer’s cramp in his fingers. Jack smiled and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his chest.
“I did offer to help,” Jack reminded him, voice muffled between kisses to Bitty’s shoulder.
“We both know your handwriting is awful,” Bitty chirped back with a grin. “I’d like moomaw to be able to read her invitation, thank you very much.”
“So rude,” Jack snickered.
Bitty laughed and rolled over to face him, propping his head up on his elbow and gazing down at him. Jack just smiled back. It was hard to believe sometimes that this was his life now. He had everything he wanted, and he was allowed to enjoy it.
“I love you,” he murmured, his hand sliding down the curve of Bitty’s waist.
Bitty’s expression softened and he leaned down to lightly peck Jack’s mouth.
“I love you too, sweetpea.”
Jack didn’t let him pull back. He tugged him firmly and Bitty went easily, crawling over him and deepening another kiss like it was second nature. Their heated kissing soon disturbed the dog, and she gracefully jumped off the bed and trotted out of the room with her nose in the air. Neither of them noticed.
Ten minutes later and they were both naked and painfully aroused already. The sheets had been tossed back and Jack found himself between Bitty’s legs, his mouth hot and slick on Bitty’s hardened dick. The noises Bitty was making were obscene and Jack couldn’t help groaning into his skin. Sex with Bitty was always special, in a way that made him feel content and loved afterwards. It was always different too, and the desire between them only grew stronger each day.
“Jack,” Bitty eventually gasped between breathy moans. “Jack, stop.”
Jack only did because he could feel the tell-tale twitch of hips underneath him and his cock pulsating against his tongue. He reluctantly pulled away and pressed kisses along Bitty’s thigh instead, giving him a moment to compose himself. Bitty’s hand gratefully stroked Jack’s hair as he caught his breath.
“Jack,” Bitty said again, and Jack tore his mouth away to look at him, falling into Bitty’s dark, lidded eyes. “I want you to ride me.”
Jack’s stomach churned pleasantly at the words, and his dick throbbed eagerly. It wasn’t something they did often. Jack was always concerned about hurting Bitty, and there was something about being so exposed that made him feel vulnerable. Bitty made it no secret that he adored Jack’s body, but Jack didn’t feel the same appreciation. His body might be good for hockey, but he still didn’t like the silvery lines on his hips and panicked if he wasn’t able to work out for any reason.
“Okay.”
Bitty’s face lit up excitedly and he was soon sitting up and going through their bedside drawer. Jack crawled up the bed, his heart pounding with both exhilaration and nervousness. Bitty seized both the lube and a condom, though he tossed the little packet aside for now. The sound of the bottle cap flicking open was oddly erotic.
“Come here, handsome,” Bitty purred in a voice like gooey treacle.
Jack obeyed without question, his cheeks darkening at the unhidden longing in Bitty’s eyes. He settled beside him and spread his legs. Bitty looked positively hungry and the way he licked his lips was so filthy Jack had to take a quick breath to compose himself. Bitty didn’t waste any time, covering his fingers with the lube and reaching between his legs.
Jack loved getting fingered. The feeling of Bitty’s slick fingers caressing him was so good it always made him melt. Soon enough, Bitty had worked him loose and ready, and Jack’s moans were loud and appreciative. This was something so intimate, it always left Jack feeling raw and wanting, and Bitty was a giver. He was only slightly disappointed when Bitty removed his fingers and started fumbling with the condom.
Part of him wanted to back out. Part of him wanted to pull Bitty above him and encourage him to pound away until Jack saw stars. But the other part wanted it so badly. He wanted to impale himself on Bitty’s dick and stare down at his fiancé’s gorgeous face as he rocked them both to completion. Suddenly, he didn’t give a shit about how he looked. He wanted Bittle, and he wanted him now.
Bitty laughed giddily as Jack pushed him impatiently against the pillows. He looked up at Jack adoringly as he straddled him, strong thigh muscles bulging beside his legs. Jack wished he could bottle up the expression on Bitty’s face and keep it for every low moment in his life. He shivered as Bitty’s hands found his hips and squeezed in encouragement.
Jack lowered himself slowly. One hand steadied Bitty’s dick as he slid down, carefully stretching himself around it. He gasped, his eyes fluttering closed as the sensation made his gut do flip flops. He paused when he was fully seated, savouring the moment. He opened his eyes, grinning when Bitty stared back, already looking blissed out.
He began to move. Slow, glorious rolls of his hips that stroked his inner core and made Bitty gasp beneath him. Fuck, this felt good. All self-conscious thoughts started to drift away as he let the pleasure overcome his body. Bitty whispered praise, staring up at him as if Jack was his entire world. The look was so intense it made Jack blush, and he sped up his movements.
Bitty was a pro at riding Jack. It was obvious he loved to sit on Jack’s dick and bounce like crazy until they were both sobbing with ecstasy. Jack preferred a more measured, thorough approach. Each rock of his hips was deliberate and determined, and each moan he drew from Bitty’s chest was desperate and breathless.
Looking down at Bitty, Jack suddenly realised he didn’t feel vulnerable at all. He felt safe and wanted. He could see it in the affectionate look in Bitty’s eyes, feel it in the way Bitty squeezed his hips, hear it in the way Bitty mewled his name. He closed his eyes, refusing to let himself get choked up. Instead he surrendered, fucking himself harder until they were both crying out.
His orgasm was probably one of the best he ever had. He fell beside Bitty afterwards, the pair of them fighting for breath and floating from the high. It was quiet for only a minute before they were both giggling at the mess they’d made and kissing each other breathlessly. They did a quick, lazy clean up, and then snuggled back under the sheets together.
Bitty soon began to doze again, but Jack lay awake, watching the sun play on Bitty’s blonde lashes. Maddie wandered back in at some point and settled down in the warmth by the window. Jack acknowledged every thought and emotion thrumming through him, finding contentment and gratitude and love. It almost felt too perfect, and he tried not to think about how long these good feelings lasted. It was time to embrace them.
He was doing okay.
Carefully, so as not to wake Bitty, he reached for his phone and texted his agent, asking for Kent Parson’s number.
***
SNACK ZIMMERMANN
The Providence Falconers’ lead scorer Jack Zimmermann was spotted yesterday taking an evening stroll through Providence park with new husband Eric and their dog.
Jack was looking especially delicious in a form fitting tank top and jean shorts, showing off that rather shapely behind. Every person in the Celeb Hunt offices were practically drooling over their keyboards as they gazed upon the gorgeous hockey player.
Years ago, we were all doubtful that Jack would ever grow into such a babe with his chubby chops and weird eyes. But Jack has definitely proved us wrong and is now a sight to behold. His ESPN body shoot was one of the quickest selling ever, and easily smashed the sales of his father’s, Robert ‘Bad Bob’ Zimmermann back in the 80’s. The only other NHL player to match Jack’s record is the mouth-watering Las Vegas captain, Kent Parson (Check out last week’s issue where we snapped a beaming Parson grabbing lunch with a tall, dark and handsome stranger rumoured to be his new beau).
Zimmermann claims his svelte figure is a result of constant hockey and a very strict diet provided by his nutritionist. Celeb Hunt has asked many times for any top-secret slimming tips, but he remains as tight-lipped on the subject as his mother, model and actress Alicia Zimmermann.
We can only hope that one day these stunning specimens will share their secrets. In the mean time we’ll continue to melt over Jack’s chiselled biceps. Eric Zimmermann is a very lucky man.