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July 4th 2015
“Fucking ace party, Captain!”
“Dude, I’m pretty sure some of the Playboy bunnies just showed up”
“Parson! Happy fucking birthday!”
Kent grinned as he walked through groups of people occupying the small space of his apartment. People he knew and people he didn’t all had something to shout out at him as he walked to his couch with a cup in each hand. He had been going strong since the start of the day. After his usual morning workout he’d come back to his apartment and called a few of his boys over. It started small enough but as with most things Kent did, it escalated into a full-blown rager by 9pm. Kent didn’t care who showed up. He just went to grab a beer from his fridge and let the boys do all the work. Hell, he earned it. Star forward of the Las Vegas Aces Kent Parson had earned himself one hell of a 25th birthday party.
Kent sat down between two of his boys, finishing whatever was in the cup in his left hand. Carter laughed, replacing the empty cup with a bottle.
“Happy birthday, Cap.” Kent grinned and tilted the bottle at him in a salute. “So listen, the guys want to actually get you something, aside from their presence at your party.” Kent smacked his shoulder but he continued. “They’re being all weird about asking, so I’m gonna straight up do it. Is there anything you really want?”
Kent raised an eyebrow. Was there anything he didn’t have? His team, his cup, his record, his fucking name. They were all his and all things he’d earned himself. He didn’t need anything. Didn’t want anything. His eyes flicked to the front door and then back to Carter. No, there wasn’t anything Carter or the other boys could get him.
“I appreciate it, man. But the only thing I want is decked in silver and weighs roughly 35 pounds. I hear the second time is better than the first. Get me that this season and I’ll be fine.” Carter patted his shoulder.
“You got it, Captain.” Kent smiled only so far until Carter turned away. His eyes flicked to the door and then back to his cup. He downed what was in it as the boys started laughing at some joke he hadn’t heard. Kent was good at letting noise become a background to his own thoughts. Out on the ice, thousands of people yelling at you, you have to get really good at hearing yourself think above everything else.
He put his cup down along with the bottle Carter had given him and leaned back on the couch. The music playing had a dull bass beat and Kent didn’t really care for dancing so he matched it in time with his heartbeat instead. One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four.
“One two th-three-” Jack let out a small choke and then a noise of frustration. He was hunched over on his bed trying to remember the breathing exercises he had learned but not being able to follow through. Kent sat next to him, rubbing his back firmly.
“Again Jack. Follow my lead. One. Two. Three. Four.”
“One. Two. Three. Four”
“Good. Again. One. Two. Three. Four” Again and again until Jack was breathing and Kent could feel him starting to shake a little the way he always did coming down from an episode. He grabbed the blanket Jack had thrown off when he woke up and covered them both with it. Jack was silent.
“Hey. It’s okay, you know? I don’t mind doing this shit. However many times you need it.” Jack didn’t say anything in response, but he let his shoulders drop a little. Kent took it as a victory. “Kay, now we both have to go to sleep or coach is gonna kill us with suicides tomorrow.” Jack nodded, laying down slowly, pulling Kent with him. This wasn’t the first time they’d done this and Kent got comfortable on his back next to Jack. It was quiet for a while.
“Was it about the game tomorrow?”
“Quoi- I mean, what?” Jack had a tendency to slip into French when he was tired.
“Was this...” Kent waved his hands a bit, looking for the word. “Panic about the game tomorrow?”
“Oh. No.” Jack’s voice was quiet. Kent waited. “I was thinking about... that thing Coach said today about looking back on this in ten years. Where we’ll be in ten years. Too many...possibilities.” Sometimes Kent couldn’t quite understand how Jack feared something that exhilarated him but he understood that uncertainty wasn’t easy to handle. For either of them. Where would they be in ten years? They were both leading in points and assists and well on their way to winning the Calder in a few years. But after that? The draft would mean that they’d be separated. It was an inevitable truth. But ten years is a long time.
“Could be we’ll be on the same team by then. You and me? We’re a pair that any team would kill for. It’ll probably happen by then.” Jack furrowed his brow and then turned on his side.
“Kenny, you know the chances of that aren’t high.” Kent sighed.
“Yeah, I know that, but that’s the point. We have no idea so why not imagine the best. You and me kicking up the ice together, leading the league in points, breaking records left and right. Hey, we might even both make it to the Habs. Make your dad happy, right?” Jack turned on his back again and Kent cursed internally. He knew better than to mention his dad now. He gently reached for Jack’s arm, thankful when he didn’t pull away. He turned on his side, facing Jack now.
“Zimms. It doesn’t matter what’ll be in ten years. You’re right, nothing’s certain. But I know one thing. You and me? We’re gonna be friends. Nothing’s going to change that.” Jack was quiet and Kent waited. He had accidentally hit a nerve for Jack so he tried to show him he could be open and vulnerable too.
“You don’t...know that for sure,” came Jack’s quiet reply. “Rivalries, injuries, Kenny there’s no way to know... anything.” Kent grabbed Jack’s hand before he even finished his sentence, forcing him to turn and face Kent. Jack knew that look in his eyes. That was the look Kent got right before he made a goal that someone said wasn’t possible. That look was what Jack looked for when he passed the puck to Kent from the sides and let him swing it in. It was how Jack knew Kent understood his passion for the game unlike anyone else. He had fire in his eyes, but this time they were focused on Jack. He was the impossible goal.
“Zimms. Jack. You and I are line-mates, we’re best friends, we’re...everything. I don’t care what the fuck happens. We are going to be friends, do you understand? Ten years, twenty, fifty fucking years from now, you and I are going to be there for each other.” Jack was drawn into Kent’s world where this was possible. Where no matter what happened, they had each other’s back. Jack nodded slowly.
“Oui. Yeah. Okay.” Kent shook his head, not satisfied.
“Promise me, Zimms.” Jack looked at Kent, confused. Kent huffed in frustration. Jack wasn’t getting it. He pursed his lips and thought on it.
“25.”
“What?”
“When me and you are 25, no matter whatever the fuck is going on, even if I just kicked your team’s ass on the way to the Cup,” he grinned, and Jack did too, albeit slower. “Promise me you’ll be there. July 4th,” he counted on his fingers for a second “2015. I’ll be turning 25. I’ll throw a crazy sick party in my million dollar house. And no matter what, you’ll be there. This way you can know for certain something about the future.” Jack looked at Kent, and not for the first time envied and admired his ability to take charge of his fears and turn them into goals. He nodded again.
“I promise.” Kent stuck out his pinky and Jack rolled his eyes but grabbed it with his pinky and squeezed.
“Good.” Kent huffed and fluffed his pillow before falling back onto it. “Now go to sleep, Jack.”
“...Jack, right Parse?” Kent looked up. Grover was looking at him expectantly. He apparently missed something.
“What?”
“I said the Falconers got too damn lucky in the trade this year. Suddenly freeing up all that cap space to snag Zimmermann.” Kent nodded absently, really not liking where this was going. “You played with him, though, right? So you must know some of his tricks. I mean he’s gonna be a tough forward to get past even with my awesome skills.” Grover grinned but Kent was barely aware of it.
“I don’t know, Grove. It was a long time ago. Things change. I’m sure he plays differently.” Kent got up abruptly. “Excuse me.”
He pushed past the boys not really hearing them ask if he was alright, just making a straight bolt to the bathroom. He locked the door behind himself and sank against it. ‘Shit, Parson, keep it together. You’re better than this whiny bullshit. That was a long time ago and he’s not coming. Who cares? You have a whole party outside full of people celebrating you. Enjoy that and get your head out of ancient history.’ He tried psyching himself into going out, but only got so far as standing up before he leaned against the sink. He knew it was over. He’d gotten the hint. Jack had shut him out time and again. Jack had left him. Jack hadn’t wanted to see him, to hear from him, to listen to him. Jack didn’t say he missed Kent back.
But Kent missed Jack. After all this time, Kent still missed him. His best friend, his best line-mate. He’d been at his best when he was side by side with Jack. He couldn’t be his best again without him. And besides all that, he had promised.
Kent looked at himself in the mirror, shaking his head. He splashed his face with water a few times, but couldn’t get it out of his mind. He said he’d be here.
After every rejection and rebuff from Jack, he kept trying to get to him. He knew Zimms better than anyone else and in return, Zimms knew him. But 'Zimms' wasn’t a person anymore. He was Jack Zimmermann, newest addition to the Providence Falconers. 'Kenny' was gone too, replaced with Kent Parson of the Las Vegas Aces. They weren’t those boys lying on that bed on the road to Winnipeg, squeezing each others’ pinkies. Time had done exactly what Jack had feared it would, and in the end it seemed that Kent was the one who got the shit end of the stick.
Well screw that and screw Jack Zimmermann.
Kent Parson picked himself up, combed back his hair with his fingers, and went back out to his party.