Chapter Text
Tyler and Josh slept on the air mattress. Nick had passed out on the couch. The other two claimed the twin beds.
The morning came quicker than Tyler wanted it to. Tyler and Mark had to be at the rink early, so Josh took his mom’s van and dropped them off before escaping to explore the city without them. Tyler wasn’t jealous; Josh sent about a million photos of them at the outlet mall downtown for no reason. Tyler got yelled at by Nathan for going on his phone in the middle of video review.
Tyler hit the ice, immediately savouring the adrenaline pouring through his veins. This was a feeling he’d missed when he was busy being mopey and depressed, keeping to himself and hating everything around him. He’d missed feeling alive. It was hard to remember the joy of the sport when he was stuck in his own head, so finally feeling everything, the pounding of his heart through his veins, nerves making his chest feel light and airy, adrenaline pushing his legs forward, it was all so overwhelming in a good way.
Tyler made it to the third line. Centre again. He spotted his friends and family in the crowd and grinned, knowing they probably couldn’t see him. But still; having people he knew there meant more to him than he thought it would. It was nice to see his dad’s massive smile as he wore a custom jersey; Tyler’s wasn’t available to purchase from the merchandise yet. His dad had gone out of his way to order it specially made.
He was back. He felt like he’d been born again. It was times like these that made him grateful to be alive instead of spiteful.
He felt like he was a little kid, everything new and wonderful. He felt the underlying excitement he used to feel when his father would pull him from school early for a hockey tournament. His mind was buzzing like it used to the night before big games, his gear packed and ready to go first thing in the morning. He missed the joy of anticipation.
After blocking a shot in the first, Tyler limped onto the bench with his leg on fire. But still, his grin never left his face. There was nothing Tyler wanted to do more than play hockey. As soon as his leg stopped throbbing and he could put weight on it, he was out again like a rocket. His coaches couldn’t keep him down. He ignored Josh’s worried texts in between the first and second period to text his brother instead.
Tyler: Gaudreau smells like axe body spray
After charging the net on a two-on-one and sliding the puck between the defender’s skates to Nathan’s waiting stick on the other side, he gathered a point. A textbook assist; he drew the goalie to one side with a beautiful fake and let his linemate take the credit. Years ago, he would’ve been jealous, but now he was just happy to get his name on the scoresheet. He made a difference on this team.
He’d spent nearly all his life thinking he was inconsequential, that he could just quit and no one else would notice. But now, people were cheering for him, and his name was on the NHL app itself; the one app, other than the phone and messages Tyler allowed notifications for. He hadn’t even taken a headshot yet, but his faceless, grey profile was already popping up on everyone’s phones. It was surreal.
Another assist in the third finished the game; 3-0 for Chicago. Sure, Columbus wasn’t the best team, and for sure wasn’t playing at their peak tonight, but Chicago played well. For the first time since putting on his jersey, Tyler felt pride. Even if the win was against his favourite team.
“That was so fucking good!” Josh exclaimed, his sunglasses and hat still on his face. He called it his disguise.
“Joshua,” Tyler’s mom warned.
“Sorry, Mrs Joseph,” Josh said, but didn’t correct himself. “At this rate, you’re gonna catch up to me in like, two weeks.”
“I’m nowhere near close,” Tyler laughed. He high-fived the others.
He had to board the bus soon; they were flying right to Chicago again. Josh and Chris also had their own planes to catch. It was hard, saying hellos and goodbyes less than twenty-four hours apart, but he had to get used to it; he had no choice anymore. He stood outside the arena, on the sidewalk, the team bus idling.
“Love you, mom, dad, Jay,” Tyler said, distracted, as he waved goodbye hastily to his family.
“Love you too,” Jay said, rolling his eyes at the less–than–enthusiastic goodbye. It was a school night, and Jay had to head back.
Tyler turned to Josh, throwing his arms around his neck. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for putting on a show.” Josh smirked, but his arms around Tyler betrayed more emotion than he verbally let on. Goodbyes were tough. “I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon,” Tyler whispered, closing his eyes and savouring the moment.
Tyler smelled like industrial soap from the shower he’d taken, mixed with arena chemicals and sweaty hockey equipment. Josh smelled like arena french fries, ketchup, and Old Spice deodorant. He smelled like home.
Staring wistfully over his shoulder as he boarded the bus, he mouthed a quick goodbye to his friends. His heart fell with every step. The adrenaline crash from the game was hitting hard, making his limbs heavy like he was carrying dumbbells everywhere he went.
“So,” Nathan said, once Tyler had taken a seat beside him. He had a wide, teasing grin on his face. “How was home? Got up to… anything?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Tyler scoffed without any bite. With hardly any emotion, actually– he swallowed the lump in his throat as his heart stayed on the other side of the bus doors.
“Cheer up, man.” Nathan elbowed him. “You had a hell of a game.”
“Yeah,” Tyler muttered. He stared directly ahead of him, blinking rapidly; he was not going to cry.
Nathan seemed to sense it. He stood up. “Trade spots with me.”
Tyler looked quizzically up at him, but let Nathan clamber over him into the aisle and took his empty window seat. “Why?”
“I feel like you need to stare wistfully out the window,” Nathan informed him casually. “You know. Put in your earbuds and pretend you’re in a movie.”
That just made Tyler feel worse, in such a good way. He barely knew this guy; he’d met him almost three days ago, but he had a better read on Tyler than Tyler even had on himself.
Tyler struggled with a sense of belonging since he was a very young child; he never quite fit in, not in daycare, not as a child, and especially not as a teen. He always laughed at the wrong times. Said the wrong things. He was late to jokes, took things too seriously, and never seemed to want to play with anyone in the first place; he was content being alone, at least until he wasn’t. Because then, it hit him like a bag of bricks.
Self-awareness was scary. He was suddenly aware of the space (or lack of it) he took up in life. He was another face in the rink, another face in the hallways, someone people knew of but not on any level deeper than that. But now, he had random schoolmates and old hockey teammates reaching out to him on social media. Sure, maybe they were motivated by Tyler’s success, but it was nice to be perceived. It was nice to know people knew who he was.
Tyler put in his earbuds and, as his friend had said, stared wistfully out the window. Nathan kept his back to him, engaging in a lively conversation with someone across the aisle from him, giving Tyler what little privacy he could. Years of convincing himself he wasn’t good enough to be worthy of other people’s time and kindness had nothing on the insane turns life had just thrown him in, or at least for the time being. Everything had happened so fast.
“You okay?” Nathan asked quietly once they’d pulled into the airport lot.
“Yeah,” Tyler whispered, a smile on his face amid his teary eyes.
–
Like all things, it came to an end.
Tyler returned to an empty hotel room instead of an apartment. He struggled to cook for himself again. The adrenaline that usually coursed through his veins on game nights was replaced with apathetic indifference that drove him insane; it was the same old. He felt he should have a punch-in for the games.
He kept his performance up, at least. His streak of points was impossible to maintain, unfortunately, but it wasn’t like he’d run out of gas. Murdoch shuffled him around so many times over that Tyler had no idea what line he was on anymore. He was part of the powerplay line, then the penalty kill line, then the overtime three-on-three group all in one game. It made his head spin and he found himself looking out at the ice in annoyance instead of excitement. He didn’t know what he wanted; he didn’t want the stability of one line, but he also didn’t want to be tossed around like a pinball. He was never satisfied.
It rose to self-hatred. He was angry at himself for never being happy. He was angry for letting the novelty wear off, and it had only been one week and a bit.
Everything was so fucking temporary.
He came out to every practice, optional or not. His stamina was one of the best on the team. He hated what he was doing to himself, but he also needed it; because amid the uncertainty of his emotions, at least he was fast. At least he was strong. At least he was alive.
“Joseph,” Murdoch called to him one practice, “Dacher’s coming back today.”
Tyler nodded. He knew this day would come. He had been hoping it would be after he played Seattle, but he didn’t care.
“We want to keep you,” his coach said, surprising him.
Tyler wished he felt happy about it.
Kirby and Nathan stuck by him, at least. He was painfully reminded of Nick and Chris back in high school. But another week passed, and Tyler just got quieter.
Nights were filled with lonely tears and ignoring his phone. Why couldn’t he just be fucking happy? Why was it so hard for his stupid brain to recognize that things were going well for once in his life? It was annoying, stuck like this, and he wanted to just shake some common sense into him. There were people who would kill to be in Tyler’s position. He had money. He had a roof over his head, he had teammates in high places, he had fame and an intact family. And yet he still fucking hated himself.
He had lots. He was leading an arguably successful life. But all he could focus on was what he was missing, not what he had. When would it be enough? His body felt heavy every time he stepped into his empty apartment, but at least he had one. And, come on– he was in the NHL. Surely that should have changed his brain chemistry just a little.
The thought of that was agonizing; no matter the circumstance, no matter the people, he would always be miserable. He had always been pessimistic, but this was a different level. He had the opportunity of a lifetime and instead of revelling in it, he pulled the blankets over his head in a bed he hadn’t made. Tyler didn’t care if there were people dedicated to maintaining and improving his performance, his overall life; he still found a way to mess everything up again. He wanted to go back home. To the bed he’d made all those years ago.
The more he thought of it, the more it got worse. He would get stuck in cycles; he shut out the world, ignored his teammates on either side of him, and got even more increasingly concerned glances from the few people who cared about him. He hadn’t texted Josh back for days and he was boarding the plane to Seattle in a week and a bit.
So he kind of expected it when his assistant coach, Lindsay, pulled him into his office. Sure, he was performing fine, but it was clear to anyone who looked at him for more than a second that he wasn’t all there.
“How’re you doing?” Lindsay asked, his smile grim and forced as he sat down at his desk. Tyler took a seat in the chair opposite.
“Not too bad,” Tyler lied. He’d felt out of it all day.
“Good to hear. Listen, uh…” He looked around awkwardly like there were hidden microphones he was trying to spot. “I’ve been hearing that a few teammates are concerned for your well-being.”
Tyler looked at his lap, his cheeks burning bright red. He wrung his hands over and over, thumbs rubbing against his palms, trying to massage feeling back into his bones.
“I’ve had three players approach me on three different occasions, so I just want to check up on you. How are you doing?” Lindsay tried again.
“I’ve been better,” Tyler admitted, not looking up. “Who were they?”
“That’s confidential. But the issues they’ve come to me with, they’re worrying. I need you to be honest with me,” Lindsay said seriously. He folded his hands on the surface of the desk. “Are you hurting yourself?”
Tyler shook his head slowly. He wasn’t. He thought about it nearly every night, but he wasn’t.
“That’s not what they told me,” he accused.
“The scars are from a very long time ago,” Tyler said, steeling himself, trying to force down the waves of annoyance. “Three years.”
Lindsay nodded, obviously not convinced. “Regardless, I think you would benefit from entering the Player Assistance Program for a little bit.”
Tyler nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. He’d heard of it.
“That doesn’t mean you stop playing,” Lindsay reassured him quickly, as if Tyler was worried about it. “There’s no press release, especially if it’s voluntary, and especially if you don’t miss any games. If you take time off, or if you violate stage one, where you get suspension without pay, we’ll have to make a statement.”
Tyler finally looked up. “What do you mean?”
“This is mostly in the case for addiction, but for example, if you were to enroll yourself, stage one, then fail a drug test, you’d be put on stage two. If you violate stage two, it’s at least six months no pay. So on until violation of stage four, in which contract termination is on the table.”
“How would I violate..?”
“As long as you stay clean and are not a danger to yourself or others, I doubt you’ll move past stage one. This program was built mostly for addiction, but I promise they’ll help.”
Lindsay looked at him with kind, wide eyes, but there was also a little bit of an obligatory concern in there. This was probably in the job description: managing the upkeep of the player’s health and leading conversations. Heck, he’d probably done this before, probably was reciting a script he’d said a million times beforehand.
Tyler huffed out a deep breath, caving. What did he have to lose? “Okay.”
“Okay? You’ll do it?” Lindsay looked at him hopefully.
“Yeah,” Tyler confirmed. “I’ll do it.”
“Great! Uh, things happen pretty immediately.” Lindsay closed a random open binder that had been on his desk without writing a single word down. “I already contacted a representative in the hopes that you would agree.”
Tyler stared miserably up at him. “You mean, if I said no, you would have me enroll anyway.”
Lindsay sighed. “That’s one way to put it.”
Tyler rubbed his eyes, trying to find it within himself to give a shit about anything that went on. “Okay. It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, Tyler.” At least he had the decency to sound genuine.
“It’s fine,” Tyler dismissed.
“Mrs Fouetter is outside. You guys can use this office.” He stood up, then placed a comforting hand on Tyler’s shoulder as he passed to open the door.
A lady walked in, said her hello to his assistant coach, then sat down in the desk chair. Everything about her was unapproachable, from her square, padded shoulders to her crisply pressed suit jacket and pants to her low bun without a single strand out of place. Even her tone told Tyler that she just wanted to get this over with. She held an expression so neutral it was like she’d never felt an emotion in her entire life.
“Please answer these based on the last two weeks, using a scale from never to every day.” Her tone was short.
She didn’t even introduce herself. Tyler mumbled an affirmative and she cleared her throat before reading from a folder.
“Little interest or pleasure in doing things?”
Tyler immediately recognized these questions. “Every day.”
“Feeling down, depressed, hopeless?”
He needed to be truthful, he reminded himself, or nothing would change. “All the time.”
“Trouble falling asleep or sleeping too much.”
“Most days. More than half.” Tyler couldn’t sleep at all.
“Feeling tired or having little energy.”
“All the time.”
“Poor appetite or overeating.”
“Uh, several days.” That was probably too optimistic.
“Feeling bad about yourself, that you are a failure or have let your family down.”
Tyler took a second to think. The issue wasn’t that he felt like a failure– it was that he couldn’t find happiness in the success. “Honestly, not really.”
“Trouble concentrating on things.”
“Several days.”
“Moving or speaking so slowly that other people have noticed, or the opposite, being fidgety and restless?”
“Uh, not really.” He couldn’t really afford to be slow. His coach would have his ass.
“Thoughts that you would be better off dead or of hurting yourself in some way.”
Tyler swallowed nervously, fighting the urge to lie. “All the time.”
She finished the questionnaire with one last filled-in circle, then turned the page.
“History of mental health disorders?”
Tyler almost laughed. “Yes.”
“Which ones?”
“Uh, MDD.” He thought. He wasn’t actually too sure.
“History of attempted suicide?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Tyler wanted to cry. “About three years ago.”
“History of self-harm?”
“Yeah.” Tyler’s tone was self-deprecating.
“When?”
“Uh, last year.” He never remembered exact dates. That was Josh’s job.
“Family history of mental health disorders?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Do you have access to a firearm?”
“No.” Unfortunately.
“Do you have intent to end your life?”
“No.”
That one was true. He truly, honestly, did not want to die. He just wanted to stop being so sad all the time. But there was no option for that, so a simple ‘no’ would have to suffice, boiling down thousands of what-ifs into a single word.
She nodded, scribbling on her clipboard. “We were contacted because of risk to your safety due to mental health. Are there any issues with addiction, the law, or domestically?”
“No.” Tyler was fucked up, but it hadn’t been anyone else’s fault but his own.
“Anything else we should know?”
“No.”
“Okay. Thank you. You will receive a phone call by the end of the business day tomorrow for next steps.”
She left without a goodbye, without another word, wind whistling in Tyler’s ears as she walked briskly past him to get to the door. Tyler waited a second before letting himself wallow, squeezing his eyes shut and slumping in his chair. He hung his head and rested his elbows on his knees, hunched over like it would lessen the pain in his chest. Everything about him screamed defeat.
How was this happening again?
Of all the times in his life, this one should be a happy one. He had an amazing job. He needed it drilled into his head by a thousand screws until it hit the right one and the thought stuck. Tyler had been happy with less; there were ups and downs, and there would be until he died, but he’d also been upset when everything was going the way he wanted.
But then again, he'd never willingly accepted help like this; he hadn't closed off, hadn't gotten defensive and dishonest. Maybe it was time to turn over a new leaf.
As he entered his empty, dark apartment, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Hope.
He was going to get help. And he made a decision right then and there, keys still in the lock, that he was going to give it a damn good shot.
–
It was probably a placebo, but as soon as he filled his–fully insured– prescription for a low dose of Wellbutrin, it was like a switch went off in his brain.
Tyler was the one who was asking Nathan if he wanted to hang out. Tyler couldn’t remember a single time in his life that he’d actively sought out the company of another person. And just two days into DBT, he felt like he could take on the world, blurting out the full, uncovered truth into the receiver of his phone to his appointed therapist.
Like before, just like always, it was his emotional permanence (or lack of it) fueling the fire. When he was sad, it was like he’d never been happy, and when he was happy, it was like he’d never been sad. He bounced back like a rubber ball on the pavement, just four days later, back to feeling the way he did at the beginning of his NHL season. Lindsay looked at him like he’d grown two heads.
It was definitely a placebo.
By the time he boarded the plane on the way to Seattle, he’d already told his doctor that he felt he didn’t need therapy. Maybe it had just been a weird adjustment period, maybe he didn’t need the pills at all. His doctor looked more concerned than relieved at that statement, though, so Tyler agreed to keep going with the treatment plan. He was going to be the best. He was going to lead the healthiest, most fulfilling life. He was going to set a rigid exercise schedule and eat solid meals and be the most perfect example of the way a human should function.
His therapist told him he had an issue with black and white thinking. Whatever. He was happy now.
Warming up in the area just outside their change room, Tyler tossed the volleyball in the air and spiked it across the circle his team had formed. They were discussing other players’ styles, figuring out where they were lacking in skill to capitalize on their mistakes. It was harsh, hearing them talk about other people and their weaknesses, but it was part of the strategy. Still, it didn’t feel right; when it came to that, Tyler usually just kept his mouth shut.
“Isn’t number twenty-one your loverboy?” Irgashev asked once they’d reached Josh’s line on their list of players.
Tyler went beet red, keeping his silence.
“He is,” Nathan said gleefully, remembering from before. “Coach, when you see Dun out there, put Joseph on.”
Murdoch winked. “I’ll do my best.”
Tyler hurled the ball at Nathan’s head.
As the discussion moved on, Tyler was still stuck. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to Josh since he texted him when the plane landed, and that was hardly a talk to begin with. Their first interaction face-to-face in three weeks and three days would be as opponents, armed with hockey sticks and sharpened blades. It wasn’t that Tyler was afraid of hurting Josh– if anything, Josh would be the one hurting Tyler based on size and strength– but he was afraid of how their dynamic would change. Would Josh act cold, like they’d never interacted before? Would he pretend he was just another team to beat? Would he act all soft and make his team mad at him, blame Tyler for Josh’s performance?
Turned out he had nothing to worry about. Their first time on the ice together was five minutes into the first period, and the face-off was immediately whistled down as two players dropped the gloves. Tyler straightened up, to the side of the action, not one to jump in on the action.
It was sort of custom to pair up with a player from the other team, as a watchful warning, making sure they didn’t try anything– a way of covering each other. Still, he startled when Josh wrapped an arm around his lower back.
“Hey,” Josh said brightly, like there weren’t two fully grown men beating each other up ten feet in front of them.
Tyler mirrored him, his hand finding the small of Josh’s back. He gave it a soft pat. “Hey.”
They spectated, watching the fight like it was a sunset, until Tyler’s teammate toppled over, stripped of his jersey and helmet. His mouthguard lay on the ice at Josh’s feet.
“Gonna get a goal tonight?” Josh asked, kicking the mouthguard away from him with the toe of his blade.
“Yup. For you,” Tyler said with a smile. It was like there hadn’t been a day between them.
Josh raised a joking eyebrow. “Against my team?”
“Uh huh,” Tyler said, too cocky. The refs sorted out the penalties, and Josh was gently pushed away from Tyler so they could get the faceoff going again.
Sure, Tyler pretended he hated it, but the evil, teasing side-glances from his teammates whenever Dun, 21, skated past their bench just made Tyler feel like a giddy teenager being poked fun at for a crush.
Josh let a slapshot rip from the top, nearly missing Tyler as he dove to block it. Tyler’s goalie caught it in the chest, staying very still until the whistle blew. Josh wasn’t going to change a thing just because Tyler was on the ice, and that settled Tyler’s nerves a little. The last thing he wanted was to be considered at fault for his poor performance. Sure, they’d been a thing, and they were still way more than just friends, but Josh let a shot whistle just beside Tyler like his accident in college had never happened.
The ref took the puck from the goalie’s glove. Josh was in Tyler’s face, visors pressed together, startling the shit out of Tyler. “That’s illegal.”
It would’ve been scary if it wasn’t… Josh. Playing into his game, Tyler grabbed the neck of Josh’s jersey and pulled him closer. “What is?”
Josh grabbed onto Tyler’s arm, forcing it down, making it look like a fight was about to break out. Josh’s tone was angry, his eyebrows low, a scowl on his face. “Being so handsome.”
It took everything in Tyler to keep the act up, a smile threatening to ruin it. He tugged on Josh’s jersey.
“Boys!” a ref yelled, skating between the two, wrapping his arms around Tyler and dragging him away.
“You’ll be sorry!” Josh called out, but he winked, and those words suddenly took on a different tone.
When Tyler got a change, Nathan elbowed him sharply– he always managed to hit Tyler where there was no protective padding. “The fuck were you two fighting about?” Nathan asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tyler muttered, but he couldn’t help the smile from spreading, his cheeks getting hot again.
Clarity dawned on Nathan’s features. “Save that shit for the bedroom,” he teased.
Tyler pushed him, grinning at his feet.
True to his word, a quick centering pass from Nathan led to a Chicago goal, the credit going to Tyler. Josh stood in front of the crease and his defeated goalie, grinning, very obviously staring as Tyler hugged his teammates. It was 3-1 for Seattle.
Josh got teasing punches from his teammates as well. It was nice to see Josh having as much fun as Tyler was, opening up to others. His smile was so bright it rivaled the white of the ice, the harsh arena lights.
Tyler’s goal did nothing to turn the tables. Another two goals, and the third period ended 5-1.
There was a difference, Tyler had learned, between the types of losses. It was possible to play well and still lose, and it was possible to play like shit and win a game. He’d been yelled at by many coaches about how they’d rather lose than win and play like they did. Wins were deserved, and some losses were deserved. This was not one of those times. The scoresheet didn’t reflect the effort.
It was the most fun he’d had in a very long time, and clearly the rest of his team felt the same. There were claps on the back, fist bumps, and smiles amid the score.
Tyler glanced around the change room, taking in the grins and the chatter, the missing teeth from flying pucks and sticks.
He was happy.
And he hadn’t even had time alone with Josh yet.
Josh rolled Tyler’s cutlery out from the tightly wrapped cloth it was in. He folded it once, bringing a corner to a corner to make a triangle, then placed the red napkin on Tyler’s lap.
“Such a gentleman,” Tyler said with a laugh.
Josh just smiled at him, eyes soft. He unwrapped his own set, sitting across from Tyler.
It was fancy, a restaurant with a name Tyler couldn’t pronounce. The lighting was dim, fake candles illuminating the table’s centrepiece, and low-hanging lights provided the rest of the glow needed to actually see around them. The tablecloth was the same dark red as the napkins. Tyler knew he would never admit this, but Josh was a romantic at heart. Grand gestures, elaborate dates, and expensive dinners were his love language.
But still, Josh made time for the little things. Tyler didn’t care whether they went to McDonald’s or a Michelin star restaurant; as long as he got to see Josh’s face. As long as he got to wake up the next morning to a sleeping Josh, hair messy, mouth agape, their legs tangled under the bedsheets. Some of Tyler’s favourite moments with him had been just existing with him. He liked to cook with him, liked to run the back of his hand along Josh’s stubbly face before he shaved, liked to kiss the morning breath away.
“Thank you,” Tyler said quietly, unable to stop his smile.
“Of course,” Josh returned. He opened the menu and placed it in front of him, staring at all the options.
Tyler settled on Gnocchi. Josh opted to try Pollo alla Cacciatora, butchering the pronunciation so badly he ended up just pointing to it on the menu.
“How are you?” Josh asked once their waiter took their menus away.
“I’m doing a lot better,” Tyler admitted. And he was. He hated to admit it, but the therapy was helping.
“You seem a lot better,” Josh said fondly.
“What about you?” Josh had been struggling, Tyler knew.
“I’m okay,” he said reassuringly.
That wasn't enough. “You sure?”
“Yes. Been making friends with the team.” Josh reached out his hand, palm up, on the table. Tyler put his hand in his.
“I saw, yeah, you seem a lot more friendly with them on the ice,” Tyler pointed out, remembering the playful punches. “You’re joking. Laughing.”
“You made friends?” Josh asked.
“Yeah. Weirdly enough, with Kirby Dach? The guy I replaced? And Nathan O’Connor. But I’ve been attending more events, been participating more,” Tyler listed, surprised at himself. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m doing suspiciously well.”
“That’s awesome,” Josh said sincerely. His eyes were reflecting the candlelight, all warm and glowy.
“And, uh–” Tyler cut himself off, hesitating. He knew he didn’t have to tell Josh anything, he didn’t have to tell anyone anything, his medical team made it quite clear, but he owed him. Years of worrying about Tyler were probably doing nothing to help with the distance between them. Josh had admitted to staying up all night a few times when Tyler was struggling, waiting for a phone call, a text, something to tell him that Tyler wasn’t safe alone right now.
“What’s up?” Josh asked, breaking Tyler out of his thoughts.
“I’m in the player assist program,” he admitted.
Josh sat up straight, alarmed, his hand squeezing Tyler’s. “What? Are you okay? Isn’t that for– for– are you taking something?”
“I’m alright,” Tyler said quickly. “Not for drugs. Just for, uh–”
“Drinking?” Josh asked, his brow still furrowed.
“No.” Tyler squeezed his hand back. “Uh, general well-being, I guess. There was a little bit of an intervention–”
“Tyler,” Josh interrupted again, distraught.
“It’s not– just let me finish,” Tyler said, his chest hurting at the effect this had on Josh. “I’m okay. A few of my teammates noticed I was a little… down? They saw, uh, my arms, and, reported me, for lack of a better word. So… yeah. I don’t know.”
“Are you hurting yourself again?” Josh asked carefully, but Tyler could see the tiny freak out in his expression.
“No. But it’s not like the old ones are… not visible.” He found Josh’s foot under the table with his own and linked their legs together. “But it’s helped. Really. I’m on meds, mandatory therapy three times a week, constant supervision, weekly doctor’s appointments, mandatory check-ins, the works.”
“I’m sorry,” Josh said softly. “I’m sorry it came to that.”
“I’m being a hundred percent honest with you, Josh,” Tyler stressed. “I’m okay. I thought this would like, reassure you, or something.”
Josh took a deep breath, looking at the ceiling, then back down at Tyler. “I don’t think I’ll ever be completely reassured when it comes to you.”
Tyler looked down at the table, at their hands, ashamed. It stung a little more than it should.
“No. Tyler, that’s not– I don’t mean to– Jesus,” Josh uttered a prayer, calming himself down. “I think I’ll worry about you until the day I die. But it does take a load off my chest, knowing that you’re safe, and that people are keeping you safe. So, thanks. For telling me.”
“Sorry,” Tyler said quickly. The waiter came with their dishes on a tray, and Tyler and Josh let go of each other’s hands to make room. “Thanks.”
“Enjoy,” the waiter said, stepping away.
Tyler returned his attention to the previous conversation. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put a damper on–”
“I’m proud of you,” Josh blurted out suddenly, eyes teary. “I just– I just hate knowing you felt… bad enough to have others intervene.”
“Yeah, well.” Tyler shrugged, desperate to change the topic. “It’s only been a week, and it’s like I’ve never been depressed a day in my life. At this rate, I’ll be annoyingly optimistic in two weeks.”
Josh laughed, and Tyler grinned. He smoothed the napkin on his lap and grabbed his cutlery.
“I’m better than I’ve been in months,” Tyler said cheerfully, spearing a gnocchi on his fork and holding it up to Josh’s mouth. “Now, eat. Before it gets cold.”
–
Three days later, Tyler arrived at his home arena, a tearful goodbye heavy on his shoulders. He miserably tossed the volleyball into the air, sending it over to Kirby.
“You good, man?” he asked, catching the ball and holding it under his arm.
“Yeah,” Tyler said with a shrug.
Kirby was definitely one of the teammates who reported him. And yet, he didn’t feel the same resentment he did back when Chris and Nick had told the guidance counsellors on him. Maybe he was growing up.
“Just… missing someone,” Tyler elaborated when Kirby gave him a raised eyebrow.
“Your man, Josh, right?” he asked, tossing the ball in the air to Tyler. “Seemed like a nice guy. Sucks you guys are so far apart, eh?”
“Yeah.” Tyler sent the ball back to him with a volley.
“Is he your…?” Kirby trailed off. He returned it with a bump, his arms held out in front of him.
“We’re not… officially together.” God. He sounded like a teenager. He volleyed the ball back. “The distance is just too much, he thinks he doesn’t have the capacity to be a good partner so far away and so busy.”
“And you?” Kirby asked, kicking the ball in a high arc.
“I think he’s the best person I’ve ever met,” Tyler admitted. It felt weird to be talking about this with someone, so casually, like Tyler wasn’t in love with a guy. He hit the ball with his knee to keep it in the air.
Kirby hummed, letting the ball fall into his arms. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”
“Guess so,” Tyler said non-committedly. A few other teammates had exited the dressing room and tossed a second ball into the group, causing a handful of fully grown men to be weirdly engrossed in a competitive game of keep-up.
Kirby pulled him aside right before they stepped on the ice for the game. “Can I talk to you real quick?”
“Yeah, for sure,” Tyler said, a little distracted, nerves alight.
He took a deep breath. “I’m getting traded.”
Tyler blinked, the news hitting him like a brick wall. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Montreal,” Kirby said sheepishly, like it was his fault. Tyler knew how the system worked, the players were the pawns, moved around for money and someone better. “Sorry, I just wanted you to hear it from me, not from the news.”
“No, I get it,” Tyler reassured him quickly. “I’ll miss you, man.”
“And, uh,” Kirby started, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Regardless of where I am, I’m here for you, or whatever.”
Tyler held out his hand for a fist bump. He was well-versed in ending awkward conversations. “Thanks. Me too.”
Kirby hit his fist with his own, then they got ready for their signal.
The news put a damper on Tyler’s mood, and the adrenaline didn’t hit as hard as it had the past two weeks. He shook his limbs, trying to shock some energy back into his body. This was not the time to back down. They had a chance against Winnipeg; though Chicago was bad, Winnipeg was not much better.
It showed, his performance slowing. Sure, he was fine, maybe average on his team of pros, but he usually drove the play. Nathan was the one leading, pushing the puck up the ice and calling names, casting worried glances at a quiet Tyler whenever they were on the bench.
“You okay?” he asked, head low so only Tyler could hear.
Tyler just shrugged. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Relieved, Nathan elbowed him right between his shoulder pad and elbow pad. “Holding you to that.”
Chicago up by one late in the third period, Nathan in the penalty box again, Tyler was sent in to kill the powerplay. Winnipeg had pulled their goalie.
A loose puck was sent from the defensive end to the offensive end, an embarrassing mistake from Winnipeg’s sixth player, having fallen in an attempt to keep Tyler’s defense from icing the puck. Tyler had a head start– he wasn’t the one on his ass on the ice, and he was fast to react to begin with. With professional training, he was probably one of the fastest on his team.
The puck hit the boards on the far end of the ice, just missing the empty net. Tyler, alone, picked it up behind the goal line and wrapped around to shove the puck into the net.
Too focused on the puck crossing the goal line, he realized too late that there was a player, a blur of dark blue, barelling straight for him in a desperate attempt to stop the goal. Tyler had just enough time to turn his head and squeeze his eyes shut.
A shoulder collided forcefully to his jaw, and his world went quiet.