Chapter Text
Kent’s gotta go home.
He doesn’t know when he got so tired. He’s not even old, not even 30, but holy shit is he exhausted. He’s at a party for Swoops and his wife Elle because they’re having a fucking baby and most of Kent’s teammates are drunk and Kent just wants to go home and go to bed.
It's likely that no one will even notice when he goes.
Swoops settles down beside him on the couch before he gets a chance.
“You can leave,” he says.
Kent smirks. “Did someone stick something to my forehead that says I would rather be with my cat, or…” Swoops laughs, swinging his arm over Kent’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you,” Kent says, because he is.
Swoops and Elle have been trying to have a kid for forever. This whole party, with all the team and all their friends, it’s been a lot of fun.
It’s just that Kent doesn’t really want to be here. In fact, he’s kind of sad. And he isn’t really sure why.
“Don’t tell the guys,” Swoops says, lowering his voice, “but we know the sex and--it’s a girl, Kent.” He grins, and Kent grins, and he really is happy for his friend. But there’s something about all of this that makes his stomach clench anyway. “I’m kind of relieved. I feel like I’d get too crazy with hockey pressure if it was a boy. And--I know the world is always fuckin’ changing and all that, but--”
“I’ll still play hockey with your little girl, Swoops, don’t worry.”
Swoops grins. “Love to hear it, Parse.” They’re both quiet for a second before he asks, “I want you to be her godfather.”
Kent turns. “What?”
“The kiddo,” he says. “I--I’m still trying to get Elle fully on board,” Swoops admits. “But you’re one of my best friends. You’ve really stepped up as a captain lately. If anything happened to us I’d trust you to take care of her.”
Kent isn’t sure he’s hearing Swoops correctly. “What?”
“It’s just we’re not… we’re not really sure what your plan is.”
Kent shakes his head. “My plan?”
“If you’re looking to settle down, if it’s something you’d be interested in, you know. Shit like that.” He drags his hand through his hair. “I think Elle’s just worried you haven’t grown up yet.”
“Jeff, shit.” Kent blinks hard, reaching out for his friend. “The fact that you’d even consider me--”
“Shuddup, Parse,” Swoops stops him. “You were a shitty player for a while because you were a kid. But you’re a captain for a reason and it’s not just because you’re the top point getter.”
Kent’s chest seizes with sadness. He knows a lot of the team still doesn’t respect him, but he wants to believe Swoops more than anything. He’s been working hard to be better in all sense of the word. Picking less fights, making less dirty plays, putting in more effort to approach the new trades and show them around the city.
He still doesn’t have a lot of people. He never has. But he’s doing better.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever settle down,” Kent eventually says. “I mean--I’ve got Kit. She’s the most stable relationship I’ve ever had.”
Swoops snorts. “She’s a cat.”
“She’s also the most experience I’ve ever had in raising a thing,” Kent carries on. “So.”
“That’s not what we’re worried about,” Swoops says. Which means it’s not just Elle who’s hesitant about the whole godfather thing, but Swoops too. Which makes Kent’s chest hurt again. “Talk to me, Kent,” Swoops says, lowering his voice. “What’s life looking like for you? Say you do get hitched. Would you want kids?”
“Yeah,” Kent answers without missing a beat. He winces a little after. He’s not sure that he would want kids. But there’s something about the dream of settling down after all of this that Kent can’t help but long for, and in that dream is a husband, a family. But saying it out loud feels childish, and Kent knows he’s never going to get there anyway. “I don’t know.”
“Would you be able to do it alone?” Swoops asks. “Take on a kid?”
Probably, Kent thinks, but he’s not sure that he would want to. He could if he needed to, like with Swoops and Elle if something tragic really did happen, but that’s not how he sees it.
“Maybe she’s right,” Kent says. “You should pick someone else, Swoops. Someone who’s suited for it.”
Swoops squeezes his shoulder before pulling his arm back. “I want you to think about it,” he says. Kent’s chest is still tight. He wishes things like this could be easy. He’s never been very good at talking shit out. He’s ready for Swoops to leave when he says, “You know I’m here for you.”
Kent looks at his friend, nodding once. “I know,” he says. But even that concept is still hard for Kent. “It’s just.” Kent ducks his head. Swoops doesn’t move. “It doesn’t feel like a thing I can have.”
“What,” Swoops wonders, “a godkid? Or--”
“A family.”
He thinks about Swoops and Elle, about some of the other men and their people. They’ve even created a family amongst themselves on the team, but Kent’s still trying to figure out how to really be a part of that.
“No one’s ever gonna want that with me,” Kent exhales before forcing himself to smile like it’s a joke. But it’s not a joke. He’s a piece of shit. His own team doesn’t want him, there isn’t going to be anyone out there who would want to settle down with him. “I’m serious. Ask someone else.”
“Have you been dating?” Swoops pushes. “Because if you’re ready to stop fucking around then there are definitely people who are gonna want to hop on that, Parson.”
Kent rolls his eyes. “Jeff.”
“Kent. Think about it. The godfather thing, not the dating thing. But think about that too.”
He tells Swoops he’ll think about it because he knows Swoops won’t take no for an answer. After he drinks a glass of water he grabs his jacket from the hall closet and makes his way home without anyone stopping him to see where he’s going.
When Kent gets home, Kit doesn’t greet him at the door.
It takes him longer than it should to find her, and when he does, she isn’t moving.
For a long time, Kent didn’t have anyone to call when he was spiraling.
Swoops wasn’t an option yet which certainly meant every other fucking team member was out, and it’s not like Kent’s known for having an abundance of friends. He didn’t used to have a regular therapist, though he really fucking needed one, and any time he thought he was making progress he’d just self-sabotage to fuck himself over.
Instead he’d take pills, or have sex, or drink an absurd amount of alcohol so he wouldn’t have to think about it. Talking wasn’t an option, not after he’d lost Jack during the draft.
But after a brutal season a couple of years ago and a fuck ton of apologies on both parts, they reconciled, and suddenly talking became an option again. Jack had opened up about how much a therapist and a good set of friends had transformed things for him and Kent realized that he wanted that. That drugs and sex were fine but if he wanted to stop the spirals, he’d actually have to do something about it.
That was when he and Swoops really started to connect. That was when he found his current therapist who takes calls during emergencies.
Slowly, he’s been finding connections and working through his shit.
But he can’t call Swoops now, because they’re still celebrating the baby, and he can’t call his therapist because of all fucking weeks she’s actually on vacation and they even talked about it before she left, and so really his only option is Jack.
His hands are shaking and he really cannot breathe and if Jack doesn’t answer the phone soon he’s going to actually--
“Hello?”
“Zimms I think I’m having a fucking panic attack I got home and Kit wasn’t moving and then I found some vomit and I just dropped her off at the fucking pet hospital but I’ve never been this fucking afraid in my life and I’ve never actually had a fucking pet die on me and oh my fuck fuck what do I do?”
There’s a pause on the other side. “Who is Kit?”
For a moment, Kent’s thrown. Pulled from the fear of the moment and forced back into a calmer reality. He blinks a few times and pulls back his phone, double checking that he dialed the right number.
“Don’t be a fucking dick Jack. You know Kit’s my fucking cat.”
“How am I knowing Kent Parson have cat?” someone who is decidedly not Jack says.
“Who the fuck is this?” Kent snaps, a new level of anxiety bubbling up in him. Just smack it right between the ribs. “Where’s--”
“Zimmboni in shower,” says--you’ve gotta be fucking kidding-- ”Alexei here.”
“Mashkov,” Kent exhales sharply. Fucking time zones. He always fucking forgets. They must’ve just finished a late practice, or something. “You can’t just fucking answer other people’s phones.”
“I’m having cat back home,” Mashkov says thoughtfully and Kent drops his head backwards against the brick wall. This is the exact opposite of how he’d planned his night to go. “She get sick once. But she much better now. Maybe Kit be same way.”
Kent forces himself to swallow. “Can you just fucking get Jack for me?” he mutters.
“Oh! One sec.”
Kent thunks his head backwards against the wall again. Again. Again.
“Kenny?”
“Fuck you, Jack,” he snaps. “Do you always let Alexei fucking Mashkov answer your phone or--”
Jack cuts him off, “He said something happened to Kit, are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m at the fucking animal hospital!” He retells the story to Jack with more detail, how he came home after the party and Kit didn’t greet him like normal, and how he found Kit curled up by the foot of his bed not moving, and right beside that was the puke. She’s breathing now and had nuzzled his hand a little but--”What if she’s sick?” he asks. “Like really sick. I’m not fucking equipped to handle this.”
“Kent,” Jack says gently. Kent closes his eyes to the sound of it. He should go home. There’s no reason for him to still be at the vet. But there’s something comforting about the still-warm brick of the building behind his back, the distant hum of cars on the highway. “What else can you do for Kit tonight?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Okay. So until you know what’s going on with her it doesn’t help either of you to freak.”
“Can’t fucking help it,” Kent mutters.
“I know.” Jack’s quiet for a moment. Just because they’re working on this doesn’t mean they’re always great at it. “You’ll be here soon,” Jack reminds him, and Kent exhales in relief. That’s true. In their attempt to patch up their friendship and make things okay again, Kent planned a trip out east. The Aces have some time off for now and Kent owed himself a vacation, even if it’s to fucking Providence. “Yeah? Hold on to that.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” Kent says, but it’s only true if the same stands for Kit. If his cat dies before Kent’s ready he’s going to fucking lose his mind. “Thanks,” he says quietly.
“Get home safe,” Jack returns. “Maybe call Jeff.”
Kent hangs up and slips his phone into his pocket. He takes a deep breath of the cool Nevada night air before heading to his car. He doesn’t look back at the animal hospital before he drives away.
He leaves the radio off for his ride but rolls his windows all the way down and lets the sound of the rushing wind overwhelm him. By the time Kent gets back to his own apartment, he’s forgotten all about Mashkov answering the phone instead of Jack.
Until he checks his phone and has a Twitter notification.
@alexeimashkov has followed you!
Kent blinks a few times at the screen before he clicks through and pulls up Mashkov’s profile. It’s a lot of retweets, an absurd amount of memes, and full of generally good natured energy. All of his own tweets have too many exclamation points but they seem sincerely happy.
Kent hesitates.
He closes the app before he can think too much about it.
Kent wakes up to a phone call from the vet that says they ran some tests and Kit has a mild allergy to a few different things. He’d just bought a new kind of cat food, so he checks the ingredients, and, yep. Kent’s an idiot who almost killed his cat. Of course.
He picks Kit up that evening and she’s still a little laggy, but she sleeps on Kent’s stomach and purrs when he scratches right behind her ears, and something inside of Kent settles again.
Kent
kit’s good
Jack
Thank God.
What happened?
Kent
i almost killed her
Jack
That’s probably not true.
Kent
she’s allergic to a fuck ton of shit in her food
Jack
Well.
At least now you know!
Kent cancels his plans to stay in with her and binge watches some Netflix series that Swoops is always going on about. It’s the best night he’s had in weeks.
When Kent makes it to Providence a couple of weeks later, he’s surprised at the amount of people at the airport to pick him up. He’d just been expecting Jack.
But of course Bitty is there with him, as they’re attached at the hip, and then for some unknown reason Mashkov is also there. He and Bitty are deep in conversation, so neither of them notice Kent’s arrival, but Jack lights up in a way that makes Kent’s chest flood with heat.
“Kenny!” Jack rushes, moving forward and leaving his two friends behind so he can properly greet him. Kent drops his duffle on the ground beside him so he can open his arms. “Took you long enough,” Jack huffs, hugging him.
Kent rests his forehead against Jack’s shoulder and exhales. This is never not going to feel familiar. “Fucking plane delays.”
“It’s okay,” Jack says with a laugh. He gestures over his shoulder to where Bitty and Mashkov have paused conversation, smiling over at the two of them. “I had company.”
Kent frowns. “I noticed.”
“Alexei lives in my building,” Jack explains, turning so they can walk the remaining steps to the other two. “And I came from the rink, so I’m giving him a ride.”
“And the boyfriend?” Kent mutters.
“Came out for some social media stuff,” Jack tells him. Kent always forgets that the Falconers literally hired Bitty to up their image. He wonders if Jack and Bitty ever get sick of each other, living together and working together and being together all the fucking time.
Probably not.
Disgusting.
“Hi Kent!” Bitty greets. Kent is going to wait as long as he possibly can to tell Jack that he’s actually kind of fond of Bitty. They’ve met a few times, that awful kegster all those years ago being the first, and while the couple of meetings after that had been full of ice and bless your hearts, he’s pretty sure Bitty’s cool with him now. Especially since he opens his arm for a hug, too. “We’ve got the guest room all set up for you,” Bitty tells him when he pulls back. “Jack’s been real excited for you to get here.”
“We both know you’re the one who set up the guest room,” Kent murmurs as they part.
Jack laughs from beside him. “It’s true,” he says, and Bitty smiles up at him fondly.
They’re everything that Kent wants, especially now that he’s been thinking more about what he envisions his future to be. It’s the worst.
“Kent Parson!” Mashkov says, leaning into the conversation like he’s been invited while Kent grabs his bag again.
They’ve never actually talked, other than the time Mashkov grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and growled something in unfairly attractive Russian, and that other time when he picked up Jack’s phone. So the excitement on his face is kind of overwhelming.
“Mashkov,” Kent greets.
Kent always forgets how fucking beautiful Mashkov is. There’s something fluid about him that has Kent’s eyes roaming, looking for a place to settle. Whether it’s on that one tuft of hair that always seems to be sticking up whenever they meet or the warmth that shines in his eyes like he’s happy to be standing across from Kent at all.
“I’m hoping is okay I come,” Mashkov says.
“We couldn’t let him wait in the car,” Bitty agrees.
“We haven’t had a week this hot in forever,” says Jack.
“Didn’t realize a professional hockey player couldn’t afford a car with air conditioning,” Kent quips, readjusting his bag on his shoulder.
Mashkov laughs, bright and loud. “Is not my fault your plane kept being later,” he responds, and Kent supposes that’s true.
But still he says, “Not my fault storms on the coast are a fucking nightmare.”
“Is true,” Mashkov agrees brightly.
The four of them start out of the airport and toward the parking lot and it’s so fucking hot outside. “I forgot about humidity,” Kent whines, climbing into the back of Jack’s car. He’d started going for the passenger seat before he saw Bitty make his way for it. “It’s like Satan’s ball sack here.”
“Georgia’s worse,” Bitty hums. “This is nothing.”
He starts yapping on about climate change and weather patterns while Kent sinks backwards into his seat. He hopes the whole trip isn’t like this. No offense to Jack’s people, but he’s not here to spend time with them. He’s here to spend time with Jack. Maybe talk out some godkid and future stuff if he can manage it.
They’re not even out of the airport parking lot when Mashkov turns to him.
“Kit’s okay?” Mashkov asks, sounding genuinely concerned. His eyebrows are furrowed and everything, and it’s not a look that Kent’s ever seen on his face. There’s been anger, and happiness usually as that’s Mashkov’s permanent state it seems, but concern? Something in Kent’s stomach turns in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. “Your cat,” Mashkov elaborates, like Kent doesn’t know who Kit is. “Been waiting for Tweeter but no post. I worry.”
“Oh.” Kent’s eyes dart to Bitty in the front who’s glancing over his shoulder smirking because what is his life right now. “Kit’s--yeah. She’s great. She’s fine. Allergic to something so I just ransacked my house for all of it.”
Relief floods Mashkov’s face like he knows Kit, like Kit is his own goddamn cat, and it’s so fucking attractive that Kent literally grays out for a second. No fucking way is Kent going to let himself seriously be attracted to Alexei Mashkov. Not happening.
“So happy to hear it,” Mashkov says, and he seriously means it. “If anything happen to Sobaka I not know what I do.”
Kent blinks. “Who’s… Sobaka?”
Mashkov’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You would know if you would follow back on Tweeter,” Mashkov says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He taps rapidly before finding a photo and turns out his screen so Bitty can see. “Sobaka’s my dog. We run together.”
“You do more than run together,” Bitty says with a little laugh.
“Yes,” Mashkov nods, turning his phone to Kent. Sobaka is a big, fluffy white dog that looks like she belongs in the snow. A Samoyed, Kent’s pretty sure. It’s probably got a thick coat and is dying in this heat. She’s beautiful. Whatever. “Sometimes we nap on couch.”
“When did you get a dog, Tater?” Jack asks, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “I thought you were just thinking about it!”
“You need Tweeter too,” Mashkov says with a chuckle, low and slow. He holds his phone back up and starts flipping through his photos before showing Kent another. It’s a live photo, so it moves a little, and yeah that’s a beautiful dog. “Have her for a few weeks now. I miss home. She’s made for Russian winter. She make it not so bad.”
“How’s she handling the heat?” Bitty asks, echoing Kent’s earlier thoughts.
“My apartment very cold,” Mashkov says. “I keep like that for her. Need more blankets.” Jack laughs and even Kent feels his own lips twitch like he wants to smile. Relating to people via pets is easy enough to do. “Why you no bring Kit?”
“She doesn’t like flying,” Kent answers without missing a beat.
Mashkov’s responding laugh loosens something inside Kent’s chest.
He follows Mashkov back on Twitter.
Bitty makes himself busy for the first couple days of Kent being there. He’s here for a week and a half, so he’s gonna have to have some Jack/Bitty/Kent time eventually, but it’s nice that he gives the two of them space to just be Jack and Kent.
Jack takes them on a couple of hikes in the Providence area because he’s trying to convince Kent that the east coast isn’t as ugly as he thinks, and Kent will never admit that the views are stunning. They go on runs and they eat a shit-ton of food from nearby diners and they ease into a familiarity that Kent’s been missing for all of these years.
“Alexei’s been asking Bitty about you,” Jack says. They’re at a different diner now, one that Bitty recommended, and the pie that Kent’s shoving into his mouth is nowhere near as good as the one that Bitty had waiting for him upon arrival. “He was wondering if we could give him your number.”
Kent frowns. “Why.”
Jack shrugs. “I don’t know how his mind works.”
Kent stabs at the pie again. “This isn’t as good as it could be,” he says, about the pie, because he doesn’t want to talk about Mashkov anymore. There’s something about him that makes Kent feel unsettled and he can’t figure out exactly what it is. No one's just that nice.
“He was thrilled when you followed him back on Twitter,” Jack carries on. He hasn’t even bothered to try the pie. Boyfriend-loyalty, and all that.
“I was being polite,” Kent says. Jack arches an eyebrow. “I can be polite.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Jack counters. He looks down at what Kent’s shoving into his mouth slowly. “Bitty’s got something in the oven for when we get back.”
Kent shoves his plate away without thinking about it. “He sure can bake.”
Jack beams. “He can.”
“You can give him number,” Kent says before he can think about it too hard.
Jack’s smile flickers. “Bitty has your number.”
“Mashkov.”
Jack’s smile returns. “So you can continue to be polite?” he asks. Kent rolls his eyes. “Alexei doesn’t have a lot of people. He’s just looking for connections, Kent. That’s all.”
“He came after me on the ice,” Kent reminds him.
“Yeah, after you plowed into our goalie,” Jack mutters. Kent smirks at the memory. “Shitty play, Parse.”
His smirk flickers with something playful. “Still counted,” he reminds him.
Jack rolls his eyes. “That was years ago.” Back when Jack was still a rookie. Back before they’d talked. “Sometimes people believe in second chances. I mean--you and Bits get along now.”
“Mostly.”
“I’m not going to give Tater your number if you’re going to be a dick to him.”
“Why doesn’t he have a lot of people?”
Jack grabs the fork that Kent dropped and takes the smallest bite from the pie on the plate between them. He wrinkles his nose after swallowing.
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Because I’m asking you.”
Kent isn’t sure why he cares, or why it matters. It’s not like he actually wants to be friends with Mashkov. He followed him back on Twitter mostly to see pictures of Sobaka, because God that’s a beautiful dog. His timeline is now filled with a lot more positive energy than he’d been anticipating a single follow-back would do, but Mashkov’s big on social media and spreading good vibes. Lots of retweets.
But an accidental answering of the phone? A short ride from the airport home? A follow-back on Twitter? None of this constitutes friendship and Kent doesn’t think he has the energy to invest himself in a new person, especially one so far away. Maintaining a friendship with Jack is hard enough.
They pause their conversation when the waiter comes by with the bill and Kent pays for it as it’s his turn. They’ve been alternating.
“He’s far from home,” Jack says once the waiter’s gone. “Russia’s a while away.”
“What about your team?” Kent pushes. “Are those not Mashkov’s people?”
“I’m not giving him your number,” Jack says tiredly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “God forbid someone want to get to know you a little better, Kenny, huh? Not everyone’s got some grand ulterior motive.”
The waiter returns and Kent signs the bill before they slip out of their booth.
They’re in the car before Jack talks again.
“We should go to the rink,” Jack says.
Kent rests his hands over his stomach. “Now? You said Bitty had pie.”
Jack exhales a startled laugh. “No--tomorrow. I’ll bring Alexei. Bitty can play too--he’s been itching for it. Some guys from the team maybe. Just something low-key so we can get on the ice.”
Kent’s been itching to get back on the ice, too. It’s only been a few days but something about playing hockey eases the perpetual knot in Kent’s chest.
Even if he’s gotta play with Mashkov to do it.
“Sure,” Kent says. “Sounds fun.”
It is fun, actually.
The Aces get together on their time off to do stuff together, but it’s never as joyful as anything the Falconers do. People are actually excited to see Kent, to be playing with him, and there are a few older guys on Jack’s team that Kent’s happy to be playing with as well. It’s a surprise he’s not booed off the ice the moment he arrives, so he’ll take it.
The second his skates are on the ice, he exhales.
Things always make more sense here.
He laughs as Bitty practices a few jumps from his figure skating days murmuring something about how he’s getting out of shape (even though the execution is flawless), and he listens as Marty and Thirdy share stories of the good old days with some older names that leaves Kent quietly starstruck, and he even cheers when Jack scores a pretty impressive shot against whoever it is in the goal.
Mashkov skates over to him with an easy smile on his face. “You’re different man on ice,” he tells Kent.
Kent feels himself shuttering immediately. “I feel more like myself,” Kent tells him before he can get all of his doors closed.
“You play good, Kent Parson.”
“You’re okay,” he returns.
Mashkov’s laugh is so bright and startling it shakes something loose inside of Kent’s ribs again. “You’re funny,” Mashkov tells him. “Would not think so just by looking.” He skates backwards a little and even on the ice Mashkov is fluid. Forward, backwards, a mix of all of the brute hockey that Kent’s seen with the added grace of a figure skater. “No worries, I still have some tricks in shirt.”
Kent nearly smiles. “You mean up your sleeve?”
“Means same thing, yes?”
“Sure, Mashkov.”
He extends his stick, tapping Kent’s. “Are you thinking I’m bad guy?” Mashkov asks.
Kent frowns. “What?”
“From the game, years ago?” he pushes on. Mashkov wrinkles his nose before saying something in Russian that’s followed Kent around ever since Mashkov grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
“No,” Kent admits. Even though that had been his excuse with Jack, Kent doesn’t really have feelings about Alexei Mashkov good or bad.
“Should have thrown you across the ice.”
Kent laughs. “You could give it a try now.”
“You’re thinking I couldn’t?” Mashkov jeers.
Kent shakes his head a little, trying not to laugh. "I'm too fast for you." Alexei laughs a little. “It was a shitty play,” Kent tells him, changing the subject back. He knows it was bad hockey. He can admit that now that some time has passed. Mashkov lights up, eyes warm and smile bright. “Even if it counted.”
“Bad call,” Mashkov jeers.
“You all still took the cup that year,” Kent reminds him.
“And you in time since.” Kent can’t stop his smile now, but he does duck his head a little so Mashkov doesn’t get to see it. “Must be because of their captain.”
Kent laughs unexpectedly, his smile growing. “Or maybe the Aces are just better at hockey than the Falcs,” he offers.
“Ah, yes. Can't be captain, am remembering their captain make shit plays.” When Kent looks at him, wrinkling his nose, Mashkov laughs. “Even if counts.”
Kent hesitates but eventually says, “I don’t think you’re a bad guy.”
“Am liking to hear that,” Mashkov say, grinning.
“You were defending your team. Jack,” Kent says, looking down at his stick.
“Zimmboni good friend,” Mashkov says warmly. “You know.”
“I do know,” Kent agrees quietly. He hesitates. "Why don't you think I am?" he asks. It doesn't make sense. Kent is clearly the one at fault here, so Alexei's apology has him confused. "A bad guy," Kent elaborates.
Alexei hums. "Maybe I do," he says. "Race you to net?" He takes off before Kent can answer, and Kent recovers with just enough time to overtake Mashkov and beat him to the goal. "So you are fast," Alexei says with a grin. "Good to know."
It's not the answer Kent wants, but it's probably the only answer Kent deserves.
Swoops
How do you feel about the name Petunia
Kent
it’s a flower
Swoops
That didn’t answer my question
Elle hates it
Are you on her side or mine
Kent
why do you like the name petunia
Swoops
Girls are soft like flowers idfk
Kent
yea i’m on elle’s side
petunia??
so her friends can call her tuna????
Swoops
Fuck
“...and with Alexei joining us for dinner now I don’t think that…” the cadence of Bitty’s voice from the kitchen gets louder and softer as he calls out to Jack in a different room.
Kent, in his own room, pauses. He clambers off the edge of the mattress where he’s been perched, going through his emails on his laptop, and hurries into the kitchen.
“Did you say Mashkov’s coming over for dinner?” he asks.
Bitty, a mess from cooking, turns to him. “Yes, Kent,” he says tiredly. “Alexei’s coming and Jack gave me little warning.”
It’s the day after the rink and, with Jack having some stuff to do, Kent mostly kept to himself. His trip to Providence is half Jack time, half vacation. HBO has missed him. He’d spend most of his morning watching Big Little Lies, because Bitty had been on the phone with that goalie from the Sharks who used to be on his team, and it made Kent think of the coast, and it was a weird spiral of a day.
Swoops texting him was not helpful.
Swoops
How’s zimmermann
Kent
still looking perpetually tired
but good
Swoops
And his blond boyfriend
Kent
still blond
Swoops
The Falcs?
Kent
annoyingly cool
why don’t we ever do fun shit on the weekends with the team
Swoops
Because you can’t turn off your captain voice
Kent
whatever
mashkov’s been around a lot
he lives in jack’s building
Swoops
Is Russian your type?
Kent
don’t even start
Swoops
(;
Get some parse
Kent
literally fuck off
he’s not queer and i’m not here for sex
Swoops
He might be
I didn’t know you were gay for a while
A long while
Very straight passing
Kent
yes please let’s talk about my straight privilege swoops
Swoops
Open your heart man
Mashkov’s objectively hot
Kent
pass
“I’m sorry, Bits,” Jack yells from the living room.
Bitty exhales slowly. “It’s okay, Sweetpea,” he says loudly. “Just next time--”
“It was last minute!” Jack cuts him off, hurrying into the kitchen past Kent as though he isn’t there. He strides forward and grabs Bitty’s hands right away. “Bits you know I’m never going to do what I did for the picnic last spring.”
Bitty sags a little. “I know. It’s just with that blow-up at work today--”
“I can call him, Bits,” Jack cuts him off softly. “Honest.”
“No, no,” Bitty rushes. “I’m just a little overwhelmed, is all. But--you’re right,” Bitty finishes. “It’ll be lovely, Honey, I’m just being dramatic.”
“So he is coming,” Kent mutters from the entrance-way. He should’ve left the second Jack rushed in, to give them their privacy, but it’s like watching a fight on the ice. Can’t look away.
Jack tugs Bitty toward him, resting his chin on the top of his head while Bitty wraps his arms around him. They sway, turning so Jack can see Kent. “He had a rough day,” Jack finally answers. “Figured he needed people.”
“No cancelling,” Bitty murmurs against Jack’s shirt before pulling back. All of it’s so domestic, so familiar, that Kent can barely stand it. “One extra person is nothing,” he insists, resting his hands on Jack’s hips. “Even if it’s one massive hockey player who can swallow pieces of pie whole. I’ll just re-proportion.”
Jack laughs, dipping in for another forehead kiss. “Can I help, at least?” Jack asks.
“Entertain your guest,” Bitty says.
At least someone remembers that Kent’s here.
Jack looks up at him, his smile shifting into something warm. “Let’s go for a walk, Kenny,” Jack says, letting go of Bitty so he can get back to work.
They’re a quarter of the way into the trail when Kent figures he should say something.
“I’m glad you have Bitty,” he says.
Jack smiles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad you two get along now.”
“He’s hard to dislike,” Kent admits. Bitty’s just such a genuinely good person. He wants the best for the people he cares about, no matter the cost to him. “Do you think you’ll marry him?” Kent asks.
Jack swallows. “I, uh.” He shrugs. “I want to.”
It feels like a punch to the stomach.
Not because Kent’s still in love with Jack. He’s not. He’s made his peace with how things went down. But Kent doesn’t have that. He hasn’t ever had anything like that. A person he thought he might want to marry. Someone to come home to at the end of the day other than Kit. A reason to have a dinner party. Two of his best friends have found their people and Kent’s still just… alone.
“That’s cool,” Kent says after a while.
“What about you?” Jack asks. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”
“Nah.”
“Are you looking?” Jack pushes.
Kent rolls his eyes. “You sound like Swoops,” he says.
How’s he supposed to tell Jack that he’s just not cut out for relationships? No one’s going to want to settle down with him, so there’s no point in looking. Kent’s life is going to be meaningless hook-up after meaningless hook-up until he dies. He’s known this for a long time, has started to accept it more the longer he thinks about it.
It’s hopelessly lonely that way, but it’s what Kent deserves.
It’s fine.
“Do you want that?” Jack asks. “To find someone?”
Kent wishes he was better at this.
“I don’t know,” he says. He shakes his head. This is Jack. Kent’s got to try. “I mean.” Jack slows down a little, turning to look at him. “I would. Want that. But it’s just not going to happen for me.”
Jack’s face hardens. “Why do you think that?”
Kent keeps walking, refusing to slow down for his friend. “Because it’s the truth.”
Jack reaches out to catch his shirt. “Kent,” he says sternly. Kent takes a deep breath and stops. “C’mon, Kenny,” Jack says, voice soft and strangely desperate. “That’s not true.”
“Might be.”
“That’s how I felt too,” Jack tries.
“We aren’t all just hand-delivered small blond bakers to adore us,” Kent mutters.
“It wasn’t always easy with me and Bitty,” Jack says, shaking his head. “We fought at first. Part of me hated him. And then--after the cup, all the drama there…” he trails off, looking sad. “But we’ve worked at it. Things like Bitty and I don’t just happen. You work at them.”
“I’ve got Kit,” Kent says, wishing this conversation was over. “She’s a lot to handle and--she’s all I need right now.”
“Kit is a cat, Kent. You can’t--”
“I don’t want to do this,” Kent cuts him off.
He thought he was ready to talk about this, but he’s not.
Jack sighs. He turns, dragging a hand through his hair and tugging before turning back to Kent. “Fine,” Jack settles with. “Fine, but if you do--”
“I know, Zimms,” Kent stops him again.
But he really doesn’t want to do this.
Something in him is still aching, thinking of Jack and Bitty together, Jack and Bitty getting married, Jack and Bitty curling up in bed together at night.
A child, maybe. One day. A family.
Things Kent will never have.
The rest of their walk is tense.
Back in Jack’s apartment, the tension is broken the moment they walk inside. Mashkov and Bitty are in the kitchen laughing wildly at something that has them both in tears. A smile graces Jack’s face at once, something that makes him look softer and younger, and he quickly strides away while Kent kicks off his shoes.
“Zimmboni!” Mashkov cheers. “We not have drinks without you, promise.”
“Maybe a glass of wine or so,” Bitty agrees. “Kent!” he hollers. “Do you want red or white?”
“I’ve never had a red wine that didn’t make me immediately want to die,” Kent calls back.
“Um!” Mashkov ducks his head out of the kitchen, looking flushed and beautiful. “Problem we can solve. Hi Kent.”
“Mashkov,” he greets. He smiles, almost dazed. It makes Kent kind of want to smile too. “I don’t want red wine.”
“You’ve never had red Russian wine,” Mashkov says. “Is good, will change your mind.”
“Doubt it.”
“Dinner!” Bitty calls, bringing out a glass of white for Kent.
Dinner’s stupidly good. The food, the friendship, the wine. Two glasses in Kent feels like a version of himself that he’s always wanted to find but has never known where to start. There’s no anxiety sitting in his shoulder blades, no voice reminding him to frown and distance himself. It’s easy to lean back in his seat and smile along to the stories that everyone shares.
He loves his team, his own people and friends at home, but so often he feels himself pulling away from there. Being Captain makes it hard for Kent to really feel like a member of the team sometimes and the disengagement comes from that. Besides, he’s not entirely in everyone’s good graces yet, so it’s easier to not be present. Even with Swoops, sometimes. But here he carries no responsibilities, no reason to be anything other than completely himself.
Kent likes the idea of a soft future like this very much.
“Kent?” Bitty asks again, pulling Kent back to himself. “Did you want another glass?”
He hands Bitty his cup and returns to Mashkov’s story of his childhood in Russia, a winter skate on a lake. He’s talking about his mother and her title, the beauty in how she skates, and Kent thinks back to Mashkov on the ice. Both graceful and strong. When he mentions his father played hockey, it makes Kent smile to see how it is Mashkov’s style came to be.
He’s down another glass of wine before he knows it, and soon enough they’ve moved to the living room to keep talking. Jack and Bitty have settled on one couch and Kent and Mashkov are on the other, but the layout has it so Kent’s mostly just looking at Mashkov.
It’s not a bad view.
Mashkov tells stories with his hands, makes big motions as he talks. More than once he almost spills his wine and Bitty inhales sharply every time. He winks at Kent when he licks the rim of the glass as it spills, but it’s all in easy friendship.
“Will be better,” Mashkov insists to Bitty. “Promise.”
“It’s not like I haven’t removed your wine stains before,” Bitty says, sounding a little tired but also a little fond.
Kent doesn’t have this at home. He has Swoops and his wife (and soon their child, fuck) but it’s not the same.
When Kent drags himself back into the conversation, Mashkov’s smile has faded a little. He’s looking at Kent like he’s trying to understand something Kent hasn’t even said. “What?” Kent asks.
“What kind of thinking are you doing?” Mashkov asks.
Kent surprises himself by saying, “Do you have godparents?”
Mashkov looks surprised too. “I do!” He goes on to talk about how his mom was raised by some pretty intense Orthodox Catholics and they’ve kept some of the traditions, which isn’t exactly a shock to Kent but it’s interesting to hear about anyway. “Why is that your thinking?” he wonders.
“Are you close?”
Mashkov wrinkles his nose at the lack of an answer but looks amused anyway. “Enough,” he says. “We sometimes are writing letters. Why?” he asks again, dragging out the word like it’s part of a song, still smiling.
“I might be one,” Kent finally manages.
“Oh, Kent!” Bitty gasps. “That’s so exciting!”
“I said might,” Kent hurries, not wanting any more congratulations that he doesn’t deserve. “Swoops told me to think about it.”
“Aw, good for him,” Jack says with a smile. “Jeff having a kid. Damn.”
“Tell me about it.”
“But that’s still exciting,” Bitty says. “What do you think you’ll say?”
“Well it’s not--” Kent sighs. He pauses, lifting his hand and dragging it through his hair to try and clear his hazy thoughts. “It’s complicated,” he settles with.
Something flickers on Mashkov’s face that reminds Kent of that first day, in the car, when he was worried for Kit despite not knowing her. Only now it’s concern for Kent, liquid soft in his eyes, and Kent needs to change the subject.
“So these Catholic godparents of yours,” Kent says, returning the conversation back to Mashkov, and he ducks his head in gentle understanding. Mashkov doesn’t miss a beat as he dives into his next story, and it’s a good enough one that Kent’s actually paying attention instead of lingering on his own situation.
He shifts closer to Mashkov as the volume of his voice dips and Mashkov keeps talking, smiling as he does so like he’s figured something out Kent can’t be bothered to know. He can’t stop looking at Mashkov’s mouth, his soft lips as they curve around sounds that even after all these years his foreign tongue hasn’t completely mastered. He talks like he’s not sure he should be, his sentences almost unsure but still bright and every word thoughtful.
His stories from home sound so loving, so full of joy that Kent can’t imagine ever willingly leaving that to be alone.
“Why did you come to the states?” Kent asks suddenly, interrupting his story.
Mashkov blinks, his smile pulling upwards again. “Oh, well,” he laughs a little. “People think America will offer fame. Sometimes yes, but not like…” Mashkov gestures forward to Kent, reminding him who he is. A captain. A known name. A legend. He isn’t sure why the thought of that makes Kent’s face warm--he’s earned it, after all. “It was first opportunity,” Mashkov finally says. “Had to take it incase it was only one.”
“Do you regret it?” Kent asks.
Shock floods his face. “No! Of course no,” Mashkov rushes. “Have Falcs,” he says, looking over to Jack. “Best years of my life. Here becomes home. Even if…” he trails off again. “Even if home will always be home.”
“Will you stay?” Kent wonders.
Mashkov’s face shifts as he thinks about this. Hockey isn’t forever. People wear down, and anything could happen.
“Maybe,” he finally answers. “Depends on what might keep me.”
“What do you mean?”
“People,” Mashkov offers. “Can’t be with whoever I want back home. But if I’m not knowing anyone to keep me, no reason not to.”
Kent isn’t sure he understands. “Why can’t you be with whoever you want back home?”
“It’s illegal, Kent,” Mashkov says slowly.
He means men.
He means being with men.
“I didn’t realize,” Kent rushes, but Mashkov is smiling. Not like it’s funny, but like he’s happy this conversation is easy. “But if you don’t have a partner here,” he carries on, understanding, “you could find one at home?”
“I’m liking men and women,” he answers. “Just has to be right person. Would be easier to find woman in Russia. Could be happy.”
Kent’s heart is hammering in his chest. “Cool,” he finally says. Mashkov’s smile stays the same.
It’s not a secret that Kent’s gay. He rode Jack’s coattails because it was a hell of a lot easier to handle the snarls of attention hog than to come out on his own accord and start that conversation by himself. A couple of other guys in the league did too. Was Mashkov one of them? Kent can’t remember.
But people know about Kent. Everyone in the world of hockey knows that he’s gay. His float in Vegas Pride was all over Buzzfeed for forever.
Which means Mashkov knows. Which means this conversation might carry different weight.
“You wanting to stay in Vegas forever?” Mashkov asks, propping himself up against the couch so all of his attention is turned to Kent. Jack and Bitty have eased into a conversation of their own, and if Kent hadn’t already had so much wine he might think something more of it. But the conversation is easy enough to lean into and Kent kind of wants to talk to Mashkov until his lips are numb. “Is very warm there.”
“It’s dry heat,” Kent responds right away. Mashkov wrinkles his nose like he doesn’t know what that means, or maybe he doesn’t care. “It’s not so bad. I like Vegas. Do you like Providence?”
“Meh.” Mashkov shrugs. “Is okay. Lots of green, which I like. Vegas is… yellow.”
“The deserts are orange,” Kent corrects at Mashkov’s smile. “And the city is neon.”
Mashkov laughs. “I’m thinking neon is not a color?”
“All the signs are neon,” Kent says. Mashkov looks like he’d be content to look at Kent forever. “What’s so great about the color green?”
“Is healthy color,” he answers easily. Kent can’t stop his smile. He could look at Mashkov a while, too. “What’s so great about color orange?”
Kent thinks for a moment before shrugging. “Nothing.” Mashkov laughs again, just once, nice and loud. “There’s nothing great about the color orange. It’s beautiful but fuck it, am I right? You win, Mashkov.”
“Oh, so easy to beat you,” Mashkov chirps.
“I don’t care enough to argue it. Orange is a fine color, that’s all.”
“Gold, maybe good. But you’re having enough of that, not needing desert too.”
Kent’s lips part in surprise. “No such thing as too much gold,” he answers smoothly. It’s been a while since he’s had to actively flirt with someone, he forgot how much fun it is.
“Two cups not enough?” Mashkov teases.
“Cups aren’t gold,” Kent returns.
“Ah, that is true. Guess I am easy to beat also.”
They hold one another’s gaze for a moment too long, leaving Kent just enough time to realize how totally fucked he is. All of this--the wine and the flirting and the talk about godkids and family has Kent feeling vulnerable. It has him wanting something he knows he can’t have and with Alexei here--
With Mashkov here it makes the lines Kent’s drawn for himself get crossed. Reality can easily bleed into fantasy and that’s all this is. That’s all this is, a fantasy, and Kent knows it.
He looks down at the glass of wine in his hand, trying to figure out something to say.
But he can’t, and Mashkov carries on the conversation when the silence stretches on for too long. “You’re not talking of when you were boy,” Mashkov says. “Was all bad?”
Kent snorts. Kent thinks back to his home, growing up alone. No siblings, busy parents. Things had always been so quiet.
“No. Not all bad,” he answers. “Just not like yours.”
Mashkov opens his mouth to say something but before he can, his phone rings. He leaps at once, eyes wide and worried. “Sorry,” he rushes, spinning to look at everyone in the room despite only having been talking to Kent. “I’ve--”
“Go, go,” Bitty shoos him toward the door. He makes an apologetic face at Kent before hurrying out of the apartment, answering the phone with quiet frantic Russian. Kent leans back on the couch, kind of… relieved.
Not that Mashkov’s got stuff going on, but things were starting to feel a bit too intimate for Kent’s liking.
“Family stuff?” Kent guesses.
Jack nods while Bitty leans further into him. “His dad’s in the hospital,” Jack says. “I’m not sure why, but Alexei’s been waiting on an update.”
Kent knocks back the rest of his wine. It’s nice that they invited him. A good distraction from what’s going on. He sits with Jack and Bitty for a little bit longer, but when Bitty says Mashkov texted he’s sorry for running but won’t be back, Kent calls it a night.
“I can help with dishes,” Kent insists as he stands. “Before I sleep.”
Bitty huffs, pushing him toward his room. “Oh, get out of here, Parson! You are a guest! And on vacation!”
“You should let him help, Bits,” Jack chirps.
“Enough of that,” Bitty says. “You can help me yourself, Mr. Zimmermann. I want to hear all about that contract George was telling you about.”
Kent tips his head to the side. “Contract?” he asks.
“Goodnight Kent,” Jack says, eyebrows raised, and Kent holds up his hands in defeat.
He stumbles off to bed, kinda drunk but feeling pretty warm, and wishes Kit was here. He misses his goddamn cat. Instead of sleeping, Kent flips through his text thread with his cat-sitter, looking at pictures of his sweet girl.
Once he runs out of pictures, he texts asking for another, and switches apps.
Kent ends up on Mashkov’s Twitter.
He’s favorited about six photos of Sobaka when he gets a text from an unknown number.
Unknown
You can come meet her you know!!!!
Not just liking pics on tweeter
Kent
who the fuck is this
Unknown
Only person could be is whoever youre liking pics of
The next thing Kent receives is a photo of Mashkov and Sobaka together, Mashkov making a peace sign.
A laugh bursts out of Kent, loud and startling. He presses his lips together to stop his smile from lingering but the alcohol makes it hard, and the smile wins out. He holds his phone to his chest to keep from looking at it again, because he knows it’ll make him laugh again.
He only looks when his phone buzzes again.
Mashkov
Jack gave me your #
Is okay?
Kent
it’s fine dude
sorry about the twitter spam
I miss my cat
Mashkov
Kit!!!!
I miss kit too
Kent
you’ve never met her
Mashkov
Maybe one day
Kent
maybe
Kent’s fingers move on their own accord as they type up their next message, but he stares at it for a long time before he sends it. If anything, he can blame it on the alcohol.
Kent
hope everything’s okay at home
There’s a long time before he gets a response.
Mashkov
Is hard because I’m being so far from them. Cant take trip now with season but wish I could be there… just hard. Thank you kent
Kent’s chest pulls tight. He rolls on his side and stares at his phone, wishing that there was something more he could say. But it doesn’t feel like his place. Not yet--and maybe not ever. Still, hazy from wine and hopeful from such a soft night, Kent wishes for more.
Kent
do you want to talk?
A moment later, Kent’s phone buzzes in his hand, and then again, and again. Mashkov’s calling him. He almost doesn’t answer it. He shouldn’t answer it. He’s not going to answer it.
“Yeah?” Kent whispers. He doesn’t know why the idea of Jack or Bitty hearing him on the phone makes him nervous, but his stomach is in fucking knots.
“Like saying earlier,” Mashkov says right away, his voice warm and cadence familiar, “you’re having no good time from childhood?”
He exhales a laugh, closing his eyes. This is easy. “We took a trip to the Great Lakes once,” he tells Mashkov. “That was nice.”
“Zimmboni always wanting to take me there,” Mashkov says, his voice growing soft to match Kent’s. “Is beautiful?”
“It can be, yeah,” Kent answers. He waits before saying, “Very green.” Mashkov laughs quietly and Kent wants to lose himself in the sound of it. It could be so easy. “How’s Sobaka?”
“She’s taking all of my room up,” Mashkov says. “Greedy girl.”
“We could never share a bed,” Kent says, his tongue feeling heavy and his thoughts a few steps behind his mouth. “Kit and Sobaka would hog all of the space.”
“We just get second bed,” Mashkov tells him. “Trick them into thinking it’s ours. Have all the space to ourselves.” Kent wants it so badly he could cry. “Or bigger bed, maybe.”
Kent smiles. “Bigger bed, yeah. Always better to just make more room.”
“Hmm.” He hears Mashkov laugh, but Kent can’t be sure if it’s at him or at Sobaka. Kent waits for the quiet to settle in again. “Do you talk with your parents much?” he asks.
Kent tries not to sigh but he’s sure Mashkov hears it. “We check in,” he says. “They’re living comfortably. They come to some games. But not like I think you talk to yours, no.”
“When thinking family,” Mashkov wonders, “who comes to thoughts?”
“Jack,” Kent admits. “The Aces.” Swoops and Elle. There’s a pause. “Kit.”
He can hear the smile in Mashkov’s voice as he echoes, “Kit.”
The darkness of the room, the wine, it makes all of this feel like it’s not really happening. Maybe it’s not happening. Maybe he’s fallen asleep and this is all just a dream. He readjusts his phone to his ear. “What about you?” Kent asks.
“Jack,” Mashkov answers right away. Kent can’t stop his smile. “The Falcs.”
“Sobaka?” Kent wonders.
“Sobaka,” Mashkov agrees.
Mashkov starts to speak of Russia then, of his many sisters whom he loves very much. He talks about his favorite childhood dish, his favorite vacation spot from when he was young, the first time he got on the ice. He tells Kent about his family, the one who raised him, the one who loves him, the one who wants him to stay in America because it’s better for all of them that way.
He talks about dinners now, with Jack and Bitty and his team. Mashkov tells him about his favorite places in Providence, where the sun shines just a little differently. He yawns and Kent’s definitely going to fall asleep to the cadence of voice.
When Mashkov murmurs something in Russian, Kent blinks himself away. “Huh?”
“Said goodnight, Kent,” Mashkov chirps warmly. “Seeing you soon.”
He falls asleep with his phone in his hand.