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“And it’s Jake Seresin who receives that pass, and- Oh! He’s checked right into those boards... Puck's grabbed by the Kings with a quick turnaround, Garcia passes to Bradshaw, who takes it right into the o-zone, and fakes, holds, shoots... A slapshot that Vikander would never have blocked! Kings are up 2-1 in the third period!”
The cheer rises up in the arena, egging them on. Bradley glances at the clock. 5:48 left of the third period. He can do this. They can do this.
And so he leaves everything in the locker room. On the ice, hockey takes over. He’s committed to the game. Every move is perfectly planned and executed. He’s flawless. Nothing hinders his drive to win.
“I think the question on everyone’s minds, though, is what will happen between Anaheim's Jake Seresin and Los Angeles' Bradley Bradshaw? So far, they’ve avoided each other, but they can’t hide – oh, faceoff! Puck’s won by the Ducks...”
Bradley weaves between bodies on the ice, flying toward one of the Anaheim players. He’s not taking a note of who’s who – the opposition is the opposition, and right now, they’re in orange and teal. He beelines toward the Ducks player with the puck. They can’t get another point. Without thinking, he slams the player into the boards and siphons the puck away. Bradley quickly hands the pass to Fitch, letting him take it up the wing. He’s about to follow, but then he makes a rookie error. He looks for the player he checked.
Brushing off his shoulder, skating towards the blue line, is Jake. Bradley’s Jake. He grits his teeth, pushing a burst of speed out to make his way to the Ducks' bench. Bradley feels a wave of guilt crash through him before he can even think about it, and just for a split second, he falters.
Slows, blinks, grip slackened.
As if in slow motion, he sees the puck slide past him. He fumbles for it, but it’s like his limbs are lead, and he can’t quite move properly. He vaguely notes Garcia picking it up, just before an Anaheim player reaches it.
The noises of the arena breaks over his head once more, and he snaps back into it, driving towards the action on-ice. He’s got no doubt that the analysts are going to pull that apart. He can’t think about that now. He’s got a game to win.
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“We’re here with Kings analyst Jim Fox! Jim, what did you think of Bradshaw’s, uh... moment, earlier?”
“Well, Nick, it’s a tough one. We all know about the scene he caused last season after his Stanley Cup win, and I would say it has everything to do with that. Bradshaw is a dedicated player, and it’s rare that we ever see him slip up. It’s the first game that Los Angeles will play against Anaheim this season, and it certainly won’t be the last. He needs to pull it together. I don’t know what’s happening between him and Seresin, but whatever it is, it’s got to be pretty major to throw him off like that.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. It’s what we all want to know, Jim. Is Bradley Bradshaw going easy on the Ducks just because Jake Seresin is part of the team?”
“It’s not improbable. He’s a player with a lot of resilience and drive, but it’s also in human nature to want to help out those we care for. He may well become the Kings' weakest link.”
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“Turn that shit off.” Jake says quietly, reaching over Bradley to switch channels. Bradley just sits there, silently watching the TV. He hates it. Hates how right the analyst is. It’s a stark contrast from how the media usually view him, and he wants to rip this part of him away from them. He’s not supposed to be soft. He’s supposed to get points, make plays, win.
Jake notices his silence immediately, and takes his hand, tangling their fingers together.
“I hate this.” Bradley mumbles.
“I know. Me too.”
“I’m not going easy on you. You know that, right?” Bradley hates how hurt he sounds.
“I know. What you want to know, though, is does anyone else?” Jake’s never been one for sugarcoating things. It’s half the reason Bradley loves him.
They sit in silence for a moment, the TV warbling on in the background. Bradley squeezes Jake’s hand.
“Sorry about that check earlier. It was too hard. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d dropped the gloves.” He adds the last part as a joke, but he’s not quite sure if it landed as one.
“’S fine. It’s hockey. I’ve had worse.” Jake waves it off, shrugging.
“I know, but I still feel bad...” Bradley trails off. “Maybe they’re right.”
“About what?”
“Me. I’m being too soft.” Bradley feels his heart sink as he says it. It’s a shitty position to be in. On one side, he has hockey, the constant in his life even when everything was falling apart around him. He loves playing, and he’s proud of how far he’s come with his team. On the other hand, he’s got Jake. The love of his life. The man he’d take a bullet for without thinking twice.
He can’t focus on one too much without wrecking the other. It’s like his life has become some really unfair, jackass game of Jenga.
“You’re not too soft.” Jake huffs and gives him a look.
“You saw the way I lost it earlier. Bradley Bradshaw doesn’t do that. I’m supposed to be the league’s top point scorer! The one kids look up to. How can I be that person when I’m letting myself down?” He curls the fingers of his free hand into a fist, scowling.
“If it makes you feel better, I'm still proud of you.” Jake says quietly, shifting slightly on the couch beside him. He moves one hand to the back of Bradley’s head, letting his fingers card soothingly through his hair.
Bradley feels himself visibly relax. He hadn’t realised how shaken he’d become, or how loudly he was speaking, or how tense he was. He nods mutely at Jake’s words, collapsing back against the couch. His head comes to rest on Jake’s shoulder, and circumstances notwithstanding, it’s an ironic sight, a six-foot-something 200-pound hockey player curled into his boyfriend’s side.
He vaguely feels Jake pressing a kiss to the top of his head, then his arm comes to rest on Bradley’s shoulders, pulling him closer.
“I’m thinking we get a Chinese. Screw nutritionist's orders.” Jake says after a while.
Bradley’s shoulders shake in a small, silent laugh – a little burst of happiness blooming briefly.
“Yeah, go on. We deserve it.”
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Six months later.
The Kings were knocked out of the playoffs in round two. The Ducks advanced. Somehow, by some utter miracle, they’re leading the cup final, 2-1 up against the Wild. Jake is mentally, physically, emotionally, and probably even spiritually shattered, but he’s got to keep going.
For once, it’s bigger than him.
He’s doing this for Bradley.
For every kid who’s ever been afraid of being themselves.
For every closeted adult living a half-life.
He’s fighting.