There’s more to life than hockey. But I’m excited to get back to the United Center to play… I think my best is going to come through and I’m excited to get back in front of the fans.
I found this and had zero memory of writing it. Figured I’d let it out into the world bc the mood of it feels strangely appropriate for today--a little sad, but very hopeful, with Jonny and Patrick ending up right where they belong.
It’s set when it seemed Jonny and his longtime girlfriend broke up this past summer. I use her real name in it, which I myself am not always a fan of, so jsyk.
***
Jonny’s so quiet while they sit there on the couch with the TV on low, and it's unsettling because he usually never shuts up unless there’s purpose to it.
He doesn’t seem exactly...unhappy. He’s so tan, looks soft and tired in a good way—the worst thing is that Patrick can’t read it. He knows something’s up but not really what.
They have minimal conversation for an entire hour before Jonny says, “Me and Lindsey broke up. For good I think.”
Patrick lets out a very quiet breath, nods. He figured that might be it. “Yeah? That sucks man.”
“Yeah,” Jonny says, more a sigh. “Thought I’d marry her or something. Have kids—I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” Patrick says, and the silence falls back over them for a while.
He doesn’t ask about the tank top, or the last minute trip to Arizona in general. They’ve never really talked much about this kind of stuff, not beyond talking about picking up, which is vastly different and always felt—too charged to delve deep even there.
“Kaner?” Jonny says eventually, and he waits for Patrick to say,
“What?”
“Can I—tell you something?”
Patrick looks sideways at him, doesn’t know why he feels a sudden zap of nervousness. “What?”
Jonny swallows, keeps completely still where he’s been sitting—also not like him. Patrick can’t recall any moments spent sitting with Jonny where he wasn’t fidgeting at least a little.
“What, Taze?”
“You have to promise you won’t—“ he starts, and fidgets for the first time, shifts himself to the side.
“Do I want to know this?” Patrick says, stomach tied in knots, and Jonny lets out a long, hollow laugh.
“I don’t know,” he says, and despite everything, Patrick knows he’s not gonna be able to leave here now without knowing, not with Jonny suddenly looking like he feels sick, his brows creased together.
“What is it?”
Jonny bites his lip, the hand on top of his thigh balled up into a fist, face like he regrets opening his mouth, but then, “I hooked up with a guy in Arizona.”
Patrick was half expecting that, if he’s totally honest with himself, but his head still feels full of static, the brain equivalent of a foot falling asleep, and all he can think to say is, “Oh.”
Jonny lifts his foot up and crosses it over his thigh, puts it right back down and turns to face Patrick more fully, his breath coming just a little fast. “Oh?”
“I mean—“ Patrick says, and he can feel that his palms have gone clammy, his heart sped up. “Are you trying to say you’re—gay now?”
“No,” Jonny says, and he seems disgusted—not with the concept, but with Patrick asking, like he doesn't know him. “I really did—I thought I’d have kids with Lindsey. I really—I still—“
Patrick doesn’t know why his nose suddenly feels hot, that telltale burning. He leans his head back on the couch, stares at the ceiling and already knows exactly what he’s going to do before he leaves this place tonight.
“I just needed to tell you,” Jonny says, quiet after another bout of silence. “I’m so tired of feeling like—there are certain things holding me back. Like I’m carrying shit around. Maybe it’s some of why Lindsey didn’t—I don’t know.”
Patrick can’t think of a single thing to say. Truly cannot. Can’t remember ever feeling so nervous in his life, not even in Stanley Cup-winning games, only opens his mouth to croak out, “Yeah,” when Jonny asks if he wants something to drink, so fidgety now he can’t contain his limbs.
He watches Jonny rush off to the kitchen trying not to look like he’s rushing and feels a wave of affection for him so deep he has to tip his head back again, just breathe for a second.
And then he gets to his feet too, smooths a hand down over his somersaulting stomach and reaches up to turn his hat around, hopes to fucking god he’s not about to make the biggest fool of himself.
Jonny’s standing in front of his open fridge when Patrick turns the corner, the back of his neck a bright red. His face is too when he turns around holding a couple waters—across his cheeks at least. Patrick doesn’t know how it always looks good on him.
“Sorry,” Jonny says, like it’s instinctive, and closes his eyes, shakes his head at himself.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Patrick says.
“I wasn’t trying to make anything weird,” Jonny goes on. “I was just—“
“It’s not weird,” Patrick says, stepping further into the kitchen.
Jonny slides one of the waters down the counter towards where Patrick’s standing, leans himself back on his hands. “Seemed like you took it a little weird.”
“It was just—surprising.”
Jonny lets a moment stretch, taps the countertop with one finger and says, “Was it?”
Patrick moves forward the few feet separating him from the water Jonny slid down to him. He puts one hand on it, picks at the label and then starts to slide it back, except he moves with it, walks it down the length until he’s reached where Jonny’s propped himself.
“Yeah, Jon,” he says, still a safe distance away but close enough to close it easily. “It was.”
“Then why do I feel like this?” Jonny says, voice only a little above a whisper, and Patrick takes that last step, crowds into Jonny’s space.
He thinks ‘rebound.’ And he thinks ‘he’s lonely,’ and he thinks, ‘we’re about to make this so weird,’ and he leans in, lifts his face up, presses his mouth to Jonny’s parted lips.
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