Alexei sees it the first time he drags Bittle into the locker room to meet his new teammates.
Honestly, it’s almost impossible to miss. His stoic, unflappable captain takes one look at Alexei’s tiny ex-liney and scowls; but not the normal scowl, it’s the expression saved for tiny children that take too long to clear the ice between periods. When Zimmermann is secretly charmed but too professional to show it.
Zimms thinks B is cute.
“Hey, Tater?” Jack asks when they have the room alone. “Who was that?”
“If you come say hello I would have introduced you to B, he’s teammate from Samwell.” Alexei elbows Jack in the ribs. “See you with big eyes.”
Zimmermann balks, scrambling to explain himself when Alexei slaps a hand on his shoulder. “B is very good person. You have much in common. Hockey. Both captain. So much to talk about. I give you his number. You call him tonight. Good? Give me phone.”
“Euh, right,” Jack shakes himself loose and winces. “Tater, I’m not —”
“Don’t. You are bad liar.”
“Okay. Um, do you think he’d want to talk to me?”
“Little B very fond of men who are looking like this,” Alexei gestures broadly at Jack. “And I am fond of you. So is good match.”
An AU where Bitty is a dog trainer at Samwell Pet Shop. Jack still plays hockey. This headcanon has been bouncing around in my head for a while, so here are some bullets. I am hoping to actually write it one day, just need to sit down and force the focus out of me.
Ransom and Holster are the owners of the place.
Lardo is the pet groomer. Primarily grooms dogs, but is trained to groom cats too. She’s the main pet groomer. Dex helps out in the grooming salon on days it is open.
Bitty is the dog trainer he also runs the store’s social media.
Dex, Nursey, and Chowder have been at the shop awhile. They know how to work in every part of the store. Chowder tends to be on the floor, running around and being top notch at customer service. Nursey is usually on the register. Dex works in the grooming salon on days it is open. He has replaced Johnson who used to work with Lardo.
Tango, Whiskey, Ford, and Bully are new part timers from the local college. Lardo is trying to entice Bully into grooming with her.
Shitty and Jack went to college together and are best friends.
Lardo and Shitty meet at a bar. They hit it off and Shitty starts coming around the shop.
He buys a Beta fish, Dex ensuring he buys the proper sized tank and all the fixings that goes with it. Shitty is bent on having the happiest little Beta in the world.
Bitty has a relatively young border collie, only a couple of years old at this point. He ran a contest in the store to name the dog. Ransom and Holster ran a campaign to name the dog ‘Tater’. The dog’s name is Tater.
Bitty makes his own dog treats, and when he has the time between work and training dog!Tater on agility or going to competitions, he makes dog!Tater’s food too. Though, mostly, he prefers baking the dog treats.
Jack gets a dog and realizes he is in a little over his head. Shitty suggests to take training at Samwell, and totally talks Bitty up, the little ray of absolute fucking sunshine that he is. Jack signs up for a private session.
Jack plays for the Falconers and immediately tenses up when he realizes what Bitty’s dog’s name is. He has a hard time relaxing into the private class.
Dog!Tater and Jack’s dog (still need to think of a name) hit it off immediately. Bitty has never seen his dog warm up to another quite like this. Normally, Tater is resigned to hang out with whatever dogs and owners Bitty is training but he seems to genuinely like Jack’s dog.
There is tension in those first few training sessions. Differences of opinions and head butting.
Jack gets dragged to an agility competition that Bitty and Tater are in. Lardo is going to support her best friend Bitty, and Shitty, he wants to support that fucking beaut too. He drags Jack along, and Jack with his competence kink, realizes just how talented Bitty is.
As Jack gets softer and kinder with Bitty, well, Bitty gets bigger and bigger heart eyes.
Once Jack gets to know everyone in the shop, once everyone gets over the fact he is Jack Zimmermann, there are of course tickets to Falconers games.
Bitty and Jack get roped into doing some videos with their dogs from Falconers’ PR in order to make Jack seem more human and less hockey robot. EVERYONE can see the heart-eyes those two idiots have for each other in those videos. The chirping that is thinly veiled flirting.
Shitty and Lardo begin mission Get Jack and Bits to Kiss.
The rest of the Samwell Pet Shop and the Falconers join in too.
Eventually, Jack and Bitty smooch and live happily ever after with their doggos.
Jack and Bitty finally got together, in the middle of Jack’s playoffs and Bitty's decision to move to Houston. Now what?
Continuation of NHL!Bitty from Jack's POV. Rating may change in later chapters. Not beta'd, so let me know about errors that need to be corrected!
Also on AO3 or Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
The first thing Jack was aware of was the pounding.
It wasn’t very near, but not far enough to be outside his condo either.
The next thing he became aware of was that this wasn’t his condo.
The light was all wrong, for one, and there was a crack across the ceiling and the walls were a dingy blue.
The bed was too lumpy and far too narrow -- and far too occupied. The man wedged in next to Jack was curled on his side, his firm, round backside pressed against Jack’s hip.
Jack very much wanted to investigate that, but a voice was added to the pounding.
“Bitty! Yo, Bits!”
Bitty. Eric Bittle, the man currently squirming his way to consciousness, his bottom rubbing delightfully against Jack.
More pounding.
“I know you haven’t gone back to Georgia yet!”
Bitty groaned.
“Shitty,” he said.
“What?” Jack said.
More pounding. More yelling.
“I see that monstrosity you call a truck! Don’t make me climb up and come in through the reading room!”
Now Bitty was up and out of bed. He crossed the floor in two steps and threw the window open.
“Shitty!” Bitty yelled. “Some people are sleeping! Give me a minute. I’ll be right down.”
Bitty slammed the window closed and turned back around. Jack had enjoyed the glimpse of Bitty leaning out the window, dressed in nothing but red form-fitting boxer briefs. The view from the front was equally appealing, but it didn’t sound like Jack was going to have the opportunity to do any more than look.
“I’m sorry,” Bitty said. “That’s my friend Shitty. I texted him last night to let him know I was in town. I didn’t expect him to show up at --” Bitty picked up his phone and looked at it “ -- 10:30 in the morning.”
10:30. Jack was due at the practice facility at noon, and he hadn’t even been home to change.
“Crisse. I have to get going,” Jack said.
“Not without breakfast,” Bitty said. “Please?”
“But your friend. Shitty? Really?”
“Really,” Bitty said. “He might be loud and obnoxious, but there’s no one I trust more. I mean, if we’re going to -- If you wanted to --”
Bitty stopped, biting his lip, not quite looking at Jack.
Jack couldn’t leave him uncertain.
“I meant everything I said last night. Of course I want to,” Jack said, pushing the sheet back and swinging his feet to the floor. “Just, maybe the best way to meet your friends isn’t in my underwear?”
Bitty giggled, and that was a sound Jack could definitely get used to.
“If there’s anyone you could meet in your underwear, it’s Shitty,” Bitty said, tugging a T-shirt over his head and pulling on shorts while he said it. “But if you want to shower, you can use the bathroom in there.”
Bitty opened a door, revealing a small bathroom that had a door at the other end, presumably leading to another bedroom.
“There should be a new toothbrush in the second drawer,” Bitty said. “And the shampoo and stuff is mine, so feel free to use whatever you need. I’ll get Shitty to take me to the Murder Stop ‘n’ Shop to get stuff for breakfast. No food allergies?”
“No,” Jack said. “My nutrition plan --”
“Calls for lots of protein, unrefined carbs and healthy fats,” Bitty said. “I know. That’s why I’m not just making pancakes. We’ll be back in 15 minutes and breakfast will be ready in 45. Does that work for you?”
“Uh, sure,” Jack said.
Bitty might be small, might be a rookie, but he was going to be a force to be reckoned with, Jack thought.
He was still grinning as he stripped off his own boxer briefs and stepped under the shower spray.
****************************************
Music was coming from the kitchen when Jack descended the stairs 15 minutes later, wearing the trousers from his suit and the shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He’d washed with Bitty’s things, and he could smell the fresh citrus scent that clung to his skin and hair. It smelled almost like Bitty, but not quite.
He came around the corner to see Bitty, facing away from him, stirring something in a pan on the stove. Onion, by the aroma, and probably peppers. Bitty was wearing the same shorts he pulled on upstairs -- blue, and barely long enough to cover his underwear. His feet were in sneakers, apparently without socks, and it looked like his legs went on for days in between.
His hips swung a bit to the music as he pulled a slice of pepper -- yes, Jack was right -- from the pan to test it for doneness and asked, “So what are you going to do after graduation? You and Lardo have plans?”
That’s when Jack noticed the man sitting at the table -- sitting in the same chair Jack sat in last night when Bitty came and sat on his lap and kissed him. The man had clearly noticed him -- he was watching him watch Bitty with something like amusement.
Shitty -- this had to be Shitty, with shaggy hair and a droopy mustache and a Wonder Woman crop top -- answered Bitty’s question instead of giving Jack away. “I’d go to the beach for a while to study, but it’s summer, so my whole family will be in and out. I think maybe we’ll take some time to find a new place, far from Harvard, that can be our apartment, and I’ll hole myself up there. The bar exam’s at the end of July, but once I take it, I can start work full-time.”
He paused and looked at Jack, which drew Bitty’s eyes to him as well.
“Morning, Bitty,” Jack said. “It smells great in here.”
To Shitty, he extended a hand and said, “I’m Jack.”
Shitty stood to shake hands and said, “Shitty Knight, former resident of this decrepit house and soon-to-be lawyer working in the areas of employment law, diversity and discrimination and educational opportunity.”
“That sounds like a lot to focus on,” Jack said.
Shitty shrugged. “The organization I hired on with works in all those areas. I’m sure I’ll end up working more in one than the others.”
“Shitty was a junior when I was a freshman,” Bitty said. “He was the first real person I ever came out to.”
“Real person?” Jack asked.
“I used to have an internet vlog,” Bitty said. “I told people there, but it didn’t really count because I didn’t know them and I couldn’t see them. It was more like talking to myself.”
Jack poured himself coffee from the pot, refilling Shitty’s mug for good measure, before sitting down and watching Bitty drop four slices of whole-grain bread in the toaster and pour what looked like mostly egg whites into the pan with the vegetables.
“It’s not very fancy,” Bitty said. “But I know you’re on a schedule.”
Shitty looked at Jack and said, “Should I pretend I don’t know who you are and ask what you do and how you know Bitty, or can we dispense with that?”
“Bitty said he trusted you, so let’s just assume you know who I am,” Jack said.
“Coolio,” Shitty said. “Then I can tell you what a sweet goal that was last night before I ask your intentions.”
Jack stiffened, and Shitty laughed and said, “Not really. Bits here is a grown man, as he never fails to remind me, and makes his own decisions. But you should know that he also has a lot of friends who care deeply about him, and would not take it kindly if his hockey idol screwed with him.”
“Shitty!” Bitty looked mortified.
“Relax, Bits, I didn’t mean it like that,” Shitty said. “You two are welcome to screw each other in as many ways as you like, as long as both of you consent and you’re careful to be safe.”
Bitty apparently decided the best way to deal with his friend was to ignore him.
“I apologize for Shitty,” Bitty said. “He means well, but he really should shut up.”
“Come on, Bits, I’ve known you for going on six years, and this is the first person I’ve been introduced to at the breakfast table,” Shitty said. “This is clearly important to you.”
“It’s not like that,” Bitty protested. “Jack came to talk to me after the game last night, and it got late so he stayed. That’s all.”
“Right,” Shitty said. “Did he sleep in the same bed? Because I happen to know there are four bedrooms up there and no one else is here.”
“It’s fine,” Jack told Bitty. “It’s good your friends care about you. I don’t have any intention of toying with your affection. But hockey idol? Really?”
Bitty was practically scarlet.
“Shitty, bless your heart, and butt out,” he said. “Jack, honey, I’m in this for real, too. But I don’t want to hear any more more about that.”
“Ouch,” Shitty said. “Fine. If the ‘bless your hearts’ are coming out, I’ll shut up now.”
**************************************
Jack was on the road by 11:30, meaning there was no way he’d make it to the training rink at noon. Good thing team lunch was first, followed by a 12:30 p.m. meeting. He wouldn’t be hungry anyway, and there was a little more leeway with being late..
The harder thing to figure out was what to do about his clothes. Walking into lunch in yesterday’s suit would be like trying to sneak into his parents’ house at 7:30 a.m. when was 17. He tried it once; it hadn’t gone well.
He did have a gym bag in the car. He could stop somewhere on the road and switch to workout gear. That would still be unusual for him -- he usually wore a higher class of track pants to team meals. But it wouldn’t scream “I haven’t been home” like wearing his suit.
Maybe he should have been better prepared when he drove to Samwell. He hadn’t even known where Bitty was, for sure. Marty said the boys were at some kind of hockey house at Samwell. How hard could it be to find it?
In the end, not very. He’d stopped at a gas station in the town of Samwell and said he was looking for a house where all the hockey players lived. The cashier gave him a blank look, but another customer who was buying beef jerky and Fiji water interrupted.
“It’s not a hockey house,” he said. “It’s the hockey Haus.”
Somehow it sounded different when he said it.
“Go about a half mile up this street, make a right then a left on Jason Street,” the man continued. “You’ll see it on your left. And hey, tell ‘em Johnson said ‘Fuck the lax bros.’”
Jack followed the directions (except the part about saying “Fuck the lax bros”); he knew the house by the crossed hockey sticks mounted above the porch.
He’d thought he prepared himself. He’d gone over the pros and cons of outing himself to Bitty a hundred times, and Marty agreed that it wouldn’t be too big a risk. Someone who chose to go to Samwell was unlikely to be homophobic, at the very least. And there was something in the way Bitty looked at him … and the way Marty and Pops both seemed to want to encourage this. Jack had been pretty sure he had a chance with Bitty.
But he’d been so focused on that that it never occurred to him to think about what would happen next. Was he just going to tell Bitty he had feelings for him and turn around and drive away?
And what if the morning had gone differently? Jack had been too tired last night for anything more than some lazy, long kisses after they went to bed, but what if Shitty hadn’t been banging on the front door when he woke up? Jack certainly hadn’t come prepared for any kind of sexual encounter. Would Bitty have condoms at least?
Next time, Jack told himself, he’d be better prepared.
He pulled into a BP and bought a Gatorade and protein bar before asking where the bathroom was. When he emerged in form-fitting shorts and Under Armor T-shirt, he made his way to the car quickly, not looking up to see if people were watching.
It wasn’t as easy to avoid attention when he got to the Falcs’ facility. He walked into the dining area, grabbing some chicken fajitas before sitting down so he would have something in front of him.
“Zimmboni, you change before lunch?” Tater said. “Why? We change before workout.”
“Maybe he didn’t have anything else to put on,” Thirdy said.
“Jack always did keep workout clothes in his car,” Marty said.
“Why would he need to change into clothes from his car?” Tater said.
“Jack’s wearing his emergency clothes?” Snowy asked. “I always thought he just had those in case there was a pressing need to exercise.”
“Maybe he had another pressing need,” Marty said.
Jack sat stoic through it all, taking a bit of his fajita and chewing it thoroughly.
Finally, he said, “I think we all have the same need,” he said. “We need to win this next game and get home ice back. You all ready?”
Summary: The NHL has a yearly retreat that’s a lazy cover for high ranking players to get drunk and try to command ice magic. Jack’s over it. Bob’s really over it. Until they finally manage to summon something.
“Hate these fucking things,” Bob sighs, lifting his hood enough to take a long pull from his beer. “Every damn year I have to watch; everyone knows the magic is in the ice, not in the players. Certainly not in the league front office.”
“Thank you again for dragging me into this,” Jack mumbles, adjusting his own smaller, less-obnoxious mask. There are no air holes and he keeps having to push the thing up so he can breathe.
“It’s tradition,” Bob argues. “A shitty, shitty tradition. You know one of these days we will actually manage to summon something and it’s going to end one of two ways: a bloodbath or an orgy. I’m hoping for the former, put me out of my misery so we never have to do one of these things again.”
A loud cheer goes up across the field, near the bonfire, and they both raise their hands reflexively.
“So say we all,” Jack says in unison with his father.
It’s Jack’s second Ceremony since he signed with the Providence Falconers and he’s already bored, he can only imagine how his father feels pushing forty of these damn things. He wants to go home, he wants to be in bed with his boyfriend.
“What are they trying to summon this year?”
“An angel,” Bob sighs, finally pulling off his hood for a moment to reveal a mess of sweaty hair. “Or some kind of divine being. Last year it was a demon, a year before was a Sphinx for some reason. At this point, it seems like the front office is just drawing from a hat. We’ve never actually managed to —“
A whip-crack of thunder interrupts his father and Jack looks up at the clear night sky for any sign of a storm. There’s nothing.
“Huh. Well, that’s —“
Their attention is dragged back across the field where the bonfire has shifted from orange to a bright blue.
“Tabarnak,” Bob curses, tossing his bottle to the side and pulling his hood back on before taking off toward the commotion. “They finally managed to do something stupid!”
“Jack follows suit and runs after his father, outpacing the other rubbernecking stragglers, to find the upper echelons of current and past NHL talent huddled around . . . Something.
Someone in blue grabs Jack’s arm — another Falconer — and Jack hears Marty’s voice say, “You have to get him out of here.”
Jack shoves Marty out of the way and finds Bitty sitting on the ground in his shorts and Jack’s favorite Samwell tee, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to hide his face.
“Our Angel!” A man in gold yells, and the crowd roars.
Jack doesn’t look away from his shaking partner, the love of his life, or from the pair of small auburn wings arching delicately from his shoulder-blades.
Someone reaches out to touch Bitty and Jack jumps to smack the hand away. The crowd goes silent and Bitty still keeps his head down, clearly terrified.
“Hey! What the fuck is your problem!? We’ve been blessed we can do whatever we want to it.”
Jack can see Marty, his father, two men in black, one of whom must be Uncle Mario, and a smattering of color-coded allies watching closely and moving lesser ranking players out of the way. Jack can recognize an escape plan when he sees one.
He doesn’t waste any time falling to one knee to scoop Bitty up with one arm under his knees and the other around his chest; he struggles a bit at first, kicking, scratching, but Jack leans in and whispers, “Lapin, don’t be scared, it’s me, I’m taking you home.”
Bitty looks up with red eyes and whispers, “Honey?”
There’s something disarming about the Falconers’ mascot, Flurry: an anthropomorphic white falcon with a penchant for leaving snacks in the nook whenever Marketing films a new episode of Falcs TV.
When Jack has to do outreach, he likes working with his teammates, but he loves working with Flurry because the kids give Jack a whole five seconds of attention before lunging after their costumed character.
It’s heaven.
Logically, Jack knows the guy in the suit has to work in the front office somewhere but Jack’s never been able to figure out who it is. He doesn’t spend much time with PR and marketing, he just goes where he’s told and smiles when they drop him in front of a camera.
“Hey, Snowball,” he chirps when the PR intern has pried the last child from Flurry’s legs. “Finally free?”
Flurry waves in greeting — he never speaks at public events, it’s a rule — and Jack is proud he only fumbles a little when he signs a clumsy ‘look [I have been] practicing’
Even wearing gloves Flurry is faster than Jack when he responds, ‘Nice work, Jack’
Flurry’s sign for ‘Jack’ always makes Jack’s heart flutter. It’d taken a while for Jack to realize he had his own designate — a quick ‘J’ before the sign for ‘goal’ — but now he can’t miss it.
“Long day?”
‘Done soon.’
Jack smiles and poses for more photos before getting an arm around Flurry’s shoulders — the huge falcon head still knocking against Jack’s face — and he leans in against the pained mesh earhole to say, “One day I’m going to figure out who you are in there.”
Flurry waves at a small child before signing back, ‘You already have. I’m me.’
“You say that every time!” Jack laughs and elbows the padded chest of the costume before lifting a small child into his arms for another photo op. “One day I’ll figure it out, I’m only a little dense.”
“Jack’s got a crush on the mascot,” Snowy teases. “Why else would he volunteer for every Junior Falconers event?”
“I do not,” Jack defends, pulling on his pads. “If I have to be on camera, I like not being the most exciting person in the room. That’s all. Kids love Flurry.”
“I heard front office is looking to change his name. Too close to ‘Fleury’,” Thirdy says, knocking Jack’s kneepad with his stick. “You gonna be bummed if that happens?”
“Fuck that,” Snowy chides. “We’ve had Flurry as long as Fleury’s been alive. I’ll be bummed.”
“Still confusing.”
“Do you think they need help with a new name?” Jack wonders aloud, not surprised to be ignored.
He makes a decision to stop by the front office and find out. Maybe actually meet Flurry in person. He just needs to get through practice first.
“Jack? I thought that was you,” Georgia is still in her chair when she rolls out into the hallway. “What are you doing up here?”
“I want to help with Flurry. I have an idea for a new name.”
“Oh,” Georgia’s brow furrows. “Eric Bittle handles everything about Flurry. I’m a bit surprised you don’t already know that?”
Jack fights the rush of embarrassment, glossing the comment and pointing down the hall.
“Marketing, right?”
She nods and rolls back into her office while Jack checks nameplates until he finds an open door and a young man typing away at a computer.
“Bittle, right?” Jack greets, holding out a hand. “George said you’re working on rebranding Flurry.”
The man startles and spins, stares for a second, clearly confused, before rising to reach out and take Jack’s hand.
“I am, indeed,” he says, with a humor Jack can’t quite place. “Call me Eric.”
It’s only when Bittle stands that Jack gets a good look at his ‘coworker’ and realizes he’s cute. Really cute. Also shorter than expected.
But still cute.
“Uh, right, Eric? I heard you were, uh,” Jack loses his train of thought, taking in the adorable bow-tie at Bittle’s throat. “Flurry? I want to help Flurry.”
Eric smiles broadly and lifts his hands in front of his chest and shows they’re shaking. It takes a moment to realize it’s not just a gesture, Bittle is signing at him.
‘Nervous?’
Jack blinks, looks around at the pictures on the walls, pictures of a white falcon and signs, F-L-U-R-R-Y?
“Took you long enough, Zimmermann,” Eric chirps, dropping back into his chair. “All you had to do was come upstairs.”
Jack’s mind goes blank.
“Snowy was right,” he blurts, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. “I have a crush on the mascot.”
Eric’s eyes go wide and his cheeks go pink, but Jack is probably bright red so it’s okay.
I have to warn you about something, Bitty texted Jack the afternoon before Game 3. Shitty and Lardo are going to be at your game tonight
Jack got the text before he settled in for his pre-game nap.
Ok? He texted back. Why the warning?
I can’t vouch for their behavior -- Shitty’s behavior, really -- if I’m not there to stop any nonsense, Bitty wrote. He said they got tickets because he wanted to make sure your assets were fully appreciated in my absence. But he wouldn’t tell me what he he had planned.
Jack thought for a minute, and texted, you know there’s rules about fans actually interfering with players. I’m sure it will be fine.
A second later, Bitty replied, Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not malicious. He really does like you. And Lord, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything because you don’t need to be distracted, and all he’ll do is cheer extra loud.
No worries, Jack wrote. Enthusiastic fans are usually a good thing.
The conversation was not enough to stop Jack from sleeping soundly before the game and arriving in the locker room rested and ready. He had his Skype call with Bitty to look forward to after the game -- the hour time difference worked for them right now -- and he felt like nothing could stop his team.
The rest of the Falconers seemed to be just as determined as they took the ice for warm ups.
It wasn’t until it was almost time to return to the locker room that Jack saw a few of his teammates looking into the stands and laughing. Jack was turning from his position near center ice to see what they were looking at when Kent bumped his shoulder and pointed.
“Don’t tell me that’s the guy,” he said.
Jack followed his gaze and saw the poster, red letters and glitter hearts on a white background, proclaiming, “Yo, marry me, Jack Zimmermann.”
It was held above the head of Shitty Knight, who was grinning like a loon. Jack laughed out loud, and, when Shitty noticed Jack looking, shook his head no, but he was still smiling.
“Definitely not the guy,” Jack said to Parse. “He’s not at all my type.”
“Yeah, you never did like the scruffy look, did you?” Parse said.
Jack laughed again, knowing anyone listening in would likely take the “not my type” comment to mean “because he’s not a woman.” But he thought about Kent’s parting shot. Bitty, unshaven because his team was in the playoffs, his beard and hair growing longer and more unkempt as the games went along? That was appealing. It definitely was the person and not the level of grooming that made the difference.
Just like in the Capitals series, the Falconers rebounded after an opening loss and took the second game. It wasn’t exactly easy -- 3-1 instead of 5-0 -- but once the Falconers had the lead, they never gave it up. After the game, the locker room was as happy and relaxed as it got during the playoffs.
Jack checked his phone and found a series of texts from Bitty.
Omg, i am SO sorry
Lardo texted me a picture of Shitty with the sign
There was a long line of blushing faces.
She said you looked right at him and shook your head no, but you were laughing. I hope that means you forgive me and my ridiculous friends
That was followed by a picture with praying hands.
Jack texted back immediately.
Nothing to forgive. If anything, he helped me look like a good sport. I’ll call you when I get home.
Then:
Of course I said no. I’m taken.
************************************
As soon as Jack walked in the door, he shed his jacket and dropped his keys in the bowl on the counter. He poured a glass of water and pulled a pre-portioned meal from the freezer. He put it in the microwave and opened his laptop.
Bitty was already online and waiting for him. Just as Jack was about to call, the phone in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it out -- Papa. Probably wanted to talk about the game. But if Jack didn’t answer or return his call soon, he would worry.
Which was a bit much, Jack thought, because his team just won a playoff game, and most people would assume he would be happy. But Papa knew he fell apart when everyone else thought he was on top of the world.
Bitty was waiting, though, and Jack had promised he’d call as soon as he got home.
He sent a quick text to his dad: I’m busy just now. I’ll call you as soon as I can.
The reply was almost instant. Are you all right? Do you need help?
No, Papa. I’m fine. I’ll explain later.
Then he clicked on Bitty’s name and was greeted with, “Hey, sweet pea! Great game!” and a wide smile.
“Hey, Bits,” Jack said. “Thanks. It was fun tonight.”
“Looked like it,” Bitty said. “I really am sorry about Shitty. You’d better believe I gave him an earful once I got him to answer the phone.”
“Seriously, it was fine,” Jack said. “PR keeps telling me they want me to look more human. He just gave me an opportunity.”
“If you say so.”
“Really. Tell you what -- do you think they’d want to come to Game 5? I can get them tickets.”
“Oh, now you’re trying to make me jealous,” Bitty said.
“Never,” Jack said. “It’s like doing something for you, through your friends.”
“Well, if you put it that way,” Bitty said.
“I have kind of a serious question for you,” Jack said. “I mentioned it before, but we got sidetracked. Is it okay with you if I tell my parents? My dad called just before I called you, and I have to call him back when we’re done.”
“Oh,” Bitty said. “I guess I thought we settled that. Yes, of course, you can tell your mom and dad. That’s pretty safe. It won’t get back to my folks, or to anyone else in the NHL, right?”
“Right,” Jack said. “But you do know who my father is, right? He still has a lot of contacts in the hockey world. I’m not saying you have to worry -- he’s known I’m not straight since before I came into the league -- just in the interest of full disclosure.”
“Wait -- who’s your father again?”
“Robert Zimmermann. Bad Bob Zimmermann?”
“He played hockey back in the ‘90s, right? I remember the guys in the Haus talking about him.”
“You could say that,” Jack said. “Seventies, ‘80s, ‘90s. He won four cups, and his name is all over the record books. You can look it up.”
Bitty looked it up on his phone right then. Jack took the opportunity to watch the expression on his face change as he read. Jack saw when Bitty’s jaw dropped and he looked up.
“Your mother is Alicia Montgomery?”
“That’s her stage name, but yes.”
“Oh my god, Jack. Have you seen --”
Jack laughed. “Yes, I’ve seen all her movies. Before I left for the Q, my parents sat me down in the living room and had a mom movie marathon, just so I would know what was in them if people used her career to trash talk me.”
He felt himself turning red just at the memory. “And yes, it was as awkward and embarrassing as you’re imagining.”
“But she never --”
“Nothing too explicit, but imagine being 16 and watching your mother kiss some other actor while she and your father are sharing the couch with you.”
“Lord, yes, I can see that. Every so often my mother mentions someone she dated before my dad and it just sounds wrong,” Bitty said.
“So did you get the apartment?”
“I did indeed. I move in next week,” Bitty said. “When you come visit, I’ll be in the new place. Probably won’t have it quite the way I want it yet.”
“When do you start working out with the strength coach?”
“You mean when did I start?” Bitty said. “I started today. I should be in the best shape of my life by training camp. I now know he was taking it easy on me during the season. But I’m planning to take a couple of days off when you’re here.”
“Will you be able to take some time off later too?”
“Probably,” Bitty said. “But I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to spend time together in Providence. You’re too well known there.”
“Not Providence,” Jack said. “My folks have a house on a lake in Nova Scotia. We could maybe spend a week there?”
“Sounds great,” Bitty said. “But you have a series to win first.”
“Absolutely,” Jack said. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course.”
“You seriously never Googled me?”
***********************************
It was 45 minutes later that Jack called his father.
“Allo, Jack?”
“Yes, Papa,” Jack said. “Who else calls you at midnight?”
“Just you and your mother,” his father said. “You played well tonight. Against Kent, too.”
“Papa,” Jack said.
“I know, I know that was a long time ago,” his father said. “But I also know that games against the Aces have been difficult.”
“Papa, really, it’s fine,” Jack said. “Didn’t you have to play against friends sometimes?”
“By the end, nearly every game,” Bob said. “But Kent isn’t exactly a friend, no?”
“I think maybe he is a friend now,” Jack said. “We had coffee yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“So I could tell him I’m dating someone.”
Jack knew the smile on his face was smug when his father didn’t respond for at least 10 seconds.
When Bob did speak, he said, “Your mother will want to hear this too. Let me call her and put her on speaker.”
That would mean Jack only had to do this once. “Of course.”
“Hello, Jack,” his mother said when she came in the room. “What’s this news I have to hear?” “I’m dating someone,” Jack said.
“What’s this person like?” Alicia asked.
“He,” Jack said. “What’s he like? He’s smart and funny and likes to take care of people. He bakes a lot, and he graduated from college last year.”
“What does he do?” Bob asked.
“He plays hockey,” Jack said.
“What level?” Bob asked.
“NHL,” Jack said.
His parents were both silent for a moment, so Jack continued.
“His name is Bitty -- Eric Bittle -- and he was called up to the Aeros last season. We kind of got to know each other over the season through Marty and Bruce Pappadeaux.”
“Jack, are you sure this is something you want to do?”
It was his mother, using what he classified as her gentle voice. It was the voice she used when she didn’t want to upset him, no matter how frustrated or scared or impatient she felt.
“Yes, Maman, I am,” Jack said. “He’s wonderful, Maman. He makes me feel like I’m important because I’m me, not because I play hockey. He seriously didn’t know that you were my parents until tonight. Either of you. And frankly, I think he’s more impressed by Maman.”
“I’m sure that he’s as wonderful as you think he is,” his father said. “But you have to consider what could happen. Not just to your career, but to his.”
“I know, Papa, believe me,” Jack said. “But Bitty wasn’t exactly in the closet at Samwell. That’s where he went to school. We got together after he went back there to see his friends graduate after the Aeros got knocked out, and he came to the first game against the Capitals.”
“He played hockey there?” Alicia asked. “Yes,” Jack said. “And lived in the hockey Haus, if that means anything to you. But he said at least a couple of guys on the Aeros have clued in that he’s not straight, and they’re okay with it.”
“A couple of guys on his team is different from the whole league,” Bob said.
“I know,” Jack said. “Believe me, I know. And I’m not out either. Maybe one day we’ll be ready. Just promise me you won’t say anything. I told him we could trust you.”
“Of course not, Jack,” his mother said. “We just want you -- both of you -- to be safe.”
She must have been looking at her computer at the same time, because she said, “Oh, he is cute.”
“Yes, Maman, and I promise that when you meet him, you’ll love him,” Jack said. “You too, Papa. Just trust me?”
“All right, Jack,” Papa said. “We do trust you. But you can’t blame us for worrying. When can we meet him?”
“Are you coming to the games in Vegas still?” Jack asked. “He’ll be there for Game 3. I’m hoping to convince him to stay for Game 4, too.”
“Is that wise?” Bob asked. “Won’t people notice him following your team around?”
“I think he’s bringing another Aeros rookie, just hanging out and bonding,” Jack said. “With the playoffs in Vegas, we’ll be confined to the hotel and rink most of the time. I’m hoping I can slip out to see him for a couple of hours.”
“Well, I’m sure it will be easier to get away for breakfast or lunch with us than with some unnamed friend,” Alicia said. “We’ll make sure to get a suite so we don’t have to go out. Tell him we’re looking forward to meeting him.”
There's a short NSFW bit towards the beginning; if you want to skip it, stop after the second graf (ending "feeling their time was limited"). Skip the next three grafs, picking up at "When it was over ...") and know both of them enjoyed themselves immensely, and that Jack was a little surprised at how comfortable it was.
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Part 6
Part 7 or AO3
When it came time to leave Bitty’s hotel room, Jack tried very hard not to think about the fact that the next time he talked to Bitty, he’d likely be three states away. The distance would only grow when the Falconers returned to Providence.
He tried to focus on the last two hours instead. It wasn’t magical, precisely, but it was awfully good — and far less awkward than Jack had feared. They hadn’t done so much, really. In some ways, it reminded him of the first fumbling encounters with Kent, fast and sloppy blow jobs and hand jobs in nondescript hotel rooms on the road, knowing the door was locked against their teammates, but always feeling their time was limited.
With Bitty, though, it was so much better. Not only because Bitty had a small bottle of lube tucked into his bag, which made the feeling of Bitty’s hand stroking him exquisite. Then when Bitty pushed him down and settled between his knees without Jack even having to ask -- no, Bitty had done the asking, looking up at Jack from under his lashes, saying “Can I?” -- that was nearly enough to make Jack come as soon as Bitty’s mouth touched him.
Then he lasted what should have been an embarrassingly short time, but Bitty seemed to take it in stride, just spreading some lube on Jack’s hand, joining it with his, and placing both of them on his own still-hard erection.
“Like this,” Bitty whispered into Jack’s neck, showing Jack how to pull at him. In the end, he didn't last much longer than Jack.
When it was over and they’d cleaned up, Bitty pulled the covers over them and curled into Jack’s side.
“Sleep or talk?” Bitty asked.
It was all Jack could do to stay awake, but he murmured, “Don't want to waste our time together.”
“But you're tired, sweet pea,” Bitty said. “Tell you what, ask me questions and I'll just ramble along."
Jack tried to protest because Bitty had a long day of driving ahead of him, but Bitty just started talking about the mini pies he’d made when Jack turned up in Samwell. So Jack asked him how he learned to cook, and Bitty told Jack about spending days in his MooMaw’s kitchen while his Mama and coach were at work.
“Your coach?” Jack asked.
“Coach is my dad, not my coach,” Bitty said. “He's the high school football coach in town. Everyone calls him Coach.”
Jack wanted to pursue that, but it might be too much at this time of night.
“What was the music you were listening to when you were making breakfast?”
That was either a very good or very bad question, judging by the way Bitty dropped his jaw and gasped audibly.
“You didn't recognize Beyonce? Vintage Beyonce even? Wait, who do you listen to?”
Jack shrugged. He knew what was coming.
“Euh, Coldplay, Wilco, maybe some Neil Young or Tom Petty.”
“Oh my God, Jack,” Bitty said. “Anyone from this century?”
“Adele can sing,” Jack said.
Bitty allowed that Adele could, in fact, sing, but then started throwing names at him. Some were the same names that Jack heard in association with music from the younger guys in the locker room, but for all that he could say they were musicians, he had no idea which singer went with which song.
“Oh, my Lord, Jack, are you sure you don’t have actual children somewhere? Because you and Coach could bond over, I don’t know, the Traveling Wilburys or something,” Bitty said. Jack knew he was being chirped about his dad music, but the affection in it was plan on Bitty’s face and in his voice, so Jack just said, “I like them,” and started singing, “She’s My Baby.”
Bitty laughed, more with him than at him, and said, “Be prepared. I will be sending you playlists.”
“Are those like mixtapes?” Jack asked., trying to keep the proper sense of bewilderment in his voice but nearly laughing instead.
“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “I know you know what a playlist is.”
When they’d settled again, this time with Bitty’s head on Jack’s shoulder and Jack stroking the short, soft hair behind his ear, Bitty asked, “Don’t be mad at me asking, but you do know how to use Skype, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “I Skype with my parents once or twice a week.”
“If we exchange contact information, maybe we could Skype when you have time?” Bitty said. “I know how busy you are now, and if things go the way we hope, it’ll be that way for a little while yet, but maybe we could find a time that works for you? On your off days?”
Jack bent his neck to kiss the top of Bitty’s head. “Every day,” he said. “Or at least, I’ll try. Once next season starts, it might be hard, depending on our schedules.”
Bitty had nodded, a movement Jack felt rather than saw, and said, “We’ll try our best.”
Then Bitty had yawned, and they lay there together in comfortable silence until the alarm on Bitty’s phone told them it was time for Jack to go.
********************************
If it wasn’t for the time Jack spent talking to Bitty, he’d gladly have forgotten the next two days.
On Friday, the day Bitty left, Jack slept late and woke up to a text from Bitty -- it was a selfie of him and Shitty and Lardo in the breakfast room at their hotel, all holding up those make-your-own waffles that were a fixture of hotel breakfast.
The text included a links to an Instagram and a Twitter account, where Bitty had shared the picture with the caption Spending time with some of my favorite people! #FreeBreakfast #bonus
Jack followed both accounts and noted that neither post included a location tag. Bitty might have been anywhere.
A few minutes later, there was another text, this one just to Jack.
Packed up and headed out. Gonna drop Shitty and Lardo at the train station so they can go back to Boston and head for Georgia. Skype at 10 tonight? That should give me plenty of time.
Jack texted back, Sure thing, I already miss you.
The reply came before he even put the phone down.
Me too sweetpea.
What followed was a usual road off-day: high-protein breakfast, light workout, team meetings, lunch, watching tape, rest, team dinner, more tape. Marty sought him out at lunch but couldn’t pry too much because the other guys were there. He just asked how Jack’s dinner with his friend had gone.
“Friends, actually,” Jack said. “But it was good to get away from hockey for a bit.”
He wasn’t sure whether Tater noticed Marty’s raised eyebrows; he joined the conversation by saying, “I didn’t know Zimmboni had friends in Washington.”
“They were just here for a visit,” Jack said. “They left this morning.”
“Lucky you could hook up then,” Tater said, and Marty choked and blamed the water for going down the wrong pipe.
Every couple of hours, Jack would get a text from Bitty, sometimes with a photograph of an old gas station or just a quip about how he knew he was getting further south by the way the humidity was making his hair frizz.
There was a picture about 1 p.m. of a bowl of barbecue and a biscuit, and at around 7:30, there was a picture of a two-story house with a deep shaded porch and an attached garage. The grass was a brilliant green, and the soil that showed at the edges of the driveway and front walk was more russet than black. A red flag with a big black G in the center hung from a pole attached to the porch.
Home sweet home, the caption read.
Then, Mama’s gonna want to feed me and hear all about my trip. Still on to Skype at 10?
I’ll be waiting, Jack texted back.
He wondered if Bitty telling his mother all about his trip included telling her about Jack. Jack decided it probably didn’t. They hadn’t yet discussed how private they would keep their relationship; so far, only Shitty and Lardo really knew. And Marty, probably.
It would be fine with Jack if Bitty wanted to tell his parents. But it was something they should talk about.
Jack decided he wouldn’t talk about Bitty to his parents when he called them. Telling them would be perfectly safe -- he was sure of that -- but it should be something he and Bitty decided together.
Still, it made for an awkward Skype call home. Jack felt like he sounded kind of pathetic: What had he been doing outside of hockey? Nothing really. Just hanging out with the team, watching tape, sometimes taking a break to watch the History Channel (every hotel had the History Channel) or read a book, because Mama and Papa insisted that being a hockey player did not mean he should neglect his mind. If not for Bitty, that’s exactly what he would have done, but now (after two dates? Encounters?) he felt like he was leaving the best parts out. Even if he really couldn’t have talked about all the best parts. But the mini pies and the omelets and the falafel and Bitty chirping him over his musical taste -- he could have told them all of that.
Maybe that was why, when Bitty connected their Skype call and popped up in his screen, he jumped in way too quickly. He did take a moment to appreciate that Bitty was clearly in his childhood bedroom, with cream colored walls, a shelf behind him with lots of medals, and a poster of a beautiful woman (Jack assumed she was Beyonce from the way Bitty talked about her) and a poster of Patrick Chan.
Bitty himself was smiling a little too brightly, like he was tired and didn’t want to show it.
“Hey there,” Bitty said. “Good rest day?”
“Good enough,” Jack said. “The usual. I just talked to my parents.”
“What a coincidence,” Bitty said. “I just talked to mine.”
“I wanted to know if it was ok if told my parents about us,” Jack said. “I didn’t tonight, because we hadn’t discussed it, but I wanted to. It’s fine with me if you told your parents, or if you want to.”
Bitty sat up the way he did when something surprised him (and Jack loved that he already knew that) and said, “Jack, my parents don’t know.”
“But you said you’d known since you were a kid,” Jack said. “And Shitty knew, and Lardo, so I guess your college team did?”
“Yes, all of that, but just because I knew doesn’t mean I told anyone here,” Bitty said. “Jack. this is a small town in Georgia. What’s more, I’m the football coach’s kid. I can’t be gay here. It wouldn’t be good for me. Heck, it could cost Coach his job, unless he publicly disowned me or something.”
“That makes no sense,” Jack said. “How could your sexual orientation have anything to do with your dad’s job?”
“It doesn’t, but there are people who would think that they made me gay or something, or that my being gay is a punishment visited upon my parents,” Bitty said. “My dad serves at the pleasure of the school board. They don’t need a real reason to let him go. I mean, he’s the winningest coach they ever had, so I don’t think they would, but that wouldn’t matter if the team turned on him,”
“But can’t you at least tell your parents?” said Jack, recalling some of the fond memories Bitty had shared with him after the game in Washington. “Even if you don’t tell anyone else. Keeping secrets like that -- it can’t be good for you.”
Bitty shrugged and didn’t look exactly at the camera. “I’m not sure how they would take it,” he said. “I mean, if they don’t already know, they suspect, but they never bring it up, and neither do I. Anyway, I told them at dinner that I’m leaving for Houston next week. It’s not like I’m really out there, but even as a member of the Aeros, people are paying less attention to what I do than they do here. And I’m pretty sure Ricks and Pops know, or at least think I’m gay, and they don’t care.
“So then Mama and Coach all but accused me of being too big for my britches, wanting to move away. Until I said I wanted to train with the strength coach to make it more likely I’ll make the team out of camp next year. Once it was about sports, Coach was all for it.”
Jack stopped and thought about the Aeros he knew -- Pops, of course, and Gus and Monty -- and said, “The ones I know are good guys. I wouldn’t expect any of them to give you a problem. If you wanted to be out-out, like publicly, I’m not sure how the marketing people would take it.”
“What about you?” Bitty asked Jack. “Marty knows. Anyone else?”
“My parents,” said Jack. “And I was in a relationship with someone else who ended up in the league, but it was a long time ago. I’m pretty sure other guys know, or at least think I’m not straight. But I’ve been around a while. I guess I’m not saying I’m ready to be out either, but if it happened, I’d be ok. Your position is a little tougher.”
“I know,” Bitty said.
“We’ll be as careful as you need to be,” Jack said, and felt a lump rise in his throat at what he was about to say next. “But are you sure you want to do this? I want to, but I’ll understand if you don’t. No one has to know anything happened between us.”
“Hush, you,” Bitty said, giving a small but genuine smile. “Of course I do. I don’t invite just anyone out for late-night falafel. I’m sorry I’m so serious.”
Jack smiled in relief and changed the subject.
“Why do you have a poster of Patrick Chan on your wall?”
“You don’t know Beyonce and you know Patrick Chan?” Bitty asked.
“I am from Canada,” Jack said. “I was at Sochi.”
“Of course you were,” Bitty said. “Wait -- do you actually know him?”
Jack shrugged.
“We’ve met,” he said.
*****************************************
The next day was more of the same for Jack: fuel his body, rest, bond with his team, until the game started.
This game was a disaster. The Falconers weren’t shut out, but it was a near thing. Thirdy scored a meaningless goal five minutes before the end of the game, but at 4-1 it already felt out of reach.
When it was over, Jack tapped Snowy’s helmet and said, “That wasn’t on you, man.”
It wasn’t. Maybe one of the goals was a little soft, but other times Snowy stood on his head to bail out his team. Anyway, all wins were team wins and all losses were team losses.
Since it was a matinee, the team cleaned up and boarded the bus to head directly to the airport and go home, preparing for a game Tuesday night.
Most of the veterans -- the guys Jack’s age or older -- were looking forward to their own beds, and many of them couldn’t wait to see their wives and kids. Some were looking to reconnect with their girlfriends.
Mats told them they had tonight off; after that, they’d be sequestered in a hotel until the next game, because no one needed to be getting up to handle 2 a.m. feedings or soothe restless toddlers or “indulging in other late-night activities,” Mats said, the night before the most important game of the season so far.
Jack was pretty sure he was the only one flying further from the person he wanted to see, and pretty sure he was the only one who was wishing he could spend time with his boyfriend. Was Bitty his boyfriend yet? Jack wanted him to be.
Marty sat next to him on the plane.
Using the cover of the engine noise, he leaned closer to Jack.
“How’re things with Bitty?”
“Good,” Jack said, because despite an awkward conversation the night before, they were good. He really liked Bitty, was pretty sure that he could love Bitty given half a chance. “He’s really good. We’re going to try to make something work.”
“I’m happy for you,” Marty said. “How long have you been here? Seven years? This is the first time I’ve seen your head turned. Pops says he’s a good kid.”
“About that,” Jack said. “Is it going to be ok, Pops knowing about this? I mean, I trust you, and Pops has always seemed like a good guy. But Bitty’s new in the league, and they might not want someone that seems like he’s rocking the boat.”
“Nah, you don’t have to worry about Pops,” Marty said. “He wants Bitty to be happy, and he wants Bitty to be happy there. What about his friend Ricks?”
“Bitty thinks he’s fine,” Jack said. “But he hasn’t told either of them defininitively.”
Marty shrugged.
“Maybe keep it that way for a little while? Not that I think there’s a problem, but the more people know …”
“I know,” Jack said. “But thanks. For telling me to go for it.”
“Whatever you need, kiddo,” Marty said.
“Oh -- I hope you don’t mind,” Jack said. “I gave Bitty your phone number. He said he wants to know your favorite kind of pie. But don’t expect it until we’re done playing.”
Marty laughed.
“Tell him peach,” Marty said. “And he can call me anytime.”
