still working through a lot of wyatt & joe feelings
Wyatt came off the ice in a daze. 19 games in 42 days and now it was just.. over. This year was supposed to be different, and after making it through the gauntlet of Vegas and then Colorado, there wasn’t a single person in the room who doubted they could make it all the way. They’d dominated in game 3, the win fueling their confidence, celebrating Robo’s hatty and reveling in silencing the opposing crowd. Then the wheels came off in game 4, and 96 brutal hours later they were in the handshake line as blue and orange confetti streamed down around them in Rogers Place.
Joe found him milling around on the ice after, pulling him in for a hug, and they skated off together, getting their final stick taps from Jamie on the way out. The room was muted, quiet, with none of the usual post-game music or chatter. Everyone had their heads down, just going through the motions as quickly as possible. The cheers from the Edmonton room were audible through the walls, and Wyatt shook his head, trying to block them out. He barely had time to strip out of his gear before they let the media into the room. He hadn’t showered, had barely traded out his pads for a t-shirt before he had a microphone in his face. He’d known it was coming; they all knew that as soon as they were out, if they didn’t win the damn thing, that the first question people were going to ask would be about Joe, but all of the PR-approved soundbites vanished from his head when he heard the words.
“If this is it, what has he meant to you?” How could Wyatt put that into words? Even if the media gave him a week to prepare and an hour to deliver a soliloquy about it, he’d never be able to express what Joe meant to him, the impact Joe’d had on his life. How could he even begin to explain the way Joe had taken him in when he just nineteen, so much closer to his son’s age than his own, and made Wyatt feel so at home, but still respected. He was never patronizing, never condescending, even when Wyatt was falling asleep in the middle of dinner during his rookie season. The media loved to ask Joe about it, and sure, Joe shared some of the funnier anecdotes, like Wyatt accidentally using his truck as the backstop when he was practicing slapshots, but he never told them anything real. Joe had stayed up with him so many nights that first year, letting Wyatt ramble while they played video games in the darkness, rubbing his back when the stress and homesickness got to him, teaching how to cook, taking him hunting with Nate. He’d gotten some ribbing when he asked Joe if he could stay a second year, but really, he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, couldn’t imagine why he’d want to.
And now it was over. Joe hadn’t confirmed anything, but they all knew the truth, knew it in their bones that this had been Joe’s final ride, and they’d failed him. Wyatt had failed him. He struggled through an answer that felt foreign in his mouth as he said it, all of his focus on keeping the tears in his eyes from rolling down his face, keeping the sob that was building in the back of his throat locked there, not falling apart in front of the world’s hockey media. He made it through, barely, and then looked around the room. Of course Joe was surrounded, and he looked at peace, calm and in control the way he always did, and Wyatt couldn’t imagine being in the room without him. This couldn’t be the last time, but it was. Wyatt had given his all, given them 5 points in 6 games, but it hadn’t been enough, not this time. He and Logan and Jamie and Tyler.. they’d left it all out there for Joe, but the hockey gods didn’t care, and Joe was going to retire never having lifted the cup. He couldn’t stand it anymore, the guilt and the regret, and the tears he’d been holding back broke through. He choked out a sob, and the sound of it got Joe’s attention. He was beside Wyatt in a flash, strong arms wrapping around him.
“Hey, it’s ok,” Joe whispered in his ear, quiet, for him and no one else. “It’s ok, Wyatt. I know. I know,” and Wyatt cried harder, because even after all of this, Joe was still looking out for him, trying to make him feel better. He let Joe take his weight, let him take care of him one last time.
