The last time Sean had been in a sports bar, he figured he must’ve been eighteen, maybe nineteen years old. He definitely hadn’t been old enough to drink, but that hadn’t stopped him in the past. (He’d spent what felt like most of his adolescence standing on street corners with Brooke, her shoving him forward when the college-age kids came spilling from the local liquor store so he could try his luck). Sandwiched between his older brothers, nobody looked twice at the kid with the Canucks hat pulled down low. His fake ID had been shitty but the bartender had hardly raised a brow, too busy clapping Casey Carolan on the shoulder and teasing him something rotten about the girl who would go on to become his wife.
It had been the best feeling in the world, squashed into a booth, shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, roaring in triumph at every goal scored on the flat-screen tv above the bar. He’d wanted to go back next weekend, and the weekend after that, and each repeated visit never really took the shine off the experience.
Being in a sports bar in New York was a far cry from a little hole in the wall in his hometown. For a start, despite it being a weekday, there was never not a queue for the bar. He was no longer gangly limbed and awkward with cystic acne, no longer hiding behind Casey. He still sat with his cap - now sporting the Rangers logo - pulled low over his head, a disguise so poor he thought Gabe was gonna burst into a fit of laughter when he saw him.
He’d changed a lot, and as he glanced across the booth at his old friend, he couldn’t help but note all the ways Gabe had too. They’d both filled out - they had years of skating to thank for that - lost their baby faces and gained some life experiences, though not always for the better. They’d been on the same path for most of their lives - hockey, marriage, and Sean had been so excited about it. Until the universe had dealt Gabe the worst hand. Sometimes Sean didn’t know how to talk about it all - his team, the one that had once been Gabe’s too, and his kid - without feeling like some kind of huge jerk.
But he’d had one beer, maybe even two. Which, after becoming a Dad-slash-athlete with literally no time for recreational drinking, hit like five beers. He leaned his elbows on the table as he smiled lopsidedly at Gabe, resting his head in the palm of his hand.
“I wish you could still play with us, man.” He found himself saying, reaching across the table to circle a hand around Gabe’s wrist, giving it a quick squeeze. God. He really did love Gabe like a brother - and that wasn’t just the alcohol making him sentimental, honest!
“I like everyone, but I always liked looking out across the ice and seeing you had my back.”
Sean shrugged his shoulders a little, pulling back to return his hands to his side of the table, folding them neatly into his lap as he watched Gabe. He knew the team was maybe a sore spot, so he offered Gabe a tight smile. Maybe bringing up hockey hadn’t been the best idea. In the hockey bar they were sat in. With his ex-hockey player best friend.