Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bitty tries and fails to use his concussion to get out of the annual Bittle barbecue.

Usually, it’s his favorite time of year. Usually, he can’t wait to preen while everyone compliments his intricate stars and stripes lattices.

But usually, he hasn’t spent a year at Samwell. It’s ruined him, really. After a whole semester being himself, he feels trapped inside his own skin.

It’s hard enough lying around his parents, harder yet in the face of Uncle Al’s passive aggressive comments about the north and Aunt Judy’s attempts to set him up with a girl who sells homemade peanut butter at the farmer’s market.

He takes a second to catch his breath at a picnic table. His cousin Ruthie is across from him, and she’s on her phone, so he doesn’t feel bad taking out his.

Instinctively, he clicks into the SMH group chat. It’s been a lifeline all summer, a reminder that college is real, that after years of wanting, he gets to have friends like this.

Ransom: Happy 4th u inferior little beings. Enjoy blowing shit up and pretending you live in the best country in the world

Holster: he’s full of shit, he asked me 5 minutes ago if we have sparklers

Ransom: SPARKLERS ARE WHIMSICAL ADAM

Shitty: HAPPY FORTH FUCKERSSS

Shitty: I pissed my aunt off bc I won’t finish a slice of the pie she made. Fuck u Eric Bittle for ruining pie for me

Holster: man, Bitty’s pies are the best, but pie is pie. Just eat it

Shitty: THE CRUST IS CRUMBLY, THE LATTICEWORK IS WEAK, I KNOW TOO MUCH NOW 

Lardo: I’m with you, my mom got pie at Costco.

Bitty: Costco?! You poor thing!

Bitty: [1 image attached, tap to download]

Bitty: Wish y’all were here, I’ve got plenty to spare! Happy fourth!!

Shitty: just audibly moaned

Holster: ew

He’s about to lock his phone before the conversation inevitably devolves from there when another notification pops up. It’s Jack. Not in the group chat, but in a DM.

Jack: Happy fourth, Bittle.

Jack: Those pies are very impressive.

Jack does this sometimes nowadays. He won’t respond in the group chat but will message Bitty his reply directly. It’s…charming in a weird, Jack way. 

He wonders if Jack’s been doing this with the rest of the team this whole time, if this means they’re actually kind of, sort of friends now. It sure is starting to feel like it.

“You texting your boyfriend, Dicky?”

Bitty didn’t realize a smile was flickering on his lips until it’s wiped out completely. He looks up to see Rodney, settling into the picnic bench beside Ruth, what’s probably his sixth beer in hand.

Rodney is the reason Bitty’s glad he doesn’t have siblings.

In some regards, it’s a compelling idea, having someone to knead dough with, swap baking tips. Someone to exchange knowing glances with when Mama rants herself into a tizzy about the ladies at church.

Maybe even someone to marry a nice girl, pop out 2.5 kids. Give his family what they want so badly, take some of the heat off of him.

But for the first half of his life, they lived right down the street from Rodney, Uncle Tim, and Aunt Connie, which shaped his perspective on the matter. Rodney was around a lot before they moved. Enough to notice him. Enough to say aloud—or at least hint at—what the rest of his family so desperately tries to ignore. He can’t even imagine how bad it would have been if they were living together full time.

“Hey Rodney,” Bitty says. He doesn’t bother humoring the boyfriend comment. Defending himself will only make it worse. There’s no point sputtering out that no, actually, he’s texting a future Stanley Cup champion who is quite possibly the straightest man he’s ever met. 

“Aww, you don’t wanna tell me about your boyfriend?” Rodney asks, relentless as always.

“He’s texting what’s called a friend,” Ruth chimes in. “Ever heard of ‘em?”

Bitty’s so grateful for her he could cry. Still, he charges on before the tension has the chance to escalate too high. “How’s Sara doing? She here?”

Something weird happens then. Rodney goes pale. He mumbles an incomprehensible response and stalks off, joining Coach and the other fifteen men who are huddled around the grill like their lives depend on it.

“He and Sara broke up,” Ruth says when he’s out of earshot. “You haven’t heard?”

“No.” Bitty’s genuinely surprised. His mom would usually tell him that level of gossip first thing. But he supposes he’s been disappearing to his room more and more lately. To chaotic Skype calls with Ransom and Holster, endless rounds of Words with Friends with Shitty and Lardo, progressively less stilted conversations with Jack.

“Okay, so.” Ruth places her hand on the table and Bitty smiles. She’s by far his favorite cousin. She makes him think that maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad having a sibling after all. “You know that bracelet business she started? With the monogrammed initials?”

“Yes.” Bitty can’t help scrunching his nose up. They were so gaudy that even his mama agreed when he said so. She still bought two though. They weren’t married yet, but Sara had been with Rodney since sophomore year of high school, so she was basically family.

“They started selling really well—yeah, I know—so she hired an accountant to help with the finances. Remember little Jeffrey Trout?”

“Sure.” They went to middle school together. Jeff wasn’t the most bullied kid in school—but only because Bitty was. He was short but his limbs always seemed too long, enough to topple him over, and his face was half acne. Bitty forgot about him, honestly, too focused on making it out of school alive himself.

“Well, he’s not so little anymore. She fell in love with him after one too many late night meetings balancing the books. They ran away together. They live in Savannah now, and they have two dogs.”

“Wow.” Bitty can’t help the smile poking at his lips. It feels like karmic justice, too good for a movie even. He remembers Rodney picking on Jeff more than once.

“I know.” Ruth grins back. Clearly, he’s not the only one who appreciates Rodney being knocked down a peg. “My mama says Rodney called Sara, begged her to take him back, asked where he went wrong. Apparently, she said Jeff was sweet to her. She hadn’t realized that was an option til she met him.”

Bitty looks around, makes sure no one’s leaning in with a heavy ear when he says, “good for her.”

He wishes the rest of his cousins had that, hopes Ruthie finds it herself. It feels like every woman in his family settles for a man who can’t discern between her and a trash bag with boobs drawn on it. 

His mama told him once that he’ll be a great boyfriend. That she knows he’ll always treat his girlfriend with respect. He wonders, minus the girlfriend part, if she’s right. He wonders if he’ll ever get to find out.

He kind of thought he’d meet someone right away at Samwell, with the whole 1 in 4 thing, but so far all he has to show for it is a pair of ruined shoes. 

His phone lights up with another text from Jack: I showed my mom your pie. She said you should teach me next year. Not sure it would be as productive as checking practice haha

“Someone special?” Ruth asks, sans any of the sharp edges that came from Rodney.

“Nah.” Bitty shakes his head, shoves his phone in his pocket. “Just a friend.”

Jack hates Henry.

He knows some people take issue with that word, hate, but he never has. It’s just a convenient descriptor.

He hates losing. He hates the third step from the bottom of the stairs in the haus that creaks way too loudly beneath his weight. He hates the way people’s lips flick downward when they realize he’s nothing like his father. He hates himself, most days.

And he hates Henry.

Shitty laughs when he says as much. “You can’t hate your cousin, man. That’s, like, against the rules of cousin-dom.”

“You hate your whole family.”

“Not my cousins though. It’s not their fault their parents are fuckwads. Bits, back me up here.”

They’re in the kitchen, huddled around the table while Bittle flutters around. Two weeks into senior year and everyone’s spending way more time here than the living room. Jack thinks they’re all desperate to get first dibs on Bittle’s pies. With the smell emanating from the oven, he can’t totally blame them.

Living with Bittle is already…a lot. He’s a morning person, for one thing. Everyone assumes Jack’s one, but he’s not. He only gets up early to run because he has to before the sun is unrelenting. His rest is too important to sacrifice even a few spare minutes of it.

Bittle, on the other hand, rises with the sun and seems chipper about it. He jokes that he keeps baker’s hours, whatever that means. 

“I’m not getting in the middle of this,” Bittle says. He scrubs a hand behind his head and Jack follows the movement. 

He looks different this year. Older. His shoulders more toned and sun kissed, his hair cropped closer to his scalp. It’s a good thing, Jack thinks. Maybe if he’s maturing, his gameplay will too.

“You don’t have a cousin you hate?” Jack asks. Bittle’s eyes widen in surprise, like he didn’t expect to be included. Or maybe like he didn’t expect Jack to include him. Jack can’t help the small thread of guilt that steadily unfurls in his stomach.

“Well, I’d never say hate—“

“Never!” Shitty slams a hand on the table. “They’d kick him out of the lollipop guild if he did.”

Bittle rolls his eyes. “I’d never say hate, but there’s one cousin I wouldn’t exactly rush to watch Sunday night football with, if you catch my drift.”

“Ooh. That’s southern speak for hate. What’d this dude do, Bitty?”

“Oh, nothing in particular. He’s just such a jock.”

Jack frowns. “You’re a jock.”

Shitty and Bittle both laugh at this, like he’s said something funny and not an indisputable fact. “You’re too good for this world, Jacky,” Shitty says. “Never change.”

“He’s a very straight jock,” Bittle amends. Ah. “A bit of a bully. Whenever our parents aren’t around, he drops hints that he knows…you know, about me. Sort of taunts me with it.”

Jack gets the sudden, inexplicable urge to punch a guy he’s never met. Which is weird, because unlike his father, he’s never been much of a fighter. 

It seems like he’s not alone in this feeling. “Uh, fuuuuck that guy,” Shitty says. “I officially change my stance. Cousin hating is allowed.”

“What? But I’m not allowed to hate Henry?”

“I dunno. I’ll make my ruling tonight.”

The dread weighing down Jack’s chest only doubles. His mom had insisted he take Henry out to dinner when he’s in town this weekend. She’d set up reservations and everything, made Jack promise to take good care of him.

Jack couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to get out of it. He probably wouldn’t if he could have anyway. After everything, he owes his parents too much, will always say yes to little favors no matter how much he begrudges them.

And he really, really begrudges this one. When Henry shows up at the haus a few hours later, he regrets it completely. He especially regrets not meeting him at the restaurant.

Henry’s eyes track across the living room. The chipping paint that probably has traces of lead in it, the couch that in Bittle’s words is ‘a blight on society’, the bong and mass of funnels barely concealed beneath the stairs.

It’s home for Jack, the closest he’s gotten since his parents moved. His parents love that he’s getting ‘the real college experience’ as his mom calls it. His dad clapped him on the shoulder the first time he visited, said it reminded him of the first apartment he shared with a few of his teammates back in the day.

Henry, on the other hand, looks disgusted. And amused. Definitely amused, like he’s holding back a laugh. “Wow, Jack,” he says, “I think I might be too gay to be here. Do you ID guys at parties to check how much pussy they’ve eaten in the last week?”

Jack doesn’t visibly flinch, but that’s only because of all the hours he spent in media training at seventeen. Henry always does this. Makes these little jabs about Jack, the straight athlete.

Every time, Jack thinks of Kent. Thinks of taking all of him in his mouth for the first time, swallowing experimentally, looking up at him through his lashes to gauge his reaction. He thinks of the guy who worked the rink where he coached peewee, the heavy looks they exchanged every time Jack walked past concessions. He gave Jack his number but Jack never called; he couldn’t, not with Samwell and another shot at his future right around the corner.

He thinks of broad shoulders and tight abs and sloppy kisses to adam’s apples and thighs heavy around his waist and untamed cowlicks and everything he craves, misses, will never have again because he’s not Henry. Because he already has one too many skeletons and he’s pretty sure they’ll topple out of the closet if he tries to shove another in.

“I can personally attest to the fact that gay people are more than welcome here,” Bittle says, handing Henry a small box that probably has pie in it. “It’s as accepting as it is disgusting.” Henry peeks down at the pie, offers a smile and a quiet thank you.

“Preach it.” Shitty says around a burp, as if hellbent on proving the disgusting part. “Gay guys can be gross too. You should be grosser, Bits.”

Henry puts his free hand up in defense. “Alright, alright. I forgot the Samwell credo. What is it, one in five?”

“Four,” Bittle corrects.

“Well, it seems like we’re two in four,” Henry says. “I think I’m skewing the statistics.”

Bittle and Shitty laugh good naturedly and Jack tries to fake it, but ultimately fails. He wonders sometimes how no one, not even Shitty, sees it. Everyone tells him that he wears what he feels right on his face yet somehow they miss this, time and time again.

He doesn’t miss it though. He doesn’t miss the way that Henry drinks Bittle in from top to bottom.

“So, what brings you to town?” Bittle asks. He does miss it, apparently, which isn’t surprising. He’s seen guys check out Bittle at parties before. Bittle always ignores them, keeps dancing, then whines to Lardo the next day about how single he is. 

Jack wonders why no one tells him how many guys seem ready to drag him back to their dorms. Maybe they’re too straight to see it, or something, but he’s sort of glad that Bittle isn’t ending up in bed with strangers.

It would just be bad for the team, is all. He’s seen it before, guys fumbling passes because of relationship drama that they can’t seem to leave off the damn ice. It’s always been baffling to him.

“I’m here to go to Boston, actually,” he says, which, obviously. No one thought he just randomly ended up in Samwell. “There’s this little French play I’m considering becoming a producer on and I’m meeting with the director.”

“Oh how fun!” Bittle says. Jack fights off an eye roll and nearly loses. He’ll never get Henry’s whole theater producing thing. It seems like he just invests his dad’s money and inevitably loses it. “So you speak French? Are you from Jack’s dad’s side of the family then?”

“No, Alicia’s my aunt. I studied French in college. You know, real French, not that Quebec stuff.”

“Ah. Okay…” Bittle says warily. “So did Mrs. Zimmermann get you into theater then?”

“Nah. I’m paving my own way. It’s great that Jack’s had his dad’s help with his career, but I wanna be able to forge my path, you know? Really earn it.”

Jack grits his teeth hard to bite back a retort. His mom connected Henry to his agent. She introduced him to the director of the one play he’s produced that’s actually turned a profit. He’ll never thank her for it because he’s too busy pretending it never happened.

“Oh,” Bittle says, the usual sparkle in his eyes a bit dimmer. “I’ll tell ya though, I don’t think Jack needs his daddy to play hockey. He works harder than God and you can’t inherit dedication like that.”

“Amen,” Shitty says. “I’m pretty sure Jack would play hockey even if Bob worked in a factory. It’s, like…his destiny.”

Jack flashes them both a look that he hopes conveys something close to the appreciation he feels. Henry simply shrugs, because nothing will change his perception of Jack being a braindead jock. When he found out Jack was going to Samwell, he said, ‘College? You know they actually make you go to class, right? You can’t just play hockey’.

Jack won’t bother telling him tonight about the meeting he had with his thesis advisor last week, the stack of research papers Shitty laughed at him for already digging into.

It won’t matter, not when Henry’s idea of Jack makes him feel so much better about himself. Jack recognizes the feeling, has been familiar with people looking at him and thinking ‘at least that’s not me’ since 2009.

“So you guys are both on Jack’s team?” Henry eyes Bittle. “I didn’t realize hockey players were allowed to be so…cute.”

There’s heat to his words that makes Jack suddenly sick to his stomach. Probably because Bittle deserves better than this asshole.

“We should get going. I’m hungry,” Jack says flatly. “And I need to turn in early. We have practice tomorrow morning.”

“Of course. I would never dream of coming between an athlete and his schedule.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, maybe ask for Bittle’s number. Jack stalks off to the car so he’ll be forced to follow.

He’s halfway there when a text from Shitty comes in that reads: Okay, ya, you win, he’s a fucking douche nozzle

Dinner is still unbearable but it helps ease the sting, knowing what he’s coming home to.

It’s been a year since Bitty last saw Rodney, so of course, he’s married with a baby on the way.

The south is slow, except for when it comes to forming families. Everyone at the annual Bittle barbecue is thrilled, practically buzzing with the news.

Bitty, for his part, is more excited about Jack standing by his side and Ruth across from him, who just quietly told him she has a girlfriend. A girlfriend! And not even in the platonic way his mom always uses it.

He snaps a picture of her and Jack for Ruth’s hockey-obsessed girlfriend when Rodney sidles up, his arms folded over his chest. “I heard rumblings about you bringing an NHL bigshot along, Dicky,” he says.

Jack’s presence is the other thing the barbecue is abuzz about. Bitty’s pretty sure he’s going to leave here with at least six of his cousins’ phone numbers.

It was hard enough being closeted last summer, but it’s even harder now. He spent this morning in bed with Jack, quietly pressing kisses to his neck, then much lower, wondering if he was doing it all wrong until he heard the tiny gasp Jack let out, chased quickly by another.

Now, he stays a respectable six inches away from him, pastes a smile on his face. “Yeah, this is Jack. Jack, this is my cousin, Rodney.”

Jack nods and Ruth retreats, flashing Bitty a sympathetic smile as she goes. He certainly doesn’t blame her for the escape.

“You play for the Bruins, right?” Rodney asks, or more so drawls.

“The Falconers,” Jack says. Rodney stares at him blankly. Talking hockey in the south is like speaking a foreign language. Bitty can’t tell if Jack loves this or hates it. Maybe both? “They’re an expansion team in Providence.”

“Expansion team?” Rodney frowns. “Isn’t your dad, like, famous or something? What are you doing there?”

“I got a few offers, but the Falcs were the best fit,” Jack says flatly. 

“Huh. So how do you know Dicky?”

“We played hockey together at Samwell before I graduated.” The bewilderment in Jack’s voice is clear. He doesn’t seem to understand that to most of Bitty’s family, the fact that he’s good enough to play with an NHL star is incomprehensible. They don’t know the name Samwell, it’s too far up north to, and they can’t seem to grasp that he’s playing not just D1 hockey, but damn good D1 hockey.

“Doing a lot of bench warming with guys like this on the team, I bet,” Rodney says to Bitty, smirking.

“No, actually. Eric played on my line. We wouldn’t have gotten as far as we did this season without him.”

It’s intense, how protective Jack is of him. It takes an impressive amount of strength to hide how much he’s swooning. He kind of wants to make an excuse about getting more napkins or something and drag Jack inside, even for five spare minutes.

But Rodney’s not done. Of course he’s not. “What, you need someone doing little spins on the team?”

“Eric’s figure skating background is a huge asset,” Jack says. “He’s faster than most guys in the NHL. He’s faster than my dad ever was. He’s faster than me.”

Rodney’s stunned into silence. He’s saved by his very pregnant wife coming up, nursing a cup of water, wrapping an arm around her husband.

Her husband. Living up north has made him more aware of how weird it is that this is just how it goes in his family. One year someone shows up single, the next they’ve got a house in the suburbs and are picking out paint colors for a nursery.

With Jack by his side, he can’t help but wonder how his family would feel if he did the same, on any timeline. Would Jack still be welcome here? Would he still be welcome here? Maybe one day, without even knowing it, he’ll come to his last family barbecue. 

He swallows the worst of his fears, smiles widely at Rodney’s wife, who he’s heard way too much about from his mother. “Amelia, right? It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Eric. I’m sorry I missed the wedding, we had a game that weekend that I couldn’t get out of.”

“A game?”

“This is Dicky,” Rodney says and there’s something weighted about his words that Bitty doesn’t like. “The hockey player up in Boston.”

“Oh, right! It’s so nice to meet you. I’d give you a hug, but…” She gestures at her stomach. He introduces Jack and they all chat for a bit about due dates. Bitty tries his darndest not to do the obvious mental math.

Amelia seems lovely. She’s gorgeous and kind and a bitter part of Bitty can’t help but wonder if she got pregnant before the engagement. If she’s trapped here, with Rodney, and that’s how he managed to land two beautiful women.

He spares a thought for Sara, off in Savannah now, living her best life. She made a celebratory post about the gay marriage ruling last month and it took everything in Bitty not to like it.

The rumor mill runs deep here. Even a simple like would give too much away.

As if reading his mind and hellbent on torturing him, Amelia says, “So, do you have a girl here? I’d love to meet her.”

He’s been asked this question for years, since he turned twelve and sprouted up a few meager inches. But it’s different now, sits even more bitter in his stomach. It’s always felt like lying, but it’s worse now that he actually has a dating life to not speak of.

“No, no. Just too busy with school and hockey.” He gives the party line, takes a long pull of his beer.

“It’s been a good summer for you though, I bet,” Rodney says. “What, with the news last month and all.” 

Bitty goes so cold that he’s pretty sure the sweat on his forehead freezes.

“The news?” Amelia asks. “What news?”

Rodney doesn’t answer. He just stares at Bitty challengingly. This is nothing more than a game to him, one that he’ll always win.

“Bittle,” Jack says gently. “Didn’t you tell me to remind you around now to bring more ice cream out?”

“Oh goodness, I did,” he says, even though he didn’t. Jack must have overheard his earlier conversation with his mama about staggering it to avoid melting, used those fast reflexes to conjure up an excuse. Everyone says Jack’s socially inept, but he never is when it counts most. He’s beyond grateful for it now. “Come on, I need an extra set of hands. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Amelia smiles and Bitty heads inside, a few paces ahead of Jack.

He’s…deeply embarrassed. And scared, too. He wonders if Jack will rethink this, realize what a mistake it is to date someone so easily recognized as gay. He wonders if Rodney will notice him like he always does, pick up on this thing he has with Jack, destroy it before it can fully solidify. It would be the ultimate play, really.

He doesn’t look at Jack when they get inside. Instead, he makes a big show of looking for the extra ice cream scoop, digging through the drawer for thirty more seconds after finding it.

“That was him, wasn’t it?”

“Hmm?” Bitty won’t look up, can’t look up.

“Your cousin who always drops hints about knowing you’re….” Jack looks around furtively, makes sure the house is truly empty. “You told me and Shitty about him.”

“Yeah. That’s him.” Bitty turns finally, meets Jack’s gaze. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed. He’s angry, Bitty realizes. “You remember that?”

Jack nods. “I remember wanting to punch him in the face.”

“Even then?”

“Even then,” Jack says, softer this time, and it’s a relief, knowing that all his ire is targeted at Rodney. “I can, you know. Punch him, I mean. I’ll do it right now if you say the word.”

Bitty laughs. “I think that would make too many headlines, hon.”

“I’ll make it look like an accident, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” Bitty takes a step closer to him, unable to resist. Ugh, this boy is gonna be the death of him. 

“A lot can go wrong in a game of flag football. You’re not the only Bittle who can get a concussion,” he says seriously. Bitty tries and fails to hide his giggles. “Or you could punch him. Could be more satisfying that way.”

“Me? He was a quarterback.”

“Must have been awhile ago.” Jack shrugs. “He doesn’t have much muscle mass. You could take him. His wife’s nice though, eh?”

Bitty leans in, conspiratorial, probably wearing the same look his mama does when she whispers gossip to him. “His high school sweetheart left him for a kid he bullied in high school. Said he was nicer to her. They live in Savannah now, and she’s pretty liberal. She seems happy.”

“Good.” Jack nods. “I wish he’d move away. I’m sorry you have to…”

“It’s fine. I mean, I left.” He opens up the freezer, pulls out a few cartons of vanilla to hide the look on his face revealing that it’s anything but. 

Jack places a hand over Bitty’s, hidden inside the freezer. If someone walks by, they can pretend they were both looking for something. He hates that they live in a world where he has to think like this. He wonders if the fear will ever shrink, worries that it won’t. That maybe he’ll die like he lived, with one foot perpetually arched back into the closet.

“I’m sorry you have to come back to this, though,” Jack says.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Bitty says quietly, barely heard over the hum of the freezer. “Is it like that with your family? All I know is that weird cousin of yours. What ever happened to his French play?”

Jack laughs. “It closed in less than a week. His grasp on French isn’t as good as he thought. Turns out it had some pro Nazi undertones. My dad’s side of the family was pissed, it was a whole thing.”

“No.” Bitty gasps. Selfishly, it’s kind of nice to hear that the perfect Zimmermanns aren’t so perfect after all.

He’s been jealous of them this past month, since Jack mentioned that his parents have known about him being bi since he was sixteen. Sixteen. His dad spent half his life in locker rooms and he’s fine with it.

Bitty forgets though, that small as it might be, Jack’s family goes beyond his parents.

He remembers that night at the beginning of the year, Jack’s muttered confession that he hated his cousin, how strangely honored Bitty felt that he let him hear that. And then the guy came over and…

“He thinks you’re straight,” Bitty says aloud as he remembers it. “Your cousin. Harry? No. Henry.”

“Yeah. He does.” Jack opens up a carton of ice cream, portions out a huge spoonful and offers it up to Bitty. Bitty keeps the freezer door open to conceal the way he wraps his mouth around it, holds eye contact with Jack as he swallows. Jack’s cheeks redden and Bitty can practically see him playing this morning back. 

Bitty feels his cheeks warm too, ducks his head. “So, uh, just your parents know?”

“And my Uncle Abe. It’s…he’s the only one I’m close enough to. I’ve considered telling my cousin Levi, but…I don’t know. They’re not like your family. No one cares about Henry being gay. But that doesn’t mean they can keep a secret, you know?”

Bitty nods, understanding. If he told one aunt, word would probably reach gay bars in Atlanta and boomerang back to his parents by this evening. “Is that why you hate him?” Bitty asks. “Because he can be himself?”

“Well, that and he’s an asshole. Every time I see him, he makes all these jokes about me being a straight athlete. It’s…a lot.”

“Maybe it’s a defense mechanism?” Bitty offers. He’s probably breaking some sort of code here, by not automatically taking Jack’s side. But Henry was very obviously gay, enough to require a frankly exhausting level of vigilance. Bitty can’t help but empathize with that.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s had bad experiences with athletes like I have.” He casts a glance outside, sees Rodney laughing, wonders reflexively if it’s about him. “He shouldn’t assume, of course. But sometimes it’s easier to make a joke about it, so no one else will make it first.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“I know that.” Bitty pats his shoulder, lets his fingers linger on the soft cotton sleeve. “But he probably doesn’t.”

“Did you? I mean, did you really never suspect?”

Bitty shakes his head. It seems stupid in hindsight. After what he heard Kent say. After Jack always paid at Annie’s and listened to every playlist he made and leapt over snowbanks just for the chance to talk to him. 

He even made Bitty a literal mix CD in the spring, threw it at him and said ‘here, I wasn’t sure how to get it on my phone. You’ve introduced me to so much music, so…’ before practically bolting back to his room.

The first song was Songbird by Fleetwood Mac. He hadn’t been brave enough to ask Jack about it until that night he and Shitty kissed the ice, when no secret felt truly off limits, except the one he didn’t know Jack was keeping.

Jack had simply shrugged, rubbed his neck, said, ‘you always sing in the shower.’

‘But you hate that,’ Bitty said.

‘I think I’ll miss it,’ Jack confessed through a laugh. Bitty realized right then and there what a truly impossible feat it would be, getting over him.

“I liked you too much, I think,” Bitty says and Jack’s eyes go all soft around the edges in a way he never would have thought possible even six months ago. “It was…it was too much to hope for. Maybe the same is true for him. Not like that of course, I mean…in his case, he could be too scared to see it.”

“Maybe.” Jack tilts his head, as if considering it. “I’m just really glad you didn’t go out with him.”

“Go out with him?” Bitty blinks. “Why would I go out with him? Because he’s gay?”

“Because he was into you.”

Bitty has zero memory of this, and he’s pretty sure Jack just thinks the rest of the world is as gone on him as he is, but he laughs. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I do know he’s not the Zimmermann I have my eye on.”

“His last name’s Clark.”

“Oh, whatever.” He hooks a hand around Jack’s bicep, lets himself look at Jack with all the heat he spent the past year trying to conceal. “My point still stands, sweetheart.” 

Jack scoops out another spoonful of ice cream and this time, plops it right onto his own shirt. “Oh no,” he says flatly. “It seems I have spilled ice cream on my shirt. Bittle, can you help me get this stain out before it sets?”

“It’s a wonder that your mama’s an actress,” Bitty says, but he follows him eagerly, laughing all the way up the stairs. 

Jack’s starting to regret coming. It’s his parents’ anniversary party, so it’s not like he had much of a choice.

But he feels weirder around his family than usual, since only two weeks ago, he was with Bitty’s. 

Bitty’s family is much bigger, for one thing. When Jack told Bitty that he only had three cousins, he couldn’t really grasp it. ‘Like on one side?’ he’d asked.

He’d balked when Jack clarified that no, he has three total. There’s Henry and his sister Lisa, an accountant who’s only slightly more bearable than her brother. On his dad's side, there’s just Levi, who’s in Rabbinical school in California.

Jack likes Levi. He’s never judged Jack the way Henry does, or pitied him like Lisa does. Despite being a year younger than him, he wrote Jack a card when he was in rehab. It seemed like such an adult thing to do, and it was the only one Jack responded to.

They’ve been sporadic pen pals ever since, so Jack knows he wasn’t able to make it out to the party. It leaves him strangely unmoored.

After a long talk with Uncle Wayne about the Falcs’ current lineup, he glues himself to Uncle Abe’s side. They talk idly about Levi’s studies, Jack’s prospects this season. 

Abe grew up playing hockey, and Jack can’t help but wonder sometimes if he’s bitter that his brother went pro in such a big way when he didn’t play past high school. It was hard enough for Jack, seeing Kent go first in the draft. He’s not sure if he’d have been able to take it at all if it was his own flesh and blood lifting that cup to his lips.

Abe seems happy to talk hockey though, thrilled for him without hesitation. “I ordered your jersey as soon as it was available,” he says. “Suzie says that I’m self absorbed and just like wearing my own name.”

Jack chuckles. He only knows his jersey’s already on sale because Bitty bought it, despite Jack’s promises that he could get him one.

There’s a picture of him wearing it over those tiny short shorts burning a hole in his phone. Jack has looked at it a frankly concerning amount of times this week.

He’s considering sneaking off to the bathroom to take another glance because, yes, he is that pathetic, when Henry sidles up to him, Lisa at his side.

“Hey,” Lisa says nervously. “You doing okay?”

She always opens with this, never ‘how are you’ or ‘what’s up’. Like she’s convinced he’s gonna collapse on the floor crying at a moment’s notice.

“Fine. The cake tastes weird though.” They all stare at him. “It’s, euh, too sugary. Not enough balance.”

“Balance?” Uncle Abe raises his eyebrows. “Your dad told me you bake a bit now, but I didn’t believe it.”

“A friend of mine taught me.” It feels wrong to say, even though it’s true. Bitty is his friend, would be his best friend if it weren’t for Shitty. And it’s not like they’re anything more yet, though he’s resolved to make it official pretty much the second Bitty gets to Providence next month. He’s not sure he can wait much longer than that.

Still, it settles wrong, the same way it did when he had to hear Bitty tell the same lie about being too busy to date over and over again.

“Oh, Eric, right?” Henry asks, and Jack steels himself just as his dad walks up beside him.

“Yes,” he says gruffly. If Henry asks for his number, Jack’s not sure he’ll have enough restraint to stop himself from blurting the truth out. 

“I almost asked him out,” Henry says with a laugh. “Not sure he was interested.”

Jack’s dad narrows his eyebrows far too knowingly. “Hmm. Maybe he had his sights set elsewhere.” Jesus. Jack’s starting to think he should tell his parents just to put them out of his misery.

“Yeah, he was a cool guy, but it seemed like he had a boyfriend or something. Not that it matters anymore.”

“Oh? Are you seeing someone?” Jack asks. Henry’s eyes widen in what seems like pleasant surprise. Jack remembers what Bitty said, that Henry could just be scared. Jack’s had enough therapy sessions about his own projection to know he’s probably right.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Cool,” Jack says. “Who is he?” Henry flashes him a grateful smile and Jack tries not to let it sting that right now, he can only be this, a supportive ‘ally’.

“Just the love of his life.” Lisa shoves him. “You guess. You’re obsessed with him! Obsessed. He’s an actor. They met when Henry was producing a play he starred in. Isn’t that the cutest?”

“How sweet,” Jack says. And then, because he can’t help himself, “Was it the French one?”

His dad takes a sip of beer to hide his smirk. Uncle Abe, far less media trained, can’t suppress a short bark of laughter.

“Uh, no.” Henry blanches. “Another one, about generations of families in the Midwest. Mike played a farmer.”

“An actor, eh?” Uncle Abe says. “You’ve got the same type as your uncle.”

“Oh shut up.” 

“You know Bobby’s first girlfriend was the star of our school’s theater program? His type is so strong that I thought Jack would inherit it.”

“Well, I’m sure Jack will date a famous actress soon, huh?” Henry says, but there’s a bit less bite to it than usual. It’s somehow worse that this is his way of being nice. “Or at least a model. You’ll probably be engaged to a Hadid sister by the end of the year.” 

Jack just shrugs. He fights off the urge to run (or to ask who the Hadid sisters are. Bitty will probably get a kick out of that question later). 

He stays put and offers up a few more questions about Henry’s new boyfriend, much to Henry’s delight. He plasters on his media smile, knows his dad can tell the difference, but Henry probably can’t.

It’s…hard, that’s all. It’s hard not to imagine a very nearby reality where he could gush like this about Bitty.

He wants to. He wants to so badly. He wants to talk about the cookies he express mailed Jack last week, how he now understands what people mean when they say they can taste love in food.

He wants to talk about this one pass Bitty made in a game against Cornell last season that he still hasn’t gotten over, how he’s sure to be captain his senior year because no one wrangles the boys off the ice better than he does. 

About how he’s funny and clever and adaptive, how he’s fierce and tender, how Jack plays better with him, laughs harder, thinks deeper.

Instead, he downs his drink just so he has an excuse to go grab another. Lisa watches him with faux concern, like she’s gonna drag him to a meeting or something, and his dad watches him with actual concern.

He ignores them both, throws out a quick parting word, and heads to the refreshment table. 

He eyes the cake, barely picked at. It really is awful. Bitty would definitely have a lot to say about it. He takes a picture and sends it off, captioned, ‘I didn’t know it was possible to mess up cake this badly. Too much sugar, I think’.

As soon as he slots his phone back in his pocket, he hears his dad’s recognizably loud footsteps. 

“Someone needs to tell Lisa I’m not an alcoholic,” Jack says in greeting. “I’m pretty sure she’s gonna tackle me to the ground if I go for a second beer.”

Bob chuckles. “Yeah, well, people hear rehab, and…”

“I know.” He’s well aware what people think after all these years. That it must be either coke or alcohol.

Even Bitty didn’t seem to know it was Xanax until Jack told him in Madison. It makes him feel sort of fuzzy that Bitty knows the whole truth now and it hasn’t stopped him from wanting Jack, maybe even starting to love him.

He’s getting ahead of himself. They haven’t said it yet. But he thinks that maybe—

“That was big of you,” his dad says, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Asking Henry all those questions. Being so supportive of him.”

“Yeah, well.” Jack shrugs. “I know he’s a Nazi sympathizer, but I’m pretty sure that was an accident.”

His dad laughs, a loud, bellowing thing. He was the first person to get Jack’s sense of humor, and he’s still one of the only people who consistently does.

“Not that,” he says, and Jack knows, was just delaying the inevitable. “I mean it must be hard. Hearing him speak so…openly like that.”

Jack tries to think of a lie and fails miserably. “Yeah,” he says simply in the end. Because after a hundred and one therapy sessions, his dad knows how to root the truth out if he wants to.

“You could do it, you know,” his dad says. He looks around, makes sure no one is listening, because half the guests at this party are former and current NHL players. He lowers his voice just in case, says, “You could come out. With the ruling this summer…I think things are changing. Don’t you?”

“Not enough,” Jack says flatly. “Not in sports.”

It’s a big deal. He knows it is. He saw the celebration in the group chat and his very first thought was of marrying Bitty, not needing to cross the border to do it. 

They could get married at Samwell; he’s seen alumni do that. Granted, they already could have, but it would be nice there, sentimental. Ransom and Holster threw rice at a couple once, and they were too happy to care that it was cooked and picked out of stir fry.

Or they could get married in Georgia. Not at the church where Bitty sat through spat sermons, and there’s definitely no temple in Madison. Maybe the field on the edge of town where they watched the fireworks, fumbled through their second time together, moans muffled by the crackling overhead. Though they’d have to think of a different story to tell their parents. 

He’s aware it’s an absurd line of thinking after less than three months, but it’s what he wants. He knows this with the same certainty that he wanted the Falcs, still wants a Cup.

But the world didn’t change overnight because of one decision, one law. The locker rooms won’t have either. Maybe they’ll even get worse, give guys more fodder for cheap jokes. And that’s not even mentioning the press, management’s reaction, the ramifications on his career. It could end before it’s finally begun.

“I know. I’m just saying…your mother and I will support you every step of the way.” Papa says this a lot, as if Jack doesn’t know this already. As if they weren’t forced to bend over backward proving it in 2009.

“I don’t—I can’t. They’re all just waiting for me to fuck up.”

“Being yourself isn’t fucking up, Jack.” His dad claps a hand on his shoulder. “No rush, okay? But whenever you’re ready, we’re here for whatever you need.”

“Okay.” Jack’s throat feels tight, hearing the way his dad talks about it like an inevitability. Whenever, not if ever. Jack never considered it an option, but now…now he knows that for a matching set of rings and a glass smashing beneath his feet, he’ll have to.

One day, though. Not today. Not without a single goal or win or trophy under his belt. Not when the very thought makes his hands tremble.

“And you know we don’t care who you date, right? I don’t get this whole obsession with the model thing. I’d love your mother even if she was a clown.” If it was any other hockey player, Jack wouldn’t believe it, but he knows his father, knows their love enough that he does.

“I think she’d argue that she did marry a clown.”

His dad laughs. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just saying…whoever you bring home…man, woman, model, teacher, baker. We’d love them no matter what. They’d be family to us.” 

Baker. Of course he just had to slip that in.

He almost considers telling his dad right here, right now, but it’s still too new, too raw. He needs to know that they can make it through the season first. That they can choose each other when the temperature drops and life gets in the way. 

He hopes with every fiber of his being that he can do it, that he can prove to Bitty that despite the distance, and schedules, and secrets, they’re worth it. That somehow, he’s worth it.

“If I dated a baker,” he says, far too amused by the way his dad’s eyes get all excited, “then maybe you’d have better cake.”

Papa deflates, but bounces back quick. “Shhh. It was your mother’s choice.”

He squeezes Jack’s shoulder and thankfully, leaves it at that.

They meet up with Ruth and Zoe for a double date the day before the annual Christmas party.

“This is so exciting,” Bitty says as Jack puts the car in park, hands him his hat for the five second walk. “I’m so excited!”

“Are you? I had no idea.” Jack smirks, but he seems pretty excited himself. He knows how big of a deal this is to Bitty.

Going on a date in public is still huge to him, but this is a double date. In Madison! With his favorite cousin! And her girlfriend! “Oh hush, I’m just so excited,” Bitty says one more time for good measure.

They walk into the restaurant and Bitty sees Zoe first, recognizes her from Ruthie’s Instagram. She instantly goes pale, hits Ruth hard on the arm, whispers something furtively.

In all his anticipation, he almost forgot that Zoe’s a hockey nut. She must be even more excited than he is. “Hey y’all!” Bitty says cheerily, pulling off his hat. “You must be Zoe! I’m Eric, and this is Jack.”

Zoe attempts to respond, but it comes out sounding more like a squeak. Ruth rolls her eyes, hits her girlfriend’s arm back. “You promised you’d be normal. You pinky promised, babe.”

“Oh shut up, you wouldn’t be normal if my cousin was a soap opera star dating another soap opera star.”

“Soap opera?” Bitty sits down on the barstool across from them, unable to hide his amusement.

“It’s her guilty pleasure.”

“Oh, I’m not guilty about it.”

There’s a beat of silence while Zoe tries to get her bearings. Jack, who’s used to behavior like this, is quiet too, scanning the menu. “Do you think I should get the salmon or the grilled chicken?” he asks Bitty at the same time that Zoe blurts out, “I just wanna say that the ref’s call in the third in your last game against the Flyers was bullshit. I tweeted about it, like, twenty times.”

“Twenty-eight,” Ruth corrects. Bitty laughs. He knew this already. He liked every single one.

He casts a glance up at Jack, who looks pleased. “I know right? We would have lost anyway though, eh? It’s been a rough season.”

He says it so much more casually than Bitty ever would have expected him to. He said it the same way on Skype to his mother a week ago, and Bitty couldn’t help but notice Alicia’s very pregnant pause before she responded.

It’s a surprise to all of them, how well Jack’s taking it. He’s not happy about it, of course, but he sleeps at night, snoring away next to Bitty whenever they can manage getting into the same bed. That’s more than he could have said a year ago.

“You’ll bounce back,” Zoe says confidently. “It’s not like anyone expects you to win two cups in a row. Who does that? I mean, except…”

She trails off, and Jack just chuckles. “Yeah. Except my dad.”

Zoe seems to know better than to push the subject, thank God, and Bitty takes advantage of the lapse in conversation to say, “Just be honest with yourself and get chicken tenders, honey. You’re on a break. Besides, it’s a sports bar in Madison. Any of the healthy options are gonna taste awful.”

“Yeah.” Jack closes the menu, pushes it forward. “You’re right.”

Bitty smiles, takes his hand. “Always am.” 

“God, you’re on a diet?” Ruthie frowns. “How do you manage that with Dicky’s pies?”

“A significant amount of self control,” Jack says. “So, are you a Falcs fan or do you just hate the Flyers?”

Zoe laughs nervously. “Both, kind of? I think I’m lost since the Thrashers got sold. I mean, I know they were awful, but I grew up going to their games and I love an underdog story. That’s how I ended up rooting for the Falcs.”

Jack nods. “Yeah, that sucks. I can’t tell you how many conversations my agent and I had about that when I started talking about signing with the Falcs. Expansion teams are tricky.”

Zoe practically falls out of her seat at the prospect of inside information and they’re off, talking about where the Thrashers went wrong and where the Falcs went right.

Bitty could easily join in, but he can see his cousin’s eyes glazing over, so he leans forward, toward her. “How long do you think they’ll go on for?”

“Oh, Zoe could go for literal hours. She mostly just talks at me. You’re lucky you both like hockey.”

“I’m not sure Jack would date me if I didn’t.” Bitty laughs. He’s kind of joking. He knows Jack will still love him even when he stops playing next year.

But it’s not a coincidence that Jack’s exclusively dated athletes before. He seems to be drawn to the way Bitty’s mind works over plays, because his own view of life is forged in ice. 

Some of the best sex they’ve had has been after Jack’s come to watch his games. He’s usually so gentle, but after watching Bitty land an assist when it counts most or squeak out a win, it’s like he remembers that Bitty’s powerful enough to take being slammed into bedsprings.

Bitty lifts his menu to cover his blush, unsurprised by how familiar it is. “This place hasn’t changed, huh? Coach used to take me all the time to watch games.”

“How’d he take it?” Ruth asks. “You coming out, I mean. I’ve been worried about that, but I was sure your phone was, like, blowing up.”

He’d wondered how long it would take for this to come up, isn’t surprised that the answer is under five minutes. Usually, he would grimace, but he wants to talk about it with her of all people. She’s in the unique position of coming out to the same family this year, in the same place—albeit, far more conventionally and less publicly.

“It was, yeah. And it’s been okay? I think?” Bitty says. “He’s adjusting. Or he’s trying to, at least. I know it was a lot for my parents, finding out like that, so I’m really trying to be patient. I’m not always successful though.”

“Finding out like what?”

“Oh, on TV and all.”

Ruth gapes at him. “Wait, they didn’t already know? Your mama told my mama that they did.”

“Oh.” This…makes sense, actually. A shred of guilt slips its way between his lungs, settles there. Of course she would lie about that. The truth, that she found out with the rest of the world, is too embarrassing. “I mean, maybe on some level she knew? But I didn’t tell her, no. I…I tried so many times, but I couldn’t get the words out.”

“I get that,” Ruth says. “I mean, I’m two years older than you and my girlfriend’s a nurse, not a celebrity, and I still pretty much shit my pants telling my parents.”

“How’d that go?” Bitty asks. Aunt Judy sent him a very ugly rainbow ceramic turkey last month, so he assumes the answer is at least okay.

“Fine, mostly. A lot of adjusting, like you said. I’m just really grateful for you, Eric.” It’s maybe the first time she’s called him that, and hearing his name come from someone with his accent hits him straight in the chest.

“For me?”

“Of course. I was only able to come out because of you. You know that, right?”

Bitty doesn’t respond, is too speechless to. Luckily, a waiter comes up to take their order. He’s a bit awkward and has to ask for Jack’s three times over. It’s unclear if he’s reacting to there being two gay couples (which is two more than there usually is in Madison) or the professional hockey player ordering chicken tenders and fries with steamed broccoli, because Jack just can’t resist a balanced meal.

Bitty doesn’t even glance at the menu, orders the barbecue sandwich he remembers liking. He’ll always get barbecue as much as humanly possible when he’s home. As soon as the waiter’s gone, Jack and Zoe launch back into their conversation, which seems to be about last year’s draft picks.

Ruth leans closer, like she always does. Bitty adored that she did this when he was a kid. It felt like his older cousin was letting him in on secret after secret, even when she said something relatively mundane.

“We were watching the game because, ya know, Zoe. And then we saw the kiss and I just…I guess I realized that if coming out took only a fraction of the bravery it took you, maybe I could survive it.”

Bitty takes a sip of his water to keep from crying. Because they’re here. They did what seemed impossible and somehow, they’re alive to talk about it. “That’s…amazing. Really. I still don’t know how I did it.”

“I do. You’ve always been brave,” she says. It’s so strange, because in Georgia, he felt anything but. But she’s only known him here, and she still says it with so much conviction.

He can’t help but reply, “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Eric, the shit you went through…I mean, you had to give up figure skating and you just went with it, picked up hockey like it was nothing. I don’t know if I could have done it. It would have killed me, seriously. Like, you remember how obsessed I was with lacrosse.”

“Wow, how did no one know we were gay?”

They both laugh and Bitty’s grateful for the distraction from how touched he is. He does what he does best and compartmentalizes it, but it will always be part of him, that loss. It hits him when he does a simple spin and the guys all cheer, not knowing how much better he was, how good he could have become.

He doesn’t let himself miss it, because when he does, the feeling rises so fast that he fears it might drown him. 

He got an email from Katya in the fall. It was short, to the point, like she always was: 

You win your championship this year, yes? Have more to celebrate. You have always been a winner, Eric. Make sure your boy knows that. Show him. Show them all.

-K

Bitty read it in class and went home after and just wept and wept and wept. Chowder held him and Dex brought him dinner, but they didn’t get it. Only Jack can come close, with losing hockey for three years, not knowing if he’d ever get it back.

But he did, in the end. He got the cup, got the Calder, got his dream, is still living it and will be for the foreseeable future. Bitty will never go to the Olympics. He’ll never feel a medal hanging heavy around his neck. It feels like a pipe dream now, but once upon a time, it hadn’t. Katya said he could do it, and she never, ever lies.

Bitty swallows thickly, pushes the thought aside where it belongs. He lost one dream, but at least another came true. He leans toward Jack a bit and, without breaking eye contact with Zoe, Jack loops his arm around Bitty, like he can sense the need.

“Anyways, all I’m saying is you had to deal with a lot of bullshit. Like the guys at school, that nonsense with Rodney…”

Jack groans, breaks away from the hockey chat, finally. Bitty regrets not timing them. “We’re talking about that guy?”

“Oh thank goodness, you hate him too? I thought, but I wasn’t totally sure…”

“Bittle doesn’t hate anyone,” Jack teases. “But I hate him.”

“Hear, hear.” Zoe lifts her drink in the air. “I hate his ass and I’ve never even met him.” Jack nods approvingly. Bitty’s pretty sure he’s walking out of here with a new best friend.

“Yeah, and at this rate, you never will, you lucky bastard.”

Bitty frowns, and not just because Ruth is clearly more comfortable cursing than he is. “What do you mean? He’s not coming to the party?” Ruth casts Zoe a sideways glance, which she returns, and it’s clear a silent conversation is happening before his eyes. He can’t help the nickname that slips out. “Ruthie! What? I’ve banned my mama from giving me family gossip, what with everything going on, but clearly I need to know.”

“Alright.” She steeples her fingers on the table. It really is amazing that the only out lesbian in their family seems to have her ear pressed to the very heart of the family gossip. The fact that she gathers all this information despite living in Atlanta now and not going to the local church is truly impressive. “You sure you wanna hear this? I don’t wanna, like, darken the mood.”

“Oh my God, did he die? Was it his truck? It was his truck, wasn’t it? It was always making this sound like errrr. I told him to take it to the shop and he laughed at me!”

“No,” Ruth says. “The truck is totaled though.”

“I knew it!”

Ruth rolls her eyes, but she’s clearly amused. “Anyways. My mama went over for breakfast at Aunt Connie’s a week or so after y’all kissed on TV. Mama was talking about how excited she was to have a celebrity come for Christmas. I mean, I don’t think you even had plans to come yet, this was when you were still radio silent, but she was insistent about it. You know how she feels about Jack’s dad.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Bitty grins. “I got her a signed picture of him for Christmas, you know. He wrote her a note and everything.”

“I hate you so much. Now she’s not gonna care about the garden gnomes I got her.”

“Ooh, but she loves her garden gnomes.”

“I know! And I somehow found one she doesn’t have yet, I made sure. It’s got pink polkadots. And I got her a rainbow one, since she’s basically competing with your mom to be the better ally.”

Bitty giggles. He’s heard as much, is pretty sure that’s why he received the god awful turkey that’s now tucked in a drawer of his desk because he’s too guilty to throw it out. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less.”

“Did you know she has a Falconers one next to her UGA gnome now? I mean, where does she even get this stuff?”

“Babe.” Zoe taps her arm. “Story. Rodney.”

“Wow.” Jack grins. “You two are definitely related.”

“Oh hush!” He turns back to Ruth, waiting, although he didn’t mind the distraction. He has an idea of where this is going. He shouldn’t care, considering how predictable it is, but it still makes his gut twist at a ninety degree angle.

“Okay, so they’re eating lunch. Turkey meatloaf—sorry, that’s not relevant. And Rodney loses his shit, says that you and Jack can’t come to Christmas because he doesn’t want you, like, infecting Chastity’s brain.” She turns to Jack, supplying, “that’s the baby.”

“I know,” Jack says quietly. He knows because Bitty’s shown him pictures of her. Because even after everything, Bitty cooed over her, ordered something off their registry, sent along a card and an adorable baby hat that looked like a peach. Because somehow, he thought that Rodney was family to him.

The nachos Ruthie ordered for the table come and she ignores them. Only Zoe, who already knows the story, starts eating. 

“Is this too much?” Ruth asks. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“No. I mean, yes, but I’m…curious. How did everyone take it?”

“Oh, it was a madhouse. I’d come out to my mom the day before, and I think the whole thing was a turning point for her. She starts yelling, ‘you love your kid no matter what’, and Uncle Tim’s like, ‘now hang on, we’re all allowed to have our own viewpoints’, and my mama’s like ‘VIEWPOINTS?’ and Aunt Connie’s trying to calm Amelia down because the fighting upset her I guess, and Rodney’s pissed that no one’s trying to calm him down, so he takes the truck out for a drive and that’s when it gets totaled.”

“No.” Bitty gasps. “He loved that thing.”

“I know. He was fine, though. But anyways, that was months ago, and he hasn’t really dropped the subject. He’s gotten kind of obsessed…with you guys. You’re sure-sure you want to hear this? I feel bad.”

“She doesn’t feel bad,” Zoe says, munching on a chip. “She’s been dying to talk about this with you. Literally dying.”

“Girl, don’t stop now or I will smother you.”

“He starts, like, watching ESPN reports on Jack, nodding along when they say it’s gonna ruin his career, or whatever. He starts looking up Jack’s family, and you, and your social media. I guess he looked up Jack’s salary one day and then he punched a wall? Like, he actually punched a wall. He sprained two fingers. And Uncle Tim’s pissed because technically, he owns the house, and he had to patch up the hole.”

“Good lord,” Bitty whispers. He’s not exactly surprised. He knows that the level of wealth the Zimmermanns have is only achievable to his family through a powerball win. He knows that if Jack was a woman, that would be the only topic of conversation back home, rather than a footnote.

Jack frowns. “Our friend Ransom told me that the salary they listed online is actually a lot less than what I make.”

“Oh my goodness, I wish he was coming just so you could tell him that.” Ruth cackles. “But he said he’s not coming if y’all are, and since my mama’s hosting, she said to him, ‘well it looks like you’ll have to make other plans’.”

It’s more than Bitty let himself hope for. He’d wondered how it would feel, making Aunt Judy’s jam for Jack’s PB&Js with the knowledge that she’d hate him for that simple act of intimacy. It makes him dizzy with relief, realizing that he’ll never have to find out. “That was kind of her,” he says.

“It was kind to all of us,” Zoe says. “We’d much rather have you there than Rodney, I mean, come on.”

Ruth nods in agreement. “Anyways, my mama did some digging, like she always does, and come to find out, they’re not doing so hot financially. He kind of, sort of, married Amelia to get an in at her daddy’s company? It seems? They run the factory, you know the one on the edge of town, with that big ole parking lot where everyone would go to make out in high school?”

“Mmmhmmm.” Bitty may or may not have taken Jack there yesterday to fulfill an old childhood dream.

“Well, I still have no clue what they make there, but whatever it is, it’s not in high demand these days. They’ve had to lay off a bunch of people. Rodney got his hours cut. So he’s, like, mad, I guess? I think…I think he feels like you should be punished for being gay, and the opposite is happening. And meanwhile he’s done everything he was supposed to, and his life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows—excuse the irony.”

“Ah,” he says. It all adds up. It’s same thing he feels emanating off of his comment sections, in the stands at his games, on the other side of the ice. They can’t stand that he’s happy. It breaks every rule they were raised with. Not just that he gets money and fame, or proximity to it at least—but that he gets love. 

It took weeks for Bitty to finally watch the cup kiss himself, and when he did, he was floored by it. By the fact that he did it, yes. But also by not just feeling how happy he is in Jack’s arms, but seeing it, knowing that anyone in the world can see it too.

“But isn’t that just, like, karma?” Jack asks, seeming genuinely confused and certainly not Christian enough for this conversation. “I mean, of course this is how things would shake out. He’s made people miserable his whole life, so now he’s miserable.”

“I don’t think he sees it that way, though,” Bitty says. “I don’t know. In his mind, it’s like I went and messed with the natural order of things. I think he thought he’d be taunting me forever. That I’d be sixty years old and still closeted while he had grandkids running around his mansion, or whatever.” Bitty doesn’t add that part of him used to think the same. Jack knows anyway though. It’s obvious by the way he squeezes Bitty’s shoulder, holds on tight.

“It’s so…” Zoe says, and they all hum in agreement at the words left unspoken.

Their entrees come, and Bitty doesn’t hesitate in taking a bite of his barbecue. It tastes like childhood. Like long football games with Coach, both of them shouting at the TV, relishing that for a few hours, they didn’t have to tiptoe around a conversation. They could just be.

Bitty may not have Rodney anymore, but maybe he never did. At least he has a family, still. Ruth and Zoe and his parents and Jack and the Zimmermanns and everyone at Samwell. He used to be so worried that he’d never find love, and now he has so much of it that it overwhelms him, that he can’t keep up with all his messages even on a good day.

Still, he can’t help but say, “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this mess. Lord, here I am causing all these rifts in the family and I’m not even here to patch ‘em up.”

Everyone gives him matching appalled expressions, but Zoe’s the quickest to answer. “Uh, good. You shouldn’t have to. It’s not your fault that that little weirdo is jealous you’ve got a hot, rich boyfriend with killer stats.”

Bitty laughs. “I’m not sure he’s jealous of anything but the rich part.”

“Eh, I don’t know. He may not wanna date Jack, but he definitely wants to be Jack,” Ruthie says. “And you, too.”

“Me?”

“He was so upset whenever your mama would brag about your scholarship to Samwell. You didn’t notice? He wanted to go pro, but he wasn’t good enough for that and his grades weren’t good enough for a college scholarship.”

“Pro?” It’s the first Bitty’s hearing of this, and it makes no sense. “With that spiral? Bless his heart.”

Ruth laughs and Jack leans close, presses a kiss to his temple. “It’s not your fault,” he says so sincerely that Bitty almost believes him. “It’s like what Shitty was ranting about last week. We can’t control how anyone reacts, just how we react back.”

“Shitty?” Zoe asks. “Is that a hockey nickname? That’s awful, I love it.”

“It’s…kind of just his name now?” Jack chuckles, spearing some broccoli, and the conversation gets lighter from there.

They talk about school and job prospects and how they met their respective partners. Bitty squeals over their story, a fight at Publix for the last pack of popcorn chicken, that ended with them splitting it for their first date. Zoe swoons over the prospect of a meet cute at checking practices. Ruth laughs at her for swooning.

It’s nice. It’s easy. Bitty’s glad to have them, because he suspects that Rodney isn’t the only one who feels the way he does, he’s just the quickest on the uptake, the most direct about it.

If he and Jack stay together, and he really, really thinks they will, it will only get harder from here. They’ll get married. They’ll have kids. They’ll go on vacations and fly first class and stay at hotels that cost more in a night than his family’s mortgage payments.

One by one, aunts and uncles will likely drop like flies, convinced they’re flaunting their sexuality, their wealth, their ‘lifestyle’.

But he’s certain now that his parents will be there to walk him down the aisle, and Ruth will basically be an aunt to his kids. Maybe that’s enough, or at least close to it.

At the end of the meal, their waiter comes up, interrupts their laughter with a not so subtle clear of his throat. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been tasked with asking if I can take your picture, Mr. Zimmermann? We have a wall of celebrities who have eaten here, but it just has Sam Hunt and that Pioneer lady on it.”

“Ree Drummond?” Bitty gasps.

“I think so? The ginger cook lady.” The guy shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Oh my God, Jack.” Bitty shakes his arm. “You have to say yes! You’d be on the wall with Ree Drummond. Moomaw would lose it.”

“Oh, well, if Ray Drummer did it, I guess I can’t say no,” Jack chirps. “This is bigger than the Calder and the cup combined, eh? I should call my dad.” He stands to his feet, follows the waiter. 

Bitty rolls his eyes. “He shouldn’t joke, he’s still on thin ice for not knowing who Ina Garten is. He asked if she was a gardener. He’s ridiculous.”

“He’s sweet.” Ruth grins. “I’m really glad you have him, Dicky.”

“Aww.” For the first time in years, he almost feels like the nickname suits him. “Well, I’m glad you have Zoe. Y’all are too cute.”

“Yeah, I’m not glad. I’m gonna be hearing about her conversation with Jack for the next two years.”

“No shit. I talked hockey with a Stanley cup winner, Ruth. This is the best day of my life, and I need you to accept that.” She leans a heavy head on her girlfriend’s shoulder. “God, your family’s so cool.”

“Nah.” Ruth’s smile only widens. “It’s just them.”

Jack is, inexplicably, at his third engagement party in two months. “How many of these are we gonna have?” he asks his mom, who’s running around getting everything ready despite having a staff of six on hand. “This is bigger than the cup was, I think.”

His mom stops long enough to scoff. “Of course it’s bigger than the cup! You’ll win another one, but you only get engaged once, Jack.”

“If you’re lucky,” his dad says. Jack assumes he means the Cup, until he adds, “There’s always a chance that Eric figures out Jack got the better end of the deal here, and our son has to settle for someone who can’t even bake. Can you imagine, honey?” He shudders.

“Shut up and pass me that vase. Who put that there? It looks atrocious.”

“I’m pretty sure you did. Alright, alright, I’ve got it, don’t look at me like that.” 

Jack knows it’s a joke, but he wouldn’t be surprised. It’s still surreal, the ring around Bitty’s finger, knowing he’s the one who put it there. 

Bitty comes downstairs a few minutes later, finally done getting ready. Jack takes the time to look him over, because Bitty in his finest suit really is a sight to behold. Then, he lifts his hand, examines the ring.

“What in the world are you doing?” Bitty laughs.

“Just checking,” Jack says, dropping a kiss to the ring, a new habit that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to shake.

“So what level of fame are the guests coming? How nervous do I need to be on a scale from, like, you to Beyoncé?”

“Well, definitely not Beyoncé.” Jack hopes Bitty doesn’t notice the way his voice goes up around her name. He’s already connected with a booking group to find out the cost of a private concert from her, and he told his agent to take the stupidly high paying partnership Armani offered him to cover it.

He’ll stand around looking ridiculous in too tight suits if it means Bitty can hear Beyoncé sing Halo at their rehearsal dinner. Besides, he’s pretty sure Bitty will like the too tight suits.

“Give me more to work with than that, c’mon honey.”

“I don’t know, honestly. My mom makes all the guest lists. Expect Canadian celebrities, mostly. Did I ever tell you about the party that Kent and I threw that Justin Bieber crashed? Nice kid. Lots of tough breaks, that one.”

Bitty stares up at him, blinks a few times. “You’re a ridiculous human being and if Celine Dion comes, I make no apologies for the person you will see me become.”

“Yeah, fair enough.”

He loses track of Bitty pretty quickly, though. That happens at these things, he’s learned. Everyone’s there to celebrate their love, but they’re not allowed to spend more than two minutes together. It’s very unfair.

One second, he was introducing him to Levi, both of them chatting up a storm about kosher recipes. The next, Bitty was whisked away. 

He’s now wrapped up in a conversation with Seth Rogen, which seems to be about how to mask the taste of weed in brownies since Shitty’s always requesting them.

Jack snaps a picture, sends it to Shitty, captioned: I think they’re talking about you.

Shitty replies right away: HOLY SHITTTT!! pls tell him im high rn lmfao. Will watch superbad just for him

Jack texts back: Like it’s such an inconvenience for you to watch Superbad, before tucking his phone into his pocket.

He looks up to see Henry making a beeline for him. He waves, but Henry goes for a tight hug. “Hey,” Jack says. “I didn’t know you were coming. I didn’t know anyone who was coming though, you know how my mom is.”

“Yeah, I do.” He tosses a glance over to where Bitty’s making Seth laugh hard with his head thrown back, which to be fair, seems like an easy task to do. “Is that Seth Rogen? Also, did you know Martin Short is here? I just ran into him in the bathroom and made an ass of myself.”

“Oh, yeah, Marty golfs with my dad whenever he’s in town.”

“Of course he does.” They both fall silent, watching each other for a second. Jack hasn’t seen him since before he came out, he realizes now. He’s not sure what they’ll say to each other if Henry’s not ribbing him for being ‘aggressively heterosexual’.

“So, how’s Mike?” Jack asks, at the same time that Henry says, “Look, I’m sorry, I—”

Henry stops mid-sentence. “Mike? Who’s Mike?”

“The actor? Who plays the farmer? The last time I saw you, you were dating him?” He says it all like a question. That was two years ago, he realizes belatedly. And not every person in the world is as gone on their partners as he is on Bitty. He forgets that sometimes.

“Oh, wow, it’s really nice that you remember that. We broke up forever ago.” He runs a hand through his hair, shorter than when Jack last saw him. “It’s a bad idea to date someone in your field, you know? Although, you don’t know, I guess.”

His eyes track to Bitty again, who’s been pulled into a conversation with a few retired D-men from the Pens who make him look even tinier than usual. Jack watches to make sure they’re not crushing him before he turns back to Henry.

“I watched the game with my mom. The one you won, I mean, the final or whatever. I didn’t want to,” he admits. “You know how I feel about sports. But, I mean, it was you, so.”

“Yeah.” Jack nods. “Thanks.” From Henry, that means a lot. But he supposes he did go to that terrible French play on opening night.

He was the one to pull Henry aside, whispering furtively that he needed to take his name off of it and pull his money out immediately. It’s…they’re family. 

“So we saw the kiss live,” Henry says. “My mom wasn’t surprised, but I was. I…my first kiss was with a basketball player. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No.”

“No. I wouldn’t have.” Henry inhales sharply. “He got scared. Freaked out. He outed me, in the end. I think I’ve had a chip on my shoulder when it comes to jocks ever since. I…took it out on you. That was fucked.”

“It’s okay. That’s really messed up of him,” Jack says. He wonders why no one told him. Maybe his parents were worried it would freak him out. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. About me, I mean.”

“No, but you were a good guy. And you were dealing with enough shit, I mean, Jesus. Lisa was always telling me that, but she seemed convinced you were gonna drop dead, so I dunno.”

“Yeah, she’s always been dramatic about that. But, ya know, she cares,” Jack says. It’s taken awhile, but he can see that now. They all do, every member of his family. He’s lucky like that.

“Also…I’m sorry I hit on your boyfriend—fiancé now, damn. I really respect you for not beating the shit out of me for that.”

Jack chuckles. “It’s okay. We weren’t dating back then.”

“But you loved him already, didn’t you?” he asks. “I mean, the live feed was so grainy, there was no way to know it was him at first, but I figured it out. Once I got past my own shit, I realized how damn obvious it was. The way you looked at him...”

“Yeah. I get that a lot.” Jack looks at Bitty, who of course is holding his own with both D-men, lightly punching one on the shoulder. “And I did. Love him back then, I mean. I just didn’t know it yet.”

“Man, if you told past me that my jock cousin would get engaged to a guy before me, I’d lose my whole mind. But I’m just…happy for you, really. Oh, and for the cup! That’s huge. Obviously I know fuck all about it, but I know what it means to you. You deserve it, Jack. All of it. Seriously.”

“Thanks,” Jack says softly. Coming from Henry, it’s easier to believe. “What about you? You seeing anyone?”

“Nah. I’m just kinda dating around. You know how it goes,” Henry says. Jack nods, even though he doesn’t. Even though he never made it past a date or two if he didn’t like the person and when he kissed Bitty, he knew that was it for him the second their lips parted. “Hey, you know any other gay hockey players? I think I’m ready to admit that athletes are kinda my type.”

Jack looks around furtively, because Kent is here, actually. He gave Jack a pat on the back, said he knew better than to turn down an invitation from Alicia, then disappeared deep into the crowd. “Euh, yeah. But I…”

“You dated him?” Henry fills in. Jack nods again and Henry lets out a low whistle. “Shit, Jack. Save some for the rest of us.”

Jack laughs at that and Henry joins in and he feels so, so light, like he’s gotten closure on something he never realized he needed.

He’s chuckling so hard that he doesn’t notice Bitty until he’s pressed into his side. “Jack,” he hisses. “Celine Dion is here. Your mom said she wanted to introduce me and I ran away.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know! I panicked. I panicked so hard. I think I need to change my bowtie.”

“Your bowtie’s fine.”

Bitty’s eyes wander toward Henry. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! Henry, hey, how are ya?”

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s Celine Dion. I watched Titanic a ridiculous amount of times as a kid. Just kept rewinding that VHS.”

“Of course you did,” Bitty says. “Who didn’t want Leonardo DiCaprio to draw him like one of their French girls?”

“I didn’t,” Jack says. “He worked with my mom. That would be weird.” This earns him eerily similar glares from both Bitty and Henry. 

“Stop being all famous and annoyingly handsome and take me to meet Celine Dion so my mama doesn’t literally kill me later.”

“Annoyingly handsome?”

“Jack.” Bitty lifts a finger, and he knows he needs to tread carefully if his first name is being used twice in a row. “I’m not messing around.”

“Alright, alright.” Jack loops his fingers through Bitty’s. Henry’s eyes noticeably follow the action, but he doesn’t seem jealous, just happy. He’s a better man than Jack, that’s for sure. “It was nice seeing you. You still in town tomorrow? Maybe we could get lunch.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I need to hear who your gay awakening was if it wasn’t young Leo.”

“Oh, I know this one!” Bitty starts. Jack slaps a hand over his mouth before Bitty can tell Henry about the spiritual experience that was The Mighty Ducks 2 for him.

“You’re not meeting Celine if you finish that sentence,” he warns, and Henry laughs again. “Let’s definitely do lunch. I’ll text you.”

“Great. I’m gonna go rub shoulders with any theater people I can get my hands on. See ya.” He smiles and for the first time maybe ever, Jack smiles back.

The annual Bittle barbecue isn’t too different in Providence. It still sprawls across the lawn. There are still games of flag football vicious enough for two retired Stanley Cup champions to pull hamstrings.

Men still hover over the grill, though a handful of women do too. Notably, Georgia pushes both Marty and Thirdy out of the way so they don’t ‘fuck up her burger’.

There are less Bittles, though. Some of them flat out don’t want to come. Others can’t, even with Bitty’s offers to pay for their travel expenses. Either they can’t get the time off work, or they refuse to take the ‘charity’.

They’re proud men. He gets it. It hurt the first few years, but it’s easier now. His mama sits on the grass, bouncing Hannah on her lap, and it feels like the start of the world, not the end of it.

“She’ll be making pies with me soon, huh?” Bitty smiles at his daughter from his station at the dessert table, fidgeting with the display, because old habits die hard.

“Bits, she’s two,” Jack says.

“So? I was three when I started. How old were you when you started skating?”

“...no comment.”

“This is not a presser, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty scolds. “You can’t ‘no comment’ your way out of this.”

“Oh, he try though.” Tater grins, cutting half a pie for himself. “He have hickey in locker room once and say same thing.”

“Alexei Mashkov,” Bitty scolds. Bob’s in earshot, and of course he’s howling laughing. “No pie for you.”

“NO!” Tater yells and takes off running.

“GIRLS!” Bitty shouts to the twins Ruth and Zoe adopted a few years back. They’re eight now and menaces in the best way possible, just like their mothers. “Attack, but don’t get the pie!”

They grab their water guns and point them in the direction of Tater, chasing him across the lawn. “I can’t believe they listened to you,” Jack says.

“Of course they did. I’m their Uncle Dicky.”

“I still can’t believe they actually call you that and it’s not a horrible gay joke,” comes Henry’s voice. He’s holding the hand of a much taller, muscular man, who waves shyly at them.

“I resent the implication and I resent you for not telling us you were bringing someone!” Bitty lunges forward for a hug. When he pulls back, he gives Jack a look like ‘did you know about this?’ and earns a firm ‘nope’ in his eyes in response.

“Ew, stop the silent communication thing, I hate you,” he says lightly, and it’s almost hard to believe that Jack once said the same and meant it. “This is Ross. He, uh, plays baseball.”

“Does he now?” Jack crosses his arms, far too smug.

“Just minor league,” Ross says, waving a hand. “I’m not like…you or anything. Congrats on winning the cup, by the way. Again, I mean.”

“Thanks. Wow, Henry. Your boyfriend’s impressed by me. Aren’t you gonna dump him?”

“I will kill you, Zimmermann.” He points a finger that’s probably supposed to look threatening. “I will poison your precious maple apple pie. Now where’s Hannah? You know I’m really here for her.”

“You’ll have to rip her away from her grandma,” Bitty says.

“And me! I’m next in line.” Bob takes off, racing Henry across the grass. Ross offers them a sheepish smile and follows behind them, hands in his pockets.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” Bitty says to Jack when they’re gone.

“I know.” Jack lifts Bitty’s left hand, drops a kiss to his ring finger. “But you love me.”

“I do.” Bitty smiles. He looks out at the lawn, where Shitty and Lardo are now being soaked by the girls, getting their revenge with water balloons. Wayne and Tater are entering what’s beginning to look like a fist fight for the last slice of blueberry pie. Georgia’s cussing out at least seven men above six feet, because they fucked up her burger after all. “And I love our family.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Jack picks up the ice cream scoop, doles out a bowl. Bitty can’t help but watch him, remembering their first barbecue as a couple. Their locked hands, carefully concealed by the freezer door. His fear that maybe that was it for them. That they wouldn’t ever come out, make it to the other side.

And now they’re here, living in it everyday. Bitty tugs Jack’s hand, pulls him to the grass. They settle, laying down wrapped up in each other, ice cream at their sides steadily melting. The clouds tumble over their heads, and they have nothing on the ones in Georgia, but he still counts every one like the blessings they are.