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If JJ is being completely honest, the World Junior Summer Showcase is kind of a shit show.
It’s selection camp disguised as a no-pressure tournament. Like there wouldn’t be any pressure when he’s pulling that red jersey over his head, that maple leaf on his chest.
They lose to Finland. They lose to Sweden. And then they lose fucking 5-1 to the fucking Americans. Right there, in Plymouth—the fucking United States National Team Development Program rink—in front of TSN and Canada and the hockey gods.
Coach doesn’t even yell. His face is solemn, inscrutable as he shakes each of the boys’ hands in the locker room, thanking them for their effort. Reminding them that the final World Juniors roster will be announced in December.
The loss—the entire Showcase—doesn’t mean anything, not in the long run. JJ knows this. His spot on the final roster is all but assured. Hell, the hockey media is already bandying his name out for the captaincy.
But.
God. Nothing felt right out there. His passes weren’t connecting, his arms felt like rubber—his supposedly “soft” hands couldn’t stickhandle the puck for shit. JJ could barely look at Leo—ecstatic, decked out in red, white, and blue—in the handshake like after the game. He already feels like he’s letting Canada down.
JJ rolls over in the too-fluffy hotel bed, face-plants into the pillows, and screams.
A wet washcloth lands on his bare back with a thump. “Don’t die, please. If you die in bed Hockey Canada will never forgive me.”
JJ flops onto his back, one wrist pressed to his forehead dramatically, still in high dudgeon. “Take pity on me, Gauths. I’m gonna die alone with no gold medals.”
Julien Gauthier rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond smile playing at his lips as he rescues the washcloth from the bedsheets and sets about cleaning the drying come off JJ’s abs. “You hear about Kamloops straight up bribing Red Deer to not take that crazy Russian kid in the Import Draft?” His voice is soft, Québécois rolling off his tongue to sooth JJ’s soul trapped in this Anglo hellhole. It also helps that Gauths is very nice to look at—tan and off-season bulked up—and knows the score when it comes to them. Hell, he was the one who introduced JJ to the “brojob.”
“Fuck, yeah, and then how ‘Sauga picked him first overall instead, fucking it all up?” JJ laughs, letting his eyes drift shut as Gauths tosses the washcloth somewhere and curls up next to him. “I actually got a call from Cam Russell, our GM, yesterday. Apparently we got some, like, Kazakh dude in the Import Draft and they’re really excited. I didn’t even know they played hockey in Kazakhstan. Where the fuck even is Kazakhstan?”
Gauths laughs. “I’m pretty sure it’s like a former Soviet state or something.”
JJ lets his uncertainty leak into his voice when he finally speaks again. “They wanna put him on my wing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
--
The Kazakh kid doesn’t show up to training camp.
JJ angrily chews his mouth guard when Coach tells them the news. Who does the kid think he is, turning down the Halifax Mooseheads to play in some shitty backwoods KHL call up league? The KHL can’t even pay its superstars. Fucking Russians.
“Hey,” Leo says, gently hip-checking JJ out of his funk. “We don’t need him anyways.”
“Damn straight.”
--
They’re in the midst of a four-game winning streak when December rolls around the JJ switches into World Junior Championship Mode. He gets the C—as expected—and waits impatiently as the rest of the roster is announced.
Leo floats around on cloud nine the day the USA roster gets announced, as if there was ever any doubt he’d make the team, like he’s not the best defenseman in the Q—in the whole CHL, probably. “You won’t be so smug when ‘Merica beats Canada for the gold, WahWah,” Leo says, just to stop the chirps.
JJ rolls his eyes. “Shut your mouth, Glacier. As if.” In any event, he can’t help but smile as Leo runs around the empty arena concourse on Nico’s shoulders yelling that dumb USA victory chant.
“Oh, Mama, don’t you cry. USA Hockey is do or die!...”
--
In the spirit of team bonding and breaking up the Q/O/Dub cliques, Hockey Canada rooms him with Mikey McLeod. JJ’s mostly fine with this. Mikey’s okay, for a boy from Toronto. Too pretty, too good at hockey, too brave. Everyone knows about his fairytale with his boy Bastian. Hell, Mikey McLeoded—yes, it’s a verb when it comes to that crazy family getting their way—Ray Shero into drafting Bastian so they could be together. It’s sickening.
(JJ’s not that brave. He’s also not jealous. He’s not.)
Mikey’s already in the hotel room when JJ arrives, sprawled out on the far bed messing with his phone. “Yo, cap.”
“Hey, man,” JJ says, dropping his duffle on the floor and slumping onto the free bed. “Hey, Bastian.”
Mikey rolls his eyes but turns his phone around so JJ can see he’s FaceTiming his boy. “Hey, Leroy!” Bastian chirps.
JJ smirks just a little mean to mask how much they make him want to smile.
--
The day before the tournament starts is half practice, half cutesy bullshit for the cameras. They’re a bunch of eighteen and nineteen year old boys with the weight of Canada’s expectations on their shoulders, and Canada wants to know who they are. So JJ smiles his Media Smile and plays the Charismatic Captain. Hockey is Canada’s game. It’s the one thing he knows how to do.
They’re all dead tired after Coach Ducharme finally releases them, but every single boy dutifully files into the conference room JJ booked for team bonding and video games. Team chemistry is no joke. Over the course of the next two weeks these boys will become his brothers. Tournaments are weird on the psyche—a flash in the pan of extreme emotion and intense physicality. Hockey, day in and day out.
When you put that Canada jersey on, you’re no longer an individual—you’re a part of something bigger.
The name on the front is a lot more important than the one on the back.
--
Their first game is against Kazakhstan on Boxing Day.
“They play hockey in Kazakhstan?” Dylan Strome asks.
JJ catches Gauths’ eye across the locker room and tries not to laugh.
Coach explains (again) how Denmark was relegated at the last World Juniors, and Kazakhstan got bumped up into the top division. “But don’t think they’ll be some walk in the park, boys. Don’t think about tomorrow’s game when we’ve got one to play today. The Kazakhs might not have the depth to win medals, but they’ve got some good players. Be aware when Altin is on the ice. He’s dangerous.”
Altin.
JJ focuses on taping his stick and tunes out the rest of Coach’s spiel. Otabek Altin, the Hero of Kazakhstan. The guy who almost played on his wing. JJ had looked him up before training camp, in hopes of learning something about his soon-to-be teammate. He’d been mesmerized by Altin’s skating—his edgework was flawless.
JJ creases a wrinkle into a loop of tape on his stick blade, scowls, and rips the whole thing off to start again.
Fuck Altin and fuck Kazakhstan. How good can they be anyway?
--
The answer: not very good.
Well.
Begrudgingly, JJ has to admit that Altin is pretty good.
Canada wins 11-4; JJ scores twice, but Altin scores all four of Kazakhstan’s goals. A hat trick—and then another goal!—in a World Juniors game. Kazakhstan’s entire offensive strategy seems to be “get the puck to Altin so he can score.”
And, well, it works. (Sort of.)
JJ finds it hard to tear his eyes away from Altin when he’s sitting on the Canada bench, breathing heavy after a long shift. Altin skates effortlessly, breezing by Canada’s top defensive pair like it’s nothing.
(Good hockey always did get him hot.)
In the handshake line after the game, JJ tells himself to not make it weird. A simple hand clasp, a “good game”—he doesn’t even have to look at Altin.
(He can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be Altin’s centerman. On the Mooseheads, having all that speed and skill on his wing, dishing no-look backhand passes and knowing that they’ll connect…)
Altin is the one who makes it weird.
“Good game,” JJ says, looking somewhere past Altin’s left ear, and starts to pull his hand away.
Altin doesn’t let him.
JJ’s finally looks him in the eyes, and is trapped by what he sees there. Altin has been stoic the entire game, almost resigned—he barely celly’d after his goals. But now, up close, JJ can see the emotion churning in Altin’s eyes, just below the surface. This boy is not the hockey robot the media might make him out to be.
“I’ll see in Halifax,” Altin says. His voice is way deeper than JJ expected, his English decent.
“Really?” JJ asks, stunned. They’re having this discussion now?
Altin nods and uses his free hand to clasp JJ on the shoulder. “Win gold, eh?” There’s something teasing at the corner of his mouth, the ghost of a smile perhaps.
JJ can’t help but smirk. “Of course.”
--
It’s some major déjà vu, watching team USA celebrate on the other end of the ice. They’re all lined up on the blue line, arms around each other and singing along as the Star Spangled Banner plays and their flag is raised to the rafters.
The silver medal feels like a ton of bricks weighing down his neck.
They failed.
They gave up two separate 2-goal leads. They couldn’t score in overtime. Couldn’t score in the shootout.
Mikey’s crying, a bit. A few of the boys are.
JJ’s eyes burn, but he doesn’t let any tears fall.
He doesn’t deserve the relief it would bring.
--
Three days after JJ gets back to Halifax, silver medal shoved deep in his closet at his billet family’s house, Otabek Altin walks into the arena as practice is winding down. JJ spots him talking to the GM and Coach by the bench and can’t help but skate over.
“Leroy!” Coach says. “This is Otabek Altin. We want to try him out on your wing. How’s that sound?”
There’s a smile teasing at the corner of Altin’s mouth; JJ knows what to look for now. “That sounds good, Coach.”
--
Having Otabek on his wing turns out to be everything JJ thought it would be, and more. Their chemistry is immediate—they know where each other are on the ice without looking, can figure out the other’s next move from the way they shift in their skates.
They make beautiful hockey together.
People start talking about the Mooseheads making a run for the Memorial Cup. JJ finally starts garnering some NHL Draft buzz. So does Otabek.
The disappointment from World Juniors seems far, far away.
--
The hockey is great, and as JJ spends more and more time with Otabek, he finds that the dude is just as amazing.
Otabek quickly becomes a pillar of strength in the locker room, calm and even-keeled when the bounces are going against them, it’s showing on the scoreboard, and morale is low. He’s funny in a lowkey, dry way that never fails to send JJ into pieces. He’s a sneaky video game genius, lethal at Mario Kart. And he’s hot like burning. Not that JJ’s like, noticed, or anything.
“C’mon c’mon c’mon, no!!! Ahhhhhh,” Leo slumps back against the couch in despair as his Luigi falls off Rainbow Road. Otabek’s Princess Peach sails past him. “How are you so good at this, Alty?”
Otabek shrugs.
“How are you a semi-pro hockey player with that shit of hand-eye coordination, Glacier?” JJ snarks from his spot on the carpet, leaning against Otabek’s legs. He doesn’t even glance up from his phone, trawling Instagram while waiting to play winner.
“Oh, fuck off, WahWah,” Leo laughs. His phone chimes. “Damn. I gotta go. My billet mom’s making tacos and if I’m not there to supervise she’ll mess ‘em up.” He tosses his controller to JJ. “Here, man. I pass the mantle of losing off to you. Peace out.” JJ hears him say goodbye to JJ’s own billet mom on his way out.
JJ takes Leo’s spot on the couch next to Otabek and they restart the level. “For real though, how’d you get so good at this game?”
“I used to play it with my sister almost every day back in Almaty.”
“That’s cool,” JJ says. He doesn’t know what makes him continue, but he can’t stop the words from coming. “It’s… it’s really brave of you to move to Canada for hockey. I can’t imagine being so far from my family. They’re just in Montréal and it’s hard enough.”
Otabek nods. “It is hard. I miss them always. But, it’s hockey, you know? My dream.”
“What made you finally decide to come to Halifax?”
“You.”
JJ’s brain grinds to a halt. He doesn’t even notice as Luigi once again vaults off the track. “What?”
Otabek pauses the game and turns to look JJ head on. “I saw you at World Juniors. You were amazing. I knew I wanted to play hockey with you.”
JJ looks into Otabek’s eyes and sees the emotion there. His heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of his chest. Otabek is so close, it would be so easy to lean in and brush their lips together.
But JJ isn’t brave, not like Mikey, not like Otabek. He swallows around the catch in his throat and turns back to the TV and unpauses the game. “I wanted to play hockey with you, too.”
--
The last Halifax Mooseheads home game of the season is the Teddy Bear Toss.
The crowd brings teddy bears to donate to the local children’s hospital. When the Mooseheads score their first goal of the night, everyone tosses their teddy bears onto the ice to be collected and donated.
JJ will never admit it, but it’s his favorite gimmick night.
They’re playing Rimouski Océanic and it’s a gritty, chippy game. Low scoring, full of dirt battles in the corners for pucks—a real goalie duel. JJ’s been to the penalty box twice already, and it’s just the second period (first for a tripping minor and then for a retaliatory cross-check to the asshole who high-sticked him).
He takes the towel the penalty box attendant hands him and wipes the blood from his mouth, grinning like a maniac. He fucking loves playing Rimouski. This is JJ’s style of hockey.
It’s in overtime when Otabek finally breaks the 0-0 tie. JJ battles for the puck in the corner behind the Mooseheads net, jamming his stick into the mess of bodies. The puck bursts free and he saucers it up the ice to where Otabek is waiting at the blue line. Otabek is already in motion, using a burst of speed to cut across the neutral zone, catch the Rimouski defensemen standing still, and snipe on the goalie. Five hole. On a breakaway. 1-0.
Fuckin’ beauty move.
Teddy bears rain from the heavens as the Mooseheads jump off the bench and swarm Otabek in celebration. JJ makes his way slowly across the ice—there are a thousand stuffed animals on the ice now, it’s kind of a hazard—when a spot of color catches his eye.
A teddy bear laying on the red line, dressed in a jacket of sky blue and gold. JJ swipes it off the ice. The kids won’t miss one teddy bear out of a thousand, and besides: this one wasn’t meant for them anyway.
--
JJ finds Otabek at the skate sharpener after the game.
“Hey.”
Otabek looks up, and JJ swears that his eyes soften and that almost-smile appears by his mouth. “Hey.”
JJ clutches the teddy bear, brushing his fingers against its soft Team Kazakhstan jacket. “I’m scared of a lot of things. I’m scared of the playoffs. I’m scared of the Draft. I’m scared of… of falling in love. I’m just a hockey player. Hockey is literally the only thing I’m good at. I don’t know how to be brave. Not like you, Beka.” He takes a steadying breath and risks a glance up at Otabek. “But I want to try. To be brave. Outside of hockey. With you.”
With trembling fingers Otabek takes the teddy bear from JJ’s outstretched hand. He holds it in the crook of his arm before folding JJ into his arms. JJ sinks into the hug, pressing his face into Otabek’s neck. He feels Otabek’s lips brush the shell of his ear. “Let’s be brave together.”
JJ lifts his head to meet Otabek’s soft eyes. That hidden smile is hidden no more, lighting up Otabek’s face into the best thing JJ’s ever seen. They lean in together and their lips meet in a kiss.
--
“...With the first overall pick of the 2017 NHL Draft, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select, from the Halifax Mooseheads, Jean-Jacques Leroy!”