Archive of Our Own ^beta

Never never change your lovers under any midnight spell
Take it easy, slow and easy, everything will turn out well
Let the sunshine of a new day, and don't move while you're uptight
Changing lovers in the middle of the night
-Boney M

***

“Was it worth it?”

Jack’s head turns, his eyes narrowed, an ache in his chest when he hears Bitty ask him that because…because how can he ask him that? Except Jack knows how Bitty can ask him that. It only makes sense that he would.

And in a way, Jack thinks it’s the anticipation of the walls crashing down that’s worse than any criticism they’ve faced so far. They’ve taken precautions—George has been handling all of the press, the interviews Jack has sat through have all been phoned in, and all the questions are pre-screened and discussed with PR before Jack opens his mouth. Everyone from SMH is under strict, ‘No Comment’ orders, and Bitty has relinquished control over his social media—everything locked up tight until they’re sure he’s not going to be attacked.

There will be critique. There will be cruelty. Jack’s not a fool, he knows exactly what he signed up for when he took Bitty in his arms, whispered, “Yeah,” and went for it. They’d planned for this the very weekend he had pushed that little toy into Bitty’s hands, asked him to be his, and then confessed that he’s been in love with Bitty longer than he realised.

Jack didn’t want to hide him. He’s never wanted to hide him.

Knowing what could be facing them outside the doors of his apartment doesn’t change that.

But he knows the pressure. He knows Bitty didn’t grow up with the support Jack had. Jack’s anxiety might have made him feel alone, and drowning, but logic reminds him that was never true. His parents had known about Parse from the moment it started, and they never looked at him askance. They never asked him to hide. When Jack looked them in the eyes over Skype and said he was in love with Eric Bittle, they just smiled and his dad gave him ways to be open, and safe.

So he understands why Bitty’s asking the question, and it’s not like he didn’t have moments today—Cup Day, when he had to face the public with far less of a team buffer than before—where he asked himself it was worth it. Not because they were constantly facing a barrage of angry Christian mobs holding signs, but because they were waiting for the moment they would.

Fear of the unknown made it so much worse. And there were several moments Jack had to wonder if he missed being able to walk to the supermarket—next to Bitty, not holding his hand—and not fear what might be round the corner. Hell, it was easy enough then, to let heteronormativity guide the assumptions of every single person who passed by them. He and Bitty had been on countless romantic dates, and no one had ever bothered to question what they were doing, because they’d been conditioned not to.

Just bros being dudes, as Shitty would say.

It was why Bitty’s parents had never suspected. Why Jack had spent time there, why Bitty had spent most of his holidays in Providence, and they never thought to question. They never assumed—not because they didn’t know, but because they didn’t want to. And it had been a Moment for Bitty, to take control of his own narrative and come out in a way he couldn’t take back, a way his parents couldn’t try to re-write or deny. They hadn’t spoken to him since the morning when Shitty had picked up the phone by accident. Jack and Bitty had fled Providence, had left Bitty’s phone, and most of their clothes, and five blissful days had passed before Jack was forced to return.

“It’s not going to go well,” Bitty had told him as he scrolled through his phone the night they got back. “If I call her…it’s not going to go well.”

“You know I’m here, Bits,” Jack had replied, and took Bitty into his arms.

Bitty had signed, and nestled into the warm embrace, his gaze fixed across the room on nothing. “I’ll have to face her at some point, but I need time.”

“You’re an adult, bud,” Jack reminded him softly. “You don’t owe her anything.”

“I know,” Bitty had whispered, but his tone didn’t sound sure. It was the last thing he would say for the rest of that night.

Jack lets his fingers drag across the cool metal of the cup now, minutes before it’s set to leave, and Thirdy will have his day.

“I just mean…” Bitty’s voice trails off, a little more tense than it has been all day. “The choices we made to get here, you know? What if it’s bad, Jack?”

“What if it is,” Jack says, and looks up at Bitty whose got his thumbnail between his teeth. “We’ve been through bad before.”

Bitty scoffs. “Yeah, but not like…not like this. This isn’t running through the quad naked at spring C and ending up in the Swallow for a week, Jack. This is…”

“More,” Jack finishes for him. His hand splays flat on the side of the cup, and for a moment, he wonders if this is the last time he’ll ever touch it. Probably not. Logic says he won’t win next year, even if their performance isn’t affected by all of…of this. The team has already sent a thousand texts to know they have his back, that they won’t let anything happen to him, that he’s safe here. Georgia’s first message is from the owner of the Falcs, letting Jack know he has a home here as long as he wants one.

Jack trusts them, but he also knows hockey so…

“I just…there were so many other ways we could have done things. I wasn’t even unhappy!” Bitty says, and he drops his face into his hands with a shuddering sigh. “I was just…my momma just…”

“I know.” Jack wants to reach for him, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. “And it’s not like I didn’t…think about that too,” he admits. “Or that I haven’t thought like that before. What if. What if I hadn’t taken too many meds. What if I decided not to go to Samwell.”

“What if you took Parse up on his offer,” Bitty says.

Jack’s gaze snaps over to him. “Bits…”

Bitty shrugs. “It’s a valid what if, Jack. You’d win the cup with the Aces—of course you would. And maybe things with him would have gotten better and…”

“You know what they’re like,” Jack says in a soft voice.

Bitty did know. All of the league had been put into sensitivity training. They were trying to be better, the organisation. But it didn’t change the culture, and it didn’t change the risks. Pride nights didn’t unleash a slew of out players. No one spoke up.

Jack still heard ugly slurs on the ice, directed at him, even if they weren’t directed at him.

There’s a piece of him that aches a little for Parse, because he knows he’s been profoundly lucky with the Falcs. He tries to imagine what it would have been like if Parse had convinced Jack to go. If Jack really had packed up at Samwell, had followed Parse to Vegas, if he’d given up all of this.

Jack swallows thickly. “It wouldn’t be worth it.”

Bitty stares at him, his face unreadable. “You wouldn’t have fallen for me. If you and Parse…”

“Bits,” Jack says quietly.

Bitty shakes his head. “I’m just sayin, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have come out if you hadn’t met me. You wouldn’t be facing this mess.”

“I wouldn’t be happier,” Jack insists. He grips the cup a little tighter, like a reflex.

Bitty sighs. “You don’t know that for sure, though.”

“No,” Jack is forced to admit. “I guess I don’t.” Doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust his future, his team, his career, but he can’t lie. His fingers tingle a little, he thinks maybe he’s been touching the metal for too long.

There’s a knock at the door, and it means Jack’s cup day is over. He watches it get packed away, and he shoots the shit with the guys for a few minutes, and takes a couple of last minute photos with him and Bits wearing smiles that are just a little too strained to be real—for promo, to show they have no regrets.

And truly, Jack doesn’t. Truly, Bitty was worth everything.

But he still can’t help but wonder a little about the what ifs. Even if he’ll never actually know.

***

Jack wakes in a stream of sunlight which feels way too warm to be normal. It’s a sort of oppressive heat, like when he’d woken up in Bitty’s room back in Madison. His head is pounding, that thick, cotton feel that he hasn’t experienced in years, because he doesn’t really drink now—nothing more than a beer, maybe two if he’s feeling it. But Jack hasn’t gotten drunk since he was a teen, and though he’ll never forget the aching hangovers of his partying in the Q, it’s foreign now.

He groans, pushes the heels of his palm into one of his eyes to try and chase away the fog from over sleeping. Normally Bitty has him up before this, but it feels like Bitty’s still passed out, because under the light sheet, a slightly calloused hand is splayed out over the curve of his naked ass.

Jack yawns, jaw cracking a little as he rolls onto his other side, his arms searching. “Hey, bud.” His voice is gravelly and soft, hopeful that the melancholy of the night before has passed. He sees a tuft of blonde hair on the pillow, clumpy with yesterday’s product, but it looks…strange.

The hand on his ass moves to his lower back, and there’s a groan from beneath the pile of blankets, and then a voice which is distinctly not Bitty’s. “Zimms. Fuck. Why are you up at ass o’clock.”

Jack has an instant out of body experience, his head spinning, shaking like he’s just been doused in ice water. He’s scrambling back from the bed, desperately taking the sheets with him because it’s Parse and he can’t see him naked, he can’t…he can’t…

“Shit.” Parse is staring at him, bleary-eyed and pink in the cheeks, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Dude, you need a Xanax? All the booze is probably out of your stomach by now so…”

“What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?” Jack hisses before he really has a look round and realises that…yes. Shit. This is not his bedroom. He looks back up at Parse who is smirking, with a raised brow. “Why am I in your bedroom?”

“Dude, you were fucked up, but you weren’t that fucked up,” Parse says, his voice dripping with amusement. He props himself up on one elbow and rests his face against his curled fist. “What’s the last thing you remember.”

“Cup day,” Jack says, drawing his knees up, the sheet still tight round him. His voice is shaking a little, and he’s trying desperately to remember. “Cup day. I…Bittle. Where’s Bittle?”

“What the fuck is a Bittle?” Parse asks.

“Bittle!” Jack says, and he pushes to his knees a little, his hands clenched into fists. “My boyfriend! Bittle…”

“Jesus, will you shut the fuck up,” Parse snaps. “Scraps passed out here last night and he’s probably awake now.”

Jack swallows thickly, trying to control his shaking because what the fuck is going on. “I need my phone,” is what he says next.

Parse sighs, rolling his eyes, looking so much like the teenager he’d roomed with so many years ago. He leans over the bed and begins to rummage in the pile of clothes that made it halfway under. He produces a pair of jeans, and from inside the pocket, an iPhone which looks nothing like the one Jack had, definitely newer and more expensive.

“Here, asshole. I’m going to go see if anyone bothered to start coffee.” Parse rolls out completely from the blankets, stark naked, and Jack averts his eyes. He hears Parse laugh at him and mutter something about how Jack’s always such a fucking prude the morning after.

Jack peers quickly and sees that Parse now has sweats and a t-shirt on, and he’s scrubbing at his hair as he throws the bedroom door open and saunters out. The moment he’s alone, he breathes through his nose, trying to recall any detail that might have led him here—wherever the hell he is. Someone’s house, clearly not his own, and with at least two of the Aces.

He closes his eyes for a minute, just to regroup, to keep himself from losing control, then he swipes open his phone. His contacts are a mess, and at the very top, there should be Bitty’s number. Except it’s not there. In fact, he doesn’t recognise the first six names on his list.

He breathes again, and keeps scrolling until he reaches the Ps and he sees his dad still there. He scrolls a little further and sees Shitty. Then it hits him, because Shitty’s there, but that’s it. No one else. Everyone is missing. Every single one of the Falcs, and the rest of SMH.

Jack can’t believe this is reality. He can’t accept it. This is some sort of post-cup prank, he’s certain of it.

His thumb hovers over Shitty’s name for a minute, but he changes courses and hits his dad instead, because if anyone’s going to understand post-cup team dynamics, it’s Bob. Really, he thinks as it starts to ring, this isn’t the best time for jokes. He loves his team, he loves that they try to help him feel normal, but right now he just wants his boyfriend, and a few weeks of peace before he has to face the potential shit-storm.

“Jack,” his father says in French after Jack’s nearly sure it’s going to voicemail. “I didn’t expect to hear from you until the weekend at least.”

Jack frowns, because his dad is in town. They had just seen him, were planning on having brunch tomorrow and… “Where’s Bittle?” The words tumble out, the only thing he can really think of right now.

There’s a pause, then Bob says slowly, “…Bittle?”

“This isn’t funny, papa,” Jack says, his tone finally starting to crack. He’s weathered this much this far without breaking, but he’s pretty sure he’s seconds from crying and he hasn’t cried in years. “Please just…where is he? This is all very funny, but it’s not the time, okay? I just…I just came out and…”

“Jack. Jack…what?” Bob says, his voice now kind of hushed. “What do you mean you came out. Jack! Did someone see you and Kenny…”

“What” Jack hisses, and he pressed his hand to his forehead, hard. “Papa, you know it was…Bittle and I…”

“Jack, you’re not making sense. Did you…have you taken something? Are you on something? You can tell me if…”

“Mon dieu!” Jack growls, pushing himself up to stand. He’s fairly sure the jeans Parse got his phone from are his, and he finds his boxers pushed into one of the legs. He struggles into them, then into the jeans, and he starts to pace as he tries to make sense of all of this. “Papa, my cup day was yesterday…”

“Yes, I know,” Bob says slowly.

“I spent part of it at the rink with the children’s charity…”

“Yes,” Bob says.

“And then Bittle and I drove to Samwell…”

“Jack,” Bob interrupts, and Jack’s stomach sinks as he hears the tone in his dad’s voice. “You’re not anywhere near Samwell. You couldn’t…that wouldn’t be possible.”

Jack feels a flush of fear creeping up his neck, and he breathes out, shaky. “Where am I?”

“Jack, seriously, please tell me what you took. I can call Kenny, get him to sit with you until it passes and we can…”

“Papa.” Jack’s voice is tired now. “Why would you think I’m taking something. After…you know after I…that I wouldn’t…”

“Jack, you don’t have to hide from me,” Bob says patiently. “I know it’s been a long, tough year, and you wanted to unwind.”

Jack shakes his head, but he realises that Bob is either playing along, or something happened, and Jack isn’t going to make any progress in finding Bitty if he keeps going round these circles. He pushes to stand, then walks to the window and pulls the blinds apart. The sun is blinding for a second, and incredibly hot, and then his eyes focus on the horizon.

He’s not in Providence. He’s not at Samwell. He’s nowhere near the East Coast. Instead he’s staring over the Vegas Strip. “Papa,” he says, then sighs. “I’m going to go. I need to ah…to go home. Par—er. Kenny is with me,” he says, because he thinks his dad will worry if he thinks Jack is alone.

There’s relief in Bob’s voice when he says, “Okay good. Just…text me when you get home.”

The call ends, and Jack sits another five minutes before he reaches for his phone and punches in the number he’s memorised a long time ago. It rings once then a tinny voice speaks in his ear, “We’re sorry, but the Verizon customer you’re trying to reach is no longer in service…”

Jack’s hands are shaking as he ends the call, and tips his head forward toward his knees to stave off the panic that’s building at the base of his spine. He sits there long enough, that the door creaks open and someone steps in. Jack doesn’t have to guess that it’s Parse, and at least right now he’s prepared for it.

Parse has a cup of coffee in his hand, and he approaches Jack like they do this all the time. When he reaches out and pinches Jack’s chin, drawing his face up, Jack wrenches away. His entire body cringes because no. No. There is just no way.

“Okay seriously, besides my dick, what’s up your ass this morning?”

Jack feels vaguely nauseated, and he rubs his hands up and down along his thighs, the motion soothing him for the moment. “I need to go home. I don’t feel well. I…my dad made me promise you’d see me to the door.” Mostly because Jack has no idea where the fuck home even is.

“Yeah, he would. God that man is worse than my mother.” Parse plonks the coffee on the nightstand, and Jack feels a sense of visceral relief that Parse doesn’t question, just goes with it. He ruffles through a drawer and then tosses Jack a black Aces t-shirt which feels only second to Parse touching him in levels of wrongness.

But right now he’s not in a position to turn this down. Maybe this is the prank. Maybe Tater’s in the hallway waiting to catch Jack in the shirt, photographic evidence that Jack would do something so vile as to wear another team’s shirt just days after hoisting the Cup over his head.

Only he can’t imagine anyone on his team would be cruel enough to what—drug him? Get him on a plane to Vegas. His team is ridiculous, but they’re not like that.

They would never.

And Bittle would never sign off on that.

Jack stands and follows Parse. He sees a couple of the guys he’s played before, and a couple he hasn’t. They’re in a large apartment, lounging round on sofas. ESPN is blaring what looks like basketball highlights, but Jack doesn’t stop to watch. He just follows Parse out the door, and to the lifts which then take him one floor up.

Jack feels a sort of jolt as he and Parse walk down a short corridor. Parse has a key, which well…Jack isn’t sure how the hell he feels about that, but he lets them both in and when the door shuts, he rounds on Jack, taking him by the hips to crowd him against the door.

“You wanna go again real quick?”

Jack swallows bile rising in his throat. “Uh…I think I might vomit.”

“Not sexy,” Parse says, but he backs away and runs a hand through his hair. “Kate and I are going on vacation next week so you wanna hook up like Saturday, maybe? When are you seeing Victoria next?”

Those names mean less than nothing to Jack, but he just shrugs and says, “I’ll let you know.” Though Parse is like a touchstone in a way, the only actual familiar thing here, he wants to be alone. He wants to know what the fuck this all is. Parse moves to step around him and grab for the door when Jack says, “When you won the cup the first time…”

Parse turns slowly, eyebrows up. “Yeah, when you were being a fucking idiot at that dumbass university?”

Jack feels rage in his chest, but he just says, “After your cup day, did you feel…different?”

“You mean did I finally feel like the fucking champion we both know I am?”

Jack bites back his retort and just says, “I mean…weird shit. Did anything weird happen?”

Parse rolls his eyes. “Dude, call Troy if you want to talk weird cup conspiracy theory shit. You know I’m not playing that little game.” Then he wrenches the door open and he leaves.

Jack takes a few steps inside the apartment and looks around. It doesn’t feel familiar. It’s got art, but none of it are the photos he took at Samwell. Just shitty prints that he probably picked up at some IKEA. Everything looks worn, but almost sterile in the way that has no personality, none of the homey touches that Bittle always leaves. When he looks in the kitchen and sees the distinct lack of mixer, of cute pot holders covered in peaches, of the matching dishtowels, the stainless steel fridge empty of anything but a Chinese take-away menu, he knows and it hits him hard.

He doesn’t have Bitty. Wherever he’s at, Bitty isn’t.

He breathes through the panic and walks to the sofa to sit. Pulling out his phone again, he opens his contacts again and scrolls until he sees Troy’s name on there. And Jack kind of knows the guy. He knows his stats, knows he’s a pretty clean player on the ice. Jack has dealt with worse players. But Jack doesn’t know him, doesn’t know how he’d open up a conversation and say, “Hey Troy, so about your theories on cup magic…”

And the truth is, this isn’t the first time Jack’s heard of things like that. Stanley Cup wishes, magic, curses—it’s all part of hockey culture, and all folklore Jack grew up with. But it turns out that whatever world he’s in right now, the one person he thought he could talk to, the one man who told him the most ridiculous stories about the Cup, merely thinks he’s on drugs.

That alone is something to ponder, because the very idea his father would assume he’d be on anything is almost painful. Jack has done everything in his power to stick to his exact dosage of meds, to limit alcohol, to never touch anything Shitty handed him during his years at Samwell.

Jack sighs, checks the date on his phone, and finds it five years later than it should be. It’s more and more looking like this isn’t a prank. Hours have gone by now and no one’s popped out of a closet to shout, “Gotcha!” He’s in his apartment, alone, no idea how to get back to his life.

***

Jack doesn’t know why he didn’t sink into total panic or confusion. He doesn’t know why he manages to actually sleep, though waking up without Bitty is probably the hardest thing he’s done. He thinks maybe it’s whatever magic brought him to Vegas—he’s on the Aces, he knows this much by the research he did late that night.

He doesn’t have the strength to look up Bitty, but it’s difficult considering he’s got all of the internet at his fingertips. He sees his own Wikipedia though, learns that he was signed by the Aces midway through his senior year at Samwell. He started training that summer, played half a season with the farm team before he was brought on fulltime. Parse still has the C, but he and Troy share the A, and this is the first cup he’s won since signing.

It hits him hard, suddenly, when he realises what that means. Because the conversation he had with Bits before they took the cup and before they went to bed had been exactly this. It had been all the what ifs, and it had been Jack confessing that he didn’t really know whether or not he would be happier if he’d given in to Parse.

The whole thing makes him feel sick, and in the morning the first thing he does is pull up Shitty’s number and he calls him.

Shitty picks up immediately, and his voice is so painfully familiar, it makes Jack want to cry. “Love of my life, Jack Zimmermann, actually having time for me even being a mother fucking STANLEY CUP WINNER!”

Jack can’t help but chuckle because Shitty said something just like that on the ice before…well. Before all of this. He swallows. “Hey Shits?”

“Yeah, my benevolent hockey brah god?”

Jack clenches his jaw, then unclenches. “Do you still talk to uh. To Bittle?”

Shitty frowns. “Uh, of course m’dude. Why?”

“It’s…I just…was wondering.”

“I’m surprised you remembered him,” Shitty says, and that hits Jack like a punch to the gut.

“Of course I…why wouldn’t I remember him?”

Shitty hums, but doesn’t really give him an answer. “So, are you and your beautiful better half coming to see me any time soon?”

Jack startles at that, and he wants to ask who the hell Shitty is talking about, but he doesn’t want to give anything away yet. “Uh…”

“I know you have plans to do some St Barts shit, but you are swinging through this way, right?”

“I. Yes, of course,” Jack says, because he doesn’t know about St Barts, but he does know that Shitty’s still in Boston, and that it’s close to Samwell…and Bits has probably long-since graduated but maybe… “Hey, is…does Bittle still live around there?”

Shitty laughs. “Why do you care, man?”

Jack bristles, then thinks of a lie because he certainly can’t tell Shitty that he was days away from taking Bitty on a holiday to Paris and proposing, because that’s five years and an entire universe ago. “I ran into an old teammate uh…on my cup day. He was…he was asking.”

“Oh,” Shitty says, breathing out. “Oh well, uh no dude, he’s back in Georgia. Went back after he graduated.”

It’s like a physical blow, painful enough to have him doubled over because the last time Bitty even thought about going back to Georgia, he’d burst into tears and Jack ended up running them a warm bath and he held him for nearly half an hour while he put himself together. And even before Jack, he’d known—Bitty hadn’t ever wanted to go back.

“So Madison or…”

“Atlanta, I think? He works for Southern Peach Publishing—media relations and shit. Why, you wanna look him up? I know your technophobe ass has a facebook you never use. He’s on there.”

Jack seems startled by this, because last time he checked, he didn’t have one. But… “Yeah I might uh…do that. Anyway, I should go. But talk soon?”

“Of course, m’dude. I miss that glorious hockey ass of yours. If you don’t come visit, you know I’ll track you down.”

“I will, Shits,” Jack says, then ends the call before he can blurt out anything stupid. If his father thinks that Jack would ever consider using again, he doesn’t want to take the risk in tipping Shitty off. Right now he needs to figure out his plan. Maybe if the Cup brought him here, it brought Bitty too. Maybe Bitty’s seeing his own life, understanding that however hard it’s going to be, it’s better with them together. Of course it is. There’s no way it wouldn’t be.

He doesn’t look Bitty up, though. He googles Stanley Cup Magic, and spends an hour down the rabbit hole, reading different accounts of hockey players claiming to have strange experiences after winning the cup. One ends up being by his uncle Mario, and he thinks that maybe that might be a decent place to start.

***

He doesn’t actually get the time to call his uncle. He showers in a bathroom definitely more utilitarian than his own. He notices a lot of floral-scented products in there, but maybe this universe Jack is more fussy about the way he smells than in his own world. He tries not to focus on it too hard.

He stares at himself in the mirror for a while, a towel wrapped round his waist, and he studies the contours of his face. He’s missing the new scar on his chin from when he got hit with the puck. The one Bitty fussed at for weeks—and it makes something inside him burn with grief because he doesn’t even have that little bit of evidence that he and Bitty ever were.

Eventually he combs his hair, then dresses in anything without Aces logos on it—jeans and a flannel, so it’s good to know he hasn’t changed that much. He’s coming out of his bedroom with a pair of socks in his hand, and his shoes in the other, when he stops dead.

There’s a woman letting herself in the door. She’s objectively attractive, dressed in something that’s probably designer, the jeans tight, the heels high. She doesn’t look out of place here, and when she sees Jack she just kind of smiles a little and says, “Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late.”

Jack grunts something like a hello, though he’s half panicked because who is she and why is he babe. He woke up not twenty four hours ago in Parse’s bed with Parse’s hand on his ass—clearly well fucked—and now she’s here and…

Oh god. He’s cheating on his girlfriend? Or is he cheating on Parse?

He supposes in the end it doesn’t matter because Bittle is it for him, and strange universe or no, he’s not giving that up. But it gives him a moment’s pause to wonder about who the fuck he actually is in this life.

“Kenny sent me a text, said you were feeling kind of funky. If you want to skip lunch, I would not be upset about it. I mean, we fly out in two days, so avoiding my sister and her douchebag boyfriend is fine by me.” She breezes past him to flop down on the couch, and he follows, more out of instinct than anything else.

When she toes off her heels and puts her feet in his lap, he recoils a little because that is not her space. His lap—his everything—belongs to Bittle.

“Lunch is…we can skip it,” he mutters.

“Thank fuck. I’m going to take a nap, and I promised we’d meet Kenny and Kate for dinner at that new Sushi place? That…wasabi something or other?”

Jack feels his stomach twist because he doesn’t like sushi. The textures and the smells have always been way too much, but she says it like it’s just a thing that he does and… “Yeah, okay.”

She dozes almost immediately and Jack pulls out his phone to text Parse, because it just seems like the logical thing to do. Since when do I eat sushi?

Fuck me, Zimms, are you already starting? Vix got there, didn’t she? Look, you will show up, order your fucking tempura shrimp like an asshole, the rest of us will eat like civilised adults, then I’ll blow you in the bathroom and we can call it a day.

Jack wants to throw his phone across the room until it smashes, but he doesn’t. Instead he sits back, hating the weight of this stranger’s feet on him, and he finally finds the courage to open up his facebook app and tap the name Eric Bittle into the search bar.

He’s a friend of Jack’s. Jack has most of his Samwell friends on there. Adam, Justin, Bitty, Shitty, Lardo, Camilla. It’s clear from his own profile he hasn’t updated in about a year and a half, but he thinks maybe that’s normal for him.

Bitty’s profile is just as active as his twitter has ever been. He’s listed as single, which gives Jack a punch of relief, but he’s also updated and hour ago with a new photo of a pie with fancy flowers woven through the lattice and the caption reads, Pretty as my momma, who after this many years can still teach me a thing or two about baking and it’s got twenty-seven comments and over two hundred likes.

The worst thing about it though is that Jack has been here for twenty-four hours now. Which means the Bitty here is not his, and it means he truly is alone. He feels his throat get tight, and he feels determined at the very least not to give up hope that he can make something of this, because this right here—this Vegas shit with Parse, and with this woman—this is not his life. This is not his happy ending.

He goes to Bitty’s pictures and he looks the same—smiling and laughing with a group of people Jack has never seen before. But there he is, with his small nose and the cowlick Jack adores so damn much, and those hands—fuck. Fuck, he misses those hands. Those hands should be getting ready to wear a ring, not off in fucking Georgia, a veritable stranger.

How had he let this happen? Why did he let himself doubt, ever. He’d known. Fuck, he had known.

He saves a few of the photos, then puts one hand over his face and breathes deep so he doesn’t cry.

***

Victoria—Vix, apparently—drives to the restaurant. They use valet and she doesn’t give the attendant more than a passing glance as she breezes up the steps and inside. Parse and another woman are already there, and they wave Jack over, pouring from a bottle of sake which Jack is, apparently, expected to drink from.

In spite of knowing he should keep up some pretence, he orders water instead, and he gets a strange look from Parse, but the women are too engaged in their conversation regarding their upcoming holiday that they don’t notice.

“We need more drinks. Let’s get to the bar. Babe, you want something else?” Parse all-but purrs into her ear.

She shrugs. “One of those pink martini things. With the cranberry vodka?”

Jack looks at Victoria expectantly, but she brushes him off, then takes a sip of the sake, so he just gets up and follows Parse to the bar because what else is he supposed to do. Everything sucks, and he hates this, and he’s so homesick he feels like he might explode.

“Your dad thinks you’re on drugs,” Parse says casually as he leans on the bar. “I don’t know why the fuck you’re getting so sloppy, but you know you can tell me if it’s getting to be a problem again.”

Again.

Jack wants to punch something.

“I wasn’t on drugs,” Jack deadpans. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He flicks on the screen, does a cursory check of messages, then he opens facebook again. It’s already on Bittle’s profile, and he’s just hoping to gain some strength from seeing him for now, but Parse leans over and snorts.

“Oh shit. It’s that uh…party kid.”

Jack blinks up at him and immediately feels defensive and angry. “Bittle.”

“That’s who you were talking about this morning. Jesus, you were fucked up, weren’t you. Called him your fucking boyfriend right where Carly and Scraps could hear you. It’s like you fucking enjoy the idea of them finding out.” He leans over to order the drinks, then he peers at the photo again before Jack hits the button and makes the screen go black. “He was kinda cute, right? He came at me all southern and passive aggressive, demanding I go apologise to you. I don’t care who you are, Mr Parson…” His imitation of Bitty’s accent is terrible, but it’s close enough that Jack can hear the real thing in his head and shit, it hurts.

“He…and you…”

“Went back in. I almost didn’t you know. Because you were a serious asshole and fuck you for that, by the way. But something made me, and I marched my ass inside and said sorry. That was a good fuck.”

Jack’s nausea is back again and he takes in a shaking breath before ordering a tonic water with lemon. He sips it and wishes he could talk to his Bittle, and find out if that actually happened. He and Bitty had never really talked at length that night. Just enough to know Bitty stayed outside his door for a little while to make sure he was okay.

It was the start to something. The cookies he’d gone home with. He’d saved that post-it, not sure why at the time, but looking back he realised that was the moment he knew, Bitty had somehow crawled inside his heart and made a home there. Jack wasn’t about to let that go now.

Jack glances back at the table, then at Parse. “What are we doing?”

Parse snorts. “What like…right now? Or…” He waved his hand round the room, and Jack tried not to roll his eyes.

“Why would we bother, Kenny? With…whatever it is we have? This isn’t what I want.”

Parse frowns at him. “What? A hot as fuck fiancée? Ridiculous amounts of money? Dick literally whenever you ask for it?”

“This can’t be what I signed up for. I can’t…” he stares at his phone again, though the screen is still black, then Parse snatches it away from him.

“Are you going to have another fucking existential crisis about all the shit you left behind? Because I need to remind you that you wanted this. You came with me, Zimms.”

“I don’t know why,” he admits, because he can’t think of a single reason—not even an apology—that would make him think this was a good idea. “What could you have offered me, eh?”

“Forever?” Parse all-but spits at him. “You wanted fucking romance, and I gave that to you.”

“And now here we are. Fucking behind our girlfriends’ backs and trying to keep it down to a low whisper because we don’t want to get called fags on the ice?” He winces, even as he says it, but he can’t stop the words from bubbling up. The Jack of a week ago wouldn’t have been this brave. Or well…probably not. But different universe or not, this Jack is still the Jack that kissed his boyfriend on centre ice surrounded by screaming fans, teammates, and press. This is the Jack that declared, ‘I love this man, and fuck you if you care.’

That Jack has no problem asking why Parse would condemn them both to this kind of life.

“Why couldn’t we be exclusive?” Jack asks.

Parse snatches his girlfriend’s martini and downs it, then signals for another one. “You know we don’t play that shit, Zimms! You were the one who didn’t want to go down that road, and it’s not like I was preparing a fucking argument, anyway! God, is this some kind of mid-thirties crisis shit?”

“I’m not,” Jack starts to say, then he remembers. Five years.

“Look, you and I both know this isn’t the time, alright? And I’m not…I don’t know that I want to, man. I mean, why does it have to be that way?”

“It doesn’t,” Jack says simply. “I would have been happy in the closet too. I didn’t care if the public knew or not, and I think that’s what made the difference. For us.”

“For us,” Parse repeats.

Jack shakes his head. “Me and…” He stops, sighs. “Never mind. But god this isn’t…this isn’t what I signed up for. It can’t be. I want to go home.”

Parse rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude, fucking go.”

“If it was that simple, I would,” Jack says. There’s no actually getting through to him. He’s the same Kenny he always was—had an idea in his head and that was it, there was no changing his mind. And maybe Jack would show him. Maybe, if it was a few months down the road and he wasn’t stuck in this god-forsaken void of a Universe—he would have the evidence that they weathered it. Because Jack knows right now, in spite of anything else, he and Bitty will make it. He doesn’t care who says what, only that Bitty’s safe, and happy, and knows that Jack loves him and will until his dying day.

He doesn’t think Kenny can’t have that. He doesn’t think Kenny needs to come out to have it, either. He knows the sports world is fucked, and he knows that Kenny isn’t the kind of guy who can weather that kind of constant criticism. But it doesn’t need to be this, either.

He feels even more desperate to get home now. Like he’s in the goddamn Christmas Carol and he knows what the Future will look like, and he’s ready to ensure it’s never, ever like this.

Right now, he settles for sending his uncle a text. Do you have time to see me this week?

Mario replies that Jack is welcome any time. And it’s not the fix yet, but at least it’s a start.

***

Jack’s all nerves on the plane, a little keyed up from the fight with his girlfriend when he cancelled their trip. He ignored a hundred calls and texts from Parse, and he gets to the airport and gladly shuts his phone off until he lands in Pittsburgh. He told Mario he wouldn’t need a ride, so he gets an uber, and it’s a short drive to the home he spent a lot of time at as a kid. Mario greets him with a hug, and the offer of a beer which he declines as they head outside to enjoy the day which is, thanks to some overcast clouds, not as miserable as it could be.

Mario sighs and then says, “Your dad called me. Said you were acting a little…strange.”

Jack swears under his breath, then just decides to go for it. “Tell me what you know about your life changing after the Stanley Cup.”

Mario laughs. “Jack, you didn’t peak just because…”

“No,” Jack says, then gives him a very careful look, “that’s not the change I’m talking about.”

Mario freezes, then slowly brings his beer to his lips and drinks some. When he sets it back down, he folds his hands and says. “What kind of change?”

“The kind of change where you wake up and you don’t know what the hell is going on,” Jack says. “Where everyone is a stranger, and you’re not where you’re supposed to be, and you just want to…go home.”

Mario licks his lips. “I may know something. But Jack, if this is some kind of prank…”

“A week ago, I was standing at centre ice after winning the cup with the Providence Falconers, kissing my boyfriend in front of the entire world. Three days ago, I woke up in Vegas with…” He stops because his parents might know about Parse, but it’s not his job to tell anyone else. “With someone’s hand on my naked ass, and my boyfriend is back in Georgia. Three days ago I woke up in a world where I left Samwell before I graduated, signed with the Aces, and nothing is…nothing is right.”

Mario is silent for a very long time. Then he says, “It’s not permanent.”

Jack almost faints with relief, but he clasps his hands instead and says, “How long do I have to live like this?”

“Mine was a week,” Mario says with a shrug. “I was ah…I had almost died, you know? The pain was still a lot, wasn’t sure all of this hockey shit was worth it. Woke up after my cup day as a person who had never set foot on the ice before. Everything was different. I drove myself nuts for a week before I woke up back in my bed. New appreciation of life, let me tell you.”

Jack drags a hand down his face and says, “I just want to go home.”

“You will.” The sincerity of the words, the utter conviction in his voice, does at least a little something to soothe Jack’s nerves. Then Mario says, “So, you’re gay, eh?”

Jack flushes. “I’m bisexual, and in a relationship with an old teammate from Samwell. We didn’t really…I mean we hadn’t planned what we did, and it was kind of a lot, right after. Things with his parents didn’t go well, and my GM was…not entirely thrilled.”

Mario snorts. “If it’s still Georgia Martin, I can imagine she wasn’t.”

Jack can’t help his grin. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s her. She got us out of the city for a few days, helped me with press. The team’s amazing. I couldn’t ask for anything better, you know? But there was a moment—just a stupid fucking moment where I wondered about another choice I had once. I didn’t think it would send me here.”

“I think that’s the point, son,” Mario says, then reaches over and clasps Jack’s shoulder. “You want to stay here? Ride it out?”

Jack shakes his head. “I should go back to where it began, I think. Maybe there’s something else I need to learn.”

***

He spends the night in a hotel, then flies back to Vegas after sitting at the airport debating for nearly two hours between that and a flight to Georgia. It’s only the heartbreak which he know will break him before this cup magic is over, that puts the Vegas ticket in his hand.

His apartment is empty, and there’s no noise from the floor below him which isn’t a surprise. He knows Parse is off on his holiday, which means Jack is utterly alone in the building. It’s fine, he can deal with it. Victoria has sent him several angry text messages, two of them calling off the wedding, and he doesn’t have it in him to even attempt to fight for her. Even the briefly sobering thought that this could be some very real, alternate universe that he’s fucking up entirely, that Other Jack will be forced to put back together when things go back to the way they were.

Instead he sits on his sofa and opens his laptop, and stares for nearly ten minutes at Bittle’s profile. Then the little green dot lights up in the right hand column next to Bittle’s name saying he’s online.

Jack’s fingers twitch, and he truly can’t help himself.

He’s got nothing to lose.

Hey, Bittle.

Five full minutes pass before the little speech-bubble with three rotating dots appears.

As I live and breathe, Jack Zimmermann remembers the little folks he left behind. Congrats on the cup, Jack!

Jack wants to reach through the screen and pull Bitty to his chest. Wants to type a novel of how much he loves Bitty, and how he can’t believe any version of himself fucked it up this badly.

He doesn’t do that, because he knows that the night Parse showed up at Samwell, Bitty was already crushing on him, and was completely certain it was hopeless.

The other day, Parse told me that the night he showed up at Samwell to ask me to take a spot with the Aces, you chased him down and made him apologise. Did I ever thank you for that?

LOL well hun, considering we never spoke again, I’d say no. But that was real nice of him to mention it. I can see it worked out for you!

Jack can read between the exclamation marks at Bitty’s hurt. Jack abandoned them—abandoned everything for this.

I’m sorry. You deserved better. You were a good friend, Bittle.

Jack, hun, what’s bringing this on? Are you okay? Are you…you haven’t…taken anything, right?

It stings more than he wants to admit that Bitty thinks that about him too, just like everyone else. But he reminds himself this isn’t him. This is the Jack that let himself let go of everything that was good for him, and spent the last six years in a place that was bad for him, with people who were even worse. This is a Jack who had to find different ways to cope with the way life and hockey could be overwhelming. This was a Jack who proposed to a woman, then fucked his teammate behind her back.

He would be a liar if he didn’t believe that some version of himself—the dipshit, uneducated, unloved version—would be capable of it all. In the end, he’s just profoundly grateful that this isn’t him. That this little peek into what might have been only serves to remind him that no matter what the press lob at him, no matter what the other players in the league say, no matter what the world thinks, being with Bitty is worth so much more.

I’m not on anything, Bittle. Just having a moment of reflection. I haven’t been great to you over the years, and I wasn’t great to you at Samwell either, but I need you to know that you were always important to me. No matter what happens, don’t forget that, okay?

I’m really starting to worry, Jack.

I promise, it’s going to be fine. By tomorrow, it’s all going to be worked out. Goodnight, Bittle. I hope you get everything you’ve ever wanted.

He signs off, and switches his phone off for good measure because he knows he sounds worrisome and Bitty is probably going to call Lardo or Shits, and Jack just doesn’t want to deal with any of it until he wakes up in his bed in Providence, with Bitty curled up against his side.

He shuts his laptop, then makes himself a cup of tea and goes out to sit on his balcony. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll blink, and then be back home.

***

Luck is not with him. He’s not sure how long he sits out there, but the sky begins to grow lighter and in spite of the busy streets below, he knows it’s almost dawn. He doesn’t move until the back door slides open, and he’s only vaguely surprised to see Parse standing there with a worried look on his face.

“Well, you scared half the world, asshole.” Parse walks up and flops down in the chair next to Jack. “Want to tell me why half your old dumbass college pals are messaging me on twitter and shit?”

Jack just laughs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “No.”

“I was in your bathroom. Counted your pills.” Parse says this a little meanly, but also frankly, and Jack has no doubt he’s done that.

“I’m not going to overdose again,” Jack says. “I’m just waiting to go home.”

“What the fuck does that even mean. You are home. You…shit. Are you…are you fucking retiring?” Parse demands, rising to stand in front of Jack with fists clenched. “You win the cup and then bail?”

“Not like you’d understand,” Jack says slowly, and he figures what the hell, because he trusts his uncle Mario and trusts that this is going to be over soon. Let Kent think he’s lost it. “I’m not actually from here, Kenny. I woke up the other day, in bed with you, after winning the cup with my team.” He pauses, then says, “The Falconers.”

“Providence,” Parse spits.

Jack shrugs. “It was my cup day, and my boyfriend and I were talking about what life might have been like if we’d made different choices. If I’d left Samwell. If we hadn’t come out…”

Parse laughs at that, throwing his head back. “Now I know you’re full of shit. I know you too fucking well, Zimms. You wouldn’t come out for anything.”

“Not just anything,” Jack amends. “But if they were worth it.” He sighs, stretching his arms up and trying to chase away the disappointment that he’s watching yet another sunrise over Vegas. “He’s worth it.”

Parse is pink in the cheeks and he’s slowly sinking back down to his chair as he asks, “Who?”

“Eric,” Jack says, and he can’t help the fond smile, because god, he loves him so much. “Bittle. Where I’m from, we’re together. I signed with Providence after I graduated, I got the A halfway into the season. We beat the Schooners in the cup. Bits and I kissed on the ice right after.” He lets out a small laugh. “Georgia is probably still pissed at me, even in this universe.”

Parse is staring at him with a strange look on his face, and he licks his lips. “That’s fucking…”

“Yeah,” Jack says from behind a sigh. “We’re not friends.”

Parse visibly recoils. “Zimms…”

“I…don’t want to be friends with you, Kenny. But…I’m not sure I’m okay with knowing this is how you live, either.”

Parse lets out an angry laugh and sits forward. “God, even fake you is a self-important little shit, isn’t he?”

Jack just shrugs, because it’s been a long, long while since he let Parse’s words get to him. “I’m not saying you should come out. In this universe, or mine. Whatever. I get it. Three periods on the ice with those guys and I get it.”

Parse blanches. “It’s not…”

“I’ve had to face Carly more than once, Kenny. I wouldn’t come out either.”

Parse swallows thickly. “And it worked out? You came out and…and it worked out.”

“I don’t know,” Jack admits honestly. “But I think being here made me realise it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if it works out. I just want to be with him.” He sighs, then says, “I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I was tired questioning every single thing I did. We were on the ice, and there were people everywhere, and he said kiss me.”

“And,” Parse presses, his voice tight.

“And I told him we can’t. And then I realised I was tired of saying that. It was the last thing I wanted, because I love him more than I care about what anyone else thinks of me.”

Parse is staring at him with a blank face, then he pushes himself up to stand. “If this is some fucked up, drug-induced hallucination, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“I know,” Jack says.

Parse reaches for the door, then stops. “For the record, I’m not miserable here. If I’m…if this is still me, I don’t hate being in the closet.”

“The closet isn’t the problem, Kenny,” Jack says. “I think we both know that.”

Parse bows his head. “It’s not always sunshine and roses.”

Jack laughs. “I know. But sometimes its Georgia peaches and apple pie, and that’s what I want.”

“I don’t know what the fuck that means,” Parse says, then wrenches the door open, “but I guess I hope you get it. See you later, Zimms.”

He leaves, and Jack’s pretty sure Parse thinks he’s on some wild drug binge, but it doesn’t matter. Jack feels oddly lighter, and relaxed enough that maybe he can sleep. He shuffles back to his bedroom, crawls between the unfamiliar sheets, and closes his eyes in hopes that, at the very least, he dreams of Bitty.

***

“Honey.”

Jack grunts, pulling the pillow closer to his head.

“Sweetpea, get up. Come on, it’s late and we’re going to miss our flight.”

Jack scrubs at his face, and feels like he was hit by a truck for a moment. Then everything crashes down and his eyes fly open. Bitty’s there. Bitty’s there, leant over him fully dressed with his hands curled on his hips

“Bits,” Jack croaks, then reaches for him, dragging him down into the blankets, crushing him to his chest because if he doesn’t touch right now, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

“Lord have mercy, Jack Zimmermann, what has gotten into you!” But Bitty doesn’t fight him. He goes as easily as he ever does, leaning into the crushing embrace, into the frantic kisses Jack is pressing along his jaw, down his neck. When Jack finally lets up a little, Bitty pulls back enough to look in his eyes, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. “Bad dream?”

“The worst,” Jack admits. He licks his lips, then says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m not making it clear enough how much I love you, how much this is all worth it.”

Bitty blinks at him, instantly deflating. “Oh sweetpea, I know. I know. And I’m sorry for letting all the whatifs get to me. What we did…I don’t regret it. I get to kiss my boyfriend wherever I want, no matter where we are. I can’t really be upset about all that.”

Jack pinches Bitty’s chin between his fingers and draws him in for a slow, careful kiss. When they break apart, Jack realises that everything that happened is all a bit…fuzzy. But he clings on to one thing, and he can’t help but ask, “Bits…when ah…back at that kegster? When Parse showed up?”

“Mm,” Bitty says with a frown.

“Did you…go after him? After he left, did you go tell him to apologise?”

Bitty huffs, his cheeks pink, and he rolls his eyes. “I might have followed him downstairs and asked him if his momma raised him to talk to people he claims to care about like that. He just looked at me like I was some dumb college sophomore—which I was—then he left. So I went and made you cookies.”

Jack feels a strange punch to the gut when he thinks about what Parse told him. How Bitty had gone after him, and he almost didn’t go in.

In another world, he did.

In another world, whatever Parse’s apology was, it was enough. And that bit of enough changed Jack’s entire future.

He clings to Bitty a little harder, buries his face in his boyfriend’s neck, breathes in the soft scent of his cologne. “I love you,” he murmurs.

Bitty seems to understand that whatever they have waiting outside, Jack doesn’t need to be rushed. So he pushes his fingers into Jack’s hair and strokes his blunt nails along his scalp. “I know, sweepea. And Lord do I love you too. We’re gonna be fine.”

Jack pulls back once more, and kisses Bitty again. “I know we are.” He says it with the conviction of a man who knows. Because he does. He’s seen the other side, and he knows that whatever else is out there in store for them, all of this is worth it.