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The Oilers go out with a whimper, losing the last three games of the season. They had a chance to potentially play spoiler a few times after they were knocked out of contention and couldn’t even manage that, which is kind of the season in a nutshell. Jared’s frustrated about it, but there’s nothing he could do except play his best. He’s not sure he managed that — it’s hard to play your best when nothing’s on the line, though he tried.
Media day fucking sucks. Jared’s thankfully not one of the guys stuck talking to reporters half the time — that’s a job for the cap, assistants, Julius. Though from what Jared hears of Jacobi’s interviews, he’s getting raked over the coals on the team’s behalf, fairly or not, and when Jared waits on Julius while he’s being interviewed, it’s mostly ‘hey thanks for being a bright spot in this terrible season’. Not Julius’ fault they didn’t make it. He couldn’t take them there single-handedly, but he damn well tried.
Jared drives him and Julius home, starts packing. He’s got his exit interview tomorrow, and then it’s back to Calgary while Bryce is gearing up for the part of the season Jared’s missing. Flames don’t have home ice advantage, annoyingly, so Jared barely gets any Bryce time before Bryce is flying out, but like, he’s not complaining. Not really. He’s kind of jealous, but Bryce deserves it. He didn’t have to drag his team kicking and screaming to the postseason, the way Julius tried to, but he was the Flames’ points leader once again this season.
Julius shows up when Jared’s only halfway through packing, starts critiquing Jared’s packing job — unhelpful — and then repacking things for him — irritating but actually helpful, because he folds things smaller than Jared can. But whatever, if Julius is going to express the fact he’s going to miss Jared by efficiently packing for him, that’s fine by Jared. Jared orders them dinner while Julius folds his t-shirts into impossibly tiny shapes, packs his underwear — that crosses the friend line — while Julius snoops around Jared’s bedroom, poking at the little Bryce figurine Elaine got him until it almost falls off his bedside table.
“Weird,” he says.
Jared shrugs. Julius is just jealous he doesn’t have a toy version of himself. Probably will next year, though. Jared is going to buy a dozen of them and hide them around Julius’ apartment. It’ll infuriate him, so it’ll be money well spent.
They eat dinner, have an early night, since they’ve both got their exit interviews tomorrow morning. Julius’ is probably just going to be gushing. Jared’s jealous. Not even of the gushing, more that Julius’ interview won’t involve telling his GM that he’s getting married over the summer, and you’ll never guess who it’s to!
Because Jared’s exit interview is a good time to bring it up. Well, kind of the time to bring it up. Instead he stoically takes deserved criticism and deserved praise, gets his homework for the offseason — put the weight back on, build his strength, maintain his speed, no disagreements from him there, it was already the plan — and wanders out with a few handshakes and a ‘great rookie season, Jared, we were really impressed’, feeling like an utter coward.
“How’d it go?” Greg asks when Jared dutifully calls him, and the question is very specifically, ‘how did telling the front office that you’re going to marry Bryce Marcus go?’ not ‘hey, did you have a good exit interview?’, so there’s no use prevaricating. It’s tempting, but then Greg will just sigh and ask again, so.
“I chickened out,” Jared says. “I meant to, I just—”
Greg sighs. “I can be in Edmonton next weekend,” he says, and Jared is suddenly filled with the most goodwill one man can have for his agent. Greg is his hero. “You’re going back to Calgary tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” Jared says.
“Okay,” Greg says. “Be back in Edmonton next Saturday, I’ll set up a meeting for us with front office.”
Jared has changed his mind. Is Greg being there better than Greg not being there? Yes, especially because he’ll tell them if Jared can’t. But this means Jared has to be there, and he doesn’t want to be.
“You want to get married?” Greg says. “You have to put on your big boy pants and tell your employers you’re doing it.”
Jared would like to again note that he does not want to, but Greg is unsympathetic.
“How did it go?” Julius asks when Jared gets back to his apartment. Jared did not exchange spare keys with Julius so that Julius could just let himself in whenever he wanted, but — well, he expected exactly that when he did, and Julius is living up to expectations.
“I’m a coward,” Jared says. “Gotta come back with my agent next weekend and tell them properly if I want to actually get married this summer.”
“Set a date soon,” Julius says. “Or my flight will be expensive.”
“You made a shitton of money this year,” Jared retorts. He doesn’t think the Oilers expected to pay out every single performance bonus they set for him, but he doesn’t think they were bitching about the cost when they paid them out either.
“Or I may have other plans,” Julius says, which is the emptiest threat ever. No one who spends months lobbying for cupcakes is going to end up missing the wedding. Plus Julius will be desperate to get some Jared time by mid-summer. He’s already breaking and entering — well, maybe just entering, thanks to the key — so he can load up on his Jared time now.
Julius scoffs when Jared says as much, but Jared knows him. Desperate.
It feels kind of wasteful just leaving his apartment empty for months, but the idea of someone in his space, subletting it, had him kind of queasy, and he’s got to come back next weekend anyway. Plus who knows, maybe Julius will steal it until his flight home. He clearly likes Jared’s place better than his own.
There’s no hugs or anything when he leaves — hugs from Julius are for being sent down only, apparently, and Jared will happily never hug him again if that means he’s in the NHL — and Bryce keeps him company on speaker phone while Jared drives home. He’s very understanding about Jared chickening out, which has Jared worried that he’s going to chicken out.
“Summers would tell them for me if I did,” Bryce says. “No way he’d let us get married without management knowing. I can literally see him doing like, an ‘I object’ and calling the Flames before he let us say ‘I do’.”
Jared wishes Greg would just tell them for him. Cowardice is the better part of valour. Well. Jared’s pretty sure that isn’t how it goes, but he’s adopted it as his motto anyway.
When he’s an hour out, Bryce starts asking him where he’s at every two minutes, like a kid whining ‘are we there yet’, and it takes Jared threatening to hang up on him to knock it down to every five minutes. “Our exit,” Jared finally says, and he’s half-expecting Bryce to be in the parking lot when he pulls in, but, you know, cameras, so probably for the best he isn’t.
Jared grabs some of the bags, decides not to bother with the others, waves at the concierge as best he can hauling a couple suitcases, getting a “Good to see you, Jared,” back. There’s absolutely no way he doesn’t know they’re together by now, but he’s super professional about it, never lets on, which Jared appreciates, especially today.
Jared barely drops the suitcases in the hall before he’s getting attacked. The hug Bryce gives him practically hurts it’s so tight — well, less practically, more actually — Bryce’s nose pressed to his hair. Jared’s not complaining? Well, his ribs are complaining a little, but they can shut up. Bryce appears to have zero interest in letting go, breathing in deep, though Jared’s not sure how, because there isn’t like, room for air, at least in his case.
“Are you sniffing me?” Jared asks, muffled against Bryce’s throat.
“Oh my god, you’re the least romantic person ever,” Bryce says, then puts just enough distance between them that he can pull Jared into a kiss.
“Wanna fuck?” Jared asks, when Bryce finally gives him air.
“Least romantic,” Bryce repeats, but not like a complaint, and definitely not a no, lacing their fingers and pulling Jared towards their room. Fuck Jared missed this room. This bed. The Bryce isn’t bad either.
Bryce looks faintly alarmed when Jared pulls off his shirt, which is always the reaction you want from your fiance when you start undressing.
“I told you I was skinny,” Jared says.
“You need a better nutrition plan,” Bryce says.
“I went with what they told me,” Jared says. “You think you know better than the Oilers’ nutritionist?”
“Maybe,” Bryce says, then, “C’mere.”
Bryce is almost tentative with him, like Jared will break under his hands, until Jared kind of bites his head off. He can’t even count how many times he was knocked into the boards this season, let alone hooked or tripped or slashed — the physicality is worlds away from Juniors level, and not just because everyone’s bigger on average — he’s hardly a delicate fucking flower.
If that ends up in an impromptu wrestling match, whatever. If Bryce lets him win — and Bryce definitely lets him win — well. Jared’s not exactly turning down Bryce’s forfeit regardless.
He does not think it is a coincidence that there is a fuckton of groceries delivered the next afternoon while Bryce is at the rink, especially since Bryce is leaving town soon. He also does not think it is a coincidence that there is a shitton of fatty food, albeit good fats. No one’s going through that many avocados. Not happening.
He makes himself an avocado smoothie to humour Bryce, looks up recipes for dinner. Bryce may not be scarecrow skinny like him, but he’s lost weight too, and he’s still got at least four games to go. Probably a whole lot more than that — Calgary’s looking formidable this year. Too early to know, and the playoffs can be a crapshoot, but still.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” Bryce says that night, and even if that’s said lovingly to his dinner plate — Jared knows he means it.
*
Jared goes back to Edmonton the morning Bryce leaves for Los Angeles. He could drive it the next day, Greg got an afternoon meeting, but it’s probably better that he’s rested before, and one bed’s the same as the other if Bryce isn’t beside him.
He meets Greg for lunch before the meeting, and they go over the game plan, such as it is. Here is the game plan: Jared tells Deslauriers he’s marrying Bryce. Simple. Fool-proof. What could go wrong?
Jared doesn’t eat much at lunch. He can’t imagine why that is.
Deslauriers looks wary when they walk into his office, wbich makes sense. How many things would merit a player walking in with his agent a week into the offseason when it isn’t a contract year? Requesting a trade? Announcing a career ending injury or like, cancer? Did Bryce even meet face to face with the Flames execs after he got his DUI? Probably. Deslauriers should be grateful Jared isn’t telling him that — just that he’s…marrying that guy. Fuck. This is awful.
“Take a seat,” Deslauriers says. Greg already has, but Jared’s caught between the chair and the door. Can’t bolt. He wants to, but he can’t.
He sits down.
“You said this needed to be a face-to-face conversation,” Deslauriers says, presumably to Greg. “And that it needed to be with me.”
“Yeah,” Greg says, “You need to hear it first, and it’s not really something we could do over the phone. Jared?”
Jared looks at Greg helplessly.
“Really?” Greg says quietly, and then, when Jared continues to look at him, “Jared’s getting married this summer.”
Deslauriers looks a little taken aback, and Jared doesn’t know if it’s because Jared’s twenty or because this isn’t like, the kind of thing you schedule a meeting with your GM about. HR, maybe, but it’s not something anyone needs to okay or anything, obviously. Well. Usually. And it’s still not Jared asking for an okay, just like, letting him know about the teeny tiny little sticking detail.
“Jared,” Greg says.
Jared knows. Just because Greg represents him doesn’t mean Jared can get out of being the one to say it. Greg told him that. Big boy pants.
“It’s to a guy,” Jared says quickly.
“Jared,” Greg says, before Deslauriers can even react.
“A player,” Jared says. “Um. A hockey player. NHL player. Kind of a big deal one.”
Greg’s got his hand over his face. Jared can’t blame him.
“You’re not marrying Halla, are you?” Deslauriers asks, sounding aghast.
“What?” Jared says. “Why would you — no, what the hell?”
Jared doesn’t need to know much French to know whatever Deslauriers says is an expression of profound relief.
“Julius?” Jared says.
“Who are you marrying, then?” Deslauriers asks.
Maybe Deslauriers is so relieved Jared’s not marrying Julius — what the hell — he won’t even care Jared is marrying Bryce.
“Bryce Marcus,” Jared says.
Turns out Deslauriers does care. A lot.
There is yelling. There is Deslauriers making phone call after phone call, right in front of Jared’s mortified face, calling in the troops. There is more yelling, some of it in French.
Jared’s apparently not driving back to Calgary tonight, or tomorrow, or who even knows when, because he has to meet with HR, and PR, and the Oilers’ lawyers, and Greg had to step out and call Bryce’s agent for some reason, and Deslauriers says something about needing to call Flames’ management, and Jared is very overwhelmed. By the time he leaves Deslauriers’ office it’s over an hour later and he’s received a cold dismissal with a note that he’ll be getting calls about upcoming meetings, and that his presence at each of them is mandatory.
Greg looks faintly shell-shocked when they walk out the door, and Jared suspects he looks like that times a thousand.
“Not what you were expecting?” Jared asks weakly.
“I really didn’t have a similar experience to compare with it,” Greg says.
“I’m sorry,” Jared says.
Greg sighs. “Don’t apologise, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll be beside you at all the meetings, okay?”
“Thanks,” Jared says. “Seriously.”
“Call Bryce, okay?” Greg says. “Right now. Because there’s about to be a shitstorm heading his way.”
Jared nods mutely.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Greg says. “Chin up, Jared.”
Jared tries to keep his chin up. He’s not sure he succeeds at that, but he does call Bryce.
“I think your GM is finding out about us as we speak,” Jared says. “So. Head’s up?”
“Summers called me,” Bryce says. That was probably why Greg called Summers, now that Jared’s thinking about it — nice to warn a guy before a shitstorm descends. Jared’s sort of ashamed he hadn’t anticipated that him telling Deslauriers would end with the Flames knowing. It was kind of naive of him not to think of that, and now he’s wishing he held off until the offseason. Well, Bryce’s offseason.
“I’m sorry,” Jared says. “I didn’t realise — you should be focusing on the playoffs right now, I fucked things up.”
“It had to happen,” Bryce says. “I was going to tell them anyway, so this just kind of sped things up.”
“I’m really sorry,” Jared says.
“It’s okay, J,” Bryce says.
Sometimes Jared can’t reconcile the guy who wouldn’t even talk to him around the Flames in case they got the wrong — right? — impression, with the guy he’s talking to right now, who doesn’t sound mad, just stressed. And understandably so — like, it was stressful enough on Jared’s end, and he was done for the season, had a week to psych himself up after it didn’t work the first time, plus the whole not having a shitty relationship with his front office. Well. He didn’t. He might now, though.
“Don’t stress about it, okay?” Bryce says. “It’s done, now we gotta roll with it.”
“When did you become the reasonable person in our relationship?” Jared says. He distinctly remembers it being him, and now it’s not. Well, sometimes, but increasingly it’s Bryce.
“I dunno,” Bryce says, like it isn’t a rhetorical question. “I guess when I got like, perspective? Like, you’re the most important thing to me and whatever bullshit we’re stuck dealing with is kind of the price I pay for getting to be with you. And I’m okay paying it, you know? You’re worth it, so.”
Jared swallows. “If you make me cry I’m going to be so mad at you,” he says.
“Okay, I’ll quit it,” Bryce says. “I’ve had like three calls since you called me, I should probably face the grim reaper or whatever.”
“Yeah,” Jared says. “Call me when you’re done? And like. Love you.”
“Hey, you said it first!” Bryce says, and then says it right back before heading off to face, well. He’s probably wasn’t all that far off when he called the grim reaper.
There’s an email in Jared’s inbox from the head of PR, curtly scheduling a meeting for first thing tomorrow morning.
“Bullshit’s the price we pay to be together,” Jared mumbles under his breath, his own new Bryce-ian motto — probably better than ‘cowardice is the better part of valour’ — and forwards the email to Greg.