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The hinges squeaked ominously as Tom burst through the door. “I’ve lost Andre again,” he said, panting hard.
Nicky turned the page of his newspaper serenely. “He’s been traded, Thomas.”
Tom blinked. “Oh yeah. You guys got any orange juice? I’m fucking thirsty.” Tom sat himself down at the kitchen table where a place had already been set for him. The bacon was arranged in the shape of a neutral face. Tom shuddered, but ate it anyway.
“Where’s Mama?” Tom asked around a mouthful of bacon.
Another page turn. “He’s sending passive aggressive texts to Landeskog. Chew with your fucking mouth closed.”
They managed to co-exist peacefully for a whole thirteen seconds. Then, Ovi thumped down the stairs, vocalizing the instrumental from his latest favorite Russian techno song. “Okay, I finish texting Landeskog. When we go get him?”
“We’ll discuss the plan when Kuzy and Dima bother to show up,” Nicky said.
“We bother to show up!” yelled Kuzy as Dima threw the door open with a smash. A more subdued V and Lars followed behind them. Nicky raised an eyebrow at V’s appearance.
Tom grinned. “Still got that great hike on the shorts, eh?”
V blushed and pulled at the hem of his very short swim trunks. “Shut up, Tom. I was in Spain. Papa said the plan was urgent.”
“And you didn’t change your shorts?”
“Papa said it was urgent.”
Having finally completed the standard thirty step Russian mafia handshake greeting with Kuzy and Dima, Ovi turned to V. “Hey wait. Baby son get to be shirtless? No fair.” He promptly stripped his own shirt and threw it across the room.
Nicky turned to Ovi and raised his other brow. Ovi sighed.
“Fine, fine. I pick up.” He strode across the room to pick up the shirt. He deposited it in one of the fifteen laundry baskets strategically placed around the house for this reason.
Nicky nodded in approval.
V turned puppy dog eyes on Nicky. “Papa, you have breakfast?”
Nicky slid a plate silently across the table. This one had a bacon smiley face. V shuddered, but ate it anyway.
Kuzy perched next to Tom and V at the table and started picking at their breakfasts. Lars took a seat as well, and Dima settled on his lap. Tom eyed them warily.
“Really? In front of my bacon?” he asked, looking disgusted.
“We not do anything!” Dima said distractedly, making eyes at Nicky’s bacon. He didn’t make eyes at Nicky because if he made eye contact he might see the date and manner of his death.
“Yet,” Lars leered, wrapping his arms around Dima’s waist and pulling him close.
Ovi cooed and ran his fingers through Nicky’s hair. “Young love. So beautiful. Remember when we were like that, Nicky?"
“No,” Nicky said, despite arching into Ovi’s scratching hand like cat. He shook his head to dislodge Ovi’s hand and said, “Enough bullshit, let’s talk plans.”
He stood up and padded to the counter to grab a manilla envelope.
“These are your plane tickets.” Nicky reached into the envelope and passed the tickets around the table. “We need to leave here at 1100 hours to make it through TSA in time to catch our flight. We need to stagger our arrival time so as not to arouse public suspicion. We’re taking one car, so you’ll each get a turn with the radio while you wait. You will all be wearing the disguises I’ve picked out for you. Flights west are long and you’ll be jet lagged, so drink plenty of water on the plane, and bring your own fucking charging port, Thomas. We’re wheels down at 1500 hours, their time. From there we will move as a cohesive unit to our destination. Any questions?”
V raised his hand.
Ovi leaned down and whispered loudly in Nicky’s ear. “Call on our perfect boy.”
“Yes, our perfect boy?” Nicky said.
“What are our disguises?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Nicky set the envelope down on the counter and crossed to the hall closet where he pulled out a nondescript cloth bag. Everyone held their breath as he reached inside. Slowly, Nicky withdrew the disguise. Tom screamed.
“Calm the fuck down,” Nicky scowled. “It’s just a Flyers hat.”
“It’s so orange,” Tom whimpered.
“Genius,” Ovi breathed, eyes wide.
“Where you get that?” Kuzy tilted his head and adjusted his bird squat to a slightly more comfortable position.
“Last time we were in Philly,” Nicky said. At that, everyone looked a little pale.
Nicky crossed to the table and dumped the rest of the hats out. In addition to the Flyers, there were hats for the Ducks, Coyotes, Avalanche, Knights, Panthers, and Canucks. Everyone began to sort through the hats, except Lars and Dima, who were looking back and forth between their plane tickets.
“Nicky, these seats aren’t together.” Lars' eyebrows were drawn together in confusion.
“I’m fully aware,” Nicky said dryly.
“Why aren’t we sitting together?” Lars asked.
Tom coughed.
“I don’t want you to join the Mile High Club on my watch,” Nicky said.
“What makes you think we haven’t joined the Mile High Club?” Lars said, hand halfway down the front of Dima’s pants. Nicky sighed so deeply his chest hurt.
“Nicky, we’ve joined the M-” Ovi started. Nicky turned and shut him up with a quick peck on the lips. Ovi grinned dopily at Nicky for a moment before he shook his head and clapped his hands abruptly.
“Okay, let’s sync watches,” Ovi said.
“You’re not even wearing a watch,” Lars pointed out.
Ovi looked at his wrist. “Huh.” He shrugged. “Guess we go now. I’m driving. Special secret mission airport car! Only six seats so last one there has to Uber!” He grabbed Nicky’s hand and made a break for the door, laughing madly at the spluttered protests behind him.
The mission had begun.
Luckily Russian Machine wasn’t lurking, so the trip to the airport was relatively painless. Tom ended up taking an Uber. Technically, Lars, Dima, and Tom were all last, so Tom squared up, but with one Dima punch to the solar plexus he hit the ground.
“This not counting towards 1000 penalty minutes!” Kuzy yelled out the window as they sped away, leaving Tom moaning on the ground.
They made it through TSA without incident. Nicky had passed out their disguises in the car, and they worked like a charm. Tom complained that orange washed out his skin, but the Auntie Anne’s workers didn’t ask if he was Local Enforcer and Elite Goal Scorer Tom Wilson, so everything worked out okay. Kuzy even got two pretzels and a large lemonade out of the deal.
On the plane, Nicky and Ovi settled into their seats. Ovi threw a blanket over both of their laps and snuggled up as close to Nicky as the shitty airplane seats would allow.
“Is perfect plan,” Ovi said, polishing off a complimentary bag of pretzels.
Nicky nodded thoughtfully. “For once in your life, I think you might be right.”
“I’m offended.”
“Full offense was intended.”
“Is okay, I love you anyway,” Ovi said, nuzzling his head against Nicky’s in the way that mean “Nicky please scratch my chin like a dog.” Nicky scratched Ovi’s chin like a dog.
“So,” Nicky said, stretching his legs out as far as he could, “do you think he’ll be surprised?”
Ovi whined a little when Nicky stopped scratching. “Absolutely, Nicky! You do so much planning! Give trademark Nicky Death Stare to our shitty sons and friends so they can’t refuse. It’s genius.” Ovi paused to consider. “Buuuut it was my idea first. I’m genius.”
Nicky rolled his eyes. Ovi turned and smacked a kiss on Nicky’s lips. “I’m just kidding. Nicky, you always genius.”
“I know.”
Ovi gasped. “Nicky! What happened to your Swedish modesty?”
“It left around the time you started calling my dick the GOA-”’
“Nooooo,” Ovi threw his leg over Nicky’s and snuggled closer. “Not where our children can hear!”
“Our children are sitting in a different cabin,” Nicky said.
“This is why you genius.”
Ovi’s phone vibrated against the seat. He pulled it out and started texting furiously.
“Landeskog?” Nicky asked.
“He finally text back. I’m gonna say Russian mafia has his number. He better watch out. Then maybe ten smiley face.”
“Ten outta do it,” Nicky said dryly. “Did you pay for Wifi just to harass Landeskog?”
“Nicky! Of course! I want him to be a little uncomfortable all the time.”
Nicky threw his head back and laughed. He smiled down at Ovi and brushed the hair off his forehead. “I love you,” Nicky said.
Ovi smiled brightly up at Nicky. “I love you, too.”
They touched down without incident, which Nicky attributed to their fool-proof disguises. They left the airport and made their way into the city proper.
“This place looks different sober,” Tom observed, hands on his hips. He surveyed the land like a conquering King, but this was not the case, as he played hockey for the Capitals. Besides, the Kings hadn’t conquered anything since 2014.
Lars crushed a Dasani water bottle and tossed it into a nearby trash can without looking. (“He just hit that shot from downtown!” Kuzy yelled. “Where did you learn that?” Tom asked. “Batya,” Kuzy said.)
“God, I love Vegas,” Lars said. “It’s like Disneyland, but drunk, and it’s a real city. Water costs six dollars. Outrageous.” He snapped a selfie for Instagram and held it out for Dima to inspect. Dima gave it a firm nod.
Ovi was snapping picture after picture. “Nicky, pose over there. Look so sexy in Vegas when you sober. Russian Machine gonna love this. Nicky! Smile for Ian Oland!” Nicky’s face remained impassive. “Good!”
Kuzy leaned in towards Ovi. “How can you tell he’s smiling?”
“Can’t see my death reflected in his eyes if he smiling.”
Kuzy nodded sagely, then said, “Okay. We need to find 7/11. I hear Big Gulp is all the rage here.”
“That’s not on your diet plan,” Nicky said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Mr. Big Deal bar. He unwrapped it and handed it to Ovi, who thanked Nicky with a kiss on the cheek, and then ate half the bar in one bite.
“It’s special day,” Kuzy said, eyes trained on the candy. Luckily, Kuzy’s phone pinged and he turned his attention to it, preventing Nicky from having to stare Kuzy in the eyes over a limited edition 2011 candy bar.
“Okay,” Ovi said around a mouthful of candy. “Let’s go get our boy!”
Tom threw his hands in the air. “Fuck yeah!”
Nicky took point and the others followed. Tom steered Kuzy by the elbow, who was grinning and texting away.
And so they trudged off down the Las Vegas Strip. Their first stop was a 7/11 where Kuzy purchased a neon blue Super Big Gulp. Since it was daytime, there weren’t many porno cards littering the streets, which was best for V’s innocent eyes, and their disguises prevented any passing hockey fans from asking for photos and autographs.
Before long, Ovi had traded his Ducks hat for one that said “Welcome to Las Vegas”. He replaced his ratty graphic tee with a shirt that loudly declared “I Heart LV”, but the heart was Zach Galifinakas’s face. He was juggling two snowglobes in one hand and holding Nicky’s with the other. Kuzy was texting. Dima and Lars stopped every few feet to eskimo kiss and take selfies. At one point, Dima presented Lars with a small bouquet of red and white flowers.
The GPS said “Paradise’, but the weather said “The Dallas Stars are 12-2-2 against the Washington Capitals in D.C.”
Sweating, Tom swiped his hand across his forehead. “Man, walking around the Vegas Strip almost makes you wish for a Canadian winter.”
“Glad I’m wearing swim trunks.” V rubbed sunscreen across his chest.
“Alright, we just need to find-” Nicky broke off and sighed, exasperated. “Lars. Dima. Pay attention. This is no time for public foreplay or whatever the fuck it is you two do.”
There was a rather improbable sucking sound as Lars and Dima detached their lips. Dima lowered his leg back down to the ground. Then he cocked his head in Nicky’s direction. “Sasha’s hand on your ass right now.”
Nicky craned his head over his shoulder. “So it is.”
“Let’s find apartment!” Ovi crowed, ushering Nicky forward by his ass.
“Damn. Everyone has sexual tension with someone,” Tom pouted. “I want sexual tension with someone.” He looked around. “Kuzy! We have sexual tension now.”
Kuzy sipped loudly on his Super Big Gulp. “Cool.” He looked back down at his phone.
“Does anyone actually know where Schmidty lives?” Tom asked, trying to subtly replace Kuzy’s phone with his hand.
“I have his address,” Nicky said. “I got it from his Christmas card. Let’s call a Lyft.”
“Why did we walk down the entire Vegas Strip if we were just gonna call a Lyft?” Tom said, finally managing to hold Kuzy’s hand. Kuzy stuck his bright blue tongue out at Tom, who took it as a sign that things were going well.
“Builds character,” Nicky said, getting out his phone.
“No, Papa, I order,” V protested weakly.
“No no, I got this.” Tom halfheartedly pulled out his phone.
“We can order it, Nicky,” Lars said. He was stealing a sip from Kuzy’s Super Big Gulp.
“No, I’ll order,” Tom insisted, sliding his phone back into his pocket.
Dima looked skeptically around at his teammates. “Put more oomph in delivery,” he suggested.
“Well if you sure…” V trailed off.
Dima scoffed. “Weak.”
“You are the worst actors I’ve ever seen,” Nicky said.
“Good thing we hockey players,” V said.
Nicky tapped away on his phone for a few moments. “Okay, five minutes. Don’t wander.” He sighed deeply. “Or make out.” Dima and Larry ignored him.
After a few minutes, a blue Toyota Camry pulled up at the curb in front of them. A skinny guy with a scraggly beard wearing a death metal t-shirt rolled down the window. “Nicholas?” he asked.
“Nicklas,” Nicky corrected, opening the passenger door. "Are you-" Nicky glanced at his phone. "-Matteo?"
"That's me.”
“Uh, Nicky?” Ovi said.
“Mhm?”
“This car little… small.”
“I just want you to be a little uncomfortable at all times.”
“Ha ha, Nicky.” Ovi rolled his eyes but slid into the front seat and settled himself on Nicky’s lap. Dima was already wiggling around on Larry’s lap in the backseat.
“I’m just get comfy,” he said honestly. When Nicky glanced back, Lars' head was thrown back and he was biting his lip.
“You know Papa, there are large-sized Lyfts,” Tom complained as he slid into the car on the other side.
“Okay, Thomas,” Nicky said serenely, “You order next time.” Tom ignored this.
“Kuzy you can sit on my lap.” Tom patted his lap in what he clearly thought was an inviting manner. It sounded like two paddles slapping some meat.
“No, thanks,” Kuzy said, texting. He glanced into the car. “Oh fuck, only middle seat? Fuck that shit. Hope your lap not as shitty as your shot.”
V stuck his head into the car. “Oh fuck, only middle seat?” He crawled into the backseat and laid across the floor.
Matteo glanced around at the assortment of European giants filling his Camry. Then, he looked at his phone and carefully selected the “Spanish Rap” playlist.
“Oh, I like this song,” Dima said, bopping his head.
“How do you know this song?” Tom asked.
“It’s on our sex playlist,” Lars smirked and waggled his eyebrows.
“You disgust me.”
“Can you put my Super Big Gulp in the cupholder?” Kuzy asked Matteo. “Don’t drink it, Sasha.” Ovi pulled his hand back guiltily.
Matteo pulled away from the curb. “You know, this is technically illegal? The seating arrangements?”
“Nicky leave big tip,” Kuzy said.
“Big like his-” Ovi started.
“There’s mints in the seat pockets!” Matteo said hurriedly.
“Oooh, mints!” Tom said. He leaned forward and stuffed his meaty fist into the seat pocket, smushing Kuzy’s face into the headrest in the process.
They rode in silence for a minute while Matteo tapped nervously on the steering wheel. “This isn’t going to affect my rating, is it?”
“What?” Nicky asked.
“I just, I have a perfect rating so far? On Lyft? And I don’t want to mess that up ‘cause I don’t have enough seats for you gia- you guys.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “I’ve got different flavors of mints if those aren’t good.”
“They’re good!” Tom said, cheeks bulging and wrappers littering Kuzy’s lap and the floor around V’s head.
“You got wintergreen flavor?” V called from the floor.
“Check the backseat console,” Matteo said.
Rummaging, then: “Sweet, thanks.”
Matteo looked stressed.
“We’ll make it up to you,” Nicky said.
“I’d sign your phone case but it’s against my contract,” Ovi said.
“Why… would you sign my phone case?” Matteo asked.
“Alexander Ovechkin? International hockey sensation? I score lots of goals and play good defense?”
Tom coughed.
“Sorry man. I’m more of a football fan. You play for the Knights?”
Ovi screamed through his teeth.
"If we say we play for the Senators, will we get 25% off?" Tom asked.
"No, that's only if we're going to a Sens game," Lars said.
"Hey bud, we're going to a Senators game," Tom said.
"Is that a…. hockey thing?" Matteo asked.
"That's a bingo!" Kuzy yelled.
"I'm pretty sure it's just 'Bingo'," V said.
"Bingo!" Kuzy yelled.
“If I promise to watch hockey will you rate me 5 stars?” Matteo asked.
“If you run over Sidney Crosby with your car, maybe I consider,” Ovi said.
“Alex,” Nicky warned,
“Okay, just little love tap,” Ovi corrected.
“Jesus,” Matteo said, white-knuckling the wheel.
“Nope, I’m Ovi."
Matteo started to cry.
As Matteo’s Camry left a comical dust trail in its wake, the group stared up at the apartment building in front of them.
“Is this the one?” Lars asked. His hands were in Dima’s back pockets. Dima pulled one of Larry’s hands out of his pocket and laced their fingers together with a happy hum.
“Yep,” Ovi said, popping the P.
“The address was on his Christmas card,” Nicky said. He squared his shoulders and took Ovi’s hand. His eyes darted around the building with the same calculating glance he used to find a passing lane across ice on the power play, or to convince Tom that he knows the Swedish Chef personally.
They entered the building and packed into the elevator. As the elevator pinged on each floor, Ovi draped himself over Nicky’s back and nuzzled into his neck. Nicky leaned back into him and scratched a hand through Ovi’s shaggy hair. Tom observed this with a critical eye, and then draped himself carefully over Kuzy’s back. Kuzy was busy texting, so he didn’t really care. When the elevator pinged their arrival, Tom filed out last, a little disappointed.
After a couple of wrong turns, they arrived at Nate Schmidt’s door.
“We here!” Ovi cheered. He threw his hands in the air.
“How do we get in?” V asked. “For surprise?”
Ovi’s hands slowly lowered to his sides.
“Oh,” said Nicky.
“We could just knock,” Lars suggested.
Everyone looked at Lars like he suggested they perform some sort of crime.
“We could pick the lock?” he said.
“No one knows how to do that,” Nicky pointed out.
“Oh, I can do it,” Tom said. He pulled a lockpick kit out of his back pocket.
“Why,” Nicky said flatly.
“I watch a lot of TV,” Tom said, “Get off my back, Papa.” He kneeled down in front of Schmidty’s doorknob and got to work.
“This remind me of what that ref say when he give you game misconduct,” Kuzy said grinning. “What he say you did exactly?”
“‘We’re talking disobedience, stealing, spitting, running away, throwing rocks, kicking stuff, defacing stuff, burning stuff, loitering, and graffiti. And that’s just the stuff we know about.’” Tom quoted. The lock clicked open. “Boom goes the dynamite.”
The door swung open and they stepped inside.
They looked around the apartment, expecting to see an unsuspecting Schmidty break into a smile so bright it radiated direct sunshine into the hearts of everyone there, purifying them of recent sins. Instead, they saw Braden Holtby, alone on the couch, cracking open a cold one.
Ovi grinned. “Holts! What are you doing here?”
“Uh… cracking open a cold one. What are you doing here?”
“We come to get Schmidty! It’s his birthday! Must party!”
“He’s uh… in the bathroom,” Holts said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? We could’ve carpooled.”
Ovi shrugged. “Sorry Holts, maybe you got big mouth. Tell Schmidty everything. Ruin surprise.”
“I don’t know, O,” Lars said. “He kept the tortoises a secret.”
Holts opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Schmidty’s voice drifted into the living room.
“So, Holts, I was thinking we could- oh wow!” Schmidty said as he walked into the living room and spotted the menagerie that was his former teammates.
“Surprise! Happy birthday!” Ovi yelled. Everyone chorused “Happy Birthday!” after him. Ovi stepped forward and crushed Schmidty in a hug that only cracked five to seven ribs. He didn’t want to strain himself over the offseason.
Schmidty laughed and thumped Ovi on the back. “I am definitely surprised!” Schmidty turned his thousand-watt grin on Nicky. Nicky’s dead shark eyes looked slightly to the right for Schmidty’s personal safety, but he did give him a fatherly hug.
V was standing awkwardly next to Nicky, shuffling his feet with the look of someone who kind of knew this guy that they flew across the country to see for his birthday, but, like, only in the way that, like, they kind of passed each other when V was up from Hershey, and sure V played some games, but sometimes Schmidty was scratched despite being the best defenseman, but he’s still excited to see him in Vegas. Schmidty didn’t seem to care, though.
“Hey V,” Schmidty said, giving him a hug like they actually knew each other well. Schmidty stepped back. “Are you… wearing swim trunks?”
“I was in Spain.”
“Sounds awesome!”
V tried and failed not to be emotional about this exchange. Such was the power of Nate Schmidt, who has been scientifically proven to produce dopamine in others.
Schmidty greeted everyone enthusiastically, and then ushered them fully into the apartment, where they settled on various surfaces.
When everyone had a seat, Ovi spoke up. “We show up! What now? What’s birthday plan?”
“Wait was your plan just… showing up at my apartment?” Schmidty asked.
Tom made an offended noise. “Hey there’s lots involved here. You gotta read the group chat, gotta book a plane ticket…”
“Gotta order a Lyft,” V added.
“Gotta pretend to fight about who pays for the Lyft,” Tom said.
“Gotta let Papa pay for the Lyft.”
“Gotta ride in the Lyft with a driver playing Spanish rap.”
“Gotta arrive at the apartment.”
“Gotta find the right apartment.”
“And then get in.”
“Yeah, that does sound complicated,” Holts said dryly.
“Hey, Holts, what you get Schmidty for birthday?” Kuzy asked.
“Oh, I-”
“We bring you cold ones! Happy birthday!” Ovi crowed, holding up two six packs.
“Thanks guys,” Schmidty said cheerfully. Holts scooted surreptitiously to the left to hide three packs of cold ones sitting on the table already.
“I got you something, too,” V said shyly. He handed Schmidty a keychain in the shape of Spain.
“Wow! Thanks,V!" Schmidty said. He held up the keychain to admire it. "That's really thoughtful!" He gave V a big hug.
“Where were you keep that?” Dima said, eyebrows raised.
V’s face remained impassive.
“Oh,” said Dima.
“Impressive,” Lars added.
“Baby son’s face look like yours, Nicky,” Ovi whispered loudly. “You teach him to do that?”
“No,” Nicky said. He looked proud.
Everyone chatted for a while, they drank the cold ones, lost Lars and Dima for twenty minutes to a “bathroom break”, and reminisced about the good not-so-old days. Eventually, Ovi got bored.
“Okay, enough sentimental bullshit. Time to party!” Ovi stood up and pulled off his shirt. “Woo!”
“Party!” Tom and V yelled.
“Party,” Kuzy said just a second too late. His phone made soft tap-tap noises as he texted.
“There’s a bar I like on the Strip,” Schmidty supplied. “Holts and I were headed that way tonight to celebrate.”
“Let’s go,” Nicky said. “I’ll buy.”
“Oh hell yeah!” Tom said.
“Not even going to pretend to pay this time, Thomas?”
“Nope.”
Nicky turned to Ovi. “He’s your son.”
They started at Schmidty's favorite bar on the Strip. There was a birthday cake from Ovi's pockets, more cold ones, and an impressively bad game of pool, amongst the usual shenanigans. Schmidty cried, Ovi cried, Tom cried because V hustled him at pool, and Kuzy texted. Eventually, after a round of cold ones, Tom took a seat across from Kuzy at the booth.
“So, how do you think our sexual tension is going?” Tom asked.
“Hm?” Kuzy asked. He looked up from his phone. “Oh. That. Yes. It is going very well. I think we should get married now.”
Tom’s eyes grew wide. “Do you mean it?” he breathed.
“Yeah, sure,” Kuzy said, pocketing his phone. “Big fun, very exciting. Mama and Papa will be so proud.”
Tom stood up faster than the Caps could blow a third period lead. “Sorry, Schmidty. Birthday time is over. It’s bachelor party time!” No one acknowledged him. Tom looked around expectantly. “Please clap.”
Nicky clapped once.
Ovi, V, and Schmidty broke into thunderous applause. Lars and Dima ignored him, as Dima had picked Larry up and was spinning him in a circle next to their table. An employee jumped out of the way to avoid being smacked by Lars' feet.
“I was only gone for a minute,” Lars laughed.
Dima’s eyes crinkled happily as he spoke. “I know! A whole minute!”
“Oh my god, shut up , can’t you see this is my moment?” Tom said. Lars and Dima still ignored him.
“My moment too, yes?” Kuzy said. “Let’s go losers! It’s bachelor party time!"
They moved to another bar on the Strip, finished the last of the pocket birthday cake, and started a truly abysmal game of darts. Tom declared it the Bachelor Party Darts Competition. V was included because he looked left out.
“When I got this assignment, I was hoping there’d be more gambling,” Schmidty said. "Less... Vegas weddings."
V threw a dart and missed the board wildly. "What about Vegas bachelor parties?"
"Carly and Kemper's Vegas bachelor party was pretty wild," Lars said.
"This bachelor party is almost as bad as Papa and Sasha's party in Pittsburgh," Kuzy said. He tossed a dart without looking. Bullseye.
“Talking about Pittsburgh on Caps funded missions is punishable by five minutes in the box,” Tom recited dutifully.
“Is this funded?” Holts asked. He licked the last of the pocket birthday cake off his fingers.
"Hey! Me and Nicky have great bachelor party! Scavenger hunt so fun!" Ovi said.
"We kidnapped Sidney Crosby," Lars said mildly.
"And that was very fun!" Ovi said.
“Wait, Kuzy, you think our bachelor party is bad?” Tom asked. His dart shattered a glass.
“Oh yeah, total buzzkill. Just you and V being bad at darts. Slapshot isn’t even here. What is point?” Kuzy fired off a quick text before nailing another bullseye.
“Hey, it was my turn,” V complained.
“Maybe you not suck so much, you get turn.”
“Okay, that’s fair.” V forfeited the game and slid into the booth to curl up next to Nicky. Nicky chuffed his bare arms and Ovi reached over to ruffle his hair.
“Maybe baby son get married next,” Ovi said, cooing and pinching V’s cheeks.
“Well there was that one time with Madison-” V started.
“Where do you get married in Vegas anyway? Schmidty? Any recommendations?” Tom asked.
“Uh… my team doesn’t have Vegas weddings as often as you guys. Sorry, Willy.” Schmidty smiled and shrugged.
“What about the Shake Shack down the road?” Holts suggested.
“I don’t think they do weddings at Shake Shack, bud,” Schmidty said.
“But they do burgers.”
“Just go to a chapel,” Lars said.
“Alright.” Without deliberation or discussion, Tom stood up and marched outside. The rest scrambled after him.
As they exited the bar, their eyes were met with the pulsating neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip. Chatter and music filled the air as people swarming the streets headed for their next destination or loitered in front of the various bars and casinos lining the sidewalk. At this time of night, porno cards carpeted the sidewalk, and Nicky covered V’s eyes and steered him forward firmly by the elbow.
Tom blinked against the sudden light of the Strip. "How do we get to a chapel?” he asked.
"I throw you with my powerful arms," Ovi responded.
"All of us?"
"One by one."
"Can you really... do that?" Tom looked dubious.
"Ovi believes he can do it," Nicky said.
"Really?"
"How do you think Zach got to St. Louis?"
"An... airplane..." V said quietly from Nicky's side. Nicky gave him a withering look, which he still could not see.
Lars pointed across the street. “Isn’t that a chapel right there?” Everyone turned their heads.
“Good eyes, bud.” Tom slapped Lars on the back and strode across the street. He didn’t get very far before Kuzy grabbed the back of his shirt to prevent him from walking into oncoming traffic.
“You so handsome when you smart,” Dima said. He booped Lars' nose. Lars growled and chased Dima’s finger with his teeth.
“Gross.” V stepped away from them and out of the safety of Nicky’s hands.
“Come on, Nicky! Let’s go watch idiot sons get married!” Ovi took Nicky’s hand and followed their idiot sons to the chapel.
As it turned out, the chapel across the street was called “Little Church of the West”. There was a small office outside of the chapel proper, and a upbeat Elvis impersonator greeted them warmly when they walked inside. Elvis was happy enough to marry Tom and Kuzy, and got straight to work after they put down the deposit for the ceremony.
“What are your names for the marriage certificate?” Elvis asked.
“Thomas Wilson.”
Dima snorted. “Give Elvis your real name.”
“That is my real name.”
“Is fake,” Dima laughed.
V leaned over to Nicky. “Does Snarls think Thomas is a fake name?”
Nicky, who always called him Thomas, said nothing.
Elvis turned to Kuzy. “And what’s your name?”
“Yevgeny Yevgenyevich Kuznetsov.”
“....what?”
“Just write ‘Kuzy.’”
“Fair enough.” Elvis filled it in. “Alright, A Little Less Conversation and a little more Burning Love.” Elvis lead them into the chapel.
It was a small building with just four rows of pews on each side split by a center aisle. Tom and Kuzy took their positions across from each other at the altar up front. They had decided beforehand there would be no processing because V and Dima couldn’t agree on who would be flower girl. They were named best men instead. V subtly pulled at the hem of his swim trunks. Dima blew kisses to Lars, who was sitting next to Nicky in the front row, who was handing a sniffling Ovi tissues with a bland expression. Tom smoothed his hair back and smiled nervously at Kuzy. Kuzy gave him two thumbs up.
“Dearly beloved we are gathered here today on a very special occassion. The name’s Elvis, and I am alive. Marriage is a sacred institution..." As Elvis sing-songed on about the sanctity of marriage, Lars looked at Dima and mimed giving him a blow job. Nicky smacked his hand away from his mouth. Eventually, Elvis reached the vows.
"Do you, Thomas, promise to love Kuzy tender as long as you both shall live?" Elvis asked.
"I- Tom buried his face in his hands. “Ohhhh fuuuuuuuck,” he groaned. "Kuzy, I can't marry you."
Kuzy looked offended. "What? Why not? I'm a find. I'm a catch! And a very gifted bowler!"
Tom dragged his hands down his face. "I'm already married."
"What?!" Ovi cried, standing up in his seat. If there was a crowd, Ovi imagined they’d be murmuring.
"He never annulled his drunk Vegas wedding to Mike," Nicky supplied. Everyone gasped, but no one louder than Ovi.
"Nicky?! Why you not say anything about our sons' wedding?"
"Alex, you were at the wedding. You officiated the wedding."
Ovi sat back down. He still didn’t remember, but their lives were so wild, how could he keep track?
Tom turned to Kuzy and took his delicate bird hands in his chunky, meaty ones. "Kuzy, I'm so sorry. But I can't marry you-"
Suddenly, with a crash like Matt Duchene hitting the ice after Dima hip checked him into space, the doors to the chapel burst open. "STOP THE WEDDING!"
There, silhouetted against the flashing neon lights of Las Vegas, sweat glistening on his forehead like he had just bathed in the spray of Holtby’s water bottle, stood Marcus Johansson.
"Jojo!" Kuzy cried happily. He performed a graceful thirty foot horizontal leap and landed in front of Marcus. Then, he threw his arms around Marcus' neck and kissed him square on the lips.
“Oh,” said V.
"What," Tom said.
"The fuck?" said Elvis.
After a moment, Marcus pulled back and grabbed Kuzy by the shoulders. He looked a little manic. “Wait, Zhenya. You can’t marry Tom! I love you!”
“I love you, too,” Kuzy said, grinning. “Besides, I never marry Tom. I was gonna reject him when it got to my vows. More funny that way.”
Marcus blinked in confusion for a moment until his brain caught up with Kuzy’s words. Then, his mouth twisted in a grin. “You’re right, that would be funnier.”
“Hey!” Tom said. They ignored him.
“Don’t worry, Jojo. I never marry anyone but you,” Kuzy said, touching his forehead to Marcus’.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Tom said. V consoled Tom with a pat on the shoulder.
“How you even know wedding was happen, Jojo?” Kuzy asked.
“Diplo was live streaming.”
Everyone turned and looked at Diplo, who waved. They turned back around.
“Also, you stopped texting me. I knew either something was wrong or you were doing something crazy,” Marcus added. “And I was right.”
"That’s who you’ve been texting all day?” Tom asked. “Mojo? Another man? On this? The day of our wedding?”
"You married already!" Kuzy said.
“Oh, yeah,” Tom said, deflating.
“How did you get here so fast?” V looked confused. Before Marcus could answer, Nicky marched over, looking stern. Ovi followed in his wake, looking a little scared and confused. Nicky stopped in front of Marcus and Kuzy, who stepped apart and looked rightly afraid.
“How long has this been going on?” Nicky said. His arms were crossed and he was tapping his foot.
Kuzy swallowed audibly.
“You didn’t think this was important to tell me?” Nicky demanded.
Marcus shuffled his feet.
“My son and my best friend, what’s that English phrase? In cahoots?” He looked Kuzy dead in the eyes. Kuzy shut his eyes quickly.
“Well?” Nicky demanded. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Marcus and Kuzy looked at each other. “Well...”
After letting the moment hang in the air, Nicky broke into a grin. “I’m just kidding. I’ve known about it for a while.”
“What the fuck, Nicky?” Marcus said. “How did you know?”
Nicky quirked an eyebrow.
“Fair enough,” Marcus said.
“I didn’t know,” Holts piped up, raising his hand.
“Well, everyone know now! Surprise!” Kuzy said. Marcus smiled fondly and took Kuzy’s hand to the sound of congratulations from their friends.
“All this aggravation ain’t satisfactioning me,” Elvis broke in, “Is there a wedding happening here or not?”
Tom turned to Dima and Lars, who had migrated back together in all the confusion. “Do you guys wanna get married?”
Lars and Dima looked offended. “We more classy than shotgun wedding,” Dima said. Lars nodded and squeezed Dima's hand.
“Oh,” said Tom.
Elvis leaned over to V and said quietly, sans accent, “The deposit is non-refundable.”
“This has been a really great birthday, you guys,” Schmidty grinned. “I’m so glad Holts came to visit and that you guys broke into my apartment. And Jojo is here! It was really special. Group hug!”
Everyone piled in like they were celebrating a Jay Beagle shorthanded goal. It was voracious and pure. After a while, V broke away from the hug and rubbed at his bare arms. “So, can you guys help me book a flight back to Spain?”
Everyone laughed.
“Haha. No seriously.”
They gathered up their things and chattered amongst themselves.
“Guys?”
They walked out of the chapel and back onto the Vegas Strip, ready to party the night away in a way that only the Washington Capitals knew how.
“Guys?!”
“Oh fuck,” Kuzy swore. “I left my Super Big Gulp in the Lyft.”
Back at home, Ovi tucked into a plate of eggs and bacon at the kitchen table. The bacon was in the shape of a smiley face. He smiled, and ate it.
Nicky sat across from him, reading the newspaper. He turned the page serenely as Ovi’s phone lit up and he tapped away. “Are you texting Landeskog again?”
“Yeah.” Ovi chewed his lip.
Nicky put down his newspaper and looked at Ovi. “He’ll be fine, Alex.”
“Yeah. I know.” Ovi took a deep breath. “Raised him good. You good papa.
“And you’re a good mama.”
They sat and ate in silence for a little bit, feet tangled casually under the table until Ovi’s phone screen lit up and he snatched it up, texting furiously.
“Who are you texting now?”
“Barkov. Hey, we have time for trip south before summer is over?”
“Whatever you want.”
Ovi flashed Nicky a happy, gap-toothed smile and went back to eating his bacon and scrolling through his phone.
“Oh look, Nicky, Russian Machine wrote an article about us. ‘Caps players party hard with Nate Schmidt in Vegas.’ Guess we weren’t as sneaky as we thought. Probably should not have posted on Instagram.”
Nicky stood up and rounded the table, and then draped himself over Ovi’s back to get a closer look at the article. “There’s a lot of pictures.”
“Yeah. Oh, there’s one I took of you, Nicky. Ian Oland says hi back.”
They scrolled through the photos together. Among the photos, there was a selfie V took from the floor of the Lyft, a video from Tom’s story of Kuzy buying a Super Big Gulp, and a wildly chaotic photo of Ovi pulling birthday cake from his pockets and offering it to Schmidty, who wore a big smile and a birthday hat. They scrolled through, occasionally laughing and rolling their eyes.
Nicky squinted and leaned in closer. “Is that… Semin? How did he…”
Ovi shrugged. “Is Sasha.”
“Fair enough.”
Eventually they reached the bottom of the article and Ovi put his phone down. Nicky gave his shoulders a quick squeeze before padding to the sink to sift through the mountain of dishes left from before their trip. Ovi finished off his breakfast and wandered over to the sink with his plate. He unloaded the dishwasher and helped Nicky stack the dirty dishes inside. Ovi hummed and Nicky smiled.
“Maybe I should marry you in Vegas.” Ovi leaned over and dropped a gentle kiss on Nicky’s lips when the dishes were away and the counters wiped.
Nicky snorted softly and pulled away. He hung the dishrag back over the oven and crossed the kitchen. “I’m going to shower.” He looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Ovi scrambled after him, almost knocking a chair over in the process. In a few large strides, he crossed the kitchen and grasped Nicky’s hand. He swung their hands together and chattered away as they made their way to the bedroom. And in the soft morning light, a glint of gold sparkled, just for a second, on two fingers.