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________________________
They tell the team the story piece by piece over the coming few days.
Justin and Shitty hear it first, frowning and nodding and gasping so much that Adam wonders if, maybe, he should be feeling more surprised right now. If maybe he’s underreacting. It’ll probably hit harder and deeper the first time Jack sits down with him and their sisters and their parents, but right now — right now it feels right. He’s wondered why they had the same face for awhile now.
Are they Jack’s parents, if they didn’t raise him? Adam examines this while Jack fields their friends’ questions. Are they brothers, if they weren’t brought up together? But this has an easier answer. Adam was raised next to Jack all his life, even if Jack didn’t know it. This is easier for him to swallow.
“I just need to make sure,” Shitty says for the fifteenth time, holding his hands up in the living room of the Haus. “You’re one hundred percent fucking positive it’s not an alien conspiracy, right?”
Justin rolls his eyes. Jack says, “Anything feels possible right now.”
Later, on their way back to the dorms, Justin asks, “How’re you really doing with all of this?”
It’s one of those questions that just cuts right through to the heart of everything. Justin pairs it with a raised eyebrow and Adam could kiss him for this if they weren’t just best friends. If his world hadn’t already been turned upside down.
“I don’t fucking know,” Adam says. “I’m hoping there’ll come a time when this is easier to breathe around.”
Justin smiles at him slightly. “I’ll be here for you, if you need me. Even if you don’t.”
“Okay,” Adam whispers. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Justin says, and he bumps their shoulders together. Adam spends the rest of the day humming his favorite song under his breath.
The time creeps in slow. Every new day brings another thing to face and confront and work into their new normal. They FaceTime his — their — sisters the Wednesday after the game from Jack’s room, figuring this would be a quick way to make Jack a person who has had a life before all of this instead of Jack, the celebrity hockey star their brother was always compared to. Emma and Jess bombard him with questions about various interviews they read on him, and whether or not he and Adam are actually almost the same height (Adam’s taller), and whether or not he’s also allergic to shellfish (he is). Adam chimes in here and there to even out any awkward silences, but he’s mostly focused on Hannah. Hannah normally doesn’t shut up, and she hasn’t said a word.
“So you two are twins too, right?” Jack says.
Emma nods. “Yup! Jess is the only non-twin in the family.”
“I’m older though,” Hannah says unexpectedly. “Three minutes.”
Emma rolls her eyes, saying, “I’m still taller than you,” and they bicker while Jess and Jack talk hockey, and it’s nice. It feels — not normal at all, actually. This is still too new for it to be normal yet. But it feels like something they could do together, sit around a computer and talk to each other. He can tell Jack’s shaking a little and so he casually claps a hand on his shoulder, and he thinks it helps. Jack’s breathing seems to settle.
“How’re you feeling?” Adam asks when they hang up. His is a stomach made of shifting sand; it is so dearly important right now that Jack likes them.
Jack says, “Weird. It’s — weird going from one alone to one of five.” He glances up at him. “I don’t think Hannah likes me much.”
Adam sighs. “She does. Or will, I guess. It’s new for them, too. She kept texting me after we texted them the first time, just saying shit like ‘do you think they hid anyone else from us?’”
“Do you?” Jack asks, face pinched.
“I don’t think they would,” Holster says. He’s quiet a moment, thinking. Jack looks at him like he knows what he’s about to say. “Although—”
“You weren’t expecting me, either,” Jack finishes for him. He smiles wryly. “Exactly.”
“I know them,” Adam says. “I really think the only way they kept this a secret for so long was because they had help. When I was — I guess when we were ten, they bought me Sabres tickets as a surprise and completely blew it. I don’t think they’re capable of pulling this off more than once.”
Jack doesn’t say anything. He’s still wearing that pinched expression, like his forehead got stuck in the doorframe somehow.
“You’ll see,” Adam says quietly. He clears his throat. “Once you get to know them better, you’ll see.”
“Okay,” Jack whispers.
They find their footing. Hall and Murray just blink at them, look at each other, and nod and then Hall says, “I don’t know how to help you boys right now, but know we got your back and will do whatever we can to support the both of you.” They work on their one-timers, and it’s not as good as Jack’s and Kent Parson’s hockey mindmeld, but it’s close enough to be useful as fuck in a game. Adam beats him at MarioKart. Jack chirps him until Adam loses, too busy focusing on how to chirp back to pay too much attention to his driving. It’s nice that they don’t have to go out of their way to spend time with each other, and if it’s awkward that they suddenly mean something more to each other than just teammates, it goes away quickly. Mostly.
It’s kind of really, really great actually. Adam always wanted a brother growing up.
Then the media finds out, and it all goes to shit.
____________
BAD BOB’S SECRET LOVE CHILD?
The Daily screams up at him from his phone. He’d woken up to a link from Emma and a just thought you should know, and he feels himself getting angrier and angrier with each word.
They’re running a conjecture piece on what it would’ve been like if Adam had been a Zimmermann instead of Jack, pointing out how, somehow, Adam and Bad Bob have similar personalities and might have grown the Zimmermann hockey empire to unforeseen heights on charisma alone. They dug up Holster’s Squirt team picture and inserted one of Jack at the same age and spent a whole paragraph comparing coaching reports on both of them. They found pictures of them in juniors, devoted too much space to whether it was the situation or Jack that caused the downfall before the draft. It’s the sentence saying Now, if Adam Birkholtz had been in Jack Zimmermann’s shoes and carried his last name, then we might have seen a Zimmermann back in the NHL two years ago that makes him text Jack to meet him at the Haus.
There’s a copy on the porch. Adam steps on it deliberately, furiously. He hadn’t wanted to face the larger orchestra yet. He’d barely managed to face the music here in a place he loves with people he cares about.
“Bullshit,” he breathes. He steps on the paper again, right over his Squirt picture. The picture tears. “Bullshit.”
Jack and Shitty are talking in low voices when Adam comes into the kitchen. He was worried about being the first to break the news, but there’s no realistic expectation that Jack hadn’t already heard about it. Shitty brings up the fact that he has a news alert set up for Jack almost all the time. Most of the time it’s funny, absolutely implausible things, but this one is too close to home.
Adam sits across from them at the table and he can’t tell whether or not it’s a problem that Jack’s face isn’t registering much emotion. On his own face, this expression means he’s trying to hide being hurt. He doesn’t know what it means to Jack.
“What’re we supposed to do about it?” he says, after the silence has stretched his nerves thin.
“There’s not a whole lot we can do, I think,” Jack says. “We weren’t the ones who did it.”
“Yeah, but we just lived it,” Adam says.
Jack’s face turns thoughtful. “True. It’s funny, though, because I thought this would make me more anxious than it is.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re not freaking the fuck out right now,” Adam says, “because I don’t believe you.”
“Not at all what I’m saying. I’m freaking the fuck out, I just thought I’d be — going nuclear or something when the press found out.”
Adam frowns. “Why’d you say ‘when?’”
Jack shrugs. “They usually find out things like this. I’m planning for the NHL too, so I suppose it would’ve come out then anyway. I’d be happier if we could’ve chosen the moment, but it’s easier for me to know there’s literally nothing I can do about it now.”
This is — “You aren’t seriously telling me,” Adam says, and it hits him at once that he’s shaking mad. “You aren’t seriously telling me that you’re going back in there after what they did to you. They tore you to fucking pieces after the draft Jack, how the hell do you expect—“
“I don’t.” Jack runs his fingertips over the grain of the table. “I’m not naive, okay, I know the shit they said about me.”
“Then why the fucking NHL.”
Jack looks at him now and his expression is the same one Adam wore after he broke his elbow in middle school. It’s a bizarre mix of pride and pain and the refusal to cry about something that’s hurting.
“Because I need to,” Jack says. The simplicity of the statement is somehow worse than his expression. “I don’t know who I am without the NHL. All they’ll see is a coke addict if I don’t make them see different. It’s my only shot.”
It’s like something’s broken on his face. Jack keeps his head high, but Adam knows where the tremors lurk behind the mask. They hide them in the same place.
“You’re not an addict,” he says, and Jack seems to fight to keep his lower lip from trembling.
“They don’t know that.”
“Why do they need to,” Adam asks, exasperated. He wants to say there is so much more to you than that but Jack’s already talking.
“This was my birthright.” His face is empty. “I need to — I have to be worthy of it again.”
Adam throws up his hands. “You already are—”
“You’ll never understand,” Jack says, voice sharp, “the legacy I grew up under.”
Shitty does his best to mediate, but it doesn’t help. The argument escalates. Adam leaves shortly afterward, both red in the face and breathless.
Justin jogs up before he reaches the end of the street. Adam waits for him to approach, torn between admiring his body and furious annoyance that Shitty probably texted him to meet him. Admiration wins out. Running leggings should be illegal if they look that good.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says.
Justin raises his eyebrows. “Good,” he answers, “because you look shitty, and I don’t feel like arguing with you about this.”
Adam’s whole body feels encased in a stone. He crosses his arms. “So you agree that he needs to go into the NHL.”
“I don’t think he needs to,” Justin says. There’s a bit of an edge to his voice. “I do think he wants to, and feels he has to, and it’s going to be hard as fuck for him. As his friend I’m planning on supporting him. What’re you going to do?”
Justin actually sounds angry with him right now. Somehow this pierces through to Adam in a way Jack and Shitty couldn’t. The right response is to say yes, I got your back. But it wasn’t even Adam’s decision last time, and he still caught the backlash; that check that fucked up his knee, that was only shortly after Jack’s overdose. It’s going to be worse for both of them going forward.
“What do you think I should do?” Adam asks. “I just — I know what’s going to happen. He’s going to get so much shit, and so will I, and it’s already stressful now that the press knows things.”
Justin sighs. “Look, you don’t have to worry about it right now. If he signs, it’ll be after graduation, right? Shitty was saying he’s still getting his diploma. So don’t worry about it right now, okay? I’ll make a spreadsheet when the time comes. Weigh the pros and cons.”
“Excel knows everything, huh?”
When Justin smiles at him, the sun catches the sweat on his upper lip. It shouldn’t attractive but combining that with the sun glinting on his neck, and on his shoulders, and those fucking leggings, and — yeah. Yeah, it’s something.
“Fuck you,” Justin says good-naturedly. “Race you to Annie’s.”
He takes off. After a split second Adam follows him, and he’ll never admit it, but the reason he loses is because he’s too busy wondering if there’s something here. Something to run after.
____________
He doesn’t apologize to Jack, exactly, but only because when he starts to, Jack says, “I know you’re just worried. I’ll — I’ll keep that in mind, I promise. Neither of us asked for this, but it is happening. It’s not our fault.”
“Just something to live with,” Adam says, as if saying it simply would make it so.
The Swallow starts running into him “accidentally” between his classes, or after practices, or during kegsters. He lets them talk until they say “Jack Zimmermann” and “the draft” before flipping them off and storming away, hopeful that they’ll get the hint. They don’t seem to.
His Instagram followers climb into ridiculous numbers before he goes private. His Twitter DMs are full of trashy magazines asking for quotes, and he blocks all of them. On Facebook, his friend requests are off the fucking wall, and he’s scrolling through them out of morbid fascination before he sees the name “Alicia & Bob Zimmermann.”
“You parents friended me,” Adam tells Jack during practice later. He drops to his knees, stretching his hips and thighs. “They really share one Facebook account?”
Jack nods ruefully. “They do. My dad’s friends chirp him about it whenever they visit.”
Adam’s nodding before remembering his dad is Bad Bob and his friends are more likely to be Wayne Gretzky than Mr. Miller, who’s his own dad’s best friend.
“Why are they friending me?”
He says it without thinking. Jack twists his lip. “They’re talking about doing a joint birthday party. Or just, like, dinner. When the season’s over.”
“Are they finally gonna tell us what day we were actually born, then?” Adam says. He stretches his legs out in front of him and reaches for his skates. The burn in his calves is almost a good enough distraction.
“Do you want to know?” Jack mirrors his movements.
“I don’t know,” Adam says truthfully. “Not like it’d mean much now, eh?”
“‘Eh?’” Justin calls from center ice. “Careful there, you might be turning a little Canadian on us now eh?”
Adam says, “Don’t think Canada would be able to handle me,” and Jack rolls his eyes. Justin doesn’t visibly blush, but Adam thinks his gaze lingers on him a little longer than it needs to.
____________
Adam accepts their friend request. He goes through Jack’s baby and childhood pictures — full of Stanley Cups and movie stars and hockey legends — until the album comes full circle to the day before the draft. The caption says, So proud of this young man :) Heart feeling unsteady, he reads the comments. It start upbeat and peppy: Can’t wait to cheer him on next season! Do you and Bob know where he’s going yet? I want to preorder a jersey. They turn into questions about what happened, do they know if he’s stable yet, if they need meals prepped. Jack’s parents write Thanks for the love and support. We will get in touch with family individually and privately.
The photo after it is dated about seven months later, is a shot of Jack and a peewee team on a pond behind a sprawling house.
It feels intrusive to have witnessed this. He doesn’t know what he was looking for. He closes out of the album as a shiver of guilt goes up his spine.
____________
As the season continues, Samwell starts looking a little more like a dream. The trees turned colors two weeks ago, and it’s been a few rare, clear days walking to and from classes. Things seem to settle as the leaves fall. His world turns into a collage of hockey and classes and tests, and study dates with Justin at Founders, and trying to focus on his homework instead of Justin’s eyes.
It’s ridiculous is what it is. Adam has known he’s bi since senior year of high school when at Luke Evans laughed so hard milk came out of his nose. It was a beautiful thing, that laugh. And he’s been through juniors and shared thousands of locker rooms with beautiful guys and it shouldn’t be this much of a revelation.
He does his best to stand on top of it. He and Ransom have never talked about guys together, so it’s never been something to hope for. Or it wouldn’t be, if not for the way Justin’s gaze on him feels like a physical thing.
They have time, he reminds himself. They’re only frogs. There’s so much time left.
____________
Except then Justin’s making out with a girl at the kegster before winter break, and there doesn’t feel like any time’s left at all. And then he’s mad at himself because he’s being a bad bro, right? This shouldn’t be affecting him the way it is. Justin probably isn’t even not-straight.
He shoulders his way to the bathroom, picking up a new Solo cup on the way. It’s like a whole other world in here; Shitty and Lardo are passing around a joint on the floor, leaning back against the bathtub, and when he closes the door the music fades to the faintest thud against the door. The tub is full of a questionably red liquid Adam has still not tried, trusting neither Shitty nor the cleanliness of the bathtub. He knows who lives here.
“Welcome, Holster,” Shitty says, spreading his arms magnanimously. He accidentally clips Lardo on the cheek, but she laughs. He clumsily pats her face. “Whoops. Sorry, m’dude.”
Lardo appraises him as he sits down. Adam hasn’t actually hung out with the two of them alone; usually Jack’s nearby, and so is Justin. They’re more of a fivesome than not. Especially when it comes to Shitty and Lardo, who are so tight there’s usually a risk of feeling like a third wheel.
Right now it’s good. The tile is cool under him. Shitty fills up his cup without needing to be asked. Lardo offers the joint, and even though he turns it down, it doesn’t seem to be a big thing.
They’re leaning on each other and that makes him miss Justin. He hugs his knees.
“What’re you doing in here?” he asks.
Lardo pats the bathtub. “Manning the booze,” she says. “Got kicked out of beer pong and needed something to do.”
“Kicked their asses too bad, is what she means,” Shitty says. He tucks a long strand of hair behind Lardo’s ear. Adam wonders a moment if Shitty knows how his face looks when he looks at her, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
“Yeah, I could hear it from the porch.”
There’s a moment while he drinks his tub juice and they pass the joint between themselves and now Shitty’s playing with all of Lardo’s hair, and Lardo elbows him.
“Was that a no go?” Shitty asks.
Lardo says, “I’m so fucking tired of my hair,” and Adam says, “Are you gonna get the chop?”
The chop is a longstanding Samwell tradition to mark the freshman to sophomore transition. Adam doesn’t know Lardo well, but she has the vibe of someone who’d pull it off well.
“I keep telling her,” Shitty says, “that I’d do it for her, if she wanted.”
“And I keep telling you that I’d sooner let a baboon with a razor near my head.” Adam laughs. Lardo smiles at him before adding, “Sorry, Shits.”
“I respect it,” Shitty says gracefully. “So. Holtzy. What’re you doing in here? Thought you and Rans would be working on your, like, duets or something.”
Adam tries to keep his voice light when he responds. “Rans is making out with one of the volleyball girls.” He thinks it worked for the most part. “And Jack doesn’t — you know. And it’s quiet in here.”
Shitty and Lardo share a glance that’s impossible to read.
“You’ve never seemed like a quiet person?” Lardo says.
“I’m not? I guess. But other people being loud when I don’t feel like being loud is a lot. If that makes sense.”
She’s nodding before he finishes and Adam suddenly, fervently wishes he knew her better. “That’s how I feel almost all the fucking time.”
“Loud is better when you’re part of it,” he says, and she tips her head back to rest against the tub.
“Bro. Yes.”
There’s a quiet sense of familiarity bubbling up between the three of them. Adam can almost taste it, is about to say so before he remembers it’s the tub juice. They start talking about random shit, like Lardo’s professor who’s being a dick and how Adam really wants new laces for his skates but there’s no good gear store nearby and how, if Shitty had the time, he’d really like to build the giant Madison Square Garden LEGO set he got four birthdays ago and never got around to.
The conversation flows over all of them like a breeze, or a gentle rainstorm. Adam leans against the door, smiling. When they leave the bathroom hours later, it’s to find a deserted and trashed Haus. Justin isn’t there. Adam tells himself, pushing through the wreckage, that he wasn’t looking for him like that anyway.
____________
At the start of winter break both Adam’s and Jack’s parents are waiting outside Adam’s dorm. He squints at them and does a double take, and when they still haven’t left, he texts Jack.
It says, Our parents are at my dorm, and then after thinking about it, he adds, Like. The four of them, I mean.
Jack responds immediately. It’s short and eloquent.
???
Adam is typing I’ll let you know what I find out when his mom runs up the steps toward him and pull him into a gigantic hug, which is mostly impressive for the fact that he has about a foot on her. His dad comes up slower, careful not to show how much the steps are aggravating his knees, but the Zimmermanns stay at the curb. He thinks Alicia almost heads their way and then stops, clearly rethinking.
“Hi,” Adam says to his parents. In a whisper he adds, “Why are the Zimmermanns here?”
“We wanted to talk to you and Jack,” his mom says. Her whisper is not as effective as Adam’s; he sees the moment when Alicia and Bob — Bad Bob? Robert? What the fuck is he supposed to call him — realize they’re being talked about.
Adam asks what about, and his parents tell him they’re waiting for Jack, so Adam texts him to meet them at Jerry’s. It’s not a long walk but it is an awkward one. Alicia and Bob try their best to make small talk with him and his parents keep giving him looks that say they’re trying and you’re being rude when he doesn’t give long, detailed answers, so he does his best to meet them halfway. Right now that means not running out of Jerry’s when they’re seated.
He’s smoldering before Jack shows up. He knows it’s Jack from the way the Zimmermanns light up when the door opens, and from how his parents get all fluttery like they’re nervous. It’s like they’re meeting a celebrity instead of their son. Which, in a way, is exactly what’s happening.
“So what’s this about,” Adam asks, once they’ve gotten their appetizers. He dips a mozzarella stick with a little more force than needed.
His parents look at each other. “We were talking about break,” his mom says. “The four of us were, I mean. We wanted to know if we could all celebrate Hanukkah this year. Together.”
Adam frowns, looking at Jack. Jack’s already frowning at him, eyebrows raised, and Adam can read his face easily enough. He wasn’t expecting this either. Jack says, “How will we all fit?”
Adam silently blesses him for asking it. He would’ve said something a lot less charitable.
Alicia says, “Well, your parents offered to put us up since you have more bedrooms than we do right now,” and Adam’s mom nods. “And we’re going to buy groceries since you’re housing us.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” his mom starts, but Bob says, “We insist.”
“Okay,” Adam says slowly. “We have one guest room. So Jack and I are sharing?”
Jack says, “I could take a couch?”
Adam’s dad waves him down. “It’s not too long,” he says. “It’ll be fine. Right, Adam?”
He says it in the way that means Adam doesn’t actually have a say in this. “Right,” he mumbles.
When they’re done at Jerry’s Adam and Jack walk ahead of their parents, trying to figure out how they actually feel about this. It’s nice to find out that they’re on the same page; Jack has a game organized with his peewee team and some of his honorary uncles usually come out to spend time with them. Adam has a nightly dreidel game with his Bubbe and his family is massive, so it means more to have this time with her. Neither of them say it, but Jack’s family being who they are is going to throw things all the way off. Jack being who he is is going to throw everything off. And neither of them like sharing a bed.
“It’s a queen at least,” Adam offers gloomily. It doesn’t lighten his mood at all.
Jack says, “I’ll bring my rollerblades and a stick and we can get away from them if we need to.”
This does lighten Adam’s mood. “Jess would love that too.”
“Perfect,” Jack says, and if he’s nervous about finally meeting their sisters in person, he doesn’t say it.
____________
To their credit, their sisters only freak out a little bit when they meet the Zimmermanns. It’s mostly harmless; Jess is so starstruck by Bad Bob that she completely freezes when he offers to shake her hand, and this makes Jack smile for the first time in at least two days. Hannah immediately asks for Alicia’s autograph, saying Alicia’s such a huge role model for her ever since she starting speaking on behalf of climate change and supporting LGBTQ youth in sports.
Some of it isn’t harmless, like when Emma asks why no one ever told them they had another brother, or when Jess accidentally mentions the draft, or when Hannah disappears to her room with Alicia’s signature. Adam doesn’t fault them for a second. It’s difficult to not be unsure and unsteady and upset when this is new to all of them. Jack doesn’t take up space easily here — he’s shorter than Adam anyway, but there’s more of a hunch to his shoulders, something a little trapped and startled in his eyes that should have never been there.
Adam shouldn’t have to tell him where the bathroom is. He shouldn’t have to tell him the sodas are in the fridge outside, or that the silverware drawer sticks a little, or that their room is the second on the right upstairs, or be worried that the blue of the room was too light. He shouldn’t have to teach his brother how to walk through his house, but he does.
“This is yours?” Jack says hours later.
His face gives nothing away. Adam tries to see it through his eyes and registers the 30Rock posters are probably not Jack’s style. He’d made his bed before they came, and out of habit set his stuffed turtle on the bedspread in its usual spot. He sort of wishes he hadn’t when Jack picks it up.
“You have a Mr. Turtle too?” Jack asks, examining the embroidered face.
It was a welcome to the world present from his Bubbe. So his Bubbe knew about Jack and didn’t tell him, then. He feels it start to fester in his stomach.
And then he sees the way Jack’s holding it, and the way he holds it is says it’s something precious to him. Like his muscles are remembering how to hold it even though it’s not his own, like he’s held his own like this, and often. It softens something in his forehead, Adam thinks.
“Yeah,” he says. There is a lump in his throat that’s difficult to speak around. “Did you bring yours?”
Jack goes a little pink and pulls out a stuffed turtle from his backpack. It’s not identical to Adam’s, but it’s close. Jack gives Adam’s back and hugs his own. “He helps with bad dreams.”
Adam thinks about how rare and wonderful it is that they both had something they loved so much.
“They do, don’t they?”
It’s awkward sharing a bed with a brother you still don’t know fully as your brother. It makes it easier, though, that they sleep back to back, and in the morning, Adam holds his turtle close, and the knowledge that Jack is too is settling. Familiar.
“How’d you sleep?” Adam’s mom asks at the table.
Jack smiles slightly at Adam over his cup of orange juice. “No bad dreams.”
Adam bumps their cups together. Some knot begins to unwind in his chest.
____________
For eight nights the house is a mess of people sprawled out over nearly every surface, telling stories loudly and carefully looking-not-staring at Jack and his famous, famous parents. Adam gets through three nights of “How’re you handling — everything, bud?” conversations with his aunts and uncles before feeling like he’s going to split open and loudly exclaims he’s not going to be answering any questions anymore and will be in his room, and Jess comes to get him twenty minutes later to say their parents want him downstairs, and he says he wanted to know he had a twin before two months ago, and she winces.
“That’s not fair to you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
He addresses it to Jack’s Mr. Turtle. He comes downstairs to rescue Jack from one of their cousins’ many friends, who seems to be hitting on him without recognizing how tight the corners of Jack’s mouth are. Jack is visibly relieved to be chaperoning the younger cousins in the basement. He stops Maddy, Adam’s — their — cousin Fred’s four-year-old daughter from running head first into the coffee table in front of the TV and Adam trounces the ten-to-fourteen-year-olds in Super Smash Bros Brawl and he can breathe again. They camp out in the basement until they get hungry for latkes and until Emma and Jess, frowning apologetically, are sent to flush them out because another relative wants to meet Jack and see how similar they are.
He texts Justin, who’s been told he also has to share a room with his siblings while their family visits, and he sends a picture of the setup. Adam wants to study it so closely before remembering the volleyball girl. Instead he sends a picture of the turtle stuffed animals together, and Justin chirps him gently. It makes him miss him so bad it aches. Now that everything is up in the air, he wants someone to stabilize him.
He wins against Bubbe four nights and loses three and then, on the eighth, he asks her about his turtle, and why she didn’t say anything. She says, “Because your parents asked me not to,” and Adam says, “That’s not a good enough answer.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a good enough reason,” she says. “We offered to babysit. They said no, they can’t support two children anyway. They said, this is what we’ve decided on, please accept and respect that. Please don’t say anything, they said.” She looks at him over her gelt and she looks so sad to be telling him this. “We accepted it. I missed my grandson.”
“How,” Adam says. “I just — I don’t understand how someone could do something like that.”
Bubbe sighs. “We weren’t comfortable back then. Jack’s parents could support him, and you, and they wanted a baby so dearly. Your parents wanted him taken care of so they could take care of you. And then they got married and then they got their jobs—”
“Hold on,” Adam interrupts. Bubbe waits, spinning the dreidel absently. “They weren’t married?”
She says, “Accidental pregnancy,” and some things settle into place in his mind. His parents reform into younger, more scared versions of themselves. “They thought it’d be easier on them — and you, and your sisters, after — to continue as if it was just the four of you.” Her voice breaks. “I wanted to tell you for so long. After Jack — you know. I told them to tell you.”
He stares as the dreidel spins, spins, spins. When it falls he stands up. “I gotta — I’m sorry Bubbe, I need to—”
Bubbe rests her hand on his and squeezes. It doesn’t speak of any blame, or offense, or judgement. It is gentle and familiar and understanding.
“Go,” she says.
He passes his parents in the kitchen and Jack’s parents where they’re talking to Adam’s Uncle Abe, who’s interrogating Bob about why he never played for the Sabres, and both sets of parents try to say something he’s too fast to hear.
He finds Jack in the living room, talking with Hannah and Emma about what it was like to be backstage at Alicia’s charity auctions. Jack trails off when Adam approaches. There’s a line between his eyebrows.
Adam is thinking about everything. He wants to be thinking about nothing. He says, “Roller hockey?”
____________
The cool air is sweet and soothing on Adam’s face. It smells like it might rain later, but right now it’s calming. He’s always liked the just-before-rain feeling air gets.
They set the net up at the end of the driveway. Having pulled the short stick, Adam watches Jack and Jess skate in the cul-de-sac and Jack’s handling skills are better than hers, but only just. She’s making him work hard for possession of the tennis ball. Adam blocks their shots poorly and they chirp him, but then Jack tries to hockey stop on instinct and then falls, and then Adam and Jess chirp him until Jack’s flat on his back laughing up at the stars.
It’s a breathless laugh that says everything is ridiculous and it’s absolutely, wildly lovely. Jess passes the tennis ball into Jack’s side and he tosses it at Adam, who isn’t paying attention to anything but how Jack’s laugh echoes until the ball hits him in the face. He gently tackles Jess next to Jack and now they’re all looking up into the sky.
Adam breathes until he feels like he’s melted into the pavement or slipped among the stars. He closes his eyes.
____________
Later, Jack whispers, “Adam?”
“Yeah?”
The blankets rustle. “Thank you for that.”
“For what?” Adam asks, adjusting Mr. Turtle until he’s in a more comfy spot.
“For the hockey.” Jack’s voice is quiet but thoughtful. “I needed that.”
Adam asks, “Was it really bad? This last week or so?” and he feels rather than sees Jack shake his head.
“Or,” Jack says, “it was, but only a little. It was a lot of people, and they kept — asking things. Nicely, but still. But it got better. The basement was good. The hockey was good. Your sisters seem to like me.”
This last sentence is more of a question than a statement. Holster elbows him softly. “They’re your sisters too.”
“You know what I mean.”
Adam does. He elbows him again. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “I mean that.”
“I’m glad, too,” Jack says, and Adam can hear the smile in his words.
____________
The Zimmermanns leave the next morning. Emma pulls Jack in for a hug that he seems hesitant to return, but then Adam gathers Hannah and Jess to pile on, and it feels — nice. Having all of them here together. They wave Jack off as the car pulls away. When it turns the corner, he turns to his parents.
“I want to talk to you,” he says. “We have some shit to talk about.”
Jess surprises him by chiming in with, “So do we,” and his sisters nod.
“Okay,” their mom says. It comes out with a sigh and a sad smile. “I was waiting for this.”
Adam leads them into the kitchen and they file into place at the table, except this time his sisters leave the chair closest to Adam empty. He frowns; Jess usually sits next to him at meals. “Do I smell?”
“It’s for Jack,” Emma explains.
Somehow this makes him want to cry. “Ah.”
“Okay, kiddos,” their dad says. “We’re ready for you.”
That’s all it takes. Adam unloads everything, starting at the beginning when he thought Jack hated him and then going even further back to explain how he hated Jack, and how they just let him be set up against him as the perfect version of himself. His sisters support him by chiming in with how surprised they were, and hurt, and you can’t just do that, you took him from us for our whole lives.
And then Adam explains, quieter, how he learned just last night about the accidental pregnancy. Emma gasps and Hannah looks ill and Jess says, “That’s still not a reason, you should’ve told us earlier. Even if we weren’t going to all live together, we should’ve known,” and Adam points at her emphatically. It’s a sobering reminder that this isn’t something that just happened to him.
“Even if we weren’t going to be a family like that, we should’ve all known,” Adam says, after all of them have started crying. “He could’ve died and we wouldn’t have known what he should’ve been to us. You should’ve told us.”
Their mom nods, weeping. Their dad rubs her back while she cries into her hands. “I know,” she cries. “I’m sorry we failed you all like this.”
Something breaks inside Adam’s chest at the sight of his parents like this. He hadn’t meant this to happen, but he isn’t — repentant about it, exactly. He wants to say it’s okay but it isn’t, so he doesn’t say anything.
____________
Justin picks him up the day after Jack leaves. School starts Monday, and Adam wants to bitch about it, but mostly he doesn’t want to say anything. If he’s not thinking about his parents crying or Mr. Turtle or Jack in the NHL he’s thinking about Justin kissing that girl. He thinks it was probably in the back of his mind all break. Apparently he’s not as good at missing him as a friend as he thought.
They’re four hours into the six hour drive when Adam asks, “Do you think I was a dick about it?”
“About what?”
It’s pretty obvious by the way Justin isn’t looking at him that he knows what Adam means. It was obvious four hours ago when Justin picked him up. It’s very, extremely obvious now.
“Jack,” he says. “With my parents.”
Justin’s lip twitches like he’s about to smile. “Do you think you were?”
Adam already knows the answer to that. “Not really,” he says, “but they were crying.”
Justin says, “I really don’t know what all to say in this situation,” and it isn’t phrased like a rebuke, but it still somehow feels like one. Adam is suddenly altogether aware of how much time he’s spent talking to Justin about his shit without asking about what’s going on with Justin, and that’s so wholly unfair that it makes his stomach uneasy.
“Sorry,” Adam mumbles, looking out the window. It’s clear and sunny and that’s unfair too.
He feels Justin glance at him. “For what?”
“Just — I don’t know, I don’t want you to, like, think I’m using you as a therapist, because that’s fucked up and you don’t deserve that but it’s also — I need to get this out or I’m going to scream, and it’s unfair to put that pressure on you.”
His words come out smushed together and then too slow and then jumbled like they’ve been rattling around his head so much they’ve gotten stuck on their way out. Justin whispers something like take your time and Adam takes a long, shuddering breath.
“I’m sorry for that,” he finishes lamely. “Putting you on the spot all the time.”
“I get needing to talk about it,” Justin says, “I just don’t want you to think I have all the answers. I’ve never been through anything like this before. But I’m always willing to listen to what’s on your mind, Adam, I care about you a lot.”
“Thank you,” he says in something close to a whisper.
“Of course.”
Adam’s quiet for a moment while his thoughts fall into neater lines. “I’ll check in first before unloading on you. Just to double check that you’re in the mood for it.”
Justin’s looking at the road but there’s a smile on his lips that Adam thinks is just for him. “That sounds like a good plan.”
“What happened with volleyball girl?”
Adam doesn’t know why he asks it now. It’s totally off topic and, objectively, this is a better conversation for when they’re back to Samwell, just in case Justin’s about to say that they’re still together; then he could leave if he needed to. He could always get a taxi. Or he could hitchhike to a Jeep dealership, there’s a model he’s had his eye on for awhile.
He thinks he brings it up because he’s tired of uncertain things. Or, simpler: maybe it’s just because Justin had just rolled down his window, and the breeze carries with it the smell of his cocoa butter lotion, and there is just the slightest glint of the sun on his skin.
Or, even simpler still: Justin sounded like he was saying something else when he said I care about you a lot.
“March?” Justin says, but it sounds like a way to buy time than anything else. “It uh. One of her friends threw up on my shoes, so March took her home while I used the hose to clean them off.”
Adam plays with the seam of his seat. “Are you, like. Planning on seeing her when we get back?”
Justin hums, clearly thinking. “I’ve kinda had a thing for someone else all year,” he says. “So no, probably not.”
“Oh yeah?” Adam asks. His heartbeat crashes in his ears. “Who’s the lucky person?”
“A friend of mine.” Justin sighs. “But I don’t even know if he’s not straight.”
Adam’s voice comes out strangled and thin when he opens his mouth. He clears his throat. “Have you asked him?”
“No,” Justin says, glancing at him as they stop at a light. “I haven’t.”
Adam looks back. “Well, are you going to?”
He thinks Justin’s searching his face. He thinks, maybe, they’re leaning in slightly before a car honks behind them. Justin’s eyes flit back toward the road.
“Not yet,” Justin says softly. “He’s had a lot going on this year.”
Adam makes sure his voice is slow and measured when he replies. “Maybe you should.”
Justin checks the mirrors before getting into the right lane. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” Adam says, and now he takes Justin’s hand where it rests on the center console. Justin doesn’t look at him but Adam hears it when his breath catches. He intertwines their fingers. “I think you should.”
____________
There is something thrilling in the anticipation of a kiss. It makes, Adam finds, every moment of eye contact that much more intimate. Every pass on the ice that much more intense. Every “accidental” point of contact that much more electrifying, like when Adam bumps into Justin’s shoulders, or when Justin lightly brushes his knuckles while they walk to class. Every nerve feels enlivened and attuned to wherever Justin is at any moment. It’s even more thrilling when he realizes Justin’s tuned into him, too, how there’s always a fluttery bit of a smile at the corner of his mouth when Justin looks at him. It feels like a radio frequency only they can hear.
Sometimes it catches their friends in the crossfire. Lardo and Shitty have started shadowing them during kegsters so much they haven’t found a moment alone; Adam can’t tell if it’s intentional or just a way to get them to rematch them in beer pong, since the last time was really fucking close — honestly Adam still thinks he and Ransom won that one, but whatever — and they want a clear victory. They give in to the game after a few days of pointed chirps, and Lardo smashes them to pieces, and when she belches in Adam’s face it’s disgusting until he realizes the respect behind it. Victor to vanquished.
But then Adam puts his hand just low enough on Justin’s hip that Lardo’s eyes widen just enough to be noticeable. Shitty’s looking off into space the way he does when he’s really feeling a song, but Lardo opens her mouth like she’s about to say something. Adam drops his hand like he touched a fire.
She studies him, pushing her hair off her face like she’s annoyed with it. He shakes his head. It takes a moment, but she eventually turns to face Shitty, loudly saying they need to go “crush those LAX bros who crawled in, Shits, you in? Someone’s gotta.”
It’d be easy to kiss Justin in one of their rooms. Or in the locker room after practice, or their room during a roadie. On the ice after winning a close game if he’s feeling especially dramatic, like the sweeping conclusion to a grand and romantic story that ends with Justin in his arms and leaves everything golden and soft. Adam’s stupid nervous to be alone with him for some reason. It doesn’t make sense except that they’re best friends and they’ve never done this before. It’s such a sweet reason to be unsteady, though, that Adam doesn’t mind the uncertainty too much.
He wants it to be perfect. The buildup is the sweetest part.
They’re studying in the Haus living room when he realizes it won’t be perfect; they’ve never done this before. Not together anyway. It’s going to be a little awkward and uncertain the first time, and that’s okay.
“Hey, Justin?” Adam says. They’re both on the floor, and he lets his head rest on the couch for a moment. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.
Justin has a highlighter sticking out of his mouth and Adam is wholly, ridiculously fond of him. “Hmm?”
He reaches over and pulls the highlighter out of Justin’s mouth and Justin is left staring at him like he just woke up, and Adam says, “I wanna kiss you.”
“Oh. Oh. Like — now? Here?”
Adam nods. He thinks Justin’s gaze drops to look at his lips before meeting his eyes again. “If that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Justin says in an exhale. “Yeah, that’s okay.”
Justin slides his books aside. Adam inches toward him and then Justin’s hands are on his waist, pulling him onto his lap, and then Adam’s blinking down at him, and Justin is looking back. He is smiling a smile that’s soft and hesitant at the same time. Adam slides Justin’s hands underneath his shirt and shivers at the feeling of Justin’s fingertips on his skin. He runs his thumb over Justin’s lip.
He whispers, “I wanna kiss you,” and Justin whispers back, “So kiss me.”
So Adam does. And he’s thinking it’s uncomfortable on his knees because of the hardwood and he’s probably crushing Justin’s legs because Adam is neither short nor small and he’s thinking, I can’t wait to do this again.
It’s awkward because it’s their first kiss and they’re on the floor of a goddamn frat house and their teammates could walk in any second. It’s beautiful because Justin tastes like the oranges they were snacking on, and he’s drawing circles on Adam’s skin, and Adam is kissing him.
It’s beautiful because they’ll get to do this again.
The porch door creaks open and Adam slides off Justin’s lap, picking up his homework to pretend he isn’t such a mess of wants. Justin does the same. Adam presses his toes, briefly, against Justin’s shin, and Justin whacks his foot gently.
“Get your smelly ass feet away from me,” Justin says. Adam rolls his eyes but does. “You’re such a distraction.”
“Am I?”
Justin pointedly buries his nose in his book. Adam’s still smirking when two of the seniors poke their heads into the room.
“Yo,” Dave says. “Rans and Holster. You two like being here, right? In the Haus I mean.”
Adam says, “Yes,” and it comes out close to a question. He doesn’t remember the last time either of them said anything to him outside the rink.
Bergey leans on the doorframe. “You guys are a solid buncha dudes. So. Listen. Attic’s gonna empty next year. You want in?”
Adam and Justin look at each other, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, sure,” Justin says.
Adam’s just thinking how neat a solution it is — living with Justin? Fuck yeah — when Dave’s smile turns borderline malevolent. He’s going to ask what the hell is up when Bergey says, “How bad do you want it?”
____________
And that’s how Adam ends up in a frilly apron with a fucking feather duster wearing the stupidest hat he’s ever worn in his life. Bergey makes him wear the whole French maid costume for two days straight before the dress starts to rip, and only then does he grudgingly allow him to wear khakis and a button down shirt.
It’s only for a week but it’s a special kind of torture. He complains about it to Jack and Justin and Lardo and everyone, really, and the only one who doesn’t have any sympathy for him is Johnson. Or he doesn’t think he does. Johnson just says, “It’ll advance your plotline,” before diving into goalie drills at the other end of the ice. Actually Justin doesn’t really feel sorry for him either, because he got stuck doing Dave’s homework for the month. But it’s easier to take Justin’s lack of sympathy when it comes with a kiss or slap on the ass.
“Bergey got you tapped for dibs, huh?” Shitty says on the Quad.
Adam adjusts his hat, glaring. Everyone they pass quickly avert their eyes. “How’d you guess?”
“He’s been saying he’s sick of looking for his socks and shit,” he says. “That fucker would lose his skates if our shit wasn’t in bags.”
“He was talking about that,” Adam says miserably. “Any idea where I should look?”
“I hid a bunch behind the dryer in the basement,” Shitty says casually. At the look on Adam’s face he adds, “He was being a dick to Jack earlier in the season. And, like. He’s been asking Ian not to give Jack his dibs, even though he was going to.”
Jack. He hadn’t thought about Jack. “Is it a—?”
“Draft slash your dad is in the NHL Hall of Fame thing? Oh absolutely. A lot of the seniors have been shitty to him this season.” Shitty stops walking, staring at Adam with a funny expression. “You didn’t know that?”
Adam shrugs helplessly. “We weren’t tight in the beginning of the season.”
“Hmm.” Shitty frowns up at the sky. “It’ll get better once they leave.”
“Hey, Shitty?” Adam says a few minutes later, after they’ve started walking again.
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you think he told me?”
Shitty plants a hand on Adam’s shoulder and looks very deeply into his eyes. “He doesn’t like it when people worry about him, so he pretends to be fine. Which is why I’ve dedicated my life to worrying about him.”
Adam turns this over in his head. “Thank you,” he says. It doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but he can’t think of the words. Shitty smiles at him like it is anyway.
____________
“Hey, Bergey,” Adam says after practice. He nods at his teammates while they file off the ice. Justin winks at him, and it makes the butterflies in his stomach all fluttery.
Bergey leans on his stick. “Yeah? You trying to get more maid hours in?”
“Yeah, actually,” Adam says, and Bergey raises his eyebrows. “Tell Ian to give Jack his dibs, and I’ll do this for the rest of the semester.”
Bergey appraises him in a way that makes Adam uncomfortable to his bones. “Thought you didn’t like him,” he says. “Coked up brother getting all the glory, right? Should’ve been you in that Zimmermannsion.”
Adam grits his teeth. “He’s my brother,” he says. Bergey seems to be expecting more from him, more of a fight; he wonders briefly how hard Shitty pushed against him, if Shitty knew that with dicks like Bergey, that just made them more set in their ways. Bergey wants him to argue that Jack didn’t OD on coke and that Adam and Jack are close like any twins would be. Adam isn’t going to give him that.
There’s a tense, five second standoff. Finally Bergey taps his stick against the boards.
“I’ll tell him,” he says. Then he points his stick at Adam like it’s a warning. “You better hold up your end of the deal, Birkholtz.”
Adam says, “Worry about your socks,” and storms past him off the ice.
____________
The season ends in a strange blur after their Frozen Four bid ends short of a trophy. He and Jack both played good hockey, but he isn’t upset when Jack gets voted captain. It feels like the first step to things being easier to breathe. Adam and the rest of their friends cheer him on as he gives his brief, stumbling acceptance speech. Some of the upper classmen look butthurt about it, Bergey especially, but Adam glares at them until they either clap anyway or glare back. Some of them do both. Lardo unsubtly flips them off. Adam snorts a laugh.
He goes to classes. He helps Justin with Dave’s homework and holds his free hand the whole time. He puts on his stupid apron and gets Bergey his shitty beers whenever he asks for them, and cleans the entire Haus top to bottom. Privately, he figures out where he’s going to put his things next year. Bergey and Dave have decorated the attic so terribly. He can’t wait to fix it.
Springtime at Samwell means there’s pollen attacking them wherever they stand and that the Pond is warm enough to swim in, if you’re one of the people who stretch warm to mean anything above 32ºF. Adam isn’t one of them, but his best friend — boyfriend? They haven’t said that yet — and his brother are Canadian, and dicks sometimes, so he joins them, Shitty, and Lardo at the Beach one warm Saturday before the last few weeks of classes.
“Lunatics,” Lardo says, staring out at their friends. There’s the slightest breeze and a strong sun but she’s wrapped up in a blanket Adam recognizes from sweeping Shitty’s room.
Justin whoops and splashes water at Jack. Jack tackles him. Adam says, “Children, honestly.”
She smiles a little. It feels like a big thing, earning that little smile.
“So I heard Ian’s giving Jack his dibs,” she says. “You’re a good bro.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Adam.” Lardo cuts her eyes at him . “It’ll be easier if you just accept that I know everything.”
Something like apprehension prickles along his back. “You sound like a mob boss.”
“I use my intel for good,” she says. “And I won’t tell him. I just thought — I dunno, it’s nice to be recognized sometimes.”
Adam bows his head, unsure of what to say. “Are you managing next year?”
“I’ll be here,” she says, yawning. “Well. I’ll be in Kenya fall semester. But then I’ll be here.”
“Good.” He braids some grass together and pokes it in her hair. She sticks her tongue out at him. He sticks out his tongue back.
Their friends emerge from the Pond looking exhilarated and freezing. Jack purposefully shakes his head so that water flies out, hitting all of them, and Adam scowls at him. It does absolutely nothing but make Jack crinkle his nose.
“Children,” Justin says, “behave.”
Adam and Jack only have to tilt their heads toward one another before they grin and pick up Justin by his arms and legs. Justin squawks, doing his best to throw elbows and break their grip, but Adam just holds on tighter and tickles under his arms. At the shore they swing him back and forth while he curses them out, laughing. Jack starts the countdown from three and on one they send him flying into the water. Adam holds out his fist and Jack bumps their knuckles together, beaming.
“Twins!” Shitty calls, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval.
“It’s always the twins,” Lardo says solemnly.
Cold, wet hands grab Adam by the wrist. Justin says, “You’re damn right,” and pulls Adam under. When he surfaces Adam thinks he could be in love with him. He’s caught up in the way the clouds shine in the water trapped at his collarbones.
His feet are firmly on the pond bed. Adam thinks he could be falling hard. Justin grins at him and he’s shimmering in the light and Adam thinks there are worst ways to go.
____________
Jack doesn’t come home with him over the summer. They talk about it in awkward texts and even more awkward face-to-face conversations and, in the end, it feels easier to set this down for a little while. They’ve made good headway over the spring semester. It’s just — it’s a lot to keep up, especially when there’s no space to put between them when they need it.
Jess and Emma seem disappointed when only Adam opens the car door. Hannah looks past him into the backseat, chewing on her bottom lip, and helps him bring his stuff in before he has to ask. Their parents file in quietly after them.
“You can leave that,” Adam says, and his mom sets down the box of bedding she was carrying. There’s a look like hurt in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything.
Hannah helps him in silence. It takes them three trips from his room to the car and with every crate of his clothes and every box of his movies and every container used to package him up neatly, every conversation he and his parents didn’t have, every time he could’ve explained why it’s hurt him so much, all the trust built over years and years that was decimated in the last eight months — everything feels just this much closer to falling apart.
________________________