Chapter Text
Kent’s not hugely surprised when it happens.
He and Jack have been talking more over the past few months - since their December reconciliation turned into another Zimms-Parse blowout fight - than they had in the previous four years, almost. He’s watched Jack half-censor himself as he starts to tell Kent about how “Bittle sent me a link to this new song, it’s really good,” or how “Bittle says…” or the latest pie Bittle has baked. Kent’s always been able to read Jack. When they were teenagers, he knew Jack wanted him; it was written all over Jack’s face. It’s just as obvious to Kent now that Jack wants Eric.
He’s not upset about it, not really. He knew that coming on to Zimms at that party was a bad idea, but he’d never been one to let that stop him. He’s less reckless nowadays, for the most part, but Jack has always made him want to push at the boundaries of what’s reasonable, teeter on the knife edge between glory and disaster. He knows Jack was right to push him away, and it feels good to remember what it’s like to be friends with Jack Zimmermann. He’s missed it.
So he doesn’t resent the way the tiny blonde kid seems to have wormed his way into Jack’s affections. He seems nice enough, if not exactly the type to fly under the radar. (And seriously, where does that kid find the time to bake so often on top of his classes and training schedule? Kent never went to college, but he was under the impression it was meant to be hard work.) What he can’t quite work out, though, is whether Jack has realised what’s going on. He always was slow on the uptake.
It’s April, and the Aces are through to the playoffs again. They have a Cup win to defend, but instead of going through plays and getting into the zone the night before their first game, Kent is skyping Jack Fucking Zimmermann, listening to him talk about his teeny-tiny ECAC team and how well he and Bittle are playing together and Kent’s had enough.
“Are you guys screwing?” He interrupts Jack mid-sentence.
Jack blinks. “I-- uh-- what?” He looks confused.
“You and Bittle. Are you fucking?” He knows he’s being unnecessarily crude, and there’s an edge to his voice he doesn’t mean to be there, but he can’t help himself.
Maybe he’s not quite as 'over it' as he thought he was.
Jack’s sputtering a bit now, but Kent can’t quite work out if it’s because they are fucking and Zimms is surprised Kent realised, if they aren’t but he would like to and he’s surprised Kent realised, or if Jack really hadn’t realised this was where his relationship with Bittle was headed and is surprised at the suggestion altogether. Kent has a feeling it might have been the latter, and isn’t sure how he feels about being the one to point this out to Jack. It’s possible he didn’t think this all the way through.
Jack continues to sputter for a few more seconds, before gathering his wits and telling Kent he needs to get going.
“Good luck for your game tomorrow, Kent.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Bye.”
Kent flops back onto his stupid bed in his stupid hotel room and lies there until Tommo finds him when he gets back from whatever his stupid pre-game ritual is. Probably fucking some puck-bunny or other. Asshole.
--
They lose to the Blackhawks in the conference finals. Kent locks himself away in his apartment for a week with his phone off. He resurfaces to watch the Blackhawks win the Cup.
He calls Zimms to wallow. It doesn’t quite go to plan.
“You signed to fucking Providence, Jack? The fuck?”
“Uh…”
Fuck Zimms and his ‘man of few words’ ineloquent bullshit anyway.