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The trade breaks while Macklin Celebrini is halfway through a protein shake.
“Connor Bedard to San Jose.”
He stares at his phone like it just told him the world is ending and beginning at the same time.
“What?” Will asks from across the locker room, tugging his Sharks hoodie over his head. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Mack doesn’t answer. He just holds up his phone.
Will reads the headline, and something tight and unreadable flashes through his eyes before he schools it into something neutral.
“Oh,” he says. “Huh. That’s… big.”
Big doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Connor Bedard is his Connor. The kid who used to sleep on his floor during tournaments when they were twelve. The boy who knew exactly how Mack took his coffee and exactly how to talk him out of his own anxiety spirals. The person who still texted him good luck before every single game, no matter where in the league they were.
And now—
“He’s coming here,” Mack breathes, a grin pulling at his mouth. “He’s coming here.”
Will watches him, jaw tight.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I heard you.”
Connor arrives two days later, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, eyes tired and hopeful all at once.
The second Mack sees him, it’s like gravity does the rest.
“Con!” Mack shouts, weaving through staff and reporters to crash into him.
Connor laughs as Mack nearly knocks him off his feet. “Hey, easy, superstar.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Mack says, not letting go. “You’re really here.”
Connor swallows, fingers tightening briefly in Mack’s shirt. “Yeah. I… yeah.”
He looks around the arena — unfamiliar banners, unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar everything — and something vulnerable flickers behind his smile.
Mack notices.
Will notices too.
He stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, watching Mack beam like Christmas morning while Connor looks like he’s just stepped into a house he’s not sure he’s allowed to call home.
Mack turns. “Will — this is Connor. Connor, Will - my favourite winger.”
“I know,” Connor says quickly, smiling at Will. “I’ve seen you play. You’re… unreal.”
Will gives him a polite nod. “Welcome to San Jose.”
There’s no warmth in it. Not really.
Connor feels it immediately.
Mack and Connor fall back into rhythm like they never stopped being kids sharing hotel rooms at tournaments.
They eat together. Train together. Sit together on the team plane.
Will watches it all from the outside.
He tells himself he’s being ridiculous. Mack can have friends. Mack can have history.
But this history looks a lot like intimacy.
“Do you ever not sit that close?” Will mutters one afternoon when Connor is practically draped over Mack on the couch.
Mack blinks. “What?”
Connor shifts away slightly. “Sorry, I—”
“No, you don’t have to,” Mack says quickly.
Will looks away.
Because every time Connor touches Mack, it feels like someone twisting a knife under his ribs.
And he hates himself for it.
Will prays at night.
He always has.
But lately, his prayers are desperate.
Please take this away.
Please make me normal.
He doesn’t know how to reconcile the way his heart races when Mack laughs. Or how his breath catches when Mack’s hand brushes his.
Loving a man is a sin.
Loving Macklin Celebrini feels like both heaven and hell.
Connor doesn’t have this problem.
Connor looks at Mack like he’s allowed to want him.
And Will can’t decide if he envies that or resents it.
Connor pretends he’s fine.
But sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night convinced he’s going to be traded again. That this place will reject him too.
Mack is the only thing that feels stable.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Mack promises him one night when Connor finally admits it.
Connor believes him.
That’s the dangerous part.
The trade is not an immediate fix, the team is still finding it's groove and so it's no surprise when the Sharks lose in overtime. Again.
Everyone is in a foul mood anyway.
Mack’s apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the TV.
Connor is curled into Mack’s side on the couch. Will sits on the other end, arms crossed.
The tension is palpable.
“You don’t like me,” Connor says suddenly, cutting right through the silence.
Will stiffens. “What?”
“You don’t,” Connor repeats. “I can feel it.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Then why do you act like I don’t belong here?”
Mack sits up. “Will—”
“I’m not trying to replace you,” Connor says. “I just want to be… somewhere I matter.”
Will’s throat burns. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Then tell me.”
Mack looks between them, heart pounding.
“I think… I think we’re all pretending this isn’t what it is.”
Silence.
“I care about both of you,” Mack says. “And I don’t want to choose.”
Connor’s eyes widen.
Will looks like he’s about to shatter.
“I can’t,” Will whispers. “I’m not supposed to want this. Any of these feelings. For either of you.”
Mack reaches for him. “You’re allowed to.”
Will isn't so sure about that.
Practice starts like any other.
Except it doesn’t.
The Sharks are running line drills when the coaches start shuffling combinations, and suddenly Mack hears his name followed by—
“Celebrini. Bedard. You two, together.”
Connor’s head snaps up.
Mack’s heart does something stupid.
They line up side by side at center ice, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they haven’t spent years imagining what this might feel like.
The puck drops.
And everything clicks.
Connor anticipates Mack’s movement before Mack even makes it. Mack threads passes through impossible gaps because he knows Connor will be there. They don’t have to look for each other — they just know.
“Jesus,” Delly mutters on the bench. “They’re unreal.”
By the end of the drill, they’ve scored more than any other line.
The assistant coach blows the whistle. “Alright, alright. Celebrini–Bedard stays together. That chemistry is too good to ignore.”
Connor is flushed and grinning, eyes bright as he skates over to Mack.
“Did you see that last pass?”
“I didn’t even have to,” Mack laughs. “I knew you’d be there.”
On the bench, Will feels sick.
Because he did see it.
The way Mack’s whole body seems to tilt toward Connor. The way Connor looks at Mack like he hung the moon.
It looks effortless.
It looks… right.
The locker room buzzes with excitement.
“Dude, that line is lethal,” Reavo says. “Betsy and Mack? That’s franchise shit.”
Connor ducks his head, smiling shyly, but Mack beams.
“Yeah, man, you two are insane together,” Toff adds.
Will sits in front of his locker, staring at the floor.
He knows Mack isn’t doing anything wrong.
But it still feels like his heart is getting ripped out of his chest.
Over the next few days, Will gets quieter.
He leaves practices early. He stops coming over to Mack’s place. When Connor sits close to Mack on the plane, Will takes a seat a few rows back.
Mack notices.
He always notices.
After one especially good practice — Connor and Mack racking up praise again — Mack corners Will in the hallway.
“Hey,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Will replies too quickly.
“You’ve barely looked at me all week.”
Will swallows. “You’ve been busy.”
“With Connor?”
“With… everything.”
Mack steps closer. “You’re pulling away.”
Will’s jaw tightens. “Maybe you should let me.”
Mack’s chest aches. “I don’t want to.”
“But maybe you should,” Will whispers. “You have someone who actually fits now.”
“That’s not—”
“You and him,” Will cuts in. “You don’t have to fight yourselves to be that. I do.”
Mack’s voice softens. “I’m not choosing him over you.”
“But you are,” Will says quietly. “Every time you sit with him. Every time you skate with him. Every time you look at him like that.”
Mack doesn’t deny it.
Because Connor needs him.
Connor is alone in this city. Connor doesn’t have family nearby. Connor wakes up in the middle of the night scared he doesn’t belong.
Mack is the one thing he knows is solid.
“I can’t just leave him,” Mack says.
Will nods, eyes wet. “I know.”
And that’s what hurts the most.
Connor knows something is wrong.
He sees the way Will won’t meet his eyes anymore. He feels the tension whenever the three of them are in the same room.
“I think he hates me,” Connor admits to Mack one night.
“No,” Mack says. “He’s just… struggling.”
“With what?”
Mack hesitates. “With us.”
Connor’s heart stutters. “You mean—”
“I mean he cares about me. And he’s scared of that.”
Connor is quiet for a long moment.
“I don’t want to take you away from him,” he says softly.
“You’re not,” Mack replies. “You’re just… here.”
Connor looks down at his hands. “I just don’t want to be alone again.”
Mack pulls him into a hug. “You won’t be.”
Across town, Will is kneeling by his bed, praying for something that feels more and more impossible.
The arena is louder than usual.
Mack can feel it in his chest as he steps onto the ice for warmups — the hum of anticipation, the buzz of something new. The lineup graphic flashes on the jumbotron:
CELEBRINI – BEDARD – EKLUND
Connor skates up beside him, eyes wide and bright, trying not to look like he’s terrified.
“You okay?” Mack murmurs.
Connor nods. “Yeah. Just… don’t let me screw this up.”
Mack bumps his shoulder. “You won’t. We’ve got this.”
On the bench, Will watches them take their places.
He’s supposed to be excited. His team. His friends. But all he can see is the way Mack and Connor lean toward each other, talking in low voices, smiling like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
It hurts.
The puck drops, and something electric runs through the Sharks.
Mack and Connor are everywhere.
Connor slips past defenders like water, Mack reading him perfectly. When Connor shoots, Mack is there for the rebound. When Mack drives the net, Connor is already moving into space.
Midway through the second period, it happens.
Connor steals the puck at the blue line, cuts inside, draws two defenders — and threads a no-look pass straight to Mack.
Mack snaps it into the net.
Goal.
The crowd erupts.
Connor throws his arms up, skating straight toward Mack, laughing as they collide in a hug that lasts just a second too long.
“Did you see that?” Connor yells. “We did it!”
Mack is grinning like he just won something bigger than a game.
On the bench, Will’s stomach twists.
Because it’s beautiful.
And because it feels like watching Mack fall in love with someone else.
The Sharks win 4–2.
The locker room is loud, buzzing with praise.
“That line is unreal,” Ekky says. “Mack and Betsy are going to be deadly, let me tell you.”
Connor sits next to Mack, still flushed, eyes shining. “I haven’t felt that good on the ice in… ever.”
Mack laughs. “Told you.”
Will changes in silence, every cheer feeling like another nail in something he doesn’t want to admit is dying.
He doesn’t go out with them after.
He goes to a church.
It’s quiet inside. Candlelit. Still.
Will slips into a confession stand like he’s done a thousand times before and bows his head.
Forgive me father, he thinks. I don’t know how to stop this.
A priest approaches — not old, not stern. He sounds kind and only a few years older than Will himself.
“You seem like someone carrying something heavy,” he says gently.
Will laughs weakly. “Yeah. You could say that.”
They talk.
About love. About fear. About wanting something you’re told is wrong.
“I don’t know how to choose God over the person I love,” Will admits, voice breaking.
The priest is quiet for a long moment.
“Who told you that you have to choose?” he asks.
Will blinks. “Isn’t that… the whole point?”
“God is love,” the priest says. “If something brings you closer to love, closer to honesty, closer to who you truly are… do you really think that’s a sin?”
Will feels something crack open in his chest.
“I’ve spent my whole life being told I’m broken,” he whispers.
“Then maybe,” the priest says softly, “it’s time to stop listening to the people who taught you to hate yourself.”
Will leaves the church shaking.
Not healed.
But… no longer certain he deserves to suffer.
Will doesn’t go home right away.
He walks the quiet streets instead, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, the priest’s words echoing in his head.
Who told you that you have to choose?
It feels dangerous to even think that way.
But for the first time, the idea that he might not be damned for wanting Mack — for wanting both Mack and Connor — doesn’t immediately fill him with shame.
By the time he finally opens the door to Mack’s apartment, it’s late.
The lights are low. The TV is on, forgotten.
Mack is on the couch. Connor is curled up next to him, half-asleep, head resting against Mack’s shoulder.
Will freezes.
It looks intimate. Soft. Domestic.
Connor stirs. “Will?”
Mack looks up, relief flooding his face. “Hey. You disappeared.”
Will swallows. “I needed… air.”
Connor sits up, suddenly unsure. “I can go if—”
“No,” Mack says immediately. “Stay.”
The word feels like it cuts both ways.
Connor shifts, suddenly very aware of how close he is to Mack, how exposed this all feels.
“I don’t want to make things worse,” he blurts. “I know this is… complicated.”
Mack frowns. “You’re not making anything worse.”
Connor looks at Will. “I feel like I walked into something that already existed.”
Will opens his mouth, then closes it again.
Mack rubs a hand over his face. “There’s no intruder here. There’s just three people who care about each other and don’t know how to deal with it.”
Connor’s voice is small. “I just don’t want to lose you again.”
Mack reaches for him without thinking. “You won’t.”
Will watches the gesture — the instinctive way Mack comforts Connor — and something both painful and tender twists in his chest.
“I went to a church,” Will says suddenly.
Both of them look at him.
“I thought maybe if I prayed hard enough, I could stop feeling this.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “Didn’t work.”
Mack moves closer. “What did?”
Will hesitates. “The priest told me God is love. And that maybe… maybe I’m not broken for wanting the people I want.”
Connor’s breath catches.
“But believing that feels like stepping off a cliff,” Will admits. “Everything I was taught says this is wrong.”
Mack takes his hand. “I don’t want you to suffer for me.”
Will’s voice cracks. “I already am.”
Silence stretches between them.
Connor looks between their joined hands and Mack’s other hand, still resting close to his own.
“I don’t want to be the thing that tears you two apart,” Connor says.
“You’re not,” Mack says. “The only thing tearing us apart is pretending this isn’t real.”
Will closes his eyes. “I’m so scared.”
“I am too,” Connor admits. “I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere. Not really. Mack is the first place that ever felt like home.”
Mack swallows. “And you’re both that for me.”
Will looks at them — truly looks — and for the first time, the thought of losing either one hurts more than the fear of sin.
“Maybe,” he whispers, “maybe we’re not meant to choose.”
Mack’s heart lurches. “Will—”
“I don’t know how to do this,” Will says. “But I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t love you. Or that I don’t feel something for Connor too.”
Connor’s eyes go wide. “You… you do?”
Will nods, almost embarrassed. “You make him happy. And somehow that matters to me too.”
The three of them sit there, breath held, something fragile and hopeful hanging between them.
Mack slowly takes both their hands.
“We can go slow,” he says. “We can be scared. We can mess it up. But I don’t want to do this without either of you.”
Connor squeezes his hand. “Me neither.”
Will lets out a shaky breath — not quite ready to leap, but no longer standing still.
And for the first time, the three of them aren’t pulling in opposite directions.
The apartment is quiet in that fragile way that comes after too much honesty.
Mack is still holding both their hands. Will’s fingers tremble in his. Connor’s grip is careful, like he’s afraid if he squeezes too hard, this moment will disappear.
“We don’t have to rush,” Mack says softly. “We can just… breathe.”
Will nods. “I don’t even know what I’m allowed to feel yet.”
“You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel,” Connor says. His voice is gentle, not teasing, not defensive. Just open. “That’s what the priest meant, right?”
Will gives a small, surprised laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Mack shifts closer to Will first, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”
Will’s breath catches. “Yes.”
The kiss is nothing like the ones Will imagines when guilt is clawing at him in the dark. There’s no rush, no hunger — just Mack’s mouth soft and warm against his, like something holy instead of forbidden.
Will exhales into it, shoulders sagging as if he’s been holding himself tight for years and is only now letting go.
Mack rests his forehead against Will’s. “Still okay?”
“Yeah,” Will whispers. “More than okay.”
Connor watches, heart aching with something tender and terrified all at once.
Mack turns to him. “Come here.”
Connor swallows. “I don’t want to interrupt—”
“You’re not,” Will says quietly. “You’re part of this.”
Connor’s eyes soften.
Mack leans in again, kissing Connor with the same careful warmth — not the electric spark of the ice, but something steadier, something that feels like home.
Connor’s hands come up to Mack’s hoodie, fingers curling there like he’s anchoring himself.
When they part, Connor laughs softly, breathless. “Wow.”
Will watches them, something shy but real blooming in his chest.
“Can I?” Connor asks him.
Will hesitates — not from fear this time, but from how much it matters. Then he nods.
Connor’s kiss is lighter than Mack's, unsure, but full of quiet sincerity. Will feels it all the way down to his bones.
It’s not wrong.
It’s just… warm.
They end up sitting close together, knees touching, shoulders brushing, Mack between them like the place where everything meets.
“Maybe this is what grace feels like,” Will murmurs.
Connor smiles. “I like that.”
Mack looks at both of them, heart full and fragile and bright.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”