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Casey Hicks was the sort of player that Wyatt appreciated. He was talented, even if most people preferred to compare him to his superstar dad than recognise his own merits, and he was ruthlessly quick. And unlike a lot of the players Wyatt had played against and even played with, he was not a dick. Honestly, once you got him talking (which isn't that difficult) he was insanely friendly and hilarious in a batshit insane sort of way. He was, as Casey himself would say, an absolute fucking vibe.
It was a vibe that Wyatt was firmly on the same wavelength as.
“Who would win in a fight,” Casey asked, “t-rex or Godzilla?”
Wyatt had barely had the chance to pay homage to his goalposts before Casey was upon him, skating over in the midst of warm-ups to stand beside Wyatt. His hands were set jauntily on his hips and he was watching his team drift about on the ice with what seemed like little intention to join them. Casey had a habit of seeking Wyatt out before and after games; they were are friendly as they could be, seeing each rarely and being in different conferences as it was, especially as Wyatt's appearances had mostly been as a back up goalie for Toronto whilst Casey had been out on the ice. It was a very casual thing, therefore. They didn't really plan it. Casey hadn't even said hello approaching Wyatt this time - which was fine, because Wyatt was too busy thinking about who, out of a t-rex and Godzilla, would win in a fight.
“Godzilla,” he decided eventually.
Casey frowned. “Yeah, but in Jurassic Park -”
“Hicks! Quit gabbing and start skating!” Westy, as he known, was another Calgary player, and he was staring at Casey with a look that firmly said I'm so fucking sick of your shit.
Casey cupped his hands around his mouth. “Who would win? T-rex or a Godzilla?”
Westy looked considering for a moment as he stared Casey down. “No,” he said, and skated off in the opposite direction.
“He agrees with me,” Casey said confidently.
At some point in the conversation, Roz had drifted closer, maybe drawn by Westy's yelling or simply looking for someone to bother. He liked to check in with Wyatt sometimes, in the same way that he checked in with most of the team, an ingrained habit that seemed to settle him as much as it settled the team. Of course, Roz was Ilya Rozanov, so checking in mostly took the form of chirping and generally being a nuisance. There was a mutual agreement at Ottawa that they would not begrudge him this.
“I do not understand how you think of these things before game,” Roz said. He slowly shook his head. “Now there are two of you, Hazy. Is incredible.”
“I'm Casey,” said Casey, grinning.
“I know who you are,” Roz replied. He didn't introduce himself. Probably he thought that was unnecessary, which was definitely true. “Hazy, stop fraternising with the enemy. Hicks, scram.”
“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Casey.
“What,” said Roz.
“He means that he wants to hear what you have to say,” Wyatt supplied. Idioms were hit and miss with Roz; he had a miscellaneous collection of ones that no one else really used in his back pocket, or smushed a couple together to make what Dykstra had started calling a Roz-ism, but they mostly went over his head. “You should ask Hollzy.”
“Hollander is not fan of hypotheticals,” Roz replied. “Now, can we play hockey?”
“You should come to Monks after the game,” Wyatt said, just as Casey turned to start skating away. The Calgary player started drifting backwards.
“Can I bring my fiancé?” he asked.
Wyatt had not known that Casey was seeing anybody seriously. He knew that Casey was a (very respectful) fuckboy, though he talked like a romantic. That view of Casey and Casey, engaged didn't really slot together in Wyatt's mind. He wanted to know what kind of woman would put up with Casey's bullshit. Someone patient. Jesus, Casey had his very own Lisa now, and wasn't that brilliant.
“Absolutely!” Wyatt said. “More the merrier!”
Wyatt waited until he and the team had scouted out a corner of Monks before sending a pin of his location to Casey. They didn’t often text, though they had each other's numbers, and the last message sent had been from Casey, a whole long paragraph that started with so i was thinking abt shrek (the musical)...
“By the way,” Wyatt called, fighting to be heard over the hubbub of his teammates once he'd received a thumbs up in response from Casey and several unrelated emojis strung together, “I invited Casey Hicks and his fiancé out with us.”
“From Calgary?” Harris asked, where he was pressed up against Troy's side.
“Dougie Hicks’ son?” Hollzy asked, looking like he was already reciting all the hockey statistics the Hicks had accrued in his head. Knowing Hollzy, he would probably be able to describe every goal Casey had ever scored or something insane like that. Rozy rested a steadying hand on his knee under the table and shot his husband a truly filthy look; there was nothing that turned Roz on like Shane Hollander being Shane Hollander.
“Yeah. He’s a chill guy.”
Troy snorted. “Chill isn’t the word I’d use to describe him. He’s like a chihuahua on ecstasy.”
Wyatt had to give him that. Casey was like a chihuahua on ecstasy. He seemed to exist in a state of boundless energy, always talking and yipping and generally getting underfoot in the sort of way that made him a very good hockey player. He also, like a chihuahua, was fond of getting in fights, though he wasn’t very good at winning them, being so much shorter than most of the hockey players he was trying to square up against. Wyatt wondered if Troy - like Wyatt himself - was thinking about the time that Casey had tried to take both him and Dallas Kent on at once, dropping gloves like he’d thought he’d had a chance to deal out some actual damage. Ryan Price had been enforcer then, and had simply laid one massive hand on Casey’s shoulder (which had made him look so much smaller than he already did) and simply spun him in the opposite direction. Obligingly, Casey had simply skated away, collecting his gloves as he went, but he’d spent the rest of the game flipping the bird at Troy and Kent whenever he’d had a free moment and mouthing off in the sort of way that made it seem as though he had in fact won a fight.
“He is second Hazy,” Roz inputted. “They were talking about who would win fight out of t-rex or Godzilla.”
“Obviously it’s the t-rex,” Luca Haas exclaimed, far more passionately than Wyatt had expected of him, and then flushed bright red, sinking own into his seat.
Holmberg slammed his hands down on the tabletop. “Fuck off, no it isn’t!”
“Yeah,” said LaPointe. “Godzilla would win, one hundred percent.”
“I’d say that we should try and act normal so that we don’t scare ‘em off,” Bood said, “but if Casey Hicks is a second Hazy, maybe this is the exactly the energy that we need.”
Wyatt didn’t quite know what to expect introducing Casey to Ottawa but he sensed it would probably be really fucking funny. Harris had seemingly had the same idea, recording the rookies (not rookies anymore, he reminded himself) as they continued debating who would take it in the fight. Haas seemed to know a lot more about dinosaurs than anyone had expected, but Young, LaPointe and Holmberg had all chosen to gang up against him and he was clearly fighting a losing battle.
Casey arrived half an hour later and - like it was always the case with Casey Hicks - Wyatt heard him before he saw him.
“Wyatt Hayessssssss!” Casey hooted, clapping both hands above his head.
His enthusiasm was catching. Wyatt stood up and hollered, “Hicks!”
He knew Casey well enough that he already had his arms spread wide and waiting for Casey to launch himself into his arms in a very aggressive and grappling hug, complete with several unnecessary backslaps. When they pulled back, Casey wasted no time before leading Wyatt through the many steps of the complicated handshake they’d devised a very long time ago, bored together on the ice. It took a minute to complete, and by the end, both Casey and Wyatt were cracking up.
“Anyway,” said Casey, “this is Landon Stackhouse. Stacks, this is Wyatt.”
In the place where Wyatt had expected Casey to introduce him to his fiancé was Landon Stackhouse, goaltender for the Calgary Outlaws. Wyatt hadn’t had much chance to talk to him but Stackhouse was infamously quiet and somewhat unapproachable, though he was known to be an alright guy to know. But Wyatt had heard - and seen, because whatever social media intern the Outlaws had hired was determined to milk it for all it was worth - that Casey had billeted Stackhouse when the guy had been called up from the AHL, and had billeted him again when his appointment in Calgary had been made permanent. He supposed that they must get on well enough for Casey to want to make that arrangement permanent, and for Stackhouse (notoriously antisocial Stackhouse) to enjoy rooming with (notoriously social) Casey Hicks.
There was some shuffling as guys moved over to make space for Stackhouse and Casey, but Stackhouse was well-built and they were a group of massive, hulking hockey players (and Casey). In the end, Stackhouse took a seat beside Luca on the end and Casey draped himself across Stackhouse’s lap, like it was a chaise longue or something, patting him on the cheek absently as thanks.
“Oh, wow,” said Casey. “Shane Hollander is prettier up close.”
The effect was almost immediate. Hollzy stiffened, a new tension building in his shoulders and his face, expression cooling into what was his scary on-ice face, the kind where he had no thoughts or feelings except hockey hockey hockey. It was different off-ice, though it looked the same, because it meant that Hollzy was overwhelmed or uncomfortable, and trying to brace himself for some invisible hit. At his side, Roz straightened, leaning protectively around his husband, and there was an almost predatory glint in his eyes. Wyatt felt bad for Casey for a moment, before his stomach plummeted off a cliff. They’d all heard those sorts of comments from guys in the league before, but - Well, Wyatt had never considered the idea that Casey might be homophobic before. He was simply Casey. But he was also a hockey player, and the son of a hockey player. No doubt he had been subject to the same toxic locker room cultures as the rest of them.
“Casey,” Stackhouse chided.
“What?” said Casey, then blinked. “Oh, yeah, saying hi first. Being polite. Social niceties.” Seemingly missing all the building tension, he leaned around Luca to proffer Hollzy a hand to shake. “Hi. You’re prettier up close.”
“Do you mind?” Roz snapped.
Casey looked at him, and seemed to register the trap he’d fallen in. “Don't worry,” he said. “I’m a taken man.”
Or… not.
Hollzy looked like he’d rather be anywhere but. Roz looked like he was about to commit a murder, which certainly wouldn’t help Shane in the long run. Casey seemed totally oblivious to it all.
“Where’s your fiancé?” Wyatt asked, desperately trying to change the subject before they fell about into total anarchy.
Casey shot him A Look, all capitals, like he couldn’t understand why Wyatt was asking. His face scrunched up in utter confusion. Behind him, Stackhouse raised a single, sheepish hand.
“Wait,” said Harris.
“You’re the fiancé?” Wyatt blurted. He felt a little like he had been struck over the head. “Casey, you’re engaged to Stackhouse?”
So, not homophobic.
But also, what the fuck?
“It isn’t a secret or anything,” said Casey, slowly drawing out the words. He had the gall to still look confused. “You didn’t know?”
“Of course I didn’t know!” Wyatt wanted to strangle his friend, he really did. “Since when?”
“We’ve been engaged for a year and a bit now,” replied Casey. “We’re getting married in the summer. We did announce this, like, publicly.”
“When?” Really, if Wyatt didn’t strangle Casey, he would tear out his own hair, and that wouldn’t do at all.
On his phone, Casey pulled up the Calgary Outlaws Instagram account, scrolling aggressively through. The Centaurs seemed to all lean forward in tandem, just as curious as Wyatt it seemed, now that they had solved the problem of whether or not Casey was about to hate crime their captain's husband in front of them all. Stackhouse, leaning back and letting Casey do his thing, seemed to meet Wyatt’s eyes in a minute of awkward eye contact and grimaced. He seemed vaguely problematic.
Casey let out a squawk of triumph, spinning the phone around to face the table at large. “There!” he crowed.
Wyatt leaned in closer. “That’s an announcement of Stackhouse's contract being extended. What does it have to do with anything?”
“What?” said Casey, squinting. “No. No, it’s our engagement post. Fuck off, it’s not Stack’s contract extension. That’s the one above.”
Wyatt squinted at the supposed engagement post. Then he looked up at Casey. Then back down at the phone. It was a nice picture, with Stackhouse and Casey stood side by side on the ice together at Calgary’s home stadium. They were both looking into the camera, Casey with a beaming grin and Stackhouse - Stackhouse was wearing his goaltender mask, but Wyatt thought he could maybe see the smallest and most awkward of smiles. They were both in full hockey gear, with the exception of gloves, arms folded and legs slightly apart.
The caption read: Our future is brighter together 💪🏼✨❤️🔥
“Dude, that’s not an engagement post,” Dillon said.
“What’s with the strong arm emoji?” wondered LaPointe.
Casey was looking increasingly distressed. “It’s strong! Like our love!”
"Why are you in full hockey gear?” Wyatt asked.
“Because we met playing hockey! It’s a homage to our relationship! And Stacks’ wears his mask when he’s stressed!”
“It’s an easy mistake when the post made only hours earlier is about you guys keeping Stackhouse on,” said Troy, a lot more diplomatically.
“They’ve locked us in the closet,” whispered Casey, devastated. “Locked us in the closet and thrown away the key.”
“Wait,” said Hollzy. “You guys have just been, like, open about your relationship the whole time?”
“Er, yeah, I guess,” replied Casey. “I mean, I was pretty obvious about my pining. None of the Outlaws let me live it down, the way I was panting after this guy here.”
Shane looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “You guys have been openly in a relationship, and everyone was just cool with it? You didn’t worry about your careers, or being outed, or anything?”
“I mean, I’ve never really been in the closet,” said Casey, with a shrug. “I thought everyone knew I was an equal opportunity fuck boy.”
Stackhouse added, “it’s only been Casey for me.”
“Did you get a call from the Commissioner?" Troy asked. He seemed to have cottoned onto whatever had seized Hollzy, and the penny dropped for Wyatt a moment later.
“Crowell?” asked Stackhouse. “Why would Crowell need to talk to us?”
“I knew the guys would be cool with me being queer,” said Casey. “I mean, a couple of guys had come out and they were never weird with it. Hunter, then Lundin and a couple of others. And there were the rumours about Hollander, obviously, and there was Price.”
Troy seemed honestly bewildered. “So, your guys’ relationship has been like a - a meet-cute, friends to lover, sports romcom? Why the fuck are you making it seem so easy?”
Harris was doubled over in bouts of hysterical laughter. He was consolingly patting his boyfriend’s shoulder. Wyatt swore that he was actually crying.
“I guess?” Stackhouse hazarded, looking at Casey from the corner of his eye. “We had to work through some shit, but he was worth it. Casey never made me feel bad about needing a bit of time and patience.”
Casey looked entirely soft and love-struck. “You didn’t either,” he said, “and it was all worth it.”
“I can’t believe this,” Dykstra said. He cast a scrutinising look on Hollzy and Roz. “The fuck were you guys doing for ten fucking years?”
“Not talking,” Hollzy grumbled.
“Motherfucker,” said Roz, which seemed a bit of a non-sequitur but fit in with the conversation perfectly.
“I think we just wait until we’re married,” said Casey, twisting to look at Stackhouse. “Goddamn engagements post aren’t enough apparently. We get really cute wedding photos and post those.”
“Welcome to queer side of NHL,” Roz intoned solemnly, “though you have apparently been lurking here for very long time.”
Casey shook his hand. “Thanks for the welcome. I’d like to thank my parents, for creating me to receive his opportunity -”
Wyatt gave into the urge he’d been restraining ever since Casey had sat down. He threw the beer mat at his head and listened as it made a very satisfying thwack! when it hit Casey on the head.
Served him right, he thought, for thinking that Godzilla wouldn’t own a t-rex in a fight.