Chapter Text
The collection of Thorns memorabilia at Whiskers diner has, if possible, expanded since Will joined the team. Before, the area above the counter was a shrine dedicated solely to Jett, with icons related to the other players scattered around the rest of the walls: sneakers and jerseys, signed photos and roarballs. You name it, the local superfans had likely collected and lovingly displayed it at the popular haunt for all to enjoy. Many of the rarer pieces belonged to Carol herself.
However, once Will signed on: that was their boy, so of course they needed to find more room. Somehow, they managed it, without bending the laws of space themselves. A pair of his childhood shoes, right next to Jett’s in a glass case; a framed promotional photo of him with the team, right next to one of him and his mom at the diner. Newspaper clippings are plastered onto the collages above the booth tables: whenever Carol or Will’s friends find a clip mentioning him, no matter how minor, it’s cut out and pasted on. The centrepiece is a glossy cover from The Roarball Review, a full colour of Will mid-dunk with the subtitle “HARRIS DOMINATES ROOKIE SEASON.” Whenever Will is in town, Carol makes him sign whatever is within arm’s reach, which he does with a laugh and a bit of played-up ego.
(She doesn’t intend to sell anything, although she knows it’ll go for a small fortune a few years down the line. But she does need people to know that her diner is the number one Thorns’ fan centre in their home city, officially or otherwise.)
Of course, it’s not that Will gets a lot of time to swing by anymore. The most they see of him is a small pixelated version on the TV when they watch his matches, cheering and screaming tips that they act as though he can hear. Work is more hectic than ever with the increased business to the diner that came along with Will’s fame, and she’s had to hire not one, but two delivery boys to replace him in order to keep up with demand. But when she has a moment to slow down and take a look at the many faces and icons of her young ward around the diner, it does make her a bit wistful.
She knows he has her number, and he does send her memes or random blurry selfies every once in a while. He makes a point to schedule a video call with Daryl and Hannah every week, and if they’re in the diner then she’ll wave to him from the background, even if she doesn’t have time to stop bussing tables long enough for a conversation. But she can’t remember the last time she was able to talk to him one on one. She finds herself worrying when she lies awake at night. Is he eating and sleeping enough? She knows the life of a professional roarball player is unimaginably stressful: Jett is a good enough example. Carol looks up to the woman, legend that she is, but she doesn’t want Will to face the kinds of things his role model did, the mistreatment and public scrutiny.
It’s about five weeks into the new season when her phone buzzes from where it’s lying on the countertop, and she turns towards it, half-distracted, before her eyes widen behind her glasses at the WILL plastered across the screen.
“Hello?” she asks, pressing the phone to her ear to try and hear over the din of the diner. What city is he in right now? Lava Coast? Why is he awake?
“Uh, hi,” says a man’s voice. Decidedly not Will. Carol’s heartrate spikes in alarm.
“Who is this?” she demands. “Why do you have Will’s phone? Is he alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s good,” the guy says, voice smooth and unbothered, which slightly irks her. “This is Lenny.”
Carol furrows her brow, before it hits her. Lenny, as in Lenny Williamson, as in the extremely famous center for the Thorns and Will’s teammate. She’s been following his career for years, but somehow has barely heard him speak. In interviews he seems to prefer to blend into the background and let the others (mainly Jett) do the talking. She relaxes slightly, but is still suspicious when she asks, “Hi, Lenny. Why are you calling?” From Will’s phone, she adds mentally.
“It’s Will’s birthday coming up soon, right? Do you know what we should get him?”
Carol blinks. She’s usually quite good with the date. She has to be, as the sole owner and manager of the diner: has to know when payroll is due, when inventory comes in or goes bad, tax deadlines and licensing renewals. She also pretty much has the ROAR schedule memorized a few weeks in advance, partly to watch but partly to keep track of where Will is. However, with a sinking heart, she realizes that his birthday is in three days, and she hadn’t even realized. Would she have, in time? She isn’t sure.
“Uh, hello?” Lenny says over the phone. She shakes herself.
“Usually I make him a pie at the diner. Cherry, his favourite. But you won’t be in Vineland on his birthday.” She mentally makes a note to make him one the moment he’s back. And maybe set up a bit of a surprise party. And to call him, on the stroke of midnight on the day itself. “You could get him any cake though, that boy’s got a crazy sweet tooth. In terms of gifts… he like roarball, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Lenny agrees. This is so weird, Carol thinks.
“So anything related to that, I suppose… but the Thorns are his favourite team, I don’t know if there’s a bigger gift than playing with you guys,” she admits.
To her surprise, Lenny chuckles, a low, melodious thing. It seems like too high-effort an action for him.
“Yeah, we know. The kid gushes. A lot. It’s nice, though. He’s brought a lot of life back to the team.”
Carol can feel herself warm a bit on the inside. It’s always nice to hear people praising Will. When she sees netizens insulting him, it’s all she can do to stop herself from wasting hours fighting with keyboard warriors, insulting their mothers and lineages and all they hold sacred. But deeper than that, she feels pride towards him, maybe more than she deserves to.
“I guess other than roarball, he collects sneakers. Boy can never have enough pairs. And he likes gaming! So a game would be good.” Although Carol isn’t sure how much downtime he’d have to actually play it.
“Sick, sounds good,” Lenny says. “Thanks, Carol.”
“You’re… welcome,” she says. “Wait! How did you get Will’s phone?”
“Oh, the kid is asleep,” which gives Carol some peace of mind. “I broke into his phone to call you. His password is mad weak.”
The peace of mind is gone, as swiftly as it came.
“Anyway,” Lenny says, “thanks for the help.”
He hangs up without waiting for a goodbye.
Carol stands there for a moment longer before remembering she’s still on the clock. She goes back to work, but every time she passes the bar, she can’t help but check her notifications, hoping for– she doesn’t know. Maybe a call back, from Lenny or Will, despite the fact that there’s no way he’s awake. Even a text. But there’s nothing.
Three days later, though, she does call him, a few minutes past midnight his local time. He sounds pretty sleepy, but patiently entertains her for about five minutes, talking about something funny that happened in the locker room and pie he had from the hotel that wasn’t nearly as good as hers. She tries to drop subtle hints to see if his teammates have taken her recommendation on gifting, but he’s oblivious, answering her questioning on their treatment of him with more gushing, oh yeah, everyone’s great, super awesome.
She gets her answer about twelve hours later, in the form of a viral post on Jett’s Pawstagram. The panther usually keeps her account impersonal, posting perfectly staged photos with captions that were obviously written by the team’s press officers. But she’s posted the rare personal picture that makes the internet go wild.
It’s the whole team sitting around in what looks to be a spacious hotel room, with balloons and a “Happy Birthday” banner visible in the background. Jett’s taken the picture in selfie mode from a bit of a distance, only her eyes and an ear visible in the corner. The rest of the team is piled on the couch, Archie lounging in the corner and looking exceedingly pleased with himself, while Modo digs into a piece of neon green cake on the opposite side. Next to him, Olivia is mid-laugh and taking a photo with her own phone, while holding a plush goat mascot in her lap, and Lenny’s neck is stretched to look over her shoulder. In the middle of them all is Will himself, beaming down at the plastic case in his hooves with practical stars in his eyes, and even from a distance, it’s instantly recognizable as the popular sports game, ROAR 26. Each year, the cover of the game is updated to depict the previous season’s Claw winners, so this year, Will is included on it. Carol can only imagine how excited he must be.
The caption of the post is simply: Figured we’d get him a place to practice where he can actually block me. The post already has over 5 million likes, and the top comment from Will’s official account is a confusing emoji combination of three middle fingers and a heart.
Carol stares at the photo for a long moment, thumb hovering over the screen as the likes and comments tick steadily upward, and tries to commit the photo to memory. Will in the middle of it all, grinning so hard his eyes nearly disappear, and surrounded by people who seem to care about him almost as much as she does. Good, she thinks. She slips her phone back into her apron and reaches for a rag, glancing up at the collection of photos above the booths. Might have to clear a little more wall space soon.