Chapter Text
I used to call you my best friend // Way back before you were my everything
September 7th
“As you all know, this year you have the responsibility to complete your senior capstone projects,” said Mrs. May, the vice principal, carrying a stack of stapled papers and gently placing a copy on each desk.
She passed Fraser’s desk, handing it to him with a warm smile. He returned it before gluing his eyes to the paper.
He was in a seniors-only meeting, before homeroom. He hated that he had to come to school early for this, but despite his exhaustion from getting used to waking up early for class again, he was actually excited about his senior capstone for a few minutes. He’d felt so much anxiety about it for months, and now he could finally begin.
“Now, this is outlined in the rubric, so I’ll say it just once now. Your capstone can be drawn from any of the subjects you are taking this school year, but it must have a real world application. Don’t go writing a fantasy novel,” she said with a chuckle.
Fraser thought of his advanced film class. A short film would be an acceptable submission, and he could certainly approach some theatre kids to star in it. He just needed a story– a message. Something his teachers would love. Something the Ivy League schools would love.
He remembered his older brother, Bryce, working on his senior capstone last year, a five essay analysis of coming of age films and how they alter student’s expectations of high school before they get the chance to experience it themselves. Fraser wished he’d thought of that.
Bryce had been glued to his laptop every weekend, working on that project. He was constantly rewatching the films he’d chosen to study, and Fraser had gotten real sick of watching Juno and the Perks of Being a Wallflower, among other films.
Fraser had to hand it to him– his brother was determined to have the perfect capstone. Each of his essays were pages upon pages long, and he had helped him do his final revisions in the last few weeks before he submitted them in May.
“Traditionally, these projects are done strictly independently,” Mrs. May continued. “But the school board has decided to make some changes to the curriculum this year.”
Fraser’s eyes shot up, his fond memories of his brother before he left for college floating in the back of his mind. God, he missed Bryce. The house was so empty without him. With their parents working late every night, and Bryce not crowding the living room with their hockey friends anymore, the house felt strangely vacant, lonely in a way Fraser had never experienced.
“A big project like this is challenging, but finding a way to work with someone and agree on what to spend your entire year studying makes it even more so,” she said.
Fraser felt a pang of dread hit him. If he gets stuck doing a group project and his grade tanks because of it, he could kiss his Ivy League dreams goodbye. He thought of Bryce, off at Yale, always setting their parent’s expectations higher and higher with each accomplishment. Maybe Fraser could ask for an exception to be made.
“You’ve been randomly paired with someone else in your grade who’s enrolled in at least a few of the same classes as you. From there, it’s up to you to complete your project. You can combine two different classes if you can’t agree on one you have in common. However, if you do this, your capstone must address subject matter from both classes, essentially complicating your workload.”
Fraser groaned, along with half the glass. At least he’d only have one partner. He couldn’t imagine having to wrangle a big group of students to agree on one subject, one project, one thing to research for an entire school year.
“So, pick your subject, or subjects, wisely. And don’t think you can slack off the whole school year and try to pull something together at the end of the year. There will be monthly check-ins to make sure you’re making progress.” Mrs. May looked pointedly at a select few students in the class.
That wouldn’t be a problem for Fraser. He was excellent at getting his homework done on time. He would complete essays and projects weeks before they were due. He’d actually have the opposite issue than most; he’d have to learn how to pace himself with this project to keep himself from finishing it in just a couple of months. Of course, if he was paired with someone completely incompetent, he was certain that he’d end up spending the majority of his time making sure they were staying on track.
Or, he could convince whoever it was to let him do all of the work so he could make sure it was actually done right.
God, he sounded like such an asshole. But in the moment, he didn’t really care. He was sure everyone around him was thinking exactly the same thing; group projects completely suck.
“Your homeroom teachers will have your partner assignments, so make sure to check in with them.”
Fraser glanced around the room. With chance, he’d get assigned someone from one of his AP classes, someone who was as serious about this as he was.
Or, if he was really lucky, maybe a geeky theatre kid. That way he could do all the writing and research, and just let whoever his partner was star in the film for their credit. As long as they weren’t annoying.
But Fraser got along with most people. He couldn’t think of a single person he’d be truly upset to partner with.
Except, of course, he could.
-
“You have got to be kidding me,” Fraser said, reading the slip of paper. There it was, clear as day.
Connor Bedard.
Fraser had never heard anyone refer to him by his full name. It was always just Connor. Or Bedard. Or, as their teammates on the hockey team called him, “Bedsy.”
And he was the one person Fraser couldn’t stand.
Fraser still remembered the day Bedard and him played their first high school game. Bedard was starting center for the Northview Knights hockey team his freshman year, no doubt showing insane skill to be on the starting lineup as a freshman.
He’d kept that position ever since.
Fraser had always gone to Bryce’s hockey games, but all the guys were older than him. This year, he was finally watching from the bench. On the same team as his brother, for the first time since middle school.
Every face on the ice was at least a few years older than Fraser. Except for Connor Bedard. The freshman. He wasn’t tiny, but he wasn’t huge yet either. He was, actually, barely fifteen. The same age as Fraser, actually. He would come to learn that they were born only weeks apart, in July.
He was jealous of this Bedard kid, which was unlike him. They both played center, and Fraser hadn’t been picked for the starting lineup. It stung, because he knew he was good. He couldn’t deny it, from the way he’d watched him play in practice, even though they’d hardly exchanged words yet. He was better than Fraser.
Bryce had assured his brother that he’d find his place on the team, just like he did. It was easy when Bryce was a killer defenceman. He’d actually started out as a forward, just like Fraser. But he didn’t stick with it long, instead finding his rhythm defending the puck.
He sat between his teammates that day, hardly getting any ice time, watching his teammates dart all over the ice and shove people into the boards. He couldn’t recall what team they were playing.
His eyes were too focused on that fifteen year old forward.
By the third period, the Knight’s team was down a player due to high sticking, giving a two minute power play to the other team, whoever it was.
The Knight’s defense was getting sloppy, the refs were calling everything, and by that last period, the team was losing 3-1. Fraser watched, feeling helpless, wishing he’d be given more ice time at his first high school hockey game. He felt like such a disappointment compared to Bryce. He always did.
And then, at one point, Connor stopped a shot. And then another. None of them reached the net, until finally the puck slowly slid over and the goalie trapped it under his glove.
The whistle blew, and Connor straightened up. But a player on the other team wasn’t stopping in time. He was flying forward still, probably hoping to get in another shot on goal, and he slammed into Connor, who rose up to meet him and stayed firm, barely moving an inch when the guy collided with him.
The player went skidding across the ice like he’d just hit a brick wall.
And Connor just straightened like nothing had happened. Fraser could’ve sworn he heard the other player groaning as he got up, holding his arm.
The ref skated over like he was clearly ready to call something. He spoke with Connor for a moment, and of course from the bench, Fraser couldn’t hear a word. But apparently, he wanted to put him on a two minute penalty for roughing. Would’ve been a bullshit call.
According to everyone who was on the ice from the Knight’s team, Connor had talked himself out of it, and he got off with no penalty. Of course.
The Knights won that night.
From that point on, Bedsy was kind of beloved by the whole team. Especially by Fraser’s brother, Bryce. They’d grown even closer upon finding out they shared the same hometown; Vancouver, Canada.
Connor was constantly at their house for the next three years until the day Bryce graduated.
He hadn’t stepped foot in their house since, nor had he spoken to either of them.
“Is there any way to switch partners?” Fraser asked his homeroom teacher, Mr. Watts.
“Afraid not, Mr. Minten. But that’s part of the challenge, finding a way to work with someone you wouldn’t ordinarily choose yourself.”
“Yeah, but this is, like, the worst possible option. Like, quite literally anyone would be better than…him.”
Mr. Watts sighed. “I’m sorry, Fraser, but these decisions are final. And they’re over my head. Good luck on your project. I’m sure you’ll be able to find some common ground.”
Fraser groaned. This truly was his nightmare.
He made his way to first period, plopping down next to Mason Lohrei.
“Who’d you get?” Mason asked him.
“Take a wild guess.”
Mason looked confused for a second, and then an expression of amusement crossed his face. “No way! Bedard?”
“Yep,” Fraser said, slumping back in his chair. “Fucking Bedsy. I’m going to kill myself.”
“Your luck is atrocious,” Mason said, not looking sympathetic at all. “Seriously, I’m impressed.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I got Jenna,” Mason said.
“Who?”
“Remember, we sat with her in 4th period art in sophomore year?”
“Oh, yeah. I haven’t even talked to her since then.”
“Me neither, but she was always nice. And she’s really good at art, so I’m thinking we could make a portfolio or something. That counts as a capstone project, right?”
“I think so,” Fraser shrugged, not bothering to hide his mood.
“Maybe Bedard won’t be so bad,” Mason offered. “We’ve played hockey with him for years.”
Fraser glared at him. “You did not just say that.”
“I know, all that shit with your brother last year. But that was, like, months ago. Bryce is in college now. I doubt either of them care anymore. Plus, practice starts, in, like, a couple weeks. You guys are gonna have to get over it.”
“You didn’t see Bryce at that party,” Fraser said darkly. “I’ve never seen him get that way. Ever.”
“Yeah, because someone didn’t invite me,” Mason said pointedly.
“Be grateful,” Fraser assured him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
To an outsider, maybe it seemed like a tame fight. But Fraser knew Bryce better than anyone. Their relationship had always been strained with comparisons from others and expectations from their parents. Being less than a year apart in age, they fought constantly growing up.
But then in high school, something changed. Fraser learned to live with the constant comparisons, because no matter what he did, he knew they’d never stop. They became more like friends than brothers.
That’s why seeing Bryce so angry that night was like a punch to the gut every time he thought back to it. Bryce was calm. He was smart. He was never angry. Not like that.
And knowing it was Bedard’s fault was why he dreaded working with him all year.
He thought, again, back to his freshman year. He remembered seeing Bedard at his locker, just days after that game, smiling at his phone, running a hand through that sandy, dark hair. He was perfect. It irritated Fraser to no end.
At Fraser’s house, Bedard and Bryce often hung out in the living room, chatting about their past games while watching the Bruins absolutely destroy another team.
“You’re a fucking miracle worker,” Bryce had said to Bedard. “A saint!”
“Guess I should start taking confessions,” he’d replied flatly, but he was smiling.
He was so effortless. So interesting. And Fraser was horribly infatuated.
-
September 14th
-
Fraser let a week go by before he got somewhat past his initial anger and disappointment at Bedard being his assigned partner. Bedard hadn’t approached him, or even looked his way in any of the classes they shared. Fraser wondered if he even knew they were partners.
At the end of film class on Monday the next week, Fraser decided to break the ice. They were starting practice in a week, afterall. And this capstone wasn’t going to start itself. He shoved his notebook into his backpack and walked to the back of the class when the bell rang, stopping at Bedard’s desk.
“Can I talk to you?”
Bedard looked up. It startled Fraser just how recognizable he was. This guy, who he hated, used to walk into his house every weekend without needing an invitation. He would walk into Fraser’s room unannounced and drag him downstairs to watch movies. And he made Fraser’s heart beat quicker every time he smiled at him.
Bedard shut his notebook, but not before Fraser noticed his page was completely blank. He fought back the urge to scoff. Not even a month into the semester, and he’d already given up on taking notes in class.
“Why?” Bedard asked. His voice wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t overly pleasant either. He sounded, if anything, suspicious. But mostly confused.
“Because we’re partners,” Fraser said, biting back a patronizing tone.
“What?”
Was he serious?
“Our senior capstone. We’re partners.”
Bedard shrugged. “I didn’t know.”
Of course he didn’t.
“Well, we are,” Fraser said flatly.
“Okay,” he replied, zipping up his backpack.
This was going to be a long year.
“So, we need to start planning a project. I don’t even know what classes you’re in,” Fraser said.
“What, right now? I have practice,” Bedard said, standing.
“Practice?” Fraser asked quickly.
“Yeah?”
“I thought it didn’t start until next week.”
“For you guys, no. But I’m captain this year.”
Fraser should have expected that. Jealousy that he hadn’t felt since his freshman year came roaring back.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we have to start the project soon.”
Bedard scoffed. “It’s only September. Capstones aren’t due until May.”
“It’s supposed to be a year-long project,” Fraser said, getting annoyed. “We should have started last week.”
“You’re exactly like your brother.”
Fraser bit his tongue from what he really wanted to say.
“I don’t see the relevance.”
Bedard sighed. “Whatever. I’m going to practice.”
“Suit yourself,” Fraser called after him. “But we have to work on this!”
-
Later that evening, Fraser sat in the huge and lonely living room on facetime with Bryce. The mantle above the fireplace was decorated with photos of him and his brother; their arms around each other after a hockey game, back when they were in middle school; the two of them in coordinating Halloween costumes in elementary school; Fraser’s arm slung around Bryce, who was grinning in his graduation gown, holding a diploma.
It had been taken mere months ago, but their parents had it framed instantly. That night had ended horribly, of course. It haunted Fraser, probably more than it haunted his brother.
“And there’s no way to get out of it?” Bryce asked.
“No,” Fraser humphed. “I asked already.”
“Damn,” Bryce said. “I’m really glad I don’t go to Northview anymore,” he said with a chuckle. “I haven’t thought of Bedard in months.”
There was an edge to his voice, and Fraser knew he was lying. He let it slide.
Connor Bedard. Bedsy. The former best friend of Bryce Minten for the three years they played hockey together. Fraser’s inherited nemesis. And the unfortunate object of his most shoved down desires.
He thought back to the time that Bedard and Bryce were friends. Fraser would certainly say best friends. Not a day went by that Fraser didn’t see the two of them together. Yet he still didn’t know the full story of what happened between them that caused it all to crash and burn.
Whatever it was, it killed any deeply hidden feelings that had festered within Fraser over the years of watching him play hockey with Bryce, of coming home to see him in the kitchen or living room just as often as he saw his own brother. Of staying late after practice to slide pucks back and forth.
“If he ruins my chances of getting into college because of this, I’m going to kill him,” Fraser groaned, pushing those thoughts away like he’d done for years. They weren’t helpful.
“Hey, you’ll be fine. If I made it into Yale despite Bedard, then so can you.”
Fraser didn’t say anything. It was his family’s expectation that he and Bryce would go Ivy. They’d moved to the outskirts of Boston when Fraser and Bryce were just kids, all the way from Vancouver, Canada. He never contested their expectations for them, not once. Now that Bryce had done it, all the expectation was on him.
He loved Bryce. He really did.
But sometimes he wished he wasn’t compared to him so much.
“You starting hockey practice soon?”
Fraser grinned. This was something he could be excited about. No matter how long it’d been since they’d lived in Canada, he’d always have a passion for the stereotypes. Hockey most of all.
The team this year was good, but he was sad Bryce was gone. He just couldn’t play with people the way he did with Bryce. They clicked on the ice better than anybody. At the winter tournament last year, they’d gotten first place. And the year before. This year, the team was still going to be stellar. Fraser was certain of that. Just not the same without Bryce.
“Bedard was made captain,” Fraser said. “Of the team.”
Bryce just shrugged. “He’s good. Almost as good as me,” he said with a smirk of a smile.
Fraser wanted to ask. He always wondered before, but now that he’d be spending time with Bedard on the capstone, he wanted to know more than ever.
A very small part of him still occasionally thought of Bedard as his brother’s friend. He’d see him around the halls, and the initial instinct to smile and wave would kick in. He’d have to forcibly remind himself that he was supposed to hate him now, and force a glare onto his face.
Every time he needed that kick, he’d think back to Bryce’s bruised eye at the party, the look of betrayal in his eyes, and how it felt to watch Bedard storm out without ever speaking another word to either of them. And he was back to being hellbent on hating him again.
-
September 18th
-
The looming stress of the capstone project was getting to Fraser. He and Bedard hadn’t even started brainstorming yet, and they were halfway through September. Practice started on Monday, to make matters worse. Or better, Fraser couldn’t tell.
Deciding homeroom could go without him for one day, he decided to get coffee and sit in the parking lot before first period. His homeroom teacher never took attendance anyways.
Fraser sat, sipping on his latte while scrolling and blasting embarrassing music he’d never play around anyone else. The sound of a car door slamming made him look up, where he saw Bedard getting out of his car a few parking spots away.
Fraser wasn’t paying attention to the way his hair fell into his eyes. He wasn’t focused on his distressed hoodie, one he’d had since freshman year. He certainly wasn’t hoping to get just a moment of eye contact from him and not see hatred for once.
No, what Fraser was thinking about was their junior year, mere months before Bedard and Bryce’s big fight. A particularly violent hockey game had just concluded, and Fraser had played well, but taken a few hits. He was feeling particularly sore.
He didn’t go to the locker room immediately. Instead, he’d walked off the ice towards the stands. Mason was out that game, fighting off a shoulder injury. He knew how much his best friend hated to watch them win without him.
“How you feeling?” Fraser asked him when he found him.
“I should be asking you that,” Mason said with a grin.
“I’m fine,” Fraser said.
“Go shower, dude,” Mason laughed. “I’ll come out with you guys to celebrate.”
He obliged, heading towards the locker rooms. He walked down the quiet hallway, away from the loud chatter of the crowds making their way out of the rink.
Leaning against the wall was Connor, still in all his hockey gear except for his helmet. His normally perfect hair was slicked with sweat.
“Contemplating how hard you hit that guy?” Fraser asked before he could stop himself.
Connor looked up and grinned. He’d played hard that game, and the Knights had won 3-0. There were a couple of shoving matches between him and the opposing team, and Connor had even thrown a punch.
“He attacked first,” Connor said, raising his gloved hands defensively.
“And you hit back,” Fraser pointed out, smiling.
“Something like that,” Connor chuckled.
From behind the locker room door, someone called out for “Bedsy.”
“So,” Fraser said, tilting his head. “Bedsy.”
Connor groaned. “Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, I’m calling you that,” Fraser said immediately. “Forever.”
Connor met his gaze, and Fraser could’ve sworn something unspoken passed between them. For a moment, the noise of the rink faded completely.
Fraser got out of his car, snapping out of the memory. How is it that that conversation happened earlier this year? It felt like a lifetime away. A lifetime he would never get back.
“Bedard!” he called out.
He turned around, a brief expression of recognition crossing his face before his expression turned sour. Fraser knew what it was. He and Bryce looked scary similar. Most of the time, they were mistaken for twins. Their dad’s genes were strong, that was for sure.
“What?” he replied.
“We need to start working on our capstone,” he said.
Bedard sighed. “Yeah, okay. What do you want to do?”
“I didn’t mean now,” Fraser replied flatly. “We have to brainstorm, start outlining, start writing. We’re not getting a year long project done in a parking lot. It’s supposed to take all year.”
“Jesus,” Bedard said, rubbing his eyes. He mumbled something about thinking he escaped all of this before pulling out his phone. “I’m away this weekend but we can work on it next week.”
Fraser could practically feel the school year ticking away. At this rate they wouldn’t have a solid outline until October. But he didn’t exactly have another option.
“Fine,” Fraser sighed.
He punched his number into Bedard’s phone and handed it back to him.
“Don’t sound so excited,” Bedard replied, with that dark expression Fraser wished he didn’t know so well.
He pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, and Fraser noticed a faint bruise on his cheek.
“I’m not,” Fraser replied truthfully before turning back to his car.
This would be good, Fraser decided. He could finally see Bedard with fresh eyes, see him for who he truly was. A violent, dirty player with no regard for loyalty. He could finally erase whatever lingering feelings he still had for the person he thought Bedard was.
Finally, he could get over this stupid crush.
-
September 21st
-
The rink air was cool and refreshing. Fraser had made his way here many times over the summer, when he wasn’t at his summer job or playing road hockey with Bryce and some of the other guys. As he laced his skates in the locker room, he couldn’t help but sneak glances at Bedard, as he put on a practice jersey branded with the same “C” that was embroidered onto Bryce’s jersey just months before.
Mason sat down next to him, skates and jersey already on.
“You guys gonna get along?” he asked bluntly.
Fraser rolled his eyes. “We’ll be fine.”
He waited longer than he should’ve before heading out to join the team on the rink. He was looking forward to playing, he really was. Just not with Bedard. Never once had Fraser not wanted to play hockey. He could be injured, rehabbing, sick, anything. He always wanted to play. He wouldn’t let Bedard take that from him.
Fraser adjusted his gloves, rolling his shoulders as he stepped onto the ice. The familiar feel of his blades cutting the ice grounded him immediately.
Across the rink, Bedard was there, talking with Coach Jameson. Of course he was.
His hair was a little longer than last season, Fraser noticed.
“Line rushes!” Coach shouted. “Forwards split left and right, defenceman back here. We’ll swap goalies every ten minutes.”
Fraser pushed off, gliding toward the boards. Just his luck, Bedard ended up in his line. They stood shoulder to shoulder, not quite touching. Fraser could feel the heat of him anyway through layers of padding. He was probably imagining it.
Coach clapped his hands. “First unit, go!”
Fraser exploded forward with all his might, Bedard matching him stride for stride. It was muscle memory for him, no matter how long it’d been since he’d actually played. It was like every thought melted away. Bedard was just a face on the ice, another player.
He watched Bedard take control of the puck, that skillful stick handling just as sharp as it was four years ago when all Fraser did was watch from the bench. He waited for a pass, keeping his eyes on the defenceman around him and where the goalie was positioned. But Bedard held the puck too long and got poke-checked by a defenceman. Coach blew his whistle and Fraser skidded to a stop.
“You had me. Why didn’t you pass?” he asked Bedard, his breath coming out in short puffs.
“You were covered,” Bedard shot back.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Minten. Bedard.” Coach’s voice cut across the ice. “Figure it out or I’ll split you up.”
They both went quiet.
When practice ended, Coach beckoned Fraser over while the rest of the team left the ice. Besides Bedard. He skated circles off on the other end, sliding a puck back and forth with speed Fraser wished he could match. On a normal day, they’d stay behind together, with Bryce, laughing and actually enjoying playing together. Practice would’ve been full of laughs, and Fraser would’ve been able to play without that nagging thought in the back of his mind that he didn’t belong on this team anymore.
“Yes, Coach?”
“I’m naming you alternate captain,” he said.
Fraser’s heart jumped into his throat. “Really?”
“Yes, really. You and Bedard play well together, and Bryce was excellent. He’d still be my captain if he was here.”
Fraser ignored that comparison to his brother. “Thank you, Coach,” he said, a smile breaking across his face.
“This means you and Bedard are in charge of organizing the team building. We’ll do it in a few weeks,” Coach explained. “You two are good friends, right?”
“He was closer with Bryce,” Fraser said evasively. This wasn’t what he had in mind for alternate captain.
“Well, I’m sure you two will figure it out. Good practice, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He patted him on the back and Fraser skated off towards the locker room, pointedly ignoring Bedard’s eyes following him.
-
September 23
-
“He’s fucking insufferable,” Fraser said, smacking the ball angrily towards the net. Mason stared back at him, his stick falling to his side.
“Bro, you’re taking this way too seriously.”
“How am I supposed to work with him all school year? And as alternate captain?” Fraser asked, practically begging for an answer to reveal itself.
“I don’t know, get over it? It’s not you he has beef with. It’s your brother. And he doesn’t even live here anymore, so why do either of you care?”
“Because he’s my brother!” Fraser said, approaching the net. “I’m sure as hell not befriending Connor Bedard after last year.”
“Yet, you don’t even know what happened between them,” Mason pointed out.
Fraser sighed, walking over to the curb and sitting down. They’d been playing road hockey all afternoon since their actual practice ended, playing on Fraser’s quiet suburban street.
He looked at his phone and saw a text from an unsaved number.
Unknown: free tmrw afternoon 4 capstone?
Fraser scoffed. He saved his number and typed back.
Fraser: Sure. I’ll meet you in the library at 3:15.
He was left on read.
After packing up the net, Fraser and Mason left to get food. The second they were in his car, Fraser was back to ranting.
“And he texts like such a fucking dumbass. Like, would it kill him to use full sentences? Or punctuation? Grammar? Words that aren’t fucking abbreviated?” Fraser asked, gesturing wildly.
“Dude, focus on the road. I don’t want to die because you have a vendetta against Bedard.”
“I don’t have a vendetta,” Fraser growled, but maybe Mason had a point. What good was more anger going to get him?
They pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store and walked in. As they pursued the aisles, looking for junk food and soda, they turned the corner of a giant pyramid of canned food and saw Bedard standing there.
Of course. It was like Fraser manifested him out of nowhere.
His hair was messy and slightly damp. It looked effortlessly perfect. He’d probably showered after practice.
Fraser remembered a time he had to pick Bryce up from practice during last year’s season, probably around October. Fraser had been rehabbing from his hurt ankle that week.
The two shared a car up until Bryce graduated, for which his graduation present was a car of his own to take with him to college, so Fraser got their old one for himself. He’d showed up a little early, so he had to wait for Bryce to get changed in the locker room.
He’d gone to the rink to sit on the bleachers and just take in the cool air, where he saw Connor skating circles around cones.
“What are you doing?” Fraser had called down.
“Cooling down,” he’d replied. “And brooding.”
He’d walked over and sat on the boards, letting his feet dangle close to the ice. Connor twirled and glided around on his skates. He made it look as easy as walking.
“We’ve got away games this weekend,” Fraser noted, though he wouldn’t be playing, just attending. Connor had just shrugged.
“We’ll win.”
“You know, you scare people out there,” Fraser pointed out. He knew what the other teams said about Connor. His skill was “terrifying” he heard someone say once.
He just tilted his head. “Do I scare you?”
Fraser had hesitated for a moment.
“No,” he said finally.
“Then I can’t be very intimidating,” Connor said. “If I don’t scare the mighty Fraser Minten.”
Fraser smiled. “Bedsy. Protector of the net. Guardian of the bad defense.”
“Hey,” Connor protested. “They’re trying.”
“Barely.”
Connor had laughed, like he always did with Bryce, but never so often with Fraser. “You know it’s an act, right?”
“What is?”
“The tough thing,” he clarified with a chuckle. “I just… stand my ground.”
Fraser nodded. “That’s why it works. You’re an immovable force. The God of puck handling a shootout goals. All hail, Bedsy!” he laughed.
Connor just shook his head.
Fraser blinked. Bedard hadn’t noticed them in the aisle. Fraser had involuntarily frozen in place, trapped in yet another memory. Why was he so hard to escape?
“Let’s go,” he said to Mason quietly.
“Suit yourself. You’re gonna have to face him eventually, though.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather not right now.”