Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was a familiar view, the ceiling stretching high above him with its lighting rigs and support struts and the abstract blue of the tunnel. The pulsing behind his eyeballs was familiar too, but more from that one hangover in Boston than center ice in San Jose. Fuck, had he just concussed himself? He didn’t remember how he got here, and he couldn’t hear… anything.

He sat up. The ice was empty, the stands too. What was he doing here? His head throbbed, forced his eyes shut even in the dark of the arena. His whole body ached with exhaustion, but what’s fucking new there.

The sound of a door opening echoed round the rink and he forced his eyes back open, wincing at the silhouette against the light flooding in.

“Are you okay, son?”

He tried to speak, had to swallow around the dessication in his throat. “Yeah,” he forced out, though unsure that he was.

The rink gate clanked open and the silhouette shuffled closer, evidently not wearing skates, until it resolved into a man, nearly-right.

“Sosa?” He croaked.

“Yeah, that’s my name.” He was still a few meters away but close enough to see that there were wrinkles around his eyes that hadn’t been there last time he saw him, what, Saturday? No zamboni driver should look this tired so quickly. “Do you know where you are, son?”

I’m only like six years younger than you, he thought. “Looks like the SAP centre,” he said, “what time is it?”

“Just before 8am,” Sosa skidded to a stop and knelt, eyes widening in shock. “Oh wow, your teeth. I’d forgotten…”

“My teeth?” He reached up a hand, realised he was wearing his gloves. “What’s wrong with my teeth?” He ran his tongue over them, and they seemed all present and accounted for.

“Nothing, no man, I just…” Sosa visibly hitched his smile back into place. He didn’t just look tired, he looked kinda busted, like he’d aged two decades overnight. “Forget it. Do you know, uh, what you’re doing here?”

He looked down at his jersey, pads, socks, but bizarrely no skates. “Are we playing today? It’s already Saturday?

“Yeah, I thought not. Uh…” Sosa ran a hand over his face, then patted his knee. “Don’t… Don’t freak out, okay? We knew you were in here because the curse alarms got tripped. Displacement, not regression. I guess the good news is you’re really you, you haven’t had any memories taken or your body fucked with or whatever.”

“Displacement,” he echoed. He thought back to that boring training course they all went on last year. “Like… I’m in the future?”

“Like you’re from the past,” Sosa nodded. “What year is it?”

“2026, April, um, 2nd?” His stomach turned uneasily. He didn’t ask the obvious follow up question.

Sosa answered it anyway, coughing a humourless laugh and shaking his head. “Oh, man. July 30th, 2043.” He smiled weakly and offered a hand. “Welcome to the future, Mack.”

“Sure,” Mack said and let himself be pulled to his feet. “Pleased to be here.”

It didn’t take long to establish his closest emergency contact, and Sousa grabbed him some spare merch to change into. Mack boggled at the PWHL tee he was handed - the San Jose Stingrays, that was the best they could come up with? - and grimaced at the flip flops with matching toque, but at least no one would look at this crackhead outfit and see the resurrection of the 1oa from a draft two decades ago. That’d make the lady from curse training happy.

He annoyed Sousa into letting him help with the morning set-up of the rink while he waited, unable to bear sitting still and jiggling his knees. He cleared out the bins from the benches and wiped down the boards inside the penalty box, was even half way done when could no longer stop himself from slumping onto the floor, head tipping up at that dark ceiling. A fucking curse. He’d always known it was a possibility, no matter how much his father had drilled into him, our family doesn’t hold with that nonsense. It wasn’t common, exactly, and plenty of top players got away without it, but hockey seemed to attract more than most other sports. Most curses were covered up, with varying efficacy, like that month where MacKinnon’s IR had lined up suspiciously with mermaid sightings in Nova Scotia, or the unconfirmed rumours of a 6 year old Nick Suzuki leaving the Centre Bell last year. Some were undeniable, like the two or three games each season that Alexander Ovechkin played as Alexandria. She was gorgeous, heavyset and curvey, not that anyone was brave enough to say so to her face. Mack was mostly glad his particular curse wasn’t of that flavour, but just the smallest bit disappointed too. Instead, his aching body got no release from carrying him around. But without the ache, he wasn’t sure he’d know he was alive.

He finished scrubbing and returned to ask for a new job, forcing one foot in front of the other. “Quick work, new guy,” Sosa teased.

“Where I’m from, you’re the new guy,” he said.

Sosa grinned back smugly. “Head of facilities now.”

“You still drive the zamboni sometimes? For old times sake?”

“Fuck no, I did my time going in circles, I'm good. ‘Sides, it’s all automated now.”

About ninety minutes after he’d woken on the ice, Mack found himself being led down the players entrance into the private lot, Sosa’s hand firm over his eyes.

“I don’t know why you don’t trust me,” Mack complained, “or what the big deal is about a redecoration anyway.”

“Need to know information, superstar.”

“Oh shit,” Mack felt his jaw drop, “there’s a mural, isn’t there? We win the cup?” He felt the childish urge to wriggle out of Sosa’s grip and see for himself. “Before or after 2030? How many times?”

Sosa pushed him faster through the tunnel. “No fuckin’ comment.”

“Hell yeah,” Mack couldn’t help his grin, heart lifting for the first time since he got here. Maybe this was why he was here, to see a glimpse of the future he wanted so badly.

He felt the change in air as they came to the end of the tunnel and out onto the lot, and Sosa let out a long-suffering sigh as he released Mack. “He’s your problem now, man.”

“Just like old times.” The voice reached him long before Mack’s eyes adjusted to the bright morning sun. It sounded… wary. Nervous and a bit higher. The same.

He squinted and shielded his eyes. He didn’t let his voice crack. “Will?”

“Hey, Mack.” The bleached out shapes resolved them into someone a bit like Will and a lot like Grace, if she had curlier hair and no boobs. Not that Mack spent a lot of time quantifying his best friend’s sister’s boobs, just… Will’s hair was long.

“You look like-” a chick, Mack choked down the thought- “a samurai.” With the hair half pulled up in a bun, and his loose shirt tucked into super-wide pants, it wasn’t untrue, in a Hollywood kind of way.

“Sick, thanks man,” Will grinned and reached out a hand in some move that was quickly aborted. “You got everything?”

Mack clutched his gear close in his new SJ Sharkie backpack, hot with relief at not having to commit to either hugging or not hugging his 39 year old best friend. He nodded.

Will swung a car key round his finger. “Let’s go, then.”

Mack chucked his bag in the trunk and got settled in shotgun silently, trying his best not to stare. Will didn’t start babbling about inane shit like he should do, and that - more than Sosa’s impossibly thin ipad, more than these clothes, more than this quieter-than-electric green jeep - was the thing that truly unmoored him.

“So what’s the future like?” He spoke before thinking, just wanting the air to stop being so dead.

Will’s mouth twitched and for a moment, he looked like himself. “I like it, so far. Sosa said you’re from 2026?”

“Yeah.” Mack noticed that Will wasn’t wearing his necklace, instead, a short silver chain with delicate blue gems at regular intervals. No more Saint Christopher. “April, we’re 6 points out on a wildcard.”

“2026.” Will let out a low whistle. “I'm sorry dude, that’s a rough one.” He checked his wing mirrors as he made a turn, and smiled wanly when he caught Mack looking. “It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

Mack slumped in his seat before he could stop himself, a bitter hollow of disappointment in his chest. “So we don’t make the playoffs.”

“No, you dumbass, I mean the country.”

“Oh, err,” Mack straightened back up, tried to remember the last time Will had ever mentioned the wider world beyond the rink to him. Maybe never. “So we do make the playoffs?”

“You’re relentless, I swear.” Will shook his head but was grinning properly now. “I’m not telling you anything.”

The drive was familiar, if you didn’t look too close at the graphic design on the storefronts, and Will’s too-rough skin and too-dark eyelashes; but it was Will, and this was San Jose, and he was being driven back from the SAP centre. “Future doesn’t seem so bad to me,” he shrugged. The sky was a cloudless, no chemtrails at all. The fucking future. He tried and failed some math. “Is, err… Is Toff still alive?”

“Christ Mack, yes, Tyler is not yet in the grave at the ripe old age of 51, believe it or not! He’s out in the wilderness somewhere.” Will made an unexpected turn on the journey, coming off the freeway early. “Here I was, schooling myself on what I could or couldn’t say about Charlie’s grandslam record, and you don’t even ask.”

“Like he moved back to Canada? And Charlie has a grandslam?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” They pulled into a gravel driveway, no gates or anything, parking up at a glassy bungalow surrounded by flowerbeds.

“Fucking hell, Smitty, I guess you became an eco warrior in your old age.” There were what seemed to be beehives on the edge of the gravel. No fences stood between this property or the neighbours, just connected patches of grass and plants, all down the street.

“Shut the fuck up, Macklin,” Will rolled his eyes, “we all gotta do our bit.” He pulled the key from the ignition, so the engine must have turned off, but you’d never know the difference. It felt just as silent and still as it had since the rink.

“You just eat tofu now?” Mack chirped.

Will gave him a look. “Well, yeah. No more cows, not since the war.”

Mack’s blood ran cold for a second before he remembered who he was talking to. Old, scarily beautiful, but still Will. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Am I?” Will asked, but he was laughing. “Come on, lil’ Brini, I’ll give you the tour.”

It turned out Mack’s suspicions were right. The land behind the house was communal; there were half a dozen children splashing about in a pool bigger than any one house would need, a shared vegetable plot, and a couple of old ladies knitting together in the sun. It felt weird, someone as private as Will choosing to live in a glass house in, basically, a public park. And the house itself offered little internal privacy, curved in a loose horseshoe around a small courtyard with a tasteful water feature and heavy oak dining table, seemingly open to the elements. At the top of one end of the horseshoe was a kitchen which spanned the width of the house, at the other end, a bedroom Will called ‘our room’, and between them, a couple of guestrooms and living spaces interspersed. The walls between the rooms were heavy brick and stone, but the external walls were all glass. Mack felt like a bug in a jar.

“Sick house, dude,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it. He put his bag down on the bed in the room that’d been set up for him, avoiding touching the sheets because his skin was crawling enough without the abrasion of brushed cotton.

“Thanks, we worked with the architect on the plans.” Will was trying not to look pleased with himself. “Going for a, like, modern japandi vibe.”

“We?” Mack prodded. He nodded at Will’s hand, at the wedding ring he couldn’t stop noticing. “You got wifed, Smitty?”

Something happened to Will’s face. “Oh fuck that’s… yeah, I guess that didn’t happen yet.”

“What didn’t?” The ambient nausea Mack was still nursing spiked. “You meeting your girl?”

It was definitely a wince this time, and Will opened his mouth to speak, but from behind Mack came the sound of gravel, a silent car pulling up.

“You have to promise not to freak out,” Will said, “fuck, I shoulda… I’ve done this all wrong, I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck? Why would I freak out, who’s your wife?” Mack turned to try and look through the tinted windows of the car, but he suddenly knew what he was going to see. The door opened, a hand appeared. Mack’s head swam. “Oh shit, it's me isn’t it?”

The hand was followed by a man, slim, unfurling long limbs from the car gracefully. He was pale and toned, his hair dark blonde. His face was mostly hidden behind sunglasses, but his chin was delicate and his nose wideset. He was gorgeous. He wasn’t Mack.

Will, like an angel from God, didn’t acknowledge what Mack said, though he must have heard it. “That’s my, uh, husband. Luca. He’s just about to debut in senior nationals, in your time.”

Mack could barely hear him over the blood rushing in his head. What had he said, what had he said. “Cradlesnatcher,” he joked, half-heartedly. Will didn’t laugh. Why did he say that.

“I’ll just go, uh, catch him up, I guess,” Will said.

Mack felt himself nod, couldn’t look away from Will’s- from the- from Luca coming up the driveway. He also couldn’t see him. He was going to be sick. “You’re not going to be sick,” he said aloud to himself, but fuck, he really-

He was proud of his sense of balance, higher than above-average for obvious reasons, and it was the only thing that got him into the ensuite without knocking the minimalist furniture over. After he barfed up the sandwich Sosa had fed him into the bowl, he didn’t slump to the floor, he sat quite gracefully, thanks for asking. Luca was probably pretty graceful if he’d been a national level figure skater. He had to lean forward again, heaving, but nothing came up. “You need to eat something,” he said to himself, and pressed his forehead against the cool green tiles on the wall. “You’re not a homophobe.” He allowed himself a breath, a second, a deep third, then stood and splashed water on his face. He swilled some of the future toothpaste, which tasted pretty much like it did in the past. The present? Whatever. The mint was comforting.

Mack left the ensuite and made his way to the kitchen, taking care to keep his steps audible in case Smitty was, like, making out or whatever, but the room was empty. He resisted the urge to turn around and check the bedroom across the courtyard, instead burying his head into finding lunch. He was pleased to see all his ingredients still well-stocked in Will’s fridge, and pulled out the spinach, shredded cheese, chilis, and peanut butter from the fridge, a white onion from a cupboard, and eggs just… out on the side. Weird. He tried a few drawers and eventually found a knife and chopping board. He set to work dicing as fast as he could, then stopped again, suddenly desperate for music, sound, anything. He looked around, trying to work out if the speakers embedded in the ceiling connected to a dock or a cable. “Siri?” He tried tentatively. “Alexa?” Did the future even have those anymore? Steps came from down the corridor. Fucking shit, fucking hell, shit shit shit.

“Mack? Hi! Wow, oh my gosh.”

Mack turned, trying for a smile but sure he was missing it by a mile. Luca had friendly eyes, warm and clear, and was reaching for Mack’s hand. “Hi,” Mack said, putting down the onion to shake. He let go quickly then realised he was still holding the knife. He put it down.

“I’m Will’s husband, Luca. Wow, this left.” He seemed to take Mack’s idiocy in stride. “I never met you until you were, what, 26? Though of course I remember you guys first few years with the Sharks on TV, you just look so much like you. I’m sorry, this must all be so surreal.”

“Yep,” Mack said. This left? What did?

Silence filled the room for a second. Where the fuck was Will?

Luca nodded at the ingredients on the counter. “Cooking a Mack special?” His smile was ineffable.

“Uhh… Yes?” How did Luca know about that? “I still eat this when I’m 26?”

“You still eat this when you’re 38, bud,” Luca clapped him on the shoulder. “Change is not your favourite thing, I don’t need to tell you.”

Mack couldn’t even bring himself to verbalise an agreement to that.

Luca winced and removed his hand. “Sorry, I’m not, um. We don’t get many curses like this in figure skating, I’ve not got much experience with this.”

“No problem, man,” Mack said automatically, desperate to change the subject, “what curses do you get in skating?”

“Sex ones, mostly.”

Great. Mack should never speak again. Ever. “So, uh, how do I hook up to the speakers?”

“Oh, sure,” Luca pulled out his phone, unlocking it with an old-style numerical pin. “it’s all just bluetooth. Will mentioned we’re gonna charge up an old phone for you, but feel free to use mine for now.” He handed Mack something that looked kind of like Spotify if it was blue and yellow rather than green. Mack played the top playlist - thank God Smitty still did his monthly commute lists - and went back to chopping his onion.

“Do you- do you think-” Mack choked a bit, panicked, restarted. “Would you want some?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Luca said, settling himself on a stool at the other end of the kitchen island. “Will’s just organising some things then he’ll join us, I’m sure he’d love some.”

Mack chanced a glance over at the bedroom, and Will was ensconced in front of a desktop computer, jaw moving like he was maybe on a call.

“Great,” Mack said weakly.

Will joined them just as Mack was plating up the more-than-slightly-overdone omelet. So sue him, future-fire was stronger than the stove in Jumbo’s outhouse.

“Oh left, it’s been ages since I’ve had one of these,” Will grinned, still shockingly old, hair all down now, falling thick round his shoulders.

“Luca says I still make them?”

“Yeah, you do, just… I guess we mostly go out to eat now, not much you cooking for me.” Will took grabbed cutlery from a drawer for everyone and sank into the seat next to Luca. They were so close, their knees must be knocking against each other. Will took a bite and groaned. “I’m not even kidding,” he said, then smiled at Mack.

Luca hummed then shook his head, smiling. “Thanks, Mack.” He reached for a little pot of… dried herbs? He sprinkled them on his omelet then drizzled some red oil over it too, and took a big mouthful of the side salad he’d put together.

Mack was used to people chirping his food, it didn’t usually bother him if they don’t like it, but he could feel his hackles raising. He ignored Luca smothering his tastebuds, nodded at Will. “It’s good?”

“Yeah, man,” Will said through a mouthful, “just like I remember.”

“Good, because your future organic bullshit peanut butter is busted, dude, it tastes like, I don’t know, dirt or something.” Mack wrinkled his nose when both Luca and Will laughed. “It fucking does, I swear.”

“Sorry, it’s just, you’re always saying that,” Will grinned, “when you- well.” He cut himself off, glanced at Luca, looked back at Mack. His smile was pinned in place, all humour gone. “Last time we lived together, you made us buy the cheap shit.”

“We live together?”

Will winced. “Oops. You don’t yet…?”

“I mean, we’re talking about it for next season, but you still live with Toff, I’m at Jumbo’s.” Mack couldn’t help the small lift in his chest at the hint that it’ll work out.

“Right, sophomore season, of course.” Will tucked some hair behind his ear as he speared the last bite of his omelet. The long strands fell forward, threatening to fall onto his plate as he leaned forward to bring his fork to his mouth, but he caught them, well-practiced and natural. His jaw worked as he chewed, and he put his fork down for a second as he gathered his hair and pulled it all back, around, tucked it over his right shoulder. He picked up his fork again to make a start on his salad and looked back at Mack expectantly.

It became clear he was waiting for something. “Huh?” Mack grunted, like a caveman who’d been concussed by one too many mammoths and was also stupid.

Will’s eyes sparkled in amusement. “Luca was asking if you wanted a nap after lunch?”

“Oh, right,” Mack nodded emphatically, “yes please.”

“Time travel must be tiring.” Luca’s face was not so amused as Will’s.

Mack looked down at his empty plate. Why were his ears burning.

“Have some salad,” Luca started serving from the big bowl he’d mixed up.

“Oh no, I’m- no thanks.” There were raw tomatoes in it, and some kind of oily dressing. “Think I’ll just go have that nap now, if that’s… okay?”

“Sure. There’s spare clothes in the dresser for you, let us know if you need anything you can’t find,” Will said, and Mack couldn’t look at him. “We’ll go ask round the neighbours to see if anyone has an old phone we can borrow, but we can leave longer gameplans ‘til later. Oh, and I changed the sheets, so no drama about that.”

Mack had been worried about it, but would rather have slept on the wooden floor under a bath towel than asked to change the brushed cotton in front of Luca. He nodded jerkily. “Appreciate it, Smitty. Thanks, uh, as well, Luca.”

“Sleep well,” Luca said smoothly, and Mack practically ran from the room.

Mack had always been good at falling asleep given the slightest opportunity, so throw in the combination of his long fucking season and the curse, and he was pretty sure he was out cold before his head hit the pillow. When the alarm blared 45 minutes later, he really wanted to turn over and go back to sleep. But he did feel marginally better for even just that small rest. The slight tinnitus he hadn’t even registered had cleared up, and he felt like he could drink the whole pacific and eat a horse.

He stumbled into the shower, ignoring his vague erection, and boggled at the array of hair products in the caddy. He ended up just using the bodywash for everything, though he wasn’t sure what scent ‘omija’ was. He dressed in the least-baggy sweats he could find and the baggiest jumper, though it was still so short it barely covered his belly button. He desperately didn’t think about whose briefs he was using, and felt like a clown as he padded back to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it directly from the tap. He chugged it twice before refilling it again. He’d spotted some stuff when looking for the frying pan before, so he tracked down the snacks cupboard and stuffed back a couple protein bars then grabbed a banana for good measure.

“Come join whenever you’re done raiding my stocks,” came Will’s voice from outside the room. Mack looked up guiltily to see him watching from the courtyard table.

He swallowed his mouthful. “I’ll bring you anything?”

Will shook his head. Mack shrugged, snagged a bag of chili cashews from the cupboard and his water, and went out to join him.

“Sleep well?”

Mack nodded. “Good mattress.”

“As if that makes a difference to you. No one had a spare phone in the neighbourhood, but Labov’s a real nut for retrotech, so Luca’s gone to search his basement.”

Mack had a feeling he was meant to know who Labov was, maybe a future Shark; he filed that name away for future reference. “How’d you guys meet?”

“Me and Luca?” Will looked away. “Just… around, I guess. We didn’t start dating until, uh, there was a Red Bull sports-swap thing. Like a try each other’s sports video. I asked him out after that, and, well. Yeah.”

“You try figure skating? Can I see?”

Will hesitated for a moment then shrugged and pulled up his phone.

The Will in the video looked much more like real Will, like Mack’s Smitty, with his short fluffy hair and his hockey gear. Video Luca was ganglier, longer hair, annoying as fuck. He was, though, much better at puck handling and slapshots than video Will was at spirals or spins. Mack frowned. “The fuck is Netloop? Red Bull doesn’t like YouTube in the future?”

“Oh YouTube died ages ago, Google doesn’t- forget it, it’s a whole thing. Netloop is just the sports video site now.”

“YouTube dies?”

“Oh, dude, like,” Will widened his eyes emphatically, “this is important. That McDavid and Draisaitl highlight reel from the 2023/24 season, you know the 12 minute one-”

“The goodluck reel?”

“Yeah, that, dude-” Will’s voice was serious like it hadn’t been at all so far- “we lose it. After YouTube goes down, no one saves it. Like, I mean, the games obviously aren’t lost, but that compilation… Promise me you’ll download it to a hard drive, burn it to a disc, anything. When you get back, you have to promise!”

“Fuck, sure, Jesus.” It was so Will to care so much about this. “Maybe that’s what I came here to learn.”

Will laughed. “Well, if you disappear next time I look away, it was nice having you.”

“Nice to be here, I guess,” Mack said, but no disapperance seemed forthcoming. “So what’s the plan?”

“Team doctor is coming over in about an hour to look you over,” Will said, “then tomorrow, I’ll take you to the shuttle station-”

“Shuttle station?”

“-yeah, it’s just like a really short plane so don’t get too excited, and send you off to Vancouver.”

“What’s in Vancouver?”

“You’re in Vancouver, champ.”

“What am I doing in Vancouver?” Cold horror washed down his spine. “Smitty, please tell me I don’t get traded to the Canucks, I can’t take that pressure, man.”

“You pleb, it’s the offseason,” Will rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, your future is teal, Christ.”

That mollified him somewhat, more than he’d thought it would have. Maybe he should keep an eye on that. “Okay, so do I have a family?” When Will hesitated, he couldn’t keep down the flare of frustration. “C’mon, I’ll know tomorrow, just tell me.”

Will sighed. “You have kids,” he admitted, “four. I’m Lyra’s godfather, she’s 9, and you have Forest, he’s 7, and the twins are 4, River and Rain.”

“River and Rain?” Mack scrunched up his nose. “Why didn’t you stop me?

“Not my fault Chrissy believes in crystal healing.”

“Chrissy? My…?” He couldn’t say it.

“Err, not any more. Sorry, man.”

Mack’s lip curled in distaste. Fuck, four kids then divorced. His dad’s gonna be so disappointed. “What do I do?”

“I’m not- that’s… I can’t tell your story, I’m sorry, you’re gonna have to ask yourself about it,” Will smiled wanly.

“No little Smittys running around then?”

Will shook his head. “Luca’s not really the dad type.”

Yeah but Mack definitely didn’t fucking ask. “But didn’t you want kids?”

“Sort of, I guess, I just…” Will’s brow furrowed. “It didn’t seem that important I guess. I liked helping with Lyra and Forest when they were babies, never needed my own.”

“Just seems like a waste,” Mack said bluntly and Will winced. Mack mentally replayed the conversation back and- oh fuck- “shit, no I don’t mean like- not like the gay thing is- I mean being a parent isn’t the only-”

“It’s fine, I get it-”

“-no really, Will, I’m not- I just mean guys who- anyone can be a parent.” Shut up, shut up! “You know, anyone- if they, like…” Shut UP. “If they want to, they should.” He needed to drown himself in the ornamental fountain. “You could have kids, if you wanted to.”

“Thanks for the permission, teenage Macklin Celebrini.”

“Shut up.” Mack’s head was on fire, he knew it. He chanced a quick look over and Will, thankfully, looked more amused by his stupidity than anything else. He swallowed his embarrassment, pushed it as far down as he could.

***

Dr Wang was a tiny woman, and younger than any other doctor that Mack had seen in the NHL, even to Mack’s eyes. But she’d mastered the slightly detached business-as-usual tone that Mack liked about Dr Davies back home, and she completed his physical in record time with the help of a small drone-y… scanning… thing? Whatever. Mack had tried not to look at it too close.

“Everything looks fine, Macklin,” she said calmly, after checking a readoff on her super slim tablet. “No side effects as far as I can tell, and your immune system is taking the displacement in its stride. You’re a remarkably healthy specimen, as always.”

“That’s good,” Mack said, for lack of anything else to say.

“Anything we can do to help him get back to his time?” Will asked from his seat on the sofa. As Mack’s emergency contact, he was acting as his guardian too for the purpose of medical consent, but he’d just been pretending to read a magazine for the check-up so far. It was fucking weird but Mack couldn’t say why. It’s not like he wanted Will to be staring at him while he stood there topless in his kitchen.

“Not from a medical perspective,” Dr Wang said, “that’s not really our area. You could consult a cursebreaker, but in my personal experience, these kind of displacements usually work themselves out within a few days, and can actually be quite beneficial to the psyche of the patient.”

Mack scoffed, “beneficial?” What good could possibly come from this weird-ass sojourn into Will’s lavender utopia?

She wasn’t phased by his outburst, responding as if it had been a simple request for clarification. “Yes, often we’ve seen that patients learn a lot from these kinds of curses. They are often more emotionally resilient and apt to measured decision making following a period of displacement. It can continue for some time into their lives, though not in all cases.” She pocketed her little drone and returned her tablet to her bag, speaking equally to Will as to Mack now. “If there’s nothing further, then I’m happy to register Macklin as fully fit and compos mentis to travel to Canada without an accompanying guardian. I have no advice other than to keep on keeping on as you have been.”

Mack felt suddenly like he’d missed a step, as she made to leave. That’s it? “Wait, sorry, no- I just-” He gulped, took a deep breath. “What do I, like… do?” Will had gotten up to show Dr Wang out and was now looking at him with unbearable sympathy. “Like, to get home? How do I get home?”

Dr Wang shot an impassive look at Will, then focussed back on him. “You’re from 2026, so you’ve done your curse training, yes?”

“Yeah.” Mack blinked a few times.

“So you know with this kind of scenario, the cure is likely to do with learning something that will help guide your choices in your future, to either align with or diverge from this reality.”

Mack tried to speak, had to clear his throat a bit and try again. “But how do I know?”

“Know what?”

“If this reality is good? If I want it or not?”

Will made a cut-off noise and stepped towards him, and Mack flinched back without meaning to. He couldn’t bear a touch, not now. He grabbed the hoodie from the kitchen counter and yanked it on quickly, the hood up and over and shoving his hands in the pockets to tug it down tight as it would go.

Dr Wang watched him for a long moment, not moving towards or away from him. “That’s not for us to tell you, Macklin. My only suggestion would be to think about what is different here compared to where you’re from. How would it have made you feel if things here had been the same as the way you left them back home?” Her face didn’t change at all. “This is a highly unusual situation for someone’s first curse to displace them so far. I do think it’s very likely that speaking to Mack will help you. Would you like to call him tonight?”

As she spoke about his older self like a different person, Mack felt his heartrate slow and he took a deep breath. He wasn’t divorced, he didn’t have four kids. He was nineteen. He was in San Jose, with Will. “No, that’s okay. I think it’d be better to do it in person.”

“Very well,” Dr Wang nodded. She expanded her circle of focus once more. “Do either of you have any more concerns you’d like to bring to our attention about Macklin’s situation?”

Will was still watching him. Mack shook his head. Will finally looked away and smiled at the doctor. “Let me show you out, Vivien.”

Mack exhaled, trying to keep the shakiness quiet, as Will and Dr Wang made small talk in the hall, then the door shut, footsteps on gravel. Mack continued to box breathe as Will tactfully gave him a minute, probably checking on Luca or something. He didn’t think about it. Just four counts in, four to hold, four out, four hold. Four in, hold four, four out, hold four. Four in, hold eight, four out, hold eight.

Four in.

Eight.

Four out.

Eight.

Four.

Eight.

Four.

Twelve.

He was back in his body enough to hear the paired footsteps, and he tried for a neutral calm as Luca and Will rounded the corner. They were holding hands.

“Glad you’re in fighting form, Mack,” Luca smiled. He sounded like a liar.

“Always,” Mack let his teeth show, cocked his head to the side.

“Well, we gotta keep you that way,” Will let go of Luca to clap his hands together. “Lasagne for dinner, then an evening skate?”

The malice dropped from Mack’s shoulders faster than he thought possible. “Oh, fuck, yes.”

***

Mack was a little confused when they left the house on foot later, out the back door rather than the front. They walked down the slight slope towards the pool, now empty of children in the early twilight, and Mack tried not to show the annoyance he felt at using some of Luca’s hand-me-downs. Why he had a spare pair of hockey skates anyway beat Mack entirely. Figure skaters were snobby shitheads and always insisted their toe picks were more important than the clearly superior maneuvering of a rounded blade. And the fact that Luca even had a pair of Mack’s own preferred line of CCM skates, while Will was still clinging to his Bauer Pussyfoot 5000s, was just salt in the wound.

“You okay, Mack?” Will nudged their shoulders together as they walked.

Mack nodded, not sure how clearly his mood was showing. “How far’s the rink?”

“Oh, not far,” Will grinned, and Mack smiled back, despite himself. Will’d tied his hair back, and in the golden evening light with his gear bag slung over his shoulder, he looked more like Mack’s Smitty than he had all day. “You’ll love this.”

“Yeah,” Mack said, trying for a rising intonation and surely missing it.

They stopped at the edge of the pool, and Will laughed off Mack’s questioning look. He dumped the gear bag and went to the wooden box at the corner of the decking, fiddling with something Mack couldn’t see and- A clunk, then a slight metallic whirr. The surface of the water was vibrating minutely.

The floor of the pool rose smoothly, the water not overflowing but pouring away into what must be concealed vents. “No fucking way,” Mack said before he could stop himself. “You’re not…?”

“I am,” Will grinned, watching Mack rather than the miracle unfolding in front of them. Mack felt like he was at a tennis match, couldn’t decide between the spectacle of the pool water turning to ice and the happiness in Will’s eyes.

“This is so dope dude, you have your own rink, what the fuck.” The white had spread most of the way across the pool - which Mack now realised was regulation rink size - and barriers started to lift slowly up, yellow tipped, becoming boards, and there it was. In Will’s garden, in the Californian sun, a whole hockey rink. “I am never leaving, you know that right? I’m staying here forever.”

“You’re an absolute prick,” Will said, but he was smiling softly, so Mack guessed that meant something different now. “C’mon, help me with the nets.”

Will grabbed some bundles of red pipe from his gear bag that folded out into proper regulation nets, which he explained held themselves in place on the ice by ‘conductive bonding’. Mack didn’t know if that was future science or if he was just too dumb in his own time to have heard of it, but it seemed to work just like magnets, so he mostly ignored it. Then - and this was the fucking coolest shit in a long line of cool shit - Will pulled out of his bag a CCM Vizion 2041.

“Oh no, fuck, don’t,” he grabbed for it, sure he was moaning a bit, “that’s not fair, fuck…” He ran his fingers over the engraving. Fourty-one. It was lighter than air. The tongue was curved just right. “I’m popping wood over here Smitty, you can’t do this to me. What’s the flex?”

Will reached over, pressed open a hidden panel on the end of the handle. “Programmable,” he said smugly, and for a second, Mack could only see stars.

“You have to- I have to- Will, you have to let me take this, you can’t- you have to.” Mack crushed it to his chest, not caring that he trapped Will’s arm in the motion. “I’m never letting this go, how much is it? I’ll buy it off you. I’m serious, I’ll do anything.”

“You haven’t even tried it yet! Calmate, Jesus,” Will laughed. Mere inches from this, Mack kept the stick and Will’s arm tight to his chest, and wondered if he could actually feel the heart beating through his ribs. After a second, he let go - of the arm only, obviously - and fiddled with the adjustment panel. Frowned. Fiddled again. Fuck, the buttons were small.

“Smitty, help!”

Will sighed from the ground where he’d been lacing his skates. “What do you want?”

“82,” Mack tilted the stick down to him so he could adjust it without Mack letting go. He wanted to feel what happened.

“Thank you, Smitty. Oh no problem, you’re very welcome Macklin, it’s no drama at all. Please continue to use my stuff and take up my time. Thank you for offering Smitty, yes, I think I will, I’m really grateful for all the help you’re offering in my time of need.”

Mack ignored his bitching as the stick vibrated almost imperceptibly under his fingers. “Fuck, dude, holy shit…” He flexed it between his hands, swung it through the air a little. It was perfect.

“Let’s give it a go, then.”

They went through some warm-up drills separately, both cutting their edges up and down the rink, Mack taking the near side and Will the far. Mack left the stick on the side reluctantly and focused on the feel of the ice under him, trying his best to tease apart the feeling of unfamiliar skates versus the magical ice that had just appeared. Was it really just flash-frozen water? What hardness was it? It felt perfect, like a fresh morning in September after a proper summer rest. When tracking back up the ice, the lines of his previous strokes seemed to have already faded somewhat. Self-healing magic fucking ice.

The skates too were, though not molded properly to his feet, really nicely balanced and sharp as anything. He tried some c-cuts round a circle and built up speed like it was nothing, transitioning into cross-overs deeper than he’d ever managed on his own skates. A twist and he was off up the ice without losing a beat, his tee pressing against his chest with the speed, pushing harder and harder and, only at the very last second, digging in to a stop an inch from the boards. The skates seemed to know what he wanted before he did, bouncing him to speed backwards to the blue line, flip forwards, cross-overs forward then backward round the circle, repeat, repeat, rhythmical and so fluid. This must be what it feels like to be a hawk, or a greyhound, or Connor McDavid. He only realised he was laughing when he got out of breath from it. He didn’t bother slowing to a stop, just tipped over on his side and span wildly across the ice for the fun of it.

Will was laughing too, though he had to jump over Mack to not get knocked over himself. He was going much slower than Mack’s wild abandon, but there was a grace and depth to his skating that the real Will (though he was also graceful and deep) had never managed. Mack watched as he did some beautiful one foot patterns, executing a series of three-turns so stable it was like Yuzuru Hanyu reborn. Taking advantage of the free ice, Will picked up speed round the corner, arms coming out strong and wide as he crossed over, came out backwards and held an edge, kicked a leg round- and jumped. He span through the air, impossibly floating, and Mack didn’t know ass from tit in figure skating, but that wasn’t just one rotation. If his landing was a little less than perfect, Mack was too busy already whooping to fucking care.

“Holy shit! Will, fucking hell!” Mack was on his feet before he’d even thought to get up - thank you magical skates - and crashing into Will, grabbing him in a hug, jumping like a celly in overtime. “When did you learn that! Dude!” Will hugged him back and Mack felt the strength of his body, how it had changed, for the first time, but it was wiped out in the over-stimulation his brain was already buzzing with. The new skates, the stick, the rink - he couldn’t process this too.

“Thanks man, Luca taught me, I’ve been practising a few years now.” Will’s hand gripped into his hair a little as he bobbled Mack’s head back and forth. “He always thinks it’s dumb I won’t use figure skates, but it’s a good workout.”

“Teach me,” Mack insisted, leaning into the touch, pressing his body against the hard line of Will’s as they set off aimlessly round the ice, “right now.”

“Right now?” Will hummed, letting go of Mack’s hair - he didn’t let a whine out - and slinging his arm around his shoulder instead. “I thought you wanted to try some stick handling?”

Mack couldn’t stop the moan this time. “God, yes.”

Will snorted and shoved him away. “You’re such a pervert, Celebrini.”

“Don’t listen to him, baby, he’s just jealous,” Mack crooned as he picked up his stick once again, “he doesn’t understand our relationship.”

Will directed them through some sharp drills, a mixture of real-Will’s favourites peppered through by some classic standards and a few that Mack would never even consider, but got his blood pumping. The stick was like a magnetic baseball bat, or a metaphor for the grace of God. No matter what he bullshit he tried to pull on the puck, it worked perfectly. The puck sailed between his tape and Will’s and the net at the merest thought, and Mack had to adjust himself a few times, legitimately sporting a chubby.

“I forgot a stiff breeze used to do that to you,” Will said mildly, mercilessly, after the third time as they played one-on-one.

“Shut the fuck up.” Mack’s cheeks felt hot. “It’s a really good stick.”

This Will was kinder and less immature than real-Will, but not that much kinder, not that more mature. While he was laughing, Mack dodged his still pathetic defence and got in a good slapshot though, so a goal’s a goal.

For the first time in a long time, Mack felt like he could skate forever, and he protested as much when Will started making motions to go back to the house. “You may be a teenager, but I am retired and we’ve been going hard for, like, 90 minutes. I’m out.”

“Will,” Mack hooked him, digging in his skates, “not yet, c’mon, stay out with me.”

“God, you’re whiney, Christ okay!” Will knocked Mack’s stick out and dodged his glove as he grabbed. “I’m gonna go grab a drink from the house, then I’ll come keep you company.”

“No, keep skating!”

Will dodged cleanly, though he was skating backwards. “Nope, nuh-uh. I’m old and tired.”

Mack chased him and got a whack on his shins for his efforts. “You’re not old, you’re not even 40!”

“Basically am, though.” Will hopped over the barriers and out of reach. “Still faster than you though, looks like.”

“Okay, well, bring me a coke while you’re fetching your decaffeinated chamomile tea!” Mack called. While waiting, he skated a few sprints round the rink and started tentatively trying a jump like Will had. But how had he taken off backwards? And was he on an inside or outside edge? He fell twice before giving up and switching to a forward entry, which seemed a little easier. 

“Pretty respectable waltz jump, Macklin.”

Mack bristled. “It’s Mack.” He didn’t stop skating.

Luca was smiling politely from the edge of the rink. “Okay, sure. Didn’t know if you liked me saying that.”

Mack shrugged. What the fuck do I care what you call me? He didn’t say it though, and didn’t jump again, just kept picking up speed.

“Skates fit okay?”

“Yeah, they’re great,” Mack answered, unable to overcome his roots, even here. “Thank you.” He rocketed to an inside stop on his back foot to grab his stick again, mohawked a few times, cut his edges back up the ice and started off on some one foot exercises on the far side. Luca didn’t try to speak to him again. Up the hill, Will was winding his way back to the rink, and Mack stuck to his side of the ice while he reunited with Luca and didn’t watch.

He was really getting into it with some speed drills when something hit him in the back of the head and dropped to the ground. He turned, and picked up a small projectile wrapped in wax paper. Will was glaring at him. As he returned to the barrier next to him, Mack unwrapped it to find- “a bread roll? That’s the best snack you got?”

“Hazlenut miso caramel bun, thank you,” Will said, “I made it myself.”

“You made this?” Mack looked back down at it. He took a bite. “Fuck me, Smitty…” He let his appreciation show as he stuffed the rest of the roll down in two, the salty creamy nuttiness covering his tongue.

“Careful, dude, jeez,” Will said.

“Are those noises necessary?” Luca laughed.

Mack let himself groan a little louder, swallowed hard. “Are there any more?”

“You’re shameless,” Will grinned. “C’mon, sit. Fifteen minute snack break, champ.”

Mack hopped the boards, managed to hold onto the stick while he got his skate guards on, and joined them on the low deckchairs left over from the rink’s former life as a pool. Will chucked him another bun and a chilled can of coke. Mack gave the bun his full attention and thought for a second he might die here, with this taste on his tongue, and these skates on his feet, and this stick in his hand. He flopped onto his back, looking up at the stars, mouth caught between chewing and grinning. He was sure he looked like an idiot. He didn’t care.

“You want a glass, Mack?”

Even Luca couldn’t ruin this golden moment. Mack looked over, and he was holding up a bottle of expensive-looking wine. Maybe he did have his uses. “I’m nineteen,” he said anyway, just to be stubborn.

Luca rolled his eyes. “And Canadian.”

Mack shrugged as he pulled himself back to sitting. “Sure, love some.”

Despite his bravado, Mack didn’t like white wine very much, and after two glasses, Will hadn’t let him back out onto the ice, even going so far as to turn it back into a pool and cover it up for the night. After a third glass, he’d considered just getting in the pool anyway, but he didn’t want to let go of the stick. And the sky seemed kind-of… wiggly? All in all, he didn’t feel great. The sweet cream of the buns hadn’t really lined his stomach much after the skate. He’d tucked himself against Will’s side on the way back up to the house, though Will had switched to whiskey after a few glasses, and was leaning on Mack as much as Mack was depending on him.

“I don’t think Vivien would be proud of our choices tonight,” Will giggled when they dumped their stuff in the gear room and flopped onto the huge couch. He groaned when Mack landed half on-top of him. “Dude, you have got to put that stick down at some point, you’re like a dog with a fuckin’ bone.”

“No,” Mack argued eloquently. He wriggled until he had the stick hugged along his front, back pressed up against Will’s side.

“You’re like a child with a blankie.”

“Sniff my balls, Smith-”

“You’re both children,” Luca interrupted, leaning over the back of the couch to pat Will’s shoulder, “but at least Mack has an excuse.”

Mack started to laugh, but it died in his throat as Will reached up and tugged Luca down further to kiss him, deep and dirty. Luca made a surprised noise but seemed unable to not kiss back. Will’s tongue was in his mouth, their eyes closed. Mack was so close to them both, straining to look back over his shoulder, that when Luca finally pulled himself away, he could see a short string of spit that connected them for a second. Mack swallowed and consciously relaxed his thigh muscles where they’d tensed up around the stick.

“Let’s get Mack settled, then bed,” Luca said. He’d said almost the exact same thing ten minutes ago, but they all knew it meant something different now. Will pouted as Luca straightened up and pulled away. His head thunked back down to the couch once Luca was out of sight, then he turned to Mack.

“Hi,” Mack said.

Will’s body was pressed against the length of his back. “Hi.”

“Will?”

The freckle under his eye was so close. “Yeah?”

Mack could say anything here. This wasn’t the real world, he could say anything. He wanted to. But he still couldn’t. “Can the stick sleep in my bed tonight?”

Will’s soft smile was like a knife, the fondness in his unfocused eyes like too much lactic acid. “Sure, bud.” He patted Mack’s side where his hand had been resting, and Mack couldn’t help but shift his hips, try and get Will to touch him a little lower. He couldn’t say it, but he could try. Either way, it didn’t work, and Will didn’t seem to notice.

***

Mack felt fine the next day, though judging from Luca and Will’s hangdog expressions, he was in the minority. “Morning, boys,” he said when he came into the kitchen, as loud as he reasonably could. “What’s for breakfast?”

“I hate teenagers.” On the couch, Luca put another pillow over his head.

“You suggested this,” Will reminded him.

“You needed it.” It came out muffled behind the cushion.

Mack frowned. “Needed what?”

“No more of that,” Will closed his eyes. He was clutching his coffee like a lifeline. “Make us french toast.”

“Don’t know how.”

Will’s head fell to the counter. “Fuck, I’d forgotten how useless you were. I talk, you do.”

Mack clapped his hands. “Sure! Bread and eggs, right?”

Luca sloped off to have a shower and Will did his best directing Mack through frenchifying the bread, until his phone rang. He frowned at the caller ID and took it outside, leaving Mack to improvise a little. When he came back in, he was holding the phone to his chest.

“Mack, uh, this is- what the fuck did you do?”

Mack looked down at the pan, at the soggy-yet-charred no-longer-bread swimming in what looked like an oily cinnamon vomit. “French toast,” he said stubbornly.

“That’s trench bro, you’re unbelievable.” He was clearly trying not to smile though. “I’ll fix it. But, um, I got someone on the phone for you.” He held it out. “It’s, uh, you.”

Mack looked at it, couldn’t make his arm reach out. “What do I call him?”

Will shrugged, looking pained. “I don’t know, Macklin? Or just dude?” The nearly-smile had atrophied.

“Why does he want to talk to me?”

Will just brandished the phone again.

Mack forced himself to grab it but didn’t unmute, taking it outside and closing the door behind himself. He looked out over the morning light on the field. A man was swimming laps in the pool-rink. The air was clear, clean, even though they were within city limits, and the only sounds were the water fountain and the bees. It was so beautiful, it was so unreal. He blinked away the fuzziness in his eyes and glanced back inside. Will was grimacing at the contents of the pan, pushing them around timidly with the spatula, before he shook his head and tipped the whole thing into the bin.

Mack focused back in and unmuted the phone, then realised there was no air in his lungs. He gasped in two breaths before he could speak. “Hi.”

“Mack? Hi, it’s, uh. Hi.”

Fuck, it sounded so much like tata. Mack had heard his voice on tape so much but this man didn’t sound like him, he sounded like Rick Celebrini. Mack wanted to hear it again, to check; Mack never wanted to hear it again.

“How are you doing?”

It could have been his father’s voice. It was horrible. “Yeah, good.” It was all he could force out so the silence fell again.

“Will says you’ve been adjusting well, Dr Wang cleared you for travel.”

Mack wondered what he looked like, was suddenly and sickeningly glad that this wasn’t a video call. “Mm-hmm.” Was his hair gray yet? How long was it? Why had Sosa mentionned his teeth?

“... So, yeah, about that- I can’t, uh, it’s not gonna be possible for you to come up today-”

“What?” Mack couldn’t stop himself interrupting and that, more than anything, convinced his body he wasn’t actually on the phone with his father. He’d never have dared.

“Sorry, bud, I just- I gotta take the kids back to their mom’s.” This was his media voice; even through the different register and surreality, Mack could recognise that. “I can’t have them here with you, and they can’t go back until tomorrow, so…”

“Can’t she, like, change her plans?” Mack realised his leg was jogging up and down, consciously stilled it. “You don’t think this is a bit more important than that?”

A snort from the other side, though Mack didn’t know what it meant. “You don’t even know what that is.”

“Yeah, but you know what I am!” His other leg starting jumping. “I’m, fucking- you’re- I’m you.” Mack leaned forward, trapping both legs under one forearm, pushing the balls of his feet flat to the ground.

The silence came from the line this time.

“Okay, fine, whatever.” Mack shook his head. “What time tomorrow?”

“I’ve spoken with Will about it, I’ve sent him your ticket. You’ll be in Vancouver by 10:30, I’ll collect you from the station myself. The kids’ll be gone by then.”

Gee thanks, Mack didn’t say, way to go outta your way. “Kids, huh. What are their names?”

The tone got colder. “Search it, dude. I gotta go. Be good to Will for me.”

What the fuck was he meant to say to that? No, do it yourself? “Kiss my kids for me,” he snapped, and hung up. What the fuck. What the FUCK. He wrenched the door open with more force than strictly necessary on his way back into the kitchen. “Am I really that much of an asshole?”

“Dude, volume control.” Luca was plastered up against Will’s back, still wet from his shower.

“Bite me, old man,” Mack retorted before he could stop himself.

“Mack!” Will warned sharply.

But he got what he wanted as Luca peeled himself off and went back to towelling his hair. “No, it’s okay, he’s stressed, I just- maybe less slamming of doors? Please?”

Will was glaring at him to apologise. He ignored it. “We have to fix it today, we have to send me back. I am not fucking meeting that guy.”

“Oh yeah, and how do you propose we fix it?” Will went back to tending the pan, the contents of which now admittedly resembled french toast a lot more closely. “Any ideas what learning you could glean in the next 24 hours to fix the trajectory you’re fucking up in your own time?”

“That’s not how it works-”

“Yes it is, and stop pacing.” Will’s glare had gone from reprehensive to nuclear. “Sit down.”

Mack went to the fridge to collect his toppings instead. Spinach, shredded cheese, and peanut butter. Too late to add an onion or chili to the pan, and probably Will wouldn’t let him, but he could use the chili flakes he’d spotted yesterday. “It’s just a curse, it’s not logical, it’s magical.”

“I know you know what Sidney Crosby says about his Russian curses,” Will pointed out.

Mack frowned. “That’s different.”

“What does he say?” Luca chimed in unhelpfully.

Will gestured with the spatula. Mack rolled his eyes, but answered, unable to prevent the kneejerk response his brain had to any opportunity to talk about Sidney Crosby. “He admits to three cases of it - or at least, in my time, three - where he wakes up and can’t speak English or French or anything anymore, only Russian, which he can’t speak the rest of the time and also couldn’t read to begin with, so it was kinda hard because he can’t understand English but also couldn’t read the Russian letters. He’s done Russian lessons a bit now so that if it happens again, he can, like, navigate his phone and write texts to ask for help rather than having to call or voicenote all the time. First time it happened, he was just attached to Gonchar and Malkin the whole time so he was okay, only lasted a few hours, but second time, it was the off-season, they had to, like, call Malkin to phone translate for a week, which didn’t really work with the timezones, but Sid wouldn’t let anyone outside the team know what was happening. Third time, it was during his concussion season, it lasted 16 months, he had to move in with Malkin and his girlfriend. There’s great videos of them on the bench in the 2012 playoffs, Dupuis and Letang learned a lot of Russian so it’s them and Malkin all interpreting for Sid. It’s such a cool, like, team mentality they fostered, I think it really helped their cup runs later, even though Dupuis wasn’t with them at that point. It’s clear Kunitz also learned at least some Russian. Malkin was always goated, but he got, like, beyond the best after a few other guys on his team learned his language.” Mack felt something ping in his brain a bit. “Maybe we should learn Swedish with Ekky and the ‘Bergs. Is that a fun off-season project?”

Will snorted. “If you spend an off-season studying a language, I’ll learn to fly.”

“You kinda did that,” Mack said, thinking of that jump last night. He let himself feel satisfaction at the blush he brought to Will’s cheeks.

“You sure know a lot about Sidney Crosby,” Luca said. “So he broke his curse by… letting it work itself out? With the support of his teammates?”

At some point in his rambling, Mack had folded himself onto the stool next to Luca as they awaited their food from Will at the stove. They were sitting kinda close now. “No, he, uh. He said he manages to switch back to English once he’s said something he’s been putting off. Like, a secret, or a, uh, personal realisation or something.”

Luca blinked. “He put off saying something for 16 months? What was it?”

“No one knows,” Mack said, at the same time as Will saying, “I think we can guess.”

“Oh,” Luca said. Him and Will shared a look.

Mack bristled. “What?”

Luca ignored him, asking Will, “and he’s in Canada now?”

“Nova Scotia,” Will nodded, “coaching the Goldeneyes.”

“The Goldeneyes move to Nova Scotia?” He was ignored again.

“And Malkin is…?”

“Yep.”

Luca nodded, satisfied. “Good for them.”

“Hello?” Mack waved a hand between them, cutting off whatever line-of-sight communication bullshit they were pulling. “What the fuck are we talking about?”

“You’ll find out in, uh, you’re 2026, so,” Will did some calculation in his head, “five-ish years?”

Mack scowled. “Yeah, sure. If I ever even make it back.” He remembered the point of the conversation. “Which has to happen today! Before tomorrow.”

“Okay dude, so what are you holding back from saying?” Will asked. He passed two stacks of toast across the table and remained standing to eat his on his side of the kitchen island.

Mack spread peanut butter and stuffed spinach between each slice, more peanut butter on the top and then sprinkled the cheese and chili flakes over the whole thing. He took a first bite and chewed it through, really tried to think. He swallowed. “Nothing,” he concluded.

Luca coughed.

“What?” Mack tried again. “I don’t think- I mean, yeah, no. There’s nothing.” Luca’s disbelieving eyebrows were insulting. “Well, what do you think it is then, if you know me so well?”

“I don’t think telling you is gonna help,” Luca said primly. “Seems like something you should figure out for yourself.”

“Luca,” Will said. Another one of their silent-goddamn-psychic conversations. That Will didn’t seem to know what Luca was referring to made the annoyance in Mack’s gut sharpen. He stuffed a huge bite in just to give himself something to work on.

“Okay, but, Will, you-” Luca sighed. “After breakfast, I need to eat first. And you’re- I gotta talk to the kid alone.”

No thanks, Mack wanted to say, but couldn’t get it out around his mouthful.

“Great, so that’s settled then.” Will nods. “I got stuff to do this morning anyway. If he seems like he’s about to blip back, gimme a call so I can say goodbye.”

He didn’t look like he was joking. Mack froze then chewed furiously, but couldn’t swallow fast enough.

“Sure,” Luca said, then kept eating like that was normal and not the gayest shit Will ever said, including ‘my husband’.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone?” Mack said as soon as he was able, but in his haste, it came out a lot less teasing than he meant.

Will smiled easily. “Sure, you’re a pain in my ass, but you’re fun.”

Mack opened his mouth but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He put more french toast into it instead.

Turned out, once breakfast was done and Luca and Will had gotten dressed, Will really wasn’t kidding about having shit to do. He had come back to the kitchen in a legit dress, so Mack hadn’t really heard him the first time he said it, but he had therapy to go to. This was only second on the priority list of Weird Shit because of the black satin girl’s nighty-sort-of thing he was wearing over a white tee and baggy gray jeans. Mack had no idea what he said in the conversation, too busy holding his tongue on a comment about men in women’s clothes not needing to pay fancy headshrinkers to get a diagnosis. Will’s hair was curling loose around his shoulders, sort of… poofy? At the roots? Sort of like an actress or one of those influencers who look better in pictures, but somehow nicer. He wanted to touch it. Will’s fingers were delicate with those big silver rings on them.

Will didn’t seem to notice, or was too polite to mention, Mack’s distraction, so he left without addressing anything about it, and then Luca came in wearing - thank fuck - just some black workout gear and offered a skate.

“Do, uh-” Mack swallowed and steeled himself as they walked down to the pool, sticks left in the house and only his skates over his shoulder. The knot of nerves in his stomach was twisting. “Is it normal for men to wear dresses now?”

He didn’t know Luca’s voice well enough to tell what emotion it was portraying. “Sure. Used to be just some men, but in the last 10, 12 years, yeah. You wear skirts for walk-in pretty often.”

Mack’s nose wrinkled. “No, I don’t.”

“No, you do,” Luca said, “everyone does. You really haven’t searched your name to see what you look like, huh?”

Mack shook his head vehemently. What the fuck would his father say about him wearing a skirt? The knot wasn’t loosening.

He was worried they’d get into it right away, but for the next hour, they legit just skated together. Luca’d turfed out some kids who were in the pool, agreeing something with them in rapid Spanish which Mack couldn’t catch, then left Mack to it while they each did their warm-up drills for a while. But, once he’d offered to help Mack improve his waltz jump he’d been trying yesterday, they were simply skating together for a long time. Mack even held hands with him a few times, cringingly, as he’d helped Mack feel the difference in the kind of lift he was aiming for to land smoothly. It was helpful, and Mack was having too much fun to not do it, but it still felt wrong to hold hands with Will’s- partner, husband, whatever.

After an hour, the kids returned and Luca put the rink back into pool mode, then lead Mack back to the house. Despite it being a pretty short skate, it was using muscles Mack didn’t often exercise, and his perpetual goddamn exhaustion was catching up to him. When they got into the house and Luca sat on the couch with an air of significance, he excused himself for a 45 minute nap. “You’re a fucking coward,” he said into his pillow in the quiet of his room, but he did fall asleep immediately, so he guessed two things can both be true.

He showered once his alarm went off then couldn’t put it off any longer. Checking the clock in the hallway, though, Will should be back in about 20 minutes, so at least whatever Luca wanted to say had a limited window. The man in question was reading an actual swear-to-god bible when he got to the lounge though, so he nearly turned right back around.

“Good nap?” Luca asked, before he could. “Feeling a bit more alive?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Mack said, “how’s the hangover?”

“Mostly gone, the ice always helps.” He marked his page and set the bible aside.

Mack nodded at it. “So Will still- you guys are Christians?”

Luca nearly laughed. “Is the Pope intersex?”

“I literally have no idea what that means.”

“Forget it,” he waved a hand, “spoilers, I guess. Yes, Will is still a Christian.”

Mack looked around, realised there was a St Christopher on the wall, and a few Marys around the room. He just hadn’t really thought about it. “Weird.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, I just guessed if Will’s really- if he’s-” Mack felt himself fidgeting and tried to stop. “I figure, like, gay, or whatever, guys probably don’t like God as much as, like, men with wives.”

“Uh-huh,” Luca said dryly.

“Not in a- just like, y’know,” Mack couldn’t stop tugging on his own sleeve, “the church isn’t, like. You know.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Things change though. Besides,” Luca flapped a hand like shooing away a fly, “I don’t think you’ve been sent to the future to fix the heteronormativity of the Catholic church.”

“I guess that’s good news,” Mack joked.

Luca laughed, then took a breath. Mack’s nerves weren’t happy. “So, you don’t like me.”

Mack felt a little puff of air escape through his nose. “That’s not true, you’re- I don’t not like you.” He wasn’t lying, the skate had done a lot to soften Mack’s opinion of Luca. If he thought he was right for Will, that was a different question, but he thought he could like the guy in some other context.

Luca made a non-committal noise, then pressed on, “but do you know why you, let’s say, didn’t want to welcome me with open arms yesterday?”

“It’s your house,” Mack protested. Why would he be the one welcoming?

“Sure, yeah, I just…” Luca stopped, just watched him for a moment. “Mack, if you really want to break your curse, please give this a try. I’ve had this chat with you before, I’ve got, ah, more than an educated guess on what’s up.”

Had this chat before? Like fuck, you don’t know me. Mack jutted out his chin. “So what’s up then?”

Luca sighed, fixed him with a look that even Mack could see was annoyed. He grabbed a photo frame off the bookshelf behind him and held it out wordlessly, brandished it qgain emphatically when Mack hesitated. It was a black and white photo of a Will maybe ten years younger than here-Will, still visibly older than real-Will, Mack’s Will. He was in a light suit, laughing with his arm around- Mack’s gut ran cold. He looked- not like he was Aiden, but not far off. Kinda like his father. But it was definitely Mack in the photo, hair shorter than his real hair and baby fat entirely gone, but smiling and gap-toothed. He gulped, noise like a fucking cartoon, and focussed back onto Will, on the older woman to his right who must be Colleen. She was beaming in a simple silky gown, hair gray but looking the way Will’s had this morning. Maybe she taught him how to do that.

“That’s from our wedding,” Luca explained unnecessarily. “You were his best man.”

“Fuckin’ right I was,” Mack forced out. His throat had basically closed up. He couldn’t look away from Colleen.

“How does that make you feel?”

That was annoying enough to break the deadlock, and Mack glared up at him. “You’re not my psych,” he said shortly.

“I kinda am today, buddy,” Luca took the photo back, replaced it on the shelf, but Mack could still feel it watching him. “C’mon.”

“Feel fine,” Mack said shortly. He leaned back into the cushions, telegraphing ease. He was comfortable, he was fine.

“Sure.” Luca sat back too. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Mack agreed.

The room was silent for a long moment.

Luca sighed and sat back forward. “Right, so we don’t know how your curse works, yeah?”

Mack didn’t have anything to say to that. Obviously.

“So we don’t know if you’re from this universe’s past, or another parallel universe, or you create a branch-reality by being here, or whatever.”

Mack stilled his ankle with some effort, hated seeing his leg jumping at the bottom edge of his vision.

“Okay,” Luca said, as if Mack had agreed or said literally anything at all. “So then, I’m gonna tell you some stuff that’s happened in my reality, and- I don’t know. It might not help you, it might not be real for you, but it might. Okay?”

Mack glared, but Luca wouldn’t let him get away with it this time. He nodded, only once.

“Great. Well, in that case, our Macklin, in this reality, he also didn’t like me when he met me.” He left a gap for it, but Mack didn’t protest this time, which seemed to amuse him and made Mack feel like kicking something. His leg started up again. “Me and Will dated for three years before he proposed, and it was- it made me so happy. That was the best day of my life, I swear.” He smiled, and for a moment, all the tension left his shoulders. Mack wanted to shake himself like a wet dog. “We threw an engagement party, end of the season, all the sharks were invited. As far as Will knows, though, you were- sorry, Macklin was ill that night, and had to travel back to Vancouver early to see his family doctor. So no Macklin at the engagement party.”

Mack shrugged. “So I didn’t come to your party? I need to fix my behaviour for the future, be a more supportive ally to Smitty’s big gay wedding? Noted, thanks for the pep talk.”

“Sit back down, Mack, I-” Luca stood. “I’m trying to help here, I get that this is not easy, but can you cut me some fucking slack?”

Mack chewed his cheeks for a second, fists balled against his side. He felt young and impotent and so fucking scared of what Luca was gonna say next. He wanted to get out. “Sorry, I’m- yeah.” He sat mechanically. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Thank you, Jesus Christ.” Luca flopped back down, this time next to him so they didn’t have to look at each other but not so close that they were touching. Mack tried not to be grateful at the gesture. “That’s what Will thinks, that Macklin was a bit tired and prioritised that over something that Will cared about. There was a little coldness that summer, but it blew over by the pre-season, and I don’t think Will would really even remember it now. But that’s not what happened.”

Mack nodded, looked down at his socked toes on the edge of the rug. “I chickened out?”

“No, that’s… that’s unkind.” He didn’t know where Luca was looking while he spoke. “You were- Macklin did come, but he never- I turned him away, didn’t let him in. We- it wasn’t, uh, great.”

Mack fiddled with a lose thread in the beigey-white rug, trying to work it free.

“I was a little buzzed, and when I saw his face when I answered the door rather than his Smitty, I couldn’t stop myself. I snapped, asked him what his problem was, and he started going on about how I wasn’t good enough for Will, wasn’t kind enough, didn’t know him properly, I was influencing him into ‘alternative lifestyles’.” Mack felt rather than saw the air-quotes around that last one. “I was so mad, he made me- I wanted to hit him.” The story stopped again, he was hesitating. Mack closed his eyes, listened hard despite himself. “Like, y’know, we said, I’m just telling you a story from my life. I don’t know what’s happened in your life, what’s different then or now or in the future. But in my life, I asked him- no, I accused him of being in love with Will, and I was right.”

It was like Mack’s body knew what was coming. His mind tripped, lost an edge and hit the ice hard, but his body stayed perfectly still. His breathing was even and easy and nothing was too bright when he opened his eyes. This isn’t real, this isn’t real. “How do you know? What did he say?”

“He denied it,” Luca said, “but I don’t think you’re shocked to know you’re a really bad liar.”

Mack nodded. He pressed his hands down into his lap, squeezed them between his knees until it hurt a little. “And how do I know?”

A pause. “Know what?”

“If that’s me, if I’m… If that’s my future.”

He felt a hand hovering too close to his shoulder, and when Luca retracted it, didn’t touch him, he felt so grateful he could cry. “I don’t know, man, I guess… how do you feel about it now? Was it a surprise to hear?”

Was it? Mack released his hands, shook them out a little as the blood returned to his knuckles. Will was his best friend, they’d spent every waking moment of the last two seasons together. They facetimed every day over the summer when they were apart. They were going to live together. He wrapped his arms around his belly, tight against his sides. Mack liked girls, liked sex with girls, but did he really? Did he just do that because… because what? Because it was expected? It kind of felt like masturbation, like it felt like a release, it was better than being bored, but was it good? Would it be better with Will? A hot flash of guilt ran up his spine and he glanced at Luca, who was looking at him with horrifying sympathy. He looked back down. “I’m not gay,” he said quietly.

Luca didn’t answer that.

Mack wanted him to answer, wanted something to happen. “What do you want from me?” His hands had pins and needles, he clenched them into fists. “You think I need to learn I’m a- that I- I’m like you, and that’ll be enough to get me to fuck off out of your life again? Well, I’m still fucking here, so there goes your theory.”

“I suppose so,” Luca said. “Sorry about that.” He didn’t mean what he said and he didn’t look at all upset, like he’d known what was coming. Oh fuck, Mack was going to- he was already crying.

“I’m not-” He scrubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes- “I can’t- I don’t, not like that. I don’t. I can’t.” He gulped in air and forced himself to sit still, to not bury his head in his arms like he wanted to. He wanted to curl up under the expensive fucking coffee table. He wanted to run on the treadmill for 3 hours straight. He wanted to go home. “I’m not,” he said, then clamped his jaw shut.

“Okay,” Luca said, like he was talking to a child. “Like I said, we don’t know how curses work, just because-”

“I know, you said that, I know.” Mack took another breath again. “Sorry, I- I’m sorry. Thank you for trying to help, that’s not- I don’t think that’s it. Sorry.”

Luca nodded. “Okay. But you know you can’t tell Will what I told you, please. He doesn’t know, and that’s not yours or mine to tell.”

Mack thought of his deep-voiced older self, fucking with Will’s marriage like this, callous and cowardly. “It kinda is mine though,” he sneered.

“I guess.” Luca said, “But please, please don’t. It wouldn’t make him happy.”

Or it wouldn’t make you happy, Mack thought, but he knew that was too cruel to say. “Okay,” he said. “I think I’m just gonna- I’m gonna skate for a bit, or swim, or whatever, I just need to-” he stood and was out of the house before he heard a reply.

He didn’t have swimming trunks, and he wasn’t going back to fucking borrow some, so he swam laps down the far end in his underwear while a young couple splashed about on the other side, and he pushed and he pushed and his muscles burned in protest and he didn’t think.

***

He was worried that after Luca’s prodding, he wouldn’t go back to being a person, but when he got too hungry and had to return to the house, things felt- well, not normal, but as close to normal as the last 36 hours had come. Will had brought back some Vietnamese noodle thing for lunch, and they shared it while talking through the more recent blockbuster releases, staying away from sports or anything touchy. Will had taken off the dress, was just in the tee and some loose pants. Mack thought he could smell Luca’s guiding hand all over the situation, but he was too grateful to resent it. He ended up taking another nap after that, by accident on the couch, and woke up to Will kneading dough on the counter while listening to some soft RnB-ish music in a language he didn’t recognise. The door was open, letting in the warm breeze, and letting the music drift out to Luca, who was digging around in the flowerbed.

“Afternoon, sleepyhead,” Will said, when he caught Mack watching. “Wanna help?”

Mack nodded and stretched on his way over. There was a twinge in his shoulder which he couldn’t pop.

“Pizza dough,” Will said, stretching it out so Mack could see droopy tension in the lump of pale dough as he tore it into two. “Put some oil on your hands, I’ll show you.”

Will took Mack’s silence in stride as he always had, explaining the technique and nudging a shoulder against Mack’s fleetingly when he did a good job, touch not lingering. He merged his dough ball back into Mack’s and let him keep on with the rhythmical movement, intermittently narrating his actions as he went back to the stove to tend to the tomato sauce there, then chopping up mushrooms for some kind of pre-roast marinade. Not a lot of it meant anything to Mack, but it was soothing.

When he thought the dough might be done, he passed it to Will for inspection, who held it up to the window and pointed out the way the light glowed through a little in the thin parts of the dough, but didn’t rip. “Great job,” he smiled, and Mack felt brave enough to meet his eyes for the first time since waking. God, they were so blue.

He nodded and smiled back.

“Your shoulder feeling okay?”

Mack was surprised he’d noticed, frowned. He shrugged and managed to force a noise out of his throat, not even opening his mouth and it surely didn’t convey anything, but Will seemed to know what he meant.

He turned to the sink, washed his hands clean of oil and salt, and dried them on his apron. He gestured to Mack’s shoulders. “Do you mind if I…?”

Mack turned to face back into the house so Will could have access, glad it also turned him away from worrying about Luca’s eyes. He tapped on his left shoulder loudly twice, though Will probably already had noticed where the problem was.

“Yeah, thought so,” Will said, and his fingertips probed at the muscles around his shoulderblade and kneck. “Near the end of the season right?”

Mack huffed some air out his nose. He closed his eyes, putting out a hand to the counter edge to keep himself from tipping forward as Will started to dig into his shoulder properly. 

Will made a sympathetic noise. “The first few are rough, I promise it gets easier, once you’re fully grown.”

“I am grown,” Mack said, surprising himself. He hadn’t felt words returning to him, but that came out kinda easy.

“No you’re not,” Will said.

Mack thought of the photo Luca’d shown him, of his longer face and crinkled eyes. He supposed Will was right.

“Did you know I was coming?” Mack asked, as Will moved to his right shoulder, rubbing and stretching the tired muscles. “Did I warn you?”

“No, you didn’t warn me, so thanks for that,” Will pinched him pointedly, but took the change in topic in stride. “I mean, I know you’ve disappeared for a few days a couple times, but you never talk about it. You won’t tell anyone where you’ve been. This is the first time I’ve been on the other side of it.”

Mack frowned at that, didn’t like the sound of it. “I’m sorry.”

Will came back to the knot in his left shoulder again, pressing deep into the muscle around it “For what?”

“I don’t want to keep secrets from you.” Mack had to stifle a gasp when the knot finally gave, when his shoulder released and Will’s massage went from medically necessary to pure pleasure.

“It’s okay, we all- I mean, I’m keeping at least one secret from you in 2026,” Will said.

Mack frowned. “What secret?”

A silence.

“Oh right,” Mack shrugged, and Will let his shoulders go. He was leaning his hip against the counter when Mack turned again. So many faces were unreadable to Mack, but even with the jump into middle age and the long hair and the weird fucking mascara habit, he could see everything in Will’s face. “I don’t think you should hide that, I don’t want you to, like, feel you can’t tell me stuff.”

“Likewise,” Will said, “but I think there’s more you can do about that than me at this point.”

“So you’ve never, like, got displaced?” Mack asked, “no curses for you?”

Will shook his head. “Nah, nor Luca. You know it’s mostly captains and first overalls who run the risk of that. I’m not enough of a focal point to get cursed, I guess.”

Mack frowned. “That’s dumb, you’re the best player I know. People should focus on you.”

“Fuck no I’m not,” Will gave a theatrical shiver, “definitely not in 2026 I’m not, woof. I couldn’t pull a defensive play if it offered to blow me at centre ice.”

“Still,” Mack insisted, “you’re the best.”

“Sure, bud, if you say so,” Will clapped him on the shoulder, and left his hand there for a long moment. “You all the way back with me?”

He checked; he really didn’t mind the contact, even though it served no purpose. “Yeah,” he said, “thanks.” He couldn’t help the well of gratitude that rose in him whenever Will handled his no-speaking patches so easily, like it’s no big deal. Will had never made him feel like he had to be anything different than what he was. Will was the only person who’d never made him feel he had to change. But he couldn’t say that.

Will squeezed his shoulder, gave him a bit of a shake, and let him go.

***

The next morning, Mack slept through his alarm, something he hadn’t done since before the draft, so it ended up being a bit of a scramble to get to the station on time. When it came time to say goodbye, they couldn’t linger; Mack was both deeply grateful for this and stomach-achingly disappointed.

“You should have given me the stick,” Mack said, hugging Will tight once they stumbled onto the platform. There was less than a minute before the shuttle arrived.

“What, so you can leave behind my most expensive bit of equipment when you blip out of here? Yeah fucking right.” He released Mack, shoved him towards Luca.

Probably he didn’t want to hug Luca, but in the rush, there wasn’t time to argue. “Thanks for having me,” he said politely, “it was good to meet you.”

Luca laughed and patted his back. “Sure, you too, Maquito. It was nicer than I thought.” He stepped back. “Keep up the good work with the waltz jump.”

“Will do,” Mack saluted then felt like an idiot. From overhead, the shuttle started to pull down into the station, not as quiet as a car, but nothing like the roar he’d expected from the description of it as basically a plane-had-a-baby-with-a-helicopter. He turned back to Will. “Thank you again, I’m so sorry I-”

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Will interrupted, pulled him into a hug again, “It’s been so nice to see you again, baby you, I mean, I forgot how… you you’ve always been.”

The shuttle landed; the other passengers were starting to line up at the doors. “You’re so you too,” Mack said nonsensically, “I’m- I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Mack.” Will’s choked up voice made Mack feel better about the lump in his own throat. “Now, go, you gotta get on that shuttle.”

“I don’t want to,” Mack clung to him stubbornly, thinking of the distant voice on the phone. “I want to stay here.” With you.

“You can’t,” Will said, but squeezed him tighter, “you have to go.” A last tight second and then they parted. “You’ll see me again.”

“So will you,” Mack took a few steps backwards but couldn’t turn away.

“Yes, I know, now go,” Will laughed wetly, shooing him.

Mack wanted to say more. He climbed onto the shuttle, hurried to his seat, which was thankfully on the close side of the car, and waved again. Will, on the platform, was holding his husband’s hand and waving back, smiling as though there weren’t tears on his cheeks. Mack knew how he felt. Then the shuttle gave an improbable lurch, and they were lifting up, and up, and he could see the tops of the buildings, then the stretch of the bay, then the clouds, then they were gone. He leaned his head against the window and concentrated on breathing.

The ride was only 20 minutes. Mack still felt raw when he stepped off the shuttle, clutching his backpack of borrowed clothes, the gear he arrived in, and a tupperware of flapjacks Will’d given him to pass on to his older self. Mack stubbornly wanted to keep those all to himself, but he figured he should be polite even to… God, he really didn’t know what to call him. To him.

He felt like someone was watching him as he walked through the shuttle station, kept checking over his shoulder as he followed the signs to the arrivals pick-up. As far as he could tell, no one was looking at him, but the back of his neck prickled under his hood and his stomach was twisting. He breathed hard through his nose, looked out the next window for some distraction from the nauseous lurch, and spotted him. He’d not known if he was going to recognise him, but it was undeniable. It was the man from Luca’s photo, and from pictures of his grandfather when he’d been young. It was Aiden, it was his father, it was Mack. He realised he’d stopped in his tracks when someone overtook him, and he jumped past the window as quick as he could, not wanting him to see him. He wanted to get back on the shuttle. He could be back on Will’s magic rink within the hour. He was standing leaning against a gray Ford, not much different from the Bronco Mack’s Will had back home. He was wearing sunglasses and dark pants and a loose cream linen shirt - thank fuck, no skirts. Mack leaned his head back against the wall he found himself pressed against, closed his eyes against the shaking in his cheekbones.

“Are you alright, chick?”

Mack’s eyes flew back open. A kind-looking woman had stopped in front of him.

“You’re looking a bit peaky, can I-”

It had taken longer than it should, but Mack managed to force a voice out. “No, yeah, I’m great thanks, just,” he winched a smile into place, stepped forward, adjusted his straps on his shoulders to show how in control he was. “Just get a bit travel sick.”

“Ah, yes, the altitude adjustments can do that,” she smiled. “Is there someone here to collect you?”

“Yeah, just-” Mack pointed up the corridor, “my- uh, that’s- he’s outside. I’ll just go, uh.” He nodded, redoubled his smile. “Thanks for your concern.”

“Of course, feel better soon.”

“Yep, you too.” Mack had no choice but to set off for the exit, and the adrenaline made his strides long and fast. He was stepping into the Vancouver sun before he could steel himself, but he did have the presence of mind at least to pretend to scan the parking lot, not wanting him to know he’d already been seen.

“Mack, hey!” The voice again, his father’s but not. His gut protested but he didn’t give in to the sour feeling in his mouth.

“Hi,” he said, barely audible even to himself as he walked over to the black car.

“Fuck me, that’s- wow.”

Mack was glad for the sunglasses so he didn’t have to track what his eyes were doing, that he could not care about eye contact.

“How are you, uh, how are you feeling?”

Mack shrugged. “Tired.”

“Yeah, I bet. C’mon, let’s get you a shower and some lunch.”

You, Mack thought. Me. He got into shotgun like someone else was pulling his strings. The car smelled like a dealership, and he couldn’t look above shoulder height. “You have the same shoes as me.”

“Oh yeah, I guess so. Just kept buying them.”

“For 20 years?” Mack didn’t like the sound of that. “They’re not, like, comfortable.”

“Not really. Doesn’t matter, though, Skates need to fit well, shoes are whatever. I’m still playing by the way, don’t know what Will told you. Still captain of the sharks.”

Mack found he didn’t really care, which he hadn’t expected. “Good for you.”

“Good for us, yeah.”

The car pulled out of the lot onto the 99. Out the rear view, the city skyline looked like a half-remembered drawing of itself, with some things in the right place, but lots missing and random things added. “So Lyra, Forest, River and Rain.”

“Er, yeah. Not exactly my choice.”

“They’re your kids, you didn’t get a say?” He watched the cars passing them, they were so much more colourful than back home. And kinda… swooshy. They looked like tropical fish, it was sort of pretty compared to the endless boxy blacks and grays of 2026.

“Nah, Chrissy had strong feelings about it and I didn’t, so… Anyway, like I said, still playing, contract’s until end of next season, but I’m hoping-”

Mack interrupted. "Anything else?” Annoyed into bravery, he looked directly at him for the second time. “Anything you wanna tell me that’s not about hockey?”

He chewed his words for a moment, looked back at Mack for a split second before focusing on the road again.

“What’s our life like? What do we do?” Mack knew to look for it, and sure enough, there was the tell- his right leg jiggling nervously, minutely. He never kicks the habit. “Are you happy?”

“Two stanley cups,” he said, “why wouldn’t I be? And we’re getting a third next year, I swear.”

Mack tried a different angle. He wanted it badly, suddenly, he wanted to know if it was possible. “I had an interesting chat with Luca while Will was out yesterday. He said-”

“I don’t know what he told you, but Luca’s a fucking-” he cut himself off, jaw jumping for a long moment. “Whatever he told you, don’t- just don’t.”

“Dude, it’s me, if you can’t-”

“I said shut it! There is literally no fucking point talking about this!” His voice came like a waterfall, like his mom sounded that one time RJ had pushed Charlie into the lake. In the enclosed space, it bounced sharply across his ears, but Mack didn’t flinch. He needed this.

“What’s the point in not talking about it? Hockey and cups, that’s really all there is for us?” He was matching the volume. “Why can’t I have more?”

“You know why! It would change everything! It would ruin fucking everything!”

You goddamn moron. A wild laugh escaped him. “Those two don’t mean the same th-