Work Text:
November 2020
Coach Wiebe had a strange look on his face when he entered the dressing room. Wyatt noticed it first. Most of the team had hit the ice for practice by that point, but a few of Wyatt’s teammates still lingered in their stalls. Ilya was bent over tying his skates, Bood was carefully wrapping tape around his stick, Dykstra appeared to be sending a text message. Their next game was two days away and there was no sense of urgency amongst the team – it wasn’t like there was any reason to expect they'd do any better than their last game.
Wyatt watched Wiebe approach, noticing the thin line of his lips and the little crease between his brows. His eyes were animated, though. It was the same look he got when he was calculating a play.
“Everything alright, Coach?” Wyatt asked.
That got everyone’s attention. Ilya sat up, Bood’s stick paused mid-spin, Evan’s phone dropped into his lap. Wiebe paused, glancing around at them all, and cleared his throat.
“I’ve got some news,” he announced. Wyatt suddenly felt nervous. “There’s going to be a change to the roster. We’ve made an acquisition.”
There was a beat of silence, tension hanging over all of them at the implication of that, before Bood asked, “Is someone being traded?”
“Please tell me it’s Dillon,” Ilya pleaded in a way Wyatt thought was, at best, only half-joking. Not that he could really blame him. Tanner Dillon played on the first line with Ilya and Bood, but only because Ottawa was severely lacking in the right winger department and he was the best they had. He couldn’t keep up with either of his linemates and Wyatt knew Ilya had been dying to replace him for years.
“No one’s been traded on our end,” Coach assured them and Ilya let out a very un-Captainly groan. Wiebe shot a quick glance toward the door and lowered his voice a bit. “But this might still be a solution to our Dillon problem.”
Ilya perked back up.
“So, who’d we pick up?” Bood asked.
Wiebe took a breath and his eyes found Wyatt’s. “Troy Barrett.”
This time the silence was more incredulous than tense. Slowly, everyone’s eyes followed Wiebe's and landed on Wyatt, the only guy in the room who had actually had the displeasure of being Troy Barrett’s teammate.
“Barrett?!” Wyatt almost laughed. “Seriously?”
Ilya groaned again. “This is not solution.”
“I know his reputation,” Coach Wiebe reasoned. “And I’ve got my reservations, too, but the Guardians wanted him gone fast. We picked him up for a couple of draft picks. Can’t turn down that kind of talent at that price.”
“So Toronto is backing Kent, then?” Evan asked.
Wiebe’s expression turned grim. “Seems that way.”
They’d all seen the video. It had shown up online a few days ago and quickly gone viral: Troy Barrett calling his best friend a rapist in the middle of a Toronto Guardians practice. The allegations against Kent were all over the internet now, too. At least half a dozen different women that Wyatt had heard of, all accusing Dallas Kent of horrific, disgusting crimes. Wyatt had been teammates with Kent, too, and it churned his stomach to think of the things he’d been doing while they wore the same jersey.
Maybe Barrett felt the same way.
“You know him, Hazy,” Bood said, drawing Wyatt’s attention back to the present moment. “He as bad as he seems?”
Wyatt huffed a laugh. “If you’d asked me that a week ago, I would’ve told you he’s worse,” he answered. “Just another loudmouth bully who thinks being good at hockey makes him better than everyone else.”
“Sounds like great addition to our team,” Ilya deadpanned.
Bood held up a hand at their captain – wait – and kept his eyes on Wyatt. “I’m not asking a week ago.”
“Honestly, I don’t know anymore,” Wyatt admitted. “Before I saw that video, I never would’ve believed that the one person on the Guardians to stand up to Kent would be Troy Barrett. I guess I don’t know him that well.”
That was true enough. Wyatt and Barrett had played together in Toronto for nearly four years but it wasn’t as if they’d spent any real time together. As back-up goalie, Wyatt had been beneath the notice of hot-shot All-Stars like Barrett and Kent. He’d been grateful for it, frankly. If being a star player meant palling around with shitheads like that, Wyatt was happy to ride the bench.
Well, maybe not happy, but he’d found his silver linings where he could.
Now that he really thought about it, though, Barrett never had been as bad as Kent. Of course, that seemed like a low bar, especially now, but Wyatt supposed it counted for something. Sure, Barrett had a mouth on him and could chirp with the best, but off the ice he’d been quieter, usually letting Kent with all his brashness take the lead.
“Do you think–” Evan began, glancing around at them all and lowering his voice a bit as if he was worried someone would overhear. “Do you think he knew? About Kent?”
And wasn’t that just the question on everyone’s mind? How much did Troy Barrett know? He and Dallas Kent had been glued together for years, since their rookie season. They’d partied together, shared hotel rooms on the road, and had seemed as close as brothers to the whole world. Wyatt had a hard time believing he didn’t know anything. Hell, Wyatt had a hard time believing he wasn’t involved in anything.
Except he’d seen that video, seen the anger and disgust on Barrett’s face, heard it in his voice. They hadn’t been friends, but he’d seen Barrett angry enough times – on the ice against a team playing dirty or in the dressing room after a particularly bad loss – to know it was genuine.
“I hope not,” Wyatt replied, shaking his head. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. “The whole team went to those parties at Kent’s place, myself included –” it made him feel a little sick just to think about “– and I never would’ve guessed what he was doing.”
It wasn’t the same, of course. Wyatt and Kent had never been friends. Still, if Barrett had known something, it was odd that he would turn on Kent now, especially when the whole hockey world seemed to be backing him up. The Ottawa dressing room was maybe the only place in the league where the allegations against the star centre were being taken seriously.
Well, Wyatt thought, at least Barrett seemed to have that in common with his new team.
“When does he get here?” Wyatt heard Ilya ask, breaking the tension that had followed Wyatt’s last statement.
“He’s driving up from Toronto today,” Wiebe answered. “He’ll be at practice tomorrow.”
“That’s quick,” Bood remarked at the same time Ilya cried, “Tomorrow?! But Harris is bringing the new puppy tomorrow!”
Wiebe, apparently choosing to ignore the laments of his team captain, turned to Bood and replied, “I’m guessing he wants outta there.”
“I would,” Dykstra grumbled. Bood murmured his agreement.
“Give the guy a chance,” Coach Wiebe advised. “I know he hasn’t been the most likeable guy in the league, but you never know. He might surprise us.”
“He better,” Ilya replied, getting to his feet. “I was looking forward to tomorrow.”
Ilya headed for the rink and the rest of them followed.
As Wyatt stretched, he thought about what he really remembered of Troy Barrett. He’d been arrogant and annoying and a bit of a bigot. He was a selfish bully who thought he was above anyone who wasn’t as good at hockey as he was. But Wyatt also remembered the way his game had suffered for weeks when his parents were getting divorced and what a nervous kid he’d been his rookie season, before he’d fully latched onto Kent. Maybe if Wyatt had reached out to him then things would be different now. He doubted they’d be friends, but maybe he’d understand him a bit better.
Other than on the ice and in the dressing room, the only time they’d spent in each other’s presence had been at mandatory team events. Wyatt had done his level best to avoid the likes of Barrett and Kent on those outings, but it wasn’t always possible.
He and Barrett had been paired up together once, for a charity golf tournament. It had been over two years ago, and he hadn’t thought about that day since, but he remembered it now.
And he couldn’t help but laugh.
July 2018
It was a sunny day in Milton and Wyatt could already feel the back of his neck starting to burn. Lisa had reminded him about the sunscreen but who ever thinks to do the back of their neck? He turned his Toronto Guardians ballcap around and pulled the bill as low as he could behind his head. It would have to do.
Heat waves blurred the horizon as he stood at the tee box of hole one, glancing awkwardly around the golf course. Wyatt liked golf as much as any hockey player, but he couldn’t help but wish he was anywhere else at that moment.
Troy Barrett stood a few feet off, his phone in his hand. Wyatt got the feeling he wasn’t actually looking at anything, just wanted an excuse to not have to acknowledge Wyatt’s presence. After a moment he seemed to give up, shoving his phone into his pocket and glancing around. Their eyes met and Wyatt gave him a quick nod. Barrett nodded back, though somehow he managed to make it seem like an eyeroll. Still, Wyatt decided to take the opening.
“How’s your summer going?” he asked. They didn’t have to like each other but they could make small talk, surely. It had to be better than this awkward silence.
Barrett seemed to consider ignoring Wyatt altogether, but instead replied, “Fine.”
He didn’t elaborate or ask Wyatt about his summer, which Wyatt probably should have taken for the brush off it clearly was but he’d always been too talkative for his own good.
“Got any plans?” Wyatt asked. “Going home to visit family?”
Barrett huffed. “Not if I can help it.”
Maybe it had been a stupid question. Barrett’s parents had gotten divorced late last year. He hadn’t talked about it, not to Wyatt anyway, but for a few weeks he’d played some of the worst hockey of his career. Wyatt probably couldn’t blame him for not wanting to put himself in the middle of all that.
They lapsed into silence again. Wyatt considered telling Barrett about his own plans to go out west for his nephew’s first birthday, but he didn’t think he’d appreciate hearing about Wyatt’s sister and her wife.
Troy Barrett was not the person Wyatt would have chosen to be paired up with for the day, but unfortunately this was something the players didn’t actually get much say in. Tickets for the annual Toronto Guardians Charity Golf Tournament were incredibly expensive and the front office wanted to ensure the generous donors got their money’s worth. They’d been very careful to make sure no one got stuck with two nobodies while someone else got to spend the day with two All-Stars.
Which meant Barrett had been separated from his buddy, Dallas Kent, and assigned to the task of raising Wyatt’s profile.
A golf cart approached them from the direction of the clubhouse, pulling up beside the one Wyatt and Barrett had awkwardly rode in on together. A middle aged man was behind the wheel, a teenage boy at his side. They were both wearing Toronto Guardians caps though, Wyatt noticed, the boy’s was the rainbow pride version they sold in the online merch store.
Wyatt glanced at Barrett. He’d seen it, too, his eyes locked on the colourful little logo. His expression was completely blank and totally unreadable to Wyatt, who’d never paid much attention to Troy Barrett’s expressions, anyway.
He hoped Barrett wouldn’t give the kid a hard time. Wyatt really didn’t want to have to get into it with one of his teammates at the charity golf tournament.
But Barrett just swallowed, darted his eyes away, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He was clearly uncomfortable and Wyatt couldn’t help but feel some spiteful satisfaction at that. The kinds of jokes Barrett was used to making on the ice and in the dressing room weren’t going to fly here.
When Barrett looked up and caught Wyatt watching him, the strange almost conflicted look on his face disappeared, eyes narrowing defensively.
“Got a problem, Hayes?” he hissed, low enough that the father-son duo currently unloading their golf bags from the cart couldn’t hear.
“Are you gonna have a problem?” Wyatt fired back.
Barrett rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, cut off by the approach of their new companions.
“Well, isn’t this something,” the man grinned at them. He held a hand out to Barrett. “Troy Barrett. Good to meet you.”
Barrett pasted a smile on his face and shook his hand. “Good to meet you, too, sir.”
“Gord Howard,” the man introduced himself. He was dark haired, broad-shouldered, and almost as tall as Wyatt. He had the look of a man who had once been athletic but hadn’t kept up with it in some time. “And my son, Nathan.”
Nathan didn’t look anything like his father. He was thin and shorter than Barrett. Tufts of sandy blond hair curled up from the sides of his ball cap.
Barrett gave Nathan’s hand a brief shake and quickly shoved his hands back into his pockets, never quite meeting the kid’s eyes.
Gord held out his hand to Wyatt, but his brows were creased. “And, uh…” he trailed off, clearly trying to figure out who he was looking at.
“Wyatt Hayes,” Nathan supplied from over his shoulder.
“Of course!” Gord exclaimed. “Back-up goalie, right?”
Wyatt ignored the smug little smirk on Barrett’s face and gave Gord a friendly smile as he shook his hand.
“That’s right,” he said, and reached his hand out to Nathan next. “Nathan. How are you?”
Nathan smiled as he shook Wyatt’s hand. “I’m good. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” he replied. “Big hockey fan, Nathan?”
“Never miss a game,” Nathan told him.
“We’ve got season tickets,” Gord added, proudly.
“Do you play?” Barrett asked.
Wyatt furrowed his brows at him. No way was Barrett trying to bond with the kid. More likely he just wanted the attention back on him.
Nathan turned to Barrett, opening his mouth to reply, but Gord cut him off with a laugh.
“Nathan’s not much of an athlete,” he said, packing a lot of meaning into that one word. Wyatt saw Nathan press his lips together and awkwardly look down at his feet. “I played a bit myself, back in the day.”
Wyatt and Barrett met each other’s eyes for the briefest of moments. If there was one thing all NHL players knew, it was that guys who played in their youth were always looking to relive their glory days with a pro.
Luckily for Wyatt, Gord was much more interested in Barrett than he was in the back-up goalie.
They teed off and Wyatt’s ball landed on the edge of the fairway, not too far from where Nathan’s ball had come to a stop in the rough. Gord, whose ball had flown perfectly straight and landed in the middle of the fairway with Barrett’s ball, laughed loudly at his son’s misfortune.
“See? What did I tell you?” he said, nudging Barrett and lowering his voice, though not enough for any of them to miss his words.
Barrett looked like he was going to respond and Wyatt really didn’t want to hear whatever it was so he jumped in with, “I’ll walk with Nathan then, since we landed so close to each other.”
Nathan, whose face had gone red, gave him a grateful smile.
Barrett nodded. “Right. We’ll take the carts, then.”
They parted ways, Barrett and Gord each taking a golf cart towards the green while Wyatt and Nathan headed off across the fairway.
“I haven’t played much golf,” Nathan said after a moment. “That’s probably obvious.”
Wyatt grinned at him. “You mean it’s not every teenage boy’s favourite sport?”
Nathan smiled back at him. “Yeah, no, not really,” he replied. “Didn’t spend a lot of time on it in gym class.”
Wyatt gave a small laugh and decided to change the subject. “You still in high school?”
“Yeah,” Nathan nodded. “Going into grade twelve this year.”
“Almost done,” Wyatt observed. “Got any big plans for after graduation?”
Nathan shrugged. “Dad wants me to go to U of T,” he answered. “Major in business so I can take over the landscaping company someday.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Wyatt asked carefully.
“I don’t know,” Nathan sighed in a way that made Wyatt think he very much knew. “I like history.”
Wyatt nodded. “Cool. What kind of history?”
Nathan looked a bit uncomfortable, not quite meeting Wyatt’s eye as he said, “Uh, like the history of civil rights movements. And, y’know, like… queer history.”
The kid had guts, Wyatt had to give him that. If Nathan had grown up watching hockey, he probably knew how homophobic that environment could be. Wearing official pride merch was one thing, but bringing up his interest in queer history to an NHL player took courage. If he’d been with another player on the team – hell, if he’d been with Barrett – he probably would’ve been laughed at or made to feel awkward or worse.
Luckily, Wyatt wasn’t like most NHL players.
“That’s great,” Wyatt replied. “Are you still thinking U of T? My sister went there, before she moved to BC with her wife.”
A smile crossed Nathan’s face and Wyatt saw his shoulders relax a bit. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “I’ve heard Carleton has a pretty good program but I know my dad wants me to stay here. I kind of want to get out of Toronto, though. Is that bad?”
“I don’t think so,” Wyatt told him. They reached Nathan’s ball where it sat nestled in the grass. “I think that’s normal. To want some independence.”
Nathan nodded, his expression thoughtful, and they both fell silent for a moment while he focused on his next swing. He seemed more comfortable now than he did when they’d teed off and this time his ball soared in a smooth arc towards the green.
“A little distance from our parents can be… helpful,” Wyatt observed carefully.
They started walking towards his own ball, that thoughtful look back on Nathan’s face as they fell into step with each other.
“He’s really not so bad most of the time,” Nathan said after a moment. “My dad.”
Wyatt just nodded, not really sure how else to respond.
“It’s just because we’re hanging out with a couple of NHL players,” Nathan went on. “Makes him turn up the macho, manly crap, I guess.”
They came to a stop at Wyatt’s ball and neither spoke for a moment as he lined up his swing. His ball followed Nathan’s towards the green.
“You know,” Wyatt said, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as the two stood shoulder-to-shoulder watching the trajectory of his ball. “You don’t have to make excuses for him. Or anyone.”
Nathan was quiet for a moment and then slowly nodded his head. “I know,” he replied. “He really does try though. And the hockey thing is kind of a sore spot. I know he really wanted me to play.”
“Did you ever want to play?” Wyatt asked.
They started walking again, following their balls towards the green. Gord and Barrett were off in the distance. They’d left the carts by the green and walked down to find their own balls on the fairway.
“I was in Timbits for a couple years when I was little,” Nathan shrugged. “It was fun but…”
His unfinished sentence hung in the air and Wyatt wondered what had outweighed the fun for Nathan. As a member of the Toronto Guardians, Wyatt was well aware of how toxic his sport could be but even he was a little shocked at the thought of it permeating all the way down to Timbits hockey.
Maybe he shouldn’t be. The men running those leagues and coaching those teams had probably come up in hockey, as well. They’d played as teenagers and young adults. They were teaching the sport the only way they knew it.
“It’s not always an easy environment,” Wyatt offered, unsure of what else he could say.
“Yeah,” Nathan agreed softly. There was a beat of silence but then Nathan seemed to shake off whatever memory he was stuck in and turned to Wyatt with a smile. “I do still love hockey, though. Me and Dad go to games all the time. If we didn’t have that, things probably would’ve been worse.”
They’d made it to the green by that point so Wyatt didn’t press Nathan to elaborate on what that meant.
“Not bad, kiddo!” Gord called out to them as they approached. “Closest one to the pin. Thought it would take you at least two more strokes to get to the green.”
Nathan turned red again. “Lucky shot, I guess.”
“Maybe you’re a better athlete than your dad thinks,” Barrett quipped. In response, Nathan grinned, Gord chuckled, and Wyatt was floored.
Did Troy Barrett just stick up for a gay kid?
Whatever had happened, Gord laughed it off quickly. “Maybe I should’ve tried putting a golf club in his hand when he was three instead of a hockey stick.”
XxXx
They played the next few holes in relative peace. Wyatt noticed that Nathan tended to do better when his father wasn’t nearby, but he also didn’t miss the pride in his grin when Gord whooped with delight as he sank his ball one stroke under par at hole four.
Family can be a complicated thing, Wyatt figured.
Overall, Wyatt found himself having a better time than he’d expected. He mostly hung close to Nathan and let Gord enjoy his time with the superstar. The kid was pretty good company and he seemed to know as much about hockey as anyone Wyatt had ever met. It made him feel a bit bad, honestly. Surely, Nathan would rather be hanging out with Barrett or Kent or one of the other big shots.
“I hope this isn’t too much of a disappointment for you,” Wyatt said to him at one point. “Getting stuck with the back-up goalie all day.”
Nathan’s eyes went wide. “Are you kidding? This is great!”
Wyatt laughed. “That’s kind of you, but I know I’m not exactly the kind of player most people get excited about.”
“Well, I guess I'm not most people, then,” Nathan shrugged. “You started in eighteen games last season and won fifteen, with three shut outs. You had one of the best save percentages in the league!”
Wyatt was a little bit lost for words. He’d never met a Guardians fan who paid any attention to his stats. “Jeez, you are a hockey fan.”
“You subbed in one time last March and saved the whole game,” Nathan went on. “Kept our playoff hopes alive.”
Wyatt knew which game he was talking about, of course. He’d only played the third period, but it was true that he hadn’t let a goal in, giving his team the chance to catch up and eventually win.
“Nilsson was having an off night,” he replied, suddenly a little sheepish in the face of Nathan’s praise. It wasn’t something he got a lot of.
“And if Cooper hadn’t pulled him, we’d’ve lost,” Nathan said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And after the way Barrett played last fall, we couldn’t afford to lose anymore games at that point.”
“Yeah, he was…” Wyatt stopped himself. He shouldn’t discuss his teammate’s personal life with a fan. “He had a lot going on. But he pulled it together.”
And now Wyatt was sticking up for Troy Barrett. What a weird day.
XxXx
At hole ten, Wyatt found himself alone with Barrett again. Their balls had landed within a few feet of each other on the fairway, Gord and Nathan’s balls coming to a stop quite a ways off, causing the foursome to briefly split into pairs again.
“Having fun with Gord?” Wyatt asked, breaking the silence as they walked across the fairway together.
Barrett rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, love hearing about his high school hockey team,” he replied sarcastically. “Did you know he scored a hat trick once?”
Wyatt bit back a grin. “More hat tricks than I’ve scored.”
Barrett huffed something that might actually be a laugh. “He was a winger. Not really the same.”
They reached their balls and took their swings and started heading towards the green, not saying another word to each other the whole time.
Oddly, this time it was Barrett who broke the silence. “I hate all this extra shit. What does any of this have to do with playing hockey, anyway?”
Wyatt chuckled. “We get paid millions of dollars to play hockey,” he said. “There was bound to be a catch or two.”
Barrett scoffed. “I get paid millions of dollars to play hockey,” he shot back, not missing a beat. “You get paid to sit on the bench and watch me play hockey.”
And Wyatt thought they were having a nice moment. He must’ve forgotten who he was talking to.
XxXx
At hole fourteen, a member of the Guardians’ social media team caught up with them. Her name was Kate, a recent grad from George Brown who had been hired by the team at the beginning of last season. She wore bright red lipstick on her big, friendly smile and thick-framed glasses. Her hair was dark and curly, and she always had chunky rings on her fingers. Wyatt thought she looked artsy, which she probably was.
They’d had a few conversations since she joined the Guardians – mostly about comic books – but she didn’t seem to spend a lot of time around the team. Wyatt couldn’t really blame her. He’d heard the way those guys talked about women.
“Hey guys,” she called out to them, holding up the camera hanging from her neck. “Do you mind if I get a few quick photos?”
“Of course we don’t mind!” Gord exclaimed, happy to have photographic proof that he got to spend a day with two NHL players. Or maybe just Barrett.
She had them all stand by the pin, making sure to get the Toronto Guardians custom flag in the shot. Gord and Nathan were in the middle and Wyatt slung his arm around the kid’s shoulders, giving an easy smile to the camera.
“Wyatt, can you turn your hat around?” Kate asked.
Well, it wasn’t like he was going to avoid a sunburn anyway. He turned his ball cap around, showing off the logo on the front.
Kate snapped a number of photos, occasionally giving them notes on how to stand or where to look. When she was done, she gave them a smile.
“Thanks guys,” she said. “I’ll let you get back to your game.”
She hopped back into the golf cart she’d driven up on and headed off towards the next hole in search of more golfers to photograph.
Wyatt flipped his hat back around and was turning back to his ball when he heard Gord chuckle.
“You’d think the social media girl would be prettier,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice at all.
“Dad,” Nathan groaned.
“I’m just saying!” Gord replied. “I thought these instagram girls were supposed to be cute.”
“She’s not an instagram girl,” Nathan hissed, clearly embarrassed. “She works for the team.”
Wyatt caught Barrett’s eye and, surprisingly, saw his own disgust reflected back at him. He had been half-expecting Barrett to join in, but maybe a man in his fifties perving on a girl who couldn’t be more than twenty-two was too much, even for him.
“She looks like one of those crystal girls, too,” Gord went on, turning to Wyatt and Barrett. “Is she?”
“Crystal girls?” Wyatt asked, no idea what Gord was talking about.
“I don’t really know her,” Barrett replied, clearly wanting out of the conversation altogether.
Gord ignored Barrett and turned to Wyatt. “You know,” he said. “Healing crystals. Tarot cards. All that weird new-age, hippie shit. My wife is into it. Always leaving her crystals on the windowsills and burning stuff that smells like drugs.”
“It’s not drugs, it’s incense,” Nathan explained, turning to Wyatt and Barrett with an apologetic look on his face. “It’s supposed to be for protection.”
Gord laughed. “And who’s going to protect us when she starts a housefire?”
“She’s not going to start a fire,” Nathan grumbled, and Wyatt got the impression the family had had this conversation before.
“And she thinks she can read minds,” Gord went on, turning to the two hockey players as if expecting sympathy.
“She does not,” Nathan argued.
“Are either of you two married?” Gord asked, ignoring his son and looking back and forth between Wyatt and Barrett.
“No,” Barrett replied quickly.
“Smart man,” Gord said. “No need to tie yourself down while you’re young.”
“Uh, yeah,” Barrett stammered, and Wyatt was surprised by how uncomfortable he seemed. Most guys would laugh it off or make some lewd comment. Barrett looked more like he was hoping the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
“And you?” Gord asked, turning to Wyatt.
“Yeah, I’m married,” Wyatt told him. “Little over a year ago, now.”
“For your sake,” Gord began, and Wyatt really wished he would stop talking. “I hope you picked a good one.”
Wyatt gritted his teeth because starting a fight with one of the donors at the charity golf tournament was simply not an option.
“She’s the best,” he replied instead, keeping his voice as even as possible.
He really thought that would be the end of it, but Gord just couldn’t seem to help himself.
“Oh, it’s still early,” he laughed, completely oblivious to the tension that was now hanging in the air. It was like he thought they were joking together. “Give it twenty years, you might have something different to say.”
His words lingered in the beat of silence that followed.
“Gord, why don’t we head to the next hole and let these two finish putting,” Barrett suddenly cut in. It was a good thing he did because Wyatt had been on the verge of throwing away his career to defend his wife’s honour like the hero in some cheesy romance novel. “We’ve gotta keep moving if we’re gonna make it to the clubhouse in time for dinner.”
It was a mercy – and indicated a level of insight that Wyatt hadn’t realized Barrett was capable of – and Wyatt was grateful for it. Barrett and Gord took one of the carts and disappeared over a hill, Gord already laughing at one of his own jokes.
Wyatt took a deep breath and realized he was gripping his putter way harder than was necessary. He loosened his fingers.
“Sorry,” Nathan said after a moment, voice quiet.
Wyatt looked up to see he hadn’t moved and was watching him with unease.
“You don’t have to apologize for him,” Wyatt replied, shaking his head and trying to give the kid a reassuring smile. “It’s not your fault.”
Nathan nodded, not quite meeting Wyatt’s eye. He turned and made his way toward his ball where it rested at the edge of the green. Neither of them spoke as it took Nathan three putts to sink his ball. Wyatt, still shaky, sank his in two.
They climbed into the cart together, Wyatt behind the wheel, and started to make their way to hole fifteen.
XxXx
They found Barret alone on the fairway. He and Gord had apparently split up after Gord took a beauty of a swing and landed right on the green. Wyatt couldn’t help but wonder if Barrett had intentionally let his own ball fly short just to get some distance from the man. He certainly wouldn’t blame him if he had.
Nathan was quiet, probably still embarrassed by his father’s behaviour. Unfortunately, Wyatt and Barrett weren’t great at keeping up a conversation on their own.
They were walking across the fairway together, the silence starting to feel awkward when Nathan suddenly blurted out, “She’s not crazy.”
Wyatt exchanged a look with Barrett but he looked as lost as Wyatt felt.
“What?” Wyatt asked, brows knitting in.
“My mom,” Nathan explained. “My dad made her sound like she’s crazy, but she’s not.”
“So she can’t read minds?” Barrett deadpanned, and Wyatt thought he might actually be going for a joke.
Nathan seemed to take it that way because he smiled a bit.
“No,” he replied. “She’s never said that.”
Wyatt thought, by the way he said it, that perhaps Nathan’s mother had said something, but he didn’t push for more information.
As it turned out, there was no need.
“She just gets these feelings sometimes,” Nathan went on after a moment.
“Feelings?” Wyatt couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t want to get into the middle of anyone’s family drama, but he was far too curious not to wonder about this.
Nathan sighed. “Like, sometimes she just gets a feeling that something is going to happen.”
It sounded a little ridiculous, if Wyatt was being honest, but he was into comic books and fantasy novels and roleplaying games. He could be open minded.
“Is she ever right?” Barrett asked. Wyatt wondered if he was actually taking the kid seriously or just humouring him. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was the former – hockey players could be pretty superstitious, after all.
Nathan shrugged. “Pretty often,” he answered. “It’s kinda freaky sometimes. Last May she said someone was going to get hurt at one of my dad’s job sites and then in June one of the guys fell off a ladder while they were working at a property in Oakville. He got hurt pretty bad.”
It wasn’t exactly the most convincing thing Wyatt had ever heard, but Nathan was a good kid for believing in his mom. He was about to tell him as much when Barrett surprised him again and beat him to it.
“Your dad seems kinda harsh on her,” Barrett said, making Wyatt wonder if Gord had said anything else about her when he and Nathan weren’t there to hear it. “Seems like she’s lucky to have you.”
Nathan shrugged but there was a soft little smile on his face. “Thanks.”
Wyatt must have been looking at Barrett like he’d never seen him before – that was certainly how he felt. Maybe he was just faking it the way a lot of players did around fans, but Troy Barrett almost seemed like he might be a nice guy.
When Barrett caught Wyatt watching him, his expression immediately closed off, eyes narrowing into the glare Wyatt was more familiar with.
Okay, so maybe he was faking it. Wyatt hadn’t expected Barrett to be such a good actor, but he supposed that made more sense than him actually being a decent person.
“We should hurry up,” Barrett grumbled, picking up his pace and leaving Wyatt and Nathan behind.
XxXx
Wyatt and Nathan stuck together for the last few holes, leaving Barrett and Gord to enjoy each other’s company. By the time they were finished at the eighteenth Barrett was in the lead – of course – with Gord not too far behind. Wyatt, in third place, probably could have done better if he’d been inclined to try. As it was, he didn’t mind bringing up the rear with Nathan.
After the conversation at hole fifteen, Wyatt got the impression Barrett was trying to avoid him. On the way back to the clubhouse, though, they ended up sharing a golf cart again.
Wyatt, who was starting to think he might be allergic to awkward silences, found himself saying, “Good game today.”
“Sure,” Barrett shrugged. “Probably should’ve let him win, though. Give the donors what they paid for or whatever.”
“He paid to spend the day with a couple of NHL players and that’s what he got,” Wyatt replied. “I’m sure he was expecting some competition.”
“Didn’t get much competition from you,” Barrett said, his voice completely disinterested.
It really was impossible to be nice to this guy.
“I thought it was better to hang back with the kid,” Wyatt reasoned. “‘Give the donors what they paid for’, right?”
“I don’t think anyone paid to hang out with the back-up goalie,” Barrett chirped
Wyatt gripped the steering wheel tighter, determined not to let Troy Barrett get under his skin.
“I could make you fucking walk back,” Wyatt shot back.
Barrett didn’t have anything to say to that, but when Wyatt glanced at him from the side of his eye he saw an amused little smirk on his face.
XxXx
When they arrived back at the clubhouse, Barrett was out of the cart almost before Wyatt had even brought it to a full stop. Wyatt followed him as he headed towards the group that had formed on the lawn nearby. He watched Barrett scan the crowd but his best friend and Toronto’s star centre, Dallas Kent, was nowhere in sight.
“Wyatt!” a voice called out and Wyatt turned to see Nathan approaching him, a woman who could only be his mother at his side. She wore a long flowy dress and big gold hoop earrings. She had the same sandy blonde hair as her son, though hers had a sparkle of silver starting to come in at the roots.
“Hey, Nathan,” Wyatt replied, giving them a friendly smile.
“This is my mom,” Nathan supplied.
She smiled back at Wyatt. “Monica,” she introduced herself.
“Mom, this is who we got to golf with,” Nathan told her excitedly. “Wyatt Hayes and Troy Barrett.”
Nathan gestured past Wyatt who turned to see Barrett look up at the mention of his name.
“Hi,” Barrett said, as if he’d only just realized they were there.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Wyatt said to Monica, holding his hand out to her.
She reached for it, her grip warm in his. As their hands met, though, something in her smile faltered, just for a second, and a curious look crossed her face. She let go of Wyatt’s hand and turned to Barrett, shaking his as well. The look on her face only deepened.
Barrett must have noticed too, because his own brows knit in and he shot a quick glance at Wyatt who was just as confused. Monica released Barrett’s hand and looked back and forth between them.
“You two,” she began, like she was trying to puzzle something out. “You two are going to win the Stanley Cup together.”
Wyatt’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. Was this one of those feelings Nathan had told them about? It was a lot more direct than he expected. He met the kid’s eye to find him with a wide grin on his face.
“Damn right,” Barrett replied and then, going so far as to slap a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder like he was in on the joke, added, “Not that Hayes’ll have much to do with it.”
Wyatt pressed his lips together and tried to keep a smile on his face.
“All the Cup with none of the work?” he quipped back, trying to keep as much humour in his voice as possible. “Sounds alright to me.”
It didn’t. It sounded disappointing as hell. If Wyatt was going to win a Stanley Cup, he wanted to win it, not just get it.
“You never know when you’ll need your back-up goalie,” Nathan said sagely.
“Of course,” Barrett replied, but Wyatt got the impression he was just humouring the kid.
“Hi, guys!” A bright voice interrupted them. Kate, with her camera, stood a few feet away. “Would you like a photo?”
“Yeah!” Nathan answered immediately, much more enthusiastic than he had been the last time.
Wyatt ended up between Nathan and his mother this time, Barrett on Monica’s other side. Wyatt wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders. Barrett put his arm around Monica’s back but, Wyatt noticed, he let it hover slightly, not actually touching her.
Surprisingly respectful, Wyatt thought. Or maybe Barrett was just scared of women.
He almost laughed out loud at that. He knew how much Barrett and Kent liked to party and had no doubt they were making the most of their fame and fortune.
“Wyatt,” Kate said, tapping the side of her head.
Wyatt reached up to spin his ball cap around, but paused. He had a better idea.
He turned to Nathan and held his hat out towards him. “Trade you.”
Nathan’s face lit up. “Yeah?” he asked, already reaching up to remove his own ball cap.
“Yeah,” Wyatt grinned at him. “I really like yours.”
They swapped hats, Wyatt proudly pulling on the rainbow coloured Guardians logo. Nathan was beaming and Kate smiled warmly at Wyatt from behind her camera as Monica leaned slightly into his shoulder.
Wyatt didn’t bother to look at Barrett – didn’t care to see what his reaction was – and instead smiled for the camera.
Once the photos were over and Kate had moved on, Monica turned to Wyatt once more.
“It was lovely to meet you,” she said. “But we should go find my husband.”
Nathan didn’t look like he wanted to go, but he didn’t argue with his mother, either.
“Thanks, guys,” Nathan said. “Today was great.”
“It was great meeting you,” Wyatt replied. “Thanks for the hat.”
Nathan grinned. “Can’t wait to see you guys win that Cup.”
And then they were gone. Finally, Wyatt turned to look at Barrett, whose eyes he could feel boring a hole in the side of his head.
He was expecting to find a look of disgust or mockery or maybe even anger. Instead, Barrett’s expression was completely inscrutable. His lips were pressed firmly together, his eyes serious.
“Got a problem, Barrett?” Wyatt challenged.
Barrett opened his mouth but no words came out. For a moment, he just stared at Wyatt in silence. Then he took a breath–
–and nearly got bowled over by Dallas Kent.
“Troy!” Kent yelped, hooking an elbow around Barrett’s neck. He didn’t give Wyatt so much as a passing glance. “I heard there’s a bar inside.”
And with that, Kent dragged Barrett off towards the clubhouse, whatever he’d been about to say disappearing with him.
June 2022
The play was nowhere near Wyatt when the final buzzer sounded and he got to watch the seconds tick down, the roar of the Ottawa crowd swelling around him, knowing they were going to win.
In a moment it was all over, written in history, and the Centaurs were pouring off the bench. Wyatt dropped his stick and dashed toward his teammates, shaking off his gloves and tossing his helmet as he went. They met somewhere near centre ice, falling all over each other, grinning and laughing and shouting.
They'd done it. They'd actually fucking done it.
They’d swept Montreal in round one.
They’d stomped Toronto in round two.
They’d battled it out with New York in the Conference Finals.
And now, in game six on home ice, they’d beaten Vegas in a decisive 4-1 victory to win the Stanley Fucking Cup.
The crowd was earsplitting and the celebration on the ice was chaos. Wyatt bounced from teammate to teammate – Bood embraced him tightly, Luca had tears in his eyes, Ilya smacked a big sloppy smooch on his cheek.
“We did it, Hazy!” his captain yelled in his ear. “I knew we could fucking do it!”
And then Ilya turned away from him and Wyatt watched him grab his husband, dragging Shane out of the crowd onto the open ice where no one could miss them, and planting a deep, passionate kiss on his lips. Shane responded in kind, wrapping his arms around Ilya and kissing him back enthusiastically, both of them grinning and giddy.
The camera operators who were skidding across the ice around the team were absolutely eating it up. They focused in on the couple, their image splayed across the Jumbotron above them. Wyatt knew that image was being plastered across TV screens in millions of homes all over North America and the world.
He thought of all the kids who were watching right now – the kids at the hospital in Ottawa, at the centre in Toronto, his nephew in Vancouver. He thought of kids like Nathan Howard, who loved hockey but didn't always feel like it loved them back. This moment was for them as much as it was for any of the guys on the ice.
He was so grateful he got to win the Cup with a team he could truly be proud of.
When his eyes met Troy’s through all the chaos and he saw the smile splitting his face, he had a feeling his teammate felt the same way.
Everything happened in such a blur and yet Wyatt knew he’d never forget a moment – the presentation ceremony, Lisa jumping into his arms on the ice, finally getting to hoist the Stanley Cup – and before he knew it they were all in the dressing room, spraying each other with champagne and dancing to the awful playlist no had stopped Evan from putting on.
Wyatt found Troy in the midst of all the madness. He had one arm around Harris, a champagne bottle hanging from his other hand. He was still in his hockey gear from the waist down, but he’d taken off his jersey, which Harris appeared to be wearing instead.
“Hazy!” Troy called when he saw him, throwing his arms in the air, champagne sloshing out of the bottle.
“Troy!” Wyatt yelled back.
“Can you believe we just won the fucking Cup, Hazy?!” Troy was grinning wider than Wyatt had ever seen, and he’d seen Troy grinning quite a bit over the last year and a half.
“Of course I can!” Wyatt laughed. “We’re a great fucking team.”
“The best fucking team,” Troy replied and his wide grin turned to something softer. “I’m so glad it’s this team.”
Wyatt caught his meaning immediately because he felt exactly the same way. The Toronto Guardians were a good team – at least while Wyatt and Troy had been playing for them – and they’d fought hard every season, but they’d always come up short. It had been frustrating, at the time, to know they were technically good enough, but just couldn’t pull it off. Wyatt didn’t believe in fate or destiny or anything like that, but now he couldn’t help but feel like, maybe Toronto just hadn’t deserved to win.
“I am, too,” Wyatt said and clapped a hand on Troy’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here with us.”
For half a second, Wyatt thought he was going to bring Troy to tears, but instead he glanced quickly at Harris who smiled back at him, and nodded his head. “Me too, Hazy. So fucking glad.”
“You know what I’ve been thinking about since you got traded up here?” Wyatt asked, veering them towards something a bit less sentimental before they all ended up blubbering.
Troy’s brows knit in but he was still smiling. “No, Hazy. What?”
“You remember that woman at that golf course back in Toronto?” Wyatt continued.
For a moment, the confusion on Troy’s face only deepened but then he threw his head back and let out a laugh. “Oh my god, I forgot about that!”
“I didn’t want to say anything before in case I jinxed us,” Wyatt explained, laughing too. “But she was right!”
“She was!” Troy replied. “She should leave her husband!”
Wyatt let out another laugh as Harris’ eyes went wide.
“What are you two talking about?” he asked, looking back and forth between them.
“I’ll let Troy explain it to you,” Wyatt told him. “But we may have fulfilled a prophecy tonight.”
Troy laughed again and Wyatt took the opportunity to swipe the champagne bottle from his hand. He raised it in a cheers and took a swig before heading for the stereo to put on a better fucking playlist.