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It takes Bitty a while to process everything Kent Parson says, after he stops knocking on Jack’s door and gives up and goes to bed.
His head is full of everything that Shitty had told him, everything he had heard, and by the time he’s ready to sleep, he’s still a little drunk and still a lot confused, and he lays awake in his dark room for longer than it normally takes for him to fall asleep, especially post tub-juice.
Through the branches that sometimes tap on his window when it’s stormy outside, he can see a single, bright star. He’s no astronomer, but he thinks it might be the North Star—or is it the evening star that’s brightest?
It probably doesn’t matter, after all. He thinks it might be the first star he sees, if the nursery rhyme his campers sometimes chant is right—first star I see tonight.
He stares hard at it, just visible through the branches, and thinks idly about wishes and superstitions, and less idly about the wild look in Jack’s eyes, about the tight expression on Kent Parson’s face. About how Shitty never lets them talk about Parson, when Jack’s around.
He still doesn’t know what it all means, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to delete that selfie with Parson, in the morning.
When he rolls over to sleep, he thinks a little meanly, I wish Kent Parson had never been born.
…
He’s mostly awakened because he’s dying of thirst.
Shitty’s also gotten ahold of a megaphone, so that probably doesn’t help, either.
When he stumbles out of his room in search of a clean glass for some water, he stumbles right into Ransom’s naked chest, which normally wouldn’t be that surprising, except that Ransom has just closed the door behind him—the door to Jack’s room.
He tries not to feel hurt about it. Jack wouldn’t let him in last night, but then… he’s known Ransom longer, not to mention their strange Canadian hockey brotherhood, which, excepting Leafs v Habs games is pretty much grounds for their instant friendship.
“Is Jack okay?” He asks, trying to ignore his more petty emotions and focus on what’s really important. “He seemed upset the last time I saw him.”
Ransom gives him kind of a strange look, but then, he’s just barely awake and probably hungover because Bitty’s feeling it, too, and Ransom can drink him under the table.
“Went a little too hard last night, eh, Bits?” He says, and then clomps down the stairs just as Shitty’s yelling for stragglers to get out of the house.
Bitty starts to follows him downstairs, dreading the thought of the mess in his kitchen but hoping to at least scrounge up some water and hopefully some coffee—the hallway looks different enough that it takes him a few seconds of staring at the blank wall to notice that the Canadian flag has disappeared.
“Did someone tear down the flag when they were drunk last night?” Bitty wonders out loud, wandering into the kitchen and ignoring the mess entirely. Ransom, still shirtless, is leaning against the counter, guzzling water, while Holster is wearing glasses and is buried in a coffee cup at the table, looking cranky. Shitty drops the megaphone in the hallway and promptly snags a beer from the fridge. It makes Bitty’s stomach turn, just thinking about drinking more, and if Ransom’s groan is any indication, he feels the same way, but Shitty just pops the top and raises the can to them, saying, “Hair of the dog, boys. Quickest hangover cure.”
“What flag,” Ransom finally says, collapsing into the chair across from Holster at the table.
Bitty blinks for a moment. That flag is a point of pride and a hard won accessory for both Jack and Ransom, and he’s surprised that Ransom isn’t actively chasing the culprit down at this very moment.
“The Canadian one,” Bitty says slowly, “In the upstairs hallway.”
Shitty snorts. “Rans wishes there was a Maple Leaf up there. He’s tried every year, but he’s outnumbered three to one, so the flag stays in his room. No public displays of Canadianism in this Haus. Way to rub it in, Bits. Brutal.”
“Fuck you, Shits,” Ransom says weakly, and buries his head in his arms.
“There are five people who live in this Haus, Shitty,” Bitty reminds him, “And two of them are Canadian.”
This time, it’s Holster who sets his mug down and levels him with a searching look. “One,” he says slowly, pointing to himself, “Two,” at Ransom, “Three,” at Bitty himself, “Four,” indicating Shitty. “That’s four people, Bits. And Buffalo is not actually in Canada, so,” he shrugs, “Three to one.”
“What about Jack?” Bitty asks, his stomach dropping when Ransom lifts his head to stare blankly at him.
“Who’s this Jack you keep talking about?” Ransom says, but he sounds merely curious.
Holster grins, slowly. “Did you hook up last night, Bits?”
Ransom smiles, suddenly looking much less hungover, and goes for a high five. Bitty does not return it.
“As per Haus bylaws,” Shitty says, “Overnight guests do not actually live here, and cannot participate in the ongoing Canada vs. US struggle. But congrats, bro.”
“I didn’t hook up last night!” Bitty says, and he can feel his voice and his color rising. “Jack, our captain, Jack! He lives here, across from me, ringing any bells?”
“I’m captain,” Shitty says, sounding wounded, just as Ransom says, “I live across from you, bro.”
Holster lets out a low whistle. “Lay off the tub juice next time, Bits, Jesus. You okay? Did you black out last night, or something?”
“I didn’t black out,” Bitty says, trying to keep his voice level. “I remember everything. Kent Parson showed up? I can’t believe you don’t remember. Lardo played him at flip cup, and you both took selfies with him, and then he and Jack went upstairs, and… And that’s the last time I saw Jack, and I’m worried about him! This isn’t a funny prank, this is going too far.”
“Bro,” Shitty says, gently, like he’s afraid to set Bitty off again. “We wouldn’t pull a prank like this, one that’s freaking you out this much. I promise. But like… now we’re worried about you.”
Ransom and Holster both nod grimly.
“We don’t know who this… Kent? Who Kent is. Nobody was at the party except the team and other Samwell students, though Lardo did actually kick quite a bit of ass at flip cup. There are only four people in this Haus. And you’re looking at all of them.”
Bitty takes a look around him, at all of their solemn faces. The thing about Shitty—about all of them—is that he really wouldn’t carry a prank this far, if he knew it would truly upset someone.
Which doesn’t mean that this makes any more sense, just that he believes them all. Which actually makes this whole morning make less sense, because a prank would have been pretty much the only logical explanation for Jack Zimmermann not only disappearing, but apparently not having ever lived in the Haus.
Also, Rans and Holster would never deny that they had met Parson.
So Bitty gets his glass of water, and says in what he hopes is a breezy tone, “You know, you might be right about last night. I definitely had too much to drink. So I’m going to go sleep in a little longer, and hopefully my hangover will be better by then.”
And he scurries up the stairs before Shitty can point out that even the worst hangovers rarely have symptoms of full on hallucinations.
…
First, he turns to google, because he’s a sensible boy of the twenty-first century and is addicted to the internet to boot.
Unfortunately for him, this creates more questions than answers, because when he searches kent parson, he gets nothing.
Well, he doesn’t get nothing, because it’s a google search, but he gets a few Facebook profile suggestions that are decidedly not Kent Parson, some lawyer in South Carolina, and a lot of hits which involve either the names Kent or Parson but not for the same person.
Whereas, when he normally googles a semi-famous (okay, really famous) hockey player, he usually winds up with a wikipedia page, a few official NHL website hits, and a bunch of other fan sites. And in Parson’s case, probably a good amount of fanfiction, as well.
Which is when he first realizes that something is terribly wrong. Because he was 98% sure that the boys wouldn’t keep playing a joke when he was clearly upset, but he is 100% positive that even Ransom and his 4.0 couldn’t manipulate the internet itself.
So he sits back, breathes, and tries to brainstorm.
Okay. So Kent Parson had visited last night. And Bitty had gone to bed mad at him, and Jack had been in his own room, and then when he woke up this morning, apparently only one of these things is still true, that being that Bitty is still pretty mad at Parson, even though he may no longer exist.
Which… he no longer seems to exist. It’s not even that he never got drafted, or never played with Jack, because there would still be stats out there somewhere for him in either of those cases, even at a junior hockey level. It’s like…
It’s like he wasn’t even born.
And that’s when Bitty realizes.
And then he promptly tries to find a more logical explanation, but…
His mama had always told him that if he wished on the first star he saw after dark—a true, heartfelt wish—that it would come true. He had just always assumed that she meant it… metaphorically.
He certainly didn’t think that it would actually work.
…
He spends about forty minutes flat on his back, mind racing.
First of all… This sort of thing is just a nursery rhyme, for children. At the very most, a sort of your dreams will come true if you want them hard enough inspirational spiel. Eric Bittle is an educated young man, and not one who believes that stars can somehow achieve his goals for him.
So the first half of this time is spent denying that it’s happening.
By the time he’s run through every other possible explanation, including that he hit his head and is in some sort of coma, he’s come right back around to the star thing, had enough time to feel guilty for wishing a human off the face of the earth, even if they do wear a watch that could pay for at least half of Bitty’s tuition, decided that Kent Parson doesn’t deserve his guilt, and then fallen right back into guilt again.
The rest of the time is spent slowly accepting the fact that he’s somehow changed his world, including Jack’s part in it, and that at some point, he’s going to have to figure out how much has gone wrong, if only so that he can pretend to be normal for long enough that he doesn’t get his mama and/or a doctor called by the boys.
Okay. So no Kent Parson.
The other change—at least, the big one, by which he means the one impacting Bitty and not, like, Kent’s mother (and then he spirals back into guilt for a while)—is that Jack doesn’t live in the Haus, which also means that he probably doesn’t go to Samwell at all, because if he were here, he would be on the hockey team, and if he were on the hockey team, the boys would have at least known his name, even if he wasn’t captain.
So he reluctantly googles jack zimmermann.
Jack’s famous enough that he has his own—albeit short—Wikipedia page, in addition to the Junior Hockey webpages with his outdated pictures and then whatever trove of fanworks Ransom and Holster tent to gleefully pull out at the least opportune moments.
At least, he did, before Bitty somehow acquired magical powers.
Now, the top hit is Bad Bob’s Wikipedia page, which Bitty clicks on with a great deal of trepidation. Robert “Bad Bob” Zimmermann is a Canadian former professional ice hockey player. He played for the Montreal Canadiens from 1976 to 1988, when he signed with the Pittsburgh Penguins for the remainder of his career. He retired in 1995 at the age of 38. Over the course of his career he won the Stanley Cup seven times. He played internationally for Team Canada…
Bitty clicks the “Personal Life” heading.
Bob met American actress and model Alicia Martin in 1985 at a mutual friend’s party, and the two were married three years later. Their son, Jack, was born on August 3, 1990 and played hockey growing up, including for the Rimouski Oceanic in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, and was projected to be a first round draft pick in 2009. He died on June 25, 2009. His death was ruled accidental as a result of a prescription drug overdose. Alcohol was also cited as a factor. As a result, the projected second overall pick, John Tavares, was drafted by the Las Vegas Aces.
Bitty makes it to the toilet before he’s sick, but only just.
It’s not because of his hangover.
…
By five, Bitty has wordlessly accepted the bottle of water Holster brought him after hearing his heaves, shut himself in his room, and cried for as long as he’s physically able.
He’s also accepted that it’s basically all his fault.
It’s hunger that finally drives him downstairs, and the low roar of a hockey game on television keeps him there, both because if he goes back to his room he’s going to lose it again, which is not helpful in solving the worst possible situation that he could ever dream up—though apparently he has—and because Shitty and Nursey are good naturedly debating the Bruins-Aces game during the first intermission and neither of them will pry if they see that he’s been crying.
Also, watching the Aces game feels like it’s probably going to hurt in the good kind of way that makes Bitty feel just the right amount of guilty about how he’s screwed up the natural order of basically everything.
“No way my boys aren’t going to bring this home,” Shitty’s saying, and though to Bitty’s knowledge Nursey could care less about the Aces, especially in a world where he’s never met Kent Parson, he argues, “They’ve got a two point goal in a winning streak, man, the Aces are taking this one, no question.”
“Nah, man, it’s Boston all the way,” Shitty says, swigging his beer, as Bitty drops into the armchair. “C’mon, man, 2011 cup champs against an expansion team that barely shoots at the right net on a good day? No fucking way.”
“Didn’t they win the cup?” Bitty asks, trying for cheerful and landing somewhere around grim, and two sets of eyes turn to him.
“Yeah, dude, like I said, 2011,” Shitty says, a little carefully, probably because this morning is still fresh on his mind.
“No,” Bitty says, “I mean the Aces.”
And then Shitty and Nursey both burst out laughing, and Bitty joins in self-defense.
“That’s brutal, dude,” Shitty says, still chuckling, “Way to rub it in, right? A team that can’t even make the playoffs in a decent year?”
“Twisted,” Nursey agrees, just as the game starts back up and Shitty swears when the Aces take the first face off.
It’s hard, that they’re all acting so normal without Jack here, that they don’t even know something’s wrong. Shitty’s just cheerfully cussing out the linesman like his best friend isn’t…
Bitty takes a deep breath. “I think I’m gonna head back up,” He says. “I’ve got… homework to do.”
…
He doesn’t do homework. He goes back to staring at the ceiling.
He very carefully doesn’t think about Jack for a few hours, and he cries some more when that means that he’s only thinking about Jack for those few hours.
He eventually decides that maybe a good night’s rest will fix everything, or at least make it less raw in the morning.
Then he thinks very carefully about his words, gazes up at the single bright star, and thinks fiercely, I wish I had never made that wish about Kent and that I could start today over.
…
He’s mostly awakened because he’s dying of thirst.
Shitty’s also gotten ahold of a megaphone, so that probably doesn’t help, either.
“Jesus, Shits,” he hears Jack say groggily in the hallway, and he bolts upright in bed, because that means…
The clock on his phone reads December 14. Just like…
Just like yesterday.
Bitty takes the steps three at a time, leaps over a groaning guy that Bitty has never seen before, and basically tackle-hugs Jack.
“Woah,” Jack says, and he doesn’t really hug back, but he does sort of pat Bitty on the shoulder, so he’ll take it.
Then Bitty realizes that this isn’t a typical morning greeting within the Haus, even for the closest of hockey bros, and that Ransom and Holster are both eyeing him in a suspicious way that’s a little too familiar after yesterday’s—this morning’s?—debacle after wish no. 1, so Bitty grabs a cup of coffee and hastily retreats upstairs.
Because Jack’s back, which is great, and everything else seems to also be back.
And now Bitty has basically no excuse but to face the implications of everything that he basically ignored in a haze of grief yesterday—or rather, today, but the first time around.
Like the fact that, apparently, a world without Kent Parson is also a world without Jack.
…
Here are the things that Bitty learned about whatever parallel universe he created when he changed the world yesterday, besides the soul shattering thing that he’s still thinking around:
The Aces did not win the cup in 2010.
The Chicago Blackhawks did.
The Aces did not win the cup in 2012.
The Los Angeles Kings did.
The United States did not win a gold medal in Sochi, a game in which Kent Parson captained the team to a stunning last minute victory and earned himself the title “Captain America.”
Canada, however, added Russian gold to its bulging trophy case.
Kent Parson did not get drafted number one overall to the Las Vegas Aces and proceed to become the second youngest captain to ever hoist the cup.
The resulting draft order changed NHL teams to such an extent that even in the five minutes of game that Bitty managed to watch last night, he saw at least four players on each team that he knows don’t belong there, and just listening to Shitty’s rambling thesis on trade prospects within the league had made his brain hurt.
Certain players, including the Bruin’s most recent draft pick, Mathieu Landry, who always cited watching Kent Parson play in Quebec growing up as a huge inspiration for similarly unconventional players like himself, didn’t play hockey at all.
In short, Bitty single-handedly rearranged the rosters of all 34 NHL teams, changed the course of national and world history, and inadvertently ruined careers and ended lives.
Also, he’s pretty sure that Kent Parson saved Jack Zimmermann’s life.
And out of all of those things… the last is the one that he’d still rather not look right at.
…
He lasts two days.
Admittedly, this is because he goes home to Georgia for Christmas and suddenly has nothing to do but text his teammates, tweet about texting his teammates, and think about Kent Parson.
On the first day, he thinks about how he’d still kind of like to hit Parson over the head with a rolling pin, the next time he sees him.
On the second day, he texts Lardo.
Bitty: Do you have Kent Parson’s number?
Lardo: Ooooooooooh
Lardo: Do you have a crush on Kent
Lardo: I saw that selfie you posted
Lardo: You’re cute together
Bitty: This is serious. I need to talk to him.
Lardo: Yeah, I bet you do ; )
Bitty: It’s about Jack.
Lardo: … Okay, sorry.
Lardo: Give me five and I’ll text it to you.
In the end, he decides not to ask how she got his phone number, because he likes to keep the mystery alive.
…
It takes him another day and a half to actually work up the courage to use the number, and he’s enough of a coward that he chooses a game day, which reduces the probability that Parson will be able to get to his phone by at least 80%.
So he dials, immediately regrets it, almost hangs up, and then hears, “Yo, this is Parson.”
And then basically swallows his tongue. Because he can’t think of a thing to say.
“Hello?” Parson says, sounding impatient.
“Hi!” Bitty says, too loudly and too enthusiastically, considering why he’s calling. Oh, hi Kent, just calling to let you know I basically wished you were nonexistent, and then it happened. Also, I accidentally killed my crush by doing so. Any words of advice?
Which… yeah, he pretty immediately feels stupid, because what was he hoping to accomplish here, exactly? Not like he can tell Parson the truth, and not like Parson is going to say anything that Bitty wants to hear, anyway.
“Who is this?” Parson says, sounding curious now.
“Um, this is Bitty. Eric. Eric Bittle. Um, from Samwell? We met at...”
“Oh, yeah, I remember. The selfie king, am I right?”
“Yeah,” Bitty says, and then stalls out again. His mama would be ashamed of him, neglecting small talk like this.
“What can I do for you, Bitty? Tickets to a game? We’re playing Boston again sometime in March, I think.”
“Oh, thank you. But, um… no thank you. I’m actually calling about… Jack?”
Parson’s silent for a moment, and when he returns, his pleasant, media ready tone is gone, and he sounds a lot more like how he did back at the Haus, which is good, because it makes Bitty feel less awful that he called the guy basically apropos of nothing to dredge up his sordid past and mostly makes him mad again.
“Look, Bittle, you can tell Jack to call his guard dogs off, okay? I know he’s not going to talk to me himself, but I already apologized for that night, and I got it loud and clear. You can tell him, like I already did, that I’ll see him on the ice or when he calls me, but not before. I won’t bother him again. I got the fucking message.”
“Jack didn’t tell me to call,” Bitty says, which, gratifyingly, makes Parson shut up. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know, because he’s pissed at me but also determined to never speak to me again?” Parson says sarcastically.
“What do you mean you already told him that?” Bitty asks suspiciously.
“I mean I fucking texted him, Bittle, fucking story of my fucking life. Like, I know he’s never going to respond, or whatever, god knows if he’s even reading them, but like… Whatever. Why the fuck did you call me, if Jack didn’t tell you to? And how the fuck did you get this number?”
“I think I did something, and I wanted to know about… you and Jack. When you played in Quebec.”
Parson goes dead silent. He’s probably thinking about hanging up. Bitty can’t actually fault him, for that one.
Parson breathes harshly into the phone. “Fuck you, Bittle. Besides the fact that it’s not my story to tell, what fucking business is that of yours, huh?”
He’s right, is the thing. And Bitty can almost respect him, grudgingly, for keeping Jack’s secrets.
He’d just hoped that Parson was less upstanding, which makes Bitty feel pretty not-upstanding, himself, hoping to get the truth this way.
“Look,” Parson snarls, “You don’t know a goddamn thing about that year. And you sure as hell don’t know a fucking thing about me.”
It’s pretty expected, when the call goes dead.
…
Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle, that Parson calls him back.
Or maybe it’s just more bad timing, because Bitty’s mama certainly isn’t impressed when he tries to leave her dinner table and two-day spread for a phone call, though she waves him away when he tells her it’s a school emergency.
Which is only true when he remembers the way that Jack had shaken that night, but he still thinks it counts.
“Hello?” He says cautiously, when he’s closed his bedroom door behind him, because their last call hadn’t ended… well.
“Bittle?” Parson says. He sounds equally uncertain.
“Yeah, it’s me. I don’t mean to be rude, but… it’s Christmas. I can’t really talk.”
“Oh.” Parson says almost surprised at this, and Bittle blurts, “Did you forget it was Christmas?”
“I didn’t forget,” Parson says defensively, and then in a mellower tone, “I sort of forgot that, like, normal people were celebrating today, I guess. The team did our thing yesterday so the marrieds could be with their families and we have a game tomorrow, so it doesn’t feel much like a holiday here, I guess.”
Bitty takes a moment—but only just—to let himself feel a little sad for Kent, rattling around in his presumably huge and empty house alone on Christmas, while Bitty’s been fielding cheerful holiday messages from his own team all day and just left a table crowded with his family to pick up this call. But then he remembers that Parson’s a wealthy superstar and an asshole as well, so he moves on pretty quickly.
“Well.” Bitty says, a little uncomfortably. “I have to get back, so…”
“Yeah, so I know I was a jerk the last time we spoke. I’m working on it. I still don’t think Jack would want me to tell you like… personal stuff, you know, but I know you’re his friend and if you’re worried enough about him to call me, then—”
“I think Jack’s fine,” Bitty interrupts hastily, “It was only because I—”
“But I can tell you other stuff,” Parson barrels ahead. “I mean… not the secret stuff. But like, stuff that people already know, but that they always forget.”
Bitty inhales deeply. “I don’t think I understand,” he says carefully.
“I mean you want to understand Jack, right? You wouldn’t have called me unless you want to understand what happened, and you knew I was there?”
“I guess,” Bitty says shakily, because it still feels like invading Jack’s privacy, when Parson says it like that.
“Okay, so I can still help you understand that summer without telling you stuff you don’t already know.”
“I—” Bitty says, but then there’s a rustling from Kent’s end of the phone and he swears lightly. “I have to go,” he says. “I’ll text you soon.”
He hangs up before Bitty can tell him to forget the whole plan, which still seems sketchy.
But then, Bitty thinks, Parson might as well have ‘gray area’ written all over him, so Bitty should probably have expected that one.
…
Parson: The Pens won the Stanley Cup in 2009
…
Bitty looks at Parson’s text for three days before he truly understands.
Everybody in the hockey world knows that the Penguins won the Cup that year—hell, Bitty can recite Stanley Cup winners back to 1970 backwards and drunk without breaking a sweat.
It comes to him as he’s trying to fall asleep, still mulling over Parson’s cryptic text. In 2009, Jack and Kent had won the Memorial Cup, and a month later, had been—or hadn’t been—drafted.
And in between, the Pittsburgh Penguins had won the Stanley Cup for the first time in more than twenty years.
Bitty bolts upright and reaches for his laptop before he even has the sense to turn on his lamp.
There, in all the pictures—Bad Bob, one of the most famous former Penguins and a cup winner for their last victory, had been in attendance.
There, in photo after photo, Bob embracing young captain Sidney Crosby.
There, Bob speaking out to the media on Crosby’s leadership skills and hockey sense.
There, Bob hoisting the cup for the eighth time, Crosby grinning in the background.
…
Bitty: Where was Jack that night
Parson: We watched the game together in Montreal
Parson: With a lot of vodka
Bitty: He doesn’t really drink much
Parson: Used to
Parson: Does this mean you want to know?
Bitty: Nothing secret
Parson: I promise
…
Bitty waits until he’s back at school and away from his mama’s questions, but since Parson reached out last time, he figures it’s his turn now.
Bitty: I might have wished that you’d never been born.
Bitty: That was why I called
Bitty: I wished it, and then it actually happened.
Bitty: I know that sounds stupid and impossible, but it happened.
Parson: That sounds like a wish I’ve made a few times myself.
Bitty: No, I mean… literally. It happened.
Parson: You have got to be shitting me
Bitty: No. For a day. And then I wished things back to normal.
Parson: Dude, that’s fucked up
Parson: What was it like?
Parson: I bet the world was a much sadder place
Bitty: Canada won the gold medal at Sochi
Parson: Those maple licking bastards
Bitty: The Aces basically were the laughingstock of the NHL
Parson: Hey, I’m the only one allowed to badmouth this team
Bitty: Jack was dead
Bitty: Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that
Bitty: But he was
Bitty: I mean, that’s basically why I called you
Bitty: Because I kind of figured out what it meant
Bitty: It really freaked me out
…
Bitty: I’m sorry
Bitty: I think you saved his life
…
Parson: Well, I guess now I know my life was worth living after all
Parson: If it saved Jack, I mean.
…
Bitty knows that his arrangement with Parson is… delicate, to say the least. Probably wrong, to some degree. He feels only slightly better having secured a promise from him not to talk about stuff he knows Jack doesn’t want him to know, but then, he already eavesdropped on one clearly private conversation, so maybe that ship’s already sailed.
He’s worried about Jack, is the thing. As a friend, a teammate, a captain… as maybe someone that could be more.
He’s well aware that he’ll have to tell Jack, probably soon, that he and Parson are in contact, and that it might blow up in his face. Maybe he’ll let Jack watch his vlogs in return, trade him little secret bits of himself.
But for now, Bitty’s not sure he cares enough to call Parson back up and tell him he’s changed his mind.
He’s also taken the liberty of furiously googling one Kent Parson himself.
The only surprising thing is what he doesn’t find—no hooker and coke scandals (not even any girlfriend or weed scandals), no hints that he might be what Bitty’s grandmother might call ‘funny,’ only standard hockey interviews, pages of stats, and the troves of fanfiction that Bitty already knows about.
Not that he’s read any, of course. If he never has to read about Kent “gazing lovingly into Jack’s Maple Leaf blue eyes” again, it will be far too soon.
…
Parson: His dad called me ‘son’ once.
Parson: Jack didn’t speak to me for a week.
…
Sportsnet, November 2012
SN SUPERLATIVES WITH: KENT PARSON
SS: Best NHL Goal?
KP: 2012 Game 6 Cup Winner, hands down.
SS: Favorite Interview?
KP: Besides this one? Getting the Hockey Night in Canada towel was pretty special. I didn’t grow up there, but I played in Quebec for two years, so I know what that means.
SS: Hardest trade?
KP: Tater [Alexei Mashkov, to the Falconers in 2011]. We were rookies together and won our first cup together. A really hard guy to lose in the dressing room.
SS: First Paycheck?
KP: This is boring, but I paid off my mom’s mortgage and set up my sister’s college fund, and then hired a financial planner for the rest. Oh, I guess I did adopt my cat with some of it.
SS: Most liked Instagram Photo?
KP: Kit in the Stanley Cup.
SS: First “I made it” moment?
KP: My first NHL hat trick [November 16, 2009, Flames @ Aces]. Nothing felt quite real up to that point, but when those hats came down it was like, ‘woah, I was drafted into the NHL. I’m playing in the NHL.’
SS: Biggest Superstition?
KP: I don’t really have any. I always text my sister before a game, but that’s not really a superstition.
SS: Hardest Moment?
KP: Being knocked out of the playoffs in 2011 was pretty rough.
SS: Best Celebrity Meeting?
KP: Beyoncé came to a game once, that was cool.
SS: Next Magazine Cover?
KP: I would definitely do the Body Issue if they asked.
SS: Biggest Weakness?
KP: I definitely have too many hats. And my cat has way too many toys. I probably eat too much chocolate, too.
SS: Last one: if hockey had walkout songs, your choice would be?
KP: Oh, man, that’s a tough one. Okay, “Party in the USA” for international tournaments, “Baby One More Time” with the Aces.
…
Bitty: Back from Christmas break, talked to Jack today
Bitty: All he said was that you owed each other a lot of apologies
Parson: Oh, nice
Parson: Look, I have apologized, like a million times.
Parson: I know I screwed up. But there’s only so much I can do when he won’t even return my calls.
...
He knows he probably shouldn’t do it again. He knows. It’s just… They’ve been back at school for two weeks now, and Jack is still different, still his post-Kent self, and Bitty looks at him and just aches for all that sadness.
And he’s got the power to change that.
He thinks, for only a moment, to wish that Kent had never played hockey, because if he hadn’t met Jack in the Q, he couldn’t upset him six years later. He realized only seconds later that if Kent hadn’t played, he still wouldn’t have been in the hotel that night, but.
Apparently, Kent without hockey is almost the same as Kent not existing, in the long run. Nursey would probably call that a metaphor.
So maybe it’s not about Kent, after all.
Maybe it’s just about Jack.
He’s careful this time, now that he knows what he can do. He thinks about it in advance, plans his words carefully. He’s even braced for a world where Jack doesn’t live in the Haus anymore, because if Jack had escaped all that pain back before his draft, it would still be worth it.
“I wish Jack had never overdosed,” he whispers.
It takes him a long time to fall asleep.
…
This time, when he wakes up, the first thing he does is reach for his phone, and google ‘Jack Zimmermann.’
He’s all over the web, this time, which is a vast improvement over the last—Bitty bites his lip and then clicks on Jack’s Wikipedia page, a little nervously.
Jack Zimmermann is a professional ice hockey player for the Las Vegas Aces. He plays internationally for team Canada.
And so Bitty thinks he’s safe, this time. The Haus will be quieter, of course. There probably still won’t be a Canadian flag hung in the hall. But the other boys… they won’t miss Jack, because they won’t know. That will just be Bitty, and he can handle it because he knows Jack is playing in the NHL now, that he never had to go through all of that pain at the draft.
Except then he clicks back to the search results and sees the top headlines—Zimmermann a healthy scratch after missing Aces practice, one reads, and the next is Jack Zimmermann trade rumors: how much the Aces could get for their problem child and why they should trade now.
Bitty exhales shakily. Jack playing in the NHL was supposed to be a good thing, was supposed to be his dream come true. He was supposed to take the league by storm, win medals—hell, win the Stanley Cup like the Aces already did.
But he didn’t even go to the last Olympics, Bitty sees when he looks closer. He wasn’t even named to the roster.
He hits on a podcast dated the day before; “The Zimmermann Problem,” it’s titled, and he clicks on it an closes his eyes.
CS: Hey guys, I’m Craig Sanders and over there is my buddy Mike Ricci, which means that you’re listening to From the Scrum. Lots of topics for today, but I think we would be amiss if we didn’t start with Zimmermann.
MR: Yeah, Jack Zimmermann making headlines again and… you know, there are lots of questions surrounding this guy and have been for a while now, but this doesn’t help.
CS: No. So if you haven’t seen, Zimmermann is a healthy scratch from tomorrow night’s game against the Panthers, media was reporting this morning he missed the beginning of practice which of course means that he can’t play in the next game.
MR: I mean, the Aces haven’t said they’re going to take action beyond the mandatory game suspension, but I can’t imagine they aren’t frustrated, because this is only one in a long line of issues with this kid since they’ve acquired him. So what do they do now?
CS: He’s had a rough go of it for sure, and there’s kind of a hint to this thing, you know, nothing they’re going to say out loud, but… we know he’s struggled before with partying a little too hard, so do we think this is more than just sleeping through an alarm?
MR: Hard to tell.
CS: I think the Aces are definitely rethinking some things concerning this player, though.
MR: Yeah, I don’t think you can say they shouldn’t have drafted him, because he was the pretty clear number one in 2009, hot off a Memorial Cup win, playing on hands down the best junior team in the CHL that year. When you’ve got that first pick, you draft high. Bit of a slump that first year, lost out on the Calder to his Rimouski teammate Kent Parson, but we see that all the time. First pick or not, adjusting to the NHL can take players a while, sometimes it’s a few seasons before we really see a guy hit his stride.
CS: For sure. But he hasn’t really produced in a meaningful way since then like the Aces were clearly hoping. He’s a decent player, definitely someone you want on the ice, but it’s got to be a hard pill to swallow when you draft a guy who’s hopefully a big superstar and first line center and he just… never develops like you want him to.
MR: Yeah. They needed a franchise player and a leader and Zimmermann was supposed to be the man for the job, but he’s wound up as sort of a second or third line guy at best. And what’s really frustrating about this guy is you see these flashes of just absolute brilliance from him and you think, ‘that’s the first overall pick.’ But he can never seem to hold it together for even a game, much less a series, and even if the Aces manage to battle their way to a playoff spot, I don’t think anyone is thinking they’ll make it past the first round.
CS: Yeah, he’s been a decent player but looking back, he’s playing like your second or third round pick, not your first overall. But he’s really been a bigger problem for this organization off the ice than on, right?
MR: Well, his rookie year he had that underage drinking incident, and I don’t think anyone took that too seriously at the time. You know, he’s young, he’s legal to drink in Canada where he grew up and also played last, people make mistakes. So that one was pretty much written off and nothing much was made of that besides the standard sort of scripted apology, that kind of thing.
CS: Right, I definitely don’t really care about that kind of thing personally. It’s a case where he’s the one that’s caught, not where he’s the outlier in the league. I mean, let’s not lie about that.
MR: For sure. Aces bomb out of the playoffs two years in a row, and then we get all these pictures of him outside a rehab facility in Montreal.
CS: Why is that a bad thing? If this guy does have whatever problem is making rehab necessary, aren’t we glad he’s getting this help?
MR: I think so, and there are reports that it’s the Aces funding this and pushing him to go and of course you’ve got your traditional assholes on twitter but I think at least speaking personally, for me it’s a good thing, and frankly also kind of refreshing. Clearly Zimmermann’s not the only guy in the league with alcohol problems, or painkiller addictions, or whatever it was, and I should make it very clear that we don’t know why he was at that facility and he and his team never released a statement, but…
CS: Right, okay. But the point is, it’s all been stuff like this. Every few months there’s some pretty minor thing but when you look at this past six, seven seasons, that adds up to a lot of problems. And then you consider that he’s not producing on the ice, either… I mean, what is going on, here?
MR: I don’t know. I don’t know if anybody does.
CS: Well, are we thinking this is going to impact his position on this team?
MR: Normally, missing a practice is not something a team’s going to take drastic action over.
CS: But looking at the whole history… So, if the 2009 draft is happening today and you know what you do now, do you take Zimmermann first?
MR: No.
CS: Top five?
MR: Probably not.
CS: Top round?
MR: I don’t know. He’s still a very talented player.
CS: Right, but that’s not the question. Does Parson go first?
MR: Hands down, Parson first. You want to talk about potential? The way that the careers of these two players have diverged is so stark. We’ve talked about Zimmermann. They played on that same line back for the Oceanic. But Parson, he goes second to the Islanders, pretty much dominates the Calder conversation, and a year later he scores a Stanley Cup, quickly repeated as captain of that team, then captained the US to an Olympic victory, the list goes on. Hands down the best American born player in the league right now.
CS: You could make an argument that he’s top in the league period.
MR: Overall?
CS: I said you could make an argument. Definitely an elite player.
MR: Yeah. Okay, he’s first in 2009, Tavares has to go second. From there?
CS: Me personally, I could see Zimmermann going top round, but not top five, top ten, nothing like that.
MR: Disappointing.
CS: Well, I’m sure the Aces probably are disappointed. So is this when they trade him? We’ve heard rumors for years now.
MR: Honestly, I was shocked the Aces didn’t two years ago. Remember all that wild speculation? I was convinced he was gone then. So I think they still deal him now when they can get some pieces in return for him. They would have gotten more in 2014, but I say yes. I do see a trade happening soon. They’re very light on defense, they’ve got a problem they need to offload, it seems like a good solution.
CS: Alright, so who do they turn to?
MR: Islanders?
CS: Seriously?
MR: Look, Parson and Zimmermann have played really good hockey together before.
CS: I don’t think he just slots into the first line over there, though.
MR: Maybe not, but if Zimmermann can get over whatever his hang up is, I think that could be really great. And we’ve heard from a lot of guys, Zimmermann is a steady, quiet guy in the dressing room but he isn’t close with most of the guys. Having a friend out there, do you think that would hurt?
CS: I don’t think it’s Parson’s job to babysit him, even as a captain.
MR: Okay, so here’s a question. Is Zimmermann accountable?
CS: Mike, he’s a hockey player. It’s his job to play hockey. Personal stuff aside, he’s being paid to produce out there and if he’s not doing that—and he’s not—his team is going to trade him for the best assets that they can possibly get. It’s a business.
MR: Okay, but what about the team, what’s their responsibility here? Do you keep a kid in Vegas this long when you know he has substance problems? And they do know that, because they put him through rehab. Should the GM have arranged something sooner?
CS: If they truly thought they could develop his skills and overcome the other stuff, then I get it. You don’t give up on a first overall after a year.
MR: Well, so do they try to arrange something better now for him? Do they take his personal struggles into account if they’re arranging a trade?
CS: What, like ship him to Edmonton so he can’t get into trouble?
MR: Do you think they take that into account, though?
CS: No. I don’t think so. Again, this is a business, and they’re going to take the best offer on the table. I think Zimmermann could hope for Montreal. He’s from Quebec, he’s got family in the area, the Aces could trade outside of their conference and probably get a few valuable pieces or picks in return.
MR: We’ll see.
CS: Alright. So we’ve got to talk about the Falconers, they’re back in the playoff hunt this week…
He pulls the headphones from his ears, blinks the tears away.
He’d thought he was doing the right thing, giving Jack back the life he was supposed to have, even at the expense of knowing him. He’d thought it was the right thing to do for a friend, for someone he loves—set them free.
And maybe it is selfish, that in the end, he’d rather have Jack here at college than let him have whatever this sham of an NHL career is. Maybe he just doesn’t know how Jack’s life is supposed to look. Maybe he just knows that Jack wouldn’t want it this way.
Either way. He knows exactly the words to say to put things back to rights, this time.
…
He ends up telling Parson because he’s the only person who might not think he’s completely crazy—the only person who knows about the first wish coming true.
Bitty: I did it again, and it came true again. I know you don’t care but I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it.
He sounds annoyed, when Bitty finally picks up the phone. “I know you hate me,” Parson says, “But isn’t it a little rude that you wished me out of existence? Again? And then told me about it again?”
“It was a different wish,” Bitty says. “It was… I wished that Jack never overdosed.”
Parson’s quiet for a long moment. “I’ve wished that, a time or two,” he says finally. “So why did you wish it back, then? Obviously you did, because I’m still playing for Vegas. Or is that not how this works?”
“No, I did, I just… Nothing was like I expected,” Bitty admits. “Jack was… he wasn’t well. His career was falling apart, he was about to be traded. All I saw were pictures of him in clubs with girls or looking miserable, and so I just…”
“Yeah,” Parson says harshly.
“I think I have to stop,” Bitty finally says. Finally, because he’s been thinking it all of the three days since he woke up in his own world again. Every time Jack chirps him or smiles at him or calls him ‘Bittle.’ “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I always make it worse. I thought I could help him, but I didn’t, and what if someday I can’t undo it?”
“This is so fucked up,” Parson says. “It’s so fucked up that you can do this and it’s so fucked up that… what, Jack’s overdose actually saved his career, or some bullshit. It’s all fucked, and why are you telling me any of this anyway? You don’t know me, and you and Jack both hate me, and—”
“I googled you,” Bitty blurts, and Parson’s silent for a moment before he says, “Yeah, you and half the world.”
“I just… I don’t know, it felt wrong not to tell you. It’s stupid. You said I didn’t know anything about you, so…”
“Yeah, well, you don’t. And whatever bullshit you’re finding on the internet isn’t going to change that.”
“I did find less drunken pictures of you than I expected,” Bitty says, trying to lighten the mood and realizing only after it’s left his mouth how judgmental it probably actually sounded.
“I’m not much into the party scene,” Parson says tightly. “Especially not after… well. I got scared off young.”
They’re both silent for a moment, because neither one of them will say his name out loud. Bitty says, “Well, when I met you it was at a kegster, so.”
“I go out,” Parson says, “I just… you know. Nurse the same drink. Leave early. Whatever. The guys know I’m not really into it, but I’m a local celebrity in Las Vegas. It’s all about keeping up the image.”
“Just didn’t know you could act, I guess.”
“I’m a closeted professional athlete.” It’s sudden, and unexpected, even to Parson, if the way he finishes lamely, “I’m probably a better actor than you think I am,” is any indication.
Bitty gulps, because it sounded like Parson just said… “So you’re…” He says, and the first instinct he has is to finish, ‘like me,’ which is not going to happen, so instead he says, “Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know, why are we talking at all? You call and I pick up. I call, and apparently you pick up. Call me crazy, but I feel like this might be something you can relate to.”
Which, yeah. The first time Parson had seen him, he’d been with Jack, and Bitty knows he’s not exactly subtle. “You’re not crazy,” Bitty says reluctantly. “And, um, don’t take this the wrong way… but I kind of figured.”
Parson doesn’t say anything, just breathes a little shakily into the phone. “Well,” he says. “There’s just… I don’t really have anyone that I, you know, talk about this with. So while we’re already talking about secret shit…
“I didn’t tell anyone, obviously,” Bitty says hastily, because he know intimately the gut deep fear of finding out that someone knows the thing that could tear you apart. “I know we’re not close, but… I would never.”
“Yeah,” Parson says roughly, “I didn’t really think you would, I guess. It’s just… nobody else knows, so that’s new. I mean, my sister, but we basically have a psychic connection, so it doesn’t really count.”
“Your parents?” Bitty asks, because he’s out at school, sure, but at the top of the list of people who capital letters Do Not Know are his mama and Coach, and it eats at him daily.
“No dad,” Parson says sharply. “My mom? I don’t know. I haven’t told her, but she’s my mom, she’s met Ja… some people, she might know. I don’t know if she’d care, Jess says she wouldn’t but…”
“You can’t risk it,” Bitty whispers.
“Yeah, I guess,” Kent says.
…
Sports Illustrated, April 2014
ACE HIGH
Columnist Bethany Kruger sits down with “Captain America” to discuss his proudest hockey moment, worst nicknames, and what the future looks like for Vegas’ surest bet.
Player: Kent Parson, Captain and Forward, Las Vegas Aces
Stats: 5’10, 175lbs
Notable Awards: Calder Memorial Trophy (2010), Stanley Cup (2010, 2012), Conn Smythe Trophy (2012), Olympic Silver (2010), Olympic Gold (2014)
BK: So you just captained team USA to their first gold medal since the 1980 “Miracle on Ice.” How did that feel?
KP: Obviously, it was a really great tournament for the team and we couldn’t be happier with how it turned out. 2010 was a tough Games in our bracket and obviously the silver medal is a huge accomplishment, but nobody wants to come in second place and that finish really made us all hungrier for gold. Being named captain was a huge honor and playing for your country on that level is something we all grow up dreaming about, so I’m really proud that we were able to bring it home for the US. That’s not something you do without the best team behind you, and the guys all really showed up this year.
BK: At the last Olympics, you were just a rookie and your place on the roster was the subject of some debate. This time, you were named captain and scored the game winning ‘golden goal.’ Did that change your Olympic experience for the better?
KP: You know, four years is a lot of time in the sports world and I definitely feel like my game has improved in that time, just having more experience playing at a high level. In Vancouver, I was really happy just to be there and I played on the fourth line. This time, I definitely had more responsibility, but I like that. Having something to prove always makes me push harder, and there were a lot of writers saying that we couldn’t do better than silver or bronze heading into the games, so we all used that for motivation.
BK: So is Olympic Gold your best win?
KP: That’s a tough one. It’s definitely up there, getting to represent your country on that kind of international stage. But I’ve also lifted the Stanley Cup on home ice with my team at my back, and that’s really hard to beat. I guess I would say those are probably tied.
BK: People started calling you “Captain America” after that gold medal game, has that carried over back at home?
KP: Nah, not really. The boys definitely chirp me about that sometimes, especially since my birthday is the Fourth of July. But they don’t call me that on the ice. It’s mostly the media and fans, I think. I don’t mind it, but it would be pretty weird if the guys started using it seriously.
BK: So it’s not your worst nickname?
KP: No way. I’ve had some pretty brutal ones over the years, coming up as a small guy through the junior system. The worst by far was “Ken Doll,” like from Barbie and Ken. That used to really piss me off, and I landed myself in the box over that one a few times. I’m pretty much over it now, though. You learn to let that stuff roll off your back.
BK: So you have two Stanley Cups and an Olympic Gold. What’s your next big goal?
KP: World Championship Gold, definitely. Aiming for that Triple Gold Club.
BK: Your contract is due to expire in 2017, and there’s already speculation that the Aces are going to offer you a league record amount of money to stay. Is that appealing to you or are you considering free agency?
KP: Honestly, that’s the last thing on my mind right now. It’s three years away, and right now I’m very happy where I’m at with my game and I’m focused on the upcoming playoffs. You just never know what’s going to change in that amount of time. I will say that Las Vegas has become my home, and I would like nothing more than to bring the cup back here, hopefully a few more times, with the Aces.
…
He stares at the ceiling of his room for a long time after he hangs up the phone. Jack, Kent was going to say, he’s certain of it. His mom might know Kent’s gay because she’s met Jack.
Kent didn’t mean to say it, Bitty thinks, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have been breaking their agreement. Bitty already knows, that they were together once. Nobody’s told him, but he knows anyway.
And he knows what it might mean, that Jack and Kent were once together. He knows that it might mean that Jack has a better chance of wanting him back than Bitty ever hoped to dream. He does. He would just… it’s too close to think about, yet.
He wishes it didn’t make him feel so happy, because it’s clearly tearing Kent up, but… it does.
He doesn’t sleep for a long, long time.
…
Kent: You’re in love with him, aren’t you
Kent: That’s why you made another wish, to try to make his life better
Kent: It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything
Kent: It’s a rough boat to be in, but at least you’ve got company
…
“What did your text mean?” Bitty blurts, when Kent picks up the phone.
Kent doesn’t answer. Bitty has to hold the phone away from his ear to see that the call is still connected. “I don’t want to do this right now,” he says finally.
“You said you’ve got company,” Bitty says. “Present tense. Do you mean you?”
“I’ve got a game in two hours,” Kent snaps, “I cannot have this conversation.”
“I know about you and Jack and that you used to be together,” Bitty says, “And it’s okay, you didn’t break your promise, because you didn’t tell me. I know anyway. I just don’t… you mean, still? You still do?”
Kent sighs harshly, says something to someone away from the phone. When he speaks again it’s quiet in the background, like he’s gone somewhere private, and his voice is raw. “Look, I don’t know what you think you know about us, but… I loved hockey, and Jack Zimmermann. In that order. And it was okay to love hockey the most, because that was always how it was going to be with us. Hockey first. I just always thought I could be second for him, too, behind hockey. But I was wrong about that. And then by the end of that whole… shit show, I wasn’t even sure if he loved hockey anymore. So I guess I’m glad that I was wrong about that, because he needs hockey, and hockey needs him, too. But he doesn’t need me, and he doesn’t love me. Never did. I just wish that knowing that was enough for me to get over him.”
“Kent,” Bitty says softly, feeling suddenly guilty that he’s dredged all of this up, that he pushed Kent to talk about it after all. He doesn’t know what good he was hoping to do. He just… needs to know, like a car crash, like picking at a scab. He needs to know going in about how badly this might go for him if he admits to what he already knows to be true, about how he feels about Jack.
He just didn’t expect to feel bad for Kent, in the meantime.
“I have to go,” Kent says, “The bus is here.”
He disconnects the call before Bitty can collect his thoughts well enough to respond.
…
Jack doesn’t watch Aces games often, but he watches this one, against the Pens, with the rest of the Haus.
Bitty would normally be very focused on the way that Jack tenses every time Kent gets the puck, but he’s too busy thinking about what Kent said.
Kent’s kept his promise so far—he hasn’t said anything about Jack that Bitty didn’t already know. Everything revealing or surprising has been about Kent, himself, but Bitty can’t help thinking about the way Kent had admitted he’d loved Jack, so easily, about how different he sounds talking about Jack than Jack will ever sound talking about him.
Kent must be just as distracted as Bitty is, because the game is rough for the Aces and Kent doesn’t even get on the board, which is unusual for him. When the camera focuses on him sitting on the bench, he looks strangely vulnerable.
In person, Kent was surprisingly unassuming. He’s not hulking, like Holster, or even broad, like Jack and Ransom. He’d been laid back, normal, looking like he fit right in at a college party with his backwards cap and red solo cup.
On the ice, in a helmet and pads, Kent assumes a certain gravitas. He’s not the biggest guy on his team, but he might be the most intimidating—he’s got a steely look in his eye, and worse, he’s liable to make anybody else in the game look foolish.
In the media scrum post-game, he’s vulnerable and almost shattered looking as he apologizes for not producing for his team, refusing to allow his linemates or goalie to take blame. He answers his share of questions and then some, sweat drying his hair into a cowlick he can’t stop running a hand through, cheeks flushed as he refuses to look directly at the camera. Usually, he’ll flirt with the media a bit, give them a sound bite and a smile. They must sense something’s off tonight, that his stilted, repetitive answers are all they’re liable to get, because they let him go sooner than they normally would and Kent says, “Thanks, guys,” sounding exhausted.
Something in Bitty’s stomach twists.
Kent: I shouldn’t have told you any of that. Don’t let me get in the way with Jack.
Bitty bites his bottom lip. It’s not that he thinks he owes Kent, exactly. But.
They might have more in common than he originally thought. He tries not to let that worry him.
…
Dude’s Health, October 2014
TEN QUESTIONS WITH: KENT PARSON
Drew Olsen asks Vegas’ favorite athlete:
- Okay, so what’s the secret to abs like yours?
Well, I spend most of my day working out, but that’s my job and I get that’s not realistic for other people. I actually have a really hard time keeping my weight up, so when I’m not in the gym or on the ice I’m shoveling food in as fast as I can. It’s all about the diet, because without balanced nutrition, you’re not going to have the right energy for a good workout. Cardio is super important but I get most of mine on the ice, so at the gym I’ll bike a little bit but mostly lift. Hockey’s pretty focused on the lower body, but a strong core and upper body is important for overall performance. If I never have to do another squat, it will be too soon. Just keep it balanced, I guess is the key.
- What’s the most overlooked part of a good workout routine, in your opinion?
I would say just maintaining good overall fitness. I see a lot of dudes really hammer the upper body, and then in the hockey world it’s kind of the opposite, with guys focusing all their attention on quads and glutes. Do a little of everything, take rest days, and don’t be afraid of cardio.
- Changing tracks a little, the people want to know: what’s your type?
Like… in a romantic partner? I guess just someone who really knows me, who I can talk to. This lifestyle can be kind of superficial, so I would want someone who can get past that. Appearances aren’t as important to me as personality. I’m not really on the lookout right now, though. I mean, if something happens, that’s cool, but I’m in a pretty committed relationship with hockey at the moment, so…
- So no ladies in your life?
I wouldn’t say that. My mom’s the first person I call when something big happens, and I talk to my sister almost every day. Also, my cat has more Instagram followers than I do, and she’s definitely the boss at home.
- So who was your first celebrity crush?
Oh, man. Britney Spears. I actually met her last year, and she was pretty cool. We’re still the only professional sports team in Vegas, so we get some celebrities at the home games fairly often.
- Who do you still want to meet?
Chris Evans. A Captain America selfie would be pretty cool.
- What’s the secret to your success?
I have a really great team behind me, and in this game, you don’t get anywhere on your own, so that’s the biggest factor. I guess for me personally, it’s just putting your head down and playing the game. A lot of things happen off-ice, so having the mental strength to push through those and just focus on the game is really important and separates a lot of good players from great players. I’m lucky because hockey has always been an escape for me, so not thinking about anything but the game out there is second nature now.
- What’s the biggest misconception you’d like to correct?
That I don’t work hard enough. I’ve been hearing that kind of thing since I was little, that I just fall back on talent. Growing up, even in the Q, people were always saying that I was too small, and I still haven’t quite shaken that one, but being the smallest guy on the ice made me work harder than some of my teammates, because I had to work harder just to keep up with their size and strength. Then there was talk about my position in the draft, so I had to prove that I did deserve to go first. Now it’s stuff about my commitment to the game or my leadership, people saying I don’t take my role as captain seriously if I go out or whatever. I’m a professional athlete and my body is my job, I’m certainly not out getting wasted every night. But like I said, it’s a matter of separating that kind of thing from the hockey and letting my game speak for itself.
- What’s the worst part of the game?
I would say trades, probably. You can step back and see why it happens from a business perspective, how it’s good for the team, and all that, but then on a personal level you have guys that you’ve known and played with for years moving away. You get to know them and their families as friends as well as teammates, and you’re never quite as prepared as you think you are to see someone go. On the other hand, getting new guys can really fire a team up on the ice, and you make as many new friends as you lose. Facing off against old teammates is never easy, but I’ve also got guys I’m close with all over the league, and it makes road trips a fun chance to reconnect.
- Where are you in ten years?
Still playing hockey, for sure. Hopefully with a few more cups, maybe another gold medal or two. I’d like to get a dog at some point, but it’s hard to do being on the road all the time, and it would have to get along with Kit, which is a tall order. I’d like to have a family someday, but I have a lot left to do in my career before that becomes a priority.
…
Bitty follows Kit Purrson on Instagram. For a man of the modern age, it’s an olive branch.
He’s pretty sure Kent understands, because the next morning, he has a notification that Kent Parson—and subsequently, about 1,000 other people—have followed him on twitter.
Bitty follows back.
…
They’re not really friends, is the thing. Bitty has his team, and Kent has his, and now they don’t talk about Jack anymore, not since Kent apparently gave them his blessing, and so they hardly talk at all.
They’re not friends, except how they both know each other’s secrets now. Except how sometimes Bitty still texts Kent after they win games and how Kent always texts him back; how Kent once sent him a picture of his cat covered in flour that Bitty saved to his phone.
Except how sometimes, Bitty thinks that Kent might be the person who knows him best—at least, who knows all the bad, as well as the good.
They’re not friends, except how Bitty is starting to worry that they might be.
…
Bitty: Are you coming to Jack’s graduation?
Bitty: One of the frogs asked and Jack said it depended on whether you made the playoffs
Kent: Not to brag but we’re making the playoffs so
Kent: Wtf is a frog?
Bitty: Like a freshman
Kent: Wait, Jack didn’t say no?
Bitty: No
Kent: He was probably just being nice though
Kent: He didn’t invite me, so
Kent: I wouldn’t anyway
Kent: I know he doesn’t want to see me and I’ve made that mistake two too many times
Bitty: I just assumed he asked you
Kent: No
Kent: We haven’t spoken
Kent: I promised myself I wouldn’t bother him again after last time
Kent: What I actually promised myself was that I wouldn’t think about him but then you called me, so
Bitty: Sorry
Kent: I shouldn’t have said that
Kent: I’m glad you called. I’m glad I at least know he’s okay
Kent: Tell him congratulations for me at graduation anyway. If it comes up.
Bitty: I will
…
In the end, it wouldn’t have mattered if Kent had been invited or not, because when Jack walks across the stage and accepts his diploma, Kent is in Chicago gearing up for game 5 of their series.
When Jack kisses Bitty, back in the Haus, Kent is probably just settling down for a pre-game nap, or maybe is still at lunch with his teammates.
Bitty tries not to think too hard about what it really means, that his first fully formed thought after Jack leaves is I wonder what Kent’s doing right now.
His phone buzzes, and it’s Jack, of course, and Bitty can feel his face smile before his brain quite catches up. He caresses his phone for just a moment, like it’s Jack himself and not just his nondescript hey of a text message.
He takes a deep breath, and then he opens a new message.
Bitty: Good luck in your game tonight!
Kent: Thanks, bro. Tell Jack congrats from me. I texted him, but… you know.
He probably won’t tell Jack, if only because it’s too new between the two of them to risk bringing the messiness of whatever Kent is to Jack into it. But maybe when Jack visits him this summer, maybe then he can tell Jack they’ve been talking a bit. It probably won’t be a fun conversation, but Jack deserves to know, and Bitty doesn’t like keeping secrets, and Kent doesn’t deserve to be anybody’s secret. Not again.
If Kent wins the cup this year, he’ll probably choose his cup day for the Fourth of July. It makes Bitty feel a little better to think that he might get to have that, all his family and friends there to celebrate Kent on his birthday, even if Bitty gets to have Jack.
He texts Jack back, just another hey!! and a smiley face.
He hopes Kent wins the cup, this year.
…
He makes it back into his own bedroom late, begging off a glass of sweet tea with his mama, and she lets him go only because he’s been travelling all day.
It’s been a pretty big day for him in other ways, too, but he didn’t tell his mama any of that. Maybe soon. He and Jack are going to have to have a lot of big conversations in July, probably, but right now, he’s just focused on the way his heart jumped a little when he turned on his phone after the flight and had two messages from Jack waiting for him.
It smells like home here, in the summer, and Bitty throws his window open even though he’ll probably regret it when his room is all muggy come morning and Coach gives him a stern talk about the air conditioning.
He can still see that same bright star in the sky, even down south, and his stomach gives that instinctual drop as when he thinks about his first wish, about his second, about how badly everything could have gone without things being exactly as they are.
Maybe that’s the key, then—he can’t change the past, because it’s all one big tangle of moments that got them all here. If Jack had never had Kent, he probably never would have had Bitty; without Kent, these past few months, Bitty thinks he probably never would have gotten Jack, either.
He worries about what it might do to Kent, to hear that they’re together, now. Or that they’re… whatever they actually are. He also worries that means he’s actually friends with Kent Parson, now, to think about what his face might look like in the few seconds before he manages to pull his media face back on after hearing the news, but that’s a problem for a different day.
Bitty peels his jeans off and climbs into his bed, catching one last glimpse of the star before rolling over.
I wish Kent might be happy, someday.
…
It’s harder to tell if he’s changed the world when he’s back in Georgia.
Without the boys to ask, he settles for googling recent hockey stats, because they seem to change pretty wildly when Bitty messes up the hockey world and also because he knows them well enough to know if they’ve changed.
It all seems normal—at least, he hopes the Aces actually did win their game last night in the pre-wish world and that this isn’t just the way that his wish for Kent’s happiness has manifested itself, but he caught the very tail end of the third period on an airport screen before his mother hugged him and it had looked like they would take it at the time.
His messages are all the same, down to Jack’s last Goodnight, Bitty.
He shoots back a Morning!! and then opens his conversation with Kent a little apprehensively, types out, Congrats on the win! I didn’t see the game because I was flying home, but I saw the score!!
Kent texts back almost immediately, Thanks, Bits, it was a tough game but we got ‘em in the end. Flying back to Vegas tonight, hope we can take game six and make the final!
Another message comes through before Bitty has the chance to reply, New strategy, you send the Hawks as many pies as you can legally ship and the deliciousness will make them forfeit and/or the butter will slow them down enough I can take them.
Bitty: haha, that’s devious. Don’t you want to take them fair?
Kent: Please, baby, this is Vegas. House advantage. I’ll send you Tazer’s address and you can get started.
Bitty: You have Jonathan Toews’ home address?
Kent: ; )
Kent: Just how I like ‘em, tall, dark, and Canadian.
Bitty laughs out loud just as his mama calls him down for breakfast.
Bitty: I’ll see what I can do. I really hope everything works out for you, Kent.
It may not be his absolute favorite place in the world anymore, but his mama’s kitchen is home in a way that will never go away, and Bitty relishes in the smell of her pancakes, the way she hums a little as she turns the bacon.
Bitty glances down at his phone before he has to put it away at the table, thumbs open Kent’s last message.
Things are looking better every day, Bits.
…
The Player’s Tribune, July 2015
LETTER TO MY YOUNGER SELF
Kent Parson, Contributer
Dear Kenny,
First of all, you’re never going to outgrow that nickname that you used to hate so much. You’re going to learn to hate it a hell of a lot less, though. Give it a few years.
Hey, can you remember the first time you saw a sheet of ice? You probably can’t, because you were only three years old at the time. But mom’s going to tell the story often enough over the years that you’ll be able to pretend anyway.
It’s a special trip, just you and her. The first time all year that dad hasn’t been yelling, the first time all month that Jess hasn’t been crying, and just being out of the house feels almost too good to be true.
But then you step on the ice, and it somehow gets better.
Hold onto that feeling, kid—the feeling of flying, of freedom—because you’re going to need that feeling to get through the next few years.
When you’re ten, and your coach tells your mom that you’re too small to keep up with the rest of the boys, you’re going to need that feeling.
When you’re fourteen, and you’re away from home, and the first night in the new house you’re trying to cry quietly enough that your billet mom can’t hear you and you almost call your own mom and beg her to come get you, you’re going to need that feeling.
You’re really going to need that feeling when you’re in Quebec for the QMJHL entry draft and everyone’s speaking French and the seats around you are slowly emptying out as name after name that’s not yours is called.
12 rounds, 216 players. Only 10 of them will be American. And you’re going to listen to 126 names before someone calls yours.
Look, kid, I’m not going to tell you about the games you win, and the path you carve. But I’m going to tell you this: that feeling? It can get so much better than that.
And it can get so much worse.
But for now, here’s part of the better.
You’re going to meet a lot of great guys with the Oceanic, and you’re still going to call them on their birthdays, nearly ten years later.
But you’re also going to meet the guy who your hockey’s always going to be linked to. Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s a little over dramatic.
Doesn’t make it any less true.
Hey, kid, I’m not going to tell you what happens, remember? But here’s a hint: be a little gentle with Jack Zimmermann. Listen when he talks. He’s going to change you as a hockey player, and more importantly, he’s going to change you as a person.
Mostly for the good.
And be a little gentle with yourself, too, Kent. Yeah, I know, you’re a big, tough hockey player. You both are.
But you’re also both just kids, kids who say and do stupid things that they regret. And I know you’ve always had to play up the tough guy angle, to keep guys twice your size from wailing on you out on the ice. But just this once, do me a favor. Have a little compassion, and just be a friend.
And while you’re at it, pull your head out of your ass and stop being so stubborn all the time, okay?
And that feeling, of being on the ice? That feeling like nothing and no one can touch you out there? Well, you’re only half right, and some of those d-men are going to prove it to you. But Zimms is going to make that feeling better, too.
I know you’re worrying about it, kid, I know it’s the only thing you care about. So, yeah, you’re going to get drafted. You’re going to play in the NHL.
But first, you’re going to have 34 days of childhood. You’re going to have a month where you don’t have to be Kent Parson: hockey player. You can just be Kenny: young, dumb, and happy.
Hold onto that too, kid, because that’s the bad part. Things are going to change, more than you could even dream of, and you’re going to lose that, too.
But yeah, you’re going to get drafted. Okay, so pretend not to cry of happiness on the phone to your sister for a minute, and then read the rest of this thing.
Here’s another thing you’re going to need, kid. You’re going to need every single ounce of that pig-headedness your mother used to hate. You’re going to need a chip on your shoulder the size of Quebec. You’re going to need to be able to look at any one of the hundreds of parents, scouts, coaches, and players who tells you over the years, you’re not good enough, you’re not big enough, you’re not enough, you’re going to have to look every single goddamn one of them in the eye and say, f*&@ you.
Hey, I know you always thought getting to the NHL would make everybody stop talking.
It’s not the first time you’ve been wrong.
So stop paying attention to what the media is saying, and what the hockey experts are saying, and what the guys across the dot are saying, and just focus on the ice, because it’s gotten you here.
Just do what you’re good at, and prove those bastards wrong.
Here’s a few more things:
Learn some Russian. Seriously. Just a few words. I know it probably doesn’t seem possible at the time, but someone else is going to be as scared and as lonely as you are, and it’s gonna help.
Call your mother, Kent. You owe her more than you’re ever going to be able to repay with a house or a car.
While you’re at it, pick up the phone when it rings the day after you’re drafted into the Q. It’s your father, and he just wants to remind you why walking out of your life was the biggest favor he ever did you.
(Fathers are tricky things, Kent, and other peoples’ are tricky in other ways. Remember that, too.)
Okay, here’s the last thing, because it’s the most important. Yeah, I know, it’s been 1,000 words and you’re itching to go torture Jess at road hockey, but this is going to make all the difference in a few years.
Never let the game take more from you than you can take from the game.
Do you understand me?
You can love this game more than life itself, but the game’s not always going to love you back.
This game’s going to hurt you, Kent. I’m not talking about a few loose teeth or a few hard checks, I’m not even talking about the time you’re going to skate off on a broken ankle (yeah, it’s going to suck).
This game’s going to try to take everything it can from you: family, friends, reputation, sanity. The core of your very self. The only way it’s ever going to be worth it?
If you remember how it feels to fly.
If you remember that the only time you truly feel free is out there on the ice.
In this game, the highs are higher than the lows, and for a few of us, that makes it all worth it.
Hey, kid. The future’s bright.
Go get ‘em, tiger.
Love, your future self,
Kent