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It wasn’t that Will didn’t like Boston; it’s just that it’s complicated.
Which feels impossible to explain, as he is a somewhat public figure, always on the receiving end of knowing nods at the bars. Memories of times when it seemed like the entire city was alive waiting to see him play. But for a reason Will would rather not name, he feels disconnected from it all. In a way, it feels like Boston has just never been particularly good at telling him what it wants.
Hockey is fantastic at that. Hockey is demanding, which comes with a certain clarity of expectation. Faster, stronger, harder. Be a good teammate. Perform, and the world is yours; you might even be loved for it. There was a certain comfort in seeing stars as the final whistle blew, knowing you did what you needed to do.
It just seems that home doesn’t work the same way.
In San Jose, his life was simple. The expectations made sense. He was a professional hockey player now, so performance was a clear expectation. He was a teammate, something he had been his entire life. That expectation was clear too. He was a boyfriend, which was new, but surprisingly wasn't complicated either. Macklin was easy to love.
Mack liked it when Will texted him goodnight. Mack was serious about his afternoon nap. Mack smiled every time Will called him by his full name.
There was no guessing involved. Macklin wanted him with the ease of someone who had never been told to not want something. Will hoped no one ever tried to change that.
Will had spent many years under the impression that he would be spending time trying to meet expectations that didn’t make themselves known. Home was complicated. Boston was too.
Mack, somehow, wasn’t.
When they had first properly met. Not in Illinois, not in Michigan, not in Boston over the center dot, but at development camp in the locker room, Will saw the path forward with an utmost clarity that, when reflecting on it, still makes him shiver. Nothing had ever been so simple. He knew this was going to matter.
“Dude, Mack is fine really,” Macklin had said for what is likely the millionth time.
“I know,” Will said, not even looking up from tying his skates.
“Macklin is,” he paused and furrowed his brow, “kind of a lot.”
“It’s your name,” Will said, finishing the last knot.
“It’s so formal. It’s long,” Macklin said, when in reality it wasn’t that long, but compared to the likes of Will Smith and hockey nicknames, he supposed it was.
Will leaned back into his stall, “I’m not in a rush.”
Which is something he had never thought he would say. He consistently was rushing from rink to rink. Party to party. Game to game. Rushing to make it home for Mass on time. Always a demand that he be somewhere.
Boston had always felt similar. Maybe not rushed but heavy with expectation. Everything required something of him in return.
San Jose asked for remarkably little.
In California, entire days of the week were different, and no longer complicated. Game days varied, but he knew when to expect one. Practices were consistent. Recovery was consistent. All of it was streamlined and simple.
No time was spent on Sundays picking which tie communicated the right message. His quads hadn’t burned as he knelt in the pew after the day before consisting only of hockey in months. Incense didn’t cling to his hair for hours after. He didn’t have to navigate the complicated act of nodding at the correct times while his parents trotted him around after mass.
Instead, he woke up when the sun was too warm on his face before rolling out of bed and stumbling down the stairs where he knew Mack would be.
Just like every day off, Will would rub his eyes and flop on the couch next to Macklin and say, “How long have you been up for?”
Macklin would lie and say, "Not long," before passing the coffee on the side table to Will. It would be exactly what he wanted.
“You should have gotten me up,” Will would say, sipping the coffee with great appreciation.
“You needed the rest, babe,” Macklin would reply, “I’m in no rush to do anything today.”
Their routine was predictable, gentle, and uncomplicated. It was all Will ever needed.
Boston also tended to be a place he found himself when he wasn’t wanted. One of the first times he realized this was the July before his freshman year at Boston College.
It was late; everyone had stumbled back home to their identical houses on the Cape, as he gently kicked his feet in the pool water. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear fireworks in the distance. His beer was nearly empty, the can threatening to blow over in the breeze.
He didn’t declare for the draft.
Just about everyone told him not to, using the words you would draft so low it would be an embarrassment. He remembers nodding along because at the time that made sense. If the expectation is that he wasn’t ready, then he must not have been. No matter what he put up with at the program, he wasn't ready. Hockey would always offer that kind of clarity, he supposed.
He signed the commitment papers with a smile.
The Christmas break was too short for it to make sense for him to go home, is the story they all told themselves. His parents assured him they would love to have him back but didn’t know if it made any sense. Something about jet lag, travel being hard on the body, and needing to stay focused.
He made a lame offering to buy the ticket himself. It didn’t get him outside of San Jose city limits.
Patrick and the rest of the Marleaus were kind enough to loop him in on their family traditions. One that included Will stepping out to call home. He offered sounds of acknowledgment as his mom recounted various things and suddenly realized there wasn't snow on the ground and it wasn’t cold outside. He said his goodbyes and hung up, tilted his head back, and felt the warm sun on his face.
Better to be unwanted where it's warm than ankle deep in the snow, he thinks to himself as his phone buzzes in his pocket almost on cue.
Mackers: merry xmas baby wish you were here 💙
Will feels his eyes sting.
He types miss you. Deletes it. Types it again before slipping his phone back into his pocket.
During the Olympic break, he practically haunted the house. Drifting from room to room, unsure of what to do with his body. It wasn’t that he expected to make the roster; the federation wasn’t playing around, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t knock the wind out of him. He swore he could feel the weight of the distance from his friends in California on his shoulders, and the distance from Mack in his heart.
It’s not that they didn’t talk during the Olympics, but the sudden separation was sharp. They exchanged texts at odd hours courtesy of the time zone difference, frequently missing calls for the same reason. This was also particularly hard on Will, as he could see the strain Macklin was under.
Again, that’s to be expected when you are becoming another figure in a long line of them on a Goliath of a team that is Canada hockey. But Will wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms and softly whisper that he’s enough. He briefly wondered if anyone was doing that for Macklin. His stomach twisted at the thought of it being someone besides him.
And selfishly, he wanted Mack to invite him to rest his head on the other man’s lap, twist one of Will’s curls gently around his finger and tell him that he is wanted, needed even. Perhaps in far from elegant words, but it was something Will had grown used to and maybe even believed.
Will watched the gold medal game on TV, in the living room of his childhood home. Anytime a poorly executed play from Team USA happened, he had wanted to think that he wouldn’t have fucked it up, but a decently sized part of him didn’t know if that was true. He had a couple of gold medals of his own, but not the one that mattered in this moment. The chance to get this one felt as if it’d passed him by. He’d pray tonight that his turn at the Olympics would come.
He was sure he was going to die seeing Macklin bow his head to receive the silver. It was a version of Macklin he hardly recognized. Sure, there was no one harder on Macklin than himself. Sure, sometimes after particularly bad games Macklin would retreat so far inside himself their hotel room was silent. But the dead look behind his eyes was something that startled Will. When thinking of his boy, the vision that came to mind was someone so radiant it burned if you weren’t careful. Someone so full of life it made you believe there was life to be enjoyed out there. Someone so warm, and kind, and gentle. When Macklin tipped his head back and looked up at the arena lights, Will felt his eyes sting as well.
Will wanted to press a gentle kiss to the cut on his cheekbone. To pull him into a hug and gently rub the spot on his shoulder that gets sore. To kiss him like he meant it. Will hoped Shea would let Macklin just be quiet when they got back to their room and give him space to breathe.
Later that night Will, perhaps against his better judgment, called Macklin. People weren’t supposed to know, and having a roommate who wasn’t in on the secret ran a risk, and the time zone difference was probably too early even for Macklin, but Will had been pacing his childhood bedroom for hours and gave in to the impulse. The dial tone rang, what felt like endlessly, and just as Will was about to hang up, Macklin answered wordlessly.
“Mack,” Will said on an exhale, “Macklin baby,” Will said, losing his train of thought.
The two breathed on the line together. No one spoke.
“Macklin,” Will tried again. He hesitated suddenly, at a loss for words again. “I love you,” Will offered as it was the only thing that came to mind despite being unsure if that was enough.
Predictably, Macklin didn’t answer. His silence was simple, easy to understand to anyone Macklin let try.
“I love you,” Will said again. Will looked up at the ceiling, as he had done so many times in prayer, “I love you. I had so much I wanted to say, but I just wish I was there.”
“Me too,” Macklin whispered into the phone.
Will watched the room go blurry as his eyes filled with tears. He glanced down at his watch. 1 am, meaning it was 7 am for Macklin.
“I uh,” Will said, trying not to cry, “I hope you slept okay. And I uh. Please eat something.”
The line was simply quiet again. Predictably.
“You’ll be home soon. And I’ll be there,” Will offered once more.
“Really?” Macklin whispered. This wasn’t a sarcastic tone; this was serious. It broke Will’s heart.
“Forever and always, baby,” Will got out. He heard someone else speaking in the room. “I’ll let you go, baby. I love you.” Will said again.
Macklin hummed so softly that Will wasn't sure the sound was real, and hung up the phone. Will’s cheeks felt sticky; he didn't realize he had been crying. He ended his pacing for the night at the window, the moonlight stinging his eyes.
The summer in Boston was complicated. It weighed on him with a unique feeling of complicated and unwanted. His parents were more than thrilled to show him off to their friends from work or from church. Something that irritated his sister to no end.
“I feel like I need to take a shower after they do all that,” Grace said, taking up residence in the chair at what was once Will’s desk.
Will shrugged in response.
“If someone wanted to know what you were up to so badly they could just Google it,” she added lightly.
“At least you have an actual job,” Will said, attempting to joke.
Will did actually feel this way. He couldn’t help but be aware that his sister was on the way to being actually accomplished. This was also hard to explain considering he made it to the NHL. But in reality, she studied, put in the work, and ended up with a career she earned. He just got lucky he could move a puck around better than most of the rest.
Grace considered this, “Whatever pays the bills and buys nice clothes counts as a real job.” A grin that only an older sibling could possibly manage spread across her face, “Something you would know nothing about.”
“You’re impossible,” Will teased.
This summer started out different. Macklin, here with him, made him see Boston in a new light. Or maybe not new, but one that he hasn’t experienced since he was a kid.
“You’re nervous,” Macklin teased as the two of them drove from the airport to Will’s.
“Am not,” Will lied.
“No need to be. I’m great at meeting the parents,” Macklin said, pressing his hand onto Will’s thigh.
“You’ve met my parents before,” Will replied. While this is technically true, they both knew it was different. They were different. Will wasn’t ready to tell his parents, unsure when that day would come, if at all. They never really knew him, kind of generally, but they certainly didn’t know him like this.
Macklin considered this, “I’m great at meeting sisters,” he tried again, reading Will’s mind, “even if I’m a little scared of Grace.”
“Scared of Grace?” Will let out with a laugh.
Macklin nodded, his face all serious.
As they made the trip from the airport to the part of the city where Grace lives, Macklin took to pointing at random things in the skyline and asking Will what they were.
“You also lived in Boston,” Will teased.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t like that,” Macklin replied, his hand finding where Will’s rested on the gear shift.
“Wasn’t like that?” Will echoed, confused.
“Yeah, I mean I played hockey and followed Aiden around when he’d let me, and I love my brother, but I can't say he is the most knowledgeable about the city aside from where the nearest Chipotle is,” Macklin replied. “You like grew up here.”
Will considered this.
“Like it’s part of you. And I like hearing you talk.” Macklin finished before Will could push back.
Will felt himself go warm, and humored him for the remainder of their drive.
“Relax, bro,” Will said as he followed behind Macklin up the stairs to Grace’s apartment.
Macklin came to a complete stop; Will almost crashed into him.
Macklin fully turned around and glared down at Will from the two steps he was ahead of him. “Bro?”
Will rolled his eyes, “What?”
Macklin scoffed and narrowed his eyebrows. Will wanted to kiss the tension there.
“My bad. Relax, my darling sweet boy of whom I love to the moon and back.” Will tried again.
Mack nodded. “Better. How am I supposed to do that when I am about to meet your sister?”
“She’s chill,” Will offered unhelpfully.
“To you maybe,” Macklin offered as Will obnoxiously slammed his fist against her apartment door.
“William, you are so annoying,” Grace said as she opened the door, paused, “Oh, hi, Mack.”
A painfully awkward silence fell over the three of them.
“Um, hi,” Macklin offered.
Will groaned, “Grace, don't know if you have ever heard of him, but this is Macklin Celebrini. Macklin, this is my sister Grace.”
Macklin stuck his hand out as if he was shaking hands with a supervisor at work. Grace giggled and took it.
“You two are so weird,” Will said before lightly shouldering Grace out of the way and letting himself into her apartment.
“And you are so irritating,” Grace said, following Will inside and wrapping him in a hug in the middle of her kitchen.
“Missed you,” she said quietly.
“Missed you too,” Will replied. “Go easy on him; he's nervous. He's good,” Will whispered.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Grace said with a wink before looking over her shoulder.
“Mack, you can like come in,” She said, laughing at the very anxious-looking Macklin who remained standing in the hallway waiting to be invited in.
Macklin blushed before coming inside and closing the door as softly as possible.
“Polite. For once,” Grace teased.
They spent the weekend drifting in and out of bars that would accept Macklin’s fake ID, which naturally Grace endlessly teased him about. But there was something in the way that Macklin’s hand was gentle on Will’s lower back as they weaved through the crowd. The way Macklin consistently caught Will’s eye in conversation. The way he seemed to always know when Will wanted to move on to the next place, which had Will beginning to believe there was someone who wanted him in Boston. Even if only for a short time.
“You two can figure out how to make the couch work,” Grace said as they stumbled into her apartment for the night.
Will flopped face-first onto the couch in question, “all good here.”
“Don’t know what you see in him,” Grace teased as she disappeared into her bedroom for the night.
The apartment got quiet, just the sound of traffic outside. Will, still face down on the couch, smiled as he felt a gentle hand lightly run through his hair.
“Macklin, where are you?” Will whispered.
“Right here, baby,” Macklin said.
Will lifted his head to find Macklin lying flat on his back on the floor right in front of the couch.
“What are you doing down there?” Will inquired.
“You didn’t exactly leave me any room,” Macklin replied with a soft smile.
Will considered this and, through the haze of that night’s drinks, came up with a better idea.
“Let’s go outside,” Will offered.
“Huh?” Macklin replied totally off guard.
“On the fire escape,” Will replied as if that was obvious.
“Is that like even safe?” Macklin asked, sitting up now.
“Done it a hundred times,” Will replied, holding his arm up, signaling for Macklin to pull him up and off the couch.
Mack happily complied and intertwined their fingers as Will led them to the window with access to it. Will went first, taking his position on the metal grates. Macklin stuck his head out the window, looking unsure.
“Come on, baby, it's fine,” Will pleaded.
Mack considered this before eventually climbing out the window.
They sat shoulder to shoulder and looked out over the city, listening to the soft sound of cars pass by below. Will watched as Macklin took in the view. The way the soft amber light climbed up from the street lights softened Macklin’s features, and it made Will’s chest hurt.
Will had sat on a platform like this so many times, wondering if there was a place out there where it didn't feel like he was standing in someone else's space.
Will leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Macklin’s cheek and hoped Macklin never got tired of making room for him.
“You okay, baby?” Macklin whispered into the night.
Will kissed him in response.
“I can set up the guest room for you,” Will’s mom offered.
Macklin looked at Will, slight panic on his face. “Oh no, that’s okay, Mrs. Smith. I wouldn’t want to bother you.”
“Mack dear, it wouldn’t be a problem at all,” Will’s mother replied sweetly.
“Oh, it would totally be a problem,” Grace said, swirling what was left of the wine in her glass.
Will swore he could feel himself pale. Macklin went stiff. Will’s mom looked confused.
“They room together on the road,” Grace offered as if this explained anything, “would be breaking the pattern. And that one,” she said, pointing at Macklin with her glass, “Canadian. They are superstitious, you know.”
“Are you really Mack?” Will’s mom asked in earnest, the subtext completely going over her head.
“Yeah, I’m Canadian,” Macklin replied, panicked, also having the conversation go over his head.
Will met Grace’s eyes and, in a silent thank you, said, “Thanks for clearing that up,” Will said sarcastically, “but it’s true he is wicked superstitious. Not Crosby level but y’know where he gets it from.”
Will’s mother nodded in understanding; she’s no stranger to hockey.
“Mmm yes. Very.” Macklin lamely added.
“I used the air mattress last when we had my friend from school over. I can help them set it up,” Grace said, finishing the last of her wine and heading up the stairs.
“Coming, boys?” She teased from halfway up.
Will rolled his eyes before nodding for Macklin to follow. As the two got halfway up the stairs, Grace, from the top, pointed at Will, “I’m going to need more wine.”
Will, knowing he was in no place to argue, nudged Macklin forward and retreated down the stairs. Macklin followed Grace down the hall, perhaps feeling the most nervous he had ever felt. The two entered Will’s room when Grace came to a halt.
“What are your intentions with my brother?” she demanded with a face so serious Macklin couldn’t help but be reminded of Will on the ice.
“I’d marry him,” Macklin blurts without thinking.
“Wait, really?” Grace asks, her expression softening immediately.
“Yeah,” Macklin replies, running a hand through his hair, “I dunno if he knows that yet, so maybe don’t mention it, but I know it’s like important to him, so I’d be all in.”
“Me personally, I think you two shouldn’t rush. You getting married at 19 is practically child marriage,” Grace jokes before regaining the seriousness in her voice, “but you better make sure he knows it’s coming.”
“Make sure he knows it’s coming?” Macklin echoed.
Grace nodded, a softness glazing over her eyes. “The thing about my brother is he-,” Grace says before Will bursts into the room, with a glass of wine and two beers.
“Whoa,” Will says, “this looks serious.”
“Oh nothing, have fun boys,” Grace says, “you’re welcome by the way.”
They both muttered a thank you.
That night Macklin had Will pressed to his chest, the tackiness of the sheen of sweet left behind sticking them impossibly together. The moonlight washing out Will’s hair made Macklin’s chest hurt.
“When’s your flight tomorrow?” Will mumbled.
“Late. Like 8 pm or something like that,” Macklin replied, rubbing gentle circles on Will’s previously injured shoulder.
“Got you the whole day,” Will said.
“I’m going to miss you,” Macklin offered.
“You’ll be fine,” Will replied.
Macklin froze after hearing that. “Will, what?”
“You’ll be fine,” Will said again, as if that answered the question: “You’ll have all your buddies from Team Canada, you’ll get to spend time with Aiden and the others.”
“Yeah, but,” Macklin said suddenly at a loss for words, “they aren't you.”
Will shrugged, “You’ll be fine.”
“Will baby, look at me,” Macklin said.
“Mmm, tired,” Will attempted to deflect.
“Will, I’m serious,” Macklin said, the edge in his voice making Will meet his gaze immediately.
“What does this all mean?” Macklin asked.
“Macklin, come on,” Will said, as if he was seeing something that was obvious that Macklin was missing, “youll be so busy you won’t even notice I’m gone. And I'll be right where you left me.”
“I miss you all the time,” Macklin replied, “I miss you when you’re taking a nap.”
“And you survive anyway,” Will said, laying his head back down.
“Will,” Macklin said, his voice growing increasingly confused, “what’s going on?”
“Mackers, I’m tired,” Will said with a groan.
Macklin wrapped his arms around Will and squeezed him a little. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Will whispered, a little gutted.