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Macklin had been having a perfectly good summer before Will Smith showed up.
Productive, anyway.
He’d been in Vancouver for most of it, which meant training, skating, eating, sleeping, and then doing some variation of the same thing again the next day. It wasn’t exciting, but Mack didn’t particularly need exciting. He liked routine. He liked knowing what he was doing when he woke up in the morning. He liked leaving the rink tired enough that there wasn’t much energy left over to think about anything else.
By August, he felt good. Strong. Fast. Ready.
Then Will came to visit and fucked the whole thing up. Not intentionally. That almost made it worse.
Will had been in Vancouver less than twenty-four hours before he’d somehow inserted himself into every part of Mack’s routine like he’d always been there.
He came to the rink. He came home with him. He ate with Mack’s family. He stole food off Mack’s plate and played loud and annoying pop music on the way to the rink each morning and left his shit all over Mack’s room like he’d been living there for months instead of sleeping there for a week.
Mack should have found it annoying. He didn’t. That was probably the first problem.
The second was that Will was apparently incapable of letting anything be serious for longer than five consecutive minutes.
Mack would be trying to get through a drill and catch Will making some stupid face from the other side of the ice. Will would chirp him after a missed shot, Mack would tell him to fuck off, and five minutes later they’d be standing at the boards laughing about something Mack wouldn’t even remember afterward.
Everything felt easier with Will there. Mack didn’t think about that either.
He just knew that practices seemed shorter. The drive home seemed faster. He wasn’t quite as tired when they got there. And every night, no matter how much time they’d already spent together, one of them found some reason they weren’t ready to go to sleep yet.
One more game. One more episode. One more stupid video Will needed to show him. One more conversation that somehow started with hockey and ended forty minutes later with neither of them remembering how they’d gotten there.
It was fine.
They were friends.
Best friends, probably, although Mack would rather die than say that out loud where Will could hear him. There was nothing weird about wanting your best friend around.
There was definitely nothing weird about realizing, somewhere around the fourth day, that Will only had three days left and immediately deciding not to think about that.
So Mack didn’t.
He went to the rink.
Will went with him.
Everything was fine.
Until Wetsch hugged him.
It wasn’t even really a thing.
Mack skated over during a break, Wetsch said something he couldn’t hear over the noise, and the next thing Mack knew Wetsch was reaching for him.
Mack laughed and straightened, returning the hug without thinking much of it.
Then he looked over Wetsch’s shoulder.
Will was skating toward them.
And—
Oh.
Mack knew that face. Will’s eyes went from Wetsch’s arm around him to Mack’s face. Then back again. His expression barely changed. Nobody else would’ve noticed.
Mack did.
Wetsch let him go, still talking about whatever the fuck they’d been talking about before, but Mack wasn’t listening anymore.
Will stopped beside them.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Mack said.
Will looked at him.
Mack looked back.
There was absolutely no reason for the sudden urge to smile crawling up his throat. So obviously that was exactly what happened. Will’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
Mack pressed his lips together.
That only made it worse. Will stared at him for another second. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
Wetsch looked between them. “Do I need to leave?”
“No,” Will said.
“Yeah,” Mack said at the exact same time.
Wetsch laughed and pushed away from them.
Will waited until he was out of earshot.
“What?”
Mack shrugged.
“Celebrini.”
That made the smile break loose again.
Will looked genuinely offended now.
Mack couldn’t help it. “Were you jealous?”
Will’s entire face went blank.
“No.”
The answer came so fast Mack nearly laughed.
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You looked pissed.”
“I always look pissed when I’m looking at you.”
“Not like that.”
Will stared at him.
Mack stared back.
Something warm and stupid settled in his chest. It shouldn’t have mattered. Wetsch had hugged him. Will had looked at them. That was it. Except Mack knew Will. And Will knew that Mack knew him. Which meant they both knew exactly what that look had been. Neither one of them had to say it. Finally Will scoffed and started skating backward.
“You’re so fucking annoying.”
Mack followed him.
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Okay.”
Will’s head snapped toward him.
Mack grinned.
“Don’t fucking ‘okay’ me.”
“I said okay.”
“You’re saying it like an asshole.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Nothing.”
“Okay.”
“Mack.”
This time Mack laughed outright. Will shoved him. Mack shoved him back. Thirty seconds later they were racing for a loose puck like the conversation had never happened.
It should have ended there. For Mack, it mostly did.
Will had been jealous.
Mack knew it. Will knew he knew it. Apparently that was enough.
He didn’t need Will to explain what the look meant.
He didn’t need him to put a name to it.
He didn’t need Will to say anything at all.
That was how things worked between them.
Mack understood Will.
Will understood Mack.
And most of the time, whatever existed in the space between those two things didn’t need words. It wouldn’t occur to Mack until later that night that there might eventually be something important enough that it did.
By Will’s last full day in Vancouver, Mack had almost managed to convince himself that three days wasn’t three days.
Then two days hadn’t really felt like two days.
One day was harder to ignore.
“You’re fucking cheating.”
Will didn’t even look up from the controller. “I’m better than you.”
“You’re literally not.”
“Scoreboard.”
“Because you’re cheating.”
“How am I cheating at chel?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Will laughed. “Sounds like a skill issue.”
Mack kicked him in the thigh.
“Ow. What the fuck?”
“Skill issue.”
Will twisted around and launched himself at him.
The controller went flying somewhere into the couch cushions. Mack barely had time to get an arm up before Will was on top of him, trying to shove his face into a pillow while Mack laughed hard enough that fighting back became nearly impossible.
“Say it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Say I’m better than you.”
“Get the fuck off me.”
“That’s not it.”
Mack got a knee between them and shoved.
Will rolled off the couch and hit the floor with a thud.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Will started laughing.
Mack leaned over the edge of the couch. “You good?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Asshole.”
Mack grinned down at him.
Will stayed there for another few seconds before reaching up and grabbing Mack’s wrist.
“Help me up.”
“You got yourself down there.”
“You pushed me.”
“You attacked me.”
“Because you’re a sore loser.”
Mack let Will pull on his arm anyway.
Which was stupid, because Will didn’t use it to get up.
He yanked Mack down.
“Smit—”
Mack landed half on top of him, elbow catching the carpet, and Will immediately started laughing again.
“You’re such a fucking dick.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of them moved.
Mack became aware of it slowly.
Will’s hand was still around his wrist. Mack’s knee was between Will’s legs. Their faces were closer than they’d been a second ago.
Will wasn’t laughing anymore.
Something shifted.
Not badly.
Just enough.
Mack looked at him.
Will looked back.
They’d had a few of those moments over the week.
Moments where whatever this was seemed to rise right to the surface, wait for one of them to acknowledge it, then sink back down when neither did.
Mack had gotten pretty good at letting that happen.
Will’s thumb moved once against the inside of his wrist.
Then somebody downstairs called Mack’s name.
They broke apart like they’d been caught doing something they hadn’t actually been doing.
“Coming,” Mack yelled.
Will cleared his throat.
Mack got to his feet.
He held out a hand.
Will took it.
And that was that.
It was easy.
Everything with Will had been easy this week.
That was the problem.
⸻
The rest of the day disappeared too quickly.
They skated. They got food. Will spent twenty minutes arguing with Mack about whether a place he’d been eating at his entire life was actually good, which Mack took personally on behalf of the entire city of Vancouver.
By dinner, Will had somehow ended up helping clean the kitchen like he belonged there.
By nine, his suitcase was open on Mack’s floor.
That was when Mack’s mood finally went to shit.
Will was folding a shirt.
Mack was lying across his bed pretending to watch something on his phone.
Neither of them had spoken for a few minutes.
“Do you need this?”
Mack looked up.
Will was holding one of Mack’s shirts.
“Why do you have that?”
“You gave it to me.”
“I did not.”
“You literally did.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
“Why?”
Will shrugged. “I needed a shirt.”
“So wear your own.”
“I am.”
“Then give it back.”
Will stared at him.
Mack held out his hand.
Slowly, Will tossed it over.
Mack caught it and dropped it beside him.
“Okay.”
Something about the way Will said it irritated him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You said it weird.”
“I said okay.”
Mack looked back at his phone.
A few seconds passed.
Then Will went back to packing.
The zipper on the suitcase sounded obnoxiously loud.
Mack scrolled past the same video three times without actually seeing it.
“What time’s your flight?”
“Nine forty.”
“I know.”
Will glanced over. “Then why’d you ask?”
“I meant what time are you leaving here?”
“Like seven?”
Mack nodded.
Will folded another shirt.
“Your mom said she’d take me.”
Mack’s eyes came off his phone.
“She did?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“Oh.”
Will watched him for a second.
“You don’t have to get up.”
“I’ll be up.”
“Okay.”
There it was again.
Mack locked his phone.
“What are you doing when you get back?”
“Boston?”
“No, Will. When you get back to fucking Mars.”
Will’s eyebrows went up.
Mack immediately regretted it.
“Boston,” he said.
“Training. See some people. Get my shit together before I have to head back west.”
“Right.”
Will waited.
Mack didn’t say anything.
Eventually Will turned back toward the suitcase.
Mack hated that too.
“And then what?”
Will stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“When you go back.”
“San Jose?”
“Obviously.”
Will looked at him now.
Actually looked.
Mack wished immediately that he’d kept his mouth shut.
“I don’t know. Camp. Same shit as last year, I guess.”
“You’re staying with Patty again?”
There.
It was out.
Casual.
Completely normal question.
Will didn’t answer immediately.
Mack’s stomach tightened.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I haven’t really decided.”
“Oh.”
Another pause.
“What about you?” Will asked.
“What about me?”
“You going back to Jumbo’s?”
Mack shrugged.
Will waited.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
Mack stared at him.
Will picked up another shirt.
“Okay?”
Will looked over. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Mack.”
“I said nothing.”
“You’re pissed.”
“I’m not pissed.”
“You’ve been pissed for like an hour.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You just demanded your shirt back.”
“It’s my shirt.”
“You haven’t worn it in three years.”
“Then why do you want it?”
Will stared at him.
Mack could hear how fucking ridiculous he sounded.
That didn’t make him less irritated.
“I don’t care about the shirt.”
“Clearly.”
“Fuck you.”
Will sighed and sat back on his heels.
“What is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop saying nothing.”
“Then stop asking.”
Will went quiet.
Mack looked away.
He could feel Will watching him.
That was worse than if he’d kept arguing.
Finally Will said, “If you don’t want to stay with Jumbo again, don’t.”
Mack’s head turned back.
“What?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“So—”
“I know that.”
“Okay.”
“Stop saying okay.”
Will blinked. “What the fuck do you want me to say?”
Mack didn’t know.
That was the whole fucking problem.
He knew exactly what he wanted Will to understand.
Apparently getting it from his chest to his mouth was impossible.
Will watched him for another second.
Then something in his expression changed.
Small.
Recognition.
Mack saw the exact moment he figured it out.
Relief hit first.
Then Will said nothing.
The relief disappeared.
“You know what I’m asking.”
Will’s face softened.
“Yeah.”
Mack stared at him.
“Then why the fuck are you making me ask?”
“I’m not making you do anything.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Do that.”
“I’m not doing anything, Mack.”
“Exactly.”
Will sat very still.
Mack got off the bed because suddenly lying there while Will looked at him felt unbearable.
He crossed the room and stopped by the window.
Behind him, Will said quietly, “If you want something different this year, tell me.”
Mack laughed once, without anything funny in it.
“You already know.”
“I think I do.”
“You do.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Mack turned around.
“Why?”
Will looked genuinely surprised. “What?”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because it isn’t.”
“Great answer.”
“Mack.”
“No, seriously. You know me better than basically anybody. You spend all fucking week knowing what I’m thinking before I say anything, and suddenly now you need a formal fucking request?”
“That’s not fair.”
“How?”
“Because we’re not talking about where you want to get dinner.”
“I know what we’re talking about.”
“Then say it.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Mack’s jaw tightened.
Will saw it.
Immediately.
His expression changed again.
“Mack—”
“No. You want me to say it? Fine. You go first.”
Will frowned. “Go first with what?”
“Whatever the fuck this is.”
Silence.
For the first time all week, Mack wished Will wasn’t looking at him.
“Tell me what you want.”
Will stood.
“I want you to tell me what you want.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Because my answer shouldn’t decide yours.”
“It won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Mack actually laughed.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes.”
“So you think I’m just going to do whatever you want?”
“No.”
“Then what the fuck are you saying?”
“I’m saying this matters.”
Will wasn’t yelling.
Mack almost wished he would.
“I’m saying I can tell when you’re tired. I can tell when you want to leave somewhere. I can tell when you’re pissed even when you keep telling me you’re not.”
“I’m not—”
“You made me give you a shirt back because you’re mad I’m getting on a plane tomorrow.”
Mack’s mouth snapped shut.
Will took a breath.
“I can read you, Mack. I know that. You know that.”
“Then—”
“But I’m not picking where you live because I think I know what you want.”
Something in Mack’s chest twisted.
“Nobody asked you to.”
Will stared at him.
The second the words left Mack’s mouth, he wanted them back.
“Okay,” Will said.
Quietly this time.
No edge.
That was worse.
Mack looked away.
Will stood there for another few seconds before turning back toward the suitcase.
The zipper moved.
Mack couldn’t fucking stand it.
“So that’s it?”
Will turned around again, frustration finally breaking through.
“What do you want from me?”
“You keep asking me that.”
“Because you won’t fucking tell me!”
There it was.
Mack went still.
Will dragged a hand through his hair.
“I want to know, Mack. I do. But I need you to choose it.”
“You think I haven’t?”
“I think you’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to make me choose it for you.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“It sounds like it.”
“Mack—”
“You want to go live with Patty again? Fine. Go live with Patty.”
Will’s face fell.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Mack hated himself for noticing.
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you’re doing.”
“I’m going to Boston tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“I have to go to Boston.”
“I fucking know that.”
“So why are you acting like I’m leaving you?”
The room went silent.
Will knew immediately.
Mack could see it.
He wished more than anything that Will could take the words back.
Will stepped toward him.
“Mack.”
“Don’t.”
“That’s not how I meant it.”
“Whatever.”
“Mack, come on.”
“I’m tired.”
“Can we please just—”
“No.”
Will stopped.
Mack picked up his phone.
“I’m going to bed.”
“You’re in your bedroom.”
“Then you should probably get out.”
That one hurt.
He knew it did.
Will stared at him for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
Mack didn’t tell him not to go. Will grabbed his suitcase and pulled it into the hall. At the doorway, he stopped.
Mack kept his eyes on his phone.
Neither of them said anything.
The door closed.
Mack stared at the blank screen in his hand for another ten seconds. Then he threw the shirt Will had given back to him across the room.
It didn’t help.
Will slept like shit.
That probably would’ve been true even if he’d been somewhere other than the guest room down the hall from Mack, but knowing Mack was right there made it worse. Twice, Will picked up his phone. Twice, he opened their messages. The second time he actually typed something before deleting it, because he had no fucking idea what he was supposed to say.
Sorry didn’t feel right. He was sorry they’d fought. He was sorry he’d hurt him. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d asked.
Eventually he gave up and tossed his phone onto the nightstand.
He still woke up before his alarm.
For a few seconds, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, Will forgot why his stomach felt like shit. Then he heard movement somewhere downstairs and remembered.
Right.
He was leaving.
Mack was mad at him.
Great.
Will showered, got dressed, and packed the last few things he’d left scattered around the room. He took longer than necessary doing all of it, which he absolutely refused to examine. By the time he finally dragged his suitcase into the hallway, Mack’s bedroom door was still closed.
Will stopped in front of it.
He could knock.
For one stupid second, his hand actually lifted.
Then he let it fall.
Mack knew when his flight was. He knew when Will was leaving. Will had told him seven. It was seven-ten now.
If Mack wanted to see him, he’d come out.
The thought felt suspiciously similar to the argument they’d had the night before, and Will hated it.
Downstairs, Mack’s mom was already waiting.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” Will tried to sound like a person who hadn’t spent half the night fighting with her son and the other half staring at the ceiling. “Sorry. I’m ready.”
She looked at him for just a second too long.
Will had the uncomfortable feeling that mothers probably had some kind of built-in bullshit detector.
“No rush. Did you eat?”
“I’m good.”
“Take something with you.”
“I’m really—”
“Will.”
“Okay.”
Apparently that worked on him no matter which Celebrini said it.
He grabbed something for the road and checked his phone.
Nothing.
His stomach sank again.
Mack’s mom picked up her keys. “Ready?”
Will looked toward the stairs.
“Yeah. Just—”
He stopped.
She waited.
Will felt like an idiot.
“Is Mack up?”
Her expression softened just slightly. “I think so.”
Of course he fucking was.
Will nodded.
“Okay.”
There was that word again.
He hated it now.
He pulled his suitcase toward the door, then stopped with his hand on the handle.
This was stupid. He wasn’t leaving forever. They’d see each other in San Jose soon enough. Probably before camp. They’d text. They’d call. Mack would get over it.
Will would get over it.
Everything would be fine.
Except he couldn’t make himself open the door.
Finally, he looked back toward the stairs.
“Bye, Mack.”
Nothing.
Will waited.
Still nothing.
He swallowed.
“See you in San Jose.”
The house stayed quiet.
Mack’s mom didn’t say anything as Will opened the door.
He was grateful for that.
⸻
Mack heard every fucking word.
That was the worst part.
He’d been awake since six.
He’d heard Will shower. Heard the guest-room door open and close. Heard the wheels of his suitcase bump against the hallway floor. He’d even heard him stop outside Mack’s bedroom.
For one horrible second, Mack thought Will was going to knock.
He’d sat up in bed, staring at the door.
Will didn’t.
Then he’d heard him go downstairs.
Mack told himself he’d get up in a minute.
He didn’t.
He told himself he’d go down before Will left.
He didn’t do that either.
Then, from downstairs—
“Bye, Mack.”
Mack closed his eyes.
He could’ve gotten up.
He could’ve opened the door. He could’ve yelled down the stairs. He could’ve done literally anything other than sit there like a fucking idiot while the person he’d spent nearly every second of the last week with walked out of his house.
“See you in San Jose.”
Mack’s throat tightened.
The front door opened.
Closed.
A minute later, a car started outside.
Mack stayed exactly where he was.
He was still mad.
That was the problem.
He was mad at Will for making him say something Will already knew. He was mad at himself because, somewhere underneath all of that, he understood why Will had done it. Mostly, though, he was mad that Will had actually left.
Which was completely fucking unreasonable.
Will had a flight.
Will had plans.
Will had a life in Boston that existed independently of Macklin Celebrini.
Mack knew all of that.
Didn’t mean he had to like it.
He finally got out of bed when he couldn’t hear the car anymore.
Will’s shirt was still on the floor where Mack had thrown it the night before.
He picked it up.
Then, because apparently he had no dignity left at all, he put it on.
⸻
Boston was fine.
Will had friends there. He had shit to do. He trained, saw people he hadn’t seen enough over the summer, slept in his own bed, and told himself approximately thirty times during the first forty-eight hours that he wasn’t going to be the one to text first.
Not because he was playing some game.
Mostly.
He just didn’t know what to say.
Mack hadn’t come downstairs.
That hurt more than Will wanted to admit.
He understood why Mack was upset. Will had replayed the conversation enough times on the flight to identify at least six different places where one of them could’ve stopped being a stubborn asshole and fixed it. But the fundamental problem hadn’t changed.
Will wanted to live with him.
There. Easy. He could admit it to himself.
He’d thought about it before Vancouver. He’d thought about it a lot more during Vancouver, somewhere between waking up with Mack every morning and realizing he liked knowing exactly where Mack would be at the end of every day.
He wanted the stupid parts of it. Mack’s shit everywhere. Fighting over what to eat. Arguing about the TV. Coming home from practice together. Knowing that when the day was over, neither of them had to find some excuse to keep hanging out.
Will wanted all of it.
What he didn’t want was to say Let’s get a place together and watch Mack agree because Will had said it first.
Maybe that was stupid too.
It still mattered to him.
So he waited.
Mack, apparently, had decided to wait harder.
Two days passed.
Then three.
No texts.
No calls.
Nothing.
Will checked his phone more than he was proud of.
By the fourth day, he was starting to get pissed.
By the fifth, he missed him.
He didn’t call it that.
He was bored. That was all.
Boston was boring.
His friends were boring.
His phone was boring.
Apparently the entire East Coast had collectively decided to become significantly less entertaining at the exact moment Will left Vancouver.
None of that had anything to do with Mack.
Then, on the sixth day, Will opened his phone and saw a video.
He watched it once.
Then again.
By the third time, he was laughing hard enough that he had to sit down.
Mack was on the ice, visibly irritated about something Will couldn’t identify. Whatever had happened before the video started had apparently been the final fucking straw, because Mack snapped at the guys around him, loud enough for the entire rink to hear.
“Hold your shitty ass goddamn pucks!”
The reaction was immediate.
“OHHHHHHHH!”
Mack’s face somehow got even more annoyed while everyone around him lost their shit.
Will watched it a fourth time.
He shouldn’t.
He really, really shouldn’t.
He saved the video anyway.
Then he opened Mack’s messages.
The last thing there was from Vancouver, something stupid Mack had sent him while they were sitting three feet apart.
Will stared at the empty text box.
Six days.
Mack had ignored him leaving. Will had ignored Mack ignoring him. At this point they were both being fucking ridiculous.
He attached the video.
Will: saw this
He waited.
Nothing.
Will smiled despite himself.
Will: you seem well
Delivered.
Will put his phone down.
He made it almost thirty seconds before picking it back up.
Nothing.
“Fine,” he muttered.
He tossed it onto the couch and went to get something to drink.
When he came back, the screen was lit.
Will grabbed it.
Mack: shut the fuck up
The relief that hit him was so immediate and so disproportionate that Will actually laughed.
There he was.
Will: missed you too
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Mack: i didn’t say that
Will: didn’t have to
This time the response came immediately.
Mack: 🖕
Will grinned at his phone like a fucking idiot.
Will: there he is
Mack didn’t answer.
Will didn’t really expect him to.
The fact that he’d answered at all was enough to loosen something in Will’s chest that had been tight since Vancouver.
He set the phone down.
It buzzed before he’d even taken his hand away.
Mack: they were being fucking annoying
Will laughed again.
Of course.
Not sorry.
Not I miss you.
Not I don’t want to be mad anymore.
Apparently they were just going to start talking again.
Will could work with that.
Will: all of them?
Mack: yes
Will: interesting
Mack: what
Will: nothing
Three dots appeared instantly.
Mack: don’t start
Will was still smiling when he typed back.
Will: wouldn’t dream of it
The conversation should’ve ended there.
Instead Mack sent him another message five minutes later complaining about something that had happened at the rink. Will answered. Mack answered that. Somewhere along the way the argument from Vancouver became this thing sitting just outside the conversation, untouched but no longer big enough to keep them from having one.
By that night, they were sending each other stupid shit again.
The next morning, Will woke up to a video from Mack.
Neither one acknowledged that Mack had texted first.
Neither one acknowledged that Will answered before he’d even gotten out of bed.
And neither one acknowledged the increasingly obvious fact that six days of not speaking had apparently been about as long as either of them could fucking stand.
Apparently talking to Will again did not immediately improve Mack’s attitude.
Will knew this because the evidence kept finding him.
Sometimes Mack sent it himself. Usually he didn’t.
The hockey world was small enough that Will had spent most of his life seeing the same clips make their way through three different group chats before somebody eventually posted them publicly, and apparently Mack’s increasingly personal feud with the sport of hockey was entertaining enough to travel fast.
The next one Will saw involved a goalpost.
He watched Mack miss whatever he’d been trying to do, circle back, and smack the post with his stick on the way past.
Will sent it to him immediately.
Will: what did the net do
Mack answered two minutes later.
Mack: fuck off
Will: seems innocent to me
Mack: you weren’t there
Will: did it say something
Mack: yes
Will stared at that for a second.
Will: what did it say
There was a longer pause.
Mack: don’t worry about it
Will laughed.
Another video appeared the next day. This time Mack wasn’t yelling at anybody. He just looked annoyed, hit the ice with his stick hard enough to make everyone nearby turn around, then continued through the drill like nothing had happened.
Will sent that one too.
Will: normal behavior
Mack: blocked
Will: no i’m not
Mack: about to be
He wasn’t.
In fact, Mack texted him again eleven minutes later to complain about dinner.
That was how the next few days went.
They fell back into each other’s lives so quickly that Will almost couldn’t figure out how they’d managed not to talk for six days. Mack sent him things from Vancouver. Will sent him things from Boston. They called once because Will wanted to tell Mack something that would’ve taken too long to type and somehow stayed on the phone for an hour and a half afterward.
They didn’t talk about the fight.
They didn’t talk about the house.
They didn’t talk about the fact that Will had left Vancouver feeling like something between them had cracked open and neither one of them knew how to put it back.
Instead, Mack complained about shitty pucks.
Will let him.
For a while.
By the end of the week, Will could tell Mack wasn’t really mad at him anymore. Mack answered when he called. He started conversations. He sent Will pictures of things that required absolutely no response and then got annoyed if Will didn’t respond quickly enough.
He was still apparently pissed at every piece of hockey equipment in British Columbia, but Will had decided that was between Mack and God.
The problem was that everything else had gone back to normal.
Too normal.
Will still didn’t know what was happening when they got to San Jose.
Neither, apparently, did Mack.
⸻
“Your hair looks stupid.”
Will looked at his own face in the corner of the screen.
“My hair looks exactly the same.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
Mack was lying in bed, phone propped against something beside him. Only half his face was visible.
Will had been on FaceTime with him for forty-three minutes.
They had discussed absolutely nothing of importance.
“Yours looks worse,” Will said.
Mack pushed a hand through it automatically.
Will smiled.
“Fuck you.”
“Didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Oh, so now I’m responsible for things I don’t say?”
Mack’s hand stopped.
Fuck.
There it was.
Will hadn’t even meant to do it.
For a second neither of them spoke.
Then Mack looked away from the screen.
Will could’ve changed the subject.
A week ago, he probably would’ve.
Instead he said, “When are you heading down?”
“Couple weeks.”
“For camp?”
“Yeah.”
“You bringing all your stuff?”
Mack shrugged.
Will waited.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Mack’s eyes narrowed.
Will almost smiled.
He didn’t.
“What are you doing?” Mack asked.
“Talking to you.”
“No. You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Where you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Will leaned back against his headboard. “I know what you’re talking about.”
“Then don’t.”
“Okay.”
Mack stared at him.
Will watched the exact moment he realized what he’d said.
“Don’t fucking say okay.”
Will couldn’t help it. He laughed.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” Will admitted. “Not really.”
Mack rolled onto his back, taking half his face out of the frame.
Will waited.
He’d gotten pretty good at that.
Eventually Mack said, “I don’t want to stay with Jumbo.”
Will’s smile disappeared.
There it was.
Not all of it.
But closer.
“Okay.”
Mack’s head turned sharply toward the phone.
Will kept his face completely straight.
“Will.”
“What?”
“Seriously?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you—”
Mack stopped.
Will said nothing.
He could see the frustration building even through the screen. Mack’s jaw tightened. He looked away. Looked back. Opened his mouth and closed it again.
Will wanted to help him.
That was the shitty part.
Every instinct he had was telling him to just say it. Tell Mack he’d already looked at places. Tell him he’d spent half the flight from Vancouver imagining what it would be like to go back to San Jose and have Mack come home to the same place. Tell him he’d wanted this before Mack had ever asked if he was staying with Patty.
He didn’t.
Mack deserved to know the difference between Will understanding him and Will deciding for him.
“I don’t want you to stay with Patty either,” Mack said finally.
Will’s chest tightened.
“Okay.”
“Oh my fucking God.”
Will laughed.
“I’m going to hang up.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I fucking am.”
“Then do it.”
Mack glared at him.
Will waited.
Mack didn’t hang up.
Of course he didn’t.
Instead he dragged both hands over his face and groaned.
“This is so fucking stupid.”
“It’s really not.”
“You already know.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve known the whole time.”
“Pretty much.”
“Then you’re just making me say it to be a dick.”
“No.”
Mack dropped his hands.
Will sat forward.
“I’m making you say it because I need to know you want it.”
Mack went quiet.
“I know you,” Will continued. “I know what your face looks like when you want something. I know when you’re pissed. I know when you’re pretending you’re not pissed. I know when you want me around.”
Mack looked down.
“But this isn’t me staying another night at your house because you don’t want me to leave yet. It’s not dinner. It’s not some stupid shit at the rink. We’d be living together, Mack.”
“I know.”
“And I really fucking want that.”
Mack’s eyes snapped back to the screen.
Will stopped.
Well.
There it was.
Apparently he hadn’t been planning to say that yet.
Mack stared at him.
“You do?”
Will almost got mad all over again.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Mack’s mouth twitched.
“No, seriously. What did you think this entire argument was about?”
“I don’t know.”
“I was trying not to pressure you!”
“You did a fucking terrible job.”
“I didn’t ask you to do anything!”
“Exactly!”
Will stared at him.
Then Mack started laughing.
It was small at first, like he was trying not to, and that made Will start too.
“You’re fucking impossible,” Will said.
“You started it.”
“How did I start it?”
“You left.”
“I had a flight!”
“I know.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Mack was smiling now.
Actually smiling.
Will hadn’t realized how much he’d missed seeing it in real time instead of through some stupid video until that moment.
The laughter faded.
Mack looked at him for a long second.
Then he took a breath.
“I want to live with you.”
Will didn’t move.
He’d known.
Of course he’d known.
He’d known in Vancouver. He’d known when Mack asked about Patty. He’d known when Mack refused to come downstairs the next morning. He’d probably known before Mack did.
It still felt completely different hearing him say it.
“Okay,” Will said softly.
Mack’s eyes narrowed.
Will started laughing before Mack could say anything.
“Fuck you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I think I’m a little funny.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“No, you’re not.”
Mack didn’t.
Will smiled.
“I want to live with you too.”
Something in Mack’s face changed.
It was subtle enough that anybody else probably would’ve missed it.
Will didn’t.
He never did.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Mack nodded once.
Then, because apparently sincerity had reached its daily limit, he said, “You could’ve fucking said that in Vancouver.”
Will’s mouth fell open.
“You told me to go live with Patty!”
“I was mad.”
“Yeah, Mack. I noticed.”
“You pissed me off.”
“You hit a goalpost three days later.”
“That had nothing to do with you.”
“Sure.”
“It didn’t.”
“The pucks?”
“Also unrelated.”
“The ice?”
“Will.”
“I’m just asking.”
“Fuck off.”
Will grinned.
There he was.
⸻
Finding a house turned out to be significantly less difficult than admitting they wanted one.
There were calls and listings and people who actually knew what the fuck they were doing, which helped. There were questions neither of them had thought about and decisions Will hadn’t realized he’d ever have an opinion on until Mack had the opposite one.
Somehow, they figured it out.
By the time they got back to San Jose, they had keys.
Will stood in the middle of an empty living room surrounded by boxes and watched Mack walk from one room to another like he was inspecting a new rink.
“This room’s bigger.”
“No shit.”
“I’m taking it.”
Will looked up. “Absolutely not.”
“I found it first.”
“We walked in together.”
“I got here first.”
“You were three feet ahead of me.”
“Still first.”
“You’re such a brat.”
Mack looked over his shoulder.
Will immediately knew he’d made a mistake.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it again.”
“I’m good.”
Mack was smiling now.
Will pointed at him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Whatever you’re about to do.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“That’s your lying face.”
“I don’t have a lying face.”
“You absolutely have a lying face.”
Mack walked back toward him.
There was something different about him here.
Or maybe there wasn’t.
Maybe Will had just gotten used to seeing him through a phone screen again and forgotten how much space Mack took up in person. How much easier he smiled when he wasn’t thinking about it. How he always seemed to end up standing closer to Will than necessary.
Mack stopped in front of him.
“So which room are you taking?”
“The bigger one.”
“No.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“To see if you’d make the right choice.”
Will laughed. “And what’s the right choice?”
Mack shrugged.
For one second, Will thought they were about to do it again.
That thing where Mack looked at him and expected Will to know.
Except this time Mack rolled his eyes at himself.
“The same one as me, dumbass.”
Will went very still.
Mack’s ears turned red.
It was probably the closest thing to a grand romantic gesture Will was ever going to get.
He loved it.
He didn’t say that.
Not yet.
Instead he stepped forward and bumped his shoulder against Mack’s.
“Could’ve just said that.”
Mack shoved him.
Will shoved him back.
Some things, apparently, didn’t need fixing.
⸻
The next rink video Will saw was posted three days later.
Mack was laughing so hard about something that he nearly missed the puck coming toward him.
Will watched it twice from the other end of their couch.
Then he looked up.
Mack was sitting six feet away, completely absorbed in his phone.
Will sent him the video.
Mack’s phone buzzed.
He opened it.
Looked at Will.
“Seriously?”
Will smiled.
Will: you seem well
Mack read it.
For a second, his expression didn’t change.
Then that stupid, enormous smile broke across his face again.
He threw a pillow at Will’s head.
Will caught it.
And somewhere on the internet, people could keep arguing about what the hell had gotten into Macklin Celebrini that summer.
Will wasn’t going to explain it to them.
Some things were nobody else’s fucking business.