Chapter Text
Kent manages to keep this development to himself for a total of two days, which is pretty impressive. He finally caves in when he’s alone with Troy watching tape after a super nice massage from the Aces’ trainer.
“Hey,” Kent says. “Guess what.”
Troy doesn’t say anything, but he slouches down in his chair and props his feet up on the table, so Kent assumes that means he’s preparing for a story.
“Jack flew here to talk to me for a couple minutes the other day. It was okay, I guess.”
Troy pauses the tape immediately. “Come again?”
Kent looks at his fingernails. “Okay, so he wanted to talk in person? So he flew down here. We talked. He’s still thinking.” Troy is not filling the silence, so Kent continues. “Yep. Oh, and I’m probably going to hang out with his parents for Christmas? Like, at a party. That should be fun and not at all awkward.”
“Fucking Christ,” Troy says, after a beat. “Keep your Snap story updated. For real.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Kent says. It’s more like he squawks it, really, which is lowkey embarrassing.
Troy snickers at him, but he pulls Kent in for a side-hug that gets kind of out of hand when Troy practically dumps Kent on the floor. “Dude,” Troy says. “That’s so fucking crazy. Mistletoe kisses, eh?”
“Ugh.” Kent squirms out from under Troy’s arm. “I hope not. Like, not unless he wants to, like, date me. You know.”
“Aww.”
Kent thinks he’s probably spilled enough of his problems on Troy over the last month, but -- it doesn’t really seem like Troy minds. “I’m kind of scared.”
Troy pats Kent’s back. “Scared of what? That he won’t be into you?”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“Right.” Troy picks up the TV remote again. “I bet he flew all the way across the country just to talk to you for a few minutes because he doesn’t like you at all. Seems reasonable.”
Kent feels his face get hot. Troy turns the game tape back on and smirks at him. “Yeah, okay,” Kent mumbles. Troy turns up the volume and pats him on the back one more time.
* * * * * *
The Aces lose on December 23, and Kent gives himself two hours to be upset. Two hours, and then Jasmine from the front office drops him off at the airport.
Kent always likes flying into Canada. He gets recognized more, which is fun at customs. The flight is long as fuck though, since they got to play at home for their last game before Christmas. There’s a layover in Detroit, where Kent buys a humongous bag of gummy bears and takes selfies with four or five fans, plus another dozen people who don’t seem to know who he is but can at least tell that he’s a celebrity.
This is why he has to wear jeans when he flies, even if he wishes he were in sweats. He gets some crap about always dressing like a schlub in his flannels, but the truth is Kent would be even more dressed down on the regular if he could get away with it. The price of celebrity.
getting back on the plane, see u soon, Kent texts Jack. The u feels very intimate, which is probably a sign that Kent needs a fucking nap.
He manages to sleep a little for the last hour of the flight, and he wakes up to his ears popping as they descend.
Bob had said there’d be someone to pick Kent up from the airport, and Kent has to hold in a laugh when he sees that Bad Bob himself is here. “Hey, kid,” Bob says, pulling Kent into a true Canadian hug. “How was your flight?”
“Great, I got some sleep in,” Kent says, and he thinks he does a decent job of staying even-keeled and charming for the duration of their wait by the luggage carousel. It helps that a dozen people ask for pictures and autographs.
“You shouldn’t have been the one to come get me,” Kent jokes after yet another hockey fan looks like they’ll have to be mopped off the floor just from talking with the two of them. “Or at least you could have warned me that you were trying to start a riot at the baggage claim.”
Bob pats his shoulder. “I think you like the attention.”
“Oh, it’s a burden. All these people getting excited for little ol’ me.”
Bob laughs, loud and crinkling at the eyes. It takes Kent’s breath away for a second, both because it’s been so long since he felt like someone’s son, and because he wonders if Jack might look like this someday.
He grabs his suitcase, and they go to where Bob parked his gorgeous Jaguar. It’s not exactly Kent’s style, because Kent’s style is “flashy asshole”, but he admires it anyway.
“Alicia and Jack are out doing some last minute shopping,” Bob explains as they head onto the freeway. “Gifts, but also some favors for the party tomorrow.”
“Got it.” Kent tries to keep his voice casual. “How late will they be out, do you think?”
Bob gives him a small, knowing smile. “I’d imagine several more hours. You’d be better off going straight to bed and sleeping off the jet lag, but it’s up to you.”
Kent is very concerned about that knowing smile. He also hopes, kind of, that this is, like, foreshadowing that Bob is on his side and would support him dating Jack. Probably not, though.
“Sweet,” Kent says. When they get back to the Zimmermann mansion, Bob says he has to make some calls for the party, and Kent wanders off to put his luggage away.
He automatically heads to the guest room he always used to crash in back when they were teenagers. Everything’s all set up for him, which makes him feel nostalgic and sad in the worst way. Even the bedspread is the same. Kent knows they must have put it in storage and brought it back out just for him, because there’s no way they’ve had that fucking Indiana Jones comforter there for all these years.
(Kent had embarrassed himself by watching Indiana Jones for the first time with Jack, and he literally could not keep his mouth shut about how hot Harrison Ford was in that movie. It was a point of shame in Kent’s life, and Jack kept giving him shit about it, to the point that Jack had told his parents that Kent really liked Indiana Jones and would appreciate some related decor in his room. It had been the most humiliating thing ever, and Kent had been an annoying mix of pissed and endeared with Jack in a way he couldn’t really control, but then it had all been worth it when Jack let Kent fuck him for the first time in that bed.)
It’s a lot to handle, being back in that room again, but Kent still falls asleep before Jack gets home.
He sleeps in, which in hindsight was dumb as fuck because he knows Jack is an early riser. So apparently Jack is volunteering to, like, teach kids how to read, and Kent can’t even be mad. Jack is literally the best man alive. Kent needs to go back to bed and either cry or jerk off about it, he’s not sure yet.
But by the time Kent’s done with his breakfast, plans to go back to bed have been cancelled. Bob and Alicia are leaving the house in the hands of the party decorators, and Alicia invites him to go to the movies with her while Bob goes ice fishing with some of his old hockey friends. Kent isn’t good at paying attention to movies, but his teenage crush on Zac Efron kind of gets reignited anyway.
Alicia takes him out for frozen yogurt afterward. Small talk with Alicia is always weirdly relaxing, and Kent feels effortlessly charming when he’s around her. He’s always felt slightly on his guard around moms, just in general, but Alicia’s easy to talk to.
By the time they get home, Jack’s car is in his spot in the garage. Kent goes straight to his own room and tries to focus on what he should wear to the party -- he brought three possible outfits, just to delay the torture of choosing. He starts trying on suits and puts on some Lana in the background, because he is just classy like that.
Eventually, he goes with a dark gray suit, white shirt, and light blue tie. There’s never anything Kent can really do to solve the dilemma that is his cowlick, so he puts in a moderate amount of gel and spritzes hairspray onto his comb, trying to at least get it in place so it doesn’t flop in a million directions throughout the night. He has this nice cologne with a spicy apple-y smell, and he feels expensive and sexy by the time he’s all ready.
The place is exquisite. The whole ground floor has an open layout, which makes it perfect for a party, and the silver and white decor makes everything feel enchanting, like magic and wishes and true love exist.
Bob gives him a hearty clap on the back, and after a few minutes of chatting with the small crowd of hockey legends in Bob’s corner, Alicia whisks Kent away to mingle with some of the charity reps in attendance.
Kent keeps his most dazzling smile plastered onto his face, and shakes a billion hands, and collects a fucking booklet of business cards. He finally excuses himself to go grab a mug of eggnog. It smells like cinnamon and nutmeg, and tastes so boozy Kent knows Alicia had something to do with it.
The best part is when Jack comes to grab a drink too. He stands close enough that their sleeves brush for a second. Kent feels dizzy, and he takes another swig from his mug.
Jack smells like the ocean, all bark and salt. He’s wearing a gray-blue vest over a lighter shirt with a dark tie, and he smiles a little shyly at Kent.
“Nice party.”
“I’m glad you came,” Jack says. His eyes keep darting from Kent’s eyes to his mug, up to his face again. “It’s -- would you pass me the peppermint?”
Kent stares at him, but he figures it out and hands Jack a little cup of peppermint extract for Jack to drizzle into his eggnog. Their fingers brush, and Kent jumps a little when Jack’s hand shocks him. “Oh,” Kent says. He laughs. It’s breathy and sounds dumb.
“You look nice,” Jack says. His ears are red. Before Kent can embarrass himself further by answering, Jack has grabbed onto his hand one more time to squeeze it before walking off to talk with a couple people that Kent thinks are his old college friends. He recognizes a couple of them from that bachelor party a year ago, but none of them are drunk now.
That’s too scary for Kent. He can handle talking about the Aces’ playoff chances with Mario Lemieux, but he’s not going to chat with people who probably are way smarter than him and who probably wish Jack was still dating Eric Bittle.
Kent talks to a couple of Alicia’s old modeling friends for awhile. He looks over at Jack. Jack’s smiling, all shy and awkward and heartbreaking, and talking with his buddies. Then Jack glances over at Kent, and his face brightens with a weird, nervous excitement.
Kent blushes and looks away.
When Kent goes back to grab more of that spiked eggnog -- and he’s going back a lot tonight, if the way he feels every time he catches sight of Jack is anything to go on -- he feels a prickle down the back of his neck. He tries to ignore it, because it’s totally fake and made-up that you can feel people looking at you, but when Kent finally turns around Jack is eyeing him.
Kent looks down, shy all of a sudden. When he glances back up, Jack is still looking at him. His eyes are intense, almost electric across the room.
There’s a sprig of mistletoe hanging above the big lattice windows. Kent stays far away from it.
He doesn’t talk to Jack again for the rest of the night, but by the time the party’s over Kent feels so exhausted that they might as well have had a thousand conversations.
Kent goes back to his room to change out of his suit while the Zimmermanns close out the party. It’s not like Kent’s hosting, so it would be weird for him to say goodbye to the last stragglers, anyway. He emerges twenty minutes later in a hoodie he’s had since high school and his favorite pair of sweatpants.
Alicia and Bob are guzzling champagne at the kitchen counter, still in their formalwear. Jack’s vest is unbuttoned, and Kent sees the moment Jack notices him -- Jack’s body language goes from tired and relaxed to nervous and jumpy. He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Ready for bed, Kent?” Bob yells. He is so fucking drunk. Kent laughs and joins Bob and Alicia in drinking champagne right out of the bottle until the three of them have dredged up enough will power between them to put it away.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” Jack says, watching. “Any of you.”
Bob hiccups, which sends Alicia into hysterics, and Kent giggles until he’s practically crying. He puts his head down on the counter for a little bit, and when he sits up again it’s just him and Jack in the kitchen.
“Oh,” Kent says.
Jack is looking at him. “I remember that sweatshirt,” he says. “It still fits you.”
Kent wishes Jack would touch him. It’s distracting. It’s all he can think about. “I’m so fucking tired,” he says, instead of saying anything horrible.
“I liked seeing you tonight,” Jack says. He’s so cute. His little vest is so fucking sexy on him. He’s smiling at Kent, all sweet. “Kenny. Can you even stand up?”
“Mm-hm.” Kent stands up, and since his momentum is already taking him that way, he nuzzles into Jack for a hug. “Mmm.” His hands slip under Jack’s vest, resting over his shirt. It’s fine. Jack feels warm through the fabric, strong and hard and perfect. He tightens his arms around Kent, and it might actually be the best feeling in the world. Kent can barely get his neck to support his head right now, so he lets his head flop back, closing his eyes. “You smell really good.”
Jack laughs, quiet. “Thanks.” One of his hands brushes against Kent’s face for a moment. It’s gone before Kent can even lean into it. “I think you should go to bed, eh, Kenny?”
“Mmm. Yeah.” Kent moves forward and presses his forehead into Jack’s chest for a second, centering himself. When he feels like he can walk again, he pushes off. “See ya tomorrow, babe. Bro. Jack.”
Jack smiles at him again. It’s the most beautiful thing Kent’s ever seen. “See you, Kenny.”
Kent sleeps in the next morning, then hangs out in a coffee shop a few blocks over to give the Zimmermanns a little space. They have their own family stuff to do on Christmas Day, and he doesn’t need to be in their hair, and he’s also kind of anxious for some reason. So he Skypes his cat-sitter, who waves Kit’s paw at him on the screen, and texts the team a quick Merry Christmas, and orders some wontons to get delivered right to the coffee shop. Not very Christmas-y, but he’s rich and he’s craving some wontons.
Jack is spending the afternoon with college friends, which hurts Kent’s feelings more than he’d like to admit, but whatever. He has plans to hang out with Bob and Alicia at this restaurant called Grinder, which he thinks is some kind of gay joke until they get there and he sees how fancy it is. Kent orders the most expensive bottle of wine he sees, mostly to impress Alicia, and he’s just starting his third glass when Bob says, “Are you sure you want to drink that much right before hitting the slopes?”, which is how Kent finds out they’re going skiing.
Kent sucks at skiing. He skips over the bunny hill because he has some pride, and because he knows it won’t really help, and it’s a relief when Alicia suggests she and Bob move to the black diamonds slope while Kent takes another turn on the blue square.
“Totally,” Kent says. He’s panting a little. So far no one has recognized him, which is a fucking blessing because he really doesn’t need anyone to upload a video of Kent Parson wiping out anywhere on the Internet.
As soon as Bob and Alicia are out of sight, Kent takes his skis off and waddles down the rest of the hill so he can go back into the ski lodge and drink some hot chocolate. He’s not driving, so he orders a nice helping of brandy to go with it. This, he thinks, is probably what Alicia guessed he would do. It’s sort of embarrassing, but at least he’s warm and not bruising his tailbone on a stupid hill.
Bob and Alicia find him eventually, and they run into some of Alicia’s old friends, which means that Kent is stuck being the center of attention for awhile while a group of fifty-year old women touch his hair and discuss how lovely he is. It’s awful.
“I suppose it’s time to get going,” Alicia says after awhile, briskly checking her watch and looking at Bob and Kent.
Kent is right in the middle of getting Shelly’s famous chili recipe, which is very important, but after a minute he’s able to tear himself away and join Bob and Alicia at the door. “Sucks to head out so soon,” he says. His cowlick is kind of in disarray at this point, but he doesn’t really care. “Do you guys have big plans for the rest of your Christmas?”
“Just relaxing, I think,” Bob says, smiling at Alicia. “We’re more worried about getting you out of here on time.”
“On time? On time for what?”
Alicia shakes her head at him, the picture of tolerant amusement. “For your date with Jack, remember? Or, I suppose date isn’t the right word. Dinner.”
Kent stares at her. “What.” Like. What?
“Bob, didn’t you say anything?”
Bob blinks at them. “That was my job?”
“Jack asked you to let him know, dear.”
“Well, then I guess it was my job.” Bob grins at Kent, who can’t really smile back right now when he feels like he’s dying. “Jack wanted to see you before you fly out tomorrow morning. We were planning on dropping you off for dinner. Is that alright, or do you have big plans with someone else in Montreal that I don’t know about?”
“I think I can make it,” Kent says faintly.
“Well, what do you know,” Bob says. He’s smug in that way that only a dad can be. “Kent can make it.”
Kent’s not sure he’s going to make it, actually, but they drop him off and it’s not too hard to find Jack once Kent actually goes inside. Jack’s in the back, sitting at a cute little table with a small vase of flowers in the middle. It looks like a date, regardless of what Alicia said, and Kent feels kind of like he’s being cruelly taunted with what he can’t have, but there’s no way in hell he’s saying no.
“Hey there,” he says once he’s crossed the room. Jack looks up and smiles. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Jack says. He smiles when he sees Kent’s tremendously ugly sweater after Kent takes off his coat. “I ordered you some coffee? I love their hazelnut blend here.”
Kent takes in Jack’s hair, which looks shinier than usual. His warm gray button-up; his eyes, which look soft instead of piercing in this lighting; his skin, rosy from the cold. “You smell like peppermint,” Kent blurts out. “I think. Is that you?”
“Oh.” Jack sniffs at his own hands. “I think so. Mom got me this nice lotion for Christmas.” He extends one arm across the table, kind of awkwardly, so Kent smells Jack’s hand. It does smell good. “Yeah. It was mostly clothes this year, though. I think they want me to dress better.”
“Well, someone has to do it for you,” Kent says, and Jack puts on his best fake-offended look. It’s unfairly adorable.
“What about you?” Jack shoots back. He’s so -- energetic, and confident, Kent thinks, and it feels like the hair on his arms is standing up. “You get another dozen flannels for Christmas? I don’t know fashion, but I don’t think you’re one to talk.”
Kent rolls his eyes. “You love my flannels.”
“Oh?” Jack raises one eyebrow, the sassy fucker, and then cracks up when he can’t hold the expression anymore.
They’re interrupted by a server who’s checking if they’re ready to order. Kent hasn’t looked at his menu yet. He kind of forgot they were at a restaurant.
“Um.” Kent scrambles to get his menu open. “I’m not sure. What would you recommend? Pasta?”
“Actually, do you want to split a pizza?” Jack asks. “I like the Danisi here.”
Kent has no idea what that is, but he’s down for whatever. “Sure. Sounds good. Merci?”
Jack looks absolutely delighted. He always has loved watching Kent flounder in a foreign language. Because he’s a dick. Kent steps on his foot under the table, and Jack keeps the same polite smile on his face as he hands the server their menus.
“It’s nice here,” Kent says after a while. “Fancy but not too fancy, you know?”
“I’m glad you like it.” Jack smiles at him. It’s a warm smile this time, and Kent feels covered in it head to toe. “Is the coffee good?”
“Oh my god, so good.”
“Good.” Jack taps their feet together under the table. “I won’t laugh at you if you want to add a whole lot of creamer to it.”
“Oh, I’m past that now,” Kent says, and Jack smiles at him again. Kent’s not used to Jack looking at him like this -- like, yeah, Jack smiles, but not like this. Soft and light, but as if Jack can’t keep it off his face. It’s making Kent feel warm, and special, and really fucking nervous. “Now I drink my coffee black. Like a boss.”
Jack gives him that smile again.
Kent looks down at his coffee. His feet feel all tingly. He’s probably being dumb.
When the pizza comes, Jack reaches across the table to show Kent the best cheese to sprinkle on top of it. It’s so good, and Jack thanks the server in French and asks for another pot of coffee. Kent tries not to look too doe-eyed. He thinks he’s probably failing.
Jack eats his pizza quietly, and Kent sneaks another glance at him. The lighting is faint, almost golden around him, and Kent can barely breathe with how pretty Jack is. He seems calmer than usual, nothing tense at all in his face, and Kent feels lucky that Jack would spend the last few hours of his Christmas here, with him.
They linger over their food, and Kent orders dessert (Jack denies wanting it during the season, then steals half of it when it shows up). But eventually, it's time to say goodbye. He has a reservation for a hotel room his last night in Montreal and a text on his phone confirming that Bob already dropped off his luggage for him. Kent’s flying back to Vegas the next morning while Jack stays another day, and he doesn’t want to get in the Zimmermanns’ way any longer.
It’s just easier this way, apart from all the ways it hurts. Kent feels full and empty at the same time. He got so much of Jack over these couple days, but that just makes him even more aware of how much more he still wants.
“Where's your hotel?” Jack asks as they climb into his car. “I can drop you off.” It's kind of a pointless comment, since Kent doesn't have his car with him tonight after being chauffeured around by Bob and Alicia all day.
Still, it's nice of Jack to say. “Thanks. It's not too far, like, maybe ten minutes?” Kent gives Jack the address, expecting Jack to plug it in on his phone's GPS. Instead, Jack just sits there with a weird look on his face. “Do you know where that is?”
Jack looks up, meets his eye. Kent's heart feels like it skips a couple beats. “Aren't you flying out tomorrow?”
“Uh, yeah, Zimms. Got a game in a couple days.”
“It just seems like I haven't seen you at all while you were here,” Jack says. “Maybe you could come back to my house again instead?”
Kent tries to ignore the happy, warm feeling that sneaks under his skin at those words. He really, really tries. “That might be cool. I still need someone to drop me off at my hotel in the morning, then.”
Jack starts the car. He doesn't turn on the radio, and Kent reaches over to do it because he can’t handle the silence. He fiddles with the dial until he finds an old Kelly Clarkson song. “I can do that,” Jack says. “So let's go back to my place, then? If that's okay?”
“Yeah,” Kent says. He looks out the window and waits for his heart rate to get under control. There’s no reason to assume this is going to be a big thing. Jack probably isn’t telling him that they can’t ever be together. Jack probably isn’t telling him that he’s in love with Kent. They’re probably going to talk about hockey, drink hot apple cider by the fire, and fall asleep in the living room while the local news plays in the background.
It sounds fucking amazing. Kent has goddamn butterflies in his stomach.
Jack hums along to Miss Independent. Kent stares at him until Jack glances over, and then Kent’s laughing at him and Jack’s turning red and swatting at Kent a little. “Hands on the wheel, Zimms,” Kent says, partly to give Jack a hard time and partly because he definitely doesn’t want to die in Canada.
Inside, Jack shoos Kent into the living room while he gets drinks and snacks prepared. Kent considers the couch, but he likes the way the Christmas tree looks, the only light in a dark room, so he curls up next to it and waits. The Zimmermanns don’t do stockings, at least not anymore, but there’s a fabulous sparkly nutcracker standing guard by the fireplace. Kent has no idea which Zimmermann it might belong to, and he’s studying it when Jack comes over and joins him on the floor.
“Oh shit,” Kent says when he sees that Jack brought a bowl of white chocolate pretzels. “Yes. Thank you.”
Jack smiles and offers him a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon on top. Kent takes it; the mug is too hot to touch anywhere except the handle, so there’s an awkward transfer where his and Jack’s fingers skitter over each other for several seconds. Kent can’t help it -- he feels his face warm up, and he looks down with what’s probably the world’s dumbest, most lovestruck smile on his face.
It doesn’t need to be a big deal. He literally already told Jack he loves him. But it’s kind of been the elephant in the room since then, and Kent avoids looking at Jack as he blows on his hot chocolate and hopes some of his dignity will come back. “Mmm,” Kent says after he takes a small drink. He doesn’t know what else to say.
“Parse.”
Kent shrugs. Doesn’t look up. “Hmm?”
Jack is nervously moving the pretzels around on his plate. “I, um. I need to talk to you.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Okay.” He isn’t ready; he wasn’t expecting this. He made this happen with his stupid love confession and his stupid inability to stop looking at Jack with a fucking adoring look in his eyes for more than two seconds at a time. Fuck.
“I need to tell you --” Jack stops. He breathes in and out a few times, and Kent feels suspended, waiting. “I don’t know what to say. Sorry. Kenny, I --”
Kent’s chest feels expansive, like it’s filling with hope almost physically. It’s second-nature to push it down, at least when it comes to Jack, but they’re together on Christmas. Hope can spring fucking eternal. “Jack, hey. Just say it. I need to know.”
“Kenny, I feel really -- when I’m with you --” Jack trails off, looking at Kent helplessly.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Kent says quietly. He reaches out, careful, and gives Jack a chance to move away if he wants. When Jack doesn’t flinch at all, Kent puts his hand on Jack’s back and rubs across Jack’s shoulder blades. “Why’s it so hard for you to say, huh?”
“Kenny,” Jack says again, and he twists to the side so he can tug Kent closer. He wraps Kent up in a hug, one hand soft against the hair at the nape of Kent’s neck, the other warm on his back.
“Yeah,” Kent says, “Jack --”
He loses the ability to speak, or breathe, or think when Jack buries his face in Kent’s hair, kissing him there again and again. It feels perfect. It feels like more than Kent deserves. He leans into it anyway. “Jack? Uh, what’s up?”
Jack touches Kent’s face as he pulls away to look at him. “I think I love you,” he says. He sounds more scared than excited about it, and Kent moves easily with him when Jack drags him closer to kiss Kent’s hair again.
“I love you too,” Kent says, tears blurring in his eyes. “Jack. Come on. Talk to me. Why are you upset?”
“Because I don’t know if it’ll work,” Jack says. The words sound torn from his throat. “Last time ended so bad, and we could barely handle seeing each other. Now that you’re here, I’m -- I don’t want to lose this if things go bad. I don’t want to go back to not having you, Kenny, and I’m scared I’ll fuck things up, and -- and I don’t want it to be like that again. What if we try, and I’m bad at this? I don’t --”
Kent leans back so they can see each other, but he holds onto Jack’s hand. “You won’t. And I’m not going anywhere, you know that.”
Jack doesn’t look Kent in the eye. He stares at their hands, warm and intertwined. “I don’t want to hurt you. That’s -- you’re so confident in how you feel, and you knew you loved me a long time ago, right?”
Kent squeezes their hands together and nods.
“I’m not like you, Kenny. And I want you, I want to be with you, but I don’t want to keep hurting you. I mean, I think I love you, but how do you even know? I don’t want to tell you that if I realize later I was wrong.”
“Yeah,” Kent says. “That would suck.”
Jack laughs and scrubs his free hand over his face. He leans back against the couch, and after a second Kent moves over so he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking at Jack. “Uh, you should drink more of your hot chocolate before it gets too cold,” Jack says.
“Yeah, yeah,” Kent says, but he does it anyway. It still tastes ridiculously good. “I mean, you can’t go to the doctor and, like, officially find out if you’re really in love. It’s not a pregnancy test. But I know I love you because of how I feel when I’m with you. You don’t need to overthink it, you know?”
Jack throws a pretzel at him. “Yeah. I know that.” He’s quiet for a moment, just looking at Kent, and Kent starts to feel the moment catch up to him. “It’s just hard because -- I didn’t feel exactly like this the first time with you. This is bigger. But it’s also different from when I was with Bitty, and I know I was in love with him.”
Kent wants to touch all the worry out of Jack’s face. He wants to hold him, and be held, and have free access to see inside Jack’s heart and touch him there, too. He settles for reaching down and grabbing Jack’s ankle, ignoring the warning look Jack gives him. “Relax, Zimms, I’m not gonna tickle you. I have some class. But, like, Bittle and I aren’t the same person. At all. I feel like being in love with two different people would feel really different, right?”
He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t actually know what it’s like to fall in love with more than one person. That kind of goes without saying.
“I know,” Jack says again. “But with Bittle I was so sure. Now that it’s different, I’m scared that calling it love isn’t as accurate. But I think I love you. I really think I do, Kenny.”
Kent drains the rest of his hot chocolate. He feels good. This is the weirdest and possibly least romantic declaration of love ever, but what else is new. “Okay. And just because I’m sure I love you doesn’t mean you have to be sure right now. It’s not a contest. And if it was, I already won, so you can take your time.”
“Asshole,” Jack mumbles, and his voice is all fond. Kent moves over so he’s sitting next to Jack and smiles when Jack loops his arm around Kent’s shoulders. “I mean. Okay. You tell me if you think this sounds like love. I want to kiss you every time I see you. I think about you every day, and pretty much every time I do something or have an idea about something, I want to tell you about it. I want --” Jack cuts himself off, blushing. “You get the idea. Does that sound like love to you? Since you’re the expert here.”
Kent’s face hurts. He’s smiling like an idiot, he notices, and Jack is looking at him with this gorgeous expression that’s a mix of serious, happy, and trying not to cry. It’s the most obvious thing in the world to climb onto Jack’s lap. It’s the best thing in the world. “Sounds good to me.”
Jack traces over Kent’s face with one finger. “I -- I think so too.” He looks at Kent’s lips for a few seconds, swallows, and looks into Kent’s eyes again. “I want to tell you. I was thinking -- if I had to describe how I feel about you without using the word love, I’d say that I, um, adore you.”
Kent knows the expression on his face is probably embarrassing. He feels like he’s going to cry. “You suck,” he mumbles, and when he presses his face into Jack’s neck he can feel Jack’s laugh reverberating against his skin. “I love you.”
“I know you do,” Jack whispers. Kent feels Jack’s breath against his scalp, and it sends chills all the way down his body. “I love you too, Kenny.”
That’s -- Kent feels like he’s going to die, he’s so happy. He could listen to Jack say it a million times in a row and still feel like he’s melting. Kent tilts his head back to look up at Jack’s face, and for once everything between them comes together perfectly. Jack leans down, Kent closes his eyes, and they’re kissing in a way that Kent’s pretty sure they never have before. Not frantic or rushed like in Juniors, not just as a part of sex like the few times they’ve kissed as adults.
Kent is safe in Jack’s arms, and Jack is tugging at Kent’s hair a little bit, and Kent feels the same urge to give give give everything to Jack like he always does, but for once he knows that Jack wants it all, will treasure it.
His pulse is thick and hot under his skin, filling his brain and drowning out everything, hard to focus. Kent feels like Jack’s hands are everywhere, comforting and perfect against him -- framing his face, across his back, lightly moving up and down his leg, back in his hair again. “Jack,” Kent whispers, almost hysterical with it all.
Jack doesn’t answer, just moves his hands back onto Kent’s face and kisses him even sweeter than before. Kent opens his mouth to it, pushes his hands against the muscles he can feel through Jack’s shirt until Jack gets the picture and pushes Kent down so that Jack is lying on top of him.
And that’s when they accidentally knock over Jack’s mug of hot chocolate. Things were only bound to be romance movie-perfect for so long, Kent thinks, and this is more their style anyway.
“Shit,” Jack says. “Oh, Jesus, that’s going to stain.”
Kent gets up as Jack scrambles to his feet next to him, and he can’t resist planting one more kiss on Jack before running into the kitchen for paper towels. “Just gotta dab it up,” he says over his shoulder, and he has to add a quick one-armed dab, because, duh.
“You are so unfortunate,” Jack grumbles behind him.
Kent hands Jack a paper towel roll from the counter. “You adore me,” he says back, and it’s just unfair, the way Jack smiles at him.
* * * * * * *
It would be super nice if Kent would start playing the best hockey of his life now that his relationship with Jack is all settled and amazing, but unfortunately his life is not an inspiring movie, and the Aces lose their first game after the short Christmas break.
They lose their next game too, and Kent is really pissy about it. He hates losing, always, but losing three in a row is fucking unacceptable.
“Hey, Parser, what’s up?” Scrappy asks later. They’re sitting with Troy, secluded in the front of the plane while the rest of the team is spread out behind them, all either sleeping or listening to music. “You look different.”
Kent gives Scrappy his best bitch, are you kidding me face. “I think you know what’s up.” He’s so mad right now. The presser after the game was bullshit, and the reffing tonight was bullshit, and the fact that they’ve slipped to third in the division is bullshit. The fact that he got fed two amazing passes tonight and managed to screw both of them up instead of scoring is bullshit, and embarrassing, and he’s sick of letting his team down.
“Well, I might know, but I don’t know?” Scrappy says. “You’re, like, glowing.”
Kent stares at him. “With… rage?”
“Nah, Parse,” Troy says. “You look like a pregnant lady. Or someone who just found out her lover is coming home from war.”
“Why are they all women?” Kent says grumpily. “Men can glow too.”
“I don’t know, dude, it’s just the fucking connotations of the word. You know. But actually, why are you all happy and glow-y? I told you to update your Snap story. Spill the motherfucking beans.”
Kent has this weird urge to show them his hand, like he’s going to have a ring on it or something. Jumping the gun a little there, Parse. “Oh. So. Jack and I are together now?”
Troy and Scrappy give Kent this reaction that he wants to keep forever, where Troy opens his mouth in a silent O and just freezes like that, and Scrappy stares back and forth between Kent and Troy with a ridiculously huge grin on his face. “Oh shit,” Troy finally manages. “Holy fuck.”
“I’ve heard rumors that he’s in love with me,” Kent adds. He is very smug and not interested in hiding it.
Scrappy smiles like this is genuinely the best news he’s ever heard. Troy ruffles Kent’s hair and adds, “Of course he is. And if he hurts you, tell him that I’ll -- well, probably do nothing. But I’ll be pissed.”
Kent thinks about the series of eleven texts he has in his inbox, all from Jack, starting from the beginning of tonight’s game. He lowkey wants to read them again on the plane, but he knows he’d start blushing and Troy would probably steal his phone and read them. And it’s not like they’re dirty or whatever, but Kent feels like Jack telling him he’s amazing, that he’s proud of him, is just as personal.
“He’s not going to hurt me,” Kent says. “Well. Much. Like, not any more than it’s normal to accidentally hurt people you’re close to? We’re working on communication, so, like --”
“Oh my god,” Troy says, and Scrappy laughs in pure delight.
He flips them off and moves back a seat so he can reread Jack’s texts.
Jack flies down to Vegas after Providence drops out of the playoffs. He stays in Kent’s house, in Kent’s bed, which is way less sexy than it sounds because Kent plays and practices and trains all day, then eats a ridiculous amount of food at night, then passes out while Jack sits close to him, reading a book. He’s pretty sure he falls asleep once while Jack is in the middle of kissing him.
That’s okay. They’ve been together for four months now, and even though they haven’t been able to see each other in person since Christmas, Kent feels good just waking up next to Jack. They’ll have plenty of time to explore each other later.
“You’re gonna win,” Jack says as he serves Kent a gorgeous plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.
Kent lights up when Jack kisses the top of his head, then gets distracted by looking around the table. “Where’s the ketchup? Babe?”
Jack sighs into Kent’s hair. It feels really good. “Can you not put ketchup on everything, just one time…”
“Breakfast of champions.”
Kent finally gets his ketchup, and Jack sits next to him and drills him on what to expect in today’s game. It takes a couple extra minutes to get Kent out the door because Jack keeps pinning him against the wall and kissing his face, and Kent isn’t exactly in a hurry either, holding on tightly to Jack’s t-shirt, but eventually Jack ushers Kent out the door. He gives Kent’s butt a weirdly bro-y pat on the way out. “You’re gonna win,” Jack promises one more time.
And they do win, over and over and over, until they finally lose. Kent knows he should be grateful for making it all the way to the Cup final, but it just sucks to be that close and still not get it.
What does not suck is shower sex with Jack afterward, or watching Big Brother in bed with Jack, Kit, and a bowl of trail mix until Kent yells at the TV too much and scares Kit away.
“Sorry, baby,” Kent says to Kit’s retreating form.
“What about me,” Jack grumbles in bed next to him.
Kent reaches over and squeezes Jack’s ass, slow and purposeful. “Sorry, baby.”
Jack looks up at him, all open and vulnerable. There’s no way on earth Kent will ever be able to resist Jack Zimmermann’s bottom-eyes, and he never really finds out how that particular episode ends.
(Kent’s on the edge of coming when he hears Jack start mumbling about Kent’s forecheck, all sweaty and awed under him, and Kent kisses Jack to stop himself from laughing. He wonders if he could do, like, a Pavlovian training thing on Jack, so he whispers “Hockey” in Jack’s ear right as Jack’s about to come. Jack swats him on the ass, groaning, and Kent kisses his face so carefully, again and again, even after they’ve settled down.)
They fly to Montreal together by the end of June, and even though it’s kind of weird staying with Jack’s parents -- they have to schedule their sex very carefully, since Kent is never going to learn how to be quiet -- it’s also really nice. Kent hasn’t felt like he had parents in a long time. Bob suggests they go geocaching together, and Kent never quite figures out if Jack put him up to it or if Bob’s just weird like that.
His sister texts him to congratulate him on making it to the Final. His parents don’t. Kent’s glad for that, honestly, because he’s still scared of talking to them. He tells Jenny thanks, though, and he appreciates that she doesn’t ask if he’s planning to visit over the summer.
“How are you doing?” Jack asks later, when they’re relaxing on the Zimmermann’s backyard patio. It’s kind of chilly out for summer, which Kent is using as an excuse to curl up against Jack’s chest.
Kent watches this cute little bunny hop across the backyard. “I’m really happy,” he says, and he smiles as he feels Jack’s arms squeeze around him. “I love being here.”
“I love having you here,” Jack says softly, and they sit together in silence for a few minutes, Jack’s chin resting on Kent’s head.
When it gets dark, Kent gets up and pulls Jack to his feet, and they go inside together. Bob and Alicia are out for the evening with a recreational curling group, which Kent will literally never get over, so they have the house to themselves. Kent makes mimosas in the kitchen, because that’s honestly the only mixed drink he knows how to make, and they sit on the kitchen floor, drinking and talking with their legs crossed over each other.
“Okay,” Kent says after they’ve spent way too long debating the merits of country vs. rap music. “You need to take me upstairs and have your way with me before I change my mind. Like, now. Because if I hear you talk about Keith Urban one more time, I’m moving to the guest room.”
Jack pouts at him, and then he sloshes the rest of his mimosa all over the tile floor as he jerks away from something. “Kenny, Kenny, spider. Agh, kill it. Kenny.”
“Why do you always end up spilling your drink,” Kent sighs, but he gets up and squashes the spider under his foot. “Crying and screaming over a goddamn spider. You’ve never been more attractive to me, Zimms.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m still gonna fuck you,” Jack mumbles from the floor where he’s mopping up his drink. “And I wasn’t screaming. Or crying.”
Kent hip-checks Jack the second he stands up. “You will be soon,” he says, waggling his eyebrows like an idiot. He fucking loves Jack Zimmermann.
“No, you will,” Jack says. “You always do.”
Okay, so now that they get to have sex and say I love you at the same time, Kent gets kind of emotional. It’s not a big deal. And Jack’s usually tearing up right along with him, so this is just bullshit. “We’ll see,” he says, letting Jack manhandle him against the wall and arching up into it when Jack scrapes his teeth against the back of Kent’s neck. “--Oh. I’m gonna make y-you cry.”
Jack squeezes Kent’s hips, coaxing a little sigh out of him. “I think I’ll be too busy making you scream.”
Jack’s bed -- their bed -- smells so good. Kent rolls onto his stomach and breathes it in right away, and after that he’s pretty much a goner. Jack can do whatever he wants to him. He stays on his stomach while Jack lubes up his fingers and opens Kent slowly. It’s honestly embarrassing how many times Kent says “I love you,” except Jack says it back every time, and the words are thrumming under Kent’s skin and blacking out his vision.
When Jack’s using three fingers on him and it’s an easy fit, Kent has Jack stop long enough for Kent to turn over so he’s looking at Jack. He hadn’t noticed he was crying, but now that he’s on his back staring up at Jack he can feel the tears getting caught on his eyelashes.
“You win,” Kent says.
Jack kisses his forehead. “Yeah.” It’s nice of Jack not to rub it in, Kent thinks distantly, and when Jack pushes inside of him it’s even more gentle. “Love you,” Jack whispers, nosing against Kent’s temple.
After Jack finishes in him, and after he’s jacked Kent off so Kent comes all over himself, they stay in bed way too long and everything gets kind of dried up and gross. “You were supposed to do something about this,” Kent says later, patting the nastiness on his stomach.
“Your legs work too,” Jack says. He hasn’t stopped playing with Kent’s hair yet.
Kent rolls away to sit up, stretching his legs out. He loves the feeling after sex when he’s still holding onto the memory of where Jack’s hands were on his skin, but it’s been long enough. “How ‘bout this, champ?” he says, and reaches over to drum his fingers lightly against Jack’s hair. “We take a quick shower together. Then we go for a walk.”
Jack sits up too, crawling across the bed to sit next to Kent. He trails a hand down Kent’s back. “We can’t go for a walk, Kenny. Cameras.”
“Then we can listen to a podcast or something,” Kent says. He doesn’t say that he doesn’t give a shit about cameras, because that’s not true.
Jack kisses his shoulder. “Sounds good. Last one still in the shower loses.”
“That’s dumb. It’s not my fault you take freakishly short showers.”
Jack laughs and climbs off the bed. He turns around and pulls Kent to his feet, keeping his hands on Kent’s waist longer than he needs to. “Maybe you need to learn to take shorter showers,” he says, and lets go. “I miss you while you’re in there.”
Kent’s face heats up, and Jack smiles at him. It’s gross, because there’s still a layer of dried-up come between them, but Kent pulls Jack in for another kiss, and Jack goes easily, wrapping himself around Kent and holding on tight. “I miss you too,” Kent whispers. He should be embarrassed at how cheesy it all is, but Jack cups his face and kisses him with sweet, careful intention, and Kent can’t feel anything but happy when Jack’s hands are on him.
Maybe, he thinks as he follows Jack’s perfect ass into the bathroom, he can try to take shorter showers. It’s good for the environment. And Jack’s already made this a competition twice before today, and Kent doesn’t want to keep losing.
Jack beats him this time, though. He’s there when Kent gets out of the shower to dry Kent off with a towel, which Kent really appreciates because it shows that Jack remembers he needs to treat Kent like a precious ruby after they have sex.
“I win,” Jack says, trailing a finger down Kent’s nose and flicking the water away.
“I’ll get you next time,” Kent says.
They have all summer.