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Frederick fumed his way back to the Olympic Village, ignoring the shuttle in favor of a long, cold, brisk walk. It didn’t help as much as he wanted so after dinner, he worked out in an appropriately socially distanced way with Hardy, who also just wanted to exhaust himself instead of talking. That didn’t help at all. Even after his shower, Frederick was so keyed up he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Dammit. He draped a towel over his head and roughly started drying his hair. Insomnia, on the night before the team’s first practice on Olympic ice. Just his fucking luck. Why was he so–  

‘Physically exhausting yourself is an old coping mechanism that is no longer working,’ came the voice of his therapist.  

Dammit. Frederick hated it when he could hear his therapist in his head like this— and hated even more that he couldn’t refute it: it hadn’t worked. He was miserable and couldn’t run from the feeling. Frederick flung the towel onto the rack. He’d been stupid enough to get his hopes up only to have them dashed. Again. The same awful way they had been ten years ago.

He’d paused his therapy sessions while at the Olympics because the scheduling seemed too complicated, but wow was he regretting that now. Would he have to talk about his feelings to himself ? 

Frederick pushed the damp hair out of his face and skeptically eyed his reflection. It was possible this could work better than therapy, even. Talking about his feelings with other people was arguably shittier than acknowledging them on his own.  

But looking at himself while trying to articulate just what he was feeling left him feeling only tongue-tied and frustrated. Each time he tried out that helpful, “I feel [fill in the blank], when [fill in the blank]” phrase, he just descended into mental profanity and felt like that hurt, furious, badly wounded kid he’d been, when in one blinding, concussive moment of impact, he’d lost the sport he’d chosen, the future he’d wanted, and… Anne . 

He couldn’t think straight about Anne. Frederick already felt so certain he’d lost her— and lost her after he’d only just realized the enormity of that first loss. The fucking permanence of it was a knife to the gut. 

Frederick recalled how he had loved Anne— with an intensity that felt profound , because no one else but Anne had ever seemed to recognize it for the earth-shaking, perspective-shifting, life-changing passion that it was. He wouldn’t be who he was today without Anne. Without the benefit of her belief in him. Without her tastes and preferences shaping his own. Hell, without that single axel she taught him! Frederick had been madly, deliriously, passionately in love with Anne for years when they were together– and was in love with her still. He loved her. He had known it even before he’d set off for that fucking awful ski jumping competition, had more or less admitted it to her when talking about Benny and poor Gabrielle, and had been forced to acknowledge it to himself when he was leaving. 

God, he thought, scowling at his reflection. It wouldn’t hurt this much if he didn’t still love her to the very depths of his soul. 

But no one around Anne wanted him to be with her and Anne– 

No, he told himself, gripping onto the sink and bowing his head. He knew Anne had loved him– with all the deepness, with all the sincerity with which he had loved her. He knew that now. Anne had told him herself that she had given up everything she wanted for him . “Who else?” she’d asked. No, no, he had to stop doubting Anne had loved him then. She had . 

But… could she love him now? 

He’d blustered to that William guy that they’d been best friends since they were twelve, which was kind of true but mostly a lie since… one, Jamie was Anne’s best friend, and two… okay, maybe there wasn’t a two because the more he thought about it, the more he realized Anne was his best friend. Frederick talked to Anne about everything, even things he never told anyone else. They’d fallen into the habit of texting every day again, after she’d come to his first home game for the Habs, and Anne had almost immediately become the first person he wanted to tell any of his news to, and the person he most looked forward to seeing every day. 

But the point still stood– it was mostly a lie because saying “Ace here’s been my best friend since we were twelve,” suggested unbroken years of intimacy. Not ten years of no contact, where he’d convinced himself that he’d forgotten Anne entirely when he’d really just been resentful and angry with her because he loved her still and didn’t know what to do with all the love that had gone unexpressed and unacknowledged— all the love he believed Anne had rejected. 

In all that time, in those ten long years, Anne had surely stopped loving him. The most Frederick could be sure of was that she hadn’t forgotten him. Anne had said she’d watched every NHL game he’d ever played. But that didn’t necessarily mean Anne had loved him then.  Anne was so nice, so kind, so supportive– hell, hadn’t he seen how deep the reserves of her patience and charity ran with Mary and Chuck’s two horrible children? Perhaps she’d seen him as an old friend. She’d said they were best friends to her family and family friends—

But… was she trying to give him a hint then? One of those kind little Anne ways of saying, “hey you spent an insane amount of time last night drunkenly telling me how hot you thought I was, and then tried to kiss me, so I’ll make it clear you’re just a friend?” And who knew, maybe love couldn’t survive a sacrifice as extreme as that, maybe everyone around her was right, maybe he’d lost his chance, maybe history would repeat– 

Frederick tilted his head back. Shit. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. 

He thought about calling his therapist, but then realized it was like, 7 am back home, and he was just going to keep spiraling if he didn't get out of his own head. He couldn’t wait for office hours. 

Frederick dried off, dressed, and swallowed his pride. 

Sophie was the earliest to rise out of the whole family, and she picked up startlingly fast. He hardly had time to take in Sophie or the couch she was laying on, or the snow outside her window before she cried, “Ohmigod Freddy, what’s wrong? You look terrible. ” 

“Love you too, sis,” said Frederick. 

“Do you have COVID?” Sophie demanded. 

“What? No, I just… need your advice on something.”

“You’re calling me for advice ?” Sophie’s eyebrows migrated to her hairline. “Is TMZ about to post your nudes online and you need me to warn mom and dad before they accidentally stumble across them?”

“Why was that your first thought?” Frederick asked, exasperated. 

“You said it wasn’t COVID,” said Sophie. 

“So immediately, you think my nudes getting leaked are the reason I’m FaceTiming you.” 

Sophie looked confused. “I mean, we text , Freddy. If you FaceTime me out of nowhere, I’ve gotta assume nuclear war has broken out.” 

“No one’s sick, no one’s dying, no one’s nudes are getting leaked.” Frederick messed with the toque he had jammed on his head to hide the fact that his hair was still wet, even though he knew all he was doing was giving himself a serious case of hat hair. “I just… well, you said last summer that you know a thing or two about relationships and I need your advice because of a complicated relationship I have with… someone.”

“Oh someone .” But seeing how miserable he looked (and Frederick could very clearly see how miserable he looked even in that stupid little video box of himself in the upper right hand corner of his screen), she stopped teasing him and said, seriously, “Okay. Admiral never gets up before nine, so we have plenty of privacy. I promise not to chirp you if you need to talk. So, tell me why it’s complicated ?” 

“It’s, uh….” Frederick leaned back on the fancy zero-gravity bed and propped his phone upright in between his knees. “So, I… used to see this girl a long time ago, but the break-up was… bad.”

Sophie made a considering noise. “How bad?”

“Formative trauma bad.” 

She looked surprised at this therapy speak, but didn’t say anything except, “So you ran into her again?”

“Yeah, we met up again a while ago, and became best friends again, and I… I started to realize I’m… not over her?” He hated having to admit all this. Hated it . But the voice of his therapist was in his head, reminding him that you had to talk about your problems to solve them, instead of stamping them down and then having them spring out in weird ways, like never being satisfied with anything you accomplished or having insomnia. “I’m… still in love with her, actually. And I also realized there were… reasons why she broke up with me that I didn’t understand at the time, and it started seeming like she regretted the break-up as much as I did–” He saw Sophie’s eyebrows fly up “–or at least, that’s the impression I got. And we’re friends again now, but like… the reason we broke up came up again, and it….” 

This wasn’t working. 

He groaned. “Oh forget it, Sophie, I’m just going nuts from having nothing to do. Men’s hockey is the last event this year and we can’t get ice time because of COVID. It’s nothing–”

“It’s not nothing,” objected Sophie. “Freddy, if you are voluntarily talking to me about your feelings, it’s definitely something major. Take a deep breath. You’re just embarrassed and it’s getting in your way.”

“What gave that away?” Frederick muttered, tilting his head back. 

“Plus you’re being too vague for me to be helpful,” said Sophie. “Start from the beginning and tell me details instead of badly summarizing everything.” 

Frederick pulled his toque over his eyes mostly by accident, but kind of on purpose. “Promise you won’t tell anyone .”

“Wow, you’re turtling, this must be bad,” said Sophie. Then when he pushed up his hat and glared at his phone she held up her hands peaceably. “That was the last chirp, I promise. I won’t tell anyone . Not even Admiral. Who is this ex?”

“It’s Anne,” Frederick admitted. It felt like it had been wrenched out of his gut. “Anne Elliot.” 

A frankly evil smile began to creep across her face. “Oh, Freddy .” 

“You promised you wouldn’t–” he heard how petulant he sounded and hated it, but something about Sophie sometimes just brought out the kid brother in him. 

“And I won’t,” said Sophie, in a sing-song tone of voice, “but I knew it was Anne the second you said you were best friends again. I am frankly relieved you’re in love with Anne. I love Anne. She’s so sweet I want to eat her up with a desert spoon. I don’t know what she’d see in you–”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Frederick snapped. And then suddenly it was all coming out, all the things his family had missed because they were distracted with the war over Sophie and Admiral’s wedding and because he wouldn’t let them in and insisted instead he was fine, just fine , and that there was no reason at all why he was suddenly and completely fixated on hockey. He saw Sophie’s expression shift, the amusement disappear, and something more serious and solemn creep in. And as much as it hurt to confess out loud that he had loved Anne since that lightning strike at the rink when they were only kids, that he still loved her, that he suspected he always would, Sophie’s look of instant pity and understanding filled him with such relief he had to pause and clear his throat. It gave him the courage to admit how wrong he’d been about Anne– how much he had misunderstood, how he hadn’t realized until yesterday that Anne had done all she had because she loved him, and how all the years he, Frederick, had thought he’d forgotten Anne or been indifferent to her, he’d just been… angry. Angry because he couldn’t stop loving Anne even after he had been completely convinced she had never loved him. They’d been getting so much closer since they’d started skating together again. And then there had been the ski jump disaster, and now… now he wasn’t sure what Anne felt about him any longer. He knew the truth of his own feelings, and nothing else. 

“Wow,” said Sophie, when he’d finished. “Freddy, I had no idea you had gone through all this– I mean, that you are going through this. I’m so sorry I never realized–” 

“Don’t beat yourself up, Sophie, I didn’t want anyone to know.” He rubbed his hand over his face. It had been strangely exhausting to admit everything. He was beginning to feel actually tired now. “I didn’t want to, you know. Acknowledge it myself. And anyways, you and Admiral got engaged just before my life imploded, and—“

Sophie winced. “That was such a shitshow your stuff slid under the radar. I’m sorry, Freddy. It’s just… you’re such an open book, I think we all assumed that you really did just want to be the greatest of all time, and there was nothing more to it than you just wanting to be the greatest.” 

“Thanks, I think,” said Frederick. “But, uh… about Anne….” 

“Okay, first things first: your feelings are valid–” which sounded like therapy speak– hang on, had Sophie been to therapy? She was strong as hell! And the last person he would have suspected of needing it, or even wanting to try therapy “–but I think they’re coloring your perception of the situation. It’s like….” Sophie trailed off, frowning. “Okay, it’s like someone slashed you out of nowhere and hit an old injury and you can’t think through the pain. That’s normal. But it doesn’t mean you got injured again. This ski jump fiasco you were telling me about is not actually a repeat of what happened when you and Anne split. For one, Coach Russell isn’t your coach, or Anne’s any more.”

Bitterness seemed to choke him. “She’s still apparently part of Anne’s life, though.”

“But have you ever run into Coach Russell since you and Anne became friends again?” Sophie asked shrewdly. “Anne comes to all of your home games, and you’re always mentioning how you met up with Anne to do something, or how Anne was there at a party or a dinner or whatever. Have you personally seen Coach Russell since then?”

“No,” Frederick had to admit. 

“Or any of her family aside from Mary and Chuck?”

“No,” he had to admit again. Sophie and Admiral had everyone up to their place for Christmas, which meant they’d run into (and had a snowball fight with) Mary and Chuck, their kids, and Anne– and, noticeably, not Anne’s father or elder sister, who were off on some ski jump competition. 

“And look, Freddy, I don’t know what her relationship is with Coach Russell, but Anne has really good reasons to be low contact with her father and older sister. Did she tell you why she’s low contact with her dad?”

“He’s said racist stuff and she was tired of it, I think.”

“That’s partly it,” said Sophie, “but Anne told me— and I don’t think she’d mind me telling you— that her father tried to get her to sell her mom’s condo and use the money to buy partial ownership in the Montreal branch of the business. It was some last ditch effort to keep the flagship Elliot Resort from being sold like all the other properties.”

Frederick’s jaw literally dropped. “You’re shitting me.”

“Absolutely not,” said Sophie. “Chuck and Mary told me about it too, and confirmed that they’re the only family Anne’s close to now, because of that. I mean, not outright confirmed, but I could sift it out of Mary’s usual complaints.”

“Wow,” said Frederick. He knew Anne’s father was a dick, but was too stunned at this new depth of dickishness to think of anything else to say. 

“I must have joked half a dozen times to Mom that I was going to adopt Anne away from her terrible family. ‘My little brother’s former pairs partner’ should be enough of a relationship to justify it and all.” Sophie shook her head. “ Anyways , Anne isn’t close to those people. She doesn’t listen to them or get swept up in their drama. She just gives the most boring, one word answers and noncommittal ‘hm’s. I’ve seen it happen when she runs into Elizabeth at Habs games. It’s a joy to watch.” Sophie looked very pleased at this, and Frederick remembered that Sophie really hadn’t liked Elizabeth Elliot the few times they’d run across each other in the WAG section of the Leafs’ Scotiabank Arena. “I get why you’d be worried again, Freddy, but I know for a fact that those people don’t have any power over Anne. She’s not going to date some guy the family she’s low contact with want her to. Hell, she’d be more likely to date you because they all dislike you at this point.”

“Should I thank you for that one too?” Frederick asked, feeling fully twelve again and like Sophie had mussed the nascent hockey flow he was so unjustifiably proud of growing out. 

Sophie generously waved away this offer. “And anyways, if this William Elliot guy is the same one who was hanging around the resort last summer, then Anne’s told me about him.”

“What’d she say?” Frederick tried not to sound too desperate, but failed miserably.

“That she went on a few dates with him, but didn’t like him enough to keep seeing him. He was nice enough, but she prefers guys who are more open, and less glib. Which is good, because I thought he was just a dime-a-dozen upseller. I know I’m not impartial here, but anyone who prefers that guy to you is a moron, and Anne is not a moron.”

“So you think…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. It seemed beyond belief that he might still have a chance with Anne, when he’d been convinced all day that he had lost her, or was about to lose her a second time.

Sophie was silent. Too silent.

“You don’t think I do,” said Frederick flatly.

“I didn’t say that,” Sophie replied slowly.

“You didn’t say anything.”

“It’s called thinking, doofus. You might want to try it more often.” Frederick wanted to argue, but Sophie sighed before he could say anything. “Okay, honestly Freddy? I don’t know.”

She didn’t know ?

“Anne cares about you a lot , Freddy. Even when you were kind of a dick to her all summer, and flirted with Louisa in front of her, Phoebe told me about how Anne sat with you after the rest of the crew packed up, to make sure you were okay, and then she brought you soup the next day. And you’re such close friends again now– she said you were her best friend, right?”

“Right,” said Frederick, slowly. This was an angle on the situation he hadn’t thought about before. “Even above Jamie Bennet. You’ve met him, right?”

“Oh yes! At a couple of your home games. Hm.” Sophie frowned a little in thought. “Now that I think about it, Anne’s only missed a couple of home games this season, but– I do always see her with friends there, and half the time I think she goes to help Phoebe keep an eye on her kids. But… I’ve noticed that during games, she always seems to be watching you.”

Feelings sucked. He kept going from depths of despair to sudden hope fast enough to get emotional whiplash. “Which means…?”

“I’m trying to figure that out,” Sophie replied. Bluntly, but truthfully. She didn’t sound like she was chirping him at all. “It could just mean that it’s easier for her to follow the game when she’s watching you, or it could just be that I'm looking at her at weird moments. I’ve wondered in the past if she might have a crush on you because of that, but then I always think, no, Anne’s romantic, and she’s mentioned before that she wants marriage and kids, and you….”

“You don’t think I want marriage and kids?” And with Anne specifically? Frederick flushed. He hadn’t thought… that far, exactly, but as a teenager, he’d always assumed that he and Anne would marry and have kids when they were retired from pairs with at least one Olympic medal. Even right now he couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else, let alone having kids with them.

“Frankly, no.” 

“Harsh,” said Frederick, stung. 

Sophie looked exasperated. “Freddy, the most sustained interest I’ve seen you show in someone was Louisa Musgrove, and that was only for what, two months? This, after years and years of asking you if I have to remember the name of this girlfriend and you rolling your eyes at me but not saying ‘yes.’”

“Honestly, it’s….” Frederick groaned, as the realization struck him. “It’s because none of them were Anne. I suck.”

“Just a little,” Sophie agreed, way too easily. “But you’ve never acted like you were interested in Anne. I mean, earlier this summer, I thought you didn’t like her– like the two of you outgrew each other or something– and I was honestly a little surprised when you seemed to become best friends again so quickly.” Sophie paused, struck by this. “You know, she could just want to be best friends again. I remember the two of you being weirdly inseparable when you were kids. I was just thinking about that over Christmas, when you drove up together from the city– like how at all those Darcy Foundation Christmas parties Mom dragged us all to, the two of you would always be together, talking away, as if you hadn’t just seen each other the day before at practice. And it's that way again now. At least, from my perspective.” 

“I don’t want to lose that again,” Frederick found himself admitting. “But I… I don’t know. Would you be happy just being friends with Admiral?”

“No,” acknowledged Sophie. “Well, Freddy, you know what you’re going to have to do? You’re going to have to put on your big boy pants and use your words.”

“What?”

“Just ask Anne,” said Sophie, as if that was an easy thing to do. “Tell her what you’re feeling and that you don’t want to lose her friendship again, but that you still love her and want to try going out again.” 

“That sounds like a great way to lose her friendship,” said Frederick, flatly. 

“Look, Freddy, the key to any successful relationship is just communicating. Not assuming what the other person wants, but asking them, or telling them plainly what you want instead of assuming they know already. Everyone assuming they knew what was best for you two– including you two–  was what ended your relationship with Anne last time right?” 

“The situation’s a lot more complicated than that,” Frederick groused, “but that was part of it, yeah.” 

“And I’m not saying you need to text Anne right this second and say, ‘guess what, I’m in love with you,’ I’m just saying, I don’t know what Anne wants, and you don’t know what Anne wants until you ask her, outright.” 

Why did Sophie have to be right about these things? He wished (absurdly and selfishly) that Sophie had just said, ‘Oh yes, Anne confided in me that she actually fell in love with you again after that hat trick you scored in December, against the Devils!’ or something easy. Then he could just go to Anne without the immobilizing fear that she’d reject him out of nowhere again and he’d have to live without her forever this time. 

“Get some sleep before you do anything,” Sophie advised. “And Freddy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really proud of you for opening up to me like this.” Sophie smiled at him. “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

“Yeah, well.” Frederick couldn’t quite meet her eyes on the screen. “Thanks for listening. You and Admiral are, you know. Kind of my role models for relationship stuff.”

“To think I’m still a role model after all these years!” Sophie laughed. “Good luck.”

Frederick thought he’d be up all night after that, but as soon as he took off his hat, plugged his phone in, and rolled over while wondering if he would even be able to sleep… he immediately fell asleep. That was good, since the team had ice time tomorrow and being tired during practice with new guys was just asking for an injury. But it was also deeply, deeply annoying because it meant he really did have to acknowledge and talk about his feelings about Anne after all. Dammit. 

Practice at least went really well. It was a joy to have Ryan at his back again, and it was a hell of a lot of fun just doing drills and getting used to the other guys on the team. He was glad to be on the ice again. He enjoyed it so much that he remembered Anne was coming to talk with him only five times an hour. 

It seemed forever until he did see her making her careful way into the bleachers. They were taking turns shooting on the goalie, and no one noticed that he wasn’t watching anything on the ice. Anne had on the pink beret his mom had made her– shit, was it bad she felt she needed the extra courage?-- and her white coat, over another pair of leggings that made Frederick want to buy Lululemon stock. 

“You get the last one, Cap,” said Ryan, passing him the puck. 

“One for old time’s sake, eh?” said Frederick, and– after a quick glance to see if Anne was watching (she was)– jumped a single axel over Hardy’s stick, took the puck, and shot it right between the goalie’s legs. The guys all ribbed him for it, but it was funny enough that they all let it slide, and a couple of the newer guys asked the equipment manager and the support staff if they could send the video to everyone. Frederick felt less gut-twistingly nervous when they broke up the practice and after calling out, “See you outside, Ace!” was able to take off his gear, shower, and dress in relative calm… if in record time.

Hardy caught up with him, however, once Frederick was out of the rink and Anne was in sight. “Hey, Cap, you got a minute?”

Frederick tore his gaze away from Anne’s approaching figure. “Uh— just a minute. I’m meeting Anne. What’s up?”

“It’s just….” Hardy rubbed the back of his neck, looking way too tired all of a sudden. “Uh, you know that bachelor party I planned for Benny?”

They had pushed it back a couple of times due to the pandemic, and then when Gabrielle died, they had just canceled the whole thing. “Yeah?” 

“Well… Benny… emailed me about it. You’re on the email too.”

He’d been too busy checking for texts from Anne to look at his email yet. Frederick winced. “Haven’t seen it yet. What does Benny want?”

“He was, you know, being nice. He said he wanted to make as little work for us as possible, so could we just use the old plans and look into scheduling the bachelor party? His brother and cousin from Finland wanted to come and so they wanted to book tickets now, and I said sure, I could just check on all the bookings and stuff we made before we had to cancel, but….”

Frederick stopped trying to find Anne in his peripheral vision and really looked at Hardy. The poor guy looked absolutely miserable. Frederick’s heart went out to him. “Hey, Hardy, why don’t I do it for you?”

“You shouldn’t have to,” said Hardy, shaking his head. “I’m the best man. Maybe. Or was. When he….”

Frederick put his hand on Hardy’s shoulder. “Yeah man, I know. It’ll take me like ten minutes to dig up the old emails and see if we can schedule everything post-playoffs.”

Hardy snorted. “You really think we’re going to make it to the playoffs?” 

“I’ve already had a sixteen goal season,” said Frederick, loftily. “I plan on at least doubling it by the time we get to April.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Anne within speaking distance and he turned to wave at her. 

“Hi Freddy, hi Hardy,” Anne said, sounding just kind of normal. Dammit. Masks made it so difficult to tell how other people were feeling.

“Hey there, Ace,” said Frederick, trying to sound normal. 

“Hey Cap, why do you call Anne, ‘Ace’?” Hardy asked, also striving to sound normal and not at all like he was suddenly grieving his sister again. “I’ve always wondered.” 

“Childhood nickname,” said Frederick, feeling oddly tongue-tied. He realized he had no idea what Anne wanted to talk about and though he knew she wasn’t going to say she wanted to stop being friends, part of him was still convinced she was going to kindly let him know that even if she wasn’t dating anyone right now, that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to date him . 

“Yeah, but why ‘Ace’?” Hardy asked. 

Anne laughed. “They’re my initials. Anne Chan Elliot. A-c-e.” 

“I wasn’t exactly creative, as a twelve-year-old,” said Frederick. 

“ I think it’s creative,” insisted Anne. “And clever. I’ve always loved it. It’s so hard to turn plain ‘Anne’ into a nickname, and, I mean… we were pairs partners for nearly six years, and you were basically making me fly through the air whenever we were on the ice? It felt like flying, at least. I always felt like a flying ace when we were together.”

Frederick loved her so intensely for saying this, he couldn’t speak. 

“Cap, before you go–” Hardy visibly struggled with himself. “I know it’s… I should just be able to do it but–”

“Hey, hey, Hardy, it’s fine,” said Frederick. “It isn’t important, I can handle it. It’ll take me ten minutes tops.” He looked over at Anne, and though he wished Hardy had not had an emotional crisis at this particular moment in time, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a few minutes to pull himself together. Frederick felt like one raw, exposed nerve ending. Anne tilting her head to the side as he was telling Hardy he’d handle all the emails was enough to send him into private, internal agonies of overthinking. “You mind waiting just a few minutes, Ace?”

“Not at all,” said Anne. Did she really mean that, or was she being polite– or could he just get his head together ? Frederick set down his skate bag, took out his phone, and breathed in for four, held for four, and breathed out for four while staring at his email app. 

Anne sat down at a nearby outdoor table, one of those wrought-iron affairs where there were attached benches on four sides, and typed something on her phone.

Hardy sat on the bench catty-corner to Anne. “Sorry to keep you both. I just… well, you know Benny and Louisa got engaged, right?”

When Frederick flicked his gaze up from his phone, Anne set her phone down on the table, to face Hardy. “Freddy told me yesterday, before everyone texted me about it– ha, actually, I was just texting Phoebe about it before meeting Freddy here. I’m glad for them, though–” she took in Hardy’s drooping shoulders and unhappy expression “—I realize this must be pretty tough for you, given….”

“Yeah.” Hardy stared at the table for a minute. “Cap’s taking over for me. Benny wanted to get the bachelor party stuff squared away ASAP, since he’s got relatives in Finland who need to figure out travel and stuff, but I just….” He sighed. “I planned it all when he was going to be my brother, you know? When he was engaged to my sister. And it’s just sending a couple of emails, but when I tried to do it, it felt like….” He put his hand to the back of his neck to stretch it. “It was weird.”

Anne made a sympathetic noise. “I bet.”

“It felt like… I was forgetting Gabrielle, a little,” Hardy said. “Or erasing her.” 

“I’m so sorry, Hardy,” said Anne, softly and sincerely. “Stuff like this— it always makes the grief feel fresh. I was a wreck about my mom when my little sister Mary got engaged. This must really be bringing up a lot for you.”

Hardy didn’t deny it. He just sat there, staring at his hands. Frederick had found the email from the cottage they had decided on— Benny had wanted a weekend in Vancouver with the boys, fishing and drinking— and when Hardy said, “This is terrible of me, but all I keep thinking is that if— if the positions were switched— Gabrielle would never have gotten engaged this fast if Benny had died.”

“Oh, Hardy.” Anne put her hand on Hardy’s shoulder. 

“How could Benny have forgotten her this fast?” It seemed to burst out of Hardy. “That’s the worst part about it. The whole world’s forgotten Gabrielle. Everyone talked a big game about first responders but then they just stopped caring about them. And Benny— Benny was the one person who I thought would remember Gabrielle as much as me and Phoebe. I feel like a jackass for it because of course I don’t want Benny to never love anyone else again, but….” 

Frederick had been watching them over his phone and dropped his gaze down. He managed to type something mostly coherent about availability in June to the AirBnB host and sent it. 

“It’s okay, Hardy, you’re not horrible for thinking these things, or feeling these things,” said Anne, comfortingly. “It might just be a personality thing.”

“Gabrielle would never have gotten engaged to someone only a year after Benny died,” said Hardy, bitterly. “She really loved him.”

“People love in different ways,” said Anne. “They have different definitions of it, or ways of showing it. That doesn’t mean it isn’t love.” 

Frederick’s head shot up. That seemed aimed right at him. 

But Anne was looking at Hardy. “And with people who have been like… socialized as women, it’s a little… well it’s different for us than for people socialized as men. Like….” She sighed. “I’m sorry to keep bringing my mom back up, but she was sick for a long time before she died, and my dad— who’s frankly not a good person—all he had to do was not divorce my mom and everyone praised him to the skies for not leaving my mom when she was sick. And like, I’ve seen the scientific studies about how men leave their wives, the mothers of their children , as soon as they get sick, and they don’t really face any opposition to it when they do, or even when they marry again. So like, for men, that’s always an option. There isn’t as much social stigma.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever heard of a woman who leaves her husband when he gets sick?”

Hardy leaned his elbows on his knees, considering this, so Frederick went back to his emails. There was something else Hardy had booked– a boat? Or had it been some kind of fishing trip instead–

“I mean… maybe once or twice,” said Hardy, “but not….”

“And everyone hates them, right?” Anne asked. 

“I don’t want that to be right,” Hardy said, as Frederick thought vaguely, ‘ah yes, it was a fishing charter, Benny wanted to try deep sea fishing.’ “I’m… I have to believe that love exists, still, and it isn’t just all obligation.”

“Of course it does,” said Anne, gently squeezing Hardy’s shoulder. (Frederick guiltily looked back down at his phone.) “I’m not saying that. I mean– I’m a romantic at heart myself. I just think that like… true love, or however you want to phrase it, is rare. I don’t know that many people who know that love isn’t like….” Anne trailed off. “This thing you find and then it’s yours forever. Love’s a verb. It’s something you do. And it’s harder for women to find something that even approaches it because a lot of men demand that kind of sacrifice outright, and when you find someone that really deserves it… you realize how much other people don’t deserve the sacrifices they demand you make for them, when they wouldn’t do the same for you.” 

Frederick’s whole chest ached for her. He felt so bad for Anne, he couldn’t even make sense of the words on his screen. 

“Like… I grew up watching my mom just like… martyr herself for my dad whenever he was mildly inconvenienced, and he didn’t even show up to the hospital when she had a heart attack. It was extreme in my case but the general… vibe, I guess, isn’t uncommon. If your society says you’re a woman and you grow up believing you are one, you’re taught you have to show that kind of care– care to the point of self-sacrifice– if you truly love someone. So it's as much socialization as sincere feeling. Or I guess… it's a way you’re socialized to express sincere feeling. You’re always being told to make choices for someone else’s good and not your own.” 

Frederick’s world had shrunk to the sound of Anne’s voice. This was for him, this had to be about him– she’d just told him two days ago that she had chosen to break up their partnership, to break up with him , for his benefit alone. 

“But like….” Hardy trailed off. “Is that something other people really do? Have you ever had to do that in real life?”

Anne went very quiet. Frederick stared at his phone, telling himself that this wasn’t a surprise, that he knew Anne had made that choice out of love for him, out of the conviction that it had been a sacrifice for his bright future and not her own. But all the same, he felt like he might fall over when Anne said, quietly, simply, sincerely: “Yes.”

“Oh shit,” said Hardy. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Anne, in the tone of voice he recognized as her I'm-trying-to-be-brave voice. “It was a long time ago.”

“I mean…." Hardy sighed. “I’m not as good with feelings and stuff as Phoebe, but it seems like it clearly still matters to you.” 

“It does,” said Anne. 

Frederick opened his eyes and stared at her little figure, all protectively bundled, at the thoughtful, rather melancholy expression in her dark eyes. He wanted so badly to interrupt, to say something, to say he understood now and he was sorry for all the years where he hadn’t understood her, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to say anything coherent. Before he could think better on it, he opened up his texts, and opened his messages with Anne to type wildly, ‘Ace– I can’t help overhearing all this and it’s piercing me to the soul.’ 

Anne’s phone let out a cheery little ‘ding!’ She glanced at it. 

Shit. That really wasn’t a complete thought. Was ‘piercing me to the soul’ a phrase? Heart would be better, but soul felt more right– more deep? But did that even make sense – 

Anne’s phone dinged again, in case she had missed it the first time. 

“Do you need to get that?” Hardy asked.

Anne made a slightly annoyed noise, and instead of turning her phone over, switched it to silent. “No. Sorry, keep going?”

Shit, this was a completely stupid plan! Anne hadn’t seen his text, and she hadn’t even answered Hardy more than “It does.” She probably wasn’t going to even answer Hardy more in depth now. 

“Uh… well, I… I take your point,” said Hardy, “but… I hate the idea that Phoebe would have to sacrifice anything for me. I’d give her the world if I could. And I’m sure I’m not the only guy who feels that way about his wife.”

“I’m not saying that’s the case all the time and everywhere,” said Anne. “And I think in the best relationships, the ones that survive, there is that balance where you’re like, both supporting each other and there’s an equal give and take, instead of one person sacrificing things for the other. I’m just saying there’s a lot of reasons why Benny moved on that fast when… a lot of women wouldn’t. Especially if the woman truly loved someone.” 

Frederick remembered, with heart-wrenching clarity, how often Anne had called their relationship special, talked of it as something rare, how the last time they had ever slept together he had joked, “This is true love, Ace. Think this happens every day?” He had meant it. And so had she. 

‘I’m in fucking agony here, Ace,’ he texted, in chunks. ‘I don’t know if I have any right to hope. But please tell me I’m not too late. Please tell me I still have a chance with you.’

Anne’s phone nearly vibrated off of the table. 

Frederick had known almost immediately that texting was the wrong choice, that it was not the appropriate medium for pretty much subtweeting Anne and Hardy’s conversation, but he was on this path now, and dammit, he had to keep going because what the hell else was he going to do at this point?  

“You sure you don’t need to get that?” Hardy asked. 

“I’m sure,” said Anne. “This is more important. I’m here for you, Hardy.”

Hardy patted Anne’s hand, where it rested on his shoulder. “You’re a good person, Anne. Thank you. But you know, I have to speak up for the guys out there who wouldn’t move on that fast even if society gives them a pass. I’m not good at feelings, like I said, but I wish I could describe just how much I miss Phoebe and the kids when I’m off on roadies, and just how… happy I am when I get to see them again.” Hardy laughed. “I spend all the last leg of travel lying to myself about how long it’ll take to get home, saying I won’t be able to see everyone for four hours and really hoping to see them in two. And when Phoebe was going into her shifts early on in the pandemic and I was home with the kids…” He trailed off. “There were some days where the kids and I were just waving to her from the window, and I wondered if I was ever going to be able to hug her ever again… and if this was the last time I would ever see her. And then I knew– I knew if I lost Phoebe, I would never be able to get over it. Still having Phoebe with me feels like such a miracle.” 

“Oh Hardy, I hope you don’t think I was saying all men everywhere,” said Anne, sympathetically. “I know you and Phoebe really care about and support each other– I know that that kind of loyal and truly loving relationship exists.”

They’d had one, after all, thought Frederick, his whole chest aching. 

“I would never claim that women alone really know what love is, or would be the only ones to be like… constant in loving someone after terrible things happen,” said Anne.

“I feel like pretty much every break-up song ever written would show that women can be less constant as you called it, than men,” Hardy pointed out. 

“I could defeat that argument with just Taylor Swift songs,” said Anne, laughing. “But I take your point, Hardy. People of any sex or gender are capable of the same, like… extremes of selfishness and sacrifice. And I hope you don’t think I'm saying Benny never loved Gabrielle or anything– just that society’s made it easier for Benny to move on after a loss like that, and to think he can move on, so he can and has, and it would’ve made it harder for Gabrielle to move on, even if was like… you know, true love Princess Bride style, between them… or even when he or all hope was gone.”  

Did… did Anne think he had moved on from her? Did she really believe he was capable of moving on from her? 

He couldn’t let that stand. 

‘I love you,’ Frederick texted.

He closed his eyes, half expecting the world to implode. But when he got his breathing under control again and opened his eyes, the rest of the team was walking out, waving to him and Hardy, and the Olympic buildings still stood and Anne was still there… switching off her face-down phone and talking to Hardy again. 

Her phone getting turned off felt weirdly liberating. Even if Anne did reject him again, it wouldn’t be now. Frederick could love her for a little longer– he could stop ignoring all he felt for her, and let it fill him again, let it flood all the parts of himself that had been drying up and withering away without it. 

Perhaps he and Anne had just been teenagers when they had last been together– unjustifiably sure of themselves and convinced without evidence that they had everything figured out– but the feelings had been real, and deep, and true. Anne had said love was a verb. They had learned that definition from each other, even when they couldn’t articulate it, even when they had broken up over what kind of action that love should look like. Even when he had been most angry with her, at the start of last summer, Frederick hadn’t been able to see Anne suffering without immediately needing to help her. 

Frederick texted, in a semi-delirious frenzy, ‘I love you more now than we were just kids and I loved you to the moon and back then. I’ve never loved anyone but you Ace. I know I haven’t been fair to you. I didn’t understand why you broke up with me when we loved each other so much– I didn’t understand until two days ago that you did it because you loved me. But Ace! I never wanted your sacrifice. I only ever wanted to be your partner. I feel like I hardly know what I’m writing but I can’t stay silent when it seems like you think I could ever move on from you. I’ve never met anyone who means as much to me as you do. Please tell me if you’ll give me another shot. I won’t bring it up again if you don’t love me anymore or think you can’t again— but I want to be with you Ace. However you’ll have me.’

“— Cap?”

That was Hardy, looking at him. 

“Hm, oh I uh—“ Frederick hastily shoved his phone in his pocket. “There, all done. You, uh— you ok, Hardy?”

“Yeah, especially now that I don’t have to send those emails,” said Hardy. “Thanks Cap. And thanks Anne, I owe you both dinner or something once we’re back home. I realize I’ve been keeping you—“

“It’s okay,” said Anne. “You know I’m here whenever you need to talk? I hope it helped a bit.”

“I think so,” said Hardy. “But are you sure I wasn’t keeping you? Your phone was really going off.”

“Oh that.” Anne rubbed her forehead. “So the short version is that my father and sister are just like, blowing up my phone with something I don’t want to get involved in?”

“What’s the long version?” Hardy asked.

Anne sighed. “Okay, I was talking to my best friend from college last night, and she told me that this consultant my dad wants to hire, William Elliot, is actually really bad news? My friend’s husband invested a lot of money in his company during the PPE shortage in the UK and then the company dissolved in a borderline illegal way and there was some kind of financial mismanagement and my friend’s husband died of you-know-what, and she got long COVID, and William just didn’t like, help her at all or give her any answers about the money her husband invested in it and still won’t. And then my sister Mary, who’s a tireless Internet sleuth, was looking into this after I told my family about it in the groupchat, and….” Anne shook her head. “Ohmigod. I’m still so embarrassed to say it out loud? But Mary found him, um… guest-starring in a video.” Anne winced. “On… the OnlyFans account of my sister’s PA, Penelope Clay.”

“… the hell?” said Hardy.

“Holy shit, what ?” Frederick blurted out. (Though he secretly felt smug and justified that he now had good reason to dislike this William Elliot guy.) “The OnlyFans account of your sister’s PA ?” 

Anne nodded. “Yup. No one had any idea Pen had an OnlyFans and the fact that she filmed in the staff building in the Olympic Village might be a violation of her contract? And now everyone is assuming it’s my job to fix all this, but I am not going to be pulled into their drama.” Anne straightened her back with what seemed like a meaningful, determined look at Frederick. “I’m— I’m setting a boundary and I’m not going to let damaging cycles keep repeating.”

Frederick recognized certain phrases his therapist had said to him and felt, for perhaps the first time in a long time, a dawning hope that history wouldn’t repeat this time. 

“But speaking of that,” said Anne, “Freddy, can we like, meet at the rink or something in like, twenty minutes? It seems like they’re not going to let up until they get a response. I’ll give them a quick call since they get frustrated and stop when they actually hear me being, like, actively unengaged.”

“We can meet up later than that, if you like,” said Frederick, not wanting to confess that most of those messages were probably from him.

“Oh no, that’s another one of my little tricks,” said Anne. “If I tell them I only have a few minutes because I’m on my way to meet someone, it, like, sets a time limit on the interaction, and it makes it easier for me to stick to the boundary. You go ahead, I’ll meet you at the rink as soon as I’m done.”

“See you there, Ace,” said Frederick, and tried not to sound too terrified when he added, “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

Frederick walked off with Hardy, wanting every second to turn around and see Anne turning her phone on and reading her messages, but at the same time, never wanting to see her reaction at all. With his gaze fixed in front of him, Frederick could prolong this weird Schrödinger’s cat-in-a-box state where he could enjoy all the relief of confessing his love without having to deal with Anne’s rejection. 

A recklessly hopeful part of him kept thinking that Anne had spoken like she had never gotten over him either, as if he still mattered to her, as if maybe, just maybe she still loved him— 

“So you and Anne are meeting at the rink?” Hardy asked. 

“Hm? Oh yeah.” Frederick forced himself to focus on Hardy. “It’s uh– well. Anne’s last Olympics didn’t end well.”

Hardy nodded. “I thought she didn’t skate anymore because of it?”

“She didn’t until last week.” Frederick uncomfortably switched his bag from one hand to the other. “I’ve been helping her get back on the ice. We were pairs partners for so long it’s still kind of… instinctual to catch her if she ever looks like she’s going to fall. You should see her skate now, Hardy. We haven’t tried jumps or anything yet, but the way she owns the ice again, after just a week and a half is seriously impressive– and this after years of not skating.”

“Cap, that’s really nice of you,” said Hardy, sounding unflatteringly surprised. “I’m glad you’re helping her out like that. Anne’s just… Anne’s great. I don’t know if you heard any of our conversation–”

Frederick made a strangled noise, which, thanks to his face mask, just sounded like one of those noises that means ‘I am participating in this conversation though I have nothing to say.’ 

“- but I think she’s had a tougher life than she lets on.” 

Frederick somehow managed to make it through a conversation about how great Anne was without giving himself away too much. Though…  he wasn’t completely sure about that. Hardy was giving him knowing looks by the end of it, and left Frederick deliberately alone at the spectators' rink in what felt like a very smug-married-person-setting-up-idiot-single-friend way. 

At least there were only two other people today on the ice, shivering their way around the rink. Frederick passed them multiple times before realizing they were cold instead of nervous, and that the rink was deserted because it was so cold. Frederick personally didn’t feel the cold at all. He was hot all over with nerves. But… it was cold. He could see his breath when he blew it out, and skated through the resulting cloud. 

This would all be fine, he told himself. It was okay. So what if Anne didn’t love him and he broke his heart again? He wouldn’t lose his best friend this time. Unless she was so horrified he misinterpreted her again that she couldn’t be around him – 

Frederick swerved away from the other skaters, who were now heading in the wrong direction. Shit, he hadn’t been paying attention. That was stupid. 

“Get yourself together, Wentworth,” he told himself, as he skated to center ice. Okay. Focus. Do something that’s going to occupy your whole mind. He was at center ice. There was no one else here– and that single axel earlier today had been sloppy. There. That was something to do. Frederick took a couple of little loops and remembered how, the first time they had met, Anne had told him to hold his hands like he was holding a loaf of bread, then skate forward quickly– ankles close together and tensed– get on that right outside edge– break the bread over your knee as you pull it up – push off with the left foot– arms in– twist– there. His blade cut into the ice satisfyingly, and he glided backwards on one leg, his arms spread out. That one was much better than earlier. 

He got both feet on the ice again and turned to gather speed and do another when he noticed the other two skaters walking through the gate to reveal–

–Anne. 

It was Anne. 

Frederick released a breath he hadn’t known he'd been holding. He almost didn’t want to hope, but the way she was coming towards him, the way her eyes were fixed on his face, made him think that maybe– just maybe–

Frederick wasn’t sure it was entirely within the current set of revised COVID safety guidelines, but they were outdoors and alone in the rink. Frederick pulled down his mask. “Hey, Ace.”

Anne came to an elegant stop before him with a flustered, “That was– um– great– great single axel.” 

“I can’t forget it,” said Frederick. “The person I learned it from completely changed my life.” 

Anne unhooked her own mask and looked up at him. It seemed almost as if she had been crying, but she had her usual make-up on– as well as an expression of such hope it made him tremble. “Freddy,” she asked suddenly, as if she couldn’t keep it in any longer, “Freddy did you– do you really mean all that? Everything you texted?”

“I do,” said Frederick. And then because he was still half convinced he would never have the chance to say it again, he confessed, “I love you, Ace. I always have. And I think I always will. Will you– do you think you could–”  It came out as he knew it would: quiet and shaking and raw. Frederick suddenly couldn’t bear to look at her face and see the rejection there. “Is there any chance you could… love me again someday?” 

Anne put a hand to his cheek. He raised his eyes to her sweet, beloved face, and saw at once what he really had been looking for all those years, however hard he tried to convince himself he'd forgotten her. 

“Freddy,” she said, in a voice as raw and trembling as his own had been. “I never stopped.” 

This was too much. He pulled Anne to him and buried his face against her hat. Fuck. He was tearing up.

“I love you, Freddy,” Anne said into his chest, almost on a sob. “I love you so much , and I’d just– I’d given up hope that you ever could love me back again– and I wouldn’t have blamed you. I know I broke your heart, but I thought–” 

“Hey Ace, hey, it’s okay.” He had to clear his throat and run a hand over his face before he could pull back enough to look at her. “I understand now. And I blew up then because I love you , and it gutted me to be without you.” 

“It broke me,” said Anne, with a wet, sad little laugh. “A career-ending knee injury on an international stage was nothing compared to that.”

“Oh, Ace,” Frederick said. Anne pulled his face down towards hers, at the same time as he pulled her towards him, and then they were kissing. He had missed this, he had missed her– missed how much she blossomed when kissed, how close she pressed, how everything about her declared that there was  nothing in the world she would rather be doing than kissing him. 

Anne loved him. The knowledge rippled through him on a note of overpowering happiness, and left an aching tenderness in its wake. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry for how I treated you. Especially yesterday. I just got–” He gripped Anne’s waist and drew her closer. “I got jealous. And then–”

“And then there was everyone else,” said Anne. “I know. I totally get it. But they’re all the people I only talk to when I can’t avoid it. Freddy, there’s a reason that’s the first time you saw any of them since we became friends again. And we’re– we’re older now, and I’m not as overwhelmed or as messed up about how to show love in relationships. I’ve been really working on it. Did you think they’d like, persuade me to stop seeing you again?”

Frederick was too embarrassed to admit to it. He just held on tight to Anne and stared at  the zipper of her coat. 

“Freddy, even back then I thought I was choosing you,” Anne said, caressing his cheek. “I will always choose you. I want to– I want to be with you however you want–”

Frederick was so wild with joy he nearly blurted that he wanted to be with her in all ways, and forever, but instead managed an unsteady, “Yeah? You’ll be my girlfriend again, Ace?”

“Yes,” Anne breathed. “Oh yes , Freddy, of course.” 

He was kissing Anne before he had even been conscious of pulling her towards him, and kissing her again and again, ecstatic. He had Anne back– she loved him. She loved him– still! She had never stopped. Just as he hadn’t. It felt like a fucking miracle– like he’d been yanked back from the dead. Anne clung to him with increasing desperation, until she whispered, “I want you so bad , Freddy.”

“You can have me,” said Frederick, immediately and delightedly. “Maybe not in the middle of the rink, but–” 

Anne pulled back, blushing. “Ohmigod. I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t realize I said that out loud. I, um– I realize that might be rushing things? Maybe we ought to pause there and… and go slow. It’s been… years, and there’s been… so much—“

“Ace,” Frederick interrupted, seeing this second-guessing for what it was: a desire not to impose, not to put her wants before someone else’s, an old habit of instinctive sacrifice. “Do me one favor, okay? Before you talk yourself into that, kiss me just one more time.”

“Yeah okay,” Anne said instantly. 

Frederick gave it everything he had, though Anne melted against him the instant he pulled her towards him. He could have kissed her cheek and convinced her. But it was a hell of a lot more fun to wrap an arm around the soft dip of her waist and to press his other hand between her shoulder blades— an old hold, a stabilizing one, that had felt almost automatic as he moved Anne into it— and to kiss her for real. He felt Anne’s uncertainty dissolving away with each passing second. 

“Okay, never mind,” Anne said, when they broke apart. She looked almost dazed. Frederick felt enormously smug. “I was second-guessing myself. Oddly because I… uh….” 

“Yeah, Ace?” Frederick asked. He felt almost giddy. 

“I want you a lot? ” Anne squeaked out. “Like to the point where I have to ask if we can go back to your room because I, um… once I read all your texts I ran back to my room and kind of completely trashed it trying to find my good bra, and fix my make-up, and shave my legs and everything before meeting you here.” 

Frederick laughed as he kissed her. He had been so fixated on the possibility that she’d reject him again, he hadn’t realized how good it would feel to be truly wanted by her again. He couldn’t bring himself to stop touching her, to try and give some outlet to ten years of ignored and frustrated desire. “See? Trust your gut.”

“You win,” said Anne. 

“I think we both win,” said Frederick. 

She let him kiss her again before putting her mask on. “Let’s go before someone sees one of Canada’s COVID safety people like, completely violating the two meters apart rule and the masking rule.”

“We’re outdoors,” Frederick objected, but he was already releasing his grip on Anne so that he could take her hand and speed over to the exit. The walk to his part of the Olympic Village had never felt so long before. Anne was pressed tantalizingly close to her side, his left arm around her shoulders, and she had reached up to hold his left hand in hers - but it wasn’t enough . It was so much after so many years of not touching Anne and not touching any other woman romantically since he had hugged Anne last year (he had suddenly lost interest in kissing anyone but Anne, which ought to have told him something, Jesus he was an idiot). And yet… he needed more. Badly. 

Frederick stuffed his hat and gloves into his pocket and unzipped his coat as soon as they were in the building. And then, when they were safely in his room, Frederick ripped his mask off and pinned Anne against the door. 

Anne had been taking her hat and mask off; her eyes met his as she fumbled them both into her coat pockets. 

“I’m dying to kiss you again, Ace,” said Frederick. “Can I?”

“Oh yes, ” said Anne. 

Frederick kissed her. Then he pressed against her and kissed her again. And again and again, until they were making out like teenagers. As if they were just discovering kissing for the first time again. In a way, they were. But it felt so wonderfully familiar. Anne was still so responsive. She still clung to him and kissed him back with such passion; still shivered at his touch; still made those soft little noises of appreciation that warmed him from within like a first cup of coffee on a cold day. So many of his go-to moves had been ones he’d discovered and refined with Anne, and her responses to them filled him with a satisfaction he realized he had been always looking for and never finding elsewhere. This was what it should feel like when he kissed someone at this angle— and that soft whimper was the reward he truly craved when he brushed a kiss to the hollow of someone’s throat. 

Anne began to tug on his coat; he helped her slide it off his arms before he pulled down the zipper of her parka. This took her a little longer to get out of, since her back was pressed against the door, and Frederick was pressed against her, and neither of them really wanted to move. But they got that off eventually and fumbled their way out of their Team Canada zips, down to their t-shirts. Anne was absolutely delighted when she pulled his shirt up, and stopped kissing him long enough to dazedly exclaim, “Oh Freddy .” 

He tossed his t-shirt aside. “Yeah, Ace?”

“I love your tattoos,” she added, tentatively tracing the Olympic rings on his right bicep with her fingertip. Her touch rippled through him. He ached to be closer to her, and they were already hip to hip, with Anne’s free hand tucked into the pocket of his joggers. “You look so good with them? I never thought I had a thing for tattoos until you got them. And you’re so jacked now. I’m honestly shocked you haven’t been in one of ESPN’s body issues.”

“I could never live that down,” he protested, but he was beyond delighted Anne thought he was that hot. “It was bad enough when I did that tattoo video for GQ after we won the Cup, and that was only being shirtless for two minutes. You ever see it?”

Anne turned pink. “Um… yeah?”

Frederick grinned at her. “How many times have you seen it, Ace?” 

Anne buried her face against his shoulder. 

“You always do such great things for my ego,” Frederick joked, but he was enormously pleased with himself, and with her, and with everything in the world, knowing that Anne loved him and wanted him.

“Boots,” Anne said into his shoulder. 

“What?”

“Boots off, or we’ll get your floor all dirty,” said Anne. As much as he never wanted to stop kissing her, Anne had a great point. Plus it meant they both sat down on his bed to undo their laces and then once they’d tossed aside shoes and socks, they could get back to making out and fumbling with each others’ clothes. He was almost delirious with joy when he finally got Anne’s shirt off– even more so when he’d seen her shirtless for the first time at sixteen. As much as he loved the black lace bra she had on (black was really her color) it was heaven when Anne blushingly unhooked it, and he could bury his face between her breasts. God damn , Anne was magnificent. He legitimately stopped thinking– just fell into a haze of bliss, and didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Anne was pulling at his waistband with a desperate, “Freddy, I love you and I love what you’re doing, but I’m going to die if I don’t get to touch you now.”

“Can’t have that,” he said dazedly, and tugged at her leggings. Anne obligingly stepped out of them, but before he could get his hands on her ass, she made him get up to take off his joggers. 

“You never skip leg day, do you?” she asked, in obvious admiration. 

“Hockey builds it in for you,” Frederick said distractedly. He couldn’t focus on anything but where Anne was touching him. She was shyly taking her time — running her hands up his thighs to his chest, caressing the spread of his shoulders, tracing his tattoos again, commenting delightedly on the flex of his biceps, and then trailing her fingertips across and around his abs. He was going to burst— not just from the soft hands now clutching his thighs— but how fucking loved he felt by the gentle appreciation of her touch, by how Anne did it over again, whispering how wonderful he was, how strong he’d gotten, and how handsome.

“Freddy, I would love you no matter what you looked like, if you had like— shingles or had lost a leg or anything,” said Anne, dreamily, splaying her hands flat against his abs, “and you were— are? Will always be? The hottest and most handsome man in the world to me? But I really like how built you are right now. I can’t take my eyes off you sometimes, I really thought you were going to catch me out and be offended—”

Frederick couldn’t bear not touching her in turn, and put his hands on her ass (and it fit so goddamn nicely into his hands) and pulled her flush against him, so that she was standing between his splayed legs and he was looking up at her. “Jesus, Ace - we’re smart people but we are so stupid sometimes. I thought that you said we were best friends to get me to back off since I’d freaked you out, going on and on about what a smokeshow you were.” 

“Freddy!” Anne exclaimed in laughing delight. “Of course not! You are my best friend, as well as the love of my life. It’s really convenient for me, that way. And that’s just… I still think you can’t be serious, finding me that hot. I’m like— I was actually so nervous about taking my shirt off? You were the one with the glow up, not me.”

“Ace, the world’s most perfect breasts are in my face,” Frederick said, kissing them. “You have absolutely no need to be nervous. But, since you were always the kind of girl who needed physical proof…” Frederick slid one of her hands down from his abs. 

Anne blushed. “You really do want me, hunh.” 

Frederick laughed into her cleavage. He had forgotten how sweet she was, how unexpectedly silly she could be at times like this. “Uh, yeah, Ace. Pretty fucking badly as it turns out. Have a little pity and–” The breath left him as she began to gently stroke him, and then when he raised his head to look at her, Anne pressed sweet, soft little kisses across his upturned face. 

He hadn’t felt as loved as this since— well, since the last time they’d had sex. He’d never had trouble picking up girls, and he'd prided himself on his technique on his dates, but… it hadn’t been the same. Frederick had always been restlessly active, wanting to impress, to prove his worth, to have his performance valued and his true self safely hidden away. Nothing he’d experienced in all those years could ever approach this. He hadn’t been willing to let anyone get as close as Anne. He wanted to dazzle people. Frederick hadn’t wanted to– no, he couldn’t be… open like this. Accepting everything that Anne wanted to give him without being distracted by anything else. He wanted to close his eyes, sink into sensation, but he couldn’t bear to stop looking at Anne either— couldn’t bear to close his eyes and open them to find it had all been a dream or something. All he could do was hold onto her, stare up at her sweet face, and let himself be lavished with her love. 

“Am I…?” he found himself asking. 

“You aren’t holding me too tight— you could grip me harder, if you wanted.” Anne pressed a soft little kiss to the corner of his lips. “I like it when you do.”

That hadn’t been what he had meant to ask. But at the same time, Frederick wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to ask. If he was dreaming? If this was real? 

But what came out, from some frightened part of himself he hadn’t acknowledged in years, if perhaps ever, was a deeply uncertain, “Am I enough for you now?” 

Anne’s hand stilled and she drew back a little— her sweet, pretty face creased in confusion. “What do you mean? There’s never been a time when I thought— oh baby , no, don’t ever think that when I— ” She sank onto his lap, so that she could look straight into his eyes and put her arms around her neck. Her voice took on a caressing but earnest softness that pierced him to the marrow. “Freddy, I’ve spent years telling myself that it was better I wasn’t with you because you—“ she was trembling, her voice cracking, her dark eyes filling with tears “—you deserve so much better than me . I still feel like I was holding you back all those years in pairs–”

“No, never ,” Frederick said fiercely. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Don’t think that Ace. We got as far as we did because we were so good for each other– because we do so much better together than apart.”

Anne had to close her eyes at that, and take in a shaking breath, before she could look into his eyes again. “I’ll– I’ll try. But honestly? I always thought I wasn’t enough for you. There’s never, ever been a time where I thought you weren’t enough. You’ve always been enough for me.”

God, how was it that she could tear down every defense he’d ever erected against her, could see the wounds from a lifetime of slights and little humiliations, and then kiss them all better like this? Frederick pulled Anne closer and kissed her with all the pent up passion of years. He was beyond words, beyond seeing the humor of the shared misunderstandings, all he could onto was the almost painful ecstasy of knowing yes, yes, he was enough, he was enough finally— that he didn’t need to prove he belonged, because he belonged with Anne, and Anne belonged with him, and life didn’t need to be any more complicated than that, just for now. 

Anne was crying now— silently, and it wounded him deeply to wonder when Anne had perfected the art of crying silently— and he broke the kiss only so that he could cup her beloved face in his hands and thumb the tears off her cheeks. 

“All I ever wanted was you, Ace,” he told her, hoarsely. “There is no better . You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

Her “Freddy, I love you so much, ” cracked, broke on a soft little sob. Frederick thought suddenly of one of the programs they had been thinking about before their split, to Anne’s mom’s favorite Leonard Cohen song, ‘Anthem’ – how enraptured Anne had been by the poetry of the chorus. ‘ There is a crack, a crack in everything/ That’s how the light gets in .’ He’d never understood the lyric before, never understood that if he showed his brokenness to Anne she would not only understand it, but show how she had been broken the same way – and show how they would fit together now. Not exactly as they had before– but so much the same. And yet, so much better. 

Anne kissed him again and again, with a wild desperation that matched his own, breaking away only to fumble with her underwear and then with his, and then at last— at fucking last!— Anne was on his lap and in his arms, and there was no barrier between them. Frederick couldn’t let go of her long enough to touch her; he wanted to marvel at the wonder of her body, but he couldn’t stop kissing her. He didn’t want to stop kissing her.

“ Please tell me you have a condom,” Anne half-gasped. She looked incredible like this— her hair all mussed, and her gaze so soft and hazy, and her lips a little swollen with his kisses. 

“This is the Olympic Village, Ace,” he replied, grinning. “This place is swimming in condoms. Lean back and grab one off the side table, will you?”

“I’m not as flexible as I used to be,” Anne warned him, but she arched her back over his joined arms, and grabbed it off the side table without trouble. Her layback spins had always been so fucking gorgeous his teenaged self had sometimes fantasized about what Anne would look like doing one naked. Now he knew— and it was so much better than what he’d imagined.

“Ooh it’s got a little lantern on it,” Anne said, turning it over in her hands, once she was upright once more. “That’s cute. King size.”

Frederick laughed. “You chirping me, Ace? If not, I’m flattered–” 

“Freddy!” she laughingly exclaimed. “No, I mean— yes, you are— I mean— it’s on the packaging, look!”

Though it was hard to look away from Anne when she was naked on his lap and in his arms, he somehow managed to do so. “So it is. You wanna help me?”

Anne flushed. “I— I really do.”

There was something intensely erotic about watching Anne flusteredly try to open the packet, her color high and breathing uneven, until she got impatient enough to bite a corner and rip it open that way. 

“God damn, Ace,” he said. “You’re sexy as hell. Did you know that?”

“I’m beginning to feel it,” Anne admitted, looking down between them. “I don’t think from this angle I can… you’ll have to— or I’ll have to—“

“How do you want me?”

Anne tossed the wrapper aside and ran a hand through his hair, up from the nape of his neck to the back of his skull. “I always want you, Freddy. In— in every way.”

The sincerity in her soft voice, as much as her touch, and the sweet little kisses she was pressing to his face again, sent little lighting bolts of pleasure shivering through him. “But right now? I know you used to prefer spooning, but—“ 

“I want to keep kissing you today,” Anne admitted. 

“I would never have guessed,” Frederick teased her. “Hold on tight, I’m gonna lay you down.” 

In what half-felt like another flash of old muscle memory, Frederick managed to roll them both sideways, a little at an angle. Anne landed on her back with her head on his pillow and her hair all fanned out behind her, and, after a little adjustment, Frederick was kneeling between her spread legs. He took a minute to savor the sight of her like this. Anne was a total smokeshow. How did he get this lucky? 

Anne pushed herself up on her elbows with a dreamy-eyed, admiring look, and took her time sliding the condom on, and then making sure it was on properly. It was such delicious agony, he almost didn’t want it to end. But Anne flopped back and spread her legs with a contented sigh, and he decided well, now it was his turn. He took his time touching her, teasing her, until Anne’s breath started catching in her throat and she half-panted, “Freddy— Freddy, I love this but —oh— I haven’t had sex since the pandemic started, and I’ve been desperate for you since you nearly kissed me goodnight, so, if you would please just—”

“As you wish, Ace,” said Frederick. 

He slid into her. 

Anne arched under him beautifully, and she felt so good , his mind momentarily went blank. 

“I missed you so much ,” Anne groaned. “You’re so— so good to me, you feel so good–”

Frederick himself was beyond words. He had forgotten how good this was. When he’d been most determined to forget Anne, he’d resentfully explained away how good the sex had been by thinking, of course it had been good, they’d been each others’ first everythings. They had no experience, no notion of how things were supposed to work or how they were supposed to feel. They were experimenting with pleasure as much as they were expressing their love for each other. But if you skated on the other edge of that same blade of logic, it meant that all his notions of what felt good tended to be about Anne . The pace he’d grown to prefer– relentlessly steady– was one they discovered together. It had worked fine with other people and Frederick had admittedly enjoyed varying it (and God, he couldn’t wait to see how Anne liked some of his new tricks) but it felt like coming home at the end of a playoff season to be with Anne like this, to fall so naturally, so easily into something he knew Anne enjoyed just as much as him, something that made his own breath hitch at the same time it made Anne’s. 

Anne groaned when he shifted his weight to his left forearm, so that he could slide his right hand between them and touch her as he remembered she always needed to be touched. 

“There, right?” Frederick asked. “Like that?”

“Yes, yes, yes like that,” Anne gasped. “How do you still remember?”

“As if I could ever forget anything about you,” he said– not super coherently, because he could tell she was about to climax, and that made him very suddenly on the verge too. “There you go– that’s my girl.”

“Yours, yes, yours ,” Anne said frantically. “You’re mine again, too, aren’t you, Freddy?”

“Completely yours,” he groaned. The things she said to him! “You’re mine , Ace.” 

At seventeen he had been convinced that there was no better feeling in the world than Anne coming around him, crying out, “I love you Freddy, I love you!” in between kisses, and at twenty-seven he knew for certain there wasn’t. He was lost to sensation, lost within the soul-deep knowledge that Anne loved him as much as he loved her and that there would never be a future he had to face without her. Nothing else on earth mattered as much as this: the feel of her lips on his and her body shivering under him and clenching around him and the knowledge that now, now at last they understood each other again, and they were together again.

He felt content, for the first time in years. As if it was enough to just be, since it meant he would be with Anne. 

“Wow,” said Anne, giddily. “That was… God, Freddy! I don’t think I’ve ever… that was so… I really don’t have words.”

Frederick loved her so much he felt dazed by it. He kissed the tip of her nose before easing himself out of her. “I love you to pieces, Ace.” 

“I love you .” Anne gave him a smacking, theatrical kiss before unlocking her arms from around his shoulders. “I want to cuddle, but I need your washroom first.” 

Frederick frankly needed a cuddle after… that. The intensity of it still dazed him. Even the two minutes it took for them to clean themselves up felt like an eternity. He needed the feel of Anne’s skin on his, needed to feel for himself that she was real, that she was his again, that she loved him enough to let him hold her naked like this. Frederick clung to her like a shipwrecked sailor to shore as soon as they were spooning in bed, under the comforter. He felt almost drunk on the scent of her shampoo; the soft warmth of her body pressed against his front; at the way she giggled when he brushed his fingertips over the pleasant little curve of her belly. 

“That tickles,” she half-heartedly protested. He flattened his hand against her stomach and she put her hand over his and snuggled back against him. 

“I can’t believe I went without you for ten years,” Frederick said, into her hair. It was slightly tangled in the back. He felt a little sorry for that, but mostly smug. “Hey, Ace.”

Anne leaned her head back and a little to the side, so she could look up at him. “Yeah, Freddy?”

Frederick propped himself up on his elbow, so he could look down into her face. “I, um… when you were injured, I was– I thought about reaching out but then I thought that you wouldn’t want to hear from me. If I had then, would you have… would you have gotten back together with me?”

“Yes,” said Anne, with simple sincerity. “I would have felt guilty about like… distracting you while you were in the junior league, but I would’ve gotten back with you in a heartbeat any time you wanted.”

Frederick let out a soft huff of laughter. “Shit, I’ve been my own worst enemy here. I should have reached out.” 

“I could’ve reached out too,” said Anne, with a sigh. “But you were doing so much better without me, I really thought it was probably better this way–”

“Ace, I was doing terribly without you.”

Anne looked shocked.

Frederick studied their joined hands where they lay cushioned on Anne’s stomach. “I was fucking miserable, but wouldn’t let myself acknowledge it. I’m just lucky that it came out in a weird determination to be the best hockey player that ever lived. Maybe on the outside I was doing fine, but on the inside it’s been a shitshow since we split. I was really lonely without you. And Ace?” 

“You can tell me anything, Freddy,” Anne said softly. She ran her thumb up the side of his. 

“I chose pairs over hockey the second I knew it was an option.” That was hard to admit. He closed his eyes. “All the way back when we were just little kids. Hockey’s worked out great for me, don’t get me wrong, and I do love it, but you don’t ever have to worry you were keeping me in pairs because you were my girlfriend. That was just a bonus.” 

When he opened his eyes, Anne was looking up at him as if someone had suddenly switched all the lights on inside her. “So I wasn’t– I really wasn’t holding you back for years?”

“Ace, the reason I became famous was because you taught me to jump axels,” said Frederick, laughing. “Ask any commentator out there and they say the secret to my success is that I skate better than anyone else in the NHL– which, again, is because I skated pairs competitively with you for years. You keep saying I’m exceptional and successful and whatever, but if I am, it’s because of you. Not in spite of you. So no more sacrifices for me, okay? I don’t want them. I just… want to be partners with you again.” 

Anne was radiant with happiness. “That’s all I want too, Freddy.” She raised their linked hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “I still can’t believe it. Not only do you love me, you never stopped– and I never was holding you back? I was helping you as much as you’ve helped me?”

“My life only gets better when you’re in it, Ace.” He brushed a kiss to her temple. “You know, it’s funny. I think I’ve spent most of my life thinking I’ve earned– or had to earn– every good thing that came my way. But, you, Ace– I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“Probably whatever I did to somehow deserve you,” said Anne, beaming up at him. “That or, like… we just have to accept we’re luckier than we both deserve. This all feels like a miracle to me.” 

Frederick had to kiss her for that. “No miracles, just us being adults and talking things out finally. I think we’ll make a better go of it this time around. Don’t you?”

“I know we will.” Anne tenderly pushed the hair out of his eyes with her free hand. “I love you, Freddy.”

And Frederick said, with everything in him, “I love you too, Ace.”