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The thing about Goody was that he was always so steady.
Shoresy had always been hyperemotional. Real heart-on-his-sleeve sorta deal. Fuck, he'd teared up over a comment Ziig had made to him yesterday, and he'd beaten guys half to death for less. It was the sort of thing that worked in hockey – not the crying thing; that had mostly just put a target on his back – but the making a big show out of everything for the audience. Fight, celly, break a stick in half, or however the saying went.
He wanted to say he'd gotten better about it, that part of it had just been raging teenage hormones and an underdeveloped brain. Really, he was just the same now as he had been when they met, and as far as he could tell, Goody was, too. It was something of a comfort, if he was being totally honest. Back when Carrie had been prepping to leave for university (fuck, if he hadn't been proud of her), he'd helped her pack. Among the items she'd opted to bring with her was a ratty old teddy bear that she'd had since around the time she joined the family, maybe a decade prior. Shoresy had teased her mercilessly for it: What do you need a teddy bear for, Carrie? Do your classes have naptime or something? You know, I promise I'm not going to steal this if you leave it here.
"I just want a piece of home." she'd said. "This teddy bear has gotten me through a lot of bad days; it can get me through a few more."
"Suit yourself." he'd told her, and he'd let it go. As much as he loved giving her a hard time, there was no point in ruining a special experience for her.
Now, though, he found himself understanding the merit of having a childhood teddy bear around, even as an adult. His friendship with Goody was sort of the same. A reminder of a simpler, easier time, but also that it hadn't always felt simple and easy while it was happening, and that regardless, he'd survived. That he'd survived in part because of this thing (or, in this case, person) that was still here with him now. Maybe it would help him survive this, too.
Plus, much like a teddy bear, he had always found that having Goody next to him made it easier to sleep.
Not that he was about to let any of that on. He'd already been too quick to say he'd share a bed with Goody. Of course, as soon as he'd worked out that he was going to have to share with someone, he'd weighed his options and made a decision. Hitch and Domo would have both been fine; it's not like he was about to put up a fight if he had to share with one of them. Frankie was a write-off from the beginning – can't sleep next to someone who hates you, at least not without one eye open. But Goody was his top choice. If nothing else, he knew what he was getting himself into. He'd shared a bed with Goody lots of times back in the day, in motels and billet homes and now and again even in his own childhood bed.
So, he told himself now as he got ready for bed, there was really no reason to feel weird about it. That was his whole issue, in some ways: nobody was better at getting in people's heads than him, and most of the time that included his own.
Still, it was late, he was tired, and tomorrow was going to be a big day. Goody had already claimed the left side and was busy looking at his phone, not even glancing up as he asked, "How was work?"
"Oh, terrible. I'm never going to hear the fucking end of this Sudbury Blueberry Bulldogs thing." Shoresy flopped down next to him. "Got a good workout in afterward, though. Threw up three times."
"You're still doing that?" Goody sounded unconcerned, but he put his phone down and turned to face him. "I don't think that's healthy."
"Well, I've gotta carry the whole fucking team here!" Shoresy protested. "And it's fine, I've been doing this for years."
"Settle down." Goody smiled. "You know we're gonna help you carry the team, right?"
"You better!" Shoresy said, but he did his best to chill out a bit, burrowing under the covers and trying to match his breathing to Goody's. "I'm tired of being the only one who cares about this."
"Seems to me that Sanger cares." Goody said.
"Sanger's a healthy scratch." Of course, this was no longer true, but he pressed on. "I need people on the ice who care."
"You got 'em." Goody found Shoresy's hand and squeezed it, then dropped it and turned onto his back. "Have you found a good place to get chicken in this town?"
"What type of chicken?" Shoresy asked. He was happy for the subject change, as much as a thousand concerns were still plagueing him. "Like, a lot of places sell chicken."
"Drumsticks." Goody flashed him a grin. Honestly, he should have expected this – there was only so many times Goody could see the word drumsticks in one day without eventually thinking about his favourite food. "Sticks are unbelievable."
"Yeah, there's drumsticks around." Shoresy said. "We can go get some for dinner tomorrow. Probably best not to eat such heavy food right before the game."
"You know Gordie Howe ate chicken before every game?"
"Fine." Shoresy smiled. "We can go there for lunch. You're a fucking lunatic, you know that?"
"You don't want a lunatic on your team?"
"You better play like Gordie Howe, though. Like, the boys had better be calling you Goody Howe." He tried not to think too hard about how long it had been since he had actually seen Goody play.
"Settle down." Goody said again, and for once, Shoresy did.
***
He woke up years in the past.
At least, that's how it felt. Their limbs were tangled together familiarly, the smell of Goody's deodorant clouding his nose, and before his brain clicked on, there was a moment where he was certain that he was still eighteen and on the road, about to crush some team while the onlookers booed.
But no. It was just the opposite; some road team was ready to crush them. There wouldn't be a crowd to speak of. And somehow, he had become responsible for everything.
He groped behind him for phone, trying not to wake Goody up with the movement. Finding it, he rolled half onto his back to give himself space to hold it in front of him. He had an hour before he was supposed to meet Sanguinet for breakfast; it might take him ten minutes to walk there, another ten minutes beforehand to get dressed and do his hair, probably an extra five to get his shoes and coat and keys and phone and everything else together and get out the door. Plus, he needed to give Big Sexy his breakfast, and there was the fact that everything was certain to take longer with four roommates. He'd have to all but tiptoe around, or else, deal with Frankie first thing in the morning, and he wasn't sure he could contend with that yet.
Dropping his phone back onto the mattress behind him, he closed his eyes and buried his face in Goody's armpit. He wasn't ready for today to start yet. To go and give Sanguinet advice and reassurance when really, he was pretty sure this plan was doomed to fail. When he had blurted out that they'd never lose again, he'd been blindly bargaining for more time. One extra game was better than folding then and there. Now, however, he was feeling the weight of his words; all the people he'd asked to be here, for him, who'd come all this way when everything could easily be over tonight.
Goody stirred. When Shoresy looked up at him, his expression was, predictably, unreadable.
"Morning," Shoresy said. He tried to sound casual, as though he hadn't just lifted his face from Goody's chest.
"Morning." Goody replied, a smile making its way across his face. "How'd you sleep?"
"I'd sleep for another hour if I could." Shoresy said. "Like, I don't want to fucking move from this spot until I absolutely have to."
"When do you absolutely have to?"
He located his phone again and checked the time. "Now."
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, scrunching up his face, Shoresy pushed himself out of bed and set about digging through his dresser for something clean to wear. Behind him, he could hear Goody yawn and roll over. "You ever eat chicken for breakfast?" he asked.
Shoresy smiled. God, he was fucking consistent. "No, you maniac." He located a shirt and pants. "Chicken isn't a breakfast food."
"Anything can be a breakfast food if you eat it in the morning." Goody replied calmly.
"Well, breakfast food doesn't suddenly become not breakfast food if you eat it later in the day." Shoresy argued. "Like, have you ever heard of fucking brunch? Or breakfast for dinner?"
"This isn't breakfast for dinner. It's dinner for breakfast." He didn't have to turn around to know what Goody's face looked like; he could hear the fond smile tinged with what would be exasperation, except that Goody never got upset enough to qualify.
"Well, it's the same fucking thing." Shoresy protested. "I mean, breakfast for dinner, dinner for breakfast, what's the difference?" He shot a glance at Goody, who was looking at him exactly as he'd pictured. "I'm going to go brush my teeth. D'you mind making the bed when you get up?"
"Course." It occured to Shoresy that he probably didn't even need to ask; they were adults now, not teenagers who needed to be reminded to tidy up after themselves. Not that Goody had been a particularly messy teenager anyway – one of the things that made him an ideal roommate was that they both valued a well-maintained space. It was a value that Shoresy could only hope the others shared now that they were all living together.
"Thanks." He turned his attention to getting ready: brushing his teeth, styling his hair, sneaking out into the living room to feed Big Sexy. Frankie was sleeping peacefully, a knit blanket pulled haphazardly across his chest. Biting his lip, Shoresy pulled a heavier blanket from the linen closet and draped it over Frankie, taking care not to wake him. Couldn't let the guy freeze to death, after all; how would they win then?
As he finally stepped out into the snow, he glanced back up at the apartment, watching the light in Hitch and Dolo's window come on. He pictured them getting up, getting breakfast, Goody digging a box of chicken fingers out of the freezer, Hitch making a pot of coffee. Frankie discovering the extra blanket that had appeared while he slept; surely, he would think it was one of the others.
Moreso than he'd expected, the image made him smile. As much as he liked having his own space, he sort of missed the hustle and bustle of having people around. Really, if they could just hold out for a few more games, maybe this thing could work after all.