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Jamie is nine and it’s a bright, sunny spring morning, the kind that inspires his mom to drag him out to the park, no matter how much he’d rather stay home and practice his hockey shot or baseball swing in the backyard.
Alone.
He’s not much for other kids, is the thing. He’s always too awkward for their jokes, doesn’t know when to laugh and clams up when other kids from school throw their words at him. His teachers describe him as quiet and he’s okay with that.
It doesn’t become easier at the park, but Jamie’s mom is insistent, so he holds her hand the whole three-block walk to the neighborhood playground and plops solemnly into a swing.
He wishes Jordie could have come, but he had homework .
Suddenly, while Jamie’s mentally tearing Jordie’s stupid homework sheets up, feeling pouty and alone, a boy, a little younger, maybe, comes bounding up to him with big brown eyes, shining with excitement, a mop of tangled tawny curls atop his head.
“Hi!”
Jamie just blinks at him.
“Uh, do you wanna play tag? Or hide and seek, I love hide and seek, I’m really small so I can fit in little places, I bet you’re never gonna be able to find me!”
And if there’s one thing Jamie’s learned from his older siblings, it’s that you can never back down from a challenge like that. Over the other boy’s shoulder, Jamie catches his mom grinning and throwing him a thumbs up.
“You’re on!”
Instead of responding, the other boy beams brighter, somehow, and clenches his eyes shut and starts counting.
Oh. Right now .
Jamie scrambles out of the swing and darts around the playground, frantically diving behind a climbing wall as he hears the other boy reach ten .
It’s an awful hiding spot and Jamie’s heart is in his throat, but the other boy doesn’t make fun of Jamie when he finds him. Just shoots another gap toothed grin and bumps Jamie’s elbow.
“Your turn!”
He finds out between turns that the boy’s name is Tyson and he also likes hockey, that he begged his mom to take him to the park, unlike Jamie, and he claims Jamie is his best friend already.
Jamie can roll with that, he guesses. He’s never had a best friend before. Unless you count Jordie.
The game has morphed into some sort of jumped-up tag, a few of the other kids on the playground joining in, even, when Tyson trips over his untied shoelaces and all but faceplants into the grass, just barely catching himself on his palms.
“Jaaaamie!”
Within seconds, Jamie answers Tyson’s call, afraid his new friend is somehow hurt.
Kids are always more resilient than people give them credit for, his mom always says, and Tyson is only pouting down at his Converse.
“Jame, will you fix it? I dunno how!”
It doesn’t occur to Jamie’s young mind that Tyson probably knows how to tie his shoes, that Tyson might be teasing, but Jamie’s older and eager to help and he’s just determined to keep hold of the first best friend he’s been able to make outside of his family.
So he kneels down and reties Tyson’s laces with clumsy fingers, painstakingly slow, tongue between his teeth, dragon flying down and under, just like Jordie taught him, even double knotting them for good measure.
The result is a wonky, lopsided knot, half of the left lace hanging out of it. It’s not pretty, but Jamie’s confident it’ll do the job.
Jamie is too caught up in his very important task to hear the click of the disposable camera Tyson’s mom carries in her purse. It seems that Tyson managed to catch her approaching just in time to flash a dimpled smile up at the camera, but Jamie is still utterly focused on ensuring his friend won’t be tripping again, not on his watch.
They run off to rejoin the game, Tyson’s Converse securely fastened. Their moms exchange phone numbers in the background.
He doesn’t know it yet, but with that shoelace, Jamie's tied a knot for life.
Jamie has just turned thirteen and Tyson and his mom are supposed to arrive soon for the neighborhood cookout, and though Tyson has slept over often enough that he has a favorite pillow and his own breakfast bowl since that fateful day at the park years ago, Jamie’s excited.
Tyson had taken the whole best friends thing seriously, ever since he was seven, and he and Jamie have been thick as thieves ever since.
He didn’t tattle on Jamie when he broke the back porch window with a wayward slapshot, got matching casts after falling out of a tree at the park in a desperate attempt to get their baseball down where it had lodged itself among the branches, snuck Jamie candy when his mom took his sugar stash away after he was caught cheating off Tyson’s homework. They’ve tracked enough mud through the hallways to build their own sandcastle, they talk on the phone when it’s too rainy to go outside, and where you find one boy, the other is surely soon to follow. They are inseparable.
Road hockey has become their most popular pastime, and even when they can't get Jordie or the other neighborhood kids to join in, Jamie and Tyson can usually be found in the street practicing slapshots and blocks until dusk.
They’re no longer allowed to play in the backyard, due to unforeseen circumstances .
Today, though, everyone’s come out. Even Jenny is joining in from the sidelines, acting as referee, which suits her usual controlling and protective big sister demeanor, Jamie thinks.
Suddenly, between one shot at the net and the next, Tyson appears at Jamie’s shoulder, checking him out of his thoughts and out of the way in order to make a play for the road puck. His mom has already joined Jamie’s on the front porch, sipping something pink out of a tall glass with a mini umbrella sticking cheerily out of the top.
“Hey, Tys!” Jamie calls, and then proceeds to chase after him, his hockey stick scraping against the asphalt as he snaps it between Tyson’s ankles.
It’s crowded and loud and chaotic, a dozen young teens who dream about being The Great One and have Canucks posters lining their bedroom walls, all running around like their little game of road hockey is game seven of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.
Despite the noise, despite all the people, Jamie’s exhilarated.
He still struggles to make conversation around new people and form new relationships, but like this, where everyone is focused on one thing, one goal, of the puck finding the net, this is where Jamie thrives. He doesn’t have to talk other than yelling for a pass, and he’s good , even off the ice. Even Jordie admitted Jamie had found his calling.
Jamie’s sprawled on the curb during what constitutes as a shift change for their game when Tyson stomps up to him, the laces to his sneakers flopping limply and catching on the concrete.
“Jame! I forgot how to tie my shoes, will you do it for me pretty please!”
Tyson is grinning, wide and simple and happy, and Jamie is sweaty and exhausted and rolls his eyes.
“You can tie your own shoes, you dummy,” Jamie huffs, but he can’t hide his grin at his friend’s stupid humor.
“But you’ve tied so many more shoes in your extra two years of life! You’re better at it!” Tyson claims slyly.
“I’ll show you what I’m better at!”
Jamie launches himself at Tyson, who’s already giggling before Jamie can knock him into the grass, and they’re scrambling at each other, pushing and pulling and poking ticklish spots and earning grass stains their mothers will yell at them for later.
A flash goes off beside them and Jamie’s head pops up to find their moms standing shoulder to shoulder with matching expressions of fond exasperation.
“This will be great to show them when they’re older,” Jamie just catches over the sound of Tyson’s bubbly laughter.
Jamie gets Tyson pinned, the other boy giggling the whole time. He doesn’t look too upset about getting beat, but Jamie resolves to tying his shoes for him, anyway. He’s just a good friend like that.
A vague memory floats to the forefront of his mind and makes him smile, a sort of deja vu of doing this for Tyson the first time they met.
Jame catches another flash out of the corner of his eye, but he’s preoccupied with looping Tyson’s laces together and pulling them tight. He pats Tyson’s shoe once before he’s called back into the game.
It becomes a thing . A joke, but a thing. Their thing. Randomly, Tyson will claim all knowledge of bunny ears, or makeing a bow, or any of the other stupid rhymes they learned at age five have somehow evaporated from his brain and he needs Jamie’s older and experienced help with his laces.
Somehow, Tyson always catches him when one of their parents has a camera in their hands, and when Jamie moves out to pursue hockey for real - holy shit he’s actually doing this - their moms present him with a collage of all those stupid moments, Jamie bent over Tyson’s untied laces, goofy smiles pulling at both of their faces.
It’s cheesy and lame and a little embarrassing, and above all, it doesn’t fill the gaping hole that hollows out his chest when he’s missing his best friend at his side.
But it helps.
2007.
Jamie is eighteen, and he’s made it.
He made it to Kelowna to play hockey, been drafted by the Dallas Stars, an actual NHL team . He’s really going to start a career in professional hockey. Fuck.
And he gets to kick it all off with his best friend by his side, which is more comforting than it ought to be.
Tyson’s already spent a little time with the Rockets, he’s already established himself in Kelowna, so Jamie’s riding on the hope that Tyson will be the buffer between the team and Jamie’s bumbling awkwardness.
Jamie ambles into the locker room for the first day of training camp, a new Stars cap on his head and a text from Tys saying he’s almost there on his phone. It’s fine, Jamie’s ridiculously early. Nerves will do that for you.
Starting with the Grizzlies hadn’t felt this intense. Jamie has something to prove, now. Prove to the Stars that, even drafted in the fifth round, he can benefit them. He can belong in the NHL.
He will belong in the NHL.
He goes about busying himself at his stall, arranging his gear just so and stroking his fingers lightly over the Rockets jersey hanging there, the number 14 emblazoned in bright, bold numbering. He’s really made it.
He doesn’t notice or register Tyson’s presence, too far lost in his own thoughts about seeing the same jersey, but in green and white, until Tys knocks their shoulders together companionably with a cheerful, “Hey, Bennie!”
Relief floods Jamie, like he’s able to relax now that Tys is here, something settling in his chest with the familiarity Tyson brings.
He can’t resist teasing him, though.
“Hey, Tys. Sure you’re in the right place? You’re not lost, are you?”
“Ha, ha, Mr. Big Shot. Just because you’ve got a place in the NHL doesn’t mean you’re better than the rest of us. I remember when Jordie could check you into the ground, don’t forget your roots, Chubbs.”
Jamie rolls his eyes and scoffs, but he feels a little lighter. This, this is normal, expected. It’s also normal that Tyson can still spot the tightness around his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders as he tapes his stick, no matter how Jamie tries to hide how nervous he is.
So Tyson does what Tyson does best, deflecting Jamie’s pesky nerves and awkwardness with his own special brand of humor that crashes through Jamie’s walls with ease.
“Speaking of your roots,” Tyson starts, swinging his leg up onto the stall beside Jamie’s thigh, skate laces hanging loose. “I’ve forgotten how to tie my skates. Maybe you can help?”
“Tyson, you’ve been skating longer than I’ve known you, you know how to tie your skates.” But Jamie can’t help laughing.
“Noooo, Jam, I forgot how to do it, come on,” Tyson wheedles, shaking his foot so the laces swing to hit Jamie’s leg.
“For God’s sake,” Jamie grumbles, trying to fight his growing smile. That must have been Tyson’s goal because he just grins smugly in response.
Jamie methodically goes through the process of tightening the laces in the boot, ensuring a snug fit, before tugging them taut, tying a neat bow, and tucking the excess into Tys’ skate so he doesn’t faceplant on the ice. As much as he’d enjoy that, he’s not that mean.
“You're a beauty, Jam, thanks!”
Tyson settles into the stall next to his just as another group of guys files in and the locker room fills with the sounds of rowdy teenagers all chomping at the bit to get out onto the ice. Jamie’s less nervous, less intimidated by all the people and the burden of having to perform slowly lifts from his shoulders, eased by Tyson's thigh pressed against his and his elbow in his side.
Jamie starts the season strong and has a blast doing it, despite his reservations. One of the best parts, unsurprisingly, is having his best friend close by all the time. It’s great, and Jamie’s kind of having the best time of his life, which in turn helps him produce the best hockey of his life.
He and Tys get closer than ever, basically living out of each other’s pockets. Jamie would think that being with the same person constantly would get exhausting, or boring, even, but he’s proven wrong every time he’s excited to scrimmage against Tyson or meet him for lunch at their favorite diner that they keep a secret from the team nutritionist.
When Tyson pulls him into a secluded corner on the way out to the parking lot after they stay late after practice, working on shots together until their wrists were sore in a way they had last been when they were kids, Jamie isn’t all that surprised when Tyson kisses him.
It’s a novel sensation, but it feels so right, so natural, ducking his head down to meet Tyson halfway to press their lips together. Jamie can’t deny he’s looked, that his hands have lingered on shoulders and arms and the small of Tyson’s back, that he’s been awed and breathless watching Tys on breakaways, flying across the ice like he was born to do it.
He just never realized Tyson’s been doing the same, looking and touching right back.
It feels like a natural progression, from best friends to boyfriends. It’s easy.
The team already knew they were close and spent all their time together, so they don’t even notice that there is any sort of change. Jamie’s grateful for that, because as proud of Tyson as he is (and he is proud, that this sweet, funny, talented guy is his and his alone, wishes he could shout it from the rooftops without repercussions), the reality is that he doesn’t want anything to jeopardize either his or Tyson’s NHL careers.
Tyson agrees, because as much as they like each other, they’re both young and trying to break into a profession where something like this could tank you before you even begin.
But it’s good, regardless. Jamie learns there are new categories to Tyson’s smiles he’s never seen before, like when he’s annoyed but oh so fond, or when he wants to be kissed within an inch of his life, or when he’s about to challenge Jamie to something that will ultimately lead them to needing to find a door they can lock themselves behind ASAP.
He’s playing good hockey, the people in Dallas are impressed, and he’s got Tyson at his side. Jamie figures life can’t get much better than this.
Jamie is twenty-four. Somehow, between all of Tyson’s team hopping and the distance and the weight of the new captaincy, they’ve made it work.
Tyson is Jamie’s confidante, the one he calls late at night when the C makes his chest hurt and when the idea that there are thirty guys watching, waiting for him to bloom into the leader management believes he can be makes Jamie want to tear the patch right off his jersey and hurl it at someone like Fidds or Dales who know what they’re doing.
He’s the one Jamie calls when he finds out they’re getting Tyler Seguin of all people, and Tyson sits patiently while Jamie talks himself in circles about what if he’s crazy what if I’m not good enough to keep up with him what if Dallas isn’t good enough for a Stanley Cup Champion.
Jamie listens, too. To Tyson’s anxieties about maintaining his spot in the big show, being good enough for the NHL, about Nate and Erik and Gabe (and if Jamie has to hear Tyson wax poetic about Landy’s hair one more time he might lose it, the viking might leave their next faceoff with a black eye).
They form a routine, and they don’t keep secrets. They talk almost every day and keep each other updated, and skype is a miracle when tensions run too high. It’s nothing compared to Tyson’s warm body actually lying next to him, but it’s better than nothing.
It’s good, they’re solid. Jamie’s never been more grateful for solid in his life, not when his current reality is a whirlwind of responsibility and change.
Seggy turns out to be pretty cool. They make beautiful hockey together, the kind of instant chemistry that automatically bleeds into a close friendship off the ice, resulting in Tyler eating all of Jamie and Jordie’s food and kicking their asses at Mario Kart.
He’s the first one Jamie tells about Tyson, even, when Tyler finds the tucked away collage of him and Tyson at all stages of awkward adolescence. He lingers over a picture of a seven-year-old Tys cheesing up at the camera, Jamie bent over his Converse in a little neighborhood park, pinned up next to a more recent photo his mom took last Christmas.
Tyson’s feet are kicked up in Jamie’s lap, and Jamie looks like a complete sop with the way he’s beaming at Tyson over his untied dress shoes, fingers tangled in the laces.
There’s no mistaking what Jamie’s smile means in that picture.
“Barrie, huh?”
“Uh. Yeah... Since I was 18. That gonna be a problem?”
“Nah, man. You do you. Not like I can talk, anyway.”
Oh.
Well, that’s that.
Tyler therefore knows what it means when December rolls around and they finally fly to Denver.
Tyler is a good friend, tries to keep him grounded by engaging him in any way he knows how during the flight, with lighthearted arguments or cards or teaching Val dirty words in English.
It doesn’t really work, but Jamie appreciates it anyway.
He’s all but bouncing in his seat by the end, ready to just take off for Tyson’s apartment and gather him in his arms for the first time in months, but it’s late and they have skate in the morning.
The first time they see each other will be across the ice.
Sleep is scarce that night, and practice in the morning is a bit of a mess, earning Jamie a weird cocktail of pep talk and lecture from Coach. He can’t very well blame his distraction on the fact that he’s in the same city as his boyfriend for the first time in months, though, so he grins and bears it, assuring Coach he’ll be more focused after his nap.
Spoiler alert: he’s not.
The bus ride to the Pepsi Center takes too long. Jamie’s a little snappish and a lot quiet, anticipation mounting inside his chest until he can’t spare the brainpower to entertain any of his teammates at the moment.
It’s a bit scary, thinking about playing against Tyson, in the NHL no less, and there are worry and nerves nibbling at the back of his mind, oozing into his head like thick gray mud next to the excitement of seeing Tyson.
Tyler helps, he really does, and Jordie, too, keeping the guys off his back and distracting those who are eager for their captain’s attention.
Vaguely, Jamie is aware he’s not being a good leader right now, but these are extenuating circumstances, even if the only people who understand why are his brother and his liney.
Time drags on until he’s finally in his jersey and pads and skating out onto the fresh ice of the Pepsi Center for warmups.
Jamie skates a couple laps as the Avs are introduced to their roaring home crowd, and shit , he can see Tyson from here, decked out in blue and burgundy, face set in determination.
That is, until he catches Jamie’s eye, and then it's like a man transformed, a goofy smile pulling at his lips.
Jamie feels a nudge at his back and spins around to spot Tyler as the culprit, smirking and lifting his chin in Tyson’s direction as he takes a causal, loping path to center ice. To the uninitiated, it may seem like Tys is just finding a clear space to stretch, but Jamie knows an invitation when he sees one.
He flashes a grateful smile at Tyler - Jamie’s gonna seriously owe him after all this - before mimicking Tyson’s carefully aloof demeanor and settling down to stretch his hamstrings at the cross-section where the circle meets the centerline.
“Jame,” Tyson breathes, eyes lighting up as he fights off the smile threatening to break out.
“Hey, Tys,” Jamie responds, wanting nothing more than to drag Tyson against his chest and not let him go. But there are cameras everywhere, and teammates and coaches and fans starting to filter in, so he restrains himself.
They’ll have tomorrow night, after their back to back takes them home to Dallas, to reacquaint themselves with each other.
Now, though, they only have a few minutes before their perceived conversation goes from former juniors teammates catching up to what the hell are those two even talking about to they look… close.
“Think you can beat us, huh? Coming in here with your C. Acting pretty tough for someone who doesn’t own any metal forks,” Tyson teases, toeing the centre line between them dangerously.
“I don’t think I need to listen to a man who believes La Croix is a lemonade,” Jamie shoots back, tapping the heel of his stick against Tysons’s skate.
They grin at each other.
“Jame,” Tyson says suddenly, mischief sparking in his eyes. “My skate is a little loose. Think you could help a guy out?”
Jamie huffs, exasperated. “Really, Tys?” Here? Now? With a half-full arena and countless staff watching their every move? It goes unspoken, but Jamie knows his boyfriend reads his thoughts on his face.
Though, Jamie has never been able to deny Tyson anything.
And he hasn’t gotten where he is today by backing off a challenge when he meets one.
So he shifts closer, as if going into a deeper stretch, and Tyson shuffles in until his skate is under Jamie’s nose. Jamie doesn’t have to see Tyson’s face to know that he’s grinning.
He makes quick work of the laces, the routine and action of tying up a skate familiar after so many years of loving both Tyson and hockey in tandem. He pats Tyson’s skate companionably once he’s finished, glancing up and losing himself for a moment in the warmth radiating in Tyson’s eyes.
Despite the fact that they’re opponents in a constant cutthroat battle for points, Jamie’s comforted with having Tyson cheerful and close and teasing.
He’s so gone.
“Thanks, Jam.” It isn’t much more than a whisper.
“Anytime.”
The Stars lose the game.
In all honesty, Jamie isn’t surprised. He holds himself accountable for the way he’d been distracted anytime Tyson skated against him, caught up in the euphoria of sharing the ice with him once again.
Oh well, they’ll show them tomorrow.
Jamie all but forgets about the moment at center ice during warmups, lost in analyzing their line changes and defense and when exactly he lost his wits, when his phone lights up with a text from his mom. There’s an image attached, the only comment a kissy emoji.
Curious, Jamie taps on it.
He’d forgotten, somehow, about the countless cameras that surround players every moment they’re on the ice, catching every little thing, even Jamie’s fingers looping through Tyson’s skate laces, and Tyson’s warmly amused smile peering down at him.
Despite getting caught out, Jamie figures the rags will speculate he’d lost a bet or something. They never seem to guess the truth, though the true meaning of Tyson’s grin is obvious to Jamie.
Warmth floods his chest. He loves that man, and their stupid little tradition.
He falls asleep with a smile on his face, thoughts full of Tyson.
Jamie is twenty-eight.
The Stars missed the playoffs. Again.
It’s unerringly difficult not to place the blame on himself. If he’d scored more, led his team better, skated a little faster. Maybe it would have made the difference.
Segs and Bish and Spezz all deny it, saying that’s just how it goes, sometimes, Chubbs, but something squashed deep inside Jamie’s chest, a little squirmy ball of self-consciousness that seems to expand every time the Stars don’t do as well as he’d hoped, makes it hard to believe his teammates aren’t placating him.
Still, he can live vicariously through Tyson, who has been lighting it the hell up with the Avalanche this season, making Jamie ridiculously proud. He tries to catch every game he can, but with an insane schedule of his own, he doesn’t get to see many.
This is an opportunity, then, for him to actually support Tys in person for once, to travel to Denver to catch game six in their series against the Preds. It’s a desperate attempt to make light of Jamie’s own playoff situation, but it is a reasonable distraction. There’s nothing better to focus on than his boyfriend anyway.
Except game six is a nightmare, for Jamie who is cringing and cursing in the crowd, but more so for Tyson, who leaves the ice after a 5-0 loss with his head hanging low and shoulders slumped in defeat.
He meets Tys out in the parking garage, and he’s never been the best with words, but he’s never needed to be, not with Tyson, so he wraps him up in an all-consuming hug and just lets his boyfriend cling to him for a minute.
And another minute.
From their shadowed and secluded corner of the parking garage, Jamie catches Nate’s eye over Tyson’s shoulder as Nate makes his way to his own vehicle. The other man has a solemn, tired look dragging his face down, but his gaze flicks to Tyson’s huddled form before he offers Jamie a small nod in acknowledgment.
He wonders if he should be offended that Nate seems to feel the need to approve Jamie, but he dismisses the thought as soon as it surfaces. Nate’s a great friend to Tys, and Jamie is grateful for that, especially since he can’t be there for the majority of the year.
So Jamie nods back. He’s got this.
Jamie insists on driving them back to Tyson’s house, once he is finally released from the octopus hold, and Tyson relents without argument.
As he navigates the dark streets, the radio on low enough that there’s just an ambient hum in the stale air circulating between them, Jamie takes stock of his boyfriend anytime he can catch a glance. He can’t see much in the low light, but he sees the bags under Tyson’s eyes, notices how his sore muscles force him to slump into the seat now that the adrenaline has been sapped from his body.
All of Jamie’s disappointments and reservations and negativities evaporate in the face of comforting his boyfriend, who so obviously needs the support right now, so he pushes aside the memory of his own season in order to gently bully Tyson into eating and showering and curling up with him in bed.
“Let’s get outta here. Do something, just us, for a while.” Jamie startles as Tyson speaks. He’s been quiet all evening outside of a few faint comments like thanks and yeah . But once he says it, Jamie realizes how good of an idea it is, how necessary it is. For both of them.
So a week later, after locker cleanout and press conferences and the like, Jamie and Tyson pack for a three day trip to Colorado Springs. They both have obligations that prevent them from going longer or farther, but honestly, just a couple days with no hockey, no media, no disappointed fans, nothing but each other... it sounds like heaven.
The drive takes a little over two hours. As the miles fade in the rearview, so does the stress weighing down both of their chests.
Their first day is spent mostly in a hotel room, tucked together into a massive, obscenely comfortable bed. Jamie takes his time reacquainting himself with Tyson’s body and is reduced to a sweaty, moaning mess when Tyson returns the favor.
Mostly, though, they talk. They air out their grievances with their respective seasons, share funny anecdotes from the year that had previously only been mentioned via text, and relish in the reassurance that they’re here, together. There will be other playoff runs, the next season to worry about, but right now, they have each other to focus on and that’s what matters.
The next day, Tyson drags Jamie out of bed disgustingly early for a vacation, no matter how short it is. They arrive at the foot of Pikes Peak to begin their ascent just as the sun rises, armed with backpacks stuffed full of water and gatorade and high protein snacks their trainers would nod approvingly at.
Jamie only snickers a little at the can of La Croix Tyson stuffs in with his water.
Jamie’s never hiked up a mountain before, it’s just never appealed to him with his phobia of heights, and Pikes Peak is no joke. They make it to the top, cheeks red and sweat pooling in the smalls of their backs, but matching, proud, beaming grins on their faces.
It takes them just over six hours, and if Jamie wasn’t already breathless from the exertion (so different from skating) and the thin air, then the view would absolutely steal all of the oxygen from his heaving lungs.
It’s stunning.
Jamie might be a little on edge, terrified of heights as he is, but the beauty of the moment fills all the empty spaces in his body before fear can take the chance.
Even at the summit with a few dozen other people milling around and Tyson’s shoulder pressed into his, Jamie feels so small looking out at the endless blue sky. It might be the most impressively beautiful thing he’s ever seen, until he glances over at Tyson and catches his own awe reflected back in his boyfriend’s face and his breath leaves him all over again.
They share a quiet smile before redirecting their focus back out onto the world that looks so distant from the top of the mountain.
Jamie’s broken out of his trancelike state by Tyson shuffling closer and whining, “Jamieee, I’m cold!”
“Jesus, you make a career out of living on ice, Tys, how are you cold?”
“But that’s my professional life, I don’t have to suffer in my private life, too!”
“There’s nothing professional about what you’re doing out there, Tys, hate to break it to you.”
Despite his words, Jamie is shivering a little himself. Who knew the wind would be so biting in the middle of May on top of a 14,000 foot tall mountain?
None of the other people up here have even spared them a second glance, and Jamie’s not concerned about being recognized, not in the middle of the Colorado Wilderness, so he throws caution to the wind and drapes an arm over Tyson’s shoulder, indulgently allowing him to snuggle into his side.
It’s then that an older lady with a sweet sparkle in her eye approaches them and asks if they’d mind taking her photo with her wife, and, ever the Nice Canadian Boys, they oblige easily. When she offers to return the favor, Tyson jumps to agree, dragging Jamie even closer to the edge, despite Jamie’s protests.
Tyson’s going to kill them both, someday.
The woman simply smiles indulgently at them, sharing a look with her wife that says something like oh, can you remember the days? in that weird, telepathic way that couples who have been together forever seem to manage. Jamie realizes with a start that he and Tyson have always been able to read each other’s expressions like that, too, so maybe they’re not far off from the together forever days.
She snaps a few pictures before Tyson interjects. “Hey, Jame, I think my shoe’s coming loose. Mind fixing that for me? I forgot how to do it.” He can’t hide the mischief in his smile, not from Jamie, but he really should have seen this coming. He rolls his eyes, disgustingly fond, and bends down to fiddle with his dorky boyfriend’s laces without protest.
When Jamie gets his phone back, there are a couple really great shots, including a super soppy one of Tyson gazing up at Jamie like he’s the answer to every problem in the universe. It makes Jamie’s heart pound, painfully sweet.
At the end, there’s a slightly blurry photo of Jamie, crouched in front of Tyson’s boots, Tyson captured mid-laugh. Grinning, Jamie sends it off to his mom. There’s another one for the collage.
Tyson tugs on his wrist until Jamie shows him, and he just laughs.
See again: dorky boyfriend.
Once they’ve done all there is to do, bought way too much fudge and a few silly knick-knacks from the gift shop, Jamie turns to Tyson.
“We’re taking the train back down, right?”
Jamie is thirty-one, and somehow, both he and Tyson have managed to plan a real vacation of sorts this off season, renting a gorgeous little penthouse on the water in Victoria with a rooftop deck and a nice kitchen. But the best part is that it’s private and quiet and just their’s for a couple weeks. The trip to Colorado Springs had been so nice, so reenergizing, it had inspired their desire to actually plan a real, substantial vacation.
Jamie props himself against the railing on the balcony, admiring the view, the way the setting sun paints his hometown in various shades of pinks and purples and blues and makes the water sparkle as it laps gently at the harbor. A bottle of beer hangs from his fingertips and Tyson’s arms wrap around his waist as his cheek pushes into Jamie’s back.
“This is nice.” Jamie hums contently in response, pressing his weight into Tyson’s capable arms a little more. It is nice, now that there’s nothing to focus on but the warmth of Tyson’s body next to his.
He feels so good in the moment, safe and warm and surrounded by Tyson, that he almost blurts out the question that’s been consuming his thoughts then. But he stops himself in time. It’s not right, not yet.
They’re lazy in a way their coaches and trainers will probably criticize and lecture them about, spending most of their time tangled up together, cooking together, eating together, taking long walks together, simply existing together in a way they haven’t been able to achieve since they were scruffy kids with skinned up knees and a taste for mischief, before their NHL pipe dreams became a reality and their livelihoods didn’t depend on hockey alone.
The days fly by in a relaxing haze. They go out to fish a couple times, laughing and threatening to push each other overboard, pressing tender kisses against sunbaked skin. On the nights they’re too worn out to cook, takeout is ordered from every restaurant in the area, both brand new and familiar childhood favorites. Through it all, Jamie’s vaguely distracted by the plans he’s made that continue to develop in the back of his mind.
Finally, during a stroll along the harbor, those plans come to fruition.
Fairy lights are strung through the railings that run along the waterfront, casting an ethereal glow to the warm evening air. The box in Jamie’s jacket pocket feels heavy. He skims his fingers over where the bulge brushes against his side, soothing away the last of his nerves and taking a deep breath.
It’s time.
Jamie tugs on Tyson’s wrist until he halts in his steps and stops chattering about whatever new TV show he’s been obsessing over with Nate, glancing back at Jamie curiously. Jamie has to clear his throat before he can speak, suddenly nervous. It’s not like Tyson would say no, right? Not after decades of friendship and team changes and everything else they’ve managed to survive. Together.
“Need me to get your shoe, Tys?”
Jamie doesn’t wait for a response before he’s kneeling down, his knee pressing painfully into the rough concrete, but he’s too preoccupied to register the discomfort. He tugs at the laces of Tyson’s sneaker for a moment, but the truth is, it doesn’t need retying.
It’s fine, everything’s fine.
He fishes for the little black velvet box. Tyson’s breath catches when he manages to present it.
“Tys, uh, Tyson.” He stops, clears his throat again. “You, uh, you make me the happiest guy on the Earth, well, uh, except when you win in hockey against me, and uh. I, uh. Well, I wanna keep tying your shoes for the rest of our lives. What do you say? Wanna tie the knot?”
Tyson pauses for what seems like an eternity, and Jamie’s about to panic and surge off of his knees and find some way to laugh this off, but then he glances up and catches sight of the way Tyson’s eyes are suspiciously rimmed in red and a breathtaking smile is slowly forming across his face.
“I’ve gotta keep you around in case I forget how, don’t I?”
Bonus:
The house is a mess. It’s chaos in its purest form, the dog’s barking, Tyson’s wrangling TJ into her gear, and Jamie is frantically hunting for his daughter’s left skate so they won’t be late for TJ’s first game.
He’s finally located it, wedged under the couch for some reason, when Tyson appears in the living room with TJ propped on his hip.
She looks almost insufferably adorable with her baggy jersey and ponytail and the laces trailing from her tiny pink sneakers. Tyson obviously agrees, if the goofy, fond look in his eyes and the way he’s biting down on a smile is anything to go by.
Tyson lets TJ slide to the ground just as Jamie’s zipping up her duffle bag, all of her gear finally tucked away in its proper place, ready to make the trip to the arena. Jamie thinks he might be more excited for this than TJ at this point, but his little girl has a bounce in her step as she tug’s on Tyson’s hand.
“Daddy? Can you tie my shoe?”
“You gotta ask your Papa, pumpkin, Papa is the best at tying shoes!”
Jamie’s heart swells with fondness as he shares a smile with Tyson over TJ’s head.
Damn, but he loves this man and the life they’ve built together. Who would have thought the string tying soulmates together would be the cheap laces of a 7-year-old’s sneakers.