Chapter Text
Therapy is hard but it is helpful.
Gwen hasn’t gone away, there’d been flowers waiting outside his apartment when he’d returned to New York after Christmas and he’s received texts from a third burner phone.
But the therapist that Stan had managed to connect him with in New York is helping him focus more on what he’s doing to stay safe rather than what could go wrong.
He’s only had two sessions so far but he feels a lot more steady.
She’s also helping him figure out how to talk to his family, his teammates, his Hailey about how he’s feeling about the whole thing.
He’s been talking to his mom during her drive to radiation three days a week.
He’d gotten back to practice with the team on Saturday before their game against Washington though the coach had made the choice to wait one more game before getting him back on the roster.
He’ll be playing tonight against Ottawa but right now he’s sitting in arrivals at the airport waiting for his brother to get through security.
Will had texted him fifteen minutes ago that his plane was starting to deboard and he’s had his eyes peeled ever since.
In a perfect world, he would be waving a large – and probably embarassing – sign for his older to brother to watch for.
Instead he’s standing out of the way, a ballcap on his head and a nondescript hoodie to hopefully help him blend in rather than standing out.
Paulie is standing next to him, dressed similarly and scanning the crowd.
He’d asked his friend if he could borrow his car to pick Will up but he isn’t really surprised that he’d insisted on coming with him.
All of the guys have been protective of him, since the drop honestly but more so ever since Gwen had started escalating.
He spots his brother coming down the escalator and steps forward, waving slightly to catch his attention.
Will jogs over to them, backpack over his shoulder and pulling his carry-on behind him.
“Did you check anything?” Jay asks, hugging his brother and glancing toward the baggage carousel.
“No.” Will says, squeezing him lightly and then pulling back. “We’re good to go.”
He turns, reaching out to shake Paulie’s hand.
“Appreciate you lending your car to this and looking out for him.” he says warmly.
“This one makes us work for it.” Paulie says, reaching over to ruffle Jay’s hair. “But he’s a good kid.”
“Sure is.” Will says, swinging an arm over his shoulders.
“So I figured we’d drop your things at Jay’s apartment and then head over to the arena.” Paulie says, leading the way toward the parking garage. “Give you the backstage tour before we have to start with the pregame nonsense.”
Will’s eyes go slightly wide.
“Dude, yes.” he says eagerly, pushing Jay away slightly. “He’s my new favorite brother now.”
Jay laughs, grabbing Will’s suitcase.
“Yeah, yeah. I got you an autograph from Eric Daze you ungrateful jerk.” he says.
They continue bickering all the way through to when Jay delivers his brother to his seats close behind the home bench at Madison Square Garden.
The stands are still largely empty, general admission doors will be opening in just a few minutes, but a few other family members are already seated.
He takes a minute to introduce Will to a handful of wives, girlfriends and parents and then takes his leave just as one of his teammates’ kids climbs into Will’s lap.
“Are you Jay’s bwother?” the toddler asks loudly. “Jay’s the best!”
He glances back, meeting his brother’s eye as Will smiles at him and then turns his attention to the little boy.
“I am his brother.” he says. “Taught him everything he knows.”
Jay snorts and continues down the stairs.
He’s fucking pissed.
Two weeks off the ice while his leg healed only to take a puck to the face eleven minutes into his first game back.
He’s cleared concussion protocol, confirmed no structural damage by the time Will is shown into the training room.
He tried to smile at his brother, wanting to soothe the worried fear on his too pale face as the older man takes in the blood coating the right side of his face.
He’d gotten a glove up to his face, a trainer replacing it with a towel as they met him partway to the bench, in time to keep the blood pouring down from destroying his jersey.
It’s a heavy bleeder, as scalp wounds tend to be, but they’ve confirmed that it’s just split skin along his right eyebrow.
The medical staff have placed an icepack over top of it to help slow the bleeding so they can clean it out and stitch it up.
“I’m okay.” he tells his brother.
“Of course you are.” Will says, the tone of his voice contradicting the confidence of his words. “But hey, you think you could do mom a favor and stop painting the ice with blood every game?”
Jay chuckles weakly.
“No pain, no gain, right?” he says playfully.
“You’re nuts.” Will says, shaking his head.
He doesn’t say much else but stays close, watching while they put twelve stitches into his face.
Then he reluctantly heads back to his seat, phone in hand and probably texting their parents, while Jay goes to rejoin his team in the locker room for the intermission.
The guys chide him briefly about being such a trouble magnet and then settle as the coach starts to discuss their plan for the second period.
The crowd roars in approval when he skates out with the team for warmups.
He offers a small wave as he runs through his drills.
His vision is a little off thanks to the swelling and the team doc had warned him there’s a very real chance he won’t be able to see out of his right eye tomorrow but he can see well enough.
Fires off shot after shot on goal until the buzzer goes off and the team files onto the bench.
Three minutes into the period, he settles into position to the right of the slot, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind pointing out that this was right where he was standing when he got hit, and readies his stick.
Jerry feeds it right to him and he closes his eyes, visualizing the gap in coverage beneath the goalie’s right arm and snaps off the shot.
Opens his eyes and is already moving forward to pick up a rebound if necessary when he hears the goal horn go off.
Damn it.
The guys are gonna give him so much shit for getting hurt every time he scores.
Note: This injury is based on a real life hit one of my favorite players took. You can see what poor Jay's face would have looked like here!