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Macklin was fine, all things considered. (A downright, bold-faced lie.)
The only thing he’d managed to accomplish since the final buzzer sounded was waiting until he was in the safety of the locker room before breaking down. (Also a lie). In reality, he’d been unable to contain his tears standing on the sidelines, head down and glove pointlessly covering his trembling lips.
Because the truth was that he’d been wearing the C this time around, with the hopes of his teammates and his country riding on his shoulders, an insurmountable amount of pressure ready to crush him every time he took a breath. And it certainly didn’t help that the only person who could calm him down right now was across an entire ocean.
At the moment, the only thing Mack felt like doing was crawling into his hotel bed and burrowing under the covers, avoiding everyone and everything until he no longer felt like a shell of himself. He cringed away from the touch of his teammates, throat closing up as the fluorescent lights drilled into his skull and Norway celebrated at the other end of the ice.
He barely remembers the walk back down the tunnel, shame clinging to every inch of his body like a second skin, impossible to swallow and all-encompassing. Just the thought of standing in front of a camera made him want to crawl into a hole and die—but if anyone had to brave the media after such a devastating loss, it would have to be the captain.
Macklin can’t recall a single word he’d spoken, while countless microphones were waved under his nose and blinking red lights mocked him. Endless platitudes, promises that his team deserved better, that he expected so much more from himself in particular. His eyes well up with tears that clump his lashes together, as Crosby nods at the cameras and herds him back to his locker. Like a child, he thinks miserably, shoulders caving inward as he starts stripping off the rest of his gear.
This time, there isn’t even a silver medal to glare at or a stuffed animal to take his frustrations out on. Instead, there’s just the sound of defeated bodies shuffling every which way, eager to head back to the safety of their hotel room or board the soonest flight home.
As he drags his suddenly too-heavy duffel bag down the hall and calls an Uber back to the hotel, the logical part of Macklin’s brain tells him to pack up the rest of his things and head back to Vancouver with his family. But that would also mean he’d subject himself to hours of punishing workouts, and listening to his dad recount everything he did wrong throughout the tournament in explicit detail.
But the other half—the one so stubbornly in tune with his heart—was itching to hop on the earliest plane to Boston, so he could be surrounded by crinkly-eyed smiles and sun-kissed skin, gentle touches and even softer kisses. Because home would always be wherever Will was.
Will, who’d probably already sent him a dozen texts to make his father’s blatantly criticizing texts appear further down in his notifications. Will, who was absolutely wearing a jersey with a 71 stitched across the back right about now. Will, who loved him more than anything and could definitely make these awful feelings inside of him go away. The thought makes a wobbly smile pull at the corners of Macklin’s mouth, as he fishes out his room key with shaking hands and drags himself across the threshold.
He fields calls from the rest of his family, sends his mom a quick text letting her know where he’d went, then flops face-first onto the overly plush hotel mattress, nearly whimpering when he stretches his hand out to the left side and finds it cold and empty. From there, he spends the next five minutes alternating between angsty sighs, dramatically starfishing in the middle of the bed, and wriggling on top of the comforter trying to find a halfway comfortable position.
Just as he’s about to give up and roll onto his belly for the third time, his phone rings, breaking the silence. It blares, obnoxious and absurdly loud in the silence of Macklin’s hotel room—and there’s only one contact in his phone that he has an emergency bypass for. He can’t even find it in himself to care how desperate he must seem, picking up on the second ring and murmuring a breathless hello?
Will had to have heard it in his voice, the thick warble that only comes after bawling your eyes out. Because suddenly it switches to a video call, and Mack drinks up the sight of him like a man starved, sympathetic pursed lips and all.
“Hi baby,” Will coos, shutting a door behind him before turning back to Macklin. “How are you holding up?” And the words are so fucking soft, spoken with so much care and adoration it nearly cracks Mack in two all over again.
The last thing he wants to do is start crying, but the tears come anyway, clogging up his throat and spilling down his already-splotchy cheeks. “I failed them,” he chokes out, suddenly unable to meet Will’s eyes, terrified he’ll find pity or disappointment staring back at him. “I wasn’t good enough. Again. And it fucking sucks.”
“Macky, listen to me.” Will’s voice is low and serious, and when Macklin finally finds the guts to flick his gaze upwards, all he sees is sincerity and understanding. “You were absolutely incredible—you did everything right, don’t beat yourself up like this…please don’t cry, sweetheart. I know it hurts, but it wasn’t your fault.”
And no matter how many times he swipes his sleeve over the salty tears, more come to take their place, leaving him a stuttering, blubbering mess. “I miss you,” he whimpers, heart lifting the tiniest bit when Will repeats the sentiment, reassuring him that he was good, that he’d always be more than enough. Which only manages to restart his crying jag anew.
The saddest part is that Macklin wants nothing more than to let the words wash over him, take away his guilt and suffering, until all that’s left is the pleasant, fuzzy feeling that only Will’s attention can provide. But what comes out instead is the world’s smallest and most defeated, “don’t wanna go back.”
“Then it’s a good thing we plan on making the playoffs next year, right sweetheart?” Will’s smile is a crooked, genuine thing, making Mack’s heart beat faster against his better judgement.
His entire face scrunches up in frustration, trying and failing to find the right words to explain himself. “Vancouver,” he mumbles, the three syllables taking a herculean effort to get out. Then he fixes Will with his best puppy dog eyes, bottom lip jutting out to really drive his point home. “S’ not home.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he watches Will’s face fall in real time.
He thinks of the guest house back in San Jose, endless nights spent watching movies and giggling until 2am over the stupidest things. And his heart clenches when he catches sight of Will’s childhood bedroom in the background, filled with posters and trophies and photos hastily tacked onto corkboard. He suddenly longed for the week he’d spent in Will’s bed, with Grace teasing them relentlessly and Will’s parents treating him like the third child they never had.
“Can you do something for me, Macky?” Will hums, warm and gentle. At Mack’s answering nod, his eyes soften. “I want you to book the quickest flight to Boston, and send me all the details. And I promise that I’ll be there to pick you up at the airport first thing. How does that sound?”
Mack’s lower lip trembles, as his hopes lift the tiniest bit and he listens to words that sound too good to be true. “You want me there?” he hiccups, drying any lingering tears on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Which was technically Will’s sweatshirt—something that doesn’t go unnoticed, if the way Will grins back at him is any indication.
“Always,” Will whispers, stifling a yawn into his pillowcase. “You know I want to be wherever you are.” The admission makes Mack feel like his heart might burst out of his chest, drifting away like an overinflated balloon.
He practically dives off the bed to grab his iPad, and Will giggles when the motion topples his phone backwards, limiting his view to the hotel ceiling. “Sorry,” Mack mumbles shyly, propping his boyfriend up on a nearby throw pillow. He busies himself looking at flights, tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration while he anxiously taps his credit card against his thigh. “Are you sure your family will be okay with this?”
Will snorts and rolls his eyes, fiddling with his chain as he stares at the screen. “I’m pretty sure my mom loves you more than me at this point. Now book the damn flight so I can see you. Pretty please?” His voice goes a little breathy, a little bratty, and Macklin’s cheeks heat at the words, something warm and wanting simmering in his belly.
Surely he looks foolish with how fast he nods, head bobbing up and down like a stray puck bouncing into the boards. “There’s ummm…one for tomorrow? Gets in at seven in the morning?” Macklin chews on his bottom lip as guilt sets in, but it’s short-lived in the face of Will’s blinding grin.
“That’s perfect. Good boy,” Will murmurs, and Macklin’s brain fizzes out for a moment, before going off the grid entirely. He gulps, fingers twitching as he enters his card info, then shoots off a text with all the details. But his thoughts snag on those two words, two syllables that had him staring at the clock on his nightstand, already counting down the hours until they’d be together again.
Once his face is no longer flaming, the sentiment settles around Macklin like a comforting embrace. It pings around in his skull, as he watches Will give him another goofy grin and settle back against his pillow before closing his eyes. Somehow, he was always enough for Will. Win, lose, snotty mess of tears and all—he’d always have Will.
“Gonna pick me up in the new Bronco?” Mack teases, voice hoarse as he curls onto his side in a mirror of Will’s position. Maybe if he pretended that his boyfriend was actually here with him, the minutes would start to move just a little bit faster.
“You know, now would be a really great time to admit you’re only with me for my sponsorships,” Will jokes, eyes twinkling in the soft lighting of his bedroom. “But yes. There’s no one else I’d rather have as my passenger princess, sweetheart.”
Mack blushes and squirms against the comforter, mumbling something about Will being a dork, but making heart eyes at him all the same. They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, before he peeks out from underneath his elbow. “Can you stay on the phone until I fall asleep?” he mumbles shyly.
“As if you even have to ask,” Will murmurs, dutifully staying on the line as Macklin brushes his teeth, splashes water on his face, and hops back beneath the covers. “Don’t forget about your alarm, Macky,” his boyfriend gently reminds him.
From there, it’s Mack working through his thoughts and Will patiently listening, doing his best to erase any lingering notions of self-doubt. “I love you…like a lot,” he hums around a giant yawn, double-checking that his alarm would go off in a few hours before finally allowing sleep to pull him under.
Will was more than happy to stand guard and keep the bad dreams at bay.
~~~~~
Macklin’s only slightly disoriented hours later, thoroughly tangled up in the sheets and fumbling to turn off his alarm. But his limbs feel slightly less heavy as he shoves items of clothing into his suitcase, hastily tugging on another stolen sweatshirt with a giddy grin.
He sneaks out to say goodbye to his mom and siblings, breathing a relieved sigh when they tell him his dad was busy with a work call. The last thing he needed right now was another disapproving look or condescending remark. “Tell Will we said hi, alright? And take it easy, you deserve a break,” his mother winks, giving him one last squeeze before pulling back.
“I’m sorry, Mama, I know you were looking forward to having everybody home,” he sighs, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. RJ opens his mouth, probably to make a smartass comment, but Aiden facewashes him instead, while Charlie just sighs and shakes her head.
“He’s your anchor, and I’m sure it goes both ways. Just spend a little time in Boston, and come home when you’re ready, yeah?” At Macklin’s nod, she pinches his cheek and smiles, then turns toward where his Uber waits by the curb.
After wrestling his gear into the trunk, Macklin hops in, waving out the back windshield as the driver starts the trek to the airport. His nerves don’t set in until it’s time to board, butterflies erupting in his stomach at the thought of seeing Will again.
The last thing he needed was an eight-hour flight to be alone with his thoughts, but he somehow manages to survive it. Mostly because he comforts himself thinking about Will coming to pick him up from the airport—all lazy grins and tanned skin, curls poking out from underneath his backwards hat. That last image has Mack shaking his head to clear his brain, immediately trying to stop himself from getting too riled up in public. (The difficulties of dating someone too hot for his own good…but it was a cross that Mack was more than happy to bear.)
He streams some kind of cheesy romcom, then flips through a couple pages of the next book he promised Will he’d try and read. He was failing miserably, but luckily his boyfriend was always more than happy to read to him.
By the time his duffel and suitcases were loaded onto a luggage cart, Mack’s back to nervously drumming his fingers against his leg, firing off a quick text saying that he’d landed.
He’s just about to hunker down on the sidewalk when a familiar gray Bronco rounds the corner. And then the window’s rolling down and Mack’s shoulders slump in relief, as he catches sight of bright blue eyes and a shit-eating grin. As sick as he is of crying, his bottom lip still wobbles as Will rounds the hood, gathering Macklin in his arms. “You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he hums, letting Mack bury his face in his neck.
He’s not quite sure how Will always manages to make him feel like the weight of the world has been lifted, but he’s sure as hell not about to question it right now. Mack’s determined to just enjoy the moment and tag along for the ride, letting his boyfriend hold him close and tell him everything would be alright. He also wouldn’t be opposed to being called a good boy again, but he supposed that would have to wait until they were home.
It’s all too easy to let Will dote on him from there, tossing Mack’s bags in the back before lacing their fingers together across the center console. “Got you a coffee and something to eat. Figured you haven’t had anything since last night.” He nods at the drink nestled in the cupholder, then motions at the paper bag beside it.
Mack doesn’t need to look at the order taped to the side of the cup, knowing that Will could recite his iced vanilla latte with caramel drizzle by heart. He glances over with a raised eyebrow when he unwraps the cinnamon roll waiting for him, breaking off a piece before offering it to Will. He giggles as his boyfriend takes a bite, then pretends to nip at his fingers.
The ride back to the Smith residence is filled with laughter and contentment, and Mack blushes when Will tells him the rest of the family is out for a day trip. “Did they already have that planned, or did you shoo them out?” he giggles, blushing when Will dives out of the car to open his door after pulling into the driveway.
“Pretty sure Grace nicely reminded them what happened after the Olympics,” Will snorts, while Macklin covers his face with a groan. How could he possibly forget? For a while he was certain that he’d never be able to look Will’s dad in the eye again, after they’d shown up late to the family FaceTime call sporting matching hickeys and mussed hair.
Macklin shoves his shoulder with a groan, hurrying up the front steps before spinning around and marching back over to the trunk. “I kinda have something for you,” he mumbles, rooting around in his bag before shoving a stick at Will’s chest. “I know you already have one, but…”
“You’re very romantic, Macky, have I told you that recently?” Will laughs, slinging an arm across his boyfriend’s shoulders as they walk inside. “How about you go upstairs and I’ll grab your bags?” At Macklin’s jerky nod, he giggles and kisses his cheek. “Good boy.”
He prays that his face doesn’t give him away, but Will’s raised eyebrows lets him know that he must be failing miserably at keeping his cool. So he has no choice but to turn tail and run upstairs—only after giving the dog a few head scritches and kisses, of course.
It’s impossible to hold back his goofy grin, as he passes Will’s stick collection in the hallway, seeing his own front and center. His smile only widens after cracking open the bedroom door, immediately at ease in his boyfriend’s childhood bedroom.
The four walls that not only held every past version of Will, but also the one he fell in love with. There’s even pictures of the two of them scattered around now—everything from victorious hugs celebrating a goal to random selfies on side quests and adventures. All smiles, not a care in the world as long as they’re together. Mack notes with no small amount of satisfaction that his picture has even made its way onto the corkboard, above Leno’s smug face.
He’s sprawled across the middle of the bed when Will finds him a few minutes later, a fond smile tugging at his mouth. “How’s it going, superstar?”
Mack blushes and shakes his head at the words, still not able to accept the praise. “I lost, remember?” He means for it to come out jokingly, but his voice falls flat, the words sounding bitter and miserable. “Sorry, I’ll save the pity party for when I’m back in Vancouver.”
“Or you could just let me take care of everything for a little while,” Will hums, shuffling across the mattress until they’re nose to nose. “Because I know how good you are, and I’d be more than happy to remind you.” He snorts when Mack whines and tries to bury his head in the mountain of pillows. “None of that, let me see you!”
And Mack welcomes the familiar territory, as they wrestle their way across the sheets, laughing and squeaking and shoving each other around. But he gulps as Will’s warm weight finally pins him down, with his arms above his head and his cheeks flaming in record time. “How can I be a sore loser if you keep saying nice things about me, huh?”
Will just bites his lip and leans further into Macklin’s space, closing the distance until there’s barely a millimeter of space between their mouths. “You can be frustrated, and sad, and angry about it all you want. But the one thing I’ll never let you do is doubt yourself.” He lets his breath fan across Mack’s lips, his neck, the divot of his collarbone, before finally pressing their mouths together. “Because you’re so good, Macky. On the ice, off it, everything in between. And I’ll keep saying it, until you believe me.”
And Mack knows he’s not just saying it for shits and giggles. Will believed it to be true—that he was somebody worth caring for, worth loving. So why did he have such a hard time accepting it?
But self-doubt and disappointment can only take up so much space in his brain, what with Will staring down at him like that. Eyes filled with enough love and affection to warm him head to toe, as their lips reconnect and Macklin all but forgets the last two weeks that led up to this point. Instead, his brain goes fuzzy and content, when Will’s tongue glides across his bottom lip, causing him to let out a soft whimper.
“Is this what you wanted all along, pretty boy?” Will coos, pulling away to stare at Mack’s cherry-red lips, slick and swollen. He tuts at the nod he gets in response, gripping Mack’s chin with a small smile. “Can you use your words? It’s okay if you can’t, sweetheart.”
And he’s trying, dammit, but they just aren’t there. Macklin blinks up at him helplessly, mouth moving but nothing coming out. He knew exactly what he needed. He needed Will, but more specifically, he needed Will to keep kissing him, keep touching him, until the bad thoughts were nothing but a distant memory. So he just whines and tugs on the bottom of Will’s t-shirt, eyes wide as he frantically tries to convey what he needs.
Luckily, Will knows exactly what he wants, shushing him while his palm skates in gentle circles over Mack’s ribs. The fabric rides up at one point, and he shivers as Will’s fingertips travel downward to meet bare skin. “Feeling good?” he asks quietly after another round of lazy kisses, grinning when Mack nods again. “If you need me to stop or slow down, just squeeze my hand, yeah?”
With another nod, Macklin sinks back into the mattress, winding his fingers through Will’s curls. “Good boy.” He chuckles when his boyfriend starts whining all over again, squirming against the sheets until Will gets the memo and rids them both of their clothes.
Mack’s eyelids flutter shut as Will carefully peels off his boxers, chest heaving in anticipation. “You look so beautiful like this, I missed you.” He keeps his voice nice and gentle, as his ring finger dances over Mack’s belly, toward his happy trail.
When his lips finally close around where Macklin wants him most, the hand in Will’s hair tightens, a strangled sob breaking free from his chest. “Will!” he gasps, thighs trying to close instinctively. He attempts to stutter out an apology, but Will just hums and doubles down, swirling his tongue in a way that leaves Mack reeling.
“C’mon, wanna see you come undone,” Will pants when he comes up for air, moaning as he takes Macklin back into his mouth. It doesn’t take long to bring him toward the edge, a never-ending stream of whines and pleas escaping him. But Will immediately leans back on his haunches when Mack squeezes his hand, wide-eyed and frantic. “What’s going on, baby?” He runs his thumb across Mack’s knuckles, giving him an encouraging smile.
“Want you,” the younger boy breathes, winding his arms around Will’s neck. He lets out a soft oomph as Mack hauls him downward into another messy kiss, grinning when he lets out an impatient little huff.
“You already have me, in case you’ve forgotten,” Will teases, kissing Macklin’s flushed cheeks. “How do you want me, Macky?” He makes sure to give him plenty of time to respond, stroking gentle fingers across his skin.
And it’s impossible to stop that warm, floaty feeling from taking over, as Macklin grins up at Will, spreading his thighs with a content hum. “Like this,” he sighs happily, relaxing even further into the mattress when he hears the snick of the lube bottle.
He has half a mind to remind Will to call him a good boy again, but before he can pipe up, his boyfriend coats his fingers and sinks a single digit inside. “Look at how well you take me,” Will smirks, twisting his wrist slightly before he’s brushing against Mack’s prostate, making him hiccup and grip tighter onto his shoulders.
“So pretty like this.” Will adds another finger at the exact right moment, making Mack see stars until he pulls away. “My beautiful boy, my superstar.” The gentle praise continues, as two fingers turn to three, as Will’s fist gives his dick a few more tugs just to watch him squirm and whine. Mack thrashes against the sheets, head thrown back as he fights between batting away the compliments and trying to chase the pleasure.
Just when the sensations start to become too much, Will leans back to grab a condom. But Mack tolerates absolutely none of it. His brain’s still a little foggy, hung up on the fact that Will is invading every single one of his senses, but he manages to bat away the offending foil package all the same.
And then they’re off to the races, tongues searching and breaths mingling, as Will lines himself up before sliding in, painstakingly slow and lighting up each and every one of Mack’s nerve endings. It feels like breaking apart at the seams and coming home all at once, until he’s not sure where Will’s body ends and his begins. Everything about it is absolutely perfect.
“I know, baby. It’s okay, you can let go now. I’ve got you, remember?” And it isn’t until that moment that Macklin realizes he’s crying again, this time for an entirely different reason. Because here, in Will’s arms? There isn’t a single expectation, there’s no impossibly high standards. Just their breaths in sync, tangled up in each other and oblivious to the rest of the world. So in love that it hurts sometimes, knowing that there was someone out there who intrinsically knew him, inside and out, who loved him out loud and on purpose.
He gasps out Will’s name when he comes, making a mess of their stomachs while Will coaxes him through the aftershocks. “Good job, Macky. You were perfect,” he whispers, slowly pulling out when Mack starts shaking. “I know, that was a lot, huh baby?” His hand furiously works over his own cock, groaning at the sight of Macklin looking dazed and sated. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Will pants, choking on a whine when Mack hums and splays a hand over the mess painted across his belly, silently telling him where to finish.
Will couldn’t deny him if he tried. He’s dizzy with it, as he spills onto smooth skin, hissing as Mack blinks up at him with a dreamy expression. Once he’s calmed down from his high, he snatches a crumpled shirt off the floor, wiping them both off before curling himself around Macklin’s back.
“Better now?” Will asks quietly, gently massaging any lingering knots out of his boyfriend’s shoulders. Once he’s well and truly relaxed, Mack lets out a deranged little giggle, lacing their fingers together so he can haul Will’s arm across his waist.
“The best,” Mack rasps, nuzzling Will’s pillow with a happy sigh. “Always taking care of me.” His eyes were already starting to droop, and Will knew he had exactly five minutes before he’d be dead to the world.
“Always. Now get some rest, sweetheart.” Will’s touch is featherlight against Mack’s overheated skin, still murmuring the occasional bit of praise, just to see the tips of Mack’s ears turn pink. He bites his lip hearing the younger boy’s tired grumbles, leaning closer so he could hear him better. “What was that Macky?”
“We gotta start thinking about training,” Mack huffs, yanking Will’s other arm under his head so he could use his bicep as a pillow.
Will gives a few slow blinks, yelping when Mack leaves a cheeky bite on his arm before settling again. “Dude, what are you talking about? It’s summer, we’re supposed to be getting ice cream every night and relaxing, why are you even thinking about training right now?”
Heaving a ridiculously loud sigh, Mack turns around and levels Will with a serious look. “First of all, don’t call me dude after we just had mind-blowing sex…And second of all, my dad already sent me a detailed workout plan.” Based on the way Macklin snuggles closer and juts his chin out defiantly, Will is almost certain there’s at least three more items on this list.
“Mack, baby. Just do me a favor and take a breath, okay? Let’s take a couple weeks to relax, and then I promise I’ll be the first person to sign up for your boot camp. How does that sound?” Will gives a lopsided smile and brushes Mack’s hair off his forehead, fighting back laughter when Mack makes a begrudging noise. “Is that a yes?”
“If it means we can get ice cream tomorrow, then yes,” he yawns. It’s the last thing he says before he starts drooling on Will’s bicep, out like a light.
What else can Will do besides hold him tight and never let go? “Anything you want, pretty boy,” he whispers, turning off the bedside lamp before pulling the covers up around them.
~~~~~
The next day is inevitably filled with knowing looks from Will’s sister, ice cream, and Macklin barking orders about their upcoming workout regime—which was sure to be even more grueling than last summer. He dutifully moves things around the home gym in preparation, while Mack watches from a nearby bench, swinging his legs and wearing a shit-eating grin.
But make no mistake, Will was exactly where he wanted to be. Wrapped around Mack’s finger, on a tight leash while his boyfriend ran an even tighter ship.
“Is there any way I can interest you in wearing my Canada jersey later…?” Mack asks sweetly, batting his lashes in a way he knows Will couldn’t possibly resist.
As fucking if Will could ever say no to him.