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Jonny loses both of his alternate captains in the same crappy playoff run.
"Sorry, Cap," Duncs says for about the twentieth time. He looks utterly miserable, over this and the Hawks' ignominious second-round exit both. "I know this is coming right on top of Sharpy hanging 'em up, and I really did think I had a couple more years in me -"
"It's not your fault," Jonny says, also for the twentieth time.
"- but the docs are saying that with this back thing, another bad knock could maybe paralyze me or something," Duncs continues unhappily. "And I got a family to think about."
"Course," Jonny says, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Look, no worries, man. Everybody's gotta go out sometime."
He catches Kaner's eye across the room, quick blue flash under the brim of a snapback, and wordlessly communicates: He's really down on himself.
Kaner says something to Seabs, quietly, if the tip of their heads together is any indication; his answering look to Jonny means clear as day I'll send him right over, and Jonny jerks his chin in a minute acknowledgement. The whole thing takes literally three seconds, just another one of their thousand daily little tag-team efforts, business as usual.
"And I mean, I know you had Saader tapped for next up," Duncs is saying, "and with him out too -"
"Seriously, don't worry about it," Jonny repeats, although he himself kind of has been, privately. Saader was having a helluva season points-wise, dedication unquestionable, efforts absolutely deserving of the A - right up until his nasty high-stick to the skull against Detroit. The resulting concussion might not have been a dealbreaker back in the day, but the league's strict new protocols put him right out of the playoffs, much to everyone's dismay.
He should be a hundred percent by the time the new season rolls around, though - or so Jonny's devoutly hoping.
"I just wish we could've pulled it out this time, on our last go-round." Duncs' face is a crumple of sorrow and regret.
"Yeah. Me too." Jonny pats him again. "But you know that wasn't just on you."
He gives Duncs one last hopefully-reassuring nod before handing him over to Seabs, glancing a thanks back at Kaner and pretending not to see either of his big burly d-men wiping at their eyes.
-
"So you gonna…" The rest of Sharpy's question - at least, it's inflected like a question - is lost to Jonny's ears through Sharpy's mouthful of beer bratwurst and the high noise levels of the Wrigley rooftops directly post-homer.
"What?" he yells back.
Sharpy swallows and tries again. "Gonna name a new A in the meantime?"
They'd just been discussing Saader's injury - again - before they were interrupted by Castro blasting it out of the park and the whole Ivy League going crazy.
"I mean, it's not required, right," Sharpy adds, gnawing off another greasy hunk of meat in a very non-Chicago's Most Beautiful way.
"Nope. Playing Anaheim, a few seasons back, they didn't have any A's on the ice then. Or that mess with the Sharks, round about the same time?" He fiddles with his baseball cap, trying to straighten it. "No alternates or captain for months."
"I remember." Sharpy clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Sketchy shit."
"But personally," Jonny goes on, "I think it's always nice to have someone ready to step up if something happens."
The oblique compliment gets him a warm smile from Sharpy. "So you are gonna? Name someone?"
"Aside from Kaner, you mean?" Jonny muses. "I dunno, beyond that I wasn't really thinking of anyone. Give it a couple years and Teuvo might be up to it, I guess, but for now -"
He breaks off because Sharpy's looking at him kind of strangely.
"Wait, you're gonna give Kaner the A?" he says.
"Uh, yeah," Jonny says, blinking back at him.
It's so obvious that he's surprised Sharpy didn't just assume it. Kaner is clearly the logical choice in terms of seniority and skill level, elite status and team identity; the younger guys look up to him, and he's already used to working closely with Jonny, to put it mildly. But:
"Really?" The skepticism on Sharpy's face is so blatant that Jonny frowns, feeling more than a little butthurt on Kaner's behalf that Sharpy apparently doesn't think he could handle it, or something. That's not even like him, what the fuck - normally Sharpy is Kaner's number one fan.
- Or, well. Possibly number two, right after Jonny himself.
"Yeah. Why?" His tone heavily implies: you got a problem?
"No reason, man," Sharpy says unconvincingly. "Just never thought lil' Peekaboo was interested in that kind of responsibility, you know?"
"Not when we were kids, no," Jonny says. All of Kaner's press nowadays is the same boring shit about how much he's matured - a tired narrative, but not totally untrue. "I'm sure he'll be happy to help me out now."
"I'm sure he will," Sharpy agrees, and gets up to grab a refill for Abby.
-
In retrospect, Jonny probably shouldn't have sprung it on Kaner while they were on a double date at Rebar, especially when they both had a couple drinks in them. The only mercy is that he waited to bring it up until the girls had gone to powder their noses or whatever, because he sure wouldn't have liked that audience - or any audience - for how hard he crashes and burns.
He doesn't even phrase it as an actual request, more like an assumption of a done deal; that's how little he'd anticipated refusal.
"I'm thinking we'll announce it at the convention," he barrels ahead, "they'll probably wanna make it some big media thing -"
"Whoa, bro, slow your roll," Kaner says, holding up his left hand, open-palmed. "I don't want it."
"- I mean you know it'll be bigger news than usual, because it's you and me - huh?"
"I don't want the A, dude," Kaner repeats patiently. "I mean, I appreciate the offer and shit, obviously, but sorry, no."
"What do you mean no?" Jonny says, dumbfounded, though it's already pretty clear what Kaner means.
"Look, Jon -"
"Why the fuck not?" Now the anger and embarrassment are kicking in, belatedly. He feels like one of those guys who pops the question on the Jumbotron at a football game, only to get rejected on national television.
"We've talked about this," Kaner says, starting to sound a bit irritated himself. "I just don't think I want that on me. I mean, you know I've never been that guy."
"You could be that guy," Jonny argues. "I mean it's about time, you're like thirty -"
"But I'm not you, Jonny, Jesus." Kaner's definitely irritated now. "And anyway, let's be real, the A is basically…whatsitcalled, like the Vice President? Just a, a ceremonial thing. It's not like it means that much in practice. Unless I guess if you're on one of the teams that doesn't have a C, just a bunch of A's rotating -"
"You were just saying you didn't want the responsibility of a letter," Jonny snaps, "which one is it, make up your mind."
Kaner throws his hands up. "Christ, why are you being such an asswipe about this? Thanks but no thanks, fuckface, pick someone else."
The combo of raised voices, agitated body language, and profanity is beginning to draw disapproving stares from other diners, which only serves to compound Jonny's fury and shame. He's worked hard to master his temper over the last decade, a slow painful process of personal growth, and that makes public outbursts like this doubly humiliating.
"Fine," he hisses, throwing down his napkin and shoving his chair back - the restaurant's right there in Kaner's building, so if anyone's going to flounce mid-meal, it'll have to be Jonny. "Nice to see you still haven't grown the hell up. Shoulda nicknamed you the Manchild instead."
He's stormed out before the girls even get back from the bathroom.
-
Jonny goes home - that is, to Winnipeg - and sulks.
"Ah bon?" says David, eyes sharpening, the first time maman asks after 'cher Patrick' and Jonny stonewalls hard.
"Et alors?" Jonny snaps back.
"Nothing, just thought you two'd outgrown these little lovers' quarrels -"
"Décâlisse," Jonny snarls across the table.
"Jonathan," says maman reprovingly.
"No worries, I know it's just the trouble in paradise talking." David smirks over at him. "Sorry you're fighting avec ta blonde, Jonathan."
"Est-ce grave?" maman's asking Jonny now, looking all concerned and shit. She's always had a weirdly huge soft spot for Kaner.
"Non. It's fine, he's fine, we're fine." Jonny stabs his fork into his tourtière with more force than necessary. "Can we please just eat dinner?"
He goes camping, and sulks.
"You seem more pissed about playoffs than usual," Dan observes, one night when they've had a few too many beers round the fire. "Did you think this year had a pretty good shot of going all the way, or what?"
"Of course," Jonny says loyally, although he hadn't, quite. Ever since Richards retired the second-line center issue keeps cropping up all over again, and lately their powerplay just can't seem to gel - not to mention all the injuries. All in all, Jonny had taken the team into the postseason with slightly less true-believer optimism than usual.
"Sucks, man," Dan says sympathetically, cracking another can and handing it over to him.
Jonny's tipsy enough to blurt it out, or at least part of it. "But no, just stressing some about - I gotta pick a new alternate captain. You know mine hung up their skates this summer, and the next guy I kind of had in the pipeline is still out injured."
Dan looks carefully at him. "And Kane...?"
Jonny makes himself shrug like it's whatever. "Not gonna work out."
"Huh." Dan takes a contemplative swig. "I'd've thought for sure."
"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," Jonny says, and tips his head back to drain the whole fucking can at once, like in college.
He comes back home - that is, to Chicago - and sulks some more. He goes golfing, does poorly, throws his clubs, and sulks. He stares at the framed picture of him and Kaner on his living room wall, and really sulks.
He keeps hearing Kaner's voice in his head: not like it means that much. What, so it doesn't mean shit to Kaner, the idea of being Jonny's - like, deputy? The guy who takes his place if he gets hurt or anything? What the fuck.
Um, you're taking this really personally, says the Kaner voice that lives in the back of Jonny's head pretty much always.
"Damn right I am," Jonny snaps out loud, and then glances guiltily around his empty condo.
It's not you, it's me, imaginary Kaner tells him, mental tone a little defensive behind the mocking.
But they're the same thing, Jonny determinedly doesn't say or even think, because you and me go together.
-
By the time the convention rolls around, the doctors are saying Saader should be fine for preseason, so at least there's that. It's actually the second fan question Jonny gets, inquiring as to his condition. The first one is about the vacant alternate captaincy, and the lady who asks it keeps glancing meaningfully at Kaner, who's staring fixedly at the far wall.
Jonny holds off from making any A-related announcements one way or the other, but he is glad to be able to deliver the good news about Saad.
Of course, he ends up having to deal with Kaner anyway. As far as is practicable they're giving each other the silent treatment, but they still have to make nice for all the official shit, there are still a gazillion tiny yet essential logistical details that have to be communicated back and forth. And there's also the matter of a personal issue that's cropped up between two of the rookies, bad blood over a girl or something; turns out both have separately, drunkenly confided in Kaner.
It's far from the first time something along these lines has happened - when new guys are still too intimidated by Jonny, they tend to instead take their concerns to his far more approachable and easygoing other half. Kaner always passes any important info along to Jonny, with surprising discretion for someone who doesn't have a discreet bone in his body otherwise.
This time, he does so stiffly and with very little eye contact.
"Alright, I'll keep an eye on it," Jonny says shortly. After a moment he adds a stilted, "Thanks for letting me know."
"Just doing my job," Kaner replies, equally curt. "Good cop," he tilts his waterbottle at himself, "bad cop," tilting it at Jonny.
"Like when one of your parents is stricter than the other," Jonny says without thinking - that's totally how it was in his household growing up - and Kaner looks at him weird.
"What?" Jonny says, glaring back. Then, attention caught, "hey, uh, aren't you gonna be on camera real soon?"
"Yeah, why?"
Jonny eyes his ill-fitting polo and disastrous hair. "Did you pack that blue shirt of yours?" he goes with, diplomatically.
Kaner frowns, thinking. "The v-neck one?"
"Uh huh."
Kaner looks dubious. "Yeah, but it's kinda tight right now. You know," and he waves vaguely at his pecs and biceps, thick with summer muscle.
Jonny rolls his eyes. "You mean it actually fits you." He leaves the you should go change unspoken but implied, and Kaner makes an unconvinced 'mmph' noise.
Jonny pushes his luck. "And your hair -" He's reaching out to do something about the most egregiously stray forelock before he remembers that they're fighting and snatches his hand back, hoping Kaner didn't notice.
Kaner totally noticed. "Needs fixed?"
"In the worst way," Jonny says fervently.
"Well fuck you too, GQ," says Kaner, and goes off to bother Morin; but when Jonny takes a look at the panel video feed later, Kaner's hair is markedly less terrible, and he's wearing the blue shirt.
Jonny was right: it fits perfectly.
-
Saader makes his triumphant return at the beginning of the preseason, and then three games in he gets boarded headfirst by some goon the Flyers just pulled from their farm team.
It happens near the bench where Jonny's sitting, and the sickening crack of it turns his stomach. Medics are rushing onto the ice, and Jonny's seen enough injuries to know that this one is bad, even before they get the announcement that Saader's headed for the nearest ER in an ambulance.
He catches Kaner's eye for the first time in weeks, and Kaner gives him a grim headshake.
Play continues, but for the whole third period Jonny's too rattled to get his head in the game, blowing passes and giving up stupid penalties, and Kaner seems equally shaken, blasting an easy shot wide of the net in the waning minutes. They lose - Jonny barely even cares, which in and of itself says a lot about his state of mind right now - and as soon as it's over, he blows off the press and grabs his keys.
"See you at the hospital," Kaner says, shouldering past him.
The surgical waiting room is clogged with members of Dr. Terry's personal team, all of whom are clearly under orders not to divulge any sensitive information at this time, not even to the Captain. Jonny gets stonewalled by three separate people before he gives up and tries hospital staff proper instead, but they can't tell him much more.
Kaner shows up like fifteen minutes later, because he drives that ridiculous boat of a car like an old lady.
"How bad is it?" he demands immediately, barging his way through various assembled Hawks personnel to the corner where Jonny's standing, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. He looks every bit as upset as Jonny feels. "The medics at the UC were talking a broken neck."
"Well, not technically," Jonny says, wincing. He's been eavesdropping hard on a nearby front-office cellphone conversation, enough to pick up the bare bones of the situation, he thinks. "But it is cervical spine, yeah. Fractured vertebrae."
"Jesus." Kaner collapses into a chair, arms hugged across his own hoodied chest.
"Nobody'll tell me much yet." Jonny lowers his voice. "But I caught the replays," and he nods to his tablet, currently open to tonight's highlights, or rather lowlights. "Commentators were saying it could maybe be a career-ender."
"What the fuck do they know anyway. Fucking talking heads," Kaner spits. His facial tic is acting up like crazy.
Jonny knows the anger isn't aimed at him, and anyway their stupid squabble from before feels very far away in the face of this, every pro athlete's worst nightmare: a career-ending injury early on.
He sits down next to Kaner, letting their knees bump together, and at the contact Kaner deflates visibly.
"At twenty-fucking-five, Jonny," he says. "In a fucking exhibition game, fuck." His sad face is blurry in Jon's peripheral vision.
Jon wraps an arm across Kaner's back to give his far shoulder a quick clasp, fingers gripping like a reassurance - to Kaner, to himself - that they at least are safe and sound.
"We don't know anything yet," he reminds him, "either way."
"Yeah." Kaner's hand comes up to squeeze Jonny's own. "I fucking hate waiting."
"I know." Jonny squeezes back before they let their hands drop, settling into a glum silence.
-
An incident of this magnitude means he's got calls to make and texts to send, and he can't even concentrate on that unpleasant task, because various teammates keep dropping by to check up on Saad's condition and without exception they zero in on Jonny in hopes of updates that Jonny doesn't have or comfort he can't give, not yet, not with any honesty. All he can do is put everything he's got into projecting captainly strength and courage while his insides clench with awful hopelessness.
Kaner must notice, because he starts heading them off for him, running interference while Jonny takes care of business, telling people hey look, lay off, he's up to his ass in it and nobody knows jack shit here yet anyway in a far less brusque fashion than Jonny would've been able to manage when he's worn this thin.
Eventually the deluge tapers off as the night hours wear on, dreamlike and surreal. By unspoken agreement he and Kaner take turns dozing a little; after all, they did just play a full game of hockey - preseason, sure, but still.
Jonny wakes up from a horrific death-on-ice nightmare with a violent start that bangs his nose into Kaner's unshaven jaw. That, plus the crick in his neck, suggests that he was probably sleeping on Kaner's shoulder, which he can't even bring himself to give a shit about beyond the vague hope that nobody in this waiting room is a dickwad with a cameraphone.
"You alright?" Kaner checks, low-voiced. He's got his toque pulled way down over his ears - he always gets cold weirdly easily - and his own fitful sleep hasn't been much easier than Jonny's, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication.
"Yeah. Yeah, fine." Jonny shakes himself out. "Bad dream."
"About -" Kaner jerks his head in the general direction of Saad's operating room.
"Uh huh."
And Jonny's trying to stay positive, set an example for the guys and all, but just - ever since he got the C all those years ago, Kaner's been one of the very few people he can be absolutely straight with. Like, about the bad stuff too. He can't stress out the team at large with his worries, and sometimes it weighs heavy on him, keeping up that facade in the name of leadership.
"What if this is it for him?" he asks Kaner. His whisper comes out unexpectedly anguished-sounding.
Kaner just looks back at him, eyes luminous gray in the dim lighting of the waiting room.
"I know you were counting on him to be captain after you," he says quietly.
He's not wrong. Saader's always been Jonny's pet protege, and for the past couple seasons Jonny's been stealthily grooming him to inherit the captaincy after he himself is done. Giving him the A would have been the first step. And if he goes out for good, suddenly Jonny's plans for the team's immediate future are all blown to straw.
Because that hurts too much to acknowledge, he rears back with an instinctive denial: "I mean," he says, "not necessarily, I'm sure lots of our guys could potentially fill those shoes -"
"Tazer." Kaner's voice has dipped into its lowest register, deep and slow with tiredness, almost hypnotic.
He fights it. "What?"
"You know you can't control their future forever, right?" Kaner's expression is so nakedly sympathetic that Jonny feels half infuriated and half ready to burst into tears. "Just, I - I know you wanna leave the Hawks in a good place, like, set up solid, but. Gonna have to let go at some point, you know?"
"Watch me," Jonny tells him, just to be contrary. "I'll come back as coach," although they've talked about this too, him and Kaner, and came to the same conclusion: that they don't think they'd want to.
"No you won't." Kaner gives him a watery smile. "We said it'd suck too much, remember, seeing all those younger guys -"
Jonny concedes with a nod. "Having the ice right there like that and not being able to - yeah."
Kaner drops his knuckles onto Jonny's near thigh, rubs them into the muscle and kneads back and forth, a clumsy gesture of comfort.
-
It's sometime around dawn when Jonny looks up from watching Kaner semi-sleeptalk into the crook of his own elbow (drooling copiously onto his sleeve in the process) in time to see a nurse lead some guy in scrubs towards the corner cluster of Hawks brass. Both are gray-faced with exhaustion.
Jonny's busy trying not to get his hopes up when Q beckons to him from the huddle.
We're going to be keeping him in intensive care for observation, he hears, and Good prognosis, full recovery expected, and then finally, many words later, the answer to what Jonny really wants to know: He may yet play again.
- At this level? someone asks.
It's not out of the question. Now, of course our physical therapy staff will be coordinating with your medical team regarding Mr. Saad's recuperation…
Dizzy with - comparative? - relief, he returns to where Kaner's blinking slowly awake, having been disturbed by Jonny's exit, probably. When Jonny fills him in, he blows out a long breath and lets his head drop back against the chair again.
"Can we see him?" he asks, a near-exact echo of Jonny's question to the surgeon not two minutes ago.
"Once they move him to the ICU," he replies, repeating the answer in turn.
"Oh, good. Good." Kaner'd been kind of curled into himself, but now he's starting to stretch his limbs, working out the kinks. "Fuck, I'm hungry. Didn't even realize, earlier, my stomach was in knots."
Jonny concurs. With the fear and tension eased a little now, he's abruptly becoming very aware of the fact that they haven't eaten anything substantial since their pre-game carb-loading, nearly fifteen hours ago, which in terms of their caloric needs is an eternity.
He snags a Hawks intern-slash-gofer who doesn't look too busy and draws her aside, drops a message in her ear and presses a hundred-dollar bill into her hand, and half an hour later she's back with a couple of delicious-smelling bags from Vinnies, wrapped up still warm.
"Sorry it took so long," she tells Jonny, handing them over. "They don't open for another couple hours, officially, so I had to drop the name of the team -"
"You're a rockstar," Jonny thanks her, waving off the change when she tries to hand that over too.
Next to him, Kaner's falling on his sandwiches like a rabid animal. "I gotta say," he tells Jonny fervently, "once in a while you have the greatest ideas."
"Here's another one, how bout you don't talk with your mouth full," Jonny says in lieu of you're welcome.
But he has to admit that he and Kaner bolting down three $7 subs apiece in adjacent uncomfortable hospital chairs, greasy fingers and sterile hospital smell and constant background of beeping machines and all, beats the hell out of that washout at Rebar.
-
"No more than two in at a time," says the nurse, aiming a steely stare at the cluster of hulking hockey players all unsubtly trying to press forward through the door to Saad's room, and most eyes turn automatically to Jonny and Kaner.
The nurse steps aside to let the pair of them into the small private room. "Ten minutes," she tells them, "voices down," before closing the door.
Saader is still out cold, so there's not really that much for them to look at, except each other.
Jonny's defenses are already way down from all the emotional turmoil and shit, and he can't stop himself from blurting out: "See, you're basically already my A anyway, everyone knows it. Why can't you just," and then he does stop himself, because he's not going to beg, for fuck's sake. Plenty of guys would be happy to step up if Kaner won't.
Kaner's eyeing him weirdly again.
"Look, Jon," he says slowly. "I mean, if it's really that big a deal to you, I'll take the damn letter, okay."
Jonny looks away. "Don't strain yourself," he mutters, in lieu of what he's actually thinking: no, but I WANT you to want to.
Kaner doesn't respond for several long moments, which is unusual in and of itself; he's not normally comfortable with extended stretches of silence. Finally he says without any kind of logical segue, "I remember when I was - probably ten years old? - my parents were having a bunch of, like, marital problems."
Jonny stares dumbly back at him, because what else is he supposed to do, given a random-ass opening like that.
"Not totally sure why. I know money was tight back then - 'cause of me, I bet, you know hockey's a fucking expensive hobby for your kid to have - but anyways, so they were arguing a lot." His hands are really fidgety right now. "Dad kept sleeping on the couch, and a couple times at night when they thought us kids were asleep, I even heard them talk about separating."
Jonny's still confused, but he's not rude enough to interrupt someone in the middle of divulging the dark secrets of their family history or whatever, and least of all when that someone is Kaner.
"And then one day Jackie falls out of a tree and breaks her leg, right, this really brutal open fracture? Fucking gruesome, the kind that takes like a year to heal." That part Jonny has heard about before, a vividly traumatic childhood memory of Kaner's - gushing blood and exposed bone and everything - that came up once during a general discussion of hockey players' stomach for gore.
"And the minute Mom and Dad brought her in," Kaner goes on, "you should've seen 'em shut that shit down. No more fighting, even while they were still super scared she'd limp forever or something. Not even about all the extra medical costs, which can't've helped - "
Jonny shuts his mouth on a reflexive comment regarding the superiority of his own country's healthcare system.
"Must've been a wakeup call type of thing," Kaner's continuing. "'Cause it was like they came right back together over that. Even after Jacks got discharged, it seemed like things were better with 'em."
"Okay?" Jonny says, still baffled, as Kaner pauses mid-reminiscence. "There a reason you're telling me all this, or..."
"That's why you were so pissed off," says Kaner, hands stilling in his lap.
"Huh? Why? About what?"
That's definitely the beginning of a grin on Kaner's face, what the fuck. "Jonny. Were you mad because I turned down your hockey proposal?"
"What the fuck."
Kaner's full-on smiling now. "I knew it! Oh man."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jonny says flatly, feeling his cheeks warm.
"When you offered me the A," Kaner says with an impatient duh expression, "keep up."
"That was not proposing," Jonny says, exasperated.
"Dude, it so was!"
"No it wasn't," Jonny retorts. "Couldn't've been, because this" - he yanks out his phone - "was when I hockey proposed," and he pulls up the image: a saved capture of his and Kaner's text convo from way back in early summer '14, when their contract renewal negotiations had just gotten underway.
Jonny: So.
Kaner: so…??
Jonny: You all in?
Kaner: yeah of course bro. just gotta wait for the suits to work out the deets
Jonny distinctly remembers receiving that text - right in the middle of a fishing trip with his buddies, the struggle to keep his face blank as he opened another beer with trembling hands, trying to hide the extent of his relieved joy in front of them. He hadn't even realized, until he got the yes, how illogically afraid some part of him had been of getting a no.
Jonny: For sure.
Kaner's next response was from a couple weeks later, after everything had been signed already: should of held out for $88mil lol. And then: u kno, b/c its my #. And then: like crosby did
Jonny: Thanks buddy, I got all that.
"You screenshotted it?" Kaner's saying, sounding kind of torn between chirping the shit out of Jonny and like…hugging him.
"Yeah," Jonny says defensively, "so?"
"Nothing," Kaner says, shaking his head. "Nothing." He's beaming again. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize, it's just nobody's ever asked me to co-parent with them before -"
"Fuck off."
"No," Kaner goes on gleefully, "that's totally it! You wanted me to help you take care of all the little baby Hawks forever!"
"You mean for like five more years," Jonny points out. "And that's assuming we get lucky with injuries and shit," nodding to Saad's prone form.
Kaner's smile dims a little, but he just says, "Yeah, and then they'll retire our numbers together."
Predictably, his eyes are misting up a bit. Jonny looks at that, and now he's the one who kind of wants to go for the hug.
"Sixty seconds," barks that hardass nurse from just outside the door.
Jonny settles for the halfway option of a dead-arm thrown over Kaner's shoulders.
"Alright, Patrick," he says with exaggerated deliberation. "Will you be the mother of my hockey team?"
"Hey," Kaner objects, "how come I'm the mom?"
Jonny reaches up with the arm slung across Kaner's back and tweaks one of Kaner's straggly curls. "'Cause you're prettier."
Kaner elbows him in the ribs in order to squirm away, smirk showing through his fake scowl. "And how'm I supposed to accept a proposal that didn't even go down on one knee? Weak, c'mon."
"You want me to get down on my knees?" Jonny raises an eyebrow at him, and Kaner actually blushes under his stubble.
"On second thought," he says.
The door opens forcefully. "Time's up, let's go!"
-
It's the night of their first game of the regular season, at home, and they announced Kaner's alternate captaincy after morning skate today.
Jonny rewatched the brief presser on his phone during their break earlier - actually had to do it in one of the bathroom stalls just to get five seconds of privacy, not least from Kaner himself. Just as well, as it turned out, because he got a little choked up over footage of Kaner's unexpectedly earnest soundbite about what a good captain Jonny was and what an honor it was to support him and how they've always had each other's backs, with or without letters.
He'd already been kind of emotional after getting word that Saader's PT was going well, that he might even be back skating as early as the New Year. PR didn't want to sign off on any official statements just yet, but Jonny had shared the news with Kaner first and then the rest of the team.
Now it's thirty minutes till puck drop, and as they suit up, Kaner's looking sadly at the stalls that used to be labeled SHARP and KEITH.
"Man," he sighs to Jonny, "the room's just not the same without 'em."
"Duncs said he'll be in the stands tonight," Jonny says, "with his family, in one of the boxes."
"Weird to think of being on that side of the fence," muses Kaner.
At this juncture another intern/gofer creeps in timidly, holding a big logoed bag from the merch store.
"Um," he says, "Mr. Sharp dropped this off earlier for Kane and Toews? Said it was a good luck gift for tonight's game?" and thrusts it awkwardly in Jonny's direction before scurrying out again.
The first thing Jonny pulls out is an envelope, opening it to find a cheesy white-and-silver Hallmark wedding card with a note inside in Sharpy's handwriting: Heard you crazy kids made it official! Congrats. Beneath that he's added a super sleazy-looking winky face, plus signatures from him and Abby and the sloppy scribbles of their daughters.
Jonny's nonplussed until Kaner, beside him, reaches in curiously for the bulk of the gift - a couple of red home jerseys with the C and the A on their respective fronts. He unfolds them and flips them over to reveal the backs, both of which bear the same name: KANE-TOEWS.
The guys howl.
"How the fuck did he even hear -" Jonny hisses in disbelief. "What, was he hiding in Saader's hospital room?"
Kaner looks down at his shin pads. Jonny catches the twitch at the corners of his mouth anyway. "Uh, I mighta told him that I, uh. Accepted your hand in hockey marriage."
Jonny groans. "Oh, well, of course you did."
"We'd been drinking," Kaner defends himself, "and he asked me about the A..."
Jonny casts his eyes to the ceiling.
"Personally," Seabs puts in through his tears of laughter, "I woulda said you guys were already married."
"Yeah," Kaner responds absently, "that's what Tazer said too."
"Wait, what?"
"Nothing. Shut up." Jonny scowls down at the pile of scarlet in his lap. "Fucking Sharpy."
Kaner's holding the other jersey up again, casting a critical eye at the back. "I dunno, it's got kind of a nice ring to it."
"That's another thing, why isn't it 'Toews-Kane'?" He gives the white lettering a baleful look. "I'm the captain here."
"Nah, Kaner's right, this way definitely sounds better," Shawsy says thoughtfully, and when Jonny swings that outraged stare in his direction, he adds with a smirk, "Or actually maybe you should just take his name, at least people know how to pronounce it."
Kaner's looking delighted as always at Jonny's salty expression. "I think I'll frame this shit for my trophy room," he says, waving it in Jonny's face.
"You mean your trophy cardboard boxes in the closet," Jonny corrects, snarky. "That you keep saying you're gonna set up a room for, just as soon as you have a forever home -"
"Yeah well, who knows, might have to adjust those plans to let the wifey have a say." Kaner's got a shit-eating grin all over his stupid face.
"Sharpy always said compromise was the key to marriage," Smitty throws in helpfully.
Jonny narrows his eyes at Kaner. "In that case, hope you got a pre-nup, douche."
"I think that's only for when one of you has a lot more money than the other," Kaner says. "And anyways, you can't ever divorce me."
"No?"
"Gotta stay together for the kids," Kaner explains, motioning to their snickering teammates. "Honey."
And he pulls his real jersey on over his head, flashing that grin up at Jonny as his face emerges through the neckline, tugging it down over his pads until the A is settled right there over his heart.