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There’s nothing in particular that sets him off the first time. Hayden kind of wished there had been some observable trigger that he could avoid, or address, to do literally anything at all. Instead, he simply had this.
One moment, he was laughing, reluctantly, at a joke Rozanov had made, lying back in the plush outdoor seating at Shane’s (and Rozanov’s, he supposes) cottage. Hayden leaned forward, put his drink on the table, and pressed his smile into his wife’s shoulder, feeling Jackie’s hand squeezing his thigh. He couldn’t let Rozanov see that he was winning Hayden over. Not yet. Not when he’d won the silent tug-of-war that was Shane Hollander’s contract. The next moment, Hayden couldn’t breathe. It was like the laugh he’d let out had sucked the air from his lungs and slammed the door shut behind it. No more in, no more out, total lockdown.
It was sudden, baffling, and Hayden was very glad to have most of his face obscured by Jackie’s body as he felt his mouth open wider, begging for at least one panting breath to get further down his wind-pipe, to reach his lungs. Nothing would.
Hayden startled upwards, swallowed, and gritted his teeth. “Think I heard the kids. Sorry.” Hayden said, breathless, and didn’t give anyone a second glance though he could feel Jackie’s eyes at the very least following him. He couldn’t do this here, whatever this was, not in front of fucking Ilya Rozanov.
Stumbling briefly over the lip of the backdoor, Hayden fumbled open the room containing the twins, both fast asleep, and let the door shut softly behind him as he slid down it. He hit the carpeted floor with a thud, disguised by his heaving, panting breaths that just weren’t working. He’d seen Shane have a panic attack before, dozens even, and Hayden had watched on in trepidation, rubbing his back, offering soothing words, never quite certain if he was helping Shane or making everything worse.
‘Head between your knees’, Hayden thinks he remembers someone offering Shane as advice once, and ever since Shane had followed it. Often, it’s how Hayden knew Shane was struggling at all. His head suddenly dipping down, face hidden, and his body heaving. Hayden let his shoulders droop, his head hanging lower, pinching it between his knees.
Hayden wished he had someone rubbing his back, offering some form of comfort, some kind of advice. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the soft, sweet breaths of his children, slow and gentle.
It took what felt like hours but when Hayden glanced at his phone was only just over twenty minutes of gasping for air, trying to follow the slower breaths of his children, feeling light-headed and nauseated and falling back into panting, heaving, breaths until he could tune into the twins again, until he could convince himself that everything was fine, everything was calm, and there was nothing, nothing at all, to be concerned about.
When Hayden finally felt like he could stand, he did, and pressed gentle kisses to Ruby and Jade’s foreheads. He slipped from their room and into the bathroom across the hall. His face was pink, his eyes red, puffy and swollen. He ran the cold tap, splashing his face, patting down the skin until the flush had dissipated into something Hayden could blame on alcohol. His eyes were still red, but he could blame it on the fire-pit, on allergies.
“Everything alright?” Jackie asked, as Hayden slipped back into his seat beside her. He dropped a tired kiss on her cheek, rested his head on her shoulder and hummed.
“Yeah. Rubes had a bad dream but she’s okay. Sleeping.” Hayden said, soft, his voice a little hoarse. He sniffed once, cleared his throat, and leaned forward to grab his drink. “What’d I miss?”
**
He was caught off guard again at their first practice back for the season sans Shane. It had immediately felt wrong, walking through the changing room doors to a disquieting lack of easy chatter, the room crackling with a tense energy. Hayden knew going into the new year he would be somewhat on the outs. Nothing nearly as bad as what Shane had been through following his forced outing (at his own hands, Hayden thought, swallowing around a lump of guilt and self-hatred) but Hayden had made his allegiance clear. He stood by Shane, even now, and the team treated him accordingly.
At first, Hayden had thought he was simply out of breath, let his training slip over the summer break and there would be more catching up to do in the weeks leading up to their first match to get game-day fit.
Yet it didn’t lessen as he slowed his pace, falling behind, instead it got worse. His breaths shortening, sharpening, the cold ice-y air making each inhale increasingly painful.
“Getting old, Pike?” J.J chirped, skating past with a teasing grin. Hayden flipped him off, fighting to force a shaky grin on his face, and focus on J.J’s laugh rather than the painful, furious, pounding of his heart.
Maybe he was having a heart attack. He’d smoked until Amber was born, only stopping when Jackie begged him to quit, and he maybe drank a little too much, he loved his meat. Maybe he should be taking a leaf from Shane’s book, eating leaves and drinking nothing but filtered well water and ginger beer. God, Hayden thought suddenly, desperately, he missed Shane. He might be dying on the ice right now and no one seemed to notice but Shane would’ve. Would’ve skidded to a stop and grabbed Hayden’s arms and fixed him, somehow.
“Pike!” Their coach called. “Stop slacking off and get back into position!”
Hayden nodded, dizzy, and took haltering moves forward before bending in half and feeling violently nauseous. It was like he was concussed. He took a sharp turn, towards the exit, and forced himself to move as quickly as possible. Whatever was going to happen next needed to happen alone. Vomit, heart-attack, death. Whatever it was Hayden was determined not to be made a spectacle of. His legacy would not be dying in the middle of an ice rink pre-season.
“Pike!” Coach Theriault shouted but Hayden was already disappearing down the hall, gear removed, and slamming his way into the bathrooms.
Once alone it seemed to crash through him in waves. He couldn’t keep his hands still, tremors visible and violent as he tried to cling to the toilet bowl, heaving up the breakfast Jackie had so lovingly made. He couldn’t breathe, every breath feeling worthless, pointless, never reaching his lungs that were screaming out as though he’d played a full game, run a marathon, done anything other than ten minutes of practice.
“Pike?” J.J’s voice calls, concerned and confused. “Are you alright in there?”
Hayden shivered, clung tighter to the ceramic bowl, and clenched his teeth. Breathe. Please, just breathe, Hayden begged himself, though the desperation and panic only seemed to exacerbate the issue.
“Yep.” Hayden said, his voice weak and shaky and anything but convincing.
“You sure?” J.J asked, skeptical. “You sound like shit.”
Hayden’s brain feels like sludge as he tries to parse through the excuses he could use. He was fairly certain now, with the cool tiles under his knees, and the panicked thoughts racing through his mind, that this was another panic attack. J.J can’t know that. The team can’t know that. His coach definitely can’t know it.
“Yeah.” Hayden said, and his voice was a little clearer but no stronger. “Kids have had a bug. I must’ve caught it or something.”
“Shit.” J.J said, sympathetic and believing and Hayden couldn’t help the roiling guilt turning his stomach once more. “That sucks, man. I’ll tell coach, you rest up, okay?”
Hayden nodded, remembered J.J thankfully couldn’t see him, and spoke shakily. “Thanks man.”
As he listened to J.J’s heavy footsteps gradually disappear down the hall he let his thoughts spiral. This is bad. This is very bad. Once, in a no-stakes environment, was fine, frustrating and confusing as all hell, but not consequential. At practice? That’s a problem. What if next time, and Hayden realised with horror, there was probably going to be a next time, it happened at a game, mid-game, broadcast for the fucking nation to ogle at.
The thoughts did nothing for the swirling panic coursing through him, turning his stomach, conveniently as Coach Theriault entered the bathrooms, affirming the lie J.J had unwittingly passed on for Hayden.
“Christ Pike. Go home. See you next week.” Coach Theriault said, a tinge of sympathy in his voice, though not without a clear undercurrent of frustration.
Hayden agreed, grateful, and through a haze of panic and nausea, found himself in his car, only half a block away from the rink, head resting against the steering wheel as he forced his breaths to finally slow.
“Fuck.” Hayden whispered to himself. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
**
There were warning signs, Hayden realised, as he slammed the door shut in Jackie’s face, crumpling in their bathroom and forcing breaths. He got shaky first, not unlike when he was overtired, or hungry, that sickly sort of shaky feeling that he’d previously treated with a protein bar or a nap. The feeling he used to be able to push through.
Next his breathing would get shorter, not yet difficult, but shorter, staying less in his lungs before he let it go, took a jittery breath.
“Hayden.” Jackie called. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Hayden said. “Sick.”
“Do you need anything?” Jackie asked. “What kind of sick?”
After that his hands would get weaker, not shaking yet, but suddenly he’d start dropping things, his phone, his stick, a baby, it turned out.
It luckily hadn’t been far, just as he was picking Amber up from her cot, his hands failed him, she’d slipped back down into the bed with a thump and a cry and Jackie had burst into the room to fix it and there was suddenly no stopping the waves of fear and anxiety. He needed to leave.
That was one of a few concurrent symptoms. His heart would suddenly constrict and Hayden would feel simultaneously like he was about to die and that he needed to run far away before he did.
Then it all fell apart, nausea realised, breaths impossible, heart racing, squeezing, his chest on fire, his hands trembling. That was the throes of it. Hayden had started cataloguing them in his phone, gathering information, the more he knew the sooner he could stop it. Maybe. Though they seemed to be occurring more frequently, and knowing when they were coming did nothing to stop them, just gave Hayden a headstart, let him think of an excuse to disappear before his brain seized and all he could do was run.
“Hayden?” Jackie called, but Hayden couldn’t answer, and let the sounds do what his voice couldn’t.
**
He doesn’t tell Shane about it even though Hayden knows Shane would want to know, would likely even have decent advice, and not a shred of judgement. Hayden doesn’t tell Shane because he’s fairly confident it’s somehow related to Shane.
In cataloguing the symptoms he starts to notice they’re all sparked by something Shane Hollander themed. A dark thought darting across his mind of Shane’s last year at Montreal, or seeing Shane’s face on a billboard, or getting a photo from Rozanov in their group chat (a group chat with Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike is a changed man, reluctant but changed) of Shane surrounded by love and affection as an Ottawa Centaur. The way it should have been with Hayden, in their team, in Montreal.
It’s not even the Ilya Rozanov of it all stopping Hayden either. If Hayden told Shane, asked him to keep it quiet, Shane would take it to his grave. He’d never tell a soul. Not even Rozanov.
Hayden can’t tell Shane because Shane will ask, and he’ll be able to tell when Hayden only tells half-truths, or straight-out lies, and Hayden will crumble, and Shane will feel guilty. Hayden knows Shane and knows his heart is soft and genuine and kind and he will take on this sudden mental health shift of Hayden’s as a fault of Shane’s. It isn’t, Hayden knows, but Shane will carry it anyway like he tries to carry everything. Hayden will not let him carry this.
He has no choice over the panic attacks, no control, but he can choose this. He can do this.
The first match between Ottawa and Montreal, however, attempts to strip Hayden of this choice altogether.
**
Jackie figures it out because she’s a genius and his wife and it’s exactly why he loves her and trusts her more than anyone in the world. Also, because it happens while he’s driving and he’s forced to pull over on the highway after seeing an ad campaign for the Ottawa Centaurs and suddenly Hayden can’t see straight.
He’s grateful their kids are with the babysitter and not screaming in the back of the car because it was already terrifying enough, pulling hastily across several lanes of traffic, slamming on the breaks in the emergency lane, switching the car off, and disappearing inside his head. He could’ve killed them. Jackie is shouting that, for all of five seconds, before Hayden is jerking open the car door and throwing up on the bitumen.
“Breathe, baby.” Jackie’s voice is calm, slow, and gentle as Hayden slowly feels himself coming back to himself. He can feel her hand, small and soothing, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. “That’s it. Just like that.” She says and Hayden feels, for once, like maybe he can.
“How long has this been happening?” Jackie asked, when Hayden is finally breathing easier, and Hayden shrugs, his cheeks flushed.
“Since the summer?” Jackie asks, because she’s a genius, and has probably already been putting together the puzzle pieces long before Hayden threw the metaphorical box at her. Hayden nods.
“Because of Shane?” She asks again, hesitant. Hayden feels his whole body tense, his shoulders around his ears, he shrugs again and refuses to look at Jackie but she holds his hand, rubs circles between his thumb and forefinger and waits for him to relax again. “It’s okay if it is.”
“Yeah.” Hayden says, throat raw, voice rough. “I think so. Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Jackie says, genuine and kind and Hayden presses his forehead to her shoulder, feels the tears fall, hears the sobs from his own mouth, and lets himself cry.
**
It’s Jackie who brings it up first, not that Hayden hasn’t been thinking about it. Once she knows, it’s near impossible to hide it from her, and she’s a solutions based woman.
“Have you thought about seeing a doctor?” She asks. Hayden shakes his head, quick and certain, there was no way he was telling the team doctor about this.
Jackie seemed to read his mind.
“I don’t mean the team doctor, Hayd. We can go somewhere else, outside of the NHL, outside of our health insurance even if that makes you feel better.”
“It’s fine.” Hayden says and means it. “I’ll get over it eventually, I just need to push through.”
Jackie frowns, looks disbelieving, but doesn’t push back. Hayden is stubborn. Always has been and Jackie loves him for it as much as she hates it.
**
“Will you be alright?” Jackie asks, as Hayden throws together his hockey bag, his stomach already roiling. They’re playing Ottawa tonight, a home game for Montreal, but Hayden knows they’re screwed. A Rozanov - Hollander combination is more than a romantic match, it’s hockey gold, and the Metro’s have been falling apart without Shane holding them together.
Plus, the quiet and completely unsaid factor that the team and Hayden himself had been ignoring, Hayden Pike had been slipping.
Shane had tried to bring it up briefly, in passing, at a coffee catch-up that Jackie had somehow arranged around Shane’s increasingly busy schedule. Hayden laughed it off, blamed it on a streak of bad-luck, and Shane had let him.
Rozanov had been less kind. “You’re playing is shit now, Pike.” He had said, at a barbecue, as they watched Hayden’s kids sprint through the backyard, screaming, laughing. Hayden had rolled his eyes.
“Fuck off Rozanov.” He had said and promptly left Rozanov standing alone, chasing after his children, and pretending the chirp hadn’t felt slightly less antagonistic than usual.
“Fine.” Hayden said, devoid of any inflection and not at all convincing but Jackie wasn’t going to be the one to shatter the illusion just hours before their game, so neither was Hayden.
“Okay.” Jackie says instead. She presses a hand on Hayden’s chest, feels it racing, and leaves a soft kiss on Hayden’s cheek. “I believe you.”
“Thank you.” Hayden whispers. He tries to believe it himself.
**
It’s almost fine.
That’s the frustrating part, Hayden thinks, as he’s laid out flat on the ice gasping for air that won’t come. He can blame it on being winded, Hayden thinks, grabbing J.J’s arm and heaving himself upright as the crowd roars around them. He could. Maybe. If it hadn’t been Rozanov on the other end of the ‘hit’.
Hayden skates off the ice, waves at Jackie who even from this far, Hayden can see the pinched concern in her face. The kids gathered around her, cheering, but he can tell Jade and Ruby are on the verge of tears and Hayden wants nothing more than to wrap them all up in his arms and bunker down in Jackie and his bed and never come up for air again.
Instead, Hayden is on the bench, heaving pained breaths and gesturing to the coach to let him go, to let him disappear into the changing rooms, anywhere but in front of the cameras, in front of everyone. Instead, Hayden is pretending Ilya Rozanov isn’t staring at him from the benches, eyes narrowed. He and Rozanov the only two seemingly aware that there had been no real hit and yet Hayden had crumpled, like a sack of potatoes, gasping for air, and gotten him and Rozanov a penalty in the process.
It had been a violent game, Ottawa were rightfully vengeful, and they were unafraid of tearing Montreal apart by any means possible. They had, gratefully, avoided Hayden and to some extent, J.J. Their teammates, however, were not so lucky and there had been numerous fights on the ice, blood spilt, bruises and scrapes and not much to show for it on the Montreal side of things.
Hayden hadn’t been spiraling as severely as he’d feared, he’d been focused, thankfully their relative positions meant Hayden and Shane rarely interacted on the ice when they were on opposing teams until Shane had appeared, out of thin air, as Shane seemed able to do, and swiped the puck out from under him.
“Sorry.” Shane had said, after the goal was scored and Hayden was trying to catch his breath, trying to figure out if he was exhausted or panicking, or both. Shane had grinned at him, bumped shoulders playfully, and Hayden had grinned back. For a moment, Hayden forgot they were even opponents, until the whistle blew and Hayden looked up and Shane was on the other side of the ice, face focused and serious and violent and Hayden remembered how very alone he was.
He’d tried to escape it. He’d skated to the edges, let his teammates push forward, and disappeared into the defensive line. It was a tactic he’d developed as his panic attacks cropped up in games. Bury himself in defense players, remove himself as an option, until the feelings pass or he could catch the coaches eye and get swapped out.
Unfortunately, Rozanov was there, scoring, and Hayden was face to face with the Russian. His knees were trembling, his hands weak around his stick, his breaths panting. “Hiding Pike?” Rozanov chirped, light and almost friendly, and tapped Hayden’s shoulder so lightly a child could withstand it but Hayden fell, heavy and hard and gasping.
Because it was Rozanov, because it had already been such a violent game, because Hayden Pike was usually made of tougher stuff and the Pike - Rozanov feud was longstanding and historically violent, the referees had made the call. They both were sent to their benches. And Hayden was begging, pleading, hoping that their coach would let him leave before Rozanov had the chance to put two and two together.
**
“You are trying to get me in trouble?” Rozanov asks. Hayden starts, spills the beer he’s drinking, a dribble streaking down his chin and soaking into his shirt.
“Shit.” Hayden mumbles, grabbing at the serviette he had been tearing up and dabbing at his chin, his shirt. “What is wrong with you?”
“I did not hit you.” Rozanov says. Hayden can hear the annoyance in his voice and he really does not want to talk about it. It’s why he’s drinking, alone, at the bar of the restaurant he was supposed to meet Jackie, Shane, and Rozanov at, in less than half an hour’s time. The less interaction the better. Even if Hayden can privately admit it kills him.
“I know.” Hayden says, grits his teeth. “Sorry. It wasn’t on purpose.”
“So you are sick?” Rozanov asks, presses. He never knows when to quit. It’s Hayden’s entire problem with Rozanov, he’s always taking everything a step too far, asking one question too many, one chirp too harsh.
“No.” Hayden says and avoids Rozanov’s eyes. “Just…unlucky.”
“Right.” Rozanov says and it is clear he doesn’t believe Hayden. He sits on the empty stool beside Hayden, orders a beer and sits, sipping, quiet. Hayden’s skin itches, as if he’d just walked into a swarm of mosquitoes and come out more bites than man, but he knows there’s nothing. It’s another one of the little signals his body sends out, useless and painful and irritating.
“I’ll tell Shane I fell.” Hayden says eventually, unable to stand the itchy, tense, silence. He scratches at his thumb, a spot that went numb when he broke his wrist years ago and never quite regained feeling, just a faint tingling sensation, over and over. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Rozanov agrees. Hayden sees him glance down to his thumb, becoming red, sore-looking, and drops his hand below the countertop. He doesn’t stop scratching.
Rozanov swallows a hearty gulp of his beer before he clears his throat. “Drugs?”
“What?” Hayden squeaks, baffled. “No?”
“Not offering.” Rozanov grins, teasing. His eyes are still serious, still heavy and solid and watching Hayden too closely. Hayden shifts uncomfortably in his seat, waves down the bartender for another beer. As the bartender leaves again Rozanov leans closer.
“Are you doing drugs, Pike?”
“No.” Hayden says and he’s glad his voice is stable, and the offence is evident. “Of course I’m not doing fucking drugs.”
Rozanov juts out his chin, nods, and turns back to his beer. “You are just being weird then.”
“Fuck you.” Hayden snaps. He wants to pick up his beer and sit literally anywhere else but there’s not many options and Hayden suspects Rozanov would just follow him anyway.
Rozanov shrugs. “Is true. You are playing bad hockey. You are telling me ‘I’m sorry’.” Rozanov takes a final slug of beer, pushes the bottle back across the bar, and stands up. “Weird.”
“You always think my hockey is shit.” Hayden says, bitterly. “What’s the difference?”
“Is not a joke this time.” Rozanov says. “Jackie and Shane are here.”
Before Hayden even has a chance to think about Rozanov admitting Hayden’s hockey used to be good, Jackie appears at the entrance, chatting, laughing with Shane and Shane is laughing too. He never used to laugh this much, Hayden considers, not with the Metro’s, not around him. Hayden hopes it is simply the weight being lifted of hiding such an all-consuming secret. He can’t imagine how difficult it would have been. It hurts, makes his heart ache, to think of all the years Shane lived in such desperate fear, hiding so much of his life from the people he loved, because of the man he loved.
“Forgiven each other?” Jackie asks, pressing a kiss to Hayden’s cheek, looking between Hayden and Rozanov.
“Nothing to forgive.” Hayden says, waves down the bartender again who looks increasingly irritated by their inability to order all at once. “My footing was just bad. Unlucky timing.”
“Pike is being weird.” Rozanov says to Jackie and Shane.
Shane rolls his eyes, orders a ginger beer, and takes the seat Rozanov just vacated. Rozanov rests his arms on Shane’s shoulders, ordering another beer for himself and a prosecco for Jackie who tries valiantly to pay and is firmly blocked by each of the men.
Jackie wraps a hand around Hayden’s, grips the thumb that is bright red, scratches visible, painful looking though Hayden can only faintly feel it. She rests her own thumb over it, obscuring it from view, soothing the burn. Hayden pretends not to notice Rozanov watching them, dragging Shane into a conversation about the move he pulled against Hayden on the ice earlier.
The less he thinks about any of this the better.
**
Hayden doesn’t think he’ll ever get better.
It’s been months since the panic attacks began in earnest and they’ve only gotten progressively more intense, more frequent, and where once Hayden felt hopeless now he simply felt angry. It wasn’t fair. There was this low-level hum, a buzz, under his skin at all times. As though Hayden’s nervous system was simply waiting for something to set him off.
He’d never been particularly even-tempered on the ice but it had gotten worse. The slightest chirp set him off, sent him punching, irritated and frustrated. He was exhausted. He couldn’t sleep through the night, not without waking from a nightmare, waking thinking he heard Ruby screaming out for him and rushing to her room to find her fast asleep, or Amber, or Arthur, or Jade, or Jackie.
That night he had called Shane at 2 in the morning, let the phone ring three times, before hanging up and realising he had been stuck in yet another nightmare. That Shane was fine. That Hayden was fine. It was all in his head, again. Always in his head.
Shane texted him the next morning, only a few hours later, and Hayden read it immediately, he hadn’t been able to fall asleep. He felt his face flush in shame.
Shane: All okay?
Hayden: Yes! All good. Sorry, kids woke me, didn’t see the time lol
Shane: Still want to chat?
Hayden: Nah man! All good. Enjoy your morning :)
Jackie peered over his shoulder.
“What happened with the kids?” Jackie asked. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Nothing.” Hayden said, trying to decide if it was worth the effort of lying. “I just - bad dream. I forgot the time.”
Jackie hummed. The silence that followed was thick and Hayden knew what she was going to say before she said it. It was all she ever seemed to talk about recently.
“Have you thought any more about seeing a doctor?” She asked, tentatively. Hayden sighed. He felt that familiar irritation bubbling under his skin.
“No.” Hayden said. “I haven’t and I won’t be. It’s not happening.”
“I just think.” Jackie started but Hayden interrupted her, short and cutting.
“I really don’t care what you think about this, Jackie.”
Jackie sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Stop fucking talking about it then.”
“No.” Jackie said, sitting upright, her eyes sharp and pointed. “No. I won’t. I’m not asking anymore, Hayden. I am telling you. I need you to see a doctor about this.”
“And I am telling you I’m not fucking doing that.” Hayden said, his tone harsh, his voice rising.
“You’re being mean.” Jackie said. “Not just now, you have been mean. You’ve been getting into fights, you’re short with the kids, with me. I’m not doing this. I’m not letting you yell at me because you refuse to admit you need help.”
“I’m not yelling.” Hayden said, loudly, not yelling but something close. “I’m so sorry whatever is wrong with me is inconveniencing you. I’ll go back to hiding it, shall I?”
“No.” Jackie said. “Either you call the doctor now, or you get out.”
“Fuck off.” Hayden laughed, incredulous. “You’re not serious.”
“Don’t swear at me.” Jackie warned. She moved from the bed, grabbed her robe and pulled it tight around her, crossing her arms and making herself impossibly big for a woman so short. “Call a doctor or leave.”
“I’m not calling a doctor.”
“Get out.”
“Jackie.”
“Get.” Jackie said. Firm, demanding, and confident. Hayden felt his stomach curdle, felt that familiar thundering heart-beat, that desire to flee. Jackie wasn’t bluffing. “Out.”
“Fine.” Hayden spat, flung himself from the bed and pulled his clothes from yesterday on again. He hadn’t unpacked from their latest away game and Hayden felt suddenly grateful for it. He snatched the suitcase from the end of the bed. He was so tired, he was so angry, he was so scared. Mostly, however, he felt betrayed. The words slipped out before he could stop them.
“You’re being a real bitch, you know?” Hayden’s eyes widened, surprised at himself, and bit down on his tongue as if to keep it from destroying things further. He watched with distant horror as Jackie’s face contorted into one of anger, tears gathering in her eyes, yet her resolve remained firm.
“Don’t you dare call me that.” Jackie hissed. “Get out of my fucking house.”
Hayden swallowed the bile slowly climbing his throat, turned on his heel, and left.
**
J.J’s apartment was the definition of a bachelor pad. It was dark, poorly lit, filled with random knick knacks, mismatched dinnerware, and a very distinct lack of female input. It was somewhat sickening.
“Stay as long as you need!” J.J had said two days ago, sounding genuine and sympathetic as Hayden wove a lie about sick kids and in-laws. Hayden is gathering J.J was hoping Hayden needed, maximum, one night and he was already overstaying his welcome by pushing it to a third.
“I’m going out tonight.” J.J said, awkward, looking anywhere but at Hayden directly. He was already dressed for it. Hayden could smell his cologne across the room.
“Okay.” Hayden said, nodding. “Have fun.”
J.J kicked at the carpet in an attempt at casualness but came across as strange, awkward. “I might - you know - could potentially, hopefully, have company.”
“Right.” Hayden agreed.
“You know, like, female company.”
“I was actually just thinking of heading home.” Hayden said, sighed, putting J.J out of his misery and ignoring the hurt that thrummed through his chest when J.J’s eyes shot up, expression hopeful, gleeful.
“Yeah? You sure?”
Hayden sighed. He forced a smile on his face, nodded. “Yeah man. Thanks so much for helping me out.”
“No problem at all!” J.J said, almost bouncing. “Really, you can stay longer if you need to.”
“No, no.” Hayden said. “I’ll be gone before you get back.”
J.J left with a pep in his step that Hayden tried not to take offence to, and Hayden quickly packed his life back into the suitcase he’d arrived with. He folded the blanket J.J had given him and tossed it into the laundry. Judging by the room itself J.J would never get around to cleaning it but Hayden tried, at least.
He left the key on the dining table, a thank-you note alongside it, got into his car, and drove.
**
Hayden couldn’t call Shane, already confident Jackie had called him, or texted Rozanov, and told them both how horrible he had been. He wasn’t close enough to any of his remaining teammates either, not anymore, not enough to darken their doorstep. Besides, the more people that found out Hayden wasn’t staying at his own house, the worse it would feel. The bigger this whole situation would become.
He could rent a motel room, Hayden knew, easily. He wasn’t paid peanuts. He could even spring out, get a hotel room, stay there for weeks, months even. He’d be fine. No one had to know, not even Shane, that Jackie and Hayden Pike were on the outs.
It felt like admitting defeat.
Hayden didn’t want to sleep in a hotel or a motel or even on J.J’s uncomfortable fucking couch. He wanted to sleep in his bed, in his house, the house he bought with his perfect beautiful wife and where they were raising their perfect beautiful children. Their children that Hayden hadn’t seen in two days, not in person, though Jackie had called as though he were on a hockey trip and he’d gotten to say goodnight to them, told them he loved them, missed them. Jackie hadn’t said a word to him. Left the room and hung up the phone as Hayden called her name.
He found himself at the edge of a lake, his car idling, his breaths heaving, his stomach cramping violently as he tried to force the panic out of his body to no avail.
Hayden missed his wife, he missed his kids, he missed when life felt normal and he wasn’t constantly terrified, when Shane was his best-friend that he couldn’t keep a secret from and they saw each other every day rather than once a month. He missed Shane.
It sent Hayden over the edge, his breaths gasping, painful, sharp and short and pointless. There was nothing getting through. His head ached, his brain buzzing and overfull and awful. He couldn’t live like this. Even in the most peaceful place, beside a lake, the sun disappearing beyond the horizon, swans settling on the water, Hayden couldn’t get his mind to follow suit. He couldn’t force his body into submission. He could only let the panic wash over him, through him, leaving him feeling hollow and angry and so devastatingly alone.
The car jerked forward, hitting the curb, as Hayden’s foot slipped off the brake and Hayden gasped painfully, pressing his foot down harder.
Maybe he should press the accelerator instead, Hayden thought, tried to shove it away, but couldn’t get it to disappear. Maybe he should lock all the doors, wind down the windows, and let the car roll forward, drive it forward, until it was underwater with Hayden in it. Maybe then everything would finally fucking stop.
His ringtone jerked him out of the spiral, his eyes gliding, slowly, as though moving through mud, to the screen. Shane’s name scrolled across it.
Hayden let it ring out, turned off the engine, and rested his head against the steering wheel. He still couldn’t fucking breathe. He opened the car door, leant out the side and threw up the meagre contents of his stomach. He wasn’t eating nearly as much as he needed to be, just as much as he wasn’t sleeping, just as much as he wasn’t breathing.
His phone rang again, loud, piercing, and Hayden dragged his body upright, jerked the door closed, and glanced at his phone. Shane, again.
It must be bad. Hayden thought, a numb, heavy arm reaching out for his phone. It must be bad for Shane to ring twice. He barely ever rang first. He never rang twice. Always left an awkward, stuttering voicemail that Hayden saved, loved. He had these dumb rules ingrained in his head that Hayden couldn’t budge, no matter how much he tried, that Hayden wouldn’t care if Shane called until he picked up. Hayden would always pick up.
“Hayden?” Shane’s voice was soft but firm. “Hayds? What’s going on?”
Hayden doesn’t remember answering the phone though he knows he was going to, doesn’t know how long Shane has been calling out, calling his name.
“I’m fine.” Hayden chokes, though the words are a little garbled, slurred.
“Where are you?” Shane asks. “What’s happened, Hayds?”
Hayden tried to talk but all that came out were sobs, broken and violent, he could hear Shane’s breath speeding up, becoming nervous, anxious. This was exactly what Hayden didn’t want. Shane already had so many things to deal with, so many plates, so many expectations. Hayden didn’t want to be another one. He could hear Shane’s voice moving away as he called for Rozanov, the sounds rushed, as though he was running.
“Sorry.” Hayden said, sobbed, and he could hear Jackie in the background. Rozanov too. Their voices panicked.
“He’s by this lake.” Jackie said, quick and sure. “That’s where his phone is.”
“Okay. Okay. Hey, Hayds.” Shane’s voice reappeared, strong, clear in his ear. “Please, please just breathe for me. Okay? You don’t need to say anything but just, big breaths, okay? The biggest you can.”
“I will drive.” He heard Rozanov’s voice, loud, and the sounds of everyone moving quickly. Hayden pressed his nails into his knees, willing the pain to bring him around, to force himself to take a breath and hold on to it, use it. It wasn’t working.
“We’re coming, alright?” Shane said. “Just try and breathe. Like this, come on, ready.” Shane’s breath came through, a long pull of oxygen, noise clear, followed by a steady release, the air blowing over the microphone loudly. “Hear that? Like that. Come on, Hayds. Just. Try. Please try.”
Hayden tried. He kept trying until Shane was no longer a voice over the phone but in front of him, squatting by his pile of sick, holding Hayden’s hands to Shane’s chest and asking him to keep trying, keep breathing.
**
Hayden cannot feel anything but embarrassment, sitting next to his best friend, who is driving his car back to his house with his husband following behind in their own car because Hayden couldn’t keep it together.
“I’m sorry.” Hayden says, and Shane shakes his head. Hayden has apologised no less than ten times in the last twenty minutes. Shane has stopped accepting them.
They pull into Hayden’s driveway and Jackie is standing in it, face tight, teary-eyed and tense.
“I’m sorry.” Hayden says instead to her. She grips his face, presses a long kiss against his lips, and lets him rest his head against her shoulder.
“We are talking to a doctor.” Jackie says, no room for arguments, and Hayden can only nod, small and chastened and exhausted.
“Okay?” Jackie asks. Hayden knows she needs to hear it. She needs to know that Hayden will start trying, will start working on it, doing anything about the fear that now feels bone-deep, like it will never leave.
“Okay.” Hayden says, choked and rough and broken, but honest. Jackie presses a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry.” Hayden says again.
“It’s okay.” Jackie says. “It will be okay.”
**
Shane and Rozanov stay the night. Hayden had forgotten their dinner plans, their monthly, routine dinner plans. Jackie had too, in fairness, their routines had been thrown out the minute Hayden cursed at her.
Rozanov cooks pasta that Shane doesn’t even substitute with something green and disgusting. Jackie pours wine, hesitates briefly before handing Hayden his glass, as though she doesn’t trust him with it and Hayden tries not to prove her right.
They determinedly do not talk about it.
Hayden hugs his children tightly, listens to them talk about the few days he’d missed, and appreciates their inability to sense the tension.
After dinner Hayden gets them ready for bed. A longstanding routine when Hayden goes away for hockey, reads them a story, kisses them goodnight. When he comes back downstairs it’s clear Jackie, Shane and Rozanov have been discussing him.
Hayden finds it difficult to meet anyone’s eye. He accepts another glass of wine from Jackie, sits on the edge of their couch, feeling drastically out of place. He’d only been away for a few days but it felt like a lifetime, it felt like the whole world had shifted in those three days, Hayden’s world kind of had.
“How long?” Shane asked. Hayden could sense he’d waited as long as he could, the questions burning on his tongue, the need to know, to find solid ground, security in knowledge.
Hayden bit his lip, shrugged. “Since summer.”
Shane sucked a breath through his teeth. “That’s almost a year, Hayds.”
Hayden nods, shrugs, picks at his nail bed until Jackie’s hand grips it, winds their fingers together. Hayden appreciates it and misses the feeling in one.
“Always that bad?” Rozanov asks and Hayden balks a little at knowing Rozanov has seen it, the worst of it, worse than even Jackie.
“No.” Hayden says, looks to Shane and Rozanov though Hayden’s starting to think he might have to be just Ilya now. “Today was - bad. The worst it’s been.”
Shane nods, his face turned down into a sympathetic frown. Ilya’s face is stoic, unchanged, though his hands are fidgeting with the glass in his hand, his thumb moving back and forth across the glass stem.
“Can I help?” Shane asks. “Like, is there anything I can do?”
Hayden shakes his head. “No, no. I’ll - I don’t know. Nothing helps. I just - wait it out.”
“Okay.” Shane agrees. “Alright.”
“The game?” Ilya asks. Like it had been weighing on his mind and Hayden supposes it could have been, thinks back to their conversation at the bar, to Ilya’s eyes following him, searching. “Is that why you fell? Panic attack?”
Hayden grimaces, nods, swallows heavily from the glass, emptying it.
“Sorry. I should have said something then.” Hayden says and Shane hums.
“Maybe.” Shane says. “The referees also just needed any excuse to get Ilya out of the game. He was going to murder someone eventually.”
Hayden snorts and grins at Shane who grins back.
“Corruption.” Ilya grumbles, tilts his head back and swallows the rest of his wine in one gulp. “Jackie, do you have vodka? Wine is nice but.”
Jackie laughs, nods, and gets up from beside Hayden. “Yes, yes, of course. Come on.” The pair disappear into the kitchen and Shane and Hayden are left alone for the first time in a long time.
“You know you can talk to me, yeah?” Shane says, swirling his still mostly full wine glass. Hayden gestures for Shane to pass it over and Shane laughs, swaps glasses with Hayden, and watches him drink.
Hayden is thrown back years, when he’d discovered Shane was not only gay, but dating Ilya Rozanov. It had been a feeling unlike any other, watching his friend feel so broken and scared about something that should be celebrated. Hayden had needed Shane to know he still loved him, he cared for him deeply, and he would always be by his side. Ilya Rozanov or not.
“I know.” Hayden said, smiled at Shane who smiled back at him. “You too.”
“I know.”
**
The doctor recommends medication that Hayden takes, reluctantly. One that makes him feel slower, tired, like his limbs are lined with lead. Another is for emergencies.
“Only for when you feel a panic attack coming.” He’d said, tapping the script into his system. “It’s only for now, while the other medication kicks in, and only in small doses. It’s addictive. It’s only this one script, if you need more, you’ll have to see a psychiatrist."
Hayden is aware. He’s a professional hockey player in his thirties. He has heard of xanax.
There’s additionally referrals to therapists that Jackie helps him research. Hayden despises the first guy he sees, older, a sports-therapist, and seems most fixated on his recent downturn in results on the ice rather than Hayden’s overwhelming panic.
Hayden tries to explain what he thinks is the connection, losing Shane from the team, the pressure, the isolation, the loneliness. The fact that in Hayden’s professional hockey career he and Shane had never been apart. They’d shared rooms for over a decade. Shane was there when he met his wife, for the births of his children and Hayden had been beside Shane as he became the greatest hockey player in the league. In the world.
The therapist throws out the word ‘co-dependency’, as though Hayden is supposed to know what it means, as though it’s not worth the time, something Hayden will move on from. He goes on to suggest it’s the medication slowing him down, recommends he stops, and when Hayden relays this information to Jackie she strikes him from the list and they keep looking.
**
They play Ottawa again, but this time in Ottawa, and Montreal is decimated. They are somehow even better than earlier in the season and it is clear that Montreal is out for the year, even though play-offs are not yet finished, Montreal is.
Hayden takes the first xanax that afternoon, the familiar throes of anxiety swirling through him, and it takes the edge off but doesn’t stop it entirely, just keeps it at bay long enough for Hayden to push through the game, the cool-down, and back to his room.
He forgets he’s taken it, any affects promised to him non-existent, and accepts J.J’s invitation for a few drinks at the bar to commiserate their resounding loss.
He’s halfway through his second beer when he remembers the pill, remembers the warnings, and winces. All medication states that, though, Hayden figures. He’s never had trouble with it before. The worst it can do, Hayden figures, is get him drunk a little faster than usual. He’ll watch his drinks, stop after the next one, head back to the hotel room early and sleep.
Instead, J.J talks him into a round of shots, and then another. Hayden doesn’t feel any different than usual, presumes the warnings are simply precautions, a ‘just in case’ measure, until he finds himself half collapsed into J.J’s side only an hour later, begging to see Shane.
“Jesus, Pike.” J.J says. “You’d think you’re the one in love with the guy.”
Hayden shivers, the air is cold but he feels hot, flushed, burning. “Am not.” He slurs.
“Sure.” J.J teases. He drags Hayden to his hotel room, throws him onto his bed, even doing Hayden the courtesy of pulling off his shoes. “Sleep tight, Pike.”
“Thanks J.J.” Hayden calls, blurry and slurred but clear enough for J.J to hear him.
“Anytime.”
Hayden lies there for all of two minutes before his phone is in his hands, dizzy, squinting at the screen until he lands on Shane’s contact.
“Hayd?” Shane’s voice is thick with sleep and Hayden feels suddenly guilty.
“Sorry.” Hayden slurs, tries to hang-up, but can’t get his finger to hit the button.
“What’s up?” Shane asks. Hayden pouts a little, feels inexplicable tears collecting in his eyes, and tries to swallow around the lump in his throat.
“Nothing, just, love you.” Hayden slurs out. “Sorry.”
“Are you drunk?” Shane asks, pauses. “Love you too.”
“No.” Hayden says, long and drawn out and Shane laughs on the other end of the line.
“Okay. Are you okay?” Shane’s voice is kind. He’d make a good dad one day, Hayden thinks, and hearing Shane’s startled laugh, might have said out loud. He hopes if one day his kids get drunk at a party they call Uncle Shane. They’d be in safe hands. Although, Hayden thinks further, and that’s always dangerous isn’t it, Uncle Shane would be hours away. He’s in Ottawa now, not Montreal, not close to home. They couldn’t call Shane. Hayden couldn’t call Shane either. He’s too far away.
“Hayd. I’m here.” Shane’s voice interrupts, seeming concern lacing the words. “I’m here now. Where are you?”
“Hotel.” Hayden says.
It’s happening before Hayden can catch it, the panic, that sinking fear turning his stomach. A sob spills out before he can stop it and Shane’s voice is calling out to him, pleading. Hayden misses Shane so, so much.
“What number, Hayd? Hayd. What’s your room number?”
Hayden says a number, he hopes it’s right, and Shane is still talking to him but Hayden can only focus on the air in the room, how little there is of it, how hard it is to breathe, how sick he suddenly feels.
He pushes himself upright, leaves the phone behind, and falls into the bathroom just in time. This is the worst part, Hayden thinks, this is gross, messy, and the hardest part to hide. Once he’s got here there’s no turning back, no calming down, only pushing through.
There’s a knock on the door and Hayden doesn’t know if he can get there to answer it. He waits, listens to the knocking become pounding, hears Shane’s voice panicked through the wood and Hayden forces himself upright. He stumbles to the door, jerks it open, and trips forward into Shane’s arms.
“Sorry.” Hayden mumbles into Shane’s chest. He’s still panting, but Shane’s hands are warm and soft against his back, rubbing small circles, and Hayden can hear his heart beat slowing, his breaths forcefully steady, controlled.
“Just like that, Hayds.” Shane says, encourages them back into the hotel room and onto Hayden’s bed. “You’re doing really well.”
“Sorry.” Hayden says again and Shane shushes him. He feels calmer, some combination of alcohol and medication and Shane, forcing his mind to slow quicker than it would sober, alone.
“I miss you.” Hayden says into Shane’s shirt and Shane hugs him tighter.
“I miss you too.”
“It feels like I’m drowning out there without you.” Hayden admits and Shane’s breath stutters.
“I’ve never played hockey without you beside me. I’ve never done anything important without you there. I can’t even breathe right without you.” Hayden says, feels tears falling again, and knows he’s probably ruining Shane’s shirt. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m sorry, Hayds.” Shane says, his voice thick, and Shane’s face feels wet as he presses a kiss to Hayden’s hair, his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Hayden says, resolute. “It’s not your fault nothing’s working.”
“Nothing?” Shane asks, small and hesitant. “Like, the medication?”
Hayden hums, lets out a stuttering breath. “Anything. Medication, therapy, the team, me.”
“You?” Shane prompts, as Hayden falls quiet.
“Yeah.” Hayden says, quiet, resigned. “I don’t think it’ll ever get better. Not without you.”
Shane’s breath stutters again, short and sharp, and his body jerks under Hayden. Hayden tries to pull away, to look up at him, but Shane holds him closer, tighter.
“It will.” Shane promises, his voice thick and wet, and Hayden grips onto Shane’s arm, squeezes him, reminds Shane that he’s still here. “We’ll figure something out. Okay? Just keep trying.”
“Okay.” Hayden says, swears. Shane holds him impossibly tighter. “Okay.”
**
In the morning Shane is still there, Hayden is still wrapped around him, and he feels mortified.
“I am so, so sorry.” Hayden groans, pushes himself away and feels his head pulse. He needs greasy food, he needs water and greasy food and a boatload of painkillers.
Shane waves off his apologies, grabs at Hayden’s hand, squeezes it. Hayden feels the embarrassment fading. Shane clearly isn’t thinking about it as much as Hayden is.
Shane’s texting someone with his free hand, his eyes darting quickly across the screen, his thumb moving even faster. “Ilya wants to meet for breakfast.”
“Ah, okay.” Hayden says, feels a little hollow, tender-hearted, like a neglected one-night-stand which is ridiculous. It’s Shane. “Go ahead.”
Shane glances across at Hayden, confused, a slight pout contorting his lips that is unfairly adorable. “Both of us.” Shane says, and Hayden’s eyes widened.
“Is he going to punch me?” Hayden asked.
“What? No. Why?”
“Because I stole you.” Hayden says. “Forced you to stay the night.”
Shane scoffs, tugs Hayden back down, trapping him against his chest with one arm. “You can’t force me to do anything, Hayds.”
“I forced you to go to the aquarium that one time.” Hayden pointed out.
“No.” Shane disagreed. His fingers tapping out another message Hayden couldn’t see. “I love hanging out with your kids.”
“They’re pretty great.” Hayden agreed. Shane’s fingers now wound their way through Hayden’s hair and began scratching at his scalp, Hayden hummed in contentment, his mind still moving too slowly to consider it strange. They were never particularly touchy. Shane hated unnecessary physical contact though that rule hadn’t extended to Ilya, Hayden realises. Shane had never touched Hayden this much, they barely went further than a fist-bump, yet suddenly Shane was treating Hayden not unlike a neglected dog. It made his heart ache.
“He’s coming here if that’s okay? I didn’t think you’d want to go anywhere.” Shane says and Hayden makes a noise of agreement.
“I should shower.” Hayden says, tries to pull away, but Shane keeps him locked against his chest still. “Shane.”
“Do you remember much of last night?” Shane asks, hesitant, and Hayden swallows thickly, the embarrassment flowing back through him. He tries to push away again but Shane’s strong arms won’t let him.
“Yeah.” Hayden says, quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Shane says. Hayden believes him. “Just promise you’ll keep trying.”
Hayden lets out a shaky breath before he whispers his next words, a confession really, into Shane’s chest.
“I wanted to drive into the lake. That day you found me. I really, really wanted to drive into that lake.”
Shane’s choked breaths were all Hayden could focus on, the silence ringing out, each huff of air deafening.
“I know.” Shane says and Hayden’s face twists, he feels the sobs before he hears them, wet and horrible into Shane’s shirt. He can feel Shane’s own, shaking his chest, hear the hitched, pained breaths.
“Please don’t disappear on me.” Shane whispers, pleading, as their sobs slow to a sniffle. “Please keep trying.”
“Okay.” Hayden agrees, feels a little sick, a little sad, a little hopeless. “I’ll keep trying.”
Shane takes a deep breath, so deep Hayden feels his head rise and fall with it, like a raft moving with the waves. “I think I can help.” Shane says, finally, hurried yet certain, unafraid.
“What?” Hayden jolts, and this time when he pushes up against Shane, Shane lets him. He meets Shane’s eyes, takes in his cheeks flushed pink, the bags dark beneath his eyes, and Hayden realised Shane likely didn’t sleep. “Shane, it’s okay. You don’t have to fix this. You can’t.”
Shane shakes his head, pulls himself up, and grabs Hayden’s hand. “I know. I don’t think it will fix everything but I think this will help. Okay? I need you to trust me.”
“Of course.” Shane says, as easy as breathing. “Always.”
Shane smiles, hesitant and brittle. “How would you feel about a change of scenery?”
**
Hayden emerges from the shower to Ilya and Shane making out on his bed which he promptly interrupts with a mature, “Eugh.”
“Good morning, Pike.” Ilya says, leering at him. “Did you enjoy my husband last night?”
“Ilya!” Shane cries, slaps a palm to his bicep and Ilya cackles as Hayden flushes a deep red.
“I hear you are thinking of becoming Centaur.” Ilya says, as Hayden looks through the room service menu Shane had flung at him. “Good choice.”
“I still need to ask Jackie.” Hayden said, biting uncertainly at his bottom lip. “It’s a big change.”
“Not as big as America.” Ilya points out and Hayden shrugs, agrees. His contract is running out soon. His performance so far this year hasn’t been a particularly convincing reason to keep him onboard, and any future moves would lead him a lot further away than Ottawa.
Breakfast is ordered, delivered, and partially devoured when Hayden asks the question that’s been hanging over his head since Shane had suggested it.
“You’d have me?” Hayden asked Ilya. “Even though you hate me?”
Ilya frowned, took a bite of his sausage, and pointed his fork at Hayden. “You think I hate you?”
Hayden blinked, confused. “Yeah.”
Ilya grins. “You are very stupid.”
“Fuck you.” Hayden spits out, and feels a pout forming before he can reign it in. Ilya beams, opens his mouth in a laugh that shows off his half-chewed food, Hayden wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“I do not hate you.” Ilya says, smirking, not entirely unkindly. “You are like a bee. Buzzing, annoying, but necessary. Good for the earth.”
“Thank you?” Hayden says, and Shane sighs, though he can’t keep the smile from his face.
“He likes you.” Shane translates. “He thinks you’re annoying but he likes you.”
Hayden thinks about it. He tries to decide if he should be offended or flattered and lands somewhere in between.
“Ah, you too.” Hayden says. “You’re also a bee.”
“Thank you.” Ilya grins. “Now, we must call Jackie, yes? I want to hear from little Pike’s.”
**
“I looked up co-dependency.” Hayden is wrapped around Jackie, his chin on her shoulder, watching her fly through the Thursday crossword like it’s child’s play.
“Mhm.”
“Do you think it’s a bad idea to go to Ottawa?”
Jackie pauses, her fingers hovering over the screen, before she puts down her phone and rotates in his arms.
“Why do you say that?” Jackie asks, leaning back a little to look into Hayden’s eyes. Hayden shrugs his shoulders as best he can laying down, turns his face into the pillow a little, to hide from Jackie’s piercing gaze.
“It just seems like, you know, it’s a bad thing. Co-dependency. Maybe I shouldn’t be following Shane?” Hayden says, unsure. He doesn’t want to, is the thing, he would follow Shane to the ends of the earth if it means they’d both be there.
“Maybe.” Jackie agreed. “Maybe not.”
“Maybe not?”
“Will it make you happy?” Jackie asked. “To play with Shane again? To live close by?”
“Yes.” Hayden says, confident.
“Do you think you’ll improve without him?” Jackie asks. “Not in hockey. In here.” She taps Hayden’s forehead once with her manicured fingernail. Hayden smiles, brings her finger to his mouth and kisses it, shakes his head.
“No.”
“Do you think you’ll get worse?”
Hayden considers it, only briefly, thinks back on the past year and all the years before it. It had been, undoubtedly, the worst year of his life.
“Yes.”
Jackie smiled, sadly, but still smiled, and shuffled forward to press a kiss against Hayden’s lips.
“And you promise you don’t want to wear him like a skin suit?”
“Jackie!” Hayden laughed, loud and surprised. “I promise. I don’t want anything to change. Not really. I just want things the way they were but - better.”
Jackie smiled. “But better.”
Hayden nodded, pressed Jackie into his chest, buried his face in her hair and breathed in the smell of her shampoo.
“Do you love me?” Jackie asked into his chest, small and quiet and insecure in a way Jackie Pike should never feel. Hayden shifted back, lifted her chin with his forefinger, and pressed a kiss against her lips.
“I love you more than anything.” Hayden murmured against her lips. He could feel her smile grow, before she pressed against him again, kissing softly.
“Then it’s the best idea Shane’s ever had.”