Work Text:
Cliff had a terrible problem.
The problem was not his fiancee, though she was blocking his way to practice. Tess was five foot eleven and nearly two hundred pounds of incredible woman currently wearing the leggings with the butt crack scrunch that turned Cliff into a gibbering idiot the first time he'd seen them. It was possible he'd never fully recovered. All she needed to do to block his way was exist in his general vicinity with those on, but today she was deliberately standing in their bedroom doorway, arms crossed over her chest.
"I gotta get to practice," he said, losing all hope of making it on time almost immediately.
"I asked you three weeks ago who you wanted, Clifford. This can't be that hard."
"I gave you my list!" He objected, mostly to buy time.
"You better change your answer fast or I'm going to assume you think I'm stupid."
"You're so smart," Cliff backpedaled fast. "Much much smarter than me."
Tess sighed, "You look pathetic. Just talk to me. Why is this so hard? You have plenty of friends."
One part of the problem was when he had met Tess: A full two years after shit had gone down. He'd chosen his condo because of the incredible gym on the first floor that he used incessantly in the off season when he was too lazy to go to the training facility. He knew most of the guys had their own equipment in their homes, but Cliff hated having an empty cavernous space of rooms almost as much as he hated working out alone.
The friendly impersonal energy of the gym had always been good for him. They even had a few classes, not that he bothered with those, but he was only human and watching the early morning troupe of women file into yoga was a good way to start the day. The one time he broke routine and staggered in, massively hungover, he'd walked past a kickboxing class. Tess had been instructing, her demo kick impacting the bag with the power of a freight train. Cliff had stayed frozen in the doorway like a common creep, watching her bark and move among the attentive class like a drill sergeant.
Somehow he had escaped detection, then managed to angle himself so he'd catch her leaving.
"I overheard some of your class. You're an incredible instructor," Cliff said. It shouldn't have worked, especially considering that he was still a little gray and had the booze sweats.
But it turned out that Tess didn't get hit on that much, even though she had flawless mahogany skin, mile long legs, and natural tits that some women paid through the nose for. She's said it was her height and her race and the way she said what she thought. Very privately and never to be shared with her, Cliff thought it was because other men had already known she was his. Marked. Destined. He knew better than to say that out loud to her, keeping his caveman thoughts to the privacy of his mental rockpit.
He'd told her he loved her on the fifth date (their sixth time fucking because she had agreed to 'see his condo' right after that first conversation) and she had said flatly in return: "Thanks."
"I've never said that to a woman before."
"Sure."
He went right on saying it anyway. It had taken eight months before she returned it with an 'I love you too' so unusually tentative that Cliff had believed it immediately.
Their romance had unfolded through the season, the comfort of long departures and hectic schedules keeping the pressure off. Tess did not mesh well with the other WAGS, only dipping in to events to stand stiffly at Cliff's side for exactly as long as required. She was not unkind to them, but she seemed to view them as another species.
"I'm not giving up my life to play hostess for you," she told him.
"Fucking fine by me," he'd said.
Her friends were all from college, smart professional types with partners that gave Cliff a lot of insight into Tess' WAG feelings. They were men who spent a lot of time concerned with optics, synergy and Zoom meetings. They were interested in Cliff's take only because they seemed to view him as some kind of relic of another age of masculinity (a direct quote that he hadn't been meant to overhear). Mostly Cliff answered them with single words and grunts and that seemed to delight them. Fucking weirdos.
But he hung out with them sometimes because Tess did her time for him. She did a lot of nice things for him that she didn't have to do. Like say yes when he asked her to marry him.
Cliff deeply wanted to be married to Tess. He was entirely indifferent on having a wedding. Tess wanted one badly. She'd said yes to spending her life with him, so she was getting her fucking dream wedding if it killed him. All her hard-ridged practicality hid a secretly romantic soul and as Cliff opened his bank accounts to her, Tess used them to craft an airy July dream of an outdoor ceremony. They would exchange vows on their second anniversary.
"This way we only have to remember one date," Tess said with some satisfaction and he'd picked her clean off the ground and carried her to bed for that.
Cliff knew what peonies were now. He had opinions on shades of teal. Not strong ones, but they existed. They had a halfway workable guest list already and a band. Tess had a dress that Cliff was not allowed to see and lived at her sister's house. Cliff had a tux fitting next week. Everything was under control and nine months ahead of schedule because that's how Tess lived her life and now how Cliff lived his.
Except for one tiny, nearly invisible detail.
Tess was still staring him down and Cliff ducked his head.
"I asked a few of the guys already about being groomsman. Should be enough to keep things even for pictures."
"And?" She pressed.
"And I'm working on it," he mumbled.
"If it's that hard to pick, just have them do rock, paper, scissors over it," she said with some exasperation. "Or ask your brother-in-law. I know he's not your favorite, but if you're worried about choosing one of the team over the other, that's the easy solve."
Cliff had met her After. Long After. So the problem, the real deep down problem, was that Tess didn't know. Before she'd met Cliff her interest in hockey had begun and end with the traffic it caused. After, she had gotten into it enough to understand dinner conversation about his day and enjoy a game if she attended or he put one on sometimes.
So Tess didn't know fucking anything about Ilya Rozanov.
And that was becoming a very big problem.
"I-" Cliff started and faltered. "Can we talk about it tonight? It's not something I can just say and then go to work."
She studied his face and then nodded slowly. "All right. I love you."
He closed the distance between them and kissed her. "I love you too. I'm sorry that I'm an asshole about this."
"If you explain yourself tonight, you're forgiven."
Great. Fucking great. Cliff listened to the usual noise in the locker room distantly. Their current captain was fine, a nice guy. Solid. Good for a hype up speech and direction on the ice. Cliff's stall was far from him and that was for the best. Even as he laced up his skates, Cliff flexed and relaxed his left leg, the knee was starting to get questionable on him now and again. Starting to make him think about the future.
He'd been in the league for thirteen seasons already, the kind of guy he used to make fun of as a rookie. The kind of guy who didn't know when to leave. Now he had enough time in to know that you usually did know exactly when it was time. He'd watched guys five years younger and then years older than him get that look in their eyes, the one that said it was nearly the last time they'd pull a jersey over their head.
When it was his time, Cliff could choose to take the carefully hoarded wealth in it's carefully managed funds and leave on his own accord. He could make his graceful exit from the game he loved and figure out the rest of his life on his own terms.
It wasn't fucking fair.
"Come on," Rogers bumped his shoulder into his. "Stop thinking about your girl and let's get this show on the road."
Half this locker room had never even met Roz, Rogers included. Three seasons had gone by and with them the inevitable trades, rookies and retirements. The memory of a thick accent cutting through bullshit to demand wins from tired bodies was fading fast.
Practice went by. No surprises. They did what needed doing. Cliff was passed on to the physio and then the gym. He ate somewhere in there, barely replenishing the calories he was spending.
He spent far longer than usual in the showers, conditioning his hair twice. Roz had had a whole ridiculous regiment for his hair that he refused to be shamed about. If anyone asked him why he had so many products, he'd ask why they had so few. Did they not know that their skin and hair were made of different shit? Why did the wash their ass with the same thing they used on their hair? Were they too poor for shampoo AND conditioner? He would lend them the money if they were so hard up.
Cliff had quietly ditched his 3-in-1 after that and asked his barber for recommendations. He had no idea if he looked any better, but his scalp stopped itching all the time.
Thoughts of Roz trailed him through the hallways as he went to get dressed. They trailed him everywhere some days.
Cliff was haunted by a man who was still alive. A man he still saw at least four times a year, dressed in black with the same steel in his eyes he'd always had. They always said hello, a passing thing. Polite. Removed.
Yet for all that proof of life, there was still his ghost lingering in the corners of Cliff's day. Near him always on the ice, following him through the weight room, and into the locker room that had changed so much without him. Grim and silent in a way Roz had never been when he was here.
And now Cliff had to go home and explain this haunting to Tess.
Neither of them were cooks, but Cliff had a meal delivery service they both liked, so there wasn't even a way to hide in the kitchen. There was only heating things up and sitting down at their table in front of the halfway decent view of the city.
Because she was perfect, Tess said nothing. She simply started eating and waited Cliff out as she enjoyed her saffron rice.
Cliff ate a few bites, then let his fork drop to his plate.
"The problem is that the guy I want to ask isn't my best friend anymore. I'm not sure we're friends at all. And I can't get fucking past that. Thinking about asking anyone else makes me feel sick."
"Who?" Tess asked, reaching for her water. "You've never mentioned a best friend."
"His name is Ilya Rozanov," Cliff said and it felt big even though it meant nothing to her. "And I accidentally ruined his life."
"That sounds very dramatic and unlikely," she took a sip of water. "The name sounds familiar. Tell me about him."
"What do you want to know?"
"Literally anything," she said with some exasperation. "Start at the beginning."
The beginning was easy. The beginning wasn't painful.
"My second year with Boston, we got this rookie. Russian kid," Cliff started.
And then he couldn't stop. He talked through dinner, then onto the couch where they'd usually watch something together. Tonight it was trying to explain to Tess the only other person who had spent so many nights in the same spot she was now sitting in.
Roz had been incredible from day one. Not just as a talent, though there had been that, but his mere presence on the team changed the entire tenor. He was fierce and powerful and aggressive in a friendly way. Cliff had known other players still learning English, but none of them were as brazenly confident in using it despite all their gaps in vocabulary. Barrelling ahead, Roz always expected someone to guess his meaning or supply what was required. He did not slow down for understanding, either theirs or his. You followed him or you didn't and almost everyone did.
The very first day they'd met, Roz had shaken his hand and said, "You are very big. Good. You keep the flies off me and I will win many games with you."
"Sounds good to me," Cliff had laughed it off. Rookie enthusiasm.
But Roz had backed it up and made it true. They'd been fucking great together.
No one had told Cliff to look after the rookie, who was as effective in clubs as he was on the ice. No one had taken in Cliff's entire sullen ogre deal and said 'Yeah, that's the guy who should make sure the insane Russian doesn't run face first into death's waiting arms because he's more talent than sense'.
No, Cliff had decided that on his own the first time Roz had come out to the club (with a fake ID, most likely, but what the fuck did Cliff care? The kid had probably sucked vodka out of his mother's tit the way he drank it) and pulled women to him like he had the cure for cancer in his dick. Any woman. Including some with boyfriends. Roz ducked swings on the dance floor like he ducked them on the ice. Cliff had waded in to intervene. He was a big, tough guy, but he was also far too valuable to get laid out on a sticky floor.
"You do not fight for me," Roz spat as Cliff hauled him out of a scrum and sent another guy crashing to the floor.
"I'm fighting with you, right now, you dumb fuck," Cliff barked back. "Find someone to screw that doesn't come with a fist attached."
"Where?" Roz waved at the bouncers coming at them both like they were good friends.
"That's the thing with bar hopping. You fucking hop bars," Cliff said and dragged Roz behind him like an obstinate rolling suitcase right into the next club.
They did not find girls that night. They got very drunk and when the rookie lost his English altogether after far too many tequila shots, Cliff poured him into a cab and took him back to his place. Cliff dumped Roz on the couch with a blanket, a trash bin next to him, a bottle of gatorade and advil. He gave himself the same treatment.
Cliff woke up to a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, teenage disaster drinking his protein shakes and cooking his bacon.
"Marley," Roz had greeted him like he hadn't stolen his kitchen. "I make you food. Sit. Good for soaking up bad head."
"Headache," Cliff said. "Bad head sounds like bad pussy licking."
Roz pointed a spatula at him, "I am great at pussy licking."
"Good for you. Is some of my food for me or are you a fucking thief too?"
"This is all for you," Roz said with a crooked smile. "I eat half already."
"Thanks, I think. You know you gotta take less risks if you want to see the end of the season."
"Play hard," Roz smiled, bearing all this teeth. "On ice, off ice. Or what is the point?"
It was so charmingly deranged that Cliff had been won over right there and then. He let Roz serve him his own food and hang out for hours, watching ESPN.
After that, when they went clubbing, Roz always bought the first round and then trusted Cliff to get them home if they didn't find other bedrooms to sleep in. They spent many hungover mornings together, taking turns shoving half burnt plates of food at each other.
Eventually Cliff talked to the rookie (then not a rookie any more, then the fucking captain and a damn good one at that), about all the things that mattered in his life and they hashed out problems together with similar furrowed brows.
Whatever Roz had going on back home was off limits, but he let Cliff meet some of his Russian friends, people he'd met in Boston for the most part, but also Svetlana, who he had known from back there. Cliff had tried his luck with her and lost almost immediately, but that was all right. She was sharp as a razor about hockey and fun to hang out with anyway. Cliff learned a few words in Russian, mostly swears, and that was always fun to surprise the other team with at the right moment.
When Cliff's sister visited all the way from Vancouver, Roz was the only person Cliff introduced her to from the team. Not because Roz was any more acceptable than the rest of them, but because that's what you did when your sister was in town: she met your closest friends and you threatened them about flirting with her and they did it anyway. Helen had loved Roz. She was married and as far as Cliff knew was happy enough, but she was also very pleased to have a handsome man tell her she was 'unlikely to have same father as this one, too good looking'.
That Roz had secrets was a given. He was, under the swagger, a jumpy nervous man. It was abundantly obvious to Cliff that Roz had seen some shit, even if he never talked about it. Why no one else ever noticed was beyond Cliff. It wasn't particularly subtle.
The years slowly sanded down the edges off their wild lifestyle. They went out a little less, hung out more in each other's homes. Sometimes Roz dropped the bullshit around Cliff entirely and went blank and tired. It was horrible to watch, but also precious. A terrible trust that Cliff did his best to deserve. He tried to return the favor where he could, but Cliff didn't have any deep dark things to show Roz. All of Cliff's issues were right on the surface, the flashes of temper, the scars, the headaches, and the way he sometimes lost track of conversations that went by too quickly.
That was a little of what had brought them together in the first place. Roz and him got lost at the same points sometimes, an island of two in the middle of the river of too fast conversation. In the beginning it was Cliff offering aid and by the end, it was Roz, who looped Cliff in on what he had missed.
These days when the rookies started talking in slang and half-sentances, Cliff missed Roz so hard it was a physical pain. Even if he hadn't known what they meant either, he would've looked it up and they could've had a laugh together over what still went over their heads.
"He sounds like a good friend," Tess said softly as Cliff wound down.
She was sitting with her legs over Cliff's lap and he was rubbing her feet. It felt good to be touching her as he talked and better not to make eye contact. Trying to fully describe to her the hole in his life that was six feet of raw obnoxiousness was hard enough without looking in her face while he did it.
"He was."
"So what happened?"
"It was an accident," Cliff said. The way he'd said it a thousand times since. To the press, to his coaches, to the other players, to himself. Never to Roz. Roz knew and it didn't matter. "He got knocked out on the ice and I couldn't stop in time. My skate cut his arm open, severed a few nerves. They sewed it all back up, but it was never the same. It ended his career."
"Oh," Tess sucked in a breath. "That's how I know the name. Everyone at the gym was talking about it the next day and then later about how he left. Abandoned Boston. People took it very personally."
"He didn't abandon us," Cliff said, concentrating on pressing his thumb into her arches. For a big lady, her feet were delicate and he could her hurt her if he didn't pay attention. "What was he going to do? Go from being the best to some mascot on the ice? It would've fucking killed him."
"What's he doing now?"
"He coaches. Ottawa. He's making them as great as he made us," Cliff said with a thread of jealousy. Someone else got Roz's speeches and energy now. Boston had lost speed without him. They were 'rebuilding'. Into what, Cliff couldn't say.
"So it's not like his life is over," Tess said thoughtfully. "And what, you two fell out of touch?"
"I think he hates me," Cliff said quietly. "I would hate me. I don't know. I got drunk a few times and sent him more apologies and he always responded, told me it was okay, but then any other time I try to get in touch with him, it's quiet."
"What do you do when you play Ottawa?" She asked.
"I always say hello, but it's not exactly like I can get into shit with him. We're not on the same team any more."
Which felt like the entire problem summed up in a terrible bitter sentence. The first few months Roz had been recovering, he'd still been on the team. He'd let Cliff come over a few times and have lunch. They'd been uneasy with each other, but at least in proximity. When Roz's father died, it had been Cliff that got everyone to spit up cash and sign a card so Roz came back to his favorite foods in the fridge and a sign that he hadn't been forgotten.
When Roz left, it had been almost overnight. He'd texted a stiff going to ottawa, got a coaching job. good luck next season. The same thing he'd sent to St. Vin and Hammersmith. Just a brisk goodbye and for sale sign outside his house.
Cliff had read it for what it was. An extended middle finger. An acknowledgement that a former best friend was not enough to tie Roz to Boston. He was after the next thing now, leaving Cliff behind with a lot of other bad memories. Cliff had stubbornly gone on texting him unwilling to accept his fate. Holidays, birthdays, and when Ottawa almost won the cup. He consistently got back: Thank you. You to. I'm fine. Nothing responses. Polite. Roz had never been polite to him before.
"Okay," Tess said, lip pursed. "So you hurt him, it was an accident, he slow faded you because even though he says it's fine, it clearly isn't. And what…that's who you want to be your best man?"
Cliff nodded miserably. "I know. It's stupid. But for six years he was my go-to guy for everything. I know I should choose someone else, but I just can't."
They were both quiet, considering that for a few minutes. Cliff wished he'd been able to man up and just choose Rogers or Fieldstone, both solid guys that Cliff liked well enough.
"When do you play Ottawa next?"
"Ten days," Cliff said. Coincidence, but also a date that had been itching at him. "Home game."
"Text him," Tess said with the clarity of purpose that Cliff admired so much. "Tell him you want to meet him for drinks afterwards and catch up. If he says no or makes an excuse, then you flip a coin on one of your other guys. If he says yes, then you talk to him. Really talk to him. See where he's at. Maybe he'll surprise you."
"Why would he meet up with me now? After all this time?"
"Because time heals most wounds," she said, sitting up until she was more in his lap than on the couch. He got his arm around her back to pull her the last few inches in.
"I love you," he said into her shoulder.
"I love you too, big guy," she said, pleased and kissed him.
Cliff had Tess and the team and a few gym buddies and his sister. This summer, after the wedding and honeymoon on the beach, Tess had promised to teach him how to kayak. There were things and people to fill his life. He didn't really need Ilya Rozanov with his insults and complications. His best man would just be a guy in some photos a few years from now, no more or less important than anyone else in them.
He texted anyway.
Cliff: Been a long time since we had a beer at Bell's. Want to meet up after the game next week and fix that?
He texted right before the away game against Vegas. It was bound to be a brutal one, they were too evenly matched and pissed off about it. Ottawa had a travel day. Roz should already be in a hotel room, doing whatever it was coaches did when no one was looking at them. Hours for him to respond or not and Cliff not to see it as he fought a grueling battle for small potatoes. They lost, poor showing all the way around. Definitely a bad omen for his phone, so Cliff ignored it in favor of getting on with things.
The press didn't bother much with Cliff. They might ask him a question or two if other, more interesting people, were occupied. The most interesting soundbite he'd ever given was to say that Dallas Kent was a 'flaming shit stain' which had made him a niche meme for a few days. So he could bypass them without shame, shower and get back into street clothes.
Phone at last in hand, Cliff reluctantly looked at the screen.
Roz: Okay. You're paying.
The grin on Cliff's face was far too big for that and he couldn't help, but fire back.
Cliff: You lose all your money at the craps table or something?
Roz: Last time we went to Bell's, I bought two rounds and you bought none. I am owed.
The last time they'd gone to Bell's was almost four years ago now. It was entirely possible that that had happened. Did Roz really remember that and hold a grudge or was he fucking with him, thinking Cliff would just assume that he was right? Either way, it made Cliff smile harder. What a fucking dick.
Cliff: Meet you at the back gate after? We can walk if the weather doesn't suck.
Roz: 👍
The day of the game against Ottawa was obscenely nice. The kind of fall day that tricked people into thinking New England was a good idea. Trees showed off fiery rainbows of leaves in a light breeze and the sun shone down like it wasn't about to abandon them all to five months of slush and unrelenting gray clouds.
Cliff went into the arena with a lot of nerves. None of them were about the game. He would do his best, but Ottawa was blazing already this season, their unorthodox change making them into the stuff of 80s underdog movies. Hollander alone had changed their fate last season, but now they'd stacked in his old friend Pike, along with some young talent that had energized their more experienced players. Hayes was still in the net, the kind of goalie that made you want to try another sport. At least the net in soccer was bigger.
Waiting for things to kick off, Cliff spotted Roz, all in black and his arms crossed as he stood next to Wiebe, also in black. Wiebe was smiling faintly and leaned in to say something to Roz which transformed a grim expression into a smirk. Hayes called something out and the smirk tumbled into a full blown smile. The cheesy one that Roz usually only had when he was drunk or genuinely so tickled by something that he couldn't stop it.
He was happy. If not all the time than at least in that moment. That was good. That was fucking great actually. Twenty minutes later, Cliff was slamming Pike against the boards and the usually polite little fucker met his eyes with a wink and said, "What's the matter, Marley? Hard up for a cuddle?"
"Did Roz spit that in your mouth?" Cliff asked incredulously and the face Pike made was so scandalized that Cliff started laughing and almost lost track of the puck.
All-in-all Boston lost spectacularly. Hollander casually got a hat trick like it was just another day at the goal-making factory. Some little pest that Cliff hadn't bothered keeping track of before slid neatly between Cliff and Rogers with 'Scuse me, guys' to get another one in while Haas yelled out the most G-rated chirps Cliff had ever heard. It was like being under siege by the Care Bears.
"Did we just get beaten by a bunch of fucking-" one of the rookies started to say and Cliff could hear the slur coming.
"Finish that fucking sentence and you'll know you at least got beat by one straight guy tonight," he growled and the rookie went pale. "Anyone else got something stupid to say?"
"Hey, it's just blowing off steam," someone mumbled.
"Blow it out your ass instead," Cliff snarled.
"He's right," Rogers said placidly. "We got beat because they're fucking good and we couldn't keep it together. Tape review is going to be fucking embarrassing. Be more embarrassing if we got beat and we said shit that made us sound as dumb as box of rocks."
"Thanks for the backup," Cliff mumbled to him as they both bent down to work off their pads.
"I hate that shit too, you know," Rogers said affably. "Ignorant fucks."
Rogers would be a good best man. He'd be pleased to be asked.
Cliff didn't ask. He hit the showers and tried to scrub himself into a new person. Or at least one that smelled less like feet.
When things had gotten serious with Tess, Cliff had been a little worried that she was one of those women that liked to renovate their boyfriends. Instead, she had shed a lot of the feminine niceties of their first few months herself and they both wore a ton of athleiesure unless they had to dress up for an event. For his birthday, she had bought him a new peacoat to replace his old one that was getting shabby. She'd found an exact match, down to the buttons even though the brand of the old one had long since gone out of business.
She was the best. He was going to marry the hell out of her and he thought of her fondly as he pulled the coat on to block out the chill.
The back gate was not technically for people, only deliveries. Cliff had used it for years anyway and Ray in the security booth always smiled and waved him on. There was never anyone waiting back there to ambush someone with their phone camera and hopes.
Today there was someone waiting. Two someones. Roz was leaning against a brick wall, a beanie pulled low over his ears. Standing right next to him was Hollander. They weren't touching, but they were very close to each other and as Cliff approached, still unseen by either, Hollander leaned in a little, his voice muffled by distance. Roz laughed quietly and nudged Hollander's shoulder with his own. Hollander moved even closer, the tip of his nose almost touching Roz's cheek, a whisper between them. And then Roz was really laughing, tipping forward to heave it out.
The moment was exactly like when the team masseuse pushed on the shitty vertebrae that had been giving Cliff trouble for years and his whole spine would suddenly pop back into realignment and he could taste colors for a second.
Montreal Jane.
Jane.
Shane.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Hollander, who had made the incredibly baffling move of uprooting himself from his dynastic career to slum it with the Centaurs. A team that had historically sucked so badly it was rumored they were cursed. Right where Roz had landed. How had Cliff never even wondered about those two things colliding?
Roz hadn't been running away. He'd been running to something. That it meant Roz had been lying to him, hiding a huge part of himself from Cliff for years wasn't really new information. He couldn't find it in himself to care. Tonight was already a fucking fantastic night, even if nothing else went well.
"Shane fucking Hollander, you beauty!" Cliff crowed.
He'd startled both of them and to his intense amusement, they both tried to step in front of each other and wound up almost tripping each other instead. It was adorable.
"Marley," Roz relaxed fractionally. "Hollander is leaving."
"Is he?" Hollander asked with a knife's edge in his voice.
"He doesn't have to. I cannot fucking believe you. You let me think you had some puck bunny in Montreal all those years and instead you were screwing the most talented motherfucker of our generation?"
"Second most," Roz said on automatic pilot. Apparently used to this behavior, Hollander only made a scoffing noise. "It was secret. For good reasons."
"Yeah, I get that," Cliff said. "But damn. I'm impressed. And fucking glad, I thought maybe you moved to Ottawa and became a monk."
"Why would you think that?" Roz asked. "Did you invite me out to insult me?"
Cliff rolled his eyes, so instantly flooded with good feeling that even the gnawing guilt temporarily washed out to sea.
"I thought you two called it quits the way you acted last time I asked you about 'Jane'. I'm just happy for you," Cliff said.
All the potential fight went out of Hollander which was great because Cliff hadn't even clocked that he was being threatened until it was gone. He doubted Hollander was much of a natural fighter, but he was fast and strong as shit. Cliff had promised Tess he'd try not to need more dental work before the wedding.
"We did," Hollander said. "And then we got back together."
"When you explain it is so 'no big deal'," Roz said to Hollander.
"Yeah, because when you say it, we sound psychotic," Hollander sniped."I have to strike a balance."
"Ech," Roz made the noise that had come before half of his better English. Cliff wanted to hug the shit out of him.
"You're welcome to come get a drink with us," Cliff offered. "It's on me."
"No, thanks. Hayden wants to bring Jackie and the kids back donuts from Mike's. No idea how he's going to stop them from getting crushed on the flight, but I promised I'd help him figure it out."
"That should only take five, six hours to solve?" Roz grinned at him. "With both of you on it."
"You're the worst," Hollander said affectionately. He gave Roz a very dry peck on the cheek. "I'll see you back at the hotel. Nice to see you, Marley."
"Fucking fantastic to see you, Hollander," Cliff beamed at him and Hollander gave him a weird look before walking back the way Cliff had come.
"What?" Roz asked, meeting Cliff's stare.
"Nothing, I swear. I'm just happy to see you, man. Happy to see you happy."
"Whatever," Roz shoved his hands his coat pockets. "You should not be so happy."
It was the first time they'd seen each other in years that Cliff's eyes hadn't gone right to Roz's right hand. He didn't need to see it today. He'd seen something way better.
"Why? It's a good night to be alive."
"You lost," Roz pointed out.
"I was always better at losing than you, dickwad. C'mon."
They started walking and it could've been time travel the way it brought Cliff back. They had made this walk dozens of time. Bell's has been the place they went when they needed to come down after a game instead of go out and party right away or, as they got a little older, at all.
Despite the height difference, Roz was one of the few people that could keep up with Cliff's natural stride. Or even out pace him. Even now, Roz moved along the pavement almost leaving Cliff behind. Did Hollander keep up with him? Almost certainly. The two of them had always been matched for speed.
"How long have you two been back together?"
"Nine months," Roz said immediately.
That was a long time not to tell someone you'd gotten back with your ex. Then again, Cliff hadn't known they were exes in the first place. Besides, Cliff hadn't even told Roz about Tess except that there was a woman. A dangling bit of bait in a text after they exchanged bland Happy New Year's greetings. Bait Roz hadn't taken.
"And it's good like before?"
"Better," Roz's mouth ticked back up. "We were idiots before. Now we are little bit smarter idiots."
"Yeah? That's good. And you've built a team that's hellbent on making us all look bad. Things are going your way."
"They're not terrible," Roz laughed quietly. "But Boston is very bad. Not you. Though maybe you are getting a little slow."
"I know," Cliff said instead of rising to it. "I'm out soon, I think."
He hadn't told anyone, but Tess that. And even that had only happened because he needed to make sure she understood who she was marrying.
"This season?" Roz asked, horror in his voice. "You're not so slow you have to stop."
"No! No. Maybe only one or two more though. I can feel it coming."
They arrived at Bell's Brewery and went in before Roz had to summon a response to that. It was a tiny niche of a place that had never brewed shit and had the same cranky bartender since Cliff had arrived in Boston. The nameless asshole was likely the owner since no one else seemed to work there and anyone else wouldn't put up with the attitude. The beer was cold and the limited snacks were good. There was no hipster music playing and since it barely fit a dozen people at time, they'd never been mobbed here. None of the other Raiders knew about it, past or present.
The bartender was wearing the same ancient flannel shirt with the same brown suspenders. There was something reassuring about his bulldog face and the utter lack of recognition despite the fact that they had once been in here at least three times a month.
"What do you want?" he asked as they took their favorite stools, the ones at the corner of the bar so Cliff could stretch out a little and Roz could have his back to the wall.
"Whatever isn't an IPA on tap," Cliff said.
"Do you have a menu?" Roz asked blandly and Cliff had to stifle a laugh.
"No. Just the chalkboard," the bartender said, pointing at the dusty board above his head with a face like thunder. "What do you want?"
"What is your top shelf gin?"
"Seagram's," the bartender gritted out.
"Mm, I will also have a beer that is not an IPA," Roz decreed and the bartender stormed off.
"I think he's going to spit in that," Cliff said.
"That would be too much effort," Roz said, wholly unconcerned. "So. You must have something to say. You have not asked me to spend time like this after a game for a long time."
"You said no a lot," Cliff's amusement drained away in a heartbeat. "I got the message."
"Did you?" the question was quiet.
"Yeah, I did," Cliff watched the bartender draw their beers. "I'm getting married."
"You are?" Roz asked, surprise heavy in his voice. "To who?"
"Her name is Tess," Cliff said. "We've been together a year and a a half. I tried to tell you about her."
"The woman from New Year's."
"Yeah."
"Show me a picture," Roz demanded. "Show me the woman that makes you settle down."
"I've been settling down. Since before her. She wouldn't have had me the way I was," Cliff corrected. He pulled out his phone. She was right on the lock screen. "This is Tess."
They'd been at home on a quiet Sunday morning, nothing special. She had one of his old Raider's shirts on, rucked up and tied to the side so it flattered her. The sun turned her short natural curls into a halo. She was smiling only enough to show off the little gap between her front teeth that drove Cliff crazy.
"She is very beautiful," Roz said, studying Cliff's phone. "Tall, yes?"
"Yeah. Legs for days, man, and an ass that won't quit," Cliff grinned at her photo. "She's also maybe the best person to ever live? She doesn't take shit from anyone. Stubborn as hell and so fucking smart."
When he chanced a look at Roz he found him smiling. Not the big goofy one, but not the the predator one either. Just a normal small smile that was a little soft around the edges.
"You love her," Roz determined.
"Yeah, I'm nuts about her," Cliff ducked his head. "It was different right from the start. You know?"
"I do," Roz said.
"Can you tell me about him? Hollander? I know what I know from the ice and he's a scary motherfucker there."
"Yes, he is," Roz said with evident delight. And Cliff understood that. Roz loved hockey with unabashed madness, of course he'd fallen in love with the living embodiment of it. "But he is also…mm. Funny, very strange, so sexy too, I don't know. I don't know how to make him a summary. He is everything."
"Sounds like you might want to get married too."
Roz made an annoyed sound. "I am trying, but he wants to propose to me and I want to propose to him, so we are being very annoying to each other. And maybe other people, but who fucking cares."
"Sorry, what?" Cliff blinked. "What do you mean?"
They finally got their beers at that point and then Roz, eyes sparkling with mirth, but mouth an annoyed flat line, told him about them disrupting a summer barbecue. The image of Roz running off while Hollander chased after him like he was going to hunt him for sport instead of give him a ring was so funny that Cliff nearly fell off his stool laughing.
"I guess you two aren't really in a rush," Cliff concluded, trying to suck in a breath. "I mean, damn man, nine years, basically?"
"It wasn't like that for a long time," Roz shrugged. "First six years, it was mostly hook ups. When we were around. We liked each other, but it was scary. Not okay to like each other."
"Yeah…shit, yeah okay." With time, the idea of the rivalry had faded, but Cliff remembered the fans devotion to the fight, the journalist hype, the way everyone kept track of their stats. "Did anyone know?"
Roz shook his head once. "It was only for us. Only sex. I tried to make it more once and it scared him. It scared me too. Then… we stopped. So."
There was a world in that pause and maybe Cliff wasn't a detective or even that great at most people, but he had been good at Roz once. He heard the world in that pause. He could also do basic math, especially when counting from the day that featured in his nightmares. In his dreams, Cliff felt it happen though his whole body, a shock reverberating. In reality, Cliff had felt nothing. Until the blood pooled under him, splashing onto his skates, he only knew that Roz had taken a bad hit. Those skates had met their end that night. Cliff had, in a haze, carefully disposed of everything he'd been wearing. He knew all about trophy hunters and no one was going to have Roz's blood in their greedy hands because of him. It was the only kindness he could perform before he could get to the hospital.
"How'd you get started again?" Cliff asked because if he lived in that pause he might actually lose his fucking mind.
"He came to me," Roz said, all awe. No anger there, or upset. "He was patient. I am impatient. Or we took turns waiting, I don't know. He was on the team four months and then he was in my bed."
Cliff ran his thumb over the scarred wood. Four months. Nine years.
Six years. Four years. A world divided so neatly by a single blade.
"Roz," Cliff said, and he knew it came out a little choked. "It's not just that I'm getting married."
"Is she pregnant too?" Roz asked mildly.
"Fuck, no!" Cliff barked out a shocked laugh. "Fuck, bite your tongue. We're not having kids."
"No?" Roz asked. "Why not?"
"Cause neither of us want them. Never did. You're the one that's good with the junior crowd. You and Hollander going to adopt some day?"
"We have not talked about it yet," Roz's thumbs were doing that thing they did when he was upset, rubbing circles in the bar top. The thing Cliff had picked up from him, apparently. Great. They were both a wreck. "Maybe someday."
"You'd be a good dad," Cliff said.
The sound Roz made was more a bark than a laugh. "I forgot that you do this."
"Do what?" Cliff asked, bemused.
"You say the things you think and mean them. What did you actually want to tell me or we will have to order a second beer for him to spit in."
"I have a problem and it's you."
"Me," Roz repeated, thumb going and going, catching a little on one deep nick in the wood.
"Tess likes to get things done early. She has all her bridesmaids and matron of honor all lined up. They're deep into bachelorette planning and it's like eight months away."
"That is a normal amount of time to plan," Roz said, raising his eyebrows. "She is a normal bride."
"You wouldn't say that if you saw her binder," Cliff shook his head. "The point is, she wants the same thing for me. She wants me to have a wedding party and be planning some bachelor blowout with the boys."
"Oh no," Roz said flatly. "How terrible for you. A thing you will surely hate: a big party."
"I need a best man," Cliff bit off. "And I want it to be you. Not…not you right now. I want what we had, Roz. And I know it's my fault. I get it. I don't think there's anything I can do or say that fixes it, but I'm so fucked up about it. And you know the fucking worst part?"
Nothing. Roz had gone so still even his thumb had frozen, nail dug into the nick making it deeper.
Cliff plowed on because that's what he did. Secrets and lies were for clever people like Roz. Cliff only had the truth.
"The only person I want to actually talk about it with is also you. Before her, you were the only person that made shit make sense to me sometimes. The other guys are fine, but they're not smart the way you are. And they don't care if I'm not catching everything. I just have to go out there and do my job to make them happy with me. That's fucking fine, but that's not a best friend. That's not a best man at my fucking wedding.
"So. Yeah. I wanted to see you. I always want to see you. I always want to talk to you. So. Here we fucking are."
The bartender was eyeing them up, hand going down to the baseball bat that substituted for a bouncer in this place. Cliff cut himself off and took a drink instead. Roz shifted and took a drink too.
"I was scared when I came to Boston the first time," Roz said. It was matter of fact and cold, but Cliff had never heard him admit to anything even adjacent to fear before. "I did not think that I was, but I was. New place. All new faces. Sveltana was away for the first month, bad luck. And you remember my English."
"Still better than my French," Cliff said, but much more quietly now.
"Maybe," Roz shook his head, "I was nineteen. Haas is twenty-one now, but nineteen when he started with us. He is very good. Makes good choices, better than I did. But he still so young. How old were you when we met? Twenty-two?"
"Twenty-three," Cliff supplied.
"Did I seem like a child to you?"
"Sometimes. Kind of old too though. I knew you'd gone through some shit."
"You did?" Roz frowned. "How?"
"I don't know, man. The way you were all over, I guess."
Roz chewed on that. "You never said."
"Didn't think you wanted me too."
"I did not. You never treated me like a child," Roz nodded once. "But you did not let me do every dumb thing I wanted either. I think maybe you kept me alive a few times."
Cliff mumbled, "You never got that bad. Saved you a few bad hangovers maybe."
"Not from the drinking," Roz elbowed him. Hard. "Every time you let me stay when I was fucking boring and tired and said nothing."
Those times. Fuck.
"That was easy," Cliff said. Because it had been. "I wasn't thrilled you were upset or whatever, but you were still decent company."
"It is amazing you found such a beautiful woman, your standards are terrible."
"Yeah, well, you hung out with me of all people for six years while hooking up with Hockey Jesus, so I think we're about equal there, asshole."
And Roz laughed. It wasn't a good long one, but it was real. "Hockey Jesus. Fuck, Marley."
"That's how they talk about him!"
"It is," Roz agreed. "He even deserves it sometimes. I think I…Marley."
"Yeah?"
Roz fully turned to him, knees knocking into Cliff's thigh. "What I'm saying is that I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" Cliff frowned. "What the fuck for?"
"I lied to you. From the hospital bed, in texts. Four years, I lied. And I thought that you would not notice."
"Which lie?" Cliff grimaced. "That we were fine?"
"This one," Roz sighed.
"You think I'm that fucking dumb? " Cliff asked, not hurt, just tired of it all. This conversation had already swerved on him a lot and he wasn't sure what road they were on now. "I knew it was bullshit."
"Not dumb. Just....hopeful. I had to lie to myself too. I was not fine. I am not fine, probably. I am better. But not fine. And I think you are not fine either."
"I'm not," Cliff said.
"I'm sorry then. That I lied."
"I wish you'd just told me to fuck off," Cliff admitted. "It would've hurt a lot, but I would've understood that. I just don't get why you let me…I don't know. Dangle. Feels worse."
"Because I also wanted to talk to you and didn't have the words," Roz shifted, accidentally kicking Cliff in the shin. The tiny jot of pain was helpful. Clarifying.
"You don't need me anymore though. You've got all your Ottawa guys now."
Roz stared at him. "They did not know me when I was nineteen and still liked me even though I was awful."
"You weren't awful," Cliff said, defensive of the boy that had been, "You were like…dunno. Alive. You were really fucking alive."
Roz took that in and shook it off, Cliff could see it happen. "They did not see me at twenty-one when I had food poisoning for three days."
"That was fucking gross," Cliff said fondly. "And you kept trying to get up and go to practice even though you were shaking all over."
"You sat on me," Roz recalled with a twitch of a grin. "They were also not there when I was twenty-three and I lost my car in the airport parking lot."
"Okay, in fairness, you hadn't slept in three days."
"I know. And you came and got me and called me many names because it was 3am."
"You just laughed at me."
"I was so tired that everything was funny," Roz shrugged.
Everything had been funny until it wasn't. They'd laughed until they wanted to weep more than once. Cliff didn't cry. Roz did sometimes when he was drunk and thought no one was looking. He felt everything too hard. Tough man, big man, but underneath it a bruised and battered soul.
Maybe Cliff wasn't so different. Tess knew. Roz must've guessed. Every time Roz took a call and growled in Russian to a man halfway around the world, Cliff had sympathy pains. Even though Cliff's own father was who the fuck knew where. He remembered the snarls and his own bruises.
"Roz," Cliff said and turned to face him too.
There was no room for this, two big guys in a tiny little dive bar where the whole point was supposed to be not looking at each other. Their knees banged against each other and their faces weren't far enough apart. They should have this conversation on a couch or a kitchen. Somewhere they could more easily put space between them.
But it was too late. They were here now and Cliff met Roz's eyes for the first time in years. Maybe he'd never really done this, made the kind of eye contact that was deliberate and long. He did it with Tess all the time. With his sister sometimes. Roz's baby blues were darting, that bounce they did that scanned desperately for data. This time across Cliff's face.
"What?" Roz breathed out.
"I love you, man. That's all. If this is the last time we talk, I just want you to know that."
It felt good to say it. Really good. Like someone had been standing on his chest for years and finally lifted their foot.
Roz's jaw tightened and his eyes kept flickering.
And then his arms were around Cliff, hugging him like he might be trying to strangle him. They'd hugged before, in the jubilant moments after the cup win. Once or twice when they were shitfaced. Not like this. Cliff hugged him back.
"You are an idiot, Marley," Roz said, a rumble right in Cliff's ear. "This is not the last time."
"No?" Cliff asked, a little desperately.
"No. It would be very stupid of you not to talk to your best man, yes? Your bride would not like this, I think."
"Yeah?" Cliff said, and he meant to pull away and give a manly clap on the back, but Roz was clinging so tenaciously that it felt wrong. He held on.
"You promise me you will stop fucking apologizing and I will answer your fucking texts. Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. I can do that."
Roz finally pulled away, giving an ostentatious sniff. His eyes were clear. "You do not apologize because my life is not a fucking tragedy. I have Hollander and Anya and Svetlana and Wiebe and Harris and my team. I play hockey sometimes. I have love and money. I am happy most days. So. No more sorry."
"No more sorry," Cliff promised. "Hey, when do you guys leave?"
"Tomorrow afternoon."
"Does Hollander do brunch?"
The answer was 'yes' and 'no'. Cliff got to watch the most famous player of his time dissect a very expensive omelet like it might be trying to kill him. Hollander ate the few bites he actually took like it was a personal offense and he didn't smile much. But he had his hand on Roz's thigh under the table the whole time and he asked Tess questions about kickboxing like he genuinely gave a shit. It was more than enough for Cliff. He'd buy a lot of uneaten omelets for that.
"How secret are you two?" Tess asked after the check had arrived. "I don't want to say anything I shouldn't."
"We're soft launching," Hollander said like their relationship was a brand deal. "You can tell people. The rumors are starting to spread a little."
"Any date on a hard launch?" Tess looked between them.
"Whenever I forget that I am not kissing him in public yet," Roz said with a grin. "It will happen eventually."
"It happens all the time somehow," Hollander corrected, the faintest smile on his lips. "You are so forgetful when you want to be."
"Mm, tragic, Marley knows. My mind is like…kitchen thing with holes."
Cliff knew what Roz looked like fishing for a word, the twist of annoyance when it wouldn't come. That wasn't there. He was doing it deliberately and Hollander supplied, 'Sieve.'
"Sieve," Roz repeated, drawing out the word lasciviously. Hollander's tongue darted out.
Flirting. They were flirting. It was so unlike the blatant sexuality Roz had thrown at countless women in front of Cliff that he hadn't seen it until they were nearly done. But they had been doing it the whole meal. Right in front of Cliff's french toast.
Cliff laughed, startling the whole table, including Tess. Three sets of bemused eyes on him.
"You two," Cliff announced, "are fucking cute."
"No," Hollander and Roz said in unison.
"Shut up, Marley," Roz growled.
"Hey, honey," Cliff said to Tess. "I think I need to see an eye doctor."
"About what?" she asked frowning.
"I swear Roz is blushing, but I've been told that Russians do not do this about a thousand times. So might be time to get my eyes checked."
"Russians don't blush?" Hollander's voice pitched up and then he was laughing too. "Ilyusha, you're so full of shit."
"Fuck all of you," Roz slung his arm across Hollander's shoulders, eyes bright with humor. "Not you, Tess. You are a goddess."
"Thank you," Tess said serenely. "Give me your email address. I need to send you the packet."
"What packet?"
"I have a few pdfs for the wedding part. One for the tux ordering, one for hotel booking information and one is fillable for food preferences. I need to know if you have any allergies, we're still menu planning."
Cliff waited for the comment, but instead of a chirp, Roz grinned and said, "Shane, if we start a group chat with Sveta, your mother, Jackie and her, do you think they will run the world in a full week or only five business days?"
"How distracted is Sveta in this scenario? Can I put a hockey game on? Does Jackie have all the kids alone or is Hayden home?"
"We give them clean start. No hockey, no kids. Your mother is in Ottawa instead of New York."
"Oh, then we're fucked," Hollander said unconcerned. "Three and a half days, but only because they need to eat and sleep."
"If they do this in shifts?"
"Two days."
Tess leaned in. "Who are these women?"
"No, no, this must stay theory," Roz said quickly. "Hollander, we cannot have a wedding. They will all meet and the U.N. will fall."
And that was all very funny, but Cliff heard something else under it all. They were being woven back into Roz's life. They would be at his wedding some day like Roz would be at his. Tess would meet Svetlana which Cliff had secretly imagined a few times. None of the other WAGS were black, a thing Cliff hadn't noticed until it was jammed in front of his face. Having another black woman around, Russian or not, who cared about hockey had to be a good thing.
Under the table, Cliff kicked at Roz's foot. Not hard. Not angry. Only enough to make Roz glare at him and Cliff grinned back. Roz kicked him back, harder, then flipped him off. With his right hand. It was a pretty good flip off too, even if his thumb twitched a little with the effort.
Cliff gave it right back.
"Clifford," Tess said with some exasperation. "I like this place, do not get us kicked out."
"Come the fuck on, Ilyusha," Shane said at the same time.
Laughter burst out from their table. They did not get kicked out.
Three days later, Cliff texted Roz a picture of a raccoon he'd startled when he headed out through the delivery gate a little too late at night.
Cliff: Reminded me of you. Eating trash and being an asshole to me about it.
Roz: Is this you when you forget your keys?
A picture came through of a moose trying to turn over a car with his massive antlers.
Cliff: Fuck you really are Canadian now. How'd that happen so quick?
Roz: When you swallow enough of their potential future citizens, you get automatic fast pass.
Cliff: Okay, Hannibal Lecter, calm down.
Roz: Not that kind of eating.
Cliff: No, I got that. But you can't weird me out with the gay shit. You still sound crazy.
Roz: I have not written my speech yet. Remember this, Clifford.
Cliff: You can't full first name me.
Roz: You call me serial killing raccoon. I will do whatever I want.
"What are you smiling about?" Tess asked him as hung up his coat and shook the rain droplets out of his hair.
"Stupid shit," he said. "How was your day?"
"Mm, not bad, except for my afternoon class. Remember Deirdre?"
"The annoying one with the voice?"
"That's the one."
Cliff put his phone away and gave her his full attention. He was pretty sure Roz would still answer tomorrow. And if he didn't, Cliff would keep texting him until he did. Roz couldn't avoid him anymore. They had a date at the altar.