Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Hayden Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Hayden Pike, Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

POV Outsider, Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Post-Episode: s01e05 I'll Believe in Anything (Heated Rivalry), Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Though from Hayden's POV its 'Menace Cliff Marlow', The aftermath of a revelation, Cliff still has no idea what to do but he's trying real hard

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of An Admirable Quality

Collections:

*Heated rivalry melts my heart*

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-03 Words: 12,172 Chapters: 1/1

I Admire Your Willingness To Share Information

Summary

[Cliff chews on the inside of his cheek, staring down at his dark phone. The reddit people said ‘just wait’ and ‘be supportive’, like waiting and being supportive weren’t two total opposites. And ‘waiting’ feels too close to ‘pretending’, too much like doing nothing, and Tess always said doing nothing was a choice and not an excuse and—well, she said a lot of things. But either way, it feels like giving himself an out, so Cliff takes a deep breath and makes himself use the only play he thinks he has left:

Cliff (12:02): dude come on

Cliff (12:02): please]

OR,

In the aftermath of realizing who Roz's Montreal Chick actually is, Cliff knows that Roz doesn't know that Cliff knows about Hollander. But Cliff's not going to let something like knowing stop him from having a bros back with the whole...secret closeted gay love thing.

He's got reddit, he's got twitter. He can figure this out. And he's got one other person he knows is in the know—Hayden Pike.

Notes

A HUGE thank you you all the commenters on The Way Hockey Is for all the ideas and suggestions and enthusiasm for what could come next, to Meesh and Nico for helping to wrangle it into shape, and to Sooz at every step of the way.

I think this can be read as a standalone, or as a follow up to The Way Hockey Is, but keep me honest there! For those coming in fresh, Tess is an OC (you didn't miss an entire Cliff canon backstory lol), and Cliff had a Hollanov Revelation in the aftermath of the hit on Shane.

April 2017 – Tampa 

Cliff (11:13): Are you going to awards this year

Pike (11:17): Marlow???

“Who else would it be,” Cliff mutters, put out. “We exchanged numbers.” Well. Cliff tracked down Pike’s number across four degrees of separation. But whatever. Cliff texted him, Pike replied. Pike has his number.

Cliff waves off the look Felly is giving him across the bus aisle and sends back, duh.

Cliff (11:19): did you delete our texts dude wtf I’m hurt

Cliff (11:19): I thought we had something it’s only been like two weeks

Or eleven days, if anyone wanted to get specific. But who’s counting. Hopefully not Roz. And apparently not fucking Pike, what the hell. Cliff can’t believe the guy just deleted—unless, shit. Is this, like, OpSec stuff? Seb was just talking about the latest Call of Duty…Should Cliff be deleting his texts, too? Or not all his texts, but at least the ones about—his eyes flick forward a few rows to the back of Roz’s head—this?

Pike (11:18): why are you texting me

Pike (11:18): actually wait

Pike (11:18): I don’t care

Pike (11:18): fuck off

Fuck you too, Cliff reflexively types out, thumb nearly on ‘send’ when he finds himself hesitating and glancing back to Roz instead. Roz, who hasn’t held court with the rookies at the back of the plane once in the past eleven days. Roz, whose face did something complicated but also expressionless when Carm made a joke about all his visits to Tampa this year. Roz, who is somehow managing to chirp relentlessly and play hard the way Cliff makes it through the start of morning practice after a late night, more reflex and habit than being fully present and fuck. He’s got to stop backreading his texts from Tess.

To ask if you’re going to awards, are you alliterate now or something Cliff sends instead, trying to ignore the gnawing kind of discomfort that keeps cropping up whenever he thinks too long about Roz being off, because its not like Cliff expected Roz to be good after seeing Hollander in the hospital, he just thought…

Pike (11:27): what

Cliff (11:28): the ones in June?? For the league??

Pike: (11:28): **ILLITERATE??

Cliff (11:29): rude I’m not the one who forgot about the awards that happen every year

Cliff (11:29): I know you’ve never been but maybe you’ve heard of them

Pike (11:30): fuck off

Cliff (11:30): did you forget did you get a concussion too? You guys haven’t even played yet did you take yourself out on the plane?

Cliff snorts when Pike’s next message is a picture of his middle finger. Oh, he has ten beautiful chirps ready to go about Pike being quick with the camera there. But he hesitates again instead of typing them, eyes flicking forward and that tightness creeping back into his chest. Because Roz has been off ever since Cliff—ever since Hollander went down. And Hollander has been injured before, Cliff looked it up. And Roz was never this…this about it.

Or at least, Cliff doesn’t remember Roz ever acting like this about it, or didn’t notice, or…

Speaking of concussions, Cliff smoothly transitions instead of commenting on the glitter under Pike’s fingernails, or continuing that line of thought, hows your boy

And then he stares at his phone and tries to come up with a backup plan if this doesn’t work. Fuck. He’s not a center. Roz is supposed to make the plays, Cliff is there to execute them and defend the line when they fall apart.

Which maybe is what this is. The play Cliff thought they were all running falling apart eleven days ago, collapsing on the edges and forwards in the heart of it not noticing yet and its on Cliff to bail and adjust and be in position to stop the counter attack, and he’s not quite sure what the counter attack is in this situation except apparently his responsibility to deal with. Fuck.

Cliff thunks his head back against his headrest, only once since Fells is eyeing him again, and tries to think what he can do.

He’s read all the articles there are to read, has ‘Hollander’ and ‘Hollsy’ and ‘Shane’ and every variation he can think of set up in his google alerts, he can probably fucking spell the name of every Montreal beat reporter at this point. And they’re all saying the same thing anyway, collarbone and concussion and out for the season. Which isn’t even all that long, really, not with how Montreal is tanking.

Reddit’s been saying the same thing too, just with more words and circlejerking. There’s new threads every day, but so far all reading every single comment has gotten him are people shit without knowing anything. Shit about brains being tricky things and some buddy from back in high school and traumatic brain injuries because apparently there’s a special fancy name for it, a fucking acronym, there’s…So he doesn’t—there’s no point in continuing to check there. It’s not like there’s suddenly going to be something new.      

He could try Twitter…Sometimes people know things there, right? There’s probably weird Hollander fan accounts or something that just follow the guy around and post pictures of him scratching his ass or whatever. Maybe someone, like, saw Hollander in a grocery store in bumfuck nowhere Canada or wherever he’s from. Ottawa. Someplace that probably doesn’t have people with Twitter accounts because they probably don’t have cell service like Hayden fucking Pike apparently doesn’t—

“Fuck this,” Cliff mutters, slapping his phone down onto the seat next to him and trying to inhale through the feeling crawling around his ribs. He makes himself stretch his neck in one direction and then the other, rubs at the kink around his shoulder instead, looks around the bus instead of at his phone. The rookies have their heads bent together like usual, Cads is doing his usual drum routine on the seatback in front of him, Pope napping like only a dude with an infant at home can, and Roz in the middle of it all.

Roz is on his phone now, from the way his head is bent forward. The dude’s been on his phone a lot lately, not that Cliff—okay, he is keeping track, actually. Whatever. Looking for that Montreal Girl expression on Roz’s face and kind of wishing he could stop searching since every time he finds it it’s all…different. Tight? Or something? There but not…happy. It kind of makes him feel like he needs an antacid every time he sees Roz looking that way. And it just makes him think about concussions and brains being tricky things and—

“Fuck,” Cliff whispers, banging his head against the seat rest again. Then he grabs his phone and sends, come on man, because he tried asking so maybe he can just…ask again? Like when you set up the power play and it doesn’t quite work, but you just need to execute it better?

After a moment he also sends over, ????, just in case Cliff needed to like…signal it was a question better. Does he need an emoji too, maybe? Prayer hands? Or—

Cliff nearly drops his phone when it vibrates.

“Damn, Marly, who is she,” Fells says from across the aisle.

“Your mom,” Cliff says, flipping the bird before fumbling to get his finger over the home button, to keep it flat and centered. Fuck, he hasn’t been this puck-drop-big-hit adrenaline-rushy over his phone since…well. In a bit, at least.

Pike (11:46): why doyou want to know

Cliff stares a moment. Then he bangs his forehead against the seatback in front of him, ignoring Fellsy’s delighted laugh.

Cliff (11:46): cause I need to get ready for Crowell to hunt me for sport if I took out his darling why do you think   

Fuck. Maybe he could just…email a doctor or something.

Cliff (11:47): concussions can go bad

Would PT Adam know any of the guys at Montreal? The PTs all talk. Cliff bets if he promises to do his shoulder rehab, PT Adam would ask about Hollander and fuck, is that collusion or whatever? Tampering? It’s not like he’s betting on it…  

Cliff (11:49): its not like we’re going to see each other in the playoffs yore not getting past Pittsburgh without him

Pike (11:49): wow duck off

Pike (11:49): fuck you

Cliff (11:50): whatever man fine youll all rally around his absence or whatever and plug the gaping hole in your center

Cliff (11:50) 15% of your teams production gone but you have the power of team building or alternate captaining to miracle your way through 

Cliff (11:50): they’ll make a 30for30 about it featuring you for it you can get an award and a shiny new contract

Cliff (11:51): is he okay or not

Cliff (11:51): ?

Cliff watches the minutes change over in the corner of his screen and blows out a long, controlled breath, the way he does before OT and penalty kills and the rare occasions he’s ever had reason to actually be part of a shootout. Fuck. He can’t make Pike reply, it’d be at least—he pulls up their team calendar—two weeks before he could drive himself to Montreal to get it out of him. But he could…he could text again? Or call, or—he still has Price’s number, and Price had Pike’s, maybe—Cliff doesn’t know how he’d explain why he wants to know, ‘personal reasons’ doesn’t feel like it’s going to really fly. But maybe Pike would tell someone else, someone who isn’t Boston, someone who’s not…him.

Or Cliff could just leave it. The way Pike is just leaving it, probably. A familiar play, the courtesy of acting like you don’t notice someone else going through it. A bit of bracing normally, the gift of being able to pretend for a moment like things aren’t totally fucked.

It’s just—Cliff has noticed. He’s noticed Roz and Roz-and-Hollander and Roz still and he doesn’t…he doesn’t know how to just pretend he hasn’t. He could figure it out, but. He doesn’t know that he wants to, if it wouldn’t be more Cliff pretending for himself instead of for Roz.

Cliff chews on the inside of his cheek, staring down at his dark phone. The reddit people said ‘just wait’ and ‘be supportive’, like waiting and being supportive weren’t two total opposites. And ‘waiting’ feels too close to ‘pretending’, too much like doing nothing, and Tess always said doing nothing was a choice and not an excuse and—well, she said a lot of things. But either way, it feels like giving himself an out, so Cliff takes a deep breath and makes himself use the only play he thinks he has left:

Cliff (12:02): dude come on

Cliff (12:02): please

Don’t be like that, he adds, feeling like he’s getting ready for a bag skate. Then he makes himself swipe out of his messages and into an incognito browser, gritting his teeth as he searches for someone with better ideas on how to support your bros than IcyHotTakes420.

Emphasize their good qualities, he eventually finds after a few different searches, say how much you admire them. That feels…doable. Tangible, concrete, that totally feels—

Cliff does drop his phone this time when it vibrates. He barely catches it against his thighs, ignoring the smirking fucking Feller is giving him as he fumbles open his texts to see—

Pike (12:11): he’s fine

Pike (12:11): at home for recovery but fine

Pike (12:11): getting his screen time back

Pike (12:12): no one is worried

“Fuck yeah,” Cliff says, something unclenching in him enough that he even returns Fells’ mocking fist bump as if he meant it. This is—it’s good. For Roz—the news is good.

Cliff (12:13): thanks bro

I admire your willingness to share information that is a good quality, he adds after a moment. Then he slips his phone into his pocket and slips into the aisle, moving easily with the sway of the bus as he picks his way down the rows. He fist bumps Connie and flips off Aud and flicks Cads’ hat down over his eyes, taking a picture of Pope passed out and drooling and sending it to the group chat before finally, casually, taking the seat next to Roz.

“Hey brother,” he says, noticing the way he apparently notices things these days that Roz’s phone screen is dark. Though getting screen time back doesn’t mean spending it texting, or having any left in the day, or— “Excited to fuck shit up?”

Roz’s lips curl around the edges as he slips his phone away. “Going to fuck them good.”

“Hell yeah,” he agrees. It’s Cliff’s favorite Roz-ism, one that stuck even as the rest of Roz’s English improved, which…hm. “Love the confidence,” he says, pushing that away for later. “Admirable shit, you know.”

Roz blinks, once. Then he smirks, slow and delighted. “Tell me what else you admire about me, Marley. Wait, wait, we will make a list. We can do it as team building, things that you all love most about—”

Cliff rolls his eyes like Roz’s instant chirping doesn’t feel a bit like watching an opponent on a breakaway miss wide. “Like your ego needs stroking,” he says easily for the first time in eleven days, fuck. Like Pike’s text unlocked something around his lungs, Cliff no longer stepping out onto a fresh-frozen pond and holding his breath to hear if it breaks.

“You love my confidence though, yes?” Roz’s grin is huge and shit eating. “It is admirable,” he adds, clearly relishing the word.

“Game recognizes game.” Or something like that. “Hey,” he smoothly transitions, “good thing Hollander’s healing up well, right? Hate to hear about a guy like that being out,” Cliff adds when Roz just goes kind of…still. “Seems like a nice guy, you know?” he tacks on when Roz somehow manages to both quirk an eyebrow and be…kind of expressionless. Fuck. Tess could probably say what that expression is. She always said she could see what was on Cliff’s face, even when he thought he was just sitting there thinking about nothing. “Anyway, that team’s going to totally tank without him,” Cliff quickly says, nudging Roz with his shoulder and trying to scramble back to safer territory. “It’s going to be great.”

Roz snorts, face…moving again. In some way. “They are not going to have power play for rest of season.”

“Right? I’ve been saying.” Cliff shrugs off Roz’s curious look. “Anyway, good stuff. Want to grab lunch?”

Roz raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly around the bus.

Cliff resists the urge to slug him in the shoulder. “Tampa is supposed to have good Cubanos,” he soldiers on. “Sounds good, right? Good bread, pickles, melty cheese—”

“Carmichael has talked you into picking up check again, then?” Roz cuts in. “Convince you Tampa has food that is good, get you to get the Captain to join, now when bill comes…”

Well. Carm does do that, but, “Nah, man, just us,” Cliff says, trying to sound casual about it. He ignores the way his heart is suddenly pounding in his chest. “Relax a bit, grab some sandwiches. Keep it chill. I mean, what else are you going to do until team dinner,” he adds when Roz just eyes him, expression halfway between inscrutable and mocking. “Sit around your hotel room? Pretty sure you’ve seen a Best Western before, dude.”

“Maybe,” Roz shrugs with far too much feigned casualness to trust. “Or maybe I am going to do something else in hotel room until team dinner.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cliff snorts. “Even you aren’t picking up at 1:00 rolling off a bus.”

Except Roz just arches an eyebrow at him, expression all knowing and smirking and—shit. Maybe something else means screen time. Or phone time, or—shit. Fuck. Is Cliff cockblocking right now? Fucking shit. He’s totally cockblocking. “Or we can do room service later,” he scrambles, “Or takeout. Or nothing, we don’t have to do anything, you can just—whatever. It’s fine. They have Cubanos everywhere, probably.”

Roz is watching him curiously. It kind of makes Cliff feel like he’s overextended on a pass and is about to get rocked on open ice. “You are very hungry lately, Marley. Always want to eat.”

“I mean. We all have to eat.” And lunch seemed…doable. Casual. Flexible on timing. Structured. And they do all need to eat, so Roz can just…eat with Cliff. Maybe. If he wants to. If Cliff isn’t cockblocking. And if Roz isn’t just being near Cliff out of obligation. A Captain to his A and that distance between them even wider because Cliff can’t change the past, he can never not be the person who—

Roz shrugs with a humming, agreeable noise. “We both have to eat, yes,” he says so easily that Cliff feels momentarily frozen, his heart still flopping around in his throat. “Better be good sandwiches, though, if you are dragging me around Tampa for them.”

“You’re going to be salivating, bro,” Cliff says with a rush of that missed-wide feeling again, settling down to prop one knee on the seatback in front of him. “Like remember that time with Seb and Price in Nashville?” He laughs at the face Roz makes, grin lingering as he settles into the rhythm of chirping and shit talking with Roz, with no little pauses or weird tense moments like the past ten days and take that, just sit there and wait.

Cliff’s got this. He’s totally doing…something.

May 2017 – Boston

Cliff has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. It’s locker room cleanout day and he’s got a specific set of tasks, the same ones he has every year, and it should all be totally fine. Shitty, because there’s only one way cleanout day isn’t shitty, and even then there’s the prospect of trades and contracts and offseason movement lingering over everything. But it’s a normal kind of shittiness, one Cliff normally tries to escape as fast as he can.

And this year, when the whole fucking room still feels jittery with pent-up weirdness, a whole team’s worth of determination and commitment skidding face-first into Scott fucking Hunter and suddenly no where left to put any of it?

Cliff feels fucking itchy. He’s done cleanout ever since he’s been old enough to have a locker, he just wants to put his head down and get through and get out, get to his week of hooking up and blowing shit up in video games and eating like the meal plan doesn’t matter that will make him stop feeling all…like this.

Cliff (10:14): Montreal already did cleanout already right how was it

Cliff (10:14): was it weird

Except instead, Cliff finds himself taking his time. Lingering. Fucking slow walking everything. Because Roz is taking longer than usual, too, and Cliff—well apparently Cliff notices stuff like that these days. Apparently Cliff gets feelings about things like that.

“Fucking Admirals, we’re going to fuck them up,” Victor suddenly grits out a few stalls down. “First time we play them next year, fucking revenge, fucking—”

“Hell yeah, brother,” Cliff agrees into the space where Roz usually jumps in, leaning over to offer a fist bump to seal it.

Not like—emotions feelings, obviously. Knowing stuff feelings. Intuition or whatever. He found a Reddit post about it. Flow state like Therapist Hannah always talked about back in Juniors, except for things other than sports.  He’d had the brief thought that Tess would probably love this shit, and then the feeling that sending her anything about the power of thinking without thought was just asking to get roasted.

Cliff (10:18): like was Hollander there? was he mad or something

Cliff (10:20): beyond the losing and injury stuff I mean

So Cliff comes in prepared to speedrun exit interviews with coaches and check-ins with the PTs and media if PR Jessica pins him down—no one actually wants to talk to him, Roz is right there—and cleaning out his stuff and making sure none of the rookies are spiraling. And now he’s making an activity of sorting half-used stick tape, because Roz is being all—Slavic. All moody. And Cliff had to go and get a fucking feeling about it.

“This fucking sucks,” Fells bursts out, voice cracking.

“Yeah, man,” Cliff agrees, glancing over to Roz who’s…carefully sorting through back-of-the-locker accumulated receipts and wrappers and bottle caps like it’s not all going to end up in the trash. “It’s bullshit.”

It’s just. When Roz was playing the whole series like something was slipping out of his fingers already, Cliff knew what he was supposed to do. Roz needed hockey from him. Needed Cliff to give his fucking all on the ice and have his back and make sure the boys did the same. And Cliff did and it wasn’t fucking enough and now they’re here and Roz is folding a plain white t-shirt like if he does it carefully enough or slowly enough he’s going to put off…something.

Pike (10:25): fuck you

Pike (10:25): go duck yourself

And Cliff doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do about that.

“Dude, unnecessary,” Cliff mutters, typing the words into his phone and about to add a ‘fuck you too’ when Hammersmith suddenly hurls a shoe into his bag, hands twisting around another.

“You good, Smithy?” Cliff asks, eyeing the way the kid looks like he’s either gearing up to throw that sneaker, too—rubber and fabric, fine as long as it’s not at anyone—or throw a punch—fragile hand bones, new winger, not fine.

“The first round, the first—” Smithy presses his lips flat, knuckles popping white. Not good.

“Blows,” Cliff commiserates. “Fuck them.”

“We’re better than them,” Smithy says with that particular discontent the really good rookies get the first time they realize that getting what they want takes more than just wanting it.

“Yeah, well.” Cliff watches Roz pick up his phone with that dopey Montreal Girl look on his face. “Next year, kid.” A cliché, but not an empty one. Cliff never understood what Tess meant about that, calling the words empty. For the boys and it is what it is and give it 110% were just…shorthand. Familiar. “And hey, you didn’t suck,” Cliff remembers to add as he watches Roz fire off text after text and then stare at the screen, face slowly transforming into something more Russia call than Montreal Girl. “That’s good. Admirable stuff.”

“Oh, I—thanks, Marley,” the kid says, straightening a little and looking all serious and attentive and official and like the words matter or help or whatever. Hell yeah.

“Anytime,” Cliff says, giving him a clap on the shoulder. Because that, and emphasizing good qualities, saying how much you admire them—Cliff can do that. It’s clean, it’s straightforward, it’s actionable. It’s something to do, and if Cliff going to keep having fucking feelings about this stuff, it would be convenient if he also had some fucking feelings about what to do about it, too.

Because Reddit keeps saying shit like ‘don’t interfere’ and ‘being there is enough’ but Roz is sorting his half-used stick tape now like he’s trying to ward something off and that shit isn’t normally, okay, the guy clearly needs—something. And being where Roz needs him is part of what being a D-man to a center like Roz is. Roz can play flashy and big and aggressive because Cliff being there solid and reliable lets him play that way.

Cliff (10:31): does Hollander even get mad about stuff

Cliff (10:32): I guess everyone gets mad

Cliff (10:32): he probably hides it well I bet though rjght you probably dont even know it but he is

So this situation just needs…solid D. Which is what, helping the guy fold his t-shirts? Hiring him a laundry service? Cliff can recognize that t-shirts probably aren’t the actual issue here, it’s obviously Hollander. Roz keeps looking at his phone all fucking wistful and shit. Which feels complicated and messy, but. Cliff’s Juniors coach always used to say, defending the puck wasn’t about the twelve guys on the ice, it was about the individual players and spacing that make the whole. That good D is about building your reactions to those moments so you don’t need to think about the whole, about being able to just react, thoughtless thinking or whatever and fuck, Cliff needs a better name for that, that sounds dumb as hell.

“Con, PTs wants to see you after Jess is done with you,” Aud says as he bangs back into the room.

“Oh.” Connors cringes so hard he winces because he’s a fucking idiot who needs to let PT Adam see his fucking shoulder. “I’m sure he’s busy, it’s just a little—”

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Cliff cuts. “Get your shoulder looked at, watching you try to dry your hair has been a travesty.” He pauses, waiting for Roz to add his commentary, which of course he doesn’t. Right. “Listen to your body or whatever, dude, get that rehab plan so you don’t flame out in pre-season. Plans are good. Nothing wrong with a plan.” Cliff would like a fucking plan right now, not that he says that, because no one cares. 

But simplify. Cliff can do simple. Simple is great. Cliff fucking loves simple. Tess used to hate when he said things weren’t that complicated, but they weren’t, right? Even if she insisted they were.

Cliff (10:36): but you wuld be able to tell if he was mad right now right

Cliff (10:36): or other stuff upset or whatever you would know right

So. Simplify. Roz’s mood is down? Cliff doesn’t need to get his feet all tangled up in why. He can just try to help Roz feel a bit less like that.

“Hey, brother,” Cliff says, acting on impulse or informed instinct or whatever, the way he acts to get into a passing lane. “Next year’ll be our year, right?”

Roz just grunts, brow tight as he… stacks a pile of socks. Carefully.

“Should be a good run,” Cliff continues because isn’t talking stuff out supposed to help with feelings or whatever? “Core D will be back, Smithy was really finding his stride.” Roz nods to all of that kind of like its automatic but also kind of like he means it, which…might be good. “It’ll be a good group of guys.”

“Yes,” Roz agrees after a moment, a kind of…weirdness to the words. Tess would probably know what it is, or Therapist Hannah, but Cliff just…doesn’t need to know it, he reminds himself. He just needs to make it better. “A good group.”

“They’ll give it 110%,” Cliff offers along with a shoulder clap. Which is the best he’s got, he suddenly realizes, and it gets him another shrug and a grunt and Roz carefully placing the socks into his duffel, so. Maybe Tess was right about cliches having limited staying power, or whatever.

Fuck.

You ever give any pep talks you have any good ones, Cliff types as he slow walks his way to PT Adam. Or is Hollsy the type I cant really see it for him does he have some good lines or ones he says a lot

But okay. That’s fine. Maybe it’s not that Roz needs to turn his frown upside down or whatever, maybe it’s just the day. Cleanout always sucks, especially if management is already bringing Roz’s contract into shit. And Cliff can’t make it not cleanout, but he can add some things Roz does enjoy.

“Sebs, dude, how many bags do you have,” Cliff exclaims as he comes back from demonstrating that his hip is totally, completely fine, really. “You trying to start your own resale shop with all those t-shirts?” He glances over to see if Roz has noticed.  “Where’d you even get them all, man.”

“They give us so many!” Sebbin protests like it’s reasonable to have two dedicated bags full of them.

“Yeah, and you take every one like you can’t afford clothes. Aren’t you a millionaire? You seeing this, Roz?” Cliff prompts, gesturing toward the bags just to make sure he sees it.

Roz grunts, barely even glancing up from his phone. “Maybe ask points leaders to sign, will make you more money reselling since that is problem for you,” he says, the words more…sharp than sassy. Bitter, even.

Cliff holds back a sigh. “We can pass them around for the whole team to sign, bring it to awards, get the whole league involved,” he says mock-seriously, salvaging the situation. “And hey, Sebbie—if you’ve got a t-shirt problem? We can get you help. We can show you other clothes, there’s a whole world of sleeves out there when you’re ready.”

“Fuck off, dude,” Seb laughs, tossing one of his many t-shirts at him. “Like you have any idea how to dress?

“Better than you!” Cliff says cheerfully, smile dropping as he turns away to eye Roz’s back.

Cliff (10:45): does having 10000 children make dealing with things easier or harder

Pike replies with a very quick, low-quality snap of his middle finger, which is…adorned with purple nail polish this time? A sloppy job of it though, lumpy in a way that would have Tess starting the whole thing from scratch, so. Harder, probably. Like billeting 10,000 rookies at once. Who has the energy.

And if Roz just doesn’t have the energy for today, well, Cliff can get that. He isn’t exactly feeling chipper himself. And it feels a bit counterproductive to help Roz duck PT Adam, but…it’s not like Roz’s ribs are broken. And Cliff can help if the guy just wants to put his head down and save the energy for more important things, like…stacking socks, apparently. Subliming or sublimating or substituting or whatever it’s called. He’s not Therapist Hannah.

“So got anything on the schedule today or tomorrow?” Cliff asks as he peeks out of the equipment room to see if the coast is clear.

Roz gives him a sideways look. “Why, you need help eating again? Lunch tomorrow is not enough?”

“I mean.” Shit, should they be doing more than lunch? Breakfast? Start the day right? Is there a certain number of meals you’re supposed to share with a person, before you unlock…whatever Cliff is trying to unlock? “If you’re offering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Great.” With Tess it felt like three and turned out to be more than they had. “Friday, then?”

Roz snorts, still looking at him sidelong. “Tell me, it is all food in Boston you are wanting to try? Or just all places that make Cubanos?”

“Hey, a guy can decide to become a foodie,” Cliff defends himself even as he makes a mental note to branch out a little. Fuck. If he’s doing even this wrong—Roz likes sandwiches, he picked out sandwiches, but if he can’t even get fucking lunch right… “Dinner at Fabrica is supposed to be good.”

“Which means they have Cubano on menu?”

Well—yeah. But that’s not the only criteria. “The drinks are supposed to be awesome—”

“You mean the Corona Lites?”

“—and I hear the vibe is good,” Cliff plows on, because what more is he supposed to be looking—shit. Should he be finding, like, Russian food or something?

“The vibe while we drink Coronas and eat Cubanos, yes. That is what is important.”

Zhenya used to have Cliff over every other week when he was a rookie and was always stuffing him with pelmeni and borscht and those little pancake thingies…

“Cannot properly enjoy sandwich the size of my face in place with bad—”

“Hey, do you have a spot you want to go to?” Cliff offers, trying to remember if he’s ever heard Roz and Kovalev talking about having a Russian feast or whatever back when he was on the team…shit, three years ago? “Like…you want to hit up a Russian place or something? Pelmeni or whatever?”

Roz gives him an outraged look. “I do not want pelmeni from Boston.”

“It could be good,” Cliff argues without…a ton of conviction. And then, cause he’s feeling on his back foot and it never hurts to double down on things he knows he’s supposed to do, “Having strong taste in food is a great quality. Something to really admire.”

Roz pauses like he’s stuck halfway been a chirp and confused, which…isn’t exactly the intended outcome. “You are being very weird today, Marley,” he finally says.

“Yeah, well.” At least he’s in good company.

Do any of your Russians have a good grocer that does delivery do you know if pelmeni ships well, Cliff sends when they finally sneak back into the locker room anyways, because…covering his bases or whatever. Instinct. Because it’s clear that Roz needs something, even if Cliff hasn’t hit on it yet, and maybe what he needs isn’t pelmeni but…pelmeni probably doesn’t hurt, right?

Fuck. Has Roz always been this hard to read, and it’s only in the past weeks that Cliff’s noticed it? He chews on his cheek, watching him. He thinks no. Because Montreal Girl used to be uncomplicated, Cliff is sure of that. Sure, the whole Girl part of it was always complicated, in the fact that it wasn’t Girl at all. But Roz’s face didn’t used to be all…that way about it. Kind of like the way Tess used to stare at Cliff’s dinner when she was dieting ahead of being in that bridal shower, which…Cliff actually isn’t sure how transferable that is. Hollander isn’t—he’s not cake.  

But Roz’s phone has been blowing up and Cliff might be looking but Roz also isn’t hiding it, Cliff can see they’re from Jane. They’ve all been from Jane. Which feels like it should be a good thing and clearly isn’t, and Cliff doesn’t get it because Cliff can’t imagine having a girl who traveled a lot for work or whatever, or one he had to keep on the DL because of her job or the media or her friends, and not being happy about an off-season bang-fest in his future.

But Roz has always gone back to Russia for the summer, right? Maybe he’s…having emotions about that? Or maybe this is the first year it is going to be a bang-fest, if Roz has always gone back. And Roz…doesn’t know what to do?

Cliff finds that baffling. Roz has never had a problem picking up. But. Roz as Captain had visited injured players from opposing teams plenty of time, too, and then when it was Hollander he suddenly got all weird and prickly about it until Cliff gave him the excuse to go.

Maybe Roz just needs excuses when it comes to Hollander. And Cliff’s done that before, right? He can do it again, something that he’s at least sure of other than the fact that Roz does in fact really like a Cubano no matter what he says about it.

“Man, those questions, huh,” Cliff says as they come back from media, as if Cliff faced even half of what Roz did. “Got any summer plans?” he transitions smoothly with Roz just shrugs. “Russia? Staying local? Traveling?”

A few silent steps, then, “Not Russia,” Roz says kind of…hollow-like. Cliff wonders if he’s supposed to ask about that.

“Cool, cool,” Cliff says instead, since…everything about Roz right now is kind of saying no. “Going to stay local, then? Travel?”

Roz cuts him a dry look. “Why, you need help eating food while traveling, too? You need me there for support while you try things that are not Cuban sandwiches?”

“Would that be enough to be supportive, you think?” Cliff asks more seriously than he means to, and then seeing his opening the way he suddenly sees an undefended puck, “I’ve actually heard Canada’s got some good food going on. You’ve ever been? Not for work,” he quickly adds when Roz just…stares at him. “Obviously for something other than work. I know we go there all the time for work. Obviously.”

“Canada,” Roz repeats like he’s never said the word before, like he maybe hates the taste of it. “Why would I do this?”

To get laid, Cliff manages not to say. “I mean. I’ve heard it’s great? They’ve got…food, obviously.” Fuck, what has Cliff ever heard about Canada other than cold and north and hockey, “And lots of nature and whatnot, and space. For…stuff.”

“For stuff,” Roz echoes again, voice tight. “For what stuff, when we already go there too much already, no? You think I would want to go more? Season is not enough?”

Oh, Cliff remembers too late, Hunter burned three times in game five on pucks that looked undefended and were actually bait. “I mean. They’re supposed to have good outdoor activiti—”

The noise Roz makes is derisive enough that Cliff bites off the rest of the word. “What, you want to go stand in woods? Talk to trees? Have vacation, go to cottage, be bored on lake all day doing nothing? That is fun time for you?”

That’s highly specific, Cliff also doesn’t say. “That doesn’t actually sound all that—” Roz’s jaw tightens. “—and they’ve got lots of cities!” Cliff quickly corrects. “That’s fun, like, museums and history and whatever, too.” Fuck, what does Roz like, fuck, fuck, why can’t Cliff remember a single things Roz has ever posted on— “The club scene! The clubs are actually supposed to be pretty—"

“You enjoy Canada travel plan, bore yourself into next season,” Roz snaps, actually glaring. “I will—” he presses his lips flat, looking straight ahead. Then he wheels on his heel and stalks off toward the trainers, every line of his body screaming for Cliff not to follow, which…fuck.

Well. Apparently Roz didn’t want an excuse either. Or maybe anything from Cliff at all, given that Roz normally dips and doges PT Adam like he’s going to get bonus pay for that, too, but today would rather get his ribs poked than talk to Cliff.

Cliff…tries to ignore where he’s falling in that ranking.

But fuck. Clearly Cliff is failing here at having Roz’s back. He’s pretty sure being all supportive and present doesn’t mean driving the guy off…Christ, maybe Cliff should just shut the fuck up and let it all alone. Is it really so bad to give a man some space? Maybe everyone on Reddit is wrong, and what Cliff should be doing is absolutely nothing, even more than the nothing of ‘just be there for him’ that everyone upvoted so much like that was a thing to do. Pretend not to see it. Treat it the way they all treated Soupy’s yips and Brownie’s thing with his dad and Price’s fear of flying a few years ago.

Except Cliff can’t just leave it, because it’s not just Roz being all—moody or whatever. It’s the gap Cliff can’t stop seeing now that he’s noticed it, and Cliff can’t just leave his boy all alone like that. He can’t turn away from his Captain, strand Roz out there all alone in…whatever the fuck he’s alone in.

But just having feelings about it all with no plan isn’t enough, clearly, and clearly he can’t just…react his way through this. Simplify, yeah, but Therapist Hannah always said visualizing mattered because you can’t make your body do something the mind has never considered before. So Cliff needs to get his mind considering. He needs a system to implement, a benchmark to measure himself against. Specific actions to visualize and practice and get the reps in on until he can do them right because he needs to get this right and fuck, is he—Roz needs this too, right?

Cliff (11:40): hey whats Hollander doing with his summer does he travel 

Pike (11:40): jesus christ he’s going to be out of concussion protocol in like two weeks Marlow

Pike (11:40): is this some kind of ego stroke for you?

Pike (11:40): I promise you couldn’t hit him that fucking hard even if you wanted to

“Well good to fucking know,” Cliff grumbles, put out. Also not what he was asking about, but whatever. Fuck it. It never hurts to confirm the recovery continues to go well. Let’s a man breathe a little easier, or whatever.

Cliff (11:41): for real though are you going to be at awards we gotta talk

Pike (11:42): talk about what?

Pike (11:42): all this random shit youre texting me??? I’m not your fucking diary

Pike (11:42): we don’t have anything to talk about

Pike (11:43): for the last time

Pike (11:43): duck

Pike (11:43): off

Cliff (11:43): I want to understand your strategy dude

Cliff (11:43): trying to absorb your wisdom or whatever

Pike (11:45): strategy???

Cliff (11:45): yeah like how do you talk to Hollander what works

Pike (11:45): by using my mouth to make words??? Holding a conversation??

Pike (11:45): are you struggling to make friends??

Cliff (11:46): fuck off you know what I mean

Pike (11:46): I really really don’t

Cliff (11:48): like how do you make sure he knows youre there

Pike (11:50): he has eyes? He has peripheral vision?

Pike (11:50): Dude what the fuck are you talking about

Cliff frowns at the available emojis, trying to pick the one that best conveys ‘that big giant secret we both know that we’re not putting into writing.’ Maybe this monkey dude…

I have no idea what that fucking means, Cliff gets back. So he guesses he needs to keep trying there, too. Maybe he can pitch that one to Reddit. He’s got the time for it now that the season’s over. And the time to put together his own strategy before the awards, because clearly this thinking without thought thing isn’t going to be enough.

Tess probably could have told him that.

June 2017 – Boston 

Cliff (9:48): !!!!

Cliff (9:48): ARE. YOU.SEEING. THIS.

Pike (9:51): why are you texting me

Cliff (9:51): WHY DO YOUTHJNK BRO

Cliff (9:52): COME TO AWARDS WE GOTTA PLAN SHITTTT

Pike (9:53): you don’t know shit stfu

Cliff (9:53): STOP PLAYING BRO WE ARE PAST THAT LOOK AT YOUR TV

Cliff (9:54): Ill pay for your fucking plane ticket if yore that hard up come to awards

Pike (9:56): Fuck off I can afford it fine

Pike (9:56): I have a wife and kids you know

Like ten of them, Cliff types and immediately deletes.

Pike (9:56): I have other shit going on

Cliff (9:56): so bring them

Cliff (9:57): I’ll pay for that too

Cliff (9:57): there’s lots to do in vegas its very family friendly

At least that’s what the commercials always say. Cliff’s experience…well. He’s not exactly looking for family friendly when he’s there.

Pike (9:57): what are you making commission why do you care so much about me being at awards 

Cliff (9:59): DUDE CAN YOU READ WHY DO YOU THINK

Cliff (9:59): WE NEED

Cliff (9:59): TO

Cliff (10:00): STRATEGIZE

Cliff (10:00): TURN ON YOUR FUCKING TV DO YOU NOT SEE THIS

Pike (10:07): There’s nothing to strategize about

Cliff (10:07): THE STFU SHIP HAS SAILED

Cliff (10:07): DON’T MAKE ME SPELL THIS OUT IN WRITING

Cliff (10:08): I WILL CALL YOU

Pike (10:08): Fuck don’t you dare the baby just went to sleep

Pike (10:08): the NEWBORN baby btw

Cliff (10:09): Congrats bro mazel tov good job

Cliff (10:09): bring it to the awards

Pike (10:09): ***her

Pike (10:09): Amber is not an ‘it’

Prety sure amber is an object, Cliff types out and then deletes. As are Ruby and Jade, he mutters to himself after a quick google. Now he’s second-guessing himself about Arthur…

Cliff (10:12): Amber sounds like a lovely and gorgeous human being I would love to meet

Cliff (10:12): for example in vegas

Cliff (10:12): at the awards

Pike (10:14): you can’t bring a newborn on a plane dude wtf

Cliff (10:15): I would love to meet your 17 other children then

Pike (10:15): three of them fuck you

Cliff (10:15): wouldnt that be great for your lovely wonderful wife to have a break

Pike (10:15): a newborn isn’t a break!!!

Cliff (10:16): it is if theres only one of them and the other four are gone

Pike (10:16): three

Cliff gives him a moment.

Pike (10:17): oh fuck you

Pike (10:18): fine

Pike (10:18): I’ll think about it

“Let’s go!” Cliff fist pumps, adrenaline fucking wild as he starts googling shit to do in Vegas with—he checks Wikipedia again—four children under the age of five. Perfect. Plenty of lists. And he and Pike have four hands between them. And Pike probably has the new one in one of those baby sack things, so Cliff will still have one left for his beer. No problem.

June 2017 – Vegas

“What do you mean,” Cliff says slowly, wondering if Pike’s gotten too much sun or something. Had too many drinks, even though Cliff corralled him to a corner before he could even hit the bar. Hit his head chasing after his kids. “What do you mean you don’t know.”

“What do you mean, what do I mean," Pike grumbles back, looking put out and kind of sunburned. “I’ve been fucking telling you that you don’t know shit, Marley. I’d question your literacy if you weren’t texting me all the fucking time.”

Cliff would make something of that if he weren’t stuck trying to make sense of this. “You don’t know.”

“That you can read?”

“What the fuck,” Cliff says blankly, something sharp twisting his chest. Pike was supposed to know, he was supposed to be able to—and he’s been acting like— “What the fuck,” Cliff says again as that sharp thing twists into outrage and anger, into the feeling of dropping gloves when the refs miss a dirty hit, “You’ve been going around running your mouth—”

“Running my what—”

“—acting like you know shit when you don’t have a fucking—”

“Fuck you, Marlow, I haven’t been acting like anything,” Pike snaps, indignant. Cliff scoffs.

“Yeah apparently you aren’t anything,” he says, the words bitter and sour. “Don’t fucking play, Pike. Saying all that shit—”

“What shit! What fucking—"

“—running your mouth about shit you don’t know anything about, apparently—”

“—the only thing I said is that you don’t have a fucking clue—"

“—making people think stuff when—"

“—and you don’t—”

“—you actually don’t know anything either—"

“—you just assumed you absolute—” Pike snaps his mouth shut, breathing hard through his nose a moment before continuing, voice low and harsh, “And as a reminder? You don’t know shit, Marlow. Okay?”

Cliff sneers, something hot and ugly and familiar buzzing through him. “Yeah, you just—”

“No,” Pike cuts in, sharp enough that Cliff finds himself bracing like he’s about to take a hit. “You need to get this through your fucking head, man, fucking drop it—”

“Sure, that’s real convenient to—”

“—because until someone decides to tell someone something?” Pike says over top of him, taking a half-step in like he’s about to drop gloves, too. “Which has not fucking happened yet? There’s nothing to know.”

Cliff wrestles with his reflexive protest, finally just grunting and crossing his arms. Frustration grates in his chest as he glares out across the bar. Fuck, just—fuck. Hauling his ass to Vegas like he gives a shit about these fucking awards, fucking loitering all day because he was so worried about missing the guy, spending all that time researching and—he has fucking notes on his phone. He has questions, because Pike was supposed to—he was supposed to help, he was supposed know.

“Fine,” Cliff finally grits out, hearing himself sounding all pissy and ungrateful. Petulant, according to Tess.

“Fine. Great. Amazing.” Pike blows out a breath, shrugging the tension out of his shoulder a bit. “Thank you, Jesus.”

“You’re welcome,” Cliff says petulantly.

Pike glaring only makes him feel a little bit better. Because fuck, Cliff’s even worse off than he was before this conversation, isn’t he? Still with his stupid questions and his useless notes and his doesn’t-entirely-make-sense tabs open on his phone, just now with even less of an idea what he’s supposed to do next than when he checked into the hotel today. “Fuck,” he says, scrubbing his hands over his face and trying to ignore the way it feels like all of it is just—pressing down on him. “I can’t believe you don’t—”

“Oh, fuck off,” Pike snaps, looking irritated. “You don’t know either, man.”

Well, not technically. But. “I’m still sure.” He still knows.

Pike gives him an exasperated look and makes a gesture that Cliff supposes means ‘same here’ or maybe ‘me, too’, except…

“How do you know, then?” Cliff asks suspiciously. Sure, Pike behaves like he knows. But if he’s just guessing and then not staying chill about it and letting other people think they know because they think he knows, people who might not know to keep their mouths shut, or who don’t have Roz’s back…

Pike’s mouth works soundlessly a moment. “Literally do you have brain damage.”

“Now know know,” Cliff says, rolling his eyes. “Just know.”

Pike stares. “Words have meaning, you know.”

“And you know what I mean,” Cliff bites out before he can catch the words, annoyed at himself for letting that needle him when he got over it years ago along with Tess.

“Somehow,” Pike mutters, eyes slowly narrowing as he looks at Cliff. “I’m not telling you,” he finally says, crossing his arms.

“Dude, that’s not fair,” Cliff protests. “You know how I know.”

“I can honestly say I don’t know how you know anything, Marlow.”

“Well try to keep up then, you were fucking there,” Cliff snaps, trying to ignore the part of him that’s satisfied to see Pike looking irritated and annoyed because it’s not—it’s not about that. “Big hit, very obvious reaction, hospital visit? You tried to start a fight and almost fell on your ass?”

Which just gets him a flat look—he’ll have to try harder…—and Cliff winces a little and shrugs and tries to focus on the parts of that night that mattered and not the rest, and then pulls a face in apology and waves his hand a little to show he’s sorry.

Except Pike just stands there, unimpressed and unmoved, so Cliff fights himself for the words. “Come on, dude,” he says, about as successful at ignoring the uncomfortably tight feeling of his skin as he was at ignoring the other part. “Please?”

Pike frowns at him and Cliff does his best to fix his face into something…pleading. Whatever that looks like, he…doesn’t really want to practice that to get it right, but maybe he’s close enough because Pike lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, alright, fucking…fine. Fine.”

“Hell yeah, dude, that’s awesome, I really—”

“But it’s going to be like this,” Pike continues with a surprisingly steely look that makes Cliff abruptly remember the guy has a whole bushel of children or whatever. “I’ll say what I know, you say what you know. No speculation, no follow ups. Okay? No—hunting for clues or whatever, this isn’t some back-of-the-plan gossip circle.”

“Yeah, dude, of course, however you want it,” Cliff quickly says, holding his breath and holding up his hands when Pike glares at him another moment like he isn’t sure Cliff means it.

“Fuck,” Pike finally says, blowing out a breath. “Alright, okay. Just—okay. Shane always has plans during Boston games, home and away.”

“Same for Roz,” Cliff quickly offers.

“And Shane’s been texting Boston Lily for years, and he doesn’t text that much with anyone.”

“Boston Lily,” Cliff repeats, delighted, before quickly fixing his face into something serious when Pike glares. “Uh—Roz has been texting his Montreal Chick for years, too.” Which…makes Cliff feel a bit like he’s gotten knocked ass over teakettle when he thinks about just how long. “Jane.”

“Jane, Shane, are you kidding me—god, they’re so fucking—” Pike blows out another breath, pinching the bridge of his nose again. Cliff wonders if that’s a technique from Montreal’s Therapist Hannah. Maybe he should try it some time. “Okay, okay,” Pike says like he’s gearing back up again. “Shane always plays better after he sees Boston Lily—stop giving me that face, what the fuck is that face for? No one’s told me shit, she is Boston Lily until I’m told otherwise.”

Cliff…needs more time than he has right now to decide whether that’s supportive or not. “Roz plays good, too. And he looks forward to the games.” Puts them into his phone calendar, Cliff thinks, and taps them on the big schedule in the locker room with a little curl to his lips that Cliff had categorized alongside his Montreal Chick look, but all that is speculation, maybe. “And All-Stars, and awards,” Cliff adds, which he’d never really gotten before, chalked it up to Roz enjoying the spotlight or attention, but now…well. Maybe that’s speculation, too?

“Shane too,” Pike says slowly, brow furrowing like he’s trying to remember. “And…” He blows out another breath. “Look. I room with Shane, okay?”

Cliff blinks. “Still?”

“Habit,” Pike shrugs, like that answers the question. “Anyway, sometimes after Boston Lily he…smells different.”

Cliff takes a moment to find an appropriate response. “What.”

Pike sighs. “Like he’s just showered.”

Cliff…is still not sure he understands. “And you know…”

Pike looks pained, or maybe like he’s regretting saying anything but now he can’t stop. Cliff’s familiar with the feeling. “Look, I’ve known him since his rookie year, right? He brings his own body wash and shampoo and stuff on every trip, and it’s the same stuff. He never uses what he hotel has. But after Boston Lily…”

“He what, smells like hotel shampoo?” Cliff finishes, baffled. “Why do you know what that smells like?”

Pike gives him an incredulous look. “Because I live half the year in a hotel? Why don’t you?” 

That’s…okay, that’s fair, that’s…Cliff supposes if he had, like, a lineup of scents he could tell you what the Best Western is stocking this year…and if Hollander is suddenly showing in hotels whenever he’s seeing Boston Lily—Cliff cannot wait to give Roz shit for that…whenever he’s allowed to give Roz shit for that—and not, say, smelling like Boston Lily’s personal shampoo or whatever Pike is so attuned to…

“I don’t know what to say that isn’t speculating,” Cliff finally admits.

“Maybe say nothing,” Pike suggests. Kind of eagerly.

“I admire your willingness to share information, it’s a good quality,” Cliff offers, falling back onto familiar territory.

“Really weird how you keep saying that.”

“Should I…I can do that too? Share back?” Cliff adds when Pike just looks at him, blank. Because if these qualities are admirable, then Cliff should probably emulate them. Right? “Information?”

Pike stares at him for a long moment, then glances out across the bar, then finally back to him. “I feel like I’m talking to a four year old the way you’re free associating,” Pike grumbles, and then when Cliff frowns at him, “What information, what are you talking about, what were we just doing if not sharing information, how are you connecting these topics, is a lot happening inside your brain or nothing at all.”

Cliff shrugs and focuses just on the first bit, since that’s what’s important. “Being allies or whatever, since you’re in it too.”

“In what. What am I in. What are we in.”

“The same boat, keep up,” Cliff says as he pulls out his phone, feeling a bit like when you’re in a wildcard slot but only if another team loses and suddenly third quarter they’re tanking. “I’ve been researching stuff on Reddit—”

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

“—because I’m trying to put a gameplan together, you know?”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“But it’s all theoretical, like none of its really hit gameplay yet, you know? Who knows it’s going to fall apart, but.” Cliff shrugs. “You’ve got first-hand knowledge of this stuff, you’ve been running this live, you know?”

“Did you put together a scout.”

“And I mean—I obviously haven’t been posting things—"

“Oh, of course. Obviously.”

“—so there’s some situation specifics to work through, and. We should talk, right?” Cliff…can’t believe this whole awards trip might be back on track. “I can send you what I have—”

“That’s really unnecessary.”

“—but we should talk. I have questions,” he adds, scrolling to his list and straightening a little as he reads off the first one: “So, Pike. What’s been working?”

Pike gathers his thoughts for a moment. “What are you talking about.”

“You know,” Cliff says, lowering his phone when Pike just looks at him like he’s going to make Cliff say it. “Like. Creating a nice space, showing you’re there for him. That stuff.” Cliff shrugs, clearing his throat a little. “So, come on.” He busies himself getting ready to add notes again. “What have you been doing?”

“I’m thinking head trauma again,” Pike says slowly, eyeing Cliff like he’s half-expecting a prank. “I don’t do anything, I’m just his friend.” 

“What do you mean you don’t do anything?” Cliff demands incredulously. “You can’t—you’ve just been free-wheeling this shit? You don’t even—did you even look anything up?”

“No! Because I have four kids! And I know how to have normal human interactions, and I can’t believe you did.”

Cliff frowns, fighting the urge to cross his arms again. From Pike—he expected better. “You need to be an active ally, it’s not for us to pull someone out of the closet, but maintaining a status quo of tolerance rather than acceptance is not—”

“Are you quoting at me?”

“You can’t be passive, man, you—”

“Oh fuck off, I do plenty,” Pike snaps, face something between confused and annoyed. “I still room with him because it makes him comfortable, god. My house is a nice space for him, he eats there, like, every night when we’re in town, and I know what he’ll eat on the road, and we hang out on weekends and I don’t even know why I’m justifying myself to you! Do you do anything other than fucking—pick up chicks with Rozanov?”

“Yes,” Cliff says, trying to push the defensiveness out of his voice. “We get lunch.” He ignores the stab of guilt when he doesn’t share that that’s…kind of new. “And dinner.” Once. “Sometimes!”

Pike doesn’t look impressed. “Yeah? And what do you talk about.”

That…is why Cliff is here with questions. “Hockey. And the team.”

Pike gives him a smug look and Cliff huffs and shifts his weight and scowls out over the bar.

“Fine, okay,” he concedes with ill-grace. “So then give me your notes if you have it so figured out,” he grumbles.

“Notes haven’t exactly been necessary,” Pike says dryly.

“Well then give it to me off the dome,” Cliff mutters. “Like, when you and Hollander get together, what do you talk about?”

“Wow,” Pike says, and then after a beat, “Wow. That basic? Really?”

Cliff tries to stop glaring at him, since he’s…asking for help. Or something. “Tell me and I’ll watch your kids—”

“Deal,” Pike immediately says. “And get me a beer, too. I’m going to fucking need it,” he adds—after agreeing. Not that Cliff is going to argue the late change of terms. Like a $12 pilsner isn’t a great trade for Cliff getting drill or two out of this, and maybe actually some strategy after all to start getting the gameplan into place.  

July 2017 – Boston

Cliff doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this anxious about his phone. Well. That’s not true. But at least not for longer than a night.

He can’t stop checking it, day after day. Staring at notifications and reminders and texts, checking like maybe he’d have just missed the incoming messages when there’s plenty there but nothing he wants to see. Nothing from Roz after Cliff sent hope you’re having a great start to the summer bro and then, hours later when he realized in a panic that he’d sent a statement and not a question, how’s it going.

It’s been days now, with no reply. And nothing in the group chats, and no Insta posts, or tweets, or emails, or—

Cliff (1:12): think theyre together right now

Pike (1:15): I didn’t realize we were continuing this

Cliff (1:15): its not gossip its a question

Cliff (1:16): besides you should have said if you meant that to be a universal rule you cant be changing the terms after the fact

Cliff (1:16): that’s loophole shit

Cliff (1:16): you’ve got to stipulate that upfront

Pike (1:19): I’m going to regret this aren’t I

Maybe. But that’s not Cliff’s problem. Because, BL wouldn’t tell me what he was doing this summer, Cliff confesses the next day, wincing the moment he presses send. He throws his phone to the other side of the couch. Fuck. He shouldn’t have done that. He should have just—gone for a run. Found a distraction. Listened to a podcast. Made second-lunch. Done anything other than give in to the jittery energy that’s been buzzing through him that he knows better than to—

Cliff lunges across the couch when his phone buzzes.

Pike (2:36): BL?

Cliff (2:36): Boston Lily

Pike (2:36): jesus christ

Cliff (2:37): what’s MC up to?

Pike (2:37): I’m not calling him Montreal Chick fuck off

“Oh, but Boston Lily is fine,” Cliff mutters, sending fine, Jane instead because he can feel himself itchy in a way that picking a fight would make feel better, at least temporarily, and he should probably just—ignore that. Even though Pike is so prickly…hah. Pike, prickle…there’s something there, probably.

Pike (2:39): you realize you were using names before

Cliff (2:39): its important to respect what people want to be called

Pike (2:43): I feel like you’re trolling me

Pike (2:43): is that how to behave toward someone you want to help you

Cliff rolls his eyes and mutters uncomplimentary things and changes Pike’s contact name since he can’t argue that point. He lets the satisfaction of being privately petty carry him back to Reddit—or quora? Sometimes quora pops up— to see if anyone there knows anything about pseudonyms.

But two days later that pent-up restlessness has built back up and Cliff still finds himself sending Hollander really didn’t tell you anything about his summer. Fuck. Should he just train more? Is this why Roz is so fucking fast? Always training and thinking about shit like this and then training more to not think? Is this how you win MVP?

Prick (11:27): oh it’s Hollander again I see

Cliff (11:27): we can be talking about multiple people

Prick (11:28): like saying shit like that doesn’t make it obvious

Prick (11:28): we could be not talking at all

Cliff (11:30): communication is the foundation of all relationships

Prick (11:31): is that from reddit

It’s important to the plan, Cliff sends as he googles alternate sources that quote might have come from. Listening is more important though, he adds before he takes too long and lets the question hang.

Cliff (11:35): We need to make sure were really listening.

Cliff (11:35): dont interject with suggestions people mess that one up a lot

At least Cliff did. The way his heart had dropped seeing that on the list he found about active listening…He pauses. He doesn’t want Pike to think Cliff’s not listening to him. Should he mirror his body language?

Cliff (11:37): hey what are you doing right now like sitting holding a baby driving working out

Prick (11:38): are you trying to fuckign sext

Prick (11:38): is this what this whole thing is

Cliff (11:38): no dude fuck off

Cliff (11:39): not that thered be anything wrong with that

Cliff (11:39): Im just not

Cliff (11:39): Im trying to give you some advice and coordinate here

Cliff (11:40): we need to be listening right when it finally happens its important

Prick (11:41): do you ever use proper nouns

Cliff (11:41): like British shit?

Pike (11:41): god I really hope you’re trolling

Pike (11:41): I have a fucking wife dude I think I know how to listen

Cliff scoffs. There wouldn’t be so many articles about it if it was that easy

Cliff (11:42): oh yeah? What’s the first step on the list then

Prick (11:42): wtf are you talking about what lists is reddit giving you lists just use your ears man

Cliff (11:42): its adopt a listening stance

Prick (11:43): wtf does that mean

…Probably like a ready stance. Good balance, weight distribution. Which Cliff will confirm and share later, because—

Clif (11:43)f: now who doesn’t know shit lol

Pike sends back another picture of his middle finger and Cliff rides that feeling of victory through another day, until he finds himself shifting from couch to armchair to kitchen and back to the living room again, to restless to settle. He quizzes himself on the steps of active listening and practices his listening stance just in case Pike decides to test him on it, looks up synonyms for ‘admirable’, and that feeling of doing something helps. But the next morning Cliff can’t stop staring at his phone again, looking at it through his entire lift, so conscious of it banging in his pocket during his run he keeps messing up his cadence, nearly burning his eggs making breakfast and—

Cliff (8:47): for real you don’t know what Jane does with his summer? Aren’t you supposed to be besties? Were you just fucking with me

Cliff (8:47): I don’t appreciate being lied to dude

Prick (8:47): I have been up since 4 in the fucking morning

Prick (8:47): duck off

Prick (8:48): we don’t spend every second of our lives together man

Cliff isn’t sure if that’s a relief to read or not. That Pike and Hollander can be so close and still not know things like this about each other…He does the same thing every year, Pike sends before Cliff can decide.

Cliff (8:50): And that same this is…???

Roz, Cliff hopes. Would Pike know if it was Roz, though? Or—fuck, maybe Pike knows and just isn’t telling him. Cliff doesn’t have an excuse to pester it out of the guy like he did with Hollander’s injury. That hit was about—well, it wasn’t about Cliff, obviously, but it still—he still felt like he had a right to the information. Or not a right. An interest? Fuck.

But maybe Pike would tell someone else. Someone who wasn’t bothering him all the time. Someone who hadn’t been the one to—

Cliff’s phone buzzes and he’s so surprised to see Roz on the notification that he nearly drops his phone into the sink.

Roz (8:56): it is good

“Fuck yeah, it’s so on,” Cliff crows, abandoning his pan in the sink as adrenaline slams through him. “Let’s go,” he says, taking laps around the kitchen island as he cycles through replies and phrasing and synonyms and advice and finally settling on hell yeah bro love to hear it

“Holy shit,” Cliff mutters once he hits send. He sets his elbows against the island, sagging over his forearms and finally registering the off-kilter lurch of his heart. Fuck, this is—fuck.

He lifts his head back up after a few careful breaths, wiping his palms dry before opening the text thread again to review the message again and then scroll upthread, looking at the rhythm of their conversation. He could have done better, maybe. Referenced an inside joke? Added something about his own break? Or—fuck, a follow up question, he fucking forgot about follow up questions.

Cliff (9:04): get up toa anthig fun?

Cliff (9:04): *to anything fun?

“Fuck,” he says after, letting his head thunk back down between his forearms. Fuck. He feels like he does when a puck pings off Dubek’s post instead of sinking into the net. Christ, his adrenaline is crashing right now. It feels like winning a round of playoffs, kind of. Not really, but in that way your adrenaline never really goes down until the series is over and then totally wipes you when it does, and Roz’s silence…

Cliff didn’t realize how much he was used to hearing from Roz, even if it’s just bullshit nothing, until suddenly he wasn’t. It’s different than when Brown goes radio silent, or Carm’s intermittent replies, and it probably shouldn’t be but Cliff’s just—not used to it. Or maybe isn’t used to noticing it, or to how much of what he thought of as their back and forth wasn’t so much Cliff-and-Roz as Roz-to-everyone-and-Cliff-just-happened-to-see-it, which… is a thought for later.

Definitely for later, he tells himself even as he scrolls back up their text thread again, looking at response times and who starts conversations and how long they usually last. Christ, paying attention to this stuff feels…weird. The kind of stuff Cliff only thinks about when it comes to girls, but…it’s communication, right? The foundation of any relationship, not just sex ones, and it’s been weird, trying to think of what he and Roz have as a relationship. He and Tess had a relationship, Cliff and Liz in New York have relations. He and Roz are bros. But reddit keeps saying it, so it probably has to be true…

And if communication is the foundation, well. Cliff just has to make sure its there, right? Like working with a new D partner. You don’t get quiet if your partner is dogging and gassed and struggling to communicate, you get loud. So if Roz is going quiet, Cliff can still say stuff. He can make sure Roz still hears his voice the way he and Pope do on the ice, can make sure Roz knows that Cliff is there to reply—no, can make sure he knows Cliff will reach out—no matter how long the gap is, how gassed and lungs-screaming-exhausted they both are.

Cliff (9:15): or just taking it easy? Fucking earned it brother

Roz (9:18): disconnected which is apparently another word for boring

Roz (9:18): looked at a fire, looked at a lake, had to wear shoes in the lake

Roz (9:20): taking it easy though yes. Relaxing

“Fucking implementation, let’s go,” Cliff whispers to himself. He can do this. He can totally do this.

I’m jealous dude I’ve been on the move I want to dip my toes in the lake or whatever, he sends, and he’s still grinning when his phone buzzes again and it’s not Roz.

Prick (9:24): this cottage thing, nature stuff, there’s a lake

“Oh fuck,” Cliff laughs, straightening. “Oh fuck, lets go, my man.”

Prick (9:24): I’m not telling you anything else it feels like you’re going to stalk him or some shit dude

Cliff (9:24): I’ll do you one better

Cliff (9:25): I just heard from Roz

Cliff (9:25): he’s having a **good** summer

Prick (9:26): Okay??? So???

Cliff (9:26): so I’m winning

Prick (9:26): winning????

Cliff rolls his eyes.

Cliff (9:26): Now who needs active listening

Winning knowing obviously. Winning being told. And then winning at being supportive and awesome about it and the best bro and—

Prick (9:28): what are you talking about

Pike (9:31): fuck off what are you winning

Pike (9:37): wtf NOW you stop talking???

—and Pike is so going down. Implementation, baby. Cliff’s got this.