Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Minor Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov - Relationship

Characters:

Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Jackie Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travelling Hayden Pike, POV Hayden Pike, Good Friend Hayden Pike, the time travel mechanics are from บทกวีของปีแสง | Be My Favorite (TV), Divorce, but not really, it's just time travel things, Bisexual Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike Friendship, Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov Friendship, Down Bad Cliff Marleau, Long-Suffering Hayden Pike, Yearning Cliff Marleau, Hurt Hayden Pike

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-04 Updated: 2026-09-16 Words: 113,667 Chapters: 18/20

One Thing at a Time

Summary

After accidentally outing Shane and Ilya, Hayden finds a way to go back and undo the damage. He only means to fix one terrible mistake, but he changes far more than he understands.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Hayden wants the ground to open up and do him one favor.

It would be helpful, merciful even. It would also save him from having to stand here while the entire Montreal Voyageurs locker room looks at him as though he personally walked into Shane’s house, ripped the roof off, and pointed at the bed with Shane and Ilya in it, doing the deed.

Which, fine. Close enough.

He keeps his eyes on the floor because that feels more respectful than looking at anyone right now. The tile has a crack by the bench leg. He stares at it so hard that for a second, he thinks maybe he can force himself through it. That would solve several problems. He would be underground. Shane would still hate him, probably, but Hayden would at least be underground.

God. Why didn’t he check the FanMail video before sending it? Why didn’t he watch the whole thing? Why didn’t Brad contact him like a normal person and say, hey, maybe do not send this to the internet, your best friend is in love with his rival and the whole thing is visible if you have functioning eyes? Why did any part of this happen? Why did it happen through him?

Shane’s life is blown open now. Ilya’s too. Hayden had spent a lot of time being annoyed at Ilya, which became harder to justify once he actually got to know him. The guy chirps too much, acts smug too often, and somehow still manages to be good for Shane in all the ways that matter. Worse, he had been decent to Hayden when Hayden least deserved it. He had practically let him off the hook. Hayden remembers that now and feels sick all over again.

Shane has just left the locker room after the meeting with Theriault, after the entire team drove him away. Theriault apparently didn’t take the news with grace or professionalism or any quality Hayden would personally assign to a grown man in charge of other grown men. But hey, he’s an idiot, so what does he know?

Hayden didn’t hear the entire conversation, but he heard enough. He heard the raised voice through the walls. It reminded Hayden, horribly, of that dinner, of his own face, of how he’d reacted when Shane formally introduced Ilya to him. He had looked at Ilya like he was the problem instead of everything around them. He feels that shame come back, and it makes him wince.

Across the room, J.J. is staring at him, and Hayden can’t even get mad about it. Shane and Hayden kept this from him, which wasn't really that bad since it wasn't his secret to tell. However, he didn't stop J.J. from setting Shane up with guys while knowing full well Shane was already tangled up with someone huge and impossible and very, very Russian. J.J. must be thinking Hayden made a fool out of him. If Hayden were J.J., he’d probably punch Hayden in the face. Maybe not here. Maybe not at work. But eventually. Somewhere private and justified.

His gaze drifts up despite himself and immediately regrets it. It’s not just J.J.. The rest of the room keeps cutting looks his way too. Some are curious. Most are pissed. 

Hayden would love for someone to just deck him and get it over with. Or if that ground still has any possibility to open, now’s really the perfect time.

Hayden goes home in a body that feels borrowed, which sounds dramatic, and Hayden knows it’s dramatic, but his ribs hurt, his shoulder hurts, his head hurts, and his conscience hurts the most.

Jackie looks up from the couch the second he comes in. “Why are you limping?” she asks.

“It’s nothing.”

She does not even dignify that with a pause. “Hayden.”

He drops his keys into the bowl too hard. “I’m fine,” he says.

Jackie turns the volume of the TV down, which is never a good sign. “Sit.” That's all she says.

He should keep standing. Sitting makes him easier to interrogate. Then again, Jackie has never once needed a tactical advantage to win an argument, so he does what he's told to.

She faces him, arms folded. “What happened?”

He shrugs, and immediately regrets it.

Her eyes narrow. “Hayden.”

“It was practice.”

“No player gets home limping from practice.”

He lets out a breath through his nose. “A couple of guys finished their checks too hard.”

“A couple.”

“Maybe three.”

Jackie goes still. “Why?”

He laughs once. It sounds bad even to him. “Take your pick.”

“Hayden.”

“Because I’m the idiot attached to the mess,” he says, looking away and starts thinking that if the team can do this to him, who isn't directly involved, what more can they do to Shane? “Because everybody knows about Shane and Ilya now. Because of me. Because I sent the thing. Because I should’ve checked it. Because I should’ve—”

Jackie reaches out and touches his jaw, not enough to stop him, just enough to make him look at her again. “That’s not an answer to why your teammates thought they could take runs at you.”

“It’s okay.”

Her expression changes. “No?”

“It is, Jacks. I’m serious.” He leans back on the couch and instantly hates that too because now his ribs complain, and it makes him suck in a breath. Great. Strong showing. “I’m not saying they’re right. I’m saying I get it.”

She crouches in front of him then, hands on his knees. “You getting it doesn’t make it okay.”

He stares at her and feels something in his chest pull tight. Jackie has always had this way of cutting straight through the nonsense and standing there with the actual point in her hands while Hayden's still three exits away making jokes. He lowers his head and faceplants in his palms. “I know.”

“You need ice.”

“I need more than that. Maybe a time machine.”

Jackie snorts despite herself, which is a relief. He can work with a snort. “Since that’s unavailable,” she says, standing, “ice.”

He lets her fuss over him because fighting Jackie when she’s decided to take care of him is stupid and also impossible. She brings the ice pack and adds some painkillers. She asks if he ate. He lies, which she knows, so she heats up the beef stew anyway.

Later, when the house has gone quiet, and the kids are asleep, and Hayden's brushed clean and aching under the covers, he picks up his phone again.

He has already apologized, and he’s about to apologize again. Maybe there is a limit where an apology becomes harassment. Hayden has no idea where that line is and frankly does not feel qualified to locate it, however. He texts Shane first.

Hayden

i’m sorry, Shane

again

i know that doesn’t help but i am really really sorry

if there’s anything i can do, i’ll do it

He stares at the string of messages for a second, then sends almost the same thing to Ilya, except he spends too long wondering whether starting with I’m sorry sounds too pathetic and whether ending with I’ll do anything sounds too much like he’s trying to center himself in their disaster. He sends it anyway. At this point, his dignity is already dead.

He puts the phone facedown on his chest.

Beside him, Jackie turns onto her side. “Did you text them?”

He glances at her. “You know me too well.”

“Unfortunately.”

That gets a small laugh out of him. It hurts his side. Everything is terrible. He stares up at the ceiling. “I’d do anything to fix this.”

Jackie is quiet for a moment. “I know, but you can’t fix all of it.”

He turns his head. “I know. I just—” He stops, starts again. “If there was a way, though. If there was some actual way to undo it, I’d do every single thing. I wouldn’t even complain.”

“I don’t believe that second part.”

He smiles despite himself. She really does know him. “Okay, fine. I’d complain the entire time, but I’d still do it,” Hayden responds. 

Her hand finds his under the blanket. “You can support them. You can keep showing up. But... you need to stop making this about what a monster you think you are.”

He lets out a long breath. It should make him feel better, having her here, having her hand curled with his, having this room still quiet when everything outside feels blown apart. 

If there was a way...

If there was any way at all...

Hayden closes his eyes and keeps thinking about it long after Jackie falls asleep beside him.

Hayden gives up on sleep around five in the morning.

That makes it sound noble, like sleep fought him honorably and Hayden conceded defeat with grace. What actually happened was that he spent most of the night turning over, checking his phone, not checking his phone, checking it again, and staring at the dark while his brain replayed every bad choice he had ever made. By the time the sky starts giving up a little light, he’s already awake enough to wish for the ground to swallow him again.

His phone lights up with emails before he even gets downstairs.

He opens the email from Shane and Ilya’s agent first. She’s sending over language for the statement Shane and Ilya are putting out and wants to confirm whether Hayden's still willing to have his name included. He stares at the screen for all of three seconds before replying yes. Obviously yes. Put his full government name in there. Put a picture if needed. Put a footnote that says Hayden Pike is a moron. Whatever helps.

Then his own agent calls, and that conversation turns out exactly as fun as expected. They talk about PR, and he reminds Hayden that public perception is still the priority and that Hayden should stay available but quiet, with a huge emphasis on the "quiet" part. There’s a question about whether he has anything else he should disclose now rather than later. Hayden almost laughs at that. “No,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “No hidden second bomb. Just the one.”

His agent does not laugh. 

By the time the call ends, Hayden feels so twitchy he wants to crawl out of his skin. He can’t sit with this. He can’t keep staring at screens waiting for some new version of disaster to arrive in writing. He’s free today since there’s no practice or game, though he doubts he’d see any ice time even if there were.

So he decides to clean the attic. This is not a normal reaction, probably. It is, however, a task, and Hayden desperately needs something to do to distract him. He has been meaning to deal with the attic for months. There are still boxes from his mother’s house up there, a bunch of half-sorted things he kept meaning to go through when life got less busy, which was apparently a hilarious thought in retrospect. He grabs a rag and the duster, heads up the pull-down steps, and shoves his way into the stale air of the attic, feeling at least temporarily purposeful.

Dust sits over everything in a thin gray layer. There are old storage bins, taped-up cartons, a chair with one bad leg, and a broken lamp nobody has admitted to throwing out. Hayden squints through the dim light and mutters, “Perfect.”

He starts with the nearest box, more to keep moving than out of a real commitment to organization. Christmas decorations. Another box has old toys, some school papers, and a cracked frame. The third one is from his mother’s house. He knows it right away from the tape, from the cramped way things were packed in after her place got cleared out four years ago, and from the fact that touching any of it still makes something inside him go painfully quiet. He kneels beside it and starts sorting.

He finds a scarf, two old paperbacks, and a ceramic angel with one wing chipped off. There’s also a little stack of envelopes tied with ribbon he’s absolutely not opening at six in the morning unless he wants to ruin his own life from a different angle. Then his hand closes around something cool and solid.

He pulls out a music box he hasn’t seen in a long time.

It fits in both hands. The top is a crystal globe, cloudy from age, with little stars suspended inside. The base is heavier, wooden, and engraved with thin lines that remind him of a clock face, though there are no numbers on it. It looks old in a way, not antique-store old, more family old, something kept without explanation.

Hayden turns it over. There's no label or a switch. He tries to wind it from the bottom. Nothing. He presses along the side. Still nothing. He squints harder, as though looking annoyed at it might make the thing cooperate. The crystal globe shifts a little under his fingers, so he twists it.

The box comes alive at once.

Music spills out brightly, far too clear for something this old. Light flares up inside the crystal ball, the little stars igniting one by one until Hayden jerks back with a curse. The whole thing glows white-yellow and sharp,  stabbing straight into his eyes.

“Jesus—”

He squeezes them shut. The music swells. For one ugly second, his stomach drops out from under him, a violent lurch that makes him grab for the floorboards. Then it stops.

Silence rushes back in. Hayden stays there blinking stupidly, one hand over his face. “Okay,” he says to no one. “That was weird.”

His vision clears in pieces. The attic comes back first, beams and boxes and the slanted ceiling. He lowers the music box carefully, half expecting it to bite him now, though it just sits there innocently in his palm.

He looks around, and the first thing he notices is the dust, or rather, the lack of it. The floorboards are cleaner, and the boxes are arranged differently. The broken lamp is gone. Even the air smells less stale, less sealed up. Hayden frowns at this as though the attic itself is doing tricks on him.

“Huh.”

Maybe he imagined how dusty it was. Maybe the light from the box scrambled his head for a second. Maybe the lack of sleep made his brain mushier than it already is, or maybe he needs coffee before interacting with mysterious heirlooms.

He sets the music box back into the carton for now and climbs down the attic steps, already thinking he should probably find some other distraction if the attic, as it turned out, doesn’t need him to dramatically sacrifice his morning to it.

He finds Jackie in the kitchen.

“Did you find the photo album?” she asks without turning around.

Hayden stops. “What photo album?”

Now she turns, eyebrows lifting. “The one for Jade and Ruby’s class. Hayden.”

He blinks at her. “I didn’t go up there for that. I went up there to clean.”

Jackie stares at him for a beat, then laughs once, confused. “Why would you clean it? The cleaner already did the attic the other day. Right before things from your house were moved?”

Hayden's so confused right now. He looks at her more closely then. “You changed?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You were wearing the grey shirt earlier.”

She gives him a look that suggests he might be concussed. “What grey shirt? I don’t have a grey shirt. I’ve been wearing this since last night.”

He opens his mouth, closes it, and looks past her.

The kitchen feels wrong. It's their kitchen, obviously. Jackie is here. But there's something really wrong. Some things. The fridge is different. Their magnets are different. The air fryer that’s usually shoved into the corner of the counter is gone entirely. There’s a fruit bowl in the spot where the coffee pods should be. Hayden’s pulse gives one hard, ugly kick.

Jackie keeps talking. “Can you please just grab it? Shane’s gonna be here soon.”

Hayden’s head snaps back to her. “Shane?”

“To drive you to practice?” She studies his face now, concern starting to creep in. “Hayd, are you okay?”

He is not okay. Definitely not. He’s also abruptly not hearing the rest of her sentence over the blood rushing in his ears. He and Shane haven’t gone to practice together in a while. Not regularly. Not since a bunch of small life shifts added up into separate schedules and kids and Rozanov and everything else adulthood threw at them.

There’s no way. He’s pretty sure he has no practice today, and he’s pretty sure Shane has more important things to deal with than to drive him to their non-existent practice.

His gaze flicks again, this time landing on the calendar clipped to the side of the fridge.

April 2017.

Hayden stares at it.

No.

He takes two steps closer. 

April 2017.

His mouth goes dry.

Behind him, Jackie says his name once, then again, sharper the second time. Hayden barely hears her. His brain has already leaped past confusion and gone straight into terror. The kitchen tilts without moving. The attic. The music box. The stars. The blinding light. They all come back in flashes.

Hayden turns slowly to look at Jackie, who looks younger only in the impossible, microscopic ways time hides when you’re living inside it. His gaze drops and finally notices the baby bump the counter was hiding all this time. His chest tightens so hard he almost wants to call for an ambulance.

He is back.

Unless he has finally, completely lost his mind, it really is April 2017 again. 

Chapter End Notes

Hi!! I'm mainly putting this out here so that I can commit to writing the rest of the chapters. I have like three chapters written already, but I'll update weekly, most probably. The mechanics of the time travel thing are loosely from Be My Favorite, a Thai TV series. That's the only thing I borrowed from that show, so I didn't add the fandom tag.

For some reason, it's really fun to write Hayden. He has such a fun dynamic with both Shane and Ilya, together and individually, while still having a huge room for anything that writers can play with. So I hope it's okay that he's the focus AGAIN. The relationship tag with Cliff really has a "/" rather than "&," but BELIEVE ME there's no cheating involved and no polyamory either. It's just ~time travel things~.

I'm on Twitter @rainarthit!

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

Hayden tests the strange limits of his second chance and realizes the music box may be the answer to the disaster he caused, but returning to the past means stepping into one looming game he knows he has to change.

Chapter Notes

Hayden doesn’t leave the kitchen right away. He stands there for one stunned second with April 2017 burning into his eyes from the calendar. He turns so fast that he nearly clips his shoulder on the doorway. Jackie continues calling his name behind him, but he ignores her, which is rude, but right now, time has apparently folded in half and dumped him back into the middle of his old kitchen, so manners and being a sensible husband are going to have to wait.

He takes the stairs two at a time and heads straight for their bedroom. The sight of it almost knocks the air out of him. The bedspread isn’t the one that held him last night. The lamp on Jackie’s side is the old one with the crooked shade they got rid of years ago. And the full-body mirror. Hayden catches himself in it and—

"Oh." 

It isn't just Jackie. Of course, he also looks younger, and it’s unsettling. The crinkles that were starting at the corners of his eyes are gone, and his skin is smoother now, no longer showing the wear and tear of the future. There are only three children in his life at this point, and somehow that shows in his face, too. He’s wearing that faded orange t-shirt, the one he bought on the road in New Jersey back in 2014 after realizing, too late, that he’d packed too lightly for a series of away games. The collar sags now, the fabric gone thin with age, and Hayden is almost certain that it shouldn’t be a shirt on his body anymore, but a shop rag in their garage with grease on the hem and cut into at least three pieces.

Feeling uneasy staring at his past self, he moves around, eyes locking onto the framed photo on one of the display shelves. The photo is of him and Shane with awful hair and dumber smiles. In the present, or future, or whatever — Hayden doesn’t know how to refer to it from this point in time — it’s been replaced with the one with Jackie and Ilya in it, all four of them. Well, no. It apparently hasn’t been replaced yet because it’s sitting there exactly where it used to be in April 2017, and Hayden is suddenly so certain of the date that his stomach drops again.

For a second, Hayden just stands there, staring between the frame and the mirror as though one of them might crack first and reveal this is just a dream. The shirt could be explained away, maybe. Some clothes survive longer than they should. The lamp too. Maybe Jackie got it fixed? Even the bedspread. But all of them sitting in the same room, all arranged the way they used to be, all at once, feels like something larger than just nostalgia. His brain, working hard to be rational for once, pushes back immediately. He’s tired. He barely slept. He’s pretty sure he’s so stressed that he starts seeing patterns where there aren’t any. He can’t just wake up in 2017. That’s insane, even for him. 

He pinches the inside of his arm hard, but it does nothing except sting. Hayden stands there a moment longer, rubbing at the spot and feeling stupid. If he’s dreaming, he really needs to wake himself up, and if the pinch he just gave his own arm solves nothing, he clearly needs something stronger than that. That’s when he remembers Shane telling him, at some point in time he doesn’t know now, that people always wake up when they feel themselves falling. Or maybe not always. Shane probably said it with more precision than that. 

It might’ve been on a flight after bad turbulence jolted both of them awake from one of those half-naps they love getting on planes. Shane blinked beside him and then calmly offered up some weird fact nobody had asked for. Hayden can’t remember the exact wording now. He only remembers nodding at the time. He really should’ve paid more attention to the strange little things Shane says because, who knows, maybe it’s useful when the universe decides to throw him at a different point in time. 

His eyes go to the bed. Fine. If pinching himself doesn’t work, then he’ll try falling. He climbs onto the mattress, feeling ridiculous already, then straightens up. He hesitates for a moment, thinking his head might hit the wall, but if this is just a dream, it shouldn't matter, right? He moves a bit forward just in case and lets himself drop backward hard enough that the bed catches him with a jolt. The springs creak, and the headboard knocks once against the wall. Hayden lies there for a second, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the world to split open and hand him back the present.

“What are you doing?” Jackie’s voice comes from the doorway, and that alone should be enough proof, but his brain still lags. He lifts his head and finds her standing there, heavily pregnant, looking like she’s only just walked in and already regrets it. 

He sits up too quickly. “I’m— I’m really sleepy,” he says, because this is the best lie available to him. “I was trying to wake myself up.”

Jackie keeps staring at him.

“Shane does it,” Hayden adds, waving one hand in a vague direction. “Or, I don’t know, he says it works for him.”

He can tell by the way her mouth moves that she doesn't buy that. Judging by the pause she gives him, Hayden gets the sense that Jackie is weighing whether to press him on whatever nonsense this is, then deciding she doesn’t have the time for it right now. Instead, she reminds him about the photo album, says she needs to find pictures for the family tree the twins are making for school, and asks him to just get it already before disappearing from the doorway. And that, more than anything, finally settles it. He remembers the family tree that the twins made out of copies of the photos from the attic. It got an A+, which really made him proud back then. Or the twins will really make him proud sometime later. Whatever. This is really disorienting.

If this is really true, if he’s really back, he’d like ten minutes with this. Or an entire day. Or three. He needs enough time to sit down and process it, enough time to freak out in private before life starts handing him errands and practice and conversations he barely remembers. It’s his first time traveling back in time, you know? A little grace period would’ve been much appreciated.

After taking a deep breath and finally accepting the reality he’s in now, he gets off the bed and leaves the bedroom. And the next room catches his eye. He pushes into his trophy room and towards the glass display cabinet and sees the two replica Stanley cups at the center: 2014-2015 and 2015-2016. Hayden’s mind automatically tries to peek at the back to look for the third one he knows he won’t find, the one they won for the 2019-2020 season. He was so proud of that one since all of Shane’s goals during that championship game came from his passes. He even scored a goal during the second period. But given everything he’s seen so far, that hasn’t happened yet, not until three years from now. 

A shiver crawls down his spine. How did this happen? 

Suddenly, “Oh.”

He runs up to the attic, the pull-down steps rattling under him. His hands shake as he drops to his knees by the box from his mother’s house and digs through it until his fingers close around the music box again.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, you creepy little thing.”

Without thinking, he twists the crystal ball. The music starts at once, all bright chimes and old magic and no concern at all for his blood pressure. The light punches through the attic again, white and sharp that makes him squeeze his eyes shut. The same dropping feeling grabs at his stomach, and for one awful second, it feels as though the floor has gone missing.

Then, he opens his eyes to dust. Real dust this time, dust so thick on the nearest storage bin that somebody could write a message in it. The broken lamp he just saw back in their bedroom minutes ago is here. The air is stale again, and his body aches again. Hayden's eyes roam around the attic and then look down at the music box in his hands.

“No way.”

He scrambles for his phone and nearly drops it. The screen lights up to a new batch of missed emails and messages: one from his agent, one from Shane’s agent, one text from Shane, and another one from Ilya. The date on his lock screen is right, the right awful date: 

March 25, 2021. The blown-open present.

Hayden looks down at the music box again. Then, because he apparently has lost all sense of self-control, he twists it again. After the blinding light, the chiming music, and his stomach dropping, he’s back in their newly cleaned attic. 

He twists it one more time, just to be sure, and lands again in the dusty attic of the present. Hayden sits back on his heels, which he shouldn’t be doing because of the dust, but he doesn’t really care right now. There’s a long, stupid, perfect second where nothing in the world exists except the music box in his hands and the pounding in his ears. Then the thought hits him so hard he smiles:

This is what he wanted. Not whatever haunted-grandmother nonsense is going on in his hands, but the chance. He wanted this chance. He lay in bed last night and thought if there was any way at all to fix the mess he caused, he’d do it. And the universe gave it to him. Now, there’s a way, a completely insane way.

He can go back. He can fix things before they blow up. He can be better for Shane. He can stop the FanMail from ever becoming the grenade it became. He can do this right. He can do one thing right.

Hayden’s already on his feet before the thought finishes forming. He shoves the music box back into the carton. There’s no way the kids will have their hands on it, and Jackie hates going up here, so it should be safe. He races down the attic steps, almost misses the last one, and gets to the bedroom just as Jackie, in her grey shirt, is coming out of it with sleep still on her face.

“Why are you—”

He kisses her.

Jackie makes a startled sound in his mouth, then cups his jaw anyway because apparently she’s already awake for that. He kisses her harder than he means to. Relief keeps shoving through him in waves. She’s here. Present Jackie. His Jackie. His life still exists. It might be cracked, but it exists.

When he pulls back, she looks at him with narrowed eyes and messy hair and the beginning of a smile she is pretending not to have. “It’s six in the morning,” she murmurs. “Should I be worried?”

“Probably,” Hayden says, and kisses her once more because he can. Then, he's already heading for the attic again.

“Hayden.”

“I love you,” he throws back at her.

He can stay here, for a day, or even three days, to freak out privately and orient himself with this discovery, but he can’t wait any longer. He wants the guilt gone. He wants his bodyache gone. He wants to do right even for once. So he gets back to the attic, twists the globe, and lets the light take him again.

When he lands in 2017 this time, he doesn’t stand there blinking. He drops the music box into the box from his mother’s house with what he feels is a reasonable amount of care given that it has just rewritten his understanding of reality. Then, he starts pawing through the rest of it because Jackie asked for a photo album and Hayden has no interest in finding out what happens if he ignores that while the universe is obviously watching.

He finds it under a stack of old magazines and a discolored quilt he vaguely remembers from his mother’s sewing room. The album is blue, bent at one corner, and full of little plastic sleeves. “Got you,” he mutters. He runs back downstairs with it tucked under his arm and nearly slides into the kitchen.

Jackie looks up from the counter. “Finally.”

Instead of answering, Hayden goes straight to her and kisses her. It’s still her. It was his Jackie in a different year, in a different shirt, with a coffee mug he’s pretty sure Ruby already smashed into pieces. Hayden’s brain decides to be extremely helpful and point out that he has now kissed two versions of Jackie in under five minutes, which somehow feels wrong in a way he doesn’t have language for.

Jackie draws back to look at him properly. “You’re being weird.”

“You love that about me.”

“Maybe,” she teases.

He hands her the album. “You need this.”

She takes it slowly, suspicion all over her face. “You okay?”

“Fantastic, actually,” Hayden answers. How can he feel anything less than that when he just found a solution to his biggest problem? 

She keeps looking at him, then shakes her head and opens the album. “Go shower. You smell like the attic.”

He obliges because showering is something people do in stable realities, and Hayden needs all the help he can get. Under the hot water, he tries to make sense of the rules, or what passes for rules so far: The music box sends him to the last time he touched it. That’s all he got for now. Attic to attic. Present to past. Past to present. This means if he’s careful, if he’s not a complete idiot for once in his life, he can freely move between the two. 

By the time he’s dressed and shoving his things into his bag, he hears the familiar sound of a car horn outside. Shane’s here.

Hayden freezes for half a second with one skate in his hand. Right. He needs to prepare himself. He’s going to meet four-years-younger Shane, not the Shane from yesterday with the wrecked face and the wrecked life Hayden himself caused. This is 2017 Shane, oblivious, fine, with many secrets, but not yet hurt. Hayden promises himself to keep the last one intact as much as possible. He grabs the rest of his things, kisses his kids and 2017 Jackie one more time, and heads out before he can overthink this new plane of reality he’s in.

Shane's there, one hand on the steering wheel, the other drumming against the door. He glances over when Hayden opens the passenger side and tosses his bag into the back. “You took forever.”

“Sorry, I got in the shower late. I spent too much time at the attic this morning.”

Shane blinks once. “Why?”

“That’s a great question.”

Shane accepts that answer. They've already been friends for years at this point. They already have the tolerance for each other for that. They pull away from the driveway, and Hayden sits there with his hands too still in his lap because if he looks at Shane too long, he’s going to feel weird about the whole thing again. He still steals glances, though.

This Shane's face is rounder, his hair way shorter, with those little bangs Hayden secretly adores on him. He’s less worn in and more guarded. His mouth settles into a line Hayden remembers from before everything with Ilya turned serious. Having Ilya in his life really made Shane happier, Hayden thinks to himself.

Oh. Right. Hayden has to remember that he has to act as the version of himself who doesn’t know anything about Ilya. At least, not yet.

The road stretches ahead, and Hayden watches the blur of early light on shop windows and parked cars and tries to remember what people talk about in Montreal in April 2017 when the world hasn’t cracked open yet. Thankfully, Shane saves him.

“You okay staying after the team practice?” he asks.

“What for?”

“A couple extra rounds. Just you and me.” Shane keeps his eyes on the road, one hand loose on the wheel. “Rozanov’s back on the ice tomorrow. We should perfect our passes before the game.”

Rozanov? Hayden hasn’t heard that name from Shane’s mouth in quite a while. It's been Ilya for how long now. Ilya this, Ilya that. To his kids, it’s Uncle Ilya. Damn, he can’t believe he misses Ilya right now. Yet, in this version of the world, Shane can say Rozanov’s name out loud and mean only hockey, the rival. 

"Sure," Hayden says.

Shane nods once, already moving on in silence. Hayden sits with it for a second, then decides to test the waters of the thing carefully.

“So, Rozanov’s back.”

Shane flicks him a quick look that doesn't give much away. “That’s what I just said.”

Hayden lets that pass. Shane goes on talking anyway, more to the windshield than to him now. “He’ll probably be rusty for five minutes and then annoying for the rest of the night. So stay after. I’m serious.”

“I already said yes, buddy.”

Shane hums. The conversation should die there. Hayden knows it should. Instead, he decides if he wants to do good, if he wants to change things for the better, he should start now, so he hears himself ask, “It’s true, then? About his father?”

That gets something real out of Shane at last, a slight tightening around his mouth. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s true... according to what I read.”

Hayden looks down at his hands. He's aware Shane didn't confirm it from a random article, but he doesn't need to call out the lie right now. Instead, he tries to think of the right thing to say and comes up empty. There are people who can do that, who can take grief and hold it carefully and offer something useful back. Hayden has never been one of them. He remembers the day his mother died, the reason why some of the things from his childhood home were moved to their attic. He took a leave when it happened. He remembers how impossible it felt to move, let alone play. He was out two weeks and then some, and even that felt cruelly short. So he goes with the truth.

“That sucks,” Hayden says, then winces at himself because the words sound blunt even by his standards. He pushes on before he can regret them. “I mean… I can’t imagine going right back to work after losing somebody that important.”

Shane is quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Me neither.”

There’s something in his voice that makes Hayden turn his head, something more careful than suspicion, something that suggests Shane is filing this into his mind, Hayden bringing up Ilya Rozanov twice in one car ride, Hayden talking about him in a tone that sounds almost thoughtful instead of annoyed. He can push more, but he settles for it for now. He can’t come on too strong. 

An easy feeling expands in his chest. It's like he's doing this correctly. It's his first day in his new job, and he's acing it.

Then, the date locks into place in Hayden’s head, and suddenly, the easy feeling is gone.

If Ilya’s returning from his father’s funeral and they’re playing against him tomorrow…

Hayden goes cold all over.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the game.

The memory crashes through him hard. Tomorrow, Shane gets hurt. And Hayden is sitting right here beside him with a second chance burning a hole through his life.

“Hayd,” Shane says, concerned.

Hayden drags air into his lungs. “Yeah?” he returns, voice trembling.

“You look like you’re about to throw up.”

Hayden just shakes his head.

“Do I need to stop the car?”

“No. Don’t.”

“What’s wrong?”

Hayden turns toward him too fast. “Don’t play tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Don’t play tomorrow night. Call out sick. Fake a migraine. Anything. Just don’t play.”

Shane keeps his eyes on the road. “Are you out of your mind? Why would I not play tomorrow?”

Hayden throws both hands up to his head and immediately hates himself because that’s not how you persuade someone to avoid future bodily harm. “Shane.”

“I’m not skipping a playoff game without any valid reason.”

Hayden knows this. And even with a valid reason, Shane will most likely still be on that ice. Still, he can’t let it happen, not again. “You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Clearly, neither do you because you sound insane.”

Hayden presses his palms to his eyes. He can’t say Cliff Marleau is going to hit you tomorrow and will send you to the hospital because explaining how he knows that would turn this car ride into a psychiatric test. He needs another approach. He needs a better approach. He needs several better approaches and maybe a drink. “Please,” he says instead.

Shane’s voice stays flat. “No? What’s wrong, Hayd?”

Hayden turns away and stares out the window again. He shakes his head and sighs. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“What's gotten into you? You’re really weird today.”

Hayden leaves it at that. If he can’t convince Shane not to play, then Cliff Marleau can’t get on the ice. That thought settles in and immediately becomes a plan because Hayden is many things and one of them is committed when panicking. He should’ve done a lot of things better as a best friend over the years. He should’ve looked harder, listened better, judged less, and helped more. He can’t fix all of that in one day, maybe not ever. Still, this one thing is right in front of him. He’s going to keep Shane from getting hurt.

Payment, maybe. Or penance. Hayden isn’t interested in picking the better word. All he knows is that, whatever it takes, he needs to keep Cliff Marleau off the ice tomorrow.

Chapter End Notes

During my initial planning for this fic, I was thinking Hayden should tell Shane about the time travel thing. It was supposed to be a Shayden friendship adventure, but Shane would be so paranoid about it and say things like "Hayden, what if it's the wrong sperm and you don't get Amber but someone else," and it would also cause Hayden to overthink, and I didn't wanna go that route :D

Early update because I couldn't sleep, so I finished editing! :))

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary

Armed with his second chance, Hayden tries to prevent one painful event from repeating itself.

Chapter Notes

Hayden took maybe three strides toward the tunnel after the horn, still half in his gear and fully out of his mind. The game itself finished around him somehow. With Hollander out, Boston had kept playing, while Montreal had kept losing. Hayden had been on the ice for all of it and nowhere inside it. All he really remembered was the hit happening in the first period, the split second of disbelief before panic tore through him, and then his fist cracking against Marleau’s face because his best friend wasn't getting up and Marleau had been there for him to put the blame on.

He remembered the ache that ran up his hand right after, remembered someone hauling him back, remembered the red burst behind his eyes and the absolute certainty that if Marleau got within reach again, Hayden would do worse. He’d wanted to go with Shane right then, to follow the stretcher out of the rink, to sit in the ambulance if they’d let him. Theriault had shut that down angrily, reminding him that he was an alternate captain and should start acting like it. 

So he had played the rest of it in a blur.

He didn’t really know how he reached the hospital after. He had some vague memory of showering too fast, of hands that wouldn’t stop shaking, of somebody, probably J.J., trying to talk to him in the parking lot and Hayden walking right past them because there were only so many things he could hold at once. The receptionist at the hospital stopped him and asked the necessary questions, eyes flicking over his face and then his jacket. After that, he was guided down a hall by a nurse who filled him in on the details about Shane’s condition as they walked towards his room.

Shane was unconscious when Hayden stepped inside. It was very silent then. Hayden had always thought real fear would feel louder than that, but it didn’t. It felt small and exact. It felt like pulling a chair up to the side of the bed and sitting down, wishing your friend’s injuries weren't life-changing. It felt like staring at your friend’s face and hating every bruise already blooming there, hating the white sheets, the hospital wristband, the entire stupid sport for making this feel so ordinary that nobody in that locker room looked surprised by a player laid up after a hit.

Shane wasn’t his brother in the literal sense. Hayden never had one, which was why when Montreal had signed him and Shane together, he’d been weirdly thrilled by it. He’d decided almost right away that he was going to make friends with Shane and keep him close. 

Hayden spent years looking at Shane and feeling the hard instinctive certainty that if anything moved to hurt him, Hayden would get in front of it. That’s easier in theory than in hockey, where pain is part of the job and everybody signs the same contract with it. 

Still, he would block shots from bigger guys if he could. He would take checks he should probably avoid, as long as it meant Shane came out of it better. 

In the future, he would fight players from other teams who would chirp slurs in front of Shane. He would fight the Russian rival, whom he thought was just playing with Shane’s feelings. He would fight his own team for turning their backs on Shane, who would just happen to love the Russian rival he had once thought had just been messing with him. 

He sat there for too long, too long that Yuna and David arrived without him noticing.

“Hayden,” Yuna said. She came in carrying herself so tightly that Hayden thought she might break something just by her presence. David looked steadier until he saw Shane. Hayden stood when they came in and filled them in as best he could, which wasn’t well. They thanked him anyway.

He started to step out after that, thinking family should get privacy. However, David stopped him before he reached the door.

“Are you going home?” David asked. 

Hayden shook his head. “I’ll just wait outside while you’re with Shane.”

“Stay,” David said, looking at Yuna, who nodded at him. 

Hayden looked at them then, really looked, and saw the understanding there, the acknowledgment that some people belong at a place, whether there’s blood between them or not.

He nodded and stayed.

And he still thought about how he would do anything just for Shane not to be hurt again.

Hayden has been useless for the first half hour during practice. 

His body still does what years of hockey have taught it to do. He goes through drills, pivots when he should pivot, shoots when he should shoot, and nods when coaches throw instructions his way. But right after the first few strides, he notices, outright, the difference this body has to the one he left in 2021. It’s quicker off the mark, more alive. It’s carrying an easy burst his older body has to work harder to reach now. At the same time, it doesn’t have the same settled strength that he has developed. It’s probably because this body hasn’t gone through the insane workout program Shane will put him on later. Hayden is already dreading the thought of living through that again.

He feels the difference in his turns, in how his shot leaves his stick, in the checks that don’t sit in his frame with the same certainty. It’s him, obviously, just less finished, less trained in itself. Meanwhile, another part of him is somewhere else entirely, stuck between the sight of Shane down on the ice and the silence of that hospital room after. Those two memories keep taking turns at him, one loud, one quiet, both bad enough to disturb his mind in this morning’s supposedly simple practice session.

And that’s just two-thirds of it. The remaining third of his brain is busy building and discarding increasingly stupid ways to keep Cliff Marleau off the ice tomorrow. Kidnapping is a crime, which he takes too much time considering and reconsidering. Bribery sounds expensive, especially since Marleau has no children and therefore probably has personal savings Hayden can only dream of. Breaking into the Boston Bears’ hotel and stealing his skates feels logistically annoying and also so obviously cartoonish that even Hayden, in his current state, has to reject it.

So really, Hayden needs a break, or his brain will explode from too much thinking. 

By the time the team finishes practice, Hayden has settled on using alcohol on Cliff. It’s not the smartest, but it is, however, practical and is the only thing he got. Well, aside from blocking Cliff’s hit with his own body, which he’s willing to do if he’s left with no other choice. 

He corners Couillard Olsson after practice. Olsson spent part of a summer in junior camp with Marleau back when the guy was still living in Canada. Apparently, that sort of shared hockey misery makes men keep each other’s numbers for years, which Hayden finds ridiculous until it becomes useful to him personally. Hayden asks for Marleau’s number with what he hopes is casualness and what Olsson clearly identifies as nonsense right after the question leaves Hayden’s mouth.

Olsson is suspicious at first, but eventually gives the contact details after not too many questions and a long-suffering sigh. The whole exchange leaves Hayden feeling judged, which, unfortunately, he totally deserves. By the end of it, Olsson has made it abundantly clear that he finds Hayden acting weird, and Hayden has also made it clear that being called weird today is no longer enough to stop him from doing something stupid if his best friend’s safety is involved.

When Hayden gets back to his stall, Shane glances up from where he’s retaping his stick.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Hayden says, shoving his gloves around more forcefully than necessary. “Just asked about Olzy’s friend.” It isn’t really a lie. That’s the nicest thing he can say about it. He just doesn’t know what else to say if Shane asks further questions, which, thankfully, don’t arrive. Instead, Shane reminds him that he’s staying after for extra reps, because Rozanov is back tomorrow and the two of them would want to survive his return.

Hayden, in response, reminds him he doesn’t need to be reminded. There isn’t anything else to say. He owes Shane extra practice. He knows this will only improve their chemistry on the ice later. He’s aware that he isn’t a generational talent like Hollander and Rozanov are, so he needs to exert extra effort if he wants to play with and against them without embarrassing himself. 

The extra rounds after practice start and drag on until Hayden’s legs burn and his thoughts start running together. Shane keeps pushing, which is normal for him and miserable for Hayden. He skates, circles back, takes the pass, sends it where it needs to go, and does it all over again. After a while, the repetition almost helps. His body stays busy, and for a few minutes, his mind lets go of him. Then Shane fires one harder than before to his tape, Hayden knocks it back, and suddenly, again, all he can think about is tomorrow.

By the time they’re done, Hayden has sore legs, a damp jersey, and no better idea how to keep Shane safe tomorrow.

Thus, he texts Marleau before he can think of something worse. 

Hayden

Hey. Hayden Pike here

I know it’s weird but

Want to get a drink tonight and talk some shit about our teams?

He really hopes this works because if it doesn’t, he has no choice but to get hurt himself. He stares at the thread. Then, at the typing bubble that appears, almost immediately.

Ilya

Sure.

10?

Back of the hotel.

Hayden frowns at the phone.

That was too easy, suspiciously easy. Marleau didn’t even ask where he got his number. He didn’t even confirm if he’s really the player from the rival team he’s claiming to be. Either Cliff Marleau has no survival instincts, or he’s also like Hayden who gets bored easily and says yes to strange ideas. Hayden isn’t sure which possibility is worse.

“Ready to go?” Shane asks as if everything’s normal. 

Hayden nods and picks up his duffel. “Let’s go.”

He sits in the passenger seat with his bag at his lap and Marleau’s reply burning in his pocket. A few turns from Hayden’s place, Shane asks what he’s doing tonight.

Hayden looks out the window before answering. “Nothing. Just gonna rest up. Be ready for tomorrow.”

“Good.” Shane nods once, accepting that. 

That one word sits badly with Hayden all the same. Shane says it so easily, trusting him to go home, get some sleep, and show up ready. Hayden has to sit there and nod as though that’s still the plan.

When Shane drops him off, he reminds Hayden to stretch and text if he needs anything. Hayden thanks Shane for the ride and then watches the car pull away and feels worse the second Shane disappears at the end of the street.

Inside, Marleau’s reply keeps needling him. Hayden half expects another message to come through asking what the hell this really is, or calling the whole thing off once Marleau thinks better of it. But nothing comes. The thread just sits there, settled and stupid, as though this is a perfectly normal arrangement between two hockey players from rival teams and not a terrible idea Hayden’s walking into on purpose.

The rest of the day keeps moving whether Hayden is ready for it or not. At least, he’s going to be just at home for a few hours. 

Jackie goes to lie down in the afternoon with that tired look she gets when she’s been carrying too much of the day by herself, and Hayden takes Arthur before she even has to ask. He carries Arthur to the family room and plays with him, with all the memories of 6-year-old Arthur in his mind. He’s only two years old now, and Hayden notes that Arthur has always been quiet, always observing. Hayden smiles as he watches him play with the age-appropriate dinosaur toys Shane gave him because his son will grow as a daddy’s boy, no matter how much Ilya will try to influence him. Hayden remembers how Arthur always scowls whenever Ilya is being rude to him. 

“Why are you laughing, daddy?” Jade asks, appearing at his side. Hayden sighs. Ilya’s powers, however, will work really well on the twins. 

“Nothing, baby. I just remembered a friend,” Hayden answers.

“Uncle Shane?” Ruby asks. 

Not really, but also, yes? “Yes,” Hayden says. It’s simpler that way.  

The twins drag him and Arthur to the kitchen table after about ten minutes because they need to show him the progress of the family tree for school. That’s what the photo album had been for. Right. The poster board isn’t close to done, but all the copies of the pictures Jackie made are already there. Jackie’s side is fuller already, names branching out so neatly that Hayden suspects Jackie stepped in more than once. His side looks sparse by comparison.

One of the twins points at it with a frown. “Why is your side so empty, daddy?”

Hayden looks down at the poster board as though it might offer him a better answer than the obvious one. “Because I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

Both girls look up at him at once. They seem offended on his behalf. He hadn’t minded it much as a kid, really. The feeling only arrived when he met Shane and realized there had apparently been a space for a brother in his life all along. He’d just had to sign with the Voyageurs to find one.

He taps the empty space beside his picture. “It’s okay, though. Sometimes you get to choose.”

They both lean in. “Choose what?”

“Who feels like family,” Hayden says. “Like Uncle Shane.”

That gets the exact reaction it deserves. Both girls squeal his name at once. Shane Hollander has never had to work very hard to be adored by his children. 

“But he’s not really your brother,” Ruby says, still smiling.

“Yeah,” the other adds, “so how is he Uncle Shane?”

Hayden sits back in the chair, Arthur on his lap, and thinks about how to answer that in a way children can understand. 

“Sometimes,” he says slowly, “you’re friends with someone so long that they stop feeling like just a friend. They become part of your family.”

The twins take that in with seriousness. Jade nods first, and Ruby follows a second later.

“So he’s your chosen brother,” Ruby decides.

Hayden smiles. “Yeah. Something like that.”

They seem pleased with that answer, which is good because it’s the best one he has. Then, because children never leave a thought alone, Jade asks if that means they can choose more uncles, too.

Hayden glances toward the hallway before answering. “Who knows,” he says, lighter than he feels. “Maybe you’ll have another uncle someday.”

He doesn’t let himself think too hard about why that sentence settles strangely in his own chest. He just reaches for the glue stick before either of them can ask the next question.

The rest of the afternoon settles into the domestic rhythm Hayden hasn’t realized he missed until time threw him back into it. Arthur refuses to stop crawling over him, so Hayden surrenders and joins the carpet, letting toy trucks run over his legs while the twins argue over which part of the family tree gets more glitter, which prompts Hayden to stand up, to Arthur’s dismay, because Jackie will kill him if she finds any glitter in the kitchen. He helps the twins move their setup to the family room and puts on an animated movie because sitting everybody in one place for ninety minutes starts sounding nice. Arthur falls half asleep against his side for a while, and the twins don’t stop talking through most of the scenes, but that’s normal and almost comforting. Hayden has spent his morning running on dread and adrenaline. A child asking why Violet and Patty, on the screen, are being mean feels, weirdly, like grace.

By the time Jackie wakes up, dinner is already dealt with. Hayden had thrown something together more out of guilt than confidence. Jackie comes into the kitchen looking more rested and immediately suspicious, probably because Hayden making dinner without being asked tends to mean he’s either feeling guilty or up to something. Today, unfortunately, both are true.

“You could’ve woken me,” she says.

Hayden steps closer, rests his hands on Jackie's baby bump. “I wanted you to rest.”

She studies him for a second, then looks at the dishes and the children and seems to decide not to question the miracle too closely. Hayden loves her for that. He also feels worse because of it.

“You can go back to sleep,” he says, keeping his tone light. “I can wake you up at 7 for dinner.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re being very generous tonight.”

“What can I say?”

That gets him a look, but a softer one than he deserves.

He dries his hands on a towel and forces himself to say the next part casually. “I’m meeting Shane at ten.”

The lie sits badly the second it leaves his mouth. It always does with Jackie. She’s not stupid, and Hayden isn’t especially gifted at deception when the person in front of him actually knows him, especially his wife, regardless of what version she is. But what can he do? He can’t tell her about Cliff Marleau, not without explaining why he needs to meet up with him, not without getting dragged into the plan itself. He just hopes someday, Jackie will understand he's doing this not really for himself. 

Jackie doesn’t push. “Late?”

“Yeah.”

She gives him one of those long, quiet looks that makes Hayden feel as though she can already see the outline of the bad idea and is only waiting for him to admit it. Then she nods and tells him not to wake the girls when he leaves.

By nine-thirty, he’s helped put the twins to bed, has dressed himself, and feels irritated with himself for lying to Jackie.

By nine-forty-five, he’s in the car, has kissed Jackie and the three children, and can feel his nerves starting to work on him too.

By ten, he shows up at the back of a hotel, exactly as he and Marleau agreed.

The back of the hotel is quiet except for a buzzing light. Hayden has a cap pulled low, and his hands shoved into his jacket’s pockets, which would probably make him look cooler if he didn’t feel so much like he was about to commit low-level espionage.

Cliff Marleau walks around the corner exactly on time.

Hayden has seen him plenty before, obviously. On the ice, in clips, during warmups. This close, in street clothes, with no boards between them and no game to turn him into a moving target, however, he looks different. Broader somehow, more casual, younger than Hayden expected, although he should probably get used to that by now.

He remembers punching his face right after he hit Shane. He felt bad for the guy when he calmed down, which, admittedly, is a small part of why he’s doing this right now.

Marleau stops in front of him and tips his head once. “Pike.”

Hayden gives the same back. “Marleau.”

“Thought this was a joke.”

“It can still become one.”

A grin flashes across Marleau’s face. “Good start.”

Hayden smiles. He hadn’t planned past getting him here. That becomes obvious almost immediately, so he does what he does best under pressure and starts talking. He takes Marleau two streets over to a bar he knows neither team uses because the place caters more to grad students and depressed office workers than pro athletes looking to be recognized. It's also the bar where he got really wasted after a few rounds of whiskey during his rookie year. He hopes for the same effect for Marleau. The bartender looks up at them once and visibly decides not to care. They take a booth in the back.

Hayden orders whiskey, and Marleau orders the same. Hayden takes one sip and remembers the day he got wasted here immediately. This is unfortunate but manageable. He’s not here to enjoy himself. He’s here to derail tomorrow.

“So,” Marleau says, leaning back in the booth, “why are we here?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to hang out with someone from Boston before we destroy you tomorrow.”

Marleau grins again. “Not gonna happen, Pike.” 

Hayden rolls his eyes and reaches for the peanuts on the table. “Really, I just want to hang out. This weird rivalry between our teams has gone old.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, that and maybe I wanted to see if you’re as annoying off the ice,” Hayden says. And also because tomorrow, you’re going to break my best friend’s body, and I am trying to prevent that from happening without explaining time travel in a bar, he wants to add.

“And?” Marleau responds. “Am I annoying?”

“You are.”

Marleau laughs and lifts his glass. Hayden clinks his against it because, apparently, this plan now involves socializing with the human version of a future problem.

“You too, Pike,” Marleau says. “You too.”

Hayden still can’t believe Marleau agreed to this.

The first twenty minutes are easier than expected. They talk about their team’s rivalry, about travel schedules, and about their coaches who think three words yelled from the bench count as strategy. Marleau is looser than Hayden expected, funnier too. That’s inconvenient. First, Rozanov, and now Marleau. Villains should really try being less personable.

He also smells really good, like he-poured-an-entire-bottle-of-cologne-over-his body-right-before-walking-up-to-Hayden-at-the-back-of-the-hotel kind of good. Hayden doesn’t think too much about it. He orders another round. And another.

Marleau doesn’t question it. He seems almost delighted by the whole thing, which confirms Hayden’s growing suspicion that this man will say yes to nearly anything if it sounds halfway amusing. Hayden keeps faking his own drinking, wetting his lips, tipping the glass, taking tiny amounts he knows won’t do much. The bartender notices by the third round and gives Hayden a look that suggests she has seen amateur nonsense before. He tips well in advance when Marleau’s looking away to buy her silence.

Marleau, unfortunately for himself, drinks for real. He gets warmer by degrees rather than all at once. The grin comes quicker, and his shoulders loosen. His words don’t slur much, but they get easier, more willing to spill. He tells about how Rozanov is as a captain, and Hayden returns with how Shane is without revealing too much. 

“You and Hollander close?”

Hayden eyes him over the rim of his own drink he isn’t planning to actually take in. “Since forever.”

Marleau nods slowly. “Looks that way.”

Something about the tone makes Hayden pause, but not for long. He doesn’t have room tonight for side mysteries. He has one job: get Marleau drunk, keep him out late, and let Boston wake up tomorrow missing one winger.

By midnight, Marleau is definitely feeling it.

By one, Hayden is pretty sure tomorrow’s hangover is going to hit like a loose jumbotron from the ceiling.

When he decides it’s enough, he walks Marleau back toward the hotel because leaving him fully alone feels risky. Also, if Cliff faceplants into a planter and breaks his nose tonight, Hayden will feel really, really bad.

At the back entrance, Marleau turns, one hand braced against the wall. “You’re weird, Pike.”

“That’s been brought to my attention many times today.”

“You’re also,” Marleau starts, then squints, then laughs at himself. “Nope. Lost it.” He looks at Hayden with a different smile, an actual smile, not the grin he had the entire night. He looks like he’s about to say something, but falters. Instead, he pushes off the wall. “See you tomorrow, Pike.”

Hayden smiles tightly, already stepping away. “Hopefully not,” he whispers, hoping Marleau doesn’t hear it.

Marleau smiles again and disappears inside, leaving Hayden to stand there in the cold night air. The guilt arrives a second later, which Hayden feels unfair because he’s out here committing noble sabotage for friendship. Still, it arrives. Marleau hadn’t been a jerk. He hadn’t done anything tonight except say yes to a drink and accidentally trust him.

But Hayden pushes the thought away. Tomorrow, Shane stays standing. That’s what’s important. Everything else can matter later.

Chapter End Notes

SO why do we think Marleau agreed to meet with Hayden that easily? wrong answers only! 🤧

~

Sorry for italicizing the entire first section. Just needed a way to distinguish a scene that happened in the original timeline.

Thanks so much for the kudos and comments! I'm on Twitter @rainarthit!

Chapter 4

Chapter Summary

Hayden’s first attempt to change the past seems to work exactly the way he hoped, until the victory starts feeling wrong.

When Hayden first joined the Montreal Voyageurs, he had arrived ready to prove he could play center at this level and keep it. Coming out of Drummondville, he didn’t think of himself as a kid who needed to be built from the ground up. He was already good there. He stepped into the league expecting that to matter in a straightforward way.

But he joined the same year Shane Hollander did, and straightforward stopped being an option. The team had a generational talent star center, and everything started bending towards him, pushing Hayden to the second line as its center. It had taken the coaches longer than it should have to notice that Hayden and Shane worked best together. Once they finally put them on the same line, Hayden saw his future right away. Shane was definitely the better scorer. Hayden understood that without resentment, adjusted his own game, and started feeding him the puck every chance he got. The line clicked. Shane shone brighter, and Hayden did too, only in a different direction than the one he had imagined for himself.

Back then, the change he made helped build the strongest line Montreal had in years. Last night, the change he made aimed to keep his best friend safe.

And it looks like he has succeeded. Cliff Marleau is nowhere on the ice.

Relief slams through him so hard he nearly lies down right there at the center and makes a snow angel with the shaven ice from the skates. It's like he's just made the perfect crime. He feels like every member of Ocean's Eleven right now. He's Brad Pitt, he's George Clooney, and he's Matt Damon. He's the acrobat he can never remember the name of. He's everyone else in the group. He did it. Shane's going to skate out of this game whole, and for once, he actually got in front of the thing before it could happen, and he didn’t have to do it physically. The knowledge buzzes under his skin all through warmups until he sees Shane peel off towards Ilya.

Hayden watches the two of them meet in the neutral zone and immediately recognizes it. He had already witnessed it before. Shane says something to Ilya that Hayden can’t hear. Ilya keeps his posture, and looking at it now, he can say it’s too calculated. How did he not get it before? 

Shane taps Ilya’s stick once, turns, and skates back. Hayden’s still watching when Shane reaches him.

“What was that about?” Hayden asks.

Shane glances over his shoulder towards Ilya, then back at Hayden. “Nothing. I was just… offering my condolences. You know.”

Hayden looks over again. Ilya’s still there, doing his stretches, shoulders squared like the moment never happened.

“Uh-huh,” Hayden says, pausing for a moment. “I should probably do the same,” he then says before he can overthink it.

If Hayden’s really going to fix this timeline, he can’t pour everything into Shane and wait for the rest to sort itself out. Ilya is a huge part of this, and it isn’t only because of what he means to Shane. Somewhere ahead of Hayden, in the life he’s trying to get back to, Ilya became someone he trusts with his kids, someone Jackie lets all the way into her life, and someone who looked at the wreck Hayden made of things and forgave him faster than Hayden deserved. That alone should be enough to make Hayden rethink a few things.

There’s Shane, too. Hayden knows now what he didn’t let himself care about before, which is that this endless sniping between him and Ilya never only sat between the two of them. Shane had to live in the middle of it and always had to carry more of that tension than either of them admitted.

So Hayden can’t keep meeting Ilya with the same old hostility just because it used to be easy. Ilya’s rude to him all the time anyway. Hayden can handle that now. At this point in his consciousness, he’s already lived through enough of Rozanov’s bullshit to stop flinching every time he insults him. If anything, he hopes that helps. Maybe if Hayden stops fighting him at every turn, Ilya will warm up to him sooner than later. 

Shane gives him a flat look. “You do know well he’ll probably tell you to fuck off.”

"Yeah, well. He can have that,” Hayden answers. He keeps his eyes on Ilya across the ice, then adds, “It’s mostly an act anyway, isn’t it?”

Shane blinks at him once, then again. Hayden smiles, and he looks back towards Ilya and skates off before Shane can say anything else. Somehow, he feels guilty. It feels a little like cheating, or retaking a test he already knows the answers to. But does it even matter? He was sent here and given a chance to do better, and that's exactly what he's trying to do.

Ilya notices him coming almost immediately, and the surprise on his face is so satisfying. Good, Hayden thinks to himself. Let the man be unsettled for once. He stops a few feet away.

Ilya’s gaze flicks over him with open suspicion. “What do you want?”

Hayden swallows. The words feel stranger in his mouth addressed to Ilya than they did in his head. “I heard about your dad.”

That makes Ilya go still. For one second, the usual expression slips. It isn’t much, but the hardness in his face loosens, and something rawer shows through, something Hayden suspects most people never get close enough to see.

“My condolences,” Hayden continues.

Ilya stares at him. Then the wall comes back up. “Fuck off, Pike.”

Hayden almost smiles. “Yeah. That sounds right,” he mutters to himself. He pushes off and skates away before Ilya can do more than glare after him. 

The game starts.

For a moment, Hayden thinks maybe this really can be easy. Shane takes his shifts. He turns where he should turn, cuts through the neutral zone, and calls for the puck with that same certainty Hayden has followed for years. Marleau never appears, not even in a late arrival. Hayden waits for something to go wrong and gets good old hockey instead.

Boston is already scrambling even before the first period settles. With the last-minute change, their first line doesn’t hold. Carmichael, who replaced Marleau, gets trapped too deep, and St-Simon isn’t able to get the pass from him. Montreal takes advantage of it. Shane picks off the loose pass near the boards and shovels it forward to Olsson, who waits for the right moment before passing the puck back to Shane. 

Goal. 

Hayden skates to Shane and squeezes his shoulder on the way past. “Beautiful,” he tells him.

Shane smiles, quick and private, then turns back towards the center with the same calm face he always wears after scoring, as though putting the puck in the net is only him doing his job correctly and not the thing half the league keeps failing to stop.

The next shift starts with Shane taking the draw again. He wins it easily and passes it to J.J., who settles it for half a second before sending it up the wall to Hayden. Hayden takes it and crosses the blue line with St-Simon skating not too far behind him, pushing him towards the side. That used to work more often on younger Hayden. Now, with four more years' worth of hockey sitting in his head, he sees the trap before it even materializes. He slips the puck back to Shane through the crowd, gets it back after Shane banks it off the boards, then leaves it behind him when Ilya closes in.

J.J. is right there for it. He keeps the puck in play and nudges it toward the middle, forcing Boston to scramble. St-Simon turns towards Hayden, and Ilya drifts towards J.J. for one second too long. Shane slips through the seam between them, stick down, shoulders square, already in the place Hayden knows to look for before he fully thinks it.

The puck finds Hayden again. And there it is, that old instinct. Feed Shane.

So he does. Hayden sends it across without trying to be clever, and Shane snaps it past the goalie before anyone on Boston can get a body on him.

Second goal.

But this time, when Hayden skates over, the celebration starts feeling wrong in his hands. He doesn’t remember this. Not the first goal or this one. Not J.J., St-Simon, and Ilya doing what they just all did. None of these belong to the game Hayden already lived. Of course it doesn’t. Shane wasn’t in that game. But Shane is here now. Shane is still taking shifts that were supposed to vanish the first time around. Hayden expected that. He just didn’t expect the change to feel this way while he was standing inside it.

By the end of the first, Montreal is up by two.

Hayden sits on the bench, breathing through his mouth, and watches Boston reset for the next period with a cold feeling spreading through him that has nothing to do with the rink.

The second period only makes it worse. Boston comes out angry, which Hayden expects, but the anger doesn’t fix them. Their defense pinches at the wrong time, and their forwards push too far ahead. One hit from Ilya comes late along the wall and sends Hayden into the glass so hard that it rattles his teeth.

“Jesus,” Hayden mutters. He’d almost forgotten how hard Ilya used to come at him before something resembling friendship occurred between them, though he doesn’t let himself linger on whether future Ilya counts him as a friend. There’s no room for that with this uneasy feeling building under his ribs, rising every time the game slips farther from the one he remembers.

When Hayden pushes back into the play, Shane is still upright and calling for the puck again. That sight hits Hayden with a rush of relief. All should be okay. Shane is here.

Then the rush turns the other way. Connors gets the puck up the boards and slips it ahead before Schneider can close the lane, Carmichael taking over through the neutral zone with enough speed to force Montreal back on their heels. Hayden moves to cover him, and Shane drops back to help, and for a second, it looks manageable. But Carmichael sends it out instead of forcing the middle, and Connors keeps the puck in play deep in the zone, and by the time Hayden swivels back towards the slot, Ilya is already there. He’d come in late and quiet, arriving in the opening Schneider leaves when he drifts a little too far towards the corner. Connors threads the puck out front, Ilya meets it in stride, and the shot is gone before anyone in blue can get a stick on him.

Boston scores, and Hayden feels the whole game tilt under him again.

In the next shift, Shane wins the puck back near their own end and starts moving it forward with Hayden on his wing, the two of them moving on instinct as always while Boston is still scrambling to reset after their first goal. Connors steps up first, reaching to angle Shane towards the boards, but Shane slides the puck across before the pressure can settle, trusting Hayden to take it the rest of the way. Hayden should probably give it right back. That has been the shape of his game with Shane for years now. Only Connors has already overcommitted, and Ilya is still tracking back through the middle, and for one strange second, the lane opens in front of Hayden instead of beside him. 

Hayden takes it without really deciding to, cuts in, and snaps the puck past the goalie before Ilya can get in front of him. The red light goes on, and Hayden feels his own goal instantly after it happens. That rattles him more than Boston’s did. He wasn't supposed to score here. In the game he remembers, his head had been too full of Shane lying broken somewhere to think about anything as selfish as scoring a goal.

His heart starts to pound, and it isn’t because of the exhaustion. 

By the third period, relief and dread are sitting together so closely inside him that he can’t tell where one stops. Shane is still fine. Marleau doesn’t arrive, and no one has hit Shane so hard to make him fly. Apparently, that job was only for Marleau. And Hayden should be happy with that.

He is. He is happy and relieved. 

Hayden keeps repeating that to himself while the rest of the game slips farther from memory. Every completed pass feels new. Every block from their goalie feels new. Hayden had only wanted to save Shane from the hit. He hadn’t thought past it and what it might mean to keep leaning on Shane every other shift when Montreal had once spent most of those sixty minutes playing a different game entirely.

In the last shift of the period, the puck arrives at Hayden’s stick and stays there for one dangerous second.

He has room to act. It isn't much, but more than he wants. Shane is cutting through the middle, stick down, waiting for the pass Hayden has spent years learning how to give him. That had become their dynamic almost from the start. It has worked so well that, after a while, it stopped feeling like a decision and became something closer to reflex.

But now, something tells him to let the puck die there, to hold the puck too long, to fumble it into the boards and let the shift go bad. He has already changed too much. Every good thing that happens makes the game feel less and less like the one he remembers. Another goal would only push it farther and would be one more piece he can’t put back.

But he sees Shane’s expectant eyes staring at him. Shane is safe and moving and calling for the puck, and Hayden did all this to keep him from harm. So he shakes his thoughts and does what he does best. 

He sends the puck over, hard and right to the tape, and the whole rink seems to hold its breath with him. Shane takes one stride and snaps it past the goalie before Boston can close around him.

The net ripples. Montreal’s fourth goal goes up on the board, and Hayden feels it low in his stomach before the arena even reacts. 

The game keeps moving after that, but only in the technical sense. There are too few minutes left for Boston to catch up.

And when the final horn goes, it tears through Hayden’s bones.

The bench erupts behind him. They’ve won. They’re moving on. Shane crashes into his shoulder in celebration, and Olsson is already yelling. The whole rink fills with the noise of a team getting exactly what it wants. Hayden stands in the middle of it and feels the horn keep hitting his ears long after it should have passed. It doesn’t feel like a celebration but a warning that took too long to arrive.

A shiver crawls down Hayden's spine. It finally sinks into him that what he’s done has led to a chain of events that isn't supposed to happen. 

Across the ice, Boston looks shell-shocked, and Hayden stares at the scoreboard and feels his stomach go cold.

They were never supposed to win this round.

He gets dragged into the locker room with everybody else, and the noise hits him how loud celebrations are in enclosed spaces. Around him, his teammates are half-dressed and are still yelling and slamming shoulders and making plans for tonight’s celebration. Hayden smiles when smiled at, but he just feels as though the room is slightly too bright. And he still hears the horn despite it having stopped sounding a few minutes ago, still blaring in his ears and echoing, mocking him for what he’s done.

Shane’s injury had changed everything in the life he remembers. Boston was supposed to advance to the playoffs. Hayden knows that because he lived through all the things that came after. Now, Montreal has won, and the rest of the season has bent into something uncertain.

Shane drops beside him while pulling off one skate. “What’s wrong?”

Of course, Shane notices him. God. If he gets called acting weird again. Hayden takes a deep breath and looks over. He shakes his head.

Shane gives him the same steady look he always does when Hayden is trying to joke his way out of a real answer. “Really, are you okay? I saw Rozanov hit you earlier. Was it hard? Did it bruise?”

Hayden forces a shrug. “No, I’m just tired,” he says, although it probably did bruise.

“Hollander! Media!” Theriault calls from the door.

Shane nods at him and turns back to Hayden, studying him head to toe. “You sure you’re okay to drive? You can wait here, and I’ll drive you home after the post-game interview.”

“Yeah. No,” Hayden answers, heaving. “No need. Thanks.” He’s already yanking clean clothes out of his bag. He’s sure Shane has plans to meet Ilya tonight, and he’s not going to derail that, not when he already changed too much.

Shane watches him for another second, then nods once. “Text me when you get there.”

“Okay,” he says before watching Shane disappear.

He doesn’t trust himself to stay any longer. He skips showering, changes fast, and stuffs his gear away badly. He says hurried goodbyes and excuses for skipping tonight’s celebration to whoever is closest, and gets out before anyone can ask another question.

The drive home is a blur of lights and wrongness.

He saved Shane. But he also changed the playoffs. One game moved, and now he has no idea what moved with it. Hayden has seen enough sci-fi movies, with Shane of all people, to know the past never changes without other things changing because of it, and he feels a little stupid for not thinking that through before he started playing hero. What if saving Shane from one thing wrecked ten others?

At home, Jackie is waiting in front of the TV with a smile already halfway formed.

“Congrats, baby! You played well tonight.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She laughs and comes towards him for a kiss, then wrinkles her nose. “Hayd, you still smell like sweat!”

“Sorry.” He doesn't really care right now.

She gives him a look. “Go upstairs and shower.”

He drops his bag by the stairs and runs. “Yeah, I didn’t wanna do it there.”

“If you drip on the floor, you’re cleaning it!”

Hayden should go to the bathroom upstairs and shower. He should maybe sit down and breathe like a person not currently vibrating with the need to know what his future looks like now. Instead, he turns and heads for the attic.

“Hayden?”

He ignores that. Again. His wife is going to kill him in at least three different planes of existence.

The attic steps creak under his weight. He gets the music box from the carton, twists the globe, and lets the light swallow him whole.

When he opens his eyes, it is daytime. That’s the first thing that he notices. Right. He left here in the morning. Of course, he’ll be back at the same time. Or some version of it. 

He exhales slowly before climbing down. Then, he sees Jackie in the hallway.

She looks surprised to see him, not mildly surprised, not in the you’re-up-early kind of surprise. 

“What are you doing here?!” she asks.

He stops at the bottom of the steps. “I was trying to look for something in the attic,” he says nervously. Something is wrong, wrong more than he thinks it is. He can’t deal with it yet, though. He can barely deal with the fact that his heart is still sprinting after a time jump. So he nods past her and keeps moving because he needs answers that are concrete, answers that come in objects and dates and things he can touch. He goes straight to the trophy room, and the moment he steps in, he knows. There are four replica Stanley Cups on display.

Four.

Hayden walks closer on numb legs. The first is where it should be. The second too. Then the third catches him and holds him there.

2016–2017.

They won.

His hand comes up before he thinks better of it, fingertips brushing the engraved plate. Montreal won the Cup in 2017, which should make him happy under normal circumstances. They made a dynasty. Four Cups are better than three.

But he wasn’t supposed to have four. The New York Admirals were supposed to win. Scott Hunter was supposed to win. 

He remembers that Stanley Cup night: Scott Hunter lifting the Cup and then kissing his boyfriend on the ice. Shane had told Hayden about that later on, how Hunter had made something possible for Shane and Ilya just by existing in public without shame.

But if Montreal won in 2017, and New York didn’t…

And if New York didn’t, then Scott Hunter never had that moment.

If Scott never had that moment, then—

“Fuck.”

Does that mean Ilya never kept going with Shane?

He runs his palm through his face. The thought hits him so hard he turns for the door at once. He needs Shane. He needs to see Shane right now and figure out what did or didn’t survive this version of the world. He gets halfway down the hall before Jackie stops him.

Not with words. But with a slap. It lands sudden across his face and freezes him where he stands.

Hayden turns his head back slowly, one hand already halfway to his cheek. He stares at her.

Jackie is furious.

Hayden has seen Jackie angry before. He deserved it a few times, too. But he has never seen her like this, and she never slapped him in the face. He didn’t give her any reason to. 

“What are you doing here, Hayden?!” she demands.

He blinks. “What?”

“What are you doing here?!”

He has no answer to that, not a usable one. Hi, baby, I’m time-traveling and possibly just ruined several lives in a different order seems unlikely to calm her down. So he grabs at the first thing he can think of. “I have to go to practice.”

In this life, does he even have practice on this particular day? Who knows. 

Jackie steps in front of the bedroom door when he moves towards it. “No.”

Hayden’s confusion trips over itself. “Why?”

Before she can answer, small feet hit the hallway. Arthur barrels into him and throws both arms around Hayden’s legs.

“Daddy! I missed you, Daddy!” Arthur yells.

The impact almost knocks the rest of the air out of him. Hayden looks down at his son, who's hugging him with the desperate force of a child, as though he has been waiting too long for him to come back.

He looks at Jackie, who’s glaring at him. “It isn’t time for your visit yet.”

Hayden looks up. His visit? The phrase does not make sense. It hangs there uselessly for one second, then two. “What visit?”

Jackie laughs once, ugly and disbelieving. “Are you serious right now?”

Hayden can hear his own pulse. “Jackie…”

“Do not come into my house and start acting confused.”

My house.

Hayden is so confused.

“You can’t keep doing this, Hayden,” she says, frustration evident in her voice.

Hayden stares at her. “Doing what? I don't understand!”

“Showing up unannounced. Looking at me like I’m supposed to tell you how this works.” Her voice doesn’t rise, which almost makes it harder to take. “You disappear, then you come back and act confused when I’m angry!”

His mouth goes dry. “I’m not acting, Jacks. I don’t know what’s happening!”

Jackie lets out a short breath and shakes her head. “I stopped knowing what to expect from you after you left for Russia without telling me.”

Hayden goes cold. “I did what?”

Arthur is still wrapped around his legs, and Hayden can barely think past that, and Jackie is standing between him and the bedroom like she has done it before. The familiarity of it unsettles him more than her anger does. This isn’t a fresh fight. He can feel that now. He hasn't lived through it, but it has happened too many times already, worn down into something tired and hurtful.  

He swallows. “Jackie, what do you mean it isn’t my time yet?”

She goes still at that. When she answers, her voice is flatter than before. “We agreed on how this works, Hayden.” She keeps her eyes on him. “The kids stay with me. You’re not supposed to visit until the end of the month.”

The words hit his ears harder than anything else she had said. Hayden stares at her. He’s suddenly aware of the sting in his cheek, the weight of Arthur against his legs, every dumb thing in his own body. He has limited time with the kids, which could only mean one thing:

Jackie divorced him.

Whatever version of Hayden lives in this altered present has wrecked his marriage so badly that Jackie is looking at him like a problem that she needs to throw out of the house. He opens his mouth, but whatever was there dies before it can become sound.

Jackie calls Arthur’s name softly, and Arthur only tightens his arms around Hayden’s legs and presses in closer. Hayden looks down at him, at the small body gripping him as though he might disappear the second he lets go, and that’s what does it. His vision blurs. The tear slips out before he can stop it, hot and sudden and humiliating. And for some reason, the horn blares in his ears again. He runs his trembling hand over Arthur’s head, keeping him close to him desperately, not wanting to let his son go, clinging to the last part of his old life he seemingly has lost.

He saved Shane from getting hurt. And in doing it, he did something so huge that it turns the future into a place he doesn't recognize, a place where Montreal won a Cup it was never supposed to win, where Scott Hunter never gave Shane and Ilya hope on live television, where Hayden apparently did something that broke his family.

Hayden looks at Jackie and knows, with horror, that he has not fixed anything.

He's made it worse.

Chapter 5

Chapter Summary

Stranded in the future he changed, Hayden tries to understand the life this version of himself has made.

Chapter Notes

The night after Hayden proposed, he found it difficult to sleep.

Jackie had said yes. They had stayed out too late, come home a little drunk, and gone to bed smiling at nothing. Hayden should have settled with that. Instead, he lay awake beside her with their hands linked over the blanket and kept worrying at the bliss until he found the part that could still hurt him later. Every time his grip loosened, Jackie tightened hers again without fully waking, which only made him feel more seen. For a moment, he almost left it alone. But then, he did what he always did and pushed anyway.

“Why’d you say yes?”

Jackie opened her eyes. Even in the dark, he could feel the look she gave him.

“Hayden.”

“No, I know how that sounded.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I just mean… you knew what you were getting.”

“With you?”

“With the whole thing.”

She turned onto her side then, still holding his hand, and went quiet. When she finally spoke, she told him to try again and use real words.

“The hockey part,” Hayden said.

“Do you think I hadn’t thought about that?”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Yes, it was.” Her voice stayed calm. “You were asking if I understood what I signed up for.”

He didn’t need to answer. 

Jackie nudged their joined hands between them. “The night I walked up to you at that bar, I knew what you did for a living.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “You thought I was hot.”

Jackie laughs. “I did.”

“Thank you.”

“Not as hot as Shane, though.”

“Hey!”

“Good thing he isn’t my type.”

Hayden ignored that.

“You were also wearing a team jacket and talking about a road trip with half your teammates,” Jackie continued.

“Okay, yeah. Fair.”

“I knew what I was getting into.” She paused. “At least the hockey part. So if you have secrets, like you’re a magician or can talk to animals or bisexual or a time traveler or a secret agent, you should tell me now.”

Hayden silently giggles. And then…

“But I will be gone a lot,” he said. “Half the year. And even when I’m home, I’m not always home. There’s camp, practices, games, hospital if something goes wrong.”

“Hayden, I know all of that, too.”

“I just don’t want you waking up one day and deciding this isn’t worth it,” he admitted.

Jackie took a deep breath. “I knew there would be nights you were in another city and I’d be home without you. I knew there would be holidays rearranged around your schedule and dinners that got cold because you were stuck at the rink longer than you thought. I knew I’d spend some nights worrying about you and some nights being annoyed with you and some nights missing you so much I’d hate your entire profession for a few hours.”

He winced. 

“But we’ll survive.”

He looked down at their hands. “You could’ve picked somebody easier,” he muttered.

Jackie snorted. “Oh yeah?”

Hayden laughed. “Sure. Some accountant. Fixed hours. Home every night. Lower chance of getting punched in the face.”

“That does sound appealing.”

He squeezed her hand in mock offense. “Wow.”

She laughed.“I’m also thankful you weren’t Shane.”

“That was your comparison?”

“I mean… you being a pro hockey player already means we can’t be together all the time. If you were also doing commercials and magazine features and whatever else Shane had going on, I would’ve lost my mind.”

Hayden lifted his head off the pillow. “Excuse you. I had endorsements, too.”

Jackie turned her face toward him. “The training shirt brand that didn’t renew you doesn’t count.”

He stared at her in wounded silence, and she laughed, and he felt himself grin. She had always been able to do that to him. “You’re brutal,” he told her. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

Jackie smiled. “Yeah, get used to it.” Her face softened again, and this time there was no teasing in it.

“Listen to me,” she said. “I didn’t say yes in spite of hockey. I said yes knowing hockey came with you.”

He opened his mouth to argue and closed it when she gave him a look.

“I said yes knowing all of that,” she went on. “And for the record, your tragic endorsement situation had nothing to do with it either.”

He groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

Jackie brought their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I said yes because it was you. You with hockey. You without hockey. You with or without endorsements. You when the job takes you away. You when it brings you home.”

Something in his chest eased then. He had spent the whole night carrying around a question he already knew she could answer.  

“Yeah?” he asked again, which embarrassed him the second it left his mouth.

Jackie moved closer until there was barely any space between them.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” She assured him. “I’m not leaving your side, Hayden.”

Jackie left him.

The thought keeps circling Hayden’s head with no place to go, though it doesn’t come with answers. He doesn’t even know how it came to be. All he knows is that Jackie is angry at him and has arranged a visiting schedule for him and his children. He doesn’t know how badly this Hayden fucked things up that left Jackie with no choice but to leave him.

Shane arrives before Hayden has figured out how to stand in the hallway of the house without looking like a trespasser. Jackie must have texted him. Hayden doesn’t ask. He can see it in the set of her mouth and in the fact that she lets Shane on the upper floor without much more than a tired glance, as though this isn’t the first time she has needed Shane to come collect Hayden. 

Hayden sees Shane climb the stairs with that calm face he uses when he’s already decided he’s going to be incredibly patient, regardless of whether the situation deserves that patience or not. Hayden has always hated that face a little because it usually means Shane is about to be right about something and Hayden, as proven multiple times in the past, is about to be in the wrong.

“Hey,” Shane offers.

Hayden just stares at him. He hasn’t really moved since the slap, since Arthur had curled against him. This Shane is older than the one he left in 2017 and somehow not the Shane Hayden expected either. That keeps happening. He keeps reaching for the life he knows and finding something different instead.

“Why are you here?” Hayden asks.

Shane sighs once and then shakes his head. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Hayden doesn’t go. He turns instead at the small sound of Arthur fussing and watches Jackie cross the hall and peel Arthur off Hayden’s leg. Arthur reaches for him once, but Jackie is determined to keep moving. Over by the doorway of one of the bedrooms, Amber appears in pink socks and a crooked shirt, hair mussed from sleep or crying or both. She sees him, lights up for one painful second, and shouts, “Daddy!”

The word hits him so hard he almost takes a step forward.

Jackie doesn’t let that happen. She ushers Amber back with one hand, pushes Arthur into the room, and closes the bedroom door with a firm click that somehow feels worse than the slap.

Shane gets a hand around Hayden’s arm and starts steering him toward the stairs. Hayden could fight him. In some part of his brain, he expects he should. But he knows this Shane is more knowledgeable of this world than he is, so he lets Shane drag him down the steps, through the lower hall, out the front door, and into the driveway where Shane’s car is parked under the weak morning light.

Hayden looks back and sees Jackie appear on the porch, arms crossed. He wants to go back. He wants to run up the drive and say sorry to his wife, even though he has no idea what he’s apologizing for, and to do one thing that makes her look at him with less anger and less defeat. He wants, with a ferocity that surprises him, to go back to this morning or last week or 2017 or wherever the hell this all cracked open and fix it before he loses the life he spent years trying to hold together.

Shane opens the passenger door and nudges Hayden in as if he’s under arrest. He might as well be. He keeps staring at the house while Shane rounds the hood and gets behind the wheel. The engine turns over, and neither of them speaks for a second. Then Shane glances at him and asks, very flat, “Have you been drinking again?”

Hayden turns his head. “No," he says, hoping that’s true. He has no reason to think he’s drunk right now, but he also didn’t know he was divorced until twenty minutes ago, so his confidence in his own life is hanging by a thread. As it appears, time travel doesn’t come with memories that would’ve been useful in situations like this. It just dropped him into the wreckage and left him there clueless.

He needs to know why Jackie left him. He needs to know how Montreal winning the Cup in 2017 somehow leads to this, to a house he doesn’t belong in and a porch Jackie stands on like a guard at the gate of the life he lost.

Shane backs out. From the side mirror, Hayden sees Jackie staying where she is, watching the car and making sure it leaves with him in it.

Hayden keeps twisting around to look through the rear window. He watches the porch, the front steps, the siding, the stupid, perfect house they bought and built together. He watches until it disappears.

And that’s when he breaks.

The first sound tears out of him, ugly and huge, and there’s no stopping it. He folds in on himself and sobs with his whole chest. He doesn’t care that Shane hears it. He doesn't even care, for now, that this Shane is still a question mark to him, older and changed and maybe no longer really his in the way best friends are supposed to be. 

Shane doesn’t tell him to stop, but he doesn’t do the false soothing thing either. He drives for another block, one hand steady on the wheel, and then flips open the center compartment and nudges a box of tissues toward him without comment.

Hayden takes three at once and presses them to his face. They’re useless in seconds. He grabs more and keeps crying.

By the time the drive is half over, the worst of it burns itself out. He’s left with shaky breathing, a pounding head, and the raw shame of having made sounds he didn’t know could come out of him. Shane turns once at a light, glances over, and seems to conclude that Hayden is at least no longer in active danger of throwing up or jumping out of the moving car.

They stay in it the rest of the way.

By the time they pull up to Shane’s place, Hayden has talked himself into exactly nothing. He has only managed to feel more lost.

Inside, the house is neat the Shane Hollander way. Everything has a spot and is where Shane meant to leave it. The whole world is out of joint, but at least, Shane’s entryway still looks under control.

Shane takes Hayden’s jacket without asking and hangs it by the door. “Sit down.”

Not knowing what else to do, Hayden sits on the couch and, with his red eyes, watches Shane disappear into the kitchen. It’s still Shane’s home, the one where they used to play Chel for hours and where Hayden sometimes brought the kids. He tries to look around with his puffy eyes, searching for any sign that someone else lives here too, but the more he takes in, the worse the feeling in his stomach gets. The house feels lived in, but only by Shane. There isn’t an extra pair of shoes by the front door, or a second mug left behind, or a picture frame with a particular Russian man.

He didn’t only lose Jackie. As he suspected, he also seems to have broken whatever Shane and Ilya were supposed to become.

That hurts him, too, in a distant way. Too many things hurt right now. It was just two days ago when he had accidentally outed Shane and Ilya, and now, he had gone even further and stopped their whole relationship before it could really begin. For a second, he wonders if the safest thing he could do for Shane was to stay away from him entirely before he ruined more of his life.

Shane comes back with water and hands him a glass. Hayden takes it because refusing would only get him a look, and he can’t survive one more look today. He drinks, then drinks again, and Shane waits him out from the chair across from him.

“What were you doing there?” Shane finally asks.

The question stings more than it should. Hayden lowers his eyes to the glass before anything too raw can show on his face. It’s my house too rises up anyway but dies there. Of course, in the reality where he and Jackie are done, he would leave the house to her. He knows himself well enough for that. Still, the loss of it bites. He would’ve never chosen this. He would’ve never chosen anything that ends with Jackie blocking a doorway and his children being taken away from him.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I mean, I know why I went there. I just—”

…didn’t know I wasn’t allowed there anymore. Didn’t know she’d look at me like that. Didn’t know my children would scream for me and still not get to come near me.

He stops. The sentence has nowhere good to go.

Shane watches him for a second, then frowns. “I thought you were past this. The last few times you were there, you seemed okay, but—”

“But?”

Shane sighs. It’s visible he’s trying his best not to push too hard. “It’s only now you cried like that again. It’s been over a year, Hayd. Is this some kind of relapse? Or something?” 

Hayden looks down. He doesn’t know how to answer that. How can he tell Shane that this isn’t a relapse because it’s all new to him? He can’t exactly tell Shane that waking up inside four years of somebody else’s consequences feels a lot like getting hit from behind and only realizing later what broke.

Instead, he stays quiet too long.

Shane watches him for another second, then leans back a little, and Hayden can see the moment he decides to stop pushing at the softest part of the bruise.

“You should move the stuff from the trophy room to your apartment.”

Hayden looks up. Of course, he has an apartment. Somewhere. That feels like a detail a man should know about his own life.

Shane continues when Hayden says nothing. “When you visit at the end of the month, that’s if Jackie still lets you after what happened today, move all of it out. You left half your life over there.”

He probably thinks Hayden went back for the trophies. Hayden can’t blame him for that. Jackie likely told him Hayden stormed into the trophy room, and that part is true. 

“Ask Cliff to help,” Shane adds.

Hayden looks up so abruptly his neck complains.

Shane rubs once at his jaw. “Actually, no. That’s a bad idea. Forget I said that. I will help you.”

Hayden keeps staring. “What do you mean?”

Shane’s face barely changes. “Huh?”

“Cliff? Who’s Cliff? As in Cliff Marleau?”

That gets him one of those looks from Shane, the ones that always make Hayden feel younger and stupider than he actually is. Shane studies him, probably waiting for the obvious to arrive on its own. He sighs again. “You know you don’t have to keep that secret anymore.” 

Hayden blinks. Too many times actually. Why on any version of this universe would he ask Cliff fucking Marleau for help? And why does it involve a secret? Then, something cold moves through his chest. Suddenly, panic kicks in. Of course, Marleau got pulled into this. He was the one Hayden directly interacted with to change everything. Marleau’s what? A close friend now? Close enough that he can ask him, a Boston player, for help in moving his rival’s trophies? 

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and starts looking for his text thread with Cliff. He needs to know what fresh horror he created this time. He’s hoping it doesn’t involve a divorce. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself if he ruined another relationship. Is Cliff married? He’s pretty sure Cliff was single when he invited him to drink, but maybe that changed. Many things can happen in four years. 

Hayden doesn’t need to scroll far down to find their text thread. It’s right there at the top. He doesn’t know what he expects to find, but it’s definitely not… this. 

Ilya

I miss you.

When will I see you again?

He scrolls.

Ilya

Can I drop by tonight?

after the game?

He makes five scrolls further.

Ilya

I know everything is difficult

but I hope you don’t regret this

Hayden exits the thread before he can read more. He doesn’t need more. He already has enough to feel sick.

In this world, he didn’t only lose Jackie. He also got so close to Cliff that Shane can say his name and expect Hayden to understand, and Cliff says things like he misses him or something. His stomach turns. If he ever needed proof that one stupid choice in 2017 wrecked lives beyond his own, he has it now. The evidence is sitting in his phone. He looks up again, horrified at the thought. “Did I cheat on Jackie?”

Shane’s whole expression changes at that. He stops looking irritated and starts looking concerned, as though he has finally accepted that whatever’s happening with Hayden right now isn't simple. “That’s a weird question to ask now,” he replies.

Hayden waits him out.

Shane watches him a second longer, then answers. “No. Not that I know of. You only started seeing Cliff after the divorce, right? At least that’s what you told me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Hayden mutters. He breathes for what feels like the first time in five minutes. He hadn’t cheated on Jackie. Great. Good. Fine. OK. So then what the hell did he do? 

Hayden knows himself. Of course, he does. He knows he wouldn’t cheat on Jackie in every version of his existence. But there's this one thing he didn't know; apparently, he can get involved with men. With Cliff Marleau, even. Of all people. So there’s that. Is he gay? 

He doesn’t think so. Like, okay, maybe he has, on occasion, looked at half-naked Shane in the locker room for a lot longer than necessary. That doesn’t mean anything. Shane has a ridiculous torso. Admiring your best friend’s abs and pectorals when the man looks sculpted by a higher power isn’t a sex thing. It’s an envy thing. He just wants that for himself. Or maybe when Denis, his high school friend, kissed him after they defeated the Elite Four in Pokémon Diamond in his bedroom, and Hayden didn’t exactly recoil from it, but maybe that just meant he was secure. Maybe he was that willing to help his friend figure things out about himself. Maybe that was what emotionally and sexually healthy teenage boys did, wasn't it? He married Jackie and had lots of sex with Jackie, and some sex with other women before that. All of that should point somewhere straightforward.

But suddenly, an annoying Russian voice in his head cuts through his argument. “Bisexual people exist, Pike.” 

Of course, Ilya, despite his absence, would still find a way to weigh in. Hayden opens his eyes and glares at the coffee table as though Ilya himself might be crouched under it, being unbearable from a distance of several years and a completely different timeline. Is he that? Bisexual? 

He gets up before the thought can settle any deeper and takes his glass to the kitchen for another fill, or maybe a gallon. He’s glad Shane’s house has the same layout. Hayden clings to that for a second because he can't get more lost right now. This isn't really the best time to be having a sexual identity crisis, but apparently, life throws curveballs at the most unexpected times. He drinks one glass standing there, attempting to drown his thoughts, and then fills another and heads back out. 

Shane is still watching him, and it makes Hayden feel observed down to the bone.

Hayden scratches the back of his head. “I was thirsty,” he says, as if that’s the thing Shane’s concerned about.

Shane looks at him for another second, then gets to his feet. “And I’m going to finish my yoga.”

Right. Jackie must have yanked him out of it when she called. Of course. Hayden nods and looks around, trying to find his things before remembering that he didn’t arrive with any. He gestures towards the door, but Shane shakes his head. 

“No. Stay for lunch,” Shane tells him. “Stay the night, too. We have to leave early tomorrow for practice. You can sleep here. Your bag is in the guest room anyway.”

Hayden wants to refuse. Right now, staying close to Shane feels irresponsible, given his recent track record of detonating his best friend’s life in different ways across multiple timelines. But really, where will he go from here? He doesn’t know where his apartment is, and he didn’t even arrive in his own car. At least here, he has his bag, which is something. This is probably for the best. By staying here, he can also ask some very non-obvious questions to Shane that can help him figure out what this version of the world is about. He nods. “Okay.”

Shane gives the answer a brief satisfied look, then starts heading to the yard, where Hayden assumes a whole yoga setup has been waiting since 6 A.M. 

Hayden sits again, still with red eyes, his phone still heavy in his hand, and watches Shane prepare to fold himself into impossible shapes. He has the entire day, and his only job is not to come apart on the couch. He can do that. 

Hayden isn’t able to do that. Shane comes back from his yoga session and finds Hayden curled into the couch with his forehead pressed to the armrest and his whole body shaking. He doesn’t hear Shane at first. He only feels the cushion dip and then Shane’s careful and firm hand on his shoulder, not asking permission and not making a big thing out of it either.

“Hey,” Shane murmurs. “Come on.”

Hayden wipes at his face and fails to stop crying.

Shane gets him up anyway, and there’s no real room to protest. He takes Hayden down the hall and into the guest room, and that’s its own fresh blow because the room isn’t a generic guest room at all. As Shane said, a bag he assumes is his is there, and when he examines the closet, he finds six of his shirts and three of his jerseys, one for practice, one for home games, and one for away. He also opens a drawer and finds several pairs of folded trousers and shorts. There are also several articles of underwear, which he knows are definitely his because he likes them seamless, and in the en suite bathroom, a toothbrush is resting by the sink. Hayden has the stray thought that Shane must be making an obscene amount of money between hockey and endorsements, more than what he initially thought of, if even the guest rooms have their own bathrooms, but that barely lasts. What stays is the obvious thought: he’s been here a lot.

That should probably make him feel worse, but it doesn’t. Something in him loosens at the sight of his things sitting here, as if they belong. Even in this ruined version of his life, he had still kept coming back to Shane, and Shane had kept making space for him. And Shane came for him this morning, still dragged him out of Jackie’s house before he could make everything worse. That’s at least that, he thinks.

Shane tells him to shower and then leaves him alone. Hayden almost wonders if Shane sent him there because he reeks, but once the warm water starts running over him, he realizes it’s to calm him down.

When he comes out in one of his own shirts from Shane’s guest room, toweling his hair with more force than necessary, lunch is already done. Shane has made him actual food, not the macrobiotic nightmare Hayden had braced for. Real food, with bread and eggs. He learns, during the meal, that Shane keeps regular food around now because of him. Because he’s always here and because Yuna complained that nobody should have to visit her son and survive on grains and nuts alone. That almost gets a laugh out of Hayden. 

Aside from that, lunch passes under Shane’s watchful silence. He doesn’t poke at Hayden, which the latter is extremely thankful for. He just keeps him company in chosen silence. The rest of the day goes the same way. Shane reads, and Hayden sits with him uselessly, still drowning in his thoughts. Later, they put a movie on and let it run while neither of them comments much. It’s old work between them, this way of staying near each other without demanding performance. Shane doesn’t hover. He doesn’t leave Hayden alone either. 

By night, the house has gone darker and quieter and more dangerous for Hayden's mind. He goes to the guest room, shuts the door, takes the side of the bed, and stares at the ceiling for a while. His things in the drawers make the room feel familiar, but they don’t make it bearable. He turns the lamp off, turns it back on, stands, sits again, then gives up and goes up the hall with his pillow in his arms.

He knocks on Shane’s door with two fingers, already regretting it.

Shane opens it in a T-shirt and sleep pants, not looking tired yet. Probably, he had been reading or organizing something or doing whatever men with intact lives do before bed.

Hayden clears his throat. “Can I sleep in here?”

Shane blinks once.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Hayden adds. “I just… I can’t sleep alone.” 

This is a bad idea, and Hayden knows it while he’s standing there in Shane’s doorway asking for more of Shane than he has any right to ask for tonight. Staying close to Shane has not gone well for either of them lately. Still, the guest room feels too empty, and his own head feels worse. He needs another person near him, and right now, Shane is the only person he has.

Something in Shane’s face eases then, not by much, but Hayden sees it. “Don’t be silly,” he says. He grabs Hayden’s pillow and steps back from the door. “Get in.”

He moves his own pillow from the left side of the bed and puts Hayden’s there instead. Hayden climbs in, feeling ridiculous and far too relieved to care. He keeps to his side at first, hands pulled in close, trying not to take up more room than he should. Shane turns the light off and settles beside him. After that, they lie there in the dark with the house quiet around them and all the things neither of them has said yet pressing into the room.

Hayden’s the one who breaks first. “I keep fucking things up,” he says softly into the dark. “Everything’s out of control.”

Shane doesn’t answer right away. Hayden can feel him thinking beside him. Silence from Shane is never empty. It usually means he’s lining the thought up properly before he lets it out. “Maybe you should stop trying to control everything,” Shane tells him at last. His voice stays calm and flat, which somehow makes the words harder to dodge. “Maybe just do what you can, one thing at a time.”

Hayden lets out a breath that catches in his throat. He rolls onto his back and stares up into the dark, letting the words sit there with him. Minutes pass before he opens his mouth again. 

“I feel alone,” Hayden says. 

The confession hangs there and sounds wrong even to him. It shouldn’t be true. Until this morning, he had a wonderful wife and a house and kids who loved him loudly. Then again, that isn’t his life anymore. The truths of this world are slowly creeping into him, and he starts feeling it. The Hayden who lived here, who made a mess of things, who visited Shane so many times that his things are already fixtures in the guest room, was lonely.

Hayden can feel the mattress move as Shane turns onto his side.

“Even with Cliff?” Shane asks.

The question catches Hayden off guard. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. How’s he supposed to know? He barely knows Cliff. He might know him from games and bad blood and one disastrous bar plan that started everything and, as he learned just today, a text thread on a phone that belongs to a version of Hayden he still hasn’t caught up to. That's just it. Whatever exists between them in this life, Hayden is stuck standing outside it, only staring in. All he really knows right now is that he lost his family.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully.

Shane goes quiet after that, and Hayden can feel him taking the answer in without judgment. He’s just being Shane, lying there in the dark and letting Hayden be a mess. The silence stretches for a while before Shane speaks in a soft voice.

“Me too,” Shane says.

Hayden frowns. For a second, he doesn’t know what Shane means, whether he’s answering about Cliff somehow or the marriage or the whole wreck of Hayden’s life. He thinks about it until Shane speaks again.

“I feel lonely, too,” Shane clarifies. 

The words go through Hayden with a dull kind of force. He closes his eyes. Whatever loneliness Shane is carrying in this life has Hayden’s fingerprints all over it, whether Shane knows that or not. I’m really sorry, Shane, he silently says, eyes welling up again.

For a while, they’re just there, two best friends lying in one bed staring at the dark, both feeling the same thing. At least, they have each other, right? 

Hayden should leave the conversation there, but he just can’t help himself. He needs to know.

“What about Rozanov?”

The quiet beside him turns heavy. Shane doesn’t answer, and Hayden knows right away he has stepped into something he isn’t supposed to know. In this life, Shane probably never told him. He remembers figuring it out in 2018, sometime in November, but judging by Shane’s expression, that didn’t happen. There’s no reason for it to happen because Hayden already blew it up a year before.

“Did Cliff tell you?” Shane asks at last.

There’s apparently a version of the world where Shane knows about him and Cliff, whatever that even is, while Hayden isn’t meant to know about Shane and Ilya at all. And he’s in that world now. Hayden thinks it’s bananas.

“No,” he murmurs. “I figured it out. A long time ago.” Which is true in the most technical and miserable sense possible.

Shane goes quiet again. Hayden can feel the questions gathering anyway, then fading before they ever reach Shane’s mouth. In the end, Shane only lets out a breath through his nose and leaves it alone. “It doesn’t matter now,” he murmurs. “We were done.”

Hayden wants the bed to open and swallow him. He lies there with his face pressed into Shane’s pillowcase and thinks of Ilya gone, Shane alone, Jackie tired to the bone, Cliff waiting on a thread full of hurt, and himself somehow at the center of all of it. He had only wanted to save one person, but it resulted in him destroying multiple people’s lives. And he feels helpless. Part of him wants to fix everything all over again, but the rest is terrified he’ll only make it much, much worse.

“Look at us,” Shane says after a while. “One bisexual divorcé and one lonely gay man. Some fans will be thrilled.”

That gets a soft chuckle from Hayden. The world is a mess, but at least, his best friend’s dry humor is still here. And the joke somehow confirms that Hayden came out to Shane. Or is it part of a joke? Hayden doesn’t really know. He doesn’t know a lot of things right now.

He feels Shane turning towards him. “Can I ask you something?” 

Hayden nods before remembering Shane can’t see him in the dark that much. “Yeah.”

“What really happened with you and Jackie?”

Hayden stares at the dark. He really feels pathetic right now because he hasn’t answered any of Shane’s questions sensibly. He has nothing, nothing he can say, nothing he even fully knows. He almost spills out the truth, not all of it, though. The full truth would get him sent to a psychiatrist, and maybe fairly. But looking from the perspective of someone who fucked multiple lives in multiple ways and stayed in that time, he can make a pretty good guess. He must’ve obsessed about fixing things. 

Because that’s what he’s feeling now. 

He can see himself trying to find ways to fix what he’s caused, which is highly likely to have also resulted in more problems. If Shane is right and Cliff only came later, then the problem must’ve started with Hayden running after one disaster until he turned into another, while Jackie and the kids got whatever pieces of him were left over. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” That’s what Hayden settles for. There’s some truth to it, at least, he thinks. 

Shane takes that answer with a low sound that could mean anything. “What were you doing in Russia?”

And that makes Hayden regret agreeing to answer questions this late at night. What a strange question to ask to Hayden Pike. However, he has a guess. Still, a guess isn’t an answer, and he doesn’t know how much of himself he’s willing to expose because he doesn’t even know himself right now. Hayden stays quiet too long, and he can feel Shane waiting beside him.

Then Shane lets out a breath through his nose and mumbles, “Still not telling me, then.” He shifts onto his back and adds, “I’m just worried about you, Hayd. I don’t know if you got mixed up with the Russian mafia or something.”

The laugh tears out of Hayden before he can stop it. He gets reminded of all the ridiculous bullshit people used to whisper about Ilya, and then the bed is shaking under him because once he starts, he can’t really stop.

Beside him, Shane goes stiff with offense. “I’m serious. My mom knows this great security agency if you need it.”

That only makes it worse. Hayden presses a hand over his face and keeps laughing into the dark, shoulders jerking with it, the sound half ruined by everything that came before. It feels wrong and right at the same time. This fucked up version of the world he created has Shane, gloomy and lonely, but he’s still the Shane he remembers, funny without him knowing it.

“You know what,” Shane mutters after a while, sounding a little fed up now, “I’m going to sleep. You should, too. Practice is early.”

Hayden forces himself to stop laughing and hums a soft “good night, buddy” after apologizing for all the trouble he caused today and lets the quiet come back.

A few more minutes, Shane’s breathing evens out beside him, but Hayden stays awake, now calm from the laughter, but feels worse for having found anything funny in the middle of all this.

He lies there staring into the dark, listening to the house settle around them and wishing, not for the first time, that whatever force dropped him into this mess had come with instructions. A note, maybe, or a rulebook while we’re at it, or one stupid hint scratched into the music box. Just anything. Something that would tell him how to move through a life that is his and not his at the same time, how to tell which parts can still be saved, how to stop making things worse every time he reaches for the people he loves.

But there’s nothing. 

There’s only this wrong timeline pressing in on him from all sides, and Hayden awake in the middle of it, trying to find a clue where there isn’t one.

Chapter End Notes

I think Hayden is the type to listen to Great Good Fine OK, so I had to put it in the narration :))

This is probably the lowest point of the fic, so things should start looking up from here, as long as Hayden doesn’t screw up again. >:) As you might have noticed, this chapter is mostly conversation, so I hope that's okay! There should be more action and time-travel stuff soon.

This was originally meant to be my Shayden friendship fic, as opposed to my Haydenov friendship series, and this chapter still has a few traces of that before I completely overhauled the original outline. :))

As always, thank you for coming along for the ride, for the kudos, and for the comments!

Chapter 6

Chapter Summary

Determined to do better, Hayden makes a new plan.

Chapter Notes

Hayden is still wishing this time travel thing came with instructions. He won’t be greedy now and won't ask for a full rulebook. A pamphlet would do, or a cheap little user manual. It won't fix everything, but it would spare him the six-in-the-morning sprint down the hall with one hand over his mouth and the very real fear that he’s about to die in Shane Hollander’s bathroom.

He felt Shane getting out of bed first, probably for a run or yoga or some other sunrise activity Hayden suspects only Shane enjoys, and that woke him too. 

And the second he opened his eyes, the memories of the years he missed hit. It wasn’t gradual either. They came in a pile, all of them shoving at once until his stomach turned so hard, and now, he's running towards the bathroom while questioning why Shane's hallways are too long. It reminds him of his first flight with the team, rookie year, that away game in New York when he spent half the trip puking into a bag beside J.J. By the end of it, J.J. was watching him with deep concern, genuinely thinking Hayden might throw up something vital. It was a terrible flight, but it was also the start of his friendship with J.J.

Shane is upright behind him. Hayden barely makes it to the toilet before he's bent over it, miserable, and then there's a hand on his back, moving in slow circles that only make this more embarrassing because Shane’s being all nice about it despite Hayden making a mess in his bathroom. When Hayden finally stops, there’s already a glass of water beside him. He didn’t even see Shane leave to get it. Hayden rinses his mouth, spits, and looks up just in time for Shane to press a palm to his forehead and start assessing the situation with far too much seriousness for 6 in the morning.

“What are you feeling right now? You think we should go to the doctor?”

Hayden touches his own neck, checking for fever too, mostly because Shane did it first and it seems worth confirming. But there’s nothing, no fever, no normal explanation at all, really. He’s just apparently time-sick due to the sudden flood of four years' worth of information. The dump confirms his still-lasting friendship with Shane, though, so there’s that.

That and the worried look on Shane’s face right now. It’s the same worried he was yesterday. He’s probably connecting this to the rest of Hayden’s breakdown, which isn’t entirely wrong. 

“I’m okay now, I think,” Hayden mumbles. “I’ll just go back to sleep.”

Shane doesn’t look convinced. His hand stays on Hayden’s shoulder for another second. “You sure?” he asks. “I don’t think I’m comfortable leaving you after that.”

Hayden shakes his head, which is a terrible idea because it punishes him immediately and makes him feel sick again. He’s grateful Shane still cares this much. He really is, but he also needs Shane to go do a 10K run or a three-hour yoga session right now so that he can sit alone and sort through all the new information he has in his head. Because his brain is currently leaking random information to his consciousness, and half of it is useless at this moment. Like, he has a friend abroad named Kyle now. Who the fuck is Kyle? And what is a fluffernutter? Hayden swears he has never eaten a fluffernutter in his entire li— Oh, wait. Yeah, he has. 

And then, there was a hand at the back of his neck. Then there was Cliff Marleau. There was Cliff Marleau leaning close while Hayden talked himself into thinking he was still in control of anything. There was a kiss that Hayden broke off too quickly and then thought about far too long afterward.

Hayden shakes his head hard in an attempt to knock the memories loose, which only makes his stomach lurch again. He can’t be sick in the head and sick in the stomach at the same time. As always, though, luck isn’t on his side. He gives Shane what he hopes passes for a reassuring smile, rinses his mouth again, and lets himself get shepherded back to the bedroom, where Hayden gets his pillow and says he’ll try to get some more sleep in the guest room while Shane’s out. Shane still looks suspicious, which is fair. Hayden just tried to die in his bathroom before sunrise.

To sell it, Hayden climbs into the guest bed, pulls the blanket up, and closes his eyes in what he hopes reads as himself peacefully recovering and not himself waiting for witnesses to leave before mentally unpacking four years of bad decisions. He even tries to breathe normally, which is a mistake because now he’s thinking about breathing and has forgotten how people do it without supervision. Shane stays in the doorway for a few more seconds, probably counting Hayden’s breaths or taking mental notes for the medical report he’s one bad answer away from filing. Then he tells Hayden to text him if he feels sick again. Hayden hums his agreement, which is the safest response since opening his mouth might invite more questions.

Only when Hayden hears Shane’s footsteps move down the hall, followed by the click of the front door, does he open his eyes. He sits up with the pillow in his lap and starts digging through the memories crowding his head. This isn’t how he thought the morning would go. His original plan was to lie there and feel miserable until Shane comes back and drags him to practice with a threat. Instead, he gets four years of bonus material shoved into his skull before breakfast, which is rude, but useful. Hopefully. 

But if he’s going to be asked, he doesn’t have the slightest idea of what to do with the information he’s about to uncover. At the very least, he might finally learn where his apartment is, so there’s that. 

Hayden rests his head on the guest headboard and starts digging into his newly acquired memories. Of course, he goes for ones that have to do with Jackie first. If he's going to spend another eight days in this life, he needs to know what actually went down before his brain starts inventing worse options. 

He goes through the beginning, how he tried to throw games just so that New York would win, but was questioned not only by their coach but also by Shane. He goes through how he was in New York while Jackie was in labor, how he cried on Shane’s shoulder while mumbling about how heartless Theriault and their GM were for not allowing him to take a leave for the birth of his child. He goes through the win against New York, and then the win against San Francisco that gave them their third Cup. How he skated around the ice with the Cup over his head, eyes welling up because Jackie wasn’t there and because the win wasn’t supposed to happen. He goes through flashes of people screaming at his face and congratulating him all at once. 

He goes through the night Shane called him while staying silent all the while and Hayden could only hear sniffles on the other line, how he tried to console his best friend without knowing exactly how to without giving everything away. He goes through how he tried to get information about Ilya from Marleau, how he, for weeks and then months, tried little ways to nudge Shane and Ilya back together, and how the guilt moved his priorities away from his family and his wife, who needed him the most. He goes through how he traveled places, to Boston, to New York, and faraway cities, just so that he could try to put the universe back into place.  

He goes through how Jackie asked him to be there and how he promised and how he broke his promise. He goes through how he went home at 4 in the morning one night from an unplanned trip and saw Jackie’s disappointed face. He goes through how he asked for forgiveness just to be gone for a week without telling anyone where he was and why, and how Jackie found out he flew to Moscow because he forgot to delete the visa application email from his laptop. 

That makes him laugh into the pillow. He can’t help it. He crossed the world to try to convince Ilya to come back just to learn that he missed catching Ilya for a fucking day. Maybe that Hayden shouldn’t have decided his plans while either drunk or in a series of the world’s worst hangovers. The laugh lasts only a few seconds before he remembers that the idiot who did all of that is still him. Different circumstances, yes, but same brain, and the thought sobers him right up.

He goes through how that transcontinental trip was the final nail in the coffin and how he fought, without any plan to change, for his marriage to no avail. He goes through how most of his nights were then spent in bars without talking to anyone and how he didn’t decorate his new apartment, which, as he learns now, is six blocks away from Shane’s house, how he hated his apartment, and how he preferred staying in Shane’s guestroom despite his friend’s growing annoyance.

And before he can stop himself, he goes through how Marleau was there at the bar one night, and then more nights, how Marleau brought him home one time and left him safe in the apartment he hated. He goes through how Marleau kissed him and how he pulled away immediately. And then he goes through how Marleau kissed him again the next night and how he kissed him back. He goes through how he dragged Marleau into one of those Boston bars’ restrooms and how Marleau knelt in front of him, how he closed his eyes, and how he started to feel wanted again. 

When he’s done going through the years, Hayden is panting so hard that anyone would think he’d been the one out on the 10K. He pants and cries because, as he suspected without any doubt, he fucked up his life.  

When Shane comes back, Hayden is hunched over the kitchen table with a torn notebook page and one of Shane’s pens, taken from the little cup by the fridge. 

Shane pauses at the doorway and looks him over. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” Hayden answers, which is true in the least impressive sense available. He feels better because earlier he was crying, puking, and clueless about the world. The bar didn’t need to be high. His life is still completely fucked, but now it’s fucked in ways he actually understands, which is technically better.

Shane’s eyes drop to the paper. “What are you writing?”

Hayden glances down. “Just things I want to do when I see the kids at the end of the month.”

Shane accepts this after one narrow-eyed pause. Maybe he believes him, or maybe he knows Hayden is lying and has decided that pressing him before breakfast will only create more bathroom incidents. Either way, he tells Hayden they should grab something before practice since there’s no time to cook, then leaves the kitchen to change.

The moment he’s gone, Hayden looks back down at the page. It isn’t a list for the kids, not really. Now that he’s aware of everything, he knows the thing that ruined this timeline wasn’t just one mistake. It was how Hayden tried to fix that mistake, alone and in secret, and followed it up with increasingly terrible decisions. He didn’t trust anyone with any of it, not his wife, not his friend, and it cost him everything. So if he’s going back again, he has to do it differently. 

He has to tell Jackie. 

Not every impossible detail all at once, for sure. He still has no clue how to begin a conversation with hello, my beautiful wife, I am from the future and also very stupid. But he has to let her in. Jackie is smart, patient, practical, and far more equipped to handle nonsense than anyone had ever given her proper credit for. She might think he has lost his mind. Fair. But he just needs proof before he opens his mouth. He has eight days to plan for that.

He continues writing the list:

He stares at it, chewing on the pen cap for a second. He’s never managed to break that habit, not since elementary school, which feels embarrassing but is probably not his biggest problem today.

Then his phone chimes. Marleau’s name lights up the screen. Hayden closes his eyes, lets the pen cap slide from between his teeth, and adds one more line to the list.

That one keeps his eyes longer than the others. The memories give Cliff to him in pieces, but those pieces are enough. Cliff was nice. Worse, he was really, really nice. He was there for Hayden in this broken world, and some part of Hayden went to him with both hands open and no good plan. That Cliff belongs here, though. He belongs to this ruined branch of time where Hayden lost everything. Hayden reads the last line again and tells himself what should already be obvious. He has Jackie, and he has his kids. Well, he will have them once he gets back, but yes, he has them. There’s no universe where he chooses Cliff Marleau over them. There will never be.

He presses the pen harder into the page and underlines the last line twice. And he continues to ignore his phone.

Practice is humbling in ways Hayden doesn’t appreciate.

He’s worse on the ice. There’s no polite route around that. This body still knows hockey, but it doesn’t know it the way Hayden remembers knowing it. If Ilya thinks Hayden is bad at hockey, he should meet this Hayden. He feels heavier, and his timing is off. The mirror in one of Shane’s many guestroom bathrooms that morning already gave him a clue. The hard lines across his stomach had gone missing. His shoulders are still broad, but the definition he remembers is gone. He’s in shape, sure, but not in the sharp, punished, meticulously trained version of shape Shane once dragged him into kicking and swearing. That program clearly never happened here. Or it started, and Hayden ignored it while busy ruining his marriage internationally. He wonders how the hell this version of him managed to win four Stanley Cups.

After practice, J.J. catches him in the locker room and asks what he and Shane are doing tonight, whether they’re free to go out. It takes Hayden a second to answer. The last time he saw J.J., from Hayden’s consciousness anyway, J.J. was firing daggers at him in the locker room with betrayal written all over his face after the FanMail video blew up. Here, J.J. is damp from practice and easy about it, tossing out an invitation for the evening as if nothing ever broke between them.

Their friendship with J.J. was collateral damage in that other life. Unlike the rest of their teammates, J.J. wasn’t horrified by Shane being into men. Hayden is sure of that. He even tried to set Shane up with "decent gay men in Montreal." The hard part for J.J., aside from being kept in the dark, was Ilya, which Hayden understands too well to judge him for it. The difference between them, however, was that Hayden got time. He got dinners and reluctant acceptance and years of learning that Ilya Rozanov was, yes, still a jackass, but not one Shane needed saving from. J.J. never got that chance. He got the truth and the explosion at the same time.

That needs fixing, too. So when Shane and J.J. disappear into the shower room, Hayden pulls the list from his bag along with the pen he stole from Shane’s house and adds another line.

He reads over the list while the locker room crashes around him. Most of it looks doable if he lowers his standards for what counts as doable. Telling Jackie he’s from the future and making J.J. be cool with Ilya might be the hardest ones, but he has a week to workshop those. 

Looking at the list, though, he can’t help thinking about this life he woke up in. It’s fucked, obviously. Very fucked. Historically fucked, even. But he has Shane here, and J.J., too. Hayden and Shane seem even more solid in this timeline, which is a horrifying reward for mutual suffering and therefore very on brand for Hayden’s current experience with the universe.

That doesn’t change anything, however. He can’t keep this life, not with his family gone, and not with Shane still ending his nights in his bed alone. And definitely not with Cliff Marleau waiting on texts Hayden has no intention of answering. He has to do it right this time.

Shane and J.J. come back out towel-dry and half-dressed, and J.J. asks why Hayden hasn’t showered yet. Shane glances at him too, curious now. Hayden folds the paper once, then again, and tucks it back into his bag.

“Just replying to texts,” he tells them.

That gets him a smirk from Shane, and Hayden has no idea what to do with that. Maybe this timeline’s Hayden has been texting Cliff in corners so often that Shane recognizes the posture. Maybe Shane is only relieved Hayden is acting normal again. Either way, it feels embarrassing.

He stuffs the stolen pen into the side pocket of his bag, strips down to his underwear, and heads for the showers.

“You should answer that,” Shane points out, his eyes on Hayden’s phone on the counter. It's been a week since Hayden woke up in this reality, and he still hasn't been able to clear things out with all the people involved.

And now, Marleau is calling again. He’s been calling since last night, but really, Hayden has no intention to pick up or answer even one of his texts. One, Hayden doesn’t really know the guy. Yes, they might have kissed. Multiple times. And there might be something more than a kiss that happened in that public bathroom in Boston, but the one participating in that was the Hayden who fucked things up. As far as he’s concerned, he isn’t that. That Hayden ruined his marriage, lost his family, and then, for some reason, found comfort in a Boston player with big hands and very poor taste in men. Two, there’s no point in responding to any of Marleau’s attempts to reach out. Hayden will be at Jackie’s house today, which means he has a chance to climb up to the attic and go back to the past. Whatever he and Cliff have in this life, it will be gone, along with the many horrors of this world, once he starts moving with his plan. 

Besides, this whole new thing about being into men, too, is an added load in his already messed-up brain that currently contains two different realities. At first, Hayden tried to blame the other Hayden for all of it, the Hayden who kissed Cliff. That Hayden learned what it felt like to be touched by a man and came back for more. But then again, he's not so different from that Hayden. If he is, he won't be sitting here sharing memories with him and sharing the same experience of how soft Cliff's hands cupped his face when they kissed. 

Hayden presses the side button and silences the call. Shane gives him a sharp look. It’s very unfair that Shane can make disappointment look so plain. Hayden misses the version of his best friend who mostly judged him about protein intake.

"I thought you already replied to him," Shane adds, and Hayden only shakes his head, lips pursed. 

“He’s been texting me since last week. I didn’t want to tell him anything,” Shane tells him, “But he was so insistent, asking why you weren’t responding, so I told him you had a breakdown.”

Hayden turns to him in shock. Then, he realizes that it doesn’t matter. Cliff doesn’t matter. Hayden has written it down and everything, underlined twice in stolen ink.

“He’s just worried about you, Hayd,” Shane adds. His look has genuine concern in it, and it makes Hayden feel guilty, for some reason, for putting Marleau into this situation. He can’t lie to himself. When the memories came back, they also brought back the tenderness of Cliff’s hands, the exhilaration of trying new things, and the terrible relief of not being lonely even just for a little while. And sitting with all of those for a week wasn't good for Hayden at all.

It won’t hurt if he talks to him, right? He will talk to him just to be decent. The poor man is waiting, and Hayden will be lying if he says he doesn’t feel bad about it. 

“I’ll call him later,” Hayden finally says. 

Shane studies him for a second longer before nodding. “Okay.”

Hayden waits. He waits for some minutes until his things are ready and he’s ready to go. He sits on one of Shane’s huge couches and grabs his phone, reminding himself he’s only doing this because it’s the decent thing to do. 

Cliff answers on the second ring. “Baby?”

The relief in Cliff’s voice is undeniable, and it gets to Hayden first, not the worry, not the exhaustion, not the pet name. Hayden closes his eyes and considers throwing the phone into Shane’s very tasteful wall.

“Hey,” he answers, badly.

“Fuck,” Cliff breathes. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Yeah. I saw.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to Hollander.” Cliff pauses, and Hayden can hear him choosing the next words too carefully. “I know you don’t like him in the middle of this.”

This. God. Apparently, they have a this.

“It’s fine,” Hayden manages.

“It’s not fine, but I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t answering me.”

“I'm sorry," Hayden says, finding himself sounding too sincere to someone he barely knows. "I had a rough week.”

Shane, from the kitchen, makes a small sound that suggests he considers this an insulting understatement. Hayden ignores him. Shane has no authority here. Except this is his house, and he was the one who dealt with Hayden the entire week, so yes, he does have, a little.

"I told you you don't have to do everything alone, right? Good thing Hollander is there," Cliff adds. 

"I'm sorry," Hayden says again.

"I know everything's difficult, but please don't shut me out like that again."

"I'm sorry."

“Fuck. I wanna be there with you. Are you okay now?” Cliff asks.

Hayden looks toward the front hall. His bag waits there. Past that, Jackie’s house waits. Past that, the attic and the music box and the only route back to a life where he belongs. “I will be,” he says.

Cliff exhales. “You will be.”

“I’m seeing the kids today.”

The line goes quiet for half a second. Then Cliff’s voice warms. “Baby, that’s great.”

Hayden grips the phone harder. Of all the unfair things Cliff could have done, sounding happy for him is the worst one. He should be angry, or confused, or demanding. He should make this easier to discard. Instead, he sounds as if he knows exactly how much this matters and would never dream of stepping on it.

“Yeah. I should go before Jackie changes her mind.”

“Right,” Cliff returns quietly.

“I have to go.” 

“Yeah,” Cliff murmurs. “Okay.”

Hayden pulls the phone from his ear.

“Hayden?”

He brings it back because the body he's in now is apparently weak and even stupider than regular Hayden.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

The words hit under Hayden's ribs and stay there. He freezes and doesn’t answer. He can’t give Cliff the words back. He can’t even apologize because that will only invite questions. Whatever Cliff loves belongs to this place, to this broken version of the world, to a Hayden who built intimacy out of wreckage, and he isn’t that Hayden.

So Hayden does what Hayden does and ends the call. After that, he only stares at the screen. Then he tells himself Cliff doesn't matter, and he tells himself again when the first try doesn't work.

The phone lights up with a text. Hayden turns it face down without reading it. He pockets it instead, fingers brushing the folded list inside the same pocket. Tell Jackie. Help Shane. Handle Ilya without getting murdered. Stay away from Marleau. 

Shane appears in the hall, already holding his keys. He doesn’t ask about the call. “You ready?” Shane asks. He’s going to drop Hayden off at Jackie’s house.

Hayden breathes in. No, he isn't ready. He's a divorced time traveler with stolen stationery, an untested plan, and a Boston player’s love sitting unanswered in his phone. Readiness has left the building. But his kids are waiting, and more importantly, the attic is waiting. Hayden shoulders his bag. “Yeah,” he answers. “Let’s go.”

He has spent four years proving that panic can ruin a life one decision at a time. Today, he’s going to get back to the start of it. He’s going to tell Jackie the truth and stop trying to fix the universe alone.

Even if it means leaving someone who, apparently, based on how hard and fast his heart beats now, is really, really important to him.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for the long wait! I ended up doing a major revision after finishing the first draft of this chapter because I just wasn’t happy with it. I had to move a few scenes to future chapters and rework a lot along the way. I still don’t know why I decided to write about time travel because now I’m the one suffering over timelines too 🤡

As always, thank you so much for reading, and for all the comments and kudos!

Chapter 7

Chapter Summary

With a clearer understanding of what went wrong, Hayden returns to the past.

Chapter Notes

Calling it Jackie’s house hurts. Hayden tries not to let that show when Shane parks outside and gives him a look that is probably meant to be supportive, though Shane’s supportive face and his someone-has-misfiled my-taxes face aren’t distinct enough for most people. Under better circumstances, Hayden would use his last words to make fun of him for that. Today, he only reaches for Shane’s shoulders and gives him a tight hug. 

“Oh, we are... hugging,” Shane reacts. 

“Thank you for everything, buddy,” Hayden says, ignoring Shane’s reaction. This Shane might be lonely and sad, but he didn’t stop being Hayden’s friend, and he’s been there during Hayden's lowest moments. Hayden knows he will see Shane again, not this one, though, so he feels he needs to have a proper goodbye, even without the other party knowing it is one. 

“You’re still going home tonight, right? At my house?”

Hayden pulls away from the hug and nods. “Yes,” he says, despite having no real intention to do that. 

“We can sleep in my bed again, if you like that,” Shane says. 

Hayden smiles. “Did you like it when we did that?” 

Shane looks down, and his lips quirk. “It felt nice.”

Hayden can’t believe he’s going to miss this Shane. “Then we’ll do that again,” he promises, his slight sadness hitting the same breath because Shane won't remember this agreement. Also, if Hayden actually pulls this off and gets Shane back to Ilya, he’s pretty sure Ilya will murder him before letting him reclaim any spot beside Shane in bed.

“Call me when you’re done,” Shane tells him when he’s out of the car.

Hayden glances over. “I’ll catch an Uber instead, but I’ll let you know when I’m arriving,” he says, not wanting Shane to drive a few blocks for nothing, as in nothing. None of these will matter soon once Hayden jumps to the past again, but he still doesn’t want this version of his friend to stop whatever yoga pose he’s doing or book he’s reading just to get him.  

“Okay.” Shane nods once, satisfied with the answer. “And for dinner, I’m thinking—”

“Don’t worry about me, buddy. I’ll get takeout.”

Shane nods again, and Hayden walks towards the house before Shane can add another practical concern to the pile.

Jackie opens the door before he can knock a second time.

For one stupid moment, his body forgets this is the wrong life. He sees Jackie and recognizes home. He wants to lean in, press his face into her hair, breathe her in, and tell her this will be over soon, that he’s so sorry, and that he has a plan now. He wants her hands on his face and her voice calling him an idiot with affection instead of legal restraint.

But Jackie’s face stays blank.

“Hi,” Hayden manages.

“The kids are here,” she returns, already stepping back. “I’ll be upstairs.” Then she turns and goes. There’s no fight, but there’s no softness either. Jackie gives him the children and removes herself from his vicinity, which somehow hurts worse than if she had slammed the door in his face. At least a slam would have given him something obvious to be upset about. This is just Jackie being careful, and Hayden has no defense against careful Jackie. Historically, though, he has had no defense against Jackie at all.

He watches her go up the stairs and musters everything in him to stop himself from calling after her because doing so would be a disaster. He has a gift for disasters, yes, but he is trying to retire. He can‘t hug her, can’t promise anything to her, and can’t tell her that if everything goes right, she’ll never become this tired of him. She’ll never stand in this doorway and look at him as a problem she has already solved by removing it from her life. He keeps his mouth shut, a rare and heroic act for someone like Hayden Pike, then turns towards the living room and puts on a smile for his children.

Arthur runs to him first, quiet as ever, but once he gets his arms around Hayden, he doesn’t let go. Jackie once joked that Arthur was like Hayden’s son with Shane. He has Hayden’s baby face, blue eyes, and brown hair, but he has Shane’s haunted accountant personality, even at his very young age. Initially, Hayden couldn't see it, but eventually, he did, and Shane did, too. Ilya thought they were all crazy. Hayden knows Arthur grew into this, a daddy’s boy who once decided Hayden’s side of the bed was also his. In the life Hayden remembers, Arthur stubbornly crawled into their bed almost every night, even after being put in his own room, and Hayden used to complain about knees in his ribs and tiny hands in his mouth. He would pay actual money right now to be kicked in the ribs by the little bugger again.

He moves to the couch, now carrying Arthur in his arms as if he isn’t six already, and takes a seat between the twins, which proves to be a bad idea because both of them start talking at once, their voices bright and loud and so normal that Hayden almost buckles because he missed them so much. He presses a kiss against their cheeks and gives one to Arthur, too, after complaining about not getting one. Amber climbs on his lap and gets one as well. Hayden still can’t erase the picture of Amber seeing him but not allowed to run to him when she saw him here last week. He hugs her tight. His kids are also suffering, from one way or another, in this messed-up world, and Hayden can only blame himself.

Jade and Ruby laugh and wriggle and start telling him about school before Hayden has fully gotten his balance with Arthur at his side and Amber on his lap. The twins will be on a field trip soon, and Ruby hates a girl named Bree, or maybe Bree hates her; it's unclear. Hayden nods along with great seriousness, though, already prepared to destroy Bree if needed. Hayden stays on the couch with all of them for a while, listening to school stories and toy disputes and a long, passionate explanation of how Bree is being mean to Ruby. He laughs when Jade tells how it’s Ruby’s fault all along, he asks questions, and he lets Amber press a damp hand against his jaw without complaint. He takes what he can get.

All the while, he listens upstairs.

He listens to Jackie moving around for a bit. He then hears a drawer open, a door shut, and footsteps cross the ceiling, then stop somewhere toward the bedroom. He waits another minute, just in case. He has already told Jackie he will start emptying the trophy room today, which means she expects him upstairs. That should help him if ever Jackie finds him there. Still, there’s a difference between the trophy room and the attic, and Hayden doesn’t want this Jackie, angry and exhausted and done with all his bullshit already, asking why he suddenly needs access to boxes he has ignored for years.

“Jade, can you look after your siblings for a minute? Daddy has to get something.” 

“What is it?” Jade asks.

“Just something Daddy needs. Is that okay?” 

“It‘s okay.”

Arthur’s arms tighten when Hayden tries to sit up.

“Buddy,” Hayden murmurs, smoothing a hand over his son’s hair. “I’ll be right back.”

“No.”

That’s a powerful argument from someone as cute and quiet as Arthur, and Hayden respects it.

“I have to get some stuff upstairs.”

“No, Daddy.”

“What if,” Hayden tries, “we get ice cream later?”

Arthur lifts his head, and Hayden feels filthy. Effective, but filthy. Parenting is mostly bribery.

“Chocolate with cookie bits?” Arthur demands.

“Chocolate. With cookie bits,” Hayden agrees. “And I’ll add more chocolate cookies if you release Daddy from captivity.”

The twins hear cookie bits and immediately sound like union representatives. Now, everyone gets their own kind of sprinkles, including Amber. Hayden agrees to all terms because he’s outnumbered, and also because the ice cream time won’t happen anyway. He isn't sure what to feel now that he can just say things without consequences. Maybe this time travel thing has some good in it.

Arthur reluctantly lets go at last, and Hayden kisses the top of his head and stands before he changes his mind and locks his father again. 

He moves towards the front door first to ensure that the door is locked. Then, he moves towards the stairs. The steps creak under him, and Hayden pauses halfway up. He used to live here and knows that noisy step. It also exists in that other life, and Hayden mentally notes to add it to the things that need to be fixed. It isn’t going to the list, though. He moves more carefully after that, passing the hallway toward the bedroom with his heart thudding too loudly. The bedroom door stays closed, and Jackie doesn’t come out. He heads for the trophy room first because if Jackie catches him, at least he can gesture vaguely at awards he doesn’t really care about right now.

Then, very carefully, he pulls the attic hatch as quietly as he can, then winces when the ladder doesn’t agree with him. He climbs up, one careful rung at a time, and ducks into the dim heat of the attic. The boxes are still there. For a second, relief knocks through him so hard he has to close his eyes. The old box from his mother’s house still sits tucked beside a plastic bin of Christmas things, dusty and unremarkable. It looks absurdly normal for something currently holding Hayden’s last chance at not being the worst husband in recorded history.

Hayden kneels, opens it, and finds the music box inside. He lets out a breath that nearly becomes a laugh. It’s still here, and it’s still real. The tiny, impossible thing that has ruined his life and might, if it feels cooperative, let him unruin parts of it. He should probably hate it, but right now, he really wants to kiss it.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the folded list. The paper has already softened at the creases from how many times he touched it since last week. He unfolds it and reads it again, forcing each line into memory. He can’t take it with him. The previous jumps taught him that. 

Do good with Jackie, Shane, Ilya, and JJ. Stay away from FanMail and Marleau.

His eyes stop at the name before he closes his eyes to force all his thoughts down. He needs to focus on his mission, and that doesn’t involve thinking about Cliff Marleau, despite all his memories with him sitting in his head now, despite Cliff’s voice on the phone, soft around I love you.

Hayden shakes any thought involving the man out of his head and folds the list again. He puts it in the box with his mother’s things. It feels wrong to leave it there, but maybe that’s the point. A confession should stay somewhere, a record, evidence that, for once, Hayden understood the assignment, or at least he tried.

Below him, one of the kids laughs.

Hayden closes his eyes. He thinks of Jackie downstairs in the time he wants back, caring and still patient with him, still willing to call him out and love him in the same breath. He thinks of Shane before loneliness got comfortable beside him. He thinks of Ilya, annoying and impossible and soft under all the assholery. He thinks of the life he had, the life he broke, and the life he wants.

Then he picks up the music box and twists it. The melody begins, and the light spills out.

As he closes his eyes, he can feel his phone vibrate in his pocket, and then it’s gone. The light takes him back to the past, hopefully for the last time.

April 2017

Ten days into this Montreal stay, Cliff’s side of the hotel room looks exactly how it has looked every night so far. His duffel is half-open on the floor. One shoe is by the door, the other has wandered under the chair, and his jacket is hanging off the end of the bed when he gave up on hanging it properly somewhere around day two. On the other side of the room, Ilya is playing a game on his phone, muttering what Cliff assumes are Russian profanities. 

Cliff is on his bed when his phone buzzes. He takes it, expecting Carmichael, maybe, or one of the rookies already asking where they are getting dinner. Instead, the text is from an unknown number. He almost ignores it, thinking it’s spam, until he reads a name he never thought would appear in his inbox.

Hayden

Hey. Hayden Pike here

I know it’s weird but

Want to get a drink tonight and talk shit about our teams?

Cliff reads it once. Then he reads it again, which changes nothing. Hayden Pike is texting him. Voluntarily. And he’s inviting him to drink. His mouth does something stupid before he can stop it, and he can feel it happening and hates himself for having a face that gives him away this easily. His thumbs move before his brain catches up.

Ilya

Sure.

10?

Back of the hotel.

And just like that, the message is gone. Cliff sits there with the phone in his hand and stares at what he has done. That was alarmingly… easy. He should have waited at least a minute. Two, maybe. He could’ve asked if it’s really who he’s claiming to be. But no, he replied very eagerly, and it’s humiliating.

Across the room, Ilya glances up from his phone, goes still for one second, then grins. “Look who is blushing now.”

Cliff grabs the pillow behind him and throws it hard enough to make a point. Ilya tries to dodge but fails. The pillow catches him in the side of the head.

“What the fuck, Marly!” Ilya barks.

“Mind your business.”

“You say that now, huh? Because you were not in my business for years?”

Cliff glares at him and looks back down at the thread, and it’s still there: Pike’s invitation and Cliff’s appalling lack of restraint. He hasn’t even asked the important question, which is why Hayden Pike wants to meet him at all. To talk shit about their teams, Pike said. Sure. Cliff has heard lots of lies in his life, and that one’s not even particularly ambitious. Hayden doesn’t need to sneak him out for drinks to gossip about their teams. He has his number now, which means they can just text and talk about how bad Comeau’s socks stink (the Bears can smell it from afar) and how Feller has only one natural tooth left. So no, this isn't just about talking shit. Cliff would bet money on that, and he likes money.

The problem is that he has already agreed before thinking about all of these, and Pike must be thinking he folded really quick, which he can’t really deny. There wasn’t even an attempt to play it cool. 

Ilya’s still watching him with that pleased, bitchy look. “Who is it?”

“No one.”

Ilya snorts. “Shut your idiot face Marly. You do not smile like that for anyone.”

Cliff ignores him. He drops his phone onto the bed beside him and lies back for a second, staring at the ceiling and trying to recover some dignity before ten o’clock gets here and he has to face Hayden Pike in person. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t get back any.

It’s simple, really, and embarrassing. He agreed quickly because of one reason: Pike asked. That’s it. Cliff could pretend there had been strategy involved, or curiosity, or some deep commitment to enemy reconnaissance, but really, Pike could probably text him want to help me move a fridge? and Cliff would be halfway out the door despite them not really knowing each other. Put those big blue eyes anywhere near the question, even just in Cliff’s imagination, and the whole thing is over. He is done. He is saying yes.

Cliff remembers the first time he noticed Pike. It was 2014. It was a home game for them, and Montreal was visiting. He was chasing Hollander across the ice, ready to check him against the boards when suddenly, Pike appeared out of nowhere and foiled his plan, pushing him instead. Pike looked up at him with those big blue eyes, told him, “Out of the way, big boy,” and then smirked before skating off. Cliff was pissed for about two seconds. After that, he was mostly distracted.

His teammates, except for Rozanov, were impressed that Pike threw himself into a guy as big as him with Pike's relatively smaller physique. Cliff thought it was because Montreal’s whole first line was built around Hollander getting the puck into the net, which was most likely true, but he wasn’t really thinking about that. All he could think about was the man’s big blue eyes, while he was pressing him against the boards and the smile that came right after. In Cliff's opinion, those eyes should be illegal.

It was bad. Before that, his attraction to men had always been easy to ignore. None of his teammates had ever really done it for him, so he was able to effortlessly file the whole thing under theoretical and get on with his life. But Hayden Pike showed up and ruined a perfectly functional system by being exactly what he wanted. 

Learning that Pike was already married and had three kids was a bucket of ice over Cliff’s head. For a short moment, he might’ve thought about how Pike was in bed given what he had and produced, but guilt eventually got Cliff. There’s absolutely no way his attraction to him would lead to something. Aside from being married, he was also on the rival team. It’s pointless. That's why he never followed Pike on social media, which he still thinks, until now, should count for something. He only stared a little too long whenever Pike’s face showed up on his phone screen, which, in Cliff’s opinion, isn't the same thing and never will be. 

But now, he’s going to meet him tonight for drinks. And he doesn’t really know what it’s for. And he said yes very easily. Cliff can’t do anything now but groan.

Across the room, Ilya tosses the pillow back onto Cliff’s bed. “If you cannot decide if you are going to meet your chick tonight, you should not.”

“What?”

“If you are thinking too hard about it, it means you are not sure. It is complicated, yes? With your face like that? It means you should not go.”

Cliff gives him a questioning face. He knows Ilya is perceptive, but he didn’t expect him to correctly guess what he’s dealing with right now. 

“We have a game tomorrow. Focus on that,” Ilya adds. 

Well, his friend is right. There are more things he should put his attention to right now, like the game against Montreal, a game that, if Montreal wins, will advance them to the conference finals. Boston shouldn’t allow them to do that. Cliff should be in perfect shape and ready to beat Montreal. So he should listen to his captain. Instead of meeting with Pike tonight, Cliff should focus on defeating him. That’s supposed to be the goal. He should forget his attraction to the man and tell him he can’t make it.

Cliff’s first mistake is that he showered... again. Someone who isn’t going doesn’t shower twice in one evening and scrub behind his ears. But Cliff does all of that. He also puts on a shirt he likes that defines his chest more. Plus, he sprays too much cologne.

“You put too much on,” Ilya remarks, not looking the least bit concerned for Cliff’s dignity. “Girls do not like perfume that strong.”

Cliff caps the bottle and thinks, good thing I’m not meeting a girl then. “Mind your business,” he mutters instead and keeps getting ready as Ilya watches him while reminding him, repeatedly, to not stay out too late.

Now, Pike is approaching him, and all of that absurd preparation feels humiliating yet justified at the same time.

Pike comes around the corner in a dark jacket, cap, and jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. He looks casual in that young dad way, and Cliff hates him for it a little. He also can’t stop looking. Pike glances up, spots him, and something in his face loosens. Relief, maybe. Or maybe Cliff is a self-important idiot who has spent too much time hoping Hayden Pike might want him the same way he does.

Cliff stops in front of him and tips his head once. “Pike.”

Pike gives the same back. “Marleau.”

“Thought this was a joke.”

“It can still become one.”

If Cliff already thinks big blue eyes should be illegal, the eyelashes around them feel like an added charge. Whatever last bit of caution he dragged down here dies here.

It takes them a while to start moving, which isn’t ideal. Cliff imagined this part going better in his head, though to be fair, in his head, Pike usually starts by saying something devastatingly flirtatious and Cliff comes back with an equally flirtatious response. 

Pike huffs a laugh and jerks his chin toward the street. “There’s a bar two blocks down. It’s quiet.”

Cliff nods and falls into step beside him. Quiet isn’t really what he expected from this night, but here it is. Pike continues to lead him somewhere dim and mostly empty, the sort of bar people go to when they want drinks without witnesses. Cliff notices that and has to work very hard not to read too much into it. 

They get a booth at the back. Pike orders whiskey, and Cliff orders the same. He knows himself to handle whiskey really well. He doesn’t intend to have anything stronger than that, though, and Pike is playing tomorrow, too, so Cliff assumes they’re both operating under the same basic understanding.

The first sip burns all the way down. Pike’s face changes after his own, just for half a second, and Cliff catches it before Pike hides it again. There’s a story there, probably one with bad choices and worse whiskey. Cliff doesn’t ask yet, though. The night is too new, and Pike is sitting across from him by choice. Cliff has no intention of scaring that away with too much curiosity.

“So,” Cliff begins, leaning back, “why are we here?”

“Nothing,” Pike returns. “Just wanted to hang out with someone from Boston before we destroy you tomorrow.”

Cliff huffs. “Not gonna happen, Pike.”

Pike rolls his eyes and reaches for the peanuts. “Really, I just want to hang out. This weird rivalry between our teams has gotten old.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, that and maybe I wanted to see if you’re as annoying off the ice.”

Cliff lifts his glass toward him. “And?”

“You are.”

That should probably offend him, but it doesn’t. Pike looks pleased with himself, and Cliff has been forgiving him for that exact look since the first time the man checked him off Hollander and called him big boy without doing anything to take care of its aftereffects on Cliff. This is apparently Cliff’s personality now.

“You too, Pike,” he returns after their glasses touch. “You too.”

Pike grins, and Cliff makes the first of several strategic choices for the night: he doesn’t look directly at Pike’s eyes for too long. This is for self-defense purposes. Cliff looks at his drink instead, which seems safer until he remembers Pike is reflected faintly in the glass. As it appears, he has no escape.

The first stretch of the night goes better than Cliff had any right to expect. Pike actually does talk shit about their teams. He gives Boston credit even when it visibly pains him, drags Montreal with obvious affection, and listens when Cliff complains about coaches and Rozanov. Pike, as Cliff realizes, is funny off the ice. 

On the ice, Cliff could at least pretend the appeal came from competition and adrenaline and the fact that Pike kept putting himself between Cliff and Hollander with that infuriating little grin. Here, with a glass between them and no crowd making noise, the appeal is doing its thing, and it’s really, really bad for Cliff.

Another round arrives. Cliff drinks, and Pike drinks less, probably. He doesn’t really know. He just chugs down the shots so that he can do anything other than look directly at the man for too long.

At one point, Pike asks about Rozanov as a captain, and Cliff answers without needing to think. His friend is a tyrant in more than one language and is right almost all the time. Pike laughs at that, the sound quick and bright, and gives him something back about Hollander.

“You and Hollander close?” Cliff asks, aiming for casual and probably missing the target by a mile.

Pike watches him over the rim of his glass. Cliff regrets asking if only because looking back is dangerous.

“Since forever.”

Cliff nods. He, like everyone else, has always known that. Pike might not be a generational talent, but he has always been with Hollander since they were thrown in a line together. On social media, if Pike isn’t with his wife and kids, he’s with Hollander. Still, hearing Pike say it out loud, hearing the certainty and pride there, makes Cliff feel both fond and stupidly jealous. Jealous of a friendship now. New low unlocked. 

“Looks that way,” he mutters.

Pike pauses, and then he moves the conversation. He asks about Boston road food, and Cliff lets him. He can do that much. He can sit here and follow Pike from topic to topic. He can drink with him. He can make him laugh, and he can laugh with him. He can take whatever Pike is willing to offer.

Cliff knows what he can’t have. The man is happily married and has kids. He has a whole life waiting somewhere with people who get to love him in the open. Cliff doesn’t need to touch that. He isn’t stupid in that specific direction. And even if Pike were single, they couldn’t be together anyway, not as opposing players in a very, very straight sport. But this? A drink, some laughs, a version of Pike outside the rink, across from him in a booth, looking at him like Cliff is someone worth passing the night with? Cliff can take that. Friendship, drinking buddy, whatever can safely hold around their schedules. He can be fine with that.

He’s still thinking about it when Pike leans back and asks, “So you always say yes to weird invitations from your team’s rival?”

Cliff laughs into his glass. “Only from the pretty ones.”

The words are out, and there’s no getting them back. Maybe he had too much whiskey already. Between this and him immediately accepting the invitation, maybe he needs to think first before saying anything.

Pike’s brows rise. Cliff considers several follow-ups, all of them bad. He could play it off or double down. Or he could walk outside and throw himself into incoming traffic, though that would be inconvenient and horrifying for Pike, and he can’t do that to him. 

Pike laughs. “Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You really do talk shit for a living.”

Cliff exhales through his nose, relieved despite himself. “Part of the job.”

The night keeps going. Midnight slips past, then one, and Cliff feels the whiskey more in his laughter than his legs. Pike is still sharp across from him, too sharp maybe, but Cliff is enjoying himself far too much to examine that properly. Pike keeps giving him little looks, small flashes of attention that Cliff stores away despite having no right to them. His fingers tap against his glass sometimes, and his smile goes tight for a second before he finds another joke. There’s something nervous under the charm, something Cliff can’t name. It makes him want to lean closer, to comfort him and tell him that whatever it is that's bothering him, Cliff can take care of it for him. 

Eventually, Pike cuts him off from his delusional thoughts and from ordering again by standing.

“We should go.”

Cliff opens his mouth to argue and then gets upright. “We should?” he mutters.

“Yeah.”

And really, after today, who is Cliff Marleau if not Hayden Pike’s obedient boy?

Pike walks him back to the hotel, which Cliff appreciates more than he should. Pike doesn’t make it weird. He stays close without hovering and never once treats Cliff like he’s a problem that needs handling. Cliff is used to people laughing when he goes too far, used to being shoved toward elevators and beds and told to sleep it off. But Pike, with his beautiful eyes and long eyelashes, walks him back to his hotel. Cliff likes him a little more for it, which, again, is really, really bad for him. He was already doing terribly.

At the back entrance, Cliff braces one hand against the wall and turns toward him.

Pike stops a few feet away. His mouth looks tight now, though Cliff can’t read why through the whiskey haze and the sheer unfairness of his face. Cliff wants to say something. He wants to ask what this is and, depending on the answer, if they can do this again. He wants to ask if Pike knows what he looks like when the light hits his eyes from above and makes Cliff forget every sensible thing he has ever believed about wanting.

“You’re weird, Pike,” he says instead.

“That’s been brought to my attention many times today.”

Cliff laughs, though it comes out rougher than intended. Whoever said that to Pike today, did they also feel what he’s feeling right now? He has no right to it, but with the effects of whiskey crawling through his veins, he feels selfish at the moment. 

“You’re also—

…very beautiful, very kissable, a huge problem, not single, not one I can have.

“Nope,” Cliff mutters, squinting a little and laughing at himself. “Lost it.”

Pike smiles back, and Cliff almost asks why it doesn’t reach his eyes. If he did something wrong and Pike isn’t happy because of him, he’s going to hate himself. He didn’t know whiskey has this effect on him. The whiskey from that bar must be really different. He almost reaches for the question sitting right there, but instead, he pushes off the wall.

“See you tomorrow, Pike.”

Pike answers quietly, too quietly for Cliff to catch, already stepping back.

Cliff smiles anyway, then disappears inside before he can do anything he’ll regret. He walks down the hall warm from whiskey, warmer from Pike, and far too pleased with a night that shouldn’t have meant anything.

Boston is being demolished, and Cliff wants to jump from the hotel window. 

This is his fault. Rozanov might have chirped that his idiot face wasn’t that important and they could win without him, but he knows better. He knows this is his fault. He had whiskey all the time, but it’s just this time that it knocked him out, rendered him motionless until almost noon, with Rozanov screaming at his idiot face, and gave him a splitting headache and an awful taste in his mouth. 

Now, it’s the third period, Montreal is up 3-1, and Cliff is sitting in the hotel room with the curtains half closed, watching his team try to survive eight more minutes on a TV screen. Many things can happen within eight minutes, like Boston tying the score and pushing for overtime. Boston could even pull off something amazing and heroic and make Cliff only feel ninety percent responsible instead of the full hundred. But with how things are going on the ice, it’s going to be difficult. 

Rozanov is playing meaner than usual, which is already meaner than other players’ usual. He throws himself into every board battle with a grim goal. Rozanov even checked Pike against the boards so hard that Cliff got worried even if he has no right to be, and he hates that he tracks whether he favors one side after and for letting worry get anywhere near the top of his concerns when Boston is losing a playoff game Cliff should be dressed for. For a second, Cliff wonders, in horror, whether Rozanov knows it was Pike who he was with last night for him to be checked with force like that. But then, there’s no reason for his friend to think that way. 

And there’s no reason for him to still be thinking about Pike, especially during this moment.  

That is exactly what got him here. Pike and his stupid invitation Cliff couldn’t say no to. Pike and his big blue eyes and long lashes, sitting across from him in that bar, smiling over whiskey Cliff should have stopped drinking an hour earlier. Cliff let the smallest thing Pike offered turn into something more important than a deciding quarterfinals match. A drink. A night outside the rink where Pike looked at him without a helmet between them. Cliff had taken all of it and acted as though it was worth risking tomorrow for.

Joke’s on him. Tomorrow is here now, and it brought consequences.

Again, what the fuck was in that whiskey? And why is Pike doing okay after it? It can’t be that he’s more lightweight than Pike when it comes to hard drinks. That can’t be true. But it’s that or Pike didn’t take all the shots last night, which he feels guilty thinking about. Pike wouldn’t trick him like that. Maybe the Voyageurs that are actually mean to him on the ice, like Comeau or Boiziau, would do that, but not Pike. Definitely not. 

On the screen, Montreal breaks out shagain. Cliff leans forward before he can help it, elbows on his knees, headache still pulsing behind his eyes. Pike has the puck and space to work with. For a second, he hesitates. Cliff sees it, or thinks he does, that tiny catch in the play, the moment where Pike could hold on, could take the shot himself, and could do anything other than what everyone in the arena expects from him. Then Pike sends it across. It’s a beautiful pass. It cuts through Boston’s coverage with cruel precision, right where Hollander is already waiting. Cliff hates that he can admire it while his team is dying on live television and that his first reaction isn't anger, but the sharp, unwilling recognition that Pike saw the lane before it fully opened and trusted Hollander to be there.

Hollander shoots.

Goal.

Montreal’s fourth.

Cliff drops back against the headboard and shuts his eyes for a second. “Fuck.”

The last ten seconds bleed off the clock with no miracle in sight. Boston has the puck for a moment, then loses it near the boards. Montreal pins it there, safe and cruel, and the horn goes.

It is over.

The announcers lose their minds, and the crowd in the broadcast turns into one long roar. Cliff opens his eyes again and sees Montreal crashing together near the boards, gloves tapping helmets, bodies pulling into that horrible, joyous clump he shouldn’t have to witness from a hotel bed while wearing yesterday’s sweatpants.

He waits for the camera to cut to Boston, but it doesn’t. Losers don’t get camera time. The broadcast stays with Montreal, with Hollander and Olsson and Boiziau and Drapeau and the bench coming alive behind them. But Cliff wants to see Rozanov and Connors. He wants to see the faces of the guys who are out there who lost the game he helped put out of reach. He deserves that more than he deserves seeing this celebration.

Then the camera finds Pike, and Cliff scolds the reflexive way his attention focuses on him. He’s a few feet away from the net, several feet away from his team celebrating the win. It’s clear that Pike isn’t celebrating, not properly at least. People are grabbing at him, shouting around him, trying to pull him into the noise, but he looks lost, pale, maybe, though the TV color is terrible and Cliff’s head is pounding so hard the screen might be lying. Pike stares toward the scoreboard with something wrong on his face.

Cliff’s first thought is that he’s hurt. His second thought is that he needs to stop making Pike his first thought. He presses the heel of his hand against his brow and tries to drag his attention back where it belongs, to his team, to his jersey hanging uselessly in the locker room, to Rozanov having to answer questions after this, while Cliff sits here, alive, ashamed, and probably still sweating whiskey through his pores.

The sound from the TV is awful. Cliff mutes it before the announcers can start uttering Boston’s loss into digestible storylines. He sits with the remote in his hand and watches his teammates move more slowly, heads tilted down, and sticks held loosely. Rozanov stays upright near center ice, jaw tight, and the rest of his face unreadable from the camera angle. Cliff doesn’t need to see more to know what’s there.

He failed them. He can take whatever comes next. Bag skates? Fine. A fine? He expects it. Coach ripping him apart in front of everyone? Rozanov giving him the cold, furious lecture first in English, then probably in Russian when English fails to carry the full size of his disappointment? Cliff will take all of it. He will nod, keep his mouth shut, and not defend himself even once because there’s nothing to defend.

An hour later, the hotel room opens and reveals Rozanov with an unreadable face. He doesn’t look at Cliff, and Cliff allows it. He knows he fucked up, and it cost the team their chance to win the Cup. He shifts in his bed and closes his eyes. 

He can’t betray his team like this ever again. 

Eight miles from the hotel where the Boston Bears are staying, the small attic window of the Pike residence glows bright.

Inside, Hayden opens his eyes and finds himself in a clean and dark attic. For a second, he doesn’t move. He only kneels there with one hand braced on the floorboards, breathing hard, the music box quiet in his hands, as his whole body carries the awful drop of traveling through time. Then the house reaches him: the faint hum downstairs, and the familiar old smell of wood and stored boxes, the air that belongs to home, not just Jackie’s house, not Shane’s guest room with his overworn emergency underwear in a drawer either. Home.

Then he becomes aware of himself all at once. The vibrating phone from his pocket isn't there. He’s sticky from the playoff game, and his shirt is damp under his arms. His hair feels terrible, and there's the faint, sour smell of sweat and rink. Right. They just won the match against Cliff-less Boston, and he just got home from the arena he ran from without showering.

“Hayden!” Jackie calls from downstairs.

Her voice jolts him hard from his recollection. The voice isn’t from the careful and fed-up Jackie from his other life. This is his Jackie, still annoyed and worried and still entirely willing to yell his name through their house because he has, from her point of view, kissed her a few minutes ago and then vanished upstairs like a man with suspicious hobbies.

“Hayden!”

“I’m coming!” he calls back, then winces because his voice cracks. 

He grabs the music box, then pauses. No. He sets it back in the box where it belongs for now, tucked under the other things from his mother’s house. He doesn’t need to carry the cursed little thing downstairs and introduce it at the same time as he introduces himself as a time traveler to his wife. 

The attic ladder groans under him when he climbs down. Hayden freezes halfway, listening, and Jackie is already on the stairs. Jackie Pike hears a strange noise once and goes to investigate it herself, presumably because fear is for people who run a household with Hayden Pike in it. He should’ve expected this. She appears at the top of the stairs just as he drops down from the ladder.

“There you are,” she begins, cradling her baby bump, and then Hayden is moving.

He doesn’t plan it. He sees her face and loses whatever patience he had left in his possession and crosses the hallway, takes her face in both hands, and kisses her.

Jackie makes a startled sound against his mouth, but Hayden keeps kissing her anyway, maybe too desperately, maybe with too much of four lost years behind it, but she is here, warm and real under his hands, and she’s his wife. She’s still his wife, and she hasn't learned to look at him from across a legal line.

Jackie pulls back first, her hands gripping his wrists. Her eyes search his face, already too smart for him, already close to seeing more than he wants to give her in the hallway while he smells like a losing locker room despite having won.

“Hayden,” she warns, though it comes out softer than it should. “What's going on with you?”

“I missed you,” he blurts.

Her eyebrows lift. “I saw you three minutes ago.”

“Yeah,” Hayden breathes, and laughs once because that is both true and not even close. “Long three minutes.”

Jackie looks at him for another second. Then her nose wrinkles. “I told you to shower,” she mutters. “You really smell.”

"Hey!" That breaks something open in him, small and bright and painfully normal. Hayden laughs again and lets his forehead tip against hers. “I just won a playoff game.”

“You also ran home from the Bell Centre without showering.”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Oh, the most talkative man I know has something to say?” Jackie pats his cheek, firm enough to count as affection and judgment together. “Shower first. Then whatever this is.”

Hayden wants to argue. He wants to tell her now, to spill the whole impossible mess right there between the attic ladder and the hall table, still smelling like sweat and bad decisions. But Jackie is right. Jackie is usually right, which is going to be very helpful once he gets her fully briefed and very annoying every second after that.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Shower first.”

“And put your clothes straight in the laundry, not in the hamper.”

He kisses her again, on her forehead this time, and heads toward the bathroom before she can decide to divorce him because of his sweaty smell. He's back. He's really back, and he has Jackie here. Now, he only has to get her in the know.

Chapter End Notes

no one: h—
cliff: did you know pike has big blue eyes?!

~

I know the plot moved very little, but I really thought having the events in Chapters 3 and 4 from Cliff's POV here would be a nice transition to Hayden going back and finally fixing things. I also think it's nice to see how DOWN BAD Cliff is for Hayden :))

I hope you all liked the chapter. I'll be back again next week with another update! :)) Thanks so much as always!

Chapter 8

Chapter Summary

Hayden finally brings Jackie into the truth.

Chapter Notes

“I slapped you in the face, huh?” Jackie confirms, slowly nodding.

“Uh.” Hayden is sitting on the couch with her, trying to understand why that is his wife’s first takeaway from the revelation he has spent the last half hour dragging out of himself one catastrophic sentence at a time. If he had made a script, or rehearsed in the bathroom while showering instead of winging it with wet hair and panic, maybe Jackie would’ve had a more useful reaction. “Yes?” he says hesitantly.

Jackie sits up straighter and leans against the backrest. There’s a purple elephant plush toy, Jade’s, positioned on the backrest, beside Jackie’s head, and it has been staring through Hayden for most of the confession. He keeps trying not to look at it, which only makes him look at it more. He hopes the elephant isn’t sentient. It shouldn’t be, obviously, but he did just travel through time, so, really, how can he be so sure? Mostly, he hopes it can keep a secret. Jackie joins the elephant in staring at him for a long moment, face unreadable in the terrifying way only her husband can read.

The disbelief hasn’t left her face, though. It has only gotten more organized. Hayden watches as Jackie takes the entire mess and puts it into mental piles: time-traveling husband, magical music box, Shane and Ilya as a couple, and future divorce. Hayden can practically see her choosing which pile to kick first.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jackie finally says. Hayden doesn’t understand how that visible active thinking led to this response. 

“Jacks...”

“I saw Rozanov push you against the wall earlier. Are you sure there’s no concussion?”

“Jacks…”

“Did they have you checked after that?”

Hayden takes her hand. “Jacks…” 

Jackie stops. 

“I can prove it,” he says softly, eyes straight into hers. Hayden prepared for this part, mostly during the week he spent in lonely-Shane’s guest room, then partly while towel-drying his hair half an hour ago. He thought about things he wouldn’t know in April 2017 but Jackie would. 

“Ruby broke my remote control car,” Hayden begins.

Jackie blinks.

“I know it. The blue one I bought after winning my first Cup in San Francisco.” 

Ruby was testing whether it could jump over the fruit bowl, which, it did, but it also jumped over the railing of their balcony and plummeted to the ground. 

“I will buy a replacement in the future,” Hayden continues, “and Jade will snitch it to me that it was Ruby who broke it and that you helped her hide her secret.” 

Jackie’s mouth parts a little.

“You threw it away,” he continues, “because you thought I would be mad. You told me I must’ve misplaced it. I knew I didn’t misplace it.”

Jackie says nothing.

Hayden presses on “I will find out. Ruby will deny it, then cry. I will forgive her, obviously, but I will make her sit through a very educational lecture about respecting my things… and being honest.” 

Jackie’s eyes sharpen. The disbelief is still there, but he has cracked something in it. “That could be a lucky guess,” she murmurs.

“Jackie.”

“What? You love that toy, and we know Ruby is fearless around anything.”

Hayden supposes it’s true. 

“Sorry about helping our daughter lie, and for gaslighting you,” Jackie says, with very little evidence of being sorry. “But you need better proof.” 

Hayden ignores the lack of guilt about his favorite toy and nods. It isn’t his biggest concern right now. “Jade and Ruby’s family tree project gets an A+,” he tries.

Jackie frowns. “They haven’t turned that in yet.”

“Next week,” Hayden replies. “It will get an A+.”

“Despite the amount of glitter?”

“I don’t know. It’s probably why it got an A+.”

“That still doesn’t prove anything,” she points out. “I’m not waiting for their grade before I decide whether you have lost your mind.”

And Hayden, again, thinks his wife is right, like all the time, and starts thinking he should've thought of more compelling evidence. Future Hayden had known many useful things and still somehow arrived here with one broken toy and a school project covered in glitter. He has one more ace, though. If this doesn’t make Jackie believe him, nothing will.

Hayden lets go of her hand and rests both palms against the curve of her stomach.

The whole living room goes quiet around that. Or maybe it only feels that way to him. Hayden looks at the baby bump, and everything in him turns tender and terrified at once. He was there when Jackie was in labor, but in the second version of his life, he missed this child’s birth. “You already have a name for her,” he says. “You just haven’t told me yet.”

Jackie goes very still.

“You’re waiting,” Hayden continues. “I don’t know why. Maybe you want to be sure. Maybe you want to see if I suggest something terrible first so you can make fun of me for it.”

Her laugh breaks a little on the way out. “Sounds possible.”

Hayden swallows, then looks up at her. “But I promise you, I love that name. I will love it.”

Jackie’s eyes shine now, and Hayden has to force himself not to crumble right there.

“I’m going to love Amber with all my heart,” he tells her. “Just like I love you and Jade, and Ruby, and Arthur.”

Jackie’s hand tightens around his. "I didn't tell you that," she whispers. For a second, neither of them moves. Then her eyes widen, bright and wet. “Hayden,” she breathes. “You’re a time traveler!”

Hayden laughs, and it comes out embarrassingly close to a sob. “That’s what I’ve been telling you this whole time!”

Jackie stares at him, then at his hands on her stomach, then back at his face. Hayden sees the exact moment belief wins. It changes her whole expression, not by softening it, but by making it heavier. She leans forward after that, hands gripping his shirt, not pulling him closer yet, only holding on while everything he just told her takes up space in their living room.

“Okay,” she whispers.

“Okay?”

“No, not okay. Nothing about this is okay.” Jackie wipes under one eye with the heel of her hand and gives him a look. “But okay. I believe you.”

Hayden nods too many times. “Good. That’s good.”

“It’s not good, Hayden. You messed up a lot of things!”

“I know.” 

“To the point that I divorced you!”

“I know!” His voice cracks, and there’s no saving it. “I’m sorry! That’s why I’m back here. I don’t want that to happen to us.” 

Jackie’s grip tightens in his shirt. For a moment, he thinks she might shove him off the couch. Instead, she only closes her eyes and breathes through something he can’t fix with an apology, not even one backed by time travel and future knowledge. When she opens her eyes again, they’re wet and furious. She moves her hands towards his cheek and caresses it, smiling now. 

Hayden stops breathing for a second. The touch isn’t forgiveness, and he knows that. He isn’t dumb that way to mistake one gentle moment for a free pass, though the bar for his intelligence has taken some public damage lately. Jackie is angry, angry and hurt. Jackie has just learned that another version of her had to make the decision to cut him out of her life. But she’s touching him, and for right now, he takes it.

“And now that I know about…” She gestures around her everything. “...all of this, I’m going to be very conscious about everything. What if I do the wrong thing now?” 

Hayden sits back at that. “I didn’t think of that,” he says. “But really, what choice do I have? I already tried doing it on my own, and I ended up breaking not only one but two relationships. More, probably. I’m not really sure about Scott Hunter.”

Jackie gasps. 

“I know. I know. The point is… I don’t think I can tell anyone but you. I can’t tell Shane this stuff. You know him. He’d be so paranoid!”

Jackie genuinely laughs at that, and Hayden feels so much relief at the sound. He decides he has already cleared the floor and leans in to kiss her again. Jackie lets him, one hand still fisted in his shirt, the other coming up to his jaw. It lasts only a few seconds, but Hayden has lived years, in his mind, without this version of her, so he takes it and lets it hurt. He pulls her into a hug after, burying his face against her shoulder.

“The other Jackie was so mean to me,” he mumbles.

Jackie slaps his thigh.

“Ow!”

“That’s also me, you dumbass.”

“She was very scary.”

“Well, I am scary.”

“Yeah, but you still like me.”

“For now,” Jackie warns, though her hand slides into his hair and stays there. “Give me a reason, and I’ll slap you again.”

Hayden fake-cries. “I knoooow.”

“And if you ever leave me alone with four kids to chase after your best friend’s dramatic Russian love life, which I’m still processing, by the way, I’ll divorce you in this timeline too.”

Hayden lifts his head. He knows Jackie made the decision because of more than that. It’s the series of promises and trust broken. It was months of lies and excuses. “I’ll never do that,” he says. “That’s why I went back here, Jacks. That’s why I told you everything.”

“Well, you already did that. That’s why I divorced you, right?”

“Jackie…”

Jackie sighs, and Hayden can see the problem sitting in front of her: the husband beside her hasn't done these things yet, but he has carried them back in his mouth. Maybe it's the reason why she keeps caressing him but with heavy hands.

“But it’s a good thing you learned. I guess,” she says. The words are dry, but her hand remains in his hair. Hayden takes both seriously. Jackie has always been capable of loving him and holding him accountable at the same time. This is one of the many reasons marrying her had been the smartest thing he had ever done, and hiding the truth from her in the other life had been a decision worthy of an actual inquiry.

“I’m going to do better,” he tells her, having already accepted the fact that it’s him, or some version of him, is the culprit of this whole mess.

Jackie studies him.

“I know saying that isn’t enough,” he continues before she can remind him. “I know I have to prove it. I know I can’t just come back here, dump everything on you, and expect you to fix my life for me.”

“Our life,” Jackie corrects.

Hayden’s chest tightens. “Our life,” he repeats.

Her face changes then, only slightly, but he sees it. She’s still angry and probably scared. She still has a thousand questions lined up behind her eyes, waiting their turn with knives out. But she looks determined to be with him this time. 

Jackie leans back, one hand moving to her stomach. “Then we do this properly.”

Hayden nods. “Yeah.”

“No more vanishing.”

“No more vanishing.”

“And no more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” Hayden repeats.

“And if you think something might affect this family, I hear it first, okay?”

Hayden looks at her, at the woman he had lost in another life, and understands that this is the point, Jackie in front of him, furious and still here, giving him the rule he should have known from the beginning. “You will,” he replies. “Before anyone. Before anything.”

Jackie holds his gaze for a long moment. Then she nods once, accepting the promise without letting him off the hook.

“Good,” she murmurs. “Now tell me everything again because I think my mind is fucked.”

Hayden moves his eyes towards the swear jar in the corner, but Jackie mouths a pointed “no,” so he decides to keep it in and tells everything again. He's just feeling lighter now that he isn’t carrying the past few days, or years, alone.

Over dinner, wherein Hayden’s the only one eating while Jackie is having a glass of white grape juice, Hayden watches her start moving between sips. Hayden knows the signs. The shock and active processing are still there, but Jackie is already reaching past everything, grabbing facts and testing how to put his disaster into order. It’s frankly one of the most attractive things he has ever seen in his life. The fact that the sentence I exposed my best friend’s sexuality and gossip accounts were having a field day is involved does dampen the romance a bit, but marriage has challenges, he supposes.

“So,” Jackie starts again. “You weren’t supposed to win tonight...”

Hayden rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, no.”

“Because Shane was supposed to be in the hospital...”

“Yeah.”

“And it didn’t happen because you took Cliff Marleau off the ice.”

Hayden chokes on the salmon upon hearing the name. He didn’t know salmon could do that, but now he knows. Jackie pushes the glass of water towards him in pity. He chugs the entire glass, wishing it could wash away not only the lodge in his throat but also the memories in his brain. He told Jackie about the divorce, but nothing past that. He knows, technically, that this is already a bad start to the whole no-more-secrets agreement. Jackie told him no more secrets, and Hayden agreed with his whole chest because he meant it. He still means it. He just can't see the use in dragging Cliff Marleau into a marriage Hayden is trying to save before Cliff ever becomes part of the wreckage. “Yeah,” he answers. “And I’m sorry for lying to you about that last week.”

Jackie pauses. “Last week?”

“Sorry, I mean, it’s last night for you, but I spent eight days in that nightmare of a life, so it’s like last week for me.”

Jackie looks at him, expecting him to continue his confession.

“Well…” Hayden scratches his head. “I told you I would be with Shane, right?” 

“Uh huh…”

“Well, I was with Marleau, actually. We drank… well, he drank, I mostly just put my lips on the glass, and…”

Jackie’s eyes widen. “Hayden! You got Marleau sloshed?!”

Hayden closes his eyes. “Yes?”

Jackie laughs so hard she has to put the wineglass down before she spills grape juice on herself. “Are you a puck bunny or something? How did you do that?” 

“Honestly? I don’t know. The guy just agreed when I asked.” Hayden looks down at his plate, deeply guilty now. “He was very nice about it, too. I feel bad.”

Jackie watches him.

Hayden looks back, trying for an innocent expression.

“Oh, Hayden,” Jackie sighs.

Shit. Is this Jackie understanding he hasn’t handed her everything completely? Is this her getting too close to the locked cabinet, finding the key under the ugly vase, and opening it while Hayden stands there pretending the cabinet has never existed?

“You did all of that for Shane. You really love him that much, huh?” she asks.

Hayden’s chest eases a fraction. Wrong cabinet. Thank God. Maybe. “I think we already established that I love my best friend.”

Jackie hums. “Right. And Shane is gay,” she murmurs.

He tried, at first, to tell the story without that part. It was a very noble attempt, if noble means doomed and stupid. But then he had to explain the FanMail, and there was no version where Jackie could understand the damage without knowing what had been damaged. So yes, he outed Shane to his wife in the process of explaining how he had once outed Shane to the entire world, which feels like the kind of moral puzzle designed by someone who hates philosophy. Besides, Jackie will eventually know anyway, and with multiple timelines involved, he figures being an exact kind of supportive friend isn’t even near the top of his concerns.

“Yeah,” he admits. “He is.”

Jackie nods, slurping the entirety of her wine glass, hoping it really contains real wine, or maybe something even stronger. 

The conference finals’ schedule drops the next morning, and Hayden stares at it from the bed with one knee drawn up, Arthur’s abandoned stuffed dinosaur pressed against his thigh, and Jackie’s pregnancy pillow taking up half the mattress despite Jackie being downstairs. 

It’s the same schedule his second life gave him, the exact same fucking schedule. Of course, time has decided to rerun its worst hits. 

The results of the games fill themselves in from memory. In the life Hayden broke, New York wins Game 1, then Montreal takes the next two despite his attempts to sabotage his own play. New York wins Games 4 and 5, and then Montreal wins Game 6 and Game 7. Seven games, all that effort, and it still ends with Montreal going to the Cup Finals.

He sits on the bed and starts thinking of possible ways to disrupt it from happening. His first instinct is shamefully familiar: throw the games, miss the passes by a fraction, be late into the zone, anything slightly bad. But then, he remembers Shane looking at him after one missed play, flat-eyed and too aware.

“You were supposed to be on my left,” Shane said. 

That memory kills the idea before Hayden can make a plan out of it. Hayden tried that once, and Shane caught him. Because why wouldn’t he catch him? Shane always knows where Hayden is on the ice the same way Hayden knows where Shane wants the puck. Their whole game is built on trust and timing, and years of Hayden turning into the space Shane leaves for him. Sabotaging that would not just risk the score. It would hand Shane a reason to look at Hayden and wonder when his left wing stopped being reliable.

He can’t survive that. It has been proven ineffective, anyway. He also has a career, unfortunately, a reputation. He belongs in a team full of men who will notice if he suddenly decides to play hockey miserably. He has Jackie now, too, and Jackie will kill him if his first plan after telling her the truth is more secret sabotage.

Hayden has grown, against everyone’s expectations, including his own.

He’s still sitting there with his phone in hand when Jackie appears with Arthur tagging along, holding a cracker in one fist. She pauses in the doorway. “Now this is worrying. You look like you're scheming.”

Hayden looks up. “I’m planning,” he corrects.

She comes in and sits on the bed beside him, and Arthur grabs the stuffed dinosaur and automatically positions himself into Hayden’s lap. “What do you have?” she asks. 

“The schedule’s out,” he tells her, showing his phone to her.

Jackie reads, her mouth tightening as she moves down the dates. She has heard the whole story twice already, or at least the version Hayden managed to get out between pacing, apologizing, and stopping twice to ask if she needed to sit down. 

“This is the same schedule?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“And in your ‘nightmare,’ Jackie quotes, “Montreal beat New York.”

“Yeah.” Hayden rubs Arthur’s back with one hand, slower than his thoughts. “We won in Game 7. New York never got to the Cup Final, and then everything kept going wrong from there.”

“Then Montreal needs to lose,” Jackie decides. “So New York can advance.”

Hayden points at the schedule. “I tried to force that before by playing worse. Coach and Shane noticed right away.”

“Then don’t play worse.”

“What other choice do I have?”

Jackie gives him the look, not the angry one, the other one, the look that means Hayden has disappointed her intellectually, which is much harder to recover from than ordinary husband failure. “You’re forgetting something,” she tells him.

And Hayden just looks at her cluelessly. 

Jackie takes a deep breath and sighs. She takes Arthur’s cracker from his hand before he can grind it into the blanket, sets it on the nightstand, and sets her eyes back to Hayden, and then to her baby bump.

Hayden’s mouth closes, brows still furrowed.

Jackie watches him get there, patient and merciless.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” she returns. “Oh.”

Hayden juggles through his convoluted mind and compartmentalizes the memories he has. In the life Hayden lived, Jackie got into labor during the Conference Finals between Boston and New York, when Montreal was out of the playoffs, so he was there when Jackie gave birth to Amber. But in the second version of his life, which his brain only supplied to him, he was in New York when Jackie was brought to the hospital. 

“I’m not sure if it’s right to know this,” Jackie starts, “but when will I give birth to Amber?”

Hayden thinks about it and decides there’s no harm in Jackie knowing Amber’s birthday. If anything, it will help her prepare. “May 18,” he says, pointing at his phone. “Game 7.” 

He didn’t live that life, but he remembers it. He cried on Shane’s shoulder at the back of Madison Square Garden that day. He blamed Theriault, blamed hockey, blamed every convenient target except himself. He stayed with the team and missed his daughter’s birth while trying to steer a series toward a future that still slipped out of his hands.

Jackie nods. “Then, you shouldn’t play on that day.”

Hayden’s first reaction is fear. It isn’t fear of missing the game but of how simple it sounds. 

He goes through the first five games with Jackie, mapping them out on the back of an old envelope she pulls from the nightstand. Game 1 can happen as he remembers: New York will win at the Garden. Game 2 will go to Montreal, and he will let it happen. Games 3 and 4 will happen at home and will give both teams one win each. Then, he will fly to New York for Game 5 and allow the Admirals to win. 

“Then, you will ask for paternity leave,” Jackie cuts in, pulling him out of the familiar path in his head. “They won’t allow it, but you will ask for it.” 

Hayden nods, but he’s visibly thinking. 

“What’s in there?” Jackie asks.

“I should bring it up later in the meeting.”

“You have a meeting?”

“Yes.”

“Shane told you?”

“Uh, not yet. Shane will text me in a few about it.”

Jackie looks at him for a second, then lets out a slow breath. “Okay. I’m still not used to that.”

“Me too,” he admits.

Jackie smiles. “I know you kind of pooched it, but it's kind of hot if you think about it, like you have a superpower.”

“Well, I’m flattered, but I don’t.”

Jackie smiles and then kisses him. Then, she taps the envelope with the pen, dragging him back where he needs to be. 

Right. The plan.

Hayden forces his thoughts back into order and tells her he should bring up the leave during the meeting later. Shane will support him. Hayden knows that without needing future memories. But he’s also sure that Coach Theriault won’t allow it. Still, he will ask for it now so that it won’t be out of nowhere when he decides not to play. 

“I like that,” Jackie decides. “You ask first. Then, on Game 6, you will be absent. If New York wins that, they go to the Cup Finals.”

Hayden repositions Arthur on his lap because he keeps on hitting his bruise from Ilya’s check and starts thinking of the possible consequences of him going absent: an ugly call from management, or a fine big enough to make his agent swear into a pillow. It doesn’t matter. Hayden will be home, and he will be with Jackie. He will be there when Amber is born, like how he was the first time. 

And if this works and Montreal doesn’t win, it means New York will advance as they should, Scott Hunter can kiss his boyfriend on live television as he should, and Shane and Ilya will fall into place as they should. However, everything falling into place relies on one big assumption:

“What if it’s not enough?” Hayden asks.

Jackie looks up from the envelope. “What do you mean?”

“What if I don’t play and we still win?” He takes Arthur’s toy before it can jab him in the chin and hands it back properly. “I know my place, but Shane is still Shane. He can drag a line through almost anything. He’s dragged me through games before.”

Jackie’s expression softens a little, though not enough to spare him. “Hayden, no one plays beside Shane the way you do,” she says. “You’ve been on his left for years. He trusts you without checking. That doesn’t get replaced in one morning.”

Hayden sighs. He believes Jackie, but still, it’s unnerving. “They’d probably replace me with Comeau,” he says. “Maybe the rookie if Coach gets weird.”

Jackie’s eyebrows lift. “I’ve watched Comeau try to keep up with Shane.”

“Okay.”

“And the rookie.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not worried.”

Hayden huffs a laugh, and Arthur pats his chest. “You sound very married to a hockey player right now.”

“I am, somehow.”

Hayden smiles before he can help it. The feeling is strange in his chest, fragile and almost frightening. Confidence, maybe. Not the stupid kind he used to carry into games, loud and eager and ready to get him checked into the boards. This feels quieter. Jackie has taken his disaster out of his hands, studied it without flinching, and pointed to the one place Hayden hadn’t thought to look. For the first time since the music box started ruining his life, Hayden can see a path that doesn’t rely entirely on him trying to be clever in secret.

“Besides,” Jackie continues, “if Montreal still wins Game 6 without you, we still have Game 7 to hope for them to lose.”

Despite his previous attempts to sabotage, it still feels strange for Hayden to feel anything positive about his team losing a game this important, but he reminds himself that the series is no longer just about Montreal’s glory. Too much sits beyond the scoreboard now. He kisses Arthur’s hair, and Arthur reaches up to touch his face.

Jackie reaches for the envelope and encircles May 15 in firm strokes.

“Game 6,” she declares.

Hayden nods. “Game 6.”

His phone buzzes beside them before either of them can say more.

“There it is,” Hayden mutters. He reads the message once, then confirms to Jackie that it’s a call for a meeting this afternoon. It’s leadership only, so it’s Theriault, the assistant coaches, Shane, him, and J.J.

Jackie takes the phone from his hand and reads the message herself. She hands the phone back, then taps the envelope. “You have the big plan. Don’t ruin it by trying anything else, all right?”

“I wasn’t going to,” he says as he tries to stop Arthur, who has seemingly decided to force the stuffed dinosaur into his armpit. 

“Take this,” she tells him, handing him the envelope with their plan. “And when your sexy little brain starts offering side missions, look at it.”

Hayden smirks and takes it carefully. Jackie’s handwriting sits across the back, turning his nightmare into dates and match results and one circled game. He has carried worse things alone. This, at least, he gets to carry with her.

The meeting goes as expected, which is both comforting and extremely annoying.

Theriault talks about New York, discipline, and the Admirals becoming dangerous whenever Montreal gets sloppy through the neutral zone. Shane listens with his hands folded on the table, face blank, nodding at the right moments. J.J. leans back in his chair, radiating a sincere willingness to fight the entire city of New York if anyone gives him a reason. Hayden sits there with Jackie’s folded envelope in his pocket, Rozanov’s bruise still aching under his ribs, and the full knowledge that he needs to ask for paternity leave before this meeting ends.

The plan is simple: bring it up before anyone can say he never warned them. He already knows that Theriault won’t like it and that management will treat a baby’s arrival during the Conference Finals as poor scheduling from the Pike household. Still, he has to ask. He has to make the request calmly, in front of Shane and J.J., without looking as though the outcome of multiple lives depends on whether he appears on the ice.

“Actually, I have one more thing,” Hayden says as Theriault is readying to end the meeting. “My wife is due during the series,” he says. “I need to talk about paternity leave.”

The room changes around that. Shane looks at him first, then at Theriault. J.J. sits up straighter. Theriault takes off his glasses, which is never a good sign from any coach in any sport.

“We’ll discuss it after the series,” Theriault answers.

“That might be too late.”

“It’s the Conference Finals, Pike.”

Hayden nods, acting disappointed because that’s what this version of the scene requires from him. Inside, Jackie’s envelope sits in his pocket, already proving that they had been right.

Afterward, Hayden suggests coffee before anyone can drift off. Jackie is with her sister for an appointment with her OB, so he has some time to kill. The invitation earns him a look from Shane, unexplained excitement from J.J., and a silent prayer from Hayden’s own nervous system. This stop at the coffee shop wasn’t in any of the lives he remembers, but he assumes it shouldn’t matter. He isn’t stopping anyone from playing the next day. It’s just him and the guys enjoying the afternoon over caffeinated drinks. Small things, he reminds himself. Tiny little careful things. 

The café near the practice arena is busy enough to hide them and calm enough that Shane doesn't start scanning for exits. Hayden takes that as a win. He gets an iced white mocha because recent events have earned him some sugar. Shane gets an iced Americano, of course, while J.J. orders something with too many additional espresso shots and a French name he pronounces correctly just to remind everyone he can. They take a table near the back.

Shane waits until Hayden has taken exactly one sip before beginning his interrogation. “You’re okay now?” he asks.

Hayden lowers his cup. “I mean, I expected Coach's response. I just had to try.”

Shane blinks once. “No, I mean, sorry about that. But I'm asking because you didn’t look okay after last night.”

J.J. glances between them. “What happened?”

“Oh," Hayden reacts. "Nothing. Just tired,” he offers. “It was a long game.”

Shane keeps staring at him.

“Buddy,” Hayden adds. “I’m okay.”

It’s not entirely a lie. He has everything planned now. Compared to yesterday, this definitely counts as an improvement. Hayden has lowered the bar so much that everything else is better than yesterday.

Shane’s gaze drops to Hayden’s side. “Did Rozanov’s hit bruise?”

“Yeah,” Hayden admits. “But it’s fine.”

“I knew it was him!” J.J. scoffs, already mad on Hayden’s behalf. He’s always been good at that. “It’s always fine with you. Then you take your shirt off and look terrible.”

“It’s fine, dude.”

J.J. shakes his head. “Rozanov plays too rough, Capitaine,” J.J. complains, turning to Shane now. “Every time we play Boston, somebody leaves the game looking half-dead. Look at Hayden.”

“I told you I’m okay.”

J.J. waves that away. “Next time I see him, I’ll hit him back.”

Shane’s thumb taps once against his cup. Hayden notices because he is, unfortunately, paying attention to every single movement Shane makes now. It’s exhausting, honestly. He understands why the other Hayden turned into a full-time lunatic. Loving Shane Hollander as a best friend requires a frankly unreasonable amount of surveillance.

“He plays aggressively,” Shane offers at last. “You already know that.”

J.J. turns on him with open betrayal. “You’re defending him?”

“No,” Shane answers too quickly, panic slipping into the word.

Hayden looks at him.

Shane looks at his coffee. 

The panic is tiny, almost harmless, yet still loud enough for Hayden to hear it. So Hayden gives him a way out before J.J. can keep digging.

“He does it on purpose,” Hayden cuts in. “Rozanov gets a reaction out of opponents, then scores a lot while they’re busy wanting to punch him.”

J.J. narrows his eyes. Shane does too, though his suspicion is coming from a completely different place.

“What?” Hayden asks. “Am I wrong?” 

He knows he isn’t wrong. After too many future dinners with Ilya Rozanov sitting across from him, Hayden understands the whole asshole routine now. If J.J. can start seeing that, too, instead of pure cruelty, well, that’s going to be something. 

“You sound like you respect that,” J.J. says to Hayden after gulping the only non-decaf drink on the table. 

“He’s right,” Shane says. “Rozanov’s trying to get you distracted. If you get past that, you’ll have a better chance against him.”

J.J. groans. “But he’s so annoying, Capitaine.”

Hayden, really, can’t argue against that. Ilya is really annoying on the ice. Well, also off the ice, but that’s not important right now. 

“And despite that,” J.J. continues, “people still love him! I don’t get it!” J.J. leans back, genuinely baffled now.

Shane answers before Hayden can. “Well, he plays really well.”

“Lots of guys play really well,” J.J. responds.

“He plays better than lots of guys,” Shane says.

“He’s good-looking, too,” Hayden adds.

J.J. stops.

Shane stops.

“What?” Hayden asks. He lifts his cup and takes a long drink. He knows he grabbed the easy opportunity to show Shane that he’s okay with Ilya now. In his head, this should make Shane be comfortable in trusting him his secret. “He is,” Hayden continues. “People forgive a lot when a guy is that talented and looks like that.”

J.J.’s face changes, first with disgust, and then delight spreads across it in a way Hayden doesn't appreciate. “You think Rozanov’s good-looking…”

“He is good-looking.”

“You said that so confidently, mon gars.”

“I have eyes.”

Shane’s mouth twitches. Barely. So barely most people would miss it, but Hayden catches it and feels a ridiculous amount of victory over one millimeter of expression. This is what his life has become. He’s measuring progress in Shane Hollander's almost-smile.

“Do you have anything to tell us, bro?” J.J. asks, and Hayden suddenly realizes how his declaration of appreciation of the Russian’s appearance must’ve sounded.

“No, no, I’m just saying,” Hayden explains, “people are allowed to notice when a man looks good. That’s not illegal.”

J.J. is grinning now, fully enjoying himself. “I suppose. So you can look at a guy and go, yeah, he’s attractive.”

“Yes.” Hayden aims for casual and gets something closer to a man pushing thirty questioning his sexuality too late in his life, who’s also holding a live grenade in a café. “Objectively.”

“Objectively,” J.J. echoes, delighted.

“Don’t repeat it like that. I’m married, remember? My wife is literally heavily pregnant right now, and our coach didn't allow me paternity leave,” the man pushing thirty questioning his sexuality too late in his life says. 

Shane’s fingers have gone still around his cup. He isn’t looking at J.J. anymore. Instead, he’s looking at Hayden with that quiet, careful attention Hayden knows too well, the one that means Shane is either filing something away or preparing to ask a question in twelve hours after he has reviewed the evidence. Hayden hopes it’s the first, or else the grenade might explode.

J.J. smirks. “Okay then. Next guy who walks in, you tell us if he’s attractive.”

Hayden blinks. “What?”

“You said you can do that,” J.J. says. “Right, Capitaine?” 

Shane, who Hayden thinks should be helping him, smiles and nods. Hayden can’t believe he’s been cornered in his own attempt to sound supportive. Still, he supposes this might help. If he can talk about a man’s looks in front of Shane and survive the conversation, maybe Shane will remember that. Maybe Shane will trust him sooner rather than later. 

It takes several minutes, almost enough for them to forget the agreement, before the door swings open. Hayden looks over, already prepared to perform normality for one unsuspecting stranger who has no idea he’s about to be reviewed by three hockey players with nothing better to do on a random Thursday afternoon.

But when the three look up, it’s Cliff Marleau who steps in, and behind him is Ilya Rozanov. 

Hayden chokes on his iced white mocha.

It isn’t graceful, not that choking on any beverage can be graceful, but the sound Hayden produces is loud, and it hurts. It also draws attention from every person with working ears, including the lone barista, who's exhausted already.

“Tabarnak,” J.J. mutters. “Can they not find their own coffee?”

Shane looks down at his cup and then turns to Hayden slowly, suddenly very interested in what Hayden is going to say now. “Well?”

“No,” Hayden coughs, reaching for a napkin. “We wait for another guy.”

“You said the next guy,” Shane points out.

“Those are Boston players!” Hayden whisper-shouts.

“Exactly,” J.J. responds, now finding amusement despite the existence of the person he hates in the vicinity. “You already called… that guy good-looking. Now, do the other.”

“No. I’m changing the terms. Next guy who enters who isn’t a hockey player.”

“You can’t change the terms after Marleau walks in,” Shane says. 

Hayden ignores him and starts wondering why the Boston players are still in Montreal at all. Maybe their flight got moved. Maybe the team gave them one more night before everyone scattered into the offseason. Their season ended last night, after all. They have nowhere urgent to be now except away from Hayden, which apparently nobody told them. He presses the napkin against his mouth and tries very hard not to look over again. This lasts perhaps four seconds.

Cliff is at the counter, tall and broad and polite to the barista. He looks a little tired despite not playing the game yesterday, hair still damp from a shower, mouth curved faintly while Ilya says something to him. Hayden hates that he knows Cliff's order before Cliff gives it. Dark roast mocha. No whipped cream. 

He gets even angrier when Cliff glances over.

The nod is small. The smile, too. It’s careful, almost private. Hayden’s brain, which has been doing such excellent work lately by nearly destroying him at regular intervals, supplies the thought that everything about Cliff is suddenly so small here when Hayden remembers exactly how wide his mouth can open when he sucks his—

“Oh my God!” Hayden drops his head onto the table, and it makes a dull sound against his forehead, alarming Shane, J.J., Cliff, Ilya, and the poor barista dealing with them. It also makes his bruise from yesterday complain in a separate region of his body. It’s a full-body humiliation.

“Hayd?!” Shane asks.

“I’m fine,” Hayden answers into the table. He isn't fine. He would gladly take a knife to his own memory if that were an option.

J.J. makes a noise that sounds strangled with laughter. “Do we need to call Jackie?”

“No one calls Jackie.”

“We might have to call Jackie,” Shane says.

“Shane, I swear to God.”

Across the café, Ilya’s voice carries, dry and unimpressed. “Pike has always been strange. This is not new.”

Hayden lifts his head finally and looks in Ilya’s direction. “I heard that.”

“I meant for you to hear.”

J.J. mutters something under his breath in French that Hayden chooses not to translate, partly because he catches Rozanov’s name in it and partly because the tone alone suggests it would violate the spirit of diplomacy.

Cliff murmurs something to Ilya too low for Hayden to catch, which bothers Hayden a huge amount. He wants to know. He also doesn’t want to know because, as Hayden convinces himself, Cliff doesn’t matter. His thoughts get cut when Shane’s phone buzzes against the table.

Hayden moves his head a fraction. Shane is texting now, very quickly for Shane, which means the world is ending or Ilya is being instructed to leave the café before the situation escalates. Hayden tries to sneakily look at the Boston players’ direction and gathers, in his peripheral vision, that Ilya is texting, too. He’s probably answering Shane's text with something hideous and romantic. Hayden refuses to imagine the exact message. He has enough problems inside this very café without writing Ilya’s private texts in his head.

This is hell. He's in hell with espresso machines.

It takes a couple of minutes for Hayden to recover, mostly because Shane insists on asking whether he is dizzy, and J.J. keeps helpfully adding that Hayden shouldn’t have challenged the universe to send him a man. By the time Hayden sits fully upright again, the door is swinging shut behind Cliff and Ilya.

Cliff looks back once through the glass, and Hayden drops his gaze to his cup.

A second later, his phone buzzes. His stomach tightens before he even looks. It's from Cliff. 

Hayden

You okay?

Another message arrives.

Hayden

Also, congrats on the win last night. Hell of a game

We'll get you next year though

Hayden stares at the screen, and the guilt gets to him before he can brace for it. The win only happened because Cliff wasn’t on the ice. Cliff should be mad, or suspicious, or at least asking why Hayden dragged him out drinking the night before the biggest game of Boston’s season. Instead, he’s asking if Hayden is okay and congratulating him, which is unfairly decent and therefore much harder for Hayden to think about. Worse, Hayden is relieved Cliff doesn’t bring up the bar. He already has too much to carry, and he doesn’t have room for Cliff Marleau being kind about the knife Hayden put in his back. He turns the phone face down. When he looks up, Shane and J.J. are both watching him.

For one dangerous second, Hayden considers telling them. Something. Not about Cliff, of course. Absolutely not about Cliff. But maybe about himself? He has only just started making peace with the fact that his memories didn’t leave him disgusted, only confused and guilty and afraid of what it means. But then, if he tells them, he should tell Jackie first. His wife deserves to know, although he isn’t sure how to explain to his wife that in that other life, he found attraction with another person, and that person is a man. What if Jackie divorces him this time because of it? He can’t. He can’t do that. He can’t have that. Not again. So he picks up his drink and just takes a careful sip.

Shane watches him with real concern now, and J.J. has tipped from amused into vaguely unsettled, which Hayden resents because J.J. has caused at least forty percent of this problem through enthusiastic questioning.

“Anyway,” J.J. starts again. “Since you brought us here and we came with you, I expect you to also come with me when we party after our next win.”

Hayden looks at Shane. 

“Don’t tell me you’re abandoning me again,” J.J. warns.

Shane blinks. “We don’t abandon you.”

“You do. You always both go home after a game and leave me with Comeau and Drapeau. That is abandonment, Capitaine.”

Hayden almost answers too quickly. Comeau and Drapeau. He learned enough about them now to know that J.J. deserves better company than that. His mind starts working out ways to tug J.J. somewhere safer before the thought finishes forming. “Fine,” he replies.

J.J. pauses. “Fine?”

“Next win,” Hayden clarifies. “We’ll go out with you.”

Shane turns his head. “We will?”

“We will,” Hayden returns, and gives Shane a look that he hopes conveys please trust me and not I have once again made a decision without consulting you. 

J.J. points between them. “Both of you.”

“Both of us.”

“No leaving after one drink.”

“Let’s not get greedy,” Shane says.

“No leaving after one drink,” J.J. repeats.

Shane considers this with grave seriousness. “Two drinks.”

J.J. slaps the table once. “I’ll take it.”

Hayden lets that sit for half a second, then sees the date in his head. May 5. Game 2. New York. Montreal wins. A drink with his friends. It might be a bad idea since this didn’t happen in both of his previous lives. Hayden can admit that much. Still, the idea has a job, and that already puts it ahead of most decisions he has made across multiple timelines. It gives him a reason to keep J.J. close. Maybe, if Hayden handles this right, J.J. won’t end up stranded on the wrong side of the truth later. And maybe, this will help Shane, too.

Hayden leans back. “One condition.”

J.J. narrows his eyes. “I knew it. What condition?”

“I pick the bar,” Hayden continues. 

“You know bars in New York?”

Hayden thinks of red walls and red lights, of the place the other Hayden found and stayed in until morning. He made a friend there, the bartender, though Hayden isn't entirely sure whether that friendship was real or just pity with free water. Hayden himself didn't meet the guy, but the memory is there anyway, fully installed and apparently useful now.

“Yeah,” Hayden answers, and for once, the confidence doesn't feel stolen from the version of him who ruined everything. “I know a bar.”

Chapter End Notes

In Chapter 6, I namedropped Kyle (during the time when Hayden's brain was leaking random information), so I think we know where they're heading :))

Researching for this chapter made me learn that playoff series games are held alternately between the two teams' home arenas. That must be so tiring.

I initially thought Jackie should be a bit more skeptical, but then I decided against it since there's no point to it. The goal was really for Jackie to guide Hayden this time so that he won't fuck things up again. Let's hope it works!

I'd love to hear your thoughts so far!

Thank you for dropping by, and see you again next time!

Chapter 9

Chapter Summary

When Shane reaches out in the middle of the night, Hayden chooses to be present instead of trying to force a solution.

Chapter Notes

Hayden hasn’t prepared for this. Don’t get him wrong. He knew this would happen, but he completely forgot that it was going to happen right at this moment. He hears another muffled sob at the other end of the call. 

“Shane,” Hayden calls his name softly. His heart breaks for him, as if he’s the one broken up with. Shane has been silent for almost five minutes now, only giving Hayden a few muffled sounds he never wanted to hear from his friend. 

Jackie pushes herself up beside him, her face already awake in the dark. Hayden holds up one finger, though he has no idea what he is asking her to wait for. 

Several more minutes pass, and Hayden stays on the line. He recognizes exactly what this call is. This is the call from the other life, the one he remembered in pieces, the one where Shane cried without giving Hayden a reason, and Hayden sat there uselessly with his own secrets choking him. Back then, Hayden didn't know Ilya had broken up with Shane this way. Now he knows. And he knows why Shane has called him and no one else. Because no one else knows.

Not that he should know the whole thing, but he knows about Lily, and probably, to Shane, that is enough for Hayden to receive this call. Hayden’s pretty sure this didn’t happen in the original iteration of his life. Why would it? All he did was tease Shane about Lily. More importantly, he also didn't cause it to happen. But now, and even in his nightmare life, Shane ran to him. For comfort, maybe. 

That or maybe because this is the universe putting it on his face that it’s him who did this. Hayden likes to think it’s the first option. Because that means, here and even there, Hayden did one right thing that Shane is comfortable enough to share his grief with him. 

“Shane, bud” Hayden murmurs again. “I’m here for you.”

The breathing changes. Shane tries to speak once and fails.

Hayden closes his eyes. He wants to tell him. God, he wants to. I know it’s Ilya. I know about Lily. I know you love him. I know I made this worse. The words sit right behind his teeth, ugly and tempting and so easy to mistake for comfort.

Jackie had warned him about this. Not this exact phone call, but the larger thing underneath it. To let Shane tell him when he decides to. To stop himself from taking it away from Shane too.

And Hayden, who has now learned, listens to his wife. It’s his new strategy, and early results suggest it may save lives.

After another minute, Shane finally gets words out. “It’s Lily,” he says solemnly after a sniffle.

Hayden presses his eyes shut harder.

“We’re not together anymore,” Shane continues. He gives Hayden the news and then goes quiet again, probably horrified that he has said even that much. Hayden has never felt more useless in his life, which is impressive given his recent résumé.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, bud.”

Shane breathes in shakily. “I…” There’s a soft sob. A few seconds of silence, and then, “I don’t know what to do.”

Hayden looks at Jackie. She’s watching him, worry sitting in her face, her hand resting over her stomach.

He wants to say, neither do I. He wants to say, this is my fault and give me five minutes and I’ll find a time machine, make several changes without thinking, and try again, but he knows he can’t this time. So he gives him the only thing he has.

“Do you want me to come over?”

There’s a long pause.

“You don’t need to.”

“I know I don’t need to.” Hayden’s voice almost breaks, and he hates himself for it. This is not his pain to perform. “I want to.”

“Hayd.”

“I’ll be there,” Hayden tells him. “You don’t have to talk. I’ll just be there, bud.”

Shane doesn’t answer for a long time.

Then, very quietly, he murmurs, “Okay.”

Hayden stays on the line another minute, waiting until Shane’s breathing evens out. When the call ends, the room feels too quiet around it. Jackie doesn’t ask what happened. She knows enough from Hayden’s face.

“It’s Shane. They broke up,” Hayden tells her anyway. “I need to go.”

Jackie nods once, then catches his wrist before he can get up. “Is this like last time again?”

“No.” Hayden sits there in the dark and makes himself meet her eyes. “No, Jacks. It’s not. I’m not going after Ilya. I’m not trying to fix the whole thing tonight.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Being his friend.”

Her grip softens.

“He needs someone,” Hayden continues. “That’s all. I’ll go there and stay with him. I’ll go to practice from his place in the morning, and I’ll be back here in the afternoon. I promise.”

Jackie studies him, and Hayden lets her. He has earned this examination. He has earned every second of her making sure the man in front of her is not about to walk back into the same old disaster wearing a new excuse.

“This is your way of making it up to him,” she murmurs.

Hayden goes quiet. Her words land where he doesn’t want them to, right in the center of the guilt he’s been trying to bury ever since all of this started. He looks down at the blanket, at Jackie’s hand around his wrist, at the life he still gets to return to if he doesn’t destroy it.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I think it is.”

Jackie’s hand moves to his face. She caresses his cheek with her thumb, and the sad smile she gives him hurts worse than anger would have. Then, she nods. 

“Okay,” she tells him. “But come back.”

He gives her an apologetic smile. “I promise.”

He packs quietly, or as quietly as Hayden Pike can pack when his brain is screaming and one of his socks has vanished despite being in the drawer five minutes ago. He throws practice clothes into a bag, adds toiletries, then stands in the hallway for a moment with the bag over his shoulder and his chest tight.

He goes into the children’s rooms, repositions Ruby’s arm sprawled over Jade’s face, and kisses them good night. Amber, still tucked safely inside Jackie, also gets one.

For a brief second, when Jackie walks him to the door, Hayden thinks she might warn him again. Instead, she fixes the collar of his jacket, then taps his chest once.

“Text me when you get there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t make that voice at me,” she tells him, teasingly. 

Hayden smiles. “I love you, and thank you.”

Her face softens. “I love you too. Now go, before I change my mind.”

The drive to Shane’s house is dark and too familiar. Hayden knows the turns despite the late hour because of the other timeline, from all those nights when he ended up in Shane’s guest room with his life falling apart. This time, at least, he is not going there because he has nowhere else to be.

This time, he’ll be there because his friend needs him.

Shane opens the door before Hayden can knock twice.

He looks terrible, which is unfair, since Shane Hollander looking terrible still somehow involves perfect posture and hair. His eyes are puffy and red, though, face blank in the wrong direction, held too carefully, every part of him arranged around the effort of not coming apart again.

Hayden stands there with his overnight bag over one shoulder and several terrible jokes dying in his mouth.

For a second, Shane only looks at him.

This is the part neither of them knows how to do yet. Not here, not now. Their friendship year hasn’t grown into the version Hayden remembers waking up beside in Shane’s guest room. At this point, they are video games and favors, Shane babysitting when Hayden and Jackie need help, Hayden covering for Shane whenever he vanishes into whatever corner of the city Ilya has pulled him toward. They are laughter after wins, chirps over bad passes, the easy comfort of two men who trust each other on the ice and haven’t yet learned how to ask for anything soft without feeling strange about it. Hayden has learned it now, though. Badly, maybe. Through time travel and divorce and waking up sick in Shane’s bathroom, which isn’t the recommended curriculum, but the lesson got through. So he steps forward.

Shane makes a small sound, startled, when Hayden puts both arms around him.

Most of their hugs have belonged to good things: wins, goals, and Hayden’s wedding, when Shane had stood stiffly for the first two seconds before accepting the hug and patting him once on the back. This one has no cheering around it, though. There's no bright room or team noise or Jackie laughing nearby. This one is quiet, and Shane goes rigid in his arms before he folds forward, his forehead pressing briefly against Hayden’s shoulder.

Hayden closes his eyes. “I’m here, bud,” he murmurs.

Shane breathes in once, hard, and nods without lifting his head.

That’s alright. Hayden can work with a nod. Hayden has built whole offensive plays off less from this man.

He lets himself into the house after that, mostly because Shane is standing in the doorway as though the next step in hosting has been removed from him. Hayden toes off his shoes, drops his bag near the hall, and pretends not to notice Shane wiping at his face when he turns toward the kitchen.

“Have you eaten?” Hayden asks.

Shane’s expression does something very faint and very guilty.

Hayden sighs. “Buddy.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I don’t want food.”

“Also not my question.”

Shane looks at him, flat and exhausted. “You asked if I ate. The answer is no.”

“Okay. I’m cooking,” Hayden decides, already on his way to the fridge to look for ingredients.

Shane rubs his forehead. “Hayd.”

“Nope.” Hayden opens the fridge before Shane can make a reasonable argument. 

Hayden takes inventory of the fridge. Shane’s fridge looks exactly how Shane’s fridge should look: organized, mildly hostile to joy, full of ingredients that were definitely purchased by Shane Hollander. He opens some containers, smells a few jars, finds sliced squash, barley, ginger, and something dark and seaweedy that looks expensive. He recognizes these ingredients. His hands start picking them, and then he starts cooking. 

Halfway through heating the pot, he realizes he’s making the orange barley thing Jackie made once. Or will make. Like for most things, Hayden isn’t really sure. He only remembers Shane sitting at their kitchen table, spoon in hand, looking surprised at the first bite and then finishing the whole bowl while Jackie sits beside him looking very pleased. Hayden doesn’t remember when that exactly happened. Clearly not yet, judging by Shane’s faintly suspicious look from the kitchen’s doorway.

Shane stares at the pot. “Did Jackie teach you that?”

“Probably,” Hayden mutters.

“Is that my kabocha?” Shane asks. “That’s for my soup.”

So that’s what it’s called, Hayden thinks to himself. All squashes look the same to his eyes. “Well, it’s in this congee now.” 

Shane looks too tired to further the argument, which is both a good thing and a bad thing.

Hayden serves the congee in one of Shane’s bowls, adds the seeds, then pushes it across the counter. Shane looks at it for a while. Then, he takes a spoonful to his mouth. All the ingredients are from his fridge anyway. 

For a while, Shane forces himself to eat in silence, and Hayden lets him, updating Jackie as his friend eats what he’s learned is his first meal of the day. There’s comfort in having something to do with his hands, in watching Shane take one spoonful and then another, in pretending food can patch over what Hayden broke. It can't, and Hayden knows that.

While Shane keeps eating, Hayden reaches into his bag for his charger and finds the beer cans instead. He had shoved them in before leaving, and the cans clink together when he brings them out.

Shane looks at them. “Why did you bring beer into my house?”

Hayden lifts one. “My best friend got broken up with. Obviously, beer is involved.”

“I’m in season.”

“I know. That’s why I brought only two,” he says, putting them in the freezer.

By the time Hayden closes the fridge, Shane has finished the bowl. His shoulders drop a little, and Hayden will take every fraction he can get.

He then helps with the kitchen. Rinsing Shane’s bowl, wiping his counter, putting his spoon away, these are very little things he can do for Shane in comparison to the damage he’s done. He knows they aren’t enough, but they give his hands something to do besides clenching around blaming himself.

After that, he takes the beers outside to the back of the house where Shane sits. The night covers whatever Shane doesn’t want to be seen, which is probably why he chooses it. He sits with his shoulders drawn in, beer can held loosely between both hands, gaze fixed upward. Hayden sits beside him and lets him have the silence. He has already gotten Shane to eat dinner, and now he has gotten Shane Hollander to drink real beer in the middle of the season, so really, by the standards of emotional crisis management, Hayden thinks he’s doing incredible work.

Shane doesn’t talk, and Hayden doesn’t push. He looks up at the same dark sky and takes a slow sip from his own can, feeling useless and useful at the same time. Maybe that’s all tonight is allowed to be. 

After the silence outside, Hayden is lying in the guest room bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think too hard about the fact that he knows this room better than he should. In the other life, he had overused it. No one had put a little sign on the door that read reserved for emotionally wrecked men who destroyed multiple lives, but it had been his room in every practical sense by the end. He remembers waking up here sick with regret, remembers sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, remembers Shane standing in the doorway with that awful quiet concern on his face. The room has fewer ghosts now, technically, but Hayden has brought his own in a bag with his practice clothes and the same guilt.

The knock comes while he’s deciding whether the few changes he made so far have the possibility of bearing new problems later on.

Hayden pushes himself up. “Yeah?”

The door opens a few inches, and Shane stands there with a pillow against his chest. He still has his break-up face. “Is it okay if I sleep here?” Shane asks.

Hayden blinks at him. “Dude. It’s your house. You don’t need to ask me.”

Shane looks down at the pillow.

Hayden’s chest hurts. “Why here, though? Your bed’s bigger.”

Shane doesn’t answer. He only pushes the door open the rest of the way and steps in.

Well, Hayden guesses he can live without the answer to his question.

Shane walks around to the left side of the bed and puts his pillow down there, careful and quiet, and Hayden has to look away for a second. A few nights ago, in a life that no longer exists, they had done this too. Different Shane, different room, but same heaviness in the room. Despite everything, a small part of him smiles as he realizes this is Shane unknowingly keeping his promise that they’d sleep over again. 

The dark folds over the room as he turns off the lamp, and for a few minutes, neither of them talks. Shane lies on his back, and Hayden lies on his side, facing him, then realizes that might be too much and rolls onto his back, too. He has never been more aware of his own body doing normal body things. 

“Lily said what we had wouldn’t work,” Shane finally murmurs.

Hayden turns his head.

“I’m sorry, bud.”

To Shane, maybe it sounds simple. Sorry to hear that. Sorry about the breakup. Sorry you’re hurt. But Hayden is sorry for far more than that.

Shane looks up at the ceiling. “It must be weird for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I never talked about Lily. Then I called you here while I cried over hi—” Shane stops, throat moving. “Over what we had.”eit

If Hayden knew nothing, he would ask. He knows himself too well to pretend otherwise. He would prod and circle and joke badly until Shane gave him something he could understand. But he knows a lot. For the first time ever, he actually knows too much. “Just share whatever you want to share, bud,” Hayden responds. “I’m here for anything.”

Shane inhales beside him, rough and heavy. The silence after it stretches so long, Hayden starts counting his own breaths just to keep from filling it with all the wrong words.

“I think I’m gay,” Shane tells him.

“Oh,” Hayden breathes.

It comes out wrong. He knows it comes out wrong because Shane’s face changes in the dark, not much, but enough to make Hayden’s stomach drop straight through the mattress. That “oh” meant surprise, not disappointment. It meant surprise that Shane chose now, surprise that all Hayden’s tiny careful attempts had led here already, surprise that maybe, if he had been a little softer the first time, a little less stupid, Shane might've trusted him earlier.

But judging from Shane’s face right now, he heard something else.

“Sorry,” Hayden rushes out, panic making his voice too sharp. “No, sorry. That was bad. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Shane turns his face away, and Hayden feels something in him crack.

“Hey, buddy.” Hayden sits up before he can talk himself into caution. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Shane. Thank you for telling me. Nothing changes, alright?”

Shane’s face eases by a fraction, and Hayden grabs the moment with both hands before he can crush it further. He moves closer and wraps Shane in a hug, awkward over the blankets.

Shane lets himself be held for a few seconds, arms loose around Hayden’s back.

Then, muffled against Hayden’s shoulder, he asks, “Hayd?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit weird that you put your body on top of me right after I tell you I’m gay?”

Hayden laughs. He can’t help it. The laugh shakes both of them, Shane’s body moving with it, still held in Hayden’s arms. His best friend is funny at the worst times. Or possibly the best times. Hayden has no idea anymore. He only knows that the sound breaks something tense in the room.

He pulls away and returns to his side of the bed, still smiling when he turns his head toward Shane. Shane’s looking at him, too.

“So I guess Lily is a guy?” Hayden asks, pretending he doesn’t know the answer to the question. 

Shane looks away. His eyes are still glossy, but since he started talking, there’s a hint of lightness around him now. “Yeah.”

Hayden nods. “Do you want to talk about him?”

Shane lets out a long breath, then shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not together anymore anyway.”

And the familiar feeling of wanting to be swallowed by the bed comes back to Hayden. His urge to act irrationally hits again, insistent and stupid: find Ilya, drag both of them into a room and force them to fix whatever needs fixing. Maybe it will work this time. But that’s the old sickness wearing a new jacket. Hayden knows it now. 

He has a plan now and Jackie by his side. Shane and Ilya need the world put back around them, not Hayden charging through it with nothing but a crowbar and a guilty conscience. For now, as much as it pains him to see Shane this way, his friend doesn’t need a quick solution. What he needs is someone by his side.

Shane goes quiet for a long time after that. When Hayden looks over, Shane is looking at him, eyes narrowed slightly, his face still tired but working through something now. Considering, maybe. Evaluating, possibly. The second option makes Hayden nervous.

“Hayd?”

Hayden hums.

“Do you know about us?”

Hayden’s mouth parts. There's a safe answer somewhere. He could pretend he doesn't understand. He could say no, or he could ask Shane to explain and let the truth come out in a way that preserves the careful boundary Jackie told him not to cross. But Shane is asking him directly, and Hayden has already done enough damage with secrets. This part, at least, can be honest. 

He nods softly. “Yeah, I know about you and Il— Rozanov.”

Shane breathes out. “I knew it.”

“You did?”

“You keep talking about him.”

Hayden chuckles quietly. “Was it obvious?”

“I mean,” Shane murmurs, voice still raw, “it was either you’re doing that to communicate that you know about us or you like men and really find Rozanov attractive.”

Well.

Half of the second option seems uncomfortably, partially true, and it doesn't need to occupy Hayden’s headspace right now. Tonight isn’t about his sexual crisis that arrived late in his life. It's about Shane and Shane’s trust sitting fragile between them.

“It’s definitely the first one,” Hayden says. 

There’s another stretch of silence before somebody speaks again.

“Thank you, Hayd,” Shane says. “For everything.”

And doesn’t that just break Hayden’s heart? He’s aware he’s only taking it this well because he has years of practice now. If Hayden were finding out for the first time right now, he’s pretty sure he’d be the same idiot he had been at that dinner when Shane first introduced him to Ilya.

“It’s nothing, buddy. Told you I’m here for you for anything.”

It’s Shane’s turn to hum. He gives Hayden a small smile, and Hayden is grateful for it, stupidly grateful. It may have taken him three lives to get here, but tonight, at least, he manages to be someone Shane can keep beside him when he needs it most.

“I can’t imagine how hard that was,” Hayden murmurs after a moment. “Hiding... sneaking around... having to pretend all the time.”

Shane’s face goes still again, but not in the same way. This time, the stillness is tired.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

Hayden frowns.

“He grew tired of it. Seems like it.” Shane is mumbling. “But it doesn’t matter now,” he adds. “We’re done.”

Hayden wants to tell him that it does matter. It matters so much that the whole timeline has bent around it. But if Hayden says too much, he will turn comfort into prophecy, and Shane isn’t ready for that. Hayden isn’t ready either.

“Hey, Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“It’ll be okay in the end,” Hayden tells him. “I promise.”

Shane doesn’t answer back. In the dark, Hayden can't tell whether he believes him. Maybe belief is too much to ask tonight. Maybe all Shane can do is hear it and keep breathing.

Eventually, Shane looks towards the ceiling again, and Hayden watches him close his eyes.

Hayden stays awake for a long time after that, staring at the ceiling of a guest room that once belonged to the worst version of his life. The room is different now. He is different, maybe, or trying to be. Shane is beside him, still hurt and quiet but here. And he let Hayden in, and for now, that’s what’s important. 

Practice the next morning proves that Shane Hollander can be miserable and still be better at hockey than everyone else in the arena, which... rude?

Hayden has always known this. Shane takes drills, wins faceoffs, corrects a rookie’s spacing with three words and one look, and never gives anyone a real reason to worry. To anyone else, he is fine. To Coach Theriault, he’s locked in. To J.J., maybe, he’s quieter than usual, but J.J. runs on enough volume for two people, so he probably doesn’t notice.

Hayden sees it, though. He sees the slight delay before Shane answers, how he drinks too much water between drills because it gives him something to do, how his eyes keep going blank whenever no one is talking to him, like his mind has found a door and keeps walking through it. Hayden remembers this version of Shane from before he met Rose Landry, from the period when Shane had been all function and no visible want, a hockey machine and nothing else.

He promises to himself Shane won’t turn that way again.

After practice, Hayden waits until J.J. drifts toward the showers, then leans against the stall beside Shane. “You sure you’re going to be okay at home? You know you can stay at our house, right?” he asks in a low voice.

Shane doesn’t look up. “I’m okay, Hayd. Thank you for the offer, but I feel like I need to deal with it on my own.”

Hayden’s chest tightens. “You don’t have to thank me. And you don’t need to deal with it alone.”

“I do.” Shane zips his bag. “And I do. I already feel bad for snatching you from your pregnant wife last night. I don’t want to be a bother at your home, too.”

Hayden hates that Shane has said that. He didn’t snatch him from Jackie. In fact, Jackie knows everything. He also won’t leave Jackie if he doesn’t know Amber won’t be born until a couple of weeks from now. He’s forming a serious rebuttal when Shane gives him a serious look. 

“Really, Hayd, I need to be alone.”

Hayden closes his mouth and nods. “Fine. But you text me if you need anything,” he tells him. “Or don’t. I’ll probably bother you anyway.”

Shane shakes his head with an almost smile. Almost. Hayden files it away with the same pathetic pride he keeps giving Shane’s half-reactions lately, then lets him go. 

Then, when J.J. comes out of the shower, he slides next to him. 

This isn’t planned, but he guesses he can bring J.J. to his house so that Jackie can rest up a bit while he and J.J. handle the kids. Call it gratitude for allowing him to sleep over at his best friend’s last night. By bringing another friend. It’s Hayden Pike logic. 

J.J. agrees before Hayden finishes asking, mostly because J.J. is offended by the idea that he hasn’t been invited to Hayden’s house more often.

“That’s why I’m inviting you now. You’re today’s babysitter as chosen by me.”

They stop for McDonald’s because Hayden is a devoted father and also weak for McNuggets. They also stop for spicy chicken wings because Jackie’s craving it these days. By the time they arrive home, J.J. is carrying two bags and a drink tray. Jackie opens the door, looks at J.J., looks at Hayden, then looks at the golden arches with a clueless expression.

“I brought help,” Hayden offers.

J.J. lifts the bags. “Bonsoir, Jackie. I come in peace and with spicy chicken wings.”

Jackie’s mouth twitches despite herself. “That’s the only reason I’m letting you in.”

Hayden kisses her cheek as they pass. “Go rest. We’ve got the kids.”

Jackie gives him a look.

“I mean it,” Hayden adds. “J.J. and I can handle dinner.”

“Dinner? McDonald’s?” Jackie mockingly asks. 

“Exactly. The kids will love it. Right, kids?”

“Yes!” Jade and Ruby shout in unison, and Arthur nods more enthusiastically than his usual. 

“Fine,” Jackie says. “But don’t let the children eat ketchup off the table.”

“That’s why there are two of us,” Hayden assures her. 

J.J. nods, deeply solemn. “I will guard the ketchup.”

Jackie stares at both of them and then settles. “Okay.”

Hayden helps her up the stairs and into their bed, but after five minutes, she comes down again, saying she can’t sleep and wants to eat her spicy wings. Hayden thinks she just wants to monitor them.

The early evening in the Pike living room is loud and greasy. It’s completely normal. The two men talk about their upcoming games against New York, while kids steal each other’s nuggets as Jackie attacks her chicken wings. Hayden, with Arthur sitting on his lap, feels something in his chest loosen that he hadn’t realized was still clenched.

Later, when the kids are fed and Jackie has stopped pretending not to monitor them from the couch, Hayden puts the game on. Boston is out of the playoffs, but one of the sports channels is replaying a Bears regular-season game as part of their playoff coverage, which Hayden considers a gift from the universe, which usually prefers hitting him with a slap on the face. 

J.J. groans the second Ilya appears on the screen. “Non,” he protests around a fry. “I was having a good time.”

Hayden drops onto the couch beside him. “We can learn from watching him.”

“I can also learn from watching a crime documentary. Doesn’t mean I invite the murderer into my living room.”

Jackie, on her fourth chicken wing, laughs. 

On the TV, Ilya strips the puck off a Toronto winger near the boards, turns the play the other way, and makes a pass so sharp that even J.J. goes quiet for half a second.

Hayden notices, and J.J. notices Hayden noticing.

“Don’t start,” J.J. warns.

“I didn’t say anything!”

Hayden grins and steals one of his fries. J.J. swats at him, then swears in French when Ilya appears again, bullying his way through traffic. Hayden continues to watch J.J. watch him, irritation still written across his face. Annoyed, yes, but paying attention.

This is good, Hayden thinks, except for the very few times Cliff appears on the screen, which definitely doesn’t distract him. Again, this is good. Hayden has no intention of forcing J.J. to like Ilya tonight. He isn’t insane. Well, he isn’t that insane. But if J.J. can see the hockey before he sees the asshole, even once, maybe that will matter later. Maybe when he eventually learns about the truth, his response will be better.

Jackie catches Hayden’s eye from the couch, and she knows what he’s doing. She’s basically watching Hayden watching J.J. watching Rozanov. It isn't the watch party Hayden expected, but through that, she sees the whole tiny operation. Her eyebrows lift.

Hayden gives her his most innocent look.

On the screen, Ilya scores, and J.J. throws both hands up in disgust. “Tabarnak,” he mutters. “He’s good. I hate this.”

Hayden leans back, smiling into his drink. He looks back at Jackie, who’s smiling now. 

She gives him a thumbs-up. 

Chapter End Notes

So sorry for the long wait! It got so busy at work that I only finished writing the chapter today. To compensate, I also updated My Frenemy, Hayden Pike with a new bonus chapter, so if you're following that story, please check out the update! :))

Chapter 10

Chapter Summary

As Hayden leans harder on his future knowledge to control the playoffs, a night meant to bring Shane and J.J. closer only exposes more of his secrets, and his body begins paying the price.

Chapter Notes

“Hayden Thomas Pike!” 

Hayden hasn’t heard his full government name delivered with that much authority since… well, since Jackie last screamed it at him. He has just answered Jackie’s call, and his mouth was preparing some tender little husband greeting when Jackie’s voice sliced through the hallway outside the visitors’ locker room. For a stupid second, he checks the corridor on instinct, half-convinced she has somehow appeared in Madison Square Garden wearing her pregnant-lady fury and the expression that usually makes their children confess to crimes she hasn’t even named yet. She isn’t there, obviously.

“Jackie, I can explain,” he tries, which is never the correct opening statement in a marriage, especially not in one currently burdened by future sins, hockey playoffs, and the last stages of pregnancy. 

“A hat trick?! Really?!”

Hayden closes his eyes. Behind the locker room door, the Montreal Voyageurs celebrate. There are whoops and banging of sticks against the wall, and someone starts chanting his name, which would be great under normal circumstances. He enjoys admiration, especially since he doesn’t always get it. Tonight, however, his wife is on the phone sounding one bad answer away from divorcing him in this timeline. 

He’s in New York with the rest of the team for the second game of the Conference Finals. Two nights ago, New York beat them 2-1, which hadn’t been fun, but had at least been historically correct. Tonight, Montreal crushed them 6-2. Shane scored twice, the rookie winger got one in the second period, and Hayden... well, Hayden did a thing. 

A three-goal thing.

“Tell me you didn’t use your previous memories to score a hat trick, Hayden,” Jackie demands.

Hayden, caught and regrettably guilty, rubs the back of his neck. What is he supposed to tell his wife? In his nightmare life, this game went well too. Shane and the rookie scored the same points they scored tonight, and Hayden slipped one past New York’s goalie. One modest, timeline-conscious goal. They won 4-2 there.

Tonight, however, Hayden may have taken a few liberties with the information his cursed little brain has. New York’s defense opened the same lanes Hayden remembered, their goalie had leaned on the same patterns, and Hayden’s body moved before his conscience stopped him. One goal became two. Two became a chance at three. By then, the Garden was booing with real devotion, his bench was losing its collective mind, and Hayden started feeling the hot satisfaction of being exceptionally good at the thing he had given his body to for most of his life.

He wanted it. He didn't do it for Shane or for his wife or for the team or for some noble competitive reason that would sound decent if Jackie made him repeat it in court that is their living room. He did it because time travel had taken his sense of reality, his sleep, and a great portion of his emotional stability, and he decided, somewhere between the second goal and half of the city of New York booing him, that he deserved one greedy thing.

“Will you be mad if I say I did?” Hayden replies, already bracing for whatever Jackie’s about to do to him through the phone.

“Hayden!”

“I don’t think it will make any difference,” Hayden argues, then looks around and lowers his voice. “You knew we would win. It doesn’t matter if I scored one or three.”

Jackie huffs on the other end. “I just worry, okay? I don’t want you changing too many things from the life you know because we don’t know how they’ll ripple out.”

Hayden pauses, thinking that over. Then, when he’s sure about it, he opens his mouth. “Isn’t that just normal life, though? We don’t know what will happen?”

There’s a long pause from Jackie’s end. Hayden starts to think he has lost her. “Hello?” he checks.

“I’m here.”

“Oh, you went quiet.”

“I’m mourning,” Jackie says.

“What?”

“My husband. He was a simple man. Handsome. Very sexy. Often confused by different types of detergents. Now there’s someone on my phone talking philosophically.”

Hayden chuckles. “Are you trying to say I’m dumb?”

“Yes. That’s why I married you. I wanted to manipulate you and get your hockey money,” Jackie returns sweetly.

Hayden can practically hear the wink through her voice. He laughs. “You don’t need to get my money if I willingly give it to you.”

Jackie laughs too. “Honey, that’s what manipulation is.”

They keep talking after that, the call easing into something warm and stupid and theirs. It makes him feel, for a few seconds, that he hasn’t ruined anything beyond repair. He rests there with her, in the familiar rhythm they built before all of this.

During times like this, even when he’s only away for a little while, Hayden still misses his wife. He can’t wait for all his little missions to end so he can finally go back to the life he had, where he can wake up beside Jackie without worry in her face, where his biggest problem is figuring out how to drop the twins off at school on his way to the arena when the two places are in opposite directions and he only has fifteen minutes to perform a miracle on the streets of Montreal.

He reminds Jackie not to tire herself out and to ask for help if she needs it. She tells him not to become unbearable just because he scored three goals, which is disrespectful because Hayden had planned to be unbearable for at least two hours. He also pretends to be wounded that his wife doesn’t trust him to score a hat trick without future knowledge, but Jackie points out that if there was any historical evidence of him doing that, she would’ve been less suspicious.

He assures her he’ll be home tomorrow since Games 3 and 4 will be in Montreal, and she tells him she loves him, and he tells her he loves her too, and when the call ends, he keeps the phone against his palm a little longer than necessary.

When he pushes into the visitors’ locker room, the heat and stink hit him with enough force to make him back away a little. He forces himself in and drops beside Shane, who’s done showering and has changed into his media suit.

The loss two nights ago had lodged itself in Shane’s skull and started throwing furniture. He’s been ugly-moody since the breakup, quieter than usual and twice as likely to stare through people during team meals. Hayden wanted to assure him that the loss was important and should happen, that it’s part of the bigger plan to put his life into place, but, of course, he couldn’t. All he could do is act pissed too, and assure him they’d win the next game, because he was sure they’d win. And they did. 

Now Shane is visibly in a lighter mood. Still blanking at times, but definitely lighter. 

“You still haven't showered?” Shane asks, visibly baffled by Hayden’s state.

“Jackie called, and I—”

“Coach said you’d join me in the interviews. Hurry up unless you want to look like that while I look like this.”

“Rude.”

Shane shakes his head and laughs a little. Definitely lighter now.

J.J. appears before Hayden can start stripping off and follow his captain’s orders. 

“So,” J.J. begins, throwing himself into their corner, “where are we taking the boys to celebrate our heroic destruction of New York?”

Fuck. He forgot to tell J.J. tonight isn’t for the whole team. It was never supposed to be. There are several reasons why bringing the full Montreal Voyageurs roster to a gay bar would be a catastrophic act, now that he knows what kind of assholes their teammates are.

Clearly, Shane trusts him more now, after sharing his secret with him and all, so bringing them to the Kingfisher isn’t necessary anymore. Still, maybe a night with his friends will do Shane some good. Maybe, if Shane sees J.J. being comfortable inside the Kingfisher, he’ll trust him too.

He grabs J.J. by the wrist and pulls him down beside him before J.J. can announce anything to the room. “I’m thinking.”

“You thinking?” J.J. teases.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to say something.”

“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

“I’m thinking,” Hayden repeats, watching J.J.’s smirk grow, “maybe tonight should just be us three.”

J.J.’s brows furrow. “But why? Don't you want the team to celebrate your hat trick?”

“I don’t think the guys would like the place, and…” Hayden glances at Shane, who has moved away from them and is now talking to Coach Theriault but still finds the chance to glare at him because he still hasn’t gone to the shower room. “I don’t think Shane would come with us if the guys are going too. You know how he is. He doesn’t like too much noise. He just tolerates your mouth.”

“He just tolerates your mouth too!” J.J. retorts. 

“Exactly. We’re already too much. Adding more noise will make it too, too much.”

J.J. laughs, and Hayden gives him an annoyed look. 

“Fine,” J.J. decides. “Just the three of us. But you're telling anyone who asks that it was your decision, not mine. I have a reputation as a man of the people.”

Hayden smirks. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll shower now before Shane eats me alive.” 

J.J. is about to stand and get changed when Hayden speaks again.

“Oh, quick question, do you have painkillers? I think I forgot my pill box at the hotel.”

J.J.’s amusement fades. “Anything wrong?”

“Nothing much. Just a headache.”

“I don’t bring any medicine. You know me. But I can go to the team nurse while you shower. I’ll give it to you before your interview, monsieur le tour du chapeau,” J.J. says before winking. 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Hayden has never been more grateful for a stranger with a license plate and a navigation app. The Uber drops them in front of the Kingfisher, exactly where they need to be. Hayden recognizes the place and doesn’t recognize it at all at the same time. The memory of it belongs to a version of him who had come here drunk, lonely, and destroyed, which is a terrible state for remembering architecture. That Hayden barely noticed walls and instead was focused on not crying in public and not throwing up on a sidewalk. Tonight’s Hayden is painfully sober, unfortunately responsible for two other adults, and carrying the awful knowledge that if this goes badly, Jackie will somehow find out from Montreal and call him by his full government name again.

J.J. steps inside first and pauses right after crossing the threshold, blocking the entrance with his whole body. Hayden nearly runs into his back and bites down on a curse because Shane is behind him, already at risk of deciding the night is too much and retreating to the hotel, where he will stare at a wall all night. Again. 

“Nice interior,” J.J. decides, “but the lighting makes me feel like I’m a photograph waiting to be developed.”

Shane gives one quiet snort behind them, and Hayden nearly turns around to check whether he imagined it. He doesn’t. He keeps walking because the sound is small, but it’s real, and Hayden is learning that Shane’s recovery arrives in pieces so tiny they could be missed if someone is too busy. He puts an arm around Shane’s shoulders and brings him inside before he can reconsider the whole night. 

For a gay bar in New York, the Kingfisher seems pretty calm. There are only a few people inside at this hour, and the music stays low under the noise from the TV screens. A replay of tonight’s Montreal versus New York game is playing over the bar. It’s a perfect place for Shane to hang out with friends without worrying about the state of his eardrums and brain later. 

Hayden steers J.J. towards the farthest booth, already committed to hiding them in the corner. The plan lasts until they pass the main bar and Hayden opens his mouth before his brain can stop him.

“Hey, Kyle. How’s it going?”

The bartender looks at him.

J.J. looks at him.

Shane looks at him.

Shit. 

Hayden’s soul quietly resigns. For one suspended, excruciating moment, nobody rescues him. He just stands there frozen solid in front of the bartender, who, based on his reaction, basically confirms he's named Kyle. Hayden considers faking a medical emergency. He already has a headache. He could work with that.

Kyle blinks too many times, rag in his hand. “Hi. Yes, that’s my name. Sorry, do I know you?”

“No,” Hayden replies too fast, which is a terrible opening since he just greeted him by name. Somehow, he's hurt that his friend doesn't remember him, even though he already expected this to happen. He's pretty sure he has Kyle's number saved in his phone in his other life. “I mean, no, probably not. You just uh... uhm... have Kyle energy.”

“Kyle energy,” J.J. repeats.

Hayden refuses to look at him. “Yeah.”

Kyle, now deeply entertained, lets out a confused little laugh. “That’s a new one.”

His gaze moves over Hayden’s face again, then down to the jacket, then up to the TV above the bar. Recognition arrives slowly. Then it hits, and his eyes widen.

“Wait. You’re number thirty-five.” He points at the screen, where Hayden is currently being mobbed by his teammates after his third goal. “Hayden Pike?”

Hayden has no idea what to do with that. He’s used to people recognizing Shane first. Sometimes J.J. if they know the team well. Hayden has never been one of the recognized ones even if he’s always beside Shane. Shane said it’s because he looks vastly different when his helmet is on, but Hayden thinks Shane just said it to spare his feelings. But now, the experience of being recognized in public is very strange. Pleasant, maybe. Suspiciously pleasant. Jackie would accuse him of becoming unbearable, and she would be correct.

“I may not know you, but it looks like you know me,” Hayden says playfully, and he hears snickering behind him. 

Kyle gives him a smirk. “You scored a hat trick tonight. Of course I’d remember you.”

Hayden opens his mouth, but nothing useful comes out.

“And I watched your interview tonight,” Kyle adds, eyes not leaving Hayden’s. After a few more seconds of staring, his attention jumps past Hayden. “Shit. You’re Shane Hollander.” 

“Hi,” Shane greets him awkwardly. 

Then Kyle’s eyes move to J.J., and the pause that follows is so brutal Hayden almost feels bad. “And you’re…”

J.J. lifts his chin. “J.J. Boiziau. Defenseman. Widely beloved outside of Boston.” Apparently, it’s his turn to be unrecognized tonight. 

“Right. Sorry. This is crazy.” Kyle shakes his head once, still grinning. “Montreal players are in my bar.”

“Yeah,” Hayden manages. “That’s us.”

“Well, we’re mostly Team New York here, of course,” Kyle admits, then lowers his voice and leans slightly toward Hayden looking straight into his eyes. “But if you keep it a secret, first round is on the house.” Kyle winks. 

Hayden smiles wide and thanks Kyle, and Kyle smiles back. They get their drinks, thank Kyle again, and make it to the booth Hayden wanted in the first place. 

J.J. waits until Shane slides in, until Hayden is trapped on the inside of the booth, until their drinks are on the table. “Now, Pike,” J.J. starts, leaning back with a grin, “are you going to explain why you brought us into this kind of bar and started flirting with the male bartender in front of us?”

“What?!” Hayden and Shane react at the same time.

Shane’s head turns, his eyes roaming around the bar properly for the first time. Hayden can practically see the realization arrive when Shane spots the men kissing near the back, a woman with her arm around another woman at the bar, and the rainbow sticker on the register. The whole room quietly announces itself now that Shane is paying attention. Right. Gay bar.

Shane looks at Hayden, silently asking why he brought them here. Then, with awful timing and very little loyalty, he joins J.J. in staring at him questioningly.

“What?” Hayden demands. 

“You two were definitely flirting, mon gars,” J.J. says. “Do you have anything to tell us?”

“No?! I’m literally married! My wife and I are having our fourth kid soon!”

“Relax. I’m not trying to call your marriage lawyer,” J.J. says. “I’m just saying if this is the reason why you brought us here, come clean with it.”

“I don’t have to come clean about anything. You heard him. He didn’t even know me before he realized I was on TV!”

“But you know him,” J.J. says calmly. 

“Yeah, you mentioned his name,” Shane adds. His arms are crossed now, eyes narrowed, and there's the Shane Hollander Hayden knows too well: quiet, suspicious, and already halfway through an investigation Hayden didn’t consent to. “Care to explain, Hayd?”

Fuck. He’s cornered. He should’ve used his brain before basically screaming Kyle’s name. Or he shouldn’t have brought them here in the first place. Unfortunately, both of those better decisions are now unavailable.

“Some men are Kyles,” Hayden tries. “You know this.”

“I don’t,” J.J. snaps. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means look at him. That’s a Kyle.”

Shane, unfortunately, looks over again. “He does look like a Kyle.”

Hayden points at Shane triumphantly. “See?”

J.J. looks between Hayden and Shane, clearly deciding whether the two of them have both lost their minds. “I hate when you do that. Ganging up on me,” he mutters.

“We’re not ganging up on you. We’re just saying it fully makes sense,” Hayden insists.

“No, it doesn’t. I’m just tired,” Shane says. Shane looks back at Kyle one more time, then at Hayden, and Hayden can tell from the slight narrowing of his eyes that Shane hasn’t bought the explanation. But Shane also lets it go, which is either friendship or, as Shane said, exhaustion. Hayden will accept both.

J.J., unfortunately, is less merciful. “So,” he begins again, leaning back against the booth, “why are we in a gay bar again?”

Hayden takes a sip from his drink to buy time. The drink isn’t strong enough for the amount of time he needs, which feels like poor planning from Kyle. His first instinct is to lie. The problem is that Shane is watching him, and the point of all of this is that Hayden wanted to give Shane a safe room, not turn himself into tonight’s puzzle for Shane to solve.

“I wanted something else.”

J.J. waits.

“And I didn’t want the noise of other bars,” Hayden adds. “The usual places are full of guys yelling into each other’s faces. This place is quieter. Plus, they’re playing our win on the TV.”

“It's true,” Shane notes, looking around.

“Thank you,” Hayden answers, maybe too quickly.

J.J.’s suspicion doesn’t leave. It pulls up a chair and orders something. “You picked a gay bar because it’s quiet?”

“I picked a bar that's quiet," Hayden clarifies. "It just happens to be a gay bar. But if you want to go somewhere else, we can go.”

"I'm fine here," Shane answers, and Hayden feels relieved at that.

J.J. just shrugs, then says, "I don't mind it. This isn't my first time in a gay bar. I have some friends." Shane turns his head to J.J. at that. "Just hope no one took a photo of us entering. We don't want rumors circulating," J.J. continues.

Shane blinks too many times after hearing what J.J. has said and turns his head around again, seemingly looking for cameras pointed at them, but everyone seems to be minding their own business. Hayden suddenly realizes he should’ve thought about that before bringing them here. Thankfully, Shane eases up and turns his glass slowly between his hands. 

“Have you been here before?” Shane asks. 

It's a trap, Hayden thinks. Answering “no” would be stupid. “No” would make Hayden look insane for dragging them to a random gay bar in New York after promising J.J. he knew a place. Technically, he’s been here before. He just happened to be a different version of himself at the time, drunk and miserable and in possession of several life choices he’s trying to keep buried under the floorboards. So he nods.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Once.”

Shane studies him.

J.J.’s eyebrows climb. “You’ve been to a gay bar.”

“Yeah.”

“With who?” Shane questions.

J.J. slams his hand on the table and points at Hayden. “With Kyle, obviously,” he answers for him. 

“No?” Hayden responds. “I mean, yes, he was here since he’s clearly the bartender, but I wasn’t with him. I was alone.” 

Hayden was, indeed, very alone then. 

Shane sits straight up again. Hayden isn’t sure if this version of Shane is better than heartbroken Shane, but he guesses that if interrogating him can make Shane forget about his heartbreak, even for a while, he can take a few hits.  

“Why were you here alone?” Shane asks, and then J.J. crosses his arms too, which Hayden feels is excessive.

“You were meeting someone behind Jackie’s back!” J.J. concludes.

“What the fuck, man?” Hayden snaps. “I would never cheat on Jackie. I was here because I needed a drink, and this bar gave me some. Kyle gave me water so I wouldn’t die on the sidewalk. That’s all!”

Shane’s eyes narrow again. "When was that?"

In an alternate timeline, some time in the near future, when I was trying to find out whether Scott Hunter and his boyfriend were still together is the real truth, but Hayden can't say that. "I… actually don't remember," he says instead. 

“So you and the bartender clearly met already,” Shane says.

J.J. points at him again. “So is it Kyle energy, or is it because you already met him?”

Fuck. 

“You greeted him like you knew him.” Shane continues, leaning forward, and J.J. follows. “You weren’t guessing.”

If he thought he was cornered earlier, well, the previous corner now feels, in hindsight, more like a hallway. Because this is the actual corner now. Hayden has nothing. No useful lie, no stupid joke to distract J.J. The only explanation he has is the truth, and the truth is that he was here in another life. He met Kyle in that life, became his friend for a night because Hayden was too drunk to go back to his hotel.

He can’t tell him those secrets. It’s going to ruin his and Jackie’s plan. He can’t do that now, now that he thinks he’s doing the right thing. He can’t fuck this up again. He has destroyed so much already, and he doesn’t know how long his conscience can keep carrying all of it before it drops him in public. 

His chest tightens before he knows his body has decided to panic. His fingers go cold around the glass. The red lights, the low music, the replay on the television, J.J.'s intent stare, Shane’s quiet focus, the dull pressure in his head, all of it presses inward. 

J.J. says something, but Hayden loses the words. His eyes start to water.

Shane notices first, which is bad because Hayden has been trying very hard to be the one doing the saving. Shane’s posture changes. The questions leave his face, and he uncrosses his arms and sits back.

“Hayd,” he murmurs. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

Hayden blinks too many times, hands around his glass still trembling. It probably confirms everything. He can’t open his mouth. His head still hurts, and now his throat feels locked around every answer he can’t give.

“Hey,” Shane adds, softer now. “It’s okay. We won’t push anymore.”

Hayden nods once, then stands too quickly and catches his hip against the table. “Sorry. I’ll just go to the washroom.” 

He leaves before either of them can answer.

The washroom is empty, thank God, and Hayden braces both hands on the sink while staring at himself in the mirror. He looks pale. Guilty too, probably, but that might just be his face now. Time travel has aged him spiritually and done very little for his ability to lie under pressure. If the universe is going to ruin his life, it could at least give him better improvisation skills.

“Idiot,” he whispers at his reflection. That doesn’t help, but it feels deserved.

He nearly fucked it up. Again. One night out with his friends, one attempt to be helpful, and he already walked himself into another secret with witnesses. He needs to be careful. He can’t afford sloppy mistakes anymore.

He turns on the tap and washes his face. The cold water helps a little, not much, but enough to make his breathing less uneven. He dries his hands, then grips the sink again and tries to put himself back in order.

The door opens behind him.

Hayden doesn’t turn. He sees Shane in the mirror, his expression composed in that very Shane way that can be mistaken for indifference by people who haven’t watched him for years. Hayden knows better. Shane is worried. It sits plainly in his eyes, no matter how little the rest of his face gives away.

“I’m okay,” Hayden says without being asked.

Shane doesn’t look convinced. “You don’t look okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Hayden exhales.

“For what?”

Hayden looks down. That’s the problem. He’s sorry for everything these days, and the list keeps growing. He can’t keep track of the things he’s apologizing for anymore. 

Shane steps closer and squeezes his shoulder.

Hayden looks back up, expecting another question. Instead, Shane hesitates for a second, visibly deciding something, and then pulls Hayden into a hug. Hayden freezes. It isn’t like the hug from the night when Hayden moved first. This one is Shane’s. Awkward, yes, with one hand still on Hayden’s shoulder and the other pressed carefully between Hayden’s shoulder blades, but Shane is the one holding him. Hayden’s brain goes silent for one blessed second before coming back. He returns the hug.

“This feels nice, buddy, but what’s this for?” Hayden asks, voice muffled near Shane’s shoulder.

“You check on me,” Shane answers.

Hayden frowns. “Yeah?”

“All the time. And I don’t check on you.” Shane’s arms tighten a fraction, then loosen again. “I just realized that.”

Hayden closes his eyes. He hadn’t noticed, not really. Shane has never been openly affectionate. Hayden accepted that years ago, in every life. Shane shows care through other things: fixing a mistake in Hayden’s positioning before Coach can yell, babysitting without complaint, sending articles about sleep because Hayden once yawned too much at practice. Hayden has never needed Shane to perform friendship the way he and other people do.

“You do, bud,” Hayden murmurs. “Just differently.”

“It shouldn’t only be different.” Shane pulls back first, but he keeps one hand on Hayden’s shoulder. “I don’t think you would cheat on Jackie and meet a someone else here.”

Hayden swallows. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know. You’re too in love with her to do that. And I think J.J. is just mostly riling you up.”

Hayden lets out a breath and nods.

“But there’s an explanation for all of this.”

Hayden looks at him.

“I’m not asking now,” Shane continues. “But if you have something you want to tell me, I’ll listen. No judgment.”

Hayden’s eyes sting again. Shane must think this is about him, about the gay bar, about Kyle, about Hayden calling Ilya attractive in a café. Shane must think Hayden is standing in some sort of sexual identity crisis, and the horrifying part is that he isn’t completely wrong. 

But that doesn’t matter right now. Hayden can think about himself later. Right now, what matters is the plan, the plan that will move Shane and Ilya back to their places in each other’s life. 

“Thank you,” Hayden manages. “Really.”

Shane nods, satisfied with the answer or satisfied that he has reached the limit of what Hayden can give. Either way, he lets the subject go. Hayden splashes more water on his face, dries it with a paper towel, and follows Shane back into the bar.

When they get back to the booth, J.J. is sitting there with a platter of potato wedges. “You two talked too long,” J.J. says, already picking up another wedge. “I'm hungry.”

Shane lets out a quiet laugh.

Hayden laughs too, mostly from relief. J.J. doesn't mention Kyle, the interrogation, or Hayden’s dramatic little washroom exit. Shane must've warned J.J. before he followed him to the washroom. Hayden loves his best friend so much it embarrasses him sometimes. Worse, there are moments when he thinks he doesn’t deserve Shane at all. Too many, actually. 

The night moves closer to what Hayden planned after that, not perfectly, but close. J.J. talks enough for all three of them, which helps. Shane stays quiet for stretches, drinks his ginger ale, and his shoulders stop sitting near his ears. At one point, J.J. launches into a reconstruction of Hayden’s third goal, complete with hand gestures and several factual inaccuracies for dramatic effect. Shane eventually interrupts to correct him, and it's the most animated Hayden has seen him all night, and for a few minutes he sounds like himself again.

They leave after an hour, maybe a little more. Kyle tells them good luck in Game 3 and that they should visit again when they’re in New York, his gaze staying on Hayden for far longer than customer service requires. Hayden, defeated by social cues, grins and pats Kyle’s shoulder and tells him even if the two abandon him, he’ll still come back. This earns him a whispered “what?!” from Shane and a kick on the ankle from J.J.

Shane leaves a tip that makes J.J. whistle under his breath, and J.J. informs the room at large that Montreal will continue making New York suffer, which leads to a few groans from everyone else before Hayden herds him outside.

“Dude, I tried so hard to defend you, and you still flirted with the bartender?” Shane whispers at Hayden after he pulls him aside. 

“What flirting? I wasn’t flirting! We were just talking!”

“Poor Kyle. He’s flirting with a married man who doesn’t even know he’s flirting,” J.J. comments.

Hayden goes quiet after that. The conversation isn’t going anywhere. He knows himself, and Kyle is his friend. In another life, yes, and he doesn’t remember Hayden here, but still his friend. Hayden doesn’t flirt with friends. More than that, he doesn’t plan on flirting with anyone who isn’t Jackie ever again. He’s sure of that.

By the time their car arrives, Hayden is tired in a way the game didn’t cause. The Uber smells faintly of lemon air freshener and old coffee. J.J. takes the front seat before anyone can argue, already chatting with the driver about traffic and how Montreal is better than New York in every meaningful category. 

Hayden sinks into the back beside Shane and lets the city move past the window in streaks of light he doesn’t let himself study for too long. The bar’s red glow has followed him behind his eyes, mixing with the pressure in his skull and the leftover soreness from the game. The night didn’t go the way he imagined. Hayden can’t even tell whether Shane actually felt comfortable with J.J. since the whole thing ended up revolving around Hayden. He marks it as a loss and presses two fingers to his temple without thinking.

J.J. catches it in the rearview mirror. “You need more painkillers?”

Shane turns toward him. “What for?”

“Just a headache. It’s probably the red lighting at the bar.” Hayden leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes for a moment. “I’ll sleep it off. I’m fine.”

Shane nods once, accepting the plan rather than the reassurance. 

Hayden reopens one eye and finds Shane still watching, worry sitting plain on his face again. Hayden tries to smile, but it probably comes out poorly. He doesn’t have the energy to make it better.

Hayden wakes up with Arthur’s fist pressed against his ribs. Neither he nor Jackie knows how Arthur got there, the same way they never know how he gets there every night, and honestly, Hayden doesn't mind.

He flew home from New York with the team two days ago, and he spent half of yesterday doing daddy duties and half practicing with the team. Tonight, they’re going to face the New York Admirals again for Game 3, and they’re going to do it on their home ice.

For a while, Hayden stays where he is, feeling his son warm against his side. He breathes air into his shirt, one knee over his stomach. Jackie’s still asleep on the other side of the bed, one hand tucked under her cheek, her hair in her face, and Hayden watches them both and feels the morning gather around him, quiet and ordinary and so painfully his.

Then Arthur’s fist digs deeper into his ribs.

Hayden winces and catches the tiny hand before his son can injure him before breakfast. He looks at Jackie, who doesn’t stir, and carefully slides out of bed with Arthur in his arms. Arthur doesn’t wake all the way. He only clutches Hayden’s shirt and complains into his crew neck, sleepily upset by the relocation. Hayden carries him down the hall and back into his room, then lays him in bed and pulls the blanket over him. Arthur’s hand catches his wrist before he can leave.

“Daddy,” Arthur mumbles, then goes back to sleeping again. Hayden can’t help but huff a small laugh at how adorable his son is. 

Downstairs, the house still belongs to the early morning, and he moves through it quietly and starts breakfast. He gets the bacon going first, then the eggs, scrambled for Jade and Ruby and boiled for him, Jackie, and Arthur because Arthur only eats his when it’s perfectly smooth. He waits on the toast because if there’s one thing his children respect less than bedtime, it’s toast that has lost warmth before they arrive at the table.

He hears movement upstairs. A door opens. One of the twins says something too softly for Hayden to catch, followed by the other twin responding with early morning aggression. Then Arthur calls from upstairs. “Daaaddyyy!”

Hayden looks at the ceiling and sighs. He really has to stop doing this. Arthur can make it down the stairs just fine when Hayden’s away on a road trip and Jackie stands nearby to supervise. But whenever Hayden is home, Arthur suddenly forgets all about independence and insists on being carried, apparently maximizing Hayden's usefulness while he’s in the house. Hayden knows exactly how this works, and he keeps falling for it anyway.

“Daaaddyyy!”

Hayden wipes his hands on a towel and heads for the stairs.

Halfway up, Jackie steps out of their bedroom, still sleepy, one hand on her bump and one eyebrow already raised at him.

“Good morning,” Hayden greets his wife. 

Jackie murmurs something that sounds like a good morning and gives him a kiss on the lips. Hayden holds her for a while before Arthur calls for him again. He grins and goes to collect Arthur. Arthur is sitting on his bed, in his pajamas, hair sticking up, arms already lifted. Hayden picks him up and tells himself this is the last time, though he knows it isn’t going to be the last time. 

When they reach the kitchen, the twins are already at the table. Jackie follows them down a minute later. Hayden makes the toast then, watching the whole morning fill in around him. 

Breakfast starts with the usual chaos and then finds a rhythm. The twins discuss school. Arthur eats his egg with both hands despite Hayden offering a spoon, which is probably fine. Jackie watches everyone over the rim of her glass with that quiet little face she gets when she’s tired but not unhappy. Hayden feeds himself between cutting toast, answering questions, and wiping bacon grease from Arthur’s chin with a napkin.

Then Jackie looks at him. “How’s Shane?”

“He’s okay,” he answers. “Better than he was.”

Jackie’s eyes soften. “Better is good.” She understands what he doesn’t say. Shane is still hurt and is still carrying a breakup he can’t call by the right name in public. Shane is still Shane, which means he’ll show up, play hard, answer questions, and act normal.

“And tonight?” Jackie asks.

Hayden takes a bite of toast and regrets nothing about using the chewing time to think. “The plan is to do what I did last time.”

“You remember Game 3?”

“Mostly. We won. We’re supposed to win tonight too, as planned. So I don’t have to do anything strange.”

Jackie’s mouth curls. “That’ll be hard for you.”

Hayden softly laughs at that. 

“How many did you score there?” Jackie asks. 

“Hmmm?” Hayden takes another bite. 

Jackie pauses with her glass near her mouth. “Hayden.”

“What?”

Jackie looks straight into his eyes. “How. Many. Did. You. Score?”

His shoulders drop. “I didn’t score during Game 3.” 

“And?”

“What and?” Hayden looks down at his plate because his wife is beautiful and terrible and far too familiar with his face. “I’m not going to use future knowledge to mess with anything.”

“Good.”

“But I can’t promise I won’t score.”

Jackie closes her eyes for one second. "You just said you wouldn't mess with anything!"

“Jacks, come on. If the lane opens, what am I supposed to do? Ignore it? During playoffs?”

“You managed not to score the first time, according to you, so why are you changing it now?”

“The first time I was emotionally wrecked and actively making terrible decisions.”

She opens her eyes again. “And now?”

“Now I’m emotionally informed and making fewer terrible decisions.”

Jackie gives him another judging look.

Hayden sighs. “I’m just saying, we’re going to win regardless. If I score none or one or two…”

“Or a hat trick,” Jackie supplies for him. 

“...it won’t change the outcome,” Hayden continues.

Jackie looks at him for a long moment, then shakes her head and rolls her eyes. She smiles by the end of it. "Fine. You can have that," she says. 

And Hayden lets himself smile back. 

“Oh, by the way, if the store’s still open on your way home tonight, can you get me spicy chicken wings?”

"Anything for my wife," he returns. "Anything else for the royal household?”

Jackie thinks for a bit. "Painkillers. Advil. I checked the medicine cabinet, and we’re out of them,” Jackie says.

By the time Hayden gets to the Bell Centre, the morning from home has already folded itself into game-day noise.

The Voyageurs' locker room is filling up around him, loud in that expected playoff kind of way. Olsson chirps Comeau about his socks, and J.J. is arguing with one of the rookies in French about something, which means the rookie has already lost and only hasn’t accepted it yet. Hayden drops into his stall with his bag at his feet and the familiar pull of game routine moving through his hands.

Shane's already there. He’s bent over one of his skates, focused on the lace, face calm in the version of calm Hayden has learned to mistrust. After the last few days, Hayden has already perfected knowing the difference between fine and Shane fine, and this is Shane fine. 

“What's up, buddy?" Hayden greets, easing down beside him.

Shane glances up. “Hi, Hayd.”

Hayden waits for more, gets nothing, and accepts that as today’s opening ceremony. He starts unpacking his gear, then fishes the small bottle from his bag and shakes two Advils into his palm.

Shane’s eyes go straight to them.  “You’re still getting headaches?” he asks.

Hayden swallows the pills with water and caps the bottle before Shane can decide to count the remaining capsules. “Just now again. Nothing to worry about.”

Shane hums, and Theriault calls them over before he can ask anything else. Their teammates start moving toward one side, the little pregame crowd forming near the whiteboard and the coaches. Hayden stands with Shane, close enough for their shoulders to brush as they join the others.

J.J. appears on Hayden’s other side and bumps him harder than necessary. “Hat trick hero. You scoring three again tonight?”

“Don’t put that evil on me,” Hayden mutters.

J.J. grins, then turns his focus to Theriault. 

Hayden tries to listen, too. He really does. Then Shane moves beside him, barely anything at all, only a small adjustment of his stance, and Hayden’s attention goes there instead. Shane hasn’t said much since Hayden arrived. He’s doing his captain duties and listens, face blank, eyes on Theriault, body present in the room while the rest of him stays somewhere Hayden can’t reach by talking.

Hayden doesn’t want to ask out loud, but not here, not with J.J. close enough to hear and the rookies to misunderstand. So he waits until Theriault turns toward the whiteboard, until the room’s focus tilts away from them, and then he bumps his shoulder lightly against Shane’s.

The question is silent, but Shane hears it. Hayden hopes he does. How are you holding up? Does today hurt less than yesterday? All of that passes between them without needing to become words in the locker room full of men who don’t know what name Shane has been swallowing.

Shane looks at him. For half a second, the flat game-day face thins. Then he gives Hayden a small smile. It isn’t much, but for Shane, right now, it’s a whole speech.

Hayden squeezes his shoulder once, brief and low, hidden between bodies and gear and Theriault starting his talk about New York’s forecheck. He wants the touch to say too much. It’s going to be okay. One game at a time. We’re getting closer. You don’t know it yet, but I’m trying to put the road back under your feet. I’m getting you back to him.

What Shane gets from it, Hayden can’t know. Maybe only I’m here. Maybe that has to be the message for now.

Shane’s shoulder relaxes under his hand for one second before Hayden lets go.

Theriault keeps talking, all discipline and structure and staying out of the box. Hayden listens, or tries to. He looks around the room at the men dressed in blue, at his teammates nodding along. He looks at Shane again standing beside him, present and hurting and still ready to lead them onto the ice.

Hayden breathes through the dull pulse behind his eyes. Tonight, they only need to win the game they’re supposed to win.

The third period begins with the score already where Hayden remembers it.

Montreal, two. New York, one.

Every goal that mattered from his nightmare life is already on the board. Shane had one in the first, J.J. had one in the second, and Carter Vaughn answered for New York after a bad turnover that still made Theriault look ready to chew through his own clipboard. From here, the score should stay exactly the same until the final horn. Montreal will win, 2-1.

Unfortunately, a certain time traveler with the gift of future knowledge is on the ice.

He lines up for the opening draw of the third period with his lungs working too hard and his head still faintly pulsing. Across from him, Carter Vaughn rolls his shoulders and waits for Scott Hunter to take the puck. Vaughn is dangerous, all timing and patience, always tagged close by Matti Jalo whenever the Admirals want to lock down the middle. Jalo makes most players look foolish without needing to show much effort. Best defenseman in the league, according to too many people paid to have opinions. Ordinarily, Hayden would respect that.

Today, though, even the best defenseman in the league doesn’t have much of a chance against a man who knows exactly where the puck is going to go.

The linesman drops the puck. Hunter wins it with a small turn of his wrist, exactly the way Hayden remembers. New York starts moving, and Hayden’s mind digs hard into the other life, searching through a game he already lived. Vaughn cuts to the right. Jalo follows half a step behind, ready to screen him from pressure. In the original run of the night, Hunter sent the puck to Vaughn cleanly, Vaughn carried it into Montreal’s zone, and Hayden chased the play from a stride too far away to matter.

Not this time, though.

Hayden skates towards Carter Vaughn before the pass fully leaves Hunter’s stick, and for one tiny, perfect second, Vaughn looks surprised. 

Hayden sweeps the puck off the lane before Vaughn can receive it and drives the other way. Jalo reacts, which would mean disaster for anyone who doesn’t already know the angle he takes, but Hayden, now using his own knowledge from the countless videos Shane made him watch, already knows how the defenseman will react. He protects the puck with his body, drags it just outside Jalo’s reach, and feels the play open in front of him with Shane arriving to his left in the pocket of space they have used a hundred times. 

In a normal game, the puck goes to Shane. In a normal life, Hayden does the loyal thing, the thing written into muscle memory after years of trusting Shane before trusting himself. But this isn’t a normal hockey game. This game has already been decided. The third period, as it happened in another universe, is supposed to pass and end without another goal.

Shane’s stick comes down.

But Hayden has decided the next part belongs to him. He looks at Shane and sells the entire arena a lie.

Even Shane seems to expect it, and if Shane expects it, New York’s goalie has no prayer. The goalie moves for the shot that should come from Shane’s blade. Little does he know. 

Because Hayden keeps the puck.

He pushes it himself, short and sharp, right through the space the goalie has just left for him. The puck snaps into the net, and for half a second, Hayden hears nothing except his own breath.

The scoreboard changes to 3–1.

Then the Bell Centre erupts.

Hayden exhales once, almost laughing, almost sick. It worked. It actually worked. Again. His future knowledge sits behind his eyes, hot and useful.

Shane crashes into him. He grabs both his shoulders and shakes him, grinning so wide Hayden almost forgets every bad thing sitting inside Shane right now.

“You fooled me, man” Shane says, loud over the crowd, and Hayden grins back because he can’t help it. J.J. slams into them from the side, shouting something in French that Hayden doesn’t fully catch beyond the obvious meaning of holy shit, Pike.

“Daddy!” Arthur screams at Jackie’s side when the screen shows Hayden after his goal.

Jackie caresses the top of his head and looks back at the TV. The camera stays on Hayden while Shane and J.J. crash into him in celebration, both of them grabbing at his shoulders and helmet. Hayden’s grinning, wide and stupid and proud, and Jackie can only shake her head.

Of course. This is him implementing his plan, the plan he described over breakfast with boiled eggs and timeline crime in his mouth, pretending he had no intention of doing anything strange. Is this cheating? Probably yes. Does anybody else know besides the two of them? No. That makes the moral math easier than it is, which Jackie will examine later when she isn’t watching her husband use forbidden knowledge to bully the New York Admirals on national television.

For now, she gives him this. Playing beside Shane Hollander has never been easy. Jackie has known that for years. Whoever takes that left side has to learn how to live inside Shane’s orbit without disappearing into it. Shane is brilliant, so brilliant, actually, that everyone around him turns invisible. Jackie and Hayden can’t blame it on him. They know Hayden can’t even compete. Instead, he found his place beside him and chose to become better there. 

So if her husband wants one night where he uses the universe’s worst gift to remind everyone that Hayden Pike exists too, Jackie can allow it.

But when Hayden takes off his helmet on the bench and presses two fingers against his temple, Jackie’s smile fades.

The camera moves away, following the replay of his goal, but Jackie keeps looking for him whenever the broadcast cuts back to the bench. Hayden’s helmet comes off again. His hand goes to his temple again. Once, on the ice, he rolls his neck and blinks too hard before skating back into position. She knows what he looks like when he’s tired, and she knows what he looks like when he’s pretending he isn’t. This is closer to the second one, and that makes her grip tighten around the blanket across her lap.

Arthur leans into her hip, still watching the game as if he understands it. On the floor, Jade and Ruby are deep in a separate war involving three dolls, one plastic horse, and Arthur’s plush T-rex, who has apparently been cast as the villain. Jackie decides not to intervene. If Arthur notices, this family may need mediation.

On the TV, Hayden lets the next few turns pass without adding another goal. His line cycles on and off the ice. He plays where he should when he’s out there, sends the puck to Shane, circles back, then returns to the bench with the others and looks almost normal for a minute or two.

Then, in his next shift, his posture changes.

Jackie sits up a little. “Oh, you dumbass,” she murmurs.

Jade looks up from her doll. “Bad word, mommy!”

“I know, baby.”

“Jar,” she says, pointing at the corner of the room where the swear jar is. 

Jackie laughs. “Later, baby.”

Jade accepts this and will probably forget it later.

Jackie looks back at the TV. She knows her husband. She knows the line of his shoulders when he’s about to do something he already decided was worth the lecture afterward. Number thirty-five moves toward the New York players in white and red, cutting across the ice with too much intent for this to be regular hockey.

“Three-five,” Arthur says to no one.

“Yes, baby,” Jackie murmurs, rubbing his hair again. “That’s Daddy.”

The puck goes to number nineteen in white and red. Or it’s supposed to. Because Hayden gets there first. He steals it so smoothly the arena seems to react a second late. The sound from the TV bursts through the living room, and Arthur claps beside her even when nothing has happened yet. Jackie barely notices. Her eyes stay on Hayden, on the way he breaks out with the puck, on Shane rushing with him, on the Admirals scrambling to chase after her husband too late.

She watches as the shot arrives from Hayden’s stick. And the scoreboard changes. 4-1.

The twins look up from the floor only long enough to confirm that the noise on TV doesn't concern the story they're making, and then they go back to their dinosaur crisis.

The broadcast cuts to Hayden’s face.

But Jackie’s chest tightens. He’s smiling, yes. He’s got J.J. yelling into his helmet and Shane grinning beside him, and under any other circumstance, that close-up would make her smile too. He looks happy in that fleeting, bright way he gets when he knows he has done something ridiculous and impressive. But his face is paler than when he left the house this morning. The smile doesn’t hide it, neither does the sweat or the arena light or the motion of the camera.

On the floor, Ruby uses her doll to kick Arthur’s T-rex plush.

“He has fallen!” she screams.

Cliff’s phone chimes on the table. He picks it up and finds a text from Ilya. Multiple, actually, because his phone keeps chiming. 

Ilya

Where are you Marly?

I dropped by at your house

You were not there

Ilya

I need a drink

Ilya

I can’t watch this game anymore

Is boring. Even Pike is destroying New York

Cliff huffs out a laugh at that. It says a lot that Ilya Rozanov, professional hater and current sworn enemy of the Montreal Voyageurs, can watch Montreal embarrass New York and complain that the real problem is boredom. Cliff types a reply.

Marly

I’m not in Boston right now.

Will be back next week.

He puts the phone down and turns his attention back to the TV just in time to see Boiziau kissing Pike’s helmet. A few weeks ago, Cliff would’ve wished he were the one doing that. Maybe some part of him still does, but things have changed. Or, more accurately, Cliff has forced them to change before he could destroy his own life by wanting a married man with three kids and very dangerous eyes.

“Who is it?” the voice beside him asks. 

Cliff glances at him. He met Andrew at the bar in Montreal, the night after he and Rozanov saw the three Montreal players at the coffee shop. Andrew is a veterinary doctor and owns a clinic not too far from the hotel the Boston Bears usually use. He has ash blond hair and long lashes. His eyes are gray, though.

Admittedly, at first, Cliff brought him home because he reminded him of Pike. Not his proudest moment. But over the next few days, that comparison has started feeling unfair to both of them. Andrew talks differently, carries himself differently. He’s attractive in his own right, and the more Cliff sees that, the more associating him with Pike feels wrong.

“It’s just my friend,” Cliff answers. “Asking where I am.”

“You didn’t tell him you’re back in Montreal?”

Cliff laughs. “You know I can’t.”

Andrew laughs too, then nods, and Cliff pulls him closer to kiss the top of his head.

On TV, the camera catches Pike again.

“Do you know him?” Andrew asks. “Number thirty-five?”

Cliff stays silent for a bit. Then he answers, “Yes.”

He doesn’t tell Andrew that Pike is the reason they met, through the universe’s strange ways of making people meet for the first time. If he hadn’t seen Pike in that café looking soft and bright and stupidly adorable with Hollander and Boiziau, which sent Cliff into a spiral he had no business entering, he wouldn’t be here right now. He wouldn’t have texted Pike afterward after seeing him, then spent too many hours pretending not to care when Pike didn’t reply. And he wouldn’t have gone to that bar with Rozanov that night, half sulking and half trying to drink Pike out of his head, only to find Andrew sitting two stools down, laughing at something on his phone. Andrew doesn’t need that story.

“He’s cute,” Andrew comments.

Cliff has no good answer for that.

Andrew keeps watching. “He looks a bit sick, though.”

Cliff’s attention is suddenly back on the screen.

They watch the game together, even though Andrew doesn’t know much about ice hockey. He told Cliff earlier he’s more of a wrestling guy, and Cliff told him hockey has plenty of violence if he has flexible standards. Andrew accepted that, then asked which players are allowed to punch each other. Cliff had to explain that the rules are both more complicated and less respected than that.

Cliff finds himself following Pike again, though he has a decent excuse this time. The camera keeps finding him because Pike keeps getting the puck.

There’s something different about him these days. Suddenly, he’s scoring. A hat trick three days ago, and now, tonight, he looks hungry for another one. Pike wasn’t this player before. He was a passer, a setup man, the guy whose name always showed up beside Hollander’s goals. More than half of Hollander’s best looks came from Pike’s stick.

But this? Stealing pucks from opponents as though they left them unattended? Faking the pass to Hollander? Of all people? This is new.

The arena noise booms through the TV as Pike puts another one in. With eight seconds left on the clock, that ends it. Montreal leads 5-1. Three of the goals are Pike’s, all in the last period when no one else scored. Two consecutive games with hat tricks. 

Cliff sits forward.

The camera follows Pike after the goal. He pulls off his helmet and bends slightly, breathing hard, trying to catch air. Cliff notices how he blinks too much. He notices the pallor under the sweat, the slight delay before Pike starts moving again, how he seemingly reaches up for Hollander. 

Cliff’s stomach drops when he sees the smile disappear from Hollander’s face, the exact moment Hollander understands what’s happening in front of him.

Pike’s body gives out.

There's a collective gasp in the audience as Hollander catches Pike before his helmet-less head hits the ice. Hollander drops with him, one arm locked around Pike’s shoulders, then turns him over with a panic that cuts straight through the broadcast. His mouth opens, screaming for help.

“What happened to him?” Andrew asks at his side, but Cliff doesn’t have an answer. 

He just keeps staring at the screen, at the arena that’s suddenly silent, except for Hollander’s screams, as its big scorer of the night is suddenly unconscious on the ice even when no one has hit him.

Chapter End Notes

hayden enjoyers when they write hayden:
1. what if hayden is suicidal
2. what if hayden was left by his mom when he was a child
3. what if hayden is in the ICU
4. what if hayden got hanahaki
so this is me adding my entry (though i think one of my other fics already counts as one), and i have more in store for him 😈

i initially thought about ending this chapter after the bar scene, but it felt a little empty, so even if this chapter is almost twice as long as the previous one, i decided to keep all the hayden-with-a-headache scenes in one chapter instead of dragging that plot point out. i hope i made the right choice.

according to the wiki (i didn't read common goal), kyle is flirty with his customers and kip, so i wrote him this way.

anyway, here's hayden with no headache and still conscious :))

as always, thanks for the kudos and comments! i read them all and try to reply :))

Chapter 11

Chapter Summary

Hayden’s second straight hat trick proves he still doesn’t know his own limits, and when he collapses on the ice, Jackie is forced to confront how much his extra memories are costing him.

Chapter Notes

Shane spots the lane opening in front of Hayden as the puck travels across. New York’s defense has spent the whole period learning the wrong lesson about his left wing, which pleases the vicious part of Shane’s brain that hockey keeps well fed. They keep treating Hayden as a passenger on the line, never more than a secondary threat. It's probably because he's always presented himself as the friendly guy who laughs too much in interviews, which New York has apparently mistaken for harmlessness.

It's an embarrassing mistake, Shane thinks. His best friend is only easy to underestimate from far away. Up close, on the ice, he’s stubborn, irritatingly unpredictable, except for Shane, because Shane always knows where Hayden will be, where the puck will be coming. It’s why when Hayden was put on his line years ago, they were never separated ever again. 

But there’s something different in Hayden this game, and even in the last one. He moves as if he knows exactly where the puck will be, where the defensemen won’t be. It’s like he already played the exact game before. Suddenly, he’s limitless. 

Shane carries the puck into New York’s zone and watches Hayden find an open pocket near the net. It looks like Hayden is planning to ruin New York’s night one more time. And Shane, amused, allows it. In a break from their usual, he feeds Hayden the puck this time. When it touches Hayden's stick, he pulls the goalie out of position with a drag, and sends the puck over his glove while everyone in white and red scrambles to reach him.

The Bell Centre detonates around them. The red light burns behind the net, and the noise from their team disappears under twenty thousand people losing their minds. It’s Hayden's third goal of the night, again. Two nights in a row, Hayden has taken a playoff game and made it answer to him, and Shane’s first feeling is pride for his best friend who’s finally showing everyone what he has always seen.

Shane skates towards him, aiming to give him the kiss for his helmet he’s been holding on for the entire night. On his way to him, Shane sees Hayden pull his helmet off. At first, Shane thinks it is for the crowd. Hayden bends forward with one hand on his knee, hair damp and flattened, while the arena chants his name. The jumbotron shows the replay of the shot, and he can already hear J.J. from behind.

“Ben voyons donc! T’as encore remis ça! Un autre tour du chapeau!” J.J. screams. 

Everything about the moment should remain celebratory and loud. But Hayden blinks too much, and Shane’s attention narrows so hard that his mind goes quiet. The sweat on Hayden’s face should make him flushed. He should be red from the play and celebration. Instead, the skin beneath the sweat has gone pale. Hayden’s mouth opens, but the breath he takes doesn’t seem to help him. He straightens halfway, then stops. Shane sees Hayden turn towards him with confusion cutting through the grin, and suddenly, Shane is back in the locker room watching Hayden swallow two capsules while pretending the pain behind his eyes was ordinary.

“Hayd?” Shane calls, already moving closer.

Hayden looks at him, and his smile is gone. It frightens Shane more than the pallor and more than how Hayden’s hand lifts toward him. Hayden always has a smile ready, even when it is terrible and fake. This time, there’s nothing in his eyes but fear and weakness, and he doesn’t even seem to understand it yet.

“Shane,” Hayden breathes, trying to reach for him.

His knees go. 

Without hesitation, Shane catches him before his head reaches the ice, one arm locking around Hayden’s shoulders while the other braces his weight under his chest protector. Hayden is too heavy, all gear and limp muscle, and Shane chooses to go down with him rather than risk letting him fall without his helmet on. 

Shane turns him carefully, clumsy from panic but still manages to be somehow precise. He keeps one hand behind Hayden’s head, tilting his face toward the lights.

The arena’s roar drops down in uneven layers, leaving only the scrape of skates around them and a curse from one of their teammates nearby. A whistle blows again for no reason Shane can understand since play is already dead, since Hayden is down. Hayden is down. Hayden is down, and the thought starts burning through Shane’s mind until every other thought has disappeared. He presses two fingers to Hayden’s neck. There’s a pulse. It’s there. It’s there, but it’s not fixing the problem.

“Get the doctor!” Shane barks, and his voice comes out torn open. “Get the doctor!”

J.J. kneels beside him, his face stripped of all performance, shaking Hayden to wake up. Shane registers that after the fact. He then registers New York players backing away and the official crouching nearby and asking something Shane doesn’t hear, let alone answer. Hayden’s chest moves shallowly under Shane’s forearm.

Hayd, open your eyes,” Shane orders, low and harsh. “Hayden! Open your eyes!”

But Hayden doesn’t respond. The medical staff finally reaches them, and the team doctor starts talking to Shane calmly and firmly, telling him to give her space. Shane should be able to understand that. He understands the space needed for assessment and airway, for checking consciousness, for getting Hayden’s body out of danger. But his arms don’t want to listen. His hand is still cradling the back of Hayden’s head, and the idea of letting go feels wrong. Only when J.J.’s gloveless hand touches his wrist does he wake up from his thoughts. “Capitaine,” he mutters. “Come on. Let them work.”

Shane finally lets go. The moment his hand leaves Hayden, something in Shane’s stomach drops so hard he thinks he might be sick on the ice, which would be unhelpful and also humiliating. Hayden would make fun of him later. Shane holds onto that with a sudden, desperate focus. Hayden will make a joke later. He will wake up and be unbearable, and he will tease him for being dramatic. This is the version Shane chooses, not from optimism but from necessity. His brain needs a track to stay on.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” the team doctor asks, forcing Hayden’s eyelid open to check him with a penlight. 

J.J. looks at Shane. 

“Not on the ice. He wasn’t hit,” Shane finally speaks. “But he took two Advils before the game. He said he has a headache.”

“He's had that since that night at the bar. After Game 2,” J.J. adds. 

“Fuck,” Shane mutters. “I shouldn’t have let him play.” 

J.J. touches his shoulder. “Capitaine, that’s not on you.”

Shane hears the words and files them somewhere inaccessible. Hayden’s face is too still, and the doctor is asking questions Hayden can’t answer. Shane can see Theriault coming down the bench. He looks at J.J., who’s still staring at Hayden with the same bewildered confusion everyone else seems trapped in. Shane hates seeing it on him. J.J. is usually loud and can turn any emotion into anger, but right now, he only looks lost. 

But to Shane, being confused is difficult. He hates it. He wants to be furious instead. He wants the anger that should be easier to reach. He wants a jersey number, a bad hit he can blame on someone. 

But there’s no opponent to blame. Hayden just scored, reached for him, and disappeared out of his own body.

“Hayd,” Shane tries again, and he doesn’t care who hears the crack in it. “Please.”

The stretcher arrives, and the sight of it sends a cold, clinical current through him. Shane’s hands curl uselessly in his gloves. He wants his phone. He wants to call Ilya, which makes no sense and perfect sense at the same time. Ilya would know what to say to him, or he would say something awful and grounding. But no, Shane can’t call him. He can’t even stand until J.J. pulls once at his arm and Theriault’s hand arrives on his shoulder.

“We’ve called his wife,” Theriault says. “Go back to your positions. We already won, but there are eight seconds left. After that, Hollander, prepare for media.”

“No,” Shane protests. “I’ll come with him.”

“His wife will be there. You’re needed here. You can visit Pike after everything.” 

“No. I’ll go with him now. I’m also his emergency contact, and I’m the nearest one. I’ll accompany him in the ambulance.”

Theriault closes his eyes and sighs. “Fine. You go with him. Boiziau, position, then media.”

Shane looks at J.J., wanting to be apologetic, but can't even bring himself to try. J.J. just nods at him and squeezes his shoulder one last time before he bolts towards the center ice to finish the remaining seconds of the game. Still terrified of what might happen, Shane skates beside the stretcher when they bring Hayden off the ice. He keeps his eyes on Hayden’s face, still wishing for his eyes to open, as the whole arena watches them. He stays close, close so that if Hayden wakes up, he’ll see him first.

The hospital makes Shane wait.

Hayden is somewhere behind a set of doors Shane can’t enter. He was taken away for scans and bloodwork and whatever else the doctor listed while Shane nodded along, hearing only "unconscious," "stable," and whatnot. Stable should comfort him. It’s a good word. Until Shane realizes people in a coma are also considered stable.

His gear is gone now, traded for a team hoodie someone found for him before the ambulance left. He still smells faintly of sweat and ice. His phone sits in his palm, warm from too many calls, too many messages, too many people asking questions Shane can’t answer.

He called Jackie from the ambulance. 

“I’m coming,” she answered.

“Jackie, you shouldn’t drive yourself,” Shane told her, watching the paramedic check Hayden’s vitals again.

“I have no choice, Shane.”

Then Arthur started crying somewhere in the background, loud and devastated, and Jackie’s voice changed. “Sorry, sorry. He saw it. They all saw it, Shane,” Jackie said, trying not to sound panicked. “But Arthur’s taking it the hardest. Hayden promised him he’d be home tonight.”

Shane closed his eyes.

“I’m just waiting for my brother,” Jackie continued. “I’ll be there when I can.”

“Please, travel with someone.”

“I’ll manage. And Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for being there for him.”

His mother called next. She and his father were at the arena when it happened. Shane didn’t know how his mother managed to make three questions sound calm and terrified at the same time, but she did. Was Hayden breathing? Are you okay there? Does Jackie know? His father took the phone too, voice low, asking where Shane was and whether he needed them to come.

“I’m staying at the hospital,” Shane told them. “Can you bring a change of clothes?”

His mother had made a sound that meant she wanted to argue and had decided not to waste time. “Of course. We’ll come after we get through the crowd. Don’t leave alone.”

“I won’t,” Shane said. That was an easy promise. He didn’t want to leave at all.

The wait stretches.

He answers what he can and ignores what he can’t. J.J. sends him a message full of swear words, then another saying how he was unsure when he talked to the media people, then another asking if Jackie needs someone to stay with the kids. Shane reads that one twice. J.J. is loud and suspicious and occasionally a hazard in public, but he’s also a good friend. Shane knows Hayden knows that. Hayden has been including him lately, nudging them into coffee shops and gay bars, of all places.

He doesn’t know what that reason is. He only knows Hayden has been wrong under his skin for days now. The headache should’ve bothered Shane more. So should the bar, the strange apology, and how Hayden keeps looking at him with grief Shane doesn’t understand. Even the things, too many things, Hayden knows about Ilya feel strange when Shane lets himself think about them. Shane should’ve put it together sooner. He doesn’t know what it is, but he should’ve put something together sooner.

He replies to J.J., asking him if he can drive Jackie to Montreal General instead. He’s about to put his phone back in his pocket, but it vibrates again. 

Lily

Shane stares at the name until the screen dims, then taps it awake again with his thumb. His body has an answer before his mind does. It wants to pick up. It wants Ilya’s voice, the comfort of someone who knows him best. But they haven’t spoken since that night. Since Ilya ended whatever they were and left Shane staring at a wall. 

The call keeps ringing. After taking a deep breath, he finally answers. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then Ilya exhales, rough and controlled. “I was watching the game. How is Pike?”

Shane presses his fingers against his knee, grounding himself with pressure. “He’s still unconscious. They’re running tests.”

A small silence follows.

“And you?” Ilya asks. 

“I’m here with him at the hospital.”

“And how are you?”

Shane hears the effort in Ilya’s voice trying to sound neutral. It makes Shane’s throat tighten.

“Could be better,” Shane answers, more honestly than he intended.

Ilya says nothing. Shane looks down at his shoes. There’s a smear of something near the sole. Dirt from the ambulance bay, probably. It doesn’t matter. He looks up. “I haven’t been okay since that night. And Hayden knew I wasn’t okay. He came over and made sure I didn't starve myself,” he says with a soft laugh.

“He did?” Ilya sounds skeptical despite everything. "Does he know? About us?"

Shane blinks. His first instinct is to lie and tell Ilya that Hayden thinks it’s about Lily. But Hayden is unconscious behind hospital doors, and Shane can’t lie about him, not now, not after Hayden came over when Shane broke and stayed through the truth without looking at him differently. Hayden had stayed with him through the part Shane hadn’t known how to survive alone, and Shane can’t turn that into a half-truth.

“Yes,” he admits, voice dropping. “He knows.”

The line goes quiet, keeping Shane's eyes on the floor. The smear on his shoe looks darker now for some reason. He focuses on that because the alternative is imagining Ilya’s face.

“If you’re wondering how, I don’t know,” Shane continues. “For some reason, he figured it out.”

The silence stretches until Shane starts to wonder whether Ilya has ended the call.

“Isn't that stupid after all," Ilya snarks. "Is it safe that he knows?”

Shane’s hand tightens around the phone, but the answer comes easily. “Yes.”

“You are sure?”

“I trust him,” Shane tells him. “He won’t tell anyone.”

A small breath comes through the line. Shane hears it in the hospital quiet and closes his eyes because he knows that sound too well. He shouldn’t have taken this call. He can’t hold Ilya’s voice in his ear while Hayden is behind those doors, not tonight, when his whole body is still stuck on the ice with his friend going limp in his arms. He bends forward, drops his forehead against his arm, and covers his eyes. “He was nice about it, Ilya. He stayed and tried to make me feel better.” His voice cracks at the end, and he has to breathe through it. “And now he’s unconscious, and I’m sitting here doing nothing.”

“Hey, you are at the hospital,” Ilya says. “That is not nothing.”

Shane takes a moment to steady his voice. “Why did you call?” he finally asks.

Ilya takes too long to answer. “I saw you catch him when he collapsed.”

Shane goes still. He forgot about the cameras. He didn’t think about the broadcast staying on him while Hayden went down, while Shane dropped to the ice with him. It occurs to him now that every fan, every reporter, every player with the game on in their house or apartment saw it. They saw him shout for help and exactly how scared he was. He closes his eyes.

Ilya saw it, too.

“And when my father died, Pike was decent to me,” Ilya continues. “Checking on him was the right thing to do, yes? He is your friend.”

Shane remembers. “Yeah,” he murmurs, and Ilya falls silent just as the doors slide open. Shane is already on his feet by the time he realizes he has moved.

Hayden is being wheeled through the hallway toward a room, a nurse on one side and a doctor walking with the chart. He’s still unconscious. He looks weak and smaller in a hospital bed than he ever has on the ice, and Shane hates seeing it. Hayden shouldn’t be allowed to look weak and small. It’s not accurate.

“I have to go,” Shane tells Ilya, already following.

“Is it Pike?”

“They’re bringing him in.”

“Okay. Go.”

Shane hesitates with the phone still at his ear. The question comes out before his rational, self-respecting self can stop it. “Will we talk again?”

A small breath slips out of Ilya, or maybe Shane imagines it.

“Take care, Hollander,” Ilya answers instead.

Shane stops his steps and closes his eyes. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

He hangs up and follows Hayden into the room.

The doctor turns once they get Hayden positioned, and if she notices Shane’s teary eyes, she probably assumes it’s because of the patient. “Are you family?”

“I’m his emergency contact,” Shane answers. “His wife's on her way.”

The doctor accepts that with a nod. “His vitals are stable. We’re still working through what caused the blackout. Right now, the initial assessment points to overfatigue, but we’ll need more testing.”

“Overfatigue doesn’t usually do this.”

“Right,” the doctor agrees, which Shane appreciates. “Losing consciousness is common, but he should’ve woken up immediately.”

Shane nods, glancing at Hayden, very worried now. 

“That’s why we need more tests,” the doctor continues. “We detected some unusual brain activity. We need him awake for the next part of the evaluation. For now, we’re monitoring him closely.”

Shane nods again, unable to do anything about that unusual brain activity, whatever that is. 

The doctor explains a few more things. Shane listens. He stores each instruction where he can reach it later. He asks whether Hayden has regained consciousness even briefly, whether there’s any sign of trauma from the fall. No and no.

When the room clears, Shane moves to Hayden’s side. For a while, he only looks at him. Hayden’s hand lies near the rail, bare now, IV taped in place. Shane reaches for his wrist because the pulse had been the first thing he checked on the ice, and he needs to feel it again. It beats under his fingers, present and stubborn. Shane holds on.

“Jackie’s coming,” he tells him. “You scared your kids. Arthur is mad at you. You shouldn’t have promised if you’re not coming home tonight.”

Hayden doesn’t move.

“And you scared me.” Shane’s grip tightens carefully around his wrist. “You need to wake up, man,” he adds, voice low. “You can be annoying about it after. I won’t complain.”

That’s probably a lie. Hayden would know that.

Jackie is in the passenger seat, already on her way to Montreal General Hospital, but the look on her daughter’s face is still burned in her mind. The sight keeps returning. When Hayden collapsed, Jade was looking at the screen. Then, she moved her gaze at Jackie, and the horror on her face had been too adult for a four-year-old. It lasted only a second before Jackie moved, before Ruby realized something was wrong and Arthur started wailing, but Jackie knows that second will stay with her for a long time.

She’d pulled Arthur closer to side while he sobbed into her stomach, begging for Daddy in a voice that kept cracking apart. The twins had needed fifteen minutes before they stopped asking the same questions in different ways. Arthur needed more than half an hour, and even then, he only quieted after Jackie promised that Uncle Shane was with Daddy, that the doctors were helping, and that Daddy would want Arthur to breathe and drink water.

Jackie said all of that without having calmed herself once. It’s motherhood, probably. Or marriage. Or the particular madness of being married to Hayden Pike, who can score a hat trick and then give his family a collective heart attack in the same period. She would be furious at him if fear hadn’t gotten in her first.

Her brother arrived shortly after, hair still damp from a shower and face tight but reassuring that he can handle the kids. Jackie gave him the short version while packing anything deemed useful into her purse and checking Arthur one more time. He clung to her sleeve and demanded that she come with her. 

She was almost out the door, already preparing herself to drive across Montreal with shaking hands and a baby pressing against her ribs, when a black BMW pulled into the driveway.

J.J. got out while the engine was still running. He looked too large for her driveway and too keyed up for a residential street, still wearing the suit he must’ve worn for the media. “Jackie,” he called, crossing towards her. “Get in. I’m driving.”

Jackie almost argued. She had a very good argument somewhere. She was sure of it. But then she felt her shaking hands and realized she had used every piece of herself on the children already. If she drove, she might make it to the hospital through other means, so she got in.

Now, she sits in his passenger seat, one hand on her stomach, the other curled around her phone even though she hasn’t looked at it in too long. Montreal passes outside the window, familiar streets turned strange by panic. J.J. drives with both hands on the wheel and his jaw tight, which is probably the closest he comes to behaving himself in traffic. He doesn’t even curse at the car that cuts in front of them. Jackie almost asks whether he’s also been replaced by a time traveler, then decides the joke would cost more energy than she has.

“Has Shane updated you?” J.J. asks.

Jackie blinks. The question reminds her that her phone exists as more than a heavy object in her hand. “I haven’t checked.”

“He texted me, too,” J.J. tells her, eyes staying on the road. “Hayden had some tests. He’s in a room now. Still unconscious.”

The words are simple. The damage isn’t.

Jackie unlocks her phone with fingers that don’t quite cooperate. Shane’s messages are there, stacked in his careful, exact way.

Her eyes burn.

J.J. glances at her once, then back at the road. “He’s probably just very tired,” he says, reassuring her.

Jackie nods.

J.J. glances at her, then says nothing else for a while. Jackie appreciates that. His usual presence is all noise and confidence and badly timed opinions, but tonight, he gives her the quiet without making her ask for it. She can see why Hayden keeps pulling him closer to the family. Under all that mouth, J.J. knows when to show up.

The hospital arrives in a blur. Jackie doesn’t remember parking. She doesn’t remember the walk inside, the conversation with the medical receptionist, and the elevator ride. Her senses only return to her when she spots the Hollanders in the waiting area. For one strange second, the sight of them almost pulls her out of her own panic.

Yuna rises from her chair first. Her eyes go to Jackie’s face, then to her stomach, and something soft and pained passes through her expression.

“Oh, Jackie,” Yuna murmurs.

She hugs Jackie carefully, mindful of the baby, and David stands behind her and pats Jackie’s back with a quiet steadiness that almost undoes her. Jackie doesn’t know what to do with the Hollanders being here. She files the thought away for later, when she has the space to be grateful.

“Go now,” David says. “Shane is in Hayden’s room.”

She lets go of them when J.J. steps in to greet the Hollanders, then heads for the door.

It’s awkward for half a second, mostly because once she enters the room, Shane gets a full view of her stomach and seems startled by how much of her is the baby now. Shane, of course, knew she was pregnant. He’d been so worried that he sent J.J. to drive her, which is very Shane in its own quiet, bossy way. But knowing and seeing are apparently separate events for him, and Jackie watches the realization pass over his face. Jackie would laugh if Hayden were awake. Hayden would definitely make a comment about Shane realizing her pregnancy isn’t theoretical.

Instead, Shane’s arms come around her with careful pressure.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Hey. Don’t,” Jackie tells him, and pats his back once. “You were with him.” 

The words matter more than she expects them to. This is Shane, her husband’s closest friend, the man Hayden broke the universe for, the person Hayden kept trying to save even when saving him wrecked everything else. And tonight, when Hayden went down, Shane was there. Shane caught him. And Shane stayed.

Shane nods against her shoulder before pulling away. Only then does Jackie look at the bed.

Hayden is still unconscious. Her husband, who had left the house that morning teasing her over breakfast, who had kissed Arthur’s hair and promised to be home, who had looked annoyingly proud of himself on television an hour ago, lies too still under hospital sheets. There’s an IV in his hand and wires disappearing under the neckline of his gown. His face has more color than it had on the broadcast, maybe, but not enough to make Jackie feel better. She moves to his side without noticing the steps it takes.

“He hasn’t woken up?” she asks.

“No,” Shane answers. “Not yet. The doctor said his vitals are stable. They said it's overfatigue, but they found unusual brain activity. They’re waiting for him to wake up before they do more tests.”

Jackie looks back at her husband. She’s pretty sure Shane texted all of that. She’d read it in the car. But hearing it now makes the words real in a different way, and the phrase “unusual brain activity” presses hard against the fear she had been trying not to name.

She knew, not fully, not with proof, but she watched Hayden through that final period, saw the helmet come off and the strain build every time he reached into whatever cursed second set of memories lived inside him now. With each play, he looked more tired. With each goal, more drained. Jackie saw it happening and sat on her couch with Arthur against her side and the twins on the floor, unable to stop him from chasing one more opening, one more point, one more little crime against the order of time.

She should’ve stopped him.

She knew what he was doing. She knew he had planned to use his other memories only a little, as though Hayden had ever been good at stopping at a little when the game was rewarding him. She should’ve done something, made him promise properly, called him between periods, or told Shane a lie that would keep him watching Hayden more closely. Anything would have been better than sitting there and hoping her husband knew his own limits.

Hayden doesn’t know his own limits. That’s one of the reasons she loves him and one of the reasons she wants to strangle him.

Jackie reaches for his hand, careful of the IV, and wraps her fingers around his. His skin is warm, and it somehow helps. 

“Hayden,” she murmurs, leaning closer. “You absolute idiot.”

Jackie keeps hold of Hayden’s hand and stares at his face, feeling the dread crawl up from her chest and lodge behind her throat.

She should’ve stopped him even when she had no proof. She should’ve known his other life would ask for something back.

September 2020, in another life

Cliff's neighborhood in the city of Boston is already quiet when he gets Hayden inside his house.

Earlier, Hayden let Cliff follow him into a public restroom and kneel in front of him with patient hands and a mouth Hayden still can’t think about directly without needing to stare at a wall. Afterward, he drank, a lot, past his limit.

Cliff closes the door behind them and watches Hayden take three steps into the living room before stopping, confused by the fact that he has nowhere to go. That has become a theme in Hayden’s life. He leaves Montreal. He leaves Jackie’s house. He leaves hotel rooms, Shane’s guest room, bars, arenas, Ubers. He walks out of places with great purpose and then discovers, inconveniently, that leaving is not the same thing as arriving somewhere better.

“You can sit down,” Cliff offers.

Hayden looks at the couch, then at Cliff. “That’s your big plan?”

“My big plan is for you to stop standing there looking pathetic in my foyer.”

“I’m not pathetic.”

“You’re wearing one shoe.”

Hayden looks down. Right. One shoe. The other is still on, technically, but the heel is crushed under his foot. He fixes it with as much dignity as a divorced Montreal player in a Boston player’s living room can manage, which isn’t a lot.

He sits on the couch because refusing would involve walking somewhere else, and he can’t currently be trusted with directions. Cliff disappears toward the kitchen and returns with water and a damp cloth. He has the expression he gets when he’s trying not to make Hayden feel handled. Hayden knows that expression now. He has been the recipient of it more times than he wants to count.

Eight months since the divorce, and Hayden has made the mistake of becoming readable to Cliff.

Cliff has seen him skip dinner when he’s upset. He has watched Hayden pick up his phone around midnight, stare at Jackie’s contact, then put it away without calling. He has listened to Hayden talk about the kids for twenty minutes while leaving out every detail that would admit how much he misses waking up in the same house as them.

Cliff has seen too much, and somehow, he keeps staying.

Hayden takes the water and drinks half of it under Cliff’s supervision. “You brought me here to hydrate me?”

“I brought you here so you could rest.”

“That’s less fun.”

“You had enough fun in the bar.”

Hayden gives him a look. Cliff only lifts both brows, which is unfair. The man has no right to look that calm after what he did in a public restroom. No right at all. There should be laws. There are probably laws, actually. Hayden decides not to think about that.

“I’m sorry,” Hayden mutters.

Cliff’s face changes. “For what?”

Hayden glances down. “I can’t return the favor right now.”

There. He said it. Badly, but he said it, and the shame follows right after. It isn’t even about the blowjob, not really. It’s about debt, about taking comfort and not knowing how to give the correct amount back. Hayden has been measuring himself in failures for years, and every kindness lately feels expensive.

Cliff puts the cloth on the coffee table and sits beside him, leaving space between them. “That’s not why I did it,” Cliff tells him. “I’m not asking for anything.”

Hayden looks at him.

“I didn’t bring you here for sex either,” Cliff follows up. “I just want you to rest.”

“You brought me here to rest,” Hayden repeats, dry and exhausted. “Very noble, Mr. Marleau. Do you also rescue cats from trees?”

“Only if the cat is drunk and keeps pretending it isn’t sad.”

Hayden hates him for half a second. Then he laughs, and the sound hurts. It comes out rough and small.

“I’m not sad,” Hayden tries.

Cliff just looks at him and then sighs. 

“I can’t give you anything serious,” Hayden admits.

Cliff doesn’t flinch. “I know.”

“I’m still fucked up.”

“I know that, too.”

Hayden huffs. “You keep saying that.”

“You keep saying things I already know,” Cliff says. There’s no impatience in it, which somehow makes it harder to take. Hayden could handle being wanted too hard. He could handle a fight. He could handle Cliff asking him to choose something, name something, promise something. He has entire defenses prepared for that, ugly and effective and tested on people who deserved better. But Cliff gives him nothing to push against.

“You’re always running,” Cliff continues, voice low. “I don’t know what you’re chasing. I wish you’d tell me. I’d help if you did.”

Hayden looks down at his hands.

The answers all lead back to the life he lost: his family, the house that isn’t his anymore, Shane and Ilya, and the future he keeps trying to find his way back to, even though every day in this life makes the path feel farther away. He can’t say any of it.

So he gives Cliff the usual answer he gives him. He shakes his head.

Cliff gazes down, seemingly expecting and then accepting the response, and Hayden has the sudden, awful awareness that this man has been here for him at his lowest, not as a solution nor as a replacement for the life Hayden lost. He’s just here, in the bar when Hayden needed someone to speak to him without pity, outside the hotel when Hayden had looked one bad thought away from disappearing into traffic, in this house now, offering exactly the comfort Hayden keeps trying not to need.

Hayden doesn’t deserve any of it. Cliff would probably argue with that, which is one more reason Hayden doesn’t say it.

“I’m not ready,” Hayden murmurs.

“You’re really drunk. You already said that.”

“I might not be ready for a long time.”

Cliff pauses. He slowly leans back against the couch and then looks at Hayden. “I’ve wanted you from a distance for years,” he returns. “Waiting a little more won’t kill me.”

Hayden snorts just as his throat tightens. “That’s a terrible line.”

“The important question is if it worked.”

Hayden pauses, and then looks away. “Unfortunately.”

Cliff smirks. “Then I’m keeping it.”

Hayden shakes his head, and some of the resistance leaves him. He doesn’t trust how badly he wants to stay, but he’s too tired and lonely to push Cliff away. 

The exhaustion gets him after that. It creeps up from his bones and drags at his eyes, and Cliff notices before Hayden admits anything. He collects the glass before offering his hand.

“Come on.”

Hayden eyes the hand. “Where?”

“Bed.”

“Marleau,” Hayden warns.

“To sleep,” Cliff clarifies, patient but amused. “No funny business. I promise.”

Hayden should refuse. He should take the guest room if there is one. He should call a car, go back to his hotel where Shane is probably waiting for him, and keep the boundaries of this thing neat. He does none of those. He follows Cliff down the hall and into the bedroom, lets him hand over a shirt and a pair of sweatpants two sizes bigger than him, and showers in the bathroom with his eyes half-closed and his chest full of something he’s too tired to think about and name.

When he comes out, Cliff is already on one side of the bed, leaving the other open. Hayden stands there for another second, stupidly caught by the simplicity of it. There are too many things he can’t give Cliff. He can’t give him a promise. He can’t give him the full truth and whatever version of himself would make this fair. But this much is possible: he can get into the bed Cliff is offering, let their bodies share warmth, and stop pretending that accepting Cliff’s comfort isn’t what he wants right now.

The bed is warm, the room quiet, and Cliff doesn’t crowd him. For a while, they lie there with a careful distance between them, two grown men pretending they aren’t both aware of every inch of it. Hayden stares at the ceiling until his eyes burn.

Then Cliff reaches across the space and holds the back of Hayden’s hand, a silent question Hayden could ignore if he wanted to.

Hayden doesn’t ignore it.

He uses his thumb to caress Cliff’s pinky finger, and Cliff takes all that is offered. He tightens his hold around Hayden’s knuckles. Hayden doesn’t turn his hand over. He doesn’t lace their fingers. He keeps the limit where it is and lets his eyes close. And for the first time in months, he doesn’t have to run anywhere before morning.

May 2017

Hayden wakes to someone holding the back of his hand. For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is. The ceiling isn’t his bedroom ceiling, his head aches, and the careful hold around his hand pulls him somewhere else before he can stop it.

“Cliff?” Hayden mutters.

Suddenly, his skull punishes him for uttering the name. Pain spikes behind his eyes, sharp and hot, and Hayden inhales through his teeth. 

“Fuck.”

The room tilts without moving. His stomach twists, deeply insulted by whatever his brain has decided to do, and the hand around his squeezes more tightly.

“Hayd?”

Shane.

Hayden turns his head too quickly, a decision he immediately regrets. Shane is half-risen from a chair beside the bed, hair messed up, face pale, one hand still around Hayden’s. He looks awake and not awake at the same time, running on fear, bad sleep, and probably hospital coffee. Hayden has never seen a man more in need of a vegetable. And this is Shane Hollander we're talking about.

“You’re awake,” Shane breathes. “How are you feeling?”

Hayden blinks at him. His mouth tastes terrible. He has questions, many of them actually. “My head…” He swallows. “Hurts. But I’m okay. I think.”

Shane presses the call button, then looks back at him with intense concern. “You’re definitely not okay. You passed out.”

Hayden stares at him, waiting for the words to become something else. Passed out. That belongs to other people, to dramatic rookies in training camp and players who forget water exists. He tries to find the missing part of the game and finds Shane’s face, the ice rising too close, then nothing. Shit.

“Was it bad?”

“On the ice.”

“Oh.” Hayden closes his eyes. “That’s embarrassing.”

Shane doesn’t laugh. Hayden opens his eyes again and finds him still watching, not even pretending to be fine. That alone makes Hayden’s chest tighten. He now remembers reaching for Shane. He remembers the smile falling off Shane’s face and the ice coming up too close and then nothing.

“Jackie?” Hayden asks.

“She’s here. She’s talking to the doctor.” Shane keeps his hand on Hayden’s, thumb pressed near the pulse point at his wrist. “She’s been here for hours.”

Hayden swallows. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Before Hayden can berate himself in front of Shane for worrying his heavily pregnant wife, the nurse comes in. She takes one look at him awake and does that professional brightening people do around hospital beds, the one that means good news and also we're about to bother you. She checks him, asks him his name, the date, where he is, the stuff.

“I’ll get the doctor,” the nurse tells them once she’s done.

“Thank you. Can I get a better brain while you’re out there?” Hayden asks, and Shane’s mouth finally curves, albeit a bit.

The nurse smiles because she has probably heard worse from better patients. “We’ll start with the doctor.” She leaves, and Hayden has maybe ten seconds to feel proud of himself before the door opens again and Jackie enters with the doctor.

Hayden has seen Jackie angry; she even slapped him in the face. He has also seen her tired and in labor. But the look on her face now does something to him he can’t joke his way around. Jackie looks relieved first, then worried, because it’s always there, and then angry. All at the same time. 

“Hayden,” Jackie exhales, already at his side.

Hayden tries to smile. “Hi, Jacks.”

She takes his face carefully, then kisses his forehead, then seems to remember the doctor is there and grips his hand instead. “How are you feeling?”

“Brain's foggy with a chance of saying something stupid.”

Jackie’s mouth trembles, caught between fear and the laugh she clearly doesn’t want to give him.

"Sorry for worrying you, Jacks."

The doctor clears her throat with admirable timing. Hayden appreciates a medical professional willing to rescue him for trying to be charming at the least appropriate moment. She tells him the initial diagnosis still points to overfatigue, that his vitals are stable, and that there’s no evidence that he hit his head when he lost consciousness. 

“You have to thank Shane for that,” Jackie says. “He caught you.”

Something in Hayden goes quiet. He remembers reaching, maybe. He remembers Shane’s face turning from pride into fear. After that, there is only a blank space where the ice should be. Shane must’ve gotten there before the ice did.

For a moment, Hayden just looks at him. He’s doing all of these to fix what he’s done to Shane’s life. He came back here to put Shane where he belongs. Instead, he pushed himself too hard, collapsed in front of an arena full of people, and made Shane save him instead. It feels humiliating and painfully on brand.

“Thanks, bud,” Hayden manages, eyes turning misty.

Shane’s mouth tightens for a second. “Of course.”

Jackie squeezes Hayden’s hand, and Hayden can tell from her face that she knows exactly where his thoughts have gone. She reads him far too easily. One look and she already knows he’s turning this into a personal failure.

The doctor waits them out, which is probably wise. “We did detect some unusual activity in your brain. We don't know the cause yet, so we’ll do additional tests later in the morning now that you’re awake.”

Hayden feels Jackie’s hand tighten around his.

“We’ll talk about it,” Jackie replies, which makes Shane’s eyes flick to her.

Hayden catches the question even without Shane asking it. Shane probably doesn’t understand why additional tests require a private discussion. To him, the tests are the obvious next move, the thing doctors do when someone’s body fails in the middle of a game and no one can explain why.

But to Hayden and Jackie, the tests might catch something they want to remain hidden. They might find the strain of more than one life sitting inside Hayden’s head, something no scan should have any business noticing. 

The doctor gives them a few more instructions, then leaves with the nurse after promising to return in the morning.

Shane stays by the monitor for one extra second, eyes moving from Hayden to Jackie. Hayden can see him deciding whether leaving is the right thing to do. It probably bothers him, the thought of stepping out when Hayden has only just woken up. 

“I’ll be in the waiting area,” Shane says, finally decided.

Hayden turns his head on the pillow. “Thanks for staying, bud.”

Shane nods once.

“You don’t have to, though,” Hayden adds. “You should go home. Eat something.”

Shane looks at him, unimpressed and exhausted. The argument is there for half a second, so obvious that Hayden can practically hear it forming. Then Shane only pulls his phone from the side table and slips it into his pocket.

“I’ll be in the waiting area,” he repeats and then leaves before Hayden can make another attempt at arguing.

“You can’t make him leave,” Jackie says. “I tried. J.J. tried. Yuna tried.”

Hayden’s eyes widen. “They were here?!”

“Yes. David, too.” 

“Fuck. I bothered a lot of people.” Hayden looks at Jackie. “I’m sorry.”

Her face softens in a way that makes the guilt worse. “And you scared the kids. They saw you fall.”

Hayden covers his face. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he says again. He closes his eyes for one second. “Where are they?”

“Mark’s at home. They’re asleep now, hopefully. But Arthur’s mad at you.”

“Shouldn’t have promised.”

“No. You shouldn’t have abused your other memories.”

Hayden goes quiet. The horror comes slowly, then gushing, because Jackie has found the same answer he had been trying not to touch. He felt it on the ice. Every time he reached for the other game, every time he pulled up a lane or a pass before it happened, something in his skull clicked, not metaphorically. It literally clicked, small and physical, and the pounding behind his eyes got worse. He ignored it every time because the puck was there, the opening was there, and New York kept giving him chances he already knew how to take.

“You overworked your brain,” Jackie says, keeping her voice low. “You have three sets of memories in there, Hayden. The life you came from and the life you destroyed. And now you’re making new memories here. That’s three versions of you trying to live in one head.”

Hayden stares at her. A person is supposed to have one history in their head. One continuous record, with the past sitting behind the present where it belongs. Hayden’s brain is trying to hold more than that, and, as it turns out, it isn’t doing a great job. The memories crowd each other. They shove into the same spaces, fight for the same instincts, make his body reach for plays that haven’t happened yet in a game he’s still living.

And even if someone’s brain can survive that, Hayden is sure as hell it isn’t his. His brain once forgot the word for colander and called it “the pasta helmet.” It shouldn’t be trusted with three lives.

“What should we do?” Hayden asks. “I can’t do more tests.”

“Hayden.”

“I’m serious, Jacks.” His voice comes out rougher than he means it to. “What if they find something? What if they see something in my brain they’re not supposed to see, and suddenly I’m some medical mystery they want to keep in a room and experiment on?”

Jackie stares at him for one second. Then she laughs. It isn’t loud. It’s tired and slightly disbelieving, which Hayden thinks is unfair since she married him and should know by now that his paranoia can be very committed when properly motivated. “I don’t think this hospital is going to use you for experiments,” she tells him.

“Jacks…”

Her smile fades.

“I’m serious,” he repeats. “I don’t know what they can see. I don’t know what my brain looks like right now, and I really don’t want a neurologist taking one scan and going, 'wow, this is new.'”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The monitor keeps its soft rhythm beside the bed, entirely too calm for Hayden’s current relationship with his own skull. Jackie’s hand is still wrapped around his, and Hayden looks at their fingers while the thought forms. It's a terrible thought, maybe, but useful. The tests are still waiting for him later in the morning. If whatever the doctor saw in his brain comes from him digging through the other lives, then maybe he can control what shows up. Maybe he can keep his thoughts pinned to this timeline while they scan him. 

If thinking too hard about the wrong memory makes the pain flare, then he can prove it. He can test it right now.

He doesn’t tell Jackie before doing it, which is probably another entry in the very long file titled Hayden Pike Learns Nothing Under Pressure. He only closes his eyes and reaches carefully, trying to pull up something from his other lives. A dinner maybe, or a hotel room. Or a game. A dinner. A hotel room. A game. Anything.

But his brain gives him a quiet bedroom with warm sheets. Strong arms beside him, leaving space, not asking for more than Hayden can give. A hand touching the back of his, careful and waiting. His own thumb moving over the other’s pinky. The limit he’d kept there because he knew he couldn’t let himself take too much, not from the man beside him, because he also didn’t want him hurt.

Horror engulfs him so hard he nearly stops breathing.

No.

Not here. Not with Jackie beside him, holding the hand that remembers another man’s touch. Not with his wife’s face still soft from fear, not after he has promised no more secrets.

Pain suddenly jolts through his head, and the monitor beeps sharply.

Jackie’s face drains. “Hayden?”

“I’m okay,” he tries, but the words come out thin.

The door opens, and a nurse hurries in, eyes already on the monitor. Shane is right behind her, looking wide awake now despite the exhaustion still carved into his face.

“His heart rate jumped,” the nurse announces, moving to the side of the bed. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Hayden answers, then winces when Jackie gives him a look that could kill a weaker man and possibly a few stronger ones. “There was just a sudden pain in my head. It made me nervous. It’s gone now.”

The nurse checks him anyway, which is deeply inconvenient and probably her job. Hayden stays still through it, mostly because Jackie hasn’t let go of his hand and Shane has planted himself near the foot of the bed with grim focus.

“I’m okay,” Hayden insists again.

Shane lets out a long breath and rubs a hand over his face. “You’re going to kill me today.”

Hayden gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

The nurse, after a few more checks and a warning that Hayden should tell them if the pain returns, leaves them with the door half-open. Shane doesn’t move at first. He keeps looking at Hayden, then at Jackie, clearly aware he has walked into a conversation already in progress and just as clearly aware he’s not getting invited into it.

“I’ll be outside,” he says at last.

“Or you could be at home,” Hayden responds. 

Shane mouths a silent “no” before leaving.

Jackie turns back to Hayden. “What did you do?”

“Sorry, Jacks. I tested our theory.”

Jackie sighs and gives him a disappointed look. “I don’t agree with your ways, but are we at least right?”

He nods.

Jackie closes her eyes for a second, and Hayden’s chest tightens. His guilt thrives there, heavy and alive. And it isn’t only about his little experiment. It’s mainly about the memory of Cliff’s hand that refuses to disappear. The ghosts of that other life aren’t staying buried anymore. They’re surfacing now, no matter how much he wants them buried.

Jackie opens her eyes again. “What did you think about?” she asks.

Hayden swallows. And the monitor starts beeping again.

Chapter End Notes

diagnosis: hayden brain too tiny :((

If i wasn't able to make it clear, the scene with Cliff and Hayden was in Hayden's nightmare life. Our current Cliff doesn't know anything about it, but the memory lives in Hayden's mind. I'm bringing the other characters in now (Ilya and Cliff) as we get to the middle of the playoffs. Thank you for staying on the ride!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

If you like seeing Hayden in Situations™️, I also just updated "Oh My Goddess!," where you will see Hayden in a certain situation 🤧 It's very explicit though, like 13k words of just that, so if you're into such things, you may check that out 😜

Chapter 12

Chapter Summary

After his hospital scare, Hayden tries to keep Montreal’s loss on track without leaning on future knowledge, only for Cliff’s unexpected return to force him toward feelings he isn’t ready to admit.

Chapter Notes

Hayden realizes that medical test results return with unthinkable speed when Montreal’s professional ice hockey team has its head coach calling the hospital every hour about his first-line left wing who collapsed in the middle of the playoffs. Theriault didn’t stop ringing Hayden’s attending doctor until he was sure Hayden’s repeat EEG was normal and the rest of the major tests showed nothing concerning.

This was a relief to everyone for different reasons. To Shane, it meant his best friend wasn’t quietly dying of a brain tumor and only hiding it behind jokes. To Hayden and Jackie, it meant the hospital hadn’t found signs of a secret time traveler inside his skull, which felt like a medical failure, but also a medical blessing at the same time. To his kids, it meant Daddy could come home and they could celebrate with a tub of ice cream as requested by the twins. To Coach Theriault, it meant Hayden could join the next game against the New York Admirals with no valid reason to skip, which was exactly the sort of supportive medical interpretation Hayden should’ve expected from hockey.

He almost didn’t survive the brain scans. Apparently, forcing yourself not to think about something proved to be difficult because to do that, you’re required to think about that something you’re not supposed to think of, which is kind of fucked up if Hayden thinks about it. 

That was why Hayden tried a different approach. Instead of forcing himself to not think about his other sets of memories, he filled his mind with memories that were made in his current world. He kept his mind pinned to that morning before the game. He only thought about Arthur pressed against his ribs, warm and heavy and slightly painful. Then, he thought about the view of Jackie’s sleeping face when he turned, peaceful and beautiful and his. He held onto those as hard as he could, and for some miracle, his brain behaved for once.

Now, Hayden is in his and Jackie’s bed, the same bed he pinned his mind to, waiting for the rest of the afternoon to pass.

Getting there involved Shane driving them home from the hospital with both hands on the wheel, his jaw set every time another car dared to exist near them, determined to keep one newly discharged patient and one heavily pregnant woman alive through Montreal traffic. How did Shane get his car? Hayden didn’t know and didn’t ask. He just assumed Shane left when he was asleep and returned with new clothes. They stopped at the restaurant near their neighborhood for takeout, and Jackie used the opportunity to get her spicy chicken wings, which both Hayden and Shane respect. After a medical scare, a pregnant woman has every right to claim anything she wants and demand the correct dipping sauce. Then, they stopped for the ice cream the kids requested. 

They brought the food home for everyone, including Jackie’s brother, who survived emergency uncle duty with a deeper understanding of why Hayden sometimes looked tired before breakfast. The twins came running when the door opened, but their excitement leaned heavily toward Uncle Shane standing in their hallway and only politely toward their father returning from the hospital alive. Hayden accepted this. He had already been outdrawn by Shane in his own house before, and after passing out on the ice and scaring his kids, he wasn’t in a strong position to demand a better welcome.

Not Arthur, though. Unlike the twins, Arthur went straight for Hayden, pressed himself against Hayden’s legs, and locked both arms around him. Only then did he mutter a soft, “Hi, Uncle Shane,” before burying himself against Hayden again.

Lunch happened with takeout containers spread across the table while Jackie guarded her spicy chicken wings from every curious glance. Arthur refused to eat unless he was on Hayden’s lap. He only moved once when Hayden had to go to the bathroom, so he had to transfer to his Uncle Shane’s lap, but when Hayden came back, so was Arthur on him. 

Jackie’s brother used the post-lunch confusion to disappear upstairs, then returned with one of Hayden’s shirts and asked Shane to sign it across the chest. Hayden had questions. He was fairly certain famous people only autograph shirts when there wasn’t any paper around, and with two of his kids in pre-school, there was definitely paper in the house. He didn’t mention any of that, though. His in-law had saved him and Jackie for the night, fed the kids, kept Arthur calm, and survived the twins under stress. If his brother-in-law wanted Shane Hollander’s signature on his shirt, Hayden could donate it to the cause.

Mark left after lunch with the signed shirt and enough leftovers, which were Hayden’s attempt at thanking him properly. Shane took much longer. He stood in the hallway with his keys in his hand and his captain face on. Jackie finally got him out by repeating, very gently, that Hayden was home, breathing, and not in active medical crisis anymore. Shane accepted this and then added that he’d talk to Theriault about tomorrow’s game. Hayden didn’t mention that tomorrow needs to be a loss whether he plays or not. He only watched Shane leave, touched despite himself when Shane looked back twice before getting into the car.

So yes, Hayden has nothing to do today. Practice is out, the game can wait until tomorrow, and whatever Theriault decides can become tomorrow’s problem. For now, Arthur is pinned beside him, one arm flung across Hayden’s stomach while he reclaims his father through physical contact. Hayden should probably encourage independence and should probably make sure the ice cream on Arthur’s shirt hasn’t reached the sheets. Instead, he lies there and lets his son keep him in place, and without anything to worry about, Hayden thinks it feels good.

Game 4 arrives with a barrage of calls and texts from Theriault, all of them meaning the same thing: show up, suit up, do not make me hunt you down. After two days of calls to Hayden and his doctor, Hayden starts to wonder if his coach has missed his true calling as a 9-5 employee who terrorizes people through phone calls. Maybe he could be a telemarketer or a debt collector. Unfortunately, the terror campaign worked. Hayden’s doctor at Montreal General cleared him, and the team doctor did the same, which left Hayden with no excuse.

That’s why he’s here now, despite Shane’s reluctance, at center ice, playing a game he knows Montreal is supposed to lose. He steps onto the ice with absolutely no idea how to make sure that happens. Before he left the house, Jackie reminded him that if he used his other memories and put himself back in the hospital, she would go into labor a week earlier just to punish him. Hayden knows she was joking. Mostly. Unfortunately, making sure the game stays on course means checking the other life for proof that the current one is still following it. Jackie told him to stop thinking of himself as a time traveler with extra knowledge and just play as he is, since that was what the other Hayden did. That sounded easy when she said it. On the ice, it feels like his wife expects him to trust himself, something that Hayden finds harder and harder to do these days.

Scott Hunter lines up across from Shane for the draw, eyes flicking once toward Hayden. “You sure your wing can play? Looks like he needs more hospital rest.”

Hayden isn’t sure if Hunter is being sincere or joking, but since this time is usually for chirping, he has to assume and has to respond with his own. “Should’ve asked that about yourself, Hunter,” he answers. “Last time you turned around, I thought someone opened a rusty gate.”

“Turns out it was your hip,” Shane adds. 

Hayden has to bite down on a laugh. Shane isn’t usually the one to chirp Scott Hunter about his age. He’s sure he picked it up from Ilya, because Hayden picked it up from him too. Somehow, the thought makes Hayden feel glad. If Shane is borrowing Rozanov’s nastiness, then Ilya is still there with him somehow.

Scott’s mouth tightens at the joint chirp about his joints he definitely didn’t expect. The linesman drops the puck at that exact moment, which is probably for the best. Shane wins the draw with a snap of his stick and more aggression than one old-man joke should inspire.

Hayden follows his body instead of the other memory at the back of his head. That was the deal he made with Jackie, or close to it. He plays the period by reading Shane and the ice in front of him, trusting the pull of the game rather than the little file cabinet in his skull. It’s awful, but it also works. Late in the first, Hayden sends the puck across to Shane, and Shane buries it before Hunter can get near him. The horn roars through the Bell Centre, and Montreal takes the lead exactly the way it should.

Hayden lets himself breathe. One period down, and the loss is still alive.

The second period starts with the New York Admirals deciding that Shane and Hayden have become a hazard. New York guards them both now, cutting off the lanes that had been open in the first and refusing to give Hayden the room he had enjoyed during the previous two games. This is new, which is inconvenient, but despite that, it works in Hayden’s favor. He hadn’t scored in Game 4 the first time around, and now the Admirals are so kind they give him a reasonable excuse for not doing it here. Later, when Theriault asks what happened to the hat-trick scorer Hayden had been showing off for the last couple of games, Hayden can blame the tighter defense, aside from his recovery.

Despite his efforts, his other set of memories nudges at him. He feels it trying to open, offering the old version of the period and the confirmation he keeps wanting even though checking is exactly what got him into trouble. Hayden shuts it down before the ache behind his eyes can even start. Hunter crowds Shane after the faceoff and keeps pushing into him as they move up the ice. His shoulder presses in, and his stick keeps bothering Shane’s hands, while Carter Vaughn waits near the right side, just far enough from Drapeau to make him choose. Drapeau follows the first move, but Vaughn cuts into the open space and scores off the pass before Montreal's goalie can recover.

The Bell Centre groans, ugly and disappointed, and Hayden has the miserable satisfaction of hearing the sound.

Shane skates past him on the reset and taps his stick once against Hayden’s shin pad. “Next shift,” he murmurs. “We’ll get it back.”

Hayden nods, because that is what a normal winger does when his captain tries to encourage him. Sorry bud, he thinks to himself.

The game stays tied long enough for Hayden to start worrying that Montreal might accidentally win. Shane keeps winning faceoffs and turning broken plays into actual chances. New York has adjusted too well to Shane and Hayden together, but Shane alone is still a problem, one the Admirals seem increasingly tired of solving through typical hockey. So one of New York’s defensemen try with words. 

“Next time your wing drops, try not to look so scared on camera.”

For half a second, Shane does nothing.

Shane rarely fights. He gets angry, of course, but his anger usually translates itself into better passes and impossible goals. Hayden has seen him take worse without losing control. But, for some reason, this one gets into him. Hayden sees it happen as the flatness on his face changes and whatever careful wall he keeps between feeling and action simply stops doing its job.

“Shane,” Hayden warns. He wants to text Scott Hunter, despite both of them being on the ice, and tell him his team doesn’t need to do this. Hayden literally wants them to win.

The defenseman laughs. “Aw. He’s protecting you now?”

And that’s when Shane drops his gloves.

Hayden grabs for his arm and misses, partly because Shane moves faster than him and partly because the defenseman really deserves to be punched for making fun of Shane like that. The defenseman grins, delighted by his own stupid actions, and says something else Hayden doesn’t fully hear beyond “hospital” and “sweetheart.”

The next time Hayden gets a glimpse of the man, his nose is already bloody. 

The crowd rises around it, shocked and somehow excited, because nobody had expected their golden boy to punch someone in the face. Hayden’s stomach drops, while the awful part of him understands the gift being handed over. 

Shane accepts the penalty without arguing. He skates toward the box with blood on his knuckles and his face shut down so completely that Hayden hates New York for getting that out of him.

Hayden tries his best to look stressed on the bench, but in truth, Shane in the box makes the next part almost too easy. Montreal without Shane is already vulnerable. Add New York pressing harder in a tied game Montreal needs to lose, and the rest almost writes itself.

New York scores on the power play. Then, because apparently the Admirals believe in generosity when it hurts Hayden personally, they score again before Shane’s penalty ends. The Bell Centre goes sour around them.

Shane comes out of the box to a two-goal deficit and a game that has finally slipped out of Montreal’s reach. He doesn’t look at Hayden right away. He watches the scoreboard instead, jaw tight, hands flexing once before he closes them into fists.

Hayden feels bad for being relieved. But he does feel relieved. He tries his best not to show it to Shane, however.

By the time Shane takes his next stride, Hayden already knows the game is gone. New York has what it came for, and Montreal has no more time to claw back. 

The plan is working, and Shane is standing on the ice with a penalty he shouldn’t have taken and a face Hayden wants to apologize to without being able to explain why.

In the locker room, Hayden gives the loss his best performance. He drops onto the bench with a little too much force and keeps his head down, trying to look appropriately miserable for someone whose secret plan has just moved forward. Around him, the room carries the usual ugly quiet after a playoff loss, broken only by gear being stripped off and shoved away harder than necessary. It helps that everyone else is genuinely furious. Hayden can borrow the mood without needing to contribute much of his own.

Shane sits a few stalls over, already out of half his gear, his knuckles red where they had connected with New York’s defenseman. He does not look proud of himself. That makes Hayden feel worse, which is unfair because Shane punching someone in the face had been very helpful for the plan and also, objectively, a little awesome. Hayden waits until the noise around them thins, then leans sideways with his elbows on his knees.

“How’s your fist?” Hayden asks. 

Shane keeps unwinding tape from his stick. “Fucking satisfied.”

Hayden has to take a second before answering because “fucking satisfied” is not a normal thing to hear from Shane Hollander after fucking up someone’s nose. It belongs in J.J.’s mouth on a loud night, possibly Ruby’s in fourteen years if Hayden fails as a parent. Coming from Shane, it sounds strange. Fist: satisfied. Nose: corrected. Penalty: accepted.

But he supposes he has to accept these little changes. After all, he was the one who set them in motion. 

Tomorrow, Hayden will fly to New York with the rest of the team for Game 5, a game Montreal is supposed to lose and, for the sake of everyone’s future, has to lose. If he’s gonna be asked, he doesn’t want to go. There’s something deeply annoying about packing for a road trip when the whole point is to come back a loser. But he also doesn’t want Theriault replacing him and changing the first line. That might shove the series into a better direction for the Voyageurs and into a worse direction for him. 

Hayden doesn’t really want to think his presence causes the loss. That feels dramatic and also quite hurtful for his ego. Instead, he thinks it’s about the unknown possibility of him being off the ice. What if that change makes them win, when they’re supposed to lose, for some reason? He convinces himself it’s about preserving the order of time. This might be hypocritical after everything he has done, but at least it’s a more responsible version of hypocrisy. Growth, as it turns out, can still be embarrassing.

He can think about that tomorrow, though, once he’s on the plane, beside Shane.

Today, he needs to focus on getting everything on Jackie’s list. He finds himself in the candy aisle, reading the list Jackie texted to him and trying to decide whether the kids really need candy of this amount for their few days of stay at Jackie’s parents’ house. His cart already has half of their life in it: things Jackie might need at the hospital when Amber arrives next week, and things the kids will need while they’re at Jackie’s parents’ house. For Jackie, there are blue sports drinks, granola bars, lots of wet wipes, mints, lip balm, hair ties, and a new phone charger because Hayden misplaced the spare one. For the kids, there are kids’ body wash, shampoo, cereal boxes, yogurt tubes Arthur calls rockets, juice boxes, crackers, and those little cookies the twins like: white chocolate for Jade and peanut butter for Ruby. 

He turns to the next aisle for his own snacks, then stops when a teenage boy freezes near the endcap with two friends behind him. The boy stares at Hayden’s face, then seems to take in the rest of him, cart full of birth supplies and children’s snacks included.

“Are you Hayden Pike?” the boy asks.

Hayden has been in this grocery store hundreds of times, and no one has ever looked at him in this aisle with anything beyond mild irritation for blocking the chips. He glances at the cart, as though another Hayden Pike might be hiding under the juice boxes. “Yeah,” he answers finally. “That’s me.”

“Awesome!” The boy’s friends react first. The boy looks torn between excitement and terror, which Hayden recognizes from rookies, children near mascots, and himself any time Jackie asks what he did with something he definitely misplaced, like the spare charger.

“Can we get a picture?” the boy at the front asks. “Only if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” Hayden tells him, already moving the cart out of the way. “Just don’t get the lip balm in frame. I have an image,” he says and then winks.

The boys laugh too quickly. Hayden smiles for the picture with one arm half-raised behind them, careful not to look as tired as he feels. The boy who took their group selfie checks the photo afterward, then looks back at him with a brightness that makes Hayden’s chest hurt in a way the hospital probably can’t scan.

“I watched the last games,” the boy tells him. “Both hat tricks were insane! I play left wing too. Someday I want to score hat tricks like that.” His smile falters, turning shy, suddenly aware of his overexcitement. “I’m glad you’re okay after the fall.”

Hayden feels the praise hit him wrong. The hat tricks weren’t insane or proof of some late-blooming playoff genius. They were stolen from a life that didn’t exist anymore. If anything, kids should see him as a bad example. If, in the future, for some fucked up reason, this kid gets the chance to have his own time machine, he shouldn’t do what Hayden did. But Hayden can’t tell a kid in a grocery store that. He can’t explain that sometimes, the thing everyone cheers for is just cheating with better lighting. So Hayden keeps the thought where it belongs and gives the boy something he's allowed to hear.

“I’m sure you’ll score yours,” he tells him. “Probably more than I did, if you listen to your coaches and don’t make my mistakes.”

The boy grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Hayden answers. “I’m sure, kiddo.”

After the boys leave, Hayden spends the next few aisles thinking about consequences while searching for his favorite spicy dill pickle potato chips. They’re almost always sold out, which means finding one lonely bag tucked behind the regular dill should feel like a personal victory. Instead, Hayden stops there with the chips in his hand and wonders whether this is how it starts. Two hat tricks and one televised collapse later, teenage boys are stopping him in a grocery store while he buys snacks. He has been recognized before, of course. At the Bell Centre, at team events, and at restaurants near the arena where people already half expect hockey players to appear. But this is different. This is his normal grocery store. 

Hayden hopes it stays small, that the changes he made don’t keep branching outward until something stupid breaks the future again. He’s trying not to change the order of time more than necessary, which remains a hilarious position for him to take after everything he’s already done. Still, there’s a difference between reckless interference and responsible interference, maybe. Hayden hasn’t found the difference yet.

He reaches the health and wellness section with lip balm and toothpaste in mind. He’s trying to remember whether the hospital bag already has travel-size mouthwash when a voice too familiar to him speaks from behind him.

“I’m glad you’re okay now.”

Hayden didn't expect his favorite potato chip flavor to be available, and he definitely didn't expect kids to recognize him. Still, neither of those compares to finding Cliff Marleau when he turns around.

February 2021, in another life

It’s visiting weekend again, which means Hayden is standing in his apartment with a duffel open on the bed, trying to remember how many shirts he needs when he’s spending two nights with his own children under rules he still hates.

The answer should be simple. Two nights, four shirts. Maybe one extra in case Amber spills something on him, which Amber will absolutely do if given any liquid, be it sauce or paint. 

Packing for time with his own kids bothers him more than he lets on, and so does the fact that visiting them now means leaving an apartment to walk back into a house he used to live inside.

In the living room, Cliff sits by the TV, letting him do his thing. That’s another thing Cliff does lately. He stays nearby without turning himself into a question Hayden has to answer. It should be annoying, and Hayden should be annoyed by it. Instead, Cliff being in his apartment has become one more thing Hayden notices only when it stops happening.

“You still alive in there?” Cliff calls.

“Barely,” Hayden returns, then asks loudly, “Do you think they’d notice if I wear something I wore last month?”

Cliff laughs. “They won’t.”

Hayden looks toward the doorway. Cliff’s now standing there with a paper bag in one hand and an expression Hayden already distrusts.

“What’s that?”

Cliff lifts the bag a little and hands it to him. “I was shopping the other day. I happened to see stuff and thought of the kids.”

Hayden looks at him for a second before reaching inside.

The first thing he pulls out is a green hair bow with a clip on the back. The next one is another ribbon, also clip-on, and Hayden wants to call it pink, but he knows Cliff and Ruby will say it’s actually light red. At the bottom of the bag, there’s a small yellow hair tie, which he assumes is for Amber. It’s soft and stretchy and not a clip because Amber still pulls everything hard out of her hair. Under everything is a children’s book about the exoplanets, whatever those are. Hayden stares at all of it.

Cliff rubs the back of his neck. “I hope the girls like the bows. And you said Arthur’s into space now?”

Hayden looks up slowly.

Cliff’s face changes. “Unless I remembered that wrong.”

Hayden can’t help but smile. These are too "Pike children merchandise" to be seen only by chance.

And he has told Cliff about these things. He knows he has. He has sat in this apartment after bad visits, after good visits, after phone calls with Jackie where nobody fought but nobody sounded happy either, and talked too much. He has told Cliff that Jade and Ruby fight over hair accessories, and he has told Cliff that Arthur’s dinosaur obsession has been paused for astronomy, which apparently means Hayden has to remember the difference between a meteor and an asteroid and a comet or risk disappointing a child who still needs help reaching the sink.

Cliff has always listened like that. He’s always been patient through complaints about practice and through the moments Hayden insists he's fine when he obviously isn't, willing to wait out whatever silence follows until the truth blurts out of Hayden’s mouth on its own. Hayden knows all of this already.

But this is different. This is Cliff walking around a store and carrying thoughts about the meaning of Hayden’s daughters’ names and Arthur’s latest universe-sized obsession, Cliff caring about people Hayden loves without needing anything from them, without even getting to see their faces when they receive the gifts.

Hayden should thank him. But he should make a joke first, probably, then thank him after, so the gratitude doesn’t come out too sincere. He should say something normal, maybe about how Arthur is going to lose his mind over the book, or how Ruby will accuse Jade of getting the better bow no matter what.

Instead, Hayden puts the bag carefully on the bed, steps forward, and kisses Cliff.

Cliff goes still.

It’s such a complete stillness that Hayden almost laughs into the kiss. Cliff Marleau, six feet and three inches of bad decisions and Boston muscle, has apparently forgotten every bodily function except existing under Hayden’s kiss. His hand hovers near Hayden’s arm without touching him. His mouth stays soft under Hayden’s, surprised and hesitant and sweet in a way even Hayden, who initiated the kiss, their first on the lips, wasn’t prepared for at all.

Hayden pulls back first. Cliff blinks at him.

The shock on his face is priceless. Truly. Hayden is glad he waited this long only because now he gets to see this, Cliff looking as though he’s been handed proof of aliens.

Hayden smiles before he can stop himself. “You okay?”

Cliff’s smile is so wide. He huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. I’m—”

Hayden raises his brows. 

“I’m just processing,” Cliff continues, a grin still plastered on his face. 

“That’s your processing face?”

“Apparently.”

Hayden turns back to his packing. “Good face.”

Cliff finally seems to remember his hand, because he lifts it and touches Hayden’s waist, careful even now. “Was that... was that because of the gifts?”

Hayden stops and considers lying. He considers saying yes, making it seem smaller and turning it into gratitude with bonus mouth contact. But Cliff is standing in front of him with those gifts on the bed and his hand still asking permission at Hayden’s side, and Hayden finds himself too tired to cheapen it.

“No,” Hayden answers, then looks at him. “Not only.”

Cliff's expression softens further, which makes staying composed considerably harder for Hayden. He needs to find something else to talk about, something funny, or else he’s not going to want to leave this apartment and ask Cliff to stay for a couple more days. “Your stubble is rough,” he says. 

“Shit. Sorry,” Cliff says, lifting a hand to his jaw. “It’s only day three since my last shave. I trimmed it this morning.”

Hayden knows that. He knows Cliff only completely shaves all of it every Sunday and just trims the sides and his neck every day. He hums as he packs Cliff’s gifts into his bag. 

“If I shave now, will you kiss me again?” Cliff asks. 

Hayden shouldn’t find that as charming as he does. He shouldn’t feel his chest warm over Boston Bears’ Cliff Marleau standing in his bedroom asking for another kiss with the cautious hope of someone who still can’t quite believe he’s allowed to want one. Hayden smirks, mostly to save himself.

“Who says I don’t want it rough?”

Cliff’s eyes darken for one second before the smile breaks through, startled and pleased. Hayden leans in again, and this time, Cliff remembers how to move. His hand settles at Hayden’s waist, his mouth opens under Hayden’s, and the kiss becomes less surprised, more certain.

Hayden should finish packing his things. He should be thinking about his children waiting for him because it’s finally the end of the month. He should be thinking about how complicated this is already and how much more complicated it will get if he keeps letting Cliff be gentle with the parts of his life Hayden has been trying to hold alone.

Instead, all of his attention stays on this moment, on Cliff, on the fact that something in him has been moving toward this man for a while now, whether he meant to let it happen or not.

May 2017

Hayden freezes at the sight of Cliff Marleau standing there behind a shopping cart, wearing sunglasses inside the grocery store in the middle of the day. Hayden has several questions. Why is Cliff wearing sunglasses indoors? Why does that jacket look good on him? Also, what the fuck is he doing in Montreal?

Then Hayden remembers the texts.

Cliff sent them after the collapse. One asking if he was okay, and another the next morning saying he saw what happened and hoped Hayden was with his family. Hayden read both and replied to neither. Deliberately, at first. Later, accidentally. Then deliberately again because by then, replying felt worse than not replying, which is a very Hayden problem and not one he can explain in the health and wellness section of a grocery store.

After a few seconds of not receiving any response, Cliff lifts his sunglasses onto the top of his head, perhaps assuming Hayden is having trouble recognizing him.

Hayden isn’t having trouble recognizing him. That’s the problem. He knows that face too well. He knows the stubble along Cliff’s jaw comes from exactly three days without shaving. He knows how that stubble feels against his cheek, and he knows how it feels lower.

Fuck.

“Pike?” Cliff tries.

Hayden blinks himself back into the aisle. “Sorry. Sorry.” He clears his throat and grips the cart handle. “Yeah. I got— I got out of the hospital two days ago.”

“I know,” Cliff replies. “I watched you play last night.”

“Ah.” Hayden nods, because apparently his brain has chosen syllables over actual responses. “Right.”

Silence opens between them. Cliff’s hand rests on the handle of his cart. Hayden’s cart is full of birth supplies and children’s snacks. This should make Hayden feel wholesome and safely married. Instead, his body is busy remembering how Cliff’s body used to press against him and how his hand used to hold him.

He looks down. “Sorry for not replying to your texts, man. I got busy, and Jackie didn’t let me have my phone until the game yesterday. When I got it back, I forgot to reply to some people who checked in,” he says, hoping it sounds true.

“No worries,” Cliff answers, and he sounds honest. “I figured.”

Hayden wants to ask about the elephant in the room that is his presence in the city of Montreal. He knows he has no right to ask about it, though. Cliff doesn’t owe him an explanation, not in this life or any other one. Still, curiosity gets him.

Cliff starts to move his cart. “Anyway, I need to—”

“Why are you in Montreal?” 

Cliff stops. For a second, he looks genuinely caught. It shouldn’t matter. Hayden has repeatedly told himself that Cliff doesn’t matter. Cliff has a life, and Hayden has a wife, children, an unborn daughter, a time-travel problem, and items in a shopping list he needs to tick off. Cliff can be in Montreal for any reason he wants.

“I’m visiting a friend,” Cliff answers.

Hayden’s gaze drops to the cart before he can stop it. Ordinary groceries fill most of the cart, along with something from the bakery and several boxes of condoms tucked near the back.

Of course. That’s why he’s in this aisle. 

Hayden nods, forcing a smile.

Cliff notices where Hayden looked. His face changes, and panic starts to gather there in small, visible pieces. He opens his mouth, clearly preparing for a defense Hayden has no right to hear, when a man approaches from the end of the aisle.

“Hey,” the man pats Cliff. “Got everything you need?”

Hayden looks at him, then at Cliff, then firmly at the mouthwash shelves because if his eyes go to the cart again, he will have to move to another province.

Cliff blinks and breathes in too much. “Ah. Yes. Let’s go.”

The man’s attention slides to Hayden. “Wait,” the man says. “You’re number thirty-five. Pike?”

Hayden nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Saw your game. Glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you,” Hayden says, because what else should he say? Who are you in Cliff’s life? How important are you that he flew to Montreal to see you?

Cliff drops his sunglasses back into place and turns the cart sharply. “We should go,” he mutters to the man, then glances back at Hayden. “See you, Pike.”

“Yeah,” Hayden replies. “See you.”

Cliff steers the man away with a tension in his shoulders Hayden tries not to notice. Hayden remains in the aisle, hand still on his cart, staring at the toothpaste as though it might explain what just happened. 

The whole interaction feels strange. It also hurts, which is unreasonable and embarrassing. Cliff is visiting a friend, and he bought condoms. Cliff has every right to do both of those things. Hayden has no claim here, no argument, no moral ground, and certainly no available space in his life for jealousy. He should be relieved, if anything. This is proof that Cliff is living his own life. He looks happy and healthy. 

But for some reason, Hayden doesn’t want to accept it.

He pushes his cart toward the mouthwash section and starts comparing labels with grim focus, trying to win a legal case against his own feelings.

“Pike.”

Hayden turns.

Cliff is back, alone this time, sunglasses still on. He looks over his shoulder once before stepping closer, and the whole disguise suddenly makes more sense. Not enough sense, but more.

“Sorry,” Cliff starts. He gestures at himself with a short, frustrated motion. “It’s stupid of me to do all this and then walk up to someone I know. Kind of defeats the purpose.”

Hayden only watches him.

Cliff exhales, and the words start coming too quickly. “I’m not supposed to be here. And I know what you’re thinking after what you saw, but—”

“Hey, man,” Hayden interrupts him. Cliff actually stops.

“It’s okay,” Hayden tells him. “It’s none of my business. And if you’re worried I’m going to tell anyone, I won’t. You don’t have to worry.”

Cliff’s shoulders drop with the breath he releases and nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

Hayden nods back and forces another smile. Then he turns away, pushing the painful bloom in his chest back to nonexistence. And it’s very stubborn.

He stares at the bottles of mouthwash until the labels stop meaning anything. Cool mint. Fresh mint. Whitening. Alcohol-free. He should pick one. He should put it in the cart, cross it off the list, and continue being the husband buying hospital supplies for his wife and snacks for his children. That husband has tasks. That husband has a daughter arriving next week, and he has no business feeling gutted in front of oral hygiene because a Boston hockey player he was with in another life is currently with another man.

But the feeling stays where it is, insistent and alive.

Hayden tries to make it smaller by naming the facts. In this life, Cliff has never been his. Cliff might be his in another life, but here, he isn’t. Cliff doesn’t have any idea about the nights they shared, how he used to rest his careful hand on the back of Hayden’s. The man at the grocery store knows him mostly as a strange opponent who once got him drunk before a game and has since become an uncomfortable, unfinished question. 

Hayden reaches for a bottle of mouthwash and nearly knocks over three more. He fixes the row with too much care, then drops one bottle into the cart and grips the handle. He checks the list and pushes the cart forward.

He makes it through two more aisles on discipline and spite. The discipline handles the shopping list, and the spite handles the fact that his body keeps wanting to turn around. He gets cotton balls and the little travel tissues Jackie likes to keep in every bag she owns, then spends too long in front of the hair ties before buying both packages.

Then he turns into the next aisle and sees Cliff again.

Cliff is near the far end, his cart angled away from Hayden. The man he’s with stands not far behind him, close enough to be with him and far enough to pretend he isn’t. Hayden has seen hockey players do this in hotel lobbies with people they are not supposed to be photographed with. It looks casual only to anyone who isn’t paying attention.

Hayden is, unfortunately, paying attention.

The man looks at Cliff when Cliff isn’t looking back. That’s the first thing Hayden notices, and it bothers him. The look is quick and careful, but not careful enough. There’s interest there, familiarity too, maybe. 

Now that Hayden has a better view of him, the man becomes much harder to dismiss as a random grocery-store person. He’s close to Hayden’s height, with ash-blond hair that sits too near Hayden’s own color for Hayden’s current emotional stability. His build is athletic, though it’s obvious it's a commercial-gym-regular kind of athletic. His shirt does him several favors across the shoulders and chest. Hayden starts wondering if he plays professionally too.

He passes them with his cart and becomes violently aware of his own body.

This is stupid. Hayden is still in great condition. He’s an MLH player, recently medically cleared, and only slightly haunted by three timelines. He hasn’t trained as hard lately because of the time travel, the hospital, the brain trouble, the wife about to give birth, and the full-time job of trying not to destroy everyone’s lives twice, but he still finds time to lift and run. 

Still, he glances down at his shirt. Then he unbuttons two buttons and folds his sleeves to show more of his arms. For no actual reason at all.

There. Better. Worse, probably. But better.

Then he keeps moving.

He sees them again in the coffee and tea aisle, because apparently this grocery store has committed to being emotionally interactive. Cliff is standing in front of the syrups with his sunglasses back on, which do very little to hide how lost he is. The man beside him reaches for a bottle, reads the label, and puts it back. 

Hayden doesn’t intend to watch, but he watches anyway.

The thing about this particular grocery store is that Hayden knows it too well. Official grocery trips mandated by Jackie, emergency grocery trips also mandated by Jackie, and unofficial grocery trips mandated by Ruby’s threat to cry unless someone acquires a very specific snack have given him an unmatchable understanding of its layout. He knows where they hide the good applesauce pouches, and he knows which freezer door sticks. And he knows that the sugar-free hazelnut syrup Cliff likes and is probably looking for is on the bottom shelf, pushed too far back.

Hayden moves closer before he can talk himself out of it. He crouches near the bottom shelf and pulls two bottles of sugar-free hazelnut syrup from behind a row of vanilla bottles. Cliff turns his head.

Hayden holds one up. “You should try this.”

Cliff looks at the bottle, then at him.

Hayden keeps his face innocent through an act of athletic performance that deserves a medal. “Tastes good with dark roast.”

For one second, Cliff’s mouth almost moves into something, not quite a smile, not quite suspicion. Then he takes the bottle from Hayden’s hand.

“Thanks,” Cliff returns.

“Yeah,” Hayden says. “No problem.”

The man Cliff’s with watches them with interest Hayden refuses to acknowledge. Hayden puts the second bottle into his own cart, which is objectively insane since he doesn’t drink coffee with sugar-free hazelnut syrup. Still, the bottle sits there between the sports drinks and Arthur’s yogurt tubes, mocking him.

Hayden leaves the aisle before his sanity can suffer further damage. In the next aisle, he picks the bottle and slides it behind a stack of shelf-stable milk cartons.

“Sorry,” he says under his breath, to the future employee who will have to return it to the correct place later.

He finishes the rest of the list through sheer force, adding more candy for the twins, extra crackers, the good mints, and two more packs of wipes because he’s sure Jackie’s parents aren’t prepared for how many wipes the kids need. For a few minutes, Hayden makes the bold mistake of thinking his afternoon might be getting peaceful again.

That lasts until he sees Cliff in the next parking row.

Cliff is with the man again. The sunglasses are still on. The cart is empty now, pushed aside near the front of the car. Hayden is at his own trunk, half-hidden by the lifted door, and he should look away. He knows that. He even starts to.

Then Cliff puts his hand at the small of the man’s back before they get into the car.

It’s nothing. It’s barely anything. It’s just a brief touch, a quiet direction, something people do all the time when moving around each other in parking lots. Hayden’s brain understands this, but his chest doesn’t. The weight arrives there so suddenly that he stops with a bag still in his hand.

Cliff’s hand leaves the man’s back as that man gets into the driver’s seat. Cliff rounds the car, and Hayden finally remembers he’s standing in a parking lot holding groceries. He shouldn’t be having an emotional event in public.

He shoves the last bag into the trunk and closes it too hard. The sound cracks through the parking row, and Hayden flinches at his own volume, then pretends he didn’t. He pushes his cart back to the collection area, rattling too many other carts in the process, and then gets inside his car and closes the door too hard as well.

Inside the car, the quiet feels worse.

Hayden grips the steering wheel. Then he drops his forehead against it and stays there.

He can’t outrun this. He keeps trying, keeps placing the feeling behind errands, behind hockey and the fact that he’s in a happy marriage. He keeps reminding himself that this Cliff has no history with him, not the history Hayden remembers. This Cliff didn’t spend months learning how Hayden went silent when the ache got too large. He didn’t offer water in a Boston living room, didn’t lie beside him with careful distance, didn’t take only the back of his hand because Hayden had nothing else he could safely give. This Cliff didn’t give his kids gifts, and this Cliff didn’t patiently wait for Hayden to initiate a kiss.

That Cliff was in another life, another life that’s gone now.

But Hayden brought that other life back with him.

He brought the guilt and the shame, and he brought the memory of a man staying when Hayden had been at his worst and asking for less than Hayden was afraid to give. Now the man is here, in this life, buying groceries in Montreal with someone else, and Hayden has no right to feel anything about it.

He presses his forehead harder against the wheel and lets out a breath that doesn’t help. The universe has found a new joke.

“Fuck,” he whispers into the steering wheel, as he finally admits to himself that in that other life, he has started to fall in love with Cliff.

And Hayden carried that love with him here.

Chapter End Notes

soooo Cal and Franco are going to attend an event in November along with other cast members. what do i have to give so that they interact with each other!!!! T.T

~

I'm so glad I finished editing this chapter on time because it went through a major revision. The flashsideways scene wasn't part of the first draft, but i decided i need to establish something before i break it :))

Thanks so much for staying on the ride! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. I enjoy reading them :))

~

Also, I published a oneshot focusing on Shane and Hayden, so please check it out!

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

One of the stupidest things a married man can do after seeing the ex-lover he only had in a different dimension is look up the man’s Instagram on a team flight while sitting beside his deeply observant best friend.

Hayden is aware of this, but that doesn’t stop his thumb from scrolling through Cliff’s uploaded photos from months ago. 

In his defense, which is already weak, Cliff’s Instagram isn’t even interesting enough to justify the guilt. It’s mostly hockey, Cliff in warmups, Cliff with his teammates after a win, the like. 

There are a few older summer photos too. There’s a lake and a trail and a blurry picture of what might be a terrible camp breakfast. One post has Cliff and Ilya standing shoulder to shoulder, both of them sticking their tongues out at the camera. Hayden definitely doesn’t zoom in on that photo. He just stares at it longer than he means to.

Then Hayden sees the newest post. Despite ignoring every other tap he has made since takeoff, the plane’s Wi-Fi apparently has enough strength to let Cliff Marleau inform the internet that he has found a row of trees. The post is a nature shot that has just been uploaded a few seconds ago. No caption, only a little tree emoji, which feels lazy and also exactly like something Cliff would do instead of writing words. It’s tagged at Mont-Tremblant, and Hayden recognizes the flat path. Cliff is still near Montreal.

Maybe Cliff has gone alone. Boston players are allowed to wander around Canadian parks on off days without it meaning anything. Hayden nearly convinces himself of that, right up until he swipes to the next photo and finds Cliff inside a tent, laughing at whoever is behind the camera.

Something sour turns over in Hayden's stomach.

He refuses this outright. He won't sit on a flight to New York, jealous over a Boston player's camping companion, with his wife at home days from their fourth child. That’s not something a respectable man should do. Hayden has principles. They are battered, yes, but they exist.

“Why are you looking at Marleau’s Instagram?”

Hayden nearly drops his phone at the question. Shane is staring at him from the window seat, face curious at why Hayden looks constipated. 

“I’m not!” Hayden answers, then looks down at the phone still open in his hand. “Okay. Maybe I am. But not weirdly.”

Shane’s eyebrows furrow. “I didn’t say anything like that.”

Hayden locks his phone, which makes him feel so culpable, so he unlocks it again the exact moment he understands he's lost any chance of looking unbothered. Shane sees all of this, and Hayden’s suddenly aware he's been put under a microscope. 

“It came up on my feed,” Hayden attempts an explanation. He moves his gaze towards Shane, who still hasn’t put his eyebrows back to normal. 

“I just recognized the place,” he adds, hoping Shane drops the topic. Shane, in an act of the universe to spite Hayden, does the opposite. He leans closer and looks at the post. Hayden considers throwing the phone into the seat pocket, but he’s trying not to behave suspiciously, and destroying evidence mid-conversation has never helped anyone look innocent. Instead, he swipes to the first photo without Cliff’s beautiful laugh. 

“Hmm. Mont-Tremblant,” Shane notes.

“Yeah.”

“We camped there.”

“Yeah, twice already. Maybe we should visit again.”

Shane smiles. “I’d like that. After the season. Let’s ask J.J.” 

He then looks around the cabin. Most of the team is either half-asleep, fully snoring, or wearing headphones. Once Shane seems satisfied that nobody’s paying attention, he lowers his voice. “Ilya told me something about Marleau. You know... when we were still talking.”

Hayden forgets, devastatingly, how to look casual. He swallows. “What did he say?”

Shane drops his voice further, and Hayden has to tilt toward him to catch the rest. “Remember our last game against Boston? When Marleau was absent? Ilya said it was because he had a very bad hangover. Someone invited him out the night before.”

Hayden arranges his face. This is difficult because his face would like to leave the plane. “Really?” he manages after another big swallow.

“Yes. He was fined.” Disapproval takes over Shane’s face with very little effort. “Why would he even do that during the playoffs?” 

Hayden shakes his head, hoping it passes as solidarity and not the guilt currently climbing his throat.

“This is why I don’t join the guys after games,” Shane continues. “We never know what will happen.”

Hayden makes a sound that he hopes counts as agreement.

Shane keeps watching him past the point of comfort. Hayden moves in his seat, accomplishing nothing beyond proving his shoulders still work. He hopes Shane reads it as post-hospital fatigue and nothing else. He hopes Shane, for once in his life, becomes less observant.

No luck. Shane keeps looking. “Does your head hurt?” he asks.

It takes Hayden a full second to remember this one has an honest answer. "No. Not since the hospital." He adds, "I'm fine," before he can count how many times he's said that sentence this season.

Mostly, it’s true. The only time his head aches is when Cliff “accidentally” slips into his thoughts and suddenly Hayden is back in that Boston house or his other-life apartment, which absolutely doesn’t happen often. Obviously. Having to remind himself of that several times since the grocery store incident is probably both normal and healthy.

Shane’s gaze stays on him for another second before some of the tension leaves his face. “That’s good,” he says.

The plane levels out a few minutes later, and they begin their usual flight ritual of pretending to sleep without fully succeeding. It’s one of Shane’s and Hayden’s favorite activities together. Shane tips his head back and closes his eyes. Hayden does the same.

Half-sleeping used to be easy with Shane beside him. It had been one of their reliable talents, falling into silence during flights and letting exhaustion take whatever it could get. This time, however, Hayden can’t get there. His body stays still, but his mind keeps moving to a particular camping trip that Cliff is evidently very happy about.

Dinner with J.J. leaves Hayden stuffed from overordering and quietly grateful for his friend, who can't let silence exist at their table for too long. It helps. Shane smiles when J.J. complains about New York food, then again when Hayden gets accused of still looking “too sick,” not the good kind, to be allowed a second dessert. Hayden counts both smiles. His bar for measuring whether Shane is doing fine continues to drop to embarrassing lows.

J.J.'s constant yapping also saves Hayden from checking Cliff's Instagram for new posts. He only checks it once, instead of like nine times, which, if Hayden thinks about it, can also be considered a win.

Now Shane and Hayden are back in the hotel room. Outside, New York keeps honking and shouting and generally proving J.J.’s dinner-length argument against it. Inside, the room has gone dim and quiet holding two beds and a bag Hayden still hasn't bothered to zip.

“Ilya checked on you,” Shane murmurs into the dark.

Hayden opens his eyes. The words take a moment to make sense. "He did?" he asks, turning his head against the pillow.

Shane stays on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. When you were at the hospital.”

Hayden sits up. Sleep is no longer happening. “Wait,” he begins. “Il— Rozanov called you?”

“Yes.”

Hayden stares at him. Then, without warning, Hayden is suddenly a high school girl in an adult man’s body. He throws himself onto Shane’s bed, stomach first, props his chin on his folded hands, and kicks his feet up behind him.

Shane is visibly bewildered. “What are you doing?!”

“I want the juicy details.”

Shane looks at him for a long moment, confused. “There are no juicy details, not even regular details.”

“Buddy, your ex called you. There are always details.”

“No details. He just checked on you.”

“And?”

“And that was it.”

Hayden gives him a look, which Shane returns with flat patience Hayden has spent years failing to defeat. Unfortunately for Shane, Hayden has also spent years annoying him professionally.

“How did the call go?” Hayden asks.

“Fine.”

“Define ‘fine.’”

Shane exhales through his nose and looks back at the ceiling. “I told him you were in the hospital and that I was waiting for you to wake up.” 

“And?”

“And I told him you knew about us.”

Hayden pauses. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And you shouldn’t worry about it. Ilya won’t do anything.”

Hayden frowns. “I’m not worried about that,” he says, pushing himself up on one elbow. “I mean, sure, it’s good that he won’t have me killed because I know too much, but that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking about how the conversation between you two went. Did you talk? About you know… you two?”

“No.”

“Shane.”

"We didn't talk about us." Something in his voice strains to stay flat. "He only called because of you."

Hayden studies what the room allows him of Shane's face. What little light slips through the curtains reflects in his eyes and traces the bridge of his nose. It tells Hayden enough.

"I don't want to get your hopes up, buddy," Hayden says, "but I doubt Rozanov called because he's losing sleep over my health. Sounds more like he needed an excuse to talk to you."

Shane calls it nonsense.

Hayden almost smiles. “You know him. He hates me. There’s no reason for him to check on how I was doing."

That earns a frown. “Why would Ilya hate you?” 

Hayden realizes too late that he may have said something wrong. Off the ice, Hayden and Ilya haven’t interacted that much yet for Hayden to conclude that Ilya hates him. In his other life, maybe, Ilya did, but not here. Hayden hasn’t given him any reason yet as far as he remembers, and he’s now cursing himself in his mind because he slipped something out again. 

Hayden tries to laugh, but it comes out too dry. “I mean, he’s Rozanov,” he says, trying the safest answer he can find. “He treats being unpleasant to me as cardio.”

Shane’s frown stays. “He is unpleasant to most people.”

There it is. Shane’s defending him already. Hayden wants to point at him and announce that the court should note the evidence. He also wants to stop talking before one more thing from the future falls out of his mouth. 

“Fine. Maybe hate is a little dramatic,” Hayden concedes. “But he wouldn't call about me unless talking to you came with it. You know that.”

Shane goes quiet, and Hayden nearly convinces himself to stop pushing. He probably should. But being Shane’s best friend means standing beside him in bad ideas and also occasionally pointing at the obvious until Shane admits he can see it too.

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” Hayden says. “I’m not saying you should text him right now or go all the way to Boston to make him talk.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know. I would, which is why I’m growing as a person by not recommending it. I’m just saying… whatever you had… it isn’t completely lost.”

Shane doesn't respond to that. He stays quiet, and then sighs very loudly. When he finally speaks, it isn't about Ilya at all. “It would be a lot easier if I were like you,” he says.

Hayden stills. “What is?”

“Feelings. Relationships.” Shane looks at the ceiling again. “You’re straight. You and Jackie don’t seem to have these problems.”

Well, Shane is going to be really surprised someday, Hayden thinks, except that someday can’t be tonight. Someday has to come after Jackie, if Hayden is even going to tell it to her. She’s the person Hayden promised the rest of his life to, which puts her ahead of everyone else in line for the truth, Shane included. But until now, Hayden still hasn’t found the courage to tell her. He barely knows how to tell it straight to himself. What if he tells her and she thinks he’s been dishonest with her since he met her? 

Jackie has already proven she can love Shane and Ilya without flinching, can turn protective on their behalf without being asked. Whether that holds when the man in question turns out to be her own husband is a separate question, and not one Hayden is ready to test. What if this is the thing that sets off this timeline’s version of the Pike divorce?

And even if Jackie takes it the way Hayden hopes she will, that decides nothing about Shane. The second Hayden opens the sexuality can, every worm inside it is going to crawl directly toward the question of who, and there’s no version of the answer that makes sense without revealing that he’s a time traveler. 

He can tell Shane he’s not as straight as everyone thought. Fine. Then Shane will ask what made him realize that, and Hayden’s options will be lying or explaining that in another timeline he had started to fall in love with the Boston player he once got drunk to save Shane from. Both of those choices are terrible. 

“Hayd?”

Hayden blinks back into the room. Shane is watching him, real concern starting to show. "Sorry," Hayden manages to say, rubbing a hand over his face as an excuse for blanking out. “Just tired from the flight.”

Shane watches him and then nods. “We should sleep. We need to be ready tomorrow.” The flatness in his voice catches up to Hayden. Minutes ago, he was the one building Shane a case for hope, giving him one small reason to believe Ilya still cares, but his own head pulled him under, and he left Shane sitting in the dark with whatever comfort that conversation had managed to offer as he went quiet the moment things drifted towards a truth he can't share. Some best friend that he is. This, decidedly, isn't a win.

Still, Shane’s right. Tomorrow has its own demands, regardless of what tonight failed to give. Tomorrow is Game 5, the game they have to lose, the next step in a plan Hayden also can’t tell Shane about. He sighs. 

He’s keeping lots of things from people around him, and he doesn’t know if he can stay this way any longer.

Hayden locks the bathroom door as Jackie picks up on the third ring.

"Hey, baby." Her voice reaches him before the latch finishes turning.

"Hey, Jacks."

“You lost.”

He checks the stalls and finds them empty, thank God. He’s in the bathroom outside the visitors’ locker room at The Garden, and his phone has actual reception, which already makes the place superior to half the bathrooms at the Bell Centre. “As we should,” he says.

“I was able to catch the last period.” There’s movement on her end. “How’s Shane?”

“Pissed.”

“Understandable,” she says. The line goes quiet, and Hayden can hear the house around her. Jade laughs somewhere in the background, and Arthur asks something Hayden can’t make out, his little voice blurred by distance and the phone. Home keeps moving without him, and it makes his chest ache.

“Good job today,” Jackie says. “Now we get through Game 6.”

“Yeah.”

“You still think this is the only way?”

Hayden leans against the wall and stares up at a bathroom light too bright for a room this size. "I don't love it. But it's the only one I've got."

The plan has looked uglier every time he’s held it up to the light, and it’s still the best one they have. 

The thing is, under normal circumstances, Hayden would’ve already told Shane about his plan to sit out the next games now, or he would’ve told him last night when they were talking. Shane was there when he asked for permission, and Shane heard Theriault turn Hayden’s paternity leave into a scheduling inconvenience in a heartbeat. If Hayden tells Shane now that he still plans to miss Game 6, Shane will understand, both as his captain and as his best friend. As his captain, Shane understands obligations when they are laid out clearly, and as his best friend, he knows what Jackie means to Hayden, and he knows Hayden wouldn’t choose to miss this game unless staying home mattered more.

That understanding, however, is part of why Hayden chooses to wait. Telling Shane now means giving him time to plan and prepare. He can adjust the line without Hayden and skate into Game 6 with a solution built around Hayden’s absence. Hayden hates thinking about his best friend’s competence as a threat, but here he is.

“I’ll tell them the morning of the game,” Hayden says. “I don’t want to give anyone time to talk me out of it. I also don't want to give Shane time to make a plan.”

“Theriault is going to lose his shit.”

“Theriault can take a number.”

Jackie laughs, though it fades quickly. “Will Shane be okay with that?”

Honestly, Hayden doesn’t know. Maybe Shane will be angry later. Hayden can already imagine the hurt on Shane’s face when he realizes Hayden kept him in the dark, not because he didn’t trust him, but because he trusted him too much to let him prepare. The only thing he’s sure of is that he can’t risk Montreal winning because he wanted to be honest at the wrong time.

Hayden drags a hand through his hair. “Probably not,” he admits. “He’ll get why I’m home, but he might not forgive me for waiting to tell him.” 

“You’re right, but he’s also your best friend,” she reminds him. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

Hayden exhales. “I just wish there was a way to tell him I’m doing all of this for him.”

“I know,” Jackie murmurs. That’s all she says, and somehow it helps. Hayden leans back against the bathroom wall and lets the quiet sit between them. Then she adds, “But this is too big, Hayd.”

He stares down at the tiles. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers. “It’s just difficult.”

“Yes, but at least you told me. That’s why you’re doing better this time.”

Hayden huffs a weak laugh. “Yeah.”

“I'm really glad you stopped keeping secrets from me,” she adds, which makes Hayden choke. The sound comes out small, but Jackie catches it anyway.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, sorry.”

He grips the phone tighter and stares at the locked bathroom door. The words are suddenly there, crowding the back of his mouth. He wants to tell her. He feels so guilty keeping this from his wife. But he can’t do it now. Amber is almost here, and Jackie already has more than enough stacked on her. With his huge secret, her pregnancy, and his recent hospitalization, he has given her enough stress. Him talking about his sexuality and the love he found in another life and brought here can wait until he’s home and until she isn’t measuring her pain by whether she can stand up without cursing.

“Hayd?”

“Sorry,” he says, pulling himself back into the call. “Just tired.”Hayden can hear in the pause she gives him that she's starting to sense something’s not right, but she lets it go, probably because she’s tired too and because they have already asked too much of one phone call.

“Come home so you can rest,” she tells him instead.

He lets her voice stay with him for a moment. “I will.”

After they hang up, he keeps the phone in his hand and stares at the locked bathroom door. He wants to tell her everything. Once Amber arrives, he will.

The morning of Game 6, Hayden texts Shane from the kitchen table while Arthur works through his second round of cereal beside him. Yes, eleven-thirty barely counts as morning, but Hayden is counting on that. Every minute he waits gives Shane less time to plan.

Hayden

Sorry man

I’m not playing tonight

Jacks can barely move around the house and i can’t leave her alone with the kids right now

I’m really sorry buddy

Hayden

I already told coach

I’ll explain better after

He stares at the string of messages for a while after sending it, waiting for the three dots that never come. Hayden tells himself that’s fine. Shane is probably at the rink already. Or maybe he’s staring at the phone with the exact blank face Hayden deserves. Either option makes Hayden want to send another message, so he puts the phone down. More words won’t improve this.

Theriault calls six minutes later, and Hayden lets it ring out. Then the texts begin.

Shane

Pike.

Shane

Call me.

Pike, if this is a joke, it’s not funny.

I am sending someone to your house.

Hayden turns the phone face down, and Jackie looks over from the couch. “Is he threatening murder yet?”

“Shane, no. Theriault, yes.”

The day moves with Hayden’s phone buzzing itself towards an early death. Theriault calls again. Hayden’s agent does the same. Someone from the Voyageurs’ staff texts, then calls, then texts a message that begins with I understand this is a family matter, which means they don’t understand anything and have been told to sound gentle before being unpleasant afterwards. Hayden ignores all of it unless Jackie tells him otherwise, which she never does. She only sits there, breathing through the discomfort, and watches him, fully aware of what this is costing him and just as aware of why it has to be this way.

By puck drop, the kids have been fed and placed in strategic positions. The twins sit on the floor with coloring books, though both of them keep glancing at the TV because Uncle Shane is on. Arthur claims his father’s lap before the broadcast even starts and plants himself there, and Hayden lets him.

The Bell Centre fills the screen, loud and lit up in blue. Hayden feels wrong seeing it live from home instead of being in it. 

Game 6. New York should win tonight, and the Admirals take the conference finals and advance to the Cup Finals. After that, Scott Hunter can get his moment, and Shane gets his proof that the world doesn’t always destroy men for loving who they love. Then, further down the road, if Hayden has done any of this correctly, Ilya should get Shane back eventually.

In the life Hayden remembers living before this one, Montreal won this game, and it was part of why everything snowballed into the nightmare that it was. Shane scored twice, and Hayden scored once. Three goals in total. Remove Hayden, remove one goal. Montreal should end the third period with two goals instead of three, and then New York only has to win in overtime. It’s basic Hayden Pike math.

The camera cuts to Montreal’s bench, and Hayden sees Shane. Well-deserved guilt crawls up his throat. Shane is standing near the boards, helmet on and eyes forward. He looks normal to anyone who doesn’t know him. Well, Hayden knows him a great amount, three versions of him to be exact, and he can tell from the angle of Shane’s shoulders and how he doesn’t look toward the empty spot beside him on the bench that Shane is furious. Or hurt. Or disappointed. Probably all of the above.

“Has he texted back?” Jackie asks quietly.

Hayden checks his phone even though he already knows. “No.”

Jackie reaches over and squeezes his arm. “After.”

“Yeah.”

The rookie filling Hayden’s spot on Shane’s left wing looks terrified, which is fitting for someone who has just been told this is a great opportunity and has started to realize, too late, that the opportunity involves keeping up with Shane Hollander during a playoff elimination game. Hayden almost feels bad for him.

The puck drops, and the rookie spends the first shift half a second behind everything Shane does. Hayden leans forward around Arthur’s head. “No, no, no. Don’t wait there. He’s already gone.”

Jackie gives him a look.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just funny. You’re supposed to be happy your replacement is having a hard time, but here you are coaching him from the couch.”

Hayden chuckles. “Sorry. Reflex.”

The rookie misses Shane’s first pass by a full stick length, which requires Shane to circle back. He recovers the puck himself and still manages an attempt towards the net. Hayden leans back. “See? You need more practice to do that correctly, dude.”

Jackie just rolls her eyes, but her lips quirk up.

The first period ends scoreless for Montreal, which Hayden counts as a personal victory. New York scores early in the second, and Hayden exhales so hard that Jade looks up from her coloring book.

“Uncle Shane will score next, Daddy. Don’t worry.”

Hayden looks at her and smiles. “Yes, baby, he will.”

After six minutes, Shane wins a puck battle along the boards and takes advantage of the rookie’s confused movement as accidental coverage. He snaps the puck past the Admirals' goalie before anyone fully registers what’s happening. The Bell Centre goes loud, and Hayden’s hands twitch with the old instinct to celebrate.

Arthur claps because the crowd is clapping. Hayden claps too, weakly, to join him.

"That one was supposed to happen?" Jackie asks.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That one’s his.”

In the third period, J.J. sends Shane the puck, and Hayden remembers it as soon as his two friends appear near each other. On the screen, Shane finds the same opening near the circle and puts the shot where Hayden already knows it will go. Shane’s second goal. Hayden rests his head before his headache even gets the chance to start.

2-2.

Good. Everything’s going as expected. New York is still alive, and Montreal has the two goals Shane is supposed to score. All Hayden needs now is for the game to reach overtime and for New York to win it. With how the rookie replacing Hayden is performing, the possibility of that is very high. After that, he can accept Shane’s anger with the comfort of knowing he earned it for a noble reason.

The clock keeps running. Five minutes remain, then four. The rookie nearly loses a pass along the boards, and Hayden grips Arthur gently around the stomach and leans forward far enough that Jackie has to put a hand against his back to steady him.

“Breathe,” she tells him.

On the screen, Shane gets the puck again, which means nothing by itself. Shane gets the puck all the time. That’s his whole occupation, and he’s known for it. Puck gets to Shane, Shane becomes everyone’s problem. Very normal. Extremely professional. Nothing here requires Hayden’s soul to start leaving his body.

But Shane drives towards the net himself instead of sending the puck out to the side.

Hayden straightens. “No,” he whispers.

The rookie crashes into the crease, not gracefully, and a New York defenseman goes down with him. It opens a lane Hayden doesn’t remember existing. Shane sees it because he’s Shane fucking Hollander, and he takes one more stride and shoots.

The puck goes in.

The Bell Centre explodes, and Hayden forgets how to move. The broadcast cuts to Shane, who’s being mobbed by his teammates. The rookie pops back up cheering, unaware that he has just participated in the collapse of Hayden’s very reasonable math. Shane doesn’t smile at first, not until J.J. grabs him around the shoulders, and that's when Shane's mouth breaks just a little.

Third goal. The goal Hayden removed himself from the game to erase. Suddenly, his secrets aren’t his biggest problem anymore.

Arthur cheers on Hayden’s lap because everyone on TV is cheering. The twins look up, and Jackie turns slowly toward Hayden, her eyes wide.

Hayden turns toward her with the exact same expression. “That’s my goal,” he says.

Jackie blinks. “Apparently, not anymore.”

He looks back at the screen, where Montreal is lining up for the next faceoff with a 3–2 lead and three minutes still on the clock. Upstairs, something knocks once, but Hayden’s attention immediately gets taken by his phone buzzing on the coffee table, probably Theriault or someone from the staff or his agent or the universe itself calling to laugh at him. Hayden doesn’t pick it up.

On the TV, Shane lowers into position for the draw, still determined and brilliant, still finding a way, while Hayden sits at home with the awful realization arriving too late. 

He kept himself out of the game, but he forgot that Shane Hollander was still in it.

Chapter End Notes

it's been so dry in the already very small hayden pike part of the fandom lately :(( and now i'm giving him more problems :(((

~

i've finished outlining the story, and it looks like it will have 17 chapters in total. this isn't completely locked in yet since i may end up splitting a chapter into two. let's see!

~

i also updated My Frenemy, Hayden Pike with a new bonus chapter!

as always, thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts! :))

Chapter 14

Chapter Summary

Hayden is forced to answer Shane’s questions and decide where he needs to be when Game 7 arrives.

Chapter Notes

Shane knows Hayden is going through something. He doesn’t know specifically what that something is, but it surely started way long before all of this. Yes, Hayden has been strange, but recent events since the hospital have given Shane more to think about. There’s the matter of Hayden waking up in a hospital bed and asking for someone named Cliff. Who the hell is Cliff?

At the time, Shane assumed he misheard. He was tired and scared and still half-convinced Hayden would stop breathing if Shane looked away for too long. But on the flight to New York, Shane caught Hayden looking at Marleau’s Instagram. So he didn't mishear anything. It was Marleau… Cliff Marleau. Hayden was asking for Cliff Marleau. But no matter how Shane looks at it, Cliff Marleau’s name has no business being the one Hayden reached for.

There are explanations, of course, and Shane has considered some possible ones. One, Hayden could admire Marleau’s game, which might be odd coming from a Montreal player about a Boston one, though Shane figures anything's possible once he considers his own situation with Ilya. Two, Hayden could be worried about his absence during the Boston game, except that one falls apart quickly, since nothing suggests the two of them are close for Hayden to go so far as to scroll Marleau’s Instagram for several minutes. Just because he was worried? Shane really isn't sure. Is his married best friend attracted to someone other than his wife? To a man? To Cliff Marleau?  

That’s where Shane gets stuck. He trusts Hayden won’t cheat on Jackie. The man worships his wife too much for that and loves her and their kids past any reasonable measure. And yet, Hayden also appears to be carrying some poorly hidden interest in a Boston winger.

That might explain the gay bar and why Hayden has been leaning in so hard to being supportive of Shane and Ilya lately. Maybe this is Hayden’s way of telling Shane he isn’t as straight as he thought and that wanting another man is something Hayden understands firsthand too. A simple attraction doesn't explain calling for Marleau's name in the hospital bed, though, not unless Hayden has been picturing Marleau with more enthusiasm than a simple attraction usually involves, and Shane doesn't want to sit with that thought any longer than he has to. He doesn’t want that to be true.

Then there’s the other possibility, the one where something is going on between them, and Hayden is carrying an extramarital secret around while his pregnant wife is at home. Shane doesn’t believe that one either, even less so than the other. Then again, believing something and having a plain explanation for the evidence are two different things.

He could ask Hayden to clear up all of his questions. Well, he really would, if Hayden were here. Instead, the guy on his left is a rookie, Harvey, who's growing visibly more rattled by the second.

The thing is, Shane understands why Hayden chose to stay at home. He and Jackie are having their baby soon, and with three other children to take care of, Shane can only imagine how hard it is for Jackie to move around, let alone be the at-home parent. He has seen it himself, at the hospital and at their house, how much effort it takes for Jackie just to get out of a seat and take a few steps. If Shane could, he would walk for her. Family comes first. Shane believes that without reservation and would never ask Hayden to leave Jackie struggling just to skate a hockey game.

But that understanding doesn't make Hayden’s absence feel any less felt. Shane tried to help his rookie before puck drop, telling him to keep his routes simple, not to chase, and to trust where Shane would send the puck. Harvey nodded as though he was receiving instructions from a manual written in Japanese. Shane still doesn’t understand why Theriault chose Harvey to replace Hayden. Comeau might not be quick on his skates, nowhere near Hayden and still behind Harvey, but at least Comeau has spent more time with Shane and has an idea how to read where he’s going. Now, on the ice, Harvey is trying his hardest, which counts for something even though it isn't getting the job done tonight.

Shane still wishes Hayden told him sooner. That’s the thought that keeps circling back to him, even now, while he’s in the middle of chasing the puck through the third period of a tied elimination game. Instead, Hayden waited until this morning, then sent a string of texts one after another. 

Shane stared at those texts for a long while and never answered. Mostly, he felt disappointed. Shane didn’t know what plan Hayden and Jackie had worked out, but he had assumed that once Theriault denied the paternity leave, they would ask Jackie’s brother or someone else in her family to help during the last days of her pregnancy. Hayden had time to prepare. Still, this happened. If Shane had known earlier that Hayden wouldn’t show up, he would’ve made a better plan for tonight’s first line. It’s an elimination game, for fuck’s sake, Hayden. If we lose, we’re out of the playoffs! Shane wanted to reply. 

Shane regrets even thinking about that now. Maybe it really was an emergency, and Hayden panicked, not knowing how to say so plainly. Maybe Jackie's situation was worse than Hayden let on through text. Shane never even checked. He should've written back and offered whatever help he could give, even if he was hurt and the timing was wrong, even if some small, selfish part of him looked at the empty place on his left and thought Hayden should be there.

“Watch Hollander!” Scott Hunter screams from the slot.

The Admirals' captain's voice brings Shane fully back into the game. The puck comes to J.J. near the boards, and Shane moves towards it. Harvey follows a second behind, then overcorrects, which has been sadly the story of his night. J.J. sends it down low, and the rookie reaches for it and nearly loses the puck under pressure before Shane loops back to give him an outlet. Harvey spots him late, forcing Shane off his intended path, which is annoying. He’s already annoyed before that, so this is just layers of annoyance.

“Move it!” J.J. barks from the boards.

Harvey does, barely. The puck skitters toward Shane instead of arriving where it should. Shane is able to take it anyway. New York's Jalo closes in, not all the way. Nothing about both teams' plays comes together the way it should. Jalo is billed as the league's best defenseman, yet Shane thinks Hayden would already know where to drift and would've pulled Jalo half a step out of the lane with that little curl he swears is pure instinct and nothing learned.

Harvey crashes toward the crease. It may not even be intentional, but one skate clips another, and as he goes down hard, he takes Jalo with him in a tangle of limbs. The crowd reacts as Shane fully registers the space that has opened in front of him.

He drives toward the net instead of sending the puck out to the side. The angle is narrow, but the goalie leans, blocked for half a second by the bodies in front. Shane sees the top corner.

He shoots. He half expects it to sail over the net, but the puck goes in, bringing the Bell Centre into an eruption of cheers.

Everyone reaches him, but Shane can't help but think that the goal could've come from one of those Pike-Hollander passes they love to talk about after games. Then, he remembers that Harvey is still down the ice and might need help getting upright. If J.J. hadn't been yelling directly into his ear, Shane might not have registered that Montreal has taken the lead and that he's just scored a hat trick. 

His rookie pops up from the crease with both arms raised, helmet crooked, face bright with relief that despite his mistake, his captain still scored. Shane lets himself be grabbed by his teammates. He takes all the gloves hitting his helmet and the arms around his shoulders, while the bench roars behind them.

“Nice pass,” he tells J.J., though J.J. didn’t make the final pass, and they both know it.

J.J. scoffs. “Yeah, sure. My spiritual assist was beautiful.”

Harvey skates up to them, still breathless. “Sorry, cap. I fell.”

“You did,” Shane confirms. “But you brought down Jalo with you, so in a way, it helped.”

The rookie’s face brightens. “It did?”

Shane wants to tell him he needs more reps before games but decides against it. It isn’t really his rookie's fault he isn’t prepared to skate with him, so he gives him a smile and taps his helmet once. It’s what Hayden would’ve done, except Hayden would’ve added something that sounded supportive and insulting at the same time. Shane can’t replicate the exact balance. He isn’t built for that kind of social nonsense and can only do factual encouragement.

“Good net drive,” Shane tells him. That much he can give freely.

Harvey nods too many times. “Thanks, Cap.”

They line up for the next face-off. The board reads 3-2 with three minutes remaining. New York will push for sure, and Montreal has to hold the rest of the way. Shane puts Hayden out of his mind until the final horn. The disappointment can wait, along with the guilt over every unanswered text. He can ask Hayden what's actually going on, with Marleau, with all of it, once the game ends, assuming Hayden doesn't dodge the whole conversation with a joke about Shane's eyebrows.

For now, Shane lowers into position and looks towards the win, though he still isn't sure how it's supposed to feel to win without Hayden beside him.

The Montreal Voyageurs’ latest win shoots Hayden in the head and then in his chest for a sure kill. Not only did it prove that his current attempts to change the future weren’t enough, but it also proved that he wasn’t needed by the team at all to win a game. That one hurt his ego more than it should. 

Hayden sits on the couch for a while after the broadcast cuts away, Arthur heavy and half-asleep against his side, the twins sprawled across the carpet with coloring books they still haven't stopped using. On the screen, the postgame crew keeps replaying Shane's third goal from every imaginable angle, and Hayden has to watch the puck go in so many times that it stops looking like a goal and starts looking like a message addressed specifically to him.

“Daddy,” Jade complains from the floor. “You’re not listening!”

Hayden blinks down at her. She has a blue crayon in one hand and a look on her face that belongs entirely to Jackie’s gene pool. “I am, baby.”

“What did I say?” Jade pouts.

He opens his mouth, but nothing arrives.

Ruby gives Jade a satisfied look. “See?”

Jackie reaches for the remote and turns the volume down without turning the TV off, which means Shane is still on the screen. He's surrounded by teammates, mouth barely curved into a smile while J.J. has him by the shoulders. Hayden knows that face. Shane is happy, but not only happy. Hayden wonders if Shane is angry at him, but that’s too simple. Worse than anger, Shane is probably disappointed at him.

“Hayd,” Jackie calls.

He looks over.

She nods toward Arthur, who has fallen fully asleep against him. “Can you bring him upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Hayden answers, then sits there for a few more seconds, still staring at the TV.

Jackie’s eyebrows lift.

Right. Fatherly duties. The world might be reorganizing itself into another nightmare, but children still need beds. Hayden gathers Arthur carefully, which isn't easy when his son has decided to become boneless in his arms. Arthur mumbles something into Hayden’s shirt and grabs a fistful of fabric.

“I know, buddy,” Hayden murmurs, though he has no idea what Arthur said. “Same.” He carries Arthur upstairs and tries not to think about how badly the plan has derailed. It isn't completely gone, since there's still Game 7, but it's now hanging by a thread, if the thread is cheap and wet. After prying the little hand from his shirt, he tucks Arthur in and stands there longer than necessary.

When he comes back downstairs, the twins are mid-argument about tomorrow's breakfast. Ruby wants toast, but Jade wants waffles. Hayden almost says both, which would be amateur parenting and also evidence that his overthinking has taken over executive function. Jackie catches his eye before he can make the mistake.

“Cereal tomorrow,” she decides.

Both girls object, but Jackie’s decision has already become law. Hayden helps get them upstairs next and supervises teeth brushing, trying very hard not to replay Shane’s goal in his head, which doesn't really work. Ruby ends up going to bed with toothpaste on her chin because all Hayden can see is how the rookie's fall opened up the goal for Shane.

Hayden sighs. His plan was supposed to be better now that Jackie knew. Still, fate found a way for Montreal to win.

“Daddy,” Jade asks once she's tucked in her bed, “why are you sad? Our team won, right?”

Hayden freezes, then tries a smile. Ruby looks at him too, suddenly interested.

“Of course I'm happy,” Hayden answers. “I just feel bad because I wasn't there to help Uncle Shane.”

“When will we see you on TV again, Daddy?” Ruby asks.

Jackie appears in the doorway before Hayden has to build an answer out of more lies "Girls, it's way past your bedtime. Questions are for tomorrow.”

They obey with only moderate grumbling. Hayden and Jackie get their foreheads kissed and their blankets arranged, and when he leaves the room, Jackie is waiting in the hall.

She keeps her voice low. “I know this is a lot, but you can’t disappear while you’re standing in front of them.”

Hayden nods. "I'm sorry," he tells her.

Her face softens slightly. “Don't worry. This isn't done yet. You still have Game 7.”

That's true, but it's also uncomfortable to think about. In what feels like another joke from the universe, Game 7 is scheduled on the day of Amber's birth, unless Hayden does something that somehow stresses Jackie into going into labor in the next two days, which, knowing him, isn't an outcome anyone should rule out. Nonetheless, he doesn't want to choose whether to attend the game and derail it firsthand or to leave it again to fate and be with his wife.

Jackie reads the tension in his face. "I'm sure it will work out in the end," she says.

In bed, Hayden manages to quiet his mind enough to lie down. Jackie is already on her side, the pregnancy pillow tucked along the curve of her body and between her knees, taking up more space than Hayden remembers agreeing to share. He reaches over it carefully, and after a sleepy pause, Jackie finds his hand with hers. They stay that way in the dark, her breathing already drifting toward sleep while Hayden tries to follow her there.

Then, his phone chimes. Only a few people can get through his nighttime notification filter: Jackie, Jackie’s family, and Shane. Jackie is beside him, and her family would likely call rather than text if something went wrong. He looks down to confirm which of them it is and sees Shane’s name.

Chapter End Notes

a chapter that doesn't end in misery? who would have thought!

i tried to make the scene as similar as possible to the scene in the Heated Rivalry book when Hayden figured out about Shane and Ilya. i hope you caught that!

anyway, i wanted to show you all this because it made me laugh for like 20 minutes straight: https://www.tiktok.com/@hpikeyboy/video/7656460637005942034

also, no double update (with one of my other fics) this week because i'm cooking something *new* for my Haydenov Friendship series 🤧

Chapter 15

Chapter Summary

Two very important things happen at the same time.

Chapter Notes

When Hayden told Shane two nights ago that he would sit out Game 7, he felt certain about it. However, by the afternoon of the day before the game, Hayden had done what he always did with every other important decision he has to make. He worried about it until his certainty wandered off and left no trace.

Now, he’s sitting at the kitchen island with his phone flat on the counter and one thumb hovering above Air Canada’s ticketing page. It shows a flight from Montreal to New York for one passenger, departing tonight and arriving before midnight if the weather cooperates.

His teammates are already there. They flew out this morning, after Theriault called him and spent seven minutes staying calm, which he only managed to do because Shane was sitting right beside him. The fine is official. So is the rookie training assignment once he returns. At this point, Hayden doesn’t care about those things anymore. All he’s concerned about is New York winning tomorrow.

Shane called him too, a bit later, from the bus to the airport, and asked whether Hayden had told Jackie yet. Hayden’s silence answered before he found any words. He pointed out Shane had asked the exact same thing yesterday, and Shane admitted that he was asking again regardless and would ask again tomorrow. It seems Shane is very eager to compare notes with Hayden about being attracted to men, though his conscience is stronger than his curiosity. Can’t really gossip about men without your wife knowing about it first.

Since then, Hayden has spent the day doing several things very badly. He rinsed the same mug three separate times without meaning to and wiped down the kitchen counter so aggressively that the sponge started to come apart in his hand. Mostly, he’s watched the flight page, refreshing it as though the number might eventually take pity on him and make the choice for him.

Amber is coming tomorrow, and Jackie is nervous no matter how brave a face she wears around the kids and how much preparation they’ve made knowing the exact date it’s going to happen. Hayden wants to be there when their daughter arrives. None of that has changed.

But the uncertainty of tomorrow’s game has started chewing through his brain. What if the rookie makes another mistake, and somehow that mistake becomes the opening Shane needs to win the game for them? It happened in Game 6 already, and nothing’s gonna stop it from happening again. What if Scott Hunter’s brittle bones finally give up while he’s chasing Shane towards the net? Hayden can’t let any of that happen, not again. But as long as his ass is in Montreal, he has no way to stop it.

He scrolls down the flight page and watches the total climb once taxes are added. In the middle of his contemplation, a soft knock sounds from somewhere above him, pulling his attention away from his phone. Hayden waits, hears nothing else, and decides to get up to check on Jackie, only to find her already at the bottom of the stairs when he rounds the corner. Her one hand is still on the railing, which must be where the sound came from.

Her other hand presses against the side of her belly, and her hair is pulled back badly, loose strands framing her face. She looks tired, and despite this being her third full pregnancy and childbirth, she looks nervous. He helps her towards the couch, and once she’s settled, her eyes drop to his phone. Hayden turns the screen face down, which is a completely normal thing an innocent person does.

Jackie raises an eyebrow at him, but Hayden keeps his hand resting over his phone, making this hiding thing really bad.

"Hayden."

Fully knowing he can’t win this, all he can do is sigh. He turns the phone over and tries to arrange his face into something trustworthy. Whatever the result is, it makes Jackie look even more tired.

She exhales heavily. "Are you going?"

"No," he answers quickly, too quickly, actually, for either of them to believe it. He winces. "I don’t know."

Jackie sighs, exhaustion showing across her face.

"Jackie..."

She gives him a look. "I’m not going to fight you on it."

"You know I don’t want to leave you." Hayden finds himself gripping the throw pillow beside him and lets go. His hands keep betraying him, tugging once at his shirt before dragging through his hair, restless with nothing to do. Jackie watches this small tour of panic without comment. "But I keep thinking if I’m there, I can do something," he admits. "I don’t even have to play, maybe. I just need to be there. Stop whatever needs stopping."

"And if nothing needs stopping?"

His laugh comes out thin. "Then I get to pay four hundred dollars for an anxiety attack in a different country."

Jackie almost smiles, though this isn’t really the time for jokes. "And if I go into labor while you’re there?"

Their living room goes quiet around the question, and it isn’t about the lack of screaming children. The thing is, it isn’t even a question of "if." Unless Hayden stresses Jackie out during this conversation and brings her into early labor, he’s pretty sure Amber’s birth will be tomorrow. He was there the first time. They celebrated it thrice already.

Hayden looks at his phone again and then away from it. He’s thought about the possibilities all day, though not in any form that counts as real thinking, more in short bursts of terror that put him into panic.

Seeing how her husband looks conflicted, she leans back carefully. "I don’t have the energy to talk you out of this. As you know, I have a baby to deliver."

"Sorry, Ja—"

Jackie holds her finger to shut him up. She glances towards the stairs, then back at him. She exhales again. "So I’ll let you decide."

Hayden gives her a questioning look, though it looks more like pleading.

"If you want to go sabotage the game yourself, buy that ticket and pack your things now."

Hayden flinches at the word sabotage, mostly because it’s exactly what he’s been thinking all day.

"I’ll call Mark," she continues. "He can stay in the guest room tonight. If I go into labor tomorrow as you claim, he’ll be here. He’ll get me to the hospital."

Hayden hates the picture so completely that for a moment he can’t answer at all. His brother-in-law is mostly reliable, and even if he’s out partying tonight, Hayden knows he’ll drop everything for Jackie. The thought should ease him, though it does the opposite instead.

Jackie watches him sit with it, then goes on. "Or you turn off your phone, come upstairs, and take a nap with me."

Hayden looks at her.

"Our last nap before Amber gets here," she adds. "Once she’s here, we won’t get much rest for a while."

His laugh comes out small and sad. A nap would be good, actually. The phone sits between them, screen dimmed now. Jackie sits beside him, one day from giving birth, handing him permission she should never have to hand to him. And it’s what complicates everything. She isn’t trying to trap him into anything, and she isn’t begging.

"I don’t know what to do," he whispers, pressing both hands over his face and breathing there. "If I stay, and something happens in that game—"

"You’ll blame yourself."

Hayden nods.

"And if you go, and miss our daughter being born?"

He looks down. "I’ll never forgive myself for that."

Jackie’s eyes shine, though she doesn’t cry. "Then maybe the question isn’t which choice doesn’t hurt," she tells him. "Maybe it’s which hurt you can actually live with."

Hayden looks at the phone again. The flight page is still there beneath the dark screen, promising a seat on a plane tonight, carrying him toward a future he might or might not be able to change. Then he looks at Jackie. She’s tired and scared, yet she’s giving him one last chance to choose her without having to ask for it out loud.

They stay silent for a while. Eventually, as she doesn’t get an immediate answer, Jackie draws in a slow breath and pushes herself up from the couch, one hand returning to support the weight in front of her. "I’m going to lie down," she tells him. "The offer stands."

"Jacks—"

She leaves him there, phone screen now completely dark, but still no answer any closer than it was an hour ago.

Jackie lies on her side with the pregnancy pillow wedged between her knees and takes in the uncharacteristic quiet of the house. It’s a good thing the twins and Arthur are already at her parents’ house for what Jackie and Hayden called "two days with Mémé and Pépé," though the bag sitting outside the twins’ room says otherwise. It’s true that the bag the kids brought with them holds enough clothes and toys for two days, but the one left inside the house holds enough for a week, filled with the things she asked Hayden to buy at the grocery store the other day, packed the same night and left where her brother can grab it the moment they need him to. Anyone watching the two of them handle the preparations for tomorrow, if there’s anyone, would probably say they’re handling it like champs. How Hayden is handling that while Game 7 is one day away is another matter entirely.

She meant what she told him downstairs. She isn’t going to fight him on this. She’s too tired for that particular fight and too anxious about a different one waiting for her regardless of what Hayden decides. With Amber on the way, Jackie doesn’t have enough left in her to drag Hayden back to the right choice if he can’t find it himself.

Most mothers get a due date and a vague warning to stay ready, but Jackie has an exact future-proven date: tomorrow, May 18. Without that knowledge, she might’ve spent this last stretch simply living, probably munching on a platter of her favorite wings while helping the twins practice their Québécois. Instead, she knows how many hours remain before the pain starts, and it isn’t really helping at all.

Yes, Hayden assured her she would go through it swimmingly. He told her she and Amber would come out of the delivery room healthy, but knowing that does nothing to stop her from dreading the pain waiting for her tomorrow. And as if that trepidation weren’t enough, her husband’s state, which seems less stable by the hour, gives her one more reason to feel uneasy.

She understands why Hayden is torn. She’s watched him try to explain it to her, the guilt sitting behind his eyes every time Shane’s name comes up, the desperation that comes from believing he personally broke something and now personally owes the universe a fix. Jackie isn’t always convinced guilt explains the full extent of Hayden’s attachment to Shane, but whatever else might be tangled up in it, the guilt itself is real. Shane’s life fell apart once because of something Hayden did, and guilt like that doesn’t just disappear. It convinces a person that fixing everyone else’s life is the only way to earn back their own.

But he has already tried to correct the future, not just once, and every attempt has changed something else. At some point, he has to stop breaking the world to repair the future and put this life first, above guilt, above penance, above whatever debt Hayden thinks he still owes for a mistake that happened in a life none of them are even living anymore. Tomorrow, she needs him here. She only hopes he can accept that before he makes the same choice again.

The thoughts have left Jackie tense beneath the blankets. She shifts onto her other side and pulls the pregnancy pillow closer, but the new position does little to help. Her hand moves over her belly when Amber stirs, and she keeps it there, waiting for the movement to calm them both.

She still doesn’t know what to make of what her husband has become, someone between the man she married and whatever a person becomes after living parts of their life more than once. Even with the proof in front of her, it still sounds insane when she puts it into words.

When the bedroom door opens, Jackie has already worked herself into a headache. She doesn’t need to turn over. The careful footsteps tell her Hayden has come upstairs, hopefully without his phone. The mattress dips behind her, and his arm comes around her slowly, careful of her belly, and he tucks himself against her back as he has done so for years.

For a while, neither of them says anything. His breathing slows first, evening out against the back of her neck, and Jackie lets herself sink into the quiet of it, into the simple fact of him being here instead of somewhere else.

"I love you, Jacks," he murmurs too sleepily to say it clearly.

She doesn’t answer. She just reaches back and finds his hand where it rests near her stomach and holds it there until his breathing goes fully slow and even against her. Her mind finally rests, too, now that she knows he’s here, that he chose her. And maybe, just maybe, whatever his worries are will be proven wrong by tomorrow.

What started as an afternoon nap turns into something closer to hibernation. Jackie needed the sleep more than she realized, and apparently so did Hayden, because neither of them stirs again until well past midnight, when their hunger finally wins out over exhaustion.

Hayden gets up first and heads downstairs to make dinner, which turns out to be his own take on Jackie’s favorite chicken wings, seasoned with more confidence than with actual spices. Jackie settles in front of the TV with the late-night news replay at low volume, more for the noise than the content, since nothing about tariffs or municipal potholes holds her attention tonight. When Hayden brings the plate over, the wings are so good that she tells him so twice. She enjoys them while she can, suspecting this will be her last plate for a while because once the pregnancy is over, she doubts she’ll have much appetite for them anymore. Hayden looks absurdly proud of himself, taking Jackie’s hums as a compliment as if he’s accepting an Olympic medal.

After their very late dinner, they end up back on the couch, tangled together. It reminds Hayden of their closeness in the early days of their relationship, when it was just the two of them. Hayden has his hand resting low on her belly, and Jackie has her head tucked under his chin, and for a while neither of them says much of anything, content to just exist in the same space.

"Do you regret it?" Jackie asks eventually. "Agreeing to have this many kids?"

Hayden doesn’t hesitate. "Never."

She believes him. She’s watched him with all three children they have now, though she knows Hayden already counts Amber among them in his head. Through every stage of parental exhaustion, she has never caught even a flicker of resentment beneath it. She kisses him slowly and gratefully for that and then pulls back to look at him.

"Amber’s probably going to be the last one, though," she tells him.

"She will be," Hayden agrees very certainly, which catches her off guard. "You’ll get your tubes tied, and I’ll get a vasectomy."

Jackie laughs, assuming this is a joke. Hayden always does this, joking and keeping it going to see how long she’ll believe him. However, his current face doesn’t do the thing it usually does when he’s setting up a punchline. It stays perfectly serious, almost matter-of-fact.

"Wait," she says slowly. "You’re telling me future-you got a vasectomy?"

Hayden nods with grave seriousness, while Jackie just stares at him, waiting for the crack in his expression that would tell her this is all a bit. What she gets instead is Hayden’s face slowly working itself into an exaggerated pout, wounded that she isn’t taking his word for it right away. She can’t help but laugh at that, at the sheer, ridiculous offense written across her husband’s face over something this absurd. He is, in this exact moment, such an enormous child, and Jackie loves him for it more than she has words to explain. This is the Hayden she signed up for years ago, the one who pouts when nothing goes his way.

She hopes he stays exactly like this, not the version of him carrying the weight of everyone else’s lives on his shoulders. Just this. "Fine," she concedes, though she’s still laughing. "I believe you. Future-you got snipped."

"Thank you," Hayden replies, still visibly annoyed.

"But me, too? We’re that serious?" she asks, feeling Hayden shaking through a laugh.

"Not even a slim chance for baby number five," he says through a giggle, and Jackie leans against him, shaking her head, and lets the moment stay exactly as small and silly as it is.

A few minutes later, Hayden checks the time. “I should probably put the hospital bag in the car in case we have to run in the morning,” he says as he gets up.

“Okay, but bring it here first. I want to do a final check.”

He pauses. “Why? I already checked it.”

“I want to check your checking. I’m sure you didn’t pack new travel toothbrushes.”

“Hey! I did!”

Jackie gives him a doubtful look, so Hayden goes upstairs and returns with the duffel to prove her wrong. He places it beside her on the couch, and she reaches for the zipper.

The moment the bag opens, horror takes over Hayden as he sees the music box resting among the wipes.

"DON’T!"

Jackie jerks her hand back. “What?”

Hayden drags the bag toward himself and pulls out the music box. “Did you put this here?!”

“Is that?”

"It’s what brought me here. It’s the time machine. Did you touch it? Did you put it here?"

“Hayden, do you think, in my condition, I can go up there? I’ve never even seen that music box before.”

Hayden stares at it as the hair on his arms begins to stand on end. He left it in the attic himself and never came back for it. Who could’ve possibly moved it? Could it be the kids? Impossible. The kids are at Jackie’s parents’ house, and even if they weren’t, none of them could reach the cord that releases the attic ladder. They certainly couldn’t climb up, find the box, and bury it inside the hospital bag without anyone noticing. But if it isn’t any of them, who then?

“Don’t touch this,” he tells her.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Jacks, I mean ever. When you touch it, that’s the point you return to if you ever have to go back."

"Is that how it worked for you?"

Hayden nods. “Means if you touch it now, this becomes the moment you return to. I don’t think you’d want to travel back here only to give birth a few hours later.”

Jackie, flabbergasted by the idea, moves significantly farther from Hayden.

Hayden takes a deep breath. He keeps holding the music box, his fingers tightening around the wood.

“But why is it in the bag? What do you think that means?” Jackie asks.

Hayden looks down at the music box, staring at it as if it can give him the answer. “I really don’t know.”

In the life Hayden first lived, the day started with haircuts. It was Jackie’s idea, a small "pamper Arthur" afternoon before he stopped being the youngest for good. Arthur didn’t understand the occasion, only that he got to sit in the big chair beside Hayden, except he was on a booster seat. His chin was tucked forward while the barber worked around him. When Hayden asked for the same cut Arthur was getting, the barber laughed and obliged. Twenty minutes later, father and son had matching haircuts, with Arthur looking so much like Hayden that Jackie lost it before they even left the barbershop.

She stood beside their chairs with one hand pressed over her mouth, insisting she needed pictures before either of them touched their hair and ruined the effect.

"He’s you," she kept saying, delighted every time she looked between them. "He’s literally you."

They took Arthur to the park afterward and let him do one of his favorite things: inspect every bush for bugs, though Hayden stopped him each time his hands got too close to anything crawling. From there, they went to the restaurant Arthur named his "favorite" because he liked the macaroni there, despite the fact that it was the only thing he would eat from the menu. Through all of it, Hayden kept asking Jackie if she was okay. She always told him she was fine, but the discomfort showed whenever she moved.

As they headed home, Arthur fell asleep somewhere past the second turn, worn out from being fussed over all afternoon, secured in his car seat with his head tipped against the padded side. Hayden checked the rearview mirror more than the road, still riding the high of a good day.

They were two streets from home when Jackie made a sound Hayden had never heard from her before. He glanced over, and her laughter was gone. Her hand closed around his arm.

"She’s coming," she said, before she drew in an uneven breath and tightened her grip.

Hayden froze for a second before his experience from Jackie’s two previous deliveries took over. He changed lanes without signaling, a crazy thing to do when he had his wife in labor and a toddler on board, but hey, the road was empty, and no one saw, and turned toward the hospital instead of the driveway two streets away.

The change in motion wakes Arthur, who blinks around the car, roused too soon. Once he realized they weren’t heading home, he asked where they were going next. Jackie answered him between breaths, her voice pulled thin, telling him the baby was coming and everything was fine, everything was fine, while her free hand gripped the door handle until her knuckles went pale.

With Arthur with them, Hayden couldn’t fully go with Jackie. His first thought was to call Shane. He pressed the voice-command button on the steering wheel and nearly said Shane’s name before remembering that Shane wasn’t reachable, as he was staying with his parents in Ottawa, recovering from the playoff injury and under orders to stay away from his phone. Hayden swallowed the impulse, pressed the button again, and called Jackie’s brother instead, his voice climbing higher than he meant it to as he explained where they were headed and asked him to meet them there.

The drive took six minutes in total. Hayden would remember that number for the rest of his life. It was six minutes between an ordinary afternoon and the loudest, most frightening drive he had ever made. Jackie’s voice filled the car for most of it, pain breaking through in short sounds she, for the sake of a very scared Arthur, desperately tried to but couldn’t fully hold back. Hayden kept one hand on the wheel and reached toward her with the other whenever the road allowed, saying whatever came to mind that might keep her focused on his voice.

They pulled up to the hospital entrance, and everything after that blurred under adrenaline. Nurses appeared with a wheelchair. Jackie’s brother arrived minutes later, out of breath, and scooped Arthur into his arms after clearly running from the parking lot. Hayden was finally free to be only a husband instead of managing a frightened toddler too and followed Jackie’s bed through the doors and into the delivery room, where he held her hand through every second of what came next.

That life is gone now, or at least it isn’t the one Hayden is living anymore, though the memory returns, albeit with an accompanying headache, whenever he thinks about that day. This time, there’s no sudden turn towards the hospital without warning, with Jackie in labor and a confused toddler in the back seat. This time, they’ve had weeks to prepare and a plan already in place for the kids.

What they don’t have this time is certainty. An elimination game is happening in New York, carrying consequences he can’t predict through a night that should belong only to Jackie and the baby they’re waiting for. And now, the question of the music box appearing out of the attic adds to the mishmash of it all.

Hayden has nothing. He has no idea and no sleep since midnight. Pathetically, he has very little evidence that he can function as the husband of a woman scheduled to deliver a baby in a few hours. He had been doing so well after Jackie talked him down. He had even managed to pull himself off the couch and close the airline website. But finding the music box inside the hospital bag destroyed what remained of his composure. And now he’s here, standing beneath the attic hatch at ten in the morning with the music box in one hand and no plan beyond returning it to the place he left it, where it shouldn’t have left at all.

The attic, once he’s there, gives him nothing. Everything remains where he left it, including the cardboard box that held the music box. Hayden places it back inside, closes the flaps, and stares at the box for several seconds before forcing himself to leave.

When he’s back downstairs, Jackie is waiting on the couch with a blanket over her legs. “Anything?” she asks.

“No.” Hayden sits beside her, though his attention stays on the attic. “Nothing was moved. The box was still there. Just without the thing in it.”

Jackie pulls the blanket across his lap too. “Maybe you shouldn’t think too hard about it right now.”

“A time-traveling music box moved itself into our hospital bag, Jackie. I can’t not think about that.”

“Right, but the time-traveling part should’ve already prepared you for some unexplained things.”

Hayden looks at her. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“It does," Jackie says, grabbing Hayden’s hand and placing it on her belly. "But I’m also giving birth today, so it has competition in my head.”

Amber moves beneath Hayden’s palm. He looks down, but his thoughts return to the attic, the duffel now in the car, and while he’s at it, the game in New York.

Jackie squeezes his fingers. “Maybe it was reminding you to do the right thing.”

That possibility doesn’t explain anything, but it gives Hayden somewhere less frightening to leave the question. He stays beside Jackie through the rest of the morning.

At 11:02, Jackie’s first contraction arrives. One hand pauses over the remote before she continues scrolling through the channels, pretending nothing happened. Hayden catches the small tightening around her eyes before her thumb reaches the next button.

"Was that one?"

"Maybe," Jackie says, still looking at the TV. "It’s nothing."

It is, obviously, something, and over the next hour Hayden watches several more somethings pass across her face at decreasing intervals, each one a little harder for her to wave off than the last. By half past noon, he’s stopped pretending to watch whatever’s on screen and started watching her instead, which she notices and finds mildly annoying, judging by the look she gives him.

"We should go," Hayden tells her.

"It’s too early."

"Jacks..."

"I mean it. If we show up now, they’ll send us home, and we’ll look ridiculous." She leans against the couch cushion, breathing slowly until the tightening in her abdomen eases.

"I still think we should go."

"Not yet, Hayden. Listen to me. What if my water breaks in the car?"

"You’re wearing a maternity pad, right? It shouldn’t be an issue."

"A maternity pad, Hayden. Not a tarp."

"I genuinely do not care about the upholstery right now. Your water broke in the car the first time, and it was okay!"

"Well, I do care about the upholstery. This thing might not hold everything," Jackie insists. "We wait."

So they wait. They move to the couch nearest the front door, close enough that Hayden could have them both in the car within a minute if the timeline suddenly accelerates on them. He keeps his phone within reach, the hospital’s number saved and ready, and spends the next two hours doing the only thing he actually knows how to do in a situation like this, which is stay next to her and count.

Jackie’s contractions come closer together, and she handles each one with composure, which Hayden finds both impressive and deeply unsettling. She times them herself on an app on her phone, narrating the intervals out loud, and Hayden nods along without understanding half the significance of the numbers she’s reciting, asking if they should go every other time.

At 3:45, the question answers itself. Jackie goes still mid-sentence. Her eyes widen, and she looks down before turning to Hayden. Her hand finds his forearm and grips it hard.

"Okay," she breathes. "Okay, that’s it."

"That’s it?"

"My water just broke."

The pad catches enough that nothing dramatic happens, which Hayden only knows because Jackie doesn’t start murdering him for not waterproofing the couch they’re in. Her face, however, makes it very clear that the margin isn’t that big.

He’s up instantly, adrenaline replacing every ounce of patience he has. The bag is already in the trunk, moved late night before, which means the only thing left to do is get Jackie into the car. He gets her settled in the passenger seat, buckles her in himself despite her rolling her eyes at him, and is already out of the driveway before he remembers to breathe. Once they clear the end of the street, he calls the hospital, giving them all the details and an ETA of six minutes that he’s almost certainly underestimating given how his hands are shaking. He’s privately grateful Arthur isn’t in the car this time. He isn’t sure he could reassure a frightened toddler while helping Jackie through labor again.

Beside him, Jackie breathes through another contraction, eyes closed, one hand pressed flat against the dashboard.

"Hayden," she says, once it passes.

"Yeah?"

"Drive faster."

Shane packs his game bag alone, and the single room bothers him for some reason he can’t explain. Most of the guys stopped rooming seasons ago. Two Cups in the last few years have changed the travel budget, along with everyone’s expectations, so the old roommate system is mostly for rookies, call-ups, and players who prefer it. Shane and Hayden prefer it. Neither of them sees a reason to change something that works. Shane realizes, folding a spare jersey into his bag with more care than the task requires, that this might be the closest thing he has to a ritual before an away game.

The ritual has been broken today, however.

And his unease isn’t only about the solo bed. Game 7 accounts for some of it. Win, and Montreal advances to the Cup Final. Lose, and their season ends tonight. But something about this feels different from ordinary pregame nerves. He’s played enough Game 7s to know the usual nerves should’ve turned into pregame focus by now, but whatever is sitting in his chest today refuses to tame itself.

Phone in hand, he zips his bag and sits on the edge of his bed for a moment. He’s half-tempted to text Hayden something but not entirely sure what. "Good luck" is utterly wrong since Hayden isn’t playing, and "Thinking of you" feels like something he’d say to Ilya, not his best friend. He ends up not sending anything at all.

A knock breaks the quiet, and J.J. leans into the doorway a second later, already dressed for the trip down to the bus. Energy radiates off him as it always does before a big game. "You ready, capitaine?" J.J. asks.

Shane, quiet as always, doesn’t answer, grabs his bag, and follows him out into the hallway, the empty room disappearing behind him as the door swings shut. Neither of them knows, walking toward the elevator, that a hospital several hours away is currently receiving a very determined phone call about a woman named Jackie Pike.

Jackie is admitted at around half past four, four centimeters dilated according to the nurse who checks her, which means, as far as Hayden can tell from how calm everyone is, that they have hours ahead of them. Nobody in scrubs seems alarmed, which Hayden thinks is bonkers, given that he’s probably the most alarmed person in the building.

He hovers by the bed while a nurse hooks Jackie up to a monitor, asking questions that mostly amount to variations of is that normal? until the nurse finally turns to him and asks if he’d like a job. "Ice chips," the nurse tells him. "She’ll want them. And you’ll want something to do with your hands."

That turns out to be the correct diagnosis. Hayden fetches ice chips and adjusts the pillow behind Jackie’s back four separate times until she tells him it’s fine, then adjusts it once more anyway. He learns the names of both nurses on shift and memorizes the numbers on the monitor even though nobody has explained what half of them mean. Somewhere in the process of being handed small, concrete tasks, the panic in his chest stops circling.

He pulls out his phone once and sends Shane a single text.

Hayden

In the delivery room. Wish us luck

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he puts the phone face down in his jacket pocket and leaves it there, which is new for him, and which Jackie notices at some point between contractions.

"Thank you for being here," she tells him, during a lull.

Hayden shakes his head. "It’s my job. Besides, I already knew I wanted to be here. I was here the first time. I just needed a reminder."

Jackie softens at that. She smiles, tired but genuine. Hayden takes her hand and holds it, and Jackie lets the silence stand in for whatever he can’t put into words.

He thinks, holding her hand through the next contraction, about the first time this day happened, the one where he drove her to the hospital himself and stayed the entire time. He has already told her, in this timeline, that Amber arrived without complications. The delivery had gone smoothly then, and he believed every word he gave Jackie because it was once true in a life that no longer technically exists. But that certainty doesn’t sit right anymore, and his panic starts coming back.

He knows now that nothing about this timeline promises to repeat the last one exactly. He’s watched a hockey game rearrange itself around one missing goal. If the future can veer that far off course over something as small as Hayden sitting out one game, there’s no guarantee that Amber’s birth happens the same way either. His stomach turns over at the thought. What if something different happens again? What if the first iteration isn’t guaranteed anymore?

Jackie’s hand tightens around his through another contraction, and Hayden holds on, watching the monitor, watching her face, and trying very hard not to let the fear show on his own.

"Pike missing in action again?" Scott Hunter says after driving Shane into the boards so hard that the glass rattles. Shane absorbs it with one shoulder and no response to the Admirals’ captain before pushing himself back into the play. It’s already the third hit in the last ten minutes.

That number wouldn’t normally mean much. Hockey runs on contact, and getting hit along the boards is part of the work. But three hits this early means New York is testing Shane’s side of the ice, sending bodies at him every time the puck comes near, seeing how much punishment he can take without his usual winger there to take some of the hits.

Tonight, Shane’s left wing belongs to Gil Comeau, backed with a decade of playoff experience, but none of the instinct that comes from years of skating beside the same person.

J.J. crosses farther than usual to cover the gaps Comeau leaves behind. To his credit, Comeau adjusts instead of freezing under the pressure, which was what the rookie did half of the time in the previous game.

Carter Vaughn drives Comeau into the boards, but he keeps the puck trapped against his skate until J.J. arrives. Comeau knocks it back to him, then circles toward the point to cover the space J.J. abandoned. Shane cuts through the middle, expecting the return pass ahead of him. Instead, Comeau sends it behind his stride. Shane, already cutting towards the net, reaches back and pulls the puck onto his stick, though he loses the opening before he can turn.

With 5:18 left in the first period, Jalo hooks Shane through the neutral zone and puts Montreal on the power play. New York wins the draw, but J.J. keeps the puck in at the blue line and sends it down the wall to Shane. Shane takes one look toward the net, pulls two defenders with him, then snaps the puck across the ice before either of them can close the lane. Olsson is already there. His shot gets through traffic, catches the goalie late, and the red light goes on.

NYA | 0
MTV | 1

Shane skates toward the bench for the line change with his shoulder aching, but they’re leading, which, right now, is all that matters. Hayden might not be here, and the line feels wrong without him, but Shane is set to do his best to win this one for him.

Jackie screams as she pushes Amber out, one hand clamped around Hayden’s fingers and the other twisted in the sheet beneath her. The doctor stays between her knees, one gloved hand ready beneath the baby’s head. Her voice is calm for reasons Hayden can’t understand.

“That’s it, Jackie,” the doctor tells her. “Keep going. Don’t pull back now.”

“Pull it back!”

J.J.’s shout cuts through the noise, and Shane snaps his stick down along the left wall before the puck can skip past him. He drags it behind his skate, but New York already has two men closing on him. Shane braces for the hit and takes one shoulder into the boards. Still, he manages to kick the puck free, and when he does, the crowd surges to its feet behind the glass.

The nurse surges to her feet when Jackie cries out, crossing the room to check the monitor as Hayden tightens his grip on Jackie’s hand. He can’t tell exactly when the delivery room changed this much. It happened sometime after eight, after Jackie stopped talking between contractions and started saving herself for the next one. Her hand found his during the third hard contraction and has barely let go since. Hayden’s fingers went numb ten minutes ago, though he hasn’t mentioned it. He barely remembers he has fingers until Jackie crushes them harder and the doctor tells her, “Good. Again.”

“Talk to me,” Jackie manages between contractions, her voice worn thin.

“About what?”

“Anything! I don’t care!”

So he talks, one of the few things he’s very good at. He tells her about the twins learning to ride bikes without training wheels and about Arthur’s dinosaur phase giving way to something called exoplanets. Some of it has happened already, and some hasn’t yet. He only hopes the medical staff around them don’t notice. The words themselves don’t matter much. Jackie only follows his voice, breathing with its rhythm, and when the next contraction comes, she keeps her eyes on his face instead of the ceiling.

The game has been tied since the second period when New York finally broke through on a rebound Drapeau never saw until it was already behind him. With 2-2 displayed on the jumbotron, Montreal spent the rest of the period chasing the lead they lost and killing one penalty.

It’s during the intermission when one of the assistant coaches catches Shane near the tunnel. "Pike’s agent called,” the assistant coach tells him. “His wife’s in delivery.”

Shane immediately rushes towards the locker room and reaches into his stall for his phone. He had no plan to check it because no one texts him between periods anymore. Now, however, one message from his best friend is waiting for him.

Hayden

In the delivery room. Wish us luck

Maybe he should’ve sent the good-luck text earlier.

Talking stops helping after the next contraction. Hayden wipes Jackie’s forehead with the damp cloth the nurse gave him. He holds her leg when asked and counts under his breath while she pushes, no longer the hockey player staring at flight times on a kitchen counter, no longer the time traveler worrying about the mysteries of the music box. Nothing else has entered his mind for hours, not even the man who has recently occupied half of his thoughts.

More staff enter as the pushing intensifies, and all of them move with a calm Hayden envies. Jackie’s grip tightens again, and he doesn’t pull away. “You’re doing so good, Jacks,” he tells her. “You’re doing so good.”

She doesn’t answer. Every breath belongs to the work in front of her.

Shane breathes hard as he circles back into position, sweat cooling beneath his helmet as the game reaches midway through the third period. Hayden’s message remains in Shane’s thoughts while the Admirals lean on his team’s weaker side of the ice again. Hayden sent it hours ago, when Jackie was still probably pushing or contracting. Or maybe she’s still doing those. He has no idea how any of it works.

The next rush gives Shane no time to keep wondering. He takes another hit from Hunter but comes up with the puck still in his possession because he’s Shane fucking Hollander. He pulls away from the contact and sends it ahead to Comeau, then cuts through the middle while Comeau carries it up the left side. Two Admirals close on Comeau before he reaches the circle. He turns back toward the boards, holds the puck until Shane gets past Jalo, and sends it across the ice.

As the puck travels toward him, 8 minutes and 52 seconds remaining on the clock, Shane’s thoughts return to his friend. While Shane’s here on the ice, he has no way to know whether Jackie and the baby are okay. He doesn’t know whether Hayden is sitting beside them relieved or scared. He hopes they’re fine and that Hayden has good news already… because now, as the puck touches his stick, he can add one more.

At 8:52 PM, the room fills with a sound Hayden has heard before but somehow still isn’t prepared for. Amber arrives crying, already angry at the world for interrupting her slumber, and Hayden, teary-eyed, can’t help but huff a laugh at how that’s still Amber four years from this moment. This is his second time watching his youngest daughter being born. If that doesn’t make him the luckiest father in the world, he doesn’t know what will. He’s watching the doctor lift her, tiny and loud and entirely real, when the maternal monitor lets out a loud, frantic beep.

Hayden turns so quickly his vision blurs. One of Jackie’s numbers has vanished from the screen, replaced by a blinking dash. When he looks back at Jackie, he sees her pale against the pillow, eyes half-closed, mouth parted around a breath that doesn’t seem to finish.

“Jackie?!”

“Hollander!”

J.J.’s shout cuts across the ice as the puck runs free along the far left. Comeau reaches it first. Two Admirals close on him before the lane opens and drive him toward the boards, where most wingers would dump the puck and retreat. Shane reads the play before Comeau turns. He twists his stick and gets ready for the pass.

Two minutes remain on the clock. If Montreal is going to break the tie before overtime, this is the chance.

"It’s just the oximeter," the nurse says, circling the bed to reattach the clip to Jackie’s finger. The beeping stops, and the number reappears on the monitor, calm and unremarkable again.

Hayden’s heart takes a moment longer to catch up. He looks at Jackie, who blinks up at him with a dazed look and slowly comes back into her senses.

"Are you okay?"

Jackie nods. He brings her free hand to his mouth and kisses it, holding it there for too long. He’s grateful past words that the sound turned out to mean nothing at all.

The doctor steps closer with Amber wrapped and wailing in her arms. “Someone would like to meet you properly.”

Jackie’s arms come up without hesitation, exhaustion falling away from her expression the second the weight presses against her chest. Amber protests with her whole tiny voice.

“Hello, baby Amber,” she says, pure joy breaking through every worn-out part of her. She strokes one finger over Amber’s cheek. “Say hello to Daddy.”

Hayden leans in, and for a long stretch of time, nothing outside the delivery room matters at all.

~

By ten o’clock, Jackie and Amber are both stable, and Hayden still hasn’t been given a single free minute to think about anything beyond its own walls. Nurses have checked Jackie’s vitals and replaced her blankets. They’ve asked Hayden so many questions that he can no longer remember which ones he’s answered, though, to be fair, he’s probably asked them twice as many. In the middle of refilling her water and helping her adjust her positioning in the bed, he realizes he hasn’t reached for his phone to check the game.

He doesn’t mind. Whatever happened in New York tonight, win or loss, overtime heroics or an early collapse, he’ll find out eventually, and he’ll deal with it once he’s a hockey player again. Right now, he’s a husband and father, and he’s exactly where he wants to be.

Things finally begin to quiet as they wait for Jackie’s family to arrive. Amber is sleeping against Jackie’s chest, and Jackie herself is looking close to drifting off despite clearly fighting it when the doctor comes by for one last check before she ends her night.

Hayden gets Amber from Jackie as the doctor runs through the numbers, satisfied with everything she sees. She offers Jackie a warm, tired smile of her own. "Great job today, mommy." Then she turns to Hayden, still smiling. "And Mr. Pike, good job today."

Hayden feels his chest go warm at that. The doctor starts toward the door, then pauses. Her eyes drop briefly to the floor.

"Oh," she says, turning towards Hayden again. "And I’m sorry about your team’s loss." She’s clearly trying to soften whatever news she assumes is sitting badly with him.

Hayden stills in front of her.

"They were all watching the game in the lounge, and I caught a bit of Hollander’s interview." She offers an apologetic smile. "I’m sure you’ll get them next time."

The ease that washes over Hayden is overwhelming. His eyes fill before he can stop them, and a grin breaks across his face so openly that he has to turn away from the doctor, or else she will have many questions. Jackie is already watching him, and her tired smile widens when their eyes meet.

He turns back to the doctor, eyes stinging. "Thank you," he says, probably to her, more likely to the universe, though he hopes the doctor doesn’t notice the joy and relief in his eyes.

Chapter End Notes

do the intercutting scenes happen at the same time? i don't know. ask my google sheets. i just like the effect they give 🤡

as a guy who knows nothing about pregnancy and childbirth, my google search for this chapter was a complete MESS, so if i'm incorrect about anything, please forgive me T.T

also, sorry for the late update! i injured my wrist last week, which prevented me from finishing the chapter. i also spent several days thinking whether i should have Jackie undergo a c-section since that's how she gave birth to Amber in the book, but eventually decided it doesn't work with the intercutting scenes 😅

i also increased the chapter count, and it might increase again depending on how the next chapter goes :)) thanks for your patience and staying on the ride!

Chapter 16

Chapter Summary

Montreal’s season ends one win short of the Cup Final, and Ilya reaches out to Shane. As Hayden watches Scott Hunter kiss his boyfriend on live television, the memory of Cliff’s courage pushes him towards making a final decision.

Chapter Notes

“Hollander!”

J.J.’s shout cuts across the ice as the puck runs free along the far left. Comeau reaches for it. Two Admirals close on him before the lane opens and drive him toward the boards, where most wingers would dump the puck and retreat. Shane twists his stick and gets ready for the pass. Comeau sees him do it. Their eyes meet for half a second, but then Comeau pulls the puck in close and tries to drive to the net himself instead.

"What?!" is the only thing that Shane can mutter to himself.

Jalo reaches Comeau before he can shoot, knocking the puck free. Comeau turns after it, but Jalo is already moving in the other direction. Shane pivots and chases.

“Back!” J.J. yells behind him.

Jalo crosses center ice with a clear path ahead, and J.J. skates over to challenge him, leaving Vaughn free on the right. The New York defenseman waits until J.J. commits, then slides it across. Vaughn doesn't even slow down for it. Montreal's goalie, Drapeau, comes out of his crease to cut the angle down, but Vaughn pulls the puck across his body and gets it past Drapeau's glove before Shane can interfere. The net moves behind the impact, and the goal horn blares into his ears.

Shane stops near the face-off circle and looks up at the scoreboard.

NYA | 3
MTV | 2

One minute and forty-three seconds remain, and Madison Square Garden already sounds like it's celebrating. But Shane won't let it happen.

Comeau glides back last, head down, and Shane catches him before the next draw. "Why didn't you pass?"

Comeau looks at him, his brows furrowed and grip tightening around his stick. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. “My bad,” he finally says, though the words barely cut through the noise around them.

Shane holds his gaze another second, wondering why, of all the people to look mad now, it's Comeau, as if he wasn't the one who made the bad call. Shane takes a deep breath and looks away. Nothing will put the puck back on Comeau’s stick or return the open lane Shane had been waiting in. Still, Shane can't help but think that, if Hayden were here, he would've passed the puck, no questions asked. Shane wishes it were him who was there. It could've been one of those Pike-Hollander passes that win games. He could've scored.

But dwelling on what could’ve been doesn’t change what actually happened. New York is already up by one, and Shane has to lead Montreal to another goal before time runs out. He pushes the thought away and lowers himself over the face-off dot.

The official drops the puck, and Shane quickly pulls it back towards himself, but Hunter drives into him before he can even clear the circle, using his shoulder to force Shane towards the boards. Shane tries to shield the puck with his skate, but it still slips free.

The next three shifts aren't vastly different. With the Admirals' only goal being keeping anyone from the Voyageurs from scoring, Shane and the rest of the team keep finding their faces against the glass, at which Theriault, behind the bench, visibly seethes. When Shane wins the puck with sixteen seconds left, Drapeau gets pulled from the crease to join in the offense as Montreal’s final attempt to tie the game and force overtime. Shane pulls the puck back to J.J., who sends it toward the net before New York can spread out. The shot hits a defender and drops near the boards. Shane's right wing reaches, but Carter Vaughn drives him against the glass and traps the puck beneath his skate.

Ten seconds.

J.J. wedges his stick between Vaughn’s feet and knocks the puck free. Shane reaches it.

Five seconds.

He pulls it toward the middle, but Jalo drives him into the boards before he can shoot.

Three seconds.

The puck slips behind their skates. Comeau lunges for it, but Hunter gets there first and sends it into the corner.

The horn sounds before any Voyageur can recover it. The Admirals pour over the boards, their gloves and sticks scattering across the ice as the whole bench rushes towards the team. The announcer confirms it then. New York has won the Conference Final and will face Los Angeles in the Cup Final.

Shane remains beside the boards, looking at his teammates scattered throughout the zone. Their season is over. They came within one game of another Cup Final, and Shane couldn’t get the goal back. He watches the Admirals celebrate and waits for the loss to reach him fully. His hands remain calm around his stick, and for some reason, he doesn’t feel sick.

His thoughts get cut off when J.J. drapes an arm over his shoulders. His friend looks miserable, so Shane taps their sticks together and gives the back of his neck a brief squeeze. “Good season, man. We gave it everything we had.”

J.J. just nods, and together, they head towards the handshake line.

Shane hates postgame interviews in general, but being Montreal’s captain and Canada’s hockey Superman means he has to do them every time. Doing one after a loss, especially one this big, is his least favorite. While most losing teams get to disappear as everyone focuses on the winners, Montreal can't. Ten minutes after the game, the microphones are already pointed at his face, and he doesn’t even get the chance to wonder why Montreal hasn’t been granted the same mercy.

“How are you feeling after the loss tonight?”

“Do you think the game might’ve ended differently with your original lineup?”

“Is there anything you would’ve done differently tonight?”

The reporters are idiots if they think Shane hasn’t already asked himself every one of those questions on the way out of the rink.

“How are you feeling after the loss tonight?”

Weirdly, he feels… fine. Shane knows himself and what should already be happening inside his head. This game was their ticket to the Cup Final, their chance to move closer to a third Cup. There’s a brand of regret that only appears when the goal has come within reach but slips away. Shane expects to feel every bit of it. He should be angry that they've missed the chance. But instead, what he feels, at most, is displeasure. There's disappointment in there, beneath the ache in his shoulder. (Thanks, Hunter.) It just… simply doesn't hurt as much as he expected it to.

He wonders, briefly, if it's because he's already survived a worse heartbreak this season. Maybe Ilya leaving took more out of him than he realized. Right now, though, he doesn't really know. All he knows is that for some reason, he doesn't feel that bad. He can't explain it, but it's like this has always meant to happen and he should be okay with it.

"The team worked hard to get this far, and I’m proud of them. We didn’t finish the job tonight, but we’ll learn from it and come back better next season," he says instead.

“Do you think the game might’ve ended differently with your original lineup?”

Honestly, Shane does. Hayden wouldn’t have forced the shot with two defenders in front of him. His best friend might act stupid at times, but he isn't that kind of stupid. Who would even do such a foolish act? Gilbert fucking Comeau, apparently. Shane can't take back what happened, though. The only thing he can do is hope that Hayden and Jackie don’t decide to have another ill-timed baby because if Hayden misses another playoff game and Shane has to play beside someone who ignores him, Shane’s going to book Hayden’s vasectomy himself.

“We knew Hayden wouldn’t be available, and we were prepared for it. The guys on my line did their best to match the chemistry we have, and how close we came showed that," he answers, hoping the cameras don't catch his lie.

“Is there anything you would’ve done differently tonight?”

He wants to say he should've convinced Theriault to put the rookie on his left instead. At least the rookie listens to him.

"Nothing in mind yet," he says instead. "I’ll review the game and use what I find to be stronger next season.”

After more questions, which are just variations of the first ones, Shane finally gets the opening to run back towards the visitors' locker room. He's zipping up his bag when his phone buzzes. It's a message from Lily.

Ilya

😝

That's it. That's the whole message. The emoji itself is annoying, and the sender is aware of that. He's sent it after losses before, usually followed by a more on-brand comment once Shane responds, but none of that matters as much as the fact that Ilya texted him.

Shane scrolls up and finds their last exchange, so old that Shane has trained himself not to open the conversation unless he has a reason. He hasn't had one for a long while, but now, Ilya has given him one. He types a reply.

Shane

You can’t gloat when your team got eliminated first.

He sends it before he can reconsider, then scrolls to his thread with Hayden and finally types a reply.

Hayden

In the delivery room. Wish us luck

Shane

Sorry, man. Just got out of the media room. How are Jackie and the baby?

He puts the phone away without waiting for an answer from either man and starts heading outside. When he arrives, the team bus, carrying players very eager to get out of the Garden as soon as possible, is already idling at the curb. Shane climbs aboard and finds J.J. sitting alone two rows from the back, staring through the window at the service entrance. He has taken off his suit jacket but still wears his dress shirt. His tie hangs loose around his neck, and he's saying nothing to anyone, which is very uncharacteristic of him.

“You going out?” Shane asks.

J.J. looks over. “No. I’m going to mope in my hotel room and sleep.”

Shane studies him. “You?”

J.J. gives him a tired look. “I’m capable of being sad, capitaine.”

Shane doesn't push. Everyone processes a loss their own way, and if J.J.'s way tonight is this, even if it's so far from what he usually is, Shane can respect it. He just wonders why he doesn't feel the same way.

By the time he reaches his hotel room, his phone has a reply waiting. Hayden has sent a photo of the baby. She's wrapped in a white blanket with a pale yellow cap pulled over her head. Her eyes are closed, and one hand has escaped the blanket near her cheek. The caption says, "Hello, Uncle Shane 👶"

Shane can't help but smile at that. He's typing a reply when an incoming video call appears. Hayden’s face fills the screen a second later, one finger pressed to his lips to tell Shane, and mostly to himself, to keep their voice down. His hair is flattened on one side, and his eyes are red around the edges. He looks both more exhausted yet happier than Shane has seen him in weeks. He angles the camera to show Amber asleep in the bassinet beside the hospital bed, then pans slightly to Jackie, who's also asleep.

"She's perfect," Hayden whispers.

"I saw. She's so small, Hayd," Shane says.

"My daughter just got born hours ago, Shane. Give her a break," Hayden says, grinning.

"Asshole," Shane says while laughing. "So? Everything went well?"

Hayden nods. "Yeah. The monitor scared the hell out of me for a second, but it was just the clip on Jackie's finger coming loose. The doctor said she's all good and Amber’s healthy."

"That's good." Shane sits on the edge of his bed, phone propped against his knee. Then, without any segue, he moves to the other topic of the night. "We lost, man."

He watches Hayden's face for the disappointment that should follow that sentence, but it doesn't come. Same as Shane, for some reason. If anything, Hayden looks relieved. Shane thinks it's because his friend has more important things tonight, which… true and fair.

"Yeah, J.J. texted me the score just now," Hayden says. "And the staff here are all Montreal fans. Funny thing. Jackie's OB was actually the one who told me the result. Oh, and the staff asked if you're going to visit soon. I'm right here, Shane. Actually staying with them all night! And they're still looking for you!" He fake-rolls his eyes, which looks weirdly funny because they're all red and tired. Shane chuckles.

"Sorry, sorry," Hayden says. "I know our team just lost. Shouldn't be making you laugh right now."

Shane gives him a weak smile, hoping it passes as a smile trying to hide defeat and disappointment.

"I'm sorry, bud. We'll get them next season," Hayden follows up.

"It's alright," Shane responds. "Don't apologize. Not your fault. It's Comeau's, actually."

Hayden raises his brows. "Now, what did Gil do?"

If Shane doesn't feel that much towards the loss in general, this one he has feelings for. "He had a pass he should've made. Right at the end. Wide open lane, but he tried to take it himself instead."

Hayden tilts his head, considering it. "When the game was tied?"

Shane nods.

"Well, I don't really want to badmouth the guy, but maybe he wanted the winning shot for himself," Hayden says.

Shane opens his mouth to argue and finds he can't. He's thought the same thing more than once on the bus, in different words. "Yeah. Probably. I'll have to review the game later. Would love to see it with you, but I know your hands are full."

"Yeah, but if you drop by at the house, I can definitely join you. I know you can't miss my insightful comments."

They both start giggling audibly, finally earning them a sleepy and annoyed “Hayden!” from Jackie’s bed. They clamp their hands over their mouths, though neither of them manages to stop completely. Anyone listening would never guess their team lost tonight.

"Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow," Shane says. "Just going to drop my things and then I'll come by the hospital."

"You don't have to do that, buddy."

"I want to."

"No, really. We might actually stay here for another day or two, just to make sure Jackie and Amber are fully cleared before we go home. So don't rush anything on our account."

Shane nods slowly. "Okay, then."

Hayden yawns. "Anyway, get some rest, bud. I know you're tired," he says, obviously telling him that so he can take a rest as well.

"You too, man," Shane answers.

Behind Hayden, Amber wakes and lets out a cry with her tiny voice. "Yeah, I don't think that's happening," he says.

For a little over two weeks after Amber’s birth, Hayden falls into a routine that revolves around feedings and diaper changes. Between taking care of a newborn, making sure Jackie is recovering, keeping his own body somewhere near professional-athlete condition, and checking every part of the house with three toddlers in it that nothing has fallen despite the thud he's surely heard, his days stay full. He already did this before, not only with his other kids, but also with Amber in his first life, though he's enjoying being a dad of little baby Amber more this time. Probably because in one of his latest glimpses of his baby girl, nightmare-Jackie locked her behind a door before throwing him out of the house. He just missed her so much.

With Montreal’s season over, Shane also visits the Pike residence several times, usually carrying gifts Hayden keeps telling him to stop bringing. Shane ignores him. J.J. comes over twice too, once alone and once with Shane, both times bringing too much food for everyone. On a few visits, Shane also “borrows” the twins or Arthur, and once, all three of them, to take them to his house or to the local park so Hayden can focus on Amber while Jackie recovers. Hayden starts to feel bad about pulling Shane into his domestic life, but he's grateful for all the help.

He handles all his fatherly duties while checking the New York–Los Angeles games every night they’re on, making sure everything remains on track. And so far, it does.

Over dinner one night, Hayden asks whether Shane plans to spend the rest of his days off with his parents in Ottawa, to which Shane replies, "Why? I'm not injured or anything to retreat there. I still need to train, and I like my home gym."

That’s why, during Game 6 of the Cup Final, when the Admirals are supposed to win the Cup for the first time in decades and Scott Hunter is supposed to bring his boyfriend onto the ice and kiss him in front of most of North America, Shane is sitting on the Pikes’ couch with Jade beside him.

Hayden tries to think what this change could mean in the future, but he gives up and just lets it be. Instead of spending the entire night worrying about any of that, he makes gourmet popcorn for the occasion, buttered for everyone except for Shane. Hayden gave him a can of ginger ale to compensate for his snack's lack of taste, which Shane happily accepts. Hayden sometimes wonders whether Shane is aware of how much sugar ginger ale contains, given how often he drinks it, but hey, it’s the only thing in Shane’s diet with any flavor. He isn’t going to bring up the nutrition facts unless Shane somehow thinks it’s actually healthy, which Hayden doubts.

On the couch, Hayden tries to act surprised when Hunter scores his second goal of the night, which earns a giggle from Jackie. He hopes his wife isn't making this whole thing difficult for him by not offering unwarranted commentary on his acting.

"Hunter's having it rolling this season," Hayden says after checking Amber's baby monitor. Shane nods.

"Good for him," Jackie comments on the side. Hayden eyes her, and she offers him a wink. Hayden blows her a silent kiss.

"Daddy! One please!" Arthur screams as he runs, chased by Ruby. Of course, if there's someone who can make his alarmingly quiet son scream, it's her monster of a daughter.

"Ruby, Arthur! Lower your voices. Your little sister is sleeping, remember?" Jackie reminds them. The children immediately slow down. Ruby stops chasing her brother and continues after him on tiptoe, their laughter reduced to whispers.

Arthur then places himself between Hayden's knees, which automatically means Hayden has to lift him to his lap. "One please," he says again, pointing at the bowl of popcorn.

"Buddy, it's popcorn. You can have as much as you want," Hayden says.

"Hey!" Jackie says, slapping Hayden's thigh. "Don't say that." She then faces Arthur and pushes the bowl towards him, Hayden getting it from her. "You can have up to five pieces for now. Then you can get more later if you want." Arthur then grabs Hayden's hand, forcibly opening his palm, and counts up to five as he places a piece of popcorn each time. Shane watches the whole thing with a huge smile, unable to stop himself from ruffling Arthur's hair.

"Uncle Shane, popcorn? I will give you five."

Shane fully laughs at that because how could he not? However, he shakes his head afterward. "I have my own," he says, showing his own bowl to the child.

Hayden kisses the top of Arthur's head. His hair is growing thick now, and Hayden's, too. They should probably get a haircut soon. He moves his eyes back to the TV screen as the 2016-2017 Cup Final reaches its final minutes.

March 2021, in another life

Shane burst through the neutral zone with the puck, forcing Boston’s defense to collapse toward him. Hayden raced up the left side, stick down and ready, but Ilya cut across before Shane could make the pass. He hooked his blade against Hayden’s, knocking it aside.

“How is home life, Pike?” Ilya asked, staying close so only Hayden could hear him. “Heard your wife threw you out of the house. Smart woman.”

Hayden didn't answer and just kept skating. He’s learned that any response would only give Ilya more to work with. He had tried his best to keep the divorce quiet, but news like that was high-tier chirp material, so it was bound to spread eventually. Given that the news reached Ilya after more than a year, Hayden would like to think he'd done a decent job keeping it.

"Bad at hockey, bad husband," Ilya continued. "What else is left there?"

Hayden was tired. He didn't have the drive to chirp back. Part of him wanted to tell Ilya that Jackie left because Hayden chose trying to put Ilya’s life back on track over everything, but he knew better. Hayden had made every choice that drove her away. He was the only one to blame here.

Too deep in his thoughts, Hayden didn’t notice Ilya peeling away or Cliff charging in from the opposite side until Cliff’s shoulder drove him hard into the boards. It's a clean check, shoulder to chest, nothing dirty about it, but Hayden's wrist caught the boards wrong on the way down and lit up with pain too bright not to reflect on his face. He pushed himself up before the referee even blew the whistle, more out of instinct than any real confidence in his wrist.

He played through the rest of the period, doing his best not to favor the injured hand, and reached the locker room without drawing anyone’s attention, well… except Shane’s. "You should get that looked at," he said, nodding toward the wrist Hayden's been cradling against his stomach.

"It's nothing."

"Hayd."

"It's fine, Shane."

His friend studied him a moment longer. He was still unconvinced, but he let it go. Then he leaned in closer, dropping his voice until it was meant for nobody else in the room. "Do you and Mar—"

"Margaret," Hayden supplies.

Shane snorts softly. "…Margaret have plans tonight?"

"Yeah," Hayden admits, just as quiet. "I'm not coming back to the hotel."

Shane gave him a knowing smirk, and Hayden rolled his eyes. He still hadn’t adjusted to being the one sneaking off to meet a man while Shane sat there teasing him about it. The universe, really, despite being fond of making Hayden pay for every bad decision he had ever made, had a strange sense of humor.

Hayden was waiting in the service hallway behind TD Garden, tucked into the shadow of a supply closet where nobody had any real reason to walk past. Cliff found him there ten minutes later, still half in his gear, hair damp from a rushed shower.

"Hey," Cliff said, already reaching for him before he was fully through the doorway. Then his eyes caught how Hayden was holding his wrist. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Still, Cliff took Hayden's wrist in both hands, carefully testing how far Hayden could move it. The second he applied real pressure, Hayden yelped, and whatever low-level concern Cliff had morphed into actual concern. "That's not fine. Nobody looked at this?"

Hayden shook his head. "It's just a little sore. I'll ice it later."

"Go back to your team. Get your doctor to check it."

"They already left. It’s nothing serious. Don't worry about it."

Cliff let out a long breath through his nose. "Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?" He didn't wait around for an answer, or for permission, and instead grabbed Hayden's good arm and started steering him down the hallway before Hayden could put together an argument.

The Boston Bears’ nurse wrapped Hayden’s wrist while asking how Cliff knew a Montreal player off the ice. She then told them it was most likely a sprain rather than a broken bone and asked Hayden to have it examined again if the swelling worsened. Cliff remained beside the cot throughout the examination, failing completely at pretending he wasn’t hovering.

Once the nurse stepped out, Cliff looked down at the bandage. “I’m—”

“Don’t you dare finish that.”

Cliff frowned. “Hayd.”

“No.” Hayden swung his legs off the cot. “I hurt it when I fell, not when you hit me. Checking me is your job, so stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Really? You think I don't notice you’ve been holding back on the ice?”

Cliff opened his mouth to protest, but Hayden raised his good hand.

“We already talked about this. You stopped hitting me as hard.”

“I’m still checking you.”

“You know you're not doing it properly. Some of our teammates already know we’re friends. If they notice you going easy on me, they're going to start asking questions, and I’d rather not spend the rest of my career denying game-fixing allegations.”

Cliff glanced at the bandage again and sighed. “Okay. Fine. I just feel bad.”

“You shouldn't. I’m giving you permission to assault me professionally.”

Cliff’s mouth twitched, but the guilt stayed on his face.

Hayden tapped his arm with his good hand. “C'mon. We should leave before anyone sees us.”

Cliff finally nodded, but it was evident in his face that he didn't like what happened. His eyes kept returning to Hayden’s wrist, and his mouth pulled down every time Hayden moved his fingers beneath the bandage.

It was then Hayden's turn to sigh. He glanced towards the closed door, confirming that no voices were coming from the hallway outside and everything had gone quiet. If words wouldn't put Cliff at ease, maybe this would. Without any warning, he leaned forward and kissed Cliff before he could apologize again. Cliff was stunned for a second but eventually welcomed the surprise. His hands came up to hold Hayden’s face, and the kiss deepened as he drew Hayden closer.

Neither of them heard the door open.

They only noticed Ilya standing there when his shoe scraped against the floor upon witnessing the act. He kept standing there in the doorway, frozen and staring at them. He saw Cliff’s hands on Hayden’s face, which Hayden immediately swatted away. He didn’t say anything. He just turned and left.

Cliff moved faster than Hayden had ever seen him move off the ice, crossing the room and following Ilya outside while Hayden stayed rooted where he stood. Hayden heard a muffled curse in the hallway. Then, a few seconds later, Cliff returned with one huge hand locked around Ilya’s upper arm and marched him back into the medical room.

“I can walk, Marly!” Ilya snapped.

“Then stop trying to leave.” Cliff shut the door with his foot and locked it.

Ilya yanked his arm free and smoothed the sleeve of his jacket. "We can pretend I saw nothing," he told them both. "I will not tell anyone."

The answer was perfect. Hayden nearly accepted it for all three of them. Ilya could leave, and the last minute would get buried somewhere none of them ever had to dig up again. But when Ilya stepped towards the door, Cliff blocked his way.

"Marly, let me leave."

Cliff shook his head.

"What more do you want?" Ilya stared him down. "I already said I will not tell anyone. I would not do that. Not to anyone." His eyes slid to Hayden. "Not even for someone like Pike."

Cliff’s expression hardened upon hearing the disgust in Ilya's voice. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ilya didn't answer immediately, instead choosing to glance at Hayden’s bandaged wrist. “What?” he asked. “Look at him. Cannot skate without hurting himself. Cannot score goals.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“Cliff,” Hayden murmured.

Cliff turned toward him, but Hayden shook his head. He didn't need Cliff picking a fight with his best friend over an insult Hayden had already heard from the same man in several forms across different timelines.

“But I am surprised Pike is doing this,” Ilya continued.

Cliff faced him again. “Doing what?”

“This. You two,” Ilya said, gesturing between them. His stare returned to Hayden. “Did you not hear the rumor that Pike went to Moscow to find some other woman to pump babies into? He should have asked me. I know a few places.”

Cliff's head snapped toward Hayden. "Is that true?"

Hayden shook his head. He did fly to Moscow, technically, but he had gone there for a different reason. He had gone there hunting for Ilya, albeit uselessly, to try to drag him back into Shane's life, though the man standing in front of him knew nothing of it. The rumor had gotten it all wrong, yet Hayden still felt guilty hearing it.

"So you did not know," Ilya said to Cliff, not a question at all. "Maybe get to know Pike a little more before you let yourself get this close to him."

"What makes you think I don't know him?"

"Oh, so you know him? You know he has eight million children and that his wife left him?"

"Watch what you say next, Roz."

"What?" Ilya was relentless. "I am telling the truth! If his wife left him, maybe there's something wrong with him, yes?"

Hayden opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had nothing to throw back at that. Ilya had only repeated what Hayden had already told himself after Jackie left him and whenever he wondered why Cliff wanted him. As Hayden's ears started ringing, he barely registered the rest of the argument, his own thoughts spinning fast. This was it. This was another installment of Where It All Comes Apart, where the universe had made him believe everything was going okay until it exploded in his face. He would be the story everyone would talk about for years, the closeted ex-hockey player who married a woman for the picture of a normal life and used her as cover the whole time. Nobody would care that it wasn't like that, that he truly loved Jackie and that falling for Cliff had caught him as much off guard as it would have caught everyone else.

In his other life, he had outed Shane and Ilya once, carelessly, and destroyed their lives. Maybe this was what he was owed for that. Maybe the universe had kept a ledger after all, and this was simply the balance coming due. He had already lost his family. Now hockey, the only other thing he had ever built a life around, was about to go the same way if this secret went out, and all because he had let himself fall for a man he had no business falling for.

Would Ilya do that? Probably not.

But Ilya's promise from a minute ago started to feel thin the longer this argument stretched on. Besides, he had no reason to protect Hayden. This Ilya had never softened toward him. He wasn't Shane's boyfriend, and he wasn't his children's Uncle Ilya. This Ilya owed Hayden nothing, not silence, not even the benefit of any doubt. The only thing keeping his mouth shut then was the fact that exposing Hayden would drag Cliff into the same fire, and judging by how loudly the two of them were going at each other at the moment, Hayden couldn't tell whether that reason still held.

He didn't wait to hear how the argument between the two would end. He pushed past both of them and walked out of the medical room, wrist still throbbing and legs carrying him faster than he meant to go.

"Hayden!" Cliff called after him, already breaking away from Ilya to follow. "Hayden, wait!"

Hayden didn't wait. He kept walking, and behind him, he could hear Cliff's footsteps running after him.

June 2017

"Your 2017 champions!"

"They've done it!"

"I cannot believe it. I cannot believe what I am witnessing right now!"

The commentators keep shouting over one another as the broadcast cuts between New York players pouring over the boards and Los Angeles players standing motionless at the opposite end of the ice. Gloves scatter across the rink, and the Admirals pile onto their goalie while the crowd keeps roaring over the announcers.

“Your champions are the New York Admirals! The 2017 Champions!”

Arthur claps along with everyone on television celebrating, though Hayden doubts he knows who won. Hayden does, and he also knows what comes next. In his first life, he watched this game with Jackie beside him and baby Amber asleep in his arms. She had been small enough to fit against his chest without taking up his entire lap. Back then, he had spent most of the final minutes checking that the noise from the television wasn’t waking her.

Back then, when Scott Hunter skated toward the glass and waved someone down from the stands, Hayden assumed he was calling for a brother or a close friend. The other players already had their families on the ice, but Hayden didn’t connect that detail to Hunter. With confusion, he watched the man make the long climb down, then stared when Hunter pulled him close and kissed him in front of everyone. Hayden was shocked and honestly? Also a bit amazed. When Jackie asked whether he had known, Hayden shook his head and admitted he hadn’t known anyone in the league was gay. Then Amber stirred in his arms, Jackie asked him to lower the volume, and Hayden returned to his own life without thinking much further about what he had seen.

This time, however, the sight of Hunter’s boyfriend, Kip, as Hayden has then learned, making his way down from the stands brings tears that Hayden has to blink back. He looks down at Arthur, pretending to check whether he has spilled popcorn on himself. Arthur, done clapping, is back at eating one piece at a time with great concentration and, thankfully, doesn’t notice anything.

When Hayden looks up again, Shane is frowning at the screen, seemingly confused. He leans forward slightly, watching the reunion unfold without understanding where it’s going.

As the universe has intended, Hunter reaches the man and doesn't hesitate. He grabs him by the back of his head and kisses him in the middle of the ice, in front of twenty thousand people and every camera the network owns, and the crowd noise somehow climbs even louder around them, and through all of it, Hayden smiles through the sting in his eyes.

March 2021, in another life

"Hayden!"

Hayden remained on the floor with his back against the hallway wall, his breathing finally starting to cooperate.

"Come back in there with me. Let's talk to him."

Hayden just shook his head.

Cliff crouched in front of him. “Roz is my friend. He won’t tell anyone.”

Now that Hayden's spiraling had stopped and he could think clearly again, he supposed that was probably true. From the little Hayden had known of Ilya in his other life, Hayden knew Ilya wasn't that kind of person.

“Sorry for what he said. He’s just being protective," Cliff continued. "He only thinks of you that way because all he knows about you comes from rumors. But I'll talk to him.”

Hayden blinked and just continued staring at his knees.

Cliff glanced around to make sure nobody could see them. “He’ll like you once he actually gets to know you,” he said.

Hayden looked up at him. “You hit your head?”

Cliff almost laughed at that. He squeezed Hayden's knee. “C'mon. Let's go back inside.”

Hayden looked toward the medical room. Ilya was still behind that door, probably confused and most likely still disgusted by him. Going back meant standing in front of him while Cliff tried to explain a relationship Hayden still struggled to understand himself.

Without another word, Cliff held out his hand and waited until Hayden finally gave in. He pulled Hayden up carefully, avoiding the injured wrist. He didn’t release Hayden once they started walking. Hayden considered objecting, but the warmth around his fingers kept him moving toward the room instead of the nearest exit.

Ilya stood near the medical cot when they returned, arms folded across his chest. His jacket remained crooked from Cliff dragging him back earlier. He looked at their joined arms, then at Hayden.

“You are finished running away?”

Hayden almost turned around, but Cliff tightened his hold. “Roz, please. You already gave him a panic attack.”

Some of the anger left Ilya's face upon hearing that, though Hayden didn’t know whether concern had replaced it or Ilya had simply decided mocking a thing like that would be too much.

Cliff shut the door again. “Okay, I need you to listen,” he told Ilya.

“I have already seen and heard too much.”

"I love him, Roz."

For the second time that night, Ilya went still.

Cliff moved his hand from Hayden’s wrist and laced their fingers together. “Whatever happened with his marriage, whatever he hasn’t told me yet, we can deal with it later. He can tell me when he’s ready, and I’ll decide what it means for us. But right now, I need you to understand that I love him. I've loved him for a very long time.”

“Marly—”

Cliff held his free hand. "And whatever beef you have with him, I don't care. Just leave it on the ice."

Hayden wanted to cry. Cliff held his hand tighter. When Hayden moved his gaze back to Ilya, he was staring at him, like calculating. This was the man whose future Hayden had destroyed in another life and whose life he had failed to repair in this one. Hayden knew it was too much to ask after everything, but at the moment, all Hayden wanted was for Ilya to trust and support Cliff.

"You don't have to like him or approve of us," Cliff continued. "I'd rather you did, since you're my friend and he matters to me, but if you can't get there, that's on you."

Ilya seemed to consider it. He took a deep breath and turned to Hayden. “Will you let Marly do all the talking?”

"I'm— I'm sor—"

"Oh my God, Pike, you're so boring like your friend. Do you feel the same way about Marly?" Ilya asked, and the question hit harder than any of his insults.

Hayden glanced at Cliff, who showed no signs of rescuing him or answering on his behalf. He only stood beside him and waited. “Yes, I do,” Hayden said. His voice came out quietly, but the answer remained clear. He loved Cliff, and it was the first time he admitted it to anyone other than the two of them.

Ilya studied him for another moment, then exhaled through his nose. "I don't know what you want from me. I already told you I will not tell anyone."

Cliff nodded. “Thank you.”

“This does not mean I approve." Ilya turned to Hayden again. "You have some explaining to do." With how Ilya said it, Hayden wanted to run again.

Cliff audibly sighed. "We will talk, the two of us, and then all of us will have a conversation over beer."

"Ugh." Ilya rolled his eyes. "Too much talking. I just went here to ask for a Band-Aid. Then I saw things I did not want to see.”

Cliff let out a brief laugh, making Hayden look over at him. His own lips quirked at the sight. Cliff finally looked at ease, and maybe Hayden could allow himself to relax a little too.

"Thanks, Roz. I'm glad you have my back."

Ilya nodded. "Sure."

"Just watch your words in front of me next time, or I might not be able to stop myself anymore."

"What? All this time, you want to punch me whenever I talk shit about Pike?"

"There were some instances, yes."

“Unbelievable.” Ilya huffed. He studied Cliff for a moment, his expression losing some of its irritation as he considered the warning. “Fine. If he scores next game, I will think about it,” he said with a smirk directed at Hayden.

And at that moment, Hayden started to believe Cliff might not have hit his head after all.

June 2017

Seeing Scott Hunter show courage in front of everyone makes Hayden remember that Cliff made the same choice in that medical room in TD Garden, albeit with a significantly smaller audience. There, he had told Ilya he loved Hayden. Cliff showed courage back then, and when Ilya asked Hayden, for a moment, he had it, too.

And in this life, he has to channel that bit of courage he had. Hunter has admitted who he loves to everyone watching. Hayden only needs to tell one person, and she’s already looking at him from the other couch. Jackie's expression gives him nothing. She only holds his gaze until Hayden turns back towards the screen. Maybe they really do need to discuss the elephant in the room tonight. Later, he thinks, probably, once the kids are asleep and he can no longer use hockey or Shane’s presence to put it off.

Shane’s phone begins to ring. The sound cuts through the broadcast and makes everyone in the room look sideways.

Shane apologizes and takes the phone from his pocket, and his entire face goes still when he sees the screen. “I have to take this,” he says as he stands and walks toward the kitchen, answering just after he leaves the living room. Hayden watches him go, though he doesn’t hear any of the words.

He turns his attention back to the television, where Hunter still hasn’t released his boyfriend and Carter Vaughn skates past and pats him on the back. Hayden is trying so hard not to notice Jackie still staring at him. He glances back at her and gives her a small smile. Whatever Jackie makes of it, he will know later.

For now, that conversation can wait, because as Shane comes back into the room, Hayden notices the confusion from earlier is gone. Now, Shane’s wearing the largest smile Hayden has seen on his face all his life.

Though when he looks down at what Shane's holding, every hair on his arms rises.

Shane is holding the music box.

Chapter End Notes

I’m back! So sorry for the long wait for this chapter. My recovered wrist, as it turned out, wasn't fully healed yet when I started lifting again. It’s okay now, for real... hopefully! I also spent quite a while deciding which flash-sideways scene to include alongside the Skip kiss, so I hope I made the right choice.

The chapter count keeps increasing as I write the last few chapters lol

Writing this part made me want to work on a proper Hayleau fic, and I think I already have a few ideas, though nothing is concrete yet. We’ll see! After this story, I’m going to focus on the next installment in the My Frenemy, Hayden Pike universe before committing to anything else.

For now, I hope you enjoy the chapter! As always, thank you so much for reading, waiting, and leaving kudos and comments. :))

Chapter 17

Chapter Summary

Hayden finally confesses everything to Jackie.

Chapter Notes

Shane ends the call and stays in the Pikes' kitchen for another second, staring at Ilya’s name on the screen. He’s smiling. He knows he is because his cheeks hurt, which seems excessive considering how short the call was.

He hasn't even had the chance to ask Ilya if he saw what Hunter did on live television because Ilya immediately asked him if he had plans this summer. When Shane said he didn't, Ilya immediately asked if he wanted to spend it with him. Shane immediately suggested the cottage, which Ilya immediately accepted. With how quickly everything happened, Shane is still half-convinced he imagined the entire conversation. From having no communication to planning an entire summer together, does this mean they’re getting back together? Honestly, he still isn't sure. All he knows is that Ilya wants to see him again, and for the first time in weeks, Shane has something to look forward to. He can't wait to tell Hayden.

Shane puts his phone back in his pocket and turns towards the living room. He makes it two steps before an object on the kitchen counter catches his attention. It’s a music box.

The thing sits near the end of the counter, with part of its wooden base hanging over the edge. A glass globe rises from the top, with several small stars floating inside. Shane has no idea where it belongs. That doesn’t mean much in the Pike house. There are three toddlers here who regularly move objects from one room to another for reasons Shane and even their parents have stopped trying to understand. He picks it up before one running Ruby Pike can slam into the counter and knock it to the floor.

The wooden base is heavier than he expects, though the globe makes him hold it carefully anyway. He checks the counter for other potential future-fall hazards, but there’s nothing else aside from a bowl of fruit and a blender.

The television is still loud when Shane steps back into the living room. Hunter is still on the ice with whom Shane guesses is his boyfriend, along with the rest of the New York Admirals and their families. Hayden looks over at Shane, whose smile is still plastered on his face. He’s already thinking about what and how he’s going to tell Hayden and how his best friend is going to react.

But when Hayden’s attention drops to Shane’s hands, his entire face changes. Shane, confused at the reaction, glances down at the music box. Hayden scoops Arthur off his lap, placing him on the couch, and surges to his feet in one hurried motion. He crosses the room in a few quick steps and snatches the music box straight out of Shane’s hands.

"Where did you get this?"

Shane blinks at him. "In the kitchen?"

Hayden turns the music box over in his hands. "Did you wind it? Did it play? Was it there when you came in?"

Shane stares at him, trying to figure out which question he's supposed to answer first and why any of them seem this urgent. "I picked it up because it was near the edge."

"It was in the kitchen?" Hayden repeats, looking even more alarmed. Shane has no idea why that matters. The kids have left so many things that have no business being in the kitchen in that kitchen.

Jackie, upon hearing everything, gets up from the couch so quickly that Jade looks over at her. The concern on Jackie’s face makes Shane glance back at the music box, wondering what he missed. It still looks harmless. "Shane," Jackie says. "Your friend and I are just going to return this where it belongs."

"Oh? Okay?" Shane answers, now even less certain about what is happening than he was when Hayden first grabbed the thing. He also has no idea why returning it requires both of them.

"Hayden," she says to her husband, who's still staring at the glass globe in his hands. "Hayden."

Still with no response, Jackie catches Hayden by the arm and starts pulling him towards the stairs. Hayden goes with her without resistance, still gripping the music box in both hands.

"Wait," Shane calls after them. "What is happening?"

Hayden looks back once, but Jackie keeps him moving. A second later, they disappear upstairs and leave Shane standing in the middle of the living room with absolutely no idea what he has apparently just done.

"You were scaring Shane!" Jackie tells Hayden once they tuck themselves into a corner of the hallway. Ideally, they'd rather talk in their bedroom, but Amber is sleeping there.

Hayden winces. He definitely scared Shane. He can already imagine Shane in the living room right now, confused not only at Hayden's reaction but also at Jackie's rescue mission. However, he can't think about explaining himself to Shane yet, not with the music box back in his hands and the questions in his mind. "He was holding this, Jacks," he answers.

"Yeah, I saw, but you shouldn't have panicked in front of him. What's he going to think now?"

Jackie's right. Knowing Shane, he's probably trying to work out what exactly just happened and why either of them thought it was necessary. Hayden curses at himself, which Jackie decidedly ignores. "I'm just going to think of a bullshit excuse later," he says, turning his glance back at the thing in his hand. "But this. I placed it back in the box, and I'm pretty sure Shane hasn't gone up there."

Jackie shakes her head and joins him in staring at it. "It's like… it just appeared magically."

"Again." Hayden rakes a hand through his hair. The music box had already turned up in their bag on the day Amber was born, and now it's here, from the kitchen for some fucking reason. What happens if Shane finds it again years from now and winds it? Would he end up back in their kitchen, only to walk into the living room and find Hayden losing his mind?

For one sickening second, Hayden's blood runs cold at the thought that the Shane downstairs might already be from the future, dropped into this exact night. However, he dismisses the thought, mostly because Shane didn't look confused about being in their house; the confusion only started after Hayden panicked.

"I know you're worried," Jackie says, "but we should go back down soon. The longer we stay up here, the more Shane's going to wonder what the hell is going on."

Hayden nods, though he's tired. Watching Scott Hunter on TV and then seeing Shane come back from that phone call smiling had made him think, for once, that he was finally getting somewhere. But that feeling lasted roughly two seconds. Now, he has to worry about the music box appearing wherever it wants.

"I left this in the attic, Jacks, just like the first time. And it still turned up wherever Shane found it."

"Hey," Jackie cups his face, and Hayden lowers the music box more, not wanting to risk Jackie's arm brushing it. "You have to calm down."

Jackie's voice really has that effect on him, so he does.

"I've been thinking about it since it happened the first time," she continues. "This is purely a guess, so don't put too much weight on it, but I think it's trying to tell you something."

Hayden's eyebrows quirk at that. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's trying to tell you your time is up. Maybe it's trying to tell you your job here is done."

Now, Hayden's eyebrows furrow at that. Neither of those can be true. It hasn't even crossed his mind that he's on a limited time here. If he is, he's totally fucked. He hasn't done all the things he planned to do. Hell, the FanMail problem, the entire point of going back here, is too far in the future for him to do something about it now. And that alone proves that the second option can't be true as well. He's nowhere near done with this. He tries to remember the items in the list he wrote in his nightmare life, something about being better for Shane, befriending Ilya, something about including J.J., and something about Cliff. Fuck, He has that other thing, too, tonight.

He shakes his head as a headache starts to form. He and Jackie really do need to have that conversation later, after Shane leaves and the kids are in bed. He just hopes she still has the energy for another round of his bullshit.

After leaving their corner, Jackie stops by the bedroom to check on Amber after telling Hayden to talk to Shane. Hayden heads for the attic first to return the music box. He doesn't linger. He's relieved Jackie is still with Amber when he comes back down. If Shane doesn't buy the excuse he's about to give him, at least Jackie won't be there to watch him crash and burn.

When Hayden goes back downstairs, he finds Shane with Arthur on his lap. Scott Hunter, the man of the hour, is still on TV, now answering questions in a postgame interview. Shane watches for another second before noticing Hayden at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, man. Sorry for how I acted," Hayden says, rubbing the back of his neck to help sell it.

Shane waits for the rest.

"It's just that the kids really like to play with that thing, but it's important. Sentimental, you know? Family stuff."

"Oh," Shane reacts. "Of course. I was just confused, but don't worry about it. We're good."

Hayden nearly sighs in relief. Maybe if hockey ever stops working out, he can give acting a shot. Apparently, he has the chops. He drops onto the couch beside Shane, careful not to look too pleased with himself. Arthur has already made himself comfortable against Shane's chest, so he lets him there, partly to give his own lap a rest.

On TV, Hunter is halfway through answering one of the many questions about the kiss. Hayden catches him saying he hadn't planned anything and that once Kip was down by the glass, he stopped caring who was watching. Apparently, Scott Hunter can come out on live television with more composure than Hayden can manage while ordering food over the phone. Good for him. Hayden would've thrown up on camera. The interviewer tries to get more out of him, but Hunter only smiles and turns the conversation back towards the Admirals winning the Cup after many years.

"What did I miss?" Hayden asks.

"Nothing much," Shane answers. "He just confirmed that the guy is his boyfriend."

Hayden nods along, his attention drifting toward Shane's face. The smile from earlier hasn't entirely gone away. Right. Shane was happy after the phone call, before Hayden ruined it.

"So," Hayden starts, "what’s with the stupidly happy face?"

The smile returns at full force. Shane looks down and starts to blush.

"Buddy?" Hayden prods.

"It was Ilya."

Hayden has to stop himself from reacting too strongly. After everything that just happened, another dramatic outburst, even one caused by giddiness, might actually scare his children this time.

"Who's Ilya?" Jade, beside Shane, butts in. Both men look at her, now realizing she's been paying attention to them all this time.

"He's my friend," Shane tells her.

Jade considers this. "Is he Dad's friend too?"

Hayden looks at Shane, and Shane looks back at him. There was a period when the most accurate answer would've involved several insults and Hayden privately wishing Ilya would choke on a sausage. Things are less simple now.

"You can say that," Shane answers, for both of them.

Hayden snorts. Somewhere between Ilya deciding he's worth tolerating and forgiving him in his first life and Ilya threatening him and protecting his secret in his nightmare life, Hayden thinks that's too generous. Ilya is one item on his list he hasn't made any real progress yet. Still, Ilya calling Shane is good. Possibly very good.

"Did he see what Hunter did? Did he call because of that?" Hayden asks.

"Honestly, I'm not sure." Shane shrugs, though the smile stays. "Probably? He asked if I want to spend the summer with him."

Forget very good. This is enormous. Hayden learned that Shane and Ilya spent the summer in the original timeline after the fact, and them doing it again here means everything's really going into place. "That's great, man!"

"It is," Shane agrees. Then, after a pause, adds, "I think."

Hayden snorts. Of course, Shane would get news this huge and still be unsure what it means. Hayden lets him be. The important thing is Shane is smiling now, and Hayden is happy just to see that again.

Hayden finds himself pacing at the foot of their bed while Jackie watches him, annoyance and worry fear all evident in her face. The house has finally gone quiet. The kids are asleep, and Shane left a little while ago after Hayden walked him to the door and sent him home still smiling about Ilya. Hayden managed to keep smiling too, even after the door closed, which feels impressive considering the headache that had been building behind his eyes for most of the evening. He took two Advils before coming upstairs. So far, they haven't done much.

Jackie is sitting on the edge of the bed. She hasn't interrupted his pacing yet. Hayden suspects she's waiting for him to figure out where to begin, which would be helpful if he had any idea himself.

"You already scared Shane," Jackie tells him. "You’re starting to scare me too. Sit down."

"I think I need to stand for this."

Jackie studies him for a moment, then sits up straight, giving him her full attention. "Fine, Professor Pike. The floor is yours, but try not to use up the entire night. I’d still like to sleep."

In all honesty, Hayden doubts either of them will sleep after this. He doesn't even know if he's going to be allowed in this bedroom. He’ll be lucky to get the guest room, though the garage feels more realistic. However, he really has to tell her, and he wants to do it now. The secret has been eating at him since he arrived in this life. He managed to ignore it for the first few days as it remained buried under everything else Hayden needed to fix, but as Cliff keeps appearing not only in Hayden's thoughts but also in grocery stores, it's clear it hasn't stayed buried.

"Okay." Hayden rolls his shoulders, as though he's about to do bag skates. "Remember when I got here the first time?"

Jackie’s brow furrows.

"I mean when I came from the future."

One of her eyebrows rises, though she nods, signaling him to continue. The window is two steps and one decision to jump away.

"So, yeah, I told you that I’d already told you everything, right? About the nightmare future and how badly I messed up everyone's lives?"

She crosses her arms, and his pacing slows.

"So I might’ve left out some details I didn’t want you to know."

"Might have?"

He stops, takes a deep breath, and looks down at the carpet. "I did."

"What details, Hayden?"

He takes another deep breath.

"Hayden Thomas Pike."

Hayden Thomas Pike swallows the billiard ball lodged in his throat and forces his mouth to cooperate. "After our marriage ended in that life, the other Hayden got tangled up with someone else."

Jackie stares at him. "The other Hayden?"

"Yeah, I mean… I didn’t exactly experience it. It happened to him, then I got dropped into the nightmare life, and all his memories showed up in my head. I threw up in Shane’s bathroom for a long time, which isn’t the central issue here, but I think it proves the memories arrived pretty aggressively, and I didn’t make any of those choices myself, so—"

"Wait."

Hayden stops.

"Stop rambling. And there isn’t another Hayden, Hayden," she tells him. "It was you. You might not have experienced it, but it was you under a different circumstance. It was you I divorced there, and it was you who got involved with this person."

As always, Jackie is right. He can’t claim every failure from that life whenever guilt demands it and then attribute this other relationship to an imaginary replacement. If he was the one who drove Jackie away, he was also the one who fell in love after she left. Hayden rubs both hands over his face and nods. "Okay. Yeah. It was me."

Her arms remain crossed. "And this relationship started after our divorce?"

"Yeah."

"Then why did you keep it from me?"

Hayden resumes pacing, though the room has become much smaller since the conversation began. "I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought it wasn’t important since I’d already left that life. You and I are still together here, and that other relationship doesn't exist here. Bringing it up felt unnecessary."

Jackie watches him make another pass across the foot of the bed. "And why are you bringing it up now?"

This is the part Hayden has dreaded. He stops pacing again. "You know how I retain memories from my other lives, right?"

Jackie’s eyes narrow slightly. "Yes?"

"It's not just the memories I retain, Jacks. It's everything."

He doesn't have to explain further because her face tells him understanding has reached her. "You still have feelings for that person…"

He nods, and Jackie closes her eyes. The silence stretches, and Hayden nearly fills it with apologies. He stops himself because if he starts, he knows he won't stop, and he still has some things to confess. So he waits.

When Jackie opens her eyes again, she looks directly at him. Her expression is controlled, but her hurting hasn’t disappeared. "Who was it?"

The first bomb has been detonated, so it's time for the other one. He starts pacing again. "So in that life, I might have discovered something about myself."

Jackie’s arms remain crossed as she waits.

"I might not be completely straight."

One eyebrow rises, though she only nods for him to continue.

Hayden draws in a breath. "I think I’m bisexual. And the person I was with after you, there, was a man."

There. He said it. Nobody died, at least no one yet, and Jackie doesn’t reach for the nearest blunt object. Her face barely changes, which somehow makes him more nervous. "Aren’t you going to say anything?" he asks.

"What do you want me to say, Hayden? If you’d told me under normal circumstances, I would’ve thanked you for telling me even if you didn't need to."

"What do you mean I didn’t need to?"

She ignores that question. "But you told me while admitting you still have feelings for someone else. I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to that."

He looks down at the carpet because he can’t keep watching her face. "I’m so sorry, Jacks," he says, finally, and he means it. The last thing he wants is to give his recovering wife another problem. But keeping this hidden would mean deciding again what Jackie is allowed to know about her own marriage. His conscience couldn't take it anymore.

Jackie bites her lip and draws in a careful breath. "Does Shane know?"

The question catches Hayden off guard. He hesitates, then nods.

Her eyes begin to shine. "Does he feel the same way?"

Hayden’s head jerks up. "Wait, what? What do you mea— Do you think it was Shane?! It wasn’t Shane!"

"Lower your voice!" Jackie whisper-shouts. It's a good thing Amber doesn't care about the world right now. Jackie presses her fingers to her forehead. Relief crosses her face, partly because Amber stays asleep and partly because Shane has nothing to do with this mess, but it lasts less than a second before everything else comes rushing back.

"Why did you think it was Shane?!" Hayden is still hysterical.

She gives him a look that suggests it's obvious. "I don't know, Hayden. Who else do you still choose to share hotel rooms with when nobody makes you? Who else do you break the universe for?"

Hayden stares at her.

"And who did you hold so tightly in the driveway I thought you were going to merge into one person?"

"You saw that?"

"You were taking too long, so I looked for you."

"It was a friendly hug, Jacks. We had a serious conversation, and we both needed it. Hugs were inevitable."

Jackie gives him a long look, apparently deciding that arguing over the inevitability of hugs isn’t worth what remains of her energy. "Okay. Then who was it?"

"I can't believe you thought it was Shane."

"Stop stalling. Do I know him?"

Hayden closes his eyes, nods, and then says quietly, "It was Cliff."

"Cliff?"

"Marleau."

Jackie blinks several times when the surname clicks, and Hayden becomes painfully aware that the window remains within jumping distance.

"The Boston player?!"

He nods.

"The one you got drunk so that he wouldn't hurt Shane?"

He winces. "Yeah."

Jackie looks away from him for the first time since the conversation began.

"Believe me, Jacks. It wasn't my intention. I didn't know that thing I did would lead to this."

There's a silence so long that Hayden starts feeling his stomach knotting.

"Have you spoken to him?" she asks at last.

"We bumped into each other once at the grocery store, and he texted after I got confined at the hospital, but I didn't text back."

"Did he text again after that?"

Hayden shakes his head.

"But do you want him to?"

He doesn't answer, and Jackie closes her eyes. Her mouth presses shut, and Hayden watches her get out of bed without another word and start toward the door.

"Jacks…" Hayden takes a step after her.

"Don’t," she tells him quietly. "Let me process this first. You're on Amber duty."

She leaves the bedroom, and Hayden remains at the foot of the bed, exactly where he insisted on standing, left wondering if he made the right decision to tell her everything.

Jackie closes the guest-room door behind her and stands there for a moment, listening for Hayden’s footsteps. None come. She told him not to follow, and he listened, which is good. The fact that his obedience feels disappointing is a problem she can deal with another day.

New pillowcases should be in the dresser. She pulls open the bottom drawer and searches through the folded linens, moving carefully because her body still objects whenever she bends too far. She finds a fitted sheet, then one pillowcase covered in cartoon bugs. It belongs to Arthur’s old bedding set, but she isn’t hosting anyone. It will do.

She has no idea what she feels. Her anger keeps colliding with her understanding of how absurd the situation is, and neither one manages to win. Hayden hasn’t cheated on her. She knows that much. A cheating husband makes choices in the marriage he's currently living, then hides them. Hayden fell in love after their divorce in another life and returned carrying memories he never consciously made. Nothing prepares a wife for that. The thought brings anger, followed quickly by guilt. She understands her husband didn’t choose to receive those memories. She understands he woke up with another life inside his head and has been trying ever since to keep it from destroying this one. However, she wishes understanding could do more.

Hayden loves her, and she doesn’t doubt that. But she also knows now that she isn’t the only person he loves. She strips the pillow and forces the cartoon bugs over it, pulling harder than necessary when one corner won't tuck in, and then wipes the tears forming at the corners of her eyes with the heel of her hand.

Hayden gets teased constantly for how openly devoted he is to her. His teammates call him a wife guy. Reporters have used the same phrase, and Hayden always looks proud when they do. And she agrees with them. He has never given her a reason to suspect he would sneak around behind her back. Even in the nightmare life, if what her husband has told her in the other room was true, whatever happened between him and that man began after their marriage ended. Still, the nightmare life took their marriage from them and left room for someone else. For a brief moment, she starts to wonder whether she also moved on in that life. What about their kids? Based on his story, she got custody of all of them, with only visitation rights given to him. Nightmare-her was that mad, huh?

"It really was a nightmare," Jackie mutters to herself. She places the pillow at the head of the bed and lowers herself onto the mattress. Her body complains about that too.

Tonight, her husband also admitted that he's apparently bisexual. To her, that isn't a problem. If she's being honest, she finds it admirable, hot even. Under ordinary circumstances, Hayden telling her he was bisexual would change very little. She might ask when he figured it out, then tease him for taking this long when he should’ve known after spending half of that Tarzan movie last year talking about how hot Alexander Skarsgård was. Then their day would continue.

But what she said to Hayden was right: he didn’t tell her under ordinary circumstances. He told her while admitting that he still has feelings for that man.

Jackie thinks back to the couch earlier that night. She watched Hayden while Hunter was kissing his boyfriend and assumed the tears in his eyes came from relief. One of the things Hayden had been hoping would still happen finally had, so his reaction made sense. Still, he watched the kiss with more emotion than she expected. His attention went somewhere beyond the television, and he avoided Jackie’s eyes once he noticed her watching. She couldn’t identify it then. But now, she can. The kiss reminded Hayden of the life he had shared with someone else.

Jackie presses both palms into the mattress and looks toward the closed door. She sighs. She can’t even decide whether she's angry at the other man, mainly because there's no reason for her to be. The man living in Boston right now hasn’t had a relationship with Hayden. He doesn't even know Hayden is carrying memories of loving him. It feels unfair to blame the man because he's never responsible for a life he never experienced.

But that doesn’t make him harmless. The possibility is still there, even if Cliff Marleau has no idea about it. Hayden already knows what the two of them can become under the right circumstances, and Jackie can’t stop wondering what might happen if those circumstances ever present themselves again.

Hayden said Cliff Marleau texted after his hospitalization and that they encountered each other at the grocery store. The thought bothers Jackie more the longer she thinks about it. Cliff Marleau lives in Boston, and people from Boston don’t usually wander into Montreal grocery stores on an ordinary morning and accidentally run into married men they shared a romantic history with in a different dimension. For a second, suspicion creeps in. Is Hayden lying to her? She doesn't know, but she leans towards no. Hayden is many things, but a liar, at least a good one, has never been one of them. Then again, he kept it from her for this long, which raises an annoying philosophical question about whether hiding something counts as lying. Jackie decides she doesn't have the time or energy to solve that tonight.

So the alternative is believing him. They really did just bump into each other, which somehow bothers her more because that means Hayden didn’t seek Cliff Marleau out at all. The universe simply dropped him into Hayden's path for some crazy reason, and Jackie is suddenly left with the bitter thought that it might be trying to bring them back together.

She wonders what would happen if Cliff Marleau appeared again. Would her husband keep his distance because he wanted to, or just because he's tied to her? Would he start resenting Jackie for being the reason he denied himself something he remembers having? And would Cliff feel the same pull without understanding where it came from? Jackie hates every question, and she hates that none of them can be dismissed as ridiculous.

The easiest answer would be to tell Hayden never to contact the other man. Hayden would probably agree. He would nod too quickly and spend the next several years proving his loyalty until the effort exhausted both of them. But she doesn’t want a marriage held together by Hayden punishing himself. She doesn’t want to share him either.

Jackie lies back against the pillow and stares at the ceiling. The cartoon bugs beneath her head make a faint rustling sound whenever she moves. Tomorrow, they will have to talk. About what? Jackie doesn't know. Probably about what Hayden wants, and then they will talk about what she wants. She needs to know whether he wants the man in his life, and she needs to know whether staying away is hurting him and whether that pain will eventually threaten their marriage. Tonight, however, she needs to decide what answers she can live with.

The guest room door remains closed. Hayden hasn’t tried the handle. He's probably sitting on their bed, blaming himself for everything. The thought makes Jackie nearly get up, but she stays with her cartoon bugs.

She pulls the blanket over herself and reaches toward the lamp. The situation remains absurd, but she can only think about it for so long before her exhausted body gives in to sleep.

Jackie wakes at five and knows within a minute that sleep isn’t coming back. Her body feels heavy from the little rest she managed, but her mind has resumed the argument it abandoned sometime during the night. She pushes herself upright, waits for the room to stop tilting, and then crosses the hallway to check on Amber.

The bedroom door opens with a faint click. Hayden gets startled in the chair near the crib, with Amber tucked against his chest, one of his hands supporting her head while he rocks her in small motions. His eyes are red, and the clothes he wore last night are still on him. Nothing about his face suggests he slept after she left.

"Jacks…"

"How is she?"

"Um." His attention drops to Amber. "She woke up a few minutes ago and wouldn’t stop crying until I picked her up. She’s fine, though. Everything’s good. You can go back to sleep."

Jackie looks at him for several seconds. The guilt hasn’t left his face. If anything, he looks even worse after spending hours alone with it. Knowing her husband, Jackie believes he's probably spent the entire night replaying their conversation and inventing punishments she never asked him to serve.

"Between you and me, I think you’re the one who needs sleep," she says as she crosses the room to take Amber from him.

Hayden lets go reluctantly, making sure Jackie has a secure grip. Once his arms are empty, he seems unsure what they are for. He slips both hands into his pajama pockets and sits rigidly on the mattress.

Jackie walks Amber around the room until her eyes finally close. She lowers her into the crib and keeps one hand near her stomach while Amber makes a quiet noise, then settles again. After a few more breaths, Jackie moves away. Hayden is watching her expectantly. He won’t sleep until they finish this. She probably won’t either, so she sits beside him.

"I’m so sorry, Jacks," Hayden begins. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Believe me, if there were some way to pluck everything about him out of me, I would’ve done it already."

Jackie exhales. "I know." She really does. "But I wish you’d told me sooner."

"Sorry."

The thing about marriage is that an apology only matters if the person understands what they did wrong. Hayden does. Jackie can see that much from his face, and after a whole night of him beating himself up over it, she doesn’t need another. She draws in a breath and straightens her back. "Enough apologies," she says. "It already happened. It's not like we can do anything to change it."

Hayden looks at her with so much remorse that Jackie wants to grab his face and kiss every miserable thought out of him. She still can’t believe this is the problem sitting between them. The hurt remains, but Hayden chose honesty. Late honesty, dragged out after weeks of avoidance and one public kiss on television, but honesty all the same. What matters now is what Hayden chooses to do with it. That's why Jackie came back into this room.

"What do you want to do about it?" she asks.

Hayden’s brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"What do you want to do about him? Do you want to be with him?"

His confusion turns into outrage. "What?! No?! I would never choose him over you."

Jackie watches him, too tired to be amused by how scandalized he looks. "You’re answering a different question. I’m asking whether you want to act on those feelings. Do you want him in your life that way?"

Hayden pauses for a bit, too long for her liking, and then shakes his head. "Never."

She tries to read his face. She's supposed to have it memorized by now. But there's something this time that she doesn't recognize. Maybe it's what happens when your husband has memories from more than one life and you really only know one of them.

Hayden's eyes widen slightly, and she watches as fear replaces the outrage. "Are you going to leave me again?" he asks. He looks genuinely scared, and she realizes he isn’t asking about some possibility he invented five minutes ago. He already knows what losing her feels like. He lived through their divorce, carried it back with him, and came here determined to stop it from happening again. It's clear her husband wants a different future this time. She cups his face and kisses him.

Hayden freezes for a moment, then reaches for her waist. Jackie kisses him deeply, hoping he understands that telling her the truth hasn’t ended them. He's still her husband, and the admission won't turn her into her nightmare-self.

When they part, Hayden’s face crumples. "I don’t deserve you, Jacks," he says, voice disappearing against her shoulder.

Jackie threads her fingers through his hair and keeps him close. "No. No. Don’t say that. I love you, Hayden. Your life is a complete mess right now, and it's so crazy being a part of it, but I love you. And I will love you until you break my trust, so don't even try."

Hayden wraps his arms around her and manages, "I won't," between uneven breaths. "I promise."

She pulls him in again and whispers, "I want you to know that I understand it isn't your fault, but that doesn't mean I'm not hurting right now."

The words send Hayden into another round of sobs, and Jackie lets him cry through the apologies she already told him he doesn’t need to keep giving. Her husband is really a big baby like that. His grip tightens, careful not to press against the parts of her that still hurt. She keeps one hand in his hair until the tension begins to leave him. The angle pulls at her recovering muscles, but she doesn’t move yet. They've gotten so used to bracing for the next disaster that, for a few minutes, she lets them stay here without trying to solve anything.

Hayden finally lifts his head and wipes his face with his sleeve. She looks at him for a second, and despite everything, one thought from last night returns to her. "You know, you do have a type," she tells him with a smirk.

His brows furrow. "What are you talking about?"

At his curious-worried stare, she continues, "Remember you said how hot Alexander Skarsgård was? I think Cliff Marleau has a pretty similar build. Tall... handsome..."

Hayden lets out a wounded whine and buries his face in Jackie’s shoulder again. She rubs the back of his head, satisfied that she managed to lighten the mood. They both need it.

"I still can’t believe you thought it was Shane," he mumbles against her shirt.

It gets another laugh out of her. The fact that she can find anything funny about this situation is ridiculous, but she guesses that’s what happens when she’s married to Hayden Pike.

Once they’ve both calmed down again, Jackie looks away, and when her gaze returns to him, she also returns to the question that still needs an answer. "So really, what’s your plan with him?"

Hayden stares at her, and then shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." Hayden rubs beneath one eye. "If I stay away, the feelings will fade. I got over my exes. This should work the same."

Jackie thinks the comparison feels a little too simple for someone he remembers loving in another life. Still, his certainty seems genuine, and she doesn’t see any point in arguing.

"Believe me, Jacks," he continues. "Aside from playing against each other, there’s no reason for us to ever be in the same place. We live in different countries. You don’t have to worry."

She wants to believe him. She really does, but Cliff Marleau has already appeared at a grocery store in Montreal, where he had no business being, on an ordinary day. And lately, the universe has shown very little respect for Hayden’s plans.

Arthur has no idea his role in the Pike house has changed when his little sister was born. No longer the youngest, he still climbs on Hayden's side of the bed on some nights and stays there 'til morning. Hayden supposes it's fine. There's no harm in letting him keep a few youngest-child privileges, at least until Amber starts demanding them.

Their "pampering Arthur day," sadly, has been buried beneath Amber’s arrival and everything that came before that. When Hayden finally brings it up again, Jackie sends him out with Arthur alone because Amber is still too young to be left with anyone else, even her brother, which is the practical explanation. Part of him suspects she also wants several hours without his face in front of her. He can’t blame her. Jackie did kiss him at dawn and did tell him she loved him, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely out of trouble after the bombshell he dropped on her a few days ago.

He tries not to take it personally, which he mostly succeeds at during the drive, entirely because of Arthur’s excited face. His son sits in the car seat, watching Montreal's streets pass while Hayden follows the route to the mall. The rest of their day is supposed to include a park, an inspection of several bushes for bugs, and macaroni from Arthur’s favorite restaurant.

By noon, Hayden finds himself in a barber’s chair beside Arthur’s. A booster seat lifts the boy beneath his cape, leaving his feet suspended above the footrest. Arthur keeps glancing into the mirror at Hayden while the barbers work around them.

In his first life, Jackie covered her mouth the moment she saw them having the same haircut, laughing while she moved between their chairs and demanded pictures. On the drive home, she kept turning around to look at Arthur, amused that their son had become a smaller copy of Hayden. This time, Hayden has planned the resemblance rather than stumbling into it. Maybe that makes the whole thing less charming. Maybe Jackie will recognize what he's trying to do and accuse him of deploying their child against her defenses, and honestly, he would deserve that.

Jackie accepted that he didn’t want to act on his feelings for Cliff. She kissed him and held him while he cried, but Hayden knows that conversation didn’t finish anything. She still needs time. So does he, though he isn’t sure what time is supposed to accomplish when he remembers Cliff so clearly.

The barber brushes loose hair from Hayden’s neck and removes the cape. Arthur’s barber finishes soon after, revealing the result in the mirror, and as intended, they match. Arthur’s hair looks neater than Hayden remembers from the first life, but the resemblance remains. He takes several pictures for Jackie but avoids sending them. He wants to see her reaction.

Arthur climbs down from the booster seat and pats his own hair as he smiles while Hayden pays. The barber turns the card reader toward him, and Hayden taps his card and leaves a cash tip.

"Do you like it, little buddy?" he asks his son.

Arthur looks between their reflections and breaks into a delighted grin, clearly pleased with the result. Hayden hopes this makes his wife smile just like it did in his other life. With all the trouble he gave her, he knows this isn't enough, but he guesses it would be a good start.

He didn't expect, however, that the trouble he assured Jackie he had no reason to see outside the ice would appear widely smiling in front of him.

"Hey, Pike!" Cliff says in greeting. "That your son?"

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for sending half of you into a panic over the music box in the last update 😭 I mainly did it to show that the music box has been trying to communicate something ever since it first appeared in the bag. And, partly, I also did it just in case I ever write a sequel and need Shane to travel to some point in the past for whatever reason. At least now I already have a setting ready to drop him into. (The evil side of me wants something bad to happen to Hayden in this theoretical sequel and have Jackie beg Shane to come back so he can stop it but idk idk 😝 I have too many WIPs to think about a sequel right now, so let's leave it at that.)

This chapter took so long because I wasn’t happy with how the conversation scenes were turning out. It was especially difficult to show that Jackie understands the whole situation while still being disappointed in Hayden, so forgive me if I spell that out a little more directly at times.

Anyway, I'm really bad at planning out scenes because the chapter count increased again 😅 I guess it's a good thing?

Thank you as always reading, waiting, and leaving kudos and comments. :))

Chapter 18

Chapter Notes

March 2021, in another life

The first weekend of the month found Hayden in a gated neighborhood in Boston after the Voyageurs lost to the Bears earlier that evening. Cliff had passed on victory drinks with his teammates and slipped away to his place. Hayden, meanwhile, had practically been pushed out of the hotel room he shared with Shane. He'd offered to stay and keep him company. He'd been ready to text Cliff and put off their plans for another night. Shane was going to be alone, and Hayden hadn't felt right walking out and leaving him there, but Shane had insisted he go see Cliff, then handed him his jacket when Hayden continued sitting on the bed. It took him several seconds to realize he was being dismissed.

Hayden still felt bad about leaving. In his first life, Shane would've been finding an excuse to see Ilya while they were in Boston. Here, he was spending another evening alone, and Hayden knew exactly whose fault that was. Being encouraged to go enjoy his own relationship by the friend whose relationship he'd ruined hadn't done much to help him relax.

The Voyageurs were also hovering much closer to the playoff cutoff than Hayden would've liked, and they'd just lost another game, so hockey was also beating his ass. Basically, Hayden was getting fucked sideways and on all other sides. Maybe Shane was right that he needed this.

"You gonna tell me this important thing or make me guess all night?" Cliff, done waiting for Hayden to get around to it on his own, asked.

Hayden looked at him and decided, for the next few minutes, not to think about hockey or Shane. He finally had something good to tell Cliff. A few days earlier, Hayden had told Cliff he wanted him to meet his kids, but he was going to ask Jackie first. That was, if Cliff wanted to meet them, of course. He'd said yes without having to think about it. And this was the continuation of that conversation.

"I already talked to Jackie," Hayden told him. "She's okay with you meeting the kids at the end of the month."

"Really?" Cliff turned towards him, his hand still resting on Hayden's knee. "How'd that go?"

Hayden leaned back. "At first, she thought it was too soon and that we haven't been together that long. She said she didn't want the kids getting attached if things don't work out."

Cliff nodded. Hayden understood his ex-wife, too. She was right that he and Cliff hadn't been together that long. Many of his things were still in Jackie's house.

"I told her I get it. But I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't sure about you. You matter to me, and I want the kids to know that."

For a moment during that conversation, Hayden had thought Jackie might ask to talk to Cliff herself, but she hadn't. She'd already made it clear that she wanted as little to do with Hayden's relationship with him as possible. Agreeing to let Cliff meet the kids was already asking a lot from her.

Cliff listened without interrupting, which helped because Hayden hadn't practiced telling him any of this. When Hayden finally stopped, Cliff gave him a small, sad smile. Hayden almost asked what that look was for, then noticed the wetness gathering in his eyes. He'd never seen Cliff cry before, and this was the closest he'd gotten. "Hey. What's wrong?"

The smile stayed as Cliff shook his head. "Nothing. Just never had anyone believe in me that much."

Hayden moved his hand over Cliff's face and then to his nape to pull him into a kiss. He didn't know what anyone else had promised him, but he was going to make sure the visit happened. He'd meant every word he told Jackie.

After the kiss, Hayden took his hand. Cliff looked down at their joined hands for a moment, then let out a breath. "Shit. So I'm really meeting them." He looked back at Hayden. "I'm not good with kids. What if they don't like me?"

Hayden thought that concern was ridiculous. People usually worried about meeting their partner's parents, yet here Cliff was, worried about elementary-school children and a toddler, and judging by his face, Hayden was going to have to take that seriously.

"With all the gifts you've sent, they already like you. Besides, the girls will literally talk to anybody." Saying that made Hayden think of how easily Ilya had charmed his children in his past life, which only made Cliff’s worry seem even more unnecessary. "Arthur might hide behind me at first since he doesn’t know you yet, but once he gets comfortable, you’re screwed. He won’t leave you alone with the space facts. He thinks that book you gave him is the greatest thing anyone's ever given him." Hayden couldn't help but smile at the thought. Jackie had told him the astronomy book Cliff had sent had barely left his son's hands since it arrived. Arthur had even corrected him over the phone a few nights earlier when Hayden included Pluto among the planets.

Cliff still looked unconvinced, and Hayden couldn't really tease him about it. He was nervous about the meeting, too. He hadn't admitted that out loud, but bringing Cliff and his children together would make their relationship more real than it had been so far. Up to that moment, Hayden had been a father to his children and then a boyfriend to Cliff. Those two roles had never overlapped, and he'd managed them as if they were separate lives, which felt ridiculous considering he was already on his second life. However, at the end of the month, that separation would be gone.

And Hayden wanted it gone, which was probably what scared him most. He wanted Cliff to know the children he talked about constantly. He wanted Arthur to show him the astronomy book in person and explain everything Cliff had encouraged him to learn more about. Wanting all of that meant Hayden was already imagining Cliff staying, and once he let himself picture that future, there was a lot more to lose if things between them fell apart.

In an attempt to give all that nervous energy somewhere to go, Hayden moved behind the couch and started massaging the tension out of Cliff's shoulders. Cliff leaned back into his hands with a sigh, and Hayden was grateful for something he could do without having to explain how scared he was too.

"Everything's going to be fine," he assured Cliff and himself. "Just don't tell Arthur Pluto is a planet."

Cliff whipped around so quickly that Hayden's hands slipped off his shoulders. "Wait. It's not?"

July 2017, in this life

"Hey, Pike!" Cliff says in greeting. "That your son?"

Hayden stills as the person he assured Jackie won't be a problem is smiling in front of him. For several seconds, his brain gives him absolutely nothing, which Cliff seems to notice. He lowers his Ray-Bans down his nose, revealing more of his face even though Hayden obviously knows who he is. Hayden continues staring, caught somewhere between wondering why Cliff Marleau is in Montreal again and remembering that he told himself that the grocery-store encounter had been a one-time thing, which whoever keeps deciding the events of Hayden's life seemingly took personally.

"Hey," Hayden finally responds. He clears his throat and rests a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Ah, yeah. This is Arthur."

Arthur has already disappeared behind Hayden's legs. Cliff smiles at the sight and crouches in front of the boy, keeping some distance to not scare him.

"It's okay, buddy," Hayden tells his son, touching the top of his head. "This is Cliff. He's Daddy's…" Hayden glances at Cliff and hesitates over what he's supposed to call him here. "…friend."

Upon hearing the words, Cliff looks up and smiles at him. Arthur peeks out from behind his father's leg and looks up at him. "Cliff?" he asks, making sure he heard the right name.

Hayden nods at his son, ignoring the blooming feeling in his chest. Cliff lifts one hand in greeting. "Hi, Arthur."

It earns him another few seconds of inspection. Eventually, Arthur steps out, still pressed against his father's side, and gives Cliff one tiny wave of his hand and greets him with his tiny voice, "Hi, Mr. Cliff."

Cliff's smile widens as he offers his hand for a handshake, which the child takes seriously. Arthur seems pleased with this arrangement. Still crouched in front of him, Cliff glances up at Hayden. "Polite kid," Cliff remarks, looking amused. "Definitely didn’t get that from you."

Hayden glares at him. "Excuse me? I’m very polite."

Cliff only raises an eyebrow, which is annoying mostly because he has a point. His attention drops back to Arthur, and after another look at the boy, he laughs. "Jesus, Pike. He looks exactly like you."

And that's just the right thing to say for Hayden’s brain to short-circuit. Jackie is supposed to say that. She's supposed to see the matching haircuts and laugh until Hayden gets annoyed with her for laughing too much. He planned the whole stupid thing because he remembered how happy it made her the first time. He wanted to walk through their front door with Arthur beside him and watch her recognize it. Instead, Cliff gets the first look.

Cliff lets go of Arthur's hand and pats him lightly on the head, and Arthur doesn't retreat this time. Hayden watches them and can't help but notice how naturally good Cliff is with children, at least with Arthur. And that's when the memory flashes in his head, how Cliff was supposed to meet his children, how worried he'd been that the kids wouldn't like him, and how Hayden had promised him everything would be fine despite his own worries. That weekend never happened.

That was when Hayden's consciousness was dropped into the nightmare life. Instead of spending the last days of the month with Cliff and his kids, he spent them moping and planning in Shane's guest room, then used one of his visitation days to sneak into the attic and travel back here. He feels awful remembering how he'd left Cliff waiting after being the one to promise him that weekend. He hadn't even given him an explanation. It's a good thing the man in front of him knows nothing about it; Hayden doesn't know how he'd look him in the eye otherwise.

His kids never met Cliff, but now, in a completely different life, Arthur is standing in front of him, four years too early, and Hayden doesn't know what to do with the fact that he's a little happy to see it finally happen.

When Hayden comes back to himself after reminiscing about his other life, he finds Cliff still crouched in front of Arthur, and his little boy is nodding.

"What flavor is your favorite?" Cliff asks.

Arthur answers with a smile, "Chocolate, with cookie bits."

Cliff stands and faces Hayden. "You got somewhere to be?" He points in a direction Hayden doesn't really follow. "We can hang out over there while your kid eats his ice cream. I'm waiting for a friend, and I could use the company."

Hayden wants to say no. Jackie trusted him, which means he shouldn't be spending time with the person he just admitted he still has feelings for. But Arthur is already tugging at his hand in the direction of the ice cream shop.

And that's how Hayden finds himself sitting on a bench, Arthur at his side and Cliff in his Ray-Bans on Arthur's other side, all three of them licking at their ice cream cones. Jackie's going to kill him. And he's just going to accept it.

"You look like you're going to shit yourself, Pike," Cliff says after a big lick of his cone. "Don't like your toothpaste ice cream?"

Hayden glares at him. They had this argument before, in his other life. Cliff, there, didn't judge anything about Hayden except for his choice of ice cream flavor.

"Mint chocolate does not taste like toothpaste, Marleau," Hayden snarled back then.

"Just admit you like eating toothpaste, Pike."

"If you think it tastes like toothpaste, maybe brush your teeth more and learn the difference."

"Hey!" Cliff scowled. "I brush twice a day."

"Could’ve fooled me, stinky breath."

"Stinky breath?" Cliff huffed. "Funny. Never stopped you from kissing me every chance you got."

"No!" Hayden shouts, coming back to himself and earning both Cliff's and his son's attention.

"Relax, Pike. I don't care if you like eating toothpaste," Cliff says with a grin.

"No, no," Hayden says hurriedly with a shake of his head. He should stop thinking about what happened in his other life because not only does it make him look crazy, but it's also bringing on another headache. "I was thinking about…"

Cliff raises his eyebrows.

"…something else."

Cliff looks at him curiously, then smirks and nudges Arthur. "Your dad always this weird?"

Arthur glances up at Hayden and then back at Cliff. He nods. "But it's okay," he says before taking another lick of his ice cream.

Hayden can't believe his son is betraying him for… this man, whatever Cliff even is to him now. He could call him an ex, except they never actually broke up, and in this plane of existence, they never really became a thing. He's just someone Hayden remembers being with in another reality, one that isn't supposed to exist anymore, although lately, between the music box refusing to stay where he put it and Jackie's comment about his time here being up, Hayden isn't particularly interested in thinking too hard about what is and isn't supposed to exist.

His musings get halted when he hears his not-ex-not-current-partner laugh at something Arthur has said. For one stupid second, Hayden thinks he could get used to hearing that, and then he tells himself to cut it out. At this point, all Hayden wants is for Arthur to finish so he can use that as an excuse to head back to the car and get away from this. Or does he?

"You watched the Finals?" Cliff asks once Hayden has eaten about half his cone.

Hayden turns to him, and he knows what Cliff is really asking about. He's just unsure if he should be talking about it with him. "Yeah, Hunter really surprised us, huh?" he says anyway.

"Old man really did," Cliff says. "It's a good thing, though, right?" The follow-up is obviously a test, and Hayden almost laughs. If Cliff knew what the two of them had done in another life, he wouldn’t need to check where Hayden stood on any of this.

"Of course. Will do the league good eventually," he says. He glances at Cliff, who seems satisfied with what he's said.

Hayden's about to add a more thought-out answer when Cliff's phone dings. Cliff fishes it out of his jacket's pocket and starts reading. Hayden can't help but notice how Cliff's expression darkens as he goes through it, even behind the Ray-Bans.

Cliff gives one small shake of his head before putting his phone back into his pocket. He takes a deep breath. "Need to go now. No reason for me to be here anymore," he says, voice low.

"Everything okay?" Hayden asks.

Cliff just gives him a look and nods.

"Okay," Hayden says, fighting the urge to ask what happened. "Thank you," he says, glancing at Arthur and only now noticing the mess around his son's mouth and on his shirt. Jackie is really going to kill him. He nudges his son. "Arthur, what are you going to say?"

The child takes another lick of his melting cone before saying, "Bye-bye, Mr. Cliff. Thank you for the ice cream."

At least that gets a small smile out of Cliff. "You're welcome, little man."

Without another word, Cliff turns and heads for the exit, leaving Hayden with no idea what the hell just happened.

March 2021, in another life

Shane realized he felt better than he had all week. He was halfway home after dropping Hayden off at Jackie's house, and his friend seemed mostly normal today. He'd been excited about seeing the kids and even argued with him about taking an Uber home later. He generally sounded more like himself than when Shane had found him standing in Jackie's house looking shell-shocked.

Still, Shane couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened lately. Hayden had asked questions about his own life, forgotten things he should've known, and reacted to old problems with shock as though he were hearing about them for the first time. It'd felt as though Shane was talking to a completely different person. Then, somehow, it stopped. He seemed to remember everything again. Since then, he hadn't asked Shane another question he should've known the answer to, and Shane hadn't caught him forgetting anything else.

That should've made Shane feel better, but it didn't. Hayden shouldn't just act like a different person for a day and then go back to normal without something being wrong. Maybe everyone had been too quick to believe Hayden had gotten over the divorce. Maybe he'd simply buried everything for the past year, and now it was messing with his head. Shane didn't know what he was supposed to do with that possibility. Maybe he should call his mom later. She could at least tell him whether he needed to push Hayden into getting help.

He turned onto his street and saw a taxi stopped in front of his house. Shane pulled into the driveway just as Cliff Marleau climbed out of the back seat and shut the door behind him. Marleau spotted him and stayed where he was as the taxi pulled away, waiting for Shane to get out.

"Hey, Hollander."

"What are you doing here?"

"Can we talk? About Hayden?"

That was enough. Shane glanced towards the houses across the street, caught Marleau by the arm, and pulled him towards the front door. Marleau followed without resistance while Shane punched his code and let them inside.

The second the door shut behind them, Shane turned to him. "Why didn't you text or call me first?"

Marleau frowned. "I did."

Shane pulled his phone from his pocket. Four unread texts from Marleau were sitting there, sent over the past hour. He'd somehow missed every one of them.

"Did Hayden know you were coming?"

"We had plans. I was supposed to meet the kids this weekend." Cliff rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "But you know he's barely talked to me all week. He finally called this morning and told me he was going to see them, then got off the phone without telling me what I was supposed to do. I didn't want to just show up at Jackie's."

Shane stared at him, wide-eyed. "Wait. You've been in Montreal this whole time?"

"I got here last night."

"And the call this morning?"

"I was at his apartment."

"Fuck." Shane doubted Hayden knew Marleau was here, too. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Cliff shrugged. "Didn't wanna make it a thing. He was off. Pretty sure he forgot we even had plans."

This was really fucked. He'd known Hayden was struggling, but he hadn't realized Marleau had been right there in his apartment when they spoke that morning. Shane had heard Hayden's side of the call and felt relieved when it was over. Now he realized he'd had no idea how it'd gone for Marleau. "I'm sorry, man."

Cliff gave a small shrug.

"I just dropped him off there," Shane said. "He's with the kids."

Cliff nodded, but his eyes moved towards the window. Shane hadn't known about the planned introduction. Hayden had talked all week about seeing the children, and he'd even written a list of things he wanted to do with them. Cliff hadn't come up in any of those plans. And with Cliff in his house, basically silently asking him for help, Shane already had a hard time imagining that visit happening today.

He invited Marleau to sit and went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. There were things he could explain, but he wanted a moment to think about which ones he could share. Cliff took the glass when Shane returned, though he didn't drink from it. He held it between both hands for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and then looked up at Shane. "What happened, Hollander?" he asked. "I thought he was doing better. Then you told me he'd had a breakdown, and he wouldn't talk to me. Honestly, I don't know what I'm walking into here."

Shane sat in the chair across from him. He wanted to have an explanation ready, preferably one that would make Cliff stop looking at him that way. All week, he'd been trying to find one for himself.

"Wish I could tell you. A week ago, Jackie called me over because he'd shown up when he wasn't supposed to. He was confused about why she wanted him to leave. He didn't seem to remember that he wasn't supposed to be there in the first place." Shane rubbed his palms against his knees. "When I brought him here, he kept asking me questions about the divorce, things he should've already known, things we'd already talked about. He seemed to be finding out about everything for the first time."

Marleau lowered his eyes to the glass.

"He was confused about things that had nothing to do with you," Shane added. "I don't think you caused this."

"Is he still doing that?" Marleau asked.

"No. It was just that day. After that, he acted normal again. But I think he still needs help. That breakdown was something else. You don't just forget parts of your life like that. And he cried so much in the car I thought he was gonna die."

"You think he should see somebody?"

Shane nodded.

Marleau's attention dropped back to the glass and nodded back. His thumb stopped moving against it, and Shane wished he'd been more careful with what he'd just said. He'd wanted to explain Hayden's confusion, but he'd also just told Hayden's boyfriend that Hayden had been crying over the end of his marriage again, though in fairness to himself, that was going to hurt, regardless of how he described it. The confidence Shane usually associated with him was nowhere to be found. Sitting there with his shoulders drawn in, Marleau looked scared of what might be happening to Hayden. For months, Shane had worried about what this man might do to Hayden, and now, watching him sit there afraid, Shane felt bad about several things he'd said.

"Hey, I know I wasn't fair to you when I first found out," Shane admitted. "I didn't even know he wasn't straight. He was still figuring that out himself, and he'd just lost his marriage. I wasn't sure either of you knew what you were doing. I'm sorry about… everything."

Cliff finally met his eyes. For his part, Shane hadn't enjoyed learning that someone else knew a part of Hayden he hadn't known existed. Also, he'd been worried about him, genuinely, because who wouldn't be? Hayden's life seemed determined to keep finding new ways to kick him in the ass. However, Shane realized being worried had also made him too quick to interfere whenever he thought Hayden needed protecting. Marleau was Ilya's friend, after all, and Shane had assumed Hayden was setting himself up for the same thing Shane had gone through with someone from Boston.

Except he'd watched Hayden start looking forward to their trips to that city. His friend still hated returning to an empty apartment, but there'd been evenings when he'd left Shane's house with somewhere he actually wanted to go.

"I've seen how you care about him," Shane continued. "Even when he makes it difficult."

"He does make it difficult sometimes." Marleau huffed a laugh. "And it's okay, Hollander. I know you were just looking after him."

"He's a complicated man," Shane went on. "With lots of baggage. But I hope you don't get tired of him. After everything, Hayd deserves to have someone." He knew he was asking a lot. Jackie had kept asking Hayden to come home when he promised he would, and Shane didn't blame her for eventually deciding she couldn't keep doing it. He wouldn't ask Cliff to be okay with every unanswered call forever either, but he just wanted Hayden to have a chance to explain himself.

Marleau finally drank some water. "I'm not tired of him, Hollander. I just need him to talk to me. I can't do much if he won't even tell me what's wrong."

Shane nodded. That was fair, and hearing it from someone else made him realize he'd been asking Hayden for exactly the same thing. He'd been grateful for his company anyway. Hayden had slept in the guest room most nights, but Shane still remembered the night he'd arrived at his bedroom door with a pillow. Neither of them had wanted to be alone, and for a few hours, they hadn't been.

And Marleau wanted to be there for Hayden too. Shane wished his best friend would let him.

"Do you think he's having second thoughts?" Marleau asked quietly. "About us?"

Shane wanted to answer no. He could remember Hayden smiling at his phone and all the evenings he'd encouraged him to go see Cliff, but none of those told him what Hayden wanted today. His friend had been avoiding a man he'd once rearranged his free time to see, and Shane couldn't explain that away just because he wanted them to work out.

"I don't know," he admitted. "You'll have to ask him."

Cliff pressed his lips together and nodded. Shane didn't enjoy being honest when it left someone looking that hurt and disappointed, but promising him something on Hayden's behalf would only make this harder later if this went south.

"But I'm rooting for you guys," Shane added. He couldn't answer for his best friend, but he could keep Marleau from spending the rest of the day wondering where to go. "You can wait here if you want. He told me he's coming back tonight. You can talk, and then maybe we can talk to him about asking for some help."

Some of the tension left Marleau’s posture. "Yeah. Okay. If you don't mind."

Shane shook his head. He could leave them alone when Hayden got back. There were things he could do upstairs, and his grocery shopping still needed doing. Having Marleau here might even help Hayden stop apologizing for everything and tell someone what was actually bothering him. Marleau set his glass down and finally took off his jacket, draping it beside him. Shane handed him the TV remote and told him to put on whichever game he wanted, then pulled out his phone. While Marleau looked through the channels, Shane stared at Hayden's name on the screen, trying to decide whether he should tell him that Marleau was here.

Marleau put the remote down without choosing a game. "I'll try him again. Just let him know where I am," he said. He took out his phone and called Hayden, switching it to speaker. Shane, no longer having to decide whether to tell Hayden, lowered his own phone and waited with him.

Suddenly, the room brightened. Shane looked towards the window and saw a white glow crawling above the houses across the street. For a moment, he thought the sun had come out from behind a cloud, but the light kept spreading across the sky.

"The fuck is that?" Marleau asked, standing up with the phone still in his hand.

Shane went to the window, and Marleau joined him. The light was coming from the direction he'd driven from. They stared at it in an attempt to understand what they were seeing, but the street only grew brighter. Whatever this was, it was getting closer. They backed away from the window, the unanswered call still ringing as the light flooded the room and swallowed them whole.

July 2017, in this life

The glow of the summer sun is right in Hayden's face when he leans into the back seat. He raises one hand to block it, squinting through the glare while buckling Arthur in. His phone starts ringing just as he gets the buckle in place. He doesn't answer until he's in the driver's seat and the door is closed.

"'Sup, Shane? Aren't you supposed to be picking up Roz—"

"Shut up, and answer one question. And don't dare lie, Hayden Pike."

Hayden pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it for a second. Shane using his full name doesn't bode well for him. "Jesus, man, what's gotten into you?"

Shane ignores that. "Where are you right now?"

"I'm at the Dorval Gardens with Arthur. We're about to go to Pine Beach. Is everything okay?"

"I don't know, Hayden. I was just there and saw you eating ice cream with Cliff fucking Marleau playing happy gay family."

"Shit." So much for Shane being too busy with Ilya today to notice anything Hayden does. Of all the benches in all of Montreal, apparently Hayden had picked one within viewing distance of his extremely watchful best friend.

"Yeah, shit. Tell me you're not doing this behind Jackie's back, I swear to God, Hayden Pike."

"Seriously, stop calling me by my whole name. It's giving me chills, and no, Jackie knows we're here. Well, she doesn't know Cliff was here because I didn't know either."

"You're telling me Cliff Marleau, who's supposed to be in Boston, by the way, just so happened to be at The Gardens at the same time as you?"

Put that plainly, it does sound terrible. Hayden still hasn't figured out what Cliff was doing in Montreal, and Shane's interrogation isn't helping him come up with an answer. He rubs his forehead with two fingers. "I don't know what else to tell you, man. That's literally what happened. We just bumped into each other," he says.

"You really want me to believe that?"

Hayden’s starting to get annoyed. Shane knows him better than almost anyone. He should know by now that there are several stupid decisions Hayden is capable of making, but cheating on his wife isn't one of them. "Jesus, Shane. I won't cheat on Jackie. You know that. I don't know why he was here, but he was here, and he saw us, and he bought ice cream for Arthur, so we had to sit and let him finish. Besides, I already told Jackie everything."

"Wait. You did?"

Hayden finally breathes. He doesn't really like being interrogated by Yuna Hollander's son. "Yeah."

The silence from Shane lasts just long enough for Hayden to realize he has accidentally given him an entirely different subject to investigate.

"Why didn't you tell me? How was it?"

"Uh," Hayden draws the sound out while deciding how much of the last few days he actually wants to unpack in a mall parking lot. "Fine, I guess. She's totally okay with me being… you know… bi, but she isn't thrilled about the whole Cliff thing."

"Huh. Really? I thought she'd be open to that. Haven't you ever talked about having a threesome or something?"

Hayden nearly drops his phone. "A threesome? Shane!"

"Sorryyyy, Virgin Mary."

"Hey, that's my line!"

And Shane just chuckles from the other end of the call.

"And have you had a threesome? Buddy? What?" Hayden closes his eyes for a second, trying to figure out how the conversation even got here.

"No? I didn't say anything like that."

Of course he didn't. It's just that for some reason, Shane is perfectly comfortable introducing the concept into Hayden's marriage like that. Hayden rubs his forehead. "Then why are you thinking about me having one? Jesus Christ."

Shane moves right past that. "Anyway, why wasn't she okay with it, though? It's just an attraction, right? It's not like you have real feelings for him."

Well, it's a good thing Hayden isn't planning to admit this bit to Shane, because Shane's going to be really disappointed in his friend. Hayden wishes he could tell Shane this isn't that simple. "I don't know, man. Jackie's just possessive of me like that," he says instead, earning him a mocking laugh and a deadpan "Right…" from Shane.

Hayden lets him laugh. Being mocked is preferable to explaining that he loved Cliff, still does in some confusing leftover capacity, and that he stayed there watching the man eat ice cream beside his son. Shane already sounded ready to arrest him without that information.

"Anyway, Ilya's plane is about to land," Shane continues. "I have to go. But we're talking about this again."

"Yeah, yeah. Go get Roz. Enjoy your break, man. Call me if you need anything. Love you, buddy."

"Bye, Virgin Mary."

"You're an asshole."

Hayden hears his best friend snicker before the call ends. He huffs a laugh before the headache he's been trying to ignore finally makes itself impossible to miss. He presses two fingers to his forehead and glances back at Arthur. Hopefully his son forgives him because the bugs at the park and the macaroni are going to have to wait.

Cliff gets into the taxi and immediately opens the airline app. He wants out of Montreal right now. There are three flights to Boston left today. The earliest one gives him barely enough time to grab his bag from the hotel and get to the airport, which makes it perfect.

He came here for Andrew. That was the whole point, except Cliff was never asked to come. Andrew had already told him there was nothing left to talk about and that he should save himself the trip. Cliff was the idiot who decided that maybe Andrew would change his mind if he actually showed up in Montreal. He hadn’t thought much further than that. His plan was to fly in, sit at their favorite Mediterranean place, and tell Andrew where he was. Then Andrew would have to decide whether he could really leave Cliff there without giving him twenty minutes to talk.

It'd been a stupid plan from the start, but Cliff booked the ticket as soon as the idea came to him. For some reason, hearing Andrew tell him not to come only made him want to be here more. He wanted to get on the plane. He wanted to be in Montreal. Some impulse he couldn’t explain kept pushing him towards the city even when he had been given absolutely no reason to believe their relationship could still be fixed.

The message that ended his plan is still on his screen. Andrew isn’t coming because he isn’t even in Canada. He’s somewhere on the actual fucking Mediterranean, doing God knows what, and Cliff would’ve known that if he’d listened when he was told not to waste the trip. Cliff doesn't know how he's supposed to feel anything but stupid about all of this.

He reads the message once more. His ex wished him well, and Cliff gets pissed all over again, mostly at Andrew, a little at himself. On the flight to Montreal, he'd worked through everything he wanted to say about road trips and schedules, trying to convince his now-ex that they could manage the time apart. Plenty of couples make it work. Half the guys in the league have wives or girlfriends who manage to get through it without seeing them every night, and somehow their relationships don't collapse whenever the team bus leaves town. Cliff could've made it work too, but Andrew never even gave him the chance to prove it.

And that's what pisses him off the most. He would understand if they tried and Andrew hated it. He could accept being told that the distance sucked too much or that hockey took up more room in Cliff’s life than Andrew wanted to give it. Instead, Andrew decided for both of them that it wasn’t worth trying. Then again, Andrew had been honest about that. Cliff was the one who heard don’t come and somehow turned it into come and maybe I’ll change my mind. He should probably stop coming to Montreal when he doesn't even know if the person he's there for wants him to.

Who the fuck understands this life anyway? Maybe the WAGs do, considering how much of their own lives they arrange around the idiots they married. Other players would understand too, if there were other closeted players dealing with the same thing he has.

He taps through the payment screen and buys the ticket. There isn't anything left for him to do here. The hotel room takes less than five minutes. Cliff hadn't unpacked anything beyond his toothbrush when he arrived that morning, so he shoves that into the side pocket of his bag, checks the bathroom once, and leaves.

Waiting for his Uber in the lobby, he opens Andrew's message again. He wants to send something back, though he can't decide whether he wants his ex to feel bad or to miss him. He thinks better of replying and locks his phone before he can type something he'll regret. He had flown all the way here prepared to fight for them, but he wasn't even given the chance. He's already done enough chasing. If the guy couldn't give him twenty minutes, Cliff doesn't owe him another fucking text.

But even knowing and believing that, he still feels awful about it. He doesn't need anybody begging him to stay, but for once, it'd be nice if someone decided he was worth fighting through the hard part for.

Inside the terminal, he checks his flight and heads towards security. Near the elevators, a familiar profile catches his attention. Cliff slows his steps. For half a second, he could swear that’s Rozanov. The man turns slightly, and Cliff sees enough of his face to become even less sure. But why the hell would Rozanov be in Montreal? That can't be him. Cliff has already had one ridiculous surprise encounter with a hockey player today. Having two in the same afternoon is just too much.

And regardless of whether it's fortunate or unfortunate (Cliff still hasn't decided), thinking about the first surprise encounter brings Pike right back into his head.

Shit.

Pike and his kid had been there right beside him when the message arrived, and it ruined the good mood Cliff had been in. He'd basically walked off in the middle of whatever the three of them were having. He winces at how rude he was. At the gate, he opens his text message thread with Pike and sends a short apology for leaving so abruptly, then thanks him for the company.

Writing that makes him remember Arthur thanking him for the ice cream even after Cliff had barely managed to say goodbye. Maybe he should've stayed another minute. He could've helped Pike with the mess on the kid's shirt or at least finished their conversation without making it obvious that something had gone wrong. Instead, he'd left them both staring after him. For a stupid moment, he wishes he could go back and do that properly. Or he could buy everyone another cone and sit with them for another half an hour doing mundane shit. Cliff catches himself smiling at the thought and corrects his face right away. He should be pissed at Andrew and shouldn't be sitting here enjoying the idea of more time with a married man, especially after meeting the man's son. Pike was just being friendly, and Cliff needs to stop doing this every time somebody gives him a little of what he wants.

But the thought of Pike licking his ice cream cone stays with him while he boards and shoves his bag into the overhead compartment. How can he keep telling himself this is just some weird association? After all, Pike had been a problem long before Andrew ever was. In fact, Cliff only approached Andrew back then at the bar because he reminded him of Pike. Cliff hadn't thought much about that while he and Andrew were together, but now, after spending part of the afternoon beside the actual hockey player, it's harder to ignore. Maybe none of this would've happened if he'd stopped fantasizing about Pike in the first place. He might've left Andrew alone at the bar and spared both of them the trouble. Then again, he hadn't kept seeing Andrew just because of a resemblance. He'd liked him, genuinely. He'd wanted the relationship to work, and he still wishes it had.

Still, there's something a little funny about all of this. Cliff has only come to Montreal a few times recently for reasons that had nothing to do with Pike, and somehow the guy keeps appearing anyway. This city has millions of people in it. Cliff shouldn't be able to cross the border and accidentally find the same man twice, especially the same man he should probably be staying away from. Yet there he always is. Maybe Montreal is fucking with him. Or maybe something keeps putting them in the same place.

Once the plane is in the air, Cliff looks out the window and watches Montreal get farther away. He thinks about the afternoon at the mall again, mostly about how little either of them had needed to do. For half an hour, he'd had somebody beside him who understood hockey without making it the entire conversation. He would've stayed until all their cones were gone if his phone hadn't interrupted.

It'd been an ordinary afternoon for Pike. He probably gets plenty of those with his wife and kids. Cliff wants that too. He'd thought Andrew might be the person he'd have it with, eventually. They hadn't gotten that far, but he'd wanted to find out whether they could, which was why he'd made this whole fucking trip.

Instead, the closest he'd come today was sitting on a bench with Pike and his son. It's a little pathetic how much that meant to him, but he loved all of it. He loved how ordinary it was, how it was just a simple ice cream time at a shopping center, how it made him forget, even for a little while, why he was in the city all along. And most importantly, he loved that it was Pike on the other side of the bench. He hadn't needed to convince anyone that sitting there together was worth doing. Until the message arrived, he'd just been enjoying himself and hoping neither of them had anywhere to be.

He wishes he'd gotten that afternoon with somebody he could actually ask to see again. Pike would go home to his wife, and Cliff would go home to Boston. Wanting more than that doesn't give him any right to it, however much he liked being there with them.

Still, there are several thousand feet between Cliff and Montreal now, so he lets himself be stupid for a minute, imagining how the afternoon might've gone if it'd been a date. He would've had a reason to ask when he could see Pike again.

Or maybe he's the one Pike and their kid come home to after a haircut. Maybe it's the two of them taking their kid out for ice cream and spending the afternoon together because they have nowhere else they need to be. It's stupid, and Cliff knows it, especially at this time in his life, but that isn't enough to make him stop. Maybe they could've had a chance under completely different circumstances, in that impossible reality where Pike could be into men and didn't already have a life with someone else.

He rests his head against the window. Maybe in another life, if there even is one.

The last few days have been strange for Jackie. She isn't angry every minute, which makes the whole thing harder to understand. Sometimes, she looks at her husband and remembers that somewhere in another life, he isn't hers. Over the past few days, she's watched him load the dishwasher, change Amber’s diapers, and do all the ordinary things he's always done around the house, only to remember that this same Hayden also carries memories of being in love with another person.

Hayden has assured her, more than once, that he’s staying with her, and she believes that he means it. She can see him trying, too. But every so often, Jackie catches him staring off somewhere, and she's noticed the headaches have started coming back more often. She knows those could mean he’s remembering anything from either of his other lives. There are entire years in his head that she knows almost nothing about. Still, after everything Hayden told her, it’s difficult not to wonder whether a hockey player from Boston is somewhere in those thoughts whenever he goes quiet and reaches for his head.

It's probably why Jackie has started checking Cliff Marleau’s social media whenever curiosity gets the better of her. She never follows him and never likes anything, obviously, but she scrolls anyway, studying pictures from games, team events, vacations, and whatever else he decides strangers should see. Mostly, she keeps wondering how this man could've ended up with her husband. She tries to imagine Hayden fitting into those pictures, then feels ridiculous.

Still, Jackie has to admit there's something interesting about the whole thing. She'd probably find the idea fascinating if her own husband weren't the one involved in it. She's been turning that over in her head during the quieter parts of the afternoon while Hayden and Arthur are out. There isn't anything she can do with the answer even if she finds one, so eventually, she tries to leave it alone and focus on the three children still at home with her, which works until the front door opens earlier than expected. Her husband and son shouldn't be home yet.

Arthur walks in, and Jackie smiles when she sees his new haircut. At least that had gotten checked off the list before something obviously sent them home early. She barely has time to take it in before Hayden, clearly with the same look, comes through the door behind him and walks straight past her towards the hallway. Her smile disappears.

She watches him vanish into the bathroom. Amber, still asleep in her arms, gets carefully lowered into the crib before she hurries after Hayden. She finds him in the bathroom, where he's already shaking two Advils out of a bottle into his palm. He shuts the cabinet and immediately heads back out.

"Hayden, what happened?"

He keeps going. Jackie follows him into the kitchen and watches him pull a bottle of water from the fridge. He swallows the pills with several gulps, then keeps drinking until nearly half the bottle is gone.

She waits until he lowers it, and then she asks again, "What happened?"

Hayden looks at her. For a second, he seems to consider keeping whatever happened to himself, but his face gives up on that. "You’re going to kill me."

"Not until you tell me what I’m killing you for."

Hayden sighs. He puts the bottle on the counter and leans back against it, his shoulders slumping. "Believe me, Jacks. I didn't know."

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw him there."

Jackie stares at him. "Him?"

"Him."

It takes less than a second. Her eyes close. "And your headache?" she asks.

Hayden somehow slumps further. "I’m so sorry, Jacks."

She looks away. She'd been telling herself that the grocery-store encounter meant nothing. Montreal is a large city, and Boston is in another country. Her husband had promised there was no reason for him and Cliff to end up in the same place anywhere other than the Bell Centre or TD Garden. But apparently, Cliff Marleau, or whatever's trying to pull them towards each other, doesn't care about any of that.

"Mommy! Arthur’s shirt has an ice cream stain!" Jade shouts from the living room, and Ruby appears in the kitchen and says, "Mommy! Can we have ice cream too?"

Jackie tells them to keep their voices down so they don’t wake the baby, then sends them back to watching TV. Then, she slowly turns her head towards her husband, who looks ready to disappear into the kitchen floor. The ice cream stain answers a question she hadn’t even asked yet.

Jackie draws in a few careful breaths. Being angry won’t help if she doesn’t know what actually happened, and Hayden already looks too miserable without her filling in the blanks herself. She pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and sits. She gestures to him to do the same. "Tell me what happened," she says.

Hayden looks at her for a long moment and shakes his head. "I’m not doing this to you, Jacks."

"Well, you clearly need to talk about it, and you can't exactly tell your friends. You can’t even tell a therapist unless you want them referring you to a psychiatrist. So congratulations. You get me."

He just keeps looking at her, and Jackie can't tell whether the miserable look on his face is for her or for himself.

"And you promised no more secrets," she adds.

He sighs and then nods. Taking the bottle with him, he sits across from her. Jackie knows exactly how absurd this conversation is going to be. Her husband is about to talk about another man he loves, and somehow she's the person he has come to with it. Part of her wishes he didn’t have to, but another part knows she'd rather hear it from him than spend another day guessing what's happening inside his head.

"Well?" Jackie says.

Hayden looks down at the bottle in his hands for several seconds. When he finally looks back at her, he starts from the beginning. He tells her how Cliff appeared out of nowhere when they were leaving the barbershop. He tells her how Cliff commented that he and Arthur looked alike. He tells her that he did it for her, not for Cliff. He tells her how Cliff bought ice cream for Arthur and him and how Shane saw him in the act and later called to interrogate him about it.

He tells her how being with Cliff brought back memories he's been trying very hard not to think about, until his head started hurting again. He tells her how he wanted to go home and get away from Cliff the whole time, while another part of him wanted Arthur to finish his ice cream as slowly as possible.

He admits he missed him. He tells her how he realized that loving her with everything he has doesn't stop him from missing someone he remembers loving too and how he still has no idea what the hell he's supposed to do with that. Somewhere in the middle of explaining all that, his phone buzzes on the table. Hayden leaves it face down.

He tells her he thinks Cliff came to Montreal for someone else, even though he has no idea if that's actually true. He tells her that the possibility has been bothering him ever since it crossed his mind. He tells her that he hates that it bothers him at all.

He tells her how watching Cliff with Arthur made his heart flutter and how Cliff was supposed to meet the kids when Hayden arrived and abandoned that future. And he tells her how having him meet Arthur completely by accident made him happy because he got to see something that had been taken away from his other life.

And through all of it, Jackie listens. She takes it all in, and when Hayden finally runs out of things to say, she bites her lip. "I thought that wouldn't hurt," she says, mostly to herself, and she watches as Hayden's face crumples.

He grabs her hand and puts it near his face. "Slap me," he says.

Jackie just stares at him funnily.

"Slap me, Jacks. Please. You did it before."

She continues looking at him with a sad smile. "You have no idea how much I want to," she says with a laugh. "But what would that actually fix?"

"I think you can make me forget him. Give me, I don't know, a Grade 3 concussion or something. That should do it."

Somehow, the joke gets another short laugh out of Jackie. Maybe that's something they should examine too, why either of them can still joke about any of this, but Jackie decides they have enough problems for one conversation. This is just how she and Hayden have always been, finding stupid things to laugh about. They would probably worry more if they suddenly stopped.

Hayden keeps her hand and rubs the back of her fingers, maybe offering a silent apology since she already told him she's sick of hearing them, or maybe because he needs to do something with his hands while hers is still willing to stay in his. "I don't know what to do, Jacks," he whispers.

Another sad smile crosses Jackie’s face. Whenever Hayden doesn't know what to do about anything, he always runs to her and expects that, somehow, she'll have an answer. It's why, in this life, Hayden chose to confide in her. But for the first time in all the years he has come to her for help, she doesn't know what to do either.

She's still trying to think of something she can tell him when the kids decide the conversation is over for them, as a squeal erupts from the living room, unmistakably Ruby, followed seconds later by Amber crying from her crib.

"I’ll go take care of it," Hayden tells her.

Jackie nods before reminding him to wash his hands first. She stays there for another moment, staring at the water bottle on the table, then decides she has had enough sitting around thinking about problems neither of them knows how to solve.

Arthur is still in the living room when she walks in. She calls him over and runs a hand through his freshly cut hair once he reaches her. Hayden really did manage to turn their son into a smaller version of himself. Under different circumstances, she would’ve laughed the second they walked through the door. She still might later, once seeing Hayden’s face doesn’t remind her of everything else that happened today. The fact that Cliff Marleau happened to see it first probably bothered Hayden more than she originally realized. Her fingers find the chocolate stain on Arthur’s shirt.

"Next time, you eat ice cream from a cup instead of a cone, okay?"

Arthur nods. "Sorry, Mommy."

"It’s okay, baby." Jackie kisses the top of his head, then smooths his hair again. "How was your day? Did you meet Daddy’s friend?"

Arthur’s face brightens, and he nods.

Jackie looks towards the hallway where Hayden disappeared with Amber, then back at her son. "Can you tell Mommy about him?"

Chapter End Notes

I’m not proud of how many times I ended up revising this chapter. Several scenes got moved to the next one, and I completely replaced the flash-sideways scene with Cliff and Shane. In my first draft, the scene mirrored "My Dinner With Hayden," except the dinner was between Shane, Hayden, and Cliff, with Shane being kind of a dick the whole time. I eventually changed it because (1) I didn’t think it really paralleled anything happening in the current timeline, and (2) I already did something pretty similar in my one-shot "My Dinner With Shane Hollander." Besides, this story’s version of "My Dinner With Hayden" is still coming, so having both scenes would’ve felt redundant. Instead, I chose a scene that happens alongside what happens in Chapter 7. I hope I made the right call.

I had to research an actual mall with a barbershop and a seating area that is near Montréal–Trudeau International Airport when I could just invent something 🤡 Also, I made Shane pick up Ilya at the airport in Montreal instead of in Ottawa because I need the crossing of paths to happen. Let's just imagine that Shane's cottage is near the outskirts of Montreal, so it's easier to get to it from Montreal's airport.

Hayden's favorite ice cream flavor here, mint choco chip, is Cal Potter's favorite, which he mentioned in his interview here. It's my favorite interview with him, and I recommend you watch it :)) Personally, mint choco chip is one of my favorite flavors, too, and my argument for it is basically the same as Hayden's, though cookies and cream remains 🔛🔝

I really enjoy doing this back-and-forth and showing the parallels between the flash-sideways and the present timeline. You can definitely tell I grew up watching LOST and then OUAT lol. I should’ve started using this structure sooner.

Speaking of TV shows, I was rewatching The Good Place while writing this chapter, and it just so happened that I was on the episode where one of the characters has to deal with having multiple versions of himself. In his case, though, he (spoiler alert!) rejects his past selves and doesn’t remember them at all. I know it's different from Hayden’s situation, but I think the coincidence is neat. However, it also made me realize I should’ve rewatched TGP earlier because I think I could’ve drawn from some of the ideas in the show while writing the Hayden and Jackie conversation when he finally told her everything.

Sorry for the long A/N! And for the long wait! Take care and thanks as always!! :))