Work Text:
The only sound audible is the gliding of skates over freshly cleaned ice.
Mack takes a few deep breaths while he pushes himself through another lap. He is the only one left in the arena, the rest of the team long gone, home to their families. It is quiet.
Mack's childhood has always been loud.
Because he has three siblings.
Because they moved a lot.
Yes.
But also because it was an endless cycle of hockey, training, tactical debrief, nutrition markers and game tape. No time to sit down and take a break. No time to think too much. Only following the plan.
He knows it's not normal to have your seven and nine year old sons wake up at 5:30am on the weekends to have them run three miles before breakfast. He knows that his dad is nothing like Paul from North Shore’s dad. Or Mary from elementary school's.
Rick Celebrini rules his household with discipline and a set of unbreakable rules. Aiden and Mack get the best equipment money can buy, extra ice time and unlimited access to work out facilities, all from the time on they join their first U10 teams.
And Mack is grateful, he really is. Rick's methods got him to the point he is at now.
First Over All. Generational Talent. Franchise Player.
The voices of Coaches, reporters and scouts echo through his head and so Mack grits his teeth and skates harder. His breath comes in short, measured bursts now. It's not enough. ‘If you can still think, you can push some more.’
That's his father's voice. Unyielding. Cold and measured as the ice underneath his skates.
Mack likes to think that his parents love him. Even though Rick has always been more coach than father, even though Robyn basically divided the siblings up into two camps, handing Aiden and him over to Rick so she could focus on Charlie and RJ.
For the longest time he thought, ‘if I just try hard enough, push myself to be better, if I can prove that I am worthy - maybe then he will see me.’
Love, to Mack, has always been about proving himself.
And he is doing fine with it. Most days.
Most days he can smile and chirp with his teammates even though he wants to scream at them to finally take things seriously. To lock in because the Sharks are an embarrassment for professional sports. He grits his teeth through post game interviews, nodding along when Toff and Wenny say stuff like “We are still in a rebuild.” “We have all the pieces.” and “The future is teal.” even though it makes him want to punch a hole in the wall.
They are supposed to be different, now that they have him.
He is supposed to make a difference and no one seems to see the tragedy of it but him.
He can feel their eyes on him every second he is awake, they are always watching, whispering, waiting. For him to make mistakes. To prove that he is not the saviour that the Sharks have been hoping for.
And yet he gets out of bed every morning, suits up every night and plays hockey. Because it's the only thing he knows.
His whole life hockey has been the thing he loved the most and simultaneously the one that caused him the most pain.
It's a catalyst.
You are tired? Skate it off.
You feel sad because you didn't get invited to a birthday party? This drill will fix it.
You can't run another mile? Do it anyway.
Everything for the ultimate goal.
But even now that Mack has reached it, Rick hasn't said the words Mack wants to hear so badly.
I am proud of you.
I love you.
Mack knows that his childhood was not normal. He knows that it fucked him up, because even now, his default is to just try harder after every setback. No breaks. No stopping to think it over.
And some days it gets too much.
It is why he is still here, after the game, after everyone else has left, firing pucks on targets in an empty net. Skating, even though his lungs feel like they will give out at any moment. Because it's the only thing he has ever known.
The sky has gone dark by the time that Mack, tired, muscles aching like it's the punishment for another loss, exits the SAP Center. While he waits for his Uber, he scrolls through his notifications.
Connor, familiar with the disappointing emptiness that comes with an unsuccessful team, offers to call.
Aiden and Lane, both still in Boston, letting him know that the Terriers won their game of the night (of course they did. Even if it's without him).
One missed call from his father.
The thought of having to sit through a game recap that highlights all of his mistakes and missed opportunities has Mack feeling so nauseous that he swipes the notification away as fast as he can, swallowing the guilt down his throat along with the rising bile.
It is a spur of the moment thing, not even a conscious decision, as he gives his driver the address. Directing him not to the Thornton's house, towards his own bed and the stifling silence of Jumbo's guest house, but towards the suburbs that are home to the Marleau family; Patty and his wife, their three children - and Will.
Will Smith had been a surprise.
Drafted fourth overall just one year before Mack, he had elected to go back to Boston College for another season, coming in like a whirlwind of energy and sunshine. His smile so bright that the guys still tease him about having to pull a Colgate collab as long as he still has all his teeth, nothing seems to get to Will. Not his scoring drought at the start of the season, not the constant comparison to Mack. He could have resented Mack for a lot of reasons, their College rivalry, his higher draft number, the way everyone seems hellbent to pit the Rookies against each other.
Instead Will had smiled at Mack their first day of camp and asked him about his favourite place in Boston. When Mack had returned the question Will had started talking - and hasn't really stopped since.
Apparently Mack's answer had him deciding that they would be best friends because he immediately declared them roommates, seatmates, partners for drills and himself Mack's personal chauffeur (he really needs to get that American license). And somehow, between Will's incessant talking, his need to constantly touch Mack in one way or another and them being together more than they're apart, Mack has gone and done the most stupid thing someone can do - he has fallen in love with his best friend.
Because Will is beautiful. Not only on the outside (no matter how many chirps he gets about his princess hair and blue eyes), but he is the most balanced person Mack knows. Always in tune with his emotions, honest to a fault, checking in with the rest of them after hard days. He is the first person that has Mack feeling like it's okay to stop; stop moving, stop thinking.
It was impossible really, to not fall for him.
And so Mack gets out of the Uber, muttering a quiet ‘Thanks’ to the driver and walks up to the side entrance Will always uses.
Sent 21:34pm
hey
are u still awake
i'm outside
He doesn't get a reply even though the read receipt turns on almost immediately. Instead, not even a minute after his texts go through, the door gets opened so fast, it almost flies off the hinges. Will stands in doorway, dressed in grey sweats and a Sharks branded t-shirt, barefoot. His hair is tousled, he clearly had already been in bed, but before Mack can even open his mouth to apologise - for waking him up, for being here, Will steps outside and pulls him into a tight hug.
That's another thing about Will. He gives hugs so freely. In celebration or consolation or just because he feels like it. Mack is trying really hard not to read into it but when Will's fingers start to run through the short hair on his nape, his traitorous heart twinges with want.
Because he wants this to mean something. He wants Will to want him, not only as a friend or teammate.
“Hey”, Will whispers and after being surrounded by only silence and his own too loud thoughts for hours the singular word is enough for the lump in Mack's throat to come loose.
He takes a shuddering breath and squeezes Will's body tightly as he holds on and tries not to cry. (‘Crying doesn't solve anything, Macklin', his father's voice says, 'clean your nose and start again.')
“Can I come in?”, he whispers back, his face hidden in Will's shoulder.
The other boy is barely taller than him but tonight that half-inch makes all the difference.
Mack doesn't know how they make it inside, with him refusing to let go of Will, but somehow they find themselves in Will's bedroom, where he mechanically toes off his sneakers and then joins Will in sitting on the bed's edge.
Will is already reaching out again, grabbing Mack's hand to warm it up between his own. He doesn't say anything but when Mack lets himself lean against his shoulder, he guides them back until they lie next to each other, pulling Mack into him until his head rests on Will's chest.
He can hear the other boy's heartbeat, fluttery and erratic.
“I am so lucky”, Mack says, eyes unfocused as he stares into the dimly lit room, “so lucky you let me have this.”
“I could never stop you. Wouldn’t want to”, Will answers.
They should really talk about this. What it means. And they will, Mack thinks, another day. Because time is all they have for now.
He relaxes back into the warm embrace, his eyes fluttering shut.
And for the first time in years he feels the storm in his mind calm down.