Chapter 1
Jagger knows the drive from Evergreen to Westbrook by heart.
He can do it in his sleep.
Hell, he basically has, fucked out, bone tired, and racing to make morning practice in time.
He always did, of course, with ten minutes to spare.
The drive still manages to feel unfamiliar now.
Maybe because it's been two years since he called Westbrook home, since he loved the city and it bothered to love him back.
Or maybe because he's in the passenger seat, his thigh shaking beneath his husband's hand.
"We do not have to go," Elias says.
It's probably the tenth time he's said it.
The first was when Jagger got the initial call from Antonio.
Their best man duties were split down the middle in a sensible fashion.
Antonio was put in charge of the bachelor party.
Jagger was put in charge of making sure everything runs smoothly on the wedding day.
"I just want you to know now," Antonio had said, and it was obvious that he was building up to something, "R.J.'s asked me to invite the guys."
The guys
.
It was a phrase that meant something different now.
That meant lounging in Beau's backyard, swapping Hardy's fifth beer for a water, openly ogling Elias while he and Westin play fetch with Orion and Freya.
But from Antonio, he knew what it meant.
He's seen them all in the past two years since he became a Mustang—but only on the ice or in passing at the PHL awards.
Only one of them has pulled him aside and apologized.
One.
And it was a fucking rookie.
"Honestly, I'm down to just go get pizza or something," Remy says from the backseat.
Jagger jumps.
He'd kind of forgotten he was there.
"I don't really like strip clubs."
"No." Elias mock gasps.
"You?"
"The guys in Kingsford went to them a lot.
Made me feel all...
slimy."
"I would kill to see Brooks and Prescott at a strip club," Elias says.
"Sounds hilarious.
And pizza sounds good.
We could even get salad, Jagger!"
"We're going," Jagger says sharply, like he does every time.
Yes, he gave the whole of himself to a team that ended up gleefully shattering him into a mosaic.
But it's fine.
It's just one night.
One night for one of his best friends.
He loves R.J.
He's put in the work to make amends, including inviting Elias to his bachelor party.
Jagger wants to show up for him.
And it doesn't hurt that Elias booked them a suite at The Grandeur, which he's promised profusely to make good use of after.
"What are the odds that someone gets in a fight?" Remy asks.
"Totally not wondering because I have a bet going with Beau or anything."
"Nobody's fighting anyone." Jagger looks sternly at his husband.
"Right Elias?"
"Yes." Elias nods.
"I will be on my best behavior."
Remy laughs at that.
He launches into a tirade about a comic book he's reading, which he insists is somehow relevant, but Jagger can't pay attention, too busy watching the number drop on the GPS.
Seven minutes til they arrive, then six.
He remembers his first day in the Westbrook locker room, how nervous he'd been.
How Antonio grinned at him, said, "Thank fuck we had second pick.
If I had to play against you, I'd shit myself."
Everyone laughed then, the ice broken.
Five minutes.
He remembers the call he got late at night when Omari was arrested for being drunk and disorderly after a Thimax game, dragging himself out of Elias's arms to go bail him out.
Four minutes.
Forbes at his second wedding, throwing his head back laughing, passing Jagger another shot, which he immediately passed off to R.J.
Three minutes.
The two hour phone call with Prince when his kid broke his arm falling off a ladder and scared the shit out of him.
Two minutes.
Slamming into all of them when they won their first Champion's Cup, their second.
Calling Elias from the locker room after they won their third, screaming, "I DID IT."
Elias replying, "Of course you did, my champion."
A set of hands wrestling the phone away, another spraying him with champagne.
"Jagger," Elias says softly, snapping him back to the present.
The car's no longer moving, parked beneath a glowing pink sign.
"Just...
give me a minute."
Elias gives Remy a nod and he moves to open the car door.
"Here if you need anything, Hal," he says, flashing a smile before he goes.
Jagger smiles back, but it doesn't last long.
"Fuck.
What am I supposed to do?
How do I act normal around them?"
"They will be drunk," Elias offers.
"And there will be naked ladies.
No one will notice you making out with your husband in the corner."
Jagger smiles softly and Elias reaches out, cups Jagger's cheek with his hand.
He strokes his thumb up and down and Jagger leans into it hard.
"I'm glad you're here," he whispers.
"Yes, me too.
Has been years since I've been to a strip club.
My husband is very strict."
"Fuck off." Jagger laughs, shoving Elias's chest.
Maybe on another night, Jagger would feel weird about being surrounded by naked women with his husband who can actually be attracted to them.
But his anxiety is sharpened to a point, narrowed in the direction of the far too familiar faces waiting for him inside.
"Just remember, their lives are very sad," Elias says.
"Oh please."
"They are!
You are so much hotter than them.
And you have how many Champion's Cups?"
"Four," Jagger whispers.
"Hmm?
Louder."
"Four," Jagger says, laughing.
"I have four Champion's Cups."
"Nobody in that building can say that," Elias says, leaning in to kiss him.
"Just you.
Just Jagger Fucking Maynard.
Okay?"
"Okay," Jagger repeats.
He kisses Elias back, probably deeper than he should in a strip club parking lot.
But he needs it.
Needs to feel moored to something and needs that something to be Elias.
He pulls back breathing heavily and Elias smiles, trails his thumb down to Jagger's lips.
"None of them can kiss like you either."
"And how would you know?" Jagger grins, pushing the door open.
Elias follows, locking their hands tightly together.