In Every Universe

10. Cameron

TEN

CAMERON

Some guys were in the NHL because of their deft stick handling, their sick goal scoring, their leadership skills, their competent defensive plays.

And then some guys were Cameron.

He knew he was good at playing hockey, but he also knew he wasn’t great at playing hockey. And his skills always slipped when he was emotional. When he started getting in his own head about what he was contributing to the team, he always came back to what kept him up his first season. The aspect of his game that always got praise, no matter what else was happening on the ice: His toughness. His big body. His willingness to fight.

There was nothing like going into a scrum and knowing that whatever happened, Zacky had his back. Cameron didn’t love fighting, but he knew his role, and he didn’t mind it. But picking a fight over a hit that—while Cameron didn’t like it—wasn’t strictly speaking illegal, just to justify his existence on the ice that night, wasn’t his brightest moment.

Kyle Johnstone, a big defenseman for Vancouver, let him have it, getting a good grip on the collar of Cameron’s jersey and not letting Cameron gain any ground. The hits Cameron got in were knuckle-on-helmet and were more of a punishment to him than the guy he was fighting. Johnstone got a few good hooks in though, and Cameron skated to the penalty box knowing he would have a shiner the next day.

Eddie brought him his stick, helmet, and gloves, and he got a “good job, kid” out of him, so it was one person who wasn’t pissed at him.

He sat for five, regretting it already. Zacky had his own head injury to deal with, and Cameron was bringing him home another one.

When he got back to the bench, Coach Hoffman didn’t say anything, but he patted him on the shoulder in approval. At least his bad choice got hockey approval, and when it was time for his next shift, he got put out with the rest of his line.

Zacky was waiting up for him when he got home, after he got medical attention, did a full cooldown, hopped in a hot tub to relax some muscles, and took a long shower, dragging his feet on his way home.

He was expecting disappointment, but when Zacky looked up from the kitchen table, coloring book that he was coloring one solid color in front of him, all Cameron saw was concern.

“I’ve been so fucking worried.”

Fuck. Cameron was an asshole. Of course, Zacky would be worried. Cameron was nursing an injury to his pride, and Zacky was home all alone, trying so hard to obey the no-screens rules, without so much as an update from Cameron.

“I’m sorry,” he started, dropping his backpack to the ground and pulling his beanie off his head. Zacky made his way over to him and approached cautiously, his fingertips distressingly gentle on his chin and cheeks as Zacky inspected his face. A thumb brushed over his cheek, his pointer finger ghosting along the outer edge of his orbital bone, but leaving the little butterfly bandage keeping a tiny split above his eye closed alone.

Zacky was close, and while they had never shied away from touching each other, it had never been like this—even when Cameron had sustained a functionally identical wound to the one he was currently rocking, and Zacky had insisted on helping him change Band-Aids. Every other time he’d had Zacky this close to him, it had been vaguely medical. Now, Cameron was fighting the urge to put his hands on Zacky’s waist, to keep him close, because it was comforting to have him pay Cameron attention like this.

He knew that Zacky was touching him so softly because he was looking at his husband’s face with a split eyebrow and the promise of a black eye in the morning. But Zacky’s hands weren’t on a Cameron in a different universe. They were on him , hockey player Cameron. Platonic Cameron. He was a placeholder for whatever Zacky was feeling. But he wanted Zacky to keep touching him.

They stayed like that, planted firmly in this shared moment, until Zacky finally dropped his hands. Cameron started plotting how to get that specific touch back and followed Zacky into the kitchen like a puppy. Zacky grabbed their bag of pebble ice from the freezer and scooped some into a sandwich bag, then found a clean dish towel in a drawer. Every day, Zacky fit better and better in this space. Cameron didn’t even know that’s where they kept their dish towels.

Instead of handing it over to Cameron, he headed into the living room and plopped down on the couch. “C’mere.”

He patted his lap, and Cameron didn’t feel like he made a decision before lying down on the couch and putting his head on Zacky’s thigh. Zacky wrapped up the ice in the dish towel and gave it to Cameron so he could place it where he needed it. And when one of his eyes was covered and the other was closed, Zacky started petting his hair. He’d buzzed it recently, after getting frustrated with his weird cowlick again, and the gentle way Zacky was smoothing over it was shockingly relaxing. He’d pick this over a massage.

“When I woke up that first morning and found you in the kitchen, the first thing that seemed wrong to me was how short your hair was.”

“Is it longer where you’re from?”

“Yeah. After you quit and didn’t have to shower four times a day, my mom recommended her stylist, and she gave you some good pomade.”

“That’s all it takes?”

“And a good cut. And not washing it several times a day. You were drying it out.”

“No option there for now.” He shrugged. He didn’t mind the buzz. It was easy, especially considering how often his hair got wet. “Do you like it better longer?” The second he said it, he realized he was fishing for something.

“I thought I did. And when I picture my Cameron, it’s long. Well, long enough to style. But I forgot how cute it is like this.”

Cameron wasn’t sure what to say to that, but it made him warm. He let silence fill the room as Zacky continued playing with his hair. Cameron shifted the ice pack to a slightly different part of his face, and Zacky put a hand on his chest, solid and reassuring. Cameron covered it with the hand not holding the ice pack, and Zacky threaded their fingers together.

“I’m sorry I brought home another head injury when we’re already dealing with one.”

“I broke the rules and watched that little segment. Leading up to the fight, and then the fight.”

“Fuck. I thought that my dignity wouldn’t be entirely in the garbage because you may get the play-by-play, but you wouldn’t have to see how badly I lost that fight.”

“I would have done the same thing in that situation. And Johnstone is massive. It wouldn’t have ended differently if I’d gone swinging at him.”

“Are you going to fight when you get back on the ice?”

Zacky laughed in one burst of sound. “I’m not getting back on the ice.”

“What do you mean? Team medical and the neurologist both think you’ll fully recover.”

“I haven’t played hockey in three years, and suddenly I’m going to get out on NHL ice and know what I’m doing?”

“It’s muscle memory. And once you’re good enough to get back on the ice, you’ll be good enough for screens. We can go through video.”

“I already fully emotionally processed quitting hockey. I don’t know if I even want to get back out there.”

Cameron sat up, dropping his ice pack to his lap and twisting to look Zacky in the eye. “I’ll support whatever you want to do. But the best part of playing is playing with you.”

“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily. I mean, even if I retired, where else would I go? I’m going to be your problem for a while longer, at least.”

Cameron didn’t want Zacky to be his problem for a while. He wanted Zacky to be his problem forever. If Zacky quit in this universe too, would Cameron quit with him?

He sat back on the couch and pulled Zacky into his arms, guiding Zacky’s head to his chest with a gentle hand. “Let’s see how it plays out. No rash decisions until both our heads are good.”

“Okay,” Zacky said, letting himself snuggle in. That gave Cameron some time to figure out how to convince his best friend to not leave him.