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It’s fine

//It’s always fucking fine [DELETED]

Tell Yelena thanks for coming out for drinks I know it was inconvenient

Maybe see you at the all star game

Oh please we both go

No one better on my team, no one better on yours

Yes I will see you then

CHAPTER 53

Henri watched Dylan disappear to go meet Sokolov. It didn’t surprise him, not really, but it still stung.

Henri had little experience with relationships. Most of his ‘relationships’ were just long-term hookup partners, no feelings involved. It was too hard to invest feelings in something when his career was so unstable. The travel, the trades, playoffs, his home in one place during the season and another during the summer. Don’t build on an unstable foundation.

But even if Henri had been a boyfriend before, a real one, this was out of his depth. What did you do when your partner went out for drinks with their ex? It wasn’t about trust—he knew the kind of man Dylan was, knew that Sokolov had gone scorched earth when he left—it was about how Dylan would be when he got back to the hotel. Sokolov had some control over Dylan still, and he seemed to wield it to put Dylan in a shitty mood.

Henri sat with Novak while the team drank and listened to him bitch about Sokolov before Henri distracted him by asking about his daughter’s upcoming birthday. He’d been keeping that one in his back pocket and was glad to see it worked: instantly, Novak brightened and took out his phone to show Henri pictures and party decor and insist he come to the party.

“A five year old’s birthday party?”

“Half the team’ll be there. Don’t worry. There’ll be grown-up stuff too.”

Henri realized uncomfortably that this was normal, to be invited to a teammate’s kid’s party, but Henri had never made it past the level of events-everyone-is-invited-to before.

Knox regretfully kicked them all out of the bar at midnight, citing the early flight. They all groaned, but Henri saw their relief. The celebration was needed, but so was the sleep. No one wanted to be a party pooper and admit it, though they all dutifully closed out their tabs and went to their rooms. Henri didn’t know which room to go to, so he settled for his own. Give Dylan the space to decompress if he needed it.

Henri settled onto one side of his double bed and pulled up game footage and interviews. Ignored the distant look in Dylan’s eyes as he answered questions, obsessed over the anger in Sokolov’s. There was an unearned smugness in the way he dismissed the Turkeys, a mean edge when he complimented Dylan’s play, “despite a center not able to keep up.”

“A true credit to Everett that he can do what he does with no support.”

Fuck that guy.

Unfairly, he wondered what Dylan had ever seen in him. They’d been kids, completely different people, and Sokolov was handsome. Probably charming when he wanted to be. Obviously he gave zero fucks about whether Henri liked him or not. A strange choice, because if he were nice, then Henri might feel conflicted. All this did was solidify Henri’s dislike.

Unless, of course, it was to try to undermine Dylan’s opinion of Henri. Like he still held that position in Dylan’s life where he got to influence how he felt about people. Was Sokolov the one misreading things, or was Henri? Or was there no read at all, simply Sokolov being petty and jealous?

Henri exited out of the interviews and went back to game footage. There were still emotions in every play, but intent was easy to deduce, cause and effect more concrete. He was halfway through the third period when there was a knock at his door. Henri froze, wondering if a teammate had the wrong room, and forced himself out of bed only when there was another knock, a little louder.

“Yes—?”

It was Dylan, still in the outfit he’d worn out to see Sokolov. He looked so tired and uncertain. “Can I…?”

Henri held the door wider for him, not used to Dylan seeking permission for something Henri freely offered. He shut the door as soon as Dylan was inside, confused by the nervous energy radiating off him.

“I didn’t wake you up?” he asked, toeing at the carpet.

“No,” Henri said. He held up his phone. “I was rewatching the game.”

“What?” Dylan seemed caught off guard by this. “Why? We just played it.”

“I always rewatch the games. Sooner is better. When it’s still fresh. To spot mistakes,” he added lamely.

“Hen, you don’t make mistakes.”