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“When you said that, it made me realize the difference between you. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot, but uh. You let me take care of you. You let me cook for you. And do your laundry. And when we shower together, it’s not just sex. You’ll let me help you clean up. And you’ll let me do this.” He pinched the side of Henri’s leg. “I know I’m being overprotective, but that’s because I want to take care of you. And I like that you let me. So I’m sorry if I ever overstep. I just hate seeing you hurting, and I’ll do anything I can to minimize that.”

“Dylan.” He gulped and dared open his right eye just a sliver to gauge things. Dylan’s focus was on smoothing out the skin around Henri’s knees. He looked so intent, his attention on the very thing he’d talked about—taking care of Henri—as if the words and their implications were nothing. A side thought in comparison to the physical comfort he could offer. He closed his eye again because it did something to his heart to watch. “I’m sorry I said that. It was unfair. Of course I know that it means you care. I care too.”

“Oh, I know.” Dylan’s voice was teasing. Henri could hear the smile in it. “You think anyone else in this state could get me to wear this stupid sling? You don’t have to apologize. But thanks.”

They fell silent after that, Henri returning to a puddle of loose limbs and no thoughts. He was so out of it, it took him longer to realize than he should’ve. The slow but methodical way Dylan’s hand moved up Henri’s legs, luxuriated in his thighs but didn’t stop. Traced the lines of Henri’s hip bones.

His cock wasn’t as unaware as Henri was; he was already half-hard when Dylan’s hand wrapped around him through his shorts.

Henri’s eyes flew open. Dylan was watching him with a hooded gaze.

“I thought—” Henri started with a voice sleep-rough and gravelly.

“I can’t change my mind?” Dylan stroked him once and then trailed his fingers down to cup his balls. “I’m probably no good with my left hand.”

Henri didn’t care if he was about to get the worst hand job of his life. He wiggled out of his shorts, pushing them down to his knees. “Don’t hurt your shoulder,” he warned.

Dylan winked. “Wouldn’t dream of it…”

turkeytalk (June 15, 2024): OMFG THEY DID IT despite giving me AT LEAST TEN HEART ATTACKS the Turkeys won game six!!! We’re heading back to Ohio for ANOTHER game seven

↪ gobblegoals: this is the most insane playoff run in the history of playoff runs. has this ever been done in nhl history?

↪ turkeytalk: This is the maximum amount of games possible for an NHL team to play (28 total). Before this series, the record was 27 games by the Motor City Racers in 2021 (lost to the Prowlers). Several teams have gotten to 26 games before (Philadelphia, lost; Calgary, won; Quebec, won; Florida twice, one win and one loss).

↪ gobblegoals: so either way it’s a record.

↪ turkeytalk: Yep. Just have to wait until Monday to see if it’s a good one or a bad one

CHAPTER 76

It felt like game six ended, the locker room filled with euphoria and open affection for their teammates, and then Henri blinked and he was in the guest locker room in Ohio, dressing for game seven. Every time he looked around, he was hit with a wave of deja vu. All these games blended together. In a week, he’d never be able to unravel them in his memory.

He finished off another energy gel, the goo thick on his tongue, then went back to tying his skates. Faded pink laces. He’d need to get new ones soon.

A whistle drew his attention. Not the sharp, uniform one from a ref, but that two-note, uneven one Dylan occasionally broke out during practice. Sure enough, when he looked up, Dylan was in the center of the locker room.

“I’ll make this quick, I promise,” he said once they’d all settled down. “Hey. We made it.”

There were a few laughs, and just like that, the tension drained out of the room.

“It’s just one more game, babes.” His hair was slicked back, but his beard was wild. Henri had the insane thought that maybe Dylan would let him trim it later. “You’ve all got one more game left in you.”

Novak clapped his hands together twice. “Fuck yeah, we do.”

“There’s nothing to save it for. I know we don’t have much left in the tank. No one has worked harder than us to get here, not ever in the history of the fucking NHL. We can do this. I believe in every single person in this room. I’m proud of every person here.” He made a point to look them each in the eye; he winked when he got to Henri. “Regardless of how it goes on the ice tonight, no one can take away how incredible we’ve played together. This is it, babes.”

“This is it,” Novak echoed, and then it slowly rippled through them like waves. “This is it this is it this is it…”

It was still ringing in Henri’s ears during warm-ups, while they waited in the tunnel, through the National Anthem, on repeat like a lifeline until it suddenly went silent. He was at center ice, face-to-face with RJ Russell once again while the noise of the fans was a constant buzz around them.

“Hey,” Russell said, right into the newfound static in Henri’s head. “Good luck.”

Henri swallowed. He couldn’t see any trace of snark, just genuine sentiment.

“Thanks,” Henri said stiffly. “You too. But not too much luck.”

“Don’t worry.” Russell bent down to square up for the face-off, mirroring Henri. “Won’t need it.”