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Zammy had always been special. Zane wasn’t sure if his friend realised it, but he’d always glowed in a way other people didn’t. He’d been quiet as a kid, sure, but he’d been fierce, too. When shit was said in the locker room that he didn’t like, he’d make it known—not with anger or a big show, but with a disappointed little frown, a pointed word.
From the very first day, Zane had wanted to be around him. Feed off that quiet certitude. Zammy didn’t need attention from other people to do what was right, to work hard and get stuff done. He did it because there was something inside him that pushed him forwards, and Zane wanted a taste of that.
Even when Zane started to get a little covetous of Zammy’s time and focus, he hadn’t realised what was happening. Maybe if he had, he could have stopped it from growing into the beast it eventually became.
Zane would complain to his mom every weekend Zammy couldn’t stay over. Would complain that they didn’t go to school together. That they had different homework. That Zammy had other friends, and why didn’t he invite Zane along? Did he not want to spend time with him?
His mother, being a straightforward woman, always told him to chill the heck out. “Just because you’re not his only friend doesn’t make you any less special,” she’d said, but it’d gone in one ear and out the other.
Maybe Zane didn’t have to be Zammy’sonlyfriend, but he would be his best one. The friend Zammy loved the most. When they got to the NHL, and they did a soft piece on Zammy, he’d talk about how Zane was his closest friend, his biggest inspiration, the one he depended on the most.
There was nothing wrong with wanting that. He wanted to be dependable. A good guy.
And then Zammy confessed that he was gay.
Zane honestly didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d spent enough time staring at the guy to see the signs, but Zane had thought his friend was just being awkward with Omegas. He would try to help his friend out until he became fixated on being involved in Zammy’s first time having sex. He’d scope out Omegas at parties, asked about them, made sure they were good enough for his friend—if that were even possible.
Turned out Zammy didn’t go for Omegas at all.
Zane had tried to be cool about it. He didn’t freak out and say something crazy like ‘You’re not allowed to be with any other Alpha than me.’
It’d fucking short-circuited him. He hadn’t known why at the time: Was he homophobic? Why did he hate the idea of Zammy being with an Alpha?
Why did it fill him with rage?
He’d pushed it all down, and kept it all in, and focused on being the best friend he could be. Defended Zammy on the ice and supported him off it. They’d hung out constantly, would watch dumb series on Zammy’s bed, legs tangled, Zane soaking up the way it felt to have Zammy safe and close. Whenever Zammy left, Zane would bury his face in his sheets and gulp in the smell of their mixed scents, trying to ignore how hard it got him, how feral.
Zane had learnt that there were things he could only feel in private. Learnt how to keep them there, folded neatly in the darkness. He didn’t react when Zammy smelt like other people. Didn’t whine when Zammy skipped on hanging out together to do homework or rest. He took things Zammy gave him and didn’t beg for more.
Getting drafted to different teams ripped the seams of his carefully ordered world.
It hadn’t been a surprise, obviously. They were both projected to go in the first round. Unless a miracle happened, they’d be split for the rest of their lives.
Denver wasn’t even bad. The guys in the affiliated AHL team were fun but dedicated to the team—it was a perfect environment to grow in.
Instead, Zane had wilted.
He knew in his heart that what had happened to him that year wasn’t normal. It wasn’t just being a good friend or some funny quirk of his. If he wasn’t playing hockey, he was thinking about Zammy. About what he was doing. Who he was with. If he was happy and safe. He’d wonder what Zammy had eaten that day, if he’d slept well, if his muscles were sore.
He’d track Zammy’s games obsessively. Each time Zammy got a goal, Zane’s body would light on fire, knowing what that meant.
That night, Zammy would come. Maybe he’d jerk off. Maybe he’d go out and flirt with some Alpha and get his back blown out by them. Maybe it’d be good and maybe it wouldn’t.
All Zane knew was that with him, it’d be better.
The truly crushing thing was that Zammy didn’t seem that interested in him anymore. He returned his texts. Didn’t call. Zane had prepared to be physically apart, but he’d been naïve enough to think they’d be in constant contact. Had imagined talking on the phone for hours until they fell asleep to each other’s voices. Imagined video-chatting every day, sending pics on the road, sending texts every morning and every night to wish each other well.
Zane hadtried, and Zammy had left him in the dust.
It’d been one of Zane’s teammates who had managed to snap him out of the awful place that had put him in, pulling him aside and getting right in his face.
“What the fuck is going on, man?” he asked. “You’re losing weight. You’re spaced out all the time. If you’re taking something, you can tell me.”
“I’m not on anything,” Zane protested.
The teammate hadn’t believed him, so Zane confessed.
“I’m just homesick. I know it’s stupid. I’m living my dream. I’m just missing…I’m just missing some people back home.”
