A/N: And the angst train returns with the aftermath of Epikegster 2014...I swear to God I don't like showing Kent hurting like this, but I also can't deny what he's been through omfg...I'm sorry about all the sadness

kvparson87: why did I just do that?

kvparson87: I knew it wasn't a good idea

kvparson87: sometimes I wish I wasn't so stupid :\\\\

tater_mashkov_falcs: kvparson87how can you say that? you very smart! tater has seen himself!

kvparson87: tater_mashkov_falcsthanks but I'm really not smart at all

tater_mashkov_falcs: kvparson87something is wrong. talk to tater about it?

kvparson87: tater_mashkov_falcsI just…I went somewhere I shouldn't have

tater_mashkov_falcs: kvparson87you go where? is you okay?

kvparson87: tater_mashkov_falcsI'd rather not talk about it but…I'll be fine…maybe. Eventually? Honestly I don't really know #HeartBroken

tater_mashkov_falcs: kvparson87you need to let it out. we talk after game tomorrow. is not choice, i will find

kvparson87: tater_mashkov_falcsI don't know that I really *can* talk about any of it

tater_mashkov_falcs: kvparson87okay, i will be shoulder for crying then

kvparson87: tater_mashkov_falcsI guess. You're a good friend Tater *heart*

tater_mashkov_falcs: kvparson87you are as well *heart* i will see tomorrow

Kent doesn't sleep much that night. He's glad that as the captain, he gets his own hotel room on the road. That way, he can cry without anyone hearing him or being there to ask him what's wrong. A few people knock on his door, no doubt because they saw his tweets, but he's not going to talk to any of them.

It hurts more than Kent ever imagined it could, and it's not even a pain he can describe, other than it's all-consuming and overwhelming. The state of ambiguity he's lived in for the last five years is gone. There's no longer a maybe or a someday. Jack's eyes were icy, his expression steely as he told Kent to get out. There's no room for interpretation. It's over.

Kent never anticipated them being over for good. Every time he looked into the future, no matter what the last five years had thrown at him, he saw blue eyes and a shy smile. Jack. He always thought Jack would be a constant in his life, and now that Kent knows he's not going to be, he feels like he's been run over by a freight train.

And then there's the guilt.

"I miss you," Kent had said.

Jack's face was already hardening when he replied. "You always say that."

Jack didn't say it back. Jack had ripped him open, left him exposed. Jack didn't miss him; Jack didn't want to see him. Kent felt raw, like an open wound, while Jack stood tall, his voice unwavering. As Kent bled, he could only think of one thing: he had to make Jack hurt the same way.

He attacked Jack with everything he had learned over the years, all the insecurities he knew Jack had. And now Kent feels sick to his stomach. As the words left his mouth, he saw the way Jack flinched, the way his shoulders started shake, the way his eyes widened from feelings of betrayal. For a few sickening moments, Kent felt satisfied with his words, too caught up in the emotion and adrenaline of the moment to realize what he said. It was only as he way driving away that it hit him, and he had to pull over.

Worthless. Fucked up.

If there had been any hope for them, it died the second Kent threw those daggers at Jack.

So he doesn't sleep. How can he, when he knows that in his nightmares, he'll hear himself say those words over and over again?

It shows in the game. Kent is sluggish, always a step behind the rest of his teammates. And it's costly. A game they should've won easily turned into a 4-3 defeat. Kent is done. He's physically tired and emotionally drained. He wants nothing more to board the bus so they can head off to the airport. He's anxious to get back to Vegas. To cuddle with Kit, have a few drinks and cry a little bit more. Maybe after that, he can figure out how the fuck he's supposed to move on.

His steps are slow and heavy as he exits the visitor's locker room, trudging down the hallway toward the parking lot and the bus. Lost in his own thoughts, Kent nearly falls flat on his face, tripping when someone places a hand on his shoulder.

"Kent. Where you going?"

Tater.

Kent sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. Even though he was in a haze most of last night, Kent remembers Tater insisting that they talk after the game. He remembered, and he had been hoping that he could slip out before Tater found him.

Kent swallows thickly and stutters out a lie. "O-oh, I—I wasn't going a-anywhere." He doesn't want to do this. Maybe he doesn't have to talk, but he doesn't want to cry on Tater's shoulder either. He still feels guilty for dumping his emotional baggage on him at the draft five years ago.

Tater raises an eyebrow like he doesn't buy Kent's lie at all, and for a moment, Kent thinks he might get out of this, but then Tater nods his head in the opposite direction Kent was going. "Come. I have place we can talk private."

Tater's hand slides down to Kent's bicep, and his grip is gentle but firm as he pulls Kent deep into the arena, to an area that Kent hasn't ever been. Tater stops in front of a storage closet, twisting the knob and swinging the door open.

"Really?" Kent questions, peering into the room. It's big, for a storage closet, but it's not exactly where Kent saw any kind of comforting/conversation taking place.

Tater shrugs. "Is best I could do on little notice."

"O-okay," Kent says, stepping into the dimly lit area.

The door shuts with a soft click and when Kent turns around, Tater is standing directly in front of him, reaching out to put his hands on Kent's shoulders.

"What happen last night?" Tater asks, his eyes filled with such concern that Kent wishes he was looking anywhere else but at him. "You not seem okay."

Fucked up. Not good enough. Worthless.

The words echo in Kent's mind and he flinches, wrenching away from Tater's grip.

Kent presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, turning his back toward Tater. "It's—you don't want to know, okay?" he says.

"Kent—"

"Alexei. Please don't," Kent pleads. He can't—he doesn't want Tater to know what he did and what he said. Tater is understanding, but there has to be a limit. He'd hate him if he said anything and Tater is the closest thing Kent has to a friend right now.

Tater gently pries Kent's hands away from his eyes. Kent looks up at him, eyes watering (dammit, he's going to cry in front of Tater again). "I am worry," Tater says softly. "Last time you be like this, it was at draft."

"I'm—I'm going to be fine," Kent says, choking on the words because he doesn't really know if he means them.

"I don't believe," Tater replies, his thumb gently rubbing along Kent's collarbone.

It bursts out of him. When he sees the worry in Tater's eyes, he can't hold it in.

"He doesn't want me anymore," Kent blurts out. Kent hopes he doesn't have to say much more, because if he did, there's no way Tater could even pretend to be friendly with him in the future, but there's something about the man that makes Kent want to spill every detail of the last five years.

Tater frowns, clearly confused. "Who?"

Kent bites his lip and looks down at his feet. "Um…Jack. He doesn't lo—" Kent mumbles, stopping with a start when he realizes he's about to tell Tater too much. "I mean—he d-doesn't want to play with me anymore."

Tater doesn't seem to notice his misstep (or is courteously ignoring it) and replies quickly without missing a beat. "You not need Jack to play. You win Cup without him."

"I—I know that but—" Kent pauses to sniffle and rub his eyes. "I miss him, okay?"

"Then why not tell him?" Tater asks.

"You don't understand," Kent answers. "It's—we were—I was—"

Kent grinds to a halt. He could tell Tater, except a) he doesn't know how accepting Tater is and b) he can't tell Tater anything without exposing Jack to a potential teammate and violating his trust again. He won't do anything that might hurt Jack again.

Kent sighs. "Look, I told him I missed him, and it just—it didn't go well at all, okay?"

"How you say it?" Tater asks.

Kent thinks about it; pushing Jack up against the door—kissing him and Jack kissing back for a second before shoving Kent off. He said I miss you the only way he knew how, but he can't tell Tater that's what he did.

Kent shakes his head. "I can't—telling you would—it's not right. I can't tell you."

Tater frowns, but nods his head. "I understand."

"I'm just—" Kent starts, closing his eyes. "The dream of us playing together again is—it's over. I didn't think that would ever become a reality."

"There is still chance—"

Kent exhales. He's going to have to tell Tater about the horrible things he said. He was probably going to find out eventually, so he might as well. Better for Tater to stop being his friend now, rather than further down the road. "There definitely isn't any chance at all. You didn't hear the things I said to him when he rejected me—I mean, when he rejected the idea of playing with me again. I—I fired every bit of ammunition I had at him."

Tater puts a hand on Kent's shoulder. "You cannot know—"

"But I do," Kent interrupts. It doesn't matter how Tater was going to finish that sentence—he knows. "I called his team shitty. I called him fucked up. Not good enough. Worthless," Kent continues, picturing Jack's horrified face at Kent's utter betrayal. It's something Kent doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget.

Kent sees horror flicker across Tater's eyes, and he immediately shuts his own. He doesn't want to see the disgusted look Tater's going to give him.

"Why you say such things?" Tater questions and his voice is upset but—calmer than Kent expected it to be.

"I—I was hurt. You can't understand how much he hurt me and I just—I've never done anything like this to anyone before but—this was—it was hard. I so badly wanted him to hurt the same way, I was hurting," Kent explains, feeling the bile rise in his throat at his own actions.

"You not need to hurt him," Tater replies sadly.

Kent lets a hiccup of a cry escape his lips. "Of—of course I didn't. But I d-did because I'm a t-terrible person," Kent says, tears falling from his eyelashes as he's on the verge of grossly sobbing.

There's a pause where Tater doesn't withdraw or say a word, but suddenly and surprisingly Tater's arm snakes around his shoulders, and Kent, without thinking, turns his head into Tater's shoulder. "I'm so sorry," Kent cries.

"Is not me you must apologize to," Tater responds softly. "So you make bad mistake. You only bad person if you refuse to apologize."

"I—I want to but—I don't know how," Kent says. "I can't call him, he doesn't have like a Twitter or something, and I'm not showing up on his doorstep again. It's—it's over. I don't have any way to contact him."

"You must try," Tater answers. "Consider other ways."

"I—I guess," Kent says, though he doesn't know what other ways there are. He pulls away from Tater, wiping at his cheeks with the sleeves of his dress shirt. "I—we have to stop doing this," he says, chuckling wetly.

Tater shrugs. "I have no problem."

"It's—it just seems like every time you see me, I've having some kind of emotional crisis," Kent continues. "It must get tiring."

Tater shakes his head. "You need person to talk with. I am good listener. And I want to help."

"I can't imagine why," Kent mutters.

Tater grabs his chin, lifting his head so Kent is looking into his eyes. "You make mistakes. You have hard time. But you are good person. Tater happy to be here for you."

Kent blushes, trying to ignore the buzzing under his skin. "W-well. Thanks," Kent says, lowering his eyes the second Tater releases his head.

"You are welcome. Now you must go grab bus," Tater says, nudging Kent toward the door.

Kent laughs. "I think you mean 'catch' the bus."

Tater grins. "Oh yes. That is what I mean." Tater walks with Kent until they're back outside the visitor's locker room. "I go this way," he says when they get there, pointing back over his shoulder.

Without thought, Kent reaches up and pulls Tater down into a hug. "Thanks," he says again.

"Anytime," Tater answers, squeezing Kent's arm before he turns and starts walking away.

"I'll see you on Twitter soon!" Kent calls after him.

Tater turns around, beaming at Kent. "Yes! I see you there soon!"

Kent waits until Tater is out of sight to head toward the bus. It takes most of the night for the buzzing to finally calm.