A/N: We're finally starting to reach the end of extremely sad Kent moments to moments that are less sad (but not necessarily happy yet? You'll have to wait until chapter 8 to see what I mean by that lol). But anyway, this fic is beginning it's final ascent...things are looking up so :)))) Hope y'all enjoy!
"You only bad person if you refuse to apologize."
Kent hasn't tried to apologize to Jack yet. It's not that he's refusing to or anything; it's just that, well—Kent has a talent for avoiding his problems. So he doesn't do anything, even though he knows that the longer he lets this fester, the harder it will be to have that conversation with Jack.
Then Jack signs with the Falconers, and Kent knows there's only so much longer he can put it off. Any other team and he could avoid Jack off the ice indefinitely, but he's on the same team as Tater. When they play each other, Tater will be there too. Tater, who knows exactly what Kent has done, and is too good a friend to let him run away from it. Come hell or high water, Kent will have to apologize the first time they play against each other.
He could act preemptively. He could call Jack's dad and beg him for Jack's number, or he could—actually, that's about his only option, but still, he could still try that, instead of sitting around, waiting—no, dreading that first game.
That's what he's doing—sitting on the bed in his hotel room, trying to distract himself from the sinking feeling in his stomach—the night before the game, when his phone buzzes.
Direct message from Alexei Mashkov!
Kent frowns. Tater has never DM'd him before—they've only ever talked through tweets. Kent shifts uncomfortably as he swipes his phone open. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why Tater is DMing him instead of tweeting him.
*Twitter Direct Messages with Alexei Mashkov*
Alexei: hey
Kent isn't sure that he wants to have this conversation right now, but if he doesn't, it'll only make tomorrow that much more awkward.
Kent: Hi
Kent: What's up?
Kent knows he's deflecting; he knows why Tater messaged him and he knows that Tater knows that he knows. But he'll fight to put off the inevitable as long as he can.
Alexei: we play tomorrow
Alexei: i am check in
Kent: Oh
Kent: Well…I'm fine…hbu?
Alexei: i am good
Alexei: talk to jack yet
Kent sighs; Tater doesn't have any interest in letting him beat around the bush.
Kent: Uh…
Alexei: i take that to be no
Alexei: why
Kent: How am I supposed to talk to him?
Alexei: i say you must find way
Kent: What other way is there?
Kent: I can't call or text him
Kent: I know he sends my emails to spam
Kent: I won't show up on his doorstep again
Kent: So what does that leave me?
Kent: Groveling to his dad?
Kent: Bad Bob won't listen to me
Kent: He never has
Kent: He has to take care of Jack first
Kent: And before you suggest it, tomorrow after the game is a bad idea cause Jack is always super ornery after games
Alexei: excuses
Alexei: sound to me that you avoid
Kent: Damn right I'm avoiding it!
Kent: You didn't see the way he looked at me…
Kent: I don't know that I can look him in the eye ever again
Alexei: so you not want to apologize
It's just letters on his phone screen, but Kent can hear the accusatory tone to Tater's words—and the warning. And he'll admit that on some level, in some little piece of himself, Kent would rather not face Jack, but the bigger piece of himself is too guilty to go forever without apologizing.
Kent: I do! Trust me I really do!
Alexei: then why you not do anything
Kent: I'm scared okay?
Kent: I don't know what to say and I'm scared
Alexei: is important to face fears
Alexei: and you say you miss jack
Alexei: how you stop missing if you not apologize
Alexei: he will not be friend without
Kent: I know…I just wish this wasn't so hard
Alexei: is necessary to do hard things
Alexei: but i will make easier
Alexei: i keep jack after game and you come talk
Kent: Are you sure this is a good idea?
Alexei: is only option
Kent: Yeah, I know…
Alexei: well i must get sleep
Alexei: must be ready for game
Alexei: you need sleep too
Kent: I guess so
Alexei: i will see tomorrow
Alexei: please do not try to get out
Kent: I promise I'll meet you after the game
Alexei: good
Alexei: see you then
Kent reluctantly shuffles toward the Falconers locker room. He's walked this path several times before—to see Tater of course—which meant there was something to look forward to at the end of that walk. But Kent wouldn't call facing a man who almost definitely hates him something to look forward to. In fact he dreads it, more than he's ever dreaded something in his life before.
Kent half-considered stepping onto the team bus without ever taking a step toward the Falcs locker room; to leave and just deal with this at some later time. But he promised Tater he'd come by after the game, and the idea of letting him down makes Kent feel sick. Tater's the best—and probably only friend he has, and he can't lose him. And, for as nervous as he is, he does actually want to apologize to Jack—he's just terrified of how Jack might respond.
Kent turns the corner and approaches the entrance to the Falcs locker room. Next to the door, Jack and Tater stand. Tater is talking to him animatedly, but Jack very clearly doesn't want to be there. His shoulders are tense, up near his ears, and his eyes anxiously flit around. If Kent still knows Jack as well as he thinks he does, Jack is looking for an escape route. Tater must have cornered Jack to keep him here, and that just adds to Kent's guilt.
Kent inhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. Straightening his back, Kent casually saunters over to the two men. "Sup—um. I mean. Hi. Tater. And—Jack," he says, voice jumping an octave as it cracks. The air buzzes with tension and immensely uncomfortable awkwardness. Usually Kent is good a presenting a put-together front and appearing comfortable, but some situations are just too much.
Jack mumbles something unintelligible in reply, resolutely looking at his feet rather than at Kent.
"Kent!" Tater says with his usual exuberant, friendly enthusiasm, pulling Kent into a hug in response to his greeting. "Is very good to see you!"
Kent presses his face into Tater's shoulder for a brief second. "It's good to see you too," he murmurs.
They break apart and Tater smiles at him. "You play great game! But we finally give you challenge! And Zimmboni is to thank!"
Kent raises an eyebrow. "Zimmboni? Like a Zamboni?" he asks, looking over at Jack questioningly.
"Tater's idea," Jack mutters, shaking his head, and Kent hazards a look over at him. There's a hint of a grin appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"Back in Juniors, we always just called him Zimms," Kent says and the grin disappears as quickly as it had appeared. "But uh—Zimmboni. That's uh—that's pretty creative man. I like it," he adds, locking his eyes back on Tater.
"Thanks!" Tater says. "I like to give nicknames! Makes young guys feel more part of team."
"I'm the same age as you," Jack replies, knocking into Tater's shoulder.
"You just join league! You are young guy to Tater!"
Jack frowns. "Okay. If you say so."
"I do say so!" Tater answers, and Jack huffs a laugh in response.
An uncomfortable silence falls over them as Tater looks at Kent expectantly, trying to bring the conversation back to its original purpose. Kent struggles for words; he knows what he's here to do, but he's having a hard time bringing himself to do it.
"So. I—uh. I think I'm going to—" Jack says quietly, beginning to slowly inch away from them.
"Yeah, you gotta go make sure you get your eight hours or whatever, you old man," Kent replies teasingly, and Jack shoots him a dirty look. They're probably not in any kind of place where chirping like that is acceptable but it just slipped out.
Kent averts his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets. He should've known better than to try and do this. He needed more time to psych himself up, which is why he's going to let Jack—
Tater's hand rests on his shoulder and squeezes gently. Kent looks up at his face, sees thin pursed lips and narrowed eyes, and he swallows thickly. Shit. He has to do this.
Kent shuts his eyes and rubs the back of his neck anxiously. "Um. Jack. Wait a second. Please," he says. His voice is unsteady and sounds desperate and Kent hates it.
After a few seconds, Kent opens his eyes. Jack is facing him a few feet away, examining Kent warily. They make eye contact, and for a long second, Kent is struck dumb, unsure of what to say next. It's three words; it should be easy, but then again, Jack has always had a way of making things more difficult for Kent.
Tater subtly jostles him, and it's enough to break Kent out of his trance. Immediately, words start tumbling out of his mouth, disjointed and largely nonsensical, but enough to keep Jack from walking away.
"I just—well um—I've been wanting to—what I'm trying to say is—uh—" Kent stutters. Jack's brow furrows in confusion and Kent stops. Three words. Just spit it out!
"I'm sorry," Kent finally manages to say. "I said um—what I did was pretty messed up and I—yeah, I'm sorry."
Jack stares Kent down, jaw set. "You're right, it was messed up," he answers softly, "so sorry isn't good enough."
Kent bites down on his lip hard enough that he tastes copper. He doesn't mean to, but the pain is a welcome distraction; it keeps him from bursting into tears right there. "I—yeah, I know it's not but I—I wanted you to know that I—well, I regret every word but—yeah, I know sorry isn't enough."
"Good," Jack says. "Bye Kent, Tater."
With that, Jack turns on his heel and walks off.
Tater removes his hand from Kent's shoulder to pat him on the back. "You say very bad things but—"
"Oh thanks for telling me. It'd not like I didn't already know that," Kent snaps. He has no reason to be angry at Tater, but he needs to channel some other emotion so he doesn't start crying.
Tater though, seems unaffected by Kent's sharp outburst, and continues on. "—you do what you can. You say sorry. Is all you can do."
"But I need him to know how much I mean it," Kent sighs, slumping up against the wall.
"Jack will be needing time," Tater says, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Is unreasonable to expect all be good right away."
"I know but—" Kent exhales, resting his head against Tater's shoulder. "I hate feeling guilty for it. I want him to forgive me so I don't have to anymore."
"Was something you must think of before you say those things," Tater says, shaking his head. "He not have to forgive."
"I know that," Kent says. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting him to."
"Like I say, he need time," Tater answers. "But you apologize and Tater is proud. You were afraid but you do it anyway."
"Maybe next time I won't be a giant asshole so I don't have to apologize to begin with," Kent says.
"I am confident you will learn from experience," Tater says, beaming down at Kent. "You are smartest person I know and you always have good intention.
"You're—you're really an incredible friend to me," Kent says, looking up at Tater in disbelief, his chest tight and filled with warmth. "I don't—I'm not sure what I did you get you as a friend but—you know. Thanks."
"Is my pleasure," Tater says, hugging Kent tightly. "Bus will be leaving soon. You must go."
"Okay," Kent replies. "I'll see you in Vegas."
"Maybe I see you before then." Tater shrugs. "Who knows?"
"Yeah, who knows," Kent says, reluctantly stepping away from Tater.
As he walks away, Kent finds himself really hoping he'll see Tater before their game in Vegas.