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“I’m glad you’re okay, and I’ll take care of you as much as I can.” A kiss to Henri’s forehead; he sighed dreamily. “And I’ll win you that stupid fucking Cup so it’s worth you doing this to yourself, because I hate it. I hated seeing you with that IV looking like you were dying. I didn’t give a fuck about hockey. I completely forgot all about hockey when I saw you like that.” Another kiss, wetter and longer, with trembling lips.

Henri mumbled something that was very likely not in English, if it were words at all.

“It’s okay, Hen. Sleep.” Hands brushed through his hair and then pulled him close. Henri went willingly. The last real thing he could grasp onto before he truly fell asleep was the sound of Dylan’s heart beating beneath his ear and the ragged sound of his breathing.

Henri felt like ass the next day. He did everything the medical staff told him. The coaches were pretty supportive, only requiring him to do some of the on-ice work and told him to avoid weight training while only doing enough cardio for maintenance. His diet and fluid intake were even more micro-managed than usual, with Dylan forcing every drop down.

It also had the unfortunate side effect that his sex life died an abrupt and tragic death.

“Nope,” Dylan said when Henri tried to sneak into the shower with him. “You’re not allowed to come until after playoffs.”

Henri stood with one foot under the spray while he absorbed the words. “What?”

“You were so dehydrated you were close to being hospitalized. I’m not helping you lose fluids.”

“I wasn’t close to being hospitalized.”

Dylan flashed him a bitchy look. “Yes, you were. You were so out of it you weren’t listening.” He crowded Henri out of the shower and flicked water at him. “Go away. No sex. No jerking off. No coming until playoffs are done.”

Henri’s jaw dropped. “You can’t tell me not to jerk off!” he sputtered.

“As your captain and boyfriend, yes, I can.”

Briefly, Henri considered threats, bribes, and blatantly jerking off in front of Dylan. But then he noticed the sling left on the bathroom counter. The sling Dylan had bitched and avoided up until the second Henri needed care of his own, then he’d dutifully worn it without Henri needing to pester or remind him. A trade, then.

“Fine,” he said with less venom than he felt. “I’ll just have to make sure we win the next three games so I can fuck you again.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dylan winked over his shoulder at him and continued his shower. Alone.

CHAPTER 75

abqturkeysnhl (June 10, 2024): Despite putting 37 shots on net, the Turkeys fall in Game 4 to the Otters 0-2.

turkeytalk (June 10, 2024): This has been an atrocious start to the series. Down 3-1 and heading back to Ohio. They made it so far, and for what? To trip over the finish line? fml

↪ gobblegoals: three rounds of game sevens is rough. the otters have literally played less hockey to get here. they got a whole week to rest while the turkeys/mounties series played out

↪ turkeytalk: And yet we’re the ones who look rusty. Baptiste is carrying them. Are Novak and Everett injured or just old?

↪ gobblegoals: just old

“I’m fine,” Henri insisted into his phone. He was sipping the Gatorade Dylan had shoved into his hand the moment they’d entered the hotel and eating a protein bar. He did feel fine, but he was no longer sure if the fine meant the-same-I-felt-all-season or I’ve-recovered-enough-that-I-don’t-feel-faint-during-practice-anymore. Playoffs had totally fucked with his ability to gauge his own health.

“You did not look as good as usual last game,” his father insisted. “Are you sick? Injured? Did something happen?”

He didn’t want to lie to his father, but he also didn’t want to scare him. It was being handled, and it was always easier to explain these things after the season was over. Half-truths were best.

“I have been tired lately. The season is hard enough, but the playoffs are worse. My weight is down, and I haven’t done a good job adjusting my diet to match.”

“Your weight is always down at the end of the season.” His father paused, as if calculating. “How much do you weigh right now?”

Henri unfortunately knew this very well because he was forced to weigh in at least twice a day. Those were only slightly less mortifying than the urine samples to test his hydration levels.

“Something like 172 pounds,” he said and braced for impact.

“Henri!” His father sounded truly distressed. “You’ve lost nearly twenty pounds? This is not healthy⁠—”

“I know, I know,” he said. “I’m working on it. There are only a few more games, then I’ll be home…” He trailed off because he wasn’t actually sure that was true. Obviously, he would go back to Saint-Jérôme over the summer. He’d never stayed in his team’s city for longer than necessary. He did most of his off-season training in Quebec, and it gave him the chance to go to Lake Memphremagog as often as possible. But that was when he didn’t have any incentive to stay.