You Could Make a Life Read online

  "None taken," Dan says. His precarious position's hardly secret, and any offence he might take is overidden by the fact that Joe Buchanan — the Joe Buchanan — just told him he could be captain material. This is the sort of thing that fits more into Dan's elementary school daydreams than real life.

  "I'm still amazed you can keep Lapointe in line," Buchanan says.

  Dan smiles into his glass of wine. "Once you get to know him, he's easy," Dan says.

  "Yeah," Buch says. "Sure, kid."

  Dan repeats the conversation to Marc, who listens, sleepy-eyed, when he goes to Marc's apartment that night.

  "You would be," Marc says, through a yawn. "You would be a great captain."

  Dan rubs his thumb over the fine bones of Marc's wrist. "Yeah?" he asks.

  "Anyone else I would think is asking for compliments," Marc mutters, but tugs his hand out of Dan's grip only to thread their fingers. "You would be."

  "You're the superstar, here," Dan says.

  "Yes," Marc says, "but Buchanan is right. You would be great."

  "I want to be," Dan says.

  Marc leans into him, head on Dan's shoulder. "I do not know why he thinks I need to be kept in line," he says grumpily.

  "Really, Marc?" Dan asks. Last week he got into a shouting match with Pazuhniak about hot dogs, of all fucking things. Dan loves him to distraction, but he's not exactly a source of calm in the locker room, has an opinion about everything — frequently unpopular ones, among that group of guys, and doesn't hesitate to share them. Yesterday he loudly berated Hasser for calling a girl a slut, which will probably have Sarah cheering, but is hardly endearing him to the room.

  Marc mumbles into Dan's shoulder, incomprehensible. French, or just low and grouchy, Dan doesn't know.

  "I know, babe," he says, placating.

  "You sound like Buchanan," Marc mutters.

  "Buch calls you babe?" Dan asks.

  "He should," Marc says.

  "Absolutely," Dan says, dropping a kiss on Marc's hair.

  *

  They waltz into a playoff position again, make it to second round again, eye to eye with Pittsburgh, fresh off their Stanley Cup last year and cocky with it. Cocky for good reason, perhaps, because Pittsburgh once again topples them, and Dan's never heard a room with more muttering than the Leafs on locker clean out day, some truly creative curses towards the best of Pittsburgh, ("Pissburgh" Pazuhniak says with loathing) vendettas planned, knives sharpened. It sucks to lose, and Dan almost feels guilty for the fond happiness he feels, looking around that room, those muttering jerks, thinking about another year with them.

  He says as much to Marc, later that night, when Marc's drowsing in the crook of his shoulder. "But we beat Pittsburgh in this imaginary next year," Marc says.

  "Of course," Dan says.

  "Then there is no reason to feel guilty," Marc says, and that's all the encouragement Dan needs.

  vii. tangibles

  After Dan's mom almost walks in on them, thankfully saved by Marc's fast reflexes and his back against the door, Dan thinks he might just be a little too old to live with his parents. It's thankfully the offseason when this occurs to him, because the idea of moving during the season sounds exhausting, and now that he's thought of it, he doesn't want to wait.

  "Move in with me," Marc says simply, when Dan voices that thought.

  "Your place is a dump," Dan says.

  "Then we find somewhere we both like," Marc says with an easy shrug.

  Dan stares at him.

  "Did you just suggest we move in together?" Dan asks.

  Marc freezes, then laughs a little self-consciously. "Yes?" he says.

  There's no shortage of hockey players who room with their teammates—it's cheaper, it's easier, and it keeps you from getting lonely—so Dan isn't too concerned about people making something out of it, as long as they have distinctly separate rooms, or at least appear to.

  "Okay," Dan says. "Yeah, sure."

  His parents react with so little surprise it's insulting, and so little upset it's hurtful.

  "Sarah moved out at eighteen," Dan's mom says, when he makes a sad face at her.

  "Have you just been waiting for me to move out?" Dan asks.

  "Your room's going to make a great office," Dan's dad says, and then laughs when Dan frowns.

  Sarah offers to help them move, once they find a place, a condo in the heart of downtown, practically spitting distance from the Air Canada Centre. Dan's instantly suspicious of the offer. She probably just wans to come for beer and pizza and an excuse to be bossy. His suspicion's confirmed when she sits down on an armchair as soon as Marc and Dan have hauled it inside, opens a beer she demanded for her services, even though it's ten in the freaking morning, and then tells them where they should put things.

  "Not helpful," Dan grumbles at her as they carry in the mattress from Marc's old apartment, designated for the spare room, which is Marc's room if anybody asks.

  "You're big tough hockey players," Sarah says, "You can handle a mattress or two. What do you want on your pizza?"

  "You don't get moving day pizza if you don't move things," Dan tells her when they go to get the bedside tables, and then she makes a point of carrying two whole boxes of linens before plopping down on the couch again and calling Pizza Pizza basically the second it opens.

  She sticks around past six, even though Dan doesn't see her do anything but eat her weight in pizza, drink her weight in beer, tell them where to put shit, and then fall asleep on the chair while Dan's bitching at Marc for owning so many books, which are by far the worst boxes to carry. Dan knows she's asleep, or she'd be jumping in on that argument. Marc says it can't be as bad as Dan claims, but Dan notices him giving those boxes a wide berth and leaving them for Dan.

  She's awake and somewhat alert when Dan, exhausted, kicks her out because there's nowhere for her to sleep unless she takes the chair. Their mattress is set to arrive tomorrow, along with a new couch, and by the end of it they're too tired and lazy to put together the bed frame for a bed neither of them are going to be sleeping in other than tonight, so they sack out on the floor before it's even fully dark out, just a top sheet on the mattress. It feels a little like a sleepover, the kind you have when you're a kid, the lucky kid with the couch and then everyone else in piles of blankets on the floor, and someone ends up calling their mom and asking to go home before the night is through. The room's full of boxes and not much else, utterly anonymous, but it's theirs now, or at least theirs to lease. He's lived away from home before, but that was billeting, that was with the knowledge that it was temporary, and other than that, he's lived in the same place his entire life.

  Marc's breathing hot against his neck, arm slung over his side, and Dan's grateful for the super modern building, because it's over thirty out, but in here it's cool and dark. If he stepped into the living room he'd see the whole city practically beneath his feet, lit up, the lake the only spot of darkness, and even that broken up by the lights on Centre Island. Wouldn't be able to see the Air Canada Centre from their window, but it's so close they can walk to it even in the coldest depths of winter.

  "What are you thinking?" Marc mumbles against his neck.

  "I don't know," Dan says. "I think I like it here."

  "Good," Marc says. "Go to sleep, we have to unpack tomorrow."

  Dan groans, but obligingly shuts his eyes, tugging Marc closer to his side.

  Living with Marc isn't much of an adjustment, really. They roomed together on the road, and Marc spent at least half his free time at Dan's parents, so any oddities were picked up ages ago, and Dan just has to grit his teeth and deal with the fact that Marc is a whirling dervish of clutter. He has, however, finally okayed Dan cleaning up after him, rather than balefully staring when Dan cleared away empty dishes or put books back in the bookcase (out of order, apparently, but there's no order he can figure out), so all in all, it's working out just fine.Marc seems a little surprised by that, but Dan's not. He knew what he was
getting into. He knew from the start.

  *

  Before the first game of the season, Dan's just got this feeling, like everything's theirs for the taking if they just reach out for it.

  "This is going to be our season," Dan tells Marc. "I can feel it."

  "You say that every year," Marc says, mouth tipping up.

  He doesn't, though. Last season he knew he wasn't even going to be seeing the ice, and the season before that, he just wanted better than what the Leafs had been doing before, not that it was a hard goal to achieve, with Marc sprinting towards the Calder.

  "Seriously though," Dan says. "In June you're going to be all, 'Dan you were right, how could I ever doubt you'?"

  "Was that supposed to be me?" Marc asks.

  "That is the worst French accent I have ever heard," Larsson says. "And we're on a line with Tremblay."

  "Hey," Tremblay says, and throws his glove at Larsson.

  Dan can't exactly say he's right—it'd definitely be early for that, but they shoot out of the gate, and two weeks in, they're first in the Eastern Conference. Two weeks isn't exactly indicative of a season or anything, but they beat good teams, tough teams, and they made it look easy. When they head out for their first roadie, they're undefeated in regulation, and the Toronto media's beside itself, already predicting a Cup. Dan would make fun of them if he didn't feel, in his bones, like it was true.

  "I know you're busy kicking ass and taking names," Sarah says, calling twenty minutes after Marc and Dan get back from the six game road trip, in which they took nine points out of twelve. Apparently she has a spidey sense. Or she's in the vicinity of their mom, since he sent her a 'home safe' text. "But can you come out for drinks with your favourite relative on Friday?"

  "Mom?" Dan asks.

  "Oh fuck off," Sarah says. "But if you can come out, we're celebrating."

  "Celebrating what?" Dan asks.

  "I got a big girl job!" Sarah says.

  "I...don't you have a job?" Dan asks.

  She's been working for his dad's company for a few months now, basically since she got out of university. It's not full time, and Dan knows his parents (and Dan, but he swore his parents to secrecy) have been helping her out with her rent, her bills, so it's not ideal, but Dan didn't know she was looking.

  "A big girl job, Dan," Sarah says.

  "I genuinely have no idea what that is?" Dan says.

  Apparently, a 'big girl job' means regular hours, a steady paycheque, and "Benefits!" she says excitedly.

  "Like what?" Dan asks.

  "Like the dentist and 'scrips and stuff," she says. "Paying for birth control was a pain in the ass."

  "TMI, Sarah," Dan says.

  "Baby," she scoffs, then laughs at her unfunny joke, "or not! Anyway, you free?"

  "Think so," Dan says, "gimme a sec."

  He checks the calendar on his phone, and Marc looks up interestedly from his book. "Going out with Sarah?" he asks.

  "Friday," Dan says. "Sarah got a new job."

  "Can I come?" Marc asks.

  "I'm free. Marc wants to come," Dan says. "That cool?"

  "You know I always want to see Marc," Sarah says, "But I invited Alex, so. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

  "Why wouldn't it be?" Dan asks.

  "Oh Danny boy," Sarah starts.

  "Yeah, yeah, the pipes are calling," Dan says. "Can Marc come?"

  "Sure," she says. "But if it gets ugly it's your fault."

  "Three of my favourite people in the same place, why would it get ugly?" Dan asks.

  "Aw," Sarah says. "You're sweet. Also dumb."

  Then she hangs up on him. Dan takes it back, she's no longer one of his favourites.

  "Sarah's no longer one of my favourite people," Dan tells Marc.

  "I am sure she will survive," Marc says through a yawn, and when Dan frowns at him he pats his shoulder and goes back to his book.

  *

  To his credit, it takes less than a minute of Marc and Alex sharing proximity for Dan to realise he's made a terrible mistake.

  "Marc, Alex, Alex, Marc," Dan says.

  "Freckles," Alex says, with a wry twist to his mouth.

  Sarah's peeking through her fingers, unnecessarily dramatic.

  "Nice to meet you finally," Marc says, not offering his hand, which is his usual thing with new people. Also like the bare minimum of politeness. Dan frowns at him.

  "You too," Alex says. "I've heard so much about you."

  He hurls it like an accusation, and Dan looks over at Sarah, freaked. She's stopped hiding her face. "Drinks!" she says. "Because I am a success without nepotism, finally!"

  "Without working for your dad, she means," Alex says to Dan.

  "Dan understood, he is not stupid," Marc snaps.

  Dan didn't understand, though he'd like to maintain that he is still not stupid, even if he didn't.

  "This is a disaster," Sarah says to Dan, but gleefully, and then louder, "Oh my god, are you guys wearing the same pants?"

  "No," they snap in unison, but Dan looks, and Sarah's got a point—if they aren't the same, they're definitely similar.

  "Guess Danny has a type," Sarah says, still sounding gleeful, and when both Alex and Marc scowl, Dan bumps her down his list of favourite people so far she's practically a stranger.

  "Let's find a booth?" Dan says.

  They manage to, even though the place is absolutely packed, because a group of guys recognise Marc and get downright giddy, giving up the booth in exchange for a couple pictures of him—and Dan, when one of the guys recognises him as well.

  "The travails of being famous," Alex says to Sarah, and she snickers, while Dan tries to make sure his smile doesn't look too fake for the photo.

  "You're lucky you got out early," Sarah says.

  Sarah's friends Emma and Carrie join them, and it's a tight fit in the booth. It doesn't make sense for both Marc and Dan to sit on one side, since they take up the most space, but Marc insists anyway, and sticks close to him, almost in his lap, which Dan keeps scooting away from until he's practically in Carrie's lap.

  "Sorry," he mumbles to her, but she just laughs at him.

  Emma just started grad school, which Sarah is considering, and peppers her with questions about, while Marc has put his hand on Dan's knee—Dan removes it—and is having some conversation with Alex about movies, which Alex minored in. It sounds like an argument, but every time Dan tunes Emma out to listen, they're still just talking about movies.

  Dan knows Marc can turn just about anything into a debate, though, and Alex is passionate about movies, so maybe it is an argument. He honestly can't even tell.

  "That is the most patently ridiculous statement I have ever heard," Marc snaps.

  "Because obviously you understand everything about film criticism without studying it," Alex says. "From what I've heard, that applies to hockey as well."

  Definitely an argument.

  "Guys," he snaps, and they both subside, looking mutinous.

  "I haven't even seen the waitress in ten minutes, I'm gonna get more drinks, " Sarah says. "Come be my pitcher hauling strength, Daniel."

  On the one hand, they probably need supervision, but on the other hand, Dan wants to book it. In the end Dan scoots out of the booth, following her to the bar.

  "I'm not going to say I told you so," Sarah says. "But I totally told you so."

  "You knew they'd get like this?" Dan asks.

  "I like, distinctly remember telling you if it got ugly it was your fault," Sarah says, dry.

  "Ugh," Dan says. "Okay, remind me never to do this again. Also, you were totally baiting them."

  "That's a fair statement," Sarah says.

  "They call that agitating," Dan says. "And it's not allowed."

  "Only the illegal shit, nothing against chirping," Sarah says. "And hey, I'd make a great agitator. Call me Lady Tremblay."

  "I hope you two never meet," Dan says.

  "Oh I hope we do," Sarah says, smirking.


  "Okay, gross," Dan says, "you're not supposed to scar your little brother."

  "I think that is actually my calling," Sarah says. "Philosophy and scarring poor Danny Boy for life."

  "Thanks," Dan says. "Much appreciated, Sarah."

  They get the pitchers, and Alex and Marc aren't debating (arguing?) movies anymore, which is a good thing, but Alex is talking to Emma while Marc glares at the table, so that's less great. Dan pats Marc's knee when he sits down, and Marc flashes him a quick smile, but goes back to frowning again almost immediately. Dan's tempted to ask Carrie if something was said, but she doesn't look uncomfortable, so it can't have been that bad, and honestly, if it was, Dan kind of doesn't want to know.

  Once they finish the second round of pitchers Emma begs off because she has to write a paper, and Carrie soon follows. Alex pops out for a smoke, and after that it doesn't make too much sense to hold the table, so they navigate to the bar for one last drink, Dan and Sarah carefully between Marc and Alex.

  "Ready to head out, Marc?" Dan asks, when the beers are down to the dregs and Marc's snatched the tab from Sarah's fingers before Dan can.

  "Yes," Marc says, "let's go to our apartment."

  Dan frowns at him, because that was kind of implied, but Sarah cackles and then kisses both of Marc's cheeks, which he returns distractedly.

  "You're my favourite, never change," she tells him, low enough that Dan barely overhears.

  Marc's been a downright ass all evening, which isn't something she should be encouraging, but Sarah likes assholes, probably on account of her being one. Dan gives Alex a hug goodbye, even though he was also an ass. Frankly, at the moment, Dan is surrounded by assholes, and he's not particularly impressed.

  "The fuck was that?" Dan asks in the cab on the way back to their apartment.

  "I have no idea what you are talking about," Marc says, the picture of innocence, and if Dan hadn't witnessed it himself, he might actually believe it.

  "You know Alex is my friend," Dan starts, and Marc cuts him off.

  "I am well aware," he says snappishly, and if he's going to continue to be an ass, Dan isn't even going to bother talking about it with him.