3. Zacky

THREE

ZACKY

This time when he woke up on the couch in the living room, Zacky wasn’t confused at all. Part of him hoped that falling asleep would help him get back to his own universe—to his husband—where he belonged. The new wave of disappointment was crushing.

He thought about his Cameron. Zacky didn’t have enough of a grasp on what was happening to know where his Cameron even was. Zacky wanted nothing more than to call him and talk about how crazy all of this shit was. To hear his voice and commiserate. He sniffed, trying not to cry. Crying hurt his head. He would keep his sadness inside.

He was pretty cozy though, on the couch where Other Cameron had left him under a blanket. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and surveyed the room.

Even though it didn’t look like his house, he could see some similarities. Cameron’s grandma’s crocheted blanket over the back of a chair. Lots of gray. Dark wood. Slowly, Zacky stood up to investigate.

There were some family photos of both of their families on the walls, which were hung with such precision Zacky was pretty sure it was the mark of his mother-in-law. The Stanley Cup photo of him and Cameron was huge, and Zacky still couldn’t believe that was real.

He had no idea what was real at the moment.

There was a tangle of cords in the cabinet below the TV, an Xbox sitting in the nest of them. The couch was pushed up against a wall, and on a whim, Zacky checked the back of it and found the TV remote there, where Cameron liked to keep it so it didn’t fall between the cushions.

In the kitchen, they had the same silverware they’d thrifted when they were in the AHL in Allen, and they still had one of the pans that Zacky had a clear memory of accidentally melting a plastic orange juice cap to and having to throw out.Apparently, in this universe, it survived.

It was so familiar that it was eerie. He poked his head into the bathroom, and he could immediately tell it was his, which wasn’t a compliment. It contained his mouthwash preference and his electric toothbrush, crusty with toothpaste.

Maybe it was invasive, but Zacky pushed open the cracked door to Cameron’s room on the other end of the apartment from his. Cameron’s side table had a graveyard of empty water bottles on it and a box of Kleenex. He ran a fingertip over the edge of the same old alarm clock Cameron had been using since high school, and before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up a pillow and pressed his face to it, inhaling the exact scent of his husband.

It brought him to his knees. He pressed his forehead to the edge of the mattress as he clung to the pillow, the emptiness of missing his husband radiating through him. He had the thought to steal the pillow, or at least the pillowcase, to have Cameron’s smell whenever he wanted it. Hockey equipment and Old Spice. Nothing fancy. But the way your favorite person smelled didn’t need to be fancy to reach the center of your brain. Your heart.

His chest was tight, but he stood back up before his tears dripped onto the pillow. Instead, they ended up on his t-shirt. He took another few moments before he could set the pillow down again.

Fuck, Zacky missed him. His Cameron. He would give anything to rest his head on Cameron’s chest and savor the feeling of Cameron holding him tight. He wanted to be babied. He wanted forehead kisses. Maybe that made Zacky sound like a little bitch, but he didn’t care. He wanted his person.

What the fuck was going on? People didn’t wake up in another universe. He would try pinching himself, but if pain was going to be what woke him up in his own bed, with his husband in his real life, well, it hadn’t worked yet.

It was hard to stay steady and calm. Inside, he was screaming. He knew screaming would make his head worse, though. He shook his hands out to help expel some of the jittery anxiety bouncing around under his skin and kept poking around.

He discovered Cameron had an enormous closet, and then he peered into Cameron’s en suite to see the same deodorant, shampoo, and bodywash that Zacky had known would be there. And in a fit of unchecked confusion and grief, he fished out an empty stick of deodorant from the garbage and stuck it in the pocket of his shorts.

Then he headed back to the kitchen. He still wasn’t feeling great, but he was hungry. Cameron had left him a microwaveable drinkable chicken soup on the counter by the sink with a note that said “Zacky’s soup :)” in his shitty handwriting.

Zacky microwaved his soup, ending the time before the microwave beeped. Then he snapped the sippy lid back on it, grabbed the stack of papers from the doctor off the coffee table, and went back to his bedroom. He climbed into bed. He couldn’t believe he fell asleep in this bed every night alone, and Cameron slept alone down the hall.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know if they slept alone. Did Cameron have a boyfriend? Maybe this Cameron was straight? Did Zacky have a boyfriend?

Zacky took a sip of his soup, hid the deodorant stick in his nightstand, and scanned the paperwork. All the personal info it started with was correct. There was a description of his injury, and care instructions followed. Due to the severity of the injury, rigid adherence to care guidelines is recommended. Okay. That sounded fun.

The emphasis on staying off screens was serious. Ugh. Zacky had so much he wanted to google. He wanted to dig through his phone, see his photos, read his messages. But…if he healed faster, maybe he’d be able to get back to his own life faster. He assumed he was going back, right?He couldn’t be here forever.

He folded his paperwork in half and stuck it on his nightstand. He had to think this through. There were a couple of options happening. One: He hit his head in his real life, and he was now dreaming through a coma as his body healed enough to wake up. Kinda rude to be in this much pain while dreaming, but he guessed that must mean he was in a lot of pain in his real life.

Two: He hit his head in his real life and in this parallel-universe life at the same time, and both Zackys got flipped somehow. (Did that mean his Cameron was taking care of NHL player Zacky now? God, he missed his Cameron.)

Three: This was his real life, and somehow the hit on the head he took scrambled his brain enough to have these strong hallucinations of being an elementary school gym teacher married to his former linemate.

He had no idea what was real, and he had never been more frustrated with being inside of his brain before.

The front door clicked open and shut with a quiet thud. Zacky hadn’t closed his bedroom door behind him, and Cameron peeked his head in. His cheeks were red from the cold, and he smiled when he saw Zacky was awake and had the soup in his hands, flashing the dimples that made Zacky crazy.

“You found it,” he said, and Zacky’s heart thudded in his chest. He was made of longing.His Cameron didn’t have a missing tooth, but he had to admit that it was cute on him.

Zacky smiled back and took another sip. “How was practice?”

Cameron shrugged. “You know. Or wait… You don’t. Um, it was a mess. Hard because we lost last night. Everyone was asking about you.”

“What did you say?”

Cameron lifted an arm up to brace himself casually against Zacky’s doorframe. It was such a Cameron move. His shirt lifted up, and fuck, Zacky was in too much pain to do anything about it, but he wanted to put his mouth on Cameron’s skin.

Which he realized was probably a creepy thing to think about this Cameron. Platonic Cameron.

Cameron shrugged again. “Said you were resting. In pain.”

“Didn’t tell them I lost my marbles or whatever?”

Cameron smiled at him, his eyes so kind Zacky could burst. “Nah. That’s between you and me until you want to tell people.” Cameron barely had to smile in order for his dimples to pop.

“Will you hang out with me?” Zacky asked, and Cameron’s smile brightened. Zacky patted the spot on the bed next to him, and Cameron came and not only sat on the bed, but climbed under the covers with him, resting back against the headboard. “Wish we could watch a movie.”

“We could listen to a movie.”

“Ugh. Pass.”

“We could listen to a podcast.”

“Or you could…talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Our lives.”

“Hmm. We took Micah axe throwing last weekend, and you’re pretty good at it,” Cameron said, the quiet vocal fry of his voice instant comfort. Zacky was still tired, and he sipped his soup while he listened to Cameron talk about everything they did that weekend, as well as the Florida trip they took that hadn’t worked out for them hockeywise, but was awesome beachwise. Okay. This Cameron was still obsessed with the beach.

Zacky put his empty soup container on the nightstand by his paperwork and scooted closer to Cameron, resting his head against his shoulder and slumping against him. “Is this okay?”

Cameron laughed. “Yeah, bud. This is normal.”

“We’re touchy?”

“We might not be romantic in this life, but there’s no shortage of speculation.”

“Oh.” Zacky wasn’t sure what else to add. Cameron’s hand found his, and their fingers laced like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Well, maybe people wouldn’t think that if we weren’t out here holding hands.”

“We don’t usually. Just seemed like you needed it.” Cameron squeezed his hand. And yeah, Zacky needed this—his head was pounding. This wasn’t his Cameron, but he was still comforted by…well, everything about him except the fact that this Cameron didn’t want to fuck him. If he didn’t think about that, things felt almost normal.

“So…” Zacky said, formulating his question. “Are you straight, then?”

If Cameron wasn’t straight, why on earth weren’t they together?

“Um, yeah,” Cameron said, not sounding fully convinced of the fact. “I brought you Chipotle. Double chicken and a bag of chips.”

“So that’s the same in both universes,” Zacky joked, deciding not to grill Cameron on his sexuality any further. If he said he was straight, that was what Zacky would go with.

“You haven’t changed your Chipotle order in eight years. If that was different, we’d need to shove you into an MRI immediately.”

It got a laugh out of Zacky. He held Cameron’s hand and breathed him in. He was sweaty from practice, even though he’d already showered. Zacky closed his eyes and pretended he was back in his house with his favorite person, complaining about student teaching, and not in a strange apartment, healing up to return to a job that wasn’t his dream job anymore.

They stayed like that for an hour, Cameron chatting quietly about the last few months, taking Zacky through the minutiae of having to call the landlord for a toilet Zacky had apparently clogged the night they won the Cup.

As Zacky got sleepier, he slid down in bed, and Cameron went to get him more Advil.