Jeff wrings his hands nervously.
He's been gone for almost a year, 11 months overseas. 334 days away from Mike. 334 days away too many.
It's the perfect day to come back: Mike's getting ready for a game right now.He choreographed it all with the team's PR department. Sydney planned it out for him: they'll announce that they have a special guest for the ceremonial puck drop, and they'll have Mike take the draw, and Jeff will come out in his uniform.
The way she laid it all out, it sounded too simple, but Jeff knows how to follow orders.
He finds Sydney in the back lot of Staples Center. She smiles at him and beckons him over. Towering over her despite her high heels, he feels awkward in his dress blues, everything set in its proper place, especially when she's dressed semi-casually in a white shirt and black pants.
"Mike'll be pretty happy to see you," she says warmly as she opens a door for him. Jeff nods his thanks. "I've overheard him a few times talking about you. He's been excited for months."
Jeff smiles back when she does. "I'm excited too," he says.
She lets him into a small office first. "Sorry about hiding you," Sydney says apologetically. "You actually showed up a little bit early, so we just need to make sure Mike doesn't find you. I'll be back in five minutes."
There's a tray of vegetables and dip on a table, plus a six pack of Diet Coke. Jeff cracks one open and eats a couple of celery sticks before Sydney comes back.
She peeks in through the open door and motions to him. "We're ready! Let's bring you down to ice level."
Jeff follows Sydney through a few corridors. There's a final doorway and she motions to him to stop for a second. She checks her phone; Jeff can hear the roar of the crowd outside.
"Alright!" Sydney says brightly. "Go on ahead!"
She pushes the door open.
Jeff walks slowly, surely. Seats line the edges of the walkway, and dozens of hands appear in the corners of Jeff's eyes. People are shouting--for him, he realizes.
There's a red carpet that'll carry him down to center ice. He takes one step, and he sees Mike. Jeff almost stops short. He can't help himself. There's Mike. Mike.
Mike's adjusting his mouthguard when he sees Jeff, and he freezes, like he can't quite believe it. To be honest, Jeff can't either.
Jeff realizes he's grinning by the time he reaches the end of the carpet. There's no one else taking the face-off: just Mike.
Jeff realizes there's a puck in his hand; someone must've pushed it into his palm before he walked onto the carpet. He holds it out in front of him and motions to Mike. Mike jolts, sudden, like he just remembered where he was. He puts his stick blade against the ice.
"Welcome home," Mike says, and he's smiling too, and Jeff drops the puck.
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