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#still not sure about it being the playoff opener for a year but still
sortanonymous · 2 months
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UN. FREAKING. BELIEVABLE.
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What a finish at Atlanta, what a win for Daniel Suarez in a year he needed it most, and what a race for the ages! Three brilliant one-thousandths that will be remembered forever!
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Man, it's so great to have NASCAR back!
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My Sweet Girl (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)
This is by far-- I repeat, by far-- the longest reader insert I've ever written. It's my submission for @wyattjohnston 's Winter Fic Exchange, a gift for @matthewtkachuk ! Excellent URL, by the way.
The creative process here went as follows: Shelbs shows me her On Repeat Spotify playlist -> I see The Band Camino on it and remember that I love that band -> I listen to nothing but them for two weeks -> I hear the song Know It All and am struck with inspiration -> I write this and inflict it on everyone else.
I jumped around a bit while writing, so please let me know if there's anything I screwed up! This is also the type of fic that has had 20+ tabs of Wikipedia pages, ESPN articles, and stats pages open on my computer for two months, but there was still information I couldn't find, so please be gentle with any inconsistencies.
Anyway, I truly hope that you enjoy this one! I apologize for being a day late posting, my job sucks.
Rating: M
Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/fem!Reader
Words: 26, 028
Warnings: a lot of angst
Contains: best friend's brother, friends to ??? to strangers to lovers, situationship, idiots in love, everyone knows but them, Matthew being kind of a dick, guest appearances by the Weinberg-Hughes family and Jane Gaudreau
Summary: As Brady's best friend, it was your duty to love and support him. You're pretty sure falling in love with his brother does not count as "support", but here you are.
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You weren’t expecting this to be as hard as it is.
Luckily, you’d been given a little warning beforehand, but apparently a week wasn’t enough to prepare yourself. Was it kind of fucked up that the news had to come from Brady, because Matthew hadn’t bothered to tell you himself? Yeah, kind of. Sure, Brady and you have been best friends for years, but it’s not like you’re not close with Matthew, too.
You hadn’t realized what was going on at first, convincing yourself not to be upset when Matthew’s texts slowed and his calls stopped outright. It had been the beginning of the playoffs, you reasoned, of course he was going to be too busy to talk to you as much. Despite the fact that communication between the two of you had never waned because of the season before. It was his first year on a new team, you’d told yourself, a team with a great shot at the Cup, at that. You could deal with missing him a little more than usual if that’s what he needed.
When you’d called him to congratulate him on passing the first round, he’d thanked you and wrapped the call up as quickly as he could. Seeing the 3:24:41 call duration on your phone afterward had felt wrong. It was one of the shortest calls the two of you had ever had.
You’d brushed it off, chalked it up to him being tired or busy. Then they’d won the second round, and the process repeated itself. A quick phone call, a few scant minutes. It had sounded like other people were there that time, so you’d convinced yourself that he would call you back when he was alone. He never did.
You got to watch Game 4 of the third series, got to watch them sweep Carolina to win the Eastern Conference. Your friend Terri had laughed and clapped as you cheered, jumping up and down like a child. She was a Carolina fan herself, but was good enough of a loser to hug and congratulate you despite it. She’d offered to leave so that you could talk to Matthew, but you’d waved it off. You knew he’d be celebrating with the boys that night, so there was no real reason to try calling. You’d shot him a congratulations text and spent the night smiling so much your cheeks hurt.
When you’d tried to call Matthew the next day, his voice had been hushed when he answered. You’d given him your congratulations, bubbling over about how well they’d played. It’s not the first time you’d had a phone call exactly like that, him letting you gush about his team’s play and basking in the attention. This time, he interrupted you before you even got a chance to really get going. His voice was still quiet, almost a whisper as he said he had to go. The wind was immediately taken out of your sails and you’d barely had time to say goodbye before he hung up.
At that point, you’d given up convincing yourself that everything was okay. Something was very clearly wrong, and you’d spent the next nine days trying to figure out what it was. You’d reached out to Brady, and he’d told you that he hadn’t noticed anything weird from Matthew at all. Knowing that, you’d tried to downplay what was going on between the two of you, lest Brady go bother Matthew about it. You don’t do well with embarrassment, so you’d preferred that whatever was going on stayed away from any third parties.
The finals started, ending rather anticlimactically ten days later in a 4-1 loss for the Panthers. Knowing Matthew, he was going to go straight back to his hotel room and beat himself up. For the last three, almost four, years, you’d called Matthew after every big win or loss, and this was his biggest loss to date. Yet your finger hesitated at his contact name, hovered over the picture of him with bedhead and a lazy smile. With how things had been going, you knew he probably wouldn’t want to talk to you, even if you hadn’t figured out why yet. But part of you hoped that he would, that everything to that point had been stress, and there, at his lowest, he would talk to you again, and everything would go back to normal.
That, of course, is not what happened.
He hadn’t answered at all. And when you’d tried a second time an hour later, it rang once before going to voicemail. That meant that he’d declined your call, but you didn’t know what that meant.
Two more days passed without you hearing anything from him, so you’d called Brady. All of this had been concerning, but that had been too much. Miraculously, you’d managed to stay calm when you spoke with Brady, sounding impressively level-headed when you relayed what happened and asked him if he’d heard from Matthew. Brady had seemed shocked at the situation, immediately calling Matthew after he’d hung up with you.
Thirty minutes later, when you’d received a text from Brady, your heart had sunk to the pit of your stomach, and it’s stayed there ever since.
Because what the text had informed you of is that Matthew hadn’t lost or broken his phone, hadn’t been sick or depressed or, god, lost in the fucking desert or some shit. It told you that he’d been with his girlfriend, and hadn’t wanted her to see him call or text another girl. Because, apparently, Matthew has a girlfriend now. And just hadn’t deigned to tell you.
When Brady had told you that she would be spending the offseason in St. Louis with Matthew, you’d tried to hide your shock. You’d cleared your throat and told Brady how great that was, even as you wanted to throw up. They’d gotten into town a few days ago, and you’d done your best to keep your distance. But Brady asked you to come to dinner at his parents’ house tonight, citing the limited time you have to see him before he goes back to Ottawa, and you couldn’t refuse.
So now here you are, curled up in a chair in the Tkachuks’ den, across from said girlfriend. Her name is Tessa, she’s 26, and she does remote work for a marketing firm. That explains how she’s able to pick up and go to St. Louis for three months, at least. She’s already recounted the story of how they’d met, a romcom story of spilling his drink on her dress at a party and getting to know each other from there. She talks about the instant connection, the way they clicked so quickly that she knew they were meant for each other. That part of the story was when you’d excused yourself to get a glass of water, just so you could stick your head in the fridge and take a few deep breaths.
Matthew and Tessa are on one of the couches, the older, comfier one. Matthew is propped up against one of the armrests, Tessa curled into his side, his arm around her shoulders. You’ve spent the night pretending not to notice the way Matthew keeps glancing at you.
Brady and Emma are posted up on the other couch, one on either side, Emma’s feet in Brady’s lap as she lounges. Emma is great, and does a great job at keeping the conversation going, despite how little you and the boys are participating. Tessa either doesn’t notice your silence or doesn’t mind, chatting happily about some film she and Emma have both recently seen. You’re pretending not to notice the looks Brady’s giving you, either.
You should really be trying harder. You know Brady wasn’t expecting you to curl up under a blanket and mope when he invited you, and he really is right about time being limited. You should be engaging, enjoying the time you get with the boys while you have it. You would, if you could open your mouth without feeling like you’re going to scream.
Eventually, Chantal calls you all to dinner. It’s easier once you’re all gathered around the table, somehow, and you’re able to talk a little. Chantal has always put you at ease, has always made you feel like just another of her children. If you had it your way, Taryn would be here too. She has a way of lovingly bullying you that always makes you feel better. Unfortunately, she’s visiting some college friends out of state. But you’re doing okay, you think, at acting normal.
Then you lock eyes with Keith, and any sense of ease you’ve gained flies out the window. You wouldn’t be inclined to say that Keith is the most observant person in the world, so the way he’s looking at you– like he knows something is very, very wrong– makes it clear that you’re doing an absolutely dogshit job at hiding your feelings. You look away from him quickly, swallowing hard and forcing yourself to talk even more. 
Maybe if you can just act normal, if you can push down the emotions and act like everything is okay, it will be. There’s nothing else you can really do about the situation anyway. Matthew has made it clear that he’s not interested in talking about it, so you’ll have to suck it up and deal with it on your own.
Dinner goes by a little quicker once you’re actually actively involved in the conversation. Typically, you help Chantal with the dishes after meals, but when you reach for the sponge at the sink, she shoos you away. She sends the girls back to the den, insisting that it’s the boys’ turn to help.
You curl back up in your chair, mind wandering as you operate on autopilot. You’re saying things, contributing to the conversation with Emma and Tessa, but you have no idea what you’re actually saying. Mercifully, they either don’t notice or don’t care.
This entire situation is fucked. What’s really getting to you, though, is how you’d been introduced. You’d walked in, giving out hugs to everyone except Matthew and Tessa. She’d approached you, shaking your hand enthusiastically.
“Matthew said you’re Brady’s best friend, right?” she’d asked. It was simple, innocuous, and true. Brady and you have been best friends for years, and that would be an adequate title in any other scenario. But it felt like a punch to the gut, knowing that after everything, Matthew had told her that you were just his little brother’s best friend. You’d glanced at him as she said it, and the intentionally cool, unaffected expression Matthew had in place still couldn’t hide the guilt in his eyes.
In that moment, you knew that he hadn’t told her anything about you, about whatever the two of you have been to each other for the past few years, and that he never intends to. There was a second where he’d made a decision, a second that you weren’t present for, that had cut off everything you’ve been to him and relegated you back to Brady’s Best Friend.
You want to pull Tessa aside, spill out everything. You want her to know that you’re Matthew’s friend too, that you’ve been more than that. More than that, you want Matthew to do it. You want him to tell her, to acknowledge whatever the hell you’ve been doing for all this time. You want him to admit that you’re something, anything to him.
Instead, you keep it all to yourself. The knowledge of everything between you and Matthew will live and die where it is now, in the minds of the two of you, and nowhere else.
June, 2018
You’re wiping down the counters when the man enters. You force a bright smile at him, still annoyed from the previous customer but doing your best not to show it. He returns the smile, approaching the register. You move to settle across from him, greeting him politely. The shop has a lot of regulars, but you don’t recognize this guy.
“I’ll be honest,” he says, giving a single nervous laugh, “I’m not really a coffee guy. Do you have any recommendations?” It’s not an uncommon question, and there aren’t any other customers right now, so you don’t mind.
“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He shakes his head. That eliminates about half of the menu, so it’s progress.
“How much caffeine are you going for?” you ask next.
“As much as possible,” he replies. The dark circles under his eyes could have hinted you to that conclusion. He has a laptop and notebook in one hand, down by his side. It’s normal for people to bring work along with them, and he’s definitely young, so you guess it’s probably school work.
“You could always do a triple shot latte with a flavor,” you suggest, your own go-to drink, “The caramel is the strongest. I can put in an extra pump if you want.” Technically, you should charge extra for that, but the kid looks kind of pathetic, and you feel bad. He can have a pity pump this once.
“That sounds good,” he agrees. You do the math in your head and punch in the price manually on the vintage register. The whole cafe is supposed to have a vintage vibe, a real hipster magnet. Math was always your weakest subject, but having to calculate totals in your head has made you a lot better with it.
Once he pays on the very not-vintage card reader, you direct him to the far side of the bar. You start on his drink, pulling shots with practiced ease. You’ve been working  here since high school, so you’ve gotten pretty good at making coffee. He doesn’t try to talk to you while you work, which is nice. There’s something oddly calming about his presence, though, and it’s helping your annoyance fade.
You hand off his drink, and he retreats to a booth in the back corner after thanking you. You go back to wiping things down, bobbing your head along with the music playing quietly over the speakers. It’s later in the evening, so you only get a few customers over the next hour. It’s one thing you like about working the night shift. Not many customers, and most of the people getting coffee around this time are tired enough to not give you much trouble, and are usually extremely grateful for the caffeine.
It’s quiet for long enough that you pull your stool up to the counter, pulling your textbook and notes out from under the counter. You start working on the homework for your summer semester, singing quietly to yourself as you read.
“You have a nice voice,” the guy from earlier says, suddenly standing in front of you. You jump, hand flying to your chest as if you’re a damsel in a period piece. You’d forgotten he was here.
“Thank you,” you say, once the surprise fades. You laugh a little, shaking your head. He laughs too, apologizing for startling you.
“Could I have another?” he asks, holding up his now-empty cup.
“Of course,” you reply, “Same cup okay?” You do your best to be environmentally friendly, so you don’t want to use another cup if you don’t have to. He says that’s okay, so you take the cup and start pulling another shot.
“Y/N,” he says absently as he leans on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” You thank him again, dumping the first shot into the cup. It’s odd, because people are usually flirting when they say something like that, but his tone isn’t suggestive at all.
“What’s your name?” you ask, feeling like you should say something. You start pulling the second shot.
“Brady,” he says, extending a hand toward you. You look between his hand and your own, feeling rude but needing both hands to pull the shot.
“Oh, um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I’m–” He seems to realize what’s going on and retracts his hand, using it to rub at the base of his skull.
“My bad,” he says, shaking his head at himself, “I’m tired, sorry.” You smile at him, much more genuine than the first time.
“What’s got you so tired anyway, Brady?” you ask, dumping the second shot and starting on the third. His face twists at what you’d thought was an innocuous question. He’s clearly debating something in his head, so you stay silent.
“I’ve got something big coming up in a couple weeks,” he explains, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I’m just trying to be prepared.” You nod, not minding how vague he’s being. You don’t actually need to know every detail of a random customer’s life. There’s a moment of quiet as you dump in the third shot and pour some milk into a metal container.
“And I might be a little nervous,” he says, looking at his hands instead of you. You smile again, beginning to steam the milk.
“Just a little,” you repeat, slightly teasing in a way you usually aren’t with customers.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, looking up at you, “Just a little.” You smile at each other for a second, both knowing he’s seriously downplaying his feelings. You wonder what it is that has him so anxious, sure that it must be something serious. He doesn’t seem to be the neurotic type.
“What are you working on?” he asks as you pour the milk, gesturing toward your books spread out next to the register. You shrug.
“Organic chemistry,” you reply, pumping in the flavoring, “The worst class ever.” He cringes at the mention of it, which you feel in your bones.
“I’ve heard it’s awful,” he says.
“It is,” you confirm. You snap the lid back onto the cup, sliding it over the counter to him. He cradles it between his hands, but doesn’t move to leave. He’s looking up at you from where he’s hunched over, and you can’t help but stare back.
“Do you want to come sit with me?” he asks, “We could be miserable together.” The smile that overtakes your face mirrors itself on his own.
August, 2018
When Brady walks in, right at his usual time, you give him a smile and lean over the counter to hug him. You’ve become fast friends, sitting together a few nights a week, probably talking more than studying. His Big Thing is long past, and he still hasn’t told you what it was, but you don’t really mind. You get to know about his family and his girlfriend and his upcoming move to Ottawa, of all places, but you don’t need to know everything if he doesn’t want to share.
You make two of the usual latte, one for each of you. You grab your books from the shelf, meeting him at the corner booth. You get through some small talk as you both set up, going back and forth with an ease that you were surprised to find has been there since the beginning.
“Matthew’s going to come hang out tonight,” he says as he logs into his computer. He’s spoken about his brother before, so you’re somewhat intrigued.
“Any particular reason?” you ask. To your knowledge, Matthew has never been to the shop, so you’re not sure if something special is going on to spur him into coming.
“He thinks it sounds cool,” Brady shrugs, flipping his notebook open. Maybe you’d know what he’s always working on if you could read his tiny chicken scratch. As it is, you don’t mind letting him have his secrets.
You get four pages into your chapter before another customer enters, laying your pen in the divot between the pages while you go make them their drink. Luckily, they don’t stick around. It’s not awful when other people are around, but you always feel like someone is going to complain about you sitting in the dining room and studying while you should be working. But if there’s no work to be done, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. So you prefer if it’s just you and Brady.
Another four pages drag by, reading interspersed with breaks to talk. Honestly, the breaks are also a way to keep yourself sane as you read unnecessarily complicated science.
When the next customer enters, you spring up from your chair, shooting them a smile as you make your way behind the counter. You give your standard greeting, asking what you can get them.
“What do you recommend?” the man asks. You were kind of hoping he’d have something in mind so that this interaction could go quickly, because he may be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and it’s making you flustered.
“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He nods, looking you up and down with a critical eye. It feels personal, feels like he’s searching for something, and you’re not sure if you like it.
“How much caffeine are you looking for?” you ask next. You do your best to maintain eye contact, ignoring the way you have to look up to do so.
“How much you got?” he asks in return. The crooked smile he gives you makes your stomach flip. You grasp for a drink to suggest, all knowledge having fled your mind in order to focus on the curl of his hair over his forehead, the glint of his bright eyes.
“A Lazy Eye would probably be the most,” you say, clearing your throat, “But if you don’t want to have a heart attack, you could do a regular Red Eye.” He tilts his head, smile turning smug, as if he’s noticed your distraction. Something about it snaps you out of your daze, slightly indignant. You’ve seen plenty of hot guys in your day, and you’re not about to look like a fool in front of him just because he’s pretty.
“Red Eye, Black Eye, Dripped Eye, Lazy Eye,” you list off with as much confidence as you can muster, “Each with one more shot than the last. Pick your poison.” Your attitude change only makes him smile wider. Your hand is poised over the buttons of the register, ready to ring up whatever he decides.
“Let’s go with a Black Eye,” he says, bearing a surprisingly sharp canine, “I’ve had a few of those in my time.” That doesn’t surprise you, with his smug face and oozing self-confidence. Something about it feels so disingenuous that it makes your teeth itch. It’s clearly an act, but you can’t exactly call him on it.
You give him his total, he pays, you get to work. You empty the last dregs of coffee in the pot into the sink and set the machine to brew a new batch. No matter how annoying a customer seems, you’re not about to serve them shitty coffee.
“Y/N,” he says, leaning on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” It’s exactly what Brady had said when you’d met him, which makes you eye the man a little suspiciously. Whereas Brady had clearly not been flirting when he’d said it, this man’s tone is ambiguous enough that you’re not entirely sure what his intentions are.
“Thank you,” you say, dumping the first shot of espresso into the cup. Normally, you would ask for his name in return, but you’re not sure if you want to encourage him talking to you.
“How long have you worked here?” he asks anyway.
“Almost three years,” you reply. You’re not sure you want to tell him anything about your life, but you’re trying to be polite.
“Experienced,” he says, smiling like he’s a lion closing in on its prey, “I like that.” It’s cheesy and kind of sleazy, and you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. He’s watching you like a hawk, studying your reactions to everything he says and does. You dump the second shot, wishing the coffee would brew faster so this interaction could be over.
“I don’t think I want to know what else you like,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You used to get embarrassed and rattled by customers making comments like this, but at some point something had changed inside you. Now you just get annoyed, no matter how hot the person may be.
“Feisty,” he says, smile changing slightly in a way you can’t parse, “I like that too.” You roll your eyes, making a quiet noise of disgust. It’s not great for business to react to customers this way, but you can’t help it.
“I like it when men are silent,” you reply, able to feel how withering your gaze is. His expression changes yet again, smile getting smaller but more genuine, scrunching the bottom of his eyes up a little. That feels more natural to you, looks more right on his face. Something about the new softness in his eyes soothes something inside of you.
The coffee machine beeps to signal that it’s ready, and you waste no time in grabbing the pot and filling the cup. You hand it off to him, giving your biggest, most obviously fake smile.
“Have a fantastic night,” you say, immediately rounding the counter and heading back to the booth. When you settle back into your seat, Brady is smiling at you like you’ve told the funniest joke in the world.
“What?” you ask, picking up your pen. Brady’s eyes flick up above your head, slightly to the left, staying there, prompting you to turn around. The man is standing behind you, small smile still in place.
“Brady’s told me so much about you,” he says, and it dawns on you, “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Matthew.” Your jaw falls open and you turn back to Brady, kicking him in the shin under the table. He yelps; Matthew laughs.
“You’re both the worst,” you spit, trying to hold onto your irritation and failing. You laugh alongside the brothers, begrudgingly amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Sorry about that back there,” Matthew apologizes, seemingly genuine, “I couldn’t help myself.” You shake your head at him as he bullies Brady further into the booth so he can sit. Brady shoves him back, but moves his things over anyway.
“It’s okay,” you say, pointing at him, “But if you ever pull that shit again, I’m banning you from the shop.” That startles a laugh out of him.
“I didn’t know you had the power to do that,” he replies, using his crossed arms to lean on the table.
“I do now,” you say, tilting your chin up, “Gonna put a picture up of you with a big X on it and everything.” You stare at each other for a second, and he breaks first, ducking his head as he laughs.
“Fair enough,” he concedes, looking up at you through his lashes. Your heart skips a beat, but you do your best to seem unaffected. This is your friend’s brother, for Christ’s sake. You can’t be all aflutter over him. You’re not sure you have a choice in the matter.
June, 2023
You might actually kill your coworker one day. He’s such a smug rat bastard, and every meeting including both of you makes you think you’re going to grind your teeth into dust. It’s just lucky that the job is remote, so you don’t have to be around him physically. Probably best for both your sanity and his safety.
“I mean, at least you were right in the end?” Terri says, sounding uncertain through your headphones. You’re sauteeing some onions and peppers, moving them around more than you should be just for something to do with your hands.
“Yeah, I guess,” you sigh, “I just don’t understand why he wants to make me look bad.” Ian– the coworker– seems to always have some kind of comment on your work, some type of criticism. Constructive criticism is part of the game, but his is never constructive. It doesn’t help that you’re the only two in the graphics department, so he’s always there when you present work. And really, being the only two should mean that you work together and support each other, honestly.
“Because he’s an insecure man-child,” Terri replies easily. You shake your head down at the vegetables, startling as the oven timer goes off. You jab at the button to turn it off, opening the door to remove the chicken.
“I think I’ve had enough of insecure man-children,” you grumble. You cut open one of the chicken breasts with more force than is strictly necessary, grateful that it seems to be done.
“You finally wanna talk about that?” Terri asks, and honestly? No, you don’t. Ideally, you’ll never talk about it, just push it down into the darkest recesses of your mind and bury it there. Unfortunately, you possess some level of emotional maturity, which means you know that you have to talk about it eventually.
It’s hard, because despite Brady being your best friend, you can’t exactly talk to him about this. If he knew any part of what’s been going on, he’d probably go physically fight Matthew on your behalf. Part of you thinks that might actually make you feel a little better. But he’d also probably be mad that you’ve had a not-thing with his brother, and that would make you feel worse.
“She seems like a nice woman,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. Terri sighs, and you take your plate of food to the living room to eat.
“She’s not the problem, here,” she says. She’s right, and you know it. You really don’t have anything against Tessa, and obviously you can’t blame her for any of this. Clearly, she had no idea about your not-thing with Matthew, and genuinely fell for him. There’s no point in being mad at her.
“Yeah, well,” you push some food around your plate, “He’s a fuckface and she can have him.” The mention of Matthew has ruined your appetite, the meal now looking completely unappealing. You push the plate to the other side of the coffee table with a huff. You’ll try eating again later, you tell yourself, knowing that you haven’t been eating nearly enough lately. You can’t help it, your inner turmoil chasing away your hunger most of the time.
“He is a fuckface,” Terri agrees, adding, “But don’t pretend you don’t still want him.” Ugh. Friends are the worst, actually, and you should just become a hermit in a cave somewhere. There’s no point even trying to deny the claim, both of you knowing that she’s right.
“I’m not allowed to want him anymore,” you say, voice coming out weaker than you want to admit, “I never should have let myself want him in the first place.�� In the beginning, despite being attracted to Matthew, it was easy to maintain distance. He was in Calgary most of the year, and reminding yourself that he was your new friend’s brother actually worked as a deterrent back then.
You can’t pinpoint exactly when you started letting yourself get caught up, but you’d ended up completely entangled with him. Now he’s put that distance back between you, ripping away the strings you’d been tied up in, leaving you with all these empty spaces where he used to be. And it’s making you hate yourself, knowing that if you’d just kept things cordial, restricted your attention and connection to Brady like you should have, you wouldn’t be feeling any of this right now.
“You can’t help who you love,” Terri says, so gently that it only hurts more. You’re not fragile, okay? You don’t need the softness, the careful handling. You’re not fragile. You’re not.
“I gotta go eat,” you say, not wanting to lie, but needing a way out of the conversation, “Bye, Ter.” She says your name, but you just repeat the goodbye. She sighs, says goodbye, and you hang up. What you should do is eat something and go to sleep. Instead, you eye the easel in the corner of the living room. You sigh, heaving yourself up off of the couch to go grab a glass of water to rinse your brushes with.
April, 2019
It’s probably going to become your new favorite day of the year: the day Brady comes home from Ottawa. His plane had landed yesterday, and his parents had even brought you to the airport with them to pick him up. As quickly as you’d bonded last summer, you’d only gotten closer through the season. It feels like you can talk to each other about anything, like you were meant to meet, like he’s the platonic version of a soulmate. You had patiently waited your turn to hug him after his parents, squeezing him as tightly as you could manage. He’d only squeezed back harder.
With their seasons ending right around the same time this year, Matthew had landed the same night. Knowing they’d have to go back to the airport, the Tkachuks had decided to just spend the day out instead of going home. They’d invited you to come with them, an invitation you’d eagerly accepted. They’re quickly starting to feel like family to you, and you love spending time with them. For the first time in your life, it feels like you fit somewhere.
Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to come along to pick up Matthew. You’d had to work last night, so the Tkachuks had dropped you off at home to get changed and get going. You’d still gotten to spend most of the day with them, which would have to be enough.
You’re going over to their place today, and you decided to bake and bring along cookies. All of their local family and friends are going to be there to welcome the boys home, and you haven’t met most of them yet, so you want to make a good first impression. Besides, it’s just polite to bring something along to someone’s house.
Though Brady still tries to hug you when you arrive, despite your hands being full, the plates need to be deposited on the dining room table before he can get a real one. There are a few people chatting in the room, so Brady introduces you to them.
Most of the next hour goes much the same, Brady introducing you to family and friends, having small conversations with all of them. You know that Brady isn’t trying to embarrass you, but he has a habit of hyping you up to people. He’s more outgoing than you are, and he uses that social ease to brag about how smart you are, how talented. It feels a little like he’s trying to justify being your friend to them, but you know better than to think that Brady cares what anyone thinks of him and his choices.
The kitchen exits onto a large cherry wood deck, scattered with chairs, some of them already occupied. The back yard is sprawling, green grass lined with lush bushes. There’s a pool to the right, not opened for the summer yet, a jacuzzi positioned between it and the house. You’re still not really used to all of this, the casual wealth of the family. It’s so far from what you’d grown up with, something that had astonished you when you’d realized just how far above you the Tkachuks are.
There are a few yard games set up in the grass, cornhole and ladders and something you don’t recognize. And there, in the center of the yard, Matthew is teaching a child how to play ladders. The kid is probably a cousin, of which they have many. Matthew is barefoot, wearing a bright red Flames hoodie and black shorts that only come to mid-thigh. You’ve narrowed your staring down to a minimum, so your eyes only linger for a second or two before you turn back to Brady.
He guides you around to meet the few people braving the chilly spring weather, much as he had done inside. Everyone is so nice, saying how pleased they are to meet you, and seeming to mean it.
Your last stop is Matthew, who interrupts his lesson to hug you. It’s only the second time the two of you have done so, the first having been the last time you saw him before he left for the season. Despite that fact, he squeezes you almost as hard as Brady had, as if you’re his best friend too. Not that you’d presume to be Brady’s best friend, but. Still.
“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says when you pull apart, and the expression on his face tells you how genuine it is. Your smile is almost involuntary, turning up the corners of your mouth and baring just a hint of teeth.
“Welcome home, Matthew,” you reply, “We missed you.” You’re not sure what “we” you’re referring to, but it feels less incriminating than saying “I missed you”. You get the feeling that he understands anyway, beaming at you.
The three of you chat for a few minutes, Matthew introducing you to his little cousin. With there being four of you, you decide to play a game of ladders, to test the little one’s skills. He’s pretty good, for a kid, and you and Brady make sure to throw well enough to convince him that you’re trying, but still let him win. Throughout, Matthew gives him tips and instruction, so kind and gentle that it makes your heart ache. They cheer when they win, high fiving and teasing you and Brady.
You go inside to spend some time with Keith and Chantal. Chantal gives you a big hug, as if she hadn’t just seen you yesterday. Keith gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder. Taryn appears at some point, sneaking up behind you and poking your sides to make you jump. You laugh along with her, enfolding her into the conversation easily.
Time flies by, the sun setting around you, the house lights turning on one by one as darkness descends. Eventually, you end up lounging in the den with the other adult kids. From your visits last year, the chair in the corner has become yours. You’re settled in, legs folded up under you as something that no one is watching plays on the TV. Brady and Taryn get into a heated debate about something or another, and Matthew gives you a long-suffering look as his younger siblings bicker. You just smile back at him, finding the family’s passion entirely endearing.
“Seventeen years of this,” Matthew gripes, clearly not as annoyed as he’s trying to seem.
“And sixty more to go,” you reply. Matthew chuckles at that, looking to Brady and Taryn with such fondness that you almost can’t stand it. It’s the kind of relationship you’d wanted with your own brothers, but that’s best not to think about.
“Hopefully,” Matthew says, turning that fond look toward you. Your heart skips a beat, and you’ve gotten good at ignoring that.
May, 2019
You shouldn’t be this nervous, but you are. Terri is on speaker phone, telling you about her new job. You’re half-listening, staring at the clothing laid out on your bed. You’ve been agonizing all morning about what you’re going to wear, how you’re going to do your makeup, if you should wear makeup at all.
“I’m glad that your boss defended you,” you say to Terri, still tuned in enough to follow her story, “She seems cool.”
“She’s so cool,” Terri gushes, “She’s my favorite now.” You’re so happy that Terri has finally found a good job, especially with how hellish her previous one had been. This one pays almost double what she was getting before, too, which definitely doesn’t hurt. She expounds a little more about the things she loves about her boss, and you decide to hang back up the dresses you’ve laid out. It’s still a little too chilly to wear them, especially after sundown.
“You’re still staring at those damn clothes, aren’t you?” Terri asks, switching the topic suddenly. Your face gets warm as you make a plaintive hand gesture, despite her not being able to see you.
“Clothes are stupid and I can’t decide,” you complain, trying to imagine how each of the final two options will come across. If you try too hard, Matthew might think that you think this is a date, but you still want to look good. You know it’s not a date, but you’re still kind of acting like it is, and it’s embarrassing.
“Definitely wear jeans,” Terri advises, “That’ll make it more casual.” You agree, putting away the skirt you’d paired with the one shirt, trying to picture how it would look with jeans. You move the pants between each shirt, before giving up and just putting them on. You’ll just try on both outfits and see which one you like better.
Once dressed in the first option, you take a picture to send to Terri. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that. After a minute or two of consideration, you switch tops. You take another picture and send both to Terri for her opinion.
“Oh, definitely the second one,” she says, “The first one makes you look like you’re going to a job interview.” You look at the picture again, and can’t deny that she’s right. You put that one away, settled in your decision. You’re not sure if Matthew has ever seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt, so you hope the red tank top layered with a tucked-in sheer pink printed blouse isn’t too much of a change.
When Matthew had invited you to take a walk around the park yesterday, just the two of you. You’ve never spent more than a few minutes alone with him, always having Brady or Taryn or Emma to provide distraction and distance. This time you’ll have nothing to focus on but him.
The time comes soon enough, and you gather your things, not wanting to make Matthew wait for you when he arrives. You’d offered to drive yourself and meet him there, but he’d waved off the idea immediately, saying that he’d pick you up.
A knock comes at your door right on time. You take a deep breath before you open it, settling your frenzied heart. Matthew smiles as soon as he sees you.
“Oh wow,” he says, almost absentmindedly, “You look great.” Your blush is immediate, and you hope he can’t see it. It seems that anything that comes out of his mouth makes you blush, sometimes.
The drive to the park isn’t too long. When you arrive, you gather your bag from the floor of the passenger seat, and by time you move to get a hand on the door handle, Matthew is already opening the door from the outside. It’s a sweet surprise, and you thank him as you climb out of the car.
It’s a nice day, not too cold or windy for once. The two of you walk, talking about this and that, moving from topic to topic as they arise. You point out a few birds as you go, and Matthew listens to the little fun facts you give about them. He seems genuinely interested, but even if he’s not, at least he’s polite enough to pretend.
“I guess we should have left a little earlier,” Matthew remarks as the sun goes down, the light fading around you. The sun sets quickly this time of year, so you’re still a few minutes out from the car by time it’s completely dark. The lights along the pathway bathe Matthew in yellow light, casting warm shadows in the dips and hollows of his face.
“At least I have a big, strong man to protect me,” you joke, elbowing him.
“Oh no, if we get jumped I’m running,” he replies, shooting a shit-eating grin down at you. You gasp and press a hand to your heart, as if you’re truly scandalized.
“You would really abandon me like that?” you ask. His smile softens at the edges.
“Never,” he says, looking so genuine that it makes your heart flutter, pausing before he adds, “Unless we’re getting robbed.” Your combined laughter rings out through the trees.
June, 2023
You’ve managed to avoid any questions about your odd behavior, and it’s getting easier to act normal over time. A couple weeks have passed since your first meeting with Tessa, and you still feel like ripping your skin off when you see her touching Matthew, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it. It’s not your place to be upset, anyway.
The diner is bustling at this time of day, the tail end of lunch rush. You had to wait a little bit to get seated, but now you’re sitting at the end of a booth in a chair they’d pulled up to the edge to make up for all five of you not fitting into the booth. It makes you feel a little left out, the only one not paired off, a fifth wheel to the two couples on either side of the table. You block that out, a skill you’ve had for years, but have had to strengthen rapidly over the past few weeks.
Brady has an arm around Emma’s shoulders, and you can tell by the angle of Matthew’s arm that he has a hand on Tessa’s thigh. You remember when that was you, Matthew touching you so casually, so naturally. Sitting across from Matthew as he nudges your foot under the table, sitting next to him with your shoulders pressed together, fingers tangled together on the seat, where no one could see.
Emma is telling a story about a night out with some of her girlfriends, and you’re laughing along at the antics with everyone else. When she asks you about work, you try to clear the perpetual lump in your throat before answering, succeeding in sounding happy, though the tightness remains.
When your food arrives, you spend most of the time pushing it around your plate to make it look like you’re eating. You never have an appetite around Matthew anymore, weirdly embarrassed about being seen eating in a way you haven’t been since you were a teenager. You’ll take it home and eat it later, if you can stop thinking about Matthew for two fucking seconds.
You’re not sure how long that’s going to be impossible, but you hope it’s not much longer.
January, 2020
You’ve been to a few games when the boys have played the Blues, but you’ve never made the trip up to Canada to see them play each other before. Ottawa is nice, Brady and Emma having shown you around a little when you’d arrived. Your nerves had been shot from the anxiety of traveling abroad for the first time, even though it was just to Canada. The couple seemed to understand, only taking you around for a few hours before bringing you home.
Brady’s apartment is nice, really nice. He’s offered you the guest room for a few days, and you appreciate not having to pay for a hotel. He’ll be home for six days before he has to go to St. Louis for the All Star game, so you’d arranged to stay in Ottawa and fly back home with them.
Luckily, the cafe is pretty cool about rearranging your schedule, so you’ll just have to work some extra days when you go back to make up for what you’re missing. You’d asked for the days of the skills competition and game off as well, Brady having managed to get you a ticket. Your manager has always thought it was cool that you were friends with the Tkachuks, so she had agreed to give you the time off if you brought her a souvenir. Matthew and Brady had offered to sign a jersey for her without you even having to ask, and you’ll owe them for a while, though they insist you don’t.
Matthew gets in that first night, the three of you meeting him at his hotel. You’re not sure how he managed it, but he’ll be staying a few days instead of returning to Calgary with the team after the game. Maybe he got a special exception because this game is the last before All Star week, and he has to go to St. Louis anyway. No matter the reason, you’re glad he gets to stay.
The game the next night is exciting, and definitely worth the trip. With the Senators’ performance in recent years, it’s mostly the diehard fans left, so the atmosphere is electric. You get swept up in the passion and joy, especially when the game ends with a 5-2 win for Ottawa.
The boys have to debrief and get changed, which you know will take a while. Emma and you wait with the WAGs, Emma excited to introduce you to them. Some of them think you’re a new WAG at first, which is honestly kind of flattering. All of the ladies are surprisingly kind and welcoming, and you enjoy interacting with them as you all wait.
Matthew emerges first, guided down the hallway by one of the arena staff. His steps pick up pace when he sees you and Emma, and he shoots a quick thanks to the staff member before jogging over to the two of you. He immediately enfolds you in his arms, squeezing tight and holding longer than usual. You know it’s difficult for him to lose at all, let alone to his brother, so you let him hold you as long as he wants.
Once he lets you go, he meets your eyes. His smile is soft, tinged with a slight sadness that you want to wipe away.
“Hey there, sweet girl,” he greets, and your breath catches at the term of endearment. He’d started using it a few months ago, and it still makes your chest tight. You know that it doesn’t mean anything, but you still imagine sometimes that it does.
He turns his attention to Emma, giving her a hug as well, just one quick squeeze before releasing. The three of you start talking, waiting patiently for Brady. It doesn’t shock you that he takes so long to come out, knowing his unofficial position of leadership in the team. The guys come out one by one, hugging and kissing their wives and girlfriends, the number of ladies dwindling as they leave with their men.
When Brady finally emerges, he heads straight over to give Emma a hug and kiss. He hugs you next, before punching Matthew’s shoulder. They have a little back-and-forth as you all exit the arena, taking harmless jabs at each other all the way to the car.
The main issue with the living arrangements for the trip had been that Brady and Emma were going to have two guests and only one spare room. Matthew had offered to sleep on the couch, but he’s too tall for that, and you don’t want him to end up sore or hurting his neck during the season. You’d insisted that you’d sleep on the couch, but both Matthew and Brady had immediately vetoed that idea. Then you’d found out that the guest room has two twin beds instead of one bigger one, and the answer was simple.
Matthew sets his suitcase and backpack next to the door when you get home. You’ve already claimed the bed on the far side, so he gets set up on the one closer to the door. Emma and Brady are in the kitchen, making a post-game snack for everyone, so it’s just you and Matthew.
“You excited to be roomies for a week?” he asks, unzipping his suitcase. Yours is already open under the window, so you grab some pajamas out of it.
“Depends how loud you snore,” you tease. He shoots you a toothy smile.
“Oh, it’s gonna be loud,” he says. You chuckle a bit, knowing he’s joking. Emma calls for you, then, and you leave your clothes on the bed to go to her. The four of you converse as you eat, seated in a row at the kitchen island. You’ve got Matthew to one side and Brady to the other, and they take turns kicking your ankles. You kick back, grinning at Emma when she kicks Brady’s other side.
Brady and Matthew had already showered at the rink, so they sit in the living room while you and Emma get ready for bed. She uses the master suite, and you use the bathroom in the hall. It’s nice, if small, with a simple stall shower instead of a tub. You go through your routine on autopilot, only realizing when you’re done that you’d left your clothes in the bedroom. You wrap yourself in a towel, doing your best to sneak past the door to the living room.
When you look to make sure your stealth is working, you meet Matthew’s eyes. It stops you in your tracks. You can’t discern the look on his face, and you’re not sure that you care to. He shoots you an easy smile, and you wave at him like an idiot, acting on instinct. It only makes him smile wider, and you scurry off to the room.
After you’re dressed, there’s a knock on the door. Brady asks if you’re decent, and you confirm that you are, so he peeks his head in. Once he sees that you truly are dressed, he opens the door the rest of the way. He and Emma bid you good night, telling you to just ask if you need anything. You thank them and say good night in return, Matthew entering the room as soon as the other two retreat to their own room. He’s barely two steps into the room before he’s pulling off his shirt.
“Woah there, cowboy,” you say, holding up a hand in front of you. He just shrugs at you.
“Gotta get ready for bed,” he says, bending over and lifting his foot to remove his socks. You’d figured that he would wear a t-shirt and shorts to bed like you, but you should’ve guessed he’d be the type to sleep shirtless, no matter who’s around. He’s naked in front of thirty people every day, who cares about being shirtless?
You do your best to brush it off, turning down the covers of your bed so that you can crawl in. Normally, you would read for a bit before bed, but you’re tired enough tonight that you don’t think you need to. You pull the blankets up to your chin, turning on your side. Unfortunately, you sleep on your right, so you end up facing Matthew’s bed. Is that weird? Should you try sleeping the opposite direction?
Matthew doesn’t say anything, flicking the lights off and crawling into bed. He sleeps on his left, apparently, so he’s facing you too. That’s a little awkward, right? As your eyes adjust to the dark, you’re able to see the glint of his teeth as he smiles over at you.
“Sleep well, sweet girl,” he says quietly. You return the sentiment, grateful that the darkness means he probably can’t fully see the embarrassment on your face. You’re backlit by the window, so you convince yourself that he can’t.
The next morning, you wake to Matthew already out of bed, stretching. Your eyes roam his back, taking in the dips and ridges of his muscles. Only at the last second do you realize that his head is turned to the side, and he’s staring at you through the corner of his eye. You quickly avert your gaze, turning to sit bolt upright on the other side of the bed, facing the window.
The four of you spend the day exploring the city, Brady and Emma seeming to have planned what they want to show you. It’s nice, peaceful and fun. You make them take pictures with you in front of landmarks or cool art pieces, all of you squished together to fit in the selfie.
It isn’t until the fourth night that anything out of the ordinary happens. You’re lying in bed, having turned on your back to stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. You probably shouldn’t have had that affogato after dinner, though usually they don’t bother you this much. No matter how long you toss and turn, how many sleeping positions you try, you can’t even make yourself tired, let alone actually fall asleep.
“What are you, a rotisserie chicken?” Matthew asks rhetorically, breaking the silence. His voice is hushed, but it still startles you. You turn your head to stare at him, finding him staring right back.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize, sheepish, “I can’t sleep.” Matthew’s lips quirk up at one end.
“Me either,” he says, sitting up. You mimic his posture, then scoot back to lean against the headboard. He slings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, and you think for a second that he’s going to turn on the light. Instead, he takes the two steps to your bed, motioning to the mattress. You nod, prompting him to start shoving your shoulder, bullying you into making space for him. You giggle, trying to keep quiet to respect the late hour.
“So,” he leads, taking a long moment to just stare at you before continuing, “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You’re taken off guard by the request, not sure how to respond.
“I was an Aaron Carter girl growing up,” you pull out of thin air. Matthew’s face breaks into a wide smile, sunshine in the middle of the night.
“Really?” he asks. You nod, mumbling “yeah” in confirmation. That’s all it takes to get you both talking. You trade off back and forth, telling each other small things about yourself that may not come up otherwise, launching into short discussions about some of the statements.
“My favorite color is red,” he says at one point, when you’re starting to think you may fall asleep.
“I thought it was blue?” you reply, remembering Chantal mention that at some point. Matthew starts fiddling with his hands.
“I tell people it’s blue, but it’s really red,” he says. You tilt your head an inch or two, furrowing your brow at him.
“Why?” you ask. He ducks his head.
“Red is an angry color,” he explains, voice quieter than before, “With my reputation, I don’t want people to associate me with an aggressive color. I don’t want to play into the stereotype.” You hum, looking forward. It feels like this isn’t the best time to look at him, like he’ll clam up if you witness his vulnerability.
“It’s also the color of vitality, excitement, love,” you counter, leaving just a breath of a pause, “It’s a good color for you.” The entire room is still for a dragging moment, before Matthew gently knocks your shoulders together.
“What about you?” he asks when you look back to him. There’s a fraction of a change in his face, but you don’t comment on it.
When you wake up in the morning, you’re still sitting up, head resting on Matthew’s shoulder, his head laying on top of yours. You suppress the instinct to startle, not wanting to disrupt him, lest he wake up and move. His skin is warm under your cheek, your arms lined up from shoulder to the knuckles of your fingers. You close your eyes again, trying to keep your breathing steady, as if you’re still sleeping. You’ve been trying so hard to keep distance between Matthew and yourself, but you’ll allow yourself to enjoy this, just for a moment longer.
There’s a shift in Matthew’s breathing, his fingers twitching against yours. It settles after a second, into a different pattern, intentionally deep and even. You’re sure that he’s awake, that he’s doing the same thing that you are. You’re not sure what to do with that information.
The rest of the trip goes by smoothly, Brady and Emma showing you both the touristy things and the better local spots around the city. If the same thing happens the next night, and the night after that, you and Matthew talking in low voices until you fall asleep against each other, neither of you mention it.
April, 2020
While the initial prediction for lockdown was that it would only last a month, it’s clear that it’s going to last much, much longer.
It’s probably lucky that you’d just started a new job, one that can be done remotely, rather than either working at the coffee shop or being laid off. It’s not exactly what you want to do, but it’s at least in the artistic field, so you try to be grateful anyway. It’s difficult being locked away in your apartment, but you’re grateful that you’re luckier than essential workers and people who are losing their jobs altogether.
The thing that keeps you sane in all of this is your phone. More specifically, it’s your friends. You’ve developed almost a schedule with it, calling Terri in the morning for an hour or so before work. At lunch, you facetime Brady and Emma for another hour, not envying them being stuck so far from home. It must be hard to be in an entirely different country than your family.
The highlight of each day is the evening, when you facetime Matthew. Though he spends most of the day sending you videos and memes and updates about whatever little thing he’s doing at the moment, it’s still nice to talk to him out loud. Seeing his face helps your growing loneliness a little bit.
You’re in your living room, your phone propped up against the arm of the couch as you show off the few things you’ve made since picking up crochet a couple weeks ago. Matthew compliments each of them, commending you for your improvement. He’s the only one you’ve shown, too embarrassed to let anyone else see the wonky scarves with uneven stitches.
“You have time to work on any paintings lately?” he asks, once you’re done your little show and tell. The truth is that you’ve got three new canvases drying in the kitchen. The truth is also that the man asking about them is the inspiration for their creation. There’s nothing incriminating about them; it’s not like they’re portraits of him or something. But you’re still hesitant to show him, because even if he doesn’t know, you do.
You show him anyway. The painting of the park is his favorite, and you wonder if he knows that it’s the one you went to for your first time alone together. It’s mostly dark, greens and blues so deep they look black, yellow triangles of light splitting the canvas into section. If you look closely enough, the brush strokes fill in the details of the trees, the grass, the pavement. Your phone camera isn’t good enough for Matthew to see that, but he compliments it anyway.
“You should paint me something for my apartment,” he says after you show him all three. You’re not opposed to the idea, actually enjoy the thought of something you made being showcased in his home.
“What do you want?” you ask, a hundred ideas already flitting through your mind. The only way you’ve seen his apartment is through the background of pictures he sends you sometimes, or little glimpses you catch as he walks around while you facetime. You’re not entirely sure of the vibe, but you’re sure you can figure something out.
“What makes you think of me?” he asks in return. You stop in your tracks in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. The hand holding your phone lowers a couple inches unintentionally, your gaze drifting above the screen, staring into the middle distance. What makes you think of him? Hockey, obviously. Family. Curling up under a blanket on a cold night. Laying on the couch with your feet up on the armrest, your head propped up on a pillow, a sad replacement for his lap. Spruce trees, gold, pitbulls, mushroom pizza, black eyes– both the drink and the wound.
Everything. Everything makes you think of him.
You can’t say that, obviously. You search your brain for something personal but innocuous, something sentimental but still acceptable. You think of all the time that you two have spent together over the past few years, memories springing up, some that you’d even forgotten about. Some that you’ll never be able to forget about.
“Can I surprise you?” you ask. You’re given that familiar smile in response, any iteration of which makes your heart stutter in your chest.
“Yeah,” he says, propping his face up with one hand on his jaw, “I trust you.”
July, 2023
Some people may say that Terri’s apartment is cluttered, but you just find it cozy. She has decorations and knick-knacks on every surface, but the comfiest couch you’ve ever sat on. That’s where you are now, stretched out with your back against the side, Terri mimicking your posture at the other end, your legs tangled together in the middle.
“We should see the Barbie movie when it comes out,” she says, unprompted. You look up from the hook and yarn in your hands, tipping your head to the side for a second and shrugging.
“It looks good,” you say, an indirect agreement. You haven’t been to the movies since before lockdown, so it might be nice to go back.
“D’you think Gabe would want to come?” she asks cautiously, “He could bring the kids.” The mention of your brother still makes ice crawl in your chest, but it’s not as bad as it once was. He’d reached out last year, trying to reconnect with you, and apparently your other brother too. You’ve only seen him a few times since, but it’s more than you’d seen him in the four years prior, combined.
“It’s worth a shot, right?” Terri asks, eyes flicking toward your phone sitting on the coffee table. You look toward it as well, debating for a second. It would be nice to see your nieces and nephews, but it also hurts that they barely know who you are.
“Yeah,” you agree after a second, “Worth a shot.” You grab your phone, feeling as if it’s going to explode in your hands if you move too quickly. There are a few notifications when you wake the screen, which you ignore to unlock it. You open your texts, backing out of your thread with Terri from earlier. You have a picture message from Brady, just a selfie of him and Emma smiling, which you send a heart in response to. Backing out of that thread, you see another new message, underneath the contact name you haven’t had the heart to change. The red and purple hearts next to his name– each of your favorite colors– having been there so long that getting rid of them feels wrong, no matter how it makes your chest hurt to see them.
Can we talk?
You tap the back button as quickly as you can. You can’t respond. You should, to be polite, but you can’t. If you do, you’ll say something you regret. It’ll probably be agreement or the words “eat shit”, and either option will get you into trouble. You can’t respond. You want so badly to talk to him. You want so desperately to go back in time and never meet him.
Your fingers tremble as you draft a text to your brother, typing and deleting and re-typing a few times before you settle on the wording. You have more important things to worry about than Matthew.
August, 2020
The bubble was an interesting idea. It may not be the best idea in the world, despite the safety precautions, but you know Matthew is just happy to be back on the ice. He’s already sent you a dozen pictures of the hotel, of him with his teammates and friends, masked up together in the lobby. You tell him to tell the boys that you say hello, and he texts you each of their responses.
The first round goes well, the Flames only losing one game to the Jets. You know Matthew had been worried about going through all the rules and protocols just to be eliminated immediately, so you’re glad that that isn’t the case.
The series against the Stars starts out with an exciting back-and-forth, the teams trading off wins. Then the Stars win game 5, breaking the pattern. You’re not expecting the last game to actually be the last, convinced that the Flames would at least make it to a game seven. But the Stars pull a decisive 7-3 win, the Flames falling apart in the second period and unable to get themselves back together.
Matthew has called you as soon as he got back to his hotel room after every game, so you’re expecting your phone to ring some time in the next hour or two. You putter around the apartment a little, putting away some dishes and wiping down the kitchen counters. You’d been painting during the game, a commission from a friend of a friend of a friend. You return to that, losing yourself in the meticulous movements of your brush.
It feels like it’s been too long. You try to focus on the canvas in front of you, but there’s a nagging sense in the back of your mind that something is wrong. It sits heavy at the base of your skull as you try to ignore it.
Eventually, it becomes too much. You check your phone to make sure that you haven’t missed his call, but there are no notifications. It’s been a little over two hours. You unlock your phone and pull up his contact in a second, pressing the video icon. Typically, he’ll pick up after one or two rings, but you hear the third ring, the fourth. The call disconnects, shock shooting up your spine. It only lasts a second, your phone ringing with a voice call almost immediately.
“Hey sweet girl,” Matthew greets you in his typical fashion as soon as you accept the call. There’s something off about his voice, and it takes you a second to realize what it is.
“Hey there, darling,” you respond, voice as gentle as you can manage. It’s not the first time you’ve heard Matthew cry, but it breaks your heart every time. As much as he tries to seem tough and aloof, you know how deeply losses like this affect him. Now it makes sense that he didn’t want video involved.
“How are you?” he asks, clearly moving his face away from the receiver as he sniffles, but you can still hear it. You move to the couch, sinking into the cushions, as if you’re as crushed as he is.
“I’m okay,” you reply, “You holding up okay?” You know he’ll say that he’s fine, but you also know that he’s not. He may not be for a while. There’s a pause, a long stretch of silence, only interrupted by his deep, labored breaths.
“I wish you were here,” he says. He sounds absolutely miserable, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. The urge to hold him is overwhelming, your arms buzzing with the desire to wrap around him. You want to pull him down into your lap, let him tuck his head into the crook of your neck, let him cry on you as you scratch his scalp and kiss his head. Lockdown isn’t the only reason that can’t happen.
“I’m going to hug you so hard,” you insist, “As soon as I can see you again.”
July, 2023
While you’re still a third wheel with Brady and Emma, it’s better than being a fifth wheel with the entire group. You’d asked Taryn if she wanted to tag along, but she has training to do. Brady had already done his that morning, so he’s free for the rest of the day, and had invited you to spend some time together.
You’re certain that he doesn’t know how you feel about this place, how much it hurts to be here. As far as he’s aware, this is your favorite park, the one you visit with Matthew at least a few times a month every summer. He probably thinks it’s a great choice, something to cheer you up from the slump you know he’s noticed.
Despite the memories tugging at you from every direction, you’re mostly in a good mood. You’d gotten excellent news the day before yesterday, an opportunity you’ve dreamed of for a long time. You wanted to text Brady right after the meeting to tell him, but you’d decided it was better to share it with him and Emma in person. You’re debating something that absolutely doesn’t matter, all of you talking over each other. You’re waiting for the right moment to change the conversation. It doesn’t come until almost an hour into your walk, but you jump on it as soon as it does.
“I have some cool news,” you say, breaking the silent pause that had fallen over the group.
“Well?” Emma replies, “Go on.” The excitement is bubbling up inside of you again at the thought of it, your stomach turning, your chest too full.
“You know that gallery downtown that I love?” you ask, continuing after they agree, “I’m going to do a show there.” They stop in their tracks, Emma immediately enfolding you in her arms. You hug her back, squeezing tight as she bounces on her toes. When she pulls back, she holds your face in her hands, voice high and thrilled as she congratulates you. The smile on your face is unavoidable, happiness from the news mingling with the happiness of your friends being proud of you.
“Cool news, huh?” Brady asks, lightly smacking your shoulder as he says, “What an understatement.” The circle of his arms feels safe, his chest warm against your cheek as he holds you tight. The look on his face when he releases you is the best reaction you’ve gotten so far, his pride meaning more than anyone else’s.
“When is it?” he asks, taking Emma’s hand in his own once again and resuming the walk. You follow along, too excited to be self-conscious of the visible skip in your step.
“August 20th,” you say. There’s an unspoken question there, a silent invitation. You don’t want him to feel pressured to come, knowing that despite how supportive he is of your artistic endeavors, he’s not big on things like art shows. In the end, you don’t have to ask.
“You know we’re coming, right?” he asks, aiming a crooked smile at you, “You can’t stop us.” Though the smile hasn’t left your face since you brought up the topic, it gets brighter in return.
“I’d never dream of trying to,” you reply, and you mean it.
October, 2020
It’s odd to have the boys around at this time of year, the season usually taking them away at the end of August. You’re grateful for it, though. It means that you get to spend time with them, lockdown finally over, freeing you from the confines of your apartment. Your job has stayed remote, so you’re able to be around even more, saving time on what used to be an hour long commute each way.
Right now, it’s you and the boys, Emma, and Terri. You’d introduced her to them less than a month ago, but they already love her, just as you knew they would. She doesn’t always come around with you, considering how you spend nearly every day at the Tkachuks’, but she has some time today.
After twenty minutes of debating what you should watch, you all agree on a true crime documentary. You’ve given up your chair for Terri, squishing yourself onto the couch with Brady and Emma, pressing your cold feet against her leg and laughing when she yelps. She kicks you, only serving to make you laugh harder. Brady playfully threatens to fight you to defend his woman’s honor, and you put your fists up in front of you, jabbing out into the air as if you’re going to take him up on the offer. He chuckles, reaching out to fist bump you instead of punch. You drop your hands, looking past his big ass head.
Matthew is lounging in the second chair, the leg rest of the recliner up despite his legs being crossed under him. It’s the only way the chair will lean back, he’d told you once, and he doesn’t like sitting upright.
The smile on his face isn’t the wide grin you’d expected. It’s small, a gentle turn of the lips. Combined with the look he’s giving you– something unfocused, something unbearably soft– it implies an emotion that you know can’t be the correct interpretation. You swallow hard, turning your eyes back to Brady.
“Press play already, nerd,” you demand, tone playful enough to show that you don’t mean it. He sticks his tongue out at you, but does as he’s told.
Five minutes in, you glance over at Matthew, finding him already looking at you. You look away, slightly embarrassed to be caught. Another five minutes later, you can’t help but peek back at him again, as if your eyes are magnetized to him. It’s almost disappointing that he’s actually looking at the screen. It only takes a second for his eyes to move to the side, peering at you in his peripheral. The corner of his lips quirks up the tiniest bit, almost unnoticeable. But you notice.
You only make it maybe half an hour into the film before Matthew leans forward and snatches the remote from its place next to Brady. The plaintive sound Brady lets out is kind of funny, but you seem to think everything is funny today. Matthew pauses the show, declaring that the group needs snacks.
“Y/N, come give me a hand,” he says, beckoning you to follow him. You grumble a bit, but stand and follow him up the stairs and out of the den. He leads the way through the living room and into the kitchen. They’re fancy, so they have a walk-in pantry, of course. The two of you enter one after another. You start looking at the snack section, deciding what to grab. The good thing about being the one to retrieve the food is that you get to choose whatever you want and there’s nothing the others can say about it.
You’re rifling through the chips and pretzels when you feel a presence close behind you. It’s obviously Matthew, but he’s so close that you can feel the heat of his body radiating into your back. His left hand comes into your field of vision, pressing to the shelves next to your head. You twist your neck to look back at him, confused as to what he’s doing.
You’re not expecting the look he’s giving you. His eyes dark, completely focused in on your face. Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mouth without your permission. He’s not smiling, his lips parted just a fraction of an inch.
He rests his right hand on your shoulder, using it to turn your entire body around to face him. You can feel how dumbfounded your expression is as you stare up at him, your brow furrowed, your mouth slightly agape. He returns the gesture of looking at your mouth, his tongue quickly flicking out to wet his lips. He looks like he’s about to eat you alive. You would let him.
There’s a long, unbearable stretch of silence as the two of you just stare at each other, faces only a scant few inches apart. If this were anyone else, you would know exactly what’s going on, exactly what they want. But this is Matthew, your insanely wonderful, insanely hot, insanely out of your league friend. There’s no chance that he’s about to do what it feels like he is. No matter how many times you steal glances at each other, how closely he holds you, how many times he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, there’s no chance he’d ever want you. And just as you tell yourself that, he speaks.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his breath brushing across your lips from the proximity. Your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open wider in shock. You’ve spent the last two years valiantly suppressing any type of attraction you have to him, trying to respect his station as your best friend’s brother. And now, in just four words, he’s let it all loose. It floods you inside, so overwhelming, so much to take all at once that it triggers a full system reset. You swear your heart stops, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to tear the words from your lagging brain.
The words won’t come. The look on Matthew’s face is changing, something embarrassed, something guilty. He moves back an inch and you reach out, unwilling to let him go. You cup his face in your hands, pulling him in to press your lips together.
It’s lingering, almost chaste, and entirely sensational. Your lips are tingling, sparks shooting down your spine. Your chest feels cracked open, your innards exposed for his inspection, your true self exposed for his judgment.
When you pull back and open your eyes, his are still closed. He looks like he’s in heaven, like he’s trying to imprint this moment in his mind the same way that you are. After a moment, his eyelids slide up and he looks at you again. His eyes are hazy, unfocused, his blown pupils leaving only a thin ring of blue around the edge of his iris.
“Again,” he says, breathless, “Please.”
Who are you to deny him?
The second kiss is as good as the first, your breath abandoning your body to pant out against his lips. You meet again, his tongue flicking out for half a second to touch your top lip. It makes you breath hitch, makes you kiss him again, makes you gently bite his full bottom lip. The sound he lets out is barely audible, but it only feeds the fire inside of you, an inferno that blazes up from your hips to your throat. You cradle his face in your hands, hold just strong enough to move his head how you want, to slot your mouths together perfectly each time.
“Hurry up, asshole!”
Brady’s shout violently snaps you out of your haze. You jerk backward, trying to step away, but already pressed against the shelves. Matthew doesn’t seem as put off as you, smiling as if nothing happened. You relinquish your hold on his face, dropping your hands to your sides. His hands had wandered as you kissed, one on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. He squeezes once at the base of your skull, dipping in to give you one last quick kiss.
After frantically grabbing random snacks, you return to the den. You can feel how hot your face is, and you can only hope that it’s not too obvious how flustered you are. You and Matthew deposit the snacks on the coffee table, everyone immediately selecting one. You curl back up in your chair, legs pulled up to your chest as you lay sideways, head on the armrest.
Every time your eyes drift to Matthew for the rest of the evening, he’s looking back.
January, 2021
Just as the day the boys come home is the best day of the year, the day they leave for the season is the worst. Sometimes you wish you were Emma, that you could follow them back and forth and never be without them. But St. Louis is your home, is where you have a job and friends and more recently, family.
You’d helped both boys pack for the past few days, but you won’t be able to go along to drop them off at the airport. When Matthew had left for the playoffs, Emma had offered you her spot in the car. You’d told her that she didn’t have to, but she’d assured you she wanted it that way. She has to go along this time, so the car is already overpacked. Besides, you have to work that morning anyway.
You still show up at the Tkachuks’ beforehand, so early that the sun hasn’t made an appearance yet. Matthew had forgotten to pack his favorite sweater, of course. You fish it out from where it had fallen under his bed, straightening up to hold it out to him. He thanks you, deciding to wear it for the flight instead of shoving it into one of his bags. It looks good on him. Cozy.
Brady and Emma are double checking their room as well, one door down from you. Keith, Chantal, and Taryn are down in the living room, waiting as patiently as they’re capable of, which isn’t very much.
Being alone with Matthew used to be exciting, used to make your heart change its rhythm, used to start up a buzz under your skin. Now, it’s just… comfortable. Safe. Right.
When Matthew approaches you, crowding up into your space, you know exactly what he wants. The first time you’d kissed should have been the last. You’re too drawn to him, feel too much toward him, more than you should. More than he will ever return. The two of you haven’t discussed exactly what you’re doing here, but it’s clearly meant to be casual. Matthew isn’t typically the kind to shy away from voicing what he wants, and he hasn’t spoken up to define anything.
Is that what you want? You’re not sure. Making out like teenagers for months has been nice, has satisfied a part of you. But only a part.
You’re avoiding thinking about what you want, too afraid of what you’ll find. Some part of you, buried deep inside, hidden behind a recently built wall, already knows. If you allow yourself to acknowledge it, this will end badly. If you allow yourself to want, you’ll destroy yourself in the process.
The kisses he lays on your lips stay sweet, gentle presses, just a tease of tongue here and there. His arms are wrapped around you, resting on your shoulders, while your hands rest on his hips. You haven’t progressed past kissing, and you’re not sure if he wants anything beyond this. You’ll take what you can get.
Keith calls up the stairs for you to hurry up, lest the boys miss their flights. Matthew leaves one last peck on your lips, just as he always does before you part. You glance around his room a final time, making sure everything is packed. You help him bring his bags downstairs, help him and Emma get their things outside and into the car. You’ll have to go home as soon as they depart, and you’re actually a little grateful that you have work to distract you from the first hours of missing them.
As per usual, Emma is the first to hug you. You squeeze tight so that you can lift her off of her feet for a second, just to make her laugh. Brady grabs you next, as if both of them know that Matthew wants to be last. Brady wiggles you side to side, planting a kiss on the top of your head. You headbutt his shoulder, then kiss the same spot you’d hit. He says how much he’ll miss you, something he always reiterates for a few days before he leaves. You return the sentiment honestly, earnestly. When he pulls back, you punch his chest lightly, and he returns the gesture.
Matthew steps up and opens his arms, and you step into them easily. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, just holds you close, hand cupping the back of your neck, calming your anxiety and dulling the sharp edge of your pain.
“Gonna miss you so much, sweet girl,” he whispers into your hair, just loud enough for you to hear. You try to swallow the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat.
“Miss you already,” you reply, a little uneven, a little raw, “Can’t wait to see you again.” He places a kiss on your head as Brady had, but his lips linger, hesitant to let go. But he does let go.
They all wave as they drive off, Brady, Emma, Matthew, and Taryn all crammed into the back seat. You wave back, watching the car go, staring down the street even after the car turns and disappears.
Time to work, you suppose.
July, 2023
Art has never frustrated you so much in your life.
When you were young, the struggle and annoyance came from trying to get things just right, though they were above your skill level. As a teenager, it was due to the struggle of developing your own unique style. In college, it was not having the energy to paint most days, falling asleep at the easel others.
For the past month, the art has been flowing. You’ve been painting most every day, the ideas coming easily, creating almost a compulsion that you can’t resist. It’s only satisfied when the painting is complete. There are a couple dozen or so canvases scattered around your apartment to dry, the most you’ve ever produced in a single month. But the frustration– the frustration comes from the fact that all of your ideas are about him. All of your paintings are moments with him, things he’d said, how you’d felt, how you’d hoped he felt.
There’s a feeling inside of you, as if you’re right on the edge of catharsis, as if you paint just one more thing, you’ll be able to let it all go. That’s your motivation for everything you’ve been making, just desperately searching for the release that will save you from the pain. At this point, you’re not sure it will ever come.
You’re working on a bigger canvas, the biggest you’ve used in years. You’re glad your current job allowed you to move into a bigger apartment, because you surely wouldn’t have been able to fit something like this in your old shoebox, packed so full of your things that you’d barely had space for an 11x14. You have to stand to reach the upper portion, swiping a brighter red over the dark red base. You don’t want it to be about him. It is anyway.
The show at the gallery is rapidly approaching, only a month away. You’ve been working with the curator to decide which pieces to use, filing through years of work. So far, everything that she’s found compelling has been about him. Things you’ve made recently, things you made years ago when things were still good. One day, you’ll get over this. But not today. Today still just hurts.
June, 2021
With neither of the boys making the playoffs, they’d come home earlier than usual this year. Sadly, Brady is pretty used to it by now, usually coming home around this time anyway. You’re used to getting a few weeks with Brady and Emma before Matthew comes home, but you don’t have that this year.
While Brady sulks for about two days when he gets home, Matthew is far more upset. The Flames had made the playoffs for the last couple years, and he was getting used to being a contender. So not even getting a chance at it this year clearly stung. He moped around for a week or two, face tight and arms crossed over his chest most of the time. The only time he let his arms down, let his guard down, is when the two of you were alone.
You’d comforted him through the couple weeks of upset, even staying the night a few times. It wasn’t intentional, you’d just stayed so late that you fell asleep, and Matthew didn’t have the heart to wake you. You have to get up early to get home for work, so you’d snuck your way out of the house before anyone else had woken. You’re not sure how Keith and Chantal would have felt about you staying the night in Matthew’s bed, but you know what they would have thought was going on, and you didn’t want to put yourself or Matthew in that position.
Once he’d relaxed, taken a deep breath and accepted defeat, he went back to being his regular happy, seemingly aloof self. You’re grateful for it, not a fan of seeing him upset and always wanting to help him through and cheer him up.
June had come kindly, bringing along more sun and nicer weather. You and Matthew had resumed your walks in the park, and the whole group of you spend about as much time outside as you do in the den. Things with Matthew had picked up where they left off in January, him pulling you into a secluded area any time he could get you alone, kissing you senseless. You’d missed the feeling of his lips, of his body pressed to yours.
Tonight is one of the more rare nights where Matthew comes to your apartment, instead of you going to his parents’ house. You’ve offered to make dinner and follow it up with movies. You’re already on the couch, your dirty dishes abandoned on the coffee table. You’re laying on your side, Matthew spooned up against your back, your knees hanging off of the couch with the way they’re bent to accommodate Matthew’s too-long legs. You’re warm and comfortable, enjoying the feeling of safety that he brings, something you’ve very rarely felt in your life before.
The movie is good, but you’ve found that being in Matthew’s arms makes you sleepy, so you’re having a hard time focusing. You manage to mostly follow it, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn when the credits start to roll.
You feel Matthew place a kiss on the back of your neck without comment. Then he’s moving you, rearranging your bodies carefully until you’re on your back, Matthew staring down at you from his position straddling your thigh. The way he’s looking at you is intense, somehow simultaneously fond and hungry. It wakes you up almost instantly, and you reach out to rest your hands on his thighs.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, reverently. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it feels different now. Maybe it’s the position you’re in, maybe the way he’s looking down at you as if he wants you, as if he–
He takes your hands in his own, bending down as he brings them up to cradle his cheeks. You run your thumbs across his high cheekbones, tilt his head up a little by the jaw as his eyes slide shut. You press your fingers into the soft spot behind his jaw, under his ears, pull him down, down, down.
Kissing him feels as easy as breathing. Guiding his head this way and that to get a better angle, pressing your lips together over and over, longer each time, deeper. Matthew has one hand on the arm of the couch to hold himself up, the other wrapped loosely around your wrist. He’s not trying to move you or take control, just holding on as if he needs something to ground him. You press your thumbs into the hollows of his cheeks, feeling the solid wall of his teeth under the skin. His mouth drops open and he lets out a soft sound. You press your thumbs in harder, between the new gap between his upper and lower teeth, testing how far you can push from the outside.
He squeezes your wrist once and you release the pressure. His mouth stays open, lips wet and shining. He opens his eyes halfway, as if his eyelids are too heavy to get all the way up, eyes hazy and unfocused.
Again, he squeezes your wrist. He’s suddenly standing, using his grip to guide you up as well. He immediately crowds up against you, as if being more than an inch away will kill him. His eyes have managed to refocus, but there’s still a dreamy look in them.
He takes a step backward, using the hand that had instinctively gone to the back of your neck to bring you with him. He kisses you, lingering. He takes another step back, gives you another kiss. He rounds the end of the couch and you realize where he’s leading you, kind of impressed that he can find his way to the bedroom without even looking.
Of course, your heart is a frantic mouse scurrying around your chest, thumping hard like you’re a prey animal facing down a predator. But as much as it freaks out in the cage of your chest, there’s no panic in your head. Being with Matthew calms your mind, keeps your hands from trembling, feels so right that you can’t find a reason for the anxiety that used to plague you around him.
He stops you halfway between the door and the bed, pulling back a couple inches to stare down at you. You’re hesitant to put a name to the look on his face, not sure if reverent is being dramatic.
You flatten your palms against the front of his shoulders, shoving him gently, bullying him toward the bed. He allows it for a moment, but stops after a few steps. He takes your hands in his own, brings them to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. You try to swallow down the desire that grows inside of you, threatening to spill out. He holds your hands close to his face, enough that you can feel his lips move when he speaks.
“You don’t have to be in control, sweet girl,” he says, lays another kiss on the bump of your right middle finger, looks deep into your eyes with such adoration you feel ready to split at the seams.
“Let me take care of you,” he says. The part of you that’s spent your entire life with a fist clenched desperately around any sense of control that it could find, for the first time, relinquishes its hold. And Matthew does, indeed, take care of you.
February, 2022
It’s your first time in Vegas, and the atmosphere is electric. There are hockey fans everywhere, plenty of people wearing jerseys as they explore the strip. Everything is so big, so bright, so fancy. As exciting as it is to be here, it makes you feel a little off, a little like you don’t belong. It reminds you of the first time you’d been to the Tkachuks’ house, amazed at how different everything is from the way you grew up.
Each player was supposed to be allotted two tickets, but they had allowed Brady to take additional tickets for his family, considering Matthew is his brother, in addition to how well-known and beloved Keith is. He’d managed to get Emma included as well, luckily.
You weren’t sure how he did it, but Brady had gotten another player to give one of his tickets so that you could come. Apparently the guy’s family couldn’t make the trip, and he only had one friend that he really wanted to bring. He won’t tell you who it was, but the way that Timo Meier winks at you as he passes the stands gives you an idea. You weren’t aware that the two talked, but there’s always the possibility that he had just gone around and asked everyone. The idea makes something bloom in your chest, as if you could love Brady more than you already do. You’ll have to find a way to thank Timo some time.
The skills competitions are fun, though Brady doesn’t win anything. It’s nice to see the players relaxing and having fun, a well-deserved break from the stress of the season.
You all go out to an early meal before the games the next day. You don’t realize until you arrive that Jack Hughes and his family were joining you, and you trip over your own feet when you see them waiting for you. You’re a huge fan of Jack’s, but more than that, Ellen Weinberg-Hughes is an icon. You stumble with your words when you greet her, shaking her hand and screaming silently in your head. With how the boys are looking at you as you do so, they obviously anticipated your reaction and are incredibly satisfied with themselves.
For the meal, you’re sat between Matthew and Jack. You’re grateful that Matthew is next to you, needing his calming presence as you meet some of your favorite players. The families are friendly with each other, the parents catching up on the news of each others’ lives, the children doing the same in separate conversations.
You spend most of the dinner talking to Jack, Quinn, and Matthew. They tell you all sorts of things, including embarrassing stories about Matthew that you weren’t privy to. You grin at Matthew every time they share one, absolutely intending to tease him about it later. This seems to be what the Hughes boys want, eager to give you more ammunition. Matthew buries his face in his hands at one particularly humiliating story, even as he shakes gently with quiet laughter. When he emerges and sits back up, you take a chance, placing your hand on his thigh. You squeeze once, trying to reassure him. He does his best to not react, but he also rests his hand on top of yours under the table.
“So you’re a painter, right?” Quinn asks at one point, curiosity evident in his perpetually sleepy eyes.
“Yeah,” you confirm, asking “How did you know?” You’d told them about your official job, but you hadn’t mentioned being a traditional artist in addition to a graphic designer. Jack turns a smug smile on you.
“Matthew talks about you a lot,” he says, pleased with himself. You look to Matthew just in time to see his face flush.
“Shut up,” he says to Jack, which only makes him smile wider. Jack’s attitude rubs off on you a little, and you give Matthew a delighted smile.
“How much is a lot?” you ask Jack, feeling Matthew dig his fingertips into your knuckles.
“Like, a lot,” Jack replies, Quinn nodding from his other side. You look back to Matthew, who looks like he wants to crawl under the table and hide.
“I talk about him a lot, too,” you say. That makes Matthew look at you again, bright eyes nearly sparkling in the restaurant’s dim lighting. His expression shifts, a small, grateful smile scrunching his eyes up the slightest bit.
After dinner, you all make your way to the arena. Brady and Jack left a while before the rest of you, needing to arrive in time to get dressed and likely do some more media. Before he’d left, Jack had requested your phone, creating a contact for himself and inputting his number. As he dud, you turned your face away, toward Matthew, opening your mouth wide as if you’re screaming. He looked amused at it, but there’s a sharp edge there. Quinn took the phone next, doing the same thing. You squeezed Matthew’s thigh again, and his expression softened. You’ve been following the Hughes brothers since they were in Juniors, and having them like you enough to want to keep in touch– you can only describe the feeling as elation.
The lines are out the door at the arena, and a few people catch the boys to request photos before you can get to the special entrance for players’ guests. They’re all very kind and courteous about it, taking a few pictures with people, finding a way to move through the crowd even as they do so. You probably should have come a different way, or maybe gotten there earlier, but as long as the boys don’t mind, you don’t either.
The seats are good, the second row of the first balcony. It seems to be the section that they put all of the family and friends, people milling around and chatting with each other. You spot Johnny’s parents a couple rows away, the only people around that you’ve met before. You wave to them and they return the gesture. They make their way down to your seats, greeting each of you in turn. They start chatting with Keith and Chantal, so you continue talking to Taryn and Emma.
The games are great, surprisingly fast. The Atlantic division plays a great game again Central, despite losing by 3. You still can’t help being proud of Brady. You’ve been next to him since his first season, and you’ve loved getting to watch him grow and improve. As long as he’s in the world, you’re going to be proud of him.
The final is awesome too, and you jump up to cheer when Jack scores in the first. When the Metropolitan wins, you high-five Taryn, glad that Jack could win when Brady couldn’t. Not a bad consolation prize.
The group hangs around for a while after, and you get to meet a bunch of new people. Everyone is so nice, making you feel welcome, feel like you belong. When you finally start up the stairs to leave, Johnny’s mom Jane stops you for a second. She pinches your jersey and gives you a sly smile.
“Just a family friend?” she asks, not a question but a suggestion. A few years back, Matthew had given you one of his jerseys to wear to a game, and you’ve worn it tonight, despite him not playing. You realize now how it could be interpreted, ducking your head for a second to smile at the floor, before looking back up to Jane.
“Just a family friend,” you say, firm and definitive. She holds your gaze for a moment, looks behind her at Matthew, who’s waiting patiently a few steps up. He’s looking at you, that soft look he gives you sometimes. After a second, he smiles brightly at Jane. She waves and turns back to you.
“We’ll see,” she says. She pats your shoulder twice before making her own way up the stairs with Guy. Once you process the statement, you shake your head and make your way up to Matthew.
“What was that?” he asks as you enter the corridor. There’s no way you can tell him the truth, and honestly, you’re not sure what the fuck that was either. You just shrug at him, continuing your way out of the arena.
The comment sticks with you, no matter how you try to brush it off. Johnny is Matthew’s best friend, and you’ve met Jane a few times before. If it had been a stranger, you would’ve dismissed it outright. But to hear it from someone who actually knows the two of you? That’s harder to let go.
July, 2023
Laurel, the curator for the gallery hosting your show, is a lovely woman. She’s also very, very good at her job. You’ve been to countless shows at this gallery, and they’re always perfectly compiled, excellently arranged. You’ve brought her your most recent paintings today, which makes you glad that you have a car, because hauling them through the city would be a nightmare.
The only problem you have with Laurel is that she seems to see straight through you. You’re not used to someone looking past the professional figure you present, let alone someone seeing every part of you that you put into your art.
She’s staring at your offerings, examining every last detail. She’s already chosen about half of the pieces that will be displayed, creating a theme with your relatively impressionist style. She moves one canvas to the side, away from the others. She takes an extra few minutes to consider one of them, the largest one. It just finished drying yesterday. Having to see it every day as you passed it in the living room has been torture.
“Everything except that one,” she says, gesturing to the one she’d set aside. If she wants all of these, that’s likely going to be everything for the show. With everything else she’s chosen, this is all they have the wall space for, considering the way that you’ve seen Laurel arrange the art in previous shows you’d attended.
“That one is the centerpiece,” she adds, hand against her cheek as she continues staring at the large canvas. You swallow hard. Of course. Of course every painting she likes is about him. Of course the centerpiece will be him. No matter what you do, you’ll never escape him.
She asks a bit about your inspiration and motivation for the piece, and you give her vague answers that sound more philosophical than the real thing. The two of you discuss some of the minutiae of the show, trying to get everything finalized ahead of time. There’s less than a month left, and your excitement is starting to pair itself with dread.
When you get home, you go straight to your bedroom and throw yourself face first onto your mattress. You bury your face in a pillow, finally letting out the scream that’s been stuck in your throat since you learned of Tessa’s existence. It helps.
You make and have dinner, barely aware of what you’re eating. At least you can eat without getting nauseous now. You don’t feel like watching TV, probably wouldn’t be able to pay attention to a real show right now. Instead, you sit on your bed, leaning back against the headboard. You scroll social media mindlessly for a while, the ghost of Matthew next to you, his invisible arm pressed against yours.
February, 2022
Despite your better judgment, the first time you and Matthew had slept together wasn’t the last, either. It had continued through last summer, then again when he’d come to play the Blues. Now you’re in Calgary, in Matthew’s apartment for the first time, in his bed again.
A lot of people idolize the first time they sleep with someone, comparing every subsequent time to the first and often coming out disappointed. You had no reason to do so, because the sex only got better over time. As you and Matthew learned each other’s bodies, figured out what got the best reactions, the sex kept improving. Even if you wanted to fall back on your morals and resist him out of respect for Brady, you know you couldn’t stay away for long. It’s irresistible.
And it’s not just the sex. It’s the way he holds you after, lays on his back so that you can rest your head on his chest. It’s the way his breath ruffles your hair as you fall asleep together. It’s the things he says to you.
It’s the nights like this.
You’re in Matthew’s bedroom, the dark dead of night offering only the moon to light the room. Your head is on Matthew’s chest, his arm around you to keep you close, as if you would ever willingly leave. Your breathing had returned to normal a while ago, your body cooling off and beginning to recover from the rush of feeling. Matthew kisses the top of your head every so often, and you return the sentiment by tilting your head to lay kisses against his sternum.
“I wish I could keep you here forever,” he says, so hushed that you almost miss it. He’s always so quiet when he talks like this, as if he’s afraid to say it. He says these kinds of things anyway, but never above a whisper, not willing to share the vulnerability with anyone but you. Again, you press your lips into his skin.
“I wish I could stay here forever,” you reply. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To stay here, with him. No need to be quiet so as not to wake his family, no having to sneak out in the morning, no work to keep you away. Just laying here, together.
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he says. There’s desire in his voice, of course, but also earnesty, like he really means it. Part of you would like to believe that he does, but another part knows how important it is to not get caught up in the fantasy. It’s easier said than done.
“Not any of the other girls you’ve had?” you ask. You’d meant for it to come out teasing, but your honest curiosity wins out. Then there’s a hand on your chin, fingers gently guiding your head up until you’re looking Matthew in the eye. It’s not exactly comfortable to crane your neck like this, so you prop yourself up on one forearm, resting the other hand where your head had been as you stare down at him.
“Never,” he replies, insistent. He looks so serious, sounds so sincere. You don’t say anything, can’t think of anything. There’s something in the wide roundness of his eyes that speaks to you, pulls you in, encourages you to search deeper. It takes a second to figure out what it is that’s hiding in there, but… it’s fear.
“I never want this with anyone else,” he says, tangling his fingers with yours over his racing heart. There’s a question you want to ask, something you’ve been wanting to ask for a while, but the fear in him has mirrored itself within you. You should just shut up, keep it to yourself. The words come out before you can convince yourself to stay quiet.
“What is this?” you ask. You’re not sure what answer you’re expecting, but you know which one you’re hoping for. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for the first time, you don’t divert your gaze to admire the sheen of them, unable to look away from his eyes.
“I don’t know,” he says, pauses, presses your entwined hands harder to his chest, “But I never want to give it up.”
May, 2022
Again, Matthew is the second to come home. Brady returned almost a month before in April, the Senators not in the playoffs, as usual. You feel bad sometimes, because Brady is genuinely a great player, but his team has just struggled to gel together. Even through all of their trials, Brady insists on keeping hope. He loves his teammates, and that’s what really matters to him.
Matthew, on the other hand, isn’t so great at dealing with failure. The Flames make it to the second round, which is an achievement all on its own. But after winning Game 1, they’d lost four in a row and been knocked out. It feels to Matthew almost like they got swept, he explains over the phone after the final loss.
When he gets home, he once again spends a week sulking. You mimic what you’d done last year, though staying the night is intentional this time. So long as you sneak out before anyone wakes up, you’ll be fine.
On the eighth day, you tell Matthew for the hundredth time how proud of him you are. He shoots you a bittersweet smile and says that he’s proud of himself too, and you know he’s bouncing back. It doesn’t help that he’s been debating for months whether to re-sign with the Flames, an agonizing choice for him. He loves his boys, but he’s not sure he belongs there anymore. You’ve assured him that you’ll support him no matter what decision he makes. Johnny hits free agency next month, and if he moves, you’re not sure that Matthew will have the motivation to stay.
The next couple of weeks go by the same way that they always do, with you spending as much time with the Tkachuks as possible. At least, you think you’re doing a good job of acting like everything is the same as years past. No one knows about you and Matthew, and it seems like he wants to keep it that way. You like having this little secret life with him, getting to have him all to yourself. You’re okay with the way it is, you convince yourself.
June came quickly, having begun only four days after he’d returned. The weather improves, you and Matthew once again resume your walks in the park. You play yard games and watch trash TV with Brady and Emma. You help Chantal cook dinners, help Keith clean up afterward. Everything is back to the summer standard.
The day had been nice, sunny and warm. The light had turned the leaves of the trees golden during your walk this afternoon. The sun is long gone now. Nighttime has become your favorite part of the day, the only time you get to indulge in whatever it is that you and Matthew have. The only time you get to touch his skin, to hear the low sounds he can’t help but make, to feel his warmth against you, inside you.
It’s been some time since you’d finished, but you can’t quite fall asleep. Matthew is spooned up against your back, face buried in the nape of your neck. You’re not sure if he’s asleep or not, too distracted to bother trying to figure it out. You’ve been thinking about it since your visit to Calgary. Any time Matthew called, or texted, or even crossed your mind, you thought of it. It made your heart leap into your throat, your breath catching as you choked on it.
He doesn’t know what you’re doing together, what you are. He didn’t give the response you’d been hoping for, but he didn’t outright deny it either. Sometimes you think it would have been better if he had, if he’d said that it was just sex. Then you could start working on moving on. You wouldn’t have to lie awake at night, wondering.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his groggy voice making you startle and snapping you out of your head. You take a deep breath, debating yourself for a couple seconds before you decide.
“Nothing,” you reply, patting his forearm where it’s snaked around your waist, “Go back to sleep.” He takes a quick, deep breath, the air rushing out over your skin. You’re helpless to resist when he starts moving you. If you did put up a fight, push back against his hands, you know he would stop. But you’re tired.
“What’s wrong?” he asks again once you’re flipped to face him. He looks tired too, the exhaustion of the season still lingering. The moonlight paints his face in silver. It makes his skin shine, almost glowing in the darkness.
“I’m afraid,” you say. You wish he hadn’t turned you around. It would be easier to speak it into the wall than it is to say to his face. You say it anyway, watching his brow furrow, admiring the way the silver light adds contrast to the wrinkles the expression creates.
“Of what?” he asks. You could make something up. Telling him that you’re afraid of monsters under the bed would be less embarrassing. You’ve never been very good at lying to him.
“The day you move on,” you whisper, invisible pressure on your throat making the words come out tight and unsteady. The surprise on his face surprises you in return. He’d refused to put words or labels to whatever this is, of course you would think that he’s going to leave eventually. You’d have to be an idiot to think that he means it when he says forever.
“I won’t,” he says, resolute. You can only manage a half-smile for him.
“You’re not the first man to say that,” you reply. He reaches up and cradles your cheek in his wide palm, warmth seeping into your skin.
“But I’m the first one to mean it,” he says. You close your eyes. They begin to prickle at the corners, but you refuse to cry about any of this. He’s so adamant, so steadfast in his insistence. You try to remind yourself of what this isn’t, what it will never be, but you’ve never trusted someone the way you trust him, and you can’t help believing him anyway.
August, 2023
You hadn’t anticipated this happening, let alone how hard it would be, but finally, finally it’s a little bit easier.
You’re not over Matthew, not by a long shot. It’s going to take months, years. It may never happen, who knows? As long as you can cope with it, can keep your friends around, that’s all that matters.
The first half of the day was spent with both boys and their girls. You didn’t have to curl up so tightly on your chair, didn’t have to force words out so they didn’t think anything was wrong. Conversation was relatively easy, topics changing and flowing naturally. You’d smiled, laughed, and a couple of times you actually meant it.
Matthew had apparently planned a date for Tessa and himself, so they excuse themselves in the late afternoon. Brady, Emma, and you stick around the den for a bit, continuing to talk. Eventually, Emma stands, stretching dramatically.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggests. You’ve spent too much time lately sitting at an easel or curled up in bed, and a walk sounds like a great idea.
You expect it this time when Brady takes the three of you to the same park. It’s easier when you’re not blindsided by it, and you have the lovely memory of the last time you were here with the two to focus on, instead of Matthew. You walk for a while, music playing softly from Emma’s phone, tucked in her back pocket. Once you’re deep into the wooded area of the park, she stops dead in her tracks. You follow suit, spinning around to shoot her an inquisitive look. She takes the two steps forward to close the space between you two, grabbing you by the shoulders and walking you backward. You stumble, trying to look behind yourself to keep from falling. She pushes until the backs of your knees hit a bench on the side of the pathway and you fall onto it. You gape up at her, befuddled by the behavior and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.
“What’s going on,” she demands, not a question. You furrow your brow, at a loss for words. You know what she’s talking about, and you know that she knows that you know. But why would she wait until the day that it starts to fade, the day that you can finally think of something else, to ask you about it?
“C’mon, Y/N,” Brady says, plopping down on the bench next to you, “We know something’s wrong.” You had accepted the possibility of this back in June, but you weren’t expecting it to take almost three months for it to happen.
Your first instinct is that you absolutely can’t tell them. You’ve been keeping this secret for years, and if Matthew has his way, you’ll keep it forever. If Matthew gets his way, you repeat in your head. That’s it, isn’t it? All this time, you’ve been so focused on what Matthew wants that you ignored your own wanting. What do you want?
You want to tell someone, to finally have this horrid pain out in the open instead of keeping it caged up around your heart. You want your best friend and his wife to hug you. You want them to understand.
“Matthew,” the name tumbles out, and you don’t want to stop it. Brady and Emma are still looking at you, waiting for anything you want to tell them. God, Brady is your goddamn best friend and you’d convinced yourself that you couldn’t tell him something? That there was anything on this earth that he would shun you for?
It all comes spilling out in a rush. Everything from the first time you’d met him. Hell, some information that isn’t strictly necessary, but they don’t interrupt you or complain, so you venture on. It takes long enough to recount that Emma sits on the metal armrest of the bench. Brady’s holding one of your hands in his lap, Emma taking the other to do the same.
You’d promised yourself more than once that you wouldn’t cry about this, but you don’t really care enough to stop yourself now. The tears come two-thirds of the way through, falling silently as you recount some of the things Matthew had told you, the things he’d promised you. You’re not outright sobbing, so you manage to power through the rest of the story. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut by the end, like closing them will block out the memories.
It takes a couple of minutes for the tears to stop. The three of you let the silence hang as you wait for it, nothing but the leaves rustling in the trees, something scurrying in the bushes. When you can safely open your eyes to face the world again, you look over to Brady. He looks devastated.
You watch his evolving emotions morph the expression on his face, from heartbreak to anger and back again. The anger makes your heart skip a beat, suddenly afraid that maybe the whole “I slept with your brother” thing will be a problem after all.
“Do you want me to kick his ass?” he asks, startling a laugh out of you. You know he’s dead serious, too. Part of you thinks it might be cathartic to see Matthew get beat up by his little brother, but your soft heart doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. After everything he’s done to you, you still don’t want him to have to feel even a fraction of the pain you do.
February, 2023
This year, the boys don’t have to bribe anyone else to get you to the All Star Game. Each of them is allotted two tickets as per usual, but Taryn is too busy with school to come. She’d aimed a satisfied smirk at Matthew through the camera of her phone, saying guess you’ll have to take that one along as her eyes darted slightly to the left, clearly looking at where you were on the screen.
Since your work is remote, you’ve brought along your laptop. You spend the morning of the skills competition working, still averse to using your PTO if it’s not completely necessary. The boys have to do media, so there’s no one around to bother or distract you. You kind of wish there were.
The special skills competitions are as fun this year as they were last. You especially love Sidney Crosby in the dunk tank, seemingly having the time of his life. You may not know him personally, only having met him once in passing, but after everything he’s been through, you think he deserves some carefree fun.
The sun has set by time you emerge from the arena after the regular skills competitions. The days are shorter at this time of year, even in Florida. It is warmer than St. Louis, though, which you’re grateful for.
Jack is in the competition again this year, so you meet up with the Weinberg-Hugheses again that night. You’ve gotten much closer with Jack and Quinn over the past year, building relationships on texts and calls and dinners when they play the Blues. Luke has tagged along this time, and you get on with him just as well as his brothers.
Matthew shoots Jack a look when he slings an arm around you on the way back to your hotels after dinner, but Jack just grins at him. You’re still not sure what that’s all about, but you’re just going to stay out of it.
The games the next day are fantastic. You’ve never gotten to watch both of your boys win at once, and you love it. When the Atlantic wins the whole thing, you cheer so loudly your voice cracks. Emma laughs at you, but you just laugh along with her.
You stick around for a bit after the game again, Keith and Chantal mingling while Emma shows you the decorations she’s planning for the wedding on her phone. After a while, someone taps you on the shoulder from behind. You turn your head, immediately recognizing Jane. Johnny had made it again this year with his new team, so it would make sense that she’s here too. You stand, reaching up to hug her in her elevated position.
“Matthew got you a new jersey?” she asks, referencing the All-Star jersey you’ve got on. You wish you could say that you bought it for yourself, but it had indeed been a gift from Matthew. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, so you act like it’s not, even though it is.
“Yeah, he’s a great friend,” you reply, shrugging, “He likes to take care of me.” The thing about Jane is that she’s not really a jerk. Sometimes the you-and-Matthew comments bother you, but she’s generally a very sweet woman.
“It’s good to have someone like that,” she says, smiling gently at you, “Matthew is a good boy.” Jane had been at enough Flames games for you to know her, and definitely enough for Matthew to become a pseudo-son to her. They don’t interact much anymore, save for when she pops up in the back of Johnny’s facetimes, but you know she still has a soft spot for him. You don’t blame her.
“He really is,” you agree, nodding. The two of you make some small talk, and you get some updates on Johnny’s new life on the Blue Jackets. You give her some updates on Matthew in return. After a bit, Guy shuffles up next to Jane, telling her that it’s time to go. She acknowledges him quickly, turning back to take one of your hands in her own.
“I know he takes care of you,” she says, patting the back of your hand with her second, “But you take care of that boy, too. Okay?” You just nod, smiling and bidding her goodbye. Her and Guy retreat up the steps and out of view. You’re not sure why she feels the need to say these things to you, and you’re not sure why you take them to heart.
You meet Matthew and Brady outside the player entrance, the boys immediately scooping up you and Emma, respectively. Matthew sweeps you off of your feet for a moment, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Once you’re free, you start to dip forward, realizing what you’re doing at the last second and changing track to make sure the kiss lands on his cheek.
He beams at you, and you’re absolutely certain that you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to make him smile.
April, 2023
The day Brady comes home is the best day of the year, you remind yourself for the thousandth time. You’re excited to see him, you are. The way your chest has felt rent open for days isn’t his fault in any way. You’re not going to make him pay for being the messenger.
Once you all get the couple home, you go upstairs with Brady and Emma to help them unpack. They don’t really need help, obviously, but it’s an excuse to spend time together. Brady talks a little about the season, but mostly focuses on his plans for the summer. He talks about wanting to go see G, maybe even take a trip out to visit Tim.
For the most part, you just fold clothes and listen. Eventually, they switch to the topic of the wedding, Emma showing you even more pictures. She’d asked you to be a bridesmaid forever ago, so you’ve already seen most of it, had even helped her pick half of it out, but you’re never going to squash her excitement.
Exhausted from their travel, the two make their way down to the den after everything is put away, collapsing onto the couch. You curl up in your chair, allowing the couple to choose what you watch. They pick something or another, nothing that you can pay attention to right now. Instead, you find yourself examining Brady, picking apart his features, finding all the things he shares with Matthew.
It’s the best day of the year, you remind yourself again. The light of the TV highlights Brady’s jawbone and your skin crawls.
August, 2023
The show is going exceptionally well, exceeding your expectations. The space is filled with strangers, friends, and even your brother and his family. There are critics and collectors, some that you’ve seen at other people’s shows, some that you don’t recognize. Everyone wants to talk to you, and you don’t get a spare moment to breathe for the first few hours.
When you do get a chance to exhale, the rich couple that had been occupying you finally walking away, you catch the color out of the corner of your eye. You’ve been all around the building all night, mingling and networking in equal measure. You hadn’t realized where you ended up until right this second. You turn to the piece, staring as if you’d never seen it before.
You don’t need to look over to see who steps up next to you a minute later.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Matthew says. It doesn’t feel like an accusation, though it is one. All you can do is sigh.
“What did you expect me to do?” you ask, not expecting an answer. You glance at his hands out of the corner of your eye, noticing the wine glass in one hand, water glass in the other. Without a word, Matthew holds the water out in your direction, still fixated on the painting. You take it, feeling odd that not only does Matthew know that you forget to drink enough water, but also that he’s still trying to take care of you.
“It’s me,” he says after a pause. You’re both facing the largest canvas, the centerpiece. Swirls of bright red spread across a crimson background, highlighted with orange, accented with a royal purple. There, in the center, are two comparatively small, even circles of icy blue.
“They’re all you. Or about you, at least,” you say, seeing no need to deny it any longer, “About us.” It’s obvious that Matthew hadn’t expected you to admit it outright, thrown off for a minute by the admission.
“Can we talk?” he asks as you take a sip of water.
“We’re talking right now,” you reply, feeling petty. It’s his turn to sigh. He sets his wine glass down on the nearest horizontal surface before returning to your side, facing you this time.
“Somewhere private,” he clarifies, pauses, “Please.” You may be mad at him, enraged, incensed, but you’ve never been able to deny him anything, and you still can’t, even now.
You shut the storage room door behind you, flicking on the light to chase away the darkness. Matthew has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking around as if there’s anything interesting in here. You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to nut up and look you in the face.
“Listen,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck but still not looking at you, “I know I should have gone about this better.” You snort. No shit. The sound finally brings Matthew’s gaze to meet your own.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Matthew says, motioning with his raised hand, “I didn’t think you’d care that much.” You can feel how incredulous your expression is, and you don’t even try to hide it.
“In what world would I not be upset?” you respond, “After everything?” You can hear yourself, know you sound like a bitter, jealous old ex, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and looks away again. When he looks back, there’s an almost pleading look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, more sincerely than the first time, “You shouldn’t have had to find out from Brady.” You avert your gaze, working your jaw for a second before you raise your chin and square your shoulders.
“No,” you agree, “I shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry I stopped talking to you,” he says, motioning helplessly with his hands, “You have to know how hard that was.” You shake your head, almost disgusted.
“Imagine how hard it was for me,” you reply. Your fingertips are digging into your own arm, fingernails biting into the skin. The fact that he would stand here and imply that this was a struggle for him– as if he expects you to offer sympathy– makes your stomach churn. The guilt in his expression makes you sickly satisfied.
“Listen,” he leads with that word again, as if he has any right to ask it of you, “I didn’t want to upset her. You know how some girls are.” You do know. And it’s still not an excuse.
“You didn’t tell her about me,” you say, anger and hurt straining your voice, “You said that I was just Brady’s best friend. You didn’t even tell her what we had.” You want to scream it at him, just want to scream in general. Maybe if you did, if you released your tight grip on control in a different way than you had with him, maybe it would make him understand.
“What did we have?” he asks. His voice is quiet, just as yours had been when you’d brought up the topic all those months ago.
“I don’t know,” you say, turning his own words back on him. It’s true, anyway. You’ve never known what any of this was. You’d only known what you wanted it to be, what you stupidly, fruitlessly hoped for.
“We never dated,” he replies, voice still low but seemingly not bothered by the uncertainty, “We never called it a relationship. You were never my girlfriend.” It’s a simple fact. It tears your heart out of your chest.
“Just because we didn’t name it doesn’t mean it was nothing,” you insist, squeezing your eyes shut for a second to push down the urge to cry before admitting, “I stopped dating.” He looks even guiltier at that, but it doesn’t soothe anything in you.
“I didn’t look at another man,” you continue, embarrassed and ashamed but unable to let him continue through life without knowing, “I didn’t even want to look at anyone else.” The shame makes the fiery anger burn brighter.
“I gave you three years of my fucking life,” you say, voice raising just enough to make Matthew flinch. You keep it reigned in enough that no one outside will hear, not interested in sharing this conversation with anyone else, especially not potential business contacts. The flames engulf your chest, lick up at your throat, threaten to consume you.
“I never asked you to do that,” Matthew replies, solemn. Your jaw drops, just half an inch, enough to part your lips as your breath hitches. He never asked. He never fucking–
“You–” you begin, breath catching in your throat as your eyes burn with tears you refuse to let escape, “Everything you said, everything you did, and you expected what? For me to just move on?” Your nails are digging so deeply into your biceps that you’re surprised they haven’t drawn blood. Matthew doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t tamp down the impulse to be petty.
“But I guess that’s what you did, huh?” you jab. Matthew shuts his eyes tightly, fists clenching like he wants to fight. It should be threatening, but you’ve always known that he would never dream of laying a finger on you in violence. But then again, you’d thought you knew a lot of things about him.
“Why do you care?” he asks, shoulders tense as he opens his eyes to stare you down, “You don’t even want me.” That shocks a laugh out of you, so completely ridiculous that you can’t help it.
“That’s the most fucked up part– I do want you,” you respond, simultaneously an answer and an admission. His brow furrows as he continues looking at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“Did you seriously think I didn’t?” you ask, more of a demand, slightly offended because, “Do you think I said all those things for fun? For shits and giggles?” You can’t read his expression, don’t even bother trying. He can feel whatever he wants. That’s not your concern anymore. All you care about is the cold spreading through you, crawling up from the tips of your fingers, freezing your arms, creeping into your chest and beginning to extinguish your rage.
“I loved you, dickhead,” you continue, the words spilling out of you starting to sound pathetic, no matter how hard you’re trying to hold on to the anger, putting the last grasp of it into the words, “Stupid fucking idiot asshole, I loved you.” Matthew gapes at you, hands going lax at his sides. His jaw moves as if to say something, but nothing comes out.
“I loved you and you threw me away like garbage, and didn’t even have the balls to tell me yourself,” you force the sentence out, feeling like you’re choking on every syllable. Matthew’s breathing stutters. You’re expecting annoyance, irritation, maybe even shame or guilt. You’re not expecting his wide eyes, his eyebrows turned up in the middle, his slack jaw.
“You loved me?” he finally asks after a few agonizingly long seconds of silence. There’s something in his voice that you tell yourself you don’t care to analyze.
“Of course I did. How could I not?” you say, huffing as you look upwards, needing a momentary break from this staring contest, “The pathetic part, the part that makes me hate myself, is that I still do.” It’s physically painful to say, no matter that the hurt is psychosomatic. You’ve spent the last few minutes breaking open your ribcage, one bone at a time, revealing to him the space you’d made for him inside of yourself.
“You love me?” he asks, so dumbfounded that he’s repeating himself.
“Yes, Matthew,” you say, facing up to the dread inside of you, the one fact you’ve been struggling with the most since you’d found out the news.
“And I’m terrified. Because I’ve always loved you,” you pour out, barely able to hold yourself together as you meet his eyes, “And I’m afraid that I always will.” There’s not even space for half of a breath before Matthew speaks.
“Please do,” he says. His hands are open, palms facing your direction, as if pleading.
“What?” you ask.
“I didn’t know,” he says, and apparently he’s decided it’s his turn to reveal himself, “I was surprised that you wanted anything to do with me at all. But then you kissed me, and I spent the next three years waiting for you to leave.” The confusion comes over you so quickly that it almost masks the hurt.
“Why would I leave?” you ask. There’s been nothing subtle about your feelings. You’ve told him that he’s the only one you want, that you want to spend the rest of your life by his side, that he’ll always be the only one. How could he hear all of that and think that you would ever leave?
“Because you’re smart and kind and funny and hardworking–” he starts listing off.
“Tessa is all of those things too,” you cut him off. It doesn’t come out as resentful as you would’ve expected a sentence like that to. As you’ve told Terri, you really have nothing against Tessa. Besides, she really is everything he’s saying.
“But she’s not you,” his response comes immediately, emphatically, “I don’t want just anyone like that; I want you, and you happen to be that way.” You’re stunned into silence.
“It’s not the traits, it’s you,” he says, insistent, like he’s trying to convince you of your own worth, “And I kept waiting for you to find someone else, someone who wasn’t hotheaded and self-centered and–” He stops himself, swallowing so hard you can see his throat stutter under the thin skin of his neck.
“Someone better,” he finishes. The thing is that Matthew doesn’t have low self-esteem. He knows he’s a catch, and yet… And yet, he’s standing here, admitting that he’d still thought of you as being so far above him that you could never want him. And it’s not that there isn’t probably someone out there better than him–
“I never wanted someone better,” you tell him, voice almost a whisper. Growing up, you’d created this picture of the perfect man, told yourself that you’d find him one day, would never settle for less. Then you’d met Matthew, and he was nothing like that imaginary ideal. He was flawed; he was real. And you couldn’t help but love him for it.
“And I never wanted anyone else,” he replies, his own voice hushed to match yours, but no less certain, “I still don’t.” Three months ago, you would’ve given anything to hear that. But things are different now.
“I thought that if I went and found someone like you, someone close enough, that I could fall for them too,” he confesses, shame making his face tense, “I thought that if I stopped talking to you, if I kept my distance, that I could get over you.” A fraction of the anger buds in your chest at the idea.
“So you’re using Tessa,” you accuse, instantly offended on her behalf.
“No!” Matthew denies emphatically, pauses, shakes his head, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” If he is using her, at least he seems ashamed about it. Something in his posture makes you think he isn’t, that he really thought he could love her.
“Look, she’s great. She’s amazing. She’s too good for me, too,” his shoulders have been hunched up to his ears, but they fall now, defeated, “She talks about that spark she felt when we met, the way she feels about me now, and I want, I really want to feel that way too. It would be easier if I could.” Believing this entire time that he truly loves her has been hell for you, but it’s still somehow worse to know that he doesn’t. That he did all of this, hurt you so deeply, for someone he doesn’t even love.
“As much as I’ve tried, I don’t. And I can’t,” he says, turning his gaze to the floor, “And if I’d ever thought that I had the slightest chance with you, I never would have dated her to begin with.” All these years, all those words, all the touches you’ve shared, and he’d still never taken you seriously. It’s not your fault, you know. But you realize now that for every time you’d indirectly confessed your feelings to him, he’d said the same things back. He’d returned every sentiment readily, easily. And as much as he’d apparently had the same idea as you, that the other could never love you back, you hadn’t seen it either. You’ve been just as ignorant of his feelings as he was of yours, just as deep in denial. And now there’s this rift between you, a deep chasm that keeps you apart, all for no reason.
“So, what now?” you ask. There’s nothing else to ask.
“What?” he seems genuinely confused.
“What now?” you repeat, too tired to be upset anymore, “You break her heart? Or do you keep pretending? Fake your way into a wife and kids and a house in the suburbs?” His confusion persists, tongue darting out to wet his lip the way it always does when he’s anxious.
“I thought–” he shakes his head the tiniest bit, as if he can’t believe what’s happening, “I mean, I love you. I want to be with you.” There’s a sadness sitting heavy in your chest, only getting deeper at his words.
“I love you too,” you say, tipping your head an inch to the right, perfectly aware of how melancholy your smile must be, “But you hurt me, and now you have to hurt her too. I thought you were better than this.” You’d thought the world of him. You don’t hate him now, could never force yourself to. But you are disappointed in how everything has played out.
“I thought you didn’t want better?” he says, not really a question. Your lips turn up another centimeter at that.
“Listen,” you say, turning the word back on him. You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. He stays quiet.
“The opportunity of a lifetime is on the other side of that door,” you gesture vaguely over your shoulder, then let your arms relax, your hands fall to your sides, “I don’t know what to do with any of–” you give another vague gesture, “--This.” The devastation is writ clear on his face, telegraphed by his posture, bared in the forefront of his miserably beautiful eyes.
“Out there?” you say, smile still in place, “I know exactly what I want. So I’m going to go get it.” you pause, take another deep breath, “And maybe you’ll be there tomorrow, and maybe you won’t.”
“I will,” he jumps in. You huff an almost-laugh.
“We can figure this all out later,” you say, sure a definite, “For now, I have to focus on the things that I’m sure of.” He nods, looks at the floor, raises his head and looks back at you.
“Did you used to be sure of me?” he asks, an uneven, shaky whisper.
“Yeah,” you say, your entire being feeling so heavy that you can barely hold yourself upright, “I used to be.”
September, 2023
While Brady had departed yesterday, Matthew doesn’t leave until tomorrow. It took some internal debate, but you’ve decided not to go along to drop him off at the airport. His family will think it’s weird if he doesn’t hug you, and you’re not sure if you can handle him touching you yet.
You’re curled up on the couch with a book, letting yourself get lost in the story. A knock comes on the door and you startle. You mark your page and stand, rounding the couch to open the door. When you do, Matthew is standing there.
“Hey,” he greets, giving you the same bittersweet smile you’ve become accustomed to over the past few weeks. You’d given him a key to your apartment right after you’d moved, but you appreciate him not using it right now. You welcome him in with a gesture of your hand, turning to lead the way. You get four steps away before he speaks.
“I broke up with Tessa,” he blurts out. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but he doesn’t seem particularly sad either.
“Why?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, “You’re that sure that I’ll take you back?” The anger comes and goes as it pleases, and it’s starting to sneak through the space between your ribs.
“No,” Matthew says, looking so unbearably fond of you, “I think you’ll tell me to get fucked.” Some days you want to.
“Then why did you break up with her?” you ask. Part of you has been wondering if, despite everything he’d said, he would stay with her. You’re not sure you would have been able to keep the conversation to yourself if he had, but you would have at least tried.
“Because none of this is fair to her,” he answers, shrugging, “She deserves someone who feels the same way about her that she does them. Someone who’s obsessed with her. She doesn’t deserve to be settled for.” You examine his expression, his stance, and realize that he’s truly being honest. He genuinely wants the best for her.
“How’d she take it?” you can’t help but ask. It makes him grin down at the floor for a moment.
“Honestly?” he asks when he raises his head, “Not great. Could have been worse, though.” As much as you love Matthew, you would have been proud of Tessa if she had slapped him.
“Probably should’ve been worse,” you reply. He grins again, tilting his head as he admires your face.
“Probably,” he agrees. For long moments, you both stand still, eyes locked.
“What now?” you ask, the same question as a couple weeks ago. He shrugs again, but he doesn’t seem as miserable or desperate as he had at the gallery.
“I don’t know,” he replies, that same phrase that you’re still trying to make peace with, “I know what I want. Same thing I’ve wanted this entire time. So I guess it’s up to you.” After three years of him encouraging you to give up control, to let go and follow his lead, he’s handing you the reigns now. However this ends or continues is completely your decision.
“You leave tomorrow,” you say, though you’re both viscerally aware of the fact.
“Yeah,” he gives you the crooked smile that had captured you the first time you’d met, “Don’t suppose you want to come with me? The winter weather’s nicer in Florida.” You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head at him.
“If you’d asked me that last summer, I probably would’ve said yes,” you admit. You kind of expect him to react with sadness, but you prefer the hope that blooms on his face.
“Maybe I’ll ask you again next summer?” he suggests, offering you the option. At this point, you have no idea where your relationship will be at this time next year. You don’t know if you’ll even have a relationship, of any kind. But if he’s willing to try, so are you.
“Yeah,” you nod, smiling wider than you have in a long while, “Next summer.”
June, 2024
The Hughes brothers are a funny trio. Seeing Jack’s upbeat, outgoing energy bookended on each side by two reserved, perpetually exhausted brothers is always kind of funny. You’d run down the pavement from the Tkachuk’s door to the driveway when you’d seen Quinn climb out of the car’s driver seat, immediately sweeping him up in a hug. The boys had decided to road trip around this summer, so of course you’d strongly suggested that they visit you.
You help them haul their bags out of the trunk, taking Luke’s backpack in hand and insisting on carrying it in for him. The three of them had started teasing you the instant they saw that Matthew hadn’t come out with you.
“Come on, I heard him at the All Star game,” Jack pesters, voice taking a mocking edge as he croons, “Sweet girl.” You laugh brightly, stopping the careful steps you’re taking backwards up the pathway to the house.
“We weren’t dating, I swear,” you insist. Plenty of people over the years have accused you of dating Matthew, but at least he’s funny about it. He stops in front of you, lifting his chin and giving a shit-eating smile.
“Wait, weren’t?” he asks, “As in, past tense?” You feel heat begin to crawl up your face. You’d intended to tell them, of course, but not the second they got here.
“Yeah,” Matthew calls from behind you, and you twist around to watch him close the space between you, “Past tense.” Jack’s glee is overt, but you can see the little signs of happiness on the other two boys’ faces too. Matthew lines himself up against your back, wrapping his arms around you, the gaudy Cup ring on his finger glinting in the light.
“Hey, sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair. You can’t see him, but Jack’s smug face makes you sure that Matthew is staring straight at him. “My sweet girl,” Matthew says. It might be the best thing you’ve ever heard.
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nattblacklupin · 7 days
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Ice and shadows
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Pairing: hockey player! Azriel x fem! Reader
Warnings: cursing, lots of fluff
Summary: headcanons about hockey player! Azriel
Hockey player! Cassian ● masterlist
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Azriel is defence, He's the quiet and fast one that is nearly invisible on the ice if you don't pay attention to him.
His sneaky ability to not be seen isn't put to use just on the ice to suprise his opponents. He especially likes to use it when scaring his beloved wife, you.
You waited for Azriel to come back home from yet another training. The playoffs are close, and they are working harder than ever. He stays there even longer than his teammates, scared of failing once again - no one on the Velaris team wants to lose in the semifinals like last year. They made stupid mistakes that couldn't happen again. All of them will make sure of it.
With lids feeling heavier every second, you try to still pay attention to your favourite show. It will surely keep you awake until Azriel arrives home.
Long yawn left you as something touched your shoulder. With scream, you jumped up. Now awake and aware with a feeling of adrenaline. You quickly grabbed the vase that was on the coffee table, on which you nearly fell. Ready to fight any intruder that could come in your home. "Woah, who knew I married such a dangerous woman." Focusing your eyes and slowly calming down, you realise that the scary intruder is just your husband finally home. With that, you put down the vase and jumped on him, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Never scare me like that again," you whisper into his lips. "I wouldn't dream of it." He finally kissed you with plans that will keep you awake for the whole night.
Azriel isn't exactly the type to force you to wear his jersey to games. It's up to you, you can wear whatever you want. He can fight. But oh, mother, when you wear his jersey, it awakes something in him. You having his name on your ass and in your passport is dream come true for him. He is thanking the stars every night for blessing him with your presence.
It was an important match today, the whole Velaris team stressing about it for weeks. This match will decide which team will go to playoffs. Azriel left long ago, which left you home alone with a lot of work. You didn't mind, though. At least you could take your mind off the potential loss that can happen today.
Being finally done with all chores, you decided it's the time to start getting ready. It's better to be there sooner rather than later. Knowing that Azriel doesn't play well without his good luck kiss. Your heart nearly stopped when you checked the time. The game starts in twenty minutes. It's nowhere the time you wished you would have. Your hair is still messy, dressed in Azriels shirt without make up you started running around the house, trying to get ready as fast as possible. Glad for the fact that the stadium was 5 minutes from your home if you ran. Swiftly putting on stray pants that were on the floor, where you threw them yesterday, grabbing Azriels jersey you run out of the house. Your feet took you to the stadium in a record time of three minutes, quickly finding your way to the cabins where the players are probably now doing the last steps of their pregame routine. You open the door while taking deep breaths. "Azriel". Azriels shoulders visibly releax, "you came." He whispered like he thought you forgot, like you wouldn't come to support your husband in the second thing that mattered the most to him. "Of course I did"
As said before, Azriel has to have his good luck kiss, or he just can't play well. Everybody teases him for it, but behind his back, they are begging you to never skip his game. The one time it happened was enough.
Fortunately for everyone, it was just practice match before the season, where it didn't exactly matter if the team won. But every match mattered to them, no matter with whom or when. They are here to show they are the best.
That's probably why everybody was taken by suprised when Azriel was clumsy on the ice and couldn't keep balance. His usually incredibly fast skating turned into woblly slow skating. It got that bad he himself decided not to play that day, saying that he just can't.
Azriel never exactly told anyone it was cause you didn't came to the game and weren't his lucky charm. But it was more than clear to anyone who isn't blind.
Since that day, you had to come to every game. And if you couldn't, well you suddenly could. Because Cassian has no problem with stealing you away and bringing you to the game
"No, Cass, I really can't come. I have to do this work. I can probably make it in time for third period, but I'm not sure." Explaning your reasons to Cassian was harder than anyone could ever imagine. He didn't understand that you had work that had to be done today or that your boss would literally kick you out. Sometimes, you feel like your boss is secret hater of your boyfriend, and that's why he tries to keep you in work longer, just on days when he plays. "You will come, we don't care about your opinion." Cassian responded stubborn as ever, "well I don't care about yours too. " With that, you left the call, finally doing papers given to you by the boss.
Ten minutes in someone barged into your office, putting you over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Cassian! What the hell are you doing?!" You yelled at him, keeping your anger at bay, or you would have to punch him. "Saving the match" confidence and pride dripping from his voice. You lifted up your head, looking at him with an annoyed look. "Fine." Crossing your arms letting out a sigh still swinging over his shoulder, "but I swear to gods, if I get fired, you will send me money every month"
Don't think that your relationship with Azriel is any secret or not medially famous. It's quite the opposite.
You two are the most famous and loved couple in hockey word. Sometimes, Rhysand is jokingly complaining about how you're stealing his spotlight and becoming more famous than the whole team.
People love to edit you two with cute songs and use every cute clip that is on the internet.
The most famous being moment where he is on the ice sending you kiss after scoring a goal. Or where someone recorded you two while skating on public ring, Azriel having to hold your hands so you don't fall. It resulted in both of you falling because some kid bumped into you.
Not to mention that Azriel loved taking you to all of his interviews. Like all of them.
Reporter wanting to have an interview with him without you? Nope, it's not happening. You two are double version, it's not possible to get one without the other.
"So Azriel, tell us, what was the biggest motivation for winning this match? Was there something - perhaps someone you won this for?" Azriel nodded his head and looked at you, love sparkling in his eyes. " Of course I did. Like every match. " The camera captures the way his hand snakes around your waist, with feathery like touches caressing it.
"I won it for my wife"
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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 2 months
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supermarket run-ins (the start of something new)
summary: nathan mackinnon x f!reader // the supermarket meeting...eventually they'll get married (from this)
warnings: nate being adorably awkward
word count: 3.2k
< i'm gonna link this to a series called 'funny how life works out' (in the works) on my main masterlist and if there's anything you want to see from this universe, please shoot me an ask, my requests are open! >
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Nate knew there was always going to be a risk of running into someone he went to school with when he came back to Cole Harbour: the place was pretty small, and nearly every time he’d gone out he’d see a familiar face hiding around the corner, but he wasn’t sure if he could take another awkward conversation, least of all when he was grocery shopping. 
It was early May, and the second round loss in the playoffs against the Sharks was still a remarkably sore ache, and the last thing he wanted was for someone to offer their condolences for it: he knew people meant well, but sometimes it did just rub salt in the wound – and for that reason, he decided the best course of action was to do his grocery shopping a little way out of town and at the strangest time possible, i.e. seven A.M on a Thursday morning, because who the fuck else would be insane enough to go grocery shopping that early in the morning?
Or, at least, that was part of his strategy. The other part involved wearing his sweatpants and zip up (it was chilly that early in the morning) and a baseball cap inside to make himself seem as glum and as unapproachable as possible. He wasn’t necessarily trying to hide his identity – it never worked with a baseball cap in those superhero movies – nor did he actually believe that people in Halifax would genuinely care who he was, because he wasn’t the only person to have made it to the NHL in these parts, and he certainly wasn’t the most famous, either. In fact, people were more blase about it than not.
Still, that didn’t stop him from keeping his head down when he walked through the doors as soon as the store opened, nor did it stop him from keeping his eyes on the floor as he navigated his way through the aisles, listening rather closely to the faint music playing over the intercom as he picked up a basket and made his way for the fresh fruit and veg aisle. 
Despite having only been back home for a few days, he already had plans, and those plans consisted largely of cooking, eating, working out, and then walking the short distance from his house to Sid’s so they could mourn the devastating loss of their Stanley Cup for this year. Though, Nate did feel as though he had more of a reason to mourn this time: Sid had won it three times already, and this season the Penguins didn’t even make it to play-off contention, whereas the Avs had. Second round. Still bitter. And Nate had yet to get his hands on Lord Stanley.
Even the mere thought of it made his jaw clench. He wondered what he must look like to an onlooker: murderous glares at the carrots usually weren’t a good sign for anyone. In fact, even that thought had him swiping a bag of carrots and looking both ways down the aisle as a precaution, as though he was guilty of doing something – yet, as far as he was aware, the only thing he was guilty of was being this miserable sore loser at seven-ten in the morning. 
He reckoned that was a new personal record – he could usually hold it off until half past the hour, but it seemed the early morning pining had gotten to him exceptionally early.
He took a step to the right, reaching for the bag of lettuce, when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Usually he wouldn’t have bothered looking: he was in a supermarket, and people were expected to walk through pretty often, but he’d been the only person sad and mad enough to wait outside the doors until they opened up, and he knew for a fact that no one else had followed him in immediately after.
Only, when he turned his attention to the end of the aisle, he saw someone. A woman. She was walking down towards the back of the store, the aisle directly in line with his. He didn’t know if she’d seen him, but she had headphones on and was wearing athletic gear: shorts, trainers, a long-sleeved top under a short-sleeved one. Nate knew that because he recognised the logo on her shoulder and he had one of his own, only it a different colour, and it was much bigger.
He blinked, turning back to his own list. 
He didn’t make it through another five seconds before giving in and looking back at her. He couldn’t quite shake the air of familiarity she encompassed. Even though he hadn’t seen her face, there was something undoubtedly recognisable in the way she moved and stood.
He’d seen that woman before. Knew her, even. He didn’t know who she was, but he knew that much. He just had a feeling, the kind that settles so delicately in your bones and has your heart pounding just that little bit faster – he couldn’t quite ignore it.
Still, he continued on with the rest of his shopping, even going so far as to treat himself with some cake mix (that he was probably going to just bake and give to his parents, because he’d have one slice and get bored and before he’d know it, he’d have to throw the entire thing away because it’d gone stale), and it was as he was making his way back up to the tills, walking straight through the ready meals aisle, that he saw her again.
She was standing in front of the refrigerated section, her basket on the floor as she held two boxes in her hands, seemingly undecided on something. A small part of him hoped that she’d see someone coming and look at them (him, really), so he could deduce who she was. In fact, a large part of him wanted that. It was all he wanted at that moment. He wasn’t sure if he could leave the supermarket without figuring it out before he left – and he immediately shut that thought down because he sounded like an absolute creep.
He kept his steps mildly loud and purposeful, not moving too fast or too slow to rouse suspicion, and he kept to the centre of the aisle. At some point his hands seemed to have made the decision to take his cap off his head, because when he briefly looked down at his basket it was sitting on top of the cat food (probably for the better, because it’d be weird if he ended up saying he didn’t actually own a cat even though he had cat food – that was guessing he’d even end up saying something anyway: it was all rather a large question mark in that sense), and he ran an anxious hand through his hair, fluffing it up from where it had been squashed, before looking up.
The woman reached down, dropping a box into her basket, the other one nestled safely back on the shelf, and whether he’d timed the entire thing impeccably well, or whether she’d actually seen him, she looked up. Right at him. And, before he could even do anything consciously, his legs had slowed to a stop.
He was right. He definitely knew her. In fact, the very woman standing in front of him was the exact same one he’d had a crush on in school from the age of ten to…well, he wasn’t quite sure when it stopped because he left shortly after that, but now she was standing in front of him, smiling politely, and Nate instantly felt like a giddy ten-year old again.
It was you.
You, who upon seeing he’d stopped in his utterly bewitched stupor, had taken the headphones off from over your ears and had turned to face him.
All because he stopped in his tracks.
“Hi.” You said, picking up your basket on the floor and regarding him with some sense of confusion.
He blinked, his mouth falling open dumbly, the words sitting right there on the top of his tongue, but he seemed suddenly incapable of even stringing anything together. 
He shut his mouth almost immediately after that realisation, and the flush in his cheeks almost seemed inevitable — as did your curious quirk of an eyebrow, because even the people that didn’t know him well knew it was never a good sign for someone who was so used to being in the public eye, to stutter and make a fool of themselves simply trying to have a polite conversation.
“Is everything okay?” 
He didn’t know it was possible to blush even harder, but he felt it tingle in his toes and the tips of his ears. 
“Sorry, I—” he cleared his throat, heart hammering in his chest like there was no tomorrow, “You just took me by surprise, I guess. Haven’t seen you in years.” He managed, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. He’d never struggled so much before, but old habits do die hard and he’d never been completely normal talking to you when he was ten.
A look of pleasant surprise crossed your features, and only then did it occur to him that it might be weird of him to say something like that, because you two hadn’t really known each other at all. A few weeks sitting at the same table didn’t exactly constitute the kind of friendship that’d be so profound you’d shock him.
“Would that surprise also have something to do with the fact that we’re apparently the only two people with the thought to go shopping at this time?” You ignored the latter half of his bumbling ramble, probably for the better, and instead seemed to find some relief in the fact that he had regained his ability to talk.
He didn’t quite know which was worse.
Nevertheless, he stuck on a smile and tugged awkwardly at his earlobe for a moment, “It might, yeah.”
You hummed, rocking back on your heels with the faint trace of an amused smile on your face.
It was only then that he noticed the old, slightly worn in Halifax Mooseheads logo printed squarely on the front of your t-shirt, and he very quickly averted his eyes — only the more he seemed to look at your face, the more obvious it became that you were every bit still as beautiful as you had been to his ten year old self, if not more. 
“So, where are you, how are you these days?” He asked, once again the words tumbling straight from his mouth with little thought, but you seemed to appreciate the question, if he read the look on your face correctly.
“I went to college in Montreal, and I’m still there. I work for a law firm as a legal translator…And I guess I’m doing well.” You shrugged, “What about you?”
Nathan swallowed nervously, the crushing weight of the loss almost crashing into him full force, and he knew he froze for a good couple of seconds, trying to get his head back into the present moment. He didn’t know if you could tell just where his mind had gone, or if you were just that patient, but you didn’t say anything or do anything to indicate his lack of immediate response.
“I’m good, yeah. I mean, I’m still reeling from the play-off loss, but it’s nice to come home and recharge.” He inhaled, “But other than that, Denver’s treating me well.”
“That’s good.” 
“As good as it can get to say I got absolutely no choice as to where I had to live when I was eighteen? I’d say so, yeah.” He agreed, feeling himself ease up a little.
He couldn’t get his mind to quieten, and he felt jittery; he didn’t know what to do with his hands and he knew all of that would be solved if he just stopped thinking so hard about a simple conversation, but all he could think about was his poor younger self, who, upon finding out he had to move to Minnesota, did wonder what happened to you.
If his younger self could see him now…
You laughed softly at his sarcasm, and he felt the clouds part for a moment – a laugh meant he wasn’t completely making a fool of himself.
“What are you doing here now anyway?” You asked, wandering across the aisle, your basket still on the floor, and he watched, one hand stuffed in his hoodie pocket, as you picked some cheese off the shelf and made your way back to the basket.
“I’m restocking my fridge and avoiding any possible run-ins with people–well, with people I went to school with, actually.” 
You just grinned, and for some reason he had an idea of what your next words would be before you even said them, “How’s that working out for you?”
Nate shrugged lamely, “There are worse people to run into.”
And from the comical look on your face Nate had an awful feeling that you knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Is that why you’re here too?” He continued, acutely aware of the fact that you were mid-shopping trip, and he knew for a fact that even if he did want to keep standing there and chatting to you for a little while longer, he couldn’t. Not really. Still, it hadn’t been quite long enough yet to end it now.
If he did, he knew he’d regret it if it was the last time he’d ever see you again for the rest of his life.
You shrugged, showing no signs of his presence or conversation either dulling or pissing you off, and answered without hesitation, your basket now in your arms again, “Yeah, but I’m also busy for the rest of the day so I couldn’t go at any other time.”
“Oh, anything nice planned?” 
“It’s my Dad’s birthday, so there’s some family coming over and then we’re all going out for dinner.” There was a pause, and for a brief second Nathan felt himself get hot with panic at the mere thought of that brief pause turning into an awkward silence, but you spoke again, and his heart rate dwindled and his body temperature lowered with the help from the fridges, “You got any plans for today?”
Nate felt himself begin to nod before he could spew the words out, “Yeah.” He said, “I’m seeing Sid tonight.” It was only after he finished talking and had the chance to double-check that he hadn’t said anything wrong accidentally, that he realised that you might not know who Sid is.
He had no clue if you even liked hockey. In fact, he knew little to nothing about you apart from that fact that you were clever, played soccer quite violently from what he’d heard from some of his friends, and that you went to college in Montreal, and both lived and worked there now. And it was your Dad’s birthday today.
In fact, now that he thought about it, you hadn’t actually given him any indication that you knew who he was. You’d not said his name, how would he know you weren’t faking it to be polite?
He didn’t voice any of that, though. If he did, it wouldn't matter if you knew who he was or not, because the second he voiced exactly what was running through his head, this entire thing would turn into a car crash.
“Kind of crazy how that works out, huh?” You asked rhetorically, and Nate raised a brow, waiting for you to elaborate, “I remember you talking about him in class, and now…”
Nate grinned, only just resisting the urge to sigh in relief, and all at once his mind seemed to clear. It quietened; he could think properly now. All because you remembered him. 
He felt a little bit pathetic, actually, at how easy it was for him to physically brighten because of one vague thing from fourteen or so years ago (fourteen!), that he probably told everyone who would listen – but he had a strong visual in his mind, then, of everyone else on that school table tuning out his Crosby-rambling, and you were the only one listening. He remembered you’d ask him questions, and…you liked hockey, he remembered that now.
It was funny how a moment so insignificant in the past could feel like a tectonic plate shifting under his feet. 
“Oh, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. God, he really did chat hockey a lot, didn’t he? “And they say don’t meet your idol.”
You fucking remembered him!
You breathed a laugh, and Nate felt something in his chest splinter at the sound, only when he seemed to really look at you next, you shivered, teeth pressed together and shoulders trembling. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before, considering you were standing in a cold aisle with shorts on, and him with full length sweatpants and a hoodie, but it was freezing. Really cold, and the guilt that came with that observation had him immediately stepping away slightly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should let you get back to your shopping.” He rambled nervously.
“It’s okay, I’m not really in a rush.”
What was he supposed to say to that? What did it mean? Was it an invitation to stay longer? To keep chatting? He had no fucking clue, and he was sure the chaos of his thoughts was unfortunately also mirrored on his face judging from the way you were now looking at him (or was he overthinking that, too?); yet, the only thing that came out of his mouth was: “It was nice catching up with you–”
“I have three days left before I go back to Montreal.” You interrupted, and Nate blinked.
He blinked again. His heart was in his throat. What–Oh. 
“Do you maybe want to get drinks before you go?” He asked, heart pounding so very painfully against his ribs. He didn’t know why asking that question was so nerve-racking, especially considering you’d half fone the job for him anyway, but there was something tugging at him that had his hands trembling slightly as he put his number in your phone. He looked over to see you doing the same on his phone, and though your fingers were shaking too he couldn’t say for certain if it was because of the cold or your own nerves.
“Tell your Dad happy birthday from me.” He muttered once he’d repocketed his phone and managed to make eye contact with you without a) smiling too hard and looking like a crazy person, or b) looking like he was constipated.
“I will.” You promised, “Have fun tonight, too.”
“I’ll try.” He managed a normal smile, “See you later.”
“See you.”
And he spent the entire walk back to his car trying not to scream out of excitement. He’d never been so giddy for later.
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parvuls · 2 years
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but here's the thing:
bob zimmermann probably gets into bed that night, and stares at the ceiling and listens to his wife tapping on her phone and then to her turning on her side and then to her breaths as they even out slowly, and thinks: I did not fuck up my son's life.
because for a long, long time he thought he had. and for a long, long time the inescapable truth was that he actually almost had. the therapist they saw together while jack was in rehab was very big on analyzing blame, so he's been told many times that he couldn't shoulder the full responsibility over something so complex, but it was a hard thing to believe in the years after the overdose. because the truth was, he pushed his son too hard, and then didn't watch closely enough to protect him from the fall, and that was all on him.
and even after jack was out of physical danger, bob still worried. because his son was quick to push people away and slow to trust. because his son went right back to hockey like there had never been any other option, despite all that it put him through. because his son still seemed to think hockey was all there was, that hockey was all he was, and a big part of that was bob's fault. for all of bob's four cups, somehow he never managed to tell jack that his greatest and proudest achievements were him, and alicia, and their family.
and when they skyped (when jack agreed to skype with them for more than a few minutes at a time, which was at first almost never, and then occasionally, and then, unexpectedly, a regular thing), alicia would ask about jack's friends, and if he's seeing anyone, and about the latest screw or safety dance or spring c (bob never got the hang of all those college events, truthfully, although it did sound just as fun - and less risky - than his twenties), and jack would sometimes mumble something, or talk briefly about his teammates, or let shitty barge in and take over without answering. but more often than not jack would just say that he's too busy with pre-season; that he's too busy with practice; that he's too busy with playoffs; that he's too busy preparing for the next season.
but then --
he's serious about this, alicia said at dinner, and bob rubs that tight spot in the center of his chest and breathes. because that phone call made bob realize he'd been worried about that. had been worried jack spent his whole life thinking his father wasn't sure of his abilities as a player, when bob had been certain of jack's success all along; it was everything else bob was unsure about.
bob zimmermann gets into bed that night, knowing that there's someone out there looking out for his kid. someone out there making sure he knows he has value outside of being a hockey player. someone out there making him laugh and holding him when he cries, someone who jack opened up to, got to know, fell in love with, someone jack is serious enough about to share with alicia and him, when jack has never been one for sharing. and even if it ends (although - jack is, after all, bob's kid, and if he's right about how jack looks at bittle, and how bittle looks at jack, then bob's pretty sure it's not anything to worry about), at least jack would go back into the world knowing it's something he can have.
at least jack knows he's allowed to be happy. that's all bob ever wanted for him.
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hangmansgbaby · 4 months
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Pucking Finally E P I L O G U E
Masterlist
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Nat arrived just before the game had started. She flashed her ticket to security and made her way up to the box reserved for the Kings' WAGs. Today was the last game before NHL playoffs and the Kings were in the running. If they win today, the Kings advance to the playoffs. So here she sat in a number 4 jersey, Javy's last name on her back, 4 months pregnant with his kid, and Javy was none the wiser that she was here.
Javy was standing at the wall listening to his coach and captain go over the plan of attack. As far as Javy was concerned in that moment, Nat was 2 hours away, in the comfort of her apartment in San Diego, prepping to move to LA Nat sat up in the box swapping pregnancy tips with Ellie Seresin, wife of Javy's friend Jake, who just found out she was expecting their first.
Soon the game began and Nat was at the edge of her seat, cheering on her boyfriend. Yep, the two had not tied the knot yet, the baby being a huge surprise and halting any thoughts of a wedding. 
Javy did his best on the defense line but by the midway point of the 2nd quarter, the Rangers were up 2-0. The team was tired and about to give up all hope of ending the playoffs tonight on their home ice. Javy skates near Jake who was given the new plan to pass on.
"What's the plan, Seresin?" Jake explains as he glances up at the box towards his wife.
"And maybe show off a bit ya know?" Jake adds.
"Why would I?" Javy laughs as Jake points up to the box. Javy follows his finger and spots Nat watching from above. Smiling, Javy waves up to the box and Nat's face lights up smiling back. "If we lose man, at least do it in style since she's here."
"We'll see."
And apparently that's exactly what Javy needed because in the last minute of the second period, he brought the game up 2-1 and midway through the third period, Javy tied the game 2-2 while his team kept the Rangers out of the net sending the game to overtime.
Nat watched on from above, cheering as Javy got his second goal of the game.
"He's gonna pull a hat trick." Ellie says. 
"I doubt it. Javy's been trying for years in minor leagues. He gave up on that notion a long time ago." Nat laughs as OT starts. No one scores during it, calling for a second OT.
"Let's go watch from the gate so we can meet the boys afterwards." Ellie drags Nat out of the box towards the elevators. 
"Is that even allowed?" Nat asks, following behind her.
"We're pregnant, you really think anyone is gonna tell us no?" Ellie points out as she presses the correct floor.
Sure enough, no one stops them and the girls watch from the glass as Javy makes the final score of the game, completing his hat trick. The fans burst out in cheers as the Kings celebrate their victory. Javy points directly at Nat mouthing, That was for you. Nat smiles as his team drags him away to celebrate. He only cheers for a moment before skating to the bench where his coach hands him something Nat couldn't quite see. Javy softly skates across the ice towards the open gate and right up to Nat.
"Hey."
"Hey." Nat laughs. "You got your hat trick finally."
"I got it for you." Javy laughs. "Ya know, I'm going to the Stanley Cup playoffs."
"You did." Nat replies. She reaches out her hand and Javy slips his in hers. 
"I still have to claim my prize." Javy mentions. Nat laughs again.
"Maybe you should go get it." Nat motions towards where his team celebrates on the ice.
"Actually, I was hoping that you," Jay pauses as he gets down on one knee and opens a small black box, "would be my prize."
"What?" 
"Natasha Trace, will you marry me?"
"Yes!" Nat almost screams as she wraps Javy in a hug, planting a kiss on his lips. "I have a surprise for you too." 
"Could this night get any better?" Javy asks as Nat pulls an ultrasound out of her pocket. "Natty, I've already seen this." Javy laughs, quickly slipping the ring on Nat's finger.
"Look again, closely." 
Javy looks again and notices two letters on the picture, A and B.
"Twins?!"
Taglist: @mamachasesmayhem @sarahsmi13s @kmc1989 @daggerspare-standingby @callmemana
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sidsthekid · 7 months
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if you haven't already, be sure to check out sid's interview with mark madden from today! some fun tidbits about his europe trip in there, some sid laughs, some talk of sid's grays.
transcript is under the 'read more' but i was a little sleepy while editing this tonight, so sorry if there are any errors! feel free to shoot me an ask if you see anything you'd like me to fix.
Mark Madden:
Penguins Captain Sidney Crosby. Uh, yo, are you now the crazy old guy who fights in preseason games? I mean, I get it, but it was still a shock what happened there?
Sidney Crosby: Haha, I guess that's what it's come to. Uh, I don't know. I think it's just one of those things that, you know, I look back, I didn't really see the whole play. I just saw three guys on the ice that looked both had hit Tanger. And I didn't know if one got him high one low or anything like that, but, you know, just trying to just stick up for one another.
And obviously you don't like, you know, you don't like to see that happen, especially in pre-season. So I think it was just a reactionary thing and you know, it's just so happen to be preseason, but that's that's part of the game.
Mark Madden: No I think it's great example set certainly. Now, this game against Connor Bedard tomorrow night- the opener. It's got to remind you of your first game in your rookie year. What kind of memories does this dredge up?
Sidney Crosby: Oh, a lot. I mean, it's, you know, it's something that I can relate to. And, you know, I think everybody, you know, your first NHL game is something that everybody remembers and just all the feelings, the emotions that go into it. Your dream coming true with playing NHL. But I think, you know, for him, even more so just with all the pressure and expectations that have been on his shoulders for a while now.
So I can relate to all that and uh, and know what he’s going through. But I also know how exciting it is, regardless of all that stuff, to just be playing in your first game.
Mark Madden: If you could give eighteen year old Sidney Crosby any advice now as a 36 year old, what would it be?
Sidney Crosby: Probably just say no a little bit more. As far as just the off-ice stuff, I mean, that's that's one thing I look back on and it was just- it was pretty hectic and I think it's easier said, you know, said than done. I think at that point, though, there is just so much going on. We were coming out of a lockout.
You know, I think there's a lot of expectations on and off the ice as far as, you know, doing doing your part as a young player and trying to help the league and stuff like that. So I think that, you know, it's easy to say that now, but at the time I think it was it was the right thing.
It's just it was it was a busy year. It was a lot. And I think you you know, you feel that pressure, You feel that expectation. And he'll go through that. But he's got great people around him and his family and his team will be there to help them out and help them through it.
Mark Madden: Stats don't mean a lot to you. You've told me that. And I'm I know that's a very sincere feeling on your part, but you've averaged over a point per game every season you've played in the league. I think that consistency means something to you.
Sidney Crosby: Yeah, it does. I mean, it's like you said, it's numbers, but, you know, I think the the streak of being in the playoffs and that sort of thing, that's something that, you know, I think for the guys who are part of that, we're we're really proud of that. But you know a point per game. Yeah it's great.
I think it just comes down to you know want the opportunity to play for the Stanley Cup when you know, when playoff time rolls around. So I think I, I think about more of that than anything. But, you know, consistency has always been something I take really serious and it's a long season. And you know, you go through ups and downs of a season.
You want to be someone that can be relied on every night. And I've always I've always tried to have that mentality.
Mark Madden: I feel like it got one more hundred points season left in you. What do you think?
Sidney Crosby: Haha, I like the sounds of it. I mean, I'd love to. It's not easy. That's that's a tough mark to get to. And it's been it's been a few years since I've gotten to that. But yeah, I'd love to get that mark. I think that would be that'll be good for our team too. So maybe we'll get to that. So we'll see.
Mark Madden: What have you not done in hockey, Sid, that you still want to do?
Sidney Crosby: I'd love to win the Stanley Cup at home. I know that's get pretty particular, but you know, that's something that I don't think that's ever been done in the history of our team. You know, that's something that, you know, and, you know, you dream of winning the Stanley Cup. It doesn't matter where it is.
But I've been fortunate enough to do it. But I think to be able to do that at home would be pretty cool.
Mark Madden: I remember you told me as a kid when they just announced the new building was going to get ground broken. You wanted to win one at Mellon Arena before we left, and I kind of smirked. But you were very sincere and you did it. That was a big deal.
Sidney Crosby: Yeah. Yeah. I mean, that was I think everyone kind of looked at, you know, the age of our team and the expectations and, you know, thought it would take a little bit longer than it did. But I think, you know, our mentality was we thought we were we were close to being able to do it and hope that we were able to do it there anywhere really.
But it was nice. So we were able to do that before switching buildings.
Mark Madden: Do you yet consider your context, your place in Hockey's history, top five, stuff like that. And I know you're going to say you don't, but come on by now, you gotta.
Sidney Crosby: I don't, haha. Why would I? I mean there's- I mean that's a debate, you know for other people, not me, but I yeah I don't really there's no reason for me to really think about that. And obviously there's a ton of reasons and things you could debate. So there's not much point in me going there.
Mark Madden: Yeah, I mean, I don't want you to declare yourself like top five. Like, like I do on your behalf, but. But I just wonder if privately. You wonder? Not at all, huh?
Sidney Crosby: No, I don't. I mean, it's not. I mean, it's a compliment when your name is, you know, with so many great players and you're put in that category. But really I love the game and I respect all the players who've, you know, played before and what they've accomplished. And I don't really need to do that as far as, you know, for my own for my own self.
I don't really need to figure out what that is or have that number in mind. It really doesn't change. You know, how I feel about the game or how I feel about, you know, what I've done in hockey. It's not really about that.
Mark Madden: Okay. You've had training camp. Where's this team at? It's an older group. How far can an older group go in a league that's so fast and play so many games?
Sidney Crosby: Yeah, I mean, I guess we'll have to, you know, we'll have to see. But I think that definitely there's there's experience with us, which I think will help. I think one thing, you know, last year we were guilty of is not being able to hold on to leads. So I like to think, you know, with an experienced group, that's something that, you know, should be a bit of a strength as far as understanding situations that and making sure that, you know, when you do get a lead, specially late games that, you know, you find a way to hold on to it or at least, you know, grab points.
And we were probably guilty of, you know, not just losing leads but losing points a number of times, which ends up being the difference. So I think just that experience will hopefully help in a lot of areas. But yeah, I think that that's something, you know, whether it's depth or, you know, hold on to leads or just understanding situation, experience goes a long way.
Mark Madden: You got Karlsson. You guys have always been a very offensive risk taking team. He's certainly going to add to that in a positive way. And you know, Sid, I've suggested sometimes that you guys should play more defensively and slow it down. And as a lifelong penguin guy, maybe I was stupid because it's very apparent what you guys are.
It's in your DNA, it pre-dates you even it goes all the way back to Mario. I mean, you guys have maintained the way the Penguins were. Boy, destined to play. Sounds corny, but it's kind of worked out that way.
Sidney Crosby: Yeah. I mean, you've got to find that balance. And I you know, you look at the league, you know, there's there's a lot of goals being scored. You know, teams are putting up a lot every night. And, you know, you've got to be able to score. So that's obviously a big part. I think the defensive side is something that, you know, you can't trade, but at the same time, you got to be able to score goals.
And, you know, with Karl, he's a guy that, you know, can change the game with one play. There could be nothing really happening just to make something out of nothing. So that's, you know, that's pretty good to have back there. And, you know, I think as far as offense, he's going to just add to that. And we already have a good group, I think.
So he'll be able to add to that. And I think it'll just be a matter of, you know, making sure that on the defensive side that, like I say, we don't we don't trade off.
Mark Madden: We're talking to Sidney Crosby on the home of the Penguins 105 90 X. Sid, Your off ice workout routine has always been incredibly intense, but at 36, where's it at or are there times now it's maybe more important to rest than to do extra?
Sidney Crosby: Yeah, I wouldn't say that. I think it's just, you know, you just manage things a little bit different. Some things are a little bit harder on your body, you know, now than they used to be. So just being aware of what that is. And as you said, rest too. I mean, you got to find time to do that and make sure that you're able to go out there physically perform at the level you need to.
But it's it's constantly kind of a balancing act. I think it's something that you just try to, you know, listen to your body and understand at times in the schedule or training, as you mentioned, you know, when you might need to back off a little bit. But then when there's opportunities to go hard, you got to make sure you go hard to get the most out of it, too.
So it's just a critical balancing and understanding what you need to do. And it's it's still a learning process even at this point. But I think it's something that's that's important. If you want to have success.
Mark Madden: Do you ever just sit on the couch and watch TV and eat junk food?
Sidney Crosby: Pretty much Sunday off days. That's what it is.
Mark Madden: That that makes me feel a lot better about myself to hear that.
Sidney Crosby: Exactly.
Mark Madden: Although I probably do that more often than Sunday. Hey, you guys had that great thing back home for you in Nova Scotia. I thought that was terrific. How was that for you to experience that? And does anybody up there not like you? It was an amazing love fest. It was like 100% all Sid.
Sidney Crosby: You know, it's just really nice. I never thought I would ever have a chance to do something like that. We played there in 07 and it was pretty quick trip. We were in and out. We went had a game and left right after. So just have all the guys there to have my family be a part of it have everyone home, you know, show the support that they did.
Yeah, it was all it was all just really unique and something I didn't think I'd ever have an opportunity to do. So just really grateful that we were able to do it. It's a pretty busy schedule. So to get, you know, three or four days there be able to show everybody around and just get together with the group during training camp and just see a lot of new faces and things like that.
I thought it was it was a lot of fun. And yeah, I you know, as far as everything went, it was it was awesome. It would be nice to get the win. But other than that, it was it was a great experience, really.
Mark Madden: I'm just glad you didn't fight. Now you've been in Pittsburgh 18 years at 19 now this season. I think everybody here loves you, too. I mean, this has really worked out great here. I mean, not just the hockey either.
Sidney Crosby: Yeah, it's you know, it's a great place. I mean, you know, people love sports. And you know what? From day one, they've been so supportive and obviously they have high expectations of of all teams, especially us as the years have gone on. But they just couldn't be more supportive. It's a great place to live. And, you know, thinking about the situation I came into being able to, you know, play with Mario, live with him, be able to be surrounded by the young guys that were part of our team coming in and learn with all of them and to still be playing with two of them to this day.
Yeah. I mean, I'm I'm pretty grateful. The place, the people, the situation, the organization very, very lucky.
Mark Madden: Well, that kind of jumped to my next question. What's this like to go the distance with Malkin and Letang? Because now it's apparent. I mean, I don't know if you guys are all going to finish up at the same time, but you're going to play the length of your careers together is as far as it can go.
Sidney Crosby: Yeah. I mean, you know, you never know. In hockey, obviously you don't want to take anything for granted, but to be able to to go this long and hopefully be able to go a few more years, that would be incredible. It's been a pretty amazing ride to this point. And to be able to have those guys around to, you know, go through the experiences, we have, to see their drive at this point in their career and what they've accomplished.
I think it's something that, you know, we all push each other and know we all have really high expectations, but they're driven, they care, they're competitive. And it's really fun to see that, you know, after all these years, that hasn't changed.
Mark Madden: Now you've won all you can win in international hockey. You scored arguably Canada's biggest goal ever. You and Paul Henderson probably deadlocked in that regard. Do you want to play in one more Olympics, which would be in 2026? And that would mean at least one more year of NHL hockey beyond your contract, have you thought about that at all?
Sidney Crosby: Yeah. I mean, you know, it's- with the Olympics, it's too bad that it hasn't worked out. We haven't been able to, you know, to get there in prior years. But you know, if there's something that's worked out that'd be a great opportunity. I'd love to. And, you know, I've had some some great experiences playing for Team Canada. And it's, you know, as far as the level of hockey and just the product, I don't think you're going to see any better hockey than Olympic hockey.
So yeah, that that would be amazing. So I got to make sure I take care of myself and I'm playing at a high level, but I'd love to be a part of that.
Mark Madden: This is a dumb question. Trick question But what would you rather win a gold medal or another Stanley Cup?
Sidney Crosby: No, I'm not answering that one.
Mark Madden: Okay. Sorry. Let's just skip ahead. Where did you go this summer? You take some great vacations. I didn't ask you when I saw you because I wanted to save it for the show.
Sidney Crosby: Yeah. This year I actually went to Norway and toured around there a little bit. I went to Norway and Ireland. So it's been a few years since I've been over to Europe with the early exit. There is a little bit more time, so that was, that was pretty neat. I got to golf a little bit in Ireland and then it was a bit of a hiking trip in Norway so got to see a new place, a place that I always want to see.
And it was beautiful weather, it's great. It was a long offseason though, so I'm happy to be back and getting ready to play.
Mark Madden: Yeah, unusually long, but that's the point. You missed the playoffs. You want it to last longer this time. Did anybody recognize you in Ireland or Norway?
Sidney Crosby: Yeah, a little bit. I mean, in Ireland there is a lot of like bus tours and things like that. So I ran into some Canadian tours over there and then in Norway I was surprised. It's not a big hockey country, but, you know, they definitely know hockey a little bit. So I ran into some people there, but they were really friendly and you have both beautiful places and that was that was a cool experience to be able to just see a different part of the world.
Mark Madden: What's the last movie you saw and do you anticipate seeing The Exorcist reboot?
Sidney Crosby: I'm not going to see The Exorcist reboot, but the most recent one was Oppenheimer, The long one.
Mark Madden: I haven't seen that yet. Is it good?
Sidney Crosby: Really good. Yeah. They mentioned Halifax, Nova Scotia, too, so it doesn't hurt.
Mark Madden: Well, why no exorcist? Too scary?
Sidney Crosby: Yeah. Not really a scary movie guy.
Mark Madden: Okay, fair enough. I saw the original. I had nightmares for for two weeks and I was 14 and I. You know, I just. I'm soft, you know that now.
And as is tradition. Before we wrap up, are you engaged, married or is anyone expecting?
Sidney Crosby: Nope. Nothing to report there.
Mark Madden: Okay. Well, I feel obligated to ask. And finally and I think this is a good thing to wrap up with. You are very comfortable with your age, aren't you, at this point in your life and career at 36, even the gray hair, I don't think it fazes you at all. Am I right or wrong?
Sidney Crosby: Yeah. No, I mean, what would faze me about my age?
Mark Madden: You tell me, coach. I mean, I didn't. I didn't figure it would, but I wanted to ask, like, because you and I talked a bit about dyeing your hair, which you have no intent to do. And I'm sorry, I didn't, but I mean.
Sidney Crosby: Well I might have to if I keep going out, everybody keeps coming up to me and chirping my grays. So I might have to just eliminate that conversation starter. [Not entirely 100% about the first portion of this sentence, it was hard for me to parse out exactly what he said!]
Mark Madden: No, don't give in to people like me. Do what you want. My God, you're Sidney Crosby for Christ sakes.
Sidney Crosby: Haha, yeah, I know. I don't worry about age.
Mark Madden: Well, no, if I were you and played the way you still do and everything you got going I wouldn't either.
Hey, listen, this was great. As always. I appreciate you taking the time. And we'll see you tomorrow night. You going to fight Bedard?
Sidney Crosby: No, no. You don't have to worry about that.
Mark Madden: I kind of wanted to see it. Sid, thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow.
Sidney Crosby: Okay. Thanks for having me. Have a good one.
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snugglebug-92 · 4 months
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The One Where She Like's a Boy
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When you got back to Minnesota everything slowed down. You were always on edge, and you didn’t leave your apartment unless you had to go to class. Since your schedule was different it was easier to avoid Brock and Knies. You stuck to that schedule until one night Brock showed up with pizza after a whole month of not seeing you. You were about to pretend you weren’t there but then you remembered Brock had a spare key, so it was no use. As you slowly opened the door, he embraced you before stepping inside.
“I missed you,” Brock says as he sets down the pizza.
“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much. When I was in Boston, I saw him and things didn’t go well,” you whisper. Both boys look at you and now understand everything but also feel horrible. They haven’t seen you since before you left for break and now knowing the reason was you feared for your own safety. 
“No, I'm sorry. I thought you were mad at me and so I let you have some space thinking you would get over it. I should have checked on you sooner especially knowing you were going home,” Brock says as he brings you into a hug. The two of you sit and watch a movie and soon things are back to normal. You started going out a little more and would once again go to the hockey games.
Eventually it came time for the boys to go to playoffs and you went with them. You watched as they lost to Michigan in the big ten tournament. It was a tough loss, but the boys still have the frozen four to look forward to. They beat their first and second opponents earning themselves a trip to Boston. As much as you wanted to support the boys it was Boston, the one place you hated more than anything. As you though to yourself Bryan wouldn’t no couldn’t know you were there. He had no way of knowing you went to the U and this time you wouldn’t leave your seat alone. The boys lost their first game and they went home.
The rest of the school year flew by and soon it was summer. The three of you went to a small cabin for a weekend before all heading your separate ways. Your summer goes by fast. You take some summer classes to keep yourself busy and you head back to Minnesota before you know it. While you weren’t back home the whole break it still felt like summer was almost over. You and Brock hangout almost every day during the rest of the summer. You two act like kids again and everything was amazing. You felt so free. 
But then school started, and boy was junior year crazy. Hockey practices started early in the school year and with Brock being captain you two started hanging out less and less. Thankfully Knies was there to entertain you. The two of you would do all the things you and Brock would do. You would still of course hang out with Brock when the time permitted but most of the time it was just you and Matthew. During one of the times, you were waiting for practice to end you watched the boys skate on the ice. You were always mesmerized by the sport, but you never could quite grasp the whole shooting a puck thing. Your body couldn’t do it so your dream of playing hockey with your brothers stopped right then and there. You were content watching. So that’s what you would do. As soon as practice ended you made your way to the locker room and waited for Matthew and Brock. The three of you were going to go watch a movie at your place tonight. As the two boys walk out you catch a glance at one of the freshmen who walks out in front of them. You were still trying to put names to faces but you knew he was either Logan or Jimmy because he was on the same line as Knies. You smile at him and try not to giggle as his face turns a slight shade of red. Brock leaves as soon as the movie finishes leaving you and Matthew alone.
“So, are they any cute freshmen?” Knies questions. You thank Matt for making sure you had a great poker face before answering Matthews' question.
“No. But why are the freshmen they’re too young?” you know they aren’t too young and there are definitely freshmen on the team who are older than you. But you still push the question.
“Well, it’s not like there are any transfers so I’m just wondering,” he shrugs.
“Well nope. No boys,” you respond.
“Any girls?” he questions, not quite understanding the complete lack of interest in men you have.
“No, it’s not that. I just don’t want to date anyone right now,” you shrug and with that the topic gets dropped for now. 
It doesn’t take you long to figure out the boy you smiled at is Jimmy. He’s from Minnesota and drafted by the St. Louis Blues. Your gaze tends to linger on him at practice and it doesn’t take long for Matthew to notice. What you don’t notice is Jimmy looking at you like you hung the moon. He looks at you like you hung the moon and that's when he puts his plan in motion. He knows that the two of you are going to hang out after practice. He also knows he can definitely get the information that she likes Jimmy wiggled out of her one way or another. You wait for Knies at the locker room door and smile at Jimmy when he walks out. Your attention turns to Matthew which is good because poor Jimmy is so distracted by you. So distracted in fact that he runs into a door on the way out. Matthew, who watches the whole thing go down, bites back a laugh at the boy's misfortune before the two of you walk to get coffee. Once you both have your beverages Knies starts his plan to get you to admit you like Jimmy.
“So, I heard a few of the freshmen have a crush on you,” he says.
“Oh, and where did you hear this?” you laugh.
“Well, a few of them asked me to set you up with them. There's one of them is too shy to even say hi to you but he definitely likes you a lot,” Knies shrugs.
“Well, if they want a date so bad, they should ask. It would be fun to knock a few of their egos down a few pegs when I say no,” you respond sipping on your drink.
“You wouldn’t say yes to anyone. Not even Jimmy,” Matthew knows he has you on a dangerous line right there. He watches as your eyes scan his face before you set your drink down.
“Fine there is a small chance I would say yes to Jimmy but not right now,” you say finally.
“So, I can give him your number then,” Matthew asks.
“No, I didn’t say that-”
“Why not? He likes you and he’s a good kid.”
“There’s more to it Matthew. Things you don’t know.”
“What don’t I know then. Enlighten me,” he leans back looking at you.
“It's hard, okay. drop the Jimmy thing please,” you beg.
“Yeah, sure we can talk about something else,” Matthew says finishing his coffee.
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bropunzeling · 6 months
Note
director's cut of your choice of scenes from the elopement timestamp :)))))
hello from the airport :)))) here is matthew and brady's conversation aka a secret fave scene of mine:
"Dude, you're so wound up," Brady says as they go through a bucket of pucks at Centene. The ring of the posts and their muffled curses fill the rafters. "Are you stressed about something? What is there to even stress about?" [this scene had two goals. one was more sibling/ratfam content (since its very lacking from the original works for obvious reasons) and the other was to get to the point at the end of the conversation. i decided that brady needed to be the guy because (1) i like writing him (2) matthew would actually open up to him and (3) because he's already been married for a couple years/is gonna be a dad/etc etc it adds this nice, your sibling is further along than you (helpful, rather than anxiety provoking)]
Matthew’s shot goes off the post and rolls away. He curses. "Nothing."
"Uh-huh." Instead of grabbing a new puck, Brady leans on his stick. "Try me." [matthew has not acted like this since the summer of 2022 and brady is not stupid]
Matthew takes another shot, straightens up. Brady’s still looking at him, flat and even. God, he’s not gonna move, is he. 
Giving up, Matthew checks the rink—safe, Leon went off to hit the bike five minutes ago and no one else is around [one of my editing points was reminding myself of the secrecy! like obvs they are not as horribly repressed and not telling anyone anything as they were in meet me halfway, but like, leon's reputation matters to both of them and neither want to test and see what would happen if it came out that they were dating. theyre admittedly sloppy, but it’s still a thing they think about]—and then says, in a low voice, "I asked Leon if she'd ever want to, uh. To marry me."
Brady sucks in a breath. "You proposed?"
Matthew shakes his head vigorously. "No. No. [i mean, you kinda did.] I didn't mean now, I meant in the future. Someday. You know."
"Sounds like you proposed,” Brady says, much too loudly. The whole building might have heard him.
"I didn't," Matthew insists. "All I wanted was for her to think about it, you know? I wasn't going to—to spring anything on her." [me on my relationship soapbox like SURPRISE PROPOSALS ARE SHITTY AND YOU SHOULD ALWAYS TALK ABOUT IT FIRST] He clutches at his stick. "Just—I wanted her to know that I was serious, and see if she'd also want that, and now it's been like four days, and she hasn't said anything, and I kind of think I fucked something up. Fuck, maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all. What if I scared her off?"
"Dude. Breathe." Brady's infuriatingly calm. [the contrast between brady's general inflappability and matthew's anxiety is always funny to me.] Matthew glares at him. "I doubt you fucked anything up."
"You don't know that.”
Brady shrugs. "Okay, no, I don't know for sure, but like—you can't really think you scared her off."
"It's happened before," Matthew mumbles. [obvi like -- they are pretty good and over the events of The Battle of Alberta, Playoffs Edition; it's been years. however, that won't stop matthew from being anxious! last time he thought they were on the verge of a relationship upgrade leon ghosted him! he doesnt want that to happen again] He doesn't want to stand here while Brady looks at him with that calm, know-it-all expression. Maybe he'll go collect some pucks. He heads towards the goal.
Skates scrape behind him. "Matt." When Matthew looks over his shoulder, Brady’s trailing behind him with the bucket. "She’s stupid in love with you." [one of the fun things about this time stamp, along with everything, was finally getting to let this version of leon be stupid and romantic and overcome by her own feelings. she's soooooo gone.] At Matthew’s glare, Brady rolls his eyes. "I was there when she showed up last summer, remember? I think I'd know." [another fun thing was dropping bits of Lore that im not sure will ever become a proper cleaned up ao3 time stamp, and this was a big one i wanted to hit!!!]
Matthew bends down and grabs a few pucks out of the crease. He hadn't actually been awake when Leon had shown up in Florida last summer; he hadn't been expecting her. They had agreed, after the Oilers got knocked out, that she'd wait to come out until after the playoffs were over. She had to close up her house; debrief the season with Connor. And—they'd fought about it, over the phone, more yelling than there had been in a long time, but Leon had asked how he'd feel if he was there watching from the sidelines while she won the Cup without him. If he'd really be all that happy for her. [it was important to me to hit this because obvi we see the opposite in meet me halfway - matthew checking in and gone even when leon beat his team - but crucially they never did get to this point, and im not sure matthew ever thought through what it would look like if leon HAD made it that far. mr hiding in the garage when the cup was at his house probably wouldn't have handled it well! and like - even if they are in love and in a relationship, they are still the same fundamental people who are competitive and desperate to win and hate to see other people get what they want. so of course they fought.] [obvi my solution to this tension is in 5 or so years they play on the same team, win cup, put baby in cup.]
She'd apologized the next day, but she'd made her point, too. When she booked her flights for late June, he hadn't argued.
Then his sternum got cracked. Mom and Dad had to drive him home from the rink and help him out of his own clothes. And when he woke up after a miserable night, it was to find Leon asleep sitting up on the bed next to him, holding his hand like it was a lifeline. It wasn't until later that he'd gotten the details out of Mom—how Leon had shown up at two in the morning, exhausted and incoherent and making a beeline right for his bedroom. How she wouldn't leave, even when Mom tried to insist she go find an actual bed and get some sleep. [(a) she was doing so bad. (b) this is absolutely the tipping point for matthew's people to be like oh shit this is a big deal thing, as you can see with the below]
Matthew had spent the next few days thinking mostly about how much his chest hurt and how badly the team was playing, but he also noticed the way Brady and Leon had quietly teamed up—to get him out of bed, to get him dressed, to get him to the arena. [there is a whole unrealized scene in my head of them watching matthew suffer during game 4 on the couch and both are like, quietly so fucking stressed out for him, and it’s this little moment of quiet bonding and acceptance where its like you love him, i love him, we both wish he wasn't on the ice right now] Once he got past the self-pity, he’d found it pretty funny. However Brady had felt about Leon before—and Matthew was pretty sure that feeling wasn't acceptance, no matter how much Brady tried to hide it [brady really did not like leon after the Events of rob thomas' party. as soon as he connected the dots that girl matthew has been moping over for months = leon draisaitl, leon was fully on his shit list. he definitely headhunted her that whole next season]—apparently Matthew breaking himself could smooth over almost anything.
"Listen," Brady says now, leaning against the net and holding out the bucket for Matthew to dump pucks into. "Do I think she was a dick when she ghosted you? Yeah. But she's fucking crazy about you now. You can't miss it."
Matthew drops a handful of pucks into the bucket with a clunk, then heads for the boards. "Okay, but like—she hasn't said anything," he says. "What if she doesn't want to?"
"What? Get married?"
Matthew nods. [crux of the scene!】
Brady skids to a stop by the boards. "I don't know, man. I mean, maybe she doesn't because she thinks it's too soon. Or maybe it's not that big a deal to her. Half the guys from Europe do the whole, you know. The partner thing." [matthew: spiraling. brady: repository of reasonable takes] He shrugs. "I guess the question is, if she wants to be with you, but doesn't want to marry you, are you gonna be okay with that?" [and here we go! so like, a Big Theme of meet me halfway/the girl!leon cinematic universe (gcu) is like, dealing with expectations and hangup and how you pictured your life going vs how it's actually going vs how you actually want it to go. and obviously for most of it this is leon's journey - reconciling hockey and a personal life, understanding that she doesn't have to shut out friends or family or the potential for partnership in order to have a career, that it won't make her lesser or softer, that it’s okay to be soft in the first place.
but. BUT. it's very important to me that matthew is ALSO going through this reexamination of his own expectations. his picture of life was not so subtly based on his parents and structured in a very particular way. and falling for another hockey player who wouldn't be staying home, who would push and challenge him and be her own independent person, naturally upends some of those comfortable images he had of his future. and this is just one more instance of him needing to look at what he imagined for himself and changing the picture to fit not what he thought he would get, but what will actually work for him and leon, what they actually want together. and here and in the next scene is when it hits that its not about the trappings but about the knowing. he doesn't want leon to push him away, he wants to know that theyre going to be doing this together, but that doesn't mean they have to do things the way everyone else does, either.]
Matthew chews the inside of his cheek. Would he be? It's hard to know. For so long, he's had that little picture of what his future looked like. Even as it changed, that part—being married, that sense of permanency—it’s always been there. He doesn't know how he'd feel if it were gone. [again the permanency is the thing. obviously i am like, in the middle of my own feelings about all this, but really it is like: you're here with me, im with you. even when we're annoying or stressed out or tired or miserable or caught covid on our romantic vacation when you were gonna propose. you're with me and i'm with you and it's gonna be for the long haul.]
"Just something to think about," Brady says after a moment. He claps Matthew on the shoulder. "But for what it's worth, I think she's pretty fucking serious about you."
Matthew hip checks him back. Brady doesn't move, the fucker. "When did you get so smart, asshole?"
Brady laughs. "Who says I haven't always been this smart?"
"You were a fucking idiot when you were thirteen," Matthew retorts.
Brady shoves him into the boards, the bucket of pucks clattering to the ice. "You really gonna bring up teen shit? Because I remember—" [brothers!]
Things go a little haywire after that, first chasing each other and then all the loose pucks scattered across the rink. By the time they've collected everything, they're both laughing hard enough that they can't catch a breath.
"Hey," someone shouts. Leon's leaning on the boards, wet hair sticking to her head and the nape of her neck. "Are we gonna go soon? I'm starving." [relatable]
"Yeah," Matthew calls back, making his way towards her. "We're done, I think."
When he makes it over the boards, Leon’s already reaching out, one hand fisting in his jacket. She yanks him closer, kissing him, then pulls back and says, "Go shower. You stink." [they would be so much better at keeping their secret relationship secret if they didn't want to make out and or fuck whenever they're within five feet of each other. alas]
"Uh-huh," Matthew says, ducking back in to kiss her again, just to see if her nose will wrinkle. It does. [gross!!!! and!!! in love!!!]
"Shower," Leon repeats, slapping his chest and shoving him towards the door. "Hey, Brady. You coming to lunch?"
Matthew misses whatever Brady says to her, but he doesn't miss when Brady comes into the locker room and snaps a towel at him. "Told you," Brady says in a low voice. Almost subtle, for him. "Crazy about you." [rip to brady, who has to witness god's most embarrassing pda every day of his summer and then deal with his older brother thinking that his girlfriend doesn't love him]
Matthew busies himself with his towel. His cheeks are warm.
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joe9cool · 1 year
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Collide-Justin Herbert-24
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A/N: as usual I do not know anyone or anyone affiliated with the Los Angeles Chargers. This is just fanfiction purposes only.
This was one of the best Holiday seasons in a long time.
She felt at ease, she was comfortable with her boyfriend's family. There was no big crowd of people, No kids screaming, no one asking for connections, or people asking about a boyfriend, jokes about her appearance. Making comments about how much money she had. Being forced to talk to mom and dads work friends and social circle.
She noticed again that she was the first one up. Well Justin was gone to the facilities for an early practice and lifting. She laid for a bit and checked her phone to answer some business emails and texts from her manager and agent. It was last minute to confirm all her stuff was set for when she arrived on the Dune 2 set.
Sara was scratching behind Nova’s ear when there was a knock on the door. She heard Isabell's voice "can I come in?"
She looked down to make sure everything was in place. "Yeah, it's open!" Isabell came in and sat on the bed. "How was everything last night?"
Sara smiled. "Good, I love the Herbert's, they are just so nice." Isabebell smiled. "Yes, I remembered being terrified meeting them for the first time. But Holly and Mark are so welcoming, and Patrick was there for comedic relief." The girls laughed at that. "I came here to apologize as well." Sara was confused. "Why?"
"Well I didn't mean to act all fangirl over you. I'm sure it's annoying to have people fawn over you all the time." Sara smiled. "Trust me it's not always like that. I've had people insult me to my face and try to tear me down." Isabelle shook her head. "The nerve of some people."
They spoke for a little bit. She had a lot in common with the Brazilian girl, they came from decent sized families, being successful was important, hence why Isabelle was in dental school. They spoke on the pressures they faced and Sara really felt like she had a good friend. Her and Carly were amazing women, along with the rest of the family. Eventually Holly interrupted and announced she was making breakfast. The girls joined the gang in the living room. Once breakfast was consumed and cleaned up, it was another lazy day. The stores were insane, and she just wanted to relax. They were all getting ready for a big early Holiday dinner. Throughout the day she was texting Justin as well as her siblings, who were upset that she was missing Christmas with them as well as the kids were upset their favorite Aunt Sara wasn't there.
—--------------------------------------------------------------
So far Christmas was a success. Justin had presented his o-line with extravagant gift packages courtesy of Sara's suggestion. Despite the tension and stress of the team trying to clinch a playoff spot. All eyes were going to be on the games on Christmas Eve.
It was weird, the past Christmases were all wrapped up in football. That was all he cared about. Now here he was wanting nothing more than to get home to his family and Sara. It was a drastic change from last year.
"So, did you and Sara exchange gifts yet?" Mike asked as he and Justin finished up their workout. He smiled, a goofy smile that only his teammate and one of his closest friends knew. "You son of a bitch."
Justin blushed. "Shut up." Mike laughed and clapped him on the back. "Ayo man I'm happy for you. I still don't know how you bagged her. Way too good for you." Justin smiled, and went back to his locker to get a small wrapped gift. He handed it to Mike. "Thank you. For forcing me to go to Joe’s wedding. Even though I wanted to kill you at the time."
Mike smiled and took the package, tearing the wrapping paper. He laughed when he revealed the video game he wanted for months "how did you get a hold of this?"
"Sara knows a guy at the company." Justin smiled when Sara told him that she could get her hands on a copy of the most sought out video game. "Bro, thank you so much. I'm glad you found happiness, even though I will continue to say she is too cool for you."
Justin laughed. "I'm a lucky man. Mike, I'm a very lucky man." He saw Joey look at him from the corner of his eye.
Things had been awkward for the once close teammates. While Justin understood that the beginning of his relationship was incredibly rocky due to him being an ass, he was more upset that Bosa was entertaining Sara. Now granted there were teammates who shared hookups and casual dates he wasn't that type of person. Neither was Joey or so he thought. Justin thought about the first time Mike alerted him that his teammate was trying to steal his girl.
Things seemed to calm down once Joey had taken more of an interest in Sara's friend, despite him dating some other girl. It was stupid for him to get mad, and did he have a right? He thought about Taylor, and how he hadn't told Sara the truth about her, but then again it was likely that she didn't even know about the blonde reporter. Nothing did happen between them while he and Sara were together
Well, they did kiss, but technically she forced herself on him and he wasn't in a relationship yet, so it didn't really matter. However Justin knew that if that had happened between her and Joey he'd be pissed. But who was to say she was one hundred percent innocent?
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't notice Bosa make his way over to his locker and was now calling his name. "Herb!" Justin snapped out of his daze. "Huh?"
"You okay? You look like you want to kill me." Justin shook his head. "Nah dude I just spaced out" Bosa didn't buy it. "Uh huh sure." As he was about to walk away Justin called out. "Hey Joey can you come into the video room with me for a second?"
Joey nodded confused, he followed the younger man into the room where Justin closed the door behind him. "Hey man what's this all about-"
"Do you like Sara?" Justin blurted it out. He didn't know what came over him. He needed reassurance maybe. He was never to feel insecure in a relationship, maybe because he had never allowed himself to fall deeply in love like he is now. Joey looked at him. "Look man I know I crossed the line with the flirting, but I didn't know you were serious about her like that. I mean she is gorgeous inside and out, and many guys want her-"
Justin cut him off. "Get to the point bro" Joey laughed. "You are serious about her so I backed off. She's a cool friend to have and that's how I see her. I'm more interested in her friend."
"I thought you were seeing Kailey." He shook his head. "Ended it. Was going too fast. Listen, you and Sara are good for each other. Just don't fuck it up." Justin nodded. He was a little hurt that many of his friends and family seemed to think he would ruin a good thing, but then again he didn't have the best track record with relationships. "I have to ask something though." Joey was confused, wondering what else they had to talk about. "What's the deal with you and Sara’s friend?"
The big man groaned. "We hooked up a hit between relationships in high-school. In college, she went off to New York to do her modeling shit and that was it." Joey looked away and Justin couldn't help but pry. "Dude was she the one that got away?" Joey turned back towards his teammate. "Look man it's in the past, she would never go for a guy like me her parents even said that."
Justin nodded, not wanting to press the issue further. It seemed like it was a sore subject, plus it was obvious his teammate was still hung up on her. He felt bad for his teammate, but it gave him some reassurance that he didn't have to worry.
—--------------------------------------------------------
The Chargers were close. So close to a postseason spot. Justin and his team watched the Bengals beat the Patriots, then on Thursday the Jets lost. They just needed the Raiders to lose, and then to pull off a win in Indianapolis to get in. Justin was getting excited, a reporter mentioned this time last year and how desperate they were. But this wasn't last year, and despite all the adversity, they were sure to beat the Colts.
Once they wrapped up he raced home to get to Sara and his family. He felt bad that they would all be leaving Christmas day, and she would be by himself. She reassured him that she would have Nova to keep her company.
He opened the door to home and smiled at the sight. Sara and Mitch were talking and laughing as she was helping Holly in the kitchen. His dad and Patrick were talking with Isabel in the living room, the house spelled like a home cooked meal. His stomach growled at the smell of ham. He made his presence known and was greeted by his family, Sara coming up to him with a kiss. "Hmm, you smell really good." He mumbled, breathing in her smell he noticed her hair was wet fresh out of the shower. "You could have waited for me, we could have showered together and saved water."
She laughed. "Yeah when have we e just ever showered together?" He laughed "good point"
They looked over to see Holly take the ham out of the oven. Justin's stomach growled and Sara laughed. "Come on, set your stuff down and let's eat." They headed over to the kitchen where everyone began digging in. They had plenty of food. There was ham, then vegetables, and a couple salads. Sara made the mac n cheese, which was a hit. She did take a couple quick videos of the food just for tiktok. They dug in and overate. Everyone complimented Holly, Sara, and Isabel on how good the food was. Sometime during the dinner, Sara's phone buzzed on the table. Looking at it, she turned it off. Justin looked at her, she frowned when her phone began buzzing again. "Babe who is it?"
She looked up. "It's my mom, probably facetiming me to wish me a merry Christmas."
"Oh my god, answer it! Don't feel disconnected from your family just because you're with us!" Mitch obviously didn't know Sara's family dynamic. Taking a deep breath she answered the call and saw her mother's face. "Hi mom."
"Hello sweetie. Please don't slouch like that. It's rude and I can see your double chin." Eyebrows shot up at the table and she grimaced. Sitting up straight, she said "thanks for the reminder mom"
"Merry Christmas dear! I wish you were with us! Where are you? It doesn't look like your house."
She had to think of another lie. "Oh well I'm at a mutual friends house." Eyes shot up again. "Oh well that's nice sweetie. What was so important for work that you couldn't come home?"
Sara rolled her eyes. "Well I have the backup vocals I'm recording for the bands album you know that."
"Well you are just like your father." She cringed hearing about her dad. "Speaking of he is really sorry about Aunt Willa's comments on Thanksgiving, but you know Aunt Willa-"
"Mom I have to go. Did the kids get all of their gifts?"
Cathy sighed. "Yes they did. Your sisters will call you tomorrow when they open them"
They exchanged 'love yous' and hung up. When she set her phone down on the table she looked up. It was silent for a bit. Until Mark spoke up. "Your mom reminds me a bit of mine. Always ranting about stuff. She's a bit high strung?"
Sara laughed. "Oh yeah she's very appearance based. They had their annual Christmas eve party at the local banquet hall. Three hundred people." Mark's eyes widened. "Wow," Sara laughed. "Yeah they are well known around the neighborhood and all of their friends and dads business associates."
Holly stabbed her food. "I can't even imagine." The group continued eating.
Once they finished and they all cleaned up and recovered from stuffing their faces they all decided to exchange gifts. Sara got a bunch of Starbucks gift cards (which Sara enjoyed) she got Isabel and Holly skincare and spa items. She got Mitch medical books, and Patrick got some football merchandise. She spoiled Justin with a new outfit and books to read on the plane and the bus. Mark laughed when Sara made Justin unwrap Nova’s gift. He laughed at the giant cat tower that she was scratching at. When he unboxed it, she immediately jumped on it. "I can't believe you got my cat Christmas gifts" He teased as he opened a Herbert cat jersey. "Oh my god!"
Mitch rolled his eyes. "Don't act like you haven't bought some gifts for Dylan." Sara laughed as Justin was called out by his brother. The gift giving was successful, Patrick was touched when Sara gave him an envelope to hand to Carly when he saw her
The rest of the night was filled with laughter and for the first time. Sara felt truly at peace.
—-------------------------------------------------------------
"Thank you so much for everything, your family is wonderful. Sara flopped on the bed after her routine was done. In the connecting bathroom Justin was rinsing with mouthwash before coming back into the room. "Why are you thanking me? We are together. My family is your family." She turned her head towards him and smiled. She was wearing an Oregon hoodie, courtesy of her boyfriend's Christmas gift to her, along with UGG slippers and a Burberry handbag that his family was surprised that he spent that much money on. She was surprised that he paid attention to her style.
He got into bed and kissed her quickly. "I have one more gift for you."
"Hmm. Is it your ass in your football pants?" He snorted as he got off the bed and went to his drawer. "Your mind is always in the gutter." She laughed and swatted at his ass. He playfully glared at her. "Keep it up and I'm tying you to this bed, and you can't leave."
"That isn't a punishment babe." He rolled his eyes. He retrieved the small, perfectly wrapped box and sat on the bed next to her. "I wanted to give this to you privately."
She hummed and then delicately removed the bow. Once removed and unwrapped. She took off the lid off the velvet box to reveal an emerald diamond ring, in the shape of the Oregon University logo. The ring was set in platinum. It was gorgeous, and it was her, and part of him. "It's beautiful." She whispered. Taking it out, she slipped it on her right hand ring finger. It was a perfect fit. "How did you know-"
"While you were away, you left a ring on my nightstand, and I gave it to my manager to get it sized." He ran his hand through his hair. "I had it engraved on the inside." She took it off to inspect the inside and sure enough, it had the number '10' with a date 'November 2022' she looked up at him questioningly. "It's the month I took you to Oregon." He smiled and her heart swelled. Slipping the ring back on, she launched herself into his arms. Peppering his face with tons of kisses he laughed. "Babe-"
"I love it so much. I love you so much!" They fell backwards on the bed. As much as they wanted to make love, she held off. "You need to focus on getting a playoff spot. I got the fancy champagne glasses and the best champagne. All ready for us to celebrate."
He smiled. "First of all, nothing is certain yet, also my family is heading home right after the game. So if we did make it, it would be just us."
"So I can blow you in the living room?" His cheeks turned pink. "Dirty girl." She laughed and pulled him in for a kiss. They had to get to bed if she wanted to wake up early enough to say goodbye to his family.
—----------------------------------------------------------------
"The Chargers have punched a ticket to the Playoffs!" The television announcer loudly as she had the television loud in the living room. Sara, in her navy Herbert jersey screamed as she picked up Nova, clad in her matching jersey and danced around the house. The cat was used to it by now, as it also meant she got a treat.
She got messages from Joe, Patrick and Mark and she was so overwhelmed with joy. She thought about last season and the disappointment and all of the doubts. Though she didn't know Justin last year, she could only imagine the pain he went through.
She looked down at her ring on her right hand. She smiled as the emeralds of the 'O' sparkled in the light. It was the most meaningful gift she had ever received. If you had asked her about the hot, freakishly tall guy at her friend's wedding in July, she would probably say he was fine for a night, maybe two, but she was in no way looking for anything long term. But her stupid ass heart had to chicken out and fall for the boy that was the total opposite of her. While he was a total idiot at the beginning, he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
There was one thing nagging on her mind though, and that was the big issue regarding the public. It was no secret that people were nosy, and a big celeb like her, anyone would kill to tell a big secret like this. Truth be told she wanted people to know she was in a relationship. It didn't have to be constantly broadcasted or constant photos everywhere. Private not secret, like tons of celebrity relationships. Based on experience, Justin didn't want anyone to know about them. Then again, it seemed he was bothered by the fact that her family didn't know. It was all confusing, but they needed to have a serious talk before she left.
They said they would have a take it by day policy, but this is so much more than that. It meant goodbye to life as they knew it, every move would be watched and scrutinized by both of their fans. Rumors would be flying, the press would be eager to know about Justin's entire life, and they would be willing to pay any former friends, teammates and lovers to come forward and tell any embarrassing, juicy moments. People would vilify him, come after her. It'd be shiny and new gossip that would have everyone talking until something new came up, whenever and whatever that'd be.
It wasn't going to be tonight, but it would have to be soon since it was t minus eleven days. Her team had messaged her with all of the arrangements and the script was ready to go. She'd gone over it a bit before the game although she already knew her lines.
Deciding to push her worries out of her head for tonight. She went to get the cold champagne bottle out of the fridge to put on ice, as well as grabbing the chocolate covered strawberries and turtle cookies. She also made Buffalo chicken mac n cheese. It was a hit with Justin and his family, the way she made it was an old fashioned family recipe. As she got everything ready and set up the time had passed. It was late, and she kept checking the time, eager for him to return home and celebrate with her.
Eventually she heard the garage door open and Nova finally descended from her huge cat tree to greet her owner at the door. She was still clad in her dad's jersey, finally getting used to it. She heard Justin's voice behind the corner. " I can't believe you didn't scratch the crazy lady's eyes out." Sara rolled her eyes. Her boyfriend continued. "Isn't she the craziest girl you've ever known? I mean she bought you clothes! I think I'm gonna have to admit he-"
"Justin Patrick Herbert, if don't shut the fuck up I'm fighting you." He laughed as he rounded the corner. "Is that a threat or a promise?" She rolled her eyes. "And My minds in the gutter." He kissed her and wrapped his arms around her. "You rubbed off on me."
"Uh huh" She pulled away to grab the champagne. She handed it to him. "I'm going to let you do the honors, Mr. Playoffs." He blushed. "Well we actually have to win a game." She arched her eyebrow. "Little victories Herb, little victories." He smiled and uncorked the bottle, a pop sound throughout the house. Pouring into the glasses they clinked them together and drowned the bubbly drink. Taking a strawberry, he told Sara. "Wednesday I'm going to San Diego to watch Patrick in the Holidays bowl." She nodded, remembering his brother talking about the game and the nerves. "I wish you could go with me," He muttered.
Again she raised a dark eyebrow. "That is not the place to debut a relationship. It's your brothers night, I couldn't do that to him."
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Not the place to debut a relationship?" His conversation with David flashed in his mind. She began to load their plates with snacks. "Not that our relationship is some press release. But it's going to be big news, and once it's out there there's no going back. We need to discuss this actually." It was not really the time, but they were quickly running out of it, and since he brought it up. "I have no intention of saying I'm in a relationship, but the more time we spend together. Its going to be brought up eventually."
"How so? If we don't say anything or just continue our routine we should be fine." She shook her head. "It doesn't work that way. With the press coming up for my movies next year. Some of the studio execs would want me to be in a PR relationship." He paused mid bite. "Like they could force you into it?"
She sighed. "Not force, but they would expect us to go on pap walks and do couple things. My guess is probably with Timothee, since Dune is being filmed. I would have to tell them no, and they would know things. Unfortunately that means they would want to discover who I'm with just to drum up any interest in the movie. It's all a business."
She poured another glass of champagne before speaking. "I try my damn hardest to stay out of that side. There is no avoiding it sometimes though."
He sat back in his chair. "So what do we do?"
"We could continue with our routines, maybe slowly start to go out to lowkey public spots and see what happens. Sorta controls the narrative."
"I'm going to be honest. I'm not too comfortable with it at all." Sara nodded. She thought about his past relationship with Hannah, and how quickly he ended it when she wanted to launch their relationship. She wanted to ask him about it so bad.
"Let's just try our hardest to stay out of the public eye. I mean if it happens we don't speak on it. Maybe get advice on what to do from your team and ours." Justin shrugged. "We can go more in depth when you get back. But for now let's just enjoy us and take it day by day." She rounded the counter and embraced him. "I like the sound of that." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm so proud of you baby." She didn't need to look at him as she knew his face was pink. "Seriously, you took this team to their first playoff berth since 2018, you made people excited to root for the Chargers again. People love you, and believe in you."
"It's not just me, we have a great team, a great coaching staff." She rolled her eyes. "I mean yeah but I'm not fucking the entire Chargers organization. I mean If you want me too-" He squeezed her ass hard and she laughed. "But seriously baby, you are the heart and soul of this team. You've come so far." She felt him plant a kiss on her neck. Pulling away, she got down on her knees. "Oh fuck" he whispered as she began to press soft kisses on his forming bulge. She teased him for a bit before he finally spoke. "Please stop." She giggled. "You're right, you've been a good boy." He lifted himself so she could slide down his sweats, along with his underwear. His dick stood up at attention and she grabbed it, twisting her wrist and getting him wet with his precum. She took his head in his mouth and sucked it, coming off with a wet pop. She licked him like a lollipop, which she could tell he enjoyed, but also was irritated at the same time. Finally she decided she had enough teasing and took him fully. Slowly, she felt him slide to the back of her throat.
"Oh god." He threw his head back and his hands became tangled in her hair. He began thrusting and he was now fucking her face. Sara was choking down his cocktail, and she loved it. She put her hands on his thighs, and after a while he moaned and released in her mouth and she swallowed. Coming off his dick she wiped her mouth and smiled, tears in her eyes and in a state of bliss. He pulled her up to steal a kiss. She moaned as his hands grabbed her by the ass and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her on his head and lifted up her nightie to reveal she went pantyless.
"God you're gorgeous" He breathed, before diving in to taste her. The second his tongue hit her she arched her back. "Oh my god." He hit all the right spots and her hands went through his long hair. "Oh Justin" she moaned. She hit her release quickly and they both collapsed on the bed to catch their breath. After a minute she remembered something "I need to clean the kitchen." She got up but he snaked his arm around her midsection and pulled her down. "Leave it." He mumbled.
"You? Want me to leave a mess? Who are you and what have you done to Justin Herbert?" This was unlike him. She remembered making fun of him when he threw his dirty clothes in the hamper after she tore them off after sex. She respected it, but did it really have to be right after? He never lived that down.
"I just wanna lay with you." He snuggled closer. She slid out from under his arm. "Well normally I would, but there is food I have to put away. You stay here and rest, you've earned it baby." She kissed his cheek and headed to the kitchen. He laid there for a couple minutes as he tried to fall asleep to the sounds of Sara putting everything away. He couldn't do it, he needed his girl with him. Justin got up and he approached her behind while she was at the sink. He once again snaked his arms around her. "You just couldn't wait could you?" "No" He mumbled. She went to scrub one of the plates but he stopped her. "Leave it and come back to bed." Sara let herself be dragged by him (not that she had a choice)
They settled back into bed and Sara realized how tired she was, and she fell asleep in Justin's arms.
—-------------------------------------------------------------
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOURE HOLIDAY BOWL CHAMPIONS, THE OREGON DUCKS!"
Justin was on the sidelines in the game. Beaming like a proud brother. Patrick played a phenomenal game, in front of the Chargers GM no less. He knew his brother wanted to go to the NFL and this was a way to do it. It had been a nail biter up until the last minutes.
He hugged every player, posed for pictures, and gave Patrick the biggest hug of them all. "I'm so proud of you bro." He yelled in the young ones ear." Patrick laughed. "Thanks bro, couldn't have done it without you."
They spoke to several other Oregon players before they got off the field. Patrick and Justin wanted to go to dinner, but with the win no doubt it would be a long celebration in the locker room. Knowing that Patrick would come down for the first playoff game, he left the celebration a little early, he had a flight to catch to Los Angeles.
He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he opened it to Sara's name.
Congrats to Patrick. All those big guys jumping on you makes me nervous. Miss you 😘
He smiled, before going up to Patrick to show him the message. "I have to text her." Patrick smiled. "I also got her Christmas gift. She's too cool for you."
Justin smiled. "I know."
"Don't fuck it up."
—--------------------------------------------------------
New Year's eve.
Justin and Sara were once again at Bosa's house. Along with some of the Players and their wives. They had been given a heads up by their husband's about the famous guests. So far all of them gave a warm welcome to Sara, teaching her the ropes about being a WAG since she was officially in the club. They also knew how important it was to keep a secret.
Sara had been talking to Breanna Norton and Ekeler's girlfriend Lauren. She really liked them, while they asked the usual questions about fame and famous people she worked with. They treated her like a human.
Justin had been clingy the whole night. Whenever he felt her slip away from him he found himself right back at her side. They both knew the reason why,
T-minus 5 days.
She had been on the phone with her team the previous day talking about what to expect. She also had a meeting with the filming crew and costume design. Justin was out of the screen view, but he was listening in. There was a lot of technical stuff he didn't know anything about. It was fascinating in some way. Once she was done he kept asking questions which she was happy to answer.
Bosa's house was in full party mode as it was professionally decorated and fully catered. While they couldn't get too crazy because of the game the next day, it was still nice to somewhat let loose.
While Justin and Sara were lost in each other sometimes. The other few wives that were looking at them gossiped.
"She is a natural at this thing. Seriously, she is fantastic!" Breanna beemed.
Lauren took a sip of her champagne "I'm calling it now. She's going to be a wife."
"Do you think so?" Sebastian's wife looked on. "I don't know, Justin is so private, how is going to handle fame on her level?"
"He brought her around us. I think he is very serious."
The rest of the evening was everyone playing party games, and laughing. Once the clock struck midnight everyone who had a significant other kissed.
Including Justin and Sara, even though their hearts were breaking.
—--------------------------------------------------------
Happy New Year to Jack Lange.
He and his boyfriend stumbled in their apartment after a few too many cocktails at their friends party. They were thankful uber existed.
As they were doing their night routines he decided to answer messages from his friends wishing him a happy new year. Out of curiosity, he scrolled Instagram and saw Kristen's page pop up under "suggested". Going on it he saw her profile was open.
Once he settled in bed he began deep diving. He saw several posts about Eugene Oregon, where she said she was from.
As he was scrolling something caught his eye. An ugly mix of green and yellow that wanted to make him gag. However he saw the Oregon University logo
"O"
He gasped, it was the exact logo that was on Sara's hoodie when he caught her rollerblading. "No fucking way" he whispered. He got up and after trying to control his dizziness he grabbed his camera on the chair. Flicking through it he saw the exact same photo he was thinking about it.
Going on his laptop he typed in Oregon University in Google
"Oregon University is a public university located in Eugene Oregon."
He kept scrolling, he hit the notable alumni tab. Some famous people did attend but no one worthy.
As he was about to exit he noticed someone.
"Justin Herbert."
Based on the helmet he was a football player, and a fine one despite the ugly colors. Clicking on his profile, he could have passed out.
He went to his camera again. Jack came across the picture he was looking for. The unidentified man in the Porsche that was in Sara's driveway.
"HOLY SHIT"
He typed in 'Justin Herbert'
'Justin Patrick Herbert is an American Football Quarterback who currently plays for the Los Angeles Chargers."
He went to another tab and searched for something else.
There on Google images was Sara spotted at Charger games with Joe Grant.
This was it, the answer that he was looking for. "Thank you Kristen!" He yelled as he danced around.
Sara Wozniak was dating Justin Herbert!
His boyfriend came into the room. "What are you doing?"
Jack kissed him and told him everything. His partner smirked. "You are the best for a reason! You are getting that promotion!"
Jack laughed menacingly. Now he just needed to get the personal details. Which was the easy part. He already had an inside source close to Sara. He got all the juicy details on her and Harry and he was going to do it to her and this Justin Herbert.
2023 was off to a great start for Jack Lange.
A/N: I got to fix the format, I'm posting this from my phone. So I apologize, happy holidays everyone! Looks like someone else knows the secret.... and not with the best intentions
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senditcolton · 1 year
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Masterpiece (sneak peek)
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a/n: the fact that I’ve had this fic planned since August of 2022 and thought this moment would take place much later in their story, but then the universe/this year’s playoffs were like “nah bitch, if you want to write angst, we are going to make sure you write angst.” So, here we are.
Nate felt awful. Worse than awful but that was the only word that came to him the post-game haze.
If he were to rank the terrible feelings of his life, he would put this moment near the top of the list. Yes, even higher than the Colorado Avalanche’s 48-point season.
In a way, his hurt was understandable. His team just lost the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. No one was supposed to feel happy after that. But for Nate… he felt like he had lost so much more than that in this season.
He lost his way. He lost his faith. He lost his girl.
It still stung, more than Nate would ever admit. It had been almost 6 months since Margot walked out of their shared apartment. It had been only a few weeks since Nate saw the photo she posted; the photo of her wrapped up in another man’s arms.
Part of him wanted to place the blame on her for his performance on the ice. Like the mere idea of her with someone else sent him into a downward spiral which affected his play. But he knew that she held no blame. Not for his performance in the playoffs. Not for his incapability to move on like she did.
It was all on him.
That didn’t stop it from hurting.
He releases another deep sigh before heading out of the locker room, a room that he won’t inhabit until the beginning of next season. As he steps out, Nate locks eyes with Gabe, patiently waiting to console the boys as they left. Being the Captain even while injured.
Gabe shoots him a sympathetic look before opening his arms to him. Nate gladly accepts the hug, comforted by his long-time friend and teammate.
“We’ll get it next year, yeah?” Gabe says, patting Nate on the back.
“Wish you were out there with us,” Nate replies, muttering the words into Gabe’s shoulder.
“I wish I was too.”
They finally break apart, Gabe continuing to talk; about next year, about how the boys fought till the end, about how it was an intense matchup and they gave it their all. Nate was only half-listening, battling with the conflicting feelings of not wanting this season to end but also wanting to forget the ending as fast as possible.
His eyes wander, looking over the grey brick walls, following the trail of the concrete floor. His gaze finally settles on the group of girls at the other end of the hallway.
It was the Seattle wives and girlfriends. The mere fact that they were allowed down here gave them away, but if there was any uncertainty as to who they were, their matching black leather jackets erased that. Jackets with the last names of their partners emblazoned on the back.
Margot always liked being a part of the jacket designing. She had a hand in all the Avalanche WAG jackets the years that she was with Nate. That was another part of this year’s playoffs that Nate didn’t even realize he was missing until he was confronted with the absence.
Not being able to hear Margot’s French-Canadian accent, talking about fabric and color and design. Not being able to see her excitement when she came home and modeled her new jacket for him. Not being able to listen to her as she scrolled through social media to see the other jackets and place her judgements on them, always declaring that the Avalanche girls had the best, even though maybe this team was a close second.
She would have liked the Seattle jackets. Black leather with the last names repeating down the back in a slightly different fabric.
Nate looks at the names, reading them off in his head: Donato, Larsson, Oleksiak, Megna, Schultz. He continues to move down the line until one name gives him pause.
Grubauer.
Interesting. Philipp didn’t mention seeing anyone the last time Nate talked to him, back when Seattle came to Colorado in the regular season. Granted, that was back in March. And if Nate was being honest, he didn’t really know how long a girl had to wait before she could claim a jacket.
He keeps his eyes on the group, watching as the players step out of the locker room and watching as they reunite with their partners. Their excitement makes his heart sting a little more, knowing that their joy was directly correlated with his sorrow.
Nate sees Philipp emerge from the locker room, his suit back on and a plush salmon toy in his hands. He has a smile on his face and Nate watches as that smile seems to grow brighter when he sees the girl wearing his name. When Philipp reaches her, he engulfs her in a giant hug, picking her up and spinning her around. The action causes a laugh fall from the girl’s lips and when Nate hears that sound echo down the hallway, the knife that was already lodged in his heart plunged deeper.
No. It’s impossible. It must be his heightened and tangled emotions that were twisting this stranger’s laugh into something so familiar.
A laugh that sounded just like the one that used to bounce off the walls of his Denver apartment.
A laugh that he hadn’t heard in six months.
Nate keeps his eyes locked to the pair, wanting to desperately be proven wrong, praying to every god there was that he was indeed mistaken. But the Philipp finally sets her, the girl in the black leather jacket with ‘Grubauer’ plastered down the back, down on the floor, Nate finally sees her face.
And it’s Margot.
His Margot.
And he can’t tear his eyes away, even when they lean into each other. And he watches – in heartbreak, in fear, in anger – as Margot kisses Philipp.
She kisses him. In Nate’s arena. In Nate’s city. In front of Nate’s eyes. The same way she used to kiss Nate.
The haze that had consumed him since the final buzzer grew heavier, darker, turning from grey rainclouds into a swirling thunderstorm, his mind going a mile a minute until it finally settles on one phrase:
How fucking dare she?
Nate can feel his knuckles tighten, his jaw clench, his breath becoming more staccato. It only increases when he watches Philipp playfully tap Margot on the nose with that stupid stuffed salmon, causing another giggle to fall from her lips.
“Nate?”
He can barely even hear Gabe over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears as he continues to watch the scene unfold in front of him. He shouldn’t be watching. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away even if he wanted to.
Out of the corner of one eye, Nate can see Gabe fall into place next to him, his captain’s eyes taking in Nate’s current state and then following his star centers gaze down the hallway until his own blue eyes fall on Margot and Philipp.
And then understands perfectly.
“Don’t do anything stupid kid,” Gabe hisses to him and Nate wants to retort that he isn’t going to but his thoughts can’t seem to fall into place as he continues to watch Margot intertwine her hands with Philipp’s. “EJ, I need your help.”
Before Nate can even react or even protest, EJ has looped his arm around his shoulders and is practically dragging Nate in the opposite direction, pulling him down the hallway and towards the parking garage, chattering in his ear. None of EJ’s words register in Nate’s brain. No, it’s just that one phrase still playing on repeat.
How dare she?
Out of all the people she could have, she chose his former teammate. Margot chose to be with Philipp, out of everyone in the godforsaken city of Seattle, she chose him. And she moved on so fucking quick. It had been less than six months since she left Nate.
Since she left him, Nate remembers, his anger twisting around that fact. She was the one that left. She was the one who say waiting for him to come from a road trip with a packed suitcase sitting next to her on the bed. Just so she could break his heart in person.
And now, she’s made the decision to waltz back into Nate’s life with another man’s last name plastered on her back. As if breaking his heart wasn’t enough. No, she had to tear it out and shatter it into a million pieces.
How fucking dare she?
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jamiesfootball · 8 months
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a drabble for #7?
“Can you feel this?”
Light glinted off metal.
'Only the phantom sensation of pressure at a distance.' That's how Beard would have liked to respond, if Dr. Buddy's hand wasn't pressed up against the roof of his mouth.
The situation being what it was, he settled for a cordial, "Uh-uh."
"Good. Good. That's what I love to hear," said Dr. Buddy, smiling with eyes and likely a mouth underneath the face mask. He handed the dental pick to his assistant. His thumb stayed hooked on Beard's mouth. "Now you just let me know if we need a break, you hear? Any discomfort that comes up, let me know straight away. Raise your hand up if you need me to stop."
Prison had reset Beard's tolerance for discomfort, but sitting in the leaned-back dental chair, a precipitously high wave a nausea threatened to make landfall. Accompanying it were persistent tremors in his fingers and a dry mouth, and tunneling vision to round out the quartet. Had Ted told him ahead of time where they were going, Beard would have jumped out of the moving vehicle to join the errant cows of the field who didn't yet know that they were livestock.
All things considered, Willis Beard was experiencing a typical level of comfort, solidly below the baseline of what he could endure.
He offered the dentist a thumbs up, and the hand that hitched Beard's arm to the chair gave him a reassuring squeeze.
The dental assistant handed Buddy a corded instrument.
While Beard's ears began ringing like a tornado siren on a clear day, Buddy picked up on their prior conversation with, "I'm not sure, Ted. I still think Vermeil screwed the pooch last year. Should'a stayed retired if you asked me."
"Oh ye' of little faith," Ted responded. Beard didn't need eyes or mouth to know when Ted was smiling. "I thought he whipped them boys into pretty good shape last year. It's rough starting out fresh, these things take time."
College may have been a life left behind in the rearview mirror, but Beard could swear that once upon a time Ted's Ted-isms didn't clock overtime carrying the weight of all the baggage booked between them. Or maybe they had. Maybe every one of their elbowing, crushed conversations under stadiums of lights, kicking heels at each other while they waited for second string to get its call, maybe all of those moments had always been a guise for the gentle hand reaching out underneath, and Beard had been too tone-deaf to notice.
He'd been experimenting with a lot of MDMA at the time so he supposed he'd never know. Too bad no one had ever made a future in fixing maybes.
Ted tried to lasso the dentist onto his side. "C'mon, pal. You ain't ever heard of second chances?"
Finally the thumb prying him open let go of his mouth. Beard stretched his jaw out, making a show of it while he bid his time. He'd need every deep inhale for this next part.
Buddy fiddled with his glove, pulling the rubber tight over a bulky status watch, the kind that made a regular man feel wealthy but wouldn't fetch much in a pinch.
The dental assistant placed a stacked tray before him, all sharps and gauze. Dr. Buddy picked up another poker. "How about you, Beard? Who do you favor for the playoffs?"
"The Buccaneers."
"Hah!" Buddy scoffed. "Now that's a longshot. I'll give you that one, Ted; the Chiefs have a better shot of making it to the playoffs than the Bucs ever will. Those bookies down in Vegas, they're printing money saying otherwise. No siree, it doesn't matter how good the odds are. They've got no experience keeping their heads up under pressure."
Ted hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe. Everybody loves a longshot, though. And hell, who doesn't love a pirate?"
"Captain Fear," Beard added.
"You're both nuts," lamented Buddy, shaking his head.
"I don't know about that, Buddy," said Ted with a smile as wide as the sign out front. "After all, the game's not over 'til it's over. Chiefs, pirates—as long as the team keeps trying, we'll keep rooting, and sooner or later all that effort's going to pay off. Might take a little time and a little luck, but it'll happen."
"We'll see about that. Alright, gentlemen, enough of the small talk. Time to let her fly."
Beard white-knuckled his grip on the chair. Ted's hand tightened on his forearm, holding him steady. He was ready. Ready steady.
Loosely based on this post
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flieslikeamoron · 1 year
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idk if this is something you'd be interested in doing, so if not please just ignore, BUT the other preview you posted was so good and I would kill for another few sentences preview from Ch. 16 of Sleight of Hand... 👀
I mean, fuck it. Have a bunch of it. This is not the final draft. But this is the next chronological part after the other preview. Up until it stops being in pretty good shape. The rest is still a mess TBH.
Eddie drops him off down the road, out of sight of Steve’s house. “Call me if you need a ride or anything,” he says. He looks at Steve in a way that’s making Steve’s heart pound against the hollow of his throat, that’s making Steve feel so lit up inside. A bonfire of butterflies. If Eddie were a girl, if they didn’t have to be careful, Steve would kiss him goodnight. Steve would make sure kissing Steve was all he was thinking about while he drives away. Steve settles for touching his hand, tugs on the chains laced through his jacket sleeve. 
“Thanks,” Steve says. “I’ll- See you.” 
 He puts his hand on Steve’s thigh. Gives it a squeeze. “Seriously,” he says. “Call me.”
Steve walks the rest of the way to the house, but maybe they didn’t really need to bother with trying to fly under the radar. The lights are off, no one waiting up. He stays quiet, sneaks up the stairs. The smell of cigarettes clings to him as strips off his jeans and crawls into bed. He  stinks of dried sweat and come. He feels sore. Body strung out, exhausted. He feels-
Confused. 
When he’s with Eddie, it’s easy to get carried along by how much he likes Eddie. To get lost in how good it is when Eddie touches him. When Eddie smiles at him. When Eddie looks at him like he- Gives a shit. When he’s with Eddie he doesn’t care about his dad, or Billy, or the team or anything but just being with Eddie. 
But now. He can’t help thinking about the look on Eddie’s face when he was telling Steve not to put his bullshit on him. It’s so obvious that he doesn’t- He doesn’t want Steve to be in love with him. But then- That stuff he said he was into, when he said he was into Steve. That wasn’t the kind of stuff you say about someone you’re casually fucking either. The way he made sure Steve was okay when Steve freaked out a little after that stuff with Billy wasn’t the kind of thing you do if you just want to fuck. He doesn’t look at Steve like it’s casual. 
Steve doesn’t know what Eddie wants. He thinks he knows what Eddie doesn’t want. But it’s just- He’s just- 
Confusing. 
-*-
Steve doesn’t sleep that well, but that’s okay. Being up early on a Saturday is the kind of thing his dad likes. The kind of thing his dad thinks shows some responsibility. He lies in bed for a long moment with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of his dad clinking around in the kitchen downstairs. The smell of coffee. He takes a quick shower, washing stale cigarette smoke and sex out of his hair. Gets a soapy finger inside himself where he’s still a little sore, presses into that hot ache with his mouth open. More of a reminder of getting fucked than an attempt to get off. He stops before he can get himself hard. 
His dad looks up from the newspaper as he comes down the stairs. 
“You were out late,” he says, deceptively mild. Steve stops on his way to the kitchen, his bare feet curling into the carpet.
“The guys wanted to celebrate,” Steve tries. “After the game.” 
His dad taps the paper. “I saw you won. Looks like you’re going to the playoffs again this year.”  He offers a rare smile of approval. Maybe they listed Steve by name in the article. Maybe he’s in the picture. 
Steve hates that there’s still a part of him that craves that smile. Something inside himself that turns toward it, seeking, like a plant to the sun. “Just have to beat Oakfield,” Steve agrees. “They’re a pushover.” 
“What kind of defense does your coach have you running?” His dad played when he was in high school. Hasn’t really played since, but he’s got plenty of opinions. 
“Do you need a ride into town, sweetie?” his mom says, touching his back on her way to the kitchen. “I have a HBS meeting today so I could drop you off.” 
“I was going to do some chores,” Steve says. His dad looks at him like he’s pleased. Steve tries not give a shit. It’s just bullshit. Just to get his car back.
He does some performative homework, books spread out on the dining room table. He clears some fallen branches from the yard and skims the pool. His thighs are sore, his ass twinging every time he bends too much. He doesn’t mind the pain. Feels like an echo of Eddie inside him. Like sharing a cigarette. A point of connection. He likes the reminder of having Eddie like that, as close as he can get. Likes the reminder of where he’d rather be. 
-*-
His dad goes golfing Sunday. He’ll be gone most of the day, and there’s no point in Steve putting on a good, responsible boy show if no one’s there to see it. No point in pretending he has anything going on, anything else he wants to do more than seeing Eddie either. Eddie must have realized by now that his reputation as a cool guy with a life is wildly out of date, more faded by the day. 
He’s so surprised when Eddie answers his call instead of Wayne that it takes him a second to speak up.
“Hello?” Eddie says impatiently, for a second time.
“Hey,” Steve says. 
“Hey,” The annoyance drops out of his voice as it goes warm, fond. He doesn’t say babe, but it feels like he’s saying babe. Feels like fingers stroking down the back of Steve’s neck. “Do you need a ride somewhere or…” He trails off. 
“No, but my dad went golfing,” Steve says. “So I could- If you don’t have plans, I thought we could hang out.”
“I have band practice,” Eddie says. “So I can’t- Hang Out.” He layers a ton meaning onto it. “But if you want to come, you could- Hang out.” He adds, “It would probably be really boring. I wasn’t kidding about us playing the same riffs over and over.” 
“No, I want to hang out,” Steve says. “Never been to a band practice before.”
“All right.” Steve can hear the smile. It makes him smile too, tracing his fingernail in the shape of a star on the kitchen counter. “I’ll see you in half an hour, groupie. Wear something slutty.” 
He’s just kidding. Steve doesn’t even have any clothes that are actually slutty. But Steve kind of- Wants to look good. It’s not a date. But- Whatever. He pulls on his tightest jeans. The ones that hug his ass, are snug up against his package. He rolls the sleeves of his favorite rugby shirt up to the elbows. Unbuttons a couple more buttons than he normally would. 
Eddie’s eyes go right to the chest hair peeking out of his shirt when he climbs into the van. Like Steve thought they would. Like he hoped they would. Eddie reaches over and gives it a tug, tugs up a little wave of heat through Steve’s gut.
“Nice cleavage,” he says. 
“I know how you feel about tits.” 
Eddie grins, all teeth. “And big hair?” He reaches over to rough a hand through the hair on Steve’s head. The hair Steve spent like ten minutes getting perfect. Casually undoing all Steve’s work with a push and a tug. 
Steve doesn’t mind. 
-*-
Band practice isn’t like watching the band on stage. They’re playing half a song at a time, sometimes just a few bars. Keep stopping to argue with each other. Apparently a couple of the songs they’re working on are new, so they keep changing things, keep fucking it up and getting on each other’s case about it. It’s one thing to watch a show, but this isn’t a show. It’s a group project. And Steve has nothing to contribute.
He says encouraging things when they ask him what he thinks, but what the fuck does he know about music. Much less, this kind of music. He doesn’t know shit. He doesn’t get their nerd jokes. He doesn’t know the songs they’re referencing. He sits back in the lawn chair Gareth unfolded for him like a little audience of one. Sips on a soda, and puts on a smile. Laughs at jokes he doesn’t get, bangs his head along to music he doesn’t know. He lets himself drift with it like he used to do when the parties started to get old. He knows how to make himself- Agreeable. 
But he’s very aware that he doesn’t actually have a reason to be here. Outside of just- Wanting to be around Eddie. Watching Eddie.
Watching the way his fingers move on the strings. Watching him square himself up against the music. Hearing what he can pull out of his guitar. It’s hot, even in a garage with no spotlights on him. Even when he doesn’t quite have the fingering down yet. When Steve can see the effort behind the magic trick he pulls off onstage.
There are times when Eddie looks over at him while he’s playing. Meets his eyes, electric. The intensity of his gaze making Steve feel hot all over. But he can’t just- Fucking stare at Eddie. And Eddie can’t just look back. Not with the band here. Not when he knows it must be so obvious on his face. How he wants him. How he feels.
-*-
Eddie’s still working on one of the songs afterwards. They’re parked by the lake, the back of the van open to let the light in. Eddie’s got an acoustic on his crossed legs, head cocked like he’s listening to something Steve can’t hear. Steve is lying on his back. Watching him like he couldn’t before. Studying the strong movements of his fingers. The way his tongue pokes into the corner of his mouth when he’s concentrating. He glances up and catches Steve looking. He flashes a smile. 
“You’re so full of shit,” he says.
“What?” Steve blinks. He didn’t even say anything.
“There’s no way you thought Death Becomes sounded good.”
“Which one is that?”
Eddie starts playing a riff that Steve does remember from the practice. And Eddie’s right. It didn’t really sound that good. But some of the music Eddie actually likes Steve doesn’t think sounds that good, so what does he know. “I thought it sounded like it could sound good. Eventually.”
Eddie laughs. “Yeah, it sucked.” He starts playing something else. Something that doesn’t sound familiar.
“Did you play that one today?” Steve says. “I don’t recognize it.”
“Yeah, this isn’t-” Eddie says. “It’s not really one I’ve played for the guys.”
“Still working on it?”
He keeps watching his fingers, his hair hanging in front of his face. Hiding it.
“Does it have any words?” Steve says. “Or- I guess Gareth said Jeff mostly writes the lyrics…”
“It has words.” Eddie darts a glance up at Steve. “I don’t really- Play the ones that have words. For the band, I mean. They’re just for me, I guess.” He’s playing it for Steve though. So that means something. Even if he’s not singing the words.
“I like it,” Steve says. “It’s good. I mean right now good, not eventually good.” Eddie doesn’t look at him. Biting down on his lip in a way that could be pleased, could be- Not. He doesn’t like compliments. Steve knows that. 
“So you’ve been playing since you got your guitar?” Steve changes the subject. “Eighth grade?”
“No, I already had this baby.” Eddie taps the acoustic with the flat of his hand. He passes it over to Steve, tucking his leg up against his chest, his arm curled around it. His chin coming down on his knee. Steve settles the shape of the guitar against his belly, gives it tentative strum. “It was my mom’s. She didn’t take it when she left.” 
Steve looks up from the guitar, his gaze sharp on Eddie. “She just- Left?”
Eddie shrugs it off, twisting the ring on his middle finger. “Can’t really blame her. Like I said before, my dad’s a fuck up and a major asshole.” He snorts. “Would have been nice if she took me with her. But-” His mouth twists, a sour little smile. “That’s the way it goes.”
Steve wants to ask, but- He doesn’t think Eddie wants him to ask. To poke at it. He sits up so he can see the strings better as he carefully plays a C. He takes a moment to set his fingers and plays an D Major. 
“You play?” Eddie says. “Or you used to?”
“No,” Steve scoffs. Those chords are about all he remembers. “I had a couple lessons when I was a kid.” He’d begged for them. And then when he got them, he’d started begging to quit pretty much right away. “I hated it. Was just awful.” He lets out a short laugh. His dad gave him a little shit for not following through, but Steve thinks he was pretty relieved. Always preferred Steve focus on sports. Steve was better at them anyway.
“I could-” Eddie says. “Teach you the basics.”
“You could try,” Steve says skeptically, trying to find a G major. “I think my old teacher would have some doubts about how far you’ll get.”
“Maybe your old teacher sucked,” Eddie says. “Who was it anyway?”
“Mr. Stewart,” Steve says. “From-”
“The music teacher we had in middle school?”
Steve nods, pointing at his face. “He had that-” He makes the shape of a mustache.
“Yeah, he was a fucking asshole,” Eddie says. “I think that dude got off on making kids cry.”
Steve thinks he has the G this time. He strums experimentally, and winces. Definitely not. “Well, I didn’t cry. But I did quit basically right away.”
“I can do better.” Eddie sits up out of his curl and reaches over to move Steve’s fingers on the strings. “That what you were looking for?” Steve gives it a strum, and smiles. There’s the G. When he looks up Eddie’s looking at him. Soft. “What do you say? Wanna give it a go?”
He hands Eddie back the guitar. “I’d like that.” It’s not so much about learning to play, although it would be cool if he could. But even if he’s never actually any good, he likes the idea of having Eddie’s attention on him. Having Eddie showing him how he does what he does. He likes the fact that Eddie wants to share that with him.
“Cool,” Eddie says, a little smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. He starts to play Row, Row, Row Your Boat. “Is this the kind of thing Mr. Stewart was teaching you or did you get to play anything decent?”
“I don’t think I ever played a song,” Steve says. “It was just chord drills and stuff.”
Eddie cocks his head, a teasing grin on his face as he switches to playing The Ants Go Marching. “This doing it for you, boy scout?” he jokes.
The song isn’t, but the grin is a little. Steve gives him a shrug. Playing it cool. “Sorry. I only get hard for electric.” 
Eddie’s eyebrows rise at the challenge, his eyes going dark, intent. He puts the guitar aside, and leans over to close the van door. And yeah, now Steve’s getting hard. Just from the way Eddie’s looking at him as he crawls over. Just from knowing he’s about to have Eddie’s hands on him. 
Eddie hesitates on the edge of kissing him. His fingers light against Steve’s neck, against his jaw. His gaze heavy, but- Sweet too. Something so tender in it. That I’m into you look. The one that makes Steve feel like he’s being watered, something dry and thirsty inside him soaking in it, swelling until he could burst. Steve can feel it pressing against the back of his throat. How lucky he is. How happy he is. He leans into the kiss, leans in to fill his mouth with Eddie before he can make the mistake of saying it out loud. 
-*-
Steve hesitates as he comes off the lunch line on Monday with his tray in his hands. Jonathan and Nancy are off doing “photography projects” for the school paper. Which he’s pretty sure are just making out in the dark room again. He looks at Billy holding court at the basketball team’s table. Tommy gives a little nod to the chair next to him. And Steve could just fucking act like nothing happened. Bluff his way through. He’s done it before. But he thinks about Billy saying Steve’s not one of them. Steve’s pretty sick of pretending he is.
Fuck it.
He sits at the Hellfire table with Gareth and Jeff. He probably should have run this by Eddie first. Given him a head’s up. Everyone’s already seen Eddie giving him a ride, so he figures the old rules don’t apply. But there’s still a nervous twist in his gut. He doesn’t always know what’s going to set Eddie off. Where the lines are. He can feel eyes on him. He doesn’t look over at the team’s table.
When Eddie gets there, he just takes the seat next to Steve like this is normal. Steals a soggy french fry off Steve’s plate. He presses his foot down on top of Steve’s sneaker under the table, stepping on Steve’s toes. Steve tries not to smile too much at the sad, dried out hamburger on his tray. 
“You want the rest of them?” he asks, sliding his tray over in Eddie’s direction.
“They’re pretty gross,” Eddie says, taking another. He chews for a second and then opens his mouth to show Steve the mashed up mess on his tongue.
“You’re pretty gross,” Steve says. He’s smiling too much. He doesn’t sound like he means it.
Eddie grins back and bumps his knee against Steve’s under the table.
-*-
Practice sucks. Billy’s fouling Steve every chance he gets, doing his best to knock him to the court. Succeeding pretty often. Which isn’t exactly new, but now the other guys are getting into it too. He’s going to have bruises on his hips, his tailbone, his knees. That’s fine. He’d rather they take it out on him than Eddie. He keeps his head down, keeps playing like he doesn’t notice. But even the guys on his own side of the scrimmage are icing him out, not passing to him. 
Eventually Coach gets fed up with guys not even taking shots at the basket, just so they can take shots at him. He stops practice halfway through and makes them all run laps “until they can get their head in the game.” Which really means until they’re all about to fall over or throw up. 
The guys act like that’s Steve’s fault too, turning their backs to him as he walks into the locker room after practice. A weird silence falls over the room, like they want to make sure he gets that this is a deliberate silent treatment. He fucking gets it. 
He wipes his sweaty hair, his neck and face down with a towel and grabs his bag from his locker. He’s dripping, but he walks out without taking a shower. Thinks about not coming back. Thinks about trying to explain why to his dad.
At least the season’s almost over. 
-*-
Eddie’s waiting for him in the parking lot as he leaves the school, window of the van rolled down. Music blasting pretty loud. He gives Steve a little wave of his fingers, rings flashing. And Steve feels lighter already. Feels the last couple hours fall away. Steve hops into the passenger’s seat, tosses his gym bag down by his feet.
“You okay?” Eddie says. He’s always asking Steve that. Always looking at Steve like he doesn’t believe him when Steve says he is. 
“Yeah,” Steve says. He is now. 
“Where to?” 
Steve should try to get home before dinner, but he has some time. “I have a little while before I need to be home,” he says. “You want to do anything?”
“I can think of a few things,” Eddie says, his gaze heated. 
They end up at the lake again, stripping off clothes like they’re in a race to see who gets naked first. Steve gets a whiff of sweat as he pulls his still damp shirt off. Lets out an embarrassed huff. He really stinks.
“Sorry,” Steve says. “I didn’t get a chance to shower after practice.”
Eddie licks the salt off his throat, buries his face in Steve’s armpit. “I like you like this,” he says when he comes up for air. “Like you messy.” Steve’s stomach swoops, heat and affection tangling up together. Making the back of his neck heat up, making his dick harder. 
Eddie pauses as he pulls Steve’s basketball shorts off, looking at the bruises starting to bloom on Steve’s hips. He touches the one on the base of Steve’s knee. Looks up like a question, but Steve doesn’t want to talk about it. They’re just bruises. 
“Come on,” Steve says, nudging at Eddie with his knee. “You have too many clothes on.” 
Eddie ignores him, sets his tongue to the bruise on Steve’s knee. And then lays a little kiss on it, a soft brush of his lips. 
“Are you kissing it better?” Steve says skeptically. “Am I five?”
Eddie keeps ignoring him, running his hands up Steve’s thighs before he buries his face in the sweaty crease of his groin. He presses gentle lips to the bruise on Steve’s right hip, and then opens his mouth around it, gives a hard suck that makes pain flare. Makes Steve gasp. He works at the skin with his teeth and sucks hard until Steve makes a hurt noise. Steve’s dick is a heavy throb. Steve’s hand tangles in his hair, cupping the back of his head as he bites, sucks like he’s doing his best to leave his own bruise. 
He pulls back, rubbing a thumb over the fresh marks. His marks. Steve leans up on his elbows to get a look. They blend in with the other bruises, but you can see them if you know what you’re looking for. Steve rubs a finger over the hot skin. Presses down on the ache of it. Hopes they won’t fade too fast. 
“Let’s see how messy we can get you,” Eddie says with a grin before he opens his mouth around Steve’s cock.
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rosesvioletshardy · 2 years
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Friendships Could Never Equal Relationships
sad that this may be the last thing I get to write for a while because I have to be at school full time and put all my focus into that but i finally got to write a piece with Matthew
pairing: matthew tkachuk x gn reader
# of words: 1,322
warnings: mentions of drinking (everyone is of age), mention of sleeping together (nothing explicit + of age)
requested: yes
matthew tkachuk masterlist
masterlist
Matthew was the type of guy that anyone could’ve asked for. He did everything in his power to make sure that you were always happy and that there was never a dull moment in your life. The two of you had known each other for a bit when you were younger but then you both started to part ways as Matthew wanted to focus on his hockey career and you wanted to focus on school and finish getting your degree. 
Even though the two of you weren’t as close as you were when you were children, it didn’t mean that your friendship was over. You both kept in touch and if either one of you were nearby, you’d always try to make plans on days off. You also kept in touch with each other's families seeing how close the two of you were growing up and had pretty much joined each other's families.
It wasn’t until the summer after the most recent Calgary Flames playoff run where they had lost in the conference finals and had been eliminated. You knew it would take him a few days before he went back to being his old self again seeing how well he did in the regular season up until the post season and in playoffs. 
Summer in St. Louis with you was something that Matthew was looking forward to as he wanted to forget about everything that happened. He still remembers how the team couldn’t tie the game up before the third period had expired after a silly penalty cost them and the other team ended up tying it on their power play. You had left Calgary a week before him so he and the rest of the team could do their last interviews of the playoffs and finish getting ready for the off season. 
“Hey, how are you doing?” you asked him as he walked up to you to give you a hug. He didn’t say anything besides hide his face in his neck before pulling away and taking a deep sigh
“Part of me is relieved that my body can rest” he started
“But…” you asked knowing he had more to say
“If I hadn’t have taken that stupid penalty and try to fight then we’d be in the finals, one step closer to the cup.” he mumbled, trying his hardest not to cry thinking it was his fault
“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. They were trying to get under your skin and you did what you had to do to defend yourself. You played your ass off every game and you helped your team reach the semifinals. This isn’t just on you.” you had to tell him the two of you walked over to the luggage claim and grabbed his stuff before heading back out to your car.
The trip to his house was quiet. You knew that he didn’t want to talk about anything for a while until he settled down. As much as he loved them, he told his family he didn’t want to talk about the game until later in the offseason or when he’s getting ready for training again. The one thing he did want to talk about with his mom was you. He’s loved you for as long as he can remember and he finally thought that this summer was going to finally be the summer where he confesses his love seeing that you aren’t dating anyone after your last breakup nearly a year and a half ago. He knew you wanted to take a break from dating and during the season and he respected that. you would always talk to him about the dates you had gone on but could never stick with anyone or they didn’t seem like the person that they first were. The two of you were open about who you were dating and would often help each other when it came to asking the person out. He remembers the one time where he liked someone so much that you had suggested making them a cake to ask them out to the dance but you had to make it because you didn’t trust his baking skills and knew chantal didn’t want to see her oldest child ruin the kitchen. He didn’t realize he was daydreaming until you put the car into park and had to shake his shoulder.
-----
Matthew, Brady, and you had decided to go out later that night after spending some time with their family to see some friends that they haven’t seen in a while during the season.
“So matty boy, anyone new in your life?” jason had asked matthew seeing he’s been quiet all night and wanted his friend to speak up
“No, no one seems to find me interesting enough to keep up with me” matthew answered and taking a sip out of his beer
“But what about-” jason had tried to ask, confused before he got cut off by matthew himself
“Like I said. There’s currently no one” 
You didn’t know what he was talking about and was a little confused as to why he didn’t want to talk about what Jason wanted to talk about. You looked over to Brady for some help but he just shrugged not knowing about the situation. The night was packed and loud, especially when the news got out that Matthew and Brady Tkachuk were back in town. After a while people realized that they wanted to be alone and hang out with their old friends and later left. 
Matthew had drank several beers by the time that you were starting your third drink. The two of you started to feel the effects of alcohol before Matthew and Brady had heard the opening to Mr. Brightside and you knew what was about to happen as soon the look of shock and excitement got written all over their faces. Brady went to the dancefloor with his girlfriend as Matthew looked over to you and held his hand out signaling that he wants to dance with you. Taking his hand, he smiled and led  you out to where everyone else was and started to sing, more screaming the lyrics before you joined in laughing at him and his love for the song.
It was near the end of the song before the two of you stopped dancing and stared at each other, deeply in the eyes. His green eyes, now dilated due the amount of alcohol he had consumed throughout the night, were staring right into your eyes, emotions filled and running through his body before his eyes glanced down to your lips. Slowly leaning in, his lips captured yours, you started to run your hands through his hair as he brought you in closer. Pulling away, foreheads still touching as the two of you tried to catch your breaths, suddenly capturing each other's lips again.
-----
The next morning you woke up and you instantly recognized the room. It was Matthew's room in the apartment that Brady and Matthew shared during the off season. You looked around to find yours and Matthew's clothes on the floor. Everything started to run through your mind as to what happened and why it happened. Everyone had known you liked Matthew, and everyone knew Matthew liked you, but neither one of you made a move to further your relationship. Slowly moving his arms away from your waist, you had tried to slip out as quietly as you could but Matthew had felt your movement and woke up.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice groggy with a hint of curiosity
“Home. I’m sorry”
“Wha-What? Why?” 
“I’m sorry Matthew” you started as you gathered your clothes to put them back on
“This is a one time thing” you whispered stopping at the door but loud enough for Matthew to hear before opening his bedroom door and leaving the apartment, leaving Matthew there shocked and hurt
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seedlessmuffins · 10 months
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hi, k! since you opened your inbox for hockey asks, here we go...
one you told me your team was the same as ferrari in the sense of the teams' management being harmful to the athletes' performance. could you explain exactly how it happens? i'm curious!
nikka i am kissing you on the forehead because i love this question, but this explanation is also very long so im hiding it under the cut but i hope you enjoy!
k ama: hockey edition!
ok so back story time. from about 2008-2012, the canucks (my team) were a very good team. because of the nhl's salary cap, this means that in order to stay very good and competitive for the stanley cup, they were implementing a strategy called "going all in" which means they were trading future draft picks and spending all their money to make sure the team was good in the present, even if it meant that the team would be worse in the future.
in 2011, the canucks were very very good. one of the best in the nhl. they had won the president's trophy, the award for the team with the most points at the end of the regular season (so the best team in the league, it is the equivalent of a football team winning their league and then going into the cl), and they had so many amazing players. they made a run to the stanley cup finals and lost in game 7 (sports trauma for me as a kid). because they lost though, they needed to trade and let some players leave so they could build up the team to be good again the next year, and have the salaries fit under the cap.
the next year in 2012, they also won the presidents trophy, but they were out in the first round of the playoffs (like the knockout stages of the cl). same as in 2013. now the organization is in a bit of a panic, because they have sacrificed players who could play for them in the future in order to get players who can play well for them now, but the team isn't performing like they expect them to.
this is when the spiral started. the team was playing bad, so a lot of the young players who we drafted had to play on the nhl team too early, before they were ready to, which lead to their player development being stunted when they were playing in the higher leagues before their skating ability and strength had developed. a lot of them were also too young, and having all the pressure of being in the highest league in a city crazy about hockey led to them burning out of the nhl and not filling their potential.
the team also took a lot of bets on players that didn't pan out for one reason or another, either because they were put into a role that they weren't ready for or because they were given too much responsibility, but either way they didn't thrive and sometimes haven't played for a good nhl team, or even in the nhl at all, since they left the canucks. the list is endless juolevi, virtanen, goldobin, granlund, stetcher, macewan, and those are just a few of many.
the team has gone through many phases since 2011, but they have hit rock bottom like three times and still haven't really bounced out of it. the player development thing is better now, but a lot of our superstar players are stuck on a mediocre, mid table team that doesn't seem to be changing drastically to improve. of course i have hope, i want to see hughes and pettersson and demko and the rest of our young star players to win a cup together (and i want to see the city of vancouver get a stanley cup. we deserve it) but realistically,,, we aren't ready and it has been this cycle since 2012/2013.
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crow-the-unknown · 1 year
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Victory - an 829 fic from Nate's POV
Nate had Cale in his arms and it was perfect. He could hardly bear it. They’d done it, they’d won. They had actually won. It was amazing, but right now all he could focus on was Cale. He could practically feel the twenty-three year old’s smile as Nate closed his eyes and buried his face into Cale’s neck, not ever wanting to let go. He wanted to stay in this joy forever. He could hear everyone else celebrating around him, he didn’t care. Cale pulled away first, his cheeks even more pink now, his brown hair spiky and a mess. He was smiling so wide, Nate studied him with loving intensity.
Then, out of nowhere they were giggling. Giggling for hell’s sake. Like kids. Nate wiped tears of joy from the corners of his eyes and he sighed. “We actually did it,” he stated, the moment so real but so dreamy, like he could wake up at any moment and discover that this was still just a fantasy.
“Yeah…” Cale agreed, looking around Amalie Arena with the same expression as Nate.
Landy was skating towards them and they welcomed his embrace. “Lovebirds,” muttered Landy as he held them tight.
Nate had never seen Landy this radiant, energized by this win and by his undying love for all his teammates. Landy skated back a bit and he winked at them before turning and skating into EJ’s open arms. Nate shook his head, about to reply to what Landy had said. Cale got to it first. “He’s one to talk,” Cale laughed.
“Talk about it.”
The two chuckled again and Nate had the urge to find somewhere private just so he could finally give Cale the affection he wanted. He’d settle for this, though. After all, they  hadn’t even brought out the Cup yet and Nate would be lying if he said that he’d ever want to miss that. So they stayed and celebrated on the ice with each other even more, Cale eventually skating off to join some of the others, Devon probably. Nate himself made his way through all of them, congratulating Kadri especially on his resourcefulness throughout the playoffs.
Nate wasn’t exactly sure how long had passed, but eventually they’d all gathered around to see who would receive the Conn Smythe. Cale, Nate’s mind screamed immediately. It has to be him. I’ll be damned if it isn’t. He was right. Cale skated his way through them, smiling a bit awkwardly in true Cale fashion. Nate gave him a little nudge as he skated past and cheered for him from behind Landy, beaming at the defenseman’s accomplishment. Cale took the Smythe and was quick to hand it off to someone where they could take it safely off-ice. Before Nate knew it, Cale was back at Nate’s side. To think he calls me clingy, thought Nate.
Time flew by as Landy received the Cup, then EJ, then eventually all of them. Soon enough the on-ice ceremony ended and they all filed to the locker room where a huge party would no doubt be in store. None of them were going to sleep a wink tonight.
Nate had been too overjoyed to laugh when Landy came into that room with the Cup, dented in all of its glory thanks to Aube. The room filled with shouts of celebration and the sound of champagne or beer being cracked open. Nate had then had what might well have been the first carb in his life as he drank from the Cup, and holy shit did it feel good. The night wore on and celebration never ceased, not even when Nate had managed to sneak into the hall with Cale every so often just so they could finally kiss each other senseless. They’d even walked in on Landy and EJ once and they’d all broke into giddy laughter. “Fuck, you two,” was the first thing Nate had exclaimed upon seeing them. “He isn’t going anywhere, Gabe.”
Gabe has turned to him with a coy smile. “I know.”
EJ had stood to his full height and run a hand through his hair, readjusting his jersey. He’d laid an arm across Gabe’s shoulder with a grin. “We should get back.”
“Why? It’s not like we’re hiding much of anything. I like this,” Gabe gestured to EJ, “type of celebration.”
EJ shook his head. “Fine then, we’re leaving to give them some time. How about that?”
Landy had waved his hand in disagreement but they were already through the door and back with the others. Nate had shrugged with a small smile. “They’re worse than us,” he remarked.
“A little,” Cale agreed with a shrug before taking a seat on the floor.
Nate eyed him a bit confused but he sat and took Cale’s hand in his own. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” Cale had laughed dryly, “no, nothing at all. I’m just… this feels like a dream. I can’t even begin to comprehend this.”
“I’ll be right back,” Nate said out of the blue. He returned a few moments later, two beers in hand, and sat back down. “I know what you mean. This has been our dream ever since we were kids, and now that it’s finally happened, it doesn’t seem real.”
Cale nodded and took a drink. He wiped sweat from his brow and closed his eyes. “I’m glad it’s real, though.”
“Me too,” Nate said and smiled when Cale rested his head on his shoulder.
“I’m so fucking exhausted now, though.”
“Oh, hell yeah,” remmarked Nate. “Absolutely… What time is it even?” Nate’s eyes widened as he checked his watch. Almost two AM, no wonder.
Landy’s head appeared out of the doorway and Nate’s focus turned to him. Landy smiled warmly at them. “We’re gonna head back to the hotel. I think everyone is ready to take this party elsewhere, you guys?”
Cale nodded and they both stood. Nate gave Cale’s hand a reassuring squeeze before going ahead and saying a quick hello to Jared. He grabbed water and, along with the others that hadn’t gotten completely out of their gear, redressed. When they all finally piled into the bus, Nate was quick to locate Cale and take his seat beside him. Nate pressed a kiss to Cale’s cheek and he leaned back against his seat. “I can’t wait to take the Cup back home.”
“Me either,” Cale replied, short and sweet as usual. 
The bus back to the hotel was anything but quiet, their tiredness from the game now translating into delirious celebration. Music blasted and by the time they had all filed into the hotel lobby, they were all bumping drunkenly into each other. It was glorious. It was about four in the morning when all of them had finally fallen into their beds again, after all, they still had a flight to catch in the next afternoon.
Nate had fallen easily asleep with Cale by his side. Life was perfect. Cale was perfect.
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