anya

you’re walking through the city with your sister sofia. you have an iced coffee in one hand and shopping bags in the other; you’re arguing about where to have lunch.

“no, sof—if we are getting tacos, we should go to that place on seventh avenue.”

“but that’s a twenty minute walk.”

“it is worth it, though.”

before she can even object, a grinning guy with a tiny microphone suddenly appears in front of you. you and sofia freeze.

“hi, i’m mikey. i’m filming a quick question for tiktok. can i ask you something?”

you shrug. “sure.”

mikey holds out the microphone, while one of his friends holds up a phone.

“who is the most famous person in your contacts?”

“what?” you ask, laughing.

the guy chuckles slightly at your stunned reaction.

“the most famous person in your contacts,” he repeats.

you look at him, thinking. who among the people you know is famous? you start frantically running through names in your mind. none of your relatives, none of your current friends or classmates…no. and then, it suddenly hits you.

“oh!”

mikey perks up. “oh?”

you point at him, recalling. “macklin celebrini. i guess.”

his eyes widen, and he laughs, a bit surprised.

“you guess?”

“well, that is assuming he hasn’t changed his phone number since high school.”

mikey looks at you. his friend with the camera is looks at you. sofia looks at you with a knowing smile. it gradually dawns on you: perhaps they were expecting a completely different answer.

“wait.” mikey says, leaning closer to you. “did you go to the same school as macklin celebrini? from the sharks?”

“oh, yeah.” you shrug. “we both played hockey.”

mikey looks shocked. “seriously?”

“yeah. not on the same team, of course. but we did a lot of the same things.”

sofia snorts beside you, because she knows you’re trying to downplay it as much as possible.

“so, you really knew him?” mikey asks.

“yeah.”

“and what was he like?”

you pause for a moment, trying to reconcile the person you knew with the image you have seen in his few interviews. honestly, he seems the same.

“good. a really humble guy,” you reply.

“…is that it?” mikey asks, glancing at the camera; he clearly expected to hear more.

you laugh. “i don’t know. he was just mack.”

mikey clearly is not thrilled with that answer— it’s unlikely to generate the kind of views he was hoping for. you pause to think, carefully choosing your words.

“we’d run into each other at hockey-related events sometimes. you know, parties, team gatherings. we’d ride the same buses to tournaments. he was a funny guy.”

the interviewer raises an eyebrow. “funny?”

“yeah.” you pause, smiling at the memory. “one time he spent the entire two-hour bus ride trying to convince half the team that anteaters do not exist.”

mikey bursts out laughing.

“no way.”

“seriously,” you giggle.

after a couple more questions, mikey thanks you and moves on. about thirty seconds later, the conversation slips your mind.

°°°°°

three days later, the video is posted. a day after that, it’s everywhere. “hockey tiktok” picks it up. then sharks fans see it. and right after, macklin celebrini’s personal fans stumble upon it. the video is flooded with comments.

wait she knows mack???

THE BUS STORY — IM SOBBING

i desperately need more stories about mack from his high school days

“he was just mack” that is so damn cute

of course, there are always people who write nasty things out of envy, but this is the internet— so who really cares? they don’t even know you.

you watch the video, laugh at how ridiculous you look, hit “like”, and keep scrolling. after all, nothing special really happened.

what matters far more is this: a week goes by, you’re lying on the couch after work with some reality show playing on tv, and suddenly your phone vibrates. You glance at the message preview.

unknown number

you’re tempted to just ignore the message. it’s probably spam. but curiosity gets the better of you — what if it’s a discount code or some great deal? that would be cool. still, that is not really the point— and it wouldn’t have been anything special anyway. you open the message and immediately straighten up.

unknown (maybe: mack)

hey, it’s mack!

you blink in confusion. what the fuck? you read it again: “hey, it’s mack!” no last name, no explanation. just mack— well, of course. he doesn’t need to add a surname or explain anything. he knows, and you know.

a second message comes through.

unknown (maybe: mack)

can’t believe i still have your number, lol

but i saw the tiktok and decided to check in on you. i know it’s been a while, but i was wondering what you’re up to these days?

how’s your knee? are you still skating?

that last message makes your chest tighten a little. of all the things he could’ve asked about, he remembered that— the very injury that derailed your life. years have passed. years. and yet, somehow, mack still remembers. then the phone pings again.

and another thing, anteaters still can’t possibly be real

you burst out laughing— and suddenly you’re sixteen again. memories surface that you haven’t thought about in years— as if someone had opened a dusty box at the back of the closet.

°°°°°

back then, everyone in shattuck knew one another. how could it be otherwise when there were so few kids in the school? that was especially true within the hockey community there. the teams knew each other well, since you spent practically all your time at the rink. if you weren’t playing yourself, you were watching others play. when mack’s team was on the ice, you’d sit in the stands with your own teammates; and when your team played, you’d usually spot him somewhere in the crowd.

you remember that tournament weekend when you sat side by side watching another team play, neither of you caring who won. you just joked about the way the announcer butchered the players’ names.

“do you think he’s doing that on purpose?” you whispered to mack.

“totally. or maybe he lost a fantasy football bet and this is his punishment.” he laughed.

you laughed too, and then— when he botched a name particularly badly— you both couldn’t contain yourselves and nearly fell out of the stands. but that was just mack: always chatting, always making someone laugh. and he always found a way to make those long tournament days fly by.

and then came the state tournament. and everything changed. even now, nearly four years later, the memories remain just as vivid and sharp— as if your brain had recorded everything in high definition. you remember the crowd, the noise, the excitement fluttering in your chest. you remember spotting familiar faces in the stands during warm-ups: parents, the whole family, friends, players from other teams. you even remember seeing mack and a few other guys sitting together. they had come to watch, of course— just as they always did.

the game itself had blurred into a shapeless haze— until a specific moment, that one defining instant. one second you were chasing the puck along the boards, and the next, someone slammed into you. it was a dirty hit— late and dangerous. you remember the impact itself and the way your skate caught awkwardly. then, the unnatural way your knee twisted. and the pain— instant, blinding pain. you remember crying out before you could stop yourself, clutching your leg as tears sprang to your eyes. You knew right away: something was wrong. for a moment, everything around you seemed to go quiet— the only sound was the pounding of your own heart echoing in your ears.

then chaos erupted: teammates shouting, someone trying to pick a fight, coaches vaulting over the boards, referees rushing toward you. it was all happening at once, and cutting through that chaos was a searing, terrible pain.

at the hospital, the worst fears were confirmed: you had completely torn your acl and your mcl. your season was over, and with it, your hopes for a future in hockey crumbled. instead of the national tournament, you faced surgeries and a long recovery process. you remember looking at the doctor as he explained it all— it was as if he were speaking a foreign language. hockey had always been a part of your life, and now it was gone.

the next few days were among the hardest. everyone tried to support you— coaches, teammates, family, and friends. then, one afternoon, there was a knock at the door. your mom opened it, and suddenly mack and two other guys from the team appeared in the living room with a huge bag of snacks.

after that, they stopped by more than once— just to check in on you and share funny stories from the rink, so you wouldn’t feel like you were completely out of the loop with the team.

but then life sped up. people grew busy, and schedules became increasingly packed. mack moved away— first to boston for university, then to san jose. you kept meaning to get in touch with him. to be honest, he probably meant to as well. but months turned into years— that’s just how life goes.

°°°°°

now you sit on the couch, staring at messages from macklin. and even though everything around you has changed, he remains exactly the same.

you seem to stare at the keyboard for an eternity: how do you even answer this? how do you fit years of your life into a single message? how do you explain that your knee healed, but something else— something else never did? after all, physically, you’re fine. doctors cleared you to return to skating years ago; the scars have faded, and your strength has returned. but the part of you deep inside remembers it all. the sound of your knee snapping, the pain, the looks on your teammates’ faces. the realization that your hockey career was over. yet you don’t tell him any of that. can you really dump all that on him in the very first conversation you’ve had in years?

so instead, you write something simpler, something lighter. something that is still true— just not the whole truth.

you

i’m doing great! my knee has completely healed; there are no issues anymore.

okay, maybe that’s a lie. not a lie. just not entirely accurate.

you

i’m in college now, and i really love it!

i watch your games! it’s still so strange seeing you on tv

but i’m truly proud of you, mack

you pause to reread what you’ve written. then you remember there’s something else you can add.

you

honestly, i wouldn’t have expected anything else from you

a notification pops up almost immediately indicating that mack is typing, though the message itself doesn’t appear right away. you smile, waiting for his reply. apparently, even nhl players sometimes sit there staring at their keyboards, trying to figure out what to write. finally, your phone vibrates.

mack

that’s really nice of you to say

but i’m even happier that you’re doing well

it’s also funny that you find it strange seeing me on tv because i sometimes still feel like i’m 16 and back at shattuck

you laugh out loud. the conversation flows naturally and easily from there. it’s unhurried— you just share news, reminisce about school and former teammates, people you haven’t seen in years.

mack

remember that time owen accidentally locked himself in the sports equipment closet?

this makes you laugh heavily again. it feels like you’re back in high school.

later, lying in bed after the exchange of messages has finally died down, you read through them again. one message, in particular, holds your attention.

mack

but i’m even happier that you’re doing well

so simple— and so like mack. sincere and kind; it’s something he might have said back then, in the past.

you lock your phone and set it on the nightstand. thoughts are still swirling in your mind— all circling back to that one question you never answered. “are you still skating?”

it weighs heavily on your heart. this is a hard truth to accept. you haven’t skated since the injury. but you tried. you would lace up your skates and step onto the ice. yet, suddenly, it was as if you were transported back to the state championship, and all the memories came flooding back at once. you breathing would grow ragged, a tightness would grip your chest, and in the end, you would have to sit down, take off your skates, and simply admit it: you couldn’t do it.

maybe someday you’ll tell macklin about this. but not tonight. tonight, you can just be happy. happy that a silly tiktok video led to this, and that after all these years, he hadn’t forgotten. happy that the funny kid who used to sit by you on the bus somehow became an nhl player without losing the qualities that truly mattered.

°°°°°

the next day, you’re sitting in the student center between classes when your phone vibrates. you smile: lately only one person texts you this often.

mack

okay, i have a question

you

okay???

the typing indicator appears and then instantly vanishes. it’s as if you can see him hesitating and wavering. finally, your phone vibrates again.

mack

i had a thought— feel free to say so if it’s weird

and you can totally say no— no problem at all

seriously, no pressure, nothing like that

you

mack, what are you talking about lol

a few seconds pass.

mack

we’re playing in minnesota in a couple of days

and i was thinking maybe you’d want to meet up before the game?

you know, grab a coffee, have lunch, or something like that?

just hang out in person

you stomach does a flip, and before you can even reply, he sends another message.

mack

if this doesn’t seem weird…

you don’t even have to think about it: you want to see him. you want to know if he’s still the same, want to hear his laughter in person again. you want to see a friend.

you

mack, it’s not weird at all

i’d love to meet up

he replies so quickly that it’s clear that he’s been waiting for your message the whole time.

mack

great

i was worried it would sound weird

but that’s really great

°°°°°

in less than an hour, you’ll be seeing mack in person— for the first time in years. you’d think you’d be nervous. you imagined spending the whole morning agonizing over your outfit, your stomach tied in knots. but instead, you’re filled with anticipation and feel surprisingly calm. once you’re ready, you send mack a text.

you

is practice over yet?

a reply comes a few minutes later.

mack

almost

coach is talking

a couple of minutes pass.

mack

still talking

you “like” his message. another one comes in.

mack

save me, please

you laugh.

you

meet me here when ur done

you send him the café’s address. it’s one of your favorite spots— a small, quiet, and cozy place in the city. Great coffee, delicious pastries, and a peaceful atmosphere— no need to worry about being bothered.

mack

perfect

see you soon :)

and across the twin cities, practice has officially wrapped up. unfortunately for his teammates, mack has lost the ability to act normally. he bolts off the bench, tears off his gear, shoves it into his bag, and immediately rushes to the showers. he is simply impossible to deal with. his teammates watch the scene unfold, torn between amusement and annoyance. finally, tyler’s patience snaps.

“look, man… you need to chill out,” he says as mack looks up from his phone.

“i am chill.”

sam snorts, and will has to stifle a chuckle with a cough.

“i’m serious,” mack says, sounding almost offended.

“mack,” toff says, his tone serious now.

“what?”

“you’re vibrating. take a deep breath.”

the next twenty minutes go even worse— if that’s even possible. mack stands in front the mirror, messing with his hair. he fusses with it for about five minutes without getting anywhere, until will finally loses his patience.

“god, let me help.” will reaches for mack’s head, but mack immediately bats his hand away.

“no.”

“i’m helping.”

“no.”

“my hair is objectively better than yours.”

“exactly.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” will asks, picking up on the tone.

“it means: keep your hands off me.”

will looks offended. dickie nearly falls off the bench laughing.

then comes the agony of choosing an outfit. first, he pulls on a gray sharks hoodie and walks over to the mirror. he frowns at his reflection and takes it off. he goes back to his gear bag and pulls out the teal sharks hoodie. he stares at it for a long time before trying it on, glancing in the mirror, and immediately taking it off.

“mack. just pick a hoodie and relax.” groans sam, tired of watching the fuss.

macklin sighs. “it just doesn’t look right.”

“why?” will asks.

toff answers before mack can. “he doesn't want to look like he’s showing off the nhl logo.”

mack feels his face flush; tyler hit the nail on the head.

“ohhhh.” will, sam, and misa chorus.

“no,” mack says, tossing the hoodie aside. “i’ll just wear a t-shirt.”

“macklin, it’s forty degrees out there,” tyler says; and he feels like shaking the kid to snap some sense into him.

“it’s fine, i’ll survive.”

five minutes later, he’s already in an uber, constantly glancing at his phone and rereading your messages. years have passed, and he’s nervous— even though it seems ridiculous, because it’s you. it’s just you. so why is there a fluttering in his chest?

the café turned out to be exactly as you had described it to him: cozy, quiet, and small, filled with the aroma of fresh pastries. when macklin walks in, a bell chimes above the door. he spots you immediately: you sitting in a corner booth by the window, studying the menu and tapping your fingers against the table. he recognizes the habit— a nervous tic he had completely forgotten about. and suddenly, it feels as though no time has passed at all. he remembers it all. he recalls weekends of the tournament, where you would sit beside him on the bus or between games, doing the very same thing— constantly tapping your fingers on whatever surface was within reach.

for a moment, he simply stands there looking at you— at how achingly familiar you seem. you’ve grown older— that’s obvious. you’ve changed a little. but it’s still you. and before he can even begin to process the moment, you look up. your eyes meet instantly, the tapping of your fingers stops, and your face lights up with a smile. suddenly, a strange feeling washes over mack: it’s as if he’s sixteen again, walking not into a coffee shop, but onto an ice rink. and it’s feels as though the years that have passed since then have simply vanished.

you rise from your chair as he approaches you.

“mack,” you say, smiling gently.

he smiles back immediately at the sound of your voice. “hi.”

for a second, you both stand motionless, grinning like idiots and unsure of what to do next. then mack opens his arms— and suddenly, everything becomes simple. you step forward and hug him. it isn’t one of those awkward half-hugs people exchange when they’re no longer sure how well they know each other. it’s a real, familiar embrace— as if those intervening years had never happened. the only difference is that he’s bigger now. much bigger. as you pull away, you have to tilt your head back a little further than before. his shoulders are broader, his arms more powerful— a year and a half of strength training in the nhl has clearly paid off. but he’s still the same mack: the same green eyes, the same freckles across his nose, the same smile. he’s just gotten a little bigger.

you order drinks and head back to your table. you ask about traveling for games, his teammates, rookie life, and how he’s liking san jose. mack answers with that same modesty that always drove you crazy.

“it’s cool.”

you stare at him blankly. “‘cool’?”

he shrugs.

“mack, you were the number one overall pick. and that’s all you have to say?”

“what else am i supposed to say?”

“i don’t know… maybe acknowledge just how incredible it is?” you say, only half-joking.

he laughs. “i just got lucky.”

you groan in protest. “mack, it is not luck. you worked hard, you’re dedicated. you don’t have to be so modest.”

mack just grins. eventually, the conversation shifts to you.

“what are you studying?” mack asks, leaning closer across the table, genuinely interested.

you immediately perk up. “film and photography.”

his eyebrows go up. “really?” when you nod, he adds, “that’s awesome!”

you smile. “i really love it.”

he asks for more details, and you launch into an enthusiastic explanation, gesturing animatedly. you talk about the beauty of the cinematography, how a single shot can either save a film or ruin it, and how directors know how to create the right emotional mood through visuals. mack listens intently— as always.

“whose work do you like best?” mack asks.

“luca guadagnino’s.”

mack nods, though he clearly has no idea who that is.

you laugh. “you have no idea who he is, do you?”

“yeah.” mack smiles.

“at least you’re honest.”

“always.”

you shake your head and smile. “i like christopher nolan, too. he makes beautiful films.”

“oh, i know him!”

for the next ten minutes, you talk about what you’ve learned regarding cinematography, lighting, and composition. mack asks questions, nods, and makes it clear that he’s truly listening. you mention that you’d like to shoot movies— if you get lucky— or, if that doesn’t work out, perhaps get into sports film and photography. mack just smiles the whole time.

and then comes the question. the very one you’d hoped he wouldn’t ask— the kind that was easier to dodge over text.

macklin takes a sip of coffee, sets his mug on the table, and looks at you gently. “so… do you still skate?”

your heart sinks. you look down at your coffee, meeting his gaze right now feels like an impossible task. you could lie— say yes, you skate sometimes. you could change the subject. but mack would realize you were dodging the question. so, you simply sigh and tell the truth.

“no,” you admit quietly. he remains silent and simply waits, giving you space, because he understands there is more to it. you swallow hard. “my knee has healed.”

“i know.”

“physically, i’m fine.”

mack’s expression softens; he suddenly realizes that the issue isn’t really about the knee at all.

you take a shaky breath. “i tried to get back on the ice for the first time last year.” his eyes widen— stunned by how much time has passed since the injury— but he remains silent. “i even managed to put on my skates and make it to the ice, but the moment the blade touched the surface…” you shake your head, as if trying to shake off the memory. “i had a panic attack. it was like i was right back there, in that moment. and i could hear myself screaming.”

the admission feels awkward, laying bare your vulnerability and emotional pain. but now it’s out in the open. his expression shifts slightly, yet there is no pity in it, only sadness and empathy.

“i know it sounds silly,” you say, rubbing your eyes, even though you aren’t crying.

“not at all.”

“i think it is.”

before you can look away again, macklin reaches across the table and gently places his hand over yours. he doesn’t hold your hand, he simply touches it, reassuringly.

“not at all.”

his green eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment, you’re flustered. not because of the touch itself, but because of how natural it feels. years ago, it wouldn’t have mattered at all: you’d ridden the bus shoulder-to-shoulder so many times that physical contact had become second nature. but now— after so much time, when you’ve essentially become strangers— the sensation feels so familiar. strange, perhaps, but certainly not unpleasant. you hold his gaze a moment longer before looking back down at your drink. and yet, somehow, for the first time since you started talking about it, you don’t feel awkward. you just feel tired. you’re so tired of carrying this burden and pretending it doesn’t affect you. tired of acting as if you’ve fully recovered and moved on.

after a moment of silence, mack pulls his hand away and looks at his coffee. then, quietly, he says, “you know what i remember most about that day?”

you shake your head. “what?”

he doesn’t answer right away, he just exhales slowly. “how helpless i felt.”

the words take your breath away. “what?”

“i was in the stands.” he gives a slight shrug. “i remember how hard you fell… and how everyone sprang into action. Your teammates, the coaches, the trainers— they all rushed toward you.” he looks you straight in the eye again. “but there was nothing i could do. all i could do was sit there and watch as they took you off the ice.”

you look at him. “i didn’t know that.”

he smiles faintly. “well, i never told you.” another pause. “i remember walking back to the hotel that night, thinking… ‘she’s going to be so mad that she can’t play…’.” he chuckles softly.

you smile a little, too.

“i knew hockey was everything to you.” the smile fades from his face. “and hearing that you still can’t get out on the ice… it sucks.”

simple, sincere, classic macklin.

“and i’m so sorry you had to carry that burden alone.”

you don’t answer right away, simply letting mack’s words hang in the air between you. honestly, you aren’t even sure there is something to say to that. instead, you just sit in comfortable silence. outside the cafè window, people stroll by, at a nearby table someone is laughing, a barista calls out a name to announce a drink is ready— life goes on.

finally, you slowly exhale. “i don’t know if i’ll ever put on skates again.”

the words slip out on their own— you hadn’t intended to say them aloud. mack doesn’t rush to object, he simply studies you intently.

“i don’t know either,” he says at last, and you look up at him. “but i hope that one day, the rink won’t just remind you of that terrible day… i hope it will remind you of everything that came before, too.”

a lump rises in your throat. for the past few years, hockey and skating have been associated only with pain, loss, and fear. but before that… there were bus rides and early-morning practices set to loud music, inside jokes, state championships, friends, mack. your whole childhood.

you swallow the lump in your throat. “i’d really like that.”

macklin smiles. “me too.”

the conversation dies down for a moment before mack suddenly slaps his hands on the table. “anyway.”

you blink at him. “…anyway?”

he shrugs. “i’m changing the subject. we earned this.” he leans back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. “will almost got us kicked out of our hotel in seattle.”

you cover your mouth in shock, letting out a laugh. “what did he do?”

“he forgot the room key.”

“and? how did that lead to you almost getting kicked out?”

“no, that wasn’t it.” you raise an eyebrow and wait for him to go on. “he climbed onto someone else’s balcony.”

your jaw drops. “he did what?”

“he thought it was our room. but he was mistaken.”

you burst out laughing. “mack!”

“hey! i know it’s crazy— don’t look at me like that!” mack says defensively.

“what was he thinking?”

“nothing.”

“okay, but what happened? did he get caught?”

“well, the poor couple staying in that room thought they were being robbed.”

you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe. “mack, no!”

“yeah. security came running, and will was trying to explain that we were staying there. and then toff had to go downstairs in flip-flops to convince security we were actually there with the hockey team.”

you wipe away tears from your eyes. “i can’t believe it. you guys are just unbelievable.”

“yeah, will, mostly,” mack corrects.

“but you share a hotel room with him,” you point out.

“every day i ask myself if i made the right choice.”

“oh, come on.”

“nah… it’s actually pretty fun with him. but don’t tell him i said that,” mack admits.

“i knew it! no promises, though.”

he gasps theatrically and presses his palm to his chest.

“i fly all the way across the country to minnesota just to see you…”

“really? just for me? and not because you have a hockey game or something like that, right?”

“of course not. just for you.”

“right.” you laugh and shake your head.

he smiles. “i missed this.”

the words are so quiet you barely catch them. you tilt your head to the side, questioningly.

he looks down at his nearly empty glass. “…just talking. i missed this.”

a warm feeling spreads through you. “yeah. i missed it too.”

mack glances out the window, and his eyes go wide. “shit.”

“what is it?” you ask.

mack checks the time on his phone. “i’ve got a game.” he jumps up so abruptly that he bumps the table. “i need to be at the rink.”

you laugh. “i was wondering when you had to leave.”

“it completely slipped my mind.”

“you forgot you have a game in four hours?”

“well, i’m not really running late yet. i just need to get back to the hotel. i got a little distracted here.”

“i’ll take that as a compliment,” you smile.

“that’s exactly how i meant it.”

now you stand up, too. “i should probably let you go.”

“yeah.” he nods.

yet neither of you rushes toward the door. a pause settles in; you both want to say something but don’t know what. you don’t want this to end. finally, mack rubs the back of his neck.

“so…” He looks almost embarrassed. “if you already have plans or anything, just totally ignore this, but…” his gaze drops to the floor for a second. “are you coming to the game tonight?”

for a moment, you’re caught off guard, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. he notices your reaction.

“it’s fine if you can’t.” he adds hastily. “it’s just that i’d…” he pauses, then— almost as if he’s forcing himself to finish before he loses his nerve— he says, “i’d really like it if you did.”

there’s no pressure, no attempt to make you feel guilty, just honesty. he is admitting he’d like to look up from the ice during warm-ups and see a familiar face.

you look at him for a moment. at those same green eyes, that same gummy smile, that same boy who used to save a seat for you.

“i’d like that too,” you say quietly.

the smile spreading across mack’s face is so wide and radiant that he looks like a sixteen-year-old again.

“really?”

you laugh. “really.”

he checks his phone again. “all right, i really have to go. but i’ll save a ticket for you. i’ll leave it at the front office.”

you nod, and he heads toward the exit, then disappears into the cold minneapolis day.

°°°°°

back home, you realize you have no idea what to wear to the game. after all, you do not own any sharks gear. you stand in front of your closet, weighing your options.

you have a wild jersey with fleury’s name on the back— a real classic. you are in minnesota, after all.

then, while sorting through your clothes— dresses, old hoodies— you see something tucked away in the very back corner: an old ssm hockey team hoodie. you pull it out. the fabric is faded and the cuffs are a bit worn— it looks like it’s been sitting there forever. but you smile, mack had one just like it, they were issued to every player on the team. you wonder if he still has his.

you pull on the hoodie, and a second later, you throw a wild jersey over the top. one glance in the mirror— perfect. you grab your bag and head out the door.

your ticket is waiting at the box office— exactly as macklin said. you give the attendant your name, and she hands you an envelope. after thanking her, you step aside and open it. your eyes widen in amazement when you see the seat assignment. front row.

you laugh in shock. “no way.”

you immediately pull out your phone, intending to text mack, but then you remember he’s getting ready for an nhl game and surely has more important things to do. so, you just shake your head.

“total nonsense,” you mutter, heading toward your seat.

you sit down, and suddenly a wave of mild nervousness washes over you. it’s not because of the game— though you do hope the sharks win, despite the wild logo on your chest— but because he might spot you here. still, that's silly, he’d almost certainly be nothing but excited.

the arena around you gradually fills with people, the music grows louder, and the teams take the ice for warm-ups. your eyes immediately find mack. you recognize his skating style even from a distance. he’s holding his stick, skating laps with that effortless stride you’ve seen before. you watch him for just a few seconds when suddenly he glances your way. it lasts only a moment before he skates on— but then he whips his head back around, as if he can’t believe his eyes.

you laugh at the priceless look on his face. his eyebrows shoot up, and a wide grin spreads across his features.

you smile, wave, and mouth the word, “hi!”

he laughs and heads toward the glass separating him from you. then his gaze falls on your jersey, and he looks at you with mock disappointment. but when you lift the jersey to reveal the shattuck hoodie underneath, his expression changes again. now he’s smiling differently, more softly.

you let go of the wild jersey, and it drops back into place. mack shoots you another wounded look.

he leans closer to the glass, practically shouting to be heard over the crowd noise and music. “i need to get you one of my jerseys. i think you’d look a lot better in one.”

you feel heat rush to your face, but before you can reply, a teammate shoves mack on the shoulder, pulling him away for practice. but as he skates off, mack glances back at you, still smiling.

by the time warm-ups are winding down, you’re smiling so wide your cheeks actually ache. you aren’t thinking at all about what you’ve gone through before— only about the game, only about watching mack. and the rink no longer feels like a place where you lost something. you’re enjoying yourself again.

warm-ups end, and mack skates past your section one last time. he gives the glass a light tap with the blade of his stick right in front of you. you smile back at him.

“i do like the hoodie.” he shouts.

you smile and nod in agreement. then he heads into the tunnel with his team, and you remain looking out at the open ice, waiting for the game to start.

°°°°°

after the game ends in a sharks victory, you follow the arena staff’s directions and head toward the area reserved for players’ friends and family. you walk down the tunnel, still buzzing with the intense energy of the game.

stepping into the room, you nearly freeze in your tracks. it’s packed with nhl players. wild players you’ve watched on tv since childhood, spurgeon, kaprizov and— holy fucking— fleury. for a moment, you’re stunned, but then you remember why you’re here. for mack.

you look around, but he is not here yet, so you wait. you try your best not to stare at the players around you. you don’t do a very good job of it, but who could blame you?

the door opens again, and suddenly you don’t care who else is in the room— because mack is walking in. his hair is still damp from the shower, and his face is flushed. he scans the room and spots you. ignoring everyone else, he heads straight for you. you smile as he stops right in front of you.

“i’m so glad you came,” he breathes, hugging you.

you smile, a bit mischievously, and reply, “that’s what she said.”

mack’s arms let go of you. he pulls back with a completely deadpan expression, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“oh my god! i can’t believe you. are you twelve?” he asks, trying not to laugh.

you burst into laughter, nearly doubling over.

“i made my way over here, i was so kind… and this is how you treat me?”

“mack, i know, i know. but you walked right into it and i couldn’t resist.”

he shakes his head, laughing. “i can’t believe you.”

“you should have known better.”

“well, i didn’t think you’d say that!”

“it’s your fault, macklin.”

he laughs again, but then the mocking note vanishes, and his expression softens, turning warm. “but seriously… i’m glad you’re here.”

“i know. me too.”

his gaze warms, but before he can say anything else, someone calls out to him.

“mack? where the hell…”

you both turn to see will scanning the room. his eyes land on mack, shift to you, then back to mack— and a slow smirk spreads across the blond’s face. he walks over.

“oh.”

mack groans. “don’t.”

“i didn’t say anything,” will says, feigning offense.

“you were about to.”

“no. i was just looking,” will smiles. “anyway, the bus leaves in twenty minutes.”

mack nods. “i know.”

will shifts his gaze from you to mack again. and then, because he seems unable to help himself…

“so, this is the famous girl from tiktok.”

you laugh, while mack looks embarrassed.

“will,” mack groans.

“by the way, i showed him that tiktok. i’m the reason we’re here.” will says proudly.

“that’s debatable,” mack counters.

“i reunited the two of you,” will says, ignoring mack.

“you made fun of me for a whole week.”

“both things can be true at the same time.”

you laugh again, giving mack a gentle pat on the shoulder. finally, will turns to you.

“it’s really nice to finally meet you.”

“you too. mack has told me a lot about you. mostly about your hotel antics.” you say, with a mischievous smile.

will laughs, then looks back at mack. “alright, we really have to go.”

mack nods. “give me a second.”

he turns to you as will steps aside. his expression has turned a little more serious now.

“so… i wanted to give you something. come with me.”

you follow him down the hallway to the visitors’ locker room, trying to move quickly since time is short. mack peeks inside first to make sure no one is there, then swings the door open. you follow him in. he walks over to his locker, rummages through his bag, and pulls out a teal jersey.

you look at the name printed on the back— his name.

“mack…”

he holds the jersey out to you, offering it gently. “it’s for you. i told you we needed to get you out of that wild one.”

you take it carefully. “is this the one you played in tonight?” you ask.

“no. definitely not a game-worn one. it’s clean,” he says with a laugh.

you laugh, despite the sudden tightness in your chest. “thank god. because i wouldn’t take your sweaty jersey.”

“fair enough.” he laughs.

you unfold it and look at his name. proof that he made it. he made it beyond shattuck, made it to the pros. your eyes begin to sting, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the touching nature of the gesture or because of what you’ve lost. maybe it’s a bit of both. you quickly look down, and macklin notices.

“hey.”

you shake your head. “i’m fine.”

he doesn’t believe you— you know that. he tilts his head cautiously, trying to catch your eye.

“you know… i always thought that one day i’d get one with your name on it.”

you look up at him, your eyes still brimming with tears. “i missed you so much.” the words escape your lips before you can hold them back. mack freezes.

now the whole day makes sense— the way everything just fell into place so easily. you hadn’t just missed an old school friend; you had missed mack. you missed that friendship— missed the person who knew you from before everything changed.

mack’s expression softens. “i missed you, too. i saw that tiktok— and suddenly, i was…” he trails off, chuckling softly. “i don’t know. it all just came flooding back.”

you smile through your tears. “me too.”

mack takes a step closer and hugs you again. you immediately hug him back, no longer caring that you’re crying. you missed him. fuck, you really missed him. and only after losing him did you realize what a huge part of your life he occupied.

the locker room door opens.

“mack!” will says loudly.

you pull away from macklin. will points to the analog clock on the wall.

“we’ve got to go.”

mack nods. “alright.”

“no, right now.”

“i know.”

“the bus is leaving soon, and if you miss it, you’ll have to walk back to the hotel.”

“got it.” mack laughs.

will starts backing away. “two minutes.”

mack looks at you again. “i’m not going to lose you again.”

you just look at him.

“i mean it,” he adds. his green eyes are steady. “i won’t let you disappear from my life again.

“mack…” your breath catches in your throat.

“i don’t think i’ll get this lucky twice.”

a shout immediately rings out from the hallway, “that wasn’t luck!”

mack closes his eyes and sighs heavily. you laugh as will sticks his head back into the room.

“it was all thanks to my doomscrolling on tiktok.”

mack turns toward him. “will.”

“just saying.”

“will, get out of here.”

“i reunited you two. you’re welcome.” and will immediately ducks back out the door.

mack laughs and shakes his head.

“he’ll never let you forget that.” you laugh.

“yeah.”

“but he’s right, in a way, you owe it to him.” you smile.

“maybe.” mack sighs. “but i still take credit for texting you.

you laugh again. “fair enough.”

macklin pulls you into a final embrace— tighter than before.

“i’ll text when i get to the hotel,” he says.

“okay.”

“and you better text me too.”

“i will.”

“promise?”

you nod. “i promise.”

he smiles and finally lets you go. you walk out of the building with him and watch as he boards the bus. as you gaze after him, a pang of emotion strikes you at the thought that you might have lived out the rest of your life without getting this back— without getting him back.

and judging by the way he keeps glancing back at you as he climbs onto the bus, and settling into his window seat, he realizes it too.

°°°°°

BONUS:

will smith is the first of his teammates to stumble upon the tiktok video. he’s sitting in the locker room after the morning skate, fresh out of the shower, waiting for macklin. mack takes forever to shower, so will has nothing to do but scroll through his feed. and scroll and scroll. then he comes across a video captioned: “MACKLIN CELEBRINI??” naturally, will stops to watch.

the video already has a couple of hundred thousand views and thousands of comments. half of them say things like:

“she knows macklin????”

“GIRL EXPLAINNNN”

“i need all the details”

will immediately closes the comments and watches the video. the interviewer asks, “who’s the most famous person in your contacts?” will expects to see the question put to some influencer, or, say, an obscure musician. but then the camera pans to you— a girl he has never seen before and whom mack has certainly never mentioned. and you answer casually:

“oh! macklin celebrini, i guess. unless he has changed his number since high school.”

will stops leaning against the wall of his stall and straightens up. the video plays on. you talk about hockey, parties, tournaments, and bus rides. at first, will is convinced you’re lying— maybe just trying to grab your fifteen minutes of fame. after all, why wouldn’t mack have ever mentioned some girl from high school who had his number? fortunately, the answer to all of will’s questions emerges from the showers at just the right moment.

macklin walks over to his spot on the bench— he’s still soaking wet. will wants to get annoyed, since mack is going to drip water all over his shit, but there are more important things at hand. will shoves his phone right in mack’s face, the video keeps playing on loop.

“do you know this girl?”

macklin blinks in surprise. “what girl?”

“watch the video!”

mack leans forward as the interviewer talks about the opening. then the camera cuts to you. the dark-haired man squints at the screen, furrowing his brows. then he raises them in surprise when you say, “macklin celebrini, i guess.”

mack’s eyes go wide. “what the fuck?”

will smirks. “THAT’S WHAT I SAID.”

as you tell the story, mack’s eyes are glued to the screen. a story about hockey. about the time mack tried to convince everyone that anteaters were made up. mack bursts out laughing.

“oh, my god.” he manages to say through the laughter.

“you actually did that?” will asks, incredulously.

“yeah.”

“why?”

“i don’t know. just for a laugh? we were fifteen.”

will just stares at him, wide-eyed. “that is so weird, man.”

mack, however, barely hears that, as he is once again staring at the phone will is still holding in front of him. will watches as he recalls every story you’ve told, watching his expression shift into something unnervingly tender.

finally, will gives mack a light nudge on the shoulder and puts the phone away. “well?”

mack looks at him. “well, what?”

“do you really know her?”