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before quinn, life was simple. every day was the same. she’d practice trumpet, perform on trumpet, pose with her trumpet. smile, solo, sing. day after day. she’d collect awards and accolades and titles like she was picking fruit off of a tree. fresh, sweet, and perfect. her billboard awards sat shining in her living room, hanging next to the tv. her grammy trophies rested on the mantle. she was clifford brown, lee morgan, harry james, chet baker. the crosby to armstrong’s gretzky. the bedard to davis’ mcdavid.

she was the creme de la creme, the best of the best. she’d performed the national anthem at sporting events, government ceremonies. no one could find a bad thing to say about her because her talent filled in the gaps.

Y/N L/N Rumored To Be Guest Artist at Essentially Ellington 2023

No Surprise Here: L/N Named Principal First Trumpet for the VSO

Julliard Student Y/N L/N to Perform at MSG

“No One Does It Like Her” Timmy Trumpet On Y/N L/N

L/N and Swift: Could Y/N Be On 1989 (Taylor’s Version)?

life was simple. she would do what she loved and receive insane amounts of praise. life was simple. she’d receive a couple million in exchange for performing at some socialite’s birthday party. life was simple. if someone needed a trumpet player, she was the first to get the call. life was simple. her name would be in lights at the world’s greatest stages: carnegie hall, sydney opera house, the globe theatre. life was simple. she’d travel the world and play trumpet.

but with quinn, that all changed. she stayed in vancouver most of the time. platinum records were hung next to old jerseys. grammies were next to old trophies. she played at the orpheum and wherever the vso went. sometimes she did clinics at high schools in bc. life was simple. she’d wake up in quinn’s arms and kiss his sleepy face. life was simple. they’d go grocery shopping together and playfully argue over what type of apples were best. life was simple. she’d sit with the wags in his jersey and cheer louder than the rest of the crowd. life was simple. she made him dinner after every game. she was his fiancé and in a few months, she’d be his wife. life would be even more simple. she’d be y/n hughes. she’d take their kids to school. she’d play with their baby. she may never touch her trumpet again.

and that thought scared her.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

quinn didn’t know where y/n was. she was gone for another week long trip somewhere in ontario. or was it oregon? calgary or chicago? he didn’t know. it seemed one night, she decided she needed to do more with her music. ever since, she’d been all over the place. he didn’t mind when she traveled, since he was gone a lot too, but he was staring down two weeks at home, alone.

he missed her.

missed the way she fit perfectly in his arms when they were falling asleep, the way she clung to him when she got scared of the movie she picked, the way she looked in his clothes, the way her eyes sparkled in the sun on lazy saturdays.

it all seemed so complicated. like one day, she woke up and decided she couldn’t be bothered to be in vancouver for more than day unless she had a concert. complicated, like how she slept facing the wall instead of him. complicated, like how she hadn’t updated the wedding spreadsheet in weeks and sometimes left her ring on the counter of the bathroom. complicated, like how she insisted on making sure they had plenty of condoms and plan b, like how she freaked out when she couldn’t find her pills. complicated, like how she recoiled from millsy’s kids.

maybe she doesn’t love me as much?

quinn shook his head, clearing the thought from his head. of course, y/n loves him. she has to.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

y/n closed the door as she stepped inside, her straps of her trumpet case digging into her shoulders. her suitcase wheels squeaked on the hardwood. she turned on the light and jumped back, startled by quinn sitting on the couch.

“what are you still doing awake?” she asked, kicking her shoes off.

“waiting for my prodigal girlfriend,” he answered, his voice laced with liquor and anger.

“quinn, don’t start.”

“don’t start what? don’t start being upset that you’re gone all the time? don’t start wondering why the hell you can’t stay here?”

“you’re gone all the time for hockey! god forbid i travel for work too!”

“since when is the vso not enough?”

“since i started missing my old life!”

“missed it so much you don’t bring your ring?”

“i- i don’t know what you’re talking about!”

he held up the simple band. “forget something?”

she glanced down at her hand, her ring finger bare. “i m-must’ve forgotten to put it back on after washing my hands or something.”

“it’s not the first time this has happened.”

“it’s not intentional.”

“well, you’re still traveling the world without your engagement ring.”

“everyone knows we’re engaged.”

“even random guys at bars?”

“quinn-”

“i should’ve known you’d get restless.”

“what are you saying?”

“is this life not glamorous enough for you?” he yelled. he picked up his beer bottle and took another sip before setting it back on the table. her eyes followed the bottle and saw it was one of many.

“quinn, you’re drunk.”

“i’m sorry i can’t give you every thing you want!”

“i have everything i want.”

“no, you don’t. you had it! you had some fancy jazz boyfriend! you had grammy nominations! you had all these opportunities to travel the world! and when you got bored, you went looking for all that.”

“that’s not true!”

“then tell me the truth!”

quinn’s breathing was heavy, his grip on the can tight. his eyes were narrow and his face was tense.

“baby, calm down.”

“don’t call me that.”

his grip tightened around the can, crumpling it. he was staring her down like a bull and a matador. except she was the bull, ferdinand.

“quinn-”

“get out.”

“what?”

“i said, get out.”

“and go where?”

“should’ve thought about that.”

“quinn, maybe sober up before kic-”

“out. now.”

“quinn.”

“don’t make me say it again.”

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y/n had long since climbed into bed, her pajamas warm and soft against her skin. she had outer banks playing on her laptop, resting the computer on macklin’s side of the bed. her fingers traced invisible shapes on the sheets where his body normally laid.

“miss me?”

“macklin! you scared me!”

he grinned, running a hand through his messy, chocolate hair. it clung to his forehead with sweat, typical after a game.

“did i? i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay.”

he leaned over, kissing her forehead. “i’m gonna take a shower, then i’m all yours for the night, okay?”

“okay. bye, macky.”

“bye, love.”

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

y/n cuddled up next to macklin, her fingers curling as she gripped his shirt. he had his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her impossibly close.

“you’re so cute when you’re all clingy,” he said, pressing his nose to hers.

“can’t help it…”

“i mean, you’re cute all the time. but you’re really cute when you’re sleepy and cuddly. like a little kitten. kittens are so cute.”

“’m not a kitten.”

“yeah, you are.”

“no, ‘m just tired.”

“i know, baby. but you’re safe and warm now, okay? i’ve got you.”

“thanks, mack.”

“always. oh, did i tell you about the game? i got two goals and an assist with will! we didn’t win, but we played so well. i love my team so much. what a great group of guys.”

“so proud of you.”

“do you want to tell me about your day?”

“i would like,” she kissed his soft lips, “to sleep.”

with those final words, macklin reached behind him to turn off the lamp and pulled the covers up over him and y/n. she was already asleep, her head resting against his chest.

“i love you so much, baby.”