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“Yes Jack?” You grumbled. It was nearly 1AM on the East Coast. Jack and the team had traveled to the midwest to play against the Blackhawks. The last message you got from Jack was that he was going to a team dinner “against his will”. You knew he loved team dinners, but sometimes he just wanted a quiet night in, spend time reading the latest book he snagged from the library or talk to you. 

“Y/N, it’s Luke.” Your eyebrows furrowed, you pulled the phone away and double checked that it was in fact Jack’s caller ID displayed on the phone screen. 

“Luke?” You asked, “What are you doing with Jack’s phone?” 

“Hey listen, don’t freak out-” Those three words sent a chill down your spine as you sat right up in bed, and turned on the bedside lamp.

“What happened? Who’s hurt? Where are you-“

“Breathe, Y/N,” Luke said. You could hear commotion in the background and Luke explaining to someone he was on the phone with you, “Look before you get on the internet, I wanted to call you and tell you that Jack is in the ER.”

“He’s in the what?!”

“Give me the phone, you idiot.” Your boyfriend’s voice, clear as day, came from the background. There was some shuffling and then you heard Jack’s all too familiar heavy sigh, “Hi baby.”

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair, “What is going on?”

“It. . . It’s going to sound stupid as hell and it really is, but I cut my hand,” Jack muttered.

Your mouth fell agape in shock, “How? Is it bad?”

“I don’t even know,” You could picture Jack shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling. “I was talking to Nico one second, leaned against a glass window and the next I'm on the ground with shards of glass in my hand.”

“I’m coming to Chicago,” You got out of bed, placing the phone down and on speaker as you moved around the apartment.

“Y/N there’s no-“

“You’re hurt,” You said pulling out a duffle bag, and grabbing random pieces of clothing hoping whatever you grabbed was going to match, “i’m coming to get you and help you-“

“Baby,” Jack sighed again, “It’s going to need surgery.”

You paused and that all too familiar sinking feeling filled your belly. You had heard that sentence so many times in the past 2 years that you never wanted to hear it again.

You sucked in a breath, “Okay. Where do I need to meet you?”

“They’ll do it back East,” Jack answered, “No Colorado getaway for you this time.” He gave you a sad laugh, and you can only imagine what he’s feeling right now. You both were hoping for a healthy season, and he started off fantastic. Playing some of the best hockey he’s played in years. He finally felt like he was back to 100 percent. And now a one in a lifetime accident will have him out for weeks. And you knew that he had one big question on his mind.

“How long-“

“They think I’ll be good by the Olympics.”

You nodded your head. It had always been Jack’s dream to play on Olympic ice. He loved wearing the USA sweater almost as much (if not more) than the Devils red and black. Playing last year at four nations had been a surreal moment for him, and he wished he could’ve shared it with Quinn. But this year? The chance to play with his older brother on the Olympic stage?? It was a chance in a lifetime moment. A dream come true.

“I’ll fly back with the boys tomorrow night after the game. The surgery is the day after.” Jack explained.

“I’ll call your parents-“

“No don’t bother-“

“You know they'll want to be here.” Ellen and Jim were the type of parents to drop everything and be with their boys when they were hurt. “What do you need me to get? Medications? Snacks?”

“Nothing,” Jack sounded so defeated, “Just wait for me at home.”

“I’ll do that, baby,” You said softly.

“Get some rest,” Jack said, “I told Luke not to wake you but he listens as well as a goldfish.”

“I heard that!” Luke shouted

“You were meant to!” Jack retorted back, “I love you baby.”

“I love you more, Rowdy,” You sighed, “I’ll be at the airport to pick you up tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

|| Masterlist || J. Hughes Masterlist ||

“Why are there so many instructions on a small ass box,” Brady cursed looking between the instruction paper and the box. It wasn’t like it was rocket science, Brady had done this before, but usually he had help. He set the instructions down on the counter, and grabbed the comb, parting his hair down the middle. He grumbled, seeing more gray hair, hiding within the strands of his dark brown locks. 

“Brady?” You called, walking down the hallway. He could hear the sound of the dogs following you down the hardwood towards the master bedroom ensuite bathroom he had occupied. 

“In here!” Brady yelled back, setting the comb down and reaching for the bowl and dye. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Brady looked up at you in the mirror.

“Dyeing my hair.” He held up the items in his hand. 

“I see that. . .” You leaned against the doorjamb, “Why?”

Brady sighed, “The gray is getting worse.”

You felt a pang in your heart as you stepped into the bathroom. Brady had been slowly sprouting more and more gray hairs on his head. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, in fact, it made him even more handsome. His hair turned a naturally beautiful gray that women paid hundreds to obtain at salons for. But you also knew it was a soft spot for him, having found various boxes of brown hair dye under the sink before. And not to mention the one time he forgot to dry his hair completely and left hair dye all over your pillowcases.

“I like your grays,” You said walking into the bathroom and gently taking the box from his hands.

“Well I don’t,” He muttered.

“Sit,” You pointed to the closed toilet seat. Brady followed your instruction, as you moved with ease around the bathroom, mixing and combining the dye concoction together. “I know you don’t, but they’re beautiful Brady. . .” You turn towards him, with the dye mix ready to go, “You’re beautiful.”

Brady blushed as he looked at his calloused hands, “Thank you,” He sighed, tilting his head up a bit so you could apply the color to the roots of his hair, “It’s just. . . embarrassing. I’m 31 and looking like someone’s grandpa.” Brady was only twenty-one when he found his first gray hair. His mom had said her father and grandfather had gone gray early in life too, and it was only a matter of time until Brady met the same fate. He used to be able to hide it, style his hair certain ways so the silver strands were mixed in. But lately, he had been finding more grays on the side of his head, by his temple, instead of the middle of his head. 

“I don’t think someone’s grandpa could do what you did to me last night.”

Heat traveled up Brady’s neck as he thought back to the events of last night. The two of you stumbling in from being a Roman’s house, one too many glasses of wine in both of your systems. You hadn’t even bothered trying to make it to the bedroom, as you climbed on the kitchen table and let Brady have his way with you.

“All I'm saying is,” You set the bowl of dye down, and titled his head up so you could look into his warm brown eyes, “The gray? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Hell, some guys your age are bald. You could be losing your hair.”

“Gee thanks babe,” Brady rolled his eyes with a laugh.

“I don’t care that your hair is graying,” You said, kissing his forehead, “If you want to keep dyeing your hair, I’ll help you. If you want me to book you an appointment at the salon I go to, we’ll make it a date. If you want to fully embrace your silver fox era, I’m here for it.”

Brady leaned up and kissed your lips. “You promise not to let our future kids' friends' parents mistake me for their grandpa?”

“Ugh, that’s a hard one. You know I love a good G.i.L.F.” Brady instantly pinched your waist, making you yelp, “Yes! I’ll let them know you aren’t our kids grandpa.”

For the next hour, you spent brushing dark brown hair dye over Brady’s soft strands. It was one of those days that you and Brady didn't have a single thing to do. Andrew had canceled practice for the day, since the guys had just come home from a 6 game roadie, and were in desperate need for a day of relaxation. The dogs had found a place to lay on the bathroom floor, even they didn’t want to be too far away from their owners. 

When you were down putting the dye on his hair, you put a clear plastic shower cap over his hair, and set a time for an hour. You wrapped a towel around Brady’s broad shoulders and sat down on the couch. 

“I don’t know how you can watch this shit,” Brady said, gesturing to the episode of ‘Secret Lives of Mormon Wives’ that was playing. 

“Because these women are just. . .” You shook your head, “If you got traded to Utah, I don’t think I would even be mad. ‘Cause I could get the chance to be friends with them.” 

“I am not going to get traded to Utah,” Brady rolled his eyes. 

“You’re right,” You sighed, “And I’m not a wife.” 

“Or a Mormon.” 

You waved your hand, “Sematics.” 

“And you’ll be a wife soon,” Brady picked up your hand, which a sparkling diamond ring sat on your finger, and kissed it. 

The timer went off, “Come on,” You said getting up from the couch, “Time to rinse you.” 

Brady kneeled in the shower as you grabbed the hand-held shower head, and washed his hair thoroughly. Brady couldn’t help the groans and moans that fell from his lips as your blunt nails scraped at his scalp. There was nothing he loved more than the feeling of your hands in his hair. When his hair was cleaned, you grabbed one of your older towels (the same one you use for the dogs, which Brady pointed out). 

“There,” You said, giving his head one more rub with a towel, “All dyed, clean, and dried.” Brady looked in the mirror, running his hands over his hair, and frowned. “What’s wrong?” 

Brady sighed, and set the towel down, “It looks. . . it just looks fake.” 

“Well,” You shrugged, “Sometimes the color is darker at first, but it will fade in time. I even have that moment when I get my hair done.” 

Brady nodded his head, “I think you’re right.” He turned to face you, leaning against the bathroom counter, “I think it’s time I embrace my silver era.” 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You cupped your hand around your ear, “I am. . . what was that?” 

Brady rolled his eyes again, and pulled you into his arms. You let out a laugh, and placed a hand on his chest, “You were right. I think I like my silver.” You kissed his lips, “Of course I’m right. . . the tiktok girls are gonna love this. . .”