The Best Part of the Day
Garrett Graham x Female Reader
Summary: After a disastrous practice, all Garrett wants is to stay on the ice until he gets it right. What he doesn't expect is for his girlfriend to turn an empty rink into his favorite memory of the entire season.
There are practices where everything just clicks. The puck feels glued to your stick, every pass lands exactly where it's supposed to, and every shot somehow finds the tiniest opening in the net.
Those are the days the ice feels like your favorite place in the world.
And then there were days like this one.
"Again, Graham!" Coach Jensen shouted from the other side of the rink.
I clenched my jaw and set another puck down in front of me.
Deep breath.
Control.
Two strides.
I fired.
The puck smacked against the post with a sharp clang before ricocheting into the corner.
Shit.
I heard Coach let out a long, disappointed sigh.
"What the hell's wrong with you today?"
I wished I knew.
I didn't have an answer for him.
Without saying a word, I grabbed another puck. This time I tried not to overthink it. Just move. Trust the muscle memory. Do what I'd been doing since I was a kid.
I crossed into the offensive zone.
Shot.
The goalie caught it so easily it was almost insulting.
"That was weak, Graham."
Yeah.
I'd noticed.
The rest of practice didn't get any better. I missed passes I could normally make with my eyes closed, and somehow lost a one-on-one battle to a freshman who was probably going to call his entire family about it.
Dean kept throwing me looks that silently asked, You good?
I answered every one of them with a shrug.
Because I didn't really want to talk about it.
Everyone has off days.
The problem was, the season was too close for me to afford one.
When Coach Jensen finally called practice, the guys started filing off the ice, shoving each other and laughing as they headed toward the locker room.
"You coming to Malone's?" Dean asked, pulling off his helmet.
I shook my head.
"Later."
His eyes drifted to the pile of pucks still sitting by the net.
"Don't stay too long."
"I'll be out in a bit."
Dean knew exactly what that meant.
We both did.
"A bit" meant until my legs gave out.
He gave my shoulder a friendly shove before heading off.
"Don't overthink it."
A dry laugh escaped me.
"That would've been helpful about three hours ago."
By the time the last player left the rink, the arena had gone almost completely silent.
Just me...
And the ice.
I'd always liked this part.
The empty stands.
The lights reflecting across the frozen surface.
The echo of every movement.
It was the only place where my thoughts ever seemed to settle.
Or at least...
Usually.
I grabbed another puck.
Breathed in.
Shot.
Wide.
Another.
Too high.
Another.
And another.
And another.
Until I stopped keeping count.
I had no idea how much time had passed when a slow clap echoed through the empty arena.
I frowned and looked up.
And there she was.
Sitting in the third row.
A cup of coffee cradled between her hands.
One leg crossed over the other.
And wearing the kind of smile that somehow made every place feel a little warmer.
"Well..." she said when our eyes met. "That last one was a lot closer."
I froze for a second.
"How long have you been sitting there?"
She took a sip of her coffee before answering.
"Long enough to figure out you're incredibly stubborn."
A quiet laugh slipped out as I rested my stick against the boards.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Because I don't want you getting mad."
"I'm not gonna get mad."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You smashed a puck out of frustration about five minutes ago."
My eyes flicked to the puck still split in half beside the net.
I'd been hoping no one had seen that.
"That was an accident."
"Sure."
"It was."
Her smile only widened.
"I've been here about twenty minutes."
I stared at her.
"And you didn't say anything?"
She shrugged.
"You looked like you needed to be alone."
There wasn't an ounce of pity in her voice. No over-the-top concern.
Just understanding.
And for some reason, that loosened the knot that had been sitting in my chest all afternoon.
I skated over to the boards separating the ice from the stands.
"How'd you even get in?"
"I told the rink manager I was here to pick up my boyfriend because he was probably still obsessing over practice."
"I can't believe that's the reputation I have."
She laughed.
"Is it inaccurate?"
I looked at her for a few seconds.
"...No."
"That's what I thought."
I rested my forearms on the top of the boards and let out a slow sigh.
"Practice sucked."
She nodded slowly.
"I know."
"I couldn't hit anything. I'm pretty sure Jensen was about ready to rip his own hair out because of me."
"I didn't see that part."
I couldn't help laughing.
Talking to her without smiling was basically impossible.
"You're incredibly helpful, you know that?"
"I'm trying to validate your feelings."
"You sound very professional."
"I watch a lot of videos online."
I shook my head, smiling.
"That explains a lot."
She made her way down the steps until she was standing on the other side of the glass.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
I looked out over the rink.
Then at the dozens of pucks scattered across the ice.
Finally, I looked back at her.
"Not really."
I expected her to push.
To tell me everything would be fine.
That it was just one bad practice.
That I was the best player on the team.
The kind of things people say when they don't actually know what to say.
But she didn't do any of that.
She simply rested her arms on the railing.
"Okay."
That was it.
Five seconds of silence later, she was the one who spoke again.
"You still want to teach me how to skate, right?"
I blinked.
"What?"
"Skate."
I looked at her like she'd just told me she was moving to the moon.
"Baby... you've been saying no for months."
"I know."
"Last time you told me you'd rather run a marathon barefoot."
"I still think that sounds awful."
"You also said ice is basically a death trap."
"I haven't changed my mind."
I had absolutely no idea where this was going.
"Then..."
She fiddled with the lid of her coffee cup before looking back up at me.
"But I think I can make an exception today."
I went completely still.
"You're serious?"
She nodded.
"Yeah."
I couldn't stop myself from smiling.
Not a small smile.
A real one.
The kind that sneaks up on you before you even realize it's happening.
I'd been trying to convince her for months.
Literal months.
Every time she came to watch practice, I'd end up asking the same question.
"Today's the day?"
And I'd always get the exact same answer.
"Absolutely not."
"I'm going to break something."
"Garrett, I can barely walk on solid ground."
And now...
Now she was the one offering.
"What changed?" I asked, still not entirely convinced this wasn't some elaborate prank.
She took a few seconds before answering.
Her gaze drifted across the empty rink.
The scattered pucks.
My stick.
Then she looked back at me.
"Because you haven't smiled in the last thirty minutes."
Something shifted in my chest.
Something warm.
Quiet.
She tapped her knuckles lightly against the glass.
"And I think hockey's supposed to do the exact opposite."
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
Because I knew exactly what she was doing.
She wasn't trying to fix the problem.
She wasn't going to tell me practice didn't matter.
Or that tomorrow would be better.
She was just trying to give me back the part of hockey I'd forgotten that afternoon.
The fun part.
The part that made six-year-old me fall in love with the game in the first place.
I looked at her for a long moment before shaking my head with a quiet laugh.
"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."
She smiled with the exact same confidence she always had about five seconds before regretting something.
"Probably not."
I picked my stick up off the ice and headed toward the rink exit.
"C'mon."
"Where are we going?"
"To find you a pair of skates."
She frowned slightly as she hurried after me down the hallway.
"Garrett..."
"Yeah?"
"If I fall..."
I opened the door to the equipment room and turned to face her.
Smiling, I said,
"I'm not gonna let you fall, baby."
And I meant every word.
The confidence she'd had about learning to skate disappeared exactly three minutes later.
"Why are they so heavy?" you asked, lifting one of the skates with both hands like you'd just discovered some medieval torture device.
I couldn't help laughing.
"Because they're supposed to protect your ankles."
Shaking my head with a smile, I crouched down in front of you.
"Give me your foot."
You looked at me.
Then at the skate.
Then back at me.
"My foot?"
You ended up laughing before doing as I asked.
You rested one hand on my shoulder to keep your balance while I untied your sneakers.
There was something strangely domestic about it.
Something I liked far too much.
I carefully slipped the first skate onto your foot and started tightening the laces.
You watched every movement with exaggerated focus.
"Do they really have to be this tight?"
"Yes."
"I can't feel my toes."
"You still have them."
"I'm not convinced."
I tapped the toe of your skate lightly.
"Trust me."
You huffed.
"You always say that right before you make me suffer."
"You're so dramatic."
"Says the man who's looking forward to watching me embarrass myself."
I looked up at you.
"I would never laugh at you."
You smiled to yourself.
"That sounded suspiciously sincere."
Because it was.
I finished lacing the second skate and stood up.
"Alright."
You tried to stand.
It lasted exactly half a second.
The blades touched the floor, and your legs immediately forgot how to function.
"Garrett!"
I caught you by the arms before you could end up sitting on the ground.
I couldn't hold back my laughter.
"Not even one step."
"Don't laugh."
"I'm trying."
"You're doing a terrible job."
Your offended expression lasted only a few seconds before my laughter became contagious.
"I hate this."
"We haven't even made it onto the ice yet."
"Exactly."
I guided you slowly toward the rink entrance, every step an adventure. You walked like a newborn deer.
Holding tightly onto my arm.
Muttering little threats every time the blades slipped.
"If I survive this..."
"Yeah?"
"I'm sending you the bill for every physical therapy session."
"You won't need any."
"You said that the last time you tried teaching me how to ride a bike."
I frowned.
"You were eight."
"And I fell."
"Once."
"Three times."
"Twice."
You gave me a triumphant smile.
"So you admit I fell."
I opened the rink door.
"That was ages ago."
"Trauma lasts forever."
I helped you place one blade onto the ice.
Then the other.
Before you could even react, both your hands were gripping me.
Tightly.
Very tightly.
"Don't let go."
"I wasn't planning to."
"I mean it."
"Baby..."
"Garrett."
"I promised I wouldn't let you fall."
You took a deep breath.
Nodded slowly.
And attempted your first step.
Your legs immediately slid in opposite directions, and I had to wrap an arm around your waist to stop you from kissing the ice.
"No, no, no!"
"Relax."
"I'm going to fall!"
"No."
"Yes!"
"Not while I'm here."
I felt you relax just a little at my words.
Just enough to try again.
"Now slide one foot."
You obeyed.
Five centimeters.
Then the other.
Three centimeters.
You lost your balance again.
This time, you ended up practically hugging me.
You buried your face against my neck with a nervous laugh.
"This is awful."
Absentmindedly, I rubbed your back.
"You're doing better than you think."
You looked up at me.
"Are you lying so I won't cry?"
"A little."
"I knew it."
We both laughed.
And that's when I realized...
I hadn't thought about practice in several minutes.
I was completely focused on helping the girl in my arms make it half a meter across the ice without declaring war on it.
And honestly...
I'd choose that a thousand times over.
We kept practicing.
Step by step.
Slowly.
You complained about absolutely everything.
Because the ice was slippery.
Because the skates were heavy.
Because your legs were shaking.
Because, according to you, hockey was clearly invented by someone who hated humanity.
I just laughed.
Because watching you stick your tongue out in concentration while trying to coordinate your feet was probably one of the cutest things I'd seen in a long time.
"What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"You're really focused."
"I'm trying to survive."
"And you're doing it."
"Barely."
After almost half an hour...
You managed five strides in a row.
Five.
You threw your arms into the air like you'd just won an Olympic medal.
"Did you see that?"
I applauded dramatically.
"That was incredible!"
"I did it!"
"You did!"
You smiled proudly, and just as you turned to celebrate with me...
You tried to stop.
You had no idea how.
Your eyes widened.
"Garrett..."
I saw you coming far too fast.
I barely had time to react.
I pushed off and caught you around the waist just before you crashed into the boards. The momentum carried both of us gliding several more feet across the ice.
You ended up pressed completely against me.
My hands were still holding your waist.
Yours had instinctively grabbed the collar of my hoodie.
We were both breathing a little harder.
"Told you..." I murmured through a laugh. "...I wasn't going to let you fall."
You slowly looked up at me.
Your cheeks were flushed—I couldn't tell if it was from the effort or from the way we'd ended up standing.
You smiled.
Very slowly.
"I'm starting to think you were right."
And for the first time all day...
The rink felt like my favorite place in the world again.
I kept looking at you for a few seconds longer than I probably should have.
You were still holding onto the collar of my hoodie.
I was still holding her around the waist.
And neither of us seemed particularly interested in being the first to pull away.
"What?" she asked when she noticed I hadn't stopped looking at her.
I slowly shook my head.
"Nothing."
"That sounded like there was something."
"I was just thinking."
"That doesn't make me feel any better."
I couldn't help smiling.
"You're doing really well."
She let out an incredulous laugh.
"Garrett, less than a minute ago I almost crashed through the boards."
"But you didn't."
"Because you caught me."
"Exactly."
She frowned, amused.
"Do you always find a way to be right?"
"Most of the time."
"You're insufferable."
Her gaze dropped to my hands around her waist, then to her own, still resting on my shoulders. Even with the cold air inside the rink, I could almost feel the warmth rising to her cheeks.
Slowly, she loosened her grip on my hoodie, though she didn't move away completely.
Neither did I.
The truth was, I couldn't think of a single good reason to let go.
Not when she still needed help staying upright.
And definitely not when I liked having her this close far too much.
"Let's try again," I said after a few seconds.
She made a face.
"Can't we call the lesson over while I'm still alive?"
"Not a chance."
"You're cruel."
"Trust me."
She gave me a suspicious look.
"I'm starting to hate that phrase."
"You'll get over it."
"You say that one a lot too."
"Because it usually works."
She let out an exaggerated sigh.
"One day I'm going to stop listening to you."
"Not today."
"No..."
She sighed again.
"...not today."
We faced each other once more.
This time, I didn't offer just one hand.
I held out both.
She took them without hesitation.
"Alright," I said as we started moving slowly. "Don't look at your feet."
She immediately looked down.
I laughed.
"You just did the exact opposite."
"My feet are my biggest concern right now."
"They know what they're doing."
"I don't."
"That's why I'm here."
She started gliding again.
One foot.
Then the other.
Slower than before.
Much steadier.
She was still holding onto my hands, but she wasn't clinging to me with the same panic she had an hour ago.
Whenever she hesitated, a gentle tug from me was enough to help her find her balance again.
"That's it.
Good."
She looked up at me.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Or are you just being a good boyfriend?"
"That too."
She laughed.
"At least you're honest."
We kept skating across the empty rink.
Neither of us talked much.
We didn't need to.
She was too focused on coordinating her movements, and I was too busy watching the way she gently bit her bottom lip every time she tried something new.
I'd never understood how someone could look so focused...
and still be so beautiful.
"I think..."
She paused for a moment.
"I think I'm not as scared anymore."
I smiled at her.
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're not crushing my hands anymore."
She looked down.
She was still holding on to me.
Just... a lot more gently now.
"Sorry."
"I'm not complaining."
She smiled shyly.
"Thanks for being so patient with me."
The words caught me completely off guard.
Because if anyone should've been saying thank you...
it was me.
"You don't have to thank me for anything, baby."
"Yes, I do."
"No."
"Honey..."
I shook my head.
"Do you know what the best part of my day has been?"
She frowned slightly.
"What?"
I glanced around.
The rink was still completely empty.
The lights reflected across the ice, making everything look almost magical.
Not a single teammate was left.
Just us.
"This."
She blinked.
"This?"
I nodded.
"I spent hours trying to have the perfect practice."
I paused before continuing.
"And it turns out the best thing that happened to me today..."
"...was teaching you how to stay on your feet."
I watched something shift in her expression.
The smile that spread across her face was small.
Soft.
But completely genuine.
"You're not upset anymore?"
Her question made me stop and think for a few seconds.
Because until that moment, I hadn't even asked myself.
I looked at the pucks still scattered across the ice.
My stick, abandoned beside the bench.
Everything looked exactly the same as it had an hour earlier.
And yet...
I didn't feel the same anymore.
I slowly shook my head.
"No."
Her smile grew.
"I knew it'd work."
"You planned all of this?"
She shrugged innocently.
"Maybe."
"You're pretty smart."
"I try."
I watched her for a moment.
"Thank you."
She looked surprised.
"For what?"
I took a step closer until there was barely any space left between us.
"For taking care of me..."
"...without making it feel like you were."
She never looked away.
"It wasn't that hard."
"It was for me."
A comfortable silence settled between us.
The kind that never feels awkward.
She glanced down for just a second before meeting my eyes again.
"So what now, Coach?"
I smiled.
"Now comes the best part."
She raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds dangerous."
"A little."
She bit her lip, trying to hide a smile.
And that was where I lost the last bit of self-control I had left.
I slid my hand from her cheek to the back of her neck as gently as I could.
I gave her time.
All the time she needed to pull away if she wanted to.
She didn't.
Instead...
she closed the remaining distance herself.
Our lips met in a slow kiss.
Soft.
Unhurried.
I felt one of her hands rest against my chest as I wrapped both arms around her waist.
She let out the smallest surprised breath.
I smiled against her lips.
She smiled too.
We pulled apart just enough.
Enough to keep breathing the same air.
"You know..." she murmured, her lips still curved into a smile.
"What?"
"I think I should learn more about hockey."
I couldn't stop myself from laughing.
"Oh yeah?"
She nodded.
"If every lesson ends like this..."
I stole another kiss before she could finish.
This one shorter.
A little more playful.
When we finally pulled apart again, I rested my forehead against hers and closed my eyes for a moment.
"Baby..."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for reminding me why I love this place."
She intertwined her fingers with mine and smiled in that way that made every bad practice fade into nothing.
"I don't think it was ever the rink."
I opened my eyes to look at her.
"Then what was it?"
Her thumb absentmindedly brushed over the back of my hand.
"You just needed to have fun again."
And she was right.
Because in the end...
I wasn't going to remember the shots I missed that afternoon.
I was going to remember that, in a completely empty rink, the woman I loved most made me fall in love with hockey all over again.
And, as if that weren't enough...
she somehow made me fall a little more in love with her, too.













