#pats

She really hadn’t seen it coming as she sat watching Connor’s game from the box.

The fallout from the night before was still vibrating between them. She felt the weight of it in her chest as she tried to navigate college and sports. She had moved from Vancouver for Connor, a choice she’d worn like a badge of pride until last night. Now, that choice felt heavy.

Between a three-game losing streak and a nagging injury, his frustration had begun to ooze into their shared life like a black, acidic sludge, eating away at the bright, shiny parts of their relationship and leaving a toxic film over everything they touched.

The breaking point had been so mundane.

He’d trudged home from practice, shoulders slumped and eyes dark with exhaustion. He found her buried under a mountain of notes and textbooks—a crime scene spread across the duvet. They’d traded a clipped, hollow "hello" that barely masked the either of their underlying exhaustion.

The real breaking point happened after his shower. As he began clearing a small spot on his side of the mattress, she let out a long, ragged sigh.

It wasn't meant to be aimed toward him. It was the sound of a brain that was getting pushed to its limit, the air leaving her lungs as the reality of the world outside her textbooks rushed back in.

But to Connor, it sounded extremely different.

"What? I’m not allowed to lay in my own bed now?" he scoffed, his voice sharp.

"What?" She blinked, her eyes stinging from the blue light of her laptop. She didn't have the bandwidth to decode his mood.

"You’re over there huffing and puffing just because I wanna lay down."

"I’m not," she insisted, her voice small and worn out. She didn't want to fight; she barely had enough brainpower to remember the last thing she read. "I’m just trying to focus, Connor."

"I just wanted a nap before dinner, and you’re in here taking up all the space," he accused, gesturing wildly at the scattered highlighters and open binders.

"You could have just asked me to move it."

"You knew I was coming home!" His voice rose. "And you still have all this crap everywhere."

"It’s not crap!" The sting of tears hit her then, replaced quickly by a flash of heat. "I’ve been working on this for six hours straight, Connor! And I had practice this morning."

"Yeah? Well, that’s six hours more than you’ve spent with me lately!"

The words hung in the air, jagged and ugly.

"What the hell does that even mean?" she demanded, her heart racing, her breath coming faster.

"We agreed that when I have a home stretch, we make time. You haven't even been to a single game yet!"

"Do you not understand how important this is for me?" She snapped, standing up amidst the mess. "I have to get through this semester, on top of still having competitions to prep for. I am not going to fail just because you’re touch-starved!"

"I am not touch-starved!" he yelled, the volume finally shattering the last of their peace.

The argument had spiraled until she gathered her "crap" in a frantic, humiliated heap and retreated to the living room. Connor didn't nap; she could hear him pacing the bedroom like a caged animal. When he finally emerged for dinner, he didn't speak. He left a takeout container on the kitchen counter for her—a silent, cold offering—and disappeared back into the bedroom to hide.

Hours later, the words on her screen finally began to blur into illegible gray lines. She finally surrendered. She tidied her papers with numb fingers and tiptoed toward the bedroom.

She moved like a ghost, easing the door shut and lifting the edge of the comforter so slowly she held her breath. Connor was a statue beside her, his back a wall of rigid ice. He was too still, his breathing too controlled for sleep, but neither of them were reaching out.

She lay there in the dark, aching for the version of them that existed a week ago. She closed her eyes and tried to manifest it: him rolling over, his heavy arm draping over her waist, the small scratch of his stubble against her shoulder as they whispered apologies into the crook of each other’s necks.

The movement never came. The silence remained heavy and cold, and the next morning, it was deafening.

She shifted under the heavy duvet, her hand instinctively searching for the warmth of Connor’s body, but the sheets were cool and flat. He was gone. His hockey bag, which usually sat as a permanent fixture near the dresser, was gone too.

She stared at the ceiling, the light of a gray Chicago morning filtering through the blinds, and for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t thinking about her to-do list. She didn't think about the three essays due by Friday or the tournament she had next weekend. She thought about the way Connor’s voice had cracked when he said, "Longer than you've spent with me."

She’d called him touch-starved like it was an insult, but she was beginning to feel the same way.

She began to count back the days, then the weeks. When was the last time they’d truly slept? Not just occupying the same mattress, but drifting off tangled together. When was the last time they’d had sex? The realization hit her like a brick. It had been nearly a month.

The memory of it suddenly felt vivid and sharp, a stark contrast to the cold room. She realized with a jolt how much she actually missed him. She missed the weight of him on top of her, the way his calloused hands felt tracing the curve of her hips, and the specific, memorable heat of his mouth on her skin. She missed the way he’d pull her so close there wasn't a breath of air between them—how it would melt her stress away.

She’d been so proud of "making it work," but she realized now she’d been weaponizing her busyness. Every time he’d reach for her in the dark lately, she’d murmur something about being exhausted from practice or needing to finish one more assignment. Eventually, he’d just stopped reaching. Connor had always seen their relationship as his reality. He could go out and be “The Connor Bedard," but coming home, coming back to her, was what grounded him in the real world, and she’d basically ignored that for over a month. It wasn’t just about having sex; it was about spending time together, and she was saying no. She was ripping his reality away and replacing it with loneliness.

She was starting to feel it too.

The United Center felt different when you were carrying the weight of a relationship’s future. She sat with the other wags, her heart hammering against her ribs. She hadn’t talked to the others much. She’d mostly kept to herself. Alexis had sat next to her, making small talk, but she could tell that the girl next to her wasn’t in the mood to talk. Alexis was on her phone for a second before she looked up quizzically, “Did you tell Connor you were coming?”

She froze, suddenly realizing that she had been so wrapped up in trying to get her schoolwork done in time to get to the game that she hadn’t even texted him. “No… uh—I forgot.” She muttered.

“Oh,” she remarked, somewhat shocked. “Well… I mentioned I was sitting with you to Frank, and he said Connor was kinda shocked.”

“Yeah… we kinda got into a fight yesterday.”

“Oh…”

“It was my fault; I’ve been kind of distant with school, and he was exhausted after practice, and—I don’t know—we got into it.”

“Did he tell you not to come?”

“No, he actually said the opposite. He said I haven’t been coming enough. I get it though; I have been wrapped up with school, and he was just frustrated.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll come around. Frank and I do the same thing. You just gotta get back on track.”

That at least brought her some relief. Of course they weren’t the only people in the world who got into fights, but it did make her feel better.

She watched Connor during the warm-ups. He looked lonely out there, even surrounded by his teammates. When the game started, she didn't look at the puck. She watched him the whole time.

It was during the second period that something shifted inside her. They were on a power play with a little over two minutes left in the period, and they were up 1 to 0. Oliver ripped a shot at the net that was deflected, and Connor had picked it up and whipped it toward the net, but Hellebuyck blocked it. Connor was getting frustrated; she could see it in his entire posture. He was leaning over, breathing heavily, but his back was to her. She looked up at the jumbotron as he stood, and her breath caught. She would have been embarrassed to say it out loud, but watching his chain—caught between his teeth—changed something in her.

The jumbotron was a godsend because she could see every inch of him perfectly. Each individual bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, hitting his sweater as he moved. He was soaked in sweat. Even the strands of hair that escaped his helmet were slick with moisture.

The harsh arena lights made his skin seem like it was glowing, even in his frustration.

He looked raw. He looked like someone who was getting fed up with being patient.

She watched the way his throat moved as he swallowed, finally spitting the chain out from his mouth. This was the man she’d been shushing so she could focus on her sociology class. This was the mouth she hadn’t properly kissed in a month.

The shadow of their fight was gone, replaced by a desperate, physical ache in her belly.

She wanted him. Bad

When the second period ended, the play died right in front of her section. Connor skated toward the boards to catch his breath, his chest heaving under his red jersey. He looked up, scanning the boxes with restless eyes.

She tracked him, her eyes never leaving him as he searched until his gaze snagged on her and held.

Connor’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened. That “angry” light in them flickered into something far more vulnerable.

He stayed there a second, staring at her through the glass until one of his teammates bumped into him playfully, dragging his attention away and back to the dressing room.

He knew she was there.

It was confirmed when her phone buzzed:

connie-baby liked “I love you too 😘."

She didn’t expect much more from him. He had to focus on the third period, and just a few text messages had eased her worry. At least he wasn’t mad at her. He was far nicer than she’d probably deserved, and she felt a little bit of confidence fill her as she looked back at her phone.

She pressed send, knowing he probably wouldn’t see it until the end of the game.

Her phone buzzed:

connie-baby emphasized “You look hot out there though 👀”

That made her laugh, which drew Alexis’ attention.“What?”

She looked at the dark-haired girl next to her.“Just Connor being Connor.”

“So you’re not arguing anymore?”

“No, now he’s making jokes.”

When the third period started, she was having much more fun. When the period had a minute left and the Jets' goal was empty, she cheered as Connor made the empty net goal.She watched the replay on the jumbotron, laughing with Alexis as he mouthed, “I almost missed!”

After the game, she sat with Alexis in the family lounge, talking about school and going home during the Olympics and taking some time off.Frank emerged first, smiling at the girls as he walked over to them.After hugging and kissing his girlfriend, he looked at the other girl sitting there.“I don’t know what you two were texting about, but it put him in a good mood.”

“That’s private information, Frankie.” She said with a laugh.He threw his hands up in surrender, backing away slightly. “I don’t wanna know; I’m just glad he’s in a better mood.”

They said their goodbyes, and she was left sitting by herself, scrolling through her phone. It wasn’t rare for Connor to be the last one out. He loved a long hot shower after games.It cleared his head and made him relax from the adrenaline boost of the game.When Connor finally did surface, he had a slight smirk on his face.He looked at her for a long time as they moved closer together.When they were within arm’s reach, Connor wrapped her up in a tight, unyielding hug. He took in a deep breath, his nose buried deep in her hair. She was equally wrapped around him. Her arms were tight around his neck, one of her hands combing into the hair at the nape of his neck.It was still damp from the shower.He pulled back, his arm going around her shoulder, “You ready to go?”

She nodded, leaning into his shoulder. “I drove though.”

“We can take your car; I’ll have Frank drive me tomorrow.”

They made it to the parking garage, and Connor was more than happy to drive, his hand permanently glued to her thigh as they made the short drive to their apartment building.They were both quiet, but when Connor parked the car, they didn’t move.“You thought I was hot?” He looked over at her with a smirk.“I knew that would go to your head.”

“You thought I was hot.” It was no longer a question.She thought for a brief second, “I think we should go inside.”

“Why?” He was getting real cocky now.“I’ll tell you when we get there.” She returned his smirk, opening the passenger door and jumping out of the car with Connor hot on her heels.When they’d finally gotten inside, she could practically feel Connor becoming her shadow as he trailed behind her.“You know…?” She stopped midway through the hallway, still facing away from him.“What?”

She turned around, walking backward toward their living room.“You’re always hot.” She remarked, tilting her head to the side. “Especially when you’re out there, on the ice…” Connor started following her, knowing exactly what she was doing. “You’re all hot and sweaty; reminds me of what you look like in other situations.”

“Well…” Connor started, cornering her against the wall as his hands came up to her waist, his face plastered with a permanent smirk. “Let’s get to recreating those ‘other’ situations.”

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