#willo au

Settled into her seat at Scotiabank Arena, Melanie’s manicured thumb scrolled through the wide array of comments that had flooded in the very minute that the pre-game walk in photos were posted. She couldn’t blame the barrage of thirsty notes, tags and emojis. She essentially thought the same thing when he first stepped out of his bedroom and into the kitchen earlier that afternoon. Black button-down, perfectly fitting black slacks, silver chain, and a steel and black watch she’d never seen him wear before. She surmised he must have bought it recently, but just never thought to mention it to her.

The flush she felt to every body part wasn’t just from the wine she was sipping on.

Hours earlier at the condo, when William had stepped out of his room, Alex barely looked up from his phone before doing a double take.

“Var fick du den där ifrån?” he asked, head tilting — Where’d you get that?

William smoothed a hand down his chest, the scent of Henrik Lundqvist’s Night cologne drifting behind him like a wake — another purchase Loren had selected for him months ago. “De var gåvorna hon tog med mig från Rom,” he answered evenly. They were the gifts she brought me from Rome.

Alex’s eyebrows rose. “Tog hon med något till mig?” he quipped — She bring anything back for me?

He wasn’t far off; Loren usually had thought of Alex. William couldn't help but chuckle a little at his brother's "what about me" attitude.

Then his eyes caught the flash of metal on William’s wrist.

“Låt mig se,” he said, motioning. Let me see.

William hesitated, then extended his arm.

Alex leaned in, snapping a quick photo, tapping furiously until the BVLGARI site loaded.

“Helvete,” he muttered under his breath when the price appeared. Eighteen thousand dollars.

William’s jaw flexed. He didn’t say a word. His expression shifted — pained first, then hard, the muscle in his temple pulsing.

The thought hit William like a freight train. Why would she spend that kind of money?

He could run through the reasons in his head like a checklist:

Because she knew him — the way he gravitated towards the feel of something expensive and made to last.

Because every gift she’d ever given before had been sentimental, achingly thoughtful, and maybe this time she’d wanted to match him in his own language: luxury.

Maybe it was to celebrate their future together with something tangible.

Maybe she’d splurged because she’d felt him slipping away and wanted to anchor him with a shockingly grand gesture.

Or maybe, simplest of all, she’d wanted to give him something he’d wear — so he’d carry the knowledge of how much she loved him every time he did.

He exhaled, his chin dropping as the ache of her thoughtfulness settled heavy in his chest.

Maybe it was all of those things because Loren loved him from all angles. She may have wound up in the flagship boutique on impulse but once she set her eyes on that watch, all of the feeling she felt for him in that moment were the reasons she bought it.

He loved the watch and shirt. He hoped she’d see photos of him wearing it tonight. He wished he could kiss her and tell her that none of it takes the place of her.

Across the kitchen, Melanie laughed softly at something on her phone, unaware of the Swedish exchange, unaware of the storm that was building inside her man.

Back at the arena, wine glass in hand, Melanie and her friend Brooke leaned close to scroll through the same photo of William and the other players that usually had social media buzzing. The overhead lights illuminated the seats with colours of deep blue, fans huddled together in pockets by the glass, the hum of bass from the music reverberated off every surface.

“God, look at these comments,” Brooke said, her voice pitched low in amusement. “William’s still doing his thirst thing, I see.”

Melanie smirked, half-listening, half scanning the rows of seats filling up around them. Nothing much had changed from all the other times her and William were together. Same buzz—seeing the mix of long-time WAGs versus the newer ones. The perfume, laughter, and occasional whispered observations.

Everything seemed the same on the surface, but to Melanie, she felt a difference. The WAGs that recognized her from years past, were polite but measured. Aryne Tavares, now with three children in tow, was polished and gracious as ever. Tessa Virtue-Rielly with her effortless composure—they both offered friendly smiles and waves as they passed.

Melanie returned the same smile and waves, her eyes eventually focused back on her phone screen. She did so while pretending not to notice the way some of the conversations paused just long enough to acknowledge her official return to William’s life.

When two women slipped into the row ahead, her attention pulled toward them automatically. One of them—long blonde hair, stylish but relaxed—eventually turned around toward Melanie.

After a moment of recognition and realization, Alice extended her hand. “I’m Alice, Simon Benoit’s wife. This is Laurie, Nik Roy’s new wife,” Alice nudged Laurie’s shoulder, referencing her newlywed title. Alice then cautiously asked “You’re with William, right?”

Melanie smiled back, and shook Alice’s hand. “That’s right, I’m William’s girlfriend, Melanie. And this is my friend, Brooklyn. Brooke works too,” she chuckled, almost nervously.

Alice’s smile remained polite though her eyes remained fixed on Melanie almost a second too long. Like she was organizing data—sizing her up, maybe? Alice then leaned slightly to shake Brooke’s hand, but the chill in the air went beyond that of the arena.

Laurie’s focus on Melanie was softer, though her eyes flicked quickly back to Alice. After the introductions were made, Alice and Laurie turned back around and began perusing the drink menu.

The sound of their low French conversation carried just faintly over the arena noise.

Melanie leaned back, the corner of her mouth lifting. It was a subtle dance even before introductions were made. Of course she knew who Alice was. Melanie had spent more than one late night scrolling through current WAG profiles just to stay in the loop. But it was Alice’s connection with Loren that had prompted a deeper dive, more than a few times. The friendship between Alice and Loren looked sisterly — almost inseparable at times during the season. And Melanie had long known she’d have to tread carefully around her.

As the music pulsed, phone screens looked like stars in the stands as the walk-in photos appeared on the jumbotron. As William’s appeared on the giant screen, light cheers came from the crowd. Melanie tried to half bite back her smile as her pulse began to race.

He looked even better on the screen under the lights—every inch of him in black, his expression almost brooding yet magnetic. Her chest swelled with something that felt like pride, then possession.

She glanced toward Alice and Laurie again, their heads bent together in conversation, and felt the flicker of a thought she couldn’t quite shake.

Alice knew who she was and knew she was with William. So that probably means Loren talked about her to Alice. I wonder if the ‘queen of kindness’ bad mouthed her at all.

Melanie exhaled through her nose, almost laughing at herself.

She knew deep down that the thought was rather hypocritical of her given everything she has uttered about Loren before.

When William and Loren’s relationship had gone public during the 4 Nations tournament, it had blindsided her. She could still picture the photo — William’s hands resting casually on Loren’s hips, his expression soft, his body molded against hers, no space even for air between them.

Her first message back then to William had been harmless enough.

She’s cute, Willy. Good for you.

But then came the next few, after careful and closer examination.

“She’s got some lips on her, huh? Never thought you’d go for someone that prioritizes lip filler.” “Those hips are a handful.” “She moved in yet or is the little girl-perfect act still playing out?”

She’d told herself it was harmless teasing — that they’d always talked like that; sarcasm, slightly cutting remarks but meant to be playful. William would often chuckle and shake his head, click his tongue and message Melanie back with a tepid caution “be nice, Mel”.

His follow-through of shutting her comments down completely never came. Melanie clocked that weak link in their relationship at twenty paces.

But now, sitting here, surrounded by wives who had actually known Loren and some that probably still keep in touch with her, maybe even are protective of her, she could feel the flushed heat mixed with shame of her past comments creep up her neck.

Not that she’d ever admit it aloud.

She shifted in her seat, forcing her attention back to the ice as the team finished warm-ups. William was skating, almost meandering around shooting pucks randomly. She’s seen his routine a million times. Skating tight loops while puck handling. Sometimes bobbing his head to the music while gliding. His frog pose while stretching his hips, complete with small thrusts as he tried to keep loose…a fan favorite stance for sure.

Melanie’s mind allowed images Loren infiltrate her inner most thoughts. She opened her phone and absentmindedly scrolled random sites, eventually giving into the urge to search about Loren while Brooke was chatting nearby with a drink in her hand.

One video that Melanie had bookmarked - she didn’t know why she kept it (but really she did) was a short someone made about Loren with a number of stills from her various campaigns. The title of the short was “Loren Girard - beautiful, plus size model”.

Melanie remembered showing it to William the night at the comedy club earlier that summer, casually as she could manage, half-smiling.

“Has Loren seen this description?” she’d asked, tone sounding purposefully light, yet still with an edge. “Calling her plus-size. Wow.”

William hadn’t risen to the bait—he knew what Melanie was trying to accomplish.

“She doesn’t go searching about herself, so she probably hasn’t,” he’d said simply. “And if she did, I doubt it’s not something she’d be upset about - she looks after her body, she's healthy, and that’s all she cares about.”

It was the closest William had ever come to telling Melanie knock it off when it came to Loren, and it stung a little to remember that exchange.

As she swirled the last bit of wine in her glass, she stared forward, lost in thought. She knew her legacy with William had been marred by rumours and half-truths about their supposed toxicity. As far as they were concerned, none of it was true. But the part that stuck with Melanie was William’s detachment when cutting remarks were made about her. If someone spoke ill of her now, she still didn’t know if William would defend her—or stay silent the way he once did with Loren.

The thought unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. There was something in the air between them lately—she wasn't sure but he seemed to be drifting. William’s expressions had grown more vague, his responses and his tone flat, more distant, as though his mind were always half somewhere else. And now, sitting in an arena she’d been to a thousand times, surrounded by women she’d known before, next to a bona fide superstar who somehow kept finding his way back to her…it should have felt comfortable. It should have felt like coming home to old friends. Instead, it felt like being the fucking new girl all over again—judged, measured, sized up before she’d even opened her mouth.

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The wives’ room hummed with its usual post-game energy — glasses clinking, the kids that were awake and now over tired, playing hide and seek behind furniture. Voices and laughter almost like background music. Athletic and toned figures, blonde hair all perfectly coifed, stylish bags and designer clothing. The smell of perfume and popcorn equally converged.

Melanie and Brooke stood near one of the tall tables, half-listening to a conversations about getting past pregnancy brain, and others swapping schedules to meet for walks or lunches. The groups of women mostly talking between themselves. It wasn’t that they were being unkind but Melanie knew from experience it takes awhile to be accepted into the nucleus.

Brooke was already making plans with a few mutual friends that were at a nearby bar.

“Why don’t you and William come join us? He had a good night - he should be ready to celebrate a little, grab some drinks?” Brooke urged.

Melanie shook her head, smiling faintly, but sounding sullen. “I think I’m gonna skip. I’ve got a headache, and William’s probably beat. He has to walk the dogs anyway.”

Brooke gave her a look that said are you sure? but nodded anyway. “Text me if you change your mind.”

After Brooke said her goodbyes and departed, the room felt that much lonelier. The women nearby — Aryne (Tavares), Tessa (Virtue-Rielly), and a few others — were perfectly pleasant, all smiles that felt more practiced than not. Yet even in the show of friendliness, there was a distance that Melanie could sense.

Alice and Laurie stood a few feet away, their easy French chatter threading through the noise. Alice turned once, caught Melanie’s eye, and smiled — polite yes, but somehow…flat?

Laurie offered a soft nod of her own before turning back.

It shouldn’t have bothered her. But something about Alice’s composure — the way she carried herself — made Melanie’s stomach tighten. She couldn’t help picturing Loren standing beside her in this same room once, the two of them laughing together that exuded warmth and camaraderie, glowing in a way that made people want to be near them.

She focused on her half-empty flute instead, setting it down instead of finishing it. Get out of your head, she told herself.

When the doors finally opened and players began filtering in, her shoulders dropped a little in relief. William appeared not long after, showered and dressed, his collar unbuttoned, hair still damp at the ends.

He smiled when he spotted her, but he looked tired. Worn. Not like a guy who would want to go out for drinks despite his good plays during the game.

“Hey,” she said softly as he reached her.

“Hey,” he replied, quiet and tired, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Ready to go?”

She nodded, reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his as they made their way out. The white noise of traffic and the bowels of the building is all they heard stepping into to the parking garage. They didn’t speak, only the rhythmic clack of Melanie’s heels sounded against the smooth concrete.

The distance Melanie felt in the wives’ room seemed follow her out to the car, and it weighed heavily between them as he opened the passenger door for her.

She glanced at him as he slid into the driver’s seat, the scent of his cologne and soap from the post game shower soon eliciting a need between her thighs.

William smiled briefly at her before inching out towards the exit ramp and into downtown Toronto traffic.

The ride home was quiet at first. William flipped through a playlist, but music wasn’t doing anything for him. Melanie scrolled across different social apps, the flurry of comments of how insanely good he looked that nights were still rolling in.

He looked sophisticated, and focused in the photo, but next to her, the cockpit-like dashboard illuminating his expression, he just looked… far away.

“You played great tonight,” she said softly, breaking the silence.

He glanced at her with a half-smile. “Thanks.”

“That photo of you walking in — everyone’s losing their minds over it.” She smiled faintly, glancing sideways. “You should see the comments”

A pause. “Oh, yeah?”

She laughed under her breath, trying to sound casual. “I might have to escort you in myself….be your entourage.”

He chuckled, but only slightly. “Nah, you wouldn’t need to do that.”

“Maybe not,” she said, tapping the edge of her phone between her fingers. She paused before elaborating on her evening reintegrating with the WAGs. “It was…interesting….being back in the WAG suite. Nice to see a couple of familiar faces.” Melanie paused again. “Clearly others - like Simon’s girlfriend—Alice, right? Yeah, she’s not exactly a fan of yours….or mine.”

His jaw tensed but he didn’t answer. The rhythmic sound of his turn signal blinked in the background.

Her tone softened. “Do you think… if someone said something negative about me, you’d say anything back?”

William’s eyes stayed on the road. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” She turned toward him a little more. “Like if someone — Alice or whoever — started chirping me. Would you defend me? Or would you just do that thing where you act like it’s not happening—so things stay easy?”

He exhaled through his nose and leaned his head back against the headrest. “Mel—”

She remained locked in on his face. “I’m serious.”

He looked at her briefly before focusing forward again. “I don’t like arguing with people. It doesn’t help anything.”

Melanie laughed once — short, humorless. “Right. So that’s a no.”

More silence between them.

Finally he muttered, “You want me to pick fights with my teammates’ wives?”

“I want you to act like I matter more,” she said, the words sharper than she intended. “Like you’d stand up for me if someone said something shitty about me.”

He didn’t reply.

The traffic light ahead turned red, their faces illuminated through the windshield. William’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, veins prominent across the back of his hand. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

When the light turned green, he pressed the gas without looking her way. He didn’t need to, he felt her eyes fixed on him regardless. He sensed that the conversation was far from over.

Melanie looked back to her phone, and held the phone up, angling the screen so William could see his “Man in Black” photo. When he looked at himself, his expression was undiscernible. Ambivalence mixed with fake interest, forcing the smallest smile for Melanie’s sake.

“You know what they should do? They should let the WAGs walk in with their players - totally market the fashion between the partners. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

William nodded with a smile. “That’s a good idea, Mel.”

“You think?” She quirked her eyebrow as she bit the inside of her lip. “But you probably wouldn’t go for that, would you. You always removed yourself from any photos we ever took together…unless you’re more comfortable now with acknowledging that you’re in a relationship?”

William’s eyes remained fixed on the road. “Mel, I still like to keep my actual private life….private. It’s like a protective thing for you too. I don’t want anyone getting attacked or threatened or anything like that. You know how unhinged things got the last time…and the time before…,” William cautioned, his voice sounding soft yet exhausted.

“Funny how you let photos of you and her circulate - you didn’t seem to mind that,” Melanie retorted, not even trying to lessen the bite in her tone.

He exhaled, sounding more tense this time. “If you’re talking about the photo during 4 Nations — I didn’t post it and neither did she….someone else did. And, it turned into a bit of a circus which neither of us wanted.”

Melanie scoffed. “Oh right - she—a model no less—didn’t want the publicity of being connected to a star NHL’er at the inception of a premier sporting event. You can’t be that naïve, William.” She tilted her head in disbelief. “Tell me, did she get more gigs after that photo was posted? Isn’t that when she landed higher profile jobs over in Europe? She totally fucking cashed in from one strategic photo…and you’ll never convince me otherwise.”

William couldn’t help the irritation and sarcasm in his voice. “It’s not how it went, Mel…but yeah, you were there….you know how it all went down. Loren wanted to keep things private, end of story.”

Melanie swallowed, voice softening. “Okay, fine, William. I’m just saying… maybe it’s time people saw this—saw us. Not you removing yourself from every photo that gets posted of us. You didn’t do that with her so it’d be nice if I’d get the same from you this time around.”

William pulled into the garage, pulled into his spot and shifted into park. His voice was low but steady. “You want to be seen, Mel. I get it. But you’re not competing with her.”

She stared straight ahead. “Maybe I wouldn’t feel like I was if you didn’t act like she was still living in the back of your mind.” Melanie looked towards William, her expression vague. “We keep coming back to each other over and over again. It’s not by accident, William. We just fit….it’s just—it would be nice if there was more out there confirming what we are, and not feeling like we’re hiding it.”

He didn’t answer. The only sound was the soft click of his seatbelt releasing before he stepped out into the echoing space of the underground garage.

The subsequent elevator ride was quiet—Melanie blankly watching the digital numbers ascend, while William leaned against the wall, his head lowered and eyes fixed on the ground.

William followed her off the elevator and onto the marble tiles of the corridor, the clack of her boots ricocheting off the walls. Pablo and Banksy whimpered as the door lock clicked open and Melanie stepped in, rubbing the dogs ears, asking if they missed them as she unzipped her boots by the door.

William was grateful as always with being greeted by the most loving members of his family, Pablo and Banksy. Their tails thumped against the floor, their boundless unconditional love for him reverberating from their bodies. “Hey, boys,” he sighed as he knelt down and pressed his face into their fur.

After slipping off her boots at the door, Melanie’s purse landed onto the counter with a jangled thud.

She opened a cupboard and grabbed the thin stem of a crystal wine glass. “Want wine?” she hollered toward the bedroom where William had already retreated to get changed. She went ahead and poured herself a generous glass. The tone of her voice was steady - she made sure there wasn’t a whiff of harshness as she tried to shift the mood into a more friendly direction.

She heard William call back “No thanks”, his voice muffled as he pulled a hoodie over his head.

He stepped out back out dressed to take the dogs for their last walk of the night.

Melanie smiled when she saw him - whether he was dressed in a sleek black shirt or oversized hoodie, he always looked abnormally good. She sipped wine as she watched him slip on his runners. “Oh - Willy, before you go…I was thinking that we need to make a decision on Halloween costumes. I have ideas…like dynamic duo type of costumes…Clark Kent and Lois Lane, adventurers or like safari explorers….you look so good in brown! Oh! Batman and Catwoman….that one would be so great!”

William paused, a slight smile spread across his face. But his mind was wavering between the relief he felt with Melanie’s sudden change of subject versus the sharp conversation during their drive home.

So he followed his long established pattern when it came to relationship matters: swim with the current, avoid prolonging the argument and reestablished peace through avoidance.

With his hand on the handle of the door, he looked at Melanie waiting for his response. “I’m actually good with any of those - you can choose, Mel…just maybe something easy. The Clark Kent one sounds good. You’d make a great Lois,” he smiled. He opened the door and both dogs paraded out in front of him. “Be back soon.”

Melanie’s face flushed pink - half from William’s compliment and half from the wine. She refilled her wine glass with a little extra just before heading into the washroom to freshen up. She wanted to make sure that they had moved past their discussion in the car; she was working her ass of to sound over it, to the point of upbeat. After all, she knew a thing or two about how to diffuse a heated situation with William and her brand of TLC. She took another sip of wine and applied some lip gloss, before prepping the bed for William's return.

Several floors below, William stepped out into the night, the chill that had deepened by late October had him zipping his jacket up nearly to his beard. He walked in his usual direction, Pablo and Banksy both taking the lead because they, like William, liked their routine.

He kept on the main sidewalks, too cautious to venture down darkened park trails just before midnight, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket. Soon the memory of the drive home, with Melanie’s pronounced use of her when referring to Loren—the whole conversation had left him unsettled and deflated. He already knew there would be no use to try to explain what Loren was and wasn’t; Melanie’s narrative was playing loud and strong in her mind and he would have to bite his tongue once again.

But the flipside in that conversation was the way he felt even talking about Loren to Melanie. How even saying her name again, openly, felt like a pressure-relief valve for his insides, no matter if it was only for a split second.

But it wasn’t just the remarks Melanie made about Loren that had him feeling unsettled.

It was the way everything, for months **felt off-balance. Like every decision he makes these days costs him his peace. The equilibrium he craved seemed off. The harmony he once felt in his life diminished. He didn’t know how valuable it was until, of course, it was no more.

He turned down a quieter street, hands clenched deep in his pockets. The temperature dipped towards freezing, it wouldn’t be long before the snow came. The early darkness—the sun would be fully retreating by 5:00pm in the coming weeks. He glanced at the store front windows adorned with Blue Jays paraphernalia, orange lights, and skeletons.

He thought about the upcoming team Halloween party and how Melanie would make sure they were perfectly matching with whichever theme she chose.

It made him think back to last Halloween.

It was his first month with Loren after they were “official” in each other’s lives. He remembered lounging on her couch, her sitting across from him as she broke the news that wasn’t able to get time off work to attend the team's Halloween party. Though she couldn’t go, she couldn’t help dreaming about what they could dress up as. He remembered laughing at her off-kilter costume ideas that she rhymed off.

She was bound and determined to be something like Pumba, the Warthog from The Lion King while she thought William could be Simba, the Lion. He gave an emphatic thumbs down, while she mocked pouted and ensured him she might be the cutest warthog he’d ever seen.

She rifled off ideas - he Hercules and she, the Centaur. He, a lumberjack and she, his moose. But then her eyes went wide with an idea. She grabbed her phone and searched up “Swedish Fairy Tales” and low and behold:

Silverwhite, the hero in the story, and the Sea-troll.

She turned the phone around and watched William grin and begin laughing at the screen. His eyes then floated back to her, his expression adoring at first, then slightly more serious. The realization hit him square in the chest. The way her mind worked - creative, yes, but always thinking of special connections to him and his Swedish heritage.

“I’m seeing a pattern here…I’m…what—the good-looking version of whatever and you’re the….actually, I don’t even want to say it. You’re hardly….a warthog or a moose…or a—”, he chuckled, pausing before tickling behind her knee. “—a Sea-Troll.”

Loren had caught on to what he was thinking. “I’m like the charming side-kick. I just figured—it’s Halloween…I'd just have some fun with the dressing up part. Be a little different.”

William leaned toward her, his hands sliding under her legs, and pressed her back against the pillows.

She giggled as he kissed her, mumbling against his lips “Any of those ideas could totally lead to some interesting role playing….slay me, oh beautiful Swedish hero-guy....”

The memory was so vivid, William chuckled to himself out loud, barely even realizing it until his pace slowed to a stop. The dogs circled back and sat next to him, leaning against his calf. The memory of that moment….Loren blushing while saying she knows she’s fucking weird, them laughing as she covered her face. How they shared that warm, cozy evening carving pumpkins, lining up their creations her porch. How she roasted the pumpkin seeds for him and Alex, and made treats with whatever was left.

The way he could see them like this every year in the future; autumn nights, firelight, gingerbread scented candles, and the two of them wrapped around each other under thick covers.

And he turned his back on it all.

Will & Loren.

William’s tux fit flawlessly—designer label, sharp, immaculately pressed—but this wasn’t a gala. It was a wedding.

He recognized faces in the crowd—Joe Thornton laughing, Macklin Celebrini leaning back in his seat, Ryan Reaves and Tyler Toffoli stifling a grin. But his eyes snapped forward when suddenly everyone rose to stand.

Loren appeared, walking down the aisle in a halter gown that plunged low at the back, fabric flowing like water. Her smile was radiant, her eyes shimmering with tears as she smiled in his direction. William held his breath as Loren walked toward him.

She stood in her spot across from him, beautiful beyond reason, but her eyes never quite locked on his.

Out of nowhere, a figure shifted in front of him, blocking his view. Sandy blond hair, broad shoulders, similar height but leaner. His pulse pounded but his feet felt glued in place.

The man turned slightly, his face snapping into focus.

“Bro—you got the ring?”

William looked down. The ring box was in his palm. His hand moved against his will, extending it forward straight into the waiting hand of Will Smith, the young star of the San Jose Sharks.

William’s stomach dropped. His mouth opened but no words came.

When he looked up again, Loren wasn’t in her wedding gown anymore. She was glowing in cream silk, belly round with pregnancy, kissing Will Smith tenderly.

“I got the right Will this time,” her voice carried, sweet but damning.

Still deep in the dream, he squeezed his eyes shut, covered his face, but when he opened them again, he was no longer in a chapel.

Disoriented, he looked around at the strobe lights and lasers, while the bass pounded loudly—it was Stockholm, in the club he took Loren to the previous summer.

Loren was against the wall. William watched as the former hockey player-turned-actor, Simon Lööf, had both his hands gripping her hips, kissing her fervently like he was staking his claim.

Loren looked at Simon as they paused. She bit her lip and smirked at him, clearly wanting more of him.

William tried to shove through the crowd to try and get to Loren.

Somehow, Shane Pinto, from the Ottawa Senators, appeared next to Loren. She broke from Simon’s kiss to accept a drink from Shane. Her eyes floated between both men, her one hand still on Simon while she hooked her fingers into Shane’s waistband. She whispered something to one, and then something to the other. William pieced it together that she wasn’t choosing between them—she was inviting them both to take her home.

William knew it was a dream, but he couldn’t seem to wake up to stop it. Couldn’t stop the fear surging through him that she didn’t want him anymore.

She vanished just as William jolted awake, a short shout dying in his throat.

He blinked into the Toronto morning peeking through blackout curtains, sweat sticking his body to the sheets.

Beside him, Melanie stirred, mumbling in her sleep. He held still until her breathing evened out again.

A dream. A jarring, too-real dream.

The images wouldn’t fade: Loren in white, Loren pregnant, Loren in silk, but never looking at him. Always looking past.

He rubbed Banksy and Pablo as they pressed against him. “Bad dreams, boys,” he sighed, voice croaky.

He slid out of bed without disturbing Melanie and went to the washroom, closing the door after the dogs padded in.

William leaned on the vanity, head hanging. Since Milan in August—when Melanie had met up with him, Rasmus, and his partner Lisa—he’d almost become accustomed to the dull ache in his chest. For a while, with Melanie around, he hadn’t noticed it. They’d fallen back into old patterns, addressing some cracks but never quite fixing them.

But looking in the mirror now, the ache was back. He needed a maintenance day. He’d pushed hard in practice, felt some strains, and decided not to overexert himself in preseason. Still—something was nagging at him. Physically, mentally, emotionally…maybe all three.

He set out with the dogs, leaving Melanie lightly snoring in bed. They looped through a nearby park, Pablo steady at his side, Banksy a little ahead. William tried to let his mind go blank, though the mental reminder of his YouTube channel dropping later in the day kept circling back.

He knew it would blow up—fans would watch, the clips would circulate, X/Twitter would light up with gifs. His confidence was not cockiness, just certainty.

But the idea of the channel was never his alone.

Though Loren hadn’t relied on hers for income, she’d kept her French-language vlogs alive all year, even doing specials during modeling campaigns and at 4 Nations. William low-key loved them. He’d catch himself watching, noting the tiniest quirks—her hand gestures, her dual-meaning jokes, the warmth that seeped through her voice.

She’d inspired him. Seeing the care she put into the series, her creativity, and even some of her future ideas made feel like it was something unique. It made it easier for William to say yes when the idea was pitched to him and his chosen production crew started following him around.

He wondered, had they been together still, whether he and Loren could have done a short together in the offseason. Even her and Alex together and their dynamic, when they’d get to bantering back and forth. It would have been charming at the very least, if not downright comical in the best way.

Hours after his walk, with the new Nylander channel now titillating fans, William lay in bed still groggy from being awakened from his nap far too early. He rubbed his tired eyes, now even more red and bleary as he overheard Melanie’s playlist stream from the shower. A need had arisen in Melanie the second William’s online introduction hit all the social media sites, and as he slept, she slid on top of him grinding him awake from his nap. It wasn’t a bad way to wake up but with him feeling a little sore and banged up from practice, he could have used the rest. But, instead of brushing her off, he gave Melanie what she craved.

As he lay there, satisfied that the subscribers were subscribing, and the comments were positive, he floated around in the YouTube space for a little while longer.

Looking down his own subscribed list, he found Loren’s language vlog. He hesitated for a few moments but his curiosity got the better of him.

He rested his head on his pillow and propped up his tablet. The banner for her channel was a candid photo of her that he had taken as she smiled with a mix of shyness and demure only she could do. She loved the photo and decided to use it with the flags of both Quebec and France faint in the background.

William clicked on a thumbnail that was dated in late July. He really should have stopped himself there, close down the site and did anything else. The fear had crept into his mind that maybe his heart could not handle seeing her.

But he convinced himself that a glimpse wouldn’t hurt. It’d been months, and things feel okay with Melanie these days.

In the instant the video faded in however, with her smiling face filling the screen, William’s heart fell. If seeing her in that moment was difficult, hearing her make an already beautiful language sound like a song nearly ruined him. As he tapped the fast-forward button, it was apparent she was also trying her hand at speaking Italian too. Meant as encouragement, she explained to her viewers the method in which she learns a language: she finds joys in mastering the smallest most simple phrases. It could be a joke, or how to say “It’s a beautiful day”—anything really—and one could build on that.

William remembered her using the same method as she dove into learning Swedish with him.

He clicked on another clip. She was in Monaco for the Grand Prix. He had forgotten about her being there for a shoot. “Fuck” he muttered lowly. She was even allowed access right by the track he thought to himself.

She was beyond captivating wearing red and white. His eyes scanned her slender legs, then landed on the most sinful looking red stilettos while wearing a prim blouse and pleated shorts. Between her language tips for tourists during such a massively popular event, she managed to make fun of herself trying to navigate down stairs in the heels that she probably should have test driven first. She realized the slight pun and apologized for it being such a corny reference.

With her self-deprecating anecdotes, he could almost hear her talking to him. He could imagine how she’d sit in front of him rolling her eyes at herself over some clumsy move she made, or feeling like she said the wrong thing to someone important. She’d turn red, but really, she was dying to tell him the story just to make him laugh. His throat felt thick with all the memories that came flooding back.

But if the previous clips were the dagger at his heart, the last clip was the final plunge and twist that physically hurt.

He clicked on the clip and it was a video of her beautiful hand, in her beautiful scroll, handwriting a note in both French and English: Apologies but her vlog would be on hiatus until further notice.

William laid there still, as she wrote each word, her voice softly reading the note in the background.

It was cruelty that felt poetic. William was putting his life on display to show fans more about his life and Loren was firmly shuttering the windows of hers.

She once said to William that when she was away from him, it was as though she was out of sight, out of mind for him.

But now, she is nowhere to be found…and William just can’t stop thinking about her.

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The day after the channel launch, William was back at the rink. The media in the post practice scrum asked him everything about his vlog project and he answered each question openly while remaining between the guardrails of the Leafs PR machine.

Earlier during practice, he kept his head up through drills, maneuvering with such precision while shoving off defenders at a high rate of speed. He had been mastering the use of a well placed elbow and he was only getting better at it.

Later, in the locker room and feeling pretty good about practice overall, he caught the cadence of Quebec French drifting over from across the room. Simon Benoit and Nicolas Roy were at their stalls, leaning toward each other. He only caught fragments of their conversation—francophones… pas beaucoup ici… before Simon’s voice dropped lower. He said a name William hadn’t expected to hear in this space.

Loren.

William froze for a moment. His pulse picked up, beating in his neck, as he leaned over his skates.

He hesitated as he was bent over staring at his laces, pretending to stretch to loosen them more.

In William’s mind, he told himself to just ignore the name drop.

But he sometimes doesn’t listen to himself.

Trying to sound casual, William raised his voice across the room.

“Hey, Benny—uh… how’s she doing?”

The words hung heavy. Simon’s head turned slowly, eyes fixed and cool on William’s expression just enough to make him feel exposed. Nik glanced between them once before quickly muttering something about needing tape and he disappeared out of the room.

Simon wiped his hands on a towel, still quiet, then finally answered in a flat tone. “She’s managing.”

That was it. No smile, no shrug. Just a clipped response before he turned back to his cubby.

William swallowed, his chest tight. He knew that tone—it was the polite wall teammates put up when they wanted to try and keep the team equilibrium harmonious.

All Simon was thinking though was Why do you even care?

William read the tone loud and clear, but he couldn’t stop himself. He stood, closing the gap between them, voice lower now. “Simon… come on. Please man. Look, just… tell me if she’s okay.”

Simon didn’t look up. He tucked supplies into his bag, his temple pulsing from his jaw. “Alice is the one who talks to her,” he said finally. “But not lately.”

That made William’s stomach clench. “Not lately?”

Simon exhaled through his nose, still not meeting his eyes. “Well, maybe you don’t know about this but she’s in Costa Rica right now with her parents. All Alice told me was there was an earthquake down there and it was a big one.” Simon finished packing his bag and stood up, looking at William. “Alice just hasn’t heard from her - there’s been a lot shit weather, bad rains and stuff. Don’t think they have power, no cell service….” His voice stayed matter-of-fact, but there was an edge beneath it. “But whenever Alice does talk to her, she goes into the other room anyway. So honestly, I know about as much as you do..”

The words stung. William opened his mouth, closed it again. Simon slid his feet into his slides, the conversation already over in his mind. He gave William one quick look, unreadable, before walking off toward the showers.

William stood frozen in the expanse of the locker room, the sound of laughter, music, tape ripping, and showers running in the background. His head started to hurt, Simon’s flat tone with his words echoing over and over.

The second he was back in his condo, he had his phone in his hand, fingers flying. He searched “Costa Rica earthquake 2025,” his eyes flitting from other headlines from earlier that year. Different seismic activity, lesser scale but still seemingly very common, especially near the region she was in. But it’s the most recent headline that shook him. Costa Rica experiences 7.8 earthquake near the north Pacific Ocean. Aftershocks. Tsunami warnings. Heavy Rains and landslides. A family home was engulfed by a landslide.

He stared at the screen, blood drained from his face, coldness spreading through his limbs.

For the first time in weeks, the worry for her rang louder than any of his guilt or distractions.

Her name was still in his contacts, and without a second thought, he called her. The only thing he heard was dead air before a series of high pitched beeps indicating an incomplete call.

He pulled up their message exchanges. He couldn’t bear to look at the ones she sent to him that he had barely responded to. He went further back. A momentary chuckle as he read through previous messages, when he was more attentive and responsive. Texts filled with flirtations that lead into explicit content. Playful messages when they were at a team get together but sat apart.

He shook his head and pulled himself back to the present, quickly typing “Please let me know if you and your parents are safe.”

He pressed send and waited. Eventually, a red exclamation point appeared with “Not Delivered”.

He tried again. A shorter message this time. The red exclamation point appeared once again.

He thought about messaging Benny (Simon Benoit), but the air was tense between them in the locker room and he didn’t want to push it. Still. Benny had to understand that him wanting to know if Loren’s okay is more life and death than just trying to pump him for information on her. Thankfully, Benny agreed to let William know the minute he hears anything about Loren.

Until then, it would be the worst kind of waiting game.

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When early September came and William was back in the city, the story of how Melanie and William resurrected their relationship was very simple.

Aside from sleeping together in Milan back in August, it all started with one confused text from William before Leafs Media Day.

Da fuq is Team Conrad and Team Jeremiah?

Melanie’s response was immediate: Invite me over and I’ll walk you through The Summer I Turned Pretty.

From there, it was casual—streaming shows, ordering in, slipping back into a rhythm that felt familiar. But casual soon turned into comfort, and comfort into sleepovers that turned into whole stretches of days. By the time the season opener had arrived, Melanie was in the condo often enough that her presence stopped feeling like a guest. Her jackets hung on the hooks by the door, bras and lingerie appeared in a dresser drawer.

At first, it all felt easy. The nights in Milan seamlessly transitioned into their nights in Toronto. Dinners full of nostalgic anecdotes, inside jokes, binge watching series, hanging out with mutual friends.

But as Melanie’s presence became less like a guest and more of a full-time resident, the balance in the harmonious ecosystem that William and Alex created felt off kilter. The changes weren’t huge changes all at once but more invisible shifts that seemed to stack up like blocks over time.

Melanie had a different idea of what was aesthetically pleasing than Alex, so he was the first to really notice. Food and supplements had been moved and rearranged. Alex would bite his tongue and would move them back to their original spot. Over time though, there would be another infraction. Suddenly, he noticed his hoodies where he’d hang by the front door would be tossed haphazardly onto his bed. He’d shake his head and mutter profanities.

But it wasn’t until he had to pack for a road trip that shit hit the fan so to speak. He had a specific outfit in mind, one he had just bought that cost a small fortune. But as he tried to pack for the road, his pants, jacket that he had left air drying in the laundry room were now gone. Somehow, so were his sneakers that he had left in the front foyer.

Frustrated and pissed, Alex stormed around the condo trying to find the clothing he planned for. With William on the road and Melanie returning to her own place, the place was empty. With him running late and no one around to ask, Alex finally relented and grabbed whatever was close by, threw everything into his luggage and flew out the door. He barely made it to the team bus on time.

It seems William had just unpacked at his hotel and sent Alex a picture with a message in Swedish:

These yours?

As it were, Melanie had wanted to help William pack and grabbed Alex’s clothing from the laundry room. William could sort of see the how’s and why’s of how it happened but he couldn’t shake that there was a hint of something else. It was as though she just picked up where she left off with him years ago, back in the days where Alex DIDN’T live with him.

But from Alex’s perspective, things were starting to bother him. Not asking about which articles of clothing belonged to him. Honest mistake? Maybe. But had it not been for the other seemingly inconsequential things, Alex may have felt a touch more forgiving than he did in that moment.

Alex just chose to respond, sounding a bit sour: Yep. Just don’t ruin them.

When he came back from the road trip and replayed what had happened with his clothes, he didn’t make a scene with William. He leaned against the doorframe, teasingly gave him shit at first and then tried to make sense of his stuff being moved - removed - or whatever the case was.

“Why though?” he asked finally, voice even. “Like… what makes her think she needs to move my stuff at all? She’s got her own place to mess with her own things.”

William scratched at his stubble, a little annoyed and a little uncomfortable. “She was just trying to help.” The words came out more defensive than he intended, thin even to his own ears.

Alex shook his head. “If she wants to reorganize, fine. But she can do it with your stuff. Not mine.”

William sighed through his nose. He knew Alex was right, but the thought of redirecting Melanie - it was a battle he could do without. Still, later that night, he brought it up gently to her while they were brushing their teeth.

Melanie’s reaction was quick, a smile that seemed forced. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Her tone was light, but there was thin, sharp edge to it. The faintest irritated tone beneath it, as if it was a criticism as opposed to a mere request. “Do you want me to apologize to Alex?”

William shook his head. “Nah - it’s not really necessary. But yeah - thanks for uh…understanding.”

She nodded sweetly, kissing his shoulder as though the tension had never happened. For the rest of the evening she was doting — curling against him on the couch, laughing easily, giving him sweet reassurances as she teased him about how hairy he’s gotten over the years.

William found himself feeling guilty for assuming the worst about her. People can absolutely change.

But after their discussion, Alex noticed the shift. It wasn’t blatant, nothing you could point out and say “right there - that tone…it’s not normal”.

Alex clocked the passiveness of Melanie. When she was at the condo, it was a lack of greeting when Alex came in the door. Flat or cutting answers to his casual questions. A somewhat-hidden-but-not-quite eye-roll when she thought William wasn’t looking and Alex made a joke.

Still, Alex tried not to say much - this was William’s condo. And he tried to see that there were still moments on both sides of the coin. Good, easy moments. When it looked like everything on the surface seemed smooth. When it almost felt warm again, comfortable even. When William almost felt at ease.

But then something—anything—could happen and immediately, the equilibrium was off. The whole atmosphere in the condo would change, and both brothers could feel it.

A mechanism William learned early in life was to silo challenges, so that one petty or small issue didn’t bleed into another. He chose not to focus on small or petty issues.

It was going to be a massive year career-wise for him. The Olympics in February, where he was most certainly going to play for Sweden.

Another year in his prime on the Toronto Maple Leafs, where he would continue to be relied upon as a leader on the team. His stock as a true sports celebrity continued to rise.

And as always, the quest for the Stanley Cup, though that was still many months away.

With Alex secured to the Marlies for another season and William’s play looking strong, he and Melanie set out to navigate their personal relationship and his career.

Besides, this was not their first rodeo together.

Familiarity and comfort is exactly what William felt he needed going forward.

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though the season was barely underway, William’s star was brighter than ever. The second season of Prime’s Face-Off had dropped, and the clips were everywhere. His interviews went viral, gifs made the rounds on Tumblr and Twitter, and even during the media scrums, the line of questioning seemed to be less hockey and more personal.

One interview that was going a little more viral was with a beautiful sports correspondent who was assigned to cover the Maple Leafs. During one such interaction, the broadcaster smiled, leaning close to her mic, and then towards him. “William, you’re my pick for the Conn Smythe this year. You’re going to be the one who finally brings the Cup back to Toronto.”

Melanie watched on her phone for the third time as she scoffed. She nudged William as he sat next to her scrolling through the movie menu. “She’s so obvious. It’s embarrassing—she totally wants to fuck you.”

William barely glanced at the phone screen before looking back at the television. “Mel, she’s just doing her job.”

Melanie’s voice was laden with sarcasm. “I’ll bet…probably has dirt marks on her knees from just doing her ‘job’….”

William pressed his lips together, jaw working, but he let the comment die there.

However, Melanie just couldn’t leave it alone. She had to strike once more, just to ensure William was reading her loud and clear.

She mocked the broadcaster: “Ooooooh….William Nylander is my first choice for the Conn Smythe, after he brings the Cup back to Toronto. Yeah…okay…”

William rolled his eyes and chuckled while shaking his head. Melanie prattled on, leaning her head onto the back of the couch, in mock exasperation.

He wasn’t sure if the purpose of her comments were to mock the broadcaster or if she was mocking him a little too. Almost as though she felt he could never be a Conn Smythe winner or help the Leafs win the Cup.

William filed it away. Can’t be bothered worrying about it he thought. Got bigger things to worry about than some bullshit remark from anyone.

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A few nights later, Melanie insisted on taking him out for dinner. She was sweet all day leading up to it, curling into his side, showing him outfits to choose between. But at the restaurant, when a group of fans approached their table, William saw her smile tighten.

“Sorry—sorry to interrupt,” one of them said, giddy. “We just wanted to say hi. I actually met you last year at the Night with the Blue and White!” she added brightly, not even glancing at Melanie.

William handled it gracefully, shaking hands, snapping a quick photo. He didn’t notice Melanie’s silence until they left.

The air over the table cooled after that. She picked at her food, made a few surface comments, but her irritation simmered beneath every word.

Then the bill arrived.

The server placed it between them, leather folder shut. Melanie looked at it, then at William, and stayed quiet. Her fork clinked as she pushed her plate aside.

William lifted the folder, slid his card inside, and handed it back without a word.

The ride home was silent until she broke it. “You know what, Willy? You don’t get how hard this is. She was practically drooling over you and never even acknowledged I was sitting right there.”

William exhaled, fingers tightening on the wheel. “Mel, look. I know it’s hard but people get excited, that’s all. I don’t think they’re trying to be rude.”

She wasn’t convinced. The argument simmered, her typical barbed comments about his conduct with her in public which then led into accusations about his online conduct, who he might be DM’ing. How much he loved all the attention, even if he claimed not to.

By the time they got back to the condo, the tension between them was brittle. William walked straight into his room, almost yanking at his collar like the shirt itself was strangling him.

Melanie veered off into living room. He could hear the popping sound from the keyboard of her phone as she texted furiously to someone.

As he pulled his shirt off and whipped it toward the hamper, he stepped backwards, knocking over two stacked boxes. This first he picked had weight to it, and being from a merch company, he just slid it aside.

The second one, he frowned as he crouched to pick it up. The label showed a ship date in July, and a return address from town that Loren lived in. Where her house was but she was no longer.

The sender: the last name wasn't exactly familiar but he began to piece it together when he saw the first initial was K.

Wait - Kathy? From Loren's friend?

He carried it over to a bare corner of the closet and slid down the wall with the box in his lap. His pulse spiked as though he knew that there was more finality of their broken relationship inside.

His chest tightened because the very second he peeled back the tape, the faint scent of Loren wrapped around him.

He exhaled and tried to calm himself as he opened each cardboard flap. Inside were carefully packed hoodies, dog bowls, custom sneakers—things he’d left behind at her house.

He stared at the contents. More of her subtle fragrance filled the space, as though she was sitting cross legged next to him, leaving soft kisses on his shoulder. She would whisper his name with a smile when she was filled with so much love and gratitude that William was the one word she could think to say.

The memory of her soft voice rang in his ears.

He didn’t want to take anything out of the box. Doing so would mean acknowledging what he’d avoided all along — she was gone, and he was the reason.

He shook his head and sighed before finally removing each layer. Memories flooded back of him or her wearing these things around her house. His brows furrowed and his lips pursed, showing every iota of sadness and regret.

At the very bottom of the cardboard box sat two perfectly wrapped boxes, both in black lacquer gift wrap and black satin ribbon. Both packages had cards affixed to them.

He could feel his eyes begin to prickle. He knew whatever she had bought him would be just too good. Too generous. Too thoughtful. Too kind.

Too everything.

He sat with his hands pressed into his eye sockets, wetness seeped out from the corners. He released a wounded groan before reaching in for the first parcel.

Slipped between the juncture of the crisscrossed ribbon, was a piece of cream cardstock paper folded in three. The edges of the paper shook slightly as he read Loren’s note in her impossibly neat handwriting.

“I wanted to get you more for your birthday (or maybe it’s just an excuse to treat you to something…a bit more…a bit different 😉). Inside this box is an experiment - whether this could make the hottest man on the planet…even hotter…”

He gently tore the wrapping paper and inside was a glossy black shirt box with the name of a famous Italian clothing brand. Lifting the lid, William’s eyes fell upon a button down shirt, almost custom made for only him in luxurious black fabric. He ran his fingers over the collar and in his attempt to lift the shirt out, the material almost felt like water passing through his fingers.

She literally had bought for him and questioned whether it would pass the test in making him….hotter. Because in her mind, she was doubtful that anything else could.

His head tipped back against the wall. She, for some reason, thought she needed to do more than what she already had done for his birthday. She arranged an in-home Swedish massage. A full smorgasbord of Swedish cuisine cooked by a local Swedish chef. And then finally, small diamond crusted hoops with an emerald for his birthstone. She fucking spoiled him and included Alex every step of the way (except for the afternoon sex of course).

Generosity was as natural as breathing to Loren. It was genuine and straight from the heart, but she also had admitted, rather shyly and half-jokingly, that she overdid it sometimes too.

Which is why when William looked back down into the box and saw the other black lacquer package, he didn’t know if he could withstand what was waiting for him.

He lifted the second box out, which had be wrapped as immaculately as the first. There was another note slipped between the ribbons of this package as well.

He read the words but stopped midway through from tears that blurred his vision.

“I thought of you every second of every day. I love you. —L.”

There was a lipstick kiss pressed beside the signature.

William whispered, “Fuck,” trying to hold his emotions back, his nose starting to run.

His eyes welled as he tore the wrapping paper, just willing the pain to be over.

When he saw the BVLGARI name on the box, a fresh wave of regret crashed into him. Inside, the black matte face of the Octo Finissimo ref. 103297 gleamed up at him—sleek and beautifully crafted.

The grief hit like being buried alive.

He pressed the kissed note to his chest. He could picture her writing I love you with that soft smile she had—excited, proud, hoping that he’d love it. She’d finally let herself splurge, not to impress him, but because giving made her happy. Especially to William.

When she cooked, it was so he’d feel looked after. When she brought something for Alex too, it wasn’t performative—it was her way of respecting the people he loved.

She’d once confessed her insecurities—wondering if she was enough, why he’d chosen her. But holding the watch now, he finally saw the truth: her generosity was never about proving worth. It was instinct, residing deep in her bones.

And he’d squandered it. Traded her devotion for old, hollow habits. Now all he felt was the gnawing ache of what he’d broken.

He stared at the lip print beside her initial. He couldn’t swallow down the lump in his throat. The note slipped from his lap as he buried his face in his hands.

“It wasn’t all bad, was it, Lor?” he mumbled into the quiet

He kept his eyes covered with his hands, his head propped up by his elbows resting on his thighs. He tried to imagine - what would she say if she was sitting there next to him?

She’d tell him all of the amazing things that she felt just by knowing him. All the support he gave her when she would worry about trying something unknown. The confidence to show her more risqué side. That she knew that he loved her very much.

Maybe she would take his hand, kiss his knuckles and speak carefully like she would when she had to tell him something difficult, while trying to soften the sting.

She would tell him that right or wrong, good or bad, that for him and his life right then—in that moment—she wasn’t what he wanted. It had become devastatingly clear to her.

The truth still sat with him like ill-fitting clothing that he wanted to rip off his body.

He wished she was sitting there with him. He would make her understand that it wasn’t he didn’t want her, or love her, or need her to be his future. He lost sight of what he had and without realizing it, he did everything he could to damage it towards the end.

“Willy?” Melanie’s voice startled William, making him jump and shattering the spell he was under. “Pablo’s whining - he needs to go out. And we need to talk.”

He closed the watch box, gathered the items and the note, placed them carefully back inside, and slid it aside. Those few minutes imagining her there loosened the strangled feeling he had. It was oddly comforting.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and tried to collect himself before stepping out of the closet and into the living room. Pablo and Banksy both rushed towards him.

Melanie remained on the couch and turned when she heard him. It surprised her that for a fleeting second, her first thought wasn’t concern but how different he looked—eyes rimmed red, the scruff down his neck looked unkempt. He looked fatigued—not the same bright blue eyed blonde that she loved to show off.

He looked…older.

“Hey,” she said quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice came out low, scratchy. “Just needed a few minutes.”

He whistled for the dogs. Banksy and Pablo trotted over instantly, tails thumping.

“I’ll stay here, if that’s okay. Warm up the bed for you, okay?”

William nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

He walked towards the door and she watched him noticing his shoulders hunched. The dogs trotted eagerly ahead of him.

For a moment she felt something like sympathy. Poor thing—he really was trying. Maybe the fight earlier had shaken him more than she realized.

She padded toward the bedroom, undressing as she decided how to make him feel lighter when he got back.

━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆━

December, 2025.

Fuck.

The first First Response® stick showed two pink lines — one faint, one strong.

The Clearblue® test spelled it out clearly: Pregnant. 5–6 weeks.

The second First Response® test matched the first, both lines now solid, hot pink.

Melanie sat on the closed lid of the toilet, staring at the trio of tests lined up on the counter. Three confirmations of a situation that she wasn’t exactly anticipating.

Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears.

She’d switched birth control methods in October. When her doctor warned her about a lapse in protection, Melanie tuned out the obvious and didn’t fully heed all the cautions that were rhymed off. She had asked William to use condoms for awhile “just to be safe”….but here she was. Clearblue confirmed…pregnant.

She had secretly dreamed of this moment, and wanted to feel everything to the fullest—excitement, anticipation, joy. The typical emotions were all there, but lingering in her mind were pangs of fear and anxiety as well.

Lately, when she and William were together, it had felt….quiet, and it was the kind of quiet that did not exude peace. Tension would suddenly flare up between them, and oftentimes, it over something that seemed innocuous on the outside. It could be anything—William giving a quiet response instead of laughter, him choosing take-out over restaurants for longer stretches of time. Even after a long round of sex, Melanie would lay there happy and sated, and William would quietly excuse himself and get out of bed. He’d offer her a drink or something to eat but even the most satisfied, exhilarated chuckle coming from Melanie would be met with almost despondence from him.

She chalked it down to the flat out bad start to the season. It was almost at the quarter mark of the 82 game stint, and by this marker, despite his point production, William had already been called out by his coach and his goalie. There were injuries down the lineup, and his own injury that uncharacteristically prevented him from playing, or modified his ice time.

Despite the team feeling “positive”, there were blown leads. Overtime losses.

William even admitted to his own mistakes in the media.

There were even montages posted in social media of the many faces of total frustration from their bench boss, Craig Berube.

It felt like a mess. William had said it himself: some performances were unacceptable. The feeling in the room is they know they can play better than what they’ve shown. The only question left to ask is “will they”?

Still, Melanie was accustomed to this; these ebbs and flows in the season. Though on and off, she had been with William for a long time. She had seen the constant criticism, and could see how he had been negatively perceived in the media long ago. But, after years of showing more consistent flashes of brilliance, he had managed to perform his way out of the Leaf Nation proverbial dog house….for the most part anyway.

Melanie knew William could do it again-show his skill level and play a more complete game—if only he could figure out a way to grab the game by the balls and get the team in the win column.

So as William packed quietly for the longer stretch that would lead into December, Melanie came up behind him, slid her arms around his waist and pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades.

“Need any help?” she murmured against his shirt.

William leaned his head back, exhaling breath that he had been unknowingly holding in his lungs. “I’m good, Mel…thanks though.” He smoothed his hands along her forearm. He liked her tender side, and appreciated her sudden warmth.

“I can’t believe it will be December when you get back. Then it’ll be Christmas…,” Melanie continued softly. “I can start decorating while you’re away…you can come home to a full fledged Christmas card scene in your place.”

William could feel her smiling against his shoulder muscles which actually helped ease some of the tension he was carrying.

Melanie continued. “Yeah…it’s good you’ve got a longer road trip….more bonding with the boys. Just hope it helps you win a few games.” She slid her hands up and rubbed his neck.

William nodded. “Yeah, it’ll be good for sure.”

“Get you back playing with some interest maybe too….,” Melanie said, almost purring.

Whatever tension William had released, it started to come back with that one remark.

And in some sort of absent-minded stream of consciousness, Melanie just kept going.

“I know you don’t care what the media or fans think but….I mean, William…you can’t go multiple games with ZERO shots on net….”

William’s hands stopped on her waist.

He just… went still.

“With Auston gone, you have to drive that line, right? You’re a leader on the team….you need to lead, not try and keep trying to cheat to get offense.” Melanie’s voice was soft and calm but the words landed like a thousand pin pricks.

Cheat to get offense?

He recognized that phrase came from the thousands of armchair analysts and keyboard warriors that flooded social media on every game day.

“I’m trying Mel - I’ve got to stay positive….I know we’ll turn this around.” William himself could hear the Leafs PR polish in his response.

He almost expected to hear a scoff as a response from Melanie, but only silence followed.

Though she felt the tightness in William’s stance, Melanie could not stop herself from landing a final punch. “Just don’t go too wild on your off-days…I know you’ve got your old favorite Floridians…Montreal’ers, probably a few others in your phone, right?”

It was confusing to William how Melanie could be showing affection AND flirting with accusations at the same time.

William spoke softly. “Mel - I’m not hooking up with anyone on the road, if that’s what you’re meaning…”

The scoff he anticipated from Melanie a few moments earlier, finally arrived.

William’s hands dropped in defeat. “I should finish packing.”

Melanie kissed him again between his shoulder blades. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings…I was just being honest.”

William paused before speaking. “All good, Mel…it gave me stuff to think about.”

Her hands smoothed down his biceps. “You finish up and I’ll find us something to watch…or not watch…depending,” she purred. “Take advantage of Alex not being home.” She kissed him - lightly at first, but then a longer, more sensual kiss followed.

And there it was—the old pattern. Words that don’t sit right, that sometimes sting —or worse, cut—dismissed and swept under the rug. Underlying tension had become the norm. William was a pro at masking how he felt in so many situations, it was like a second layer of skin that he now relied upon.

William left for his road trip the following day.

As usual, the distance diffused the situation just enough. It didn’t take much—a flirty text, or a racy Snap between them would make everything feel looser, like they were back to normal. It had been their dynamic for years, and lately, more of their peace relied on distance and well-timed video calls and messages to ease the mood. Both would then silently resolve to be someone better once they were back together again.

Standing in the bathroom of her condo, looking at three tests that sealed their future together, Melanie began to worry that the only time she and William ever felt aligned was when they were separated by thousands of miles. That the only time their relationship felt remotely solid was through a screen.

Earlier that week she’d even Googled it: Is it normal to get along better over text than in person?

One article said it could actually be a good sign, something about having “more time to process emotions before responding,” and Melanie took that result and filed it in her mind as absolute truth.

Phew. What a relief, she had thought then.

But in the mirror now, the words didn’t feel as comforting.

Melanie smoothed a hand over the flat plane of her abdomen.

A baby — William’s baby — was growing inside her.

She shook her head in quiet disbelief.

The fact that it was her, and not Loren, standing here pregnant…

That wasn’t the way she imagined 2025 would end.

It wasn’t that long ago—just at the beginning of that year—that the gossip vine was buzzing that William had been seeing someone new. Someone different. Someone he seemed to break his typical relationship patterns and routines for.

She’d heard about Loren through one of her usual channels — mutual friends she shared with William in and around the city. She scoffed and rolled her eyes when she heard the new girl was also a brunette. Her sources mentioned Loren and William met at some charity event.

Of course they met at a “charity event”, Melanie thought then. The charity is probably the girl.

So Melanie waited and watched for any blips of this girl being openly connected to William. She would remind herself not to react in case any photos appeared that would soft, hard, or even mildly-launch their relationship.

But weeks turned to months, and William seemingly kept the new girl in the same confines that he’d always used to protect his private life.

No tags. No posts. No public confirmation.

When asked about his love life, he gave the same shrugging smile. Single. Just hockey right now.

Melanie took that as proof. So this one isn’t special either.

Until February 2025.

A fan posted a candid photo from 4 Nations — William and Loren laughing with another Swedish player and his partner. His hands were resting on Loren’s hips—lovingly possessive, and unmistakably affectionate. The look between them was warmth, and complete ease.

They looked genuine.

Melanie’s stomach dropped, and her knee-jerk reaction was to take a screenshot of the picture. It suddenly hit her in ways she wasn’t proud of. She was pissed. Scorned some might say. After all, she was the one who had put in all the time, all the effort with him and his life, and she should be the one standing there with his hands around her.

That’s when she decided to test the waters, and sent her first “congratulatory” message to William along with the screenshot.

M: Awh, she’s cute, Willy.

Then another.

M: The hair colour I get — you’re such a sucker for a pretty brunette… but the rest of her? I’m… surprised? She’s your type?

She half-expected him to shut her down. To defend the girl.

He didn’t.

And that silence told her everything she needed to hear — or rather, everything she wanted to believe: there were no set boundaries — communication was still welcome, keeping the door open between them.

She remembered how her stomach sat in that deep pit of jealousy.

Melanie quietly studied the photo and compared herself inch for inch — from Loren’s beautiful smile, to her eyelashes to her lips and hips — she found herself desperate to locate flaws that would make her feel better about William seeing someone new.

She sent more comments — backhanded compliments positioned as playful if he called her out. She just couldn’t help herself.

Because William was that person for her — the one who reached into the deepest parts of her. The one who brought out instincts she wasn’t proud of. The one person she wanted to win.

But none of that matters now.

Because whether or not they were ready, there was a cluster of cells forming deep inside her.

The baby was unplanned but maybe it was the universe saying loud and clear — you two belong together. You two are destined to be this baby’s parents.

They could make this work.

—

William opened the door to yet another room, in another city—which he momentarily forgot which one. Another home away from home.

He tossed his bag like he always did on the adjacent queen bed and the sigh he released sounded impatient and frustrated, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

Usually being on the road helped cure ailments within the team, and sadly by this point in the schedule, their record indicated more help was needed. And with William being one of the veterans on the team, the pressure was mounting for him to lead this team by example.

William was designed for a specific kind of pressure. It used to be that if the coach wanted to send a message after a careless play and diminish his minutes, William would seize an opportunity the next shift and either score or set up a brilliant play that undeniably would help the team win.

That just hasn’t happened that much this season - if at all. And he could sense the reporters in every scrum circling around the question, but never asking it outright, of what the hell’s wrong with this team?

He knew they also wanted to ask what was going on with him, and he’d give his signature PR response with his signature smile and it would be dropped…at least until the next media availability.

He smoothed his hand along the underside of his beard scratching the trail that had grown down his neck. The curled hairs felt coarse—almost like pin pricks against his fingertips; he hadn’t even fully realized how big and unruly his beard had become.

Because there were still several hours before the now mandatory team dinner, William knew he would sleep most of that away. But beforehand, he decided on a piping hot bath to try and subdue the ache and quiet the noise inside of his mind and body.

The room offered a generous sized tub, deep and long enough to allow his legs to stretch out fully. The hot water tap squeaked as he turned it as far as it would go, the stream of almost too hot water roaring from the ample water pressure. He gave the cold tap a few turns and stripped out of his clothes, dumping them outside of the bathroom door.

As he stepped into the tub water that had the faintest tinge of turquoise, he sucked in air through his clenched teeth, his body reacting to the temperature of the water.

After turning the jets on, he leaned back gingerly and slowly slid down until the surface of the water bubbled around his earlobes. Between the hum of the bathroom fan and the that water that bubbled and swirled around his lips, William’s thoughts finally paused with the white noise that surrounded him.

He felt his eyes getting heavier as his body loosened from the invisible tension he’d been carrying for far too long.

When falling asleep seemed to threaten, and with his nose just above the water’s surface, William slowly lifted his aching body out of the tub. He dried himself off with the thick terry towel and rummaged around in his toiletry bag for his toothbrush, toothpaste and some KT tape for his shoulder and bicep. He wiped off a large streak of condensation from the mirror with his forearm, and assessed his unruly beard, which felt dry and his skin underneath itched as a result. He poked around inside of his bag looking for a moisturizer of some kind but couldn’t find the jar that he normally carried with him.

Bastard he thought. Alex must have grabbed it and never put it back.

He stuck his hands back into the pouch and felt around more before accusing anyone of anything. It could have been Melanie that took it for all he knew.

In the corner of the bag, he felt a small bottle. He fished it out and the stout container rolled in his palm. It was a small amber glass vial of Le Labo Beard Oil. A beard oil that Loren had bought for him months ago.

The muscles in his stomach reacted first. Then the carotid pulse in his neck quickened.

But it was when he opened it and poured a few drops into his palm that the memory slammed into him — the exact moment Loren had given him this brand of oil. It wasn’t inexpensive; nothing she chose for him ever was. If it touched his skin, it had to be better than average.

He began working the oil through the dense, coarse hair along his jawline, trying not to remember her.

Or worse — trying not to remember what she did with that oil after she gave it to him.

Bergamot. Lavender. Tonka bean — whatever the hell that even was.

The scent bloomed in the small bathroom, warm and familiar and painfully gentle.

It transported him straight back to his condo, now ages ago, to Loren curled on the couch scrolling through her phone.

✦ ✦ ✦

She had her earbuds in and didn’t hear him come in. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the way she smirked at whatever she was looking at.

God, she’s beautiful, he’d thought.

He walked toward her and her eyes brightened immediately, her smile softening the entire room.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“What’s got you smiling like that?”

Loren angled the screen toward him.

“You. You and your many beards over the years.”

William chuckled, shaking his head as he rounded the couch.

He tapped her hip lightly, a wordless ask for her to scooch forward.

He settled behind her, pulling her back against his chest, smoothing her hair to one side so he could ravage that spot on her neck he loved.

She pulled up old Toronto Marlies media scrums — footage from nearly ten years ago.

“William…look at this. You were barely 20 here.”

He paused mid-kiss and looked.

“God, I’ve gotten old.”

Loren squeezed his thigh, gentle but firm.

“All you’ve done is perfect perfection. So shush.”

His laugh vibrated against her shoulder.

“That was what…maybe a day or two of growth?” she said, zooming in with a dramatic grin. “Most men in their forties can barely manage this — and it doesn’t look even half as good.”

She kept scrolling, then stopped.

“This one,” she said softly, adoringly, and biting her lip. “This one is one of my favorites. Like a Swedish lumberjack.”

She leaned her head back on his shoulder, shaking her head with the smallest click of her tongue—a subtle show of her disbelief in his beauty.

Her voice dropped, warm and sinful.

“I said god damn…” she murmured. “God. Damn.”

She laid the phone screen down against her chest, holding it against her heart, crushing on him right in front of his eyes.

She turned slightly to look at the impressive pelt that he had grown on his face, gently stroking the curled, coarse hairs. “Don’t take this like I don’t love you cycling through the entire evolution of facial hair, but I really do love it when you let it grow like this.

William smirked. “It’s not too wild for you?”

Loren couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across her mouth. “I love wild, especially on you.”

She shifted slightly and caressed the veins in his hands that he had planted along her ribcage. “So, I got something that I wanted to try….”

William’s embrace became a little tighter. “Oh yeah? You’ve got something for me?” His tone was soft and playful as he pressed his lips against her hair.

“It’s a beard oil…it’s meant to keep your skin from being irritated and itchy….it’s good for the beard hair too. Keeps it conditioned.”

William started to thank her but Loren wasn’t done.

“—and I really would like to be the one to massage it in…while you relax after a hot towel.”

William paused.

Loren paused, sliding her hand along his thigh. “If that sounds okay?”

He huffed out a soft laugh against her temple. “I feel like being sarcastic—gorgeous girl….you…wants to pamper me? Fuck, all day long…every day….yes please.”

She slid from the warmth of being nestled between his legs. As she stood, William’s hands still tracking her whereabouts like a sonar, his fingertips grazing between her knees and upwards. She stood behind the arm of the couch as he leaned his head back, smiling up at her as she leaned over for an upside down kiss.

Loren murmured “Good” while gently kissing his lips, nose and forehead before padding off in the direction of his ensuite.

He made a mental note of how good her ass cheeks looked in those little sleep shorts before letting his body sink into the couch while the couch cushions absorbed the pressures from earlier in the day.

He closed his eyes and heard Loren gathering glass bowls and bottles, the steady stream of water, cupboards being opened, the slide of drawers being opened and the gentle seal of the soft-close mechanisms. He was so relaxed with just having here there, let alone what her and her hands were about to get up to.

When she made her way back into the living room, she had a stack of towels folded over one arm and in her hands, a glass bowl of water hot enough for steam to rise from the surface.

William smirked and lifted an eyebrow. “Am I at the spa?”

Loren slowly set the bowl down on the coffee table and glanced at him. She positioned herself behind the arm of the couch and leaned over him slightly, so when he looked up, he got an eyeful of her round breasts that spilled out slightly from her bra and tank top.

“Oui, mon amour. Bienvenue au spa ‘Happy Endings’. Je m’appelle Loren, et if you’re not a smart-ass and behave, I might have to show you just how appy my little ‘Happy Ending’ can be.” She pronounced happy as appy, like a true francophone would.

“Get comfy, s’il vous plaît.”

He stretched out along the chaise of the sectional, one arm laying on his abdomen as his hand lazily scratched the line of hair down his navel.

She tested the temperature of the water, added a few drops from a tiny bottle of lavender, and swished her fingers through until the scent wafted around him.

Even just dipping her wrist into the warmth had an effect on her. William had already been eyeing the soft mounds of her breasts but now, each swell was punctuated by a taut nipple hard-on. William licked his lips, his thoughts suddenly becoming far more illicit.

She submerged the first towel, wringing it out a few times to avoid dripping water on him. She leaned over his head slightly to lay the first hot towel along one side of his beard. Unavoidably, her breasts were perfectly angled above him.

”Too hot?” she asked as her fingers brushed a sensitive spot behind his ear.

William let out a low, involuntary sound. “The towel—or you?”

Loren chuckled. She placed the next towel in the bowl.

While squeezing out the excess water, William’s free hand was roaming, and it trailed upward along the outside of her hip. He gave her a little squeeze.

“Mm—behave.” She tried—and failed—to sound anything other than pleased.

She placed another towel on the opposite side of his face, and as she did, the roaming hand was inching up under the hem of her shirt.

“William,” she warned, her voice now soft.

“You don’t seem to be doing anything to stop me,” he teased, fingers gliding further up her ribcage until he cupped the underside of her breast. He thumbed over her nipple which elicited a gentle moan from her mouth.

“Mon amour,” she said in a half-groan, “if you touch me one more time, this spa session becomes something else entirely.”

“Is that a threat,” he asked, “or a promise?”

She bent down and kissed his forehead, slow and lingering. “Both,” she whispered, and soon placed the last hot towel across it.

She ran her fingers down his arm. “Mon coeur… just try and relax. Let me take care of you…I’ll make sure there’s lots of time for that later.”

And with her warm hands, she cradled the underside of his neck, working out the knots he often had during the long regular season.

William groaned as his muscles relaxed and leaned into her touch. He wanted to keep his eyes open just to watch her, with that slight smile and soft expression as she leaned over him and care for him the way she always did.

But the strength in her thumbs and the firm lines she drew down the sides of his neck into the tops of his shoulders were enough to lull him into a warm surrender.

From the base of his skull downward, Loren’s fingers felt like magic. She was so adept in finding perfect pressure points as though they were little release valves. Each slow, steady press melted a new band of tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying.

She had a natural way about her—so attuned, so empathic—that it felt like she could physically sense his stress, his aches, his fatigue. And then work them away bit by bit, like she was drawing out the mental weight from his body and onto her own, just so he could breathe again.

His lips parted slightly — that tiny tell he always gave when he was fighting sleep. She knew him well enough to recognize the signs: the softened jaw, the heavy limbs, the way his breathing deepened into that pre-sleep lull.

If he drifted off, she wouldn’t mind. But if he held on… even for just a few minutes longer… she wanted to stay true to the “Happy Ending” portion of her little relaxation program.

Loren’s hair brushed along his shoulder and bicep as she leaned over to finish the massage, strands whispering across his skin.

“William?” she murmured. “I have to take the towels off. Are you awake, älskling?”

His hands responded before his voice did — finding her wrists, her fingers, anything to anchor himself back to her.

She angled her head so her hair fell forward in a curtain, the ends tickling the firm plane of his abdomen.

“Felt so good, Lor…” he murmured, voice thick with drowsy pleasure.

She kissed the tip of his nose, then the soft corner of his mouth. “I’m glad. I just have one thing left. Or maybe two… depends on how open you are to the finale.”

William smirked, eyes still closed, but the shift in his breathing gave him away.

“Mmm… right… the finale…” he purred, voice rumbling low in his throat like an idling race car. It was no surprise what she had in mind—his Loren, who thought of his care and his pleasure as though they were her own.

He adjusted his position, sliding one muscular leg off the couch, bending it at the knee — unmistakably making room for her. Either atop him… or between his legs.

She removed each towel with care, then reached for an amber bottle, warming it between her palms.

Her touch smoothed along his jaw, thumb stroking once through the wet, dark curls of his beard.

She moved alongside him.

“I know hot towels are supposed to soften the hair for shaving,” she whispered, gaze flicking from his lips to his throat. “But I’m not interested in removing a single thing from you.” Bracing a hand on the back of the couch for leverage, she positioned herself carefully and lowered herself, straddling him. William’s slow grin was ridiculous, somewhere between relaxed and hungry—and his hands instinctively latched onto her ass.

“I want to care for what’s already here,” she murmured, leaning in as her fingers combed through his beard again. “Every strand.”

She held up the bottle between them, waiting for his reaction. “So this is it… your beard-inspired treatment,” she said with a shy, hopeful smile. “I’ve had this for awhile… from that little stint I did in New York awhile ago. I was just waiting for this fine face sweater to grow back.” She leaned down and pressed her lips against his. “I hope you like the smell of it.”

William thought she could douse him in whatever she wanted—Old Spice, motor oil, his dad’s bottle of Obsession from back in the ’90s. It wouldn’t matter.

Not with her straddling him like this. Not with her alluding to other types of care - not just beard care.

She felt so fucking amazing on top of him that the sound slipped out of him before he could catch it—a low, primal growl rumbled from his tensed jaw.

She removed the cap and carefully tipped the opened bottle into the palm of her hand. A few drops spilled onto the ridged muscles of his torso which she noticed…she smirked, knowing she’d work it in on her way down to the final expression of care and pleasure.

She warmed the oil between her hands and began to smooth and massage into the coarse hair of his beard, straight through to his skin.

Then the scent hit him.

It wasn’t overpowering. It was warm, light, and soothing.

It was just like her. Like some of his favourite things about her.

Loren’s fingers continued working along the hinge of his jaw and under his chin, slow and thorough. Her lashes stayed low as she concentrated, and at one point she wet her lips—an unconscious habit that made something in his stomach tighten.

She only looked up when she felt the weight of his stare drawing her in. And every single time, she’d blush… and god, she’d try her best (and fail spectacularly) to suppress a smile.

She surveyed her handiwork and leaned over to kiss him gently. Her lips trailed off towards the space just under his jaw, close enough that her breath warmed the lob of his ear.

“I love your beard like this,” she whispered.

He became hyper-aware of her thighs tightening along his midriff. William’s hands responded - his fingertips pressed deeper into the fleshy part of her ass. He swore under his breath, his hips lifting a little pressing his burgeoning erection between her legs. He could feel the heat between her legs pressed against his lower stomach.

Her mouth continued its path of worship, with her words making him simmer and swoon all at once.

Her palms smoothed over his chest and down to the drops of oil from minutes before. With remnants still on her fingers from the beard massage, she began to smooth the warmth over his chest to the tops of his shoulders. She couldn't help but to kiss him again slowly—along his throat, across his collarbone and back again.

“You know…” she murmured, brushing her cheek along his sternum before kissing the hollow beneath it. “I never cared about body hair before you. Not on anyone.”

William closed his eyes and let himself feel her.

“But on you…” Her fingers drifted down from his pecs to his treasure trail, slow enough to make his toes curl. “On you, it’s like my new religion.”

He groaned into her hair. Heat flushed up his neck to his cheek.

If she kept going like this….

He could feel the wetness of his arousal seeping into the fabric of his shorts.

“I love it so, so much,” she breathed, her hands flattening against his hips as she shifted lower.

Then she kissed the start of his treasure trail, licking a little here….nuzzling a little there—before slinking down his midriff.

She slid her palms down his torso until she reached the waistband of his shorts. She already knew what she’d find if she slipped them lower—how meticulous he often kept himself. How thick he felt in her hand. How quickly he hardened for her.

But imagining it now… in this state of worship, with his chest rising under her touch and his abdomen tightening with each breath…

God. She could hardly stand it. She wanted to feel the weight of him on her tongue.

Her fingers flexed against his skin, gripping a little tighter, leaving faint dents along his hips. Her mouth watered with wanting.

God, she needed him. Badly.

✦ ✦ ✦

A sudden buzz from his phone—then another, then another—rattled against the counter and ripped him straight out of the memory.

Disoriented, William tried to focus on his reflection, suddenly remembering his whereabouts. He looked down, his half-hard erection pressed against the beveled edge of the marble vanity.

The memory shattered; his hand stopped trailing down the wild strip of hair that lead from his navel down to just above the base of his cock.

A twisted mix of thoughts clouded his brain, so much so as to spark an ache behind his eyes. Such unfamiliar territory for someone that could always compartmentalize and remain unaffected.

“Like water off a duck’s back” as one media member had recently commented. “Nothing affects this guy” was another familiar comment that was often made.

No one really knew though that in these moments, the old adage for his calm demeanor couldn’t have been further from the truth.

He felt beaten down. Ashamed. Lost.

He stared at the bottle and hot streak of frustration lit him up, the flush of it radiating up his neck into his face. He grabbed the Le Labo bottle and slammed it into the metal waste bin. The loud, harsh clang ricocheted off the walls, the sound adding to the high-pitched ringing in William’s ears.

The same acidic, high-frequency tone that was in his ears standing in Loren’s house months ago…right after he blew her life up.

Right after she’d finally realized and to him said she “was never enough.”

Right after he’d failed to do or say anything to make her want to come back to him.

The ringing grew louder, his nervous system and his emotions colliding.

He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath.

So much for water off a duck’s back. For every time someone said “nothing affects this guy”, William knew he had moments like this. When errors in judgment and decisions came back and rattled his peace like nothing else.

He braced his palms flat against the marble counter, head first hanging between his shoulders, and then he looked upward to the ceiling.

That first memory—Loren giving him one of the happiest endings after a sensual beard massage…it was replaced with her pained expression. Her long, dark lashes clumped by the salt of her tears. Her pushing past the doorjamb because she couldn’t see from the welling in her eyes.

Her bounding up the stairs and him standing there knowing deep down he didn’t deserve her, and watching her go.

He snatched the box of hotel soap and whipped it hard against the shower tile.

The sound of his phone buzzing sent him over the edge as he bellowed “FUCK!!!” to no one but himself, as his heart pumped furiously.

He’d never felt so alone as he did in that moment. Millions knew his name, supported him. Cheered for him. Reveled in his abilities.

His family—his entire world, his ecosystem…those he relied on for peace, they might not understand this side of him.

His friends. Melanie. The guys on the team. They all knew him. Loved him. Cared about him.

But when he’s untethered - who would truly understand? Or would they just pat him on the back, give him a pep talk and just expect him to bounce back on his own?

He snatched his phone and opened the screen - an unopened text message from Melanie, apparently missed when he was submerged in the tub.

And a flurry of exchanges on the team group chat about dinner. Typical stuff. More team dinners together to try and bolster the boys into a more cohesive unit.

William swiped out of it the messages. Not now.

He opened up his recent contacts, and zeroed in naturally on his brother. The one person on this earth that knew every side to him that existed for both William Nylander, the hockey star and William, the older brother.

He could feel the constriction in his throat.

If anything, he knew talking to Alex normally helped.

Well, most of the time anyway.

He hit dial.

Alex answered almost immediately.

[In Swedish]

“Hej—vad händer?” Alex asked, sounding distracted.

“Hej. You heading out?”

“Yeah. Game’s at four.”

“Where are you again?” William rubbed his forehead, trying to remember.

Alex scoffed. “Not in fucking Florida, that’s for sure. Weren’t we there around this time last year?”

“Probably. You’ve got the memory, not me.”

He tried to smile. It faltered quickly.

“I’ll let you go. We can talk later.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Alex’s tone shifted in partial recognition of William’s. “You sound… off.”

William could hear Alex snapping lids back in place, clearly busy getting ready while a TV played in the background of the same type of hotel room he was currently in.

William hesitated. “I think this is a bit bigger than what you have time for.”

“William, c’mon. Try me.”

His older brother exhaled sharply through his nose. “I dunno. I just— I feel fucked up. Like really fucked up.”

Alex’s movements slowed and his silence stretched. Finally, he spoke. “Okay. Fucked up how?”

William rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. “It’s like… nothing feels right. It hasn’t for awhile. The season. The team. Even—” He hesitated. “—home. Maybe.”

Alex was quiet. “I’m the best fucking roommate in the world bro - so I know “Home” ain’t me.” His sarcasm earned a small sniff of laughter from William.

“Yeah, I know. You’re not what I’m talking about.”

Alex tried (this time) to choose his words carefully. “So….Melanie then? I mean…I get it….I get how it happened. She knows all the ins and outs of this life. You two know each other’s shit—what each other’s all about…so I get why she makes sense to you...why you keep coming back to each other.”

William felt Alex was holding back on making his point.

Alex put William on speaker while he slipped on his shoes. “I don’t want to kick you when you’re down…and you know I’m the last to judge you…but maybe after Loren, things happened a little too fast? You’re more sensitive than me….I can bounce back quick but you…you were completely—”

“Don’t.” William’s voice wasn’t just sharp. It bit.

“Don’t say her name. Don’t bring her into this.”

Alex paused.

He sat on the edge of the hotel bed and exhaled loudly.

“Fine, William. I won’t. But just answer this one thing for me.”

William waited and remained silent.

Alex could picture William’s expression if he were face to face — the rigid jaw, the dark, sullen eyes. He continued, trying to remain careful with his words but there was an undercurrent of annoyance. Alex sometimes had a hard time separating the love he had for his brother and the respect that grew for Loren in the months she was around.

“William… you keep talking like all this just happened to you.”

Alex could almost feel William beginning to simmer through the phone. He didn’t fucking care.

“You made choices—decisions—every day. Everything you chose benefitted you.”

A long pause.

“I guess that’s what you had in common…she chose you. In every way someone can chose another.”

Alex’s voice softened, but the truth didn’t.

“And in the end… your choices made it clear that you didn’t choose her back.”

William made a low sound, trying not to react to that final blow.

Alex continued anyway, because someone had to say it.

“You can be irritated at Chief (Berube), at the media, at yourself… whatever. But you need to accept that is what happened. She was all-in. You weren’t. You chose where you’re at.”

Heavier silence followed.

“Look…” Alex added, more gently. “I’m not saying this to be a prick, and you can be pissed at me if you want. But to me, these are the facts. “Maybe you’re not lost at all. Maybe you’re finally just seeing how badly you treated her at the end—because up until now, fuck dude….you’ve done whatever you wanted.”

Alex figured he’s said everything else, so he might as well finish the thought.

“William, you know what Mom and Dad would say….they just want us to be happy. For fuck sakes, you chose Melanie—whatever it is….like you allowed her to pick up from the point from last time you were together. Either be with her or don’t….but if you decide not to be, I think it’s time to realize that it needs to stay that way.”

Alex couldn’t wait for a response. “Sorry bro - gotta run. Text me later if you want to talk.”

After the call ended, William just stared at the darkened screen of his phone.

Though he couldn’t deny the truth behind what Alex had said, it rocked him.

You didn’t choose her back.

You didn’t choose her, period.

You chose yourself.

But his mind betrayed him. A picture flashed, like slow motion imagery, Loren looking down at his face while she rested atop his body. Her hand, soothing and contentedly, stroking his beard.

Kissing his lips.

Telling him how beautiful she thinks he is.

She chose him.

He let her believe he was worth choosing.

He stared at the pattern in the carpet until his eyes blurred.

A wave of nausea rolled through him, his stomach twisting as the reel played: Alex’s words, Loren loving him so openly, and then him walking into his condo and seeing Melanie.

Eventually, he broke from the trance, pressing hard against his eyes with the heels of his hands.

There wasn’t anything he could do.

Not then, not on the road with the team. Not with the mistakes he made.

He personified chill again — slipped back into ‘nothing affects this guy.’

He filed the feelings associated with Loren under “Later… if ever,” flip the switch off inside his body, and do what the day required.

He crawled into bed.

The blackout curtains made the room appear like the darkest nothingness—the kind of dark that made for the best naps on road trips.

But this time, sleep didn’t find him easily. He drifted, dozing for the first hour, but the rest wasn’t as restful as it was when his mind was clear.

Hours later, when he woke, he didn’t even realize a deeper slumber had pulled him under until the alarm blared from his phone. He laid back down and stared into the darkness of the room, the light from his screen weakly slicing through the black from the bedside table.

He exhaled and groaned as his body stretched itself slowly and carefully. With his luck, if he moved wrong, he’d tweak something and end up on the IR.

He grabbed his glasses and his phone and sent out a few messages. One was to Melanie just to say he just woke up, that he’d call her later and he hoped she had a good day.

And just like that, the auto-pilot in him was in control again.

He got up, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, got dressed and headed out to meet the guys for dinner.

This part of his life, William could absolutely handle. It was familiar. It was a relief being part of a team, something he could choose to be front and centre, with jokes and chirps and laughter. But it also allowed him to blend, to be quiet and low-key—he got to choose which version to be.

━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆━

It was just after 2:00am when William began his drive home from Pearson airport. He had rested his eyes for most of the flight, relieved that the team’s first real road trip had finally pulled them out of the free fall that almost felt catastrophic in November.

The only blessing of driving at this hour was the absence of Toronto’s notorious gridlock, and William was making excellent time.

His thoughts wandered aimlessly. Christmas. New Year’s. The upcoming Olympics in Milan and the reports of the hockey venue descending into chaos.

Then his mind drifted to Melanie and their last conversation. She’d been oddly animated about everything — the arena debacle, the team’s win, and then back to the athlete accommodations at the Olympics. At the time, he chalked it up to her being good spirits with him coming home. Now, in the white noise of the tires on pavement, he realized he’d never heard her sound so upbeat about that many unrelated things at once.

Still, her being upbeat was better than the tension that lived between them before he left.

He rubbed his forehead as he neared the condo. He knew Melanie would either be sleeping in his bed or staying up to wait for him. It had been a few days since the Le Labo-triggered meltdown, and since then he had re-regulated. His direction, his responsibilities — none of that had changed. He and Melanie would figure themselves out. It was uncomplicated, and uncomplicated was something he could handle.

When he reached the door, he heard Pablo and Banksy’s nails tapping frantically against the tile, whining with anticipation.

The moment he stepped in, both dogs leapt onto their hind legs. William crouched down, letting them lick his face while he ran his hands along their fur.

Melanie soon appeared, her hair pulled tight and sleek, her frame wrapped in loose pajamas and a fitted tank top. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. He returned the embrace, pulling her in close.

But something in her energy felt off — half-clingy, half-awkward — not at all like her usual controlled self.

William’s hands drifted down her arms.

“You okay? You seem… kind of tense or something.”

Her body stiffened.

She kept looking everywhere but at him.

Melanie exhaled a long, shaky breath.

“Yeah… there’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s probably better if we sit.”

She moved toward the couch almost cautiously, her hands balling and releasing in a nervous rhythm.

Once she sat, Melanie smoothed a hand over her stomach.

William’s eyes dropped there instinctively. He felt the blood drain from his face.

Her eyes followed his. She looked down at her abdomen, then slowly back up at him.

And in that moment, William felt a spike of panic and guilt — a wordless, pleading internal whisper:

Please… no… don’t say it.

Melanie bit her lip.

“I’m pregnant, William.”

His world felt suspended in silence.

He stared, unable to form a single word.

“I know it’s unexpected,” she rushed on, tears threatening. “It was for me too. I wanted to tell you earlier but… not over FaceTime.”

William’s mind exploded with noise.

How?

Well, he knew how — but how?

They’d used condoms. Mostly.

Melanie had switched birth control methods. He remembered that conversation only vaguely, but had he actually paid attention?

He knew he needed to respond. His brain fed him the bare minimum of language:

“Holy fuck.”

Not ideal. But accurate.

“Sorry,” he muttered, still in shock. “I’m just… processing. You’re... pregnant…”

His voice sank before trailing off.

“How far along?” he finally asked.

Melanie wiped her cheek and managed a small smile.

“Six weeks, maybe seven. I think I know the night. You showed me the Darth Vader costume before packing… you looked so hot…”

William tried to smile back. Tried to pinpoint the memory, but it was foggy — the argument they’d had before, the tension is what he remembered more.

Oh...right, the way everything did a 180 once she pulled him in.

Now he remembered.

Melanie, anxious now, kept talking.

“I swear I thought I had the timing right… with the switch… being protected…”

Her voice faltered. She could feel his suspicion flicker, and she hated it.

He didn’t say it aloud, but the possibility flashed through him like lightning.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to sting.

She grabbed his hands.

“William, I know you’re freaking out, but this is going to be amazing. We’re going to have a baby.”

He swallowed hard. Cleared his throat.

“When would… when is…”

He had to try again.

“When would the baby be due?”

“End of July,” she said softly. “So the offseason. At least the timing is good for the birth.”

William nodded, though he wasn't sure he felt anything at all.

Shock numbed everything. There was no capacity to tell his body how to move.

He snapped back to reality suddenly, and pulled her into a hug.

His thoughts were a landslide, tumbling and crashing with nowhere to go.

Melanie melted into him.

“This is going to be so good for us, William. I know it will be.”

He could only muster a soft, automatic:

“Okay… yeah. It’ll work. We’ll figure it out. It’ll be good.”

Two tectonic plates crushed together.

And the landscape of his life changed forever.

That horrible, pained expression on her beautiful face right before she spoke.

I think you need to tell me about Melanie.

Her voice had been unfairly gentle with him through all her turmoil.

Then the audible break in her heart, echoing down from above him after she walked out of the room.

As he sat staring at the sea of tail lights, he kept running their conversation in his head. He didn’t even know why he never told Loren he still kept in touch with his ex. Of course she’d internalized it—wondering if it meant he found her difficult.

Maybe he hadn’t said it because he knew it would unsettle her. Because she’d want to understand the whys. Why, if he already had her love, devotion, and loyalty, he needed anything else.

He fought with himself. Keeping connections was just something he did. Something he’d always done. Ten years in the league had taught him to keep options open—lines of communication with old flings under the guise of “friends,” kept in his contacts for a rainy day.

Then he met Loren.

She’d been open about what she endured in her last relationship, so of course William had filled her in on what life had been like with his ex. He hadn’t gone out of his way to slag her off, but he’d made sure Loren knew she wasn’t what he was used to. That his exes had sometimes lit him up in public. That they’d argued and gone silent for days. The gaslighting—an overused term now, but no less accurate.

And Loren… she’d absorbed those confessions. She’d used them like a roadmap to love him better. She was already patient, but with William and his unique life, she simply adapted. More patient. More thoughtful. More understanding. She tried harder because trying harder was in her DNA—he’d won the lottery of who she was as a person. That inherent need to make the people she loved feel the depths of how much she loved them.

And fuck—did he ever let her down.

Actually—no, he thought. You let her down right from the start, when you put your own egotistical habits ahead of hers. You fucking dismantled her entire world.

The thought made his stomach turn and his head ache as he inched along the Bloor Street viaduct with a million other rush-hour commuters.

By the time he walked through the condo door, Alex was sitting on the couch with Pablo sprawled across the back and Banksy curled up beside him. Some inaudible conversation played on Alex’s phone.

Alex watched William enter the room, sandwich in hand, mid-bite. He hesitated for a second, chewing slower now, studying his brother’s face. It was obvious.

“Well?” he asked carefully, hesitating . “That bad?”

William dropped down hard onto the cushions, shoulders collapsing forward like the weight of all of his missteps pressed down on his shoulders. He looked wrecked—like he’d just come from witnessing something catastrophic. Elbows braced on his knees, he dragged his hands down his face until his cheeks pulled, eyes bloodshot and too bright against the turquoise. He shook his head once, then let it spill.

“We broke up.” His voice cracked, and he ducked his head again, muttering, “Fuck.”

Alex swallowed hard, muttering the same word under his breath.

William groaned, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Agh… I really fucked this up. I don’t even know how it came up—how she knew—but she told me I needed to explain what’s going on with Melanie.”

Alex’s stomach dropped. He didn’t need every detail; he’d been there that night at the comedy club. He knew it hadn’t been anything super intimate, just one of those “let’s get together” nights a mutual friend set up. But he also knew his brother. Knew how William drifted when Loren was away—pulled toward distractions in his DMs and texts. And then the second Loren came back, the second William saw her again, he was all soft eyes and totally in love. It was as though William was in a trance which suddenly had broken.

William’s head, still dropped, his guilt talked towards the floor. “I guess it doesn’t matter how,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “I just keep thinking about Loren and just what she had in her… like the capacity to give the way she did and I just started to wonder… or doubt that I could give that back to her. I know she deserves it. I know how fucking incredible she is but maybe… maybe it’s better for me to stay… whatever it is. Like grounded, maybe.”

Alex stared at his big brother as he tripped along with his explanation. “So… you broke up because Loren was just what—too good to you?” His tone bordered on incredulous.

William rested his forehead against the heel of his hand, his eyes closed. “I sound like an asshole right now.”

Alex shrugged. “Well… an idiot, at least.” He leaned back into the couch, chewing slowly on the last bite of his sandwich.

William scoffed. “Not helpful.”

Alex grabbed his phone and paused for a moment. “You know what’s fucked, William? I guess… I’m not surprised things didn’t work out.” He sighed, resting his forearm on the back of the couch, giving Pablo a rub. “At first, I thought—holy fuck, there’s something really there. You don’t bring just anyone to Sweden. You weren’t even exclusive and you brought her home.”

Still to this day, Loren being invited to Sweden the summer prior proved to Alex that she was totally different than any girl William entertained.

Alex continued, mid-thought. “Yeah, you were different with her.”

William flopped back, slouching.

“Fuck—my own girlfriends didn’t treat me that well. Half joke, but mostly not,” Alex said flatly. “Her coming to my games, making food for me… asking if I needed anything when she was at the store. It’s like she just knew what’s important. Not just for you but for everyone around you.”

William looked up at the ceiling; the veins in his temple more prominent as he ground his teeth together.

Alex continued. “So yeah… that was at the beginning, when I thought you might actually marry this girl. But then you got Melanie and fucking whoever else in your DMs. You couldn’t stay locked in.” Alex scratched his beard. “So there it is—guess she’s just like all the others….she wasn’t what you wanted after all.”

William shook his head, biting back. “That’s fucking bullshit, bro… I know how I felt. How I feel about her.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, okay. You love her. Blah blah. But you were clueless, William. I watched you while we were out glance at her messages and turn your phone back over. I know I can make prick moves, but Jesus, dude. The girl whisked you away twice after playoffs and you couldn’t even be bothered to know what day she came back. And I highly doubt she didn’t tell you.” He arched his brow. “I even had a better idea than you did.”

William glared as Alex stood up.

“Look—I feel bad for you, I really do. I feel worse for Loren. But damage is done. If she was the one, you’d have cleaned out your contacts, told Melanie to fuck right off with her chirps about her, and you’d be living a long, happy life together. But that ain’t you. Not right now. We’ve got our summer—could be your last single summer with the boys, so I guess….you’re gonna have to just put it behind you.”

And with that, Alex left William on the couch, his fist unconsciously balled so tight his hands almost cramped.

Minutes later, Alex scrolled back to his last text with Loren. A Monaco picture she’d sent, teasing him about a model who’d “looooved Alex on sight.” He smiled faintly and typed:

Really sorry L

A simple heart reaction came back.

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

William wandered into his walk-in closet and just stood there, chin dropped to his chest. Alex and his dad were the only ones who ever cut through to the black-and-white.

He didn’t know if he agreed with Alex, because he knew what it felt like to hold Loren’s gaze… when she’d tell him he was perfect. He would have given her anything, if she asked, in those moments.

But that wasn’t the question.

It was when she wasn’t there—that was the issue.

His heart sank. Pick an excuse, he told himself. Culture. Expectations. Conditioning. Pressure. He listed them like a checklist, trying everything to explain it away. Anything to keep from saying the truth out loud: he just let himself drift.

He looked at a stack of his Sherwood sticks and pictured snapping every single one of them and tossing them out the window onto the streets. He kept thinking that if he just drove back to hers, literally begged her to give him another chance…

His mind bounced. “I want her in everyway”….”I know I can make it right…”….”I love her so much”

But while his thoughts churned furiously in his head, he couldn’t even fully believe himself because…he got himself in this spot to begin with. Something he never thought he’d do.

So he started to pack for the offseason. He yanked some shirts down off the shelf and threw them in his suitcase. Pulled some pants off hangers and tossed them in too.

But then, like a slap to the face and punch to his gut, Loren’s WAG jacket from the playoffs hung there.

Though she was proud and loved the jacket, she’d rather not wear it on the outside. His name itself in bold lettering would invite so much attention and she preferred to keep sacred and safe from any public scrutiny. She made sure, however, that he knew how much it meant to her when they were alone—wearing it just for him with nothing but a thong and heels. The things she did to him in that jacket. The things he did to her.

The memories rifled through his mind like rapid flashes. Bodies arching, thighs quivering, mouths open, mouths fused together.

Once he snapped out of the highlight reel, his next thought—do I send it back? She’d paid for it, after all.

The second he thought it, he shut it down instantly. Are you trying to be extra cruel to her?

He gritted his teeth, hid the jacket behind his winter coats, and walked out of the closet.

Thank god I’m leaving, he thought. Because now wherever he looked, she was still present in every single corner of his condo. —

Day One of Sport Beach 2025 in Cannes had William on stage with Chris Kreider, talking 4 Nations in front of a wall of media and sponsors. He shook hands, smiled for photos, and was ushered through pop-up tents crammed with sports merch.

Afterwards came networking—organizers, athletes, sponsors—an endless loop of nods, introductions, and business cards.

He knew the drill. He could switch to autopilot like a switch when he needed to. But when it was over, when he exited the stage and the noise dimmed, that’s when the quiet really hit.

He was thankful some family had made the trip up from Saint-Tropez, even bringing Pablo and Banksy. But back in his suite at the Carlton—with its immaculate view of turquoise water and white sand—none of it felt like it mattered. He stretched out on the bed and scrolled through his phone.

Seeing her name stopped him cold. Their recent message exchange that he could now sense so clearly dripping in sadness. Past messages that were full of love or teasing or even a more

He opened one message.

It was a monologue, really. Loren talking to herself because he had barely paid attention to her notes.

She said she was struggling being away. She apologized, said she was just being whiny. That she only needed a few more minutes, a few more hours, a few more days with him.

His reply had been short with shades of warmth. Definitely lacking effort. He’d told himself he’d FaceTime her later.

He exhaled hard into the pillow. There it is, he thought. The excuse. She’d needed him, and he’d told himself she’d be fine. He didn’t think of it this way at the time but clearly his agenda and time was more important than hers.

And now he was here, in this magnificent city, alone. No Loren - her curling into him, or wide-eyed excitement of being really anywhere with him. No more of her sleepy “I love you” confessions into his chest. There was just silence in that room of that luxury hotel and the sound of Pablo settling in next to him at the head of the bed.

He missed her giggle. The way she’d smile and say something he said was clever when everyone else thought was odd. Her melodic voice when she spoke French with strangers, teasing herself about her Quebecois accent.

And her body. Fuck. William kissing the bare white tan lines across her hip leading to all the other bare white parts of her body that weren’t sun kissed.

William lay there trying to wrangle his thoughts. So many times he could have called her, driven to her, messaged her….something. But there was a problem and William could only grasp at straws as to what exactly was holding him back.

So he took a photo of him in bed and Pablo by his head, the spot next to him undisturbed.

The photo had no context, but William hoped that Loren would see that he was alone. Maybe she’d fill in the blanks that he’s thought of her all the time. That her absence is felt.

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Thousands of kilometers away, Loren was curled up on the couch, her phone buzzed lightly on the table next to her. When she opened her phone, she wished she had ignored the notification. The algorithm had cycled William’s post to the top of Loren’s feed, and she tried not to look at the photo that he posted. But inevitably, she stared at longer than she should have.

It was just his left arm, in a room at the Carlton Riviera as he lay in bed with Pablo by his pillow.

Her eyes started to well with tears, her exasperation getting the better of her. What the fuck is that photo supposed to mean?

Was it an all points bulletin? A signal to every woman who he kept around in his contacts - just in case? Like a ticker tape message in Times Square: I’m single. I’m available. Come find me.

Her throat felt like there was someone stepping on it. Because….if he had posted that for her, if there was even a shred of regret behind everything that had transpired, he would have called. Texted. Something.

Whatever that photo meant, it wasn’t for her. It had nothing to do with her anymore.

And that photo became the last thing from William that she’d ever let hurt her again.

The next day, she asked her parents if she could come to stay with them after she finished her modeling commitments in Europe.

Costa Rica. She felt a sense of relief; she would be far away from Sweden, far away from Toronto, and far away from hockey. All she wanted now was to fade quietly into the backdrop, and to heal in her parent’s company.

She refused to guess about William’s meaning anymore. She wouldn’t wait. She wouldn’t hope.

That chapter with him was done.

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For years, Saint-Tropez had been the Nylander antidote to the hockey season grind.

It appealed to the Taurus in William—drawn to familiarity, comfort, indulgence, and beauty. Sunny days seemed to last forever, and balmy nights buzzed with jet setters powered by wealth, fame, or both.

With Alex at his side and close friends surrounding them, William slipped easily back into the life he’d always known in the summertime. Now, without Loren, there was only himself to think about.

Now at the villa by the pool, laughing at one of Alex’s ridiculous impressions of him, William’s thoughts began to pinball.

Maybe it was the right thing, he told himself. Maybe I wasn’t ready to settle down.

But as his throat tightened and guilt snaked around his ribs, his subconscious clapped back.

Yeah, but you’re the one who asked her for her future. She never asked you for a fucking thing…

The thought landed like a body check. He flinched, gulped down the rosé that had gone warm, and set the glass down harder than he meant to.

He shoved the Loren-thoughts aside.

After that photo he’d posted from Cannes went unanswered, it was obvious she wasn’t playing games. She was gone.

And he was big enough to admit the truth: it had been a shitty, half-assed attempt to test the waters—a perfect mirror of the lackluster effort he’d been giving her for months.

For years, William kept his life in compartments, and as such, he forced a reset in that moment. He was in Saint-Tropez, for fuck’s sake. Time to unwind. Time to enjoy all the advantages of being a sought-after star whenever he felt certain needs. Time to keep moving forward. He’d be fine. The rest he’d have to deal with in time.

After the sun began to set, five very handsome Swedish men set off into the night looking like regulars from a magazine that might combine Swedish Vogue with Playgirl. They were tall, tanned and each had their own distinct swagger. Emil, a long time close friend of William’s, and Rasmus Sandin, former roommate, teammate, and still like brothers, were off the market. They weren’t about to be chaperones and were just looking forward to watching how their boys would fare in the bars and clubs they planned to hit.

William’s notoriety had been on the climb for years, and now he was recognized outside the traditional hockey markets. Vacationing women zeroed in on William’s group quickly, leaning together as if drawing up a strategic power play. As they walked along the cobblestone streets—bright signs begging for their patronage—there was no shortage of women doing triple takes as they passed. The ladies approached, angling for photos with William mostly, some with Alex and Rasmus too. Others leaned hard into the pose, phones tilted just so to capture their best side next to the gorgeous Swedish NHL stars outside some club in Saint-Tropez.

Inside the first club, the heat of all the bodies hit like a wall. Dancers in black lingerie. Fog machines, strobes synced to the bass. The crowd was electric, the music almost erotic.

And… the women were—well, Saint-Tropez never, ever disappointed.

It was as if the “best of the best” gene pool had congregated under the same roof—perfectly sculpted bodies, impeccable skin, the kind of wealth that made “disposable income” a joke.

Women here could make any man feel lucky just for standing near them.

William and his group moved together almost fluidly around the club, stopping along the bar to assess the crowd and throw back a shot every so often. They were mostly just out for a good time—their camaraderie obvious.

Alex and a couple of the guys lead the way keeping the energy light, joking, chirping each other about who’d get approached first, who’d get the hottest smoke show, etcetera. William smiled, laughed along on cue, but had to fight himself whenever his thoughts started to veer into a different lane.

Maybe this is better, he told himself. I can just be one of the guys tonight. No expectations, no relationship, no one waiting for a response from me.

After a few drinks, William began to loosen up. Looking around, he felt his libido shifting into gear… there were just so many beautiful women.

He nodded his head to the beat reverberating through the floor as his body caught up with his brain. It wasn’t only the alcohol — it was the fact he hadn’t been touched since Ibiza, when Loren whisked him away for a short escape after their playoff loss. The sex had been unreal—messy and hot, brimming with adoration. She’d even hustled him into the naughtiest round of golf he’d ever played.

But that was weeks ago. He’d let it slip through his fingers. Now Loren was gone.

And he needed… someone. Someone to fill the ache, to blur out the truth that gnawed at him but that he still refused to admit.

They hadn’t been standing at the bar long before a gaggle of women swept in. Skin glowing with sun and bronzer, hair glossy and long. Perfect brows, perfect nails, perfume that turned every head as they passed.

They moved like a single organism, fully aware of the attention they commanded.

But one woman broke away the moment her eyes landed on William.

She didn’t bother with coyness. While her friends perched on barstools nearby, she smiled directly at him and closed the gap, sliding one manicured hand onto his bicep like she already owned it.

“Swedish hockey player, right?” she shouted over the music, her accent hard to place.

William grinned wide. He’d been here before — except this girl wasn’t testing the waters. She was all in. Her eyes locked on him like no one else in the club existed.

She complimented his cologne, called him the most gorgeous man in the room. Her accent only sharpened the edge of her appeal, but what struck William most was her bluntness. She knew what she wanted. Right now, that was him.

The conversation skimmed the surface — travel, favorite clubs, his jewelry as she toyed with his earring. William didn’t care; he wasn’t looking for depth.

They leaned closer, laughed at nothing, touched hands on the bar. She brushed his arm; he lifted her necklace, told her it was delicate, beautiful.

By the time someone floated the idea of a yacht party, it felt inevitable. They piled into vans, drunk on shots and music, Saint-Tropez’s night washing away inhibition.

The lights that dotted the marina made it look like a city of its own. Yachts bobbed in slips surrounded by velvet ropes, their decks filled with people who lived for these Riviera nights.

William drew stares as soon as he stepped on board. People shoved drinks in his hand, shouted for his attention. The woman he just met remained glued to his side. She sure was striking enough that he didn’t mind looking at her as she walked beside him, her arm looped through his.

After mingling for some time, the woman leaned close, eyes flicking to his mouth. She murmured into his ear: “Let’s go find somewhere… I’m desperate for you.”

She led him down a spiral staircase, past clusters of partiers, to a small washroom.

William chuckled, but when the door clicked shut, they were already on each other. He pressed against her, yanked her dress up, and slid his hand between her thighs. Their kisses were messy, all teeth and tongue, her moan spiking when he pressed the right spot with his fingers. She grabbed his cock through his pants, stroking and fondling him through his pants.

The music and bass made the walls quake, but louder still was the door rattling in its frame with every thrust. People outside laughed and whistled. Inside, William clenched his jaw, slamming harder, faster. It was filthy and frantic, the kind of sex that should have felt exhilarating.

Instead, unease knotted in his stomach.

Later, in a suite upstairs, they went at it again. The sex was slower and more controlled but for William, it was no more meaningful than the hard and fast quickie against the bathroom door.

He looked at her. Twice in one night and it was clear that he was going home alone.

She adjusted her dress, kissed him between sly smiles and crude praise for his performance, then handed him her Instagram.

“Hope I bump into you again,” she purred

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning, William dragged himself out of bed, head pounding, mouth pasty. The villa was quiet except for the splash of someone diving into the pool and the low murmur of voices outside. He reached for the bottle of water at his bedside and downed half of it before letting himself collapse back into the pillows.

His phone lit up with notifications — chirps from the guys already making jokes about last night. They painted the picture of him having the wildest time on the yacht, exaggerations that made him shake his head and almost smirk. He typed back a lazy thumbs-up, but the hollow feeling in his chest stayed.

Curiosity got the better of him. He opened Instagram, scrolled to the girl’s profile, half-expecting not to even remember her face clearly. But there she was — pouty lips, sun-kissed skin, a highlight reel of beaches, champagne glasses, and selfies that all blurred together.

Then his eyes caught the link in her bio. He tapped it without thinking. Oh…okay - OnlyFans.

He let the phone fall onto his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t like he judged her — hell, he knew and understood the appeal. But he couldn’t help the sourness in his stomach after his discovery. Suddenly he was the one that felt used. She knew who he was - or at least had an idea, and she fucked him as a performance or even a story she might hint at for her subscribers.

The irony made him scoff. Over the years, had he not treated some girls like a notch, just a one-nighter, a girl’s name he confused with another name during sex? And now he felt the sting of being on the other side.

Not only being on the other side - but this was his first experience since Loren. It was an itch he decided to scratch but instead of feeling satisfied, it just felt inflamed and raw.

Now, it’s all he could think about was the intimacy he shared with Loren.

Sex with her had always been more than just the physical act. How she’d grown bolder with him over time, learning to match his filth with her own. She’d whisper the dirtiest things in his ear and then, later, as she drifted in the afterglow, she tenderly pressed her mouth against his chest because she felt the safest there. She’d tease him with crude little chirps about his stamina, then turn the joke back on herself, giggling, almost shy, as if it amazed her that she was lucky enough to be this close to him.

That mix — filthy and tender, playful and vulnerable — had been theirs.

He rubbed his face, groaning. His body ached, not just from the various maneuvers from the night before, but from the fucking heavy pit in his stomach.

It all just felt…off. Like he constantly was choosing the wrong answer, making the wrong decision, not seeing things clearly at every single turn.

He needed another shower. Another protein drink. A run or walk or a swim….something to reset the unsettled feeling growing inside of him.

Deep down he feared the main source of that I fucked up bad was the day he didn’t run up the stairs after Loren and fix what he’d broken.

✦ ❖ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next day, the chirps from his friends came easy. All good fun, all of them assuming he’d had the night of his life. William smiled, minimized the hookup, played along.

By the time lunch rolled around and the villa had quieted, William finally got a moment to himself. He lazed on a lounge chair, sunglasses tilted down his nose, scrolling his phone when the photos began to surface.

Loren… at Wimbledon.

There she was, wide-brimmed hat angled just so, looking refined, elegant—regal even. Like she belonged among royalty. Her posture impeccable, her smile full of grace.

Her face, a rare mix of natural beauty with her signature enhancements, seemed so far removed from the blurred makeup of the OnlyFans girl from the night before.

William’s stomach dropped like an untethered elevator in freefall.

He shut off his phone screen quickly, unwilling to let anyone nearby catch what he was looking at. But the drop in his stomach made him feel sick. He could picture exactly what Loren would have been like sitting there — softly nudging his arm, pointing out celebrities she recognized with her wide-eyed enthusiasm, grateful for every moment.

She had learned a long time ago not to take anything for granted.

Unlike him.

William turned his phone back on again a minute later, needing another look.

It wasn’t just that she looked stunning. It was that she looked untouchable - she probably was, especially for him.

He remembered how her face had lit up when she first told him about Wimbledon. That she’d been invited by a London-based cosmetic company as part of a campaign they’d chosen her for. How she’d been almost embarrassed by her own excitement when she asked if he might want to come with her.

He’d felt bad enough, giving her a kiss and an apology because the dates overlapped with the boys being together in Saint Tropez. Sure, he wished it was different but he offered no real attempt to see if it could work. He hadn’t even considered adjusting his time in Saint-Tropez to do both.

Now sitting in the sun, sweating out the alcohol from the night before, William could not have felt worse. She hadn’t just been excited about a modelling campaign. She’d been excited to share London—Wimbledon no less— with him. Yes, she loved tennis but tennis was in William’s DNA, and she assumed he’d jump at the chance to go.

His throat ached as he remembered her face. She tried to hide her disappointment, smiling like it was fine, that she understood. Like she hadn’t really hoped.

Now, seeing her there without him, it wasn’t just regret he felt. He loathed how he had handled this.

Instead, he sat there with his stomach churning — feeling like shit after fucking a stranger in the bathroom of a yacht. It al felt so seamy after having experienced being with a woman like Loren.

Emil quietly approached from behind William’s lounger, alongside Rasmus. They had already seen the Wimbledon photos and wanted to what kind of state William was in.

Rasmus leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of Perrier. “Wimbledon, eh?” he asked, testing William’s mood.

William’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” he muttered, pretending to scroll something else.

Emil shifted, stretching out his legs. He was due to meet his girlfriend in a few days, and he had no reason to chirp for the sake of chirping anymore. He let the silence linger before finally speaking.

“Fuck sakes, Willy…what were you thinking? Alex said she invited you to go with her?”

William closed his eyes briefly, a muscle twitch twitching in his jaw.

Emil shook his head slowly, still staring out toward the pool. “Look at her. Any of us would’ve gone in a heartbeat. It would’ve been, what—a few days? Instead…now you’re here, hungover, scrolling OnlyFans for the name of the girl you banged.”

The words landed like a slap.

Rasmus, softer, cut in. “Listen—I get it. None of us are saints. But…” He slid his sunglasses on top of his head. “What exactly did you think you needed to be free from? You told me a million times how good everything was with her. So what now? You’re free and…what? This?”

Emil finally turned to look at William. “You had it right in your hands, Willy. That dream partner. And you basically did everything to show her you thought there might be someone better.”

William’s stomach twisted again, the same sick wave as when he’d first seen Loren’s photo. He shoved his phone deeper under the towel and shot back, “Jesus Christ, man…I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Yeah,” Emil said, standing up and walking toward the pool. “That’s what I thought.”