#ww

You and Connor had been dating since the start of the season, three months exactly. He’d offered you a family seat pass the first month you were official, he told you it was a perfect view. But you’d turned it down.

“I’d rather sit where I always sit,” you’d told him firmly, over takeout in his apartment. “Regular tickets. I don’t want to feel like I’m here because I’m dating you. I want to be here because I love watching you play.”

Connor had looked at you for a long second, and then he’d just nodded. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

So here you were, in same seat you’d had since his start of the season, close to the glass but far enough up that you still had a full view of the play.

You were already settled in tonight, Bedard jersey pulled over your favorite sweater, food and drink you always got. The hawks had skated out for a warm up.

You liked arriving early. You liked watching the ritual of it all, the way the players stepped onto the ice like it was the most natural thing in the world, sticks tapping lazily against the boards, pucks flicking back and forth in easy patterns.

You always migrated down to the glass when the team came out for warm ups, squeezing past knees and murmuring apologies until you were pressed against the boards.

Connor spotted you almost right away. You could tell by the way his head lifted, eyes scanning the familiar stretch of glass until they locked on yours. A small grin tugged at his mouth and glided straight toward you.

He stopped a few feet out, turning his back to the boards in that little ritual he always did, skating against the glass, you could see the curls sticking out.

Then he pivoted back to face you fully, smile widening. He lifted his glove to mouth the words: You look beautiful.

The arena noise swallowed any sound, but you didn’t need to hear it, you’d gotten good at reading him. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you rolled your eyes playfully, mouthing back a quick shut up that made him laugh silently.

A few kids started to come around you, two little ones in tiny Hawks jerseys, signs clutched in mittened hands, parents hovering behind them with hopeful smiles. Connor didn’t even hesitate to flip the puck he’d been spinning over the glass to you first, then reached down for two more.

He pointed with his stick, first to the wide eyed boy on your left, then the little girl bouncing on her toes to your right. You caught the pucks easily and handed them over, the kids’ faces lighting up as they clutched them to their chests and waved at Connor.

He gave them a quick glove tap on the glass, then turned his attention back to you for one last second. The same smile before he pushed off with a stride and rejoined the team’s passing drill.

You stayed put against the boards a little longer than usual, watching him skate away. The kids chattered excitedly beside you, parents thanking you like you’d done something special.

The two moms had stayed to chat, asking how long you’d been a Hawks fan, whether you’d ever caught a puck yourself, nothing too nosy. You answered politely, laughing when one of them joked that their sons were going to sleep with those pucks under their pillows.

Then you heard someone call your name, a voice you hadn’t expected to hear again anytime soon. “Hey! Long time no see!”

You turned, and there was your ex, weaving through the crowd. You felt your stomach drop. He didn’t do hockey, he’d spent your entire relationship mocking it. And he definitely didn’t do Blackhawks games.

You didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow and turned facing the ice. The parents beside you exchanged a quick, awkward glance, clearly picking up on the tension.

“Well,” one mom said brightly, “we should get back to our seats. Thanks again for helping with the pucks!” They ushered their kids away, leaving you standing next to him whether you liked it or not.

He leaned against the glass beside you, arms crossed, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “So.. you here for one of the players now?” he asked.

You kept your eyes on Connor. “I am, actually.”

“Bedard, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”

You finally glanced at him. “What’s so surprising about it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just you went from dating me to one of the best players in the league. Big upgrade, I guess.”

You didn’t take the bait, just hummed a noncommittal “Mhm” and turned back to the ice.

He didn’t drop it. “We should grab drinks sometime. Catch up for old times’ sake.”

“I don’t think so,” you said flatly, eyes tracking Connor as he laughed at something Foligno said.

He kept talking, something about how he’d “gotten into hockey lately,” how the games were more fun than he remembered but you only half listened, nodding every so often while your attention stayed on the ice.

Across the rink, Connor had been joking with his teammate when he glanced toward the glass again, the way he always did every few minutes. His smile faltered the second he saw who was standing next to you.

He knew that face, you’d shown him a couple old photos early on, laughing about bad haircuts. Connor’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He scooped up a loose puck and skated closer, as if he was about to score into the empty net. Really, he just wanted a better look.

Your ex was leaning in too close, gesturing as he talked, and you were not pushing him away. You weren’t smiling, but not walking off either.

Connor’s stomach twisted. Why the hell was he here? And why did he look so comfortable next to you?

You and Jake had ended things amicably, no fights, no hard feelings, just a mutual “this isn’t working anymore.” Three months into dating Connor, everything still felt new and fragile in the best way. But seeing him now, Connor’s mind raced. What if you saw him and remembered how easy things used to be? What if part of you still wondered?

He couldn’t watch anymore. He fired the puck hard into the net, harder than necessary, then turned and skated straight to the tunnel, following the last few guys heading off the ice early.

Back at the glass, you’d had enough. “I’m heading to my seat,” you told him coolly, already stepping away.

He blinked, surprised. “Oh- yeah, sure. Maybe I’ll text you?”

You didn’t answer and climbed the steps. By the time you settled into your row the ice was empty, the lights brightening for the anthem. You pulled out your phone to send Connor your usual good luck text.

The Hawks ended up winning the game, with Connor sniping a beauty of a goal in the third period that had the United Center erupting. You cheered louder than anyone around you, your heart pounding like it was your own victory.

As the final buzzer sounded and the team saluted the crowd, you pulled out your phone and shot Connor your usual text,

You: Great win, superstar. I’m heading to your place now. You: Can’t wait to celebrate. ❤️

He’d given you a key month ago, right after things got serious, slipped it into your hand before a road trip, “Just in case.” You loved the trust in that gesture, the way it made everything feel real.

Tonight, you let yourself into his apartment, kicking off your shoes and settling onto the couch with a blanket. The place smelled like him mixed with clean laundry. You scrolled through game highlights on your phone, excitement bubbling up.

Maybe you’d give him back scratches while he recapped the plays, or things could escalate into something more. Either way, you were ready for wherever the night was going to take you.

The door clicked open about 45 minutes later, and you jumped up, grinning. But when Connor stepped inside, his face didn’t match the win. His jaw was set, eyes distant.

“Hey,” you said, crossing the room and launching yourself at him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He kissed back, but it was half hearted, his hands barely grazing your waist before he pulled away.

You frowned but tugged him toward the couch anyway, plopping down and patting the spot beside you. He sat, but his body language screamed off.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, scooting closer. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

You weren’t buying it. You knew Connor and knew the way his smiles lit up after wins. This wasn’t that. “Come on, aren’t you happy? You guys won. You scored that insane goal-”

“I am happy,” he cut in, voice flat. “Very happy.”

“Then what happened?” You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “Talk to me.”

He sighed, finally looking at you, his blue eyes were stormy. “Y/n, why are you acting so clueless?”

You blinked, pulling back a little. “What? What did I do?”

Connor ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling over. “I saw you at warm ups. With your ex, he was all over you, leaning in like old times, and you just stood there. Smiling at the ice while he chatted you up. He seemed way too friendly, Y/n. Like he thought he still had a chance.”

“Whoa, hold on-” you started, but he kept going, words tumbling out like he’d been holding them in all game.

“And why here? At my game? He doesn’t even like hockey, you told me that. But suddenly he’s showing up, getting cozy at the glass? It looked comfortable, like maybe you weren’t totally over it.”

You cut him off, shaking your head firmly. “Connor, I had no idea he’d be there. He just showed up out of nowhere, calling my name like we were buddies. I didn’t invite him, didn’t want him there. I barely listened to the conversation, he was rambling about getting into hockey or whatever, and I was just nodding to be polite while I watched you. I couldn’t care less about what he said.”

He scoffed, pulling his hand away. “Polite? He was leaning in so close I could see it from across the rink. Why didn’t you just walk away? Tell him to back off? It looked like you were fine with it, Y/n. And we ended things amicably, right? No bad blood. What if that’s why he thought he could waltz back in? Our thing is still new, what if you realized you missed that easy history?”

“Connor, stop.” You grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at you. “I didn’t walk away because I wasn’t going to let some random ex ruin my night. I was there to watch my boyfriend warm up. To see you smile at me through the glass. His bullshit didn’t matter enough to make me leave that spot. You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, kind, talented, makes me laugh even on crappy days. I want to keep it that way with you.”

He paused, searching your face, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Really?”

“Really.” You squeezed his arm. “I’d be damned if I had to fight him off myself if he tried anything. But honestly I wouldn’t mind seeing what those big muscles could do.” You smirked, trailing your fingers up his bicep, pressing a kiss there, then another higher, working your way to his jaw, his cheek, until your lips met his in a soft, teasing peck.

Connor’s breath hitched, a small smile cracking through. “I can show you without fighting anyone. But if I needed to throw down to keep you around, I wouldn’t mind.”

You laughed against his mouth. “We’re good. No fights necessary. You know, you’re so attractive when you’re jealous. That whole brooding thing? So hot.”

His hands finally moved, sliding around your waist as he pulled you into his lap in one smooth motion. You straddled him, knees sinking into the couch cushions, your arms looping back around his neck. “Me jealous?” he murmured, thumbs tracing circles on your hips. “Just protective. I can’t help it, wanna keep you mine.”

“Mm, say it again,” you whispered, nuzzling closer as his grip tightened, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, tilting his head to capture your lips in a real kiss this time, all the earlier frustration melting into heat.

His hands roamed up your back, under your jersey, fingers splaying wide like he needed to feel every inch. You arched into it, smiling into the kiss.

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