Unbetitelt

Hockey came naturally to Will, almost like mouth breathing. He always thought that hockey would come in between having a happy relationship, and it did stop him from thinking clearly for the first few months with you.

“No labels.” Is what he said when you first started messing around. Just sex with no strings. It was a great stress reliever, but it wasn't just sex.

You had a drawer at his apartment, a spare toothbrush in his bathroom, extra pairs of shoes near his door that weren't his. It always brought a smile to his face at seeing your shoes neatly sat on the mat, while his were always kicked off.

Some nights, there was no sex. Soft kisses and giggles into each other's mouths were more common whenever you were at his place. Suddenly, the lines blurred to you. Best friend turned to boyfriend to you, because, well, you had eyes.

To Will, those lines were still there.

He didn't think of himself as your boyfriend, maybe he thought about it once or twice, but it was a distraction, that's at least what he told himself. Best friends cuddled and kissed and had sex sometimes, it was completely normal.

The night he realized was after a game, a bad loss and he didn't want to be alone. His text was just “u up?”. Old douche bag habits die hard, okay?

He got a text back almost immediately, telling him you were sick with a nasty bug. Cold symptoms and nausea, the whole nine yards. He frowned as another text from you popped up.

“can u come ovr with snacks pls willy :(“. He hesitates, staring at the text. Macklin walks out of the SAP Centre, Misa and Sam behind him. He claps Will on the back. “Yo, Smit, I’m going to Toff’s to play Chel with Mees and Dick. Wanna come?”

Will turns off his phone and grins. “Yeah sure.”

You stare at the read receipt and frown. Assuming he forgot to hit send, you turn off your phone and curl up.

Fifteen minutes later, still no answer.

You check his location and see he was at Toff’s. Your eyes fill with tears, sick, sensitive and now sad.

Will was sat in Misa’s room, drinking whatever weird drinks Misa had in his mini fridge. Macklin looks over, mouth full. “Surprised your girl set you free tonight.” He joked.

Will furrowed his brows. “She's not my girl. We're just friends.”

The sudden silence was eerie.

Misa paused the game. “Y’all are just friends?”

Will rolled his eyes. “We just like.. fuck sometimes. I’m not in love with her or anything.”

Macklin snorts. “Yeah, whatever. Still surprised you're not with her.”

Will shrugs. “She's sick, flu or something.”

Three heads snapped towards him.

Sam looked at him. “You're kidding, right?”

Will looked at him, confused. “No..?”

Macklin tuts, shaking his head. “The girl who may or may not be in love with, is alone while she's sick? Dude, even a friend wouldn't do that.”

Will frowned, still confused. “She didn't say she wanted me to come over.. she just asked me to bring her snacks.”

Macklin sighs heavily. “Not helping the blond stereotype, Smit.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Oh, you're one to talk. Say “chocolate chip cookie” three times fast, or actually say “success”-”

Sam, somehow the mediator, shushed the boys like he was talking to children. “Now now, my darling boys-”

Will and Macklin immediately stopped, Sam was now petting their hair. Will shoved his hand off. “Jesus, fuck, you're a weirdo.”

Sam sighed dramatically. “Have you no whimsy? Anyways, Will is fucking stupid.”

Will raised his hands. “Hey!”

Sam gently shushed him again, reaching for him.

Will immediately flinched back. “You touch my hair and you lose your hands.”

Sam sighed. “Fiesty. Anyways. She clearly wanted you to come over, and you ignored that. Bad boyfriend.”

Will opens his mouth to tell him again that you were just friends, but, fearing that Sam would start petting him again, he kept his mouth closed.

Macklin shook his head, like he was disappointed. “What did you say to her?”

Will stayed silent.

Macklin groaned. “You fucking ignored her?”

Will rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe..”

Misa stood up. “Out. You're banned from the Cool Cave until you make it right.”

Will stood, feeling like he was in elementary school again. “Yeah, okay.”

Will quickly left. Misa and Sam were fucking weird.

Will started driving back to his place, thinking over everything.

Every touch. Every kiss. Every laugh. Every smile.

Everything.

“Oh my god, I’m her boyfriend.”

Thinking wasn't his strong suit.

He groaned and drove to the store. He tried to call you, no answer. He walked into the store and looked around. He grabbed some snacks, cough drops and juice. He picked up some flowers on the way out.

He rushed to his car and tried to call you again. To no avail.

He wasn't a quitter, however, he drove to your apartment and ran to your door. He paused. Was this harassment? Probably. Definitely. Maybe.

He knocked anyway. He heard some shuffling and then silence. He looked at the peephole, then leaned towards it, and like a creep, a thought that won't occur to him until later, he peeked in. Not that he can see anything, but the principle of it.

The door swung open and he stood up straight. “Hi. Hello. Hey.” He smiled awkwardly. You just stared.

“You have some nerve showing up here. You ignored me for like 3 hours!”

He looked at her with a sheepish expression. “Uh.. yes, I did do that. But then Dicky like pet me into realizing that I’m an idiot.”

You snort. “Don't need Dicky for that.”

He smiled apologetically at you. “I kinda did. I’m sorry. You are my girlfriend. I thought we were just hooking up.. we weren't, I was just an asshole. I’m really sorry..”

You raised an eyebrow and let him in. “You're not forgiven. You have to watch my show with me. And scratch my back.”

“Done.” Will grins. “Also, I’m like really in lo-”

You shake your head and hold up your hand. “I’ll actually vomit everywhere if I cry, so shut up.”

Will just nodded with a grin.

Couple hours later, things had settled. You and Will cuddled on the couch at the NightQuill started to kick in. You look up at him and furrowed your brows.

“Wait. Did you say Dicky pet you?”

Will nods. “Uh.. yeah. It was really weird. And I’m banned from the Cool Cave. But that's fine, because I prefer your cool cave.”

You looked at him. “Don't ever say anything like that again.”

Will nodded again. “Yeah, I’m sorry, that was like.. unforgivable of me to say. You should like. Punish me or something.”

“Kill yourself.”

everyone was the same as before, a couple of new faces as per usual which you made a mental note to introduce yourself to. then, your eyes stopped on someone: young face, messy curls sticking up on his head, big and almost cartoonish eyes that scanned every single detail around and hyperaware of everything people told him. that was a rookie if you had ever seen one, and you’d seen plenty come and go.

you shook of the intense sense of curiosity you felt towards him, postponing your meeting that you assumed would eventually arrive.

something you didn’t know was that that very same boy had been staring at you for minutes, entranced and somewhat confused about your role there, sitting in the plastic chair typing constantly on your keyboard. you almost seemed like a typist in court.

he didn’t say anything, assuming it was a one time thing. you were still there the following day, and four days later. he shot you looks, trying to understand why a girl so gorgeous would spend her afternoons in a training facility, not even sparing the athletes a glance while at it.

you were a puzzle that he needed to solve.

“who’s that?” ben approached kris and nodded towards the stands, where your solitary figure was sitting, yet again with your laptop on your knees.

he was expecting his teammate to tell him you were some sort of media employee, a new intern, someone who worked for the arena, but he didn’t.

the man who was skating next to him redirected his gaze towards where he was looking. “that one? that’s geno’s daughter.”

he felt his heartbeat jump into his throat. geno’s daughter? as in, his teammate’s daughter? well, there went every chance he had of approaching you the way he’d been dreaming about.

he might have been young and new to the league, but he knew how much of a taboo and how off-the-table teammates’ families were, especially daughters.

your presence became the bane of ben’s existence.

one day, sick of seeing you sitting there by yourself, ignoring his presence so easily while he struggled to keep his eyes off of you, he approached sidney. the older man was leaning against the boards, taking a sip of water in between drills.

"is she always around?" he asked his captain, head tilting once again towards your designated spot.

"pretty much. she says the sounds help her concentrate when she has homework to do. she never bothers, she just sits there and minds her business.”

the sounds helped you concentrate. it seemed that everything he found out about you only resulted in him feeling more and more interested in figuring you out, but he knew he couldn’t.

“no, i know. she hasn’t looked up once.”

the veteran looked at him with an apprehensive shadow behind his eyes, then smirked slightly. “don’t let geno know you’ve been looking over at her so much, he tends to be a little overprotective.”

that was what sealed the deal for ben. if even someone as rational and levelheaded as sidney acknowledged that, it meant he was already so close to being a dead man walking. it could have been a joke but, being as intimidated by his oldest teammate as he was, he let it get to his head.

it took every ounce of strength ben had in him to walk past you and act like he didn’t see you, like you weren’t there, like his heartbeat didn’t speed up everytime he caught a glimpse of you sitting in the stands with the corner of his eye. he had to- he needed to get your sweet face and kind smile out of his mind.

he thought you wouldn’t notice, that you were completely indifferent towards him, but you noticed everything. every time you greeted him and he greeted you back distantly, lowering his eyes and rushing his feet away from you, every time he looked at you for a second and, when your eyes accidentally met, he looked away like your gaze had electrocuted him, you noticed.

doubts had been swirling in your mind for a while when, after yet another moment of him barely acknowledging your presence with a nod of his head before sprinting out of the family room, you were left sitting on a couch and asking yourself what exactly you’d done to him.

"do you think he hates me?" you voiced your thoughts towards madison, justin’s wife, who was sitting next to you and had watched the scene unfold.

"who, ben? girl, no, why would he?"

"i don't know, that's what i'm trying to figure out. i'd ask him directly but he doesn't seem interested in talking to me at all. he barely says hi."

she waved your concern off with a hand, head shaking slightly. "he's just a little shy, don't overthink it."

how could you not overthink it? he wasn't shy, you watched him talk to people with the brightest smiles and the utmost interest. you watched him and wished he would act the same towards you, but he never did. all you got from him were cold greetings when you brought your dad coffee and an occasional nod when you went to see the boys practice.

he was polite, sure, but it was clear he had no interest in you nor in being around you in the slightest.

the first round of the playoffs had just started when ben’s birthday came around. you’d come to learn about it through sidney, who had mentioned throwing him a small party at his house to celebrate together. he had looked at you with that knowing gaze, the one that told you he was aware of the situation you were in.

you shook off the bitter feeling of being most likely unwanted and kept going on with your life, unbothered by whatever bad grudge that boy held towards you.

that, until your dad knocked on your door the day of said party, entering your room already dressed in his going-out clothes. his head peeked inside from the door's narrow gap, coming in once he saw you still in bed, sitting down with your back against the headboard and your laptop by your side.

"you coming with me?"

"no, go without me." you mumbled, hand gesturing back towards the door. the mattress dipped slightly below your body as he sat down at its edge. "plus, i'm pretty sure ben hates me."

his brows furrowed violently and you could see the gears turning in hus brain. "what? ben hate you? why?"

"i don't know. he didn't say it out loud or anything, probably because he doesn't talk to me at all."

you hugged your knees to your chest, letting yourself vent to your dad just like you had always done. when your classmates hadn't invited you to go to an amusement park with them in elementary school, when your best friend had stolen your prom date from you, when your test had received an injustified low score, he had sat down next to you and listened to you complain and go on for hours about situations and dynamics he didn't always understand, but knew were important for you.

he mumbled something in russian, something along the lines of ‘that little bastard’, then told you not to think about it too much. naively, you assumed that was his way of telling you it wasn’t a big deal, but you should’ve known better.

still, you hugged him back as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into that awkward, sideways embrace that was so typical of him, before heading out.

the thought hit you when you watched him in the doorway, and you sat back up straight. "wait, dad, don't tell anyone i said all this!”

one thing you had come to learn about your dad throughout the years was that he was terrible at keeping his thoughts to himself. when his concerns revolved around you, however, he became completely unreasonable.

evgeni had usually been a man of his word, being at your mercy whenever you asked him to speak on your behalf just as much as when you asked him to keep something for himself. that time, there was a lingering feeling he couldn’t shake off. who did the rookie think he was to avoid you and make you feel out of place?

he spent the drive to sidney’s house, the one he’d done so often before, pondering on what to do. he wanted to grant your wish and keep his mouth shut, but he simply couldn’t. it was an urge stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. he walked inside the house and after a round of initial greetings, he found the birthday boy.

he was about to shoot off, to lecture him in a way only he could. he went to shake his hand and he was faced with a young boy, a kid even, that received birthday wishes with the widest smile. he saw a bit of you in him, you were so close in age that it was hard not to see the resemblance in your attics, your mannerisms.

after letting go of ben’s hand, his eyes narrowed on his much shorter frame, studying him. "you don't talk with my daughter?"

the boy nearly choked on his saliva, swallowing hard while his eyes buzzed. no one was in their immediate vicinity, nobody was overhearing their conversation. therefore, no one was around to save ben from what seemed to be his end.

"...i'm sorry?"

"she says you hate her."

ben’s world came tumbling down on him with that simple sentence. you thought he hated you. he’d been scared to talk to you and enrage your father, now the man himself was disintegrating him with his eyes because he hadn’t talked to you. he seemingly couldn’t win in any way.

"wait, what? n-no, i don't! not at all." he answered too quickly, head shaking with a vigor that was unlike him.

"okay, tomorrow you go talk with her."

you weren’t in the stands the following day. ben took notice of your absence while he was being yelled at by his coach. he looked up and felt his chest draining at the sight of empty seats. he gathered enough courage to ask geno, whose lips almost shifted into a smile. almost.

after learning that you were in the building, just in an office quieter than the rink full of pressuring yells and motivational speeches, he felt more at ease. his stomach still twisted at the thought of having to stand face-to-face with you and explaining just why he’d been so avoidant towards you, but that was progress in his eyes.

he ensured to make himself presentable before seeing you, since he was ridiculously sweaty and most likely emanating an unpleasant smell. he walked out quietly, leaving doors and hallways behind himself as he headed towards you.

he knocked slowly, tentatively, like he was terrified of breaking that barrier. truthfully, he was. your head picked up at the sound of his knuckles against the hard wood, but your curious expression seemed to fall slightly when you saw him in the doorframe.

"hey."

"hi. uh... mind if i sit?" he asked, index finger pointing towards the loveseat that had served as your comfortable nest for the past few hours.

you looked around briefly, as to check if there was someone else in the room. you were alone, he was really, finally talking to you.

"sure, go on."

he sat to your right slowly, every step careful and calculated. his face was pale, his eyes scanning your surroundings. something was wrong, he seemed almost nervous to be in your presence.

"look, i don't know why you think i hate you, but-"

"blyat!" you muttered under your breath, eliciting a confused expression on ben. "on skazal tibye."

"i know what blyat means, not sure about everything else."

you switched to english, translating the last part of your sentence. "he told you. he wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"i feel like we're focusing on the wrong issue here. i don't hate you, i don't know why you would think that."

"you don't know?" you asked, eyes widening, and ben shook his head. "whenever you see me, you change direction to avoid me."

"i don't-"

you interrupted him, hand raising to prove your point. "no, you do. and you have spoken approximately ten words to me in these past few months. you look at me like you wish i could disappear. just tell me what i did wrong so i ca-"

your words were abruptly cut short when ben lunged forward, lips pressing against yours with a fervour he had never quite felt. the moment he heard you blame yourself, thinking it was you who had done something wrong, he couldn't take it. he couldn't sit there and con you into thinking he wasn't crazy over you.

one of your hands grasped his shoulder, and you gently pushed him away. your face was puzzled, your cheeks the most adorable shade of red. ben thought you looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"are you okay? like, mentally?"

"fair question." he chuckled, raising his hands in defeat as he cleared his throat. "you're right, i have been avoiding you. not because i hate you, though. it's actually the opposite."

"you avoid me because you... like me?"

"yeah, i know it doesn't make any sense. i like you and i was scared of getting too close to you because i thought your dad was going to kill me if i did."

“oh.” your lips parted, small breath coming out of them. "yeah, he does have that look to him." you nodded, lips quirking into a grin.

you sat still for a moment, trying to elaborate what you’d just learned from him. you wanted to see the worst in his words, to spot dishonesty laid between syllables. yet, his eyes were clear and truthful and sparkling with something you couldn’t quite place. one thing you knew was that he didn’t look away from you once.

he cleared his throat the way he did when he was nervous, fingers fiddling in his lap. "so... you're not going to say anything about the part where i said i liked you?"

"you're an idiot." you sighed, looking at him in a way that he swore made his head spin. "a very cute one."

he got the hint that time.

he wasn’t going to run, hide, avoid you.

he went all in, hands grasping each side of your face to pull you into another kiss. it was slow, careful, but firm in a way that the previous one hadn’t been. his lips were a pleasant pressure on your own, your hands flew right to his hair with a gentle tug to pull him closer.

ben pulled away from you, flushed in the face and short of breath, pupils wide and taking up all the light iris’ space. he muffled a laugh, taking a deep breath.

“is your dad actually going to kill me? be honest.”

“I tried Mack.” You whisper, tears falling. “I tried so hard to save him.” And before you know it, you’re sobbing on the dock. The rest of the family up near the cars by now.

“No, no. Hey.” Mack starts, closing the space between you two and lifting your face to look at his. “You did. You got to him, shoulder and all.”

But you couldn’t stop the tears, you couldn’t stop the heaving breaths you had to gasp. You could feel the adrenaline leaving your body, every bit of your skin feeling cold as you start to shake.

Because of this Mack finally gives you no choice, he moves slowly, deliberately avoiding your injured shoulder has much as he can until you’re lifted off the ground.

He whispers to you comfortingly as he takes the steps up to the house. You can hear the sound of voices and car doors. But then you hear, “I’m not leaving without her.”

“Honey, they are going to take Mack’s car.”

“No.”

The no hits you straight in the chest, because you have never heard RJ Celebrini say anything without some level of sass or confidence. But now, he speaks with fear. Mack hurries up a bit, making sure to secure you even more as he takes the turn to the driveway.

“I’ve got her RJ.” Mack states, and you see his shoulders relax a bit as he spots you guys. “We’ll follow right behind you-“

“No.” RJ says again, and everyone freezes slightly at the tone. It isn’t harsh or mean, instead it sounds broken. It sounds scared. Mack hasn’t heard his little brother speak like that since he was way younger and Mack and Aiden made him watch a scary movie knowing he was too young.

“Okay.” You comfort immediately, trying your best to keep your voice steady even as the shaking continues racking through your body. “But your parents are going to want to monitor you in there car, and between all of us-“

“Mack, I’ll take your car. Charlie and I can follow.” Aiden says, taking the car keys from Charlie that she was going to give to Mack.

“Thank you.” Robyn mouths quietly to her eldest son, before everyone is back to moving. With RJ sitting in the back seat, he instantly asks that you sit in the middle.

You nod, sliding into Rick’s SUV as Mack buckles you in and sits on your other side. They waste no time then, Robyn calls ahead to let them know they are coming, Rick keeps eyeing his children in the backseat, and RJ closes his eyes as he lays his head back against the seat.

“Hey.” You say, using your right shoulder to nudge at RJ. He cracks open one eye and looks to you. “You have to stay awake for us, bud.” You say, but another big chill racks your body, and now RJ sits up more.

He’s blinking fast, but his face is written with concern.

“Here baby.” Mack says to your left, grabbing one of his sweatshirts from the back of the car, and covering your bare legs. You catch Rick turning the AC off in the car as well, because even though it’s hot as hell outside, you’re uncomfortable, and he won’t have that in his own car.

“What’s wrong?” RJ asks, and the fact that the concern for you is heavier than the concern for his own well being all but kills you.

“It’s an adrenaline crash.” You say, and even your voice sounds more sluggish than it did ten minutes ago. You see a wave of panic cross RJ’s face, and you try to shut that down immediately. “It’s normal, it doesn’t mean anything bad.” You say, leaning back more into the seat. Mack’s hand moves to rest on your thigh, and you can’t tell if he’s doing it to comfort you or himself more.

“You promise?” RJ asks, and you nod.

“I promise.” You say.

RJ seems to take that as an acceptable answer for the moment, but the panic continues for both Mack and RJ as you continue to shake, your teeth now chattering once in a while.

Robyn turns and offers her zip up to you but you just shake your head, saying you aren’t even that cold. But for the rest of the ride, Mack’s body turns more into yours, like he’s trying to give some body heat without being oblivious. And RJ too shifts more into you, and you don’t say a thing as his head rests against your right arm. And nobody says anything either as a tear slips down your cheek.

—

Once you guys arrive, everyone is instantly pulled in different directions. Rick is at the front desk telling them what happened, Robyn is following RJ who the nurses have rolled a wheelchair out for, and another nurse ushers you in a different way to get imaging done on your shoulder.

You understand the rush, you understand the protocols and the process. Of course you do, because this is a normal day on the job for you. So as you and RJ are separated, it isn’t news to you. But it is to RJ.

“I want to wait.” RJ tries explaining to the nurse. He tries begging with her to let him be seen second, to stay and only get checked after you get helped.

“RJ, you need help.” Robyn says, and her voice is stern but in that loving way she gets when she’s trying to protect her children.

“RJ.” You say, and the family turns to look at you. Mack still glued to your side, half holding you up because you refused a wheelchair. “I’ll find you right after, okay?”

“But what if you need surgery and I’m not there-“

“RJ.”

“I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t-“

“Hey.” You say, leaving Mack’s grasp and taking the few steps over to him. You drop onto a knee so you’re level with how he’s sitting. “We’re both safe now. But we both need to be checked out.” You say. “Please RJ, please let them help you. And then I promise if they don’t let me see you I’ll bust the door down.”

You try to whisper the last part so the staff doesn’t hear you, but Mack does. He chuckles quietly, but watches as you and RJ are watching each other. He recognizes what he sees immediately. It’s the same thing he does when Charlie gets hurt, or when she was younger and would come from school and tell him that a boy was mean to her.

Mack knows how well you fit into his family. He knows that Charlie looks up to you so much. He knows that Aiden calls you when he doesn’t want to admit something to anyone. But he also knows the bond you and RJ formed almost immediately. That fierce protection, the loyalty to a fault.

So as Mack watches you two, he realizes it’s not just him who loves you. It’s his entire family. And despite the events of the day, that is a damn good feeling.

—

It took five more minutes for RJ to even consider leaving your side, and five more on top of that for you guys to be separated. It wasn’t until you begged him and the nurses had to wheel him away that he left your sight.

Once he rounded a corner, a few more nurses brought you back to a room. You knew the process, but you listen to everything they say and follow their direction.

But as you’re waiting for results, you can’t help but watch the clock on the wall.

“Any updates?” You ask Mack, who had just come in the room after he obviously wasn’t allowed to be during your imaging.

“Not yet. They are doing scans and a few more tests. Mom said they should know soon.” He says, stepping up to the side of the bed you’re sitting up in. “Is it any better?” He asks, and you shrug, which was instantly a bad idea. “Well now it’s not going to be!” Mack exclaims as he sees you wince.

You laugh, despite it all you laugh. Using your good arm you swing to swat lightly at his bicep.

“Can you come here?” You ask, and Mack instantly nods. You scoot over as he lays in the bed, carefully bringing you over to him.

You know you’d get scolded if a nurse saw you right now, but with the anxiety of what you’ll need, the anxiety of RJ, you just need your boyfriend.

So he gathers you in his arms, the hospital bed not equipped for two people. Especially when one of those people is a professional hockey player.

“I love you, so much.” Mack says into your hair, kissing it again and again.

“I love you too Mackie.” You say, breathing him in and forcing yourself to look away from the clock. The mix of sunscreen, the lake, and something that is just pure Mack hits you. And you find yourself trying to tuck even further into his body.

“As much as I’d let you do anything you want right now, I don’t think you can move into my body.” He jokes, and you snort into his skin.

“Let me try. I’m fragile.” You state, and Mack lets out his laugh that you swear could fix any problem in the world. So you let yourself relax, let your eyes close and let Mack surround you.

You tell yourself only five minutes, but the next time you open your eyes you realize fifteen have passed. Now, you know this isn’t a lot of time, however that is fifteen minutes of not hearing any updates on RJ.

Mack must feel you tense, because he’s instantly moving his hands on your back and asking if you’re okay.

“Can you check to see-“ But you’re cut off by your boyfriend.

“Of course.” He says, trying to save you the panic of asking. “I’ll be right back.” He says, adjusting the hospital gown that slipped from his movement, and planting a kiss to your forehead as he walks out of the room.

Then the silence hits you, and you watch the clock tick, refusing to take your eyes from it until Mack reenters, followed by a few nurses.

“Hi Y/N, I’m-“ A nurse states but you look immediately to Mack.

“How is he?” You ask him, not meaning to be rude and cut the poor nurse off, but you couldn’t help it.

“He’s good.” Mack says, and the relief hits you hard. “Clear scans, but a bad concussion. They are just walking him and Mom through the recovery process now.” Mack says, and you choke on a laugh.

The nurse, despite you being slightly rude on accident, smiles.

“I take it you guys are the ones with the younger boy who came in?”

“Yes.” Mack says, nodding to her. “He’s my little brother.”

Her eyes light up as she then looks to you. “So you’re the person he kept asking about.” She says, and you and Mack both look at her.

“What?” You question her.

“He kept asking for you, kept saying he needs to know if you’re okay.”

“Sounds like him.” Mack says, shaking his head slightly.

“You’re both very lucky to have such a great support system.” She says, before another nurse and a doctor come in the room.

You turn your gaze to your boyfriend, who looks a little teary eyed. “Yeah, I really lucked out.” You say.

—

With your shoulder now popped back in place, which you hate to admit you cursed up a storm during, a sling on your arm, and Robyn’s zip up back on covering your bikini top, you are finally discharged.

You walk while leaning into Mack, his arm around you and your head slightly against his chest.

Aiden and Charlie stand immediately when they see you, and you give as much as a hug to the other Celebrini siblings as you can manage.

Mack helps you sit down, and Charlie is instantly talking to you.

You smile softly as you respond, and Aiden and Mack quietly mumble about RJ. You hear the occasional whisper of his name, but you stay locked into the conversation with Charlie, letting her express her anxieties to you. Just like an older sister would do for her younger sister.

Then, the four of you go quiet as Rick, Robyn, and RJ appear around the corner. And you can’t help but laugh as you see him.

RJ, who still looks understandably dazed, walks a bit slower than normal, but it’s Robyn’s pair of sunglasses on his face that cause you to laugh.

The sound makes him look immediately to you, and even with the dark shades on, you can tell he’s staring at the sling.

“Looking good there, bud.” You say, and he walks over to you and hugs you immediately.

“Woah woah careful.” Mack says, alarm bells ringing in your boyfriend’s head over your just popped back in shoulder.

“They wouldn’t tell me anything about you.” He mumbles, and you squeeze him as tight as you can with one arm.

You pull away slightly and smile at him. And even though he’s almost ten years younger than you, RJ all but rivals you in height. So you look right into the eyes of the kid you’ve deemed your little brother as well and say, “I think I pissed like ten nurses off by asking about you.”

RJ laughs, but it doesn’t last long as the concussion symptoms are still surging through him.

“Let’s get you guys home.” Rick says, following his children out as Robyn takes to your side.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” She asks, and Mack gives you two a bit of space as you nod.

“Better now that I know he is.”

“Here.” She says, opening her purse and pulling out a stack of paperwork.

“You know me.” You joke, instantly reading the notes and results of RJ.

“And we’re all better for it.” She says, kissing your temple and walking with you to the car.

—

The next few days are, what RJ says, ‘a worse version of hell’.

The sun shines bright each day, and you and RJ are both sequestered to the couch inside. You aren’t allowed to lift anything over 5 pounds, which to you is ridiculous because your right side is totally fine. And RJ cannot move around a ton or be in direct sunlight. So you both find yourselves stuck on the couch.

The first day, everyone hovered, as if taking shifts. You both shut that down immediately. RJ insisted he was old enough to take care of himself, and you pulled the card of being a nurse. Neither of them worked when it came to the Celebrini family though.

And by the end of the third night, RJ longed for outside more than anything.

“Fuck this.” You say, and you stand up.

“Please please please tell me we’re jailbreaking this place.” RJ groans, and you laugh but nod. “Yes!” He exclaims.

“Shut up!” You counter, laughing at how excited he is to just get outside.

The sun has set long ago, and with Rick and Robyn already in bed, Aiden probably talking to his girlfriend, and Mack out with Charlie picking up ice cream, you figure it’s now or never.

“You have to be silent.” You say, helping him stand and slowly creeping around the house grabbing necessities.

“I am silent.” He counters, like he’s offended.

You turn towards him, staring at him. “You have never once in silent in your entire life.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh my bad, the four hours you actually sleep are silent.” You tease, and RJ has half the thought to chuck a pillow at you. But instead he scoffs and flicks your arm as he walks by.

“Did you just flick me?” You ask, jaw dropping and eyes going wide.

“Nope, those pain killers must be messing with your head.” RJ says, hiding his face from you because there’s no way he could look at you right now without busting into laughter.

“Help me out before I decide to tell on you.” You say, and RJ chuckles and helps you grab things.

He tries to take the bulk of the things, and your heart warms because even with an arguably worse injury, RJ is still trying to lessen yours.

“You know I can carry the blankets right?” You whisper, watching as RJ has a few blankets and both of your water bottles in his grip.

“If you even try to grab one of these I’ll scream.”

“You truly are your brother’s sibling.” You say, and while it’s a joke, RJ smiles at the comment.

Once you both have enough stuff, including chips because RJ insisted, you both make your way to the back door that leads to the backyard.

You almost laugh because of how ridiculous you feel. At 21 years old, you’re creeping to try to go outside like a criminal. But honestly, there’s no one you’d rather do stupid shit with than RJ.

“Where the fuck are you guys going.” The voice cuts through the silence, and both you and RJ freeze. Mack is standing there, a dumbfound expression on his face as he stares at you two. Then, he takes in the snacks, the blankets, the water bottles. Even though it’s dark outside you had grabbed your sunglasses for RJ’s eyes.

“If you don’t move, he can’t see us.” RJ whispers silently through the side of his mouth.

“I can hear you, asshole.” Mack chirps at his younger brother.

You move slowly, shifting your things into RJ’s arms. “I’ll distract him, you make a run for it.” You whisper and RJ laughs and nods.

“There you are!” You say excitedly towards your boyfriend, and you block RJ behind you as he moves for the doors.

“You’re insane.” Mack says, laughing as he just watches RJ slip outside and you walk in front of him.

“We’re cooped up, Mackie.” You say, and he looks at you with a little pity. “It’s dark out, and I just don’t want to sit on the couch for another second.”

“Okay, criminal.” Mack says, leaning down and kissing your lips. “Go out there.” He says, motioning towards his little brother. “I’ll be out in a few.”

“I love you.” You say, kissing him again.

—

It doesn’t take long for Mack to join you both outside. And for a while you lay down and watch the stars in the sky as Mack and RJ talk. They talk of San Jose, of hockey, of their normal everyday lives. But soon, like always, the teasing sets in.

“I only tolerate you because if I don’t, I don’t get to see Y/N.” RJ says in response to his older brother’s teasing.

You laugh loudly, covering your mouth as you do.

“I love you too, kid.” You say towards RJ, and for a while the three of you are quiet. All of you lying on the large blanket, listening to the water and the leaves rustling in the breeze. The sounds were peaceful, until you hear a mumble.

“Pass it.” Both you are RJ turn towards Mack. He’s still, your head still on his bicep and his body still directly next to yours.

“Is he-“ RJ starts to ask, but was cut off.

“Offsides.” Mack mumbles again, and it takes everything in you not to laugh.

Your eyes travel to RJ, and he loses it. He laughs into his hand, but he winces. You catch the pained expression on his face immediately, and you sit up, nurse mode kicking in. But as you sit up, you lean on your left side, causing a twinge of fiery pain to shoot up your body. You also wince, which causes RJ to also instantly lock onto you.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, ignoring your shoulder as much as possible.

“Are you?” He asks, and you both just stare at each other for a bit.

“I’m the nurse here.” You say, pulling rank.

“The injured nurse.”

“I’m older!”

“I’m taller!”

“You are no such thing!” You jokingly exclaim, but you both lay back down on the blanket, which is luckily large enough to fit the three of you.

Silence settles again for a few minutes, before RJ breaks it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You say, sitting up slightly.

“How did you know?” He asks, but his eyes don’t meet yours.

“How did I know what?” You counter.

“How did you know you loved him?”

“Your brother?” You clarify, and he gives you a no shit expression. “Sorry.” You say, chucking slightly. “You normally hate the mushy shit.”

He shrugs though, looking back towards the water. So you sigh, smiling at the memories as you tell him.

“I think I loved him from the first moment I saw him.” You admit, and RJ looks back to you. “But.” You say, shaking your head with another laugh. “He’ll kill me for telling you this.” You say, and that breaks a huge grin across RJ’s face. “Macklin got … well, obliterated at this party.” You say, and RJ instantly gets intrigued.

“Oh this is going to be good.”

“We were just friends at the time, but Will called me.” You say, remembering the phone call. “Said that Mack was so drunk that he was basically useless. Couldn’t walk, slurred every word. Will was trying to get him back to the house, but he was refusing.” You say. “The only clear words Mack could get out was that he wanted to come to my place.”

“Oh my god.”

“So, Will gets him in the car, and gets him to my place. And I looked into his eyes, and even though he was so drunk, his eyes seemed to clear.” You explain, and RJ made a slight look of disgust. “And he told me that he was secretly in love with me, and that he has to tell me now because he thought he was dreaming.”

“God that’s embarrassing.” RJ comments and you laugh.

“He told me that if he couldn’t have me, at least he would have this. And I just remember knowing then, that there wasn’t a place he could go that I wouldn’t go as well.”

“Alright, alright.” RJ says, and you chuckle.

“Does your curiousity have anything to do with why your phone has been so secretive lately?” You chide, raising one eyebrow at him.

RJ turns away, and even in the dark you can see the blush in his face.

“I don’t know what you mean.” RJ says.

“Mhm, sureee.” You say, and RJ gives you a glare. But you can tell that he wants to say more, so you look away, not wanting to push something.

“How do I know if she likes me?”

“Sometimes that’s the hard part.” You admit. “But if she’s important to you, there’s no harm in trying.”

He takes a while before he responds. “Thank you.” He says, and before you can tell him not to thank you he continues. “Not for the water, but thank you for that too. But thank you for listening to me. I’m really glad you’re with him.”

“I love you, RJ.” You say back, and you both lay back down.

“Like, a date?” He squeaked out, his heart hammering in his chest. He had been waiting for months for an opportunity to confess to you, and this could be it!

“No, Smit’s coming. I just said that.” You smiled at Mack’s lack of listening skills. Will coughed to remind everyone that he was still there and Mack’s face fell.

“Sure. I’ll be there.” Mack forced out a smile when the school’s intercom buzzed to life, freeing Mack from having anymore awkward conversation with you.

“Good morning Galileo Academy!” As you dug around in your bag, Will shot Mack a look, silently trying to apologize to his best friend.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

Couldn’t Mack enjoy a weekend in peace? Apparently not, because right as he stepped into the East Mall of Japantown, he felt the buzz at the nape of his neck. Fuck, he had to come up with an excuse before whatever villain it was this time plowed through San Francisco.

“Gotta run to the bathroom!” He glanced at Will to tell him that it was a superhero related escape and the blonde boy nodded in response. Mack dashed away toward a secluded area and yanked his hoodie off, revealing his suit sitting underneath. He stuffed his clothes into his backpack as his mask whirred to life.

“Eevee, what’s going on?” Mack shook his wrists, feeling his web shooters click into place.

“Threat is armed, and is currently—.” Mack heard a loud bang followed by screams. “at your location.”

“Thanks Eevee.” He flicked a web onto the pagoda to his right and shot himself upwards, landing on one of its layered roofs. His eyes flicked around for the assailant, just as a masked man ran into the East Mall. Mack’s brain screamed at him as he realized that you and Will were stuck inside with an armed criminal. He instantly jumped off the pagoda and followed the man inside.

“Nobody move.” Mack heard a voice from around the corner, where he assumed someone was rounding up all the people who had been innocently trying to enjoy their Saturday. He rounded the corner, seeing everyone standing frozen in panic while a man waved a gun around, his back facing towards Macklin. He could see you and Will still in the spot he’d left you in, your bodies locked in place like statues. Your eyes flicked over to him, tears pricking the corners, and the man spun around towards him. Mack took a step towards him, and his eyes widened. “Don’t come any closer.” The gunman tried to appear unfazed, but his hand trembled.

“I won’t.” Mack paused for a second before flicking his wrist forward and shooting a web over the barrel of the gun, rendering it useless. The masked man squeezed the trigger before tossing the gun aside. The weapon landed right at Will’s feet, who only stared at it in horror. The man reached for what Mack could only assume was another weapon, but Mack shot a web at him and pulled him forward. As the man slid towards Mack, Macklin swung his fist out, the punch connecting with his face. The man stumbled onto his back and Mack webbed him to the ground. Once the man was apprehended, Mack heard someone take a shaky inhale. He didn’t really care where it had come from, his eyes were still locked on you and Will, trying to make sure you were okay.

“Thank you for saving us.” Your voice was more broken than Mack had ever heard before, sounding more like a strained whimper than words. Your body somehow knew that your best friend had just saved you from potentially losing your life, because your eyes got blurry and the floor got closer, your legs giving up on you.

“Fuck.” Will mumbled, trying to catch you as you fainted onto him. As he glanced around for somewhere to put you, he noticed that a certain hero was still standing in the middle of the mall, staring directly at him and you. “Ma—um, could you help me?” Mack booked it across the room, grabbing you from his arms and scooping you into a princess carry. Mack felt his heart going a million miles a minute as he checked your pulse and breathing. He swallowed, trying to form a coherent thought before he opened his mouth.

“She’s breathing.” Will let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. Mack stared down at your limp body, rubbing your arm softly. “C’mon wake up, please.” He mumbled, he needed you to be alright, he couldn’t live with himself if you were hurt. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until he saw your fingers twitch and you slowly blinked open your eyes.

“What happened?” Your voice was soft and slightly slurred, you just sounded so tired and it made Mack’s heart sink a little. Before Mack could answer, Will chimed in.

“You fainted, I think it was just shock.” Will took a step toward you but stopped when Mack’s mask narrowed its eyes at him.

“Where’s Mackie?” Mack’s body stiffened. If he talked normally, you would immediately recognize him. He cleared his throat and attempted to lower his voice about half an octave.

“Who are wondering about ma’am?” Mack could feel Will shoot him a look, even though he couldn’t see him. What the hell was Mack doing calling you ma’am?

“Mack, he’s my, well, he went to the bathroom before— oh my god, what if he’s hurt? Can you go look for him? Please, I can’t lose him. I love him.” Mack’s cheeks burned under his mask, you had just indirectly told him you loved him.

“What’s he—” His voice cracked slightly. “What’s he look like?” He tightened his grip on your body, pretending to listen as you rattled off information he already knew about himself. He set your feet down and let you gain your balance before letting you stand up. He glanced down to see that his hands were still resting on your waist and quickly pulled his arms away. “Well, I can go look for him and send him your way.” He watched as you nodded intently, your eyes getting slightly glossy again. “I hope you feel better, pretty girl.” He practically heard Will roll his eyes as your cheeks flushed. He flicked a web onto the pagoda and soared away.

“Thank you Spider-Man!” You called after him, staring dumbfounded as he flew through the air.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

Mack zipped back to where he had stuffed his backpack and tossed his clothes on, trying to stay as hidden as possible. Once he had his outfit back to normal, he fixed his hair from where it had gotten all rumpled under his mask. He breathed deeply and pulled his backpack on, quietly stepping out of his hiding spot and back towards where you were.

As soon as he turned the corner and came into your view, you rushed at him, nearly knocking him over with your hug.

“Mack where were you, I was so worried.” Your voice was filled with so much love yet so much annoyance and Macklin realized you were on the verge of tears. You buried your head in the crook of his neck and let out a watery laugh. “You missed me getting carried by Spider-Man.” He leaned into your touch, feeling a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“I didn’t though.” He bit back a smile as you pulled away with a confused pout. You scanned his face for a second before your eyes widening, realization washing over you.

“Holy shit, Mack are—are you serious?” Mack nodded silently and thoughts raced through your head. Mack was Spider-Man. Your best friend and raging crush had just caught you after you passed out and listened to you talk about how you loved him. The thoughts screeched to a stop when Mack placed his hand on your cheek and smiled.

“Can I get a thank you for saving you?” His gums peeked out from his stupid little grin and you laughed.

“You’re stupid.” You didn’t really care though, because you still leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. Will groaned from next to you, making his presence very known.

MARCH 25TH, 2026. Texts between Y/N and Sidney Crosby

texts between Y/N and Ben Kindel

Meanwhile in the San Jose Sharks Groupchat…

Texts between Macklin Celebrini and Sidney Crosby

back in the San Jose sharks group chat

Sometimes you have to give up on people, not because you don’t care, but because they don’t. And clearly Macklin made it clear he didn’t care about you, or so you thought. The fight between you guys had felt like the end of everything, you thought you’d never hear from him ever again and he’d forget about you in a heartbeat.

And you definitely didn’t think it’d turn into a big deal, you didn’t want it to become a big deal. As Macklin said, people grow up. People grow up and drift apart, making it a big deal by telling everyone would make the heartache feel worse.  And telling Sidney specifically, would turn things into a whole different situation. Yet to your luck, he found out. Thanks to Kindy, who for some reason decided to drop the news to your dad behind your back.  

It doesn’t matter what his intentions were. As much as you're sure they were right, he still broke your trust, which was crazy since Macklin had just done so a few weeks before!

It genuinely feels like everyone you love was toying around with your feelings and trust, holding your heart tightly then just dropping it and letting it shatter into pieces.

“Ben Kindel you little fucker.”  You mumbled to yourself as you got ready to go out, after huffing and grumbling while putting on your black coat and matching gloves you figured you looked decent enough to finally go downstairs and face your dad.

 Today marks 16 years since your mother died from brain cancer,  a day that you remember so vividly it feels like it only happened last week. Your mom had been ill for a while after she quit figure skating, a bright woman who would sass people and pick at everyone lovingly was quickly becoming frail and exhausted.

She would reassure you every day that she was healthy, and everything was going to be alright in time. But quickly the words of reassurance started becoming prayers, it only took a short span of time for things to become worse.  It hit rock bottom when she was hospitalized, in critical condition after months of surgery, radiation therapy, and chemotherapy.

Your dad would spend as much time with her as possible, in fear that there wasn’t much left. Geno would visit her frequently as well, unable to hold his sobs every time he had to leave. 

You were quite young at the time, and didn’t know how to take in everything that was happening.  All you knew was that your mother was actively dying in front of your eyes, and there was nothing you could do to stop that.

The last moments you had with her were in a hospital room, she was braiding your hair as you told her about your first day at figure skating practice. The room was so silent, like everyone knew something you didn’t.

It was a blurry memory, but you still remember Sidney excusing himself and leaving for the bathroom as tears swelled up in his eyes.  At that point, you were used to seeing everyone cry when it came to your mom, but seeing your dad cry felt like seeing the last pieces of hope you had left slip away.

And on March 25th 2010, she was gone.  She died at dawn, having a soft conversation with Sidney before going to sleep, unaware that she’d never wake up.

She died peacefully, holding the hand of her lover as the line in the heart monitor flattened.

Since then, every day at this time of year, you would visit her grave with your dad and Geno.  And today was that day,  it was always a heavy occasion but today felt particularly crushing knowing there were plenty of unspoken words between you and your dad.

As you made your way downstairs every step felt like a step towards a pit made out of your dad's disappointment. You’ve never hidden anything from him,  especially something as big as what’s happening between you and Macklin.

It’s mostly cause he’d find out what you’re hiding before you even tried to hide it, that ability probably comes with being Sidney Crosby apparently.

Please don’t be in the kitchen, please don’t be in the kitchen.

You prayed internally, eyes closed while walking into the kitchen as if it was a crime scene. 

“Morning, bug.” 

Fuck.

You opened your eyes to be met with your dad, standing in the kitchen with what might be the calmest expression you’ve ever seen. 

He’s calm???

“Morning, Dad.” She hummed in response, forcing yourself to loosen your tense shoulders before sitting down at the table slowly.

He found out his daughter’s feelings got toyed with and he’s fucking relaxed????

You thought as you glanced between him and the little breakfast platter in front of you, extremely bewildered by the fact he hasn’t initiated an entire interrogation about what happened by now.

You watched him intensely as you ate breakfast, he hadn’t smiled or frowned at all. You fully expected him to be pacing around, arms crossed as he demanded to know every detail.

But here he was, washing dishes silently after finding out Macklin Celebrini broke his daughter’s heart.

You sighed dramatically, attempting to soft launch the inevitable conversation as he placed a bouquet of Daisies on the counter.

Daisies, your mother’s favorite flower, he leaves a bouquet of them at her grave every year.

“We’re gonna head out to the graveyard once Geno arrives, he’s on the way.”  He commented, breaking the awkward silence that was filling the room.

“Okay.” You replied, “y’know, Dad, this is really awkward can we address the Macklin-shaped elephant in the roo-“

You cut yourself off as he held up a finger.

“We’ll discuss that later.”

“But-“

“No, bug, I don’t wanna hear anything about this for now.” He closed the subject harshly, keeping a cool tone in fear of an argument starting.

Sidney has never yelled at you, but this was the closest he ever got to doing so.

You bury your face in your hands, trying to push down all the overwhelming thoughts in your head and the tears swelling up in your eyes. 

How ironic this happens the day you're visiting you mothers grave.

The doorbell rang and your father was out of the kitchen in a blink, you immediately sat back and exhaled deeply.  If he’s reacting like this to the topic now, then who knows how he’s gonna react later!

“Geno’s here!” You heard him call out.

Geno.

If your dad knows about what happened between you and Macklin, then Geno knows as well.

You shot out of your seat like a bullet, and jogged towards the front door. It’s only logical that Geno knows, any news that goes to Sidney Crosby must go to Evgeni Malkin as well.

And unlike your dad, Geno is definitely not going to push the topic aside. 

“Uncle Geno!” You exclaim, running to your front porch and colliding with him.

“Y/n? Y/n! Hi, good morning!” Geno stumbled over his words as you hugged him so suddenly, but he didn’t hesitate to hug back with the same amount of force.

“You know, don’t you?” Wasting no time, you ask immediately.

“Know what?? Why Sid so weird? I wish I knew! Your dad act like crazy stressed man since yesterday, I don’t know why..” he huffed, pointing at the garage where your dad was waiting for you two in the car, with exaggerated hand movements.

“Me and Macklin had a fight, then I went on a date with Luke Hughes.” 

“Y/n don’t joke with me-“

“I’m not joking, remember when you guys came home late and found me crying? That was right after Macklin basically told me he doesn’t care about me anymore.”  You cut in, briefly explaining the harsh truth of what happened.

Geno’s shoulders slouched as he pulled away from the hug, and he blinked a few times as if you’d just told him pigs could fly. Was it that disbelieving? Did everyone seriously think you and Macklin were inseparable for life!?

“Why you didn’t tell us??”  Oh gosh, that inevitable question.

“I didn’t wanna make it a big deal. He was right, people do grow u-“ 

“It is a big deal! He make you cry, you think we don’t take it as a big deal if you’re sad?!” Geno insisted, shaking his head in disappointment.  Disappointment towards Macklin, not towards you.

You opened your mouth to argue but closed it when you heard a car horn coming from the garage, there was still the rest of the day to talk about this and right now you just wanted to get things over with.

-

The graveyard had a bittersweet feeling to it, as devastating as it was coming here every year on this day was a part of your childhood since you were five. 

You stood in between your dad and uncle, eyes locked onto your mother’s grave. The daisies had gradually grown around the tombstone over time, it reminded you of how she used to put vases filled with them all over the house.

“Where do you think the daisies came from?” You poorly attempted to break the silence, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Her heart.”  Your father replied simply, his voice threatening to crack as his eyes got glossy.

You smiled softly at the comment, resting your head against his shoulder. Now that he knew about everything that had happened in the past few weeks, you started to feel the guilt kick in.

I’m sorry, Dad. I should’ve told you.  

You thought as he pressed a soft kiss against your forehead, and Geno did the same right after. If anything they’re definitely more upset at Macklin than you, he’s the one that caused all this.

“About Macklin..” you spoke up, stepping up front and turning to look at them. It was about time that you explained everything, even if Ben probably went and spilled everything anyway.

“Macklin just…..he just dropped me one day, he didn’t talk to me for days after the Olympics then suddenly snapped when I reached out to him.” You explained, keeping a soft tone in hopes that they’d stay calm if you did.

“This has been going on since after the Olympics?” Your dad echoed, seeming genuinely shocked that you’ve been carrying this alone for so long.

“Yeah, we fought and stopped talking completely.” You nodded, cringing as you recalled the harsh fight.

“And you didn’t tell me the entire time?” 

“I didn’t wanna distract you from work…..” 

“Oh bug, even if you never told me I would’ve noticed that you were upset. You think I can focus on anything if my daughter is upset? Ask Geno, I played terrible against the Bruins yesterday.” Your dad sighed, patting your shoulder as he glanced at Geno, who nodded very seriously.

You didn’t reply to that, you knew he was right. Even if you never told him he would’ve figured it out, and he did thanks to Ben.

“Well, I didn’t tell anyone. Except for Kindy of course, you probably knew that since he’s the one who told you what happened.” You continued.

“Kindy didn’t tell me.”

“What?”

“Fraser did.”

“What?!” 

Fraser, as in Fraser Minten??? He told him?

You blinked at him in confusion, struggling to process what you just heard. You grew up with Fraser the same way you grew up with Macklin, but you hadn’t told him anything due to how busy he was lately.

“Fraser as in Fraser Minten, the boy I met at McDonald’s when I was seven??? That Fraser told you?” You clarified, laughing in disbelief as your dad nodded.

“Yes sweetheart, Fraser told me. We played against the Bruins yesterday, remember?” He repeated himself, you’ve been so caught up in your head you didn’t realize the Penguins played against the Bruins yesterday.

“Fraser asked why you and Macklin have been acting weird lately, I didn’t know why so I asked Kindy…..and he kinda just spilled everything..”

“Of course he did!” You exclaimed, continuing to laugh in disbelief. You're not surprised that Ben just gave up and told him everything; you're surprised it was Fraser out of all people.

I am going to have a serious talk with Ben Kindel after this.

You thought as you sighed in relief, relief that you finally don’t have to hide anything anymore.  The topic was closed and everything was done, you and Macklin aren’t friends anymore.

“I didn’t know how to react after I found out, the last thing I expected from Mack was this.” Your dad continued after a few seconds of silence, you really hoped he wasn’t that mad at Macklin, that would cause some tension if they ever played together again.

Geno feeling the need to lighten up the mood, finally added his two cents. “He react like aliens real, pacing around locker room like psycho!” 

You chuckle softly at the description, yeah that sounded like your dad. You never thought you’d be having a conversation about Macklin doing something like this to you, to be honest this is probably the first time he’s actually done something to hurt you.

What a way to end a lifelong friendship.

“It’s upsetting, you should’ve seen the state I was in when the fight happened. I’m sure the thought of Macklin will forever chase me.” You spoke casually, watching your dad and uncle’s reactions as you admitted the painful truth.

“Y/N!!!!!!” 

All three of you turn your heads sharply towards the yelling, you think it’s paparazzi spotting you and trying to get your attention, but it’s way worse.  

Macklin.

What the fuck is he doing here.

“Macklin?” You all say in unison, you glance at your dad and Geno in startled confusion. What was he doing here? More importantly, why is he here!?

You watch him run up to you, holding two flower bouquets as he did so.  Oh my goodness of course he knew you’d be here! He knows you come here every year, you guys grew up together after all.

“Macklin?! What the fuck!” You exclaim as he stops right in front of you, you glance back at your dad and Geno, who are also incredibly startled.

Geno isn’t exactly startled, he’s grinning as if he’s watching the climax of a rom-com! 

Macklin looked beyond exhilarated, his usually rosy cheeks were bright red and he was catching his breath like someone who just ran a marathon.

“Y/n- hi, give me a second I need to….I need to breathe...” Macklin panted, crouching down as he caught his breath. He was holding a bouquet of daisies, and another bouquet filled with lavender.

Lavender, your favorite flower.

“Hi?? Hello?? What the fuck are you doing here!” You yelled in response, this was the first time you’ve seen him in person since the fight, and seeing his face after so long was giving you mixed emotions.

You missed him, but you were way past angry. You were upset, furious, and somewhat relieved to see him. 

Macklin finally stood up, and his eyes widened immediately as he realised Sidney and Geno were here too.  You hoped this was as much of a nightmare to him as it was to you.

“Okay, I planned what I was gonna say at the airport but I forgot.”  He replied intelligently, somehow his ears turned redder than before.

You faceplaimed hard and turned around to look at your dad and Geno, silently requesting some privacy. If you were to fight with Macklin, you’d prefer to do so without an audience.

Your father grabbed Geno by the wrist and backed up casually, and Geno didn’t look pleased to know he was gonna miss this conversation.

“We’ll give you some space.” Your dad said simply, shooting a scarily cold look at Macklin before walking off to somewhere in the graveyard.

You nod and turn back to Macklin with the frustration of an angry sports coach during a losing streak, as much as you miss seeing his face you were fuming.

“Are you this fucked up in the head?? You ditch me out of nowhere then randomly run into a graveyard yelling my name!” You started, not bothering to lower your voice or think about what to say as you went off on him.

Macklin winced as he let you scream at him, it seemed he knew he was guilty.

“I knew you were gonna be here, that’s why I came! I took a flight from SanJose last night!” Macklin yelled back, shoving the bouquet filled with lavenders at you harshly.

You huffed in offense and grabbed the bouquet, it was frustratingly gorgeous.  He knew Lavender was your favorite, he once got stung by a wasp while picking some from the garden for you.

“The lavenders are for you, the daisies are for your mother….but that’s not why I’m here!” Macklin continued, blurting all his words out at once as he panicked.

“Then why are you here, Macklin. Tell me why! You disappear for weeks on end after telling me you didn’t give a flying fuck about our friendship, then you suddenly choose to show up with some half-assed apology flowers as if it’ll fix everything!” You're basically screaming at him now, if the graveyard wasn’t empty, then you’d probably be kicked out by now.

And Macklin dares to actually look offended, placing the daisies on your mother's tombstone gently before turning back to you with an expression too insulted for its own good.

“And you think going on a date with Luke Hughes will fix things?” He snapped back, placing his hands on his hips as he brought up the embarrassing detail.

You gasp slightly, the nerve this boy has??

“Why does that matter? I’m allowed to go on a date with who I want! That has nothing to do with you stop acting like you’re in love with me!”

“I am in love with you!”

It felt as if Macklin knocked the air out of your lungs, and your heart dropped harder than any failed triple axel you’ve ever done. 

I am in love with you.

Macklin is in love with you.

You stand there frozen, breathing heavily like a startled animal. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest as you processed what he just revealed, he was in love with you.

Macklin looked as taken aback as you did, as if he hadn’t planned to say that at all. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them to look directly at you.

And gosh, he looked soulful.

“Y/n, I am in love with you. And I have been ever since we were 12 years old, I loved you when we were stupid kids making promises about our future, and I love you now as adults facing the world together.” Macklin continued, voice cracking every time he repeated the word ‘love.’

“I stopped talking to you because I was scared, scared you weren’t on the same page as me but..” he didn’t stop, not bothering to hide the fact he was tearing up now.

“But Y/N, I am painfully and deeply in love with you.” Macklin concluded, letting out a shaken exhale as he took in your reaction.

You didn’t realize you were crying, but hot tears were flowing down your cheeks as Macklin finished his confession. You’ve been alive for nineteen years, and you’ve known Macklin for sixteen. 

You’ve won an Olympic gold medal, lost your mother to cancer, faced insane public scrutiny as a female athlete, and carried pressure on your back from a young age.

And yet, the hardest few weeks of your life, were the few weeks you lived without Macklin.

You open your mouth just to gasp for air, unaware that you’ve been holding your breath the entire time.  You look back at Macklin and take a few steps forward towards him, stopping right in front of him.

Smack! 

You slap him, watching him rub his cheek as tears began to slowly stream down his face as well.  But before he could say anything you wrap your arms around him tightly, trapping him in a warm embrace.

(A/n: okay sorry to interrupt but imagine end of August by Noah Kahan playing here) 

The hug was absolutely mollifying, and it was exactly what you needed after everything that has happened. You could hear Macklin’s rapid heartbeat and you’re sure he could hear yours too, 

Closing your eyes as you melted into the warm embrace, you knew this was exactly where you wanted to be.

With Macklin.

The silence between you two lasted a few moments longer. You stayed in each other's arms, quietly enjoying the feeling of being in each other's warmth after weeks of cold disconnection and miscommunication.

“You planned that speech on the way here?” You broke the silence, speaking softly into his shoulder.

“Nah, I was supposed to bring a boombox and sing.” Mack hummed in response, causing you both to break into quiet giggles.

You pulled away slightly, keeping your arms wrapped around his neck loosely. Being in a position like this wasn’t uncomfortable after years of knowing each other, but as you took in the sight of his face turning pink again it felt more intimate than it should have.

Macklin makes a bold move and cups your face awkwardly. And you try not to continue giggling as you lean in, tilting your head slightly as you glance at his lips…

“Can you guys not kiss in a graveyard?” Your father's voice appeared abruptly.

You and Macklin separated as if touching each other would cause burns, immediately backing up and turning towards Sidney and Geno.

“Oh, hey Sid.” Macklin squeaked, rubbing his neck awkwardly as you picked up the discarded lavender bouquet from the ground.

Your father looked nothing but exasperated, and Geno was clapping smugly as if he’d just won a bet.

“No no no, let them continue! I wait years for this, Tanger said he give five hundred if-“ Geno tsked, waving his hand dramatically.

“Uncle Geno! You made bets on us????”

“Okay bug, let’s get out of the graveyard then we’ll beat up Geno together okay?” Your dad redirected smoothly, walking in between Macklin and slinging his arms around your shoulders as you guys walked back to the car.

“And possibly, beat up Macklin as well.” He added jokingly, well he’s probably joking…..hopefully.

“What?? Sidney that’s not funny-“ Macklin snapped his head towards Sidney, nervous and unable to tell if this was sarcasm or a joke foreshadowing his future.

You sigh fondly, untangling the lavenders in the bouquet you're holding.  Obviously your dad wasn’t going to beat up Macklin, but they were definitely going to have a very threatening conversation later.

“Dad, please don’t beat up my boyfriend yet, we still haven’t kissed.” You commented casually, smiling to yourself as everyone paused and Macklin almost tripped.

“Boyfriend?!” They all said in unison.

Yeah, boyfriend.  Macklin has always been the love of your life, one way or another.

Y/NUSER ✓

♪ — out of the woods - Taylor swift

Liked by SidneyCrosby.87, Benkindy_81, _Fraserminten, Mackcelebrini, e.malkin71geno, and 400K others..

Y/NUSER ✓ she’d really beat my ass if she was here…..ps: Mackcelebrini thanks for the flowers 🪻🪻🩵

creator limited comment access.

User1 my condolences and…congratulations ig? ♥︎ By creator

User2 they’re friends again someone fucking pinch me ♥︎ By creator

Y/NUSER ✓ who said we were friends we just made out

User3 WHAT??????

User4 and Macklin Celebrini SCORESSSS

_Fraserminten ✓ 👀👀 ♥︎ By creator

Y/NUSER ✓ 😒😒 you’ve spending way too much with bedsy 😒😒😒 pondering your way into questions that cause problems 😒

Benkindy_81 my parents got back together life is good ‼️ ♥︎ By creator

Y/NUSER ✓ I’m still mad at you your ass is grounded

Mackinnon29 ✓ if your mother was here she’d find you and Mack absolutely hilarious 😂😂😂 ♥︎ By creator

Y/NUSER ✓ don’t you have better things to do go stare at my dad with hearts in your eyes or smth

_willsmith2 ✓ #unblocked

Y/NUSER ✓ don’t test my patience boy ♥︎ By creator _willsmith2 ✓ hey why didn’t you like my comment??

The Kansas sun was hot on your back as you washed the laundry. You're down by the river scrubbing down one of your brother's shirts on the board. It's caked in dirt and grime from the labor he had been doing around the place to get the field ready for planting. The tips of your fingers are wrinkly and are beginning to hurt from how hard you've been scrubbing. Rinsing it out once more you begin to wring the shirt out the best you can with your hands. Flipping it around a few times you smile to yourself satisfied with the cleanliness of the shirt. You throw it into the basket with the rest of the clothes you've already finished washing.

Standing up you stretch out your back trying to loosen the ache that had formed from being hunched over the laundry. You start making your way up the path back towards the cabin. The wind picks up cooling the sweat that was forming at the back of your neck. You mind the larger rocks along the path not wanting to trip and drop the laundry basket into the dirt like you had done last week. Finally, the small log cabin comes into view. Your brother and Mr. Sinclair had done a fine job building it, it overlooked the plains where the long grass and wildflowers grew. The outside had a decent size porch to stay out of the sun while you worked. You guys were still saving up for some glass windows, but you took some old torn dresses that couldn't be fixed and made some pretty curtains for it. And to the right of the cabin they had even built a small chicken pen and a bit farther to the right of that was the small pen for your two plow horses.

You and your brother had moved down from Maine to Independence some months back. Your parents had unfortunately passed from the consumption due to their older age. Your brother couldn't bear to stay in town and was set on settling somewhere new far far away from the farm you two were raised on for a fresh start. With him being your only remaining family you ventured out West with him. Mostly because you couldn't bear the idea of your brother doing this all by himself. He had insisted you stay back and accept the proposal from a gentleman in town who had fancied you. You'll admit you had considered it, he was a kind man who had a good job and nice home. Yes, you could've been happy and would've been taken care of, but ultimately you had turned him down. Mostly because you wanted to marry out of love. Not wanting to hurt him, you had explained to him that you could not settle down and start a family and live a life where your children grow up without knowing their uncle. He had understood as he also was close with his family and shared a similar sentiment. He had bid both of you farewell and wished you two goodluck. With that your brother sold your guys' childhood home, farm, and practically all of your belongings and headed west.

You set the basket of clothes on the porch. Sitting in the wooden rocking chair your brother had made you begin to wring out the clothes the best you could, wanting all the extra water out. Once you had finished with that you took the basket over to the clothes line and began to hang up all the larger articles of clothing. You left the smaller ones in the basket as you would hang those up above the fireplace later. Securing the last pair of your brother's pants you head back to the cabin with the wicker basket resting on your hip. You still had a few more chores to work on before you started on supper.

You set the laundry basket down on the table and head over to the large basin to begin washing the dishes. Luckily you had grabbed a couple pails of water earlier so you did not have to go back out into the sun to the well. You begin scrubbing at the dishes that were used from breakfast. As you’re scrubbing you hear footsteps coming up to the door. Odd you think, your brother normally didn’t come back until the later afternoon but you don’t pay it any mind.

“Back so early Peter?” you shout out to him without turning around. There’s no response but you hear the cabin door open up. Confused now on why he hasn’t responded, you turn around and come face to face with two tall Osage men.

The first one closest to you in the cabin wears his long black hair loose. With a red and black headpiece near the top of his head clipping a few strands out of his face. His face is hard and rigid as he doesn’t say anything to you just frowns. He wears a long coat with stripped pants. The man behind him is much different. His hair is parted down the middle and wears a similar headpiece to the other, but unlike his friend his hair is braided instead of hanging loose. Strands of long white beads adorn his neck. He is dressed a little lighter too in a long sleeve shirt and vest with striped pants as well. His features are much softer than his friends albeit just as stoic. His dark eyes are all consuming and are complimented by his full lashes. You feel like he can see right through you and you feel your face begin to get hot. He doesn’t say anything but just looks at you and around the cabin. With his prominent cheek bones you can’t help but find him extremely handsome. You notice both of them carrying sacks in their hands.

A million thoughts are racing through your head; composing yourself you quickly wipe your wet hands on the apron of your skirt. “Hello.” you rasp out as your voice falters a little, but it’s all you can manage with your nerves. Both men don’t say anything, just simply stare at you and around the cabin.You know Peter’s rifle is under his bed but you don’t dare to glance at it or its direction. So instead you just try again.

“What can I do for you gentlemen today?” Your voice holds much better this time, a little more confident and strong. You plaster a smile on your face trying to be welcoming. The two exchange a glance with one another and you begin to worry maybe they don’t speak English. Finally though the long hair one speaks.

“Rent for land” is all he says a little gruffly. You’re relieved a bit though as that’s easier to handle. Until you remember Peter took most of the money to replenish the shelves with some necessities from the general store today. A small pit grows in your stomach as you think of how you’re going to pay these men.

You nod your head though to show you understand. “Yes, of course. I don’t have much money right now, perhaps I could give you a few things instead if that’s alright?” your voice is much meeker this time all the confidence washed away.

The long hair one doesn’t say anything just approaches you with the burlap sack open now he’s carrying. You don’t wait and begin to offer food to him. You hand him a jar of pickled carrots and some blackberry jam you had made. He examines each one before nodding and placing them in the sack. Next you grab a small bag of beans that was still half full and some sugar. You’re silent as you just hand off the food. You carefully wrap half a dozen of the eggs from the chickens you were planning on selling and hand them to him in a small basket. He looks at them and places them on the table closer to the man with the braided hair. He has just been standing there watching the two of you. You make eye contact with him briefly before looking away to grab another jar. You ignore the way your stomach flips. The two of them begin to speak to each other in their native tongue. You hope they’re happy with your tribute as you find a jar of pickled onions to offer.

You offer it to the one with the braided hair. He stares at it for a moment before looking back up at you through his long lashes. Your breath catches in your throat, but you just smile instead. You extend your arm a little more and nod your head gesturing for him to take it. His mouth twitches for a split second before he accepts the can. You step back from both of them and rest your hands in front of you. You hope this would be the end of it and they would leave soon.

The long hair man points to some canned food Peter had bought from the general store resting on the shelf between you and him. You winced as these were kind of expensive, but you comply and go to grab them for him. He says something to his companion that you cannot understand. He laughs slightly, and you have a feeling they probably weren’t the kindest words. However, no response comes right away from the handsome one. When the handsome one does speak to his friend his tone sounds kind of harsh. You hand the long haired man the cans and he tosses them into the sack and they clink with the rest.

The handsome one speaks again this time moving from his spot that was at the center of the cabin and heading towards the door. A wave of relief hits you knowing you’re almost done. His companion follows however, he stops by the table where the laundry basket sits. You’re a little confused about what caught his attention. He reaches and grabs something you can’t see from where you're standing. A gasp leaves your throat when he picks up and raises your father’s pocket watch. You curse to yourself internally as you remember Peter had been winding it that morning. It was his most treasured belonging. Your legs move before your brain even processes what you’re doing. You make your way around the opposite side of the table closest to the braided hair man by the door.

“Please no, that was my father’s.” you keep your voice firm using your body to block the exit. Both men look down at you, the braided hair one looks almost shocked at your sudden behavior change. The long hair one closes his hand a bit tighter on the watch. He stares down at you, challenging you. You begin to slightly panic, you shove your hand into your dress pocket and luckily you feel a few coins in there. Pulling them out you see about 35 cents. You offer it to the man, you know the watch is more valuable but you have to try. He holds on to the watch and disregards the money in your hand.

A thought occurs to you that you have something else to offer. You place the money back into your pocket. You reach up and pull the chain around your neck that was lying under your dress to the surface. As quickly as you can you undo the latch and from the chain you drop the small gold ring that hangs on it into the palm of your hand. It was your mother’s ring. Your grandmother had given it to her and her to you when you were sixteen. It had never properly fit you so you had always worn it around your neck instead. Tears begin to well in your eyes but you fight them back. Your brother’s watch is more important. Clutching the ring close to your chest for one last time you pray your mother will forgive you. Looking to the softer of the two you hold the ring up to him.

“Please take this instead of the watch. We can’t lose that watch. I beg of you” you plead with him barely holding the tears back. You swear his expression softens just a bit, he nods his head and takes the ring from your hand. He holds it out to his friend and says something you once again can’t understand. The other one mutters something, but luckily he sets the pocket watch back on the table and snatches the ring from his hand. He shoves past the both of you and heads out the door of the cabin. A sigh escapes you relieved that it’s over and the watch is safe. The man is still there and doesn’t move from his spot yet. Doing the only thing you can think of, you run back to the food. Grabbing the little cheese you had you cut him most of it placing it down on some cloth. You reach over from the table and grab the cornbread you made earlier. Cutting a large chunk you place it next to the cheese in the cloth. You wrap it carefully before rushing back over to him offering it to him. His expression is unreadable, but he takes it from your hands. The feeling of his hands on yours makes your stomach do a somersault as this time you feel what you can only describe as a shock run through yours. Once he’s taken it, you stick your hand in your pockets once more and pull out the coins from earlier.

“I can’t thank you enough” your voice is barely above a whisper as you hold it out to him. He shakes his head no at you and sets down his sack at his feet. He takes a step so he’s standing right in front of you now. His hot breath fans your face and you almost shudder at the feeling. Using one hand he presses your fingers down gently towards your palm. Taking the hint you put your hand with the money down back into your pocket. You look up at him to find his large brown eyes already on you. His lips twitch again but no words come out. You don’t know why you’re so disappointed that he won’t speak to you. He eyes look over your face one more time before he steps back and picks up his sack. And just like that he’s out the door trailing after his friend.

You close the door and latch it shut. You feel dizzy for a moment and slowly slide down to your feet with your back along the door. Bringing your knees to your chest you wrap your arms around them. You close your eyes and just sit there for a moment. You let yourself catch your breath and return to as close to normal as you can. A few tears escape your eyes, you quickly wipe them. After a few minutes you pull it together and get up. You stay inside the cabin for the rest of the day with the door closed and latched shut. Any chores outside can wait til Peter gets back or tomorrow. For now you just finish the dishes, hang the rest of the laundry, and get started on supper.

When Peter returns a couple hours later from helping Dr. Tann for the day you explain what had happened with the two men. Except you leave out the part about his watch and your mother’s ring not wanting to hurt him. He doesn’t say much, just lets you talk while nodding along. Though you can tell he’s upset by the look on his face. Once you finish he tells you he'll be back and walks out the door. You shout for him to stop but it’s too late. All you can do is wait for him to come back. When returns in the evening, he seems less upset than when he had a left. You ask him what had happened and where he had gone, but he brushes you off. Just tells you it’s alright and everything has been sorted.

The next morning you follow your daily routine. You get up and change into a clean dress then brush your hair out opting to leave it loose for today. You get started on a quick breakfast for Peter and you. You start a small fire in the fireplace and place the heavy skillet down to heat up. While it heats you pull out enough dishware and cutlery for two. You serve Peter the remaining of the cornbread that was left from yesterday. You’ll have to make more today. You grab some berries from the counter that had already been washed and put a handful on both of your plates. Picking up a few eggs from the basket you walk back to the fireplace and crack them into the skillet. Satisfied with the sound of them sizzling you let them cook for a bit longer, before carefully scooping them onto the plates you had prepared.

You hook the kettle over the fire to start some hot water for you and coffee for Peter. While it boils you eat a little bit of your breakfast. When it’s nearly done you head over to Peter’s bed and wake him. You give his shoulder a bit of a shake, but he just groans, rolls over, and puts his back to you. “Peter, come on. Breakfast is done and you have to meet Dr. Tann again.” You are met with silence. Huffing at him you walk back to the fireplace to pour yourself some hot water to drink and make Peter his coffee. After that you finish your breakfast and place the dishes in the basin for you to wash later. Since Peter is still home you use that to your advantage and venture outside as you’re still a little shaken from yesterday.

Walking over to your chicken pen next to the house you scoop some feed from the barrel next to the gate. Opening it carefully to not let them escape you enter inside and scatter the feed amongst the pen for them. They cluck and walk around your feet happy to peck at the fresh feed along the earth. You let a couple of them feed from your hand. Once you finish distributing the feed you walk over to their shelter and collect the eggs that have been laid. Happy with the amount you head back inside to put them away and to fetch the bucket so you can head to the well. You come inside to find Peter barely sitting up in his bed. You shake your head at him before setting the fresh eggs in the basket. You grab the handle of the bucket before making your way back to the door.

“Don’t blame me when your breakfast is cold” you shout to him as you shut the door behind you. You don’t bother to wait for him to acknowledge you.

Stepping off the porch you hear the sound of horses coming down the road. Looking to your left you see two men on horseback walk down towards the cabin. You recognize Mr. Mitchell and his horse, but right behind him you realize it’s one of the men from yesterday. Specifically the one who helped you keep your fathers pocket watch. This time though you don’t feel uneasy, just curious.

“Good morning Miss Y/N. How are you this morning?” He shouts out to you.

“Doing just fine Mr. Mitchell. How are you today?” You say with a wave and a smile at the end. He stops once they make it down the road. Both of them dismount and tie their horses to a tree near the cabin. The man from yesterday remains quiet as he walks behind Mr. Mitchell up to you at the porch.

“I’m doing fine, thanks. I heard you met my brother in law, Little Puma yesterday. He wanted to come speak to you today” he says while throwing his head back to the quiet man behind him. “Is your brother inside? I had wanted to speak to him to see if he knew Dr. Tann was available today.” He gestures with his head to the cabin. You’re still trying to wrap your head around what he just said about his brother in law wanting to speak to you. Both men are looking at you expectantly. Quickly focusing you nod your head.

“Yes he’s inside. Hopefully awake by now. Please don’t hold it against him if he’s not favorable right now. He has never been a morning person. And please feel free to help yourself to the coffee in the kettle.” You joke trying to keep everything light. It seems to do the trick as Mr. Mitchell just laughs and nods his head.

“Will do. I won’t keep him for too long” he says as he walks past you and heads into the cabin. Leaving just you and Little Puma standing at the foot of the porch. His eyes are locked on you and the familiar heat begins to creep up your neck.

“Hello Little Puma.” your voice rasps similar to how it did yesterday. You do like having a name to call him now and you like the way it rolls off your tongue a little too much. You’re met with silence again leaving you worried you’ve offended him. He seems different now standing in front of you. Almost as if he’s not as sure of himself as he was yesterday. Little Puma looks down at the floor for a second before he reaches into the pocket of his vest. He extends his hand out to you, resting between his thumb and index finger is your mother’s gold ring. Your hand flies up to your mouth in shock as you were sure you were never going to see it again. Slowly, you take the ring from his hand.

“I am sorry for yesterday.” He says quietly to you. You already began shaking your head at him to stop him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I should be apologizing to you. Besides you have brought this back to me which I cannot thank you enough for.” You look down at the ring running your finger along the band. A smile is stuck to your face looking at the small ring. You place the ring deep into your pocket. You’ll have to do your best to remember to put it away until you can place it on your chain again later. “It was my mother’s one of the very few things I have left of hers.” You do your best to explain. He nods in understanding.

“Myron shouldn’t have taken it yesterday. We will not be bothering you again.” A part of you is saddened at the fear of not seeing him again. Very few Osage come into town and he’s not one of those who do.

“You can still come by for tea or supper—” you stop yourself quickly realizing what you had just said. You wish the earth would swallow you up right now. Little Puma’s face is equally surprised at your statement, both eyebrows raised at you. You stammer for a moment trying to recover from your humiliation. “—to work out the rent. We still owe you rent until there is settlement for the land.” Wincing you look at the ground before looking up at him again. He has a smirk on his face obviously very amused at your rambling.

“That will work, until next time.” he says with a small smile and steps closer to you. Little Puma reaches out for the hand at your side and brings it up to his mouth. The touch is so light as he presses a kiss to the knuckle of your hands. It takes everything in you to keep your knees from buckling.

You two jump apart at the sound of the cabin door opening. It’s Mr. Mitchell and your brother who looks much more awake now. Neither of them say anything at the closeness between the two of you. But Mr. Mitchell has a knowing look in his eyes that causes your face to flush.

The notification on your phone is just a standard ESPN alert, but the headline makes your heart do a backflip. CELEBRINI SIGNS FIVE-YEAR, $94 MILLULION EXTENSION WITH SHARKS.

You read it once, then twice, the numbers swimming in front of your eyes. Eighteen million. A year. You know he's good, you know he's going to be great, but seeing it in black and white, typed out for the whole world to see, is something else entirely.

You're still staring at your phone when the front door opens and Macklin walks in, dropping his bag by the door with a heavy thud. He looks tired, his hair damp from a shower, but his eyes are bright, a small, proud smile playing on his lips.

"Did you see?" he asks, his voice casual, like he's asking if you remembered to buy milk.

You just hold up your phone, wordlessly. He chuckles, walking over to the couch and plopping down beside you, pulling your feet into his lap.

"Yeah, that," he says, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on your ankle. "It's official."

"Macklin," you breathe, setting the phone aside. "That's… that's insane."

"It's just numbers," he shrugs, but you can see the pride in his eyes. "Means I'm not getting kicked out of San Jose anytime soon."

You laugh, shaking your head. "It's a little more than that and you know it." You reach out, running a hand through his hair. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, babe," he says, leaning into your touch. He's quiet for a moment, then his eyes light up with a familiar, mischievous glint. "Which reminds me. I got you something."

You groan, playfully rolling your eyes. "Macklin, no. You don't have to get me anything."

"I know I don't have to," he says, a grin spreading across his face. "I wanted to." He reaches behind him and pulls a sleek, flat box from the cushion of the couch, sliding it into your lap. It's light, but the weight of it feels significant.

You open it and nestled inside a bed of black velvet is a delicate, sparkling tennis bracelet. It's not too flashy, but the diamonds are brilliant, catching the light and throwing tiny rainbows across your hands.

"Macklin," you whisper, your breath catching in your throat. "This is too much."

"No, it's not," he says softly, taking it out of the box and fastening it around your wrist. His fingers are gentle, his touch warm against your skin. "It's a 'thank you for putting up with me' gift. And a 'congratulations to me' gift. And a 'look how pretty you're gonna look' gift. It's a multi-purpose gift."

You admire the way it sparkles, the cool weight of it a strange and wonderful new sensation. "It's beautiful. But you really didn't have to."

"I wanted to," he insists, his eyes fixed on the bracelet. "I like buying you things. Makes me feel… useful."

"You're plenty useful," you tease, leaning in to kiss him. "You take out the trash and you reach things on the top shelf."

He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that you can feel in your chest. "Well, now I can also buy you ridiculously expensive jewelry. It's a new skill I'm developing."

The next few days are a whirlwind of his "new skill." It starts small. He comes home with a shopping bag from your favorite boutique, containing the silk dress you'd been admiring online but would never in a million years buy for yourself. "Saw it and thought of you," he says, shrugging, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

Then it escalates. You're complaining about your old, unreliable laptop, and the next day, a brand new one is delivered to your door. "Consider it an early birthday gift," he says, when you try to protest. "Or a late one. Or a Tuesday gift. It doesn't matter."

One afternoon, you're scrolling through listings for apartments, feeling a little cramped in your current place. He peeks over your shoulder, his brow furrowed.

"What's this?" he asks.

"Just looking," you say. "Our lease is up in a few months."

"Let me see," he says, taking the phone from you. He scrolls for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he looks up at you, his eyes serious. "Forget these. We're not looking at listings. We're calling a realtor. We're buying a place."

You stare at him, dumbfounded. "Macklin, we can't just… buy a place."

"We can," he says, his voice firm. "I can. And I want to. I want you to have a place that's ours. A place you love. With a big kitchen, because I know you love to bake and a balcony, because I know you love to sit outside in the morning. And a walk-in closet, because I know you have a lot of shoes."

You're speechless, your heart pounding in your chest. He's not just buying things, he's paying attention. He's listening to your offhand comments, your quiet wishes, and he's making them a reality.

"Are you serious?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

"Never been more serious," he says, taking your hand. "Let me do this for us. For you."

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. "Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

“Ask Aiden.” He says, and you chuckle as you feel him pull you even closer.

“He told me to ask you.”

“Tell him to go first, I’ve got to warm myself up for tubing.” Mack says, and you nearly let out an obnoxious laugh.

“Warm up? You’re twenty years old.” You say with a bit of sarcasm.

“And if I sleep funny my back hurts for three days.” Mack counters, and you roll your eyes.

Your gaze slips to RJ, the youngest sibling full of hope that someone will go tubing with him.

“I’ll go with you if you want.” You say, and RJ basically lights up as he nods going to tell Rick who is sitting at the wheel.

“You don’t have to.” Mack says immediately, watching as you grab a hair tie out of your bag.

“I know.” You say, smiling at him. “I want to.”

“Stop trying to talk her out of it.” RJ scolds his older brother, as he goes to the back of the boat.

“I’m trying to spare her.” Mack says, watching RJ.

“From fun?” RJ asks.

“From you.” Mack retorts, and RJ shoves him slightly.

“Alright, alright.” You say, leaving Macklin’s sun tanned chest and making your way to the back of the boat.

You and RJ joke around as Rick gets everything set up, and as you plop down on the tube with your boyfriend’s little brother, you catch Mack’s gaze. You give him a questioning look, but he just stares at you. Mack had continuously told you to please be careful, which you told him you will be, and you can still see the slight concern in his eyes. But you trust Rick, and you know he won’t let his son get injured.

“Oh my god she’s fine!” RJ yells, and Macklin secretly flips him off in that older brother way. You chuckle lightly as you give Rick a thumbs up.

Cold lake water sprays up, hitting you and RJ as you both laugh. Rick, to RJ’s dismay, is driving carefully. You guys still whip side to side fast enough to crash into each other, but your hands stay gripping the handles, and your bodies are snug against the back of the tube.

You can see Mack’s face, and his smile, and as he watches you, you feel electric. He laughs as RJ bounces high enough that he loses contact with the tube for a moment, and he smiles as he can hear your laugh.

“He’s disgusting with you!” RJ exclaims as Rick swings you guys to the right, and you scoff as you reach over the side of the tube and splash a small handful of water at him. He just laughs and laughs.

“I’ll remember this when you bring somebody home.” You say, and RJ smirks in a ‘I know something you don’t know’ way. And your ability to read people cause you to gasp. “RJ Celebrini…. what are you hiding, or should I say who?” You say, and he just shakes his head.

From the boat, Mack can’t hear that you two are talking about, but he leans near the back watching intently. RJ has always welcomed you from the second he met you, and honestly sometimes Mack believes he prefers you over him. Not that Mack minds much, but all of his family loves you. His brothers, who tease him relentlessly, his sister who texts you probably more than three times a day about everything, and his parents who now see you as a daughter.

So when a boat came ripping around the lake, it wasn’t only Macklin’s heart that freezes, it’s the entire families.

One second you and RJ are laughing together, and the next a speedboat is coming close, way too close.

“Dad.” Mack says, his eyes focused solely on the tube with two of his favorite people on it. Two of his favorite people, who for some reason aren’t wearing life jackets. What had happened that nobody noticed it? What had happened that in all his worrying before you got on the tube that he didn’t notice you didn’t have that extra layer of protection?

Was it because he knew his dad wouldn’t flip you guys? Was he so distracted by you that he just completely forgot?

But he watches as you notice the boat, he watches as his dad goes straight spined and he listens as his mom starts repeating his dad’s name over and over again.

“Dad!” Macklin shouts again, but he knows there’s physically nothing his father can do. There’s no way to avoid the waves the speedboat is making, and if Rick tries to swing you guys out of it he’s going to make it worse.

“I see it Macklin.” Rick says, not trying to scold his son but he is nervous as well.

Then, Mack notices you noticing, and Macklin finds himself yelling at you both. He doesn’t know what he says, but he can only watch in fear as the tube hits the wake, and flies.

“RJ.” You say, knowing there’s only a couple of seconds before you guys are going to hit the waves.

“What’s-“

“RJ hold on!” You yell, right before you both get launched high, both of your grips slipping as you plummet into the water.

—

Macklin watches as you both crash into the water, the sound making him want to vomit over the side of the boat.

“RICK!” Robyn yells, her hands flying over her mouth.

But his dad is already turning the boat, immediately heading to where you both fell.

“Mom.” Aiden says, as the tube is settled back on the water, but there is no sign of either of you.

“THERE!” Charlie yells, pointing to you, and Mack wheezes as he sees you. You’re coughing, you’re frantic, and you’re scanning. Scanning the water for his little brother. You’re not responding as the entire family yells at you to stay there, it’s like you don’t even notice them.

“Oh my god.” Macklin chokes, and he starts yelling both of your names. The fear of how long you’ve both been under the water making him reach for his shirt and ripping it off as he’s about to jump in.

“Y/N!” Macklin screams at you, and he sees the way you’re swimming, sees the way something is wrong. But then relief floods his veins as he sees another head surface. His little brother looking to the sky as you yell for him, and immediately start swimming towards him.

—

For a moment, you’re not sure which way is up. Ice cold water covers every inch of your body, and you choke as water fills your lungs.

But you finally surface, and your training as a nurse kicks in immediately. You gasp as your head is finally above the surfsce, and you cough up water as you tread water.

In this moment there are a million things happening at once, but your only concern was RJ. Your eyes scan the water around you, but you don’t see him. You know he couldn’t have landed too far away from you, and as you continue to tread water, looking around in all directions, the fiery pain in your shoulder hits hard.

You cry out, and instantly sink down a bit in the water as you stop using it. And just when you’re about to start screaming, a head pops up, and you immediately start moving.

Your shoulder be damned, the screams and yells of the rest of the Celebrini family be damned. The way your lungs burn and the way the left side of your body basically feels frozen be damned.

You just swim.

RJ is floating on his back, you can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, but even from here you can tell how pale he is.

“RJ.” You say, as you finally make it to him. You are careful not to move him as you scan his features.

His eyes are look tired, and his entire face looks sluggish.

You know immediately from your time in the ER that he has a concussion, but your next steps are to figure out how bad.

“RJ, RJ can you hear me?” You ask him, your hand going under his arms to keep him up.

“Yeah.” He says after a long moment, and the relief of that doesn’t stay long as his voice is sluggish as well.

“You’re okay.” You say instantly, your nurse voice slipping out. “Can you tell me what hurts?” You ask him.

He groans slightly before saying, “Everything.”

“Your head, RJ.” You say as the boat finally gets close enough to the two of you. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts.” He says, and you just nod, your gaze flying to the boat.

Macklin is immediately jumping off, Aiden and Rick rushing to the back of the boat. It takes almost no time for Macklin to reach you both, and when you finally look at him you see the fear in his normally light eyes.

“He needs to go to a hospital.” You say, trying to keep your voice calm.

You can tell Macklin’s mind is going a thousand miles a minute. You can tell that he’s flying in between his very pale and off looking brother and you who is barely using your left side.

But Mack nods, carefully bringing you both into him.

“Okay, I’ve got you guys.” He says, and he’s never been so thankful for hockey in his entire life as he uses the muscles in his legs to get you guys closer to the boat.

“RJ first.” You say, and Rick and Aiden nod on the boat as you slowly unlatch your arm from the boy, and help hand him over to Mack. “Keep him as still as you can.” You say, hissing slightly as one of RJ’s arms hits your shoulder.

Mack’s eyes immediately jump to you, and you shake your head because how you’re doing is on the bottom of your priority list.

But it’s not on the bottom of Mack’s. With one arm he pulls you into him, with the other he presses on RJ’s back as Aiden and Rick pull him on the boat.

You watch as Robyn covers him with a towel, and they get him laid down on the seats of the boat.

“Baby, baby look at me.” Macklin begs, and you do. Your wide eyes staring into his. He can almost see the one half of your brain panicking, while the other half is in nurse mode. That calm collected state you get into.

“Can you move your shoulder?” He asks, noticing how limp your left arm now is.

“It hurts.” You say, and Macklin’s heart seizes as the sound of the pain in your voice. “I think it’s dislocated. But I think RJ has a concussion. We’ve got to get him in as fast as we can.” You say, and of course you are more worried for him than you are for yourself. It’s one of the many reasons Macklin loves you as much as he does.

“We’re getting you both in.” Mack says, looking up as Rick and Aiden make it back to the edge of the boat.

“Pull from her right side, don’t touch the left.” Macklin says to his family, and they both nod while readjusting.

Macklin turns you so you’re facing them, and he apologizes over and over as you whimper at the movement.

“I’m so sorry.” He continues to say. “We’ve got to get you up there, hold on for just a second, I’m sorry baby.”

When he finally gets you situated, Aiden reaches down for your right hand, grasping it and your elbow tightly.

“Mack.” He says, because he knows it’s going to hurt to get you up here.

“On three, are you ready?” Macklin asks you, and you nod, bracing yourself.

“One, two, three.” Mack and Aiden say together.

You bite down on a yelp as Aiden pulls you at the same time Macklin pushes you up from the water.

Rick immediately throws a towel around you as he carefully places a hand to your back to help haul you up.

It takes extra time due to the fact no one is willing to touch your left side, and when you are finally kneeling on the boat you cough and gasp.

The pain in your lungs from the water and the pain in your shoulder however are nothing compared to your worry for RJ.

Mack is immediately back on the boat, pulling you gently into him as he gets you to the seats.

“Let me see.” Mack says, and you nod but your eyes go straight to RJ. Mack lightly takes the strap of your bikini and tries to move it off your shoulder and more towards your neck. And although it hurt, your eyes stay transfixed, and you refuse to just sit there as Rick runs to the wheel and you guys are hurrying back to the dock. “Baby-“ Mack says, but you don’t turn.

You move towards Robyn, who is leaning over her youngest son. You’re careful not to push, careful not to interrupt, but you give her a look that has her immediately shaking her head, silently asking for you to help.

“Do you think you can answer some questions for me, bud?” You ask RJ, feeling Mack’s hand on your back to keep you steady against the boats rocking.

“Do I have to?” He asks quietly, and you nod, sniffling slightly. Mack’s hand goes to your back, and it’s killing him knowing he can’t do anything right now to help either of you.

“Please.” You beg him, your voice cracking on the word.

“Ok.” You says, closing his eyes.

“Can you tell me your full name?” You ask him, and he nods but winces, and your hand immediately goes to steady his head. But your left hand barks in the pain at that movement as your left side continues to burn.

“RJ Celebrini.” He mumbles, and you nod.

“Good, good.” You say, watching as Robyn takes over keeping him steady. “Do you know where you are?”

“The lake.”

“What day is it today?”

There was silence for a second, which can be normal, but then it stretched.

Robyn clenches her lips to try to fight back emotions, Charlie grips onto Aiden for comfort, and RJ just look at you.

“Thursday.” He finally mumbles, but the air on the boat shifts.

It’s Monday. In fact RJ was so excited for it to be Monday because that means he has a whole week to relax and hang out.

“Fuck.” You hear Aiden mumble somewhere behind you, and Mack’s hand freezes on your back.

“Is it not?” RJ asks, panic in his voice more than before.

“It’s Thursday today, bud.” You say as calmly as possible. You see the fear flash in his eyes, but Robyn is quickly there to make it better.

Everyone knows he’s got a concussion, after all they are a family filled with sports players. So you smile at him, deciding to give him some space before he’s surrounded by doctors and machines. But as you go to stand up, Mack taking your good side, RJ reaches out.

His hand grips your wrist, his eyes begging you not to go. So you sit back down and let Robyn fuss over the two of you.

“Are you okay?” RJ asks quietly, and you shrug, which was a mistake but you play it off.

“A little banged up, but nothing that can’t be fixed.” You say.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and you instantly frown. Robyn scoots back a bit, allowing you to sit closer to RJ. Mack follows suit behind you. He keeps his body pressed into your back, allowing you to lean backwards.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” You say kindly but firmly.

You could cry thinking RJ wants to blame himself for this.

“I wanted to go, I forced you to go.”

“Hey.” You say, stopping him. “I wanted to go with you. You didn’t force me, RJ, none of this is because of you. I need you to know that.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Mack says, and you watch as the brothers look at each other. And it’s like they have a silent conversation, but RJ finally settles a bit more.

Mack sits down next to you, bracing your body against his and the boat speeds towards the dock. Every jostle has you clenching your teeth so hard you’re surprised they don’t crack.

But you tell Robyn to keep talking to RJ, Aiden jumping in too and promising his little brother anything he wants to do. Ice cream for dinner? Check. Video games? Check.

But the boy refuses to let you out of his sight, and Mack refuses to let either of you out of his.

“I don’t know whether to try to yell at you or thank you.” Mack says, holding you into him to try and keep you steady.

“He was out there, and I thought,” you start to say, but you find yourself choking on the words. “I thought for a moment he wasn’t going to come back up.”

Tears slip down your eyes, and you can feel the adrenaline crashing in your body.

“When he finally came up, I just, I had to get to him Mack.” You say, and Mack nods. Nods because if that was him he would have done the same thing. Nods because after all this time he knows RJ might as well be your little brother too.

“You are never tubing again.” Mack says, and you chuckle but wince at the movement. “Careful baby.” Mack says quickly, noticing the pain that crosses your face.

“Give it a few months and this whole thing will be a distant memory.” You say, trying to joke instead of cry.

But Mack doubts he’ll ever move past this. Doubts that this is going to be something he’ll forget in the matter of months. How could he? His little brother, the woman he loves, the sickening smack of both of your bodies against the water. And the fear, the chest tightening fear as it took you both too long to surface.

“Y/N?” You hear your name, whispered from RJ.

You turn more towards him immediately, instantly forgetting your own injury as you move, causing Mack to reach out to try and keep you still.

“What’s up, bud?” You ask, giving him a small smile as Robyn uses her hand to block the sun from his eyes.

“I would have swam for you too.” RJ says, and you clench your lips together so hard to keep yourself from crying. The words cause emotions to rise in every member of the family.

And in case Mack needed the incentive, which he really didn’t, but that would have been enough to tell him that he wants to marry you one day. But, being him, he already knows that. In fact, it was RJ who stood in front of him not two days ago and told him that if Mack didn’t marry you that RJ would never speak to him again.

—

The thing about being held after years of not being held was that your body forgot how to let go. It didn't know how to go back to the kitchen table and the cold coffee like the whole world hadn't just come apart and put itself back together wrong in the middle of your apartment. Your body kept refeeling it over and over. Sidney's arms around you, too tight and then careful, like he was afraid of both. His mouth at your temple. The smell of him that you'd have known blind in a crowded room. The way his voice cracked around the word baby.

Baby.

My girl.

I've got you.

You didn't believe it. Not all the way. You weren't stupid enough to hand your whole heart back to a man just because he'd looked at you with those wrecked eyes and said the things you used to lie awake wanting to hear back when you were eighteen and sick every morning and scared every night. But some part of you wanted to. Some teenage part of you had crawled straight out of the box you'd buried her in years ago, dirt still under her fingernails, hair a matted mess, heart still parked on a porch somewhere in Cole Harbour. She'd heard his voice and lifted her head, and that was the worst part. That she was still in there at all.

Sid left after the light in the room turned from gray to gold.

Your father came to the doorway first. One knock and Sidney stepped back from you so fast it was like he'd been caught with his hand somewhere he wasn't allowed. You hated that. Hated that he looked ashamed to be standing close to you, like holding you was a privilege he expected to be billed for later. Hated more that you understood exactly why. Your dad stood with one hand braced on the frame, his jaw set into the same hard line it had worn for four years any time Sidney's name got too close to the family.

“Time,” your dad said. One word. It didn't need more.

Sidney nodded fast. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Your dad's eyes cut to you, just checking, the way they'd checked on you a thousand times since Beau was born, like he was permanently checking on you. You gave him the smallest nod you could manage. Sidney saw it happen and his whole body relaxed, like your nod had given him permission to leave without it counting as leaving again. Still, he looked back at you on his way to the door, and the words sat in the air between you, unsaid.

Don't disappear.

He didn't say it. You didn't either.

He stopped by the shoe mat before he reached for the door. Beau's dinosaur rain boots were tipped over next to your sneakers, one on its side like he'd kicked out of them mid-adventure and run straight into the rest of his life without looking back. Sidney looked at them one second too long.

“He likes those,” you said, because the silence had gotten too loud.

Sidney looked back at you.

“The boots.” You felt stupid the second it left your mouth. “He wears them even when it's not raining.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Says they make him faster.”

Your dad tipped his head back and studied the ceiling like he was asking God for the patience to survive this conversation, but his mouth had gone soft at the corners despite himself. He loved Beau so much it had ruined him a little. It had ruined all of you. Beau had come into the world years ago and dragged love out of places that had gone cold and locked in the months before him.

“That's good,” Sidney said, and his voice barely made it out whole.

It wasn't good. It wasn't bad. It was a fact about a little boy Sidney had never gotten to hold. A pair of dinosaur boots by a door in an apartment he'd never been inside of until an hour ago. It was three years of daycare drop-offs and puddle jumping and bedtime stories, all of it flattened down into one sentence he had to be handed like a gift he didn't know how to open.

He put his hand on the doorknob, then looked at you one more time.

“I won't just show up,” he said, low. “I know this was already a lot. I won't come here unless you tell me it's okay.”

You nodded.

“And I won't call unless you say it's okay.”

You nodded again, even though it sat wrong in your heart. You'd spent four years wishing for one phone call that never came, and now the idea of one scared you more than the silence ever had.

He took a breath like it hurt going in. “But I want to. When you're ready. Even if it's just to talk about Beau. Or not Beau. Or anything. Whatever you can give me, I'll take it.”

Your dad shifted his weight in the hallway, and Sidney straightened like a hand had landed on his shoulder and reminded him he wasn't allowed to stay.

“I know,” you said.

He looked at your face like he was searching it for permission to finally walk away from it. “Okay.”

Then the hallway swallowed him, and your father followed, and the door clicked shut softly behind them both. You stood there with your arms wrapped around yourself, listening to their footsteps go down the stairs. One heavy, one slow. The building settled back into its usual small sounds around you and for a while you didn't move at all.

Then Beau's voice came down the hall, small and thick with sleep.

“Mama?”

Your body moved before your mind could tell you to. It always did now; there was no part of you left that didn't turn toward that sound. You dragged both hands down your face hard enough to sting and found him sitting up in his little bed, hair sticking up in six directions, one cheek printed red from the pillow. His blue blanket was balled in one fist against his chest. His eyes were barely open, heavy and confused, but they were already looking for you. Always looking for you first.

“Hey, bug,” you whispered.

He held his arms up, and you crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress, and he climbed into your lap with the total trust of a kid who had never once in his life doubted he'd be caught. He was warm from sleep, heavier than you remembered, getting almost too big to climb onto you like this. His legs sprawled over yours, though one foot hung off the edge of the bed and his face pressed into your neck.

“You're warm,” you murmured into his hair.

“I’m sleepy.”

“I can tell.”

He shifted, one arm looping your neck, his other hand finding the collar of your shirt and closing around it. He'd done that since he was a baby. Not always to comfort himself. Sometimes, you thought, to make sure you stayed put.

You just held him for a minute. Sid was gone. Your dad was probably downstairs walking him to his car, or standing on the sidewalk looking like he wanted to say something and deciding against it. Your mom was probably in the passenger seat with tears drying tight on her cheeks, hands folded in her lap, not trusting herself to look back at the building. And you were here, on the edge of your son's bed, under the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck slightly crooked to his ceiling because your dad had let Beau help put them up.

The world could split wide open, apparently, and your son's room stayed exactly the same. Stuffed animals dropped where they fell. A plastic hockey stick leaning against his dresser. Books stacked in a pile that was bound to fall any day now. A sticker on the baseboard because Beau had decided that it needed to live there. His pajama drawer hanging open where he'd tried to pick his own pajamas the night before and thrown half of them onto the rug before landing on the shirt with the rocket ships.

Beau stirred against your shoulder. "Mama?” 

"Yeah, baby?"

"I heard talking."

Your eyes opened. He lifted his head just far enough to look at you, cheek still creased, mouth caught in that particular pout that made strangers stop mid-sentence in grocery store lines.

You smoothed his hair back off his forehead. "Is that what woke you up?"

He nodded, slow and very serious. "Voices."

"Yeah," you said softly. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You okay?"

He'd asked you that before. In grocery stores. In the kitchen. In the backseat any time you'd gone quiet for too long for his liking. He was three years old and he already knew your tells better than most adults did.

You smiled, and it wobbled halfway through. "I'm okay."

He studied you with the terrifying focus only small children have. "You got water eyes."

A laugh came out of you, small and cracked. You wiped under one eye with your thumb. "Yeah. I do."

"Why?"

Because my dad drove the boy I loved to my door at sunrise. Because the man who should've known you from the second you took your first breath stood in my living room and held me like he'd found something he thought was dead and buried. Because I kissed him. Because I still love him, which feels like a crime I keep committing against myself. Because I don't know how to tell you that your dad isn't an absence anymore, he's a person, and I don't know yet if that's going to heal you or break something in you that hasn't broken yet. Because I wanted him here and I wanted him gone and now he's gone and I already miss him, which makes me feel like the world's biggest idiot.

You kissed his forehead instead.

"Grown-up stuff," you said.

Beau made a face like you'd told him the sky was made of vegetables. "Boring."

"Very boring."

He accepted it, because he was three, and grown-up stuff lived in the same category as bills and work and waiting rooms. Your feelings, thankfully, could still be filed there too, as long as you said it gently enough and didn't let your voice shake on the way out. He yawned wide enough that his jaw cracked, then dropped his head back to your shoulder.

"Did Nana and Papa come?"

You pulled in a slow breath. "Nana and Papa were here, yeah. They didn't come upstairs, though."

"Who did?"

Your fingers went still in his hair. You looked down at your son, at the curve of his cheek, the thick lashes drooping half shut over his eyes, the boy who had spent his whole short life asking questions you'd learned to answer with careful, loving half-truths.

Who's my dad? It's just you and me, buddy. Do I have one? Everybody has one, baby. Where is he? Not here.

You could keep doing that. You could protect him for one more day, one more week, one more month, and tell yourself waiting was the safe thing. But Sidney had been standing in your living room less than an hour ago, crying over a life he hadn't known he'd lost. 

You ran a slow hand down his back.

"We had a visitor this morning," you said.

He lifted his head. "A visitor?"

"Yeah."

"For me?"

"Not exactly."

"For you?"

"Yeah," you said. Your mouth had gone dry. "For me."

Beau blinked at you, waking up in pieces, his little brain trying to work through what you were saying. "Was it Marcy?"

You had to smile, because he knew exactly four adults who came to this apartment. Your parents. Marcy from the salon. And the mailman, who Beau believed was personally, magically responsible for the stickers that showed up in your mailbox.

"No, not Marcy."

"The mail guy?"

"No, baby."

"Did he bring stickers?"

"No stickers."

Beau sighed like this was a genuine tragedy. "Bad visitor."

A laugh cracked out of you, wrecked but real. "No. He wasn't a bad visitor."

"Who?"

You looked at his face. Your son was your whole heart walking around outside your body, but he was also Sidney's face, softened by baby fat that hadn't fully melted off yet. Sidney's intensity, shrunk down small and dressed in dinosaur pajamas. You tucked the blanket higher around his shoulders even though he didn't need it, just to give your hands something to do.

"He was someone very important to me," you said.

Beau's eyes went wide. "Important like Nana?"

"Different important."

"Like Papa?"

"Different than Papa too."

He took some time to think about it. His world was small but it was full and important people in it were the ones who picked him up when he fell, fed him, fixed his broken toys, listened to stories that went nowhere and made no sense. Important people weren't abstract to him. They were hands and voices and snacks and someone at the door when he woke up scared.

"Your friend?" Beau asked.

Friend. What a tiny word for what Sidney had been. What a merciful one too.

You nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Good friend?"

You brushed your knuckles over his warm cheek. "My very best friend."

He accepted that because he had a best friend at daycare named Ollie, though the title changed depending on who'd shared blocks with him that week. Best friends mattered. Best friends were allowed to visit.

"What's his name?"

Your heart went suddenly, stupidly loud in your own ears. You'd said Sidney's name a thousand ways across your life. Laughing into a phone at sixteen. Moaning it into a dark room at seventeen. Sobbing it into a pillow at eighteen. Whispering it by accident to your own son when his face looked too much like his father's and grief made you careless. You'd spat Crosby like a curse. Said Sidney cold as ice. Said Sid only in dreams you didn't tell anyone about.

Now you were going to say it to Beau.

"His name is Sid."

Beau blinked.

"Sid," he repeated.

It came out of him sweet and unburdened. Just a name, three letters, sitting in your son's sleepy mouth like it weighed nothing at all.

You nearly came apart right there on the edge of his bed.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Sid."

He nodded and dropped his head back to your shoulder, satisfied, like that had answered everything he needed answered for now. "Sid's a small name."

You laughed, wet and surprised. "I guess it is."

"Like Beau."

"Yeah. Like Beau."

He rubbed his face against your shirt. "Can I have pancakes?"

The whiplash of motherhood never stopped being insane. One second you were standing at the edge of a fault line that had swallowed four years of your life, and the next your son wanted breakfast, and both things were equally important.

"Yeah," you said, voice thick with something that was half laugh and half sob. "You can have pancakes."

"With chocolate?"

"No."

"With gummy bears?"

"Absolutely not."

"With sprinkles?"

You hesitated one second too long. 

"It's lazy day."

You stared at him. "Who told you that."

"You."

"Traitor."

His grin was Sidney's grin. God help you, it was Sidney's exact grin, dropped whole onto a three year old's face. "Sprinkles?"

You sighed. "Fine. A few sprinkles."

"Lots."

"A few."

"Lots few."

You poked his side and he shrieked with laughter, squirming in your lap, suddenly loud and bright and completely alive in the way only Beau ever managed to be first thing in the morning. You carried him into the kitchen even though he could walk on his own, because he asked, and because you needed the weight of him against your hip more than he needed the ride. He hung off you like a koala the whole way. You made pancakes one-handed while he perched on your side and supervised.

"More milk."

"No, chef."

"More egg."

"We already put the egg in, chef."

"More."

"We're not making egg soup, chef."

"Chocolate chips?"

"No, chef."

"Sprinkles?"

"After, chef."

"Now?"

"Beau."

He grinned and pressed a sticky palm flat against your cheek. "Mama."

"Don't Mama me."

"Mamaaaa."

You closed your eyes. "You're lucky you're cute."

"I'm handsome."

You tense up. It was such a small thing to level you. He said it sometimes, because your mom said it, because strangers said it, because old women in grocery stores bent down and called him a handsome little man while he hid behind your legs and grinned around his thumb. It shouldn't have mattered. You looked down at him. He blinked back up at you, completely unaware he'd just pressed his thumb straight into a bruise you didn't know you still had.

"Yeah," you said softly. "You are."

He nodded, matter of fact. "Papa says."

"Papa's right."

You finished the pancakes. Beau spilled sprinkles across the floor and you pretended to be furious about it, and he helped you pick them up one at a time, eating two before you caught him doing it. Cartoons ran at a volume of twenty-three in the living room, a number Beau had settled on months ago and refused to negotiate. The sun moved slow across the kitchen floor. You drank coffee that had gone bad from being reheated twice and forgotten about both times.

Every few minutes your eyes went to the door anyway. Sidney wasn't coming back today. He'd said he wouldn't. He had to let you breathe. He had to let you be Beau's mother a while longer before he started asking, with just his eyes, whether he could be Beau's father too. Still. You looked.

By ten, Beau was fully dressed in jeans and a hockey shirt your dad had bought him while insisting he did not, as a rule, support hockey as a concept. No team logo. Your dad had limits, apparently, even when it came to spoiling his grandson. Beau had dragged his little plastic net into the living room and was taking dramatic shots on an invisible crowd, narrating the whole thing to himself at top volume.

"He skates, he skates, he shoots, he scores! The crowd goes ahhhh!"

"That's screaming, not cheering," you called from the table.

"Same thing!"

"Not really."

"Mama, watch."

"I'm watching."

"No, watch with your eyes."

You widened your eyes at him dramatically. "These?"

He dissolved into giggles. "Yes."

He took another shot. The foam puck ricocheted off the couch leg, went sideways, and landed square in the laundry basket.

"Score!"

"That was nowhere near the net."

"It's trick hockey."

"Oh. My mistake."

~

At noon, your parents came back.

You heard them before you heard the knock, because Beau heard keys jingling and shouted "Papa!" and abandoned his stick mid-shot, socked feet skidding across the floor as he ran for the door. You stood too fast, wiping your palms down your jeans, suddenly aware you'd done nothing with your face all morning, hadn't fixed your hair, hadn't hidden the fact that you'd spent the last few hours walking around your own apartment with your heart hanging on by a thread outside your body. Your dad let himself in with his key, because he had exactly zero respect for the concept of knocking when his grandson was screaming for him from the other side of a door.

"There he is," your dad said, voice booming warm as Beau crashed into his legs. "There's my guy."

"I have a game," Beau announced. "Moosey is goalie."

"Is he any good?"

"No."

Your dad nodded, gravely serious. "Tough break for Moosey."

"He doesn't move."

"Lazy goalie."

Beau gasped like he'd been personally offended on Moosey's behalf. "Papa!"

Your dad scooped him up with an exaggerated groan, like Beau weighed twice what he actually did. "Good Lord, did you get bigger since breakfast?"

"Yes."

"What have you been eating? Rocks?"

"Pancakes."

"Rock pancakes?"

"Sprinkle pancakes."

Your dad looked at you over Beau's shoulder, one eyebrow climbing.

You shrugged. "Lazy day."

His mouth twitched. "I see."

Your mom came in behind him slower. Her eyes found yours first, careful and so full of feeling you nearly had to look away from it.

"Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi, Mom."

Just two words. Nothing special about them. But your voice cracked on the second one, and her whole face changed. Your dad must have heard it too, because he hitched Beau higher on his hip and bounced him once.

"Come on, bud. Show me this Moosey goalie situation. I need to scout the talent."

"He's bad," Beau said again.

"We'll work with him. Every goalie deserves a chance."

"Even bad ones?"

"Especially the bad ones."

Beau considered this but didn’t seem full convinced. "Can we make him good?"

"We can try."

Your dad carried him into the living room, making a big production of nearly tripping over the hockey stick, the blanket, the small toy mountain Beau had somehow assembled in under an hour.

Your mom watched them go, then turned back to you.

"You look pale," she said.

"Thanks."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

You wiped your damp palms on a dish towel and sat down at the kitchen table before she could ask, because you were tired of standing, because your legs had that watery, unreliable feeling they used to get when you were pregnant and had cried too hard for too long. Your mom sat across from you. For a few seconds, neither of you said anything at all.

Out in the living room, your dad made an exaggerated buzzer sound.

"Oh, big save by Moosey!"

"No, Papa! Moosey let it in!"

"Then why'd you put him in net?"

"Because he's the goalie!"

Your dad let out a loud sigh. "Management has questions."

Your mouth twitched, but the smile didn't hold.

Your mom reached across the table and covered your hand with hers. "Talk to me."

And just like that you were eighteen again. Standing in your parents' living room with your hands shaking and your whole future disappearing before your eyes, saying I'm pregnant and waiting for the floor to open up so you wouldn't have to watch their faces fall. You were twenty-two now. A mother. A working adult who paid rent and remembered which day was recycling and could get a screaming toddler dressed for daycare in under four minutes flat. Someone who had survived the thing she once thought would kill her. But the second your mom said talk to me, you wanted to put your head in her lap and sob until there was nothing left inside you to sob with.

"I don't know what to do," you said.

Her fingers tightened around yours. "I know."

"No, Mom." Your voice broke on it immediately. "I really don't know. I don't know what's right. I don't know what's safe. I don't know if letting him in is the smartest thing I've ever done or the dumbest. I don't know if I'm protecting Beau or hurting him by keeping all of this away from him. I don't know."

Your mom listened like she had all the time in the world to give you, even with dishes stacked in the sink and laundry piled in the hall and Beau shrieking with laughter in the next room.

You pressed your free hand hard against your forehead.

"What if all I do is hurt him more?"

"Beau?"

"Yes, Beau. Who else."

Your mom's eyes followed the sound of him.

From the living room, your dad's play by play carried through the rooms. "And Beau's got the puck, he's flying down the ice, Moosey is panicking, the crowd is going insane."

"I'm fast!" Beau shouted.

"So fast!"

Something in you cracked a little wider.

Your mom looked back at you. "Sweetheart. Look at him."

"I am."

"No. Look at him, and then tell me where."

You couldn't. You couldn't, because Beau was joy given legs and a voice. Beau was loud and loved and sticky-fingered and bossy about goaltending. Beau believed with his whole chest that a pair of dinosaur rain boots made him faster. Beau made your dad crawl around on the floor and your mom buy more pajamas than any child needed and you put sprinkles on pancakes because he'd invented a national holiday called lazy day. Your mom's thumb moved slow over your knuckles. He was loved. God, he was so loved, by you, by your parents, by every daycare worker who let him talk about hockey until he tired himself out, by coworkers who sent home cookies shaped like hearts because they adored him. He had toys and routines and fishing trips with Papa and a mother who would tear the world apart with her bare hands before she let it touch him.

He wasn't unloved. He wasn't unwanted. He wasn't broken.

Your silence answered for you anyway.

Your mom's thumb kept moving. "He's been loved every single day of his three wonderful years. Every day."

You blinked hard, and it did nothing.

"And he'll be loved as long as the three of us are breathing," she said. "You already know that."

"Mom."

"No. Listen to me. If Sidney is serious, if he really means to be in Beau’s life for the right reasons, what harm is one more person's love?"

Your throat closed so tight it hurt to talk. "It can be a lot of harm if that person leaves."

"I know."

"No, you don't." It came out sharper than you meant it to. "Sorry. I just, you don't know what it felt like to read those texts. You don't know what it felt like to sit there and understand that he knew, and he still didn't want us."

Her eyes went glassy. "You're right. I don't."

"And now he says he never sent them." You laughed a bitter sound. "And he looked, God, Mom, he looked destroyed. He looked like someone had thrown him into traffic. He looked like he was telling the truth."

Your mom didn't answer right away.

You looked at her, desperate now, chasing something you needed. "Do you think he was?"

She hesitated. The hesitation scared you worse than any answer could have.

"Mom."

She took a slow breath. "What do you think?"

Your pulled your hand out from under hers.

"No." Your voice trembled. "No, I need you to just tell me. I need someone to tell me, because I can't risk it again. I can't be wrong about him twice. I can't let myself believe him and then find out I was stupid all over again."

"You weren't stupid."

"I was." Your eyes burned. "I loved him so much and I thought that meant he'd love me back enough to stay. And then I had Beau, and I couldn't even love him right at first because I was too angry and too sad and too scared, and now Sidney's standing in my kitchen telling me it wasn't him, and I just have to figure out what to do with that?"

Your mother stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor. You clapped a hand over your mouth, but it was already too late. The sound had already gotten out. Small and wounded and awful, a sound you hadn't made out loud in years.

"Oh, baby," she said.

Then she was pulling you up out of the chair and into her arms, and you went. You hated how easily you went. You hated how badly you'd needed it. You weren't a teenager anymore. You had a whole child of your own. You'd spent years telling yourself you didn't need to be anybody's baby anymore, because being someone's baby hadn't saved you the last time it mattered.

But your mother held you, and you fell into her the way you had at eighteen with your stomach turning and your phone dead silent on the nightstand. The way you had when Beau was two weeks old and screaming and you thought maybe you were defective somehow because you couldn't get him to stop. The way you had on your nineteenth birthday, blowing out candles over a cake you didn't have the heart to make a wish on.

"I can't do it wrong," you sobbed. "I can't do it wrong with Beau."

"You won't."

"I might."

"You might make mistakes," she said, her hand moving in slow circles over your back. "That's different."

"I don't want him hurt."

"I know."

"I don't want him confused."

"I know."

"I don't want him to think he wasn't enough. I don't want him thinking he was missing something his whole life just because he didn't have a dad."

"He won't."

"You don't know that."

"No," she said quietly. "I don't. But I know you. And I know that little boy. And he knows he's loved. That much I know for certain."

You cried harder. Your mom didn't hush you, didn't tell you to calm down, didn't do anything but hold on while you came apart in the kitchen and your father kept Beau laughing louder than usual in the next room, probably because he could hear enough to know you needed the cover. That made you cry harder too. Everything made you cry today.

"I wanted Sidney to know him," you admitted, the words tearing loose. "That's the worst part. Even when I hated him, I wanted him to know his own son. Every time Beau did something that looked exactly like him, that stupid little scowl, that grin, I wanted to tell Sid. I wanted to send him pictures. I wanted to say, look, look what we made, look how perfect he turned out."

Your mom's hand stopped for a second against your back, then kept moving.

"And I wanted Beau to know him," you said. "I wanted him to have that. I wanted him to know where his face came from, where all that goddamn stubbornness came from. I wanted him to know his dad didn't leave because he wasn't good enough. And now maybe he didn't leave at all, and somehow that makes it worse."

She pulled back just far enough to look at you. "Why?"

"Because then it was all for nothing."

Her eyes filled.

You wiped angrily at your own face. "All that pain. All those nights alone. Beau's first steps, his first word, his first Christmas, Sid missed all of it, and I spent years telling myself it was because he didn't care. But if he did care, if he would've been there, then somebody stole that from him. From us. From Beau."

Your mother's lips pressed into a thin line.

"So what am I supposed to do with that," you whispered. "What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"

She smoothed your hair back the way she used to when you were small. "You grieve it."

You shook your head. "I don't want to."

"I know."

"I already grieved him once."

"I know."

"I don't want to do it again."

"You're not grieving him this time," she said softly. "You're grieving the years."

The years. The pregnancy without him. The birth without him. Beau's first birthday cupcake, mashed into frosting on his own fat cheeks, babbling mama with nobody else's name to fill in the blank. Beau learning to walk. Beau learning to skate. Beau asking, with his whole clear-eyed trust, if he had a dad, and you handing him scraps of an answer because the truth was too mean to give a three year old. You'd survived every bit of it because you thought there'd never been another choice. Now it turned out there had been one all along. It just hadn't been offered to either of you.

"I don't know how to tell Beau," you said.

"You don't have to tell him everything right now."

"He deserves the truth."

"He deserves the truth in a way he can actually understand."

You let out a wet, wrecked laugh. "That sounds like it's straight out of one of your parenting books."

"It might be."

"Did you read those for me?"

"I read everything for you."

Your face crumpled all over again.

Her hand found your cheek. "You were my baby. You still are."

"I'm twenty-two."

"And?"

You laughed, miserable and helpless. "And I have a baby."

"That didn't stop you from being mine."

You leaned into her palm before you could stop yourself.

"I need you to tell me what to do," you whispered.

"I can't make this choice for you, honey."

"Mom."

"I know you want me to. I know exactly why." She brushed another tear off your cheek with her thumb. "But this one has to be yours."

"I don't trust myself."

"I do."

"You shouldn't."

She smoothed your hair back again. "Listen to me. None of this is your fault. It isn't Sidney's fault, either, if he truly didn't know. And it is absolutely, one hundred percent not Beau's fault. The fault belongs to the adults who looked at two scared kids and made the choice for them"

You nodded, but it still hurt to take in.

"You can't get those years back," she said. "I wish to God you could. I wish I could hand them to you wrapped up with a bow. I wish I could've put Sidney in that delivery room and given you the life you should've had. But I can't. What you can do is decide what you want the next ones to look like."

"I don't know."

"That's alright."

"What am I even supposed to tell Beau?" you asked. "After three years of no dad, what am I supposed to say? Hey, good news, buddy, turns out there's this whole person who helped make you, and he didn't know, and now he wants in. How do I explain that to a three year old?"

"Slowly."

You gave her a look. "Mom."

"I mean it. Slowly. You don't have to give him the whole adult story, because he doesn't need it. Not yet. You tell him Sid's someone special who wants to know him. You let Sid become a person to him first."

You glanced toward the living room. Beau was sitting on your dad's stomach now, waving Moosey directly in his face.

"Kids are stronger than we give them credit for," your mom said.

Your head snapped up. "I don't want him to have to be strong."

"I know."

"No, I mean it. He shouldn't have to be. He shouldn't have to be strong because a bunch of adults made a mess before he was even born. He should get to be little. He should get to think sprinkles are the most important decision of the day and that thunder happens because clouds are bowling. He shouldn't have to be brave about his dad."

Your mom's eyes filled again.

"I wanted Beau to know Sidney this whole time," you whispered. "And I wanted Sidney to know him. I know I said I hated him. I know I said we were better off. But God, I wanted them to have each other. Every time Beau did something that looked like him I wanted Sid to see it. I wanted him to know. I wanted–" your voice broke clean in half. "I want all those years. I want them so bad it hurts."

Your mom pulled you back in.

From the living room, Beau shouted, "Mama! Moosey got traded!"

Your dad called back, "It's a business decision!"

Despite everything, you laughed.

Your mom smiled, eyes still wet. "Sounds serious."

"Very."

Beau came running into the kitchen, socked feet sliding on the tile, and crashed straight into your legs before looking up and catching your tear-streaked face.

His grin dropped instantly. "Mama?"

You bent to him without thinking twice. "I'm okay."

"You crying."

"I know, baby. Sometimes grown-ups cry."

"Why?"

You glanced at your mom, and she said nothing, gave you nothing but the space to decide. Your choice. Always yours.

You looked back down at your son and pushed his hair off his forehead. "Because I was thinking about something I missed."

He frowned, working it over. "Like camping?"

Your chest hurt, but you managed a smile. "Yeah. Kind of like camping."

He nodded, then shoved Moosey into your arms because it was the best thing he could think to do. "You can hold him."

"Wow. That's generous."

"He got traded."

"To me?"

"Yeah. You need a goalie."

"I absolutely do."

He patted your shoulder like he was consoling a teammate. "Don't cry. Papa's bad at hockey."

Your dad appeared in the doorway behind him. "Papa can still hear slander from three feet away, thank you very much."

Your mom laughed under her breath. You hugged Beau with Moosey crushed sideways between you. You still didn't know what you were going to do. But for the first time all morning, the not knowing didn't feel like drowning.

~

September came.

Time had always been cruel like that, indifferent to whatever was happening during it. It kept moving while you were pregnant. It kept moving while Beau screamed through colic and teething and every bad night in between. It kept moving while Sidney won games and hoisted trophies and turned into the kind of man people said his name about with something like wonder. It kept moving while you learned how to cut hair for a living, how to budget a paycheck down to the dollar, how to bring down a fever at two in the morning, how to answer a three year old's question without your voice breaking in the middle of it.

Now it moved while Sidney flew back to Pittsburgh with no real plan at all.

He left Nova Scotia in the first week of September, and for the first time in his life, going back didn't feel like forward motion. Usually Pittsburgh meant a shift in his body, camp coming, the season coming, structure snapping back into place. The relief of knowing exactly where he fit in the world. Sidney had built his whole life inside schedules. Practice at this hour. Lift after. Media here. Game there. Sleep when the body allowed it. Eat what helped. Repeat until the machine ran itself and the mind followed along because it had no other choice.

But he boarded that plane with his chest hollowed out and his whole life in pieces that didn't fit into any one bag. His passport. His wallet. Two duffels. A carry-on stuffed with clothes he barely remembered folding. Your photo, still tucked behind his driver's license, the edges gone soft now from how many times he'd pulled it out in the last few weeks and just looked at it, like looking hard enough might change something. And a new silence where his family used to sit.

His body got on that plane. His mind stayed behind in Halifax, in your kitchen, with you standing in front of him with tears still wet on your face. In the doorway of Beau's room, where he hadn't let himself go, because he didn't think he'd earned the right to watch his son sleep just because he wanted to. He thought about that a lot. About the doorway he hadn't crossed.

He had a son.

It was the first thing in his head every morning before his eyes were even fully open, and the last thing he thought before whatever counted as sleep finally took him.

He had a son.

And he did not know the first thing about being anyone's father.

He landed in Pittsburgh with the sick, floating feeling of having misplaced his entire life somewhere between the jet bridge and baggage claim. Usually there was someone waiting. His dad, if he was in town. Mario, most years. A team car sometimes. Sometimes someone arranged by someone in Pat's office. There had always been people. Too many people, probably. Now he stood outside arrivals in the warm end-of-summer air and realized that he had zero desire to call any of them.

His phone felt poisonous in his hand anyway. His mother's name sat unanswered in the call log, over and over. His father's, the same. Taylor's too, and that one made his chest hurt worse than the others, because Taylor hadn't done anything to deserve his silence. She was fourteen. She was probably scared and confused and furious at him for disappearing, and he couldn't even blame her for it. She was the same age he'd been when he first started noticing you in a way that made him feel stupid and shy and too big for his own body. Fourteen. Still a kid, even if she'd have rolled her eyes if she heard him say that. But calling her meant risking his mother picking up. Or worse, his father, saying the right thing in exactly the right voice, making Sidney feel eight years old again and desperate for his dad to somehow still be the good guy in this. He couldn't survive that today.

Mario had called twelve times over three weeks. Nathalie, twice. Pat more than either of them, until Pat's calls thinned out and turned into short texts instead.

Call me when you land.

We need to discuss housing.

We need to discuss the media approach.

Sidney, this silence is not productive.

Neither was stealing four years of someone’s life, but apparently productivity had its limits and Pat had reached his fast. Sidney hailed his own cab, an oddly, almost unusually normal thing for him to do. He had money. He had status. He had an entire team of people who would've handled it in ten seconds flat if he'd let them. Instead he climbed into the back of a cab with cracked vinyl seats and a pine tree air freshener spinning slow on the mirror, and when the driver asked where to, he found out he didn't have an answer.

Not Mario's. That was the first thing he was sure of. He loved them. That was the hell of it, that he still loved them, loved Mario, loved Nathalie, loved their kids, loved the family that had opened their home to him at eighteen when he was overwhelmed and homesick and so far from anything he knew. But Mario had known. Mario had known about you. Mario had known about Beau. And Sidney could not stay under his roof with that knowledge.

"Downtown," he said finally.

The driver glanced at him in the mirror, probably recognized him, chose not to make anything of it. "Anywhere specific?"

Sidney closed his eyes. "Just a hotel."

He stayed there four nights. The first, he slept maybe two hours total, lying flat on top of the comforter in his travel clothes, staring at the ceiling while the city moved below the window in sirens and traffic and muffled voices bleeding through the wall.

He thought about Beau's voice. About you crying in your kitchen, telling him you still loved him and hated yourself for it. About your hands closing around his wrists. Your mouth against his. The way you'd said you wanted things to work, like the words had to be dragged out of somewhere deep and unwilling in you.

He replayed all of it until it turned into a kind of torture. Then he replayed it again anyway.

By the second night, he called a realtor whose number he'd had saved since the previous summer, back when buying a place in Pittsburgh had felt like a natural next step for a young captain putting down roots, making the city home in some more permanent way.

She sounded thrilled to hear from him.

He barely heard half of what she said.

"Something private," he said.

"Of course."

"Not too flashy."

"Absolutely."

"Enough space."

"For entertaining?"

He paused.

A kid running down a hallway. A plastic hockey stick banging against a wall. You in a kitchen that belonged partly to him too, someday, if he was lucky enough to be let into that kind of future.

"No," he said, throat tight around it. "Just space."

The realtor went quiet then recovered smoothly. "I can send some options."

"Thanks."

In the meantime, his agency found him an apartment. Not Pat directly, since Sidney still wasn't taking his calls. It came through a junior guy named Dan who sounded genuinely terrified to be involved at all. Sidney didn't blame him. The place was in a new glass tower, polished concrete and neutral furniture picked out by someone who thought grey made luxury, a gym downstairs, underground parking, a concierge who worked hard not to stare and a view of the city that would've impressed him a month ago. Now it just felt like a place where nobody knew him well enough to ask if he'd eaten today. He moved in with what little he'd brought. Socks in a drawer. Suits on a rod. Groceries he mostly didn't touch.

Do not call Y/N because she hasn't given you permission.

Do not call your mother, because you'll either scream or start crying and you don't know which is worse. Do not call your father, because you might say something you can't take back. Do not call Mario. Do not call Pat.

Do not call Y/N.

Do not call Y/N.

Do not call Y/N.

Baby steps, he kept telling himself. Eat. Skate. Sleep. House hunt. Therapy, maybe.

That last thought scared him. Therapy. Sidney Crosby didn't do therapy. Sidney Crosby handled things. Trained harder. Compartmentalized. Made eye contact with reporters and said the right combination of words. Focused on the next shift, the next game, the next season. But this wasn't a slump. This wasn't bad press. This wasn't the usual pressure he knew how to handle himself. This was you sobbing in his arms about the year it had taken you to feel like Beau's mother. Maybe handling everything alone, the way he'd been taught to, was exactly how they'd all ended up here in the first place.

So he found someone. Not through the team, because that felt too close, too likely to become a line item in some file somewhere. He asked Dan for a private recommendation and hated himself a little for needing anything at all from that office. Dan sent three names, then added: for what it's worth, I'm sorry you're dealing with whatever this is.

Sidney stared at that text for a long time.

Whatever this is.

He typed back, Thanks.

The first therapist he called had no openings. The second did.

His first appointment was on a Tuesday afternoon in a quiet office with green chairs and a plant so aggressively healthy he wanted to feel if it was fake. The therapist was a woman in her fifties with kind eyes that reminded him of yours. He sat on the couch with his hands clasped tight between his knees and gave her the short version, because the long version felt like too much to survive saying out loud twice in one lifetime.

High school girlfriend. Pregnancy. A message intercepted that he never even knew existed. A son who was three years old. A family that knew. A career full of people who knew. Everyone had lied.

She listened without a flicker.

Then she said, "What do you want help with first?"

Sidney stared at her.

First. Like there were categories. Like his whole life had become a menu of emergencies he needed to rank in order.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"That's alright."

He looked down at his own hands. His hands were familiar, hands that had won faceoffs and lifted the Cup over his head and signed a decades worth of autographs and cupped your face like it was the only thing in the world worth being careful with. Hands that had never once held his son.

"I need to not mess him up," he said.

She nodded. "Your son."

"Yeah."

"And his mother?"

His throat closed. "I need to not mess her up either."

"Okay."

"I already did."

"You didn't know."

"I still wasn't there."

"Those are different things."

"They don't feel different."

"No," she said. "I imagine they wouldn't."

"I don't want to rush her because I'm panicking. I don't want to turn Beau into some way of fixing my own guilt. I don't want to..." He shook his head, hunting for the end of the sentence. "I don't want to be my father."

She let him sit with that for a while.

Then, quietly: "That's a good place to start."

By late September, Sidney had a routine that looked functional to anyone watching from far enough away. He practiced on his own. He started training. He answered team questions normally enough that most people left him alone. He ate when Flower cornered him about it or when hunger got annoying enough to deal with on its own. He looked at houses on Sundays. He went to therapy on Tuesdays. He handled Pat exclusively through email with replies so short and flat that even Pat eventually stopped trying to warm them up.

Pat wanted a meeting. Sidney put him off for ten days, then finally agreed, because the business side couldn't be avoided forever no matter how badly he wanted it to be. They met in a private room off a hotel restaurant, because Sidney had refused, flatly, to let the man into his home. Pat arrived in a suit, carrying a leather folder under his arm like this was a contract negotiation and not the wreckage of every ounce of trust Sidney had ever given him.

Sidney didn't stand when he walked in. Pat noticed. Sidney watched him notice.

"Sidney."

"Pat."

They sat across a polished table from each other. A waitress came and went. Sidney ordered water. Pat ordered coffee. Neither of them touched the menus.

Pat folded his hands together. "I'm glad you agreed to meet."

"I'm not here because I wanted to see you."

Something flickered across Pat's face. "Fair enough."

Sidney looked at him and felt no simple feeling. The rage had burned hot enough back in Nova Scotia to leave something colder behind it now. Pat had been part of his life for years. Trusted. Respected. One of the adults who'd run the machinery around him back when Sidney was too young to understand how much power he was handing over just by trusting the wrong people with it. And Pat had looked at you, or maybe never really looked at you at all, and decided you were a liability.

"My attorney is reviewing every agreement I have with you," Sidney said.

Pat's jaw tightened slightly. "That's your right."

"I know."

"I hope you understand everything done at the time was done with your future in mind."

"Don't."

Pat's mouth closed.

"Don't sit there and tell me it was for my future."

"Sidney, you were eighteen."

"She was eighteen."

Pat looked away, just for half a second.

That was enough.

"She was eighteen," Sidney repeated, quieter now, and somehow that was worse. "And pregnant. And terrified. And every one of you treated her like a threat."

"We didn't know she'd keep the baby."

Sidney's hand closed around his glass hard enough that his knuckles went white. For one full second he went blind with anger.

"Say that again," he said, very quietly.

Pat held his gaze for a moment, then dropped it. "I shouldn't have phrased it that way."

"You shouldn't have thought it that way."

A muscle worked once in Pat's jaw.

"I missed my son being born," Sidney said. "I missed his first word. I missed three years, Pat. Do you understand that? Do you have any idea what you took from me?"

Pat didn't answer.

"I can't trust you," Sidney said. "I don't know if that changes. I don't know if there's a professional path forward from here. I don't know if I even want there to be one."

"Sidney."

"No." His voice stayed level, which was somehow scarier than if it hadn't. "You don't get to manage this. You don't get to decide what's productive, what the media strategy is, how to minimize the damage. They're not damage. She isn't damage. My son isn't damage. If I hear one more person in your office talk about either of them like a liability, we're done. Completely."

Pat nodded slowly. "Understood."

"I want full transparency from now on. Everything. Every call, every meeting, every decision that has my name anywhere near it."

"Of course."

Sidney stood.

Pat looked up at him. "That's it?"

"For now."

"We should discuss Pittsburgh media before camp opens."

"No."

"Sidney."

"No," he said again, and this time there was no room left in it for negotiation. "You don't get anywhere near that part of my life. Not unless she wants you there. And she doesn't even know if she wants me there."

Pat had nothing left to say to that. Sidney left before the coffee ever arrived. Outside, the air still held the last warmth of summer, but there was a thin edge of fall underneath it now. He walked home instead of calling a car. The apartment was fifteen blocks off. His legs needed the movement. His head needed the noise of the city drowning out everything else in it for a while.

He passed a toy store on the way and made it three steps past the window before he stopped walking.

"Fuck," he muttered, to nobody.

He turned around and went back.

Inside, the store was bright and crowded, shelves of puzzles and stuffed animals and wooden trains and picture books and little plastic worlds built for kids who hadn't learned yet that adults could ruin things. Sidney stood just inside the door with his hands shoved in his pockets, overwhelmed in a way he hadn't braced himself for.

He had no idea what a three year old liked. He walked the aisles slow, feeling ridiculous, feeling like a fraud. Buying something felt presumptuous, like trying to purchase love he hadn't earned. Like skipping steps he didn't have the right to skip. Like one wrong toy could somehow say exactly how little he knew about his own son.

An employee asked if he needed help.

He almost said no on reflex.

Then he said, "I'm looking for something for a three-year-old boy."

"What's he into?"

Sidney swallowed hard.

"Hockey," he said. Then, softer: "And dinosaurs."

She smiled. "We've got a few things for that."

He left with a small dinosaur book, a soft green stegosaurus, and a mesh bag of foam balls for indoor play. He didn't send any of it. He put the bag in the hall closet, because looking at it hurt too much. Took it out an hour later and set it on the dining table instead. Moved it to the bedroom. Moved it back to the closet. Finally he just sat down on the floor in front of the closet door with the dinosaur book in his hands and read it cover to cover, twice, like it might tell him something.

It was twelve pages long. The stegosaurus found his family at the end.

He found a house.

Not the final house, maybe. Not a dream house. Not some huge place bought to prove a point to anyone. It was private and tucked far enough back from the road that he could breathe; it had a fenced yard, a kitchen that caught the morning light early. The realtor talked resale value, entertainment potential, security systems, proximity to the rink. Sidney nodded along at all the right places.

He didn't give a single shit about entertaining. He cared about how many bedrooms. He cared about the stairs, whether they were the kind a little kid could take two at a time without cracking his head open. He cared whether there was yard enough for a three year old to run flat out with Sammy at his heels. He cared whether the kitchen was big enough for you to stand in without feeling cornered by him. He cared whether the street was quiet, whether the windows locked properly, whether the driveway had room, whether there was a bedroom that could someday, maybe, if you ever let it, belong to Beau.

Not soon. Maybe not for a long time. Maybe never, if you decided Pittsburgh was too far, decided he was too much, decided Beau should only ever know him in careful, supervised afternoons back in Halifax. Sidney made himself hold that possibility without cracking down the middle over it. Therapy helped with that. Barely. But it helped.

Still, he let himself imagine anyway.

Beau tearing down a hallway in dinosaur pajamas. You sitting on the edge of a bed reading him a story in a voice Sidney had loved since he was fifteen years old. Himself standing in the doorway, not intruding, just allowed. Just watching. Just learning how to be there.

He walked into one of the upstairs bedrooms and stood in the middle of it. Pale blue walls. A window looking out over the backyard. He could picture a small bed under it, maybe dinosaur sheets, maybe not, maybe Beau would've moved on to something else entirely by then, cars or space or some cartoon Sidney had never even heard of. Maybe he'd want nothing to do with any of it. Maybe he'd stand in this exact doorway someday, small and wary, and ask where his mama was.

He put in an offer the next morning.

He didn't call, because you didn't have a phone. That was the practical excuse. He didn't call because calling your parents' landline felt like stepping onto a live wire. That was the honest one. He didn't call because he was terrified he'd hear your voice and immediately ask for more than he had any right to. That was the one he never said out loud, not even to the therapist with the kind eyes.

Mike called bullshit.

They were in the temporary apartment when Mike came by to drop off Sam. Temporary was a generous word for it. There were boxes still sat stacked by the front door. Sam's bowls sat on a towel in the corner. His hockey bag leaned against the wall in the hallway like the only real sign that anyone actually lived there.

Sidney sat on the floor because the couch still felt too stiff. Sam had her head on his thigh, one paw twitching through some dream. Mike had come down partly because he was a good friend and partly, mostly, because he'd appointed himself in charge of making sure Sidney didn't vanish completely into whatever dark hole he was clearly building for himself one silent night at a time.

"You're being stupid," Mike said.

Sidney stared at the wall. "Thanks."

"No, I mean it. Fully stupid."

"I got that part."

"You have her parents' names. My parents know people who know them. Half of Cole Harbour knows the other half of Cole Harbour, Sid. Somebody could get you the landline in about ten minutes."

Sidney's hand kept moving slow over Sam's head. "And then what?"

"And then you call."

"She told me not to disappear."

"Exactly."

"She also told me to be patient."

Mike stared at him from the couch. "Calling a landline is not the same as breaking into her apartment through a window, man."

Sidney's jaw flexed.

Mike leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You're hiding behind careful."

That landed. Sidney glared at him.

"I'm not hiding."

"You are."

"I'm trying not to scare her."

"No," Mike said. "You're trying not to scare yourself."

Sidney looked away first.

Mike sighed. "Look. I'm not saying call and demand anything. I'm not saying call and ask when you can see him. I'm saying call and tell her you made it to Pittsburgh. That you're figuring things out. That you're not gone."

Sidney dragged both hands down his face, careful not to wake Sam. "What if her mom answers?"

"Then be polite."

"What if her dad answers?"

"Then be very polite."

Sidney gave him a flat look.

Mike shrugged. "Or let the man threaten you. Honestly, you've got a few of those coming."

"I know."

"I don't think you do."

Something shifted across Sidney's face. Mike saw it land wrong and decided he could be gentler. He hadn't meant to hurt him. But he'd been the one standing in that grocery store aisle. He'd seen Beau with his own eyes before Sidney had known a single thing. He'd watched your anger at Sidney's name. He'd carried all of it alone for days before anyone else caught up, and guilt had made him clumsy too, in his own way.

"I'm sorry," Mike said.

Sidney shook his head. "Don't."

"You don't need everybody taking a swing at you."

"I kind of do."

"No," Mike said, firmer now. "You don't. You need to get your head on straight."

Sidney let out a laugh with nothing funny in it. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm serious."

"I know you are."

"So start somewhere."

Sidney looked around the apartment. Somewhere. That was the whole problem. Everything needed starting from scratch. His living situation. His relationship with his parents, which currently didn't exist. His relationship with Taylor. Mario and Nathalie, who he still couldn't think about for longer than a few seconds without feeling sick to his stomach. His agent. His own career, even, though that was the least of it. You. Beau.

He pressed the heel of his hand hard into one eye.

Mike's voice dropped low. "You thinking about him?"

Sidney didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Mike leaned back into the couch. "Yeah."

"I don't know how to do this."

"Nobody knows how to do this."

"That's not helpful."

"It's true, though."

"I'm supposed to be his dad," Sidney said, and his voice came out rough. "How am I supposed to do that from here?"

Mike's mouth twisted sideways. "Badly, at first."

Sidney looked at him.

"I'm not trying to be a dick," Mike said. "Okay, maybe a little. But you're gonna be bad at it, because everybody's bad at it at first. Difference is most guys get to be bad at it with a newborn who doesn't know any better. You're starting with a three year old who's already fully conscious."

Despite himself, Sidney's mouth twitched.

Mike pointed at him. "There it is. Almost a smile. Somebody mark the calendar."

"Shut up."

"Gladly. Right after you call her."

The almost-smile disappeared.

Mike groaned. "Dude."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No, Mike," Sidney snapped, then dropped his voice fast when Sam's head popped up, ears half raised. He stroked her back down until she settled again. "I can't. Not yet."

Mike went quiet.

Sidney stared down at Sam's fur, hand moving without thinking. "If I call and she doesn't want to talk to me, I don't know what I do after that."

"You survive it."

"She shouldn't have to make me survive anything else."

Mike's expression shifted.

Sidney swallowed hard. "I already made this whole thing about me. I get that I didn't choose to not know, but that doesn't matter to her, does it. It's all the same for her. She was alone. She raised him alone. I don't get to just show up and start taking."

"So send a letter."

Sidney looked up.

Mike shrugged, like it was obvious. "You don't have to make her answer you in the moment. Send it to her parents' place. Or her apartment, if you know the address."

"I know the building."

"Of course you do."

Sidney sat with that a second.

A letter felt old fashioned. Maybe cowardly. Maybe just careful, or maybe both at once, no way to tell them apart from the inside. It would give you something you could hold in your hands, or tear up, or shove in a drawer and never open again. It would let him tell you he'd made it to Pittsburgh, that he wasn't gone, without you having to pick up a phone and hear his voice before you were ready to.

"What would I even say?"

Mike gave him a look. "Sid. I know you've been mentally writing this letter since the second you found out."

That was probably true. He'd been drafting a thousand versions of it in his head for weeks.

I'm sorry.

I know I'm not supposed to say sorry too many times.

I got to Pittsburgh.

Sam came with Mike.

I keep thinking about pancakes because your mom told me Beau likes them.

I don't know how to be here when you're there.

I want to do this right.

I don't know what right even is.

Please tell Beau I said hi.

No. Too much. Don't put Beau's name in it yet. 

I'm not gone.

That was the only piece of it that actually mattered. Everything else was noise around that one true thing.

Sidney stood up so fast Sam startled awake, head shooting up, ears half raised, blinking at him.

"Sorry, girl," he murmured, dropping a hand to her head.

Mike watched him. "Where are you going?"

"To find paper."

"You own paper?"

Sidney stopped mid-step. They both looked around the apartment at the same time. He did not, in fact, own paper.

Mike sighed and got to his feet. "I'll drive."

They ended up at a pharmacy, because apparently the first written word from Sidney Crosby to the mother of his child, after four stolen years and the discovery of a lifetime, would be drafted on a legal pad picked up next to the toothpaste and the discount sunscreen. Mike found the envelopes. Sidney stood too long in front of a half-cleared display of Father's Day cards, leftovers nobody had bothered pulling from the shelves.

World's Best Dad.

Dad, You're My Hero.

For the Man Who Taught Me Everything.

Sidney stared until the words blurred into nothing but blurs. Mike appeared at his elbow and quietly took the legal pad out of his hand before he could crush it in his fist.

"Come on," he said.

Sidney nodded and followed him out.

Back at the apartment, he sat at the kitchen counter for almost two hours. Mike kept the TV low in the living room. Sam settled at Sidney's feet, sensing something in him worth staying close for. He wrote three versions.

The first ran too long, spilled everywhere, dragged in his whole childhood, your relationship, the draft, the phone, Ottawa, Pittsburgh, the night he'd driven around Cole Harbour with the truth burning a hole through him, Beau's sleeping face in the backseat of his car. It felt like bleeding straight onto the page and asking you to help him one last time so he tore it out.

The second came out too careful. The kind of thing an agent might have approved before it went out. It sounded like a statement, not a man. He tore that one out too.

The third was short. He sat with it a long time after he finished, just looking at it. Then he folded it before he could ruin it by reading it one more time. He didn't send it that night. Cowardice again, maybe. Or maybe just that he didn't own a single stamp. Or maybe because once it left his hands and reached yours, there was no taking it back.

He set it on the counter next to his keys.

Sam sniffed at it, curious.

"Don't eat that," he muttered.

She wagged her tail once, mildly offended by the accusation.

He slept badly that night, and it became the pattern. Pittsburgh resumed around him and Sidney didn't resume with it. Team training started up. Informal skates. Gym sessions. Medical check ins. Equipment fittings. Familiar hallways, familiar noise, the sound of pucks off boards, guys chirping each other across the room, somebody laughing too loud at nothing, somebody asking how his summer went, someone making a joke about the Cup day, about his birthday, about whether Cole Harbour had finally recovered from the Crosby parade.

Sidney smiled when he was supposed to. Answered what he was asked. Skated. Shot. Worked. But hockey, for the first time in his entire life, felt like something standing between him and the rest of himself, and that scared him more than anything else had in weeks. Hockey had always been the simplest thing in his life. You worked, you got better, you won or you lost, and the pressure meant you mattered somewhere in the world. As a kid the rink had been the one place everything narrowed down into something he actually understood. Edges. Breath. Hands. Vision. Want.

Now he stepped onto the ice and thought about you only weeks pregnant on the night of his first preseason game, sitting alone in your room while he skated a thousand miles away with no idea. He took a faceoff and wondered if his son's hand had ever curled around one of your fingers in a hospital room he'd never seen. He taped his stick and thought of the little plastic one Beau might have. He heard a teammate complain about being tired and thought about you at nineteen, pacing your apartment at two in the morning, begging a baby to sleep. He saw fathers pressed up against the glass with their kids at practice and had to look away every time.

The game hadn't done this to him. He knew that much. Hockey hadn't stolen his phone. Hockey hadn't typed those words. Hockey hadn't blocked your number or convinced your mother he should be kept away. But hockey had been the god everyone around him sacrificed things to, his future, his focus, his image, his path forward. He hated that. Hated that something he'd genuinely loved his whole life had been used as the excuse for tearing apart something that might have mattered more.

Sam stayed close through the nights he cried, which was most of them. He cried for you at eighteen, alone with a positive test and no one to call. He cried for Beau being born into a room Sidney should have been standing in. He cried for the first time Beau said mama and meant, a moment Sidney would never get to have witnessed. He cried for every year he'd spent in arenas full of people screaming his name while, somewhere else entirely, his son learned to walk without him in the room. He cried for Taylor because he missed her and couldn't call. He cried for his mother because he didn't know how to love her right now. He cried for his father because some kid part of him still wanted Troy to say he was sorry and make it all better.

It couldn't go back. That was the wall he kept slamming into, over and over, no matter which direction he tried to come at it from. No matter what he did now, no matter how careful or patient or good he managed to be, he couldn't go back. Couldn't hold your hand in a doctor's office he'd never been in. Couldn't rub your back through morning sickness he'd never witnessed. Couldn't hear Beau's first cry. Couldn't sit in a hospital chair with a newborn weight against his chest and say, hi, buddy, I'm your dad.

He couldn't go back. The best he could do was not run forward so fast he ruined what was left.  That turned out to be harder than anything hockey had ever asked of him, because what he actually needed was four years back. He needed to go back to Ottawa and keep his phone in his own hand. He needed to read your text himself and answer it himself. He needed to call you and be terrified right alongside you instead of finding out years too late. He needed to hear you cry and be the one to say okay, okay, we'll figure it out, I've got you. He needed Beau as a newborn against his chest. He needed to know if his son's hand had ever fit around one of his fingers. He needed to know what you'd craved when you were pregnant, what songs you'd hummed to your own belly at night, every ultrasound, every appointment, every three a.m. feeding, every fight the two of you would've had because babies were hard and you were young and he'd have been gone too much even if he'd tried his best.

He needed the impossible and he kept needing it anyway.

~

You were in the middle of a haircut when your mom called the salon.

Not called you, because you still didn't have a phone, an increasingly ridiculous detail in the ongoing tragedy of your life. She called the front desk, and your coworker Jenna came over to your station with the cordless pressed to her shoulder, eyebrows already up near her hairline.

"It's your mom."

You froze with the scissors still in your hand.

Your client, Mrs. Donnelly, caught your eyes in the mirror. "Everything all right, dear?"

"Yeah," you said quickly, setting the scissors down on the counter. "Sorry. One second."

Jenna mouthed, You want me to finish?

You shook your head and took the phone.

"Mom?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said immediately which made it worse.

Your knees nearly buckled with relief and irritation at the exact same time. "Jesus, don't do that to me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

"A letter came."

The salon fell away from you completely. The blow dryers dulled to a wind somewhere far off. The hairspray and shampoo and hot flatiron smell faded out of your senses like someone had turned a dial. You watched your own face go blank in the mirror in front of you.

"A letter," you repeated.

"Yes."

"From him?"

"Yes."

Your fingers tightened around the phone hard enough to hurt. Mrs. Donnelly, bless her, suddenly found the magazine in her lap fascinating. Jenna hovered two stations down, pretending not to hover at all.

"What does it say?"

"I didn't open it."

"I know, but the envelope."

"It's addressed to you."

"At your house?"

"Yes."

You closed your eyes. He hadn't called. He hadn't forced your parents into being messengers in some pressured, awful moment. He'd written it down instead. Careful, maybe. Cowardly, maybe. Or both, tangled together the way most of his choices seemed to be lately.

"You want me to bring it by?" your mom asked.

You glanced at the clock. Three more clients this afternoon. Beau needed picking up at five. There were towels tumbling in the dryer and rent due Friday, and somewhere in the states Sidney Crosby had mailed you a letter like it was 1942 and your heart was the single most inconvenient organ on the planet.

"No," you said. "I'll come get it after work."

"All right."

"Don't read it."

"I won't."

"Don't let Dad read it either."

"He won't."

"Mom."

"He won't," she said again, softer this time. "I promise you."

You nodded, even though she obviously couldn't see it.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. "I'm doing haircuts right now, so, dangerous question to ask a girl."

"Fair."

"I have to go."

"Okay, sweetheart."

You handed the phone back to Jenna, who gave you one long look. "You okay?"

"Nope."

"Cool. Coffee?"

"After Mrs. Donnelly, assuming I don't cut bangs I'll regret for the rest of her natural life."

Mrs. Donnelly lowered her magazine just enough to peer over the top of it. "Take your time, dear. At my age, a little suspense is good for the circulation."

You laughed, because honestly, what else was there to do?

You finished the haircut. Then the next one. Then a trim for a teenager who wanted layers but not too many layers and absolutely, under no circumstances, wanted to lose any length. You swept hair off the floor. You smiled at the right moments. You booked next appointments. You pretended your whole body wasn't focused on an envelope sitting on your parents' kitchen counter waiting for you.

When you picked Beau up from daycare, he came barreling out with a construction paper crown on his head and glitter bits stuck to his cheek.

"Mama!"

"Hi, baby."

"I made a crown."

"I see that."

"I'm a king."

"Of course you are."

"King Beau."

"Very fancy."

He threw himself into your arms and you caught him with a grunt, lifting him onto your hip. "Oh my God, you're getting heavy."

"I'm growing."

"Stop that."

"No."

"Rude."

He grinned up at you, delighted with himself. "Can we see Nana?"

You hesitated then you looked at his face, at the glitter and the crooked crown and the total certainty in him that of course you'd say yes, and you understood there was no version of this afternoon where you walked into your parents' house without him. Beau was part of this. Not the letter, exactly, but the life in it, yes. Always yes.

"Yeah," you said. "We can see Nana."

"And Papa?"

"And Papa."

"Can I bring my crown?"

"Obviously. Kings need crowns."

Your dad had the door open before you even knocked, because Beau announced himself from the walkway at a volume that carried clear down the street.

"Papa! I'm royalty!"

Your dad gasped like he'd been personally struck. "Your Majesty."

Beau held out one hand, palm down, waiting. Your dad, a man who had sworn up and down he'd never be one of those grandparents, bent at the waist and kissed his knuckles with a loud smooch.

You stared at him. "Seriously?"

He looked up, unbothered. "Show some respect. We're in the presence of the crown."

Beau nodded, grave as a judge. "Yes, Mama."

"Unbelievable."

Your mom appeared in the doorway behind him and the sight of her made you nervous because she had the envelope in her hand. Plain white. Your name across the front. His handwriting. You knew the slight lean to the letters before you ever got your hands on it. The way he wrote your name like he was concentrating hard on getting it right. You hadn't seen his handwriting in years, not outside old birthday cards and notes shoved into the garbage bag at the back of your childhood closet, the ones you'd never had the heart to burn.

Your mom didn't hand it over right away. She waited until your dad had lured Beau off with the promise of juice and a snack, and only then did she step toward you and hold it out. You took it like it might scorch you on contact. The paper felt heavier in your hand than it should have. Or maybe that was just you.

"You can read it here," your mom said. "Or take it home with you."

You stared down at your own name in his handwriting.

"Here," you said.

She nodded and let you go.

You went out to the back porch.

It had always been your thinking place. At fifteen you'd sat out here after Sidney asked you out for the first time. At eighteen you'd avoided it entirely, because the porch reminded you too much of waiting for a phone that wasn't going to ring. When Beau was a newborn you'd stood out here in the freezing dark for thirty seconds at a stretch, just to breathe air that didn't smell like babies. Now you sat down on the steps with Sidney's letter in your lap. You opened the envelope slowly, like it might tear if you rushed it. One page. Blue ink.

You stared at the first line a long time before you let yourself actually read it.

I got to Pittsburgh.

That was it. That was the whole first sentence.

You pressed your lips together hard.

I don't want this letter to ask anything from you, so I'm going to try hard not to. I just wanted you to know I got here, and I'm not gone. I know those are two different things.

You breathed in shakily.

Sam is with me. Mike says she slept almost the whole way and then acted like she did all the work once they got here.

A laugh broke out of you at the thought of his dog before you could stop it, sudden enough that you had to cover your mouth with your free hand.

I'm in an apartment right now. It's temporary. I'm looking for somewhere more permanent. I'm trying to make sure my life has room before I ask for any place in yours.

Your eyes blurred.

I don't know what the right pace is. I don't know what to say to Beau, or when I'm allowed to say anything to him at all. I don't know how to do this without making it harder on you. I'm scared of doing it wrong. I'm scared of doing nothing and having that be wrong too.

You wiped at your cheek with the back of your hand.

I keep thinking about what you said. If I'm scared, I call. If I don't know what to do, I say that. I don't have a number to call, so I'm saying it here instead.

I'm scared and I don't know what to do but I'm here. I always will be

The last line sat by itself at the very bottom of the page.

Sid.

Not Sidney.

Sid.

Your very best friend. You folded the letter carefully along the creases his own hands had made. Then you unfolded it and read the whole thing again. And again. And again, until you could hear his voice reading through every sentence like he was sitting right beside you on the step.

Your mom came out onto the porch a while later. She didn't ask what it said. She sat down next to you with a cup of tea in one hand and a juice box in the other, handed you the tea, set the juice box on the step for whenever Beau inevitably came looking for it, and turned her face out toward the yard. You held the letter in your lap.

"He says he's scared," you said.

Her eyes softened.

"He says he doesn't know what to do."

"That sounds honest."

You nodded.

"He says he's not gone."

Your mom took a slow breath in.

Inside the house, Beau's voice rang out. "Nana, where are you?"

"Porch," she called back.

A second later the screen door banged open and Beau came out with his crown listing sideways off his head and a cracker clutched in one fist.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Having tea," your mom said.

He eyed her cup. "I don't like tea."

"You haven't tried this tea."

"I don't like that tea."

You smiled despite everything.

He saw the letter in your lap. "What's that?"

Your fingers tightened around it. Your mom went very still beside you, waiting, giving you nothing but room. You looked at your son and understood that you didn't have to hand him everything today. You didn't have to make this moment bigger than his small shoulders could hold up under. You didn't have to say the word father. You could start small and let the rest come later. Five minutes at a time. That was all anyone was asking of you. That was all you had to give right now.

"A letter," you said.

"From who?"

You swallowed hard.

"From Sid."

Recognition lit up his whole face. "Your best friend?"

"Yeah," you said softly. "My best friend."

He nodded and leaned his weight against your knee. "What'd he say?"

You looked down at the page. Then at your mother. Then back at your son's waiting face.

"He said he got home safe."

"Oh," Beau said, satisfied. "That's good."

"Yeah," you whispered. "That's good."

Beau grabbed the juice box off the step and climbed into your lap without asking because he never asked. He was getting too big for this too and neither you nor anyone with a soul was ever going to be the one to tell him that. You wrapped an arm around him, the letter still held careful in your other hand.

The porch boards were warm under your bare feet. Your mom sat quiet beside you. Your dad yelled something from inside about King Beau abandoning his kingdom and someone needing to explain the resulting constitutional crisis.

Beau hollered back, "I'm busy!"

You laughed for the first time all day.

—

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_y/ncelebrini

liked by logancooley18, yourbsf and others

_y/ncelebrini: things are looking up

view all comments

mackcelebrini: i'll find out who he is

> _y/ncelebrini: you've been saying that for weeks

> mackcelebrini: i'm getting closer

> _y/ncelebrini: i don't think you are

user27: will's book club?

> _y/ncelebrini: mack won't let me join 😔

> mackcelebrini: not until you tell me who he is

jackmcbain_: picasso

>liked by _y/ncelebrini<

user38: talk about perfect height difference 😵‍💫

>liked by _y/ncelebrini<

> user82: not kells then

> claytonkeller19: ouch

> _y/ncelebrini: still my favourite short king 🤴

>liked by claytonkeller19<

yourbsf: of all the photos to use 🤨

> _y/ncelebrini: thats not even the worst one i have

user12: cools in her likes again...

> user48: i know mack is raging rn

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_y/ncelebrini

liked by utahmammoth, logancooley18 and others

_y/ncelebrini: just another day at the office

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user89: dream job fr

>liked by _y/ncelebrini<

user29: who else is waiting for mack to comment?

mackcelebrini: your office would look better in san jose

> _y/ncelebrini: sorry, i not a big fan of sharks

> mackcelebrini: mean 😠

user178: dying to know the mystery man

> user378: we all are 😫

> use288: the date night story last night was sooo cute 🥰

> user378: would be crazy to say it might be someone on the team?

> user288: imagine if it's cools 🤭

> mackcelebrini: my sister has taste

_dylanguenther: my best side

> _y/ncelebrini: the fronts not so bad either

> mackcelebrini: 🤨🧐

> _dylanguenther: chill, i'm not the one dating your sister

> mackcelebrini: so it's someone on the team?!?

> user378: called it

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_y/ncelebrini

liked by logancooley18, mackcelebrini and others

_y/ncelebrini: loving life right now

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_dylanguenther: 😎

mackcelebrini: jumpscare

> _y/ncelebrini: grow up

>liked by logancooley18<

> user68: not cools liking her comment 🤭🤭

user2777: that photo of logan?? so cute 🥰🥰

>liked by _y/ncelebrini<

> user2777: she liked?! 👀

> user899: we see you 🤭

> _y/ncelebrini: he is cute!!

>comment deleted<

> user57: not fast enough

> user29: macklin have a meltdown right now 😭

jackmcbain_: how much did gunner pay you?

> _y/ncelebrini: you don't want to know

user832: i just know cools has her notifications on

> user77: ??

> user832: he's always the first to like her posts

> user53: bf behaviour

> mackcelebrini: gross 🤮🤮

> _y/ncelebrini: get out of my comments

> mackcelebrini: make me

yourbsf: 🥰

>liked by _y/ncelebrini<

user17: so we know its not gunner

> _dylanguenther: it could totally be me

> _y/ncelebrini: don't lie to the people

> user47: my bets are on logan

> user689: the holidays just got awkward

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