Ten Characters. Ten Birthdays.
Birthday Masterlist - The Wyatt Russell fan page
Like any other night on the road, the locker room buzzed. Guys gearing up, shoulder pads thudding into place, sticks clattering against the rubber floor. The usual back and forth chirping, laughter bouncing off the tile and metal. Music blasted from the goalieβs speaker across the room, something loud, bass heavy, and not even remotely to Andersβ taste.
It grated on him. Sat wrong in his chest. But if he was being honestβ¦ that wasnβt what had him so wound up. It was the day. This fucking day that, every year without fail, left him feeling off balance. On edge. Alone, even in a room full of people.
He sat hunched forward at his stall, already half in his gear, skates laced tight. The stiff padding dug into his ribs as he leaned down, digging through his bag until his fingers closed around his phone.
He shouldnβt. He knew he shouldnβt. Heβd told himself, this morning, actually, that he was done checking it. Done waiting around like it mattered.
Stillβ¦ he looked. Nothing. No new messages. He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. There had been a missed call from his mother earlier. A voice message left for him. Not a βhappy birthday.β More like, βCall me later. I canβt believe youβre not here to visit your mother.β A guilt trip, wrapped up in obligation. Like his schedule, his game, his life, none of it mattered if it didnβt orbit her. Like this day belonged to her more than it did to him.
His thumb hovered over the screen for a second longer before he locked it, but his thoughts didnβt stop there. His father hadnβt said anything at all. Not a call. Not a text. Typical. Stillβ¦ there was always that stupid, lingering question in the back of his mind.
Did he forget? Or did he just not care? Anders never asked. Never pushed it. Didnβt matter which answer it was, they both hit the same.
He swallowed it down and opened his messages again, almost on instinct this time. His thumb hovered, then stilled over a name.
Nothing. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing since last night. He let out a quiet, humorless scoff at himself, shaking his head. Why the hell would she? He hadnβt told her. Heβd made sure of that.
Because, what? He didnβt think he deserved it? Because if she knew, sheβd go out of her way, do something thoughtful, show up in that way she always did and he didnβt know what to do with that? Didnβt know how to take it without feeling like he owed something back he wasnβt sure he could give? Or worse, something he wanted to give, but was too damn afraid to say out loud.
With all the time theyβd spent together, all the late nights, the easy conversationsβ¦ he still kept her just far enough out of re ach. Close, but not close enough to wreck him.
Now he was sitting here, staring at an empty screen, feeling exactly what that distance bought him.
His grip tightened slightly around the phone. Heβd tried calling her earlier. Straight to voicemail and she hadnβt called back.
His gaze flicked up, scanning the room, noise and movement, bodies everywhere and still, somehow, it felt too quiet in his head.
He could call her now. He should, right? Stop being stubborn. Stop hiding behind that same old defense. He could just say it. Tell her what today was. He shouldβve told her sooner. His thumb hit her contact before he could talk himself out of it.
The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Not voicemail. At least there was that.
Her voice came through, a little breathless.
His chest tightened, something in him jumping before he could stop it.
βH-heyβ¦β he started, already second-guessing the call. βAre you busy or something? I can call later if this is a bad time.β
There was a pause. He could hear movement on her end. Voices, distant, indistinct. Background noise that didnβt belong to a quiet room. Of course she was out. Of course this was a bad time.
βNo, no, itβs okay,β she said quickly, a little rushed. βIβm glad you called. Iβm justβ¦ out.β
Out. Right. His brain latched onto it immediately. Sheβs busy. Sheβs got better things to do than sit on the phone with you.
βIβm glad you called, though, I miss you.β she added, shifting gears. βYou getting ready for the game? I can hear the music.
βYeah,β he muttered, glancing around. βGuys are getting ready.β
βAnd let me guess,β she went on, lighter now, teasing, βyouβre in the corner looking all broody and intimidating?β
A moment of silence passed before she continued.
βI know you too well, Cain. Pregame nerves?β
The words sat right there on his tongue. Heavy. Real.
Iβm calling because itβs my birthday.β¨Because I shouldβve told you.β¨Because I miss you.β¨Because I love youβ¦
βI justβ¦β He swallowed. βI needed to hear your voice.β
It wasnβt everything. But it wasnβt nothing either. Noise spiked on her end, louder this time.
βI just wanted to tell youβ¦β
βHang on, just a second,β she cut in quickly.
The line went muffled. Fabric against the mic. Her voice, distant now. Talking to someone. He couldnβt make out the words, but he heard the tone in the response. Low. Male. Something in his chest tightened, sharp and immediate. Donβt do this. Donβt jump to conclusions.
βIm sorry, Iβm here,β she said, breath still uneven. βWhat were you saying?β
His tone had already shifted. Shorter. Colder.
βNothing,β he said. βItβs nothing. Clearly youβre busy.β
Just like that. The silence that followed rang louder than anything in the room. He stared at the screen for half a second, jaw tight, before it lit up again.
The vibration buzzed hard in his palm. He flipped the switch, silencing it, and shoved the phone back into his bag like it had burned him.
What the hell was he thinking?
Of course she was out. Of course she had a life that didnβt revolve around him, why wouldnβt she? Itβs not like they were anything. Not officially. Heβd made damn sure of that. Kept it casual. Kept it easy. Kept her just far enough away whenever things started to feel like more.
So why shouldnβt she be out with someone else? Someone better. Someone who didnβt hesitate. Didnβt pull back. Didnβt make everything feel like a negotiation between wanting and running.
His hands came up, dragging over his face, brushing his beard, as a low groan slipped out. This was on him. All of it. He shouldβve told her. Shouldβve let her in. Shouldβve said something, anything, before now.
Instead, he did what he always did. Pulled back. Kept control. Avoided the risk. And now he was sitting here, feeling exactly what that cost him.
βCain! What the hell, man?!β
The shout cut through everything.
Anders dropped his hands, looking up, the irritation in his eyes sharp enough to make a point.
βChill,β Walton added quickly, holding up a hand. βJust saying, we gotta get out there. Youβre half dressed.β
Anders glanced down, then around. The room had shifted. Guys were finishing up, helmets in hand, sticks grabbed, energy turning toward the ice.
He pushed to his feet, grabbing the rest of his gear, yanking it on with more force than necessary.
What was he doing? Getting in his own head over, what? A woman he wouldnβt even admit he wanted? A day he pretended didnβt matter?
He slammed his gloves into place, anger simmering just under the surface.
If his father could see him right now, sitting there, spiraling over feelings, pitying himself, heβd probably laugh. Could the man be any more disappointed in him than he already was?
Again, his jaw tightened. Slapping his helmet on quickly. Heβd take it out where it actually counted. On the ice.
Before he even stepped fully out of the tunnel, the sound hit him. A wall of noise, loud and relentless. Unmistakably hostile. Boos rained down from every level of the arena, echoing off the glass and steel, bleeding into the concrete beneath his skates. It swallowed the space whole.
Anders didnβt flinch. Didnβt expect anything else. They were the visitors. Of course they were getting torn apart before theyβd even touched the ice. Stillβ¦ it fed something in him. That same restless, agitated energy that had been simmering all damn day.
His blades hit the ice with a sharp, familiar scrape as he pushed off, falling into rhythm behind the rest of the team. Cold air bit at his lungs, crisp and clean, a stark contrast to the stale tension of the locker room. Pucks scattered across the ice as they were dumped from buckets, sliding and spinning in every direction. Sticks tapped. Skates carved.
Warm ups. Controlled chaos. Lines formed loosely, guys running passing drills, quickly snapping shots on the net. Routine. Muscle memory.
Anders grabbed a puck off the boards without breaking stride, cutting hard up the ice. His blade bit deep as he accelerated, weaving past a teammate before shifting his weight and winding up.
The slap shot cracked like a gunshot. Clean. Hard. The puck ripped past the goalie and buried itself in the back of the net. He hardly even looked. Just peeled off before he hit the crease, turning sharply, skating out along the boards to reset and thatβs when something caught his eye.
A flash of color. Movement at the glass. He almost ignored it. Almost. But something about it snagged his attention just enough that he looped wider on his turn, glancing back over his shoulder toward the section near the visitorsβ bench.
There. A sign. He slowed slightly, circling back toward center ice where a couple of guys, Petrov and Lavoie, were stretching along the blue line, sticks resting across their knees. Anders drifted closer to the boards, narrowing his focus until the words came into view.
Birthday Boy, #13!β¨Go, Cain!
Big, uneven hearts were scrawled all around it, marker bleeding through the poster in places like whoever made it hadnβt bothered waiting for it to dry. Messy. Crooked. Earnest. Next to it a face. Bright and grinning. Completely unbothered by the sea of opposing fans around her as she smacked the glass with her hand like she was trying to break through it.
Everything in him stalled. For a second, the noise dropped out, not completely, but enough that it felt distant. Muffled. Like the world had shifted half a step out of sync.
He justβ¦ stared. She was here. Actually here. Not a text. Not a call. Not something small and easy. Sheβd gotten on a plane, crossed states, fought through this crowd just to stand there, in his jersey, holding that ridiculous sign like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
His chest tightened, something sharp and unfamiliar catching there as his brain scrambled to catch up.
How did she evenβ¦? Why would sheβ¦? Because he didnβt tell her. Didn't think it mattered. He let out a slow breath, something in his shoulders loosening before he could stop it.
She let out a loud, unapologetic shriek of his name, completely out of place in a building that wanted nothing to do with him, trying to drown out the boos with sheer enthusiasm.
It shouldnβt have worked. It did anyway.
Her dark hair fell loose around her shoulders, slightly wind tossed like sheβd rushed to get there. It explained why sheβd sounded so out of breath when heβd called her. His jersey hung too big on her frame, sleeves swallowing her hands as she waved at him like he was the only person in the building worth looking at.
And she was alone. Not with someone. Not out on a date. Not too busy. Just⦠here. For him. A quiet, disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could shut it down.
God, heβd been an idiot.
Jumping to conclusions. Writing the story before he had the facts. Doing exactly what he always did, pushing someone away before they had the chance to matter too much.
βHey, whatβs this, birthday boy?β
The voice snapped him partially back. Hendrix coasted up beside him, tapping his stick lightly against Andersβ skate.
βYou been holding out on us?β he added, squinting toward the glass. βSince when do you have fans?β
Another player drifted in, KovΓ‘cs this time leaning forward, trying to get a better look.
βWait,β he said, brows lifting. βIs thatβ¦?β
A small cluster started forming on the ice, a few more guys following their line of sight.
Lucy, completely unfazed, waved harder. Like sheβd just been handed a bigger audience and decided to fully commit.
βShit,β Lavoie huffed out a laugh. βThatβs Lucy. From the team office, right?.β
Recognition clicked down the line. A few low whistles.
βDamn, Cain,β Walton chimed in, coasting in last, grin already forming. βYou ever heard of not mixing business with pleasure?β
Anders turned his head just enough to look at him. Didnβt say anything. Didnβt need to. There was still heat there, always was, but it didnβt flare the way it usually would. Didnβt snap into something ugly. Walton held his gaze for half a secondβ¦ then lifted his hands slightly.
βAlright.β He murmured. βJeez, man. I get it.β
Anders looked back to the glass. Back to her. She was pressed close now, palm flat against the barrier, still smiling like she hadnβt just turned his entire day on its head. Like she hadnβt just walked straight through every excuse heβd built for why he didnβt matter.
The noise came rushing back in around him, the crowd, the skates, the pucks against the boards, but it didnβt hit the same. Didnβt sit as heavy. Because for the first time all day, he wasnβt standing out there feeling like heβd been forgotten.
Lucy pushed through the office door in a rush, keys looped around her wrist, coffee precariously balanced in her hand. The door barely had time to swing shut behind her before she was already inside, momentum carrying her forward.
βYou donβt have to come in like a hurricane, you know, youβre not late.β
Lucy startled slightly, glancing up. Carol sat at her desk across the room, already settled in, glasses low on her nose and a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
βAnd even if you were,β she added, lifting her coffee in a small salute, βI wouldnβt tell.β
Lucy let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head as she crossed the room.
βWell, you know me,β she said, setting her coffee down a little too quickly on her desk, shrugging out of her coat. βAlways running five minutes behind myself.β
The office hummed softly around them. Printers warming up, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, the low murmur of voices filtering in from down the hall. Papers were already stacked neatly where sheβd left them the night before, a fresh pile added on top.
Carol leaned back in her chair, pen tapping idly against her notepad.
βYouβve got a stack of fan mail waiting on responses,β she said, nodding toward Lucyβs desk. βAnd the coach is in a mood, apparently you didnβt upgrade his hotel room.β
Lucy scoffed immediately, dropping into her chair and dragging the stack of envelopes closer.
βOh, thatβs rich,β she muttered, flipping through the top few letters. βWe just had that meeting about budget cuts last week, and he was all about βteam sacrificeβ when Phillip and Leo were in the room.β
She glanced up, unimpressed.
βIf he wants to keep complaining, Iβll bunk him with Anders next time. Then heβll really learn gratitude.β
Carol smirked over the rim of her cup.
βNow that,β she said, βwould be cruel and unusual punishment.β
Lucy huffed a quiet laugh, already reaching for a pen.
βThatβs just what he needs,β Carol added, tilting her head. βA few nights rooming with that black cat boyfriend of yours would humble him real quick.β
Lucy froze just enough for it to be noticeable.
βH-heβs not my boyfriend,β she said quickly, a little too quick, eyes dropping back to the letters in front of her.
Carol didnβt even try to hide the eye roll this time.
βSure, Lu,β she said lightly. βWhatever helps you sleep at night.β
Lucy pressed her lips together, pretending to focus as she sorted through the envelopes. She could feel the warmth creeping up the back of her neck anyway. Carol had seen enough of it. Anders picking her up from the office. Dropping her off. The occasional lunch break that turned into something longer. It wasnβt subtle, not really. But sheβd never called him that.
The word feltβ¦ too solid. Too defined. Too likely to send him running. Because that was the thing with Anders. Every time she got close, really close, heβd pull back just enough to remind her where the line was. Not cruelly. Not intentionally. Justβ¦ instinctive. Like he didnβt know how to exist any other way. Sheβd learned to work around it. To meet him where he was instead of pushing for more. To let things unfold at his pace, even when it drove her a little insane.
God, she wanted more. Sheβd wanted to say it for months now, how much he meant to her. How deeply she felt it.
The words lived right there, constant, pressing at the back of her throat. But every time she got close, she could already picture it. The way heβd stiffen. His walls slamming right back into place. Like a stray dog flinching at a hand that wasnβt trying to hurt him. So she stayed quiet. Because losing him altogether? That would hurt more.
βAs it is,β Carol went on, already flipping a page and barely looking up, βtheyβve probably got their hands full with him today.β
Lucy paused mid sort, something in the tone catching her attention.
βWhatβs that supposed to mean?β she asked, glancing up.
Carol shrugged lightly, still focused on her paperwork.
βBetween the away game and his birthday?β she said, almost to herself. βHeβs gonna be a nightmare today.β
Lucy stilled. Her fingers hovered over the envelope.
Carol finally looked up, blinking at her.
βHis birthday,β she repeated, slower this time, like maybe Lucy just hadnβt heard her the first time. βSeems like every year the guy turns into a complete nightmare. You havenβt noticed?β
Silence lingered, then it clicked. Carolβs expression shifted.
βYouβre kidding me,β Carol added, eyes narrowing. βHe didnβt tell you?β
Lucy didnβt answer right away. Her hand hovered over the stack of envelopes, suddenly forgotten.
Shock hit first, sharp and immediate. He hadnβt told her. Not a mention. Not even in passing. After everything, after all the time theyβd spent together, he still hadnβt let her in enough for something as simple as that.
A flicker of frustration followed. What were they even doing then? Months ofβ¦ whatever this was, nights of passion, quiet moments, the way heβd sometimes look at her like she mattered and he still kept parts of himself locked so far away she couldnβt even reach them.
Her chest tightened and just as quickly, the frustration softened into understanding. Because the longer she sat with it, the more it made a painful kind of sense. Of course he didnβt tell her. This was Anders. The man who braced for impact before anything even had the chance to hurt him. The man who carried himself like he expected disappointment as a baseline. The man who didnβt think he deserved to be celebrated or chosenβ¦ or cared for without conditions.
Her expression softened, something gentler settling in. He probably thought it wouldnβt matter or worse that it shouldnβt. That thought alone was enough to pull at something deep in her chest.
And the idea of him spending the day like that, angry and alone, convincing himself it was just another dayβ¦
She wasnβt going to let that happen.
Lucy turned slightly in her chair, something already shifting into motion behind her eyes.
βWould you be willing to cover for me today?β she asked, slower now, more deliberate. βIβll owe you. Big time.β
Carol perked up immediately, interest sparked.
βWell now,β she said, setting her pen down. βThat sounds promising.β She leaned forward, grin creeping in. βI could call the intern in, make it look official,β she added. βWhat kind of trouble are you getting into?β
Lucy didnβt answer right away. She was already moving, pulling her laptop closer, fingers flying over the keyboard. Schedules. A block of reserved tickets. Away game, still available. She clicked through quickly, sending one to her personal email before she could overthink it. Her pulse had picked up now, adrenaline slipping in. Timing. Flights. Distance. It would be tight, but not impossible.
βA romantic gesture,β she said finally, grabbing her coffee and standing in one fluid motion, already reaching for her coat.
βOh, I love this,β she said. βRisky. Impulsive. Potentially disastrous.β
Lucy huffed a small, breathy laugh as she slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed her coat.
βHeβs either going to love it,β she admitted, heading for the door, βor absolutely hate it.β
βFifty-fifty odds,β Carol called after her. βMy favorite kind.β
The office door swung open and shut behind her as she hurried down the hallway, already pulling her phone out, thumb moving quickly across the screen. Flights. Departure times. Figuring how fast could she get home, pack, get to the airport.
It wasnβt practical. It wasnβt responsible. Dropping everything like this, disappearing in the middle of a workday for a guyβ¦ She should have cared more but she didnβt. Because all she could think about was him.
He wasnβt just some guy to her. That stubborn, infuriating, guarded man who had never once asked for anything, but somehow still managed to make her want to give him everything.
Her grip tightened slightly on her phone as she pushed through the building exit, the cool air hitting her face.
He wouldnβt say it, wouldnβt ask. Wouldnβt let himself need it, but she knew. This was her choosing him anyway.
By the time the final horn sounded, it wasnβt even close. A victory for his team. 6β0. The home crowd let their frustration be known, boos echoing down from the stands as the last few seconds ticked off the clock, but Anders barely registered it anymore. Not the same way he had at the start. Something had shifted. The fire was still there, it always was but it hadnβt burned out of control. It hadβ¦ steadied. Focused. Tempered.
Heβd expected the surprise to throw him off. Crack his edge just enough to make him sloppy. Instead? It sharpened him. Heβd buried a couple clean goals, picked up an assist, played smarter than he had in weeks. Still threw his weight when he needed to, finished checks, pinned guys to the boards but there was control behind it. Intent.
Even his teammates had noticed. Hell, he had noticed. It had been one of his better games in a long time. And not just because she was thereβ¦but because of what that meant. Because on a day that usually left him wound tight, pissed off at the world for reasons he didnβt even bother unpacking anymore. He hadnβt felt empty.
Heβd seen her throughout the game, every shift, every rotation back toward the bench, his eyes finding her without trying. Right there at the glass. Hands slamming against it, shouting when she could, completely ignoring the looks she was getting from the home crowd around her. They werenβt subtle about it either. But she didnβt care. Didnβt shrink.
The team gathered at center ice, falling into their usual post game ritual. A clean win, a shutout, there was a rhythm to it. One by one, they moved down the line, tapping helmets and gloves, ending with the goalie, MacLeod. Anders usually went through the motions. Quick tap. No eye contact. Done. Tonight, not so much.
By the time he reached him, MacLeod leaned back slightly, already lifting his blocker, expecting the usual half assed acknowledgment. Instead, Anders reached up, grabbing the back of his helmet and pulling him in, knocking their helmets together in a solid, deliberate headbutt.
βNice work, Mac,β he muttered.
MacLeod blinked, caught completely off guard. There was a pause, then a crooked grin spread across his face behind the cage.
βDamn,β he huffed. βDidnβt think Iβd ever hear that from you.β
Anders just smirked, pulling back.
βMan,β MacLeod went on, tapping his stick against the ice, βyou should have your girl in the stands every night if this is what it does to you.β
Anders tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to make it clear. Careful.
βDonβt fucking push it,β he said, voice low but not sharp. βYouβve got all that padding on for a reason.β
Mac barked a laugh anyway, knocking his blocker lightly against Andersβ glove. Message received.
Anders broke from the line, turning toward the boards. The arena had already started thinning out, home fans filing toward the exits, many of them throwing in the towel, gone before the final horn even sounded. Didnβt matter to him, he knew exactly where to look. She was still there. Right where sheβd been all game. Waiting. He skated toward her, slowing as he reached the glass. His teammates peeled off behind him, heading for the tunnel, but he didnβt follow. Didnβt move.
βYou came,β he called out, voice raised but it got swallowed immediately by the noise, the glass, the distance.
She shook her head, tapping her ear, smiling like she couldnβt hear a word. Of course she couldnβt. So he didnβt try again. Instead, he lifted his glove, pressing it flat against the glass in front of her. And the way her face lit up? That hit harder than anything heβd done all night.
She mirrored him immediately, pressing her hand to the same spot, her smile wide and unfiltered, like this had all been worth it just for that. For a second, everything else faded out again. No crowd. No game. Just them. He exhaled slowly, then pulled his hand back, gesturing, pointing toward her, tapping the glass, then hooking his thumb back toward himself before nodding toward the tunnel.
Understanding clicked instantly. She nodded.
He pushed off, turning away but his eyes stayed on her as long as he could manage, skating backward for a second before finally breaking and heading down the tunnel.
The noise shifted as he stepped off the ice, replaced by the echo of concrete, the dull thud of skates hitting rubber flooring, voices bouncing off narrow walls.
His heart hadnβt slowed. If anything, it kicked harder. By the time he hit the locker room, he was moving fast, too fast.
Gloves off. Helmet tossed. Stick dropped somewhere he didnβt care to track. His gear came off in pieces, half of it not even making it into his stall. Skates unlaced and abandoned, jersey yanked over his head and tossed aside. Pads left in a jumble.
Didnβt shower. Didnβt think. Didnβt care.
He dragged on whatever he could grab first, hoodie, sweats, slides, hands still moving even while his brain tried to catch up.
She came all this way for him. The thought hit again, heavier this time. He paused for half a second, bracing his hands against the edge of his stall.
Donβt shut down.β¨Donβt push her away.
βThe birthday boy pulled through for us tonight, huh?β Lavoieβs voice cut through the noise, followed immediately by a few low whistles and scattered chirps from across the room.
βAbout time, Cain,β someone added. βThat was a hell of a game.β
Walton approached, already stripped down to his base layer, pads still hanging loose.
βFirst roundβs on me,β he said, easy grin in place. βWeβre not letting you disappear tonight.β
Anders paused, glancing around the room. Normally? That wouldβve been enough to set him off. Too many voices. Too much expectation. He just smirked.
βNot tonight,β he said, grabbing the edge of his hoodie and tugging it into place. βGot somewhere else to be.β
That earned a few raised brows.
βOh?β Walton leaned back slightly. βLook at you.β
Anders shrugged, already moving toward the door.
βGotta go see your number one fan?β KovΓ‘cs barked playfully.
The room broke into laughter, a chorus of whistles and half shouted comments chasing him out into the hallway. He didnβt look back. Didnβt slow down.
Just headed down the corridor, pulse still hammering, hoping sheβd find her way to him.
The hallway just outside the visitors locker room was still alive with movement. A mix of arena staff, a couple lingering fans, the distant echo of the crowd still bleeding through the concrete. Not packed, not chaotic anymore, but not private either. A moment later he saw her. The second their eyes met, her arms came up around his neck, pulling him into an embrace.
βI canβt believe youβre here,β he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as he held her close.
She let out a quiet breath against him, something relieved in it.
βYouβre not mad, are you?β she asked, a soft laugh slipping through. βI was afraid I was going to throw off your game.β
He pulled back just enough to take her in. His jersey hung on her frame, sheβd worn it all night beaming with pride.
βNo, Iβm not mad.β His arms slipped around her, drawing her closer. βYouβre wearing my number. My good luck charm.β
He leaned in and kissed her, his beard brushing against her skin. For once, he didnβt overthink it. Didnβt second guess. In that moment, it was just the two of them. She broke the kiss just enough to rest her forehead against his.
βAndersβ¦β her voice dropped to a low whisper. βI wish you would have told me it was your birthday.β
His hand came up, brushing lightly along her cheek.
βI know. I should have.β His gaze dipped for a moment, the weight of it catching up with him. βYou know, Iβm not good at this kind of stuff, Lu.β
She smirked, still holding onto him.
βThatβs an understatement, Thirteen.β
βBut I want to try,β he said, quieter now. βWith you.β
That hit her exactly where it mattered. Because that was all sheβd ever wanted. For him to trust her enough to let her in. To let this be something real. To choose them.
βI know itβs a lotβ¦ and maybe this isnβt the right time, but it was all I could think about on the flight here,β She drew in a breath like she was bracing herself. βI really do love you. More than anything.β
The words seemed to hang there between them. Then, almost immediately, like she feared him pulling back, she rushed to soften it.
βYou donβt have to say anything though,β she added quickly. βI donβt expect you to. I just needed to say it.β
Everything seemed to slow around them. He inhaled, deeper this time.
βLu,β His voice caught, rougher now. βIβ¦β
He stopped. Jaw tightening. Breath uneven. That same old voice in his head rose up again.
He let out a frustrated breath, shaking his head.
βShit,β he muttered. βThereβs a lot I need to sayβ¦β
Her brow furrowed slightly, but she didnβt interrupt. She stayed right there with him. Of course she did. The woman had the patience of a saint. His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers curling there, not tight, just a steady and grounding touch.
βPart of me wanted to say it,β he admitted, voice low. βEarlierβ¦ thatβs why I called you.β
Her expression softened, but he didnβt lose focus.
βI was gonna say it,β he continued, the words coming quicker now. βThen I heard you talking to someone and my brain justβ¦β He scoffed under his breath, annoyed with himself. βDid what it always does, looked for an excuse to run.β
He glanced down briefly between them.
βFigured you were with someone else. Someone who could actually give you more.β He shook his head. βMade it all up in my head like an idiot instead of justβ¦ talking to you.β
His touch shifted slightly.
βHung up like a dick. Thatβs on me.β he said plainly.
He exhaled slowly, shoulders still tense.
βI do that too much,β he added, quieter now. βKeep you just far enough away so it doesnβt wreck me when this goes bad.β
His eyes finally lifted to hers.
βYou donβt deserve that.β He let out a short, humorless breath. βI know Iβve beenβ¦ difficult.β
βItβs true.β He said. βI push you away, then get pissed when it feels like Iβm losing you, makes no damn sense.β
His tone eased, something almost disbelieving finally slipping through.
βBut you got on a plane and came all this way. You showed up for me.β He shook his head slightly. βOn a day I usually spend trying to pretend I donβt exist.β
His thumb brushed along her jaw.
βI canβt pretend like that doesnβt mean everything to me.β He let out a quiet breath.
He swallowed, steadying himself, leaning in closer. His voice quieter and more certain now.
There was no hesitation this time.
βI have for a while. I justβ¦β he shook his head. βDid a pretty solid job fucking it up along the way.β
His hand slid down from her neck, tracing along her collar.
She pulled him back into her, kissing him again, firm and certain, like sheβd been waiting this whole time to do it without holding back. He moved with her, guiding her back until her shoulders met the cool concrete wall behind her. The kiss broke, but only barely. Their foreheads still close, breath shared and for a second, it was the perfect moment, nothing else existed.
βScrew you, Cain, you piece of shit!β A man in a home team jersey shouted giving a double bird salute. Reality forcing its way back in, loud and obnoxious. But her arms stayed around him, grounding him.
βWow, now thatβs growth.β she murmured, a little impressed. βYouβre just going to let that one go? Youβre not even gonna punch the guy?β
A low hum rumbled in his chest.
βDonβt tempt me,β he muttered, before leaning in to kiss her again.
He feltβ¦ lighter. Not fixed. Not suddenly better. More like maybe he didnβt have to force himself to carry everything on his own for once.
βMaybe we should go somewhere a little more private,β she murmured against his lips, glancing over his shoulder at the not so subtle audience.
βI would love to,β he said, already halfway there before reality caught up with him. βBut Iβve got two roommates.β
βOf course you do. Good thing I donβt.β She pulled him closer, leaning into his ear. βItβs your birthday, after allβ¦β
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, that teasing tilt to her head, a wicked smirk settling in. She didnβt make him feel like something to be endured or an obligation. Not someone that just couldnβt measure up.
The room was quiet in that early morning way, the kind of quiet that didnβt feel empty so much as still. Curtains barely drawn, light slipping through in soft lines across the bed.
For a second, he didnβt move. Just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling an unfamiliar calm sitting in his chest. His mind quieter than usual. Then he felt her. Curled into his side, bare skin, half tangled in the sheets with one leg thrown over his. As if sheβd decided sometime in the night he wasnβt getting away, not easily at least. Her hair was a mess, brushing against his shoulder, her breathing slow and even.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at her. Still there. Still his. Not a dream. Not something heβd screwed up yet. His hand came up almost without thinking, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. Gentle, like he might ruin it if he wasnβt. She shifted a little at the touch, half awake, but didnβt pull away.
He could get used to this.
The phone buzzing on the nightstand cut through the peace of the moment. Sharp and out of place. His jaw automatically tightened before he even reached for it.
The name on the screen hit exactly where it always did. A twist in his stomach. Years of it, wired into his system too deep to pretend it had disappeared completely overnight. He stared at it for a second longer than he meant to.
Lucy stirred beside him, blinking awake slowly, her brow knitting just a little when she noticed the tension in his shoulders and saw the ID.
βYou gonna get that, Baby?β she murmured, voice rough with sleep. She wasnβt trying to push.
He didnβt answer her right away. His thumb hovered over the screen, that old reflex kicking in. Answer it. Donβt miss it. Donβt make it worse. But he fought it.
The phone just kept buzzing. Then eventually it stopped. Silence dropped back into the room, heavier this time.
Lucy looked up to him, hand soothing with the gentle brushing of her fingers on his chest. They lay there, in the quiet. He let out a sigh of relief. A few moments later, the fragile calm was interrupted. The notification lit the screen again.
He exhaled through his nose, just staring over at it. His whole body on edge. For a split second, something in him shifted. A stupid, automatic hope that lived somewhere inside his mind. Maybe his father had actually remembered his birthday, just had the days wrong. That part of him that needed to know drove him to hit play, bringing the phone to his ear as his fathers voice came through the earpiece.
βWhat, you too fucking busy to pick up your phone now?β
No greeting. No hesitation. Just straight into it.
βI really need you to call me back. Youβre still close with LeBlanc, right? Heβs with Chicago now, Iβm sure you know.β
Of course he knew. His father continued on like Anders was supposed to know exactly where he was going with this already.
βIβve got this sponsor Iβm trying to pull, big fish, diehard Blackhawks fan.β
Of course, now he saw where this was going.
βFigured you could reach out. With a little influence from your buddy and you being in the affiliate team, you could put in a word. Get us in the door.β
His fatherβs tone shifted, more confident and smug.
βIβve really gotta impress this guy. Something a little more VIP. Shouldnβt be hard for you, right?β
Not βCan youβ or βWould you?β. Not even a pathetic βPlease?β. Just expecting him to handle it.
βI donβt have a lot of time to land this one. Let me know soon so I can book the flights. Donβt make it complicated. Just hurry up and call me back.β
There was a brief flicker of something in his chest. His father coming out all that way for a sponsor, but not for him.
He hadnβt visited, not once since Anders had moved out there. He lowered the phone, staring at it blankly. His thumb hovered over the screen again, that same tension pulling at him, familiar and irritating as hell. He let his thumb hover for a moment, thinking, then hitting delete. Just like that.
The room stayed quiet. Lucy watched him, more awake now, propped slightly on her elbow. There was something careful in the way she looked at him, like she didnβt want to break whatever that had just been.
βWhat are you doing?β she asked softly. βYouβre not going to call him back?β
Anders shook his head, setting the phone back down on the nightstand like it weighed nothing.
βNo, Iβm not.β His tone wasnβt dramatic but he knew, he was choosing what really mattered. βItβs not important.β
She studied him for a second longer, like she was stunned heβd really meant it. Sheβd always known how hard it was for him to break from the persistent need to seek his fatherβs approval. Itβd happened too many times before. Putting that before her, before them. But not this time. Something in her expression eased.
He looked back at her then, like he was reminding himself why heβd made that choice in the first place. His hand slid back around her waist, pulling her in closer. She went easily, like she always did, settling against him, her touch firm against his chest.
βYou sure?β she asked, quieter now. Not doubting him. Just checking.
His grip tightened slightly, grounding.
βYeah,β he said softly, then after a second, a little firmer. βIβm know what I really want.β
That got a smile out of her.
βGood.β she murmured.
He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers, slower this time. No rush or edge of urgency like the night before. Just the warmth of gratitude. When he pulled back, he didnβt go far, breath still a little uneven but not for the same reasons anymore. The phone stayed silent on the nightstand and for once, he didnβt feel like he was waiting for it to ring again. He was just thankful to be where he was.
