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Hockey Pt.29

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Hockey Pt.28

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Hockey Pt.27

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Hockey Pt.26

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Hockey Pt.25

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Quadzilla

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Hockey Pt.24

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Hockey Pt.23

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Hockey Pt.22

OWEN AND VICTORIA ARE ENGAGED!!!!!!! I AM SO HAPPY FOR THEM

[jayda12]

Chapter 1: surprise! (jack and quinn belong in hell)

Series Masterlist

Summary: Deciding to take a leap and surprise your best friend doesn't end the way you hoped.

A/n: Hello hello, it's me! Mario! Just kidding, it's just me, and I am once again back with the first chapter of a new lil series! This one is near and dear to my little heart because it's full-on friends-to-lovers (with lots of idiocy sprinkled in there somewhere) and boy am I excited for you guys to follow along with this lil story. This one is a little extra special to me because there are some real-life things I've experienced thrown in there, and also because I spent a long time (three months to be exact) coming up with not only the storyline but also the fake Lake and the history surrounding it. So without further ado, I hope you enjoy:)

------------------- ˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡° -------------------

June 14th

Jack Hughes had been in your life since you were born and he was an annoying little two-year-old. As the years passed and you grew up, he never stopped being annoying. When you were a teenager, you thought there must come a day when he wouldn't be a pain in your ass. That day had yet to come, and for all intents and purposes, today wasn’t that day either.

Because Jack Hughes had been calling you nonstop for thirty minutes.

You supposed you could have picked up and put yourself out of your misery, but you were no fool; Jack wanted something from you, and while you would have done anything for him, a brother from another mother and all that jazz, your willingness was significantly less present at 6:30 am.

At last, the agitating noise of his specially chosen ringtone (Party in the U.S.A, which you otherwise loved, but again, not at 6:30 am) finally stopped and silence once more encapsulated your tiny childhood bedroom. A sliver of sun slipped into the room from a crack in your blackout curtains, leaving a soft glow and promise of the summery weather to come later in the day.

You were too comfortable to get up and start said day, though, so you snuggled further into your pink and white sheets, determined to get at least two more hours of sleep. Just as you were halfway to drifting off, your phone once more lit up the room, and you were prepared to chuck it somewhere far, far away. But then the lyrics of Party Rock Anthem blasted through your phone's speakers, and you sat up so fast your vision filled with temporary black spots. Frantically searching for the device, your fingers closed around the pinkly colored titanium, and you accepted the call.

"Quinn? Is everything alright?"

"Wow, Chippy, answering Quinn right away but not me? Guess he truly is the favorite," Jack's mock-offended voice crackled through the line. You groaned and let yourself fall back onto your pillow with a huff.

"You stole Quinn's phone? Really?"

"No, he willingly gave it to me. We have important business to discuss with you," Jack tsked, "now answer the call."

"What, Jack-" A new call, this time a request for FaceTime, came through and you sighed deeply before answering. You weren't too worried about your less-than-impressive morning state; they'd seen you looking worse.

The call connected and soon the two idiots you (sometimes) liked to call your honorary brothers popped up on your screen.

"Asshat. Hi Quinny." Jack rolled his eyes at the endearment, Quinn greeting you with a small wave. Rolling over and onto your side, you propped your phone against one of your decorative pillows and waited for Jack to present whatever "important business" he had.

"Great, now that the committee is gathered: How soon can you be in Michigan?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Has NYU really hindered your sense of understanding that much? I thought it was supposed to do the opposite," Jack mused and stuck his tongue out at you when you did it first. You looked to Quinn for some clarity.

"Can you be in Michigan soon?" he asked, leaving you no more and no less understanding than before.

"Um, well, I was going to this week but my parents aren't going to the lake until the fourth and I don't know if I want to be alone at the house," you told them, brows furrowing, mainly because you had already told Luke this and had up until now been pretty sure he'd told his brothers.

When you were three years old, your parents bought a lake house by Lake Wesding, a smaller lake in central Michigan, wanting to have a designated spot for when you came to visit your dad's side of the family. Growing up in New Hampshire, you had seen your mom's side the most, and buying a lake house in Michigan allowed you to spend extended amounts of time with your dad's side too.

The lake house quickly became your favorite place in the world, second to only the Hughes household, and ever since you could remember, you'd spent every summer there, and sometimes Christmas too. When the Hughes family moved to Toronto and away from your neighborhood in New Hampshire, the lake house soon became your designated meeting spot. Most of those summers you spent there were often in the company of Jim, Ellen, Quinn, Jack, and Luke.

When Quinn and Jack signed their first NHL contracts, they had grown to love the lake just as much as you and decided to buy their own house there. And so the last few summers began, with you (or them) spending every waking moment running back and forth between the two houses. Or rather: sailing, as your family's house happened to only be two docks away.

"You can bring friends?" Jack suggested, wiggling his brows and having you visibly gagging. You knew how he felt about your friends, Annie in particular.

"Or, just stay with us?" Quinn suggested, the smack he landed on the back of Jack's head not going unnoticed by you.

"And why would I do that?" you played along, already planning the trip in your head. You missed the lake, the feeling of summer, the boys, and especially-

"Luke is driving us crazy!" Jack threw up his hands in despair, a pained expression on his boyish face. "And before you ask, more than he normally does," Quinn added and you broke out in a small laugh, more so at the mention of your best friend than his brothers' current feelings about him. Because truly, you missed Luke so much it hurt to breathe, and you'd only been away from him for a mere four weeks.

As his season ended and he packed up to head to worlds, you stayed back in your college apartment in New York for a few weeks, wanting to spend a little extra time with your roommates and best friends before not seeing them until the beginning of your senior year. And then as he'd gotten back to Michigan, less than a week ago, you'd taken the trip up to your childhood home in New Hampshire to be with your parents until you'd fly with them to Michigan.

But Luke was also your best friend since diapers, the one person you trusted most in this entire world and could never live without. After being spoiled for the hockey season with him close by, the distance seemed further than ever. Further than even when he was living in Toronto and you in New Hampshire, and then again when they moved to Michigan.

"Why was he driving you crazy? I figured he'd be sleeping most of the day." Your comment made the three of you chuckle, all knowing that that's exactly what Luke Hughes liked to do on his days off.

"He does, but the 20% of the day he's awake, he does nothing-" "And we mean nothing," Quinn butted in, "-but complain about how much he misses you."

"Surely you're exaggerating," you deadpanned, but their words still sent a little ball of fire through your chest. Especially since you felt the same way, and not telling your parents a gazillion times a day that you missed Luke was almost as hard as the act of missing him.

"No, we counted. Yesterday, he said your name 72 times."

"And the day before 85."

"And today ten times."

"That's a lie; he's not awake yet." He would've texted you the very second his eyes opened, you knew that. So did they.

"Okay, but I heard him saying it in his sleep when I went to get water this morning!"

"Do you not have anything better to do than count how many times your brother says my name?" You tried to divert them, thinking before your cheeks caught on fire and they'd figure out you enjoyed hearing how much Luke thought and talked about you when you weren't there. Jack sighed and ran his hand down his face, groaning into his palm. "Are you coming or not? We're going insane here."

You wanted to scream yes, to pack your bags and be on a plane to Michigan tonight. One little detail had you hesitating, though.

"Are you guys sure he'd want me there?" You tried to question them like you didn't care, but a bout of insecurity hit you like a truck. Rationally, you knew Luke wanted you at the lake, considering he asked when you were coming at least three times a day. Not so rationally though? You were worried he'd rather want to spend time with his brothers and friends for a little while before you joined them.

Quinn saw right through you, though, an annoying skill he'd somehow managed to pick up throughout his years of knowing you. He smiled, kindly, letting you know his next words were serious, not just the product of overdramatics and siblings who (affectionately) wanted to strangle their little brother.

"Promise, once he sees you he won't let go of you the entire summer."

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

And so it was decided. The plan was for you to move your already booked flight to Detroit up, and after light persuasion (aka name-dropping of Jack and Cole), so were your two friends, Annie and Isa. Since they both opted to stay in your shared apartment in New York after your final exams, they were to fly in together on the evening of the 16th, with you arriving earlier the same day.

As soon as you had finally gotten dumb and dumber to hang up the phone (not before a little catching up as well as some light gossiping, though), your first call had been to your friends before you went straight to packing. It had been slightly stressed and a lot rushed now that the time you previously thought you had to plan your summer outfits had been condensed to a mere two days. Yet, you somehow managed, and before you could say Lake Wesding, it was June 16th and you were standing on Michigan ground, having just stepped out of your Uber from the airport.

You breathed in the lake air for a few minutes, taking in your favorite place: the garden and the flowers your mom tended to as if they were her children. The white wooden exterior with blue shutters and the big wraparound porch, home to your precious porch swing, stood in contrast to the green and blue of the garden and lake in the background, and as with every time you were there, you just felt at peace.

Said peace didn't last too long, though, as "Hey Baby" once more blasted through your phone speaker and replaced the serenity with guilt. Truth be told, you were ignoring Luke's calls and only answered the occasional text, too afraid you'd spill your carefully crafted surprise. Jack and Quinn had assured you that it would be fun for all (mostly them, probably) if none of you told Luke you were coming. But you also hated lying to the curly-haired boy, and when you had turned off your location, almost immediately having him blowing up your phone in concern, you had almost cracked right then and there. Somehow, you had managed to play it off, and now you were only minutes away from seeing him, relieving yourself of the guilt, and hopefully, him of his worry.

Well, after a quick shower. The airport air was lingering on your skin, and reuniting with Luke while feeling icky wasn't something you wanted. Maybe a small, tiny, little insignificant part of you also wanted to look nice, but you weren't ready to dwell on that particular thought.

Exactly 57 minutes later, freshly showered and redressed in your favorite bikini and shorts combination, you found yourself standing in front of the Hughes residence, your baby pink bike discarded by their garage. Their lake house, composed of dark brick and serving as a stark contrast to your own family's, had always exuded the same amount of comfort, homey-ness, and brought forth the same amount of happy memories.

Trying to ignore the way your hand shook as you reached up to knock on the brown oak door and simultaneously trying to quell the nerves climbing up your throat, you braced yourself for whoever might open it. When a full minute without a response went by, you pressed the doorbell an annoying number of times. A few seconds later, the door swung open and revealed an irritated Quinn Hughes, scowl that almost seemed permanently stuck on his face. It was quickly replaced once he realized it wasn't a random door-to-door salesman, and the corners of his mouth tugged up into a warm, inviting smile.

"Chippy! It's so good to see you! You don't usually knock?"

Quinn pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, and before you even had a chance to react or answer his half-question, you were pulled from his arms and into Jack's instead. If you thought the passing around was finished then, you were sorely mistaken, because the next thing you knew, you were tugged into Trevor Zegras' side (accompanied by a ruffling of your carefully crafted braid), eventually ending your destination in the arms of Cole Caufield. You greeted them all with the same enthusiasm, having missed them just as much.

It was a strange thing, growing up with the same people and continuing to meet at the same place every year. Like clockwork, you instantly fell into your old routines, the same bickering and sibling-like teasing, chirping, and distribution of roles. There was nothing you loved more.

As the reunion in the hall of their house came to an end (only after a good few minutes of you trying to catch up with the lot of them and answering their many questions as well), Jack threw his heavy (non-recovering) arm over your shoulder and started leading you through the house.

"Luke has been moping around all day, even though the guys are here," he told you in a hush-hush tone, pushing the sliding door to the side and stepping out with you, still under his arm, onto the porch.

You were quick to spot Luke, his height setting him apart from the three other guys standing around by the pool. Despite only having met Dylan, the shorter, dark-haired one, you still recognized Ethan and Mark. Luke and you had spent countless hours on FaceTime telling each other about every single thing in your lives, including his best friends from college.

It was Mark who noticed your presence, smacking Dylan on the chest to get his attention. Without thinking, Dylan hit him back, mumbling "ow" under his breath. Mark rolled his eyes and pointed in your direction, the move catching Ethan's attention too.

A mischievous smirk formed on Dylan's face, the only one to recognize you, as he flipped the shade of Luke's cap up and poked his side, sing-songing, "Ooohhh Lukeeyyy, look who's hereeee!"

Your best friend turned, and you found yourself in a scene from a movie, where the guy turns around and suddenly everything is in slow motion. You saw the curls first, how they bounced a little with his quick movement, the way they seemed even curlier than just a few weeks ago. Then came his face, with his kind eyes and prominent nose, the sharp jaw, and his smile. Your favorite smile in the entire world.

It took Luke a few seconds to comprehend what was in front of him: You, here, in Michigan. Then his face split open into an earth-shattering grin at the sight of you, leaving you with no choice but to send him back one of your own. You continued your perusal of his figure, now realizing that he was shirtless, abs on full display, and somehow even more prominent than last summer, no doubt due to the past hockey season.

It was only when Luke said your name in disbelief that you realized you were staring at his stomach, and heat immediately travelled from your neck to your cheeks.

"Surprise!" Jack yelled from behind you, clasping a hand on your shoulder and pushing you towards his little brother. You stumbled a few steps but quickly regained your balance, just in time to hear Ethan's question.

"That's Y/n? Now it makes sense."

Dylan and Mark snickered at their friend, but the words seemed to flip a switch in Luke, who was in the process of closing the space between the two of you with quick steps. He faltered and looked back at his friends, then to you, and you could almost see the war going on inside his head. Stopping a few feet away from you, Luke sent you a small, almost dismissive smile.

Your brows knitted in confusion, the line between them only deepening once he leaned in for a half-hug. Luke and you never did half-hugs, only full-on attacks of affection, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt a little bit that he didn't seem thrilled to see you after so many weeks apart. Truthfully, it had you confused too. Were his texts and tired drawls over late-night FaceTime sessions all just words he didn't truly mean?

"Hey, what are you doing here?" he asked, eyes half on you, half warily eyeing the boys behind him.

"Um, I came early. I thought you wanted me—I wanted to come early," you interrupted yourself, already pulling an invisible guard up. Something was off about him.

"To see me?" Luke didn't sound happy, didn't sound excited or thankful, or whatever silly little feelings you had been feeling inside up until two minutes ago.

"Well, yeah, but Jack and Quinn too, and Annie and Isa are coming later-"

"Cool, cool." Cool? That's all he had to say? You moved your flight up for him and all he could muster was cool? His eyes went distant, and it felt like you'd been slapped as he continued, avoiding looking you in the eyes at all costs. The light breeze you had been thankful for on the way over here suddenly felt too cold, not providing relief from the Michigan heat.

"You're probably wanting to go unpack. We're gonna go on the boat for a bit, but I'll see you around, yeah?" A pat on the arm was all the goodbye you got as he left you standing there on the deck, frozen and unsure of everything you had changed and moved and planned to come here, and if coming here was even a good idea in the first place.

One thing you knew for sure: You were going to kill Jack and Quinn Hughes.

[jayda12]

Hockey Pt.21

[jayda12]

a flower for every misgiving | these michigan summers

series masterlist

cw: talks about miscarriages, typical rhett-related cws

SUMMER '20

There was something haunting in the humid Mississippi air that billowed through the open window of Libby's room—a whisper of all she'd lost, all she'd forsaken, all she'd ruined with a single touch of her finger that had once forged blossoming bouquets in luscious soil.

The house still teemed with pots clanging downstairs, and the walls shook with the thundering of the downstairs TV playing old black-and-white reruns. The fields outside still roared with the rumblings of tractors, the trampling of hooves, and the barking of working dogs that herded and protected livestock.

It was the music of home, and yet, Libby struggled to join in singing it.

Instead, she'd continued to wither in bed, curled up under the frilly blankets and nearly cloaked away by the mountain of stuffed animals around her that she hadn't yet kicked away.

And Libby was starting to feel bad.

She felt bad for barely scraping at whatever Marianne had cooked, for not helping Nash and Austin on the vast pastures or gorgeous barn, for not coming downstairs and saying hello to whoever came and left the house, for not tinkering away with Daisy.

She was being lazy and useless.

When had she ever been that?

Even when her mother had died, and the grief had consumed her, she'd been busy sweeping the floors and packing their things into boxes to be stacked in a storage facility she had yet to visit since she left Memphis, wiping their existence clear from Rhett Taylor's grandiose house.

A part of her wondered if his brothers had taken over the house, if they'd sold it, perhaps even let it collect dust. She never kept up with the Taylors after she left, not even a quick perusal of one of their Facebook pages that she no longer had them friended on. Not that she wanted to. But sometimes, her mind wandered. They had been her family for almost as long as she'd known the Hugheses.

Her heart clenched at the thought of the Hugheses, and she felt that ache in her chest again—a type of homesickness, a longing, yearning for times past.

Libby had been trying to get her mind to stop venturing on the path she'd already traveled, for it only seemed to elicit tears she hadn't seemed to run out of just yet, but with all the time she'd been rotting in bed, it was so easy to look over her shoulder and feel its tendrils caressing her skin with the breath of a siren, pulling her back.

And each time she looked back, she was met with the most recent string of interactions she had with them: the talk with Quinn that was met with sobs, comforting words, and raised voices ringing against the walls of the very house they'd shared countless good memories in.

It wasn't the worst talk of her life, but it wasn't entirely pleasant either.

Quinn had sat there and let her ramble about how she swore she didn't know she was pregnant, how much of a failure to him and herself she'd felt that she'd miscarried, how she hoped he could forgive her for miscarrying, and then it was one apology after the other.

For what, he wasn't quite sure. He knew it wasn't her fault.

Annoyance had only brewed within him when she admitted she wasn't going to tell him until he got back, and a part of him was reminded of why they'd broken up in the first place, for he'd always begged her to communicate with him. To not keep everything bottled up to fight on her lonesome. To share the load of whatever troubled her.

And though he wished he hadn't, his voice rose in volume, expressing his frustration.

Didn't he deserve to know?

He felt like he deserved to know.

He didn't care that she was trying to be well-meaning because that was all she ever tried to be. It simply wasn't fair that he would've been one of the last people to know, not when he'd been the one to get her pregnant in the first place.

Quinn was tired of being left in the dark about his own girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend, he found himself correcting, and that seemed to calm his ire to some degree.

That tiny prefix had changed everything; maybe it had been cemented far stronger into her mind than his. Maybe she'd understood better than he did that she didn't owe it to him to tell him what went on in her life anymore.

But his sentiment still stood: He deserved to know. At least for this.

So, amidst the red haze clouding his mind, he'd let her walk away, let the end of their unfinished conversation hang in the stagnant and tense air, let their most recent memory of each other be tainted with an emotion that they'd never allowed to flourish between them throughout their relationship.

And Libby hated it.

She hated that she'd stormed out of his room with a sense of fear eating away at her bones. Growing up, arguments had only led to one thing—a hot and throbbing welt in the shape of a hand marring some spot on her body she would have to hide. It had become instinct, almost, to try to escape that type of situation, to run away, even if she knew the person in front of her had the most gentle touch she had the privilege of feeling.

Perhaps it was why they'd never argued; instead of bringing things up and risking hearing the voice she loved scream at her, she kept them locked away, swept whatever had troubled her under the rug.

She also hated how she had zoomed past his brothers and parents downstairs without saying so much as a word. Not a simple hum or grunt or even a yelp when she accidentally skipped a step down the stairs and saw her life flash before her eyes.

It made her feel lowly, wholly disgusted with herself that she hadn't stayed to iron out the kinks, that she'd jumped ship, that she hadn't acknowledged the family that had always treated her with kindness.

Regret churned through every fiber of her the longer she thought about that day.

Most of all, she hated how, in the deepest part of her subconscious, despite how things ended, she would wake up in her childhood bedroom and still feel the weight of Quinn's arm strapped around her stomach, only to turn around and find the space untouched, lacking the wrinkles in the sheets and the divots in the mattress his body would have made.

It felt so much worse knowing that the last time she was in this room, he'd been there with her, sneaking in once everyone had retired for the night like a rebellious high schooler after her grandparents had made them sleep in separate rooms. He would tiptoe back out after she fell asleep, knowing her family was always up and running before sunrise. And he would think he was being careful as he unclasped his arm from around her, but she knew.

She always did because her mind would beg to feel the warm and perfect press of his body again.

The memory of it almost roused a chuckle out of her, promptly followed by the tickle of a cry at the back of her throat.

She wanted to feel him again.

A knock echoed into the room, and Libby barely shifted to peer at her visitor. Her father offered a kind smile while leaning against the doorway, his clothes splotched with grease and dirt and his skin glistening with dried sweat.

"How ya feelin'?" he asked.

Libby just turned her back and curled up into a ball.

Nash's smile dropped, and he invited himself into her room, avoiding the objects thrown haphazardly across the floor and her suitcase she'd yet to unpack. The old floorboards groaned beneath him as he sat down on the floor by her bed, eyes level with his daughter's glossy and sunken ones.

He could feel his heart tearing to pieces at the evident pain on Libby's face. The prominent rings around her eyes, the pale flush of her skin that was usually golden this time of year, the dullness of her hair splayed across her pillow. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and soothe her back to life.

Libby sniffled and tucked her comforter under her chin to reveal the faintest uptick of a smile, wincing as the dried skin of her lips cracked. "Hi, Daddy."

"Hi, Bug." He brushed her matted hair out of her face. "There's food if you want some. I can bring it upstairs."

"No, thank you," she mumbled, nuzzling further into her bed. "I'm not hungry."

"You gotta eat something, Bug," he murmured.

"I'm not hungry!" she snapped. Regret swam in her eyes almost immediately. "Sorry."

Nash didn't feel the need to scold her for raising her voice at him. He merely shook his head and let his gaze canvas the room as a silence dragged on. A heaviness weighed his chest down, slowed his breath down until it felt laborious.

"This ain't my first rodeo, Bug," he finally spoke, muscles and bones straining against the rugged skin of his hands. He could tell he'd piqued his daughter's attention. "Your momma was no stranger to miscarriages. 'S why we only had you."

Libby gulped as the backs of her eyes burned. His words had only sparked another need for her mother, to hear the comforting words of someone who'd pushed past this eternal cloud of grief. She wanted to hear her mother tell her that it would all turn out okay, that this wasn't the end of the world.

Was she destined for this? Did the divine forces of the universe inscribe in her genetic code that she was fated to experience this over and over again, just as it seemed, by Nash's words, her mother had? What did that mean for her future? She'd always wanted to have kids.

And just like that, something dimmed in her eyes.

"Am I supposed to feel this empty?" she asked.

Nash reached out, letting his thumb brush her cheek comfortingly. "You've lost a lot. I'd be surprised if you didn't."

"How do I make it go away, Daddy?" Her voice cracked with the whisper of a cry. "I don't wanna feel like this anymore."

He didn't have the heart to tell her that he didn't think it would ever go away. On the off chance Diane had wanted to talk about it, she always said how the grief stayed with her, how it remained festering in her womb time after time again, how she'd never been able to move on from all the losses that'd haunted her.

It would shift, perhaps even shrink, as the years rolled on, but it was always there, feeding on the happiest emotions, depleting her of a joyous moment.

Nash didn't think it would be possible to wipe out the memory of finding Diane weeping when she realized it was another miscarriage or when she'd become overwhelmed with feelings of failure and inadequacy when she thought too long about it.

"I don't know," he said instead, for it was not a complete lie. He wasn't sure how Diane had done it, how she'd shouldered the anguish and continued like nothing had happened. He'd always admired her for that, his daughter too.

They were some of the strongest women he knew, and he could only hope to become half the fighters they were.

"But," his voice softened, "I do know that it's not your fault."

Libby could hear Ashley's words bouncing in her head, overshadowed by her own that shouted It was! It was my fault!

But if more than one person was telling her otherwise, then perhaps there was some truth to it.

"Are you upset I got pregnant in the first place?" she decided to ask.

"I wish you hadn't," he admitted, "but no. No matter what, I would've supported you because you're my baby. I'll always be by your side."

Libby could feel her lips begin to quiver.

"Just don't—"

"I know," she sighed, wiping her hands under her eyes. "Don't talk about it with everyone."

Nash's gaze turned pitiful. "I'm sorry, but you know how some folk down here are like."

"Tough breakup, and that's it," she mumbled.

A reluctant nod.

The walls in Libby's throat thickened, constricting the airflow into her lungs. Her breaths stuttered as she inhaled, tears leaking from her eyes. "Can I get a hug?"

Nash shot forward, his arms circling her shuddering ribs while hers curled around the back of his neck. He could feel his own tears springing to his eyes as she cried into his collar, her fingers digging into his shirt like she was dangling off the edge of a cliff.

Once she calmed and the sun's rays began to turn golden, Nash pulled away ever so slightly, not quite releasing her. He cradled the sides of her face with a gentleness that juxtaposed the roughness of his hands, the calloused pads of his thumbs wiping away her tears.

"You might not be up for it, and that's okay," he said quietly, "but I was gonna take a ride by the creek if you wanted to join. It'll just be the two of us. Just like it always used to be."

Libby let herself ponder his offer before she nodded. "Okay. Can you give me twenty minutes?"

"Of course, Bug." Nash pressed a kiss to the top of her head before leaving her room.

As they'd agreed, Libby trotted downstairs twenty minutes later, her hair brushed out, her breath fresher, and her clothes anew. Nash swept her out the back door before his parents could comment on her presence. He knew they meant well, but the last thing he needed was for his daughter to feel overwhelmed when he'd just gotten her to venture out of her room for the first time in days.

They made their way to the stables, largely in silence, but a smile shined on Libby's face when she spotted Dakota. She approached, with caution, the horse, not wanting to spook her.

"Hey, pretty girl," she whispered, her palm flat against Dakota's face as she stroked the prickly coat.

Dakota neighed, bucking with excitement. A gasp sliced through Libby's laugh when Dakota stretched her neck and hooked her chin over her shoulder, tugging the girl closer.

Libby let her arms come around Dakota's neck in a light hug, and warmth permeated through her chest as she nuzzled closer, hand brushing over her shiny coat, fingers occasionally caught in her mane.

Nash grinned at the sight as he prepared his own horse—Arion, a mighty gelding with a black mane like the one in the Greek myths. He'd always taken a fancy for those stories, and Arion had always (fittingly) proven himself to be a speedy protector.

They took their horses out onto the fields, over the rolling hills of verdant grass, and down the bootleg trails until they heard the trickling of freshwater pelting against jagged and eroded moss-covered rocks.

If she listened closely enough, Libby could hear the echoing memories she shared with her friends there. Just down the creek some more, past the makeshift bridge that was truly only the trunk of a fallen tree from a tornado decades ago, and they would've stumbled upon the pond with the rope swing hanging from the bough of a tree much older than her.

But she and Nash took a different path at the fork, away from where the creek emptied into the pond.

Their voices bounced against the towering trees, the canopy of leaves that protected them from the sweltering sun, mixing with the song of woodland creatures, and Libby had never felt more glad to have taken up her father's offer to join him.

It felt so freeing to have the breeze tangle into her hair and kiss her skin; it felt so relieving to hear Nash's baritone laugh as his shoulders shook with it; it felt so sweet in her soul to experience her rugged roots that kept her firm and sturdy against the storm she'd found herself in; it felt so calming to have her heart beating to the sound of the staggered stomping of hooves beneath her.

And for a moment, Libby had forgotten about what had preyed on her mind.

They found themselves in a field of wildflowers at the edge of the woods, their farmhouse only a few miles away. It wouldn't be too bad of a trek on horseback once the sun finished its descent into the horizon, taking its light and colorful skies with it.

Libby flopped onto the grass with a sigh, staring up at vibrant oranges and pinks strewn above her like a painter had dragged their brush across the sky. "I could sit here for the rest of my life."

"I can think of about five other places you've said that about," said Nash, sparing his daughter a glance over Arion's back. He unpacked the lunchbox tucked into his saddlebag and let Arion roam freely.

"That darn horse..." Nash muttered to himself when Arion sprinted off to frolic in the acres of land without a care in the world.

Libby pushed herself up, resting her weight on her hands. Her eyes crinkled with a smile before they landed on Nash sitting beside her.

"Want some?" Nash tilted the insulated jar of food toward her, revealing the fried rice packed with colorful vegetables and chicken his mother had made.

Her stomach grumbled when its fragrance wafted past her nose, and her smile turned sheepish. "Yes, please."

Nash handed her the jar and watched her bite through what was probably her first full meal in a while. He didn't mind that she didn't leave any for him. He'd packed it with every intention of giving it to her to finish.

Libby passed the empty jar back and laid her head on her father's shoulder. "Thank you for this, Daddy."

He shifted his arm around her. "That's what I'm for, ain't it?"

She hummed, eyelids slipping shut with contentment.

For the first time in weeks, peace undulated through her body.

"D'you really wanna spend the entire summer down here, Bug?" asked Nash. "You've only done that once before."

"I can't be in Michigan, Daddy," she said quietly, exhaustion seeping into her tone like it was all she knew. "My life feels like it's falling apart there."

"I know," he sighed, "but it's your last summer before you graduate. You don't have a lot of time left. Don't you wanna fix things before it's too late?"

Libby gulped, a tightness roping around her ribs. "Do you not want me here?"

"That's not what I meant, Bug. You know I want you here. Always. I just meant..." Air expanded Nash's lungs. "I know things are difficult with Quinn, but his brothers are some of your closest friends. Don't let them become strangers."

"I won't," she mumbled, hugging her knees to her chest. It was a promise she would hold herself to. "I'll just do it on my own time. Right now, all I wanna do is be here and forget about everything up there."

Nash pursed his lips and relented. He'd just gotten her to crawl out of her cave, peek into the outside world again after a long period of hibernation; he wasn't going to force her to retreat because he'd been too pushy.

Dakota trotted toward them, the sound of her hooves trampling over the grass interrupting the calm air between them. With a huff and a neigh, Dakota's knees buckled, and she flopped onto her side, prying her head into the space between Libby's thighs and chest.

Libby chuckled as she straightened her legs to let Dakota rest her head on her lap.

"These darn horses." Nash shook his head fondly, casting his gaze onto Arion, still running in circles and bucking his hind legs up a few yards away with seemingly all the energy in the world.

"Wouldn't be the same without them," Libby said with a slight smile as her fingers combed through Dakota's mane. Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she braided the soft threads of hair.

Nash grunted as he rose to his feet, his tattered boots crunching over the green grass as he roved the luscious field. He picked out some wildflowers, from the whites to the purples to the yellows, delicately bunching them together by the stems.

The image of it pushed a giggle out of Libby: the gruff cowboy—with his thick beard and mustache he'd been growing out that made him look like a scruffier version of Ryan from Yellowstone and his buff build that would probably scare her if she hadn't known him as her kind and loving father—collecting dainty flowers because he knew she loved them.

He'd always had a soft heart.

Libby could only hope to remain as soft-hearted as him when she got to his age.

Nash returned with a handful of wildflowers and kept them in his grasp until Libby asked for some.

She would thank him as she weaved the stems into the braided pieces of Dakota's mane.

"Pretty as a peach," she said once she was done.

Nash merely hummed in agreement.

Libby turned to her father and tucked one of the remaining flowers behind his ear before he could demur. She slapped her hand over her mouth to keep her laughs from spilling into the air when he sent her a feigned look of annoyance, but when he removed his cowboy hat, something in her eyes brightened, and her joyous sounds echoed into the breeze.

"Have at it," he told her, and the giant grin threatening to illuminate his face charged onto his lips at the way Libby's face seemed to glow for the first time since she'd come home.

Nash would let her balance and twine a million flowers all over the strands of his light brown hair if it meant that light would remain the way it was. If it meant that she could gleam like a little kid again.

And so he did.

[jayda12]

who better than the least expected? | these michigan summers

series masterlist

cw: talks but no graphic depictions of miscarriages and domestic violence, throwing up

a/n: i don't even know how to start this a/n, but this is such a big and important topic in women's reproductive health, and unfortunately, it's a loss that many people experience. we've talked about pregnancy scares before, and i know i brushed it aside, but i couldn't give this away. y'all know i always try to keep things under wrap as best as i can, which often means i might diminish or mislead some things that come into my inbox. take this as my formal apology. but on that note, i hope you enjoy the power of friendship: here's some libby, chelsea, and ashley :)

SUMMER '20

Summer had slowly begun infiltrating the spring leaves and dreary pattering of rain that brought life to everything around them, and Libby had never felt more lifeless.

Even her birthday, a twenty-first spectacle meant to ring in a new year of wild memories, had felt lackluster compared to what most would expect of her, spent with just her grandparents at their cottage by the lake, an hour away from Canton.

It was about as far away as she could get from everything at the time, and it only slightly satiated her itch to leave Michigan behind.

She wished nothing more than to leave.

For just a little bit.

For the summer, at least: away from the memories steeped in the presence of her neighbors, away from the bedroom that once belonged to her mother, away from the bedroom that looked into her ex-boyfriends, away from the street that seemed far too embroiled in the past.

When she developed an aversion to the past, she wasn't sure—once so ensnared by the joyous illusion of times once lived, times no one could visit, plagued by the haunting fact that they couldn't relive them.

Perhaps it was when the road leading into the future had diverged unexpectedly, taken her on a path so far detached from what had kept her rooted in herself.

Neither the past nor the future seemed all that appealing, but neither did the present—all so bleak. It was a limbo of dread and empty dissatisfaction she'd found herself suspended in.

Libby could hear the laments of mourning doves seeping through the window—a much more gracious lament than her full-body sobs from the night before—and the faint chatter of two girls somewhere in the house that wasn't hers.

She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her red-lined eyes as a ringing headache afflicted her skull. At least that distracted, even if only slightly, the ache in her chest, the feeling like someone had clawed into her ribcage and yanked her heart out over and over and over again.

A grimace curled at her sickly pale, tear-stained face as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet dragging over the carpeted floor until she reached the sun-doused kitchen.

Libby greeted a passing Mrs. Comar, and Chelsea and Ashley turned their heads at the sound of her quiet voice. The sympathetic expressions on their faces made her wish she was in a hole in the ground, preferably six feet deep, as she'd talked about after she first met Quinn and Ellen, too overwhelmed by the stuffy air circulating the room.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," said Ashley, her tone not indicative of any softness that her gaze gave away. She would never admit out loud that she'd come to care for her ex's girlfriend—or, ex-girlfriend now, she supposed—when their teenage selves couldn't seem to find that right footing, but how loudly she had come marching to be by her side when she'd texted, in need of a friend.

Libby slid onto a barstool by the counter, unable to meet the eyes of two girls she'd found a strange comfort in. "Mornin'."

A plate with eggs and sausages was pushed into her field of vision, and she finally lifted her gaze to thank them. She found caution in their stances as they peered back at her with fragility.

She wasn't fragile.

At least, she didn't think so.

A little sensitive—a lot sensitive—but not fragile.

"Why're y'all looking at me like that?" she decided to ask, her voice still raspy.

Chelsea's fingers thrummed against the granite countertops as she cast Ashley a panicked glance like she hadn't thought this through.

Ashley sucked in a sharp breath, wearing a mask of indifference. "You miscarried. Do you remember telling us that last night?"

She didn't, and whatever light was left in Libby's eyes went out like a candle at the center of a whirling tornado. "Oh," she muttered, shoulders deflating. "That."

Chelsea sat down beside her, carefully placing her hand on her back. "Sissy, you can talk to us."

Libby felt one of the seams she'd stitched on her bruised heart breaking apart at the nickname. Her eyes welled up with tears that she tried to blink away when the familiar asphyxiating feeling coiled around her throat.

"Can we, um, talk about it later?" she tried, the quietness of her voice a juxtaposition to her usually boisterous nature.

Ashley's gaze was piercing, yet she nodded. "Okay. Eat what you can."

Breakfast passed, and anticipation bloomed.

They migrated outside, sitting around the charred firepit as the sun blasted its rays onto them—a warm, saccharine feeling that seemed to contradict everything ahead.

Libby wished she still knew how to soak up that feeling of summery goodness, let it pool in the cavity of her soul that'd been delicately and thoughtfully put together by her parents' hands; instead, the holes had let everything slide right through.

Her gaze dropped to the coffee mug in her hands, her distorted and nearly unrecognizable reflection staring back at her. She didn't want to say the words because saying them made it real. She didn't want it to be real.

And yet, the breeze knocked the words out of her throat.

"Eight weeks pregnant, and I didn't know," she whispered, fighting the downward quiver of her lips. "Quinn and I were always so, so careful."

Chelsea dragged her lawn chair closer to Libby, wrapped her arm around her shoulders, and embraced her. She could feel Libby's tears soaking through the material of her shirt, and all she did was tighten her hold.

"It's not your fault, Libby," Ashley said firmly.

But it is, the thought came and stayed in Libby's head. It is, it is, it is. It's all my fault.

Ashley moved to crouch in front of them. She moved Libby's face away from Chelsea's neck, eyes scanning the mottled and puffy cheeks, and brushed away the strands of blonde hair stuck to her face with unusual gentleness. Her hands cradled Libby's jaw, thumbs brushing away the tears.

"It's not your fault," Ashley said again, voice staccato, emphasizing each word. "I need you to understand that, and I know you enough to know that you don't believe that, but you need to."

Libby sniffled as the muscles in her chin wobbled. Her vision blurred—a nebulous image of what lay ahead of her. She wished her mind was as hazy.

So she could forget the shooting pain that had struck her abdomen, made it feel like someone had twisted a knife into her and gutted her clean like a pumpkin on Halloween. So she could forget the beleaguered realization that it wasn't just a late period that had finally decided to show up after the stress of finals had passed and the emotional catastrophe from a breakup had calmed to a hurricane—better, but not quite gone.

Chelsea gulped, nervous to ask, "When'd it happen?"

Libby tilted her head from Ashley's hands and roughly wiped her cheeks with her sleeves. "Like two weeks after we broke up."

A frown overtook Chelsea's features as anger rolled through her at the sheer luck her friend seemed to have. It didn't seem fair.

"Does he know?" asked Ashley.

Libby swallowed the lump in her throat, watching her fingers twiddled. "Yeah. I mean, I wasn't gonna tell him until he got back because I didn't wanna worry him, and even though we're not together anymore, I know him, and I know he'll try to be there for me, but he's just startin' his career, and I'm not his girlfriend anymore, and he doesn't have to be there for me, and I'm not a child that needs to be taken care of all the time, and—"

"Hey," Ashley grabbed Libby's shoulders, "breathe."

"—Luke called him while we were at the ER—"

"Libby—"

"Oh, my fucking God, I can't breathe," she got out, clutching her heaving chest, desperate for one big gulp of air that she struggled to catch.

"Bathroom," Chelsea whispered frantically to Ashley once she noticed the woozy green shade tainting Libby's skin.

They ushered Libby to the nearest bathroom, their faces screwing up at the sound of her hurling her breakfast into the toilet, and despite that, they came to her side, gathering her hair in their hands and rubbing comforting circles along her back.

Libby flushed the toilet once she was done and slumped against the wall. "I need to stop throwin' up every time I get overwhelmed."

Chelsea tucked herself under Libby's arm to hug her. "It'll be okay, Sissy."

Libby squeezed a little harder, hooking her chin over Chelsea's head. An ache filled her chest, the same one she always got when she saw the way Quinn, Jack, and Luke were with each other. It was the same one that laughed at the loneliness so deeply embedded in her soul, so defined like a muscle she would spend hours training, so desperate to be relieved.

She hadn't felt the need to soothe it once she'd dated Quinn, for his family had roped her in as one of theirs.

But she didn't have him.

And that ache for a sibling persisted, alleviated slightly by having Chelsea by her side and calling her Sissy.

"Quinn comes back today," Libby finally said once her breaths had calmed. "We've been textin' still. Well—he's been texting. I've been kinda bad with responding, but I was gonna talk to him about it when he gets in. Feels like something we should talk about."

Ashley slid down the wall, her tan and toned arm pressing into Libby's. "He'll understand."

"If he doesn't, then..." Chelsea trailed off because perhaps it was clear that Quinn would always understand when it came to Libby. He had mastered everything about her in a way no one else had—not Abby, not Callie, not Diane, not Jack or Luke, not Sam. He had learned her language, recognized her way of thinking, picked apart every minute twitch of her muscles, every dilation and constriction of her blood vessels, every thump of her heart as it hammered to the sound of his voice.

And maybe that had made everything far more devastating.

She didn't think there was a scenario where he wouldn't understand.

"Yeah, I know," Libby sighed. "I just—I don't know. Is it weird for me to be talking about this with y'all?"

"No." Ashley shook her head. "Why would it be?"

A dismissive shrug. "You and I both dated Quinn. Chels dated his brother. Feels like this should be a weirder dynamic."

Ashley gently elbowed her arm, winking. "Hey, no one can comfort you better than the person who dated the same guy, even if it's been years."

"Or the girl who dated his younger brother," Chelsea added. "Think we know that family pretty well between the three of us."

Libby let out a deprecating, nasally laugh. "Ex-girlfriends unite!"

She started crying again, once more reminded of her relationship status that still drove a sledgehammer into her chest when she thought too hard about it.

What the hell were they doing, letting each other go through with the breakup?

Ashley and Chelsea cooed, comforting their friend.

A few minutes passed.

"Hey, Chels?" Libby piped up, feeling indignity settle in her stomach like balls of lead at the mere thought of her question. "Do you think you and Jack did the right thing by breaking things off before he left?"

Chelsea frowned, untangling herself from the embrace she'd found herself in. There was a strange pit in her chest, an old wound that was still tender under the mostly healed scars that were barely visible to the naked eye. "I'm not sure," she admitted with thoughtful ridges between her brows. "Maybe? I just know that you and Quinn did something we didn't: try."

Libby dug the heel of her hands into her eyes, forcing bubbles of color to dance around her vision. "I'm so tired of trying."

"Clearly," Ashley snorted.

Chelsea sighed out her name.

"I'm just being honest here," she defended. "And it's not like it's a bad thing. Look, Libs, the world will keep turning, even if you let go and relax for once. I was rooting for you and Quinn, but I've seen you since he left. There's roadkill that looks better than you."

Libby stared at her. "You really have a way with words."

"Thank you."

"Maybe Ashely's not exactly wrong," Chelsea said carefully. "Long distance was tough for you two, and clearly, it was doing more harm than good."

It felt like sandpaper was grinding against Libby's throat, shredding every word that had attempted to leave.

"And I know it's tough," Chelsea continued, "but maybe we should cool it on the drinking."

Libby sniffed. "I'm okay. I'll be okay."

Ashley sighed. "You're gonna hate me by the end of this."

"Already do," Libby grumbled.

Chelsea lifted her gaze to Ashley, eyebrows hitched up. "I wasn't aware she had the ability to hate."

"Reserved for me."

Libby hummed her assent. She didn't hate Ashley.

"Libs."

Another hum.

"Your mom married an alcoholic," Ashley pointed out slowly, crisply. "Look where she ended up."

Chelsea's eyes shot open. "Ash—"

"You have no right to say that to me."

"I have every right to tell you that because if I don't, then who will?" Ashley remarked. "You're becoming everything you swore you wouldn't be."

The burning embers in Libby's eyes were doused in lukewarm water, not shocking enough of a statement yet chilling all the same. It wasn't as though she hadn't noticed it herself, but as long as she'd kept it hidden inside her, kept it from reaching the probing antenna of those around her, it was okay.

It would be okay because it wouldn't draw any attention onto herself, make anyone worried about her.

But clearly, she hadn't been subtle, and knowing that others had noticed her descent in...whatever it was—anguish, purgatory, suffering, self-afflicted misery—sent dread pooling in her stomach.

She was becoming Rhett—a godforsaken, lonely person with an increasingly short fuse who drank their problems away because if she couldn't remember them, then they couldn't exist.

For how could either of them remember the feeling of the hand of their parental figure cracking against their skin and bones if they couldn't remember where they were?

How could either of them remember the feeling of losing their saving grace if they couldn't remember what day it was?

How could either of them remember the nightmares that kept them up at night if they couldn't remember who they were with?

How could she remember the cycle she was perpetuating if she couldn't remember what had even started it?

How could she remember how rotten she felt when she couldn't remember her own name?

Maybe she'd done Quinn a favor.

Maybe she'd done everyone a favor.

Chelsea brushed her hand over Libby's back, trying to coax her out of whatever daze she'd fallen into. "When do you head back to your dad's?"

Libby blinked, stammering over her bearings. Warmth scintillated over her chest at the reminder of home, where she'd truly be free from all of the ties she had here, even if a part of her knew she'd come face to face with a disappointed grandfather who'd always been a little more traditional.

Beau wouldn't heckle her about the fact she'd gotten pregnant out of wedlock, though. At least he'd keep it to himself.

"Tomorrow," she answered. "The plan was to talk to Quinn, then head home for the summer. I can't...I can't be here."

"And you don't have to be," Chelsea assured. "Just text us, give us updates so we know you're alive."

Libby nodded. "I will. At least once. Might throw my phone away, to be honest with you."

"Oh, no, how will I know what the Hughes brothers are up to if the Libby Calloway doesn't post every day?" Ashley mocked, earning laughs. A soft smile split the harsh angles of her face.

Libby glanced at the beach-themed clock hanging on the wall beside the mirror. "I should probably head out soon."

"Are you sure?" asked Chelsea. "You know you're more than welcome to stay for as long as you want. My parents don't mind."

"Yeah." There was a ghost of a smile. "Wanna get this talk over and done with. I think I'd feel a lot better after it."

"If you're leaving, I'll go, too," said Ashley.

After getting ready for the day and saying their goodbyes—exchanges of hugs and promises to see each other again when the semester came crawling closer—Libby and Ashley walked out of the Comars' house and got into their respective cars.

Libby backed out of the driveway and made her way back to her grandparents' house. A sigh billowed past her lips, bruised from all the anxious gnawing she'd inflicted on them, and turned into Delia's parking lot.

She wasn't all that hungry. Hell, she'd barely felt the rumblings of an appetite since she'd broken up with Quinn, but something about his and Jack's return to Canton drew a contrasting familiarity to years past.

Her return didn't mark the start of summer this time around because she wouldn't return until the end of it.

But theirs did.

As it would for however long they decided to venture back here after their seasons wrapped up.

And like her body couldn't help it, she'd fallen back into the tradition of indulging in Delia's. Even if her the boys weren't with her.

It was her place first, after all. Before the Hugheses moved to Canton. She would reclaim it as such.

Libby dragged her hands under her red-lined eyes, sniffling as she neared the glass casings that displayed the various ice cream flavors she could list in her sleep. She hadn't ordered all of them, but Luke had, and she always helped herself to a small piece of his portion before it would melt.

She nearly sobbed at the memory of it.

It wasn't like she was leaving forever—she would be back in the fall, and Luke would still be there—but something—everything—was different.

She could feel the claws of the universe pulling her brain to shreds, tugging her in all different directions—the past, the present, and the future—all at once.

Fuck, she just wanted this to stop.

She wanted one moment of peace, one moment where she could breathe, let the weight of the world unhook from her shoulders.

"Hi, Nance," Libby greeted with the most enthusiasm she could procure. Which was to say, not much.

Nancy's eyes softened with sympathy. "He was just here, you know? It's strange seeing him without you."

A lump formed in Libby's throat. "Can I get a milkshake, please?"

"Same as usual?"

"Don't forget the—"

"Extra strawberries and fries," Nancy finished with a knowing smile, wrinkles dimpling her skin. "I know, Little Miss Chatterbox."

Libby's lips curled up ever so slightly. "Thank you."

Nancy walked away to make the same milkshake Libby had been getting since she was old enough to order without her family's help.

A dark-haired girl rang up Libby's order at the register, and a part of her giggled.

Katie Wheeler.

Libby remembered her from Jack's story all those years ago when Quinn and Ashley were still together.

She went back to her car, entirely aware of the silver sedan a few spots over that was in Chelsea's driveway not too long ago. Music blared through the interior of her car as she stayed parked, dipping her salted fries into the milkshake. She contemplated texting Ashley if she wanted some.

After all, she merely had to walk past the car between theirs.

But she didn't.

Instead, her eyes drew to the dash by the passenger seat, tracing the faded black lines that marked it with Quinn's initial and a sweet little heart beside it. Something he'd done before he left. Something she wasn't sure she'd ever erase but couldn't quite stomach to look at for too long.

Maybe one day, she'd figure out what to do with the traces of a love she'd lost. But not today.

The rest of the drive back to her grandparents' house felt like a hand gradually squeezing the air out of her lungs until she could barely breathe. It was suffocating, strangulating, asphyxiating. It was everything it had never used to be.

She used to love driving to Sam and Dorothea's, thrilled beyond compare for the summer memories that awaited her.

Now, it was marred by the memories of the love she let slip away.

Libby parked her car in the driveway and took in a deep breath, letting her forehead lean against the steering wheel. "Alright, Bug, you can do this. It's just Quinn. It's just him."

With one final inhale and brushing of the tears lining her lashes, she forced herself to get out of her car and peered over the hood to look at the silver sedan by the curb.

"Subtlely's not your expertise!" she shouted.

Ashley rolled down the window. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't drive yourself into a tree on your way home!"

Libby flipped her off.

"Love you, too!" Ashley pressed her palm into the horn.

Libby scoffed before her eyes found the waiting ones of her neighbors, who had taken a break from their skewed basketball game when her car turned onto the street. A wave of nausea washed over her, skin lurid and sallow, and she looked away, rushing toward the porch.

Jack couldn't fire out a comment before she had made it inside, and his head reeled back slightly at her curtness. Maybe it wasn't fair of him to assume she'd be as joyful and bright as she normally was—not when he was entirely aware of everything down to the little details after pestering his brothers for their sides of the story and piecing things together—but experiencing it first-hand seemed to cement the truth that change had barreled in like a tornado and left a jumbled mess in its wake.

Luke patted Jack's back in consolation. He had known not to get his hopes up for an acknowledgment beyond a connecting of gazes; after all, he'd watched the aftermath of everything unraveling for the past few weeks with his very own eyes.

Jack, on the other hand, seemed insistent that she wouldn't ice them out because "she was Libby; she always has her smile with her."

But they didn't understand. Nor did he, not entirely, but he liked to think he understood more than his brothers did.

It was a miracle she'd even crawled out of bed, though, especially when she'd been wasting away the days under her covers once the distraction of school had ended, and that made him smile.

It was progress.

"I'm not fucking crazy, right?" Jack turned to his brothers. "That was Ashley. Since when did they hang out?"

Luke decanted the basketball between his hands, green eyes following the sedan nearing their house. He spared Quinn a glance and gave him a light shove. "You should hang out with Tyler and make it even."

Jack snorted.

Quinn merely rolled his eyes. He rubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw, contemplating. A defeated sigh left his lips before he jogged up to Ashley's car.

She offered a slight smile—soft around the edges, gentle with the memories of a past they once shared, a past she had no intention of revisiting. "Hey, Quinny."

"Hey," he said dismissively, almost curt. "What was that about?"

"I'm worried about her," Ashley admitted, gaze lingering on the Calloways' house, taking in the front lawn that'd seen better days—days when Libby would tend to it with the most tender of care. "Chelsea and I have never seen her like this."

Quinn's eyebrows twitched, unsure of whether to pinch together in confusion or raise in shock. "You...Libs...and Chelsea? That is..."

"I know. Look, Quinn, just...let her talk so she can go home. I know you'll try everything in your power to try to help and be there for her, but nothing up here is gonna help her."

He nodded. "I know."

Ashley's gaze traced his pained expression—the gaunt rings hanging from his eyes to the scabbed lips from anxiously chewing on the skin anytime his mind trailed back to happier times. If she thought Libby looked worse for wear, Quinn looked just as bad.

She bumped her fist into his arm, capturing his attention. "How're you holding up?"

The muscles in Quinn's eyes twinged at her question.

Ashley sighed. "Dude, I'm trying to be friendly here."

"Oh." His shoulders deflated—a little less guarded. "I'm fucking miserable, to be honest with you."

"I'm sorry." Ashley frowned. "For what it's worth, I think you're both fucking stupid."

"Do you have a purpose here?" Quinn snapped.

"Oh, fuck off, Hughes." She rolled her eyes. "Go talk to her."

He scoffed something of disbelief and walked away, foregoing a farewell. What the fuck just happened?

Ashley let her gaze linger on his retreating figure before focusing on the all too familiar house, letting a reminiscent smile grace her rosy lips. Maybe one day, Libby and Quinn could find that joy of theirs that once illuminated the house she loved she much, the house she held so gently in the labyrinth of her memories.

They all deserved that much.

[jayda12]

Hockey Pt.20

[jayda12]

To think this possibly happened in real life

♯ 𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒 ◞ 𝑳𝑯⁴³

✰ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⤫ in which taking naps on your boyfriend is your favourite pastime. and he enjoys nothing more than having his girl in his arms.

✰ 𝐚/𝐧 ⤫ it's time I get myself a pookie bf cause writing these are making me feel lonier and lonier 😔

luke loves sleeping. it’s one of the many joys in his life. and it’s no secret either. luke knows his teammates are well aware that when he declines their offers to go out, he goes home and knocks right out. and as much as he brushes their teasing off by saying he’s just a kid and he’s still growing, luke is pretty sure no matter how old he gets he’ll always be down for an afternoon nap.

luke only knew one other person who loved sleeping as much as him… and that was you. it’s become an integral piece of your routine. it’s almost a daily occurrence for jack to find you and luke passed out together for an hour or two.

but if there was one thing luke loved more than sleeping…it was watching you sleep. not in a creepy way, he swears. there was just something so peaceful about watching your content expression, the way your whole face would soften, the steady beat of your heart, your soft puffs of breaths against his skin. watching you sleep put him in a state of grace that even his own slumber couldn’t.

so what if he sacrificed his own two hour naps just to admire you in your sleep? it recharged him all the same and no one would ever know.

“is she asleep?” jack whispers when he enters the apartment and sees his brother on the couch. you laying completely on top of him.

“of course she is,” jack says when luke nods in response.

luke grins at the horrified expression on jack’s face when you let out a particularly loud snore. he gently runs his hand through your hair, dropping a kiss on your head.

“fuck!” jack yells suddenly and luke turns his head seeing his brother crouched over, clutching his toe.

“shut up. I just told you she was sleeping,” luke whisper-yells and jack glares at him letting out an annoyed sigh. luke glances down at you, making sure his brother’s antics didn’t wake you up.

“I stubbed my toe. It fucking hurts. but I’m okay, thanks for asking,” Jack says and Luke rolls his eyes at his brother’s dramatics

“If you wake her up you’re gonna be very not okay when I’m done with you,” luke grumbles and stills when you shift, hand clutching his shirt tightly

but he quickly forgets about the threat uttered to his brother. a warm feeling spreading through his chest when your eyes flutter open, blinking slowly up at him.

“hey baby. did you sleep well?” luke asks, gently brushing wild strands of hair out of your face.

“mhm…” you mumble, snuggling back into his chest, exposing the side of your face you were laying on and luke smiles at the indented mark on your face

“I can tell,” luke says amused, pressing a kiss to the top of your head when you hide your face in his chest from embarrassment.

luke squeezes you tight, his eyes fluttering close with a content look on his face. jack contemplates waking both of you when he sees your drift off again, knowing the two of you were on dinner duty tonight, but the peaceful look on his little brothers face makes him hesitate.

jack decided to leave the two of you be, but for no other reason other than the fact that he doesn’t want to eat luke’s burnt rice again. or so he tells himself.

[jayda12]

That was soo cute

menace ⎜l.hughes

pairings: luke hughes x reader ⎜ ft matt rempe prompt: "back the fuck off" genre: fluff ⎜established relationship ⎜ warnings: matt rempe being a menace as per usual ⎜angry luke ⎜protective bf luke ⎜mentions of fighting ⎜insults towards reader and luke ⎜ synopsis: you never realised your boyfriend could get so fired up by a simple little comment. word count: 3.6k authors note:  this was requested a while ago and was the clear winner of the poll I put up so I hope you all enjoy. also don't pay too much attention to the timeline it is less than accurate.

(UNEDITED)

+

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Luke doesn’t know a lot about many things. 

But he does know a lot about hockey. 

His life has always been about hockey - sleep, eat, hockey, repeat - so when he met you it was refreshing to not have to live for hockey. 

It was refreshing to live for him. 

The first time the two of you had met, you were sitting at the only table with a free seat in the library - Lukes textbook for his sports management classes in his arms as he looks around for any other possibilities, not wanting to disturb the brunette girl with her nose in her own textbooks. 

“You can sit down, you know.” Your voice was quiet, and at first he was sure he had imagined it and continued glancing around for other seats. “I’m not going to bite.” You added as you pushed your headphones off your head, glancing away from your books at the lost boy. 

Lukes eyes shoot to yours, his head nodding quickly as he shuffles over to the seat, his shoulders rising in a cringe as his textbooks drop on the table - the bang resonating through the library, a few heads turning his way as he quickly slides into the chair. You watch him as he opens his text book staring at the page for a few moments before pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You good there, curly?” Luke's eyes raise to meet yours, your head tilted in amusement as you glance down at his books and then back up at him. 

“This class was supposed to be easy.” He admits slowly, sighing as a smile blooms on your face - your hand flicking closed your textbook, the front cover matching his. 

“Super easy.” You admit, as you close your laptop, your headphones are still around your neck as you scoot your chair around the round table to look down at his notebook. “You’re a bit behind on the lessons?” You question, noting his notes are from a class over two weeks ago. 

“I get caught up with sports sometimes.” He can’t help the goosebumps that rise as your arm brushes over his - reaching to flick his textbook back a few chapters. 

“You do know that the student comes first in the name student athlete?” Your words are sharp but the smile on your face lessens the blow, his head nodding quickly again - and he’s sure there’s a dumb glazed look in his eyes. 

“I can help you out if you want.” Lukes never agreed to something quicker in his life - his hand shooting out to shake yours as he almost yells his name in introduction - he repeats your name under his breath a few times after you return his introduction not wanting to forget anything about you. 

Months passed quickly - the two of you meeting up at least once a week to go over the material you had learnt in class, making sure Luke was understanding everything - even going as far as to FaceTime when the team was on road trips. 

It was a Thursday afternoon - the two of you sitting on Luke's small bed in his dorm room, textbooks splayed on the bed though neither of you were paying much attention to them. Luke's attention was focused on the hockey game on his laptop, and your attention was focused on him. 

“Hey, Luke?” You call quietly, his eyes never leaving the screen as he hums in response - his body tensing every time one of the players in red get close to the goal. “When are you going to ask me on a date?” Luke doesn’t look at you, but you can tell his attention is no longer on the hockey game in front of him - the goal horn blaring as he sits frozen on his bed. 

“You’d want that?” He finally asks, his voice cracking as his head lifts to slowly close his computer, his hands gripping the cold metal as he waits for your response. 

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want it.” Luke can feel his heart burst in his chest, your hand reaching out, a gentle finger on his chin turning his head towards you - “ask me.” You say firmly, his eyes locked with yours as you wait for his brain to reboot. 

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” He asks, the words falling out of his mouth before his brain can catch up. 

“I would love to go on a date with you, Luke.” 

+

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It’s funny how true the silly little saying your parents teach you as a kid can be so true. 

Time really does fly when you’re having fun. 

It also flies when your boyfriend gets called up into the professional hockey league and has to leave you behind. 

“Did you watch the game today?” Luke asks through your phone, his small face on your phone propped up beside you on your desk, his hair wet from his shower post game, a soft glow on his skin as he smiles at you when you’re not looking. 

“Of course.” You say, jotting something in your notebook before closing it softly, “I also watched when you almost got your back broken by being hit into the bench.” You huff, a frown on your face as you glance over your boyfriend. Luke's smile drops a little, as he sits up in his bed, watching as you wipe at your face roughly. 

“I just worry about you, Luke.” You say quietly, your eyes teary - Luke can feel his heart stop as he looks around his room in panic, for what no one knows. Luke feels his chest tighten as you let a small sniffle escape before wiping at your face again. 

“When are you going to ask me to be with you?” Luke never knows what to do when you ask questions like this - his response typically falling under a freeze response, his brain moving slower than normal when you catch him by surprise. 

“You’d want that?” He asks, the deja vu settling in his bones as he adds, “What about school?” 

“I’m doing a degree in business management, Luke - I can do that online if I wanted to.”  Luke feels like he’s going to have long term effects if you keep making his heart stop and start like this - the deja vu hitting again as you add, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want it.” 

Luke feels like he’s going to explode as he yanks his laptop from where it is charging, looking up flights and hotels as quickly as possible. 

Luke doesn’t know a lot about many things. 

But he knows he would pay whatever he had to, to have you here with him - to be able to entwine his two favorite things in his life together. 

+

+

The last six months have been a crash course in ice hockey - after the play off season had ended with an unfortunate loss Luke had dragged you to Michigan for the summer, wasting no time in introducing you to his whole family and everyone around who would listen. 

His two older brothers had put in the work to sit you down every night after dinner. A game from the previous season loaded onto the T.V a notebook in your lap as Luke slipped onto the couch behind you - his hand fiddling with whatever they could latch onto. 

“Okay so what is it called if one player insults another player?” Jack quizzes, the video paused on his captain's mouth open mid yell. 

“Chirping?” You say Jack giving a strong nod and a smile, resuming the video. 

“And what do we do when someone chirps us?” Jack asks, his smile mischievous as he waits for you to respond. 

“Chirp back?” You assume, Jack clapping his hands together in joy as Luke shakes his head behind you - leaning forwards to pull your short hair out of its bun. 

“No, we ignore it.” Luke corrects, his fingers gentle on your scalp as he detangles the knots left in your hair from the day on the boat. 

“That’s not fun, Lukey.” Jack huffs, looking over to his older brother for back up, Quinn just throwing his hands up with a shrug. 

“I think ignoring it is a better answer.” Quinn says softly, his attention solely on his phone. 

“Alright let’s watch something else - I think she knows everything she can.” Luke says pulling the remote from Jack's hand as he exits off the hockey game, pulling up Netflix to scroll through. His arm banded around your waist as he pulls you to lie back against him, a blanket thrown over the two of you as his brother argues over what to watch. 

“The post is blowing up, Luke.” You say quietly, showing him the notifications on your phone - Luke had posted an instagram story early, undeniably hard launching the relationship into the public - both of you had expected some attention but this had been more than anything you would imagine. 

“It’ll settle down eventually - you’re lucky Jack hasn’t posted anything, that would probably make your phone crash.” You let out a small chuckle, leaning into Luke further as you scroll through your notifications trying to clear your inbox as much as possible. 

“Hold up, who’s that?” Luke asks as you stop scrolling through your inbox, clicking on the message he pointed at. “Matt Rempe? Why does that sound so familiar?” Luke questions as you click on his profile scrolling through the photos in confusion. 

“You mean the giant kid who was just signed to the rangers?” Jack asks, his attention momentarily leaving the movie trailer Quinn was showing on his phone to respond to Luke. 

“How do you know that?” Luke asks, his brother just shrugging in response. “What did he say?” Luke asks as you swipe back to the message reading over the words with a frown. 

“Hey, how’s heaven handling things now that you’ve left?” You read aloud, Quinn letting out a loud snort and Jack's mouth falling open in surprise. “Oh dear god, that’s bad.” You sigh, moving to delete the message before Luke’s hand stops you, his hand swiping the phone from your hand as his fingers tap on the screen. 

“Luke, what are you doing?” You hiss, watching as he types out a message before deleting it and starting again “What happened to ignoring it?” 

“This is off the ice - you don’t hit on other players' girlfriends.”  Luke types again before hitting send on the one sentence message. 

‘She has a boyfriend.’ You roll your eyes before snatching your phone back, the device dinging as you place it back in your lap. Luke looks at you expectantly as you pick up your phone again showing him the response. 

‘We’ll see about that.’ 

“He’s messing with you Luke, just leave it.” You say, blocking the players profile before turning off your phone and tucking it under the blanket before he can type out more messages to his fellow rookie player. 

The message echoes around Lukes head for the rest of the night - the man shocked by his fellow players' audacity. 

Luke doesn’t know a lot about many things. 

But he knows about hockey - and you don’t go after another player's girlfriend. 

+

+

The season started off tense - with most of New Jersey’s star players out with injuries the team was scraping by on wins - only just managing to pull ahead towards the end of each game. 

The most anticipated game of the season slowly sneaking up behind every one - the New Jersey Devils against the New York Rangers - normally a big rivalry but this year everything seemed more tense - especially with the rising enforcer of the New York Rangers making his presence and dislike for the New Jersey Devils team known. 

“Everything will be fine.” You reassure Luke for the hundredth time, squeezing his hand once more before releasing it to fall back to his side, his face falling as he stares down at his empty palm. “I’ll meet you in the locker room after you take the arrival photos.” You say softly, before leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek, smoothing out his unruly curls before giving him one last smile. 

He watches as you walk away, greeting some of the staff you pass as you move to where the other family members were gathering to wish their player good luck before the game. You lean against the wall as you scroll absentmindedly on your phone, occasionally adding something to the conversation going on around you, each of the wags splitting off towards their players as they make their way to the locker room. 

“Excuse me?” A deep voice says from behind you, a large hand tapping on your shoulder. You turn slowly your head lifting as you glance up at the abnormally large man, his face immediately flagging recognition in your memory. “Are you a keyboard?” He asks quickly - your brows pulling together as you frown. 

“What?” You respond. 

“Are you a keyboard?” He tries again, waiting for a few moments before adding, “because I think you’re just my type.” You can’t help the scoff that comes out of you, physically cringing at the pick up line. 

“Wait, I have more.” He exclaims quickly, a soft smile on your face as you shake your head. 

“I’m aware - I’m pretty sure heaven is fairing pretty well without me.”  Your retort seems to strike something in the man's memory, his mouth falling open in surprise before a slow grin grows back in its place. “You’ve really lived up to your name as hockey’s new menace.” You add, glancing over your shoulder to see Luke making his way up to the locker room. 

“Ah so you’ve been watching me?” Matt’s confidence in himself is jarring, your frown deepening as you shake your head. 

“Unfortunately for me, you seem to pop up in a lot of conversations about my boyfriend.” You say quietly, “Maybe it was due to your blatant disrespect for your fellow rookie players in this league.” Matt hesitates for a second, his eyes grazing over your face for any sign that you were joking. 

“You’re not my type, and frankly I was hoping you got the message when I blocked you, but clearly your thick head isn’t good for anything other than fighting.” You add, and you know you shouldn’t be adding fuel to the fire but you just can’t help it. 

“Everything okay over here?” Luke's voice is like dousing fire with water, his hand smoothing over your back to sit against your hip as he slides up beside you.

“You should keep your girl on a tighter leash.” Matt speaks before you can reassure your boyfriend, “Seems like she’d jump ship to anyone offering her a good time.” You can feel Luke tense beside you, a few of his team mates pausing in their movement, watching their rookie player glare up at the intruder. 

While Luke has always been considered in the group of larger hockey players - Matt was on a whole other level. 

“What did you just say about her?” 

“You heard what I said - your girlfriend is a whore.” You flinch at the words, your arm looping around Luke’s back to grab hold of his suit jacket hoping he was smart enough not to engage with the larger man. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” Matt continues his taunting, your gaze flicking over your shoulder hoping to catch the attention of another person. 

Luke takes in a deep breath, rolling his eyes before stepping away from you a little, his hands moving you behind him slightly as he moves toe to toe with the fighter. “Look, back the fuck off dude. She said she wasn't interested and I’m not interested in paying a fine for bothering with someone like you.” 

You let out a sigh of relief as one of the older players steps up besides you, pulling you a step further away from the pair, his own glare set on the two boys. 

“This can be dealt with on the ice.” Kurtis says roughly, tugging on Luke’s arm to break contact, the rookie quickly following the wordless instructions of his veteran teammate. “Forget what you said about her…” Kurtis pauses, waiting for Luke to object before adding, “Why don’t you fight someone your own size?” You can see the anger rolling off the two rookies as they finally nod at each other in understanding, Matt glaring at the three of you before turning towards the away team locker room. 

“Leave him for me, Kid.” Kurtis says quickly as Luke turns towards him, adding “You’re not a fighter, Luke. We need you to be able to play.” Luke nods hesitantly, the two of you watching as Kurtis kisses his wife quickly before moving into the locker room, your gaze turning up to your boyfriend. 

“He’s right, you know.” You say. 

“I know.” Luke agrees, leaning down to give you a chaste kiss on your cheek before following after his team mate. 

“Play safe.” The words falter as Kurtis’s wife thread her arm through yours - reassuring you everything will be okay. 

“Kurtis will sort that kid out.” She says quickly, the cheeky gleam in her eyes.

The pre game warm ups move quickly - both teams seemingly tense on the ice, neither making much contact with each other, Luke goes through his normal motions, his body seeming no looser than before as he exits the ice to walk back into the locker room. 

“Why do I have a feeling this is going to be bad?” You ask the wives and girlfriends besides you - all of them agreeing with your gut feeling, all of you tense in your seats as you watch the teams take the ice again - a strange mix of players starting for New Jersey - Luke steaming from the bench as he watching the referee talk to the players at center ice. 

It’s not clear who starts it from where you’re sitting - but as soon as the puck hits the ice, chaos breaks out - each of the ten players on the ice matching up a five on five brawl sprawling across the ice. Most of the fights end quickly, each player slowly making their way to the penalty box as they get pulled apart by the officials, but one match up continues. 

Matt and Kurtis go head to head for over five minutes - both teams cheering them on the pounding of sticks on the boards echoing through the arena. Finally the two get pulled apart and to everyone's joy Kurtis comes away relatively unharmed - the other team's rookie seeming to have gotten the worst of the hits in the fight. 

You watch Luke yell something across the ice as Matt is dragged from the ice the two of them yelling at each other back and forth until Luke’s captain pats his shoulder gently, motioning for him to calm down.  

The game continues tensely - the ejected players cleaning themselves up before joining your group in the family area, Kurtis patting your shoulder gently as you thank him for stepping in. 

“The kid needing a proper welcome to the NHL - I’m glad I was the one to give it to him.” Kurtis says quietly, before adding, “Luke’s pretty fired up, try to get him home in one piece.” 

The game finishes with a loss for the Devils, everyone disappointed but unable to wipe the smiles off their faces as they reminisce on the earlier fight - everyone wanting to share their point of view. Luke pushes his way out of the locker room, his face set in a deep frown as he reaches his hand out for yours, his shoulder dropping a little as you squeeze your hand in his. 

“You need to relax and try not to crash on the way home.” You comment as you both get into the car. Luke lets out a long groan before flopping against the driver's seat.  

“I feel like such a wimp.” Luke’s words surprise you, your boyfriend had never had much interest in fighting before definitely being a lover and not a fighter. 

“Why?” 

“Because I let another player fight my battle.” You let out a snort of a laugh. 

“That’s his job, Luke.” Your boyfriend flicks his faze over to you, “He’s supposed to give and take the hits to keep the best players on the ice, I think Kurtis had more fun than anyone else that player today.” You continue, reaching over to pull on one of the curls sitting on his forehead. 

“It’s not a bad thing to know when to fight and when you’re outmatched - Matt is a fighter and knows what he’s doing and you’d be stupid to think you could take him on.” Your words are harsh, just like they were when you had first met - but the blow is softened as you smile softly as the man sitting next to you. 

“I’m proud of you for choosing the high road - he’s a meat head hockey player who’s got more brawn than skill - but you have talent and it would’ve been a shame to see you waste it all for one stupid fight.” Luke nods slowly at your words, turning his head to press a kiss against your palm before turning back to the front of the car. 

“Okay, I think it’s safe to drive now.” He jokes, his posture far more relaxed than it was before. 

Luke doesn’t know a lot about many things. 

But he knows that he would do anything for you. Even get in a stupid fight.

[jayda12]