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cellythefloshie · 20 days ago

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;; All Too Well (10-Minute Version) Written for The Eras Tour Hockeyblr Fic Challange

Summary: Love blossoms quickly, but fades even faster. When a chance meeting at a cocktail party introduces you to Vince, your whirlwind connection feels like the beginning of something lasting. But as seasons change, so do intentions. Kinks & TW: age gap (younger reader), implied car sex, toxic relationship, unprotected sex — the smut in this fic is REALLY mild. Like blink and you miss it, because it just didn't fit the vibes like I had expected it to. There was so much more story to tell. Word Count: 14.9k+ Author Notes: A huge thank you to @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston for putting this challenge together. I have found myself to be a blossoming Swiftie since the release of Midnights, so I was very excited to take part! And it was very much a challenge to me (though @hockeyboysimagines would probably argue differently) when I received All Too Well as my song. This was a song I had listened to 2 times before this fic. Once upon its release while watching the video, and again while watching The Eras Tour when it was released on streaming platforms. So I had this song on repeat a lot while planning and writing this fic. I would also like to say a huge THANK YOU to @laurenairay who was sweet enough to review my outline AND the fic when it was complete because I was terrified that I was missing key points to the song and needed another Swiftie's opinion. This is a well loved song, and therefore an intimidating song. I hope I did it justice ❤️ This fic is also posted in chapters on Archive of Our Own.

As the bright orange and turquoise taxi drove further from the heart of downtown Toronto, the more out of place it became. Towering buildings became squat, and traffic thinned as it traveled over the smooth streets. Soon, buildings did not stand side by side with nothing but a mere alley between them, Yards began to sprawl and trees stood tall as your ride took you further into what you called cottage country - though it was nothing more than a quiet neighborhood that had Lake Ontario at their doorstep.

It was a long ride from the city, and you kept yourself busy in the back of the taxi. You fixed your hair with the help of the rearview mirror and a few bobby pins. Next, you fixed your makeup, taking it from day to night with a little more mascara and a darker shade of lipstick. Then, you checked your phone, rereading the message from your best friend:

Dinner and cocktails tonight, dress for the occasion.

Sighing softly, you looked down at the slinky slip dress that had spent the day in the bottom of your purse. It was a color that was your favorite, but no matter how desperately you smoothed your hands over the fabric, you could still see the wrinkles left behind. It was a little detail you would have to force yourself to ignore, and one you hoped no one else would notice. You fiddled with the fabric until you felt the taxi come to the stop at your destination.

You looked up at the crowded driveway first, taking a nervous breath through your teeth as you noticed how many cars were parked along it and down the street. Your eyes lingered on the cars as you dug through your purse for your wallet. Then you looked at your driver, smiling as you paid your fare and thanked him for the ride. As you stepped out of the back seat, your heels clicking again on the pavement, feelings of excitement and nerves swirled in your chest. Sweaty palms attempted to smooth out the fabric of your dress one last time before you approached the house. At first, all you could hear was the sound of your own footsteps, but as you grew closer, you could already hear the hum of conversation and clinking glasses before you could cross the threshold of the door.

When you reached the large, heavy door, you wasted no time knocking. You didn’t need to. Your best friend’s place was practically your second home. Besides, no one would have heard it, anyway. Inside, the warm glow of the chandelier greeted you in the entryway. There was no one there to greet you, but you could hear the beckoning of voices in the dining room. Taking a deep breath, you tucked your purse away with the coats and delved into the party as if you were walking into the cold of the lake: one toe at a time.

Moving into the dining room, you wore a soft smile to hide the panic that festered in the back of your mind. You didn’t recognize anyone - and judging by the side eyes they greeted you with; they didn’t recognize you either. Great.

Hands flexing into fists before relaxing at your side, you moved deeper into the dining room and found the table set up with drinks and finger food to hold everyone over until dinner was served. You took a flute of champagne between your fingers, and for a moment considered grabbing two. Smiling, you reached out for a second glass, but then you heard your friend excitedly greeting you. So you settled on one.

You sipped your sweet champagne slowly as you turned in place, your lips curling up along the rim of the glass at the sight of your best friend. She was stunning, dressed in a white cocktail gown that fluttered around her knees as she seemed to glide through the room. She looked almost ethereal in the light, the perfect host, and the beautiful bride to be. Your lips parted to compliment her, your arms opening to accept her incoming hug, but you teased her instead, “I didn’t realize you knew so many people.”

She laughed into your hair before she pulled back, her arm looping through yours. “Blame my fiance. This is practically his event. All of his teammates, plus their wives and girlfriends. Some family and friends too. Thought hosting a night at the house was the least we could do after having everyone travel in for the wedding—and speaking of the least I could do…” her words trailed off as she looked around the room for something - or someone, “... I have someone I want to introduce you to.”

Your interest piqued, your eyebrow raising as she led you through the home and into the backyard. The deck seemed to glow in the dim light of fairy lights. But the fire that burned down below, where a group of men gathered, burned brighter. Some had women on their arms, like subtle accessories, as the men seemed to hold the conversation, while others stood alone. Behind them all as they stood together, dressed in relaxed suits and party dresses as they drank from champagne flutes or crisp aluminum cans, the sun sunk low on the horizon.

Among them was your best friend’s fiance, his smile easy and welcoming as you approached. It attracted your friends like gravity, her arm slipping away from yours and she glided to him, fitting into the group so effortlessly that, for a moment, it left you feeling out of place. You took a long, nervous sip of your drink that almost left you choking as she returned her attention to you. She beckoned you with the simple wave of her arm, enticing you to join the circle around the dancing flames.

“Everyone, this is my best friend,” she finished the introduction with your name.

“The one she never shuts up about,” her husband teased her, earning a playful slap from the back of her hand against his chest.

You laughed along with everyone softly, quietly finding your place among the group, intending to be nothing more but a wallflower until dinner time. That was until she was speaking your name again to capture your attention. Then, she was calling out to someone else, “Vince, hey!”

When you saw who exactly she was speaking to, your stomach did a small flip that made it feel knotted. Vince was just on the other side of the crowd, lost in laughter, until his name cut through the conversation. Your friend’s voice had demanded attention in an instant and he answered it with a smile that sent a rush of warmth through you. Suddenly you devoted attention completely to him, the world narrowing just to him and the party suddenly gone. Looking at Vince was like looking at a Disney Prince. His dark hair that curled just above his forehead, and his green eyes that paled in the amber glow of the fire. Your gaze fixated on his stare as he moved around the crowd and closer to you—and when his eyes flickered away from your friend and to you for a mere moment, you could see a glimmer of something there. What that was, you would have to figure out.

“This is the friend I was telling you about,” your friend smiled and with the introduction made she found her place at her fiance’s side.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Vince spoke. His voice was smooth and warm like velvet as he extended his hand out to clasp yours. You shook it slowly, your touch lingering as your pulse pounded against the delicate flesh of your neck.

“I wish I could say the same,” you admitted slowly, trying to calm the thoughts that raced through your mind, “but I appear to be at a disadvantage. Seems she talks a lot more about me than she has to me about you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Your words had come off harsher than you had meant to. But it was just the reality of it all. Your best friend hadn’t spoken of Vince at all. No texts, no calls. All you knew of him was what you could see on the surface, but you knew better than to judge a book by its pretty cover. And while you hoped your appearance alone would make a good first impression, you didn’t want Vince walking away with superficial feelings.

The two of you talked until dinner time, scraping the mere surface of your lives. You told him what you did for work, and how he had spent his summer training for the next season of hockey. Conversation had flown with ease, and it left you disappointed as you both went your separate ways in the dining room. You circled the table slowly, watching as people slowly found their way into place seated in front of their place card.

Of course, she would have assigned seating.

You had hoped that you would spend your night seated beside your friend, but now you would be stuck making small talk with strangers. You took a desperate sip of your drink as you rounded the table, chugging back the harsh bubbles of your champagne as you found your place card at the opposite end of the table, right next to Vince.

You smiled inwardly at your friend’s not-so-subtle matchmaking move. While you wish she had been a little more coy, it was one you couldn’t help but appreciate.

The conversation reignited between you and Vince with soft pleasantries - before the first course finished; his easy humor left you laughing. Vince was funny, effortlessly making you laugh in ways that made you laugh in ways that you forget strangers surrounded you and you were doing your best to play it cool. Throughout dinner, the conversation flowed easily between you and Vince. The clatter of plates and mummer of voices faded into the background as you lost track of time, engrossed in his stories, his laugh and the way his eyes seemed to linger on yours. Vince made you feel like the only person at the table, and despite what you learned to be a seven-year age gap, the two of you shared an undeniable spark that you couldn’t quite explain.

The conversation you shared over dinner felt intimate. Almost like a first date, though you were surrounded by people—or at least, you thought you were. As time slipped by, the two of you didn’t notice how the table cleared around you, or how the guests had slipped away until it was just the two of you that remained. Only did you notice when your friend approached, her evening wear replaced with a fluffy robe and a sleepy smile on her face.

“Do I need to get a room ready for you?” she teased gently, her eyes flicking between you and Vince.

You gasped out a soft apology, only then realizing just how late it had gotten. “No, I should really just catch a cab home.”

You stood quickly; the chair dragging harshly across the floor as you quickly moved to gather your things. Your cheeks were red hot with embarrassment at how you let yourself get carried away with him - but he didn’t seem to mind. He followed just behind you in your stride, gathering his own coat that now hung alone next to your own.

“Let me walk you out?” He offered gently.

You accepted the offer with your own smile, your eyes falling to your feet as he opened the front door. The night air was cool, a welcome relief from the warmth of the party. It left you shrugging on your coat as you walked together down the driveway, your steps slow and hesitant. You didn’t want the night to end, not when Vince had made what you expected to be an awkward night one you didn’t want to forget. You reached the end of the driveway together, waiting awkwardly at the curb for your taxi to arrive, but it was the first moment that night the two of you were truly alone.

That thought gave you butterflies in your stomach as you watched him reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. “Here, put your number in?”

“Yeah,” you smiled a little too wide as you reached into your bag and pulled out your own phone. You traded them, and you added yourself as a contact in his phone. As you returned his phone to him, the subtle touch of his fingers against your hand leaving you to hold your breath, a taxi arrived and parked at the end of the drive.

“You take the first one,” Vince told you, stepping towards the taxi to open the door for you. He gave you just enough room to slip inside before he was leaning down, one arm on the door of the cab and the other over the top. If it were anyone else, you might have panicked, feeling confined in the tiny back seat of the taxi, but as stupid as it was, you felt safe with Vince.

“Goodnight,” he said, his smile soft as his eyes left yours to linger on your lips for just a moment before he closed the door behind you.

You leaned your head back against the seat, silently cursing how pathetic you were for wishing he had tried to kiss you. Biting your lip, you rolled the window down, and leaned your head out of it, echoing his voice with your own feeble, “goodnight.”

You settled into your seat with a sinking heart. Your night was over. Meeting the eyes of your driver in the rearview mirror, you gave him the address of home and you left your friend's home and Vince behind you. But your thoughts remained on Vince — the way he made you laugh, the way his presence made the whole evening feel different. Special. You didn’t know what had started that night, but you knew something was there, and you could wait to see where it would go.

Your best friend’s wedding had been beautiful, but it paled in comparison to what continued to grow between you and Vince in the week that followed. Seemingly overnight, the two of you had become inseparable. If you weren’t together, you were always texting or calling, your connection seeming to grow deeper with each casual date you shared. It was like the last days of summer, hot and vibrant. But as the days became consumed by the cooler temperature that would become autumn, whatever you and Vince shared only continued to grow.

Friday of the September long weekend, he picked you up from your downtown Toronto apartment, and the two of you took to the road. The city skyline was shrinking behind you, seen only in the rearview mirror. You didn’t know where Vince was taking you, but you didn’t need to. You were happy just being there with him, one of his hands on the wheel while the other rested comfortably on your knee. The radio was turned up loud. Shania Twain’s greatest hits the soundtrack of your road trip, her lyrics leaving both of your lips as you sang along. You danced in your seat, the seatbelt the only thing holding you back as you felt the music. And Vince sang, his tone carefree and out of tune as his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles on your knee. Your eyes dropped, watching the careful stroke, smiling as you sang.

But then your gaze shifted upward, and the world around you snapped back into focus. The glow of the solid red light was harsh against your eyes, but the car was still moving full speed. Vince hadn’t even tried to slow down, because instead of looking at the lights, he had been looking over at you.

“Vince!” you shouted, pointing towards the red light.

His head whipped around, his soft expression hardening with alarm as his foot slammed onto the brake. The car screeched to a stop, your seatbelt restricting around your chest as your body jerked forward before falling back against the seat.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the radio and the sound of your hastened breaths as the shock of what could have been hung over you both. Then Vince turned in his seat, the seatbelt straining against his chest as he looked at you. He reached out with both hands, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he looked you over with his eyes that were left wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his thumb stroking your skin as if to soothe the shock that left you feeling sick to your stomach.

You nodded, your heart still pounding against your chest. And then he kissed you. The touch of his lips against yours brought an instant calm. He brushed over yours so sweetly, so gently, that it washed away all the tension, and when he pulled back, his kiss lingered in the calm between you until an impatient honk from the car broke it.

The light had turned green.

Pulling back, Vince smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back, leaning your head against the seat as you relaxed. You let it lull to the side, watching the trees as they passed, their leaves only just beginning to change from their vibrant greens to shades of gold and crimson and had yet to fall lazily to the ground. You watched them until you noticed the car turn off the main road. The anticipation built as the car wound its way up a long driveway lined with trees. You sat up straight in your seat at the sight of the house at the end of the drive. It was a cozy home, nestled against the horizon where the sun was already beginning to set. Your hands gripped into fists in your lap nervously. Vince hadn’t told you where you were going. You didn’t know whose house this was, or why you were there. So as he switched the music off, you looked to him for answers.

“Come on, it and meet everybody,” he said with an easy smile, and he was already climbing out of the car before you had the chance to answer.

“Everyone?” You muttered to yourself, slowly stepping out of the car to hear a small crunch beneath your feet. Looking down, you narrowed your eyes. A child’s toy? Kneeling down, you picked up the broken pieces and cradled them in your hands. Then you looked out over the sprawling yard, taking in the little details you hadn’t quite noticed on the drive up. The yard was alive with the signs of a family. Scattered in the grass were children’s toys, and a small play structure with swings sat in the shadow of the house. You could even hear faint laughter in the distance. For a moment, you stood still, taking it all in before following the path Vince had taken inside.

The front door swung open to a rush of warmth that graced your cheeks like a kiss. It came from both the heat of the house, and the feeling of home that lingered there. You didn’t know what quite gave you the feeling. It could have been the soft lighting from decorative table lamps, the scent of a home cooked meal that lingered in the air, or the symphony of voices you could hear in the next room - or a combination of them all - but it all put you at ease. The unfamiliar place felt so familiar as you stepped out of your shoes and hung your red scarf and coat over the bannister where other coats were already piled.

With the broken toy in hand, you walked deeper into the house, where many unfamiliar faces greeted you. The first, after a quick introduction, you learned was Vince’s mother, who smiled at you warmly and pulled you into a soft hug. Then, there was his brother and his wife who welcomed you into their home as if you were no stranger at all. Vince’s step-father was too caught up with the kids to offer much more than a quick hello and a smile, but it all still felt natural, so easy. Like you belonged there.

“I’m sorry,” you told Vince’s sister-in-law with a soft voice, “I stepped on one of the toys in the yard.”

You offered the pieces to her on the bed of your palms, but she waved it off like it was nothing.

“They have so many they won’t even notice this one’s gone,” she assured with a soft smile. And while you just met her, her smile felt genuine. “Mom and I were just going to finish up dinner. Would you like to join us in the kitchen?”

You shot a quick side-eyes glance to Vince, his nephew’s swarmed him, taking all of his attention. Their laughter rang throughout the room as they clung to his legs, pulling him towards the games they were playing with their grandfather. You got lost in the sight of his care and gentleness with the children, but also the carefree silliness that sent them wild with laughter. A part of you wanted to join him, but Vince had brought you there to meet his family, so you offered his sister-in-law a smile and followed her into the kitchen.

There wasn’t much more to be done for dinner. Vince’s brother had chicken and ribs out on the barbeque, leaving the rest of you to work on the sides. You were quickly assigned to chopping up vegetables for a salad. But Vince’s mother, who snuck into the kitchen with a photo album, quickly interrupted your duties cradled in her arms.

“You have to see these,” she said, a mischievous smile on her lips as she opened the album up in an open space on the counter. You stood alongside her as she flipped through the pages, your smile growing when you saw a young Vince among the photographs. He couldn’t have been more than five in the picture, and wore a pair of thick glasses on his face, and a shy smile on his lips as he sat on his bed in his bedroom that was decorated floor to ceiling with Toronto Maple Leafs memorabilia.

“That’s him,” Tracy confirmed, her words laced with a laugh that was warm like a mother's embrace, “back when he was on the Timbits team. His grandfather took him to every single game.” The stories flowed easily, and you couldn’t help but laugh as Tracy pointed at another picture of Vince. He was around the same age in the last picture, but this time, he was beaming proudly as he stood in his oversized hockey equipment. “He used to trip over his skates more than he’d actually skate.”

Leaning over the book, you admired each photograph and welcomed each story his mother offered to tell. You were so completely enthralled in the moment that you didn’t even notice Vince approaching until his one arm was around your shoulders and the other rested around his mothers. He planted a quick kiss on your cheek, yet he was the one with flushed cheeks, embarrassed.

“You’re telling stories, aren’t you?” Vince grinned as he reached out for the family photo album. He shut it slowly before reaching it up to place it on a shelf up high and out of reach.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” his mother teased. “Why bring a girl home if that means I don’t get to embarrass you?”

“You do that well enough without breaking out the photo albums,” he assured, pressing a kiss to her temple before he took his place next to you. He offered you a sweet smile before reaching out for the knife you had abandoned and continued with your work in the kitchen. You helped him where he could. His presence beside you felt easy - like you were already part of the family, fitting so effortlessly into his line.

That feeling only grew throughout the evening. It felt right, like the changing of the seasons-natural, inevitable, and beautiful.

When it had come time to leave, the sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting a deep indigo hue over the world outside. The air was cool, the warmth of the house fading as you and Vince stepped out onto the front porch. Both hands raised to clutch at the breast of your jacket, trying to keep the chill of the night from your neck as the cold enveloped you. A single hand clutched the neck of your coat, your steps stuttering down the steps as you realized you had forgotten your scarf on the banister. But before you could go back, before you could even say a word, Vince was smiling at you as he tossed his car keys at you.

Your eyes went wide, your hands reaching out only to fumble for them. The keys jingled as they hit the ground, his keychain half buried in the dirt. It left your hands dusty as you knelt down and picked it up from where they rested at your feet.

“You drive,” Vince smiled at you playfully, “we’re just going up the road.”

The soft glow of the porch light cast a soft twinkle in his eyes as he spoke. You mirrored his soft smile as you gripped the cool metal of his keys in your hand and moved towards the car. It was another small, simple moment between the two of you, yet your stomach fluttered full of butterflies every time. You didn’t know if it was excitement, nerves or the anxiety of knowing that summer was over and autumn was to begin and all of what you had in just a week could be gone. But you didn’t dwell on it. Instead, you slipped into the driver's seat, taking the time to adjust the mirrors, and started the engine.

Its rumble cut through the stillness of the night, the grinding of rubber tired against gravel roads, the new soundtrack of your night as you drove down the quiet country road. It was lined with trees that cast long shadows across the ground, their leaves beginning to bare as their leaves changed from the brilliant green of summer to the gold and maroons of fall.

Vince sat, relaxed in the passenger seat beside you, his seat leaned back and his arm draped casually across the back of your seat. It remained there during the short drive down the road, one that led you to a secluded dead end nestle deep within the property. You looked around, the car lights illuminating the trees and brush around you. Then, suddenly, the light was gone, and darkness surrounded you. You almost jumped, startled, before you realized Vince’s hand had left the back of your seat and he had reached across and turned off the engine. Then, without a word, his hand fell to your seatbelt. He unbuckled it with the simple press of two fingers before his hands, gentle but insistent, found your hip. Vince guided you across the center console and into his lap.

Your knees rested on each side of him, squished between the car door, the console, and his body. It left the passenger seat feeling small, intimate, as you shifted your weight just right to comfortably settle against him. Your hands came to rest on the car seat, on each side of his head, but Vince’s hands came up to stroke loose strands of hair from your face. The gesture made your heart race, the world outside the car falling away, leaving you both seemingly the only two people in it. Then, with his hand still lingering on your cheek, Vince drew you in, and placed a slow kiss on your lips.

His kiss sent a wave of warmth to spread through your body, your breath hitching in the back of your throat. You shuddered in his lap, your lips meeting his sweet and gentle kiss that became deeper as he felt your eagerness to kiss and be kissed by him. Slowly, his hands strayed from the angles of your face, his feather light touch dragging down your body. His touch coasted over your shoulder, knocking your cardigan sleeve down your arm and teasing the exposed skin with the ghost of his touch before each of his hands settled on the swell of your hip. His grip tightened there, drawing you closer, your skirt inching up your thigh, and you let out a soft sound. It was not quite a moan, but more than a sigh, as your stomach swirled with the dance of butterflies. Your entire body was buzzing with the electric, weightless feeling—it felt like you might float away if Vince dared to let you go.

His hands didn’t leave you as you finally pulled back, breathless, your eyes meeting him in a dreamy stare. Taking a shuddering breath, your teeth caught your swollen bottom lip as his fingertips slipped beneath your skirt. His touch graced parts of you he was only just discovering as he whispered out, “I leave after the long weekend.”

His words were soft, almost apologetic, and hung in the air between you like a heavy weight. It sent your heart sinking a little in your chest, the reality of his departure setting in. It felt like a goodbye, your week-long whirlwind romance coming to its harsh and bitter end, as you should have expected from the start. Yet, a small voice inside you couldn’t help but wonder why Vince had made it more than just a fling. Why had gone through the trouble of taking you to meet his family if he was just going to leave?

You dwelled on that thought, your gaze leaving him to look out the window at the darkness that swallowed everything beyond the car window. You saw nothing but the blackness of night, your bite on your own lip growing sharper until Vince’s words cut through the quiet and eased your racing mind. “I want to fly you out to see me in Seattle when the preseason is over. Would you do that for me?”

His words sparked something inside you, excitement - no, hope - replacing the sinking feeling in your chest. Maybe this didn’t have to end today. You nodded quickly, your hair falling back into your face. It brought Vince’s touch back up to your face, his hands brushing it back behind your ear as he chuckled softly.

“Good,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss you again. But this time, the kiss was deeper, more urgent.

You parted your lips for him, welcoming the taste of his tongue as it met yours. The intoxication of his kiss left your head spinning in the best way. Your hands ran up over his chest, wrinkling the simple fabric of his t-shirt, wishing you could peel it off of him. You were ready; you wanted more, and as if he could read your mind, Vince’s hands inched higher up your skirt.

Your hold tilted back as you gasped, a single hand reaching out and finding the cold glass of the car window. It slipped briefly over the slick condensation, bracing yourself against it as the touch of his hands graced the most intimate parts of your body, as if solidifying the promise you’d just made.

The plane began its slow descent, the city of Seattle spreading out beneath you like an ocean of lights glittering against the early evening skies. Your head rested against the wall of the plane, your eyes watching out the window as the details of the skyline came into view. But you couldn’t focus on the landmarks in view, not when your thoughts were racing - drifting excitingly to Vince. It was later in the season than you had originally planned to visit him. But early in the season, Vince had been injured. He needed the time to heal, and he wanted you to see him play when you visited. It led to greater time apart, but it didn’t feel as distant as the miles between you. Not when he was so eager to text, to call, and when date night could still happen on a video call. The two of you had spent countless late nights together, and each one made you more excited to see him.

You smiled to yourself, your heart pounding and filled as your mind was clouded - stupid with the kind of love that made everything else seem insignificant. Your flight had been delayed, and you had spent hours seated beside a baby who wailed most of the flight. But you didn’t complain. Not once, because when it was all over, you’d get to see Vince. You let out a dreamy sigh. Love. You really did love him. You could feel it in how your heart skipped in just the thought of him. Sure, maybe it was too soon. The two of you had only been together three months, but you felt it. And you were sure Vince felt it too. Why else would he have introduced you to his family, and fly you all the way out to Seattle to spend the weekend with him? It felt like it was all building up to something bigger—for him to say the words. This weekend, Vince would tell you he loved you, you were sure of it.

The plane landed smoothly, and after gathering your carry-on, you made your way through the airport to the baggage carousel. You watched as each bag went around and around, the familiar buzz of the bustle that consumed airports all around you as you waited for your small bag to catch your eye. And when you found it, you were off like a shot, your focus on one thing: Finding Vince.

You found him standing just outside the doors for the pickup of arrivals. He was leaning up against the passenger door of his car, his black coat unbuttoned although the wind was cold and greeted you with the harsh reality that while winter on the coast was different, it was still cold. You regretted leaving your coat shoved in your bag, but you wasted no time in pulling it out to put it on. Instead, you ran to him, your smile growing with his as his eyes locked on you.

His arms and warmth wrapped around you, your bag dropping to the ground as your arms wrapped around him in return. Your fingers clung to him for the first time in months, his strength lifting you off the ground as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, and the soft kiss of his lips as he placed a simple kiss there before he returned you to your feet. Then, his hands slid down the angles of your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’ve missed you,” he spoke gently, sending a shy smile over your lips as he helped you into the passenger seat. You welcomed the warmth of the car as you tucked your carry on between your feet, finally opening it to pull out your coat as Vince put your bag in the back seat. You watched him in the mirrors as he rounded the car and met his smile as he sat beside you in the driver's seat.

“We’ve got the entire weekend,” Vince said, his smile easy. “I’ve got plans for us- dinner tonight, then tomorrow you’ll come to one of my games, and Monday morning, I’ll drop you off at the airport.”

“That sounds great,” you nodded, feeling the excitement bubble up inside you. It felt just as it had at the end of summer—there was a level of comfort you had with Vince that you couldn’t quite explain. One that simply being around him put you at ease, and left you excited for the weekend to come. It felt perfect, like a dream.

The ride from the airport to his apartment was quick, but with the delay you faced with your flight you were already running behind for your dinner reservation.

“The bathroom’s just there if you want to freshen up. I’ll call the guys and tell them we’re going to be a little late,” Vince told you gently, and you perked up? The guys? He was taking you to meet his friends — his teammates?

“I’ll just need a minute to change,” you assured, dragging your suitcase into the bathroom with you before you shut the door.

You looked over it with wide eyes and suddenly panicked. If you were going to be meeting his friends, you wanted to make a good impression. Dropping to your knees, you sorted through the clothes you had brought. At one time, while you were packing, you told yourself you had packed too much. That you wouldn’t have needed so much for two days, but now, as there were so many unknowns, you were relieved that you had let yourself over prepare. You traded your comfortable pants for a nice skirt and pair of tights, and your hooded sweatshirt for a turtleneck sweater and a dainty necklace. A pair of black boots replaced what you always wore to travel. And then all you had to worry about was hair and makeup. If you had more time, you would have styled it. But all you could really afford to do was touch up your lipstick, your mascara and tame any flyaway strands. Then, if you felt ready or not, it was time to leave.

Hand in hand, you walked with Vince down the sidewalks of Seattle. The restaurant was nearby, leaving you to enjoy the crisp autumn air that mingled with the smell of rain that had fallen and the scent of fallen leaves as they weighed down wet and heavy on the sidewalk. The wet pavement reflected the amber glow of the streetlights that flirted with the red, yellow and greens of the stoplights in your path. You admired every detail of the city Vince called his second home, small talk that didn’t really feel like small talk slipping from your lips. After months apart, there was so much for you to share, to catch up on, but the moment you walked through the restaurant doors and Vince’s hand fell from yours, the air became heavy, silent.

“Reservation under Dunn,” he spoke to the hostess, who greeted him with a soft smile and eyes that were only for him. You watched her for a moment, her everything the very opposite of you. It made your stomach sink as his smile matched hers, so easily — so effortlessly it seemed like more than just being nice.

Slowly, you slipped off your coat and hung it over your arms and hugged it to your chest. It was like a blanket of armor as you followed Vince through the restaurant like his shadow. You kept your head down, watching his heels, and scared to look up as the clamour of your table grew loud. It was only a small group of his friends, none of whose faces you recognised, but it sounded like an entire team. Four men, all comfortable in their seats with no girlfriends, only empty bottles to keep them company.

One hand slipped out from beneath your coat, reaching out to Vince for even a semblance of comfort, but he was already out of reach taking his seat at the table.

“Sorry, we're late,” Vince said casually. “Someone had to change.”

You had the sudden urge to vomit, the embarrassment all consuming as you draped your jacket over the last empty chair at the table. It was at the very corner of the table at one end. Vince sat to your right, and there was an empty walkway to your left.

He introduced you by name, before nodding around the table to each of his friends. Tye, Brandon, Ryan and Shane. Some of them offered subtle nods, others a simple hello as you seated yourself at the table and suddenly you felt out of place. As Vince fell into conversation with his friends, you felt like nothing more than a decoration as you glanced over the menu. Around you, the laughter felt distant, and the conversation felt impossible to contribute to. Your shoulders felt heavy with the feeling that you didn’t quite fit in, and it had you desperate or any kind of comfort.

You reached for Vince’s hand under the table, seeking his touch and reassurance. It brushed over the top of his thigh before flipping, laying your palm open for his hand to take. His hand dropped from the table, but instead of taking yours, he gently took you by the wrist and placed your hand back in your lap. And he left it there, untouched.

Your front teeth bit down on your lip to keep your mouth from falling open. His actions sent your heart sinking so deeply into your chest that you felt empty. Dread was all-consuming, and your embarrassment was so heavy that you thought about grabbing your coat and walking towards the door. Instead, you reached out for the glass of red wine in front of you. You took a long sip and tried to swallow that knot that formed in your throat down with it as you fought back the tears that threatened to spill.

When the server brought you your plate, you didn’t touch it, and once your first glass of wine was empty, you didn’t indulge yourself in another. The laughter, the conversations, even the clinking of silverware continued all around you, but you didn’t do more than breathe and stare at the empty glass that had nothing more than a single drop of wine resting at the very bottom. It was mere background noise as you retreated into your thoughts, heavy and spiraling.

Your silence followed you from the table and hung heavily over you and Vince on the walk back to his place. The autumn rain had left the streets glistening, and there was a chill in the air that left your skin prickled with goosebumps. As the temperature dropped, rain became glistening snow, and Vince’s hand reached out to yours as the two of you walked alone in the streets, but you didn’t take it. Not after he had made you feel the way he had, and your mind was spinning with questions you weren’t sure how to ask.

But the moment you arrived back at Vince’s place. His words cut through the silence.

“Why are you so pissed off?” Vince almost sounded offended, and if you weren’t so angry, you might have laughed at him.

You kicked off your shoes at the door, leaving them toppled over, before you walked away from him and to the kitchen with your left overs that your stomach was aching for. Your shoulders shrugged as you opened the fridge and tucked them away. When you closed it, Vince was leaning up against the cupboard just on the other side, waiting for answers.

“I’m not pissed off. Who said I was pissed off?” You answered him with a question of your own, your words firm and heavy with the hurt that still hung over you.

“Cause you’re acting pissed off,” Vince huffed, his hand reaching up to push through his curls, “Is it because of my friends? Because they were super fucking nice to you-”

“I liked your friends. I never said I didn’t like your friends,” you set him straight quickly. “I didn’t like the way you acted around them.”

“What do you mean?” His face softened, perplexed.

You laughed out a short and hollow ha as you circled in the kitchen. You couldn’t stand still.

“You didn’t even look at me once!” Your voice raised, though you were trying your best not to yell.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed.

“You didn’t say one to thing the entire night-”

“That’s such bullshit, and you know it,” he punctuated his words with your name, and it only made them sting more.

“And you dropped my fucking hand! What am I supposed to do with that?” Your voice strained as you grew closer and closer to tears.

“I didn’t even fucking notice–What are you talking about?” Vince’s brow furrowed. “I was catching up with my friends! What are you trying to make this entire night about you?”

It was at that moment you wanted to scream, because the night was supposed to be about you. He was the one who flew you out to Seattle just to see you. To show you the city and introduce him to his friends, his team, his life! And suddenly, this trip wasn’t all about you.

“You’re being so fucking selfish.” His words stung like a slap.

You stilled for the first time since coming in the door, and your head cocked to the side as you looked at Vince with narrowed eyes. “Oh, I’m selfish?”

“Right now, that’s exactly what’s happening!”

Your face went blank, wearing a doe eyes stare as you were suddenly void of any anger as you looked at him. You held only disbelief—had he just yelled at you?

Just as quickly as his tone shocked you, Vince’s voice softened. “Don’t look at me like that…” his words were a gentle plea as he came up beside you, his arms slipping around your waist to pull you into him.

You stood with your back against his chest, your arms hugging over his as he kissed the back of your neck softly. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “about dinner… About everything. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

His words were soothing, easing you into a forgiveness that you shouldn’t have wanted to give him. But you hadn’t wanted to fight, you had simply just wanted Vince to hear you and he had. He was sorry.

You let Vince turn you around in place slowly, his soft playful smile on his face and bringing one to your own. “I’m sorry,” you muttered into his shoulder as you let yourself cling to him, but Vince only let you hug him for so long. Too soon he was pulling back, but his touch didn’t leave you. Instead, he turned you around in place, and swayed with you to the hum of the refrigerator like it was music.

His sudden playfulness coaxed an easy laugh from your lips as you stumbled over your own feet. He caught you with ease and led you into a dance that eased the tension that had built up during the night. It lifted the heaviness that weighed down on your chest and your shoulders, and in that moment you were back to feeling like yourself in his embrace.

This was the Vince you travelled all the way to Seattle for.

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, your voice soft but teasing as you looked up at him.

Vince grinned, twirling you slowly one last time before his hands settled on your waist. He pulled you in close, the warmth of his body enveloping you in its embrace and the world beyond his door, cold and distant. It was just the two of you, and for now, that was enough.

With a simple glance down at your lips, Vince drew you in. It wasn’t his touch, or his words, but his mere gaze drew your lips to his in a kiss you had been craving since your flight had landed. At first the kiss was soft and gentle, like his apology. But it quickly became laced with hunger, with the caress of his tongue against your lips, and you could not deny him—because denying him would also be denying yourself.

Vince picked you up with ease, his hand squeezing the soft flesh of the back of thighs as he moved blindly through his apartment. You didn’t know where he was taking you until you were laying flat against his mattress with his body climbing on top of you. Your legs parted, making room for his body against yours as he knelt there, stripping his plaid shirt from his body to begin the pile of clothes on the floor. Then he’s hovering over you, kissing your lips, and down. Down over the angle of your jaw earning a desperate pant from your lips.

His every kiss against your skin was like striking a match, and the breath that followed the oxygen to keep the fire burning. As he kissed lower, he peeled each article of clothing you wore from your body and let it join his plaid shirt on the floor. You were naked before you could even think to pull his loose white t-shirt from his shoulders. Your eyes flickered away from his face, admiring his body as he revealed it to you. Still strong, still toned, just a little more bruised and a little less rested than the last time he had you. You stroked over his chest with a featherlight touch of your fingers and you watched his face melt in relaxation. It eased Vince back from you, his hand falling to his belt.

The leather whipped from the restraints of Vince’s belt loops with a flicker of a sound, and with the simple motions of his thumb, his pants were slipping down his hips. You reached to where they rested with eager hands, gripping at the leather and pushed them down the strength of his thighs. The denim pooled there until he picked it free, his own eager hands pushing down his briefs next before he was between your thighs.

“Vince,” you breathed out his name, your heart racing against your chest as it heaved a desperate breath.

He echoed his name with your own, a single hand reaching up to push your hair from your face with the gentle caress of his hand. You nuzzled into it, as you felt the weight of his body so fully against your own. Then, your lips parted in a soft moan and left his skin marked with your favorite shade of red lipstick as he made you his own.

You had imagined the moment many times in your head.

Entering Climate Pledge Arena, as much more than a fan. You had pictured it differently each time. Sometimes you had a special jacket, custom made and embellished with the glimmer of gems or embroidery. Other times, you wore a Kraken jersey with DUNN sprawled across your back. But in every scenario, all knew who you were there to watch your boyfriend Vince Dunn—though the two of you had yet to use the label. And you’d finally get to meet the other wives and girlfriends of Vince’s teammates. The warm and fuzzy feeling of being welcomed into the tight-knit circle of wives and girlfriends was something you daydreamed about. You hoped for instant connections, for friendships that felt like sisterhood—but harsh realities quickly betrayed your imagination.

You didn’t wear a fancy new jacket.

There was no jersey for you to wear.

And while the arena was buzzing with excitement, the energy of the crowd was not enough to ease the anxiety that bubbled inside you as you reached your seat. Your seat was in the middle of the crowd, with no one expecting you or welcoming you among them, and it left your mouth tasting sour. You were just another fan in the stands.

Forcing a smile, you sat among them, your hands gripping the edge of your seat with a knuckle-white grasp. You watched as the teams took the ice, your eyes naturally drawn to Vince in his uniform. He skated with the same ease and confidence that had drawn you in that first night the two of you had met. He looked so focused, so in his element, and for a moment you forgot about the uneasiness deep in your stomach and felt proud. Proud to be there, supporting him, proud of who he was.

But not even the pride could keep the doubt from seeping in as you sat there alone in the crowd of strangers. You glanced around the seats in your section, your ice shifting from the left, to the right and to the left again as your breathing swallowed. All around you, you noticed clusters of women scattered throughout the stands. They were laughing, chatting with each other as they sipped their beer and wine. It was almost enough to make you smile until you saw DUNN written across one of their backs and the look on her face. She was looking at him like her seat wasn’t high above the ice. Like he could see the batting of her thick lashes and the coy smile on her lips as she ogled him. And she looked at him like that because nobody knew about you - because she thought that she might have a shot.

Sinking into your seat, you felt small, alone.

The feeling hung over you as the game unfolded in front of you, but the excitement you should have felt didn’t reach you. You focused on Vince, watching how effortlessly he moved on the ice. You clapped when he made a good play, and cheered when the Kraken scored, but the joy felt hollow. By the time the final buzzer rang, and the Kraken celebrated their victory down at ice level; you were unmoving in your seat, unsure how to feel.

The eruption of cheers and applause, the post game high, was lost on you as you stood in the crowd of thousands in a daze. You moved with the crowd as the arena emptied, your hand grasping your phone tight in your hand, waiting for a message from Vince to come. It took thirty minutes of waiting outside the front of the arena for a message to bring your phone to life. You were cold, one hand on your phone while the other clutched your coat tight around your neck to keep yourself from catching a chill. He told you where to meet him, and as you walked along the sidewalk, you had to keep telling yourself this was just one game. But the hollow feeling lingered until Vince pulled up in front of you in his car and got out with such an expression you would have thought he lost you.

“There you are,” he muttered as he got out of the car and wrapped his arms around you. And you fell into him. Your face buried into the strength of his chest and your arms wrapped around him—desperately, pathetically — trying to grasp onto the only thing that made you feel you belonged.

Back home in Toronto, things felt different. With each passing day, you were hearing from Vince less and less. You didn’t wake up each day with a sweet good morning message, and he was no longer the last person you spoke to before you went to bed at night. That was, if you heard from him at all. You tried to tell yourself that it was normal. That he was busy with hockey. His career had a demanding schedule, one that went beyond playing a game almost every other night. You understood that. So it was easy to listen to the excuses he made when he would finally text or call, his stories making you so sympathetic to why it was so hard for him to find the time to connect.

Each time you spoke, it filled you with the same fluttering feelings you had back in the beginnings of autumn. It was a warm feeling that blossomed through you on the coldest of winter days—one of hope of the days to come and fueled by the simple promise he made you: He would call you on your birthday.

Vince had told you he wished he could have been there in person, but his schedule didn’t allow it. You were forced to celebrate it apart, divided by both land and time, but the promise of his call left you floating high on excitement. You clung to the promise all day, watching your phone for any sign of him as you ran your early morning errands and got ready in the afternoon. But as the hours slipped by, the silence from him grew louder.

The sound track of your night was supposed to start with the pop of a bottle of champagne and followed the clamor of cutlery against plates as you and your family friends enjoyed a meal together at your favorite restaurant. Their laughter surrounded you, and yet, like the rest of the noise, it felt distant. Like a mere echo in the back of your mind that felt empty, free of thought, save for the one fact that left you heavy in your chair at the head of the table.

Vince still hadn’t called.

You had to focus on your breathing, forcing a steady breath when you wanted to do nothing more than sob, as you reached for your phone that rested face down on the table. The brightness was low, the subtle glow casting across your face as you checked your phone, hoping for a message, a missed call—anything.

But you found nothing.

Your father, seated beside you, caught your eye. He smiled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes—he must have known something was wrong. He could see it in the way your mood shifted every time you looked down at your phone and found that Vince hadn’t even attempted to get hold of you.

He reached out, his warm hand resting over yours as it rested over your phone. You tried to force a smile, but as you met his gaze, it wavered. His hand squeezed yours gently, trying to offer the smallest comforts to the problem you had yet to tell him - and you didn’t want to tell him. Not when Vince had made such a good first impression when the two of them had met at the wedding months before. The conversation had been natural, and your father had laughed at every single one of his self-effacing jokes. But no one was laughing now.

On the verge of tears you pushed up from the table and let your hand slip away from the gentle hold of your fathers with every intent of running off to the bathroom to cry. But he followed in your wake, his strides on pace with yours as he followed you to the narrow hallway that divided the washrooms from the dining room. There you turned, falling back into his arms as your tears fell. You clutched to him, your fingers straining against his back as you sobbed. And he held you, one hand on your back, and the other on the back of your head, holding it carefully as you sobbed into his chest.

“He promised.” Your voice was strained, and you were sure you could hear his heart fall in his chest.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” your father’s words were soft as he murmured just low enough for you to hear, “I should’ve seen it. Should’ve known.”

You frowned, your eyes blinking back heavy tears as you tilted your head back to look up at your father. “What are you talking about?”

His head shook slowly, solemnly, his grip on you loosening slightly so he could look down at you. “I should have known that boy was no good for you. Only a fool would make you feel like this on your birthday.” His words were soft, but were heavy with regret.

Your throat tightened as you looked away. You hated how he was blaming himself. He didn’t know Vince like you did - or rather, like you thought you did. He didn’t see the way things had been in the beginning - how Vince made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. Your father didn’t hear the promises that he made or the love you had felt. But what he did see were the broken promises and the heavy sorrow and how it consumed you.

But as you stood there in your father’s arms, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was right.

Your body shook with a quake of another sob, your father’s arms constricting around you again as he whispered, “It’s supposed to be fun, turning twenty-one.”

At the end of the night, when your parents had gone home and your friends took your party to a bar, you found your refuge at home. Your apartment was quiet, too quiet, as you closed the door behind you and let the entirety of your weight fall back against it. It was dark. The only light filtering in was from a streetlight outside your living room window. It was almost comforting just to stand there, but being back home alone only gave way for the anxiety to grow. It nagged at you in the back of your mind and consumed you so fully it felt like a snake constricted around your chest.

Your dress felt too tight around your ribs, almost suffocating. In need of any relief, you reached back to pull at the zipper, your fingers slipping along the zipper and the fabric as you struggled. The more you tugged, the more the frustration built. You stumbled on your feet in the doorway, your teeth gritting as you fought back another wave of tears, until finally your heels caught the edge of the rug. With a cry, you dropped to your knees, feeling the cold floor sting as the force rubbed your skin raw. Your vision blurred with tears, your hands clutching at the dress, desperately trying to remove it from your body with such force the zipper broke. It seemed to peel away from your skin, and you pushed it off, panting, leaving yourself to sit naked on the floor consumed by your tears.

You choked back a sob, but it slipped out anyway, filling the silence and drawing the attention of your cat that had been sleeping in your reading chair nearby. The cat perked up with a pur and jumped down to the floor with a soft thud. The little patter of the cat’s feet almost made you smile, and feeling the cat’s soft fur against your leg helped you try to focus on literally anything but your anxiety.

But it could rid you of the loneliness and betrayal you felt deep in your chest. And you were practically reeling at the memories that flooded you. Your mind was an echo chamber of Vince, his perfect smile and his laugh that had always flooded you with a happiness you couldn’t quite explain. It was like being haunted by a ghost of him, one that was born in the death of the man you knew and the birth of the man he really was.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, not on your birthday, not in this way. Not when you thought that maybe you and Vince would be forever.

Your lip quivered as your eyes fell on your purse. It was a small clutch, just large enough for your phone, debit card and a lipstick inside. You reached for it, snatching it up with trembling fingers before you worked on the fastener. It clicked open, your phone screen dark as it rested inside. Slowly, you slipped it out onto one hard and for a second you just stared at it, your thumb hovering over the lifeless screen. Then, with a single press of your thumb, the screen came to life. No notifications greeted you. No messages from Vince. So, you sent him some of your own.

You stared at the sent messages, your eyes burning with tears that you wiped away with the back of your hand before they could leave trails down your cheeks. A sob slipped out of swollen lips, harsh and aching, as you forced yourself to your feet and finally kicked off your heels. You walked to the bathroom down the hall, and without turning the lights on, prepared to go to sleep. You scrubbed at your face, wiping away what remained of your smeared makeup, each brush of your face cloth harsh like you were trying to erase the entire night from your skin. Then, you brushed your teeth, the mint-flavored toothpaste almost making you gag as you stood bent over the sink.

Finally, you crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, feeling the hollow ache in the depth of your chest. You pressed a hand there, as if it could somehow ease the weight of the day from your heart. The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of your shallow breathing as you tried to force yourself to sleep. But sleep didn’t come, only the tears did. They trickled down your cheeks until you choked on them, feeling the hollow emptiness in the very depths of your being.

Then, in the dead of the night, your phone rang. If you had been asleep, you wouldn’t have heard it at all, beckoning to you from where you had left it on the living room floor. Yet, you didn’t move. You didn’t even open your eyes. You didn’t need to look at the screen to know it was him. Vince. His name pulsed in your mind as if it had its own heartbeat. A pulse that flooded an open wound and did nothing but bleed.

Suddenly, the ringing stopped, leaving a silence that settled like dust. A silence so pure you didn’t even breathe. The desperation for air burned in your chest, and only did you give yourself the relief when you heard the phone ring again. Again and again, like torture. You wanted to scream the very sound, leaving your chest so tight you thought you might have a heart attack - yet you lay there, unmoving.

You had been waiting all night for him to call, but now you only wanted silence. And when it came, when it stayed, exhaustion claimed you, lulling you into sleep and leaving the ache to linger as nothing but a thought as the peace of darkness consumed you.

Healing would come with time, was what you kept telling yourself every time you forced yourself to do anything. You had struggled to do even the littlest things at first. Brush your teeth. Make yourself a meal and eat it. Shower. Each small task had been one you struggled through with heavy exhaustion - and ask you branched back out into the world, a fake smile. But as each day passed, living became just a little easier. Your smile, a little more genuine, even if you still found yourself struggling to feel anything but sorrow below the surface.

The ache that would creep into the depth of your chest, or the nagging thoughts that snuck into the back of your mind, were forgotten when you were with friends. So you surrounded yourself with them whenever you could manage. Once, twice, sometimes three times a week, you found yourself in a crowded bar with your friends. Their voices and laughter swirled around you as you indulged in conversation and a bottle of wine. It was meant to be what it always was; a night to unwind. Somewhere you could go and leave everything else behind for a few hours. But when your phone buzzed on the table, and you couldn’t ignore its insistent, repetitive droning that called to you through the chaos of the bustling bar around you, you looked down and there it was. Vince’s name was on the screen.

It had been a month since the night he left you waiting, hoping for him to reach out with a birthday wish. A month of silence had followed since the message you had sent, ending whatever it was the two of you had shared.

Part of you wanted to ignore him, to let the phone ring and ring until he understood what it felt like to wait on someone who never showed. To be ignored by someone who never seemed to care. But you couldn’t deny that a part of you wanted closure.

Excusing yourself from the table, ignoring the looks your friends shot at you, you moved towards the bar’s restrooms. Leaning against the wall just outside, you crossed a single arm tightly across your chest and brought the other up to your ear as you accepted the call from Vince. You stood there, listening to the silence that hung on the line for a moment, stealing seconds from the conversation you were already wishing you hadn’t agreed to.

“Hello?” you whispered in fear that your voice would break if you had tried to be firm with him.

There was a pause. Then Vince spoke, “you picked up.”

You could almost hear the surprise in his voice. He sounded as though he hadn’t expected you to answer at all. And really, you shouldn’t have.

“What do you want, Vince?” You asked, your voice wavering as you shut your eyes tight. Just hearing his voice reignited all the feelings you had tried to cast aside. He made your heart race with all the same excitement as he had before, a high you would forever chase just for even a sliver of the feelings he had once given you. And maybe if it were another time, or another place, you would have let yourself fall back into him. To let his lies and betrayals fool you again. But you couldn’t, not while the wounds were still fresh.

“I miss you,” he said. His words were soft, almost pleading. And you almost scoffed as you gripped your ribcage just a little tighter. “I know I messed up,” he continued, “but I swear, I’m gonna change. Trust me.”

You let out a slow breath, your eyes cast out over the bar, staring back at the booth where all of your friends sat waiting, wondering where you had run off to. You focused on them, in a desperate attempt to ignore how the weight of his words were heavy on old wounds that were almost scars. Cutting them back open like a knife…but he would just leave you bleeding. Again. But you could still feel the weight of his words; Trust me. They echoed through you, but they felt hollow, disingenuous. You wanted to believe them, but you know you couldn’t. Not when they were leaving his lips.

Silence stretched between you, the kind that begged for a response, and you bit the inside or your cheek, trying to gather the courage to really end things. Your lips parted, a heavy breath near bringing you to a tremble before Vince’s words stole the air right from you.

“I still love you,” he spoke quickly.

The words cut through you, sharp and clear and desperate. He had never said those words before. The two of you had never put a label on what you had shared, and yet, the way he threw still in front of them stung. He said it as if you’d had something real, something that was worth keeping. And maybe, once upon a time, when the autumn leaves still hung in beautiful colors of red and gold before they fell into place like puzzle pieces on the ground, you might have called it love too. But now, as you stood there, alone, hiding away from your friends at the bar because you knew talking to him after all he would have put you through would upset them. You felt the truth settle over you.

Vince didn’t love you, he never did. Not really. Not in the way you had needed because during the short time you were together, he had always left you feeling like there should be more.

You gripped your phone tightly, letting the realization sink in. Every broken promise, every unanswered call, it brought you to this moment. And as each time Vince had let you down hung heavily over you, you found your voice, “we are never getting back together. Ever.”

The words felt final, grounding, like an anchor you could hold on to. You finally felt like you weren’t stuck in the same cycle of waiting for his text or call, the high of just getting to hear from him, followed by the lows of waiting for the next call. There would be no more uncertainty of never knowing where the two of you stood. What the two of you were. Now, you could walk away from Vince without looking back and wondering what if? Because the reality of it all was that Vince would never change.

There was a long pause, and on the other end of the call you could only hear his breath as he tried to find the right words for him to say in the space you had left for him. He was trying to think of the right words to reel you back in, to prove to you that things would be different. Until the next time he would miss your call, or break the promise that would leave you crying on the living room floor. But you listening to his empty promises, not this time.

“Goodbye, Vince.”

You hung up before he could say anything more.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and let out a breath that could only be defined by relief. And as you walked back to your friends, something felt different. The weight you had been carrying had finally been lifted and, for the first time in a long time, you felt free of the burdens that came with loving Vince.

Your favorite downtown coffee show bustled with the sounds of clinking mugs and soft conversations, but you were lost in your own world, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. You sipped your latte, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals, casting a haze between your stare and the phone screen. The feed was the same as it always was, cat videos, the latest fashion trends and posts from your family and friends. Each one left you feeling warm as you were curled up in the seat, away from the harsh, cold Ontario winter that waited just outside for you on the coffee shop doorstep. But the warmth left you, if only for a moment, when a familiar name popped up on your feed. Vince.

You hadn’t made him much more than a passing thought since the night you ended things with him for good. And while the memory of him lingered, and was consuming on nights you lay alone with nothing more than your anxieties as you craved him, you had tried to rid your life of every bit of him. Yet, you’d forgotten to unfollow him on Instagram.

You took a long sip, the sweet latte not enough to rid your mouth of the bitterness on your tongue. It had been three months since that night you said your last goodbye. You should have just kept scrolling past and onto the next funny cat video that would fill you with laughter instead of dread—but against your better judgment, you let your curiosities win and you clicked to view his profile.

Vince had never posted all that often. You had noticed that since the moment you creeped his feed the night you first met him. His pictures were few and far in between. But there it was, something new - pictures from his vacation during the All-Star break. You chewed your lower lip as you scrolled through the carousel of pictures and your stomach clenched. There, in one photo, was Vince, smiling, with his arm slung around another woman. You couldn’t see her face as she looked away from the camera, but you could tell by the exposed skin of her body in nothing but an itty-bitty bikini that she was probably younger, vibrant and beautiful. The sight of them together hit you like a punch in the gut.

It shouldn’t have, but it did. Because it was you who ended things. Yet, you sat alone in the coffee shop still struggling with the memories of him while he was so quick to move on with someone new. It hurt, but it solidified what you knew all along. He didn’t love you, he never had.

Your chest tightened as you swiped through more pictures, your heart sinking deeper and deeper with each one. He never took pictures with you, not any he had shared on social media where anyone of his friends and fans could see. He had never made your relationship public beyond that one night in September when you had met his family. You had been his best kept secret that he hid away from the world, while your love for him had been at oath.

Seeing him with someone else left you feeling hollow. Sitting up straight in your seat, you told yourself that you let him go a long time ago. That the magic the two of you had found on those late summer nights faded and died with fall. That magic had been replaced with doubt and hurt. Hurt that you told yourself had healed, but it felt like a lie as you stared at the pictures of Vince happy with someone else.

“You’re okay,” you whispered to yourself in a stuttering breath. But you weren’t fine. Not at all.

Tears blurred your vision, and before you could stop it, a tear burned its way down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, but it was too late to stop the ache from rising in your throat. The beginning of a sob rested at the back of your throat as you grabbed your bag and coat, and abandoned your half-empty cup of latte on the table. You disappeared into the bathroom, arching over the sink only to see the streaks of mascara down each of your cheeks.

In the reflection of the mirror, you dabbed at your tear-streaked face with a cheap tissue. It stuck to your skin, forcing you to pick little white tufts of cotton from your cheek as the door swung open. You jumped slightly, startled as you tried to turn away from the door so whoever it was wouldn’t see the distress in your eyes—but as your eyes flicked up to the mirror, the sight of someone familiar met you. Your friend, your best friend, the one who had introduced you to Vince. The two of you had drifted apart when you were spending so much time with him, and later, when the weight of losing him had made you withdraw from everyone. You had tried to reconnect with so many of your other friends since then, but you couldn’t with her. Not when she was still so closely connected with Vince.

Her face lit up when she saw you, and before you could fully find your composure, she was wrapping you in a warm hug. “It’s been too long,” she said into your hair as you did your best to choke back every ounce of feeling that wanted to consume you. Slowly, she took a step back to look at you. “I don’t think we’ve seen each other since the wedding! You were so smitten with Vince that I didn’t even get to say goodbye before we left for the honeymoon. What happened between you two, anyway?”

Her words stung like a fresh cut through the wounds you’d tried so hard to heal. You stood there a moment, feeling paralyzed, the tears welling up in your eyes again, but you forced a smile. It was the same practiced smile you had been wearing for months.

“It just didn’t pan out,” you lied. You would spare her all the sad details. Quickly, you glanced down at your phone as if you were checking the time. “I’m sorry. I have somewhere I need to be.”

Her smile faltered, but she nodded, sensing the awkwardness in the air. “Of course. Let’s catch up soon, though, okay?”

You nodded quickly before slipping past her, leaving the bathroom and uncomfortable conversation behind. You didn’t return to your table. Instead, you went straight out the front door of the coffee shop and were greeted by the cold winter air. You let out a long exhale as the itchiness in the air hit you. Your breath left you in a soft cloud, and snow fluttered gently as it fell in glittering flakes. There was a peace in the cold that left you pulling your coat tighter around you, but it didn’t ease the ache in your hearts as you walked along the narrow snowy city sidewalks alone. And you truly were surrounded by no one. The streets were empty, as strangers sought refuge from a growing storm in the homes, storefronts or restaurants nearby. It truly mirrored just as lonely as you felt inside.

You kept your head down, and your hand clutched around your bare neck as you walked home. Your steps slipped and stuttered right up to the doorstep of your apartment. It was your only moment of stability as your caretaker had cleared the cement and spread sand out over the street. The icy winds gave you one last embrace as you dug your keys from your purse and let yourself inside. You stomped your feet free of snow in the entryway before walking up multiple flights of stairs. When you reached your floor, you looked up and down the narrow apartment hallway, and to your door at the end. There, a large box rested on the floor. You weren’t expecting a package. You approached it slowly and dropped to your knees in front of it. It wasn’t outside the wrong suite; it was addressed to you. Then you looked at the return address. Seattle.

You were slow to pick it up, and even considered leaving it in the hallway, but ultimately your curiosity won. You carried it inside, your cat greeting you as you entered by rubbing against your legs, and you placed it down on the kitchen table. Then you reached down and petted your cat casually, but your eyes never once left the package.

You took off your coat, hanging it on a rack by the door, and you kicked off your boots and left them on a heap on your door mat before you returned to the table. You stepped in a cold puddle you had created; the water seeping into your socks as you pulled at the packing tape. It tore open with a satisfying sound, but it wasn't enough to ease the racing of your heart as the box opened and you faced everything Vince had felt the need to return to you. Carefully you removed each item—Things you had left behind in Vince’s apartment, thinking that one day you’d be back to retrieve them. A tube of red lipstick, one that you quickly learned was his favorite. A pair of socks that you couldn’t find in the rush to pack your bags before heading to the airport for your flight home. CDs that had found a home in his glove compartment during your late summer drives. Each item brought back a memory, pulling you deeper and deeper into the memories of your time together.

But something was missing. The scarf you had forgotten at his family’s house that first night you were left feeling that what the two of you shared was love. It wasn’t there.

Everything else was, though. Every little thing that tied you to him, neatly packed away and shipped back to you, like trash to be discarded. What forced you to remember the early days of your love—the days that were filled with laughter, and the nights where he made you his own—they were supposed to be the beginning of something real. They were memories that you once held so fondly in your heart, but they only brought you heartache now. And Vince? Him sending them back to you made you feel like he had never really felt anything at all.

You stood there, over the box, staring at it. It’s emptiness and how the timeline of your love was spread in the mess over the tabletop—you had it all, all but the one item that symbolized the beginning of it all. And suddenly, it was too much. Your hands trembled as you stepped back from the table.

You stumbled down the hall and fell into your bed. Curling up, you hugged your knees to your chest, a crumpled piece of paper laying there as your tears flowed freely. You sobbed into your pillow, trying so desperately to let the memories of Vince go. They hurt too much to keep, but a part of you knew they were too precious to let go. You remembered it all, every little detail, and it consumed you, leaving you shattered. You had given him so much, and in the end, you were left with nothing but the memories of a love that would never last.

It was all too much. It was all too real. And you couldn’t help but wonder: The love you shared, did it maim him too?

Vince pulled open his dresser drawer with one hand while he tugged at his loose shirt collar with the other. He rifled through it carelessly, disturbing every neatly folded tie, looking for just the right one to match his suit on game day. His fingers moved quickly, digging deeper, searching for a color he had only worn once or twice—there, deep beneath the silk, the cashmere and the cotton, his hand brushed against something soft. Something he hadn’t touched in months.

At the bottom of the drawer, hidden away from anyone who decided they could snoop through his drawers, was the scarf you had left behind at his brother’s house all those months ago. Vince stopped to stare at it first, the bright red scarf so vibrant against the blacks, blues and greens of his eyes. Then he reached out, letting his fingers curl around the familiar fabric as he drew it from the darkness of the drawer out into the light of his bedroom. He stroked it slowly, only looking away from it when there was a clamour in the next room.

Vince had almost forgotten he had a guest.

His new fling was getting ready for the game in the bathroom. She was probably making a mess of something, and he could hear her humming softly as she applied her makeup and did her hair. She wouldn’t be sitting with the other wives and girlfriends—just like you, she would sit alone. And she would be but a memory in a week, maybe two weeks, if he was feeling generous. Even with that in mind, he didn’t need her walking in on him now, as he thought of you.

Vince watched the half-open door of his bedroom as he gripped the scarf in his fist. He could hear her shuffling around, and the sound of her heels clicking against the floor. As she stood there, staring at the scarf, he remembered that night he met you at dinner. How you had worn such a shy smile, but spoke with such confidence. He remembered how your smile would grow as you tried not to laugh at his jokes, and how you would fix the scarf around your neck just right on the days there were still summer, but so close to fall. It had still smelt of you the day his sister-in-law had returned it to him during the break for the holidays.

He lifted it up to his face slowly, inhaling deeply. The scent of you had only begun to fade, the traces of you still lingering enough to make his chest tightened with a familiar ache.

A heavy sighed rocked his shoulders as his grip loosed on the scarf. He had left the fabric wrinkled, but he smoothed them away with a certain care. He held it in both hands, ready to tuck it back where it hid for so long he had forgotten it was there. But as he lowered his hand, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Something made him stop. The scarf. Your scarf. It paired with his game day suit perfectly. A black jacket and pants with a white button down top. It was the pop of color he needed.

Vince draped it around his shoulders, the wool settling around him like a ghost of your embrace. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he adjusted it just right, the scent of you right under his nose, reminding him of what it smelt like to have his face buried in your soft hair. He smoothed it down carefully before turning away from the mirror and looking out the bedroom door. There, a shadow stretched across the hallway - his fling was lingering, ready to leave and completely unaware of the significance of what he had decided to wear to the game that night.

Putting on a smile, he stepped out of the room, the scarf resting over his heart—a quiet reminder of the love that had been, and the love he had lost.