#i hope he gets the conn smythe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eightmakar · 2 years ago

Text

celebrations | c.m.

Pairing: Single Dad!Cale Makar

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: cursing, drinking, celebrating

A/N: this is the prequel to accidental blessing (18+)! all i could think about during the Stanley Cup celebrations was Cale with Willow so I wrote Willow into it. hope yall enjoy :)

tags: @bitchinbarzal @burkymakar @nateslehky @taking-shots @fallinallincurls @jostyriggslover96 @hockeylvr59 @matbaerzal @capsvsducks @xsyntheticsensation @corneliaskates @equallyshaw

One minute.

Cale’s heart pounded as Tampa kept the puck in the zone. EJ came off the ice, Toewser hopped on, but Mans stayed. Cale watched him intently, doing everything he could to keep his eyes off the clock and his mind off the fact that they were less than a minute from winning the fucking Stanley Cup.

Nate and Toewser tied up the puck on the far boards, allowing time to tick down. Tampa desperately fought to clear the puck out of the mess of skates. They didn’t lay down and die quietly, and Cale knew that every second Tampa spent in their offensive zone was an opportunity for them to tie the game up.

30 seconds.

Nate cleared the puck down the ice, and Mans came rushing to the boards for a change. Cale leapt over the boards and raced into position while Val chased down the puck. The referee waved off icing, to Tampa’s dismay, but Hedman calmly picked up the puck and carried it down the ice. He passed Palat the puck and in an instant, Cale was on him.

Cale shoved his weight against Palat and reached around him for the puck. He landed a small poke check—enough to get the puck out of the zone and make Palat panic. He tried to recover, failed, and sent the puck deep into his own zone.

Ten seconds.

Bending his knees as low as he could go, Cale charged towards the puck. A Tampa player technically beat him to it, so Cale hip-checked him into the boards and shoved his body between his opponent and the puck. Tied up in his skates, two more Tampa players joined the desperate skirmish for the puck. One of them finally took control of the puck and cleared it out. The puck crossed the blue line, but it didn’t matter.

They did it.

They fucking did it.

Cale threw his stick in the air, gloves flying somewhere on the ice as he leapt up in celebration. He made his way across the ice, screaming, and joined the pile of teammates against the boards. Hands grabbed at jerseys, slapped at shoulders, ruffled hair, screaming and shouting filling all of their ears.

They did it.

Cale hugged teammate after teammate, but his mind was on someone else: Willow. Every time he tried to strain his neck and look for his family, someone else came to hug him and speak to him, which naturally made him stop to celebrate once again. Finally, he was able to break away and skate over to where he could see his family.

Willow sat up on Taylor’s shoulders, wearing his burgundy hat backwards, and Cale’s eyes prickled with tears. Her uncle’s hat was much too large for her tiny head and made her look even smaller. Taylor saw Cale and excitedly pointed down to him, making Willow’s tiny face scrunch to see him, so Cale waved dramatically so she could see him. Her face lit up the moment she saw him and waved back with one hand while her other hand clutched a handful of Taylor’s hair. Cale blew her a kiss, then was called away by his team to go through the handshake line.

The handshakes all blurred together. Cale felt like he was walking—well, skating—through a dream. He congratulated Vasilevsky on a great series, he stopped and said a few extra words to Hedman, and Jon Cooper stopped him to say, “That’s not the only trophy you’ll be lifting tonight.” Cale pressed his lips together and thanked him, but doubted he’d be carrying home any extra hardware. He was content with the Cup.

As he was handed a Stanley Cup Champions hat, someone from operations grabbed him and told him he’d be receiving the Conn Smythe. He was shocked; why him? Why not Nate or Gabe? He didn’t feel he’d played well enough to warrant any extra attention, but as he hugged Sammy on the ice, the booming announcement confirmed what he’d been told.

“Congratulations to the 2022 Conn Smythe Trophy winner, Colorado Avalanche defenseman Cale Makar!”

The boys went wild as he skated over to the pedestal. He stepped onto the black carpet, shook the presenter’s hand, and lifted the trophy for a photo. He skated the trophy over to the bench, handed it off to the same operations person who’d told him he won. He tried to look at his family again, but several people were blocking them as they hugged and congratulated them.

Nate greeted him as he rejoined the boys, hugging him, then Gabe and Mikko, all telling him how much he deserved it and how proud they were of him. Cale smiled and thanked them, but all he wanted was to hug his baby girl. He kept glancing back up at the stands where she sat on Taylor’s shoulders, and he silently thanked his brother for putting her somewhere he could see her.

Then it was time. It was time to raise the Stanley Cup.

Gabe skated over after the presenter said a few words that Cale really didn’t process. He picked up the Cup, fireworks exploding behind him, and then hoisted it over his head. The boys screamed with him as he skated around them and showed the Cup off to the crowd. He returned to the crowd of guys, and handed the Cup to EJ.

Cale clapped and cheered and yelled for his friends and teammates. For Cogs, for Nate and Jack, for Naz, who got fought through threats and injuries to be able to hoist the Cup. He yelled a little louder when Helmer handed the Cup to Toewser, grinning widely at his d-partner. Toewser handed it off to Val, Val to Frankie, and then it was Cale’s turn.

Frankie handed the shining Cup to Cale. He skated forward, then lifted it up over his head, grinning bigger than he thought he’d ever grinned before. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d imagined this very moment, this very feeling of joy and pride. The Cup was heavier than he’d expected, heavier than Willow was.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he looked up at his family in the stands. Willow, still perched on Taylor’s shoulders, hand in his hair, waved at him and blew him a kiss, mimicking what he’d done before. His parents had their phones out, but they waved too. Taylor simply put up one finger at him, grinning.

Cale rejoined his teammates and passed the Cup to Comph. He stood in the middle of his friends, the people he’d battled with for eighty-two regular season games and twenty post-season games. His brothers. He couldn’t be happier to see them celebrating, couldn’t be happier to be able to share this with them.

Reporters had swarmed the ice and were interviewing as many guys as they could. Now that he’d had his turn, the reporters started asking him for interviews. He felt like he said the same things to everyone, that it hadn’t sunk in yet, that he was happy to be able to share this with the guys, and what he wanted to do with the Cup.

One reporter asked him about Willow, and he grinned. Glancing up in the stands again, Cale noticed that Willow, Taylor, and his parents were gone. Had they been told to leave? They shouldn’t have, not when so many of his teammates hadn’t gotten to raise the Cup yet. He frowned a bit, but was sure he’d see them at the hotel later, and continued his interview until he was summoned to go take a group photo with the Cup.

He gasped and laughed as Kubey fell and dropped the Cup. Dozens of photographers captured the moment, the shock of seeing the base of the Cup hit the ice. Cale and his teammates grinned widely, holding up one finger to the cameras. After what felt like forever, they dispersed, some guys going off for more interviews, others mingling with each other.

Cale meandered around the ice, trying to take everything in. He noticed a small mob of people joining them on the ice, several wearing matching denim jackets, even more wearing jerseys, all holding Stanley Cup Champion flags.

Their families.

Cale skated against the flow of people, carefully weaving through them and craning his neck in search of his family. He furrowed his brows as he searched. Had they passed each other and didn’t realize it? He turned around to look behind him. Surely he would've seen Taylor towering over some of the wives and girlfriends.

“Daddy!”

Cale whirled around on his skates when he heard the small voice he’d recognize anywhere and nearly fell, earning a giggle from his squealing daughter who was running towards him. Tears began to stream down his face as Willow ran up to him, Taylor’s too-big hat bouncing around on her light hair, clad in her tiny burgundy and blue number eight jersey, black pants, and purple sneakers. Cale knelt down on the ice so Willow could run into his arms.

“Hi Daddy!” Willow squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck as Cale wrapped his arms around her tightly. He lifted his daughter up as he stood, squeezing her even tighter.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Cale croaked through his tears. He readjusted his grip on Willow so his right arm was under her bottom and he could look at her.

Willow’s face scrunched as she registered Cale’s tears. She pointed to them and said, “Daddy sad?”

Cale laughed, but tears continued to flow down his face. “No, baby, Daddy’s not sad, Daddy’s happy. So happy.”

“Oh.”

Cale pulled her head into his face with his free hand and kissed her cheek. “I love you so much,” he whispered to her, kissing her again.

“Wub Daddy,” Willow cooed.

“You found Daddy!”

Cale looked away and grinned when he saw his dad standing in front of him, his mom and Taylor behind him, all grinning with tears in their eyes. “She found me,” Cale said.

Gary pulled Cale and Willow in for a huge hug. He patted Cale on the back and whispered through tears, “We’re so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Cale mumbled back. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“We are too.” Gary gazed proudly at Cale, then moved out of the way so Laura could hug him next.

Cale bent down and wrapped his free arm around his mom. She kissed his cheek and squeezed him muttering, “You did it, Cale. You did it.”

He agreed softly, “We did it.”

Taylor excitedly held out his arms before Laura even let him go. He grinned and collected Cale and Willow in his arms, patting Cale’s back and laughing, making Willow giggle at him.

“Look at you!” Taylor exclaimed. He took his hat from Willow’s head and put it back on his own.

Cale reached up and fixed her Avalanche bow. It had been flattened by Taylor’s hat, but Willow didn’t seem to mind. Her jersey started riding up, too, so Cale tugged it down and kissed her forehead again.

“Daddy happy!” Willow said and grabbed Cale's cheeks.

“Yeah, Willow, Daddy’s happy. Do you remember how I told you about the big, shiny Cup? The one that’s as tall as you are? That we can eat pancakes and ice cream out of?”

Willow nodded.

“Daddy won that Cup,” Cale explained, choking up. “Do you see it over there?”

Willow leaned backward in Cale’s arms, looking where he pointed, at EJ holding the Cup. “Pwetty!” she gasped.

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” Cale smiled. “Soon, we get to have a whole day with it, just for us. We’re gonna go to Gamma and Gampa’s house in Calgary and have a party. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Cow-gawy fun,” Willow commented. The Makars laughed at her statement.

“You’re right, Willow,” Gary agreed. He opened his mouth to keep speaking, but someone yelled Cale’s name.

Cale jerked around, making Willow giggle, in search of whoever called for him. It was another reporter, and she asked politely if he would mind doing another quick interview.

“Do you mind if I have guests?” Cale asked, bouncing Willow in his arms.

“Not at all,” the reporter said.

Cale skated over to her, holding Willow in his right arm. She shyly buried her face into his neck and shoulder when she realized the reporter was there, making Cale chuckle. He waved Taylor over as the reporter went live.

“Alright guys, we are live here with Cale Makar,” she started. “Cale, I know the big trophy was what you wanted, but how did it also feel to be named the Conn Smythe winner?”

Taylor joined him and casually wrapped an arm around his brother, sandwiching Willow between them, as Cale answered, “Yeah, I mean, yeah, this is my brother here, obviously drafted by the Avs, too, and this is my daughter, Willow. But, I mean, it’s just so awesome to have family here, and I mean, that’s not an individual award, it’s a team-based thing, just guys, guys working together. And, um, I mean, we got the big one, which was the Stanley Cup so that’s all that matters.” Cale readjusted Willow in his arms and she stuck her thumb in her mouth like she did when she was nervous.

“How proud are you of your brother?” the reporter held out her microphone to Taylor and asked.

Taylor grinned. “I can’t even speak,” he said. “It’s been—it’s been his dream ever since we were playing mini sticks in our—in our living room, banging up the walls and stuff like that. I just can’t even speak, I’m so proud of him.”

“Willow,” the reporter asked softly and kindly, “how proud are you of your dad?”

Willow’s eyes went wide. She sat up and looked at Cale, for permission or encouragement or both.

“It’s okay,” he said. “What do you think about the Stanley Cup?”

Willow put her hands up in celebration. “Daddy happy!” she exclaimed.

“What are we gonna do with the Cup?” Cale continued. “What are we gonna eat out of it?”

“Pancakes!”

“That’s right,” Cale laughed. “And what else?”

“Ice cweam!”

“Yeah,” Cale pulled her in and kissed her head, “We’re gonna eat pancakes and ice cream out of the Stanley Cup. Are you proud of me?”

Willow nodded enthusiastically, and the reporter laughed.

“Thanks, Willow,” she said. “Cale, to hoist that trophy after everything you guys have been through, what did that mean to you?”

Cale answered, “I mean, I’ve said it time and time again, I’m just so proud of these guys in the room, the guys that have been through this year after year of ups and downs, of Landy, Nate, EJ, and Mikko and everybody that’s been here for a while, and I’m just so proud and I’m happy that I could be a part of that success for those guys in this pure joy right now.”

“Cale Makar, thank you so much,” the reporter said.

Cale smiled, thanked the reporter, and skated back over to his parents, Willow still in his arms, Taylor treading behind him. Gary and Laura were smiling when they returned, and Cale noticed them both wiping away more tears.

“I hope we get that video,” Gary said. He wrapped an arm around Cale like Taylor had during the interview, just on the other side of his body, the one Willow wasn’t curled into.

“Cale!” someone called.

Cale whipped around and saw Toewser holding the Cup. He jerked his head to indicate that Cale should come over, so Cale kissed Willow on the forehead, said, “Daddy will be right back,” and handed her to Taylor to hold. His heart sank when he heard a sad little cry as he skated away.

Cale skated up next to Toewser, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and took hold of the bottom of the Cup so they could take photos together. Glancing back at his family, he was grateful to realize that Taylor had immediately redirected Willow; instead of her being upset that Cale had left to take pictures, Taylor had focused her attention on naming various teammates on the ice. He vaguely heard her tiny voice, but he could pick it out anywhere.

“Who’s that?” Taylor asked, pointing to EJ.

“EJ!” Willow declared proudly.

“Who’s that?” Taylor pointed at Nate.

“Nay-tan!”

Cale smiled a little bigger next to Toewser before he handed his end of the Cup back to him and skated back to his family. Willow squealed in delight and leaned towards Cale with her arms outstretched. She grabbed at him with her tiny hands.

“Daddy,” she whined to Taylor. “Want Daddy.”

Taylor replied, “Daddy has to—.”

“It’s okay,” Cale interrupted and held his hands out to him. “C’mere, baby.”

Taylor handed Willow over to Cale. She immediately cuddled into her father, taking her thumb back in her mouth as she leaned her head against his neck.

“She’s lighter than the Cup is.” Cale cracked a grin. “But you can’t touch it, Taylor, it’s bad luck.”

Taylor threw his hands up and grinned back. “I’m not gonna! I’ll touch it when we win it together.”

The celebrations on the ice felt like they lasted a lifetime, and Cale never wanted them to end. Standing on the ice with the people he loved the most, with Willow in his arms, everything felt perfect.

The same operations person, someone from the NHL, found him again and said they needed him for a press conference. He nodded, then turned to Taylor.

“Come with me,” Cale told him.

“Is that okay?” Taylor looked at their parents, almost for permission.

“I’m not doing it without you,” Cale shrugged, “so they can deal.”

Taylor grinned. “Cool.”

“We’ll take her,” Gary said, holding his hands out for Willow.

Cale tried to pass her off to her grandfather, but she clung tightly to his jersey and wailed, “No! Want Daddy!”

“Daddy will be right back,” Cale told her softly. Gary tried to take her and Willow screamed, face red with tears in her eyes.

“Okay, okay,” Cale sighed and pulled her back into his body. She settled back into his neck and rubbed her eyes.

“I can hold her,” Taylor offered with outstretched hands.

“I’ve got her,” Cale protested. “It’ll be fine. I think I’ll have to go to the locker room after, so I’ll see you guys back at the hotel?”

“Sounds good,” Gary said. He hugged Cale and Willow tightly and patted Cale’s back. “So proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Laura hugged him when Gary released him, kissing his cheek again. “We love you so much.”

“I love you guys,” Cale replied and smiled at his mom. “I’ll see you at the hotel. I can’t guarantee I’ll be sober, but I’ll see you there.”

Cale’s family laughed, then Gary said, “You deserve it.” He patted Cale on the shoulder, then Cale skated off toward the bench, Willow in his arms and Taylor trailing behind them.

Stepping off the ice, Cale was ushered through the inner halls of Amalie Arena. Willow sat up in his arms, eyes wide, taking in the photos and murals and posters that decorated the walls in front of her and Cale.

“Wassat, Daddy?” she asked, pointing to a big, white lightning bolt painted on the dark blue wall.

“That’s the other team’s logo,” Cale explained. He pointed to the Avs logo on his chest. “Like this. That’s what they have on their jerseys.”

“Ohhh,” Willow said in awe. She turned around, looked over her shoulder, realized Taylor was behind them, and shrieked, “TayTay!”

“Hey, Will,” Taylor laughed.

They arrived at the press room and walked into the brightness. Willow tucked her head into Cale’s neck again, so he readjusted her in his arms and softly rubbed her back. He sat down at the table next to the Conn Smythe trophy, still holding Willow, Taylor on his other side.

Cale fixed Willow’s bow again as one of the NHL press employees announced, “Conn Smythe trophy winner Cale Makar here to take your questions,” then picked one of the reporters to ask the first question.

“Congratulations, Cale,” the reporter started.

“Thank you,” Cale replied and fidgeted in his chair a bit to adjust Willow in his lap. He was still in full pads, so it was a little awkward, but he made it work.

“You’ve wracked up some hardware,” the reporter continued, “with the Hobey Baker, the Calder, the Norris, and now the Conn Smythe. How grateful are you to this organization?”

“Yeah, I’m so, so grateful just to be part of the success, help the guys who’ve been through the ups and downs of this team succeed. It’s just, um, it’s just surreal. I’m not too worried about this individual stuff, just celebrating the main thing with the boys.”

Cale pointed his thumb at Taylor and grinned. “It’s awesome to be able to have family here, too. This is my brother, Taylor, he’s drafted by the Avs, so he’s gonna be at camp in a couple weeks, so I figured I’d bring him in. And this is Willow, my daughter, she’s two and a half.” He rubbed her back as she shyly peeked at the crowd of people.

“Does your daughter understand what this means to you?” the next journalist asked. “What have you told her?”

Cale laughed, “Yeah, I mean, she gets a little of it. I told her that it’s really old, that if we win it, we get to take it to Calgary and spend the whole day with it. Willow, what are we gonna eat out of the Stanley Cup?” Cale looked down at her, then pulled the microphone toward her.

“Pancakes,” she whispered.

“Tell everyone else,” Cale encouraged, tapping the mic. “Say it here.”

“Pancakes!” Willow said into the mic proudly.

“And?”

“Ice cweam!”

The room laughed and Cale said, “That’s right, baby, we’re gonna eat pancakes and ice cream out of the Stanley Cup. Where are we taking it on our day?”

“Cow-gawy!”

The room laughed again, and Willow decided she was done with Cale. She reached for Taylor with grabby hands, so he tugged her into his arms while Cale answered the next few questions. Taylor even got a question or two, and Cale scoffed when Taylor said he was the hardest person Taylor knew.

Finally, they were excused. Cale led Taylor and Willow out to the hall, then said, “I’m going to the locker room.”

“Cool,” Taylor replied. “I’m gonna find Mom and Dad and I’m guessing we’ll meet you at the hotel.”

“Yep,” Cale smiled. He leaned in to speak to Willow. “I’ll see you back at the hotel with Gamma and Gampa, okay? I love you.”

Willow cried out, “No, Daddy stay!”

“You stay with TayTay, baby,” Cale insisted, kissing her head. “And I’ll see you soon.”

She squirmed in Taylor’s arms, reaching for Cale, and his heart broke as she started crying. Cale knew she was exhausted—it was much past her bedtime, and she hadn’t had a good nap—but he still hated hearing her cry. Taylor held her close and started to walk away, Willow red-faced and sobbing and reaching her tiny hand out for Cale. They turned a corner, and though he couldn’t see her anymore, he could still hear her as he turned and went to the locker room to celebrate.

Cale was drunk.

He grinned as his head swam, obnoxious ski goggles on his head while he walked to the bus. He felt floaty, giggly, and his filter was all but nonexistent. Laughing as Bo yelled at some of the journalists they passed, Cale was silently thankful he wasn’t nearly the lightweight that Bo was. Not that he was a lightweight; people just forgot he went to college and could hold his own with the other college guys like Newy and OC. And that he was Canadian.

The stairs on the bus wobbled as he tried to climb them. Giggling, he held onto the rails and pulled himself onto the bus, then held his hands up and yelled in celebration. He flopped down in a seat and cheered again. As more guys got on the bus, the cheering and yelling continued and grew louder and louder with each teammate.

Cale didn’t realize they were moving until the bus arrived at the hotel. He wandered off the bus, careful on the stairs, and followed his teammates to the ballroom of their hotel. Fans at the bar cheered for them, and he yelled back at them. With alcohol pumping through his brain, he became a different person, someone who didn’t think about every word, who said everything that came to his mind and then some, who was not the innocent person people made him out to be.

When they walked into the ballroom, their families cheered. He beelined for his family, whose backs were all turned, Willow sitting cross-legged on the floor with his mom’s phone in her hand. He hurried up to her and scooped her up, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Daddy!” she shrieked.

“Willow!” he shrieked back. He attacked her with kisses, making her giggle even more before he put his arm under her bottom to hold her

“Smelly,” Willow said, scrunching her nose at Cale.

“You tell him, Will,” Taylor added. “You do reek.”

“Champagne showers will do that,” Cale chuckled. “And I need another drink.”

“I need one, too,” Taylor agreed, “and I don’t think Willow’s leaving you any time soon.”

“Mom? Dad? Drinks?” Cale looked expectantly at his parents.

Gary raised his bottle of beer and said, “I’m good.”

Laura put her hand up and added, “I am too.”

Cale nodded, then floated his way to the bar, Willow in his arms and Taylor trailing behind them. He giggled when he heard Bo and Newy yelling again.

“Funny?” Willow asked him in confusion.

“Bo and Newy are silly,” he giggled to his daughter.

Willow glanced at them, then giggled with Cale as Bo took his suit jacket off to reveal his bare chest and yelled, waving his jacket above his head.

“Daddy’s drunk, Willow,” Taylor teased, stepping up to the bar and asking for two beers from the bartender.

“Dwunk?”

“Daddy feels silly like Bo and Newy,” Cale explained.

“Why?”

Taylor handed Cale one of the beers. “Sometimes,” Cale explained, “grown-ups drink stuff that makes them feel and act silly.”

“Oh,” Willow replied.

Cale took a sip of his beer. “It’s also why I smell funny.”

Willow sniffed Cale, then scrunched her nose again and said, “Yuck. Smelly.”

Cale sniffed Willow back. “You smell like you.”

Taylor snorted. “Okay, weirdo, let’s go.”

They began walking back to their parents, but EJ saw them and screamed, “WILLOW!”

Cale whipped around and Willow giggled, before she yelled back, “EJ!” She leaned forward for him, grabbing out to him, so he took her out of Cale’s arms and plopped her on his shoulders.

“WOO!” EJ yelled, running Willow around the ballroom as she screamed with laughter. “WE DID IT!”

Cale cheered and took his phone out to record. EJ passed Willow to Gabe, who also put her on his shoulders while he began to dance to “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang. She clung to his hair the way she’d clung to Taylor’s at the arena and squealed in delight until she decided she was done with Gabe.

“Nay-tan!” she shouted, leaning for Nate. Gabe’s body tipped to the side a little as Willow leaned, and Cale’s stomach dropped. He jumped past his teammates that were crowded around Gabe with his arms up, ready to catch Willow if she fell. Nate beat him, however, and let Willow slide from Gabe’s shoulders into his arms.

“Jesus Christ,” Cale muttered, heart pounding. Thinking his child was about to fall sobered him up significantly.

Willow cackled and clutched his shirt as Nate danced around with her in one arm. She tried to sing along to the song, but didn’t know the words, so she sang with her toddler gibberish instead. Taylor called it “Willish.”

Cale quickly finished off his beer, and keeping his eyes on Willow, he wandered to the bar for another, then another and another until the floaty, fuzzy feeling was back and the celebrations began to blur away. But one thing didn’t blur away.

They did it.

“Willow, honey, are you ready?” Cale called. “We’ve gotta go.”

Cale and his parents were waiting for Taylor and Willow, who insisted her uncle help her get dressed for the parade through Denver. Cale was secretly worried no one would be there and was anxious to get going.

“Coming!” Willow came running out of her bedroom in a jersey t-shirt with “Makar” and an eight on it—it was far too hot to put her in her jersey. She had on purple shorts to match her purple shoes, her Avalanche bow in her hair, and her little backpack on her shoulders.

Cale grinned at her. “Look at you, cutie!” he said as she ran into his arms and he picked her up. “Did TayTay help you put sunscreen on?”

Willow nodded, “Yep!”

Cale placed a big kiss on her cheek and immediately made a face. Taylor had, in fact, slathered her in sunscreen.

“Jesus, Taylor, did you bathe her in sunscreen?” Cale exclaimed, wiping his mouth.

“I don’t want her to get burnt!” Taylor protested. “You know she’ll fry out there without it.”

Cale pointed out, “It’s gonna rain later.”

“So?” Taylor shot back. “It’s gonna be sunny til then.”

“Alright, boys,” Laura said sternly, making Gary chuckle. “We don’t want to be late.”

Cale playfully shoved Taylor’s shoulder as they grabbed their stuff and loaded into Cale’s car with Gary driving. Taylor sat shotgun, while Cale and Laura piled into the back with Willow’s car seat. Cale sat next to Willow and smiled as she looked out of the window.

“Willow,” Cale said excitedly. She turned to her father and stretched her hands out to him, so he offered her his hand to hold. She wrapped her two tiny fists around two of his long fingers and he wanted to melt.

“Daddy!” Willow parroted.

“We’re gonna see a lot of people today,” he explained. “They’re going to be loud and cheering for Daddy and for the rest of the team, but I’ll be there with you the whole time, just like TayTay and Gamma and Gampa, okay?”

“Okay,” Willow replied.

“We’ll keep you safe,” Taylor added.

Willow smiled and babbled at him, some indistinguishable Willish. Taylor chuckled in response.

They arrived where they were told to meet, a parking lot packed with fire trucks and police officers and Avs players and their families. Cale helped Willow out of her car seat, then plopped her on his shoulders. Taylor made sure to grab the two cases of Trulys they’d brought, and they trekked over to their fire truck they’d be riding.

Taylor clambered onto the top of the truck, placed the boxes of drinks down, then held out his hands to grab Willow. She grabbed back at him and squealed when he wrapped his large hands around her wrists and lifted her up onto the truck with him. Cale climbed on after her, then Gary and Laura. Toewser and Kerry were joining them, along with a couple more people and the Conn Smythe trophy. There was a cooler already on the truck filled with beer and seltzers, so Cale dumped the boxes they’d brought into the cooler while Taylor held onto Willow.

“Will,” Taylor said, “what sound does a fire truck make?”

“Wee-ooh wee-ooh!” Willow proclaimed.

Everyone on the truck laughed.

“Good job,” Taylor said and held up his hand. “Gimme five?”

Willow enthusiastically gave him a high five and everyone laughed again. Through their laughter, they heard someone call that they were moving soon, that the parade was starting, so they settled in their spots on the truck. Taylor held onto Willow, since Cale and Toewser planned on standing on the truck so they could see the fans better.

The parade began, the fire trucks moving slowly through the streets of Denver, and Cale had never seen so many people cheering for them in his life. He waved and chugged Trulys and beers, he screamed and hollered and shot beer at the crowds from a water gun.

At one point, Taylor handed Willow over to Cale, and he placed her on his shoulders. The crowd began to chant, “MVP! MVP!”

Instead, Cale began to chant, “Willow! Willow! Willow!”

The crowd quickly picked up on the chant. Willow squealed in delight and waved at the people chanting her name, her grandparents and uncle laughing. She joined in on as much as she could, giggling wildly at every moment.

Willow laughed extra hard whenever Cale chugged a drink or poured it on himself and cheered. The alcohol running through his veins fueled his own laughter and screams, which in turn fueled Willow’s. Someone threw a drink up to Taylor, and he made Willow shriek with laughter when he pulled his shirt over his face and chugged it through the fabric.

They arrived at Civic Center Park, but there was a bit of a traffic jam. The fire trucks they’d all been riding on had clogged up the roads, so they came to a stand still. Cale, adrenaline and alcohol flowing through him, hopped off their truck and sprinted through the street, high-fiving fans. He’d left Willow in Taylor’s arms, but she started to fuss, so Cale jogged back to the truck so Taylor could hand her down to him.

Willow happily settled into Cale’s side. He kept his arm under her bottom and she clung to his bicep with one hand and the collar of his shirt with the other. She giggled and babbled as they walked around and mingled with the fans. Nate and Gabe joined them, Gabe wrapped in a Swedish flag.

“Nay-tan!” Willow squealed at Nate. She leaned for him and grabbed at him with her small hands.

Grinning, Nate walked over to Cale and Willow and greeted her, “Hey Chill Will!”

Willow kept grabbing at him, fighting against Cale. “See Nay-tan, Daddy.”

“It’s cool, Cale,” Nate reassured. “C’mere, kiddo.”

Willow cackled as Nate took her out of her dad’s arms and put her on his shoulders. He began to chant her name, quickly getting the crowd to join him.

“Willow! Willow! Willow!”

Cale took his phone out and recorded the cheers for his baby girl. He was so happy she got to be there with them, to be part of the celebration. He laughed with Willow when Nate danced around the streets with her on his shoulders.

To their dismay, the trucks began moving, so they all started walking towards the Civic Center. Cale shadowed Nate and Willow as they walked. He waved at and high-fived more fans—he was stunned that so many people had come to see them.

When they reached the Civic Center, Cale tried to give Willow back to his family, but she clung to Nate and refused to let go. Cale knew she’d have a meltdown, and there were enough of his teammates around that she would be fine, so he let Nate carry her into the building.

Cale couldn’t stop smiling and giggling as he waited in the building for the rest of the guys. He was thoroughly intoxicated, hitting his peak at the perfect time. He mingled with his friends and raised the Cup a couple more times. Cale didn’t think raising the Cup would ever grow old.

He remembered that he had, in fact, brought Willow into the building with him and he began to panic. He frantically looked for her, and easily found her atop Darcy’s huge frame. She was cackling, but wavering around unstably, so Cale made her get down from Darcy’s shoulders and took her in his arms.

“Fun, Daddy!” she squealed.

“I’m so glad,” he croaked. He was starting to lose his voice from all the shouting he’d done.

Mikko ran by them, yelling and double-fisting beers. Lehky ran behind him with a child-like, giddy grin on his face. Cackling at them, Willow reached out for the two Fins when they ran back by her, then squirmed to tell Cale that she wanted to get down. Cale placed her on the ground and she immediately began racing after Mikko and Lehky.

Willow suddenly tripped over her own feet. Cale flinched and prepared for her to cry, but instead, she picked herself up and kept running. He laughed lovingly.

The operations team started lining them up in number order, which was significantly more difficult when Cale and the boys were all smashed. Cale had to bring the Conn Smythe out with him, much to Willow’s dismay, so she had to walk next to him instead.

The coaching staff was announced first, with thunderous applause for Bedsy. Cale cheered the best he could, but since his hands were full, he just whooped for his coach. Once the staff was all out, they began to announce the players.

Jack went out first, then Bo, then EJ and Toewser, then finally Cale was called. He walked out, grinning, and went straight to the stand for the trophy. He placed it down and clapped and waved to the fans before he felt Willow run into his leg and hide. He leaned down, picked her up, and waved again, then walked over to join his teammates.

The rest of the announcements were a blur of yelling and the crowd cheering until everyone was standing in a clump next to the podium. Joe gave a speech, Bedsy gave a speech, but Cale wasn’t paying attention to them. Instead, he was laughing at Willow, who had found her way into Comph’s arms.

“Cale?” Comph called. “Why are her hands wet and sticky?”

Cale shrugged and cackled as Willow grabbed at Comph’s beard. He held his head back to try and stop her, but she giggled and kept going after it until he gave up and let her touch it. Others tried to get her to come see them instead—Nate, Burky, even EJ—but she was content in Comph’s arms.

Gabe said some words, then called up Cale and EJ and Nate and Mikko to say something. Cale hollered into the mic, earning cheers from the crowd, and let the words spew from his mouth. He had no idea what he was saying, but the cheers and chants egged him on. Willow cackled at her dad, which spurred him even more, until he passed the mic to Mikko.

Mikko slurred his words, accent thicker than usual. He said something about only speaking Finnish, and Cale wasn’t surprised, reminded of a vague memory of the night they won the Cup and Mikko on a table with Lehky shouting in their native language.

After finishing his bit, Mikko came back to join the guys. He suddenly lifted Cale up onto his shoulders and clutched his thighs so Cale could hold his arms up to the crowd. The “MVP” chant returned, but Cale could hear Willow shrieking with laughter.

“Daddy up!” she screamed at Comph. He flinched away from her. Mikko put Cale down, and Willow began reaching for Mikko, saying, “My tuwn!”

Mikko reached for Willow and placed her on his shoulders, too, to Cale’s dismay. He watched her like a hawk, not trusting Mikko to not drop his baby girl. The chants started again, but this time, Mikko led the crowd in shouting, “Willow! Willow! Willow!”

Cale was finally able to extract Willow from Mikko and held onto her tightly as rain began to drizzle down on them. He bounced her up and down, relishing in her giggles, and wished he could freeze that moment in time forever.

Summertime was Cale’s favorite.

He spent his summer in Calgary, sleeping in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by his family and friends. He took Willow around to his favorite spots, his favorite restaurants, everywhere that meant something to him. Almost feeling like he had to make up for lost time, Cale wanted to show Willow around her second home, wanted her to have childhood memories from Calgary just like he did.

Willow loved being in Calgary nearly as much as Cale did. Taylor was home with them, doing workouts with Cale to prepare for his upcoming sophomore season at UMass, so she got to see him every day. His parents were overjoyed to have Willow, too, and have their whole crew under one roof.

This summer, however, felt a touch different, since Cale and his family were busy planning for his Cup day. He had so many places he wanted to take it, so many people he wanted to share it with, that it was difficult to narrow it down to make a schedule, but he was happy with the way it was shaping up.

The day before his Cup day, Cale sleepily opened his eyes as sunlight lightly streamed through his curtains. His back pressed against the bedroom wall with Willow lying next to him, her tiny head on his pillow, her arm wrapped around her favorite unicorn toy and her thumb in her mouth. Plenty of people had told Cale not to let her sleep in his bed, but when she had a bad dream like she did the previous night, he wasn’t going to say no.

Cale carefully crawled out of bed, but Willow woke up anyway. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, then cooed as she realized he was awake, too.

“Good morning,” he greeted her as he stood up and stretched.

“Daddy,” Willow mumbled. “Monning.”

“Smells like someone’s making pancakes,” Cale commented. He reached down for her and scooped her up to take her downstairs.

“Pancakes!” Willow sighed and rubbed her eyes.

“We have to brush our teeth first, right?”

“Right.”

Cale took Willow into the bathroom where they brushed their teeth together, though Willow’s version of “brushing her teeth” was mimicking Cale’s movements. He helped her after he finished brushing his own, then the two of them joined Gary, Laura, and Taylor in the kitchen.

“Good morning!” Gary exclaimed when Willow ran to him. “How’s my favorite girl this morning?”

“Hungwy!”

Gary picked her up and pointed at the griddle. “What are those?”

“Pancakes!”

“You’re so smart, Willow,” Gary sighed, kissing her temple. “Who do you want to help you get your breakfast?”

Willow searched around the room until she saw Taylor sitting at the table. She joyfully squealed, “TayTay!”

Taylor looked up at her. “What?”

“Willow wants you to help get her breakfast,” Cale explained.

“Of course!” Taylor leapt out of his chair and took Willow from his dad. “Whatcha want?”

“Pancakes.”

“Okay.” Taylor dropped two silver-dollar sized pancakes onto her purple plate. “Do you want bacon?”

Scrunching her face, Willow said, “Ew.”

“Ew?” Cale repeated. “Will, you love bacon.”

“Ew. Yucky.” Willow stuck her tongue out and made a noise.

Taylor laughed and Cale rolled his eyes. Willow had been exploring saying no, making for an interesting summer. She had been refusing some of her favorite things, then asking for them later, almost testing the waters.

“It’s okay, Will, do you want some eggs?” Taylor chuckled.

“Yes!”

“And fruit? This fruit sure does look good…”

“Fwoot yummy!”

“Alrighty.” Taylor carefully spooned some scrambled eggs and a few cut-up strawberries onto her plate. “What else?”

“All done.”

“What do you want to drink? Juice or milk?”

“Juice!”

“I’ll get it,” Gary said, opening the refrigerator while Cale began to load up his plate with breakfast and Taylor took Willow over to her high-chair. He plopped her down in her chair, placed her plate in front of her, then retrieved the maple syrup and poured some on her plate.

“Mmm,” Willow giggled. “Yum.”

“Not too much,” Cale cautioned. “Unless you want sticky toddler hands everywhere.”

Taylor insisted, “She’s fine, look.” He pointed at Willow, who had carefully dipped a pancake into her syrup.

Cale winced as she pulled the pancake out of her syrup and began to wave it around in the air, syrup dripping everywhere, including in her hair. Sighing, Cale sat down at the table next to her and glared at his brother.

“Told you,” he said glumly.

“I’ll give her a bath,” Taylor offered and sat down, “No big deal.”

Willow proceeded to cover herself in her breakfast. Taylor looked apologetically at Cale while they ate and watched Willow until they all finished.

“Okay, Will, we’re gonna go take a bath,” Taylor announced and carefully lifted her out of her highchair.

“I’ve got it,” Cale said, offering his arms out. “I wanna have some time with her before tomorrow to explain, like, what’s going on.”

“Sounds good, I owe you a bathtime,” Taylor said.

Taylor handed Willow to Cale, and he walked her into the bathroom. He set her down on the ground and gathered her towel, her washcloth, her shampoo, and her tub toys before he turned on the water. He tested it to make sure it wasn’t too hot—especially because Willow liked her baths to be a little cooler.

“Alright,” Cale turned to her, “arms up!”

Willow stuck her arms up in the air so Cale could help her undress and get in the bathtub. She grabbed her favorite toys, a mermaid Barbie and a unicorn, and babbled as she played with them, her own world taking over.

“Hey,” Cale said as he shampooed her hair. “Tomorrow is gonna be a weird day. Remember the big shiny Cup?”

“Cup!” Willow nodded.

“Tomorrow is Daddy’s day with the Cup. We’re taking it to some fun places, like to see GiGi and to Daddy’s rink. But there’s gonna be a lot of people there to see the Cup and Daddy.”

“Fwends?”

“Lots of friends. It’s gonna be fun, but Daddy’s gonna be very busy, so you’ll get to be with TayTay and Gamma and Gampa too. Okay?”

“Okay!” Willow offered him her mermaid Barbie to play with, and he smiled softly as he began to play her game.

She had no idea how crazy the next day would be.

Cale nearly leapt out of bed when his alarm went off in the morning. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of his time with the Cup, which would be at his house soon. He hopped in the shower, then threw on a white t-shirt and black shorts and headed downstairs with a huge grin on his face.

“Daddy!” Willow exclaimed, running towards him wearing a black shorts and her number eight jersey.

“Hi baby girl.” Cale leaned down and picked her up to kiss her cheek. “Today’s gonna be a fun day.”

The doorbell rang, so Cale handed Willow off to his mom, his grin widening. He went outside to meet the Cup Keeper, Philip, who opened the case and allowed Cale to pick the Cup up. He carefully took it inside and put it down on the coffee table in the living room.

Taylor, Gary, and Laura followed Cale, as well as a couple of the Avs media team with their cameras and a local Calgary photographer the Makar’s hired to capture the day, and they all took a moment to gaze at the Cup. Willow came sprinting in, always wanting to be included, and she gasped when she saw it.

“Pwetty!”

Taylor bent down and picked her up. “It is, isn’t it?” he asked her, leaning her in so she could take a better look.

“Taylor, don’t touch it,” Cale warned.

Taylor insisted, “I’m not gonna! I promise!”

“I hungwy, TayTay,” Willow whined.

“Daddy’s gonna make pancakes and eat them out of the Cup,” Cale told her. He went into the kitchen and started gathering up the ingredients he needed for his gluten-free pancakes.

“Help Daddy,” Willow fussed. She squirmed in Taylor’s arms until he gently placed her on the ground so she could run into the kitchen with Cale. Willow decided at the beginning of the summer that she wanted to cook with whoever was cooking, which Cale loved.

“Can you ask TayTay to get your stool?” Cale asked gently.

“TayTay,” Willow ran up to him, grabbed his hand, and said. “Pwease help.”

“Of course.” Taylor grabbed her stool from the pantry, set it up, and helped her up onto it before standing protectively behind her so she wouldn’t fall backwards.

With Cale’s and Taylor’s help, Willow measured out and poured all the ingredients into the bowl. She tried to whisk it all together but quickly gave up and made Cale do it. Everyone laughed when she gave up, and once Cale finished her task, he began to plop pancake batter on the griddle.

The smell of sizzling pancakes filled the room. While Cale worked on breakfast, Gary held Willow and pointed out different teams that had won. He read team names to her, paying special attention to the ‘89 Flames names and of course where Cale’s name would be.

Cale brought the plate of cupcakes over to the Cup and, grinning, began to layer them up inside the Cup. Laura brought over a bowl of fruit and maple syrup. Cale spooned some fruit in with his pancakes. He looked at the camera that was on him and grinned.

“This is a feast,” he said. Picking up the syrup, Cale added, “At least it’s Canadian maple syrup.”

As Cale poured syrup on his pancakes, he heard his dad agree, “That’s right!”

Cale dug into his pancakes while everyone watched. “Oh man,” he said with his mouth full, “those are the best gluten-free pancakes ever!”

Cale scarfed down three pancakes and some fruit before he called Willow over to have some. Taylor picked her up and held her up to Cale’s level.

“Will,” Cale said, cutting off a Willow-sized chunk of pancake. “Want some pancakes?”

Willow opened her mouth hopefully, so Cale carefully put the fork in her mouth for her. She ate the pancake and exclaimed, “More!”

Everyone laughed, but Cale obliged, carefully feeding her until she said she was done and managing to keep her jersey syrup-free. Gary and Laura had some too, all laughing as Gary goofed off.

They finished breakfast and after quickly cleaning out the Cup, Cale took it upstairs to his room to take some photos. Willow was confused by her dad carrying it around and not her, so she started to fuss until Taylor picked her up.

Once they were done, they packed up the Cup to take it over to the rink Cale grew up skating at. He was planning on showing the kids’ teams the Cup, then had invited the community for a meet and greet to see the Cup too. Cale hoped people would show up; he knew at least there would be kids there.

He couldn’t have imagined how many people actually showed up.

“Holy shit,” he muttered when his dad drove past the seemingly endless line of people wrapped around the rink.

They cheered when he got out of the car and walked the Cup inside. Cale pressed his lips together at them, then headed inside. He was greeted by Willow sprinting at him.

“Hi Daddy!” she said, reaching her arms up to him. She wanted him to hold her.

“Hi, Will,” he said, “I have to hold the Cup, I’m sorry sweetheart.”

Willow’s face scrunched in distress until Taylor picked her up instead. He made a snorting noise and kissed her cheek to make her giggle as Cale walked down towards the ice with the Cup.

He stood on the ice, Cup next to him, and gazed at the letters on the wall that he’d grown up with. Thoughts of his childhood flooded his mind—his first goal, his first penalty, his first everything all happened on this ice, and there he was, a Stanley Cup champion.

The kids began to stream out onto the ice to see Cale and the Cup. Cale grinned as he talked to them and directed them and took photos with them, thinking about how much he would’ve loved this as a kid.

The group he and Taylor trained with brought their skaters out, too, who were much older and much more starstruck. Many of the kids were too young to understand, but the teenagers understood.

Between photos and greetings, Cale glanced up at the window that looked out over the ice. He smiled and waved at Taylor and Willow, who stood in the window, watching. Willow looked up at Taylor while she pointed at Cale to let him know she saw her dad. Taylor nodded, said something, and Willow turned and waved enthusiastically at Cale.

Cale eventually brought the Cup back to the lobby for the community meet and greet. Sweat was pouring down his face, but he couldn’t stop grinning as people began to cycle through to see the Cup.

After several hours of greeting people—plus staying late to make sure he got to see everyone—Cale finally sat down for a moment. Halfway through the meet and greet, Willow fell asleep in Taylor’s arms, so Cale held his arms out to take her for a moment before they left.

Taylor handed her off and mumbled, “Thanks, my arms are cramping like crazy.”

“It’s only gonna get worse from here,” Cale chuckled.

Willow suddenly scrunched her face and rubbed her eyes as she woke up, sat up in Cale’s arms, and looked at him sleepily.

“Daddy,” she sighed, grabbing at his face.

Cale kissed her fingers. “Hi, honey. Are you ready to go see GiGi?”

“Yeah.” Willow yawned adorably.

“You’re gonna ride with Gamma and Gampa and TayTay and I will see you over there, okay?”

“Okay.”

Gary appeared, ready to carry his granddaughter to the car, and Cale handed her over so he could grab the Cup. When he looked back, Willow was snuggled into Gary’s chest, already asleep again as he took her out to the car.

Cale grabbed the Cup and took it outside to the fancy, old-school car he’d rented. He clambered into the car, placed the Cup next to him, and held it away as Taylor got in next to him.

“Don’t touch it!” Cale warned.

Taylor settled carefully into his seat, and the driver was off to the assisted living home their grandma lived in. They enjoyed the ride in the convertible, taking in the sun and waving at all the cars that honked at them when they drove by.

When the driver pulled up to the stop sign right before the home, Gary was waiting on the sidewalk, a huge grin across his face.

“This is crazy, the seniors are all outside cheering,” Gary said.

“No way!” Cale replied as they turned around the corner.

Cheers erupted and Cale’s driver honked the car horn at them. His heart swelled and he felt like he could cry seeing all the seniors who he’d known and visited for so long celebrating him. He smiled and waved as he clambered out of the car, then picked up the Cup and walked over to his grandma Helen with a huge, proud smile.

“Grandma,” he said excitedly.

Clad in his jersey, she smiled up at him from her spot on the bench and stared at the Cup in awe.

“Lemme see how heavy it is,” she said, reaching for the Cup.

Cale started, “Oh, I can’t let you—I don’t know if you can hold it.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” she exclaimed, shocked.

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy, eh?” Cale laughed.

“Daddy!”

Cale whipped around to see Willow sprinting at him, Taylor rushing behind her. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, putting the Cup down and squatting so she could hug him. “Did you say hi to GiGi already?”

“Yeah!” Willow exclaimed, then walked over and hugged her great-grandma’s legs.

Helen patted her on the back. “She sure hasn’t slowed down,” she said.

“No, she hasn’t,” Cale agreed with a laugh.

He took the Cup inside and placed it down on the table set up for it. For the next couple hours, the seniors came to see him and the Cup, and he shook countless hands and heard countless stories. The seniors were all incredibly amused by Willow, how she would just run up to any of them to tell them something in Willish or show them her stuffed unicorn.

Cale eventually took Helen out on a little drive with the Cup in the car, much to Willow’s dismay; they left Willow screaming in Laura’s arms while Cale drove around the block.

“I’m so proud of you,” Helen told Cale during their ride, patting his shoulder.

“Thank you, Grandma,” Cale said, fighting back tears. Sharing the Cup with her meant the world to him.

He drove her back to the front of the Senior Center so Taylor and his parents could get her into their car to take her home for the party. He helped her out, then he and Taylor clambered back into the car, but Willow came sprinting over to the side of the car, Laura chasing after her.

“Daddy!” she screamed. “Go with Daddy!”

“I can hold her,” Taylor offered, holding his hands out.

“Are you sure?” Laura asked.

“She doesn’t need to be screaming in the car with Grandma,” Taylor insisted. “She’ll be fine with us.”

“Alright,” agreed Laura. “Will, baby, you’re gonna ride with Daddy and TayTay, okay?”

Willow reached out for Taylor from Laura’s arms and Taylor pulled her into his lap. She wanted Cale to hold her, and she whined a little when Cale continued to hold the Cup, but then she settled into Taylor’s chest. He held her tightly when the driver started up the car and began to drive to their family’s favorite spot that overlooked Calgary.

Clambering out of the car, Cale hauled the Cup with him. Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, which he easily popped open and poured into his family’s and friend’s waiting flutes. Cale gazed across his city, across the view, and he smiled to himself. God, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

“Daddy, up!” Willow called from the ground. He looked down to see her reaching her arms up to him, so he leaned down and picked her up. Willow nuzzled into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I love you so much, Willow,” Cale mumbled to her and kissed the top of her head. “You’re my biggest blessing.”

“Wub Daddy,” she sighed happily. She’d been confused and a little jealous that he hadn’t been able to hold her as much, so he was glad to get to spend a few quiet moments with her before the photographer they’d hired started directing everyone for photos. Cale tried to hold on to Willow for as many photos as possible, but when he needed to hold the Cup, he reluctantly handed her over to Taylor or his parents.

Once their photoshoot ended, Cale wanted to make one last stop before their party back at his parents’ place. He climbed back in the car with Taylor, Willow, and the Cup, then drove to 7-11. Back during his rookie season, he told a reporter–Emily Kaplan, he believed–that he splurged and bought a Slurpee one day, so he thought having a Slurpee from the Stanley Cup was only fitting.

Cale lugged the Cup into the small convenience store and immediately caused chaos. Willow cackled behind him as he and Taylor filled up the Cup with various Slurpee flavors. The other customers went crazy at the sight.

Cale carried it back outside, sending Philip rushing in to pay for the Slurpee. Grinning, someone handed Cale a straw and he took a long sip. He motioned for Taylor to join.

“Can I?” he questioned.

“You can drink, just don’t touch it,” Cale said.

Grinning, Taylor leaned down and took a sip with Cale. Someone told them to look up, so they both looked at the cameras surrounding them in the perfect picture.

“Yummy, Daddy?” Willow asked.

“Oh, that’s the best Slurpee I’ve ever had!” Cale exclaimed, laughing. “Here, you have some, Will.”

Willow stood on her tiptoes and sipped out of the straw Cale held. She looked up at him and giggled, “Yum!”

Everyone took their turns, smiling and laughing and drinking Slurpee out of the Cup until they had their fill. Then, they returned to the Makar’s home for their final gathering of the day. Before everyone arrived, however, Cale took Willow inside to change her clothes.

Cale plopped Willow down on the bed and she giggled as she bounced. She yawned, then sleepily rubbed her eyes.

“I know, baby, you’ve had a big day,” Cale said comfortingly. “Just a little bit more, then bedtime, yeah? Are you ready to put on your party dress?”

“Yeah!” Willow replied. She’d picked out a sparkly, purple dress just for this final party.

“Okay, arms up!”

Willow obliged, and Cale quickly helped her change out of her jersey and pants and into her dress. She squealed, delighted, and once Cale put her down on the ground, she sprinted downstairs to see everyone as they arrived.

A flurry of family and friends joined them a short time later. Cale spent the evening with them, and wished and wished for more time, but as the sun went down and the party bus they’d rented for one last ride around Calgary arrived, Cale sighed and smiled at the Cup.

He’d done it.

And he’d done it for Willow.

43 notes · View notes

spine-buster · 3 years ago

Note

I mean, people have legitimate reasons for not liking Auston Matthews and not wanting to celebrate because he scored a lot of goals, doesn’t make them less of a hockey fan. I get that you’re a leafs fan but I thought you’d be able to see the nuance there and that some people won’t want to support people that have done questionable things in their past, no matter how good they are at hockey. Breaking the record doesn’t make him a good person and saying any hockey fan would be in awe is entirely untrue and half of the problems we have in the hockey community is because people excuse what people on their teams do because they cause them to win, it’s gross

You're 100% right that there are legitimate reasons for not liking him and not wanting to celebrate -- it definitely doesn't make anybody less of a hockey fan if they don't want to celebrate it, and I never insinuated that at all. It's fine not to. What I meant to say (and I guess I didn't make it clear, so apologies on my end) is that as a fan of the sport in general, anyone would have to admit that what he's doing right now is impressive.

I do see the nuance in this -- I always have. I totally understand that some people won't want to support him because of his questionable past at that charge he has. I also assumed people wouldn't want to support Connor McDavid after he welcomed Evander Kane onto the team without putting up a bigger fuss about the fact that Kane forced an ex partner to get an ab*rtion and the litany of other things Kane has done, but I still see a lot of support for him everywhere, including on this site, and him being neck-and-neck with Auston in the Hart Trophy debate. I also assumed people wouldn't want to support teams like the New York Islanders for signing Semyon Varlamov after he was accused of domestic violence, but there is still a lot of support. Shall I even bring up Vince Dunn? Patrick Kane? Jordan Binnington? Jonathan Toews? Ryan O'Reilly drunk driving but then going on to win the Conn Smythe?

I'm not mentioning all the above as a tit-for-tat -- I'm agreeing with you that the hockey community has a lot of problems because people excuse shitty behaviour, but this isn't entirely on Auston. He's definitely not the only one to have done something shitty and the hockey world has forgotten about it or swept in under the rug. Breaking the record does not make him a good person, you're right, but I still believe that breaking the record in today's era is an incredible accomplishment. I'm sorry that we disagree with that, but I'm hoping we can respectfully disagree. You don't have to celebrate it -- that's fine -- but I'd like to.

#answered

7 notes · View notes

icedbatik · 3 years ago

Note

I don't know if this is only because he's yet to make his season debut soon yet I feel like it's more apparent this season how quickly hockey can forget about certain players. Could just be mere observation and hope it changes soon, but seeing other stars tearing it up this early make me all but wish Sid and Geno would return 100% soon. The way they're being brought up lately by fans + some media, you'd think they were a thing of the past. Sorry if I have to let this out. 😕

Anon Part 2: Was I the only one who got sad reading that recent post on how many accolades Sid was probably robbed of because of injuries? NGL, I pretty much have the "Why him?" mindset lately. Just makes me sad it may have hurt his all-time ranking and maybe he'd still be widely considered the league's best if not for those untimely injuries. A lot of fans are so clouded with recency bias that they don't even consider him a top 5 player now, and him being injured to start the season amplified it more.

Anon Part 3: Even more, with what's happening around the league too, it made me realize how extremely underappreciated and overlooked Geno was. He's had his fair share of injuries in recent years but that doesn't take away what he has done for the Pens and hockey. So sorry once more for that ramble. Don't get me wrong Sid and Geno have already cemented their places among the greatest ever yet all those fans' revisionist history got me "what if" again. Ik things can flip down the road but still. Fin Hi, anon! Don't worry -- I don't think you're at all alone in feeling as if hockey treats its stars as totally disposable. Especially Sid and Geno. It's very much a "What have you done for me in the past 20 minutes on the ice?" mentality. How many times over the years has Sid *schooled* the rest of the league on not discounting him, not shortchanging him, not trying to pass the torch before he's done carrying it? Yet the league and its fans seem unable to learn. If he goes a game without a point, well, he's getting old and might be done for. (insert eye roll here) We found out just under 7 weeks ago that Sid has been playing with a wrist injury for 7 years. (And we still don't quite know what kind of wrist injury, only that it needed to be "managed". For 7 years.) Yet, in that time, he won 2 Stanley Cups, 2 Conn Smythe trophies, a World Cup of Hockey championship and a few other things. He's been playing injured for 7 years and even the harshest critique can't knock him out of the top-5 active players. (And, yes, I consider top-5 harsh, because I'm not willing to concede more than top-3 -- and I, personally, still consider him No. 1.) One might suggest he won the Stanley Cup twice -- with one hand (at least loosely) tied behind his back.

And Geno ... I'm sure he's working hard behind the scenes, training and getting back in game shape. But he's kind of out-of-sight/out-of-mind, in the league's (and many fans') eyes. And that's sad. His knee looks like a plate of spaghetti, it's criss-crossed with so many scars. And he played on that knee at the end of the season -- to help his team! But all the league and too many so-called fans remember is that he didn't manage to drag his team through the first round of the playoffs on one leg.

All of that said, as annoying as it is (to me) that the league so easily discounts both Sid and Geno at the drop of a hat, it's not just them. Despite a drastically undermanned team vastly overperforming in the first five games of the season, the Pens' first even partial stumble hadn't even ended last night before some of the comments on Twitter involved the phrase "This team sucks." Talk about that "What have you done for me in the past 20 minutes on the ice?" mentality.

It's sad that the league -- and many of its fans -- treat the players as disposable commodities to be used up and discarded. As for the what-ifs of Sid's many accolades, well ... it makes me sad, too, to consider just how much he could have accomplished had he stayed healthier the past 16 years. At the same time, I'm thrilled to see just how much he's accomplished in the course of overcoming those various health obstacles. Would I love for him to be the undisputed all-time No. 1? Sure. Am I happy to have him in the top handful with Wayne and Mario? Totally. I don't think Sid -- with, possibly, the exception of Christmas 2015 -- has ever really allowed himself to wonder "what if?" As much as he seems to love history, he's far too busy seeing what he can make happen going forward to dwell on his own past. And being around to see what he can achieve every day is something for which I'm grateful and which makes me incredibly happy. :-)

#icedbatik answers asks #and gets ready wordy with it

10 notes · View notes

andrewuttaro · 4 years ago

Text

The End of the Eichel Era

Back in the lonely summer of 2020 I started a Youtube channel built around reacting to the Buffalo Sabres. My first series of videos in that regard was a recap of the prior 2019-2020 season: a season so crazy leading into the COVID pause that I thought it couldn’t be topped. My vlog reactions to the upcoming season would be the start of something new. I didn’t think it could possibly get worse than the season of the Duane Rant. Oh, Andrew: you doe-faced believer. Oh, how wrong I was.

After a season that saw a 17-game losing streak, a rightful coaching change, an injury carousel out of a cartoon including injuries untold to Captain Jack Eichel, the bar for a bad season has reached a new low even us rugged Sabres fans. There were rays of hope toward the end of this past season. A bevy of young players making their impact playing for pride on a feisty Don Granato led squad made another lost season, the tenth in a row without a playoff berth, somewhat enjoyable. Due to roster flexibility that bordered on frightening there was also reason to hope a roster that could finally make a postseason was within reach for a rookie GM that has no choice but to prove himself. There was hope. Was is the operative word there.

On May 10th, 2021, the organization’s most notable players gave their exit interviews to the team followed by brief pressers with the media. Before the Captain even appeared on the Zoom link the mood was dreary. Rasmus Ristolainen once again made it clear he would rather not be here. Sam Reinhart, a UFA this offseason, was non-committal at best about his future with the team. Then it was time for the Captain to speak… then Jake McCabe went first. Evidently his exit interview went long. When Eichel did get on the call what followed was nothing short of the siren marking the beginning of the end of the Eichel Era in Buffalo.

The root of the issues seemed to be disagreement about how to handle Eichel’s injuries. There was a broken rib prior to the season as well as something else still somewhat unclear. Team doctors evidently wanted him to not go forward with a surgery. He got a second opinion. The schism only grew. With five seasons left on his massive 80-million-dollar contract and a full NMC is affect all the power lays with the Buffalo Sabres organization. As Jack Eichel detailed his intent to look out for himself in no uncertain terms he was leveraging the only power he has in the situation which has gotten worse and worse: speaking publicly. If you didn’t hear any of these comments live or read any shortly thereafter you might lose the severity. To sum it up in one tidbit: Eichel literally referenced a hypothetical wife and kids he’ll have one day and how he’ll be a father. What this team has made him endure is on par with a major life event.

The insanity of the NHL’s Collective Bargaining Agreement rules on medical second opinions aside: the relationship between ownership, the front office and Jack Eichel’s camp is broken beyond repair now. When an employer makes you endure a health situation you don’t want to be in then you better believe there will be discord. There is no mending this fisher. There is no denying any longer that Eichel will move on one way or another. To put in bluntly: it is over with Jack Eichel in Buffalo. It is a matter of time now before a trade salvages anything for the all-star top line center in what will almost certainly be a losing trade for the Sabres.

Jack Eichel has been the face of the Buffalo Sabres franchise since he was drafted in 2015. He was the fruit of a contentious tank. A torturous rebuild followed that had to be rest in 2017 and again in 2018 and… is still continuing today I suppose. Jack Eichel has done everything he could. I think I speak for every reasonable hockey fan in Buffalo when I say the end of this relationship is the result of Front Office mismanagement of Eichel himself and the roster beyond him on top of so many other things. From the beginning of their ownership in 2011 Terry and Kim Pegula have hurt the name of the once proud Buffalo Sabres. It began with Pat Lafontaine’s ouster and now it is visited upon us with the impending departure of Jack Eichel. Four General Managers and seven coaches have tried to lead the Sabres under Pegula ownership and the only one who managed a playoff berth was gone the year after. The coming end of the Eichel Era is a symptom of the Pegula Era. And I didn’t even bring up the knockoff alumni jerseys or the myriad public relations catastrophes they have wrought on the blue and gold.

The final Chapter in Jack Eichel’s time as a Sabre is being written as you read this. Certainly, the Pegulas will have some kind of strategic response to Eichel’s comments through their good soldier GM Kevyn Adams shortly. This will get ugly or put in a better way: this is just what is already ugly becoming public. We could talk about how their reputation in Buffalo maybe saved by the recent success of the Buffalo Bills of the NFL and fantasize about them selling the Sabres organization as some virtuous self-realization of the harm they’ve done. That is fantasy. What is not fantasy is what this organization has become.

I’m turning 27 this month. Most people my age have only known this team as synonymous with sorrow, save for a few glorious years in the late 2000s. This was not the Buffalo Sabres of old. The first forty years of this franchise was something to behold even though it lacked a Stanley Cup banner. The terrible drafting is the one consistent throughout, but I digress: what are the Buffalo Sabres? What is this franchise? We keep reaching out in the dark for rock bottom praying to ourselves it exists at all. Every season since 2016 we have only seen regression. Every move has ultimately amounted to shifting deck chairs on the Titanic. The good moves and happy stretches like the ten-game winning steak in 2018 are clearly the exceptions not the rule in retrospect.

An impossibly long list of items from the Ryan O’Reilly trade that saw spare parts come back for a center who went onto a Conn Smythe and the Stanley Cup to acquiring Taylor Hall in a signing the owner contended would signal the team was going to win a Cup, not just make the playoffs. Taylor Hall is in Boston now where the last team that truly tested a good Sabres squad in an infamous instance of running-the-goalie in 2011 has been good for a decade. The Sabres goalie Milan Lucic ran, Ryan Miller, a legend in his own right, retired this season. It has been so long since a team worthy of gracing the ravenous hockey market that is Western New York has played that you’d be hard pressed to find a former Sabre who has made the playoff with them still in the league. If there was ever glory associated with the crossed swords it has faded from the public consciousness to the point a generation is unfamiliar with it.

When Jack Eichel is traded there is an outside chance a fair return will be achieved from one of about two teams in this league who could swing it. As Eichel acknowledged in his own comments, it’s the team that has all the cards in this: they can wait until the right offer comes along because clearly there is no intention for things to get better in Buffalo very shortly. Yet another rebuild, perhaps even another tank, awaits on the near horizon. With the Eichel Era coming to end in Buffalo its hard to imagine what’s next. In 2014-2015 we dreamed a young contender helmed by one of Connor McDavid or Jack Eichel might lead us to better days. Now those better days are just a song we remember from a hype video 15 years ago.

A team signs and unwritten contract when they acquire a franchise player as I wrote last year about this exact situation. It is now unquestionable that the Buffalo Sabres, or at least the owners of the franchise, have broken that unwritten contract beyond repair. Their continued mismanagement has cratered the franchise they bought with such zeal for the roundel crest. Now we venture forward into unknown depths few franchises have ventured into in this league and lived to tell the tale. The franchise probably survives for various external reasons but now it will be a living relic of how no number of frenzied fans, no amount of hope, can get you a sustainable team if you can’t build something worthy of the great athletes handed to you.

#buffalo sabres #hockey

3 notes · View notes

rinkrats · 5 years ago

Text

The Penguins needed a new arena and a prospect who could give their fans more hope when (former Penguins GM) Craig Patrick left his hotel that morning to walk to the lottery. He grabbed the lucky four-leaf clover that a Penguins staffer had given him a while back and stopped by St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Madison Avenue on his way there.

“We were already so excited to have the CBA settled and a salary cap and financial parity and an opportunity to compete,” recalled Penguins vice president of communications Tom McMillan. “We didn’t think coming into that day that we were going to have Sidney Crosby. We just wanted to get a top-10 pick.”

Looking back 15 years later, the 2005 draft class is maybe the best of the past two decades. Beyond Crosby, there were a dozen All-Stars along with winners of the Conn Smythe, Vezina and Selke trophies. The final selection, at No. 230 overall, scored a Cup-clinching goal in the 2017 final. You know Patric Hornqvist.

But Crosby had long been considered a generational prospect. He did his first TV interview at age 7, was called “The Next One” by “The Hockey News” at 14 and had already inked seven-figure endorsement deals with Gatorade and Reebok.

“Sid was the perfect prospect,” Jim Rutherford said. “There wasn’t any doubt.”

Added (former Anaheim Ducks GM) Brian Burke, now an analyst for Sportsnet: “He was the whole package. Elite hockey sense. Elite physical ability. Elite leadership. There was no question about whether or not he would be great. It was just a question of how great.”

...After Montreal then Minnesota were eliminated, only three teams remained.

“I’m not a guy that sweats a lot, unless I’m out in the humidity. But the palms of my hands started getting wet,” said Rutherford, who at the time was Carolina’s GM. “I was like, ‘Wow, we may be getting Sidney Crosby.’ It just got more and more intense. And then we got the third pick and my hands dried up.”

When Bettman picked up the envelope marked with the No. 1, Burke was for some reason confident that Crosby was headed to Southern California.

“I just had a hunch,” he said. “Then I saw a little splash of color when they opened the envelope. I thought it was orange. I thought the Ducks had won it.”

It was Pittsburgh’s “Vegas gold.” The Penguins had won the Crosby lottery.

Ken Sawyer, who retired as Penguins CEO in 2009, smiled and politely shook Burke’s hand.

“Ken is a very reserved guy,” Burke said with a laugh. “I would have been doing the ‘Rocky’ routine up there, jumping up and down with my arms in the air.”

That’s what McMillan was doing back at Mellon Arena after excusing himself from a room filled with local media who had assembled to watch the lottery.

“All the TV cameras pointed to me and I realized that I was the highest-ranking official in the room,” he said. “I remember saying to myself, ‘Don’t do anything stupid that will get you on a highlight video for the rest of your life.’ ”

As he stood outside screaming, McMillan knew everything had changed.

“It was euphoria, almost hysteria,” he said of the events that soon followed.

Shortly after the news broke, the team’s ticket office was overwhelmed with calls. There was a 45-minute wait to get through. McMillan added that employees were still in the office until close to midnight taking ticket orders.

Within a few days, fans from as far away as Australia had purchased tickets. When single-game tickets went on sale, the Penguins sold more than 10,000 in four hours.

... Crosby made his NHL debut Oct. 5, which is Lemieux’s birthday, and finished his sensational rookie season with a team-high 39 goals and 102 points.

“You always hear people say [that draft lottery] was rigged, especially with where the organization was at,” Brooks Orpik said. “But there’s no chance that would ever happen. But yeah, there is so much hype with some of these guys and sometimes they bust. Obviously, that wasn’t the case with him. It worked out.”

In 2009, Crosby, along with Malkin and Fleury, led the Penguins to a Stanley Cup. They got their new arena in 2010 and two more titles in 2016 and 2017.

Based on how those 48 lottery balls could have ping-ponged, Crosby could have potentially lifted the Cup anywhere on the NHL map, from Minnesota, where he attended prep school, to Montreal, the home of his childhood team.

Picture Crosby in San Jose teal or — dry heave — in Philadelphia orange.

What if he wound up with the dynasty-seeking Detroit Red Wings?

All these years later, he swears he doesn’t ponder all those possibilities.

“I remember having a lot of meetings with all the different teams because nobody had any idea where you’re going to end up,” the captain said with a shrug. “It was kind of unique circumstances with the way it was done that year.”

Well, the rest of the league wonders what might have been. Even Rutherford, who won his first Stanley Cup with Carolina that season. And especially Burke.

“I still joke with Sid about it. They were here in Toronto [in February],” Burke said. “Every time I see him, I hold up my index finger and my thumb about a quarter inch apart, and I say, ‘This close, Sid. You were this close to being a Duck.’

-Inside the NHL’s Sidney Crosby sweepstakes, 15 years later, 2 April 2020

#sidney crosby #text #queue

79 notes · View notes

imaginingsoftly · 5 years ago

Text

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time Pt. 11 - Morgan Rielly

Type: roommates to lovers, Y/N insert shorts

Requested: No

Warnings: none

(Y/N = Your name)

A/N: This is it! This is the last chapter. It’s kind of a written version of an ending montage, and spans a couple of years. I hope you enjoy, and I’d love to hear suggestions for a new series.

That fall:

“You know,” Y/N said as she helped Morgan move into his new apartment, “I still think you should live with me again.” She understood where Morgan was coming from, deciding that having their own space for at least the beginning of their relationship was a good idea, but that didn’t mean she liked it. It was nice to have him sitting on the balcony when she got up in the morning or sitting on the counter while she made a snack after work. She had grown to rely on his presence in the apartment, especially when she was feeling especially anxious. Morgan huffed from in front of her, a nonverbal response to her suggestion, and she sighed. “I know, I know. Just also know I’ll be here a lot taking advantage of your balcony.” His balcony had a view of the city lights, rather than a courtyard, and she was wicked jealous.

They came out of the elevator and were at the door of Morgan’s top-floor apartment before he finally responded. “I look forward to sitting out there with you.” He put down the box he was carrying, turning to face Y/N. “I’m not getting my own place because I don’t want to live with you. I just think a little bit of space could be good for us, since we were living together before we even started dating.” Morgan stared intently into Y/N’s eyes as he spoke, and she could see how sincere he was. Honestly, he was right. Space would definitely be good for them, at least for a little while. She pressed up onto her tiptoes to kiss Morgan, and he wrapped his arms around her waist without hesitation. It was awkward with the box and lamp she was carrying, and Morgan broke away from her with a laugh before unlocking the apartment and stepping inside.

The apartment really was beautiful, she did have to admit that. It was bright, much like her own place, but larger and more open. The entire wall open to the outside was glass, and a balcony took up the length of the room plus some, and she knew there was another entrance to the outdoors in the main bedroom. Morgan dropped his box just inside the entrance, rubbing his back with a groan. He’d thrown out his back the week before, getting a little too enthusiastic as he threw Y/N’s little cousins off the dock of the family lake house, and she knew it still wasn’t quite right. “You know,” she said with a laugh, “one of the biggest signs of age is throwing out your back. I think your body is trying to tell you something.”

Y/N knew that was the wrong thing to say when Morgan turned around with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh yeah?” He stalked towards her with a smirk on his face, and she cocked a hip at him with a nod. “I bet I could prove you wrong.” he surged forward, scooping Y/N up and over his shoulder. She laughed, weakly pushing his back. Morgan turned and began walking towards the main bedroom, squeezing Y/N’s calf gently. “I’ll show you old.” He threw her onto the mattress sitting in the middle of the room, a pile of wood that would eventually be his bed laying in piles around it. Y/N laughed as he did, though she stopped when Morgan caged her in. He pushed Y/N’s hair out of her face gently and leaned in for a kiss, and she pulled him down on top of her.

Later, Y/N traced her fingers over where Morgan’s hand sat just over her right collarbone. His arms were wrapped around her waist and her shoulders, and they watched the sun set from their spot in the middle of the mattress. It was perfect.

The next June:

They did it. The clock counted down to zero and Y/N stood frozen next to Kat, though the rest of the families were freaking out around them. Mrs. Rielly was yelling to her left, and Dougie’s parents were hugging in front of her.

Dougie was grabbing at Morgan down on the ice, and Y/N could see from where she sat that Morgan was crying. So was she. The guys were huddled around Andrei, who’d just scored the game-winner, and Petr was grabbing at Coach Brind'Amour, though the poor goalie looked like his legs were barely supporting his weight after the onslaught he’d faced at the beginning of the 3rd overtime period. The box began to clear around them, and Y/N and Kat finally came back to reality to hug each other fiercely. “They did it, Kat,” Y/N whispered into her friend’s ear, “holy shit they did it.” Kat rubbed a hand over her growing stomach, where Y/N knew her and Andrei’s daughter was more than likely kicking. She loved the rink even more than her father.

The wait to get onto the ice with the boys felt like it took a million years. The energy around the group was incredible, and Y/N was pretty sure she’d hugged more people in the last hour than she had her entire life. She could swear PNC was shaking, and Y/N took a second to close her eyes and listen to the crowd. They were chanting Andrei’s name as he accepted the Conn Smyth, and Kat squeezed Y/N’s hand even tighter. Andrei’s mother was on Kat’s other side, and Evgeny stood next to Y/N. It didn’t feel real.

Morgan was in the middle of an interview when Y/N spotted him. He stopped in the middle of a sentence when he saw her, his smile somehow growing larger. “Red Sox!” Y/N saw the camera shift onto her out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored it as she slid over to Morgan. He caught her with a laugh, spinning them in a circle. The reporter caught his attention again, but Morgan kept an arm wound tightly around Y/N’s shoulders as he continued to talk.

The next few hours were a flurry of movement and photos, and Y/N was hugged by more people she didn’t know than people she did. Andrei pulled Y/N and Morgan away from his parents long enough to take a “family photo” with him and Kat, and Y/N made a mental note to get that framed for her and Morgan’s apartment. By the time they made it out to the club the team decided on, Y/N was already a few beers and some champagne in and she knew Morgan was the same way. It felt like half the city was there to celebrate with the boys, and Y/N spent more time taking videos and pictures of them interacting with the crowd than she’d ever done on Instagram stories before. Kat left early, tired from the baby and a little irritated with the drunkenness around her, and Andrei followed not long after with an impressive speech about how much he loved Kat, made even more impressive by the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

Y/N and Morgan made it home eventually, though convincing Dougie that sleep was a good idea and to let them go home proved to be difficult. Dougie eventually relented, and Morgan had to help Dougie from the Uber and into his place on the way back to his and Y/N’s shared apartment. They made it to bed as the sun began rising over the city, and Morgan held Y/N close as they fell asleep and the world turned gold around them.

July 1st, the following year:

“So we’re doing this, then?” Morgan held his finger over the number typed into his phone, and Y/N squeezed his other hand. Free agency day had come, and they were about to change their entire world. Morgan was ready to go home, and Y/N was ready for an adventure. Besides, home was wherever Morgan was. Y/N nodded, and Morgan hit the call button. The GM on the other end of the line picked up, and Morgan spoke one sentence that began the change. “I’m about to sign the paperwork.” His smile was infectious, and Y/N smiled widely back at him. The paperwork felt endless, and she found herself playing photographer so that there was proof of the signing and for the social media page to post wherever they decided to.

Morgan finally said his goodbyes to the GM, and he barely hit the end call button before he was leaping up to wrap Y/N in a hug. “I love you.” She hugged him back tightly, and whispered the same. They stood like that for a moment, and then Morgan’s phone lit up with a call. And so it began. Y/N slipped away to grab them both beers, and Morgan clinked his appreciatively against hers as he talked with Elias. Y/N stepped out onto the balcony of the Vancouver apartment and smiled. This would be her new view every day. Canada was new, and the thought of changing everything to move to a new country scared her shitless, but there would be time to worry about that later.

She stood there until the sun began sinking in front of her, and Morgan joined her outside. “I think that’s the last of them, at least for now.” He slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her close. “I’ve got something to show you, if you’re up for a nighttime drive.” Y/N threw a look up at him, and he laughed. Of course she was up for a nighttime drive. “Okay, I know, c’mon.” He turned and headed back inside, grabbing his keys from the sweatshirt lying over the back of the couch.

They drove for almost a half an hour, singing quietly to the bluetooth as the sights of the city flew past them. The water came into a more consistent view as they drove, and Y/N made a mental note to drive this road again the next time she couldn’t sleep. The air was cool as it filtered through the sunroof and she shivered slightly. Morgan pulled into a driveway suddenly, and Y/N stared up at the house in front of them. It was newer, full of windows and what she thought was a rooftop deck sitting just at the tip of her viewpoint. She turned to Morgan in confusion, and he smiled. “When we decided on Vancouver a few days ago, I started thinking about how we could really get a proper restart. I was thinking we could put an offer in on this place if you liked it.”

He opened his car door and climbed out after that, and Y/N slowly did the same. Morgan punched in the code for the lock and held the door open, gesturing for Y/N to enter first. It took her breath away. Even in the growing darkness the house was bright. Moonlight filtered in from the windows covering most of the walls she could see. They were black-trimmed, standing out neatly against the white of the walls. The place was empty, but it still felt homey. Morgan reached out and grabbed Y/N’s hand, tugging her further into the house. “You’ve gotta see the kitchen. It has my favorite views other than the roof.”

The view was incredible. Windows over the sink looked out onto the bay, and Y/N could see a dock leading down to the water from the deck outside the living room. Morgan brushed a finger over her left cheek, and Y/N realized she was crying. “Morgan, this place is incredible.” He cupped her face gently, smiling. “I know,” he said cheekily, “that’s why I picked it out.” Y/N stared at him incredulously, though the effect was slightly ruined by the tears still sitting in her eyes. Morgan nodded his head back in the direction they had come from.

“You’ve got to see the best part of the house.” The upstairs was just as beautiful as the downstairs, though Morgan didn’t give Y/N a chance to appreciate it the way he had the kitchen. He kept moving, pulling her towards another set of stairs. The outside hit her suddenly, and the smell of the water was carried along the breeze up to them. If the view from the kitchen was perfect, the view from the roof was otherworldly. Y/N walked towards the railing in an almost trancelike state, and she only stopped when the railing hit her midsection. She felt tears welling in her eyes again, and she didn’t have the will to swipe them away. This view alone was reason to buy the house. The city lights sparkled from across the dark bay, and lights from a ferry shone even further away. The sky was a dark purple now, almost completely black, and a full moon was rising over the water and the city.

Y/N leaned back into Morgan, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “I want to do forever with you, sweetheart, and I think this is a good place to start.” He leaned down to rest his head on Y/N’s shoulder, and she sighed contentedly. “Marry me?” Y/N jerked, turning quickly in Morgan’s arms. He was smiling down at her nervously, and she felt her face break into a wide smile. She nodded, not quite trusting her voice. “Yeah?” Morgan reached up to cup Y/N’s face as he spoke.

“Yeah,” she responded, grabbing the front of his shirt to pull him down to her. They were smiling too big to properly kiss, and Y/N broke away to lean her forehead on Morgan. “I love you, Hotshot.” Morgan laughed, pecking her lips again. “I love you too, Red Sox.”

They were home again and sitting on the couch when Morgan blanched, jumping up with a muffled “shit” and running out of the room. Y/N sat there confusedly, trying to decide if she should follow him, when Morgan came skidding back into the room. “I forgot about this.” He held out a velvet box, and Y/N began to laugh. The laugh grew until she was clutching her sides, sliding down the couch until she was lying back. Morgan joined in eventually, and they held each other as they laughed. It took a few minutes until they were composed enough to speak again, and Morgan slid the ring out of the box and onto her finger. It was simple, small and perfect, and Y/N laughed quietly as she leaned in to kiss Morgan again. “I love you, Morgan Reilly.”

They waited until the next morning to tell anyone, calling their families as soon as it was an acceptable time. Around noon Morgan posted a picture of Y/N drinking coffee onto his Instagram, the coffee cup and her left hand the only things in the photo in focus. A simple caption followed that led to an animated conversation with Kat and a lecture from Andrei about the proper way to announce big news.

So about last night…

October, Vancouver’s Opening Night:

To say opening night was exciting would be an understatement. Morgan’s mother had been texting Y/N all day to confirm their pre-game plans, and Y/N finally understood where Morgan’s energy came from. They had gotten dinner together at a place Mrs. Rielly swore by, and then had settled into seats in the family box to watch Morgan make his debut for his hometown team. The arena was giddy, especially as their team came out swinging. They won, and by the end of the game Morgan had scored his first goal as a Canuck. The goal and a fantastic play to save the game in the third gave him first star of the game, and the arena roared as he skated out for a lap. He raised his stick in appreciation before settling onto the bench to talk to the crowd.

“So Morgan, I have to ask you about your summer. It was quite eventful, yes?” The in-arena interviewer smiled at Morgan expectantly, and Y/N laughed because she knew what was coming. “I hear you got engaged to a former roommate?”

Morgan smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Well I had just gotten traded to Carolina, and I needed a place to stay. Dougie Hamilton told me he knew of a girl who needed someone to rent the other room in her apartment, and it seemed like a good idea at the time…”

#nhl imagine #nhl imagines #morgan rielly imagine #good idea ML

35 notes · View notes

foryouandbits · 5 years ago

Text

ASG

Based off this post of a headcanon of Bitty beating out the other skaters at the All-Star Game without even being in the league.

Read on AO3.

Early in the morning on the first of January, Jack Zimmermann was asleep in his bed with his boyfriend on his chest. Bitty had returned early from Georgia to spend the last few days of his winter break in Providence. They had hoped to ring in the new year together, but Jack had an away game and was in the air as 2016 turned to 2017. It was fine; that was the sacrifice they made so Jack could play professional hockey. A phone buzzed. Jack felt Bitty stir but neither of them woke. A second buzz was enough to fully wake Jack, who opened his eyes and looked over at the nightstand. It was still much too early. It was a holiday and he had the day off. While he wasn't planning on sleeping in, he was planning on a lazy morning in bed with Bitty. Usually early morning texts meant he was needed somewhere, and at the moment he was needed there in his bed with Bitty. The phone buzzed again. "You should look at those," murmured Bitty. "Mmm, no," said Jack, who wrapped his arm around Bitty, catching the cool print of his number on the back of Bitty's Providence Falconers shirsey. It wasn't a pleasant feeling on his fingertips, so he slipped his hand under the hem of the shirt to touch Bitty's skin instead. That was much better and it made Bitty sigh in the way he did when something felt good. Much to Jack's chagrin, Bitty lifted his head and took the phone from the nightstand. He quickly sat up. "What?" Jack asked, finally opening his eyes. Bitty's hair was mussed and stuck up more than just the usual cowlick at the crown of his head. His eyes were heavy and dark; he'd waited up for Jack to arrive home before they both fell into bed around two-thirty in the morning. Jack stared at him anyway as Bitty's expression lightened and his mouth turned into a broad smile. "What?" Jack asked again. "You've been selected for the All-Star Game," said Bitty, turning the phone toward Jack.

The phone displayed three notifications, all texts from George Martin: George Guess what? George Just got the call George You've been selected to the ASG this year! Jack rubbed at his eyes. It was much too early and they'd gone to bed much too late. "What?" he said again, but when he opened his eyes the notifications were still there, and George had texted again. George Up and at 'em, Jack. I need to confirm that you're in. Jack took the phone from Bitty and unlocked it so he could stare at the texts without the display dimming. He must have still been dreaming, or perhaps he was hallucinating, because this was ridiculous. This was his second season. It was entirely too early for him to be considered an All-Star. "You okay, sweetpea?" Bitty asked. He'd placed a hand on Jack's bare skin, on the six inches between the waist of his boxers and the hem of his rucked-up T-shirt. Jack frowned as he continued to look at the texts. His gaze flickered to Bitty, who was still smiling at him. Bitty took the phone out of his hands, put it on the nightstand, and then straddled Jack's hips, both of his hands on Jack's skin now as his beaming smile morphed into a smirk, something much too sexy for this early in the morning. "It's legit, honey," said Bitty, as if reading Jack's mind. "They want you on the All-Star team." "But…why?" Jack asked. "Because you are a star, Mister Zimmermann," said Bitty, and he leaned forward for a brief kiss before he returned upright. "You are a Stanley Cup champion. You are a Conn Smythe winner. You are an alternate captain —" "Alternate captain," Jack clarified. "Which you were named in your rookie year. I would not at all be surprised if you were chosen as the captain captain when the time comes to name one." Jack continued to frown, but Bitty looked so enticing, straddling his hips, touching his skin, grinning at him, and pointing out accomplishments as if they meant something. They did mean something, because Bitty had never doled out compliments for no reason. Not to Jack, not in their bed, not when they were alone. "Will you come with me?" Jack asked when he finally put his hands underneath Bitty's shirt. "To the ASG?" Bitty asked in surprise. "I… I don't know." "Guys usually bring their families," said Jack, running his hand up Bitty's side to hopefully remove the surprise and bring back the desire. "Yeah, their kids. Not their WAGs." "You're not a WAG," said Jack. "This is true," said Bitty. "Come with me," repeated Jack and his hands reached Bitty's armpits, the shirt coming with them, so he continued up until the shirt was off Bitty's body and on the floor. Jack returned his hands to Bitty's skin and slid them down to the waistband of his small sleep shorts, the kind he always wore to bed with Jack, because Jack liked them. At the present, Jack just wanted them gone. Bitty bent forward and gave Jack a deep kiss, allowing Jack to pull him down so their bodies were flush together. The phone buzzed again on the nightstand. They both ignored it. *** The 2017 All-Star Game took place in Los Angeles the last weekend of January. Jack flew in alone on Friday night. The opening dinner and after party were boring, so he schmoozed for the shortest amount of time possible and went to bed early. Bitty would be flying in on Saturday while Jack was in the press junket, but had to leave again right away in the morning to be back at Samwell in time for his game on Sunday afternoon. With the skills competition taking up most of the evening, Jack was disappointed that he'd only get a few hours alone with his boyfriend in the warmth of southern California before they both returned to the frigid Northeast. Jack was pacing in his hotel room, dressed in his suit, his eyes on the clock. Bitty was stuck in horrendous LA traffic and Jack needed to leave so he wasn't late. For some reason the All-Star Game included a red carpet, which he felt was both ridiculous and unnecessary. This was his first appearance at the ASG, and it might be his last if he missed the red carpet because he wanted to see his boyfriend. Savannah, the Falconers' Director of PR, sat in the armchair, her legs crossed, her hand to her temple, her eyes on the clock. "Jack, we've got to go." "Just another minute, he said they were almost here," said Jack, but he continued to pace in front of the king sized bed. "You can see him at the arena. People are already on the red carpet. If we don't leave now you're going to miss it, and I know there are fans waiting to see you." Jack groaned and finally sat on the bed when a loud knock sounded on the door. He jumped up just as quickly and ran to the door, which he opened to reveal Bitty with his carry-on suitcase, looking frazzled and annoyed. "Hi, sweetie. I am so sorry. I've heard that traffic in LA is bad but holy moly is it bad." "That's okay," said Jack, who paused at the door to give Bitty a kiss before he took the suitcase and brought it into the room. Savannah was on her feet. "Hi Bitty," she said. "We've got to get going. Are you riding in the car with us?" "Oh!" said Bitty and he looked at Jack. "Am I?" "Yes," said Jack. "Is that what you're wearing?" Savannah asked. Bitty looked down at himself. He was wearing jeans and his Samwell jersey. "Oh, sorry," he said. "There was a captains event right before my flight. I never changed. I can put on something else…" "No time," said Savannah. "Let's go." Savannah rushed them into the elevator and downstairs to the waiting black SUV. Savannah ushered Jack and Bitty into the back seat, and then she took the front. Once in the car, Jack relaxed, his hand in Bitty's, looking at his boyfriend rather than the road. "I'm glad you could come," said Jack, his head against the headrest as he looked at Bitty, who smiled happily at him. "I wouldn't miss this for the world," said Bitty, and he brought Jack's hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it. "Are you nervous? Jack had completely forgotten that he was about to compete with forty-three of the best players in the league. He was one of the forty-four best players in the league. So far the weekend had a very laid back air about it, but even so, he wanted to do well. He could just imagine making a fool out of himself in the fastest skater competition. He already didn't think he belonged there. George had been the one to tell him about it, and he stared at her after she said it, just like he'd stared at the text that brought him here. He figured he'd be asked to compete in the accuracy challenge, or maybe the hardest shot, but George said he was one of the two selections from the Metropolitan division as the fastest skater. It made no sense. He and Bitty had just gone skating in Madison, and Bitty had just smoked him on a lap around the rink. Jack was not a fast skater. "You are, though," said George when Jack vocalized this. "The challenges are head-to-head between divisions. They specifically nominated you for this one, and honestly, Jack, I'd put money on you to win." Jack was nervous, actually, but with Bitty next to him, it wasn't so bad. He kissed Bitty instead of replying to him, and Bitty blushed as he glanced at the front of the car. It had been seven months since they kissed at center ice in front of an audience of millions, but even so, Bitty still looked around whenever Jack kissed him in front of people he didn't know. Jack rubbed his thumb over Bitty's knuckles and Bitty relaxed. "Where am I sitting?" Bitty asked. "Good question," said Jack. He looked toward the front. "Savannah, where is Bitty sitting?" "There's a WAG section at press level," said Savannah. "Bitty's not a WAG," said Jack. "WAG and boyfriend section," said Savannah tersely. Jack rolled his eyes; Savannah's team had tried to come up with an inclusive acronym that wasn't "wives and girlfriends and I guess also boyfriends and maybe husbands someday," and so far no one had come up with anything catchy enough to stick. Every time events came up that included family, it was still just WAGs with an afterthought of "and Bitty too." It was frustrating, but fortunately it was the only frustrating part of being out in a league notorious for its homophobia. The red carpet was mostly fans, but there was a line of photographers that snapped pictures of him after he got out of the car and headed toward the arena. A camera followed him to the halfway point of the carpet and then hastily returned to the street to welcome the next player. Jack waved at fans, some of whom held rainbow flags with the Providence Falconers' logo on it. He stopped for autographs, focusing on children in Falconers gear, and then waved and continued inside. There were cameras in here as well, but it was much quieter. To his surprise, Bitty stepped up next to him. Savannah was just a few feet behind; they must have both exited the car as well but kept their distance until they entered the arena. "Oh, hi," said Jack. "You want to come with me while I get my gear on?" "Okay," said Bitty, although he eyed a nearby camera warily. It was crowded in the dressing room. Jack's gear was already waiting in a stall on the Metropolitan side, but they shared the dressing room with the Atlantic division so there were really no fewer guys than normal in the room, and almost everyone had an entourage. There was a camera and a reporter from every major network. It was fortunate Bitty was small; he and Jack squeezed together in Jack's stall as Jack began to change clothes. Jack had just half his gear on when he realized Savannah was gone. He looked around; someone from the Atlantic division was lacing up skates for his son, who clearly was meant to come out on the ice with him. Jack looked at Bitty. "You want to come on the ice with me?" he asked. Bitty's eyes widened. "Ooh, I don't know, Jack. I don't think I'm allowed." "Why not? I bet I could get gear for you in a snap. You're already wearing your jersey." "Gear? Jack, don't be ridiculous. I'll stay with you until you need to go on the ice and then I'll go to the WAG section." "You mean the WAG and Bitty section," Jack said darkly and Bitty frowned. Jack sent off a text and by the time Jack was putting on his jersey, an equipment manager appeared with a full set of gear in Bitty's size, including skates.

Bitty shot Jack a look. "Are you serious?" Bitty asked. Jack smiled at him and stood to give Bitty room to change. Bitty looked around, but no one was paying attention to him, so he began to untie his shoes. The blue Falconers shorts didn't match his red and white Samwell jersey, but the skates fit, and when Bitty joined Jack on the ice after the opening ceremony, no one questioned his presence although several people requested an introduction.

"Hi, hi, oh my goodness hi," Bitty repeated as he shook hands with the current legends of hockey, his eyes wide and his smile immovable. Jack introduced him as "my boyfriend" and relished in the full feeling in his chest whenever he was able to do so, despite the cameras recording all of them for national broadcast, despite the eighteen thousand fans in attendance. He'd been so afraid of this for so long, ever since juniors, but there he stood with his boyfriend, and not a single person detracted from his happiness. During the first challenge, a four-man relay involving passing, puck control, stick-handling, and goalie goals, Shea Weber from the Canadiens had a five-minute conversation with Bitty about college hockey, which Shea bypassed by going directly from juniors to the NHL.

Bitty was still speaking with Shea when the next event began, a four line challenge that Jack would be participating in. Jack took hold of the stick that Bitty had been leaning on. "Oh, is it your turn already?" Bitty asked.

"Just for a group challenge. The fastest skater challenge is later."

"Good luck, sweetie," said Bitty as he handed over the stick, and he returned to his conversation. Jack joined his group of skaters at the center line. He would be part of the second group to go, and he began to feel nervous as he knelt on one knee, watching the first group as they set up at the blue line, aiming at the net that was mostly blocked apart from four very small openings. It looked ridiculously difficult but after the first group of players went and only one person actually scored a point, the pressure seemed to ease off. None of this really mattered and from the look of it, scoring even once seemed nearly impossible.

The first player in his group, Erik Karlsson, failed at getting both shots in the net. A referee turned to Jack and signaled that he take his place. He approached the center red line and let out a big breath. The audience seemed more chatty than cheery, but he heard a few screams when he set up and most audibly a shout from Bitty: "Show 'em how it's done, Jack!"

He juggled a puck on his stick and looked toward the net. There were holes in the upper corners and lower corners and while the uppers were larger and worth more points, Jack knew the chance of getting something in one of them was steep compared to just shooting along the ice into the lower corners. He had two chances so he decided to try for an upper on his first shot, but the puck smacked into the barrier rather than into the net, so he decided that attempting another in that direction was too risky. He took the other puck on his stick and Bitty shouted again, "You've got this!" He aimed for the lower right corner of the net, keeping the puck along the ice, and held his breath as it sailed forward. It hit the post but plinked in, and Jack pumped his fist as the crowd roared and Bitty wooed.

Smiling, Jack returned to the side of the ice and received fist bumps the two remaining members of the Metropolitan division. At the end of the challenge Jack was only one of four players who'd managed to net a puck, but Mike Smith, the goalie from the Arizona Coyotes, shot one in from his own goal line and as a result earned the Pacific division thirty points, so Jack's singular point made no difference. He skated across the rink back to Bitty, who beamed at him. "That was awesome, sweetie," he said and grabbed hold of Jack's arm in sort of a hug before he quickly let go.

"This is too much pressure," said Jack, which caused Bitty to roll his eyes. "I think you should do the next one for me."

"Me?" Bitty asked, scandalized. "Jack, this is your competition, not mine."

"I'm not fast enough. You do it."

Bitty rolled his eyes again, but after the accuracy challenge, Jack took Bitty's hand and dragged him across the ice with him. "Jack, seriously, I'm not in the NHL. I'm not allowed to do this." Jack pushed Bitty toward Nikita Kucherov, who gave Bitty a strange look, but didn't say anything as Jack knelt with them. There wasn't a lot of time for Bitty to protest, however, as the TV feed returned from commercial and Kucherov stood. The camera focused on him but then as the in-arena announcement stated, "First in the Fastest Skater Challenge, Nikita Kucherov from the Tampa Bay Lightning against Jack Zimmermann from the Providence Falconers," Jack pushed Bitty. Bitty stood and the camera moved to him rather than Jack. Bitty smiled shyly and waved.

Jack looked across the rink at the press box located between the two team benches. Kent Parson, who'd been injured the previous week and thus wouldn't compete, stood next to an announcer with a headset on. Jack couldn't help a smile; they'd grabbed a few players to commentate during the challenges, and of course Parse would be asked for this one since he'd won it the year before. Parse looked impassively at Bitty, but Jack knew his face well enough to know that Parse was stifling a scowl. As Bitty and Kucherov were directed to the starting line by a referee, the rinkside announcer, Scott Oake, quickly snatched Jack from the ice and handed him a headset. As soon as he put the headset on, he could hear Parse speaking.

"...like Jack found a substitute," Parse was saying.

"Jack," asked Scott, "who's this you've got taking your place?"

"This is Eric Bittle, my boyfriend," said Jack, and then there it was, the first hesitation. There was no way Scott didn't know Jack had a boyfriend, or hadn't made the connection, but it was clear he hadn't expected Jack to be so bold on national television.

"What jersey is he wearing tonight?" Scott asked after a significant pause.

"That would be his. He's the captain of the hockey team at Samwell University in Boston. And he's very fast, so I'm expecting him to win this heat," said Jack. He looked at the ice and Bitty stood at the blue line, Jack's stick in his hand, his eyes on the referee. The referee blew a whistle and Bitty bolted forward, the crowd cheering him on but Jack watching silently, enthralled by his speed and his grace. Bitty might have been the reason Jack could even be considered for this sort of challenge, but there was no question Jack would rather watch Bitty go than compete on his own. Kucherov wasn't far behind, but he was behind, and as they rounded the second turn and headed back to the original blue line to finish, the tip of Jack's stick crossed first. Jack looked up at the time: thirteen seconds even, as opposed to Kucherov's time of 13.16 seconds.

"Nice," Jack said.

"Eric Bittle has beaten the winning score from last year's competition of 13.172 seconds. Kent, how do you feel about Eric breaking your record?" asked a different announcer across the rink.

"That doesn't count," said Parse. "He doesn't even go here."

Jack laughed, and Parse did too, although Jack recognized his fake media laugh even through a headset and eighteen thousand cheering fans. Bitty skated over to Jack and he said, "Good job, bud," as Bitty approached. Bitty stopped next to him and Scott held out his microphone.

"That was an impressive time," Scott said. Bitty had to lean in to hear over the cheering. "Is this something you practiced coming in to tonight?"

"This is a drill I'm familiar with back at Samwell," said Bitty, slightly out of breath as he gestured to the setup of the rink, which was split in half with three cones marking the turns at the faceoff dots near the goal line. "I'm usually not racing against someone, though. That made it more fun."

"Well congratulations on winning the first heat. Let's see how the rest goes."

Jack kept his headset on the rest of the challenge, which was awkward. Bitty had just beat an NHL player in a lap around the rink, and while it didn't surprise Jack, it definitely turned him on, and he very much wanted to congratulate Bitty without a microphone next to his mouth and a camera in his face. Bitty stood with him, eventually regaining his breath, but as the next set of players raced, neither met his time. "Oh dear," said Bitty when he looked at the scoreboard. Jack's name remained on the display, Bitty's time next to it. The third set of players raced, and again neither beat Bitty's time, but the final heat contained Connor McDavid, who was well-known for his speed. Jack felt his heartbeat tick up as McDavid took the line. If anyone was going to beat Bitty's time it was him, but just over thirteen seconds later, Jack was looking at the scoreboard for the result, and he said a loud, "NICE!" when Connor McDavid's score posted just below Bitty's name, with a time of 13.02 seconds.

"Oh hey!" said Bitty, smiling brightly although his face was beet red. "Do I win something?"

"Every challenge winner gets $25,000," said Scott and Bitty's eyes glazed over in shock as he looked at Jack.

Jack couldn't stop grinning.

***

"You were so good, Bits," said Jack that evening back in the hotel room, Bitty still in his Samwell jersey per Jack's request, Jack still in his dress shirt and slacks per Bitty's request. They'd settled onto the bed but Jack couldn't keep his hands off Bitty's body, looking him up and down as he remembered the cheering of the crowd, the wind through Bitty's hair, Bitty's stick crossing the blue line an entire foot before Kucherov's. "Nobody else was even close."

"Connor McDavid was close," said Bitty.

"Barely."

"It was two hundredths of a second!"

"It was miles," said Jack and he put his face into Bitty's neck, kissing his sensitive skin there. Bitty squirmed. Jack lowered his hand from underneath Bitty's jersey to the back of his jeans, gripping his butt through the denim, which caused Bitty to squirm again. It was exactly what Jack wanted. Jack began to suck at the skin beneath Bitty's ear, but this time he squirmed too much and pulled away.

"Stop it, sweetpea, I've got a game tomorrow."

"But you taste good," whispered Jack into Bitty's ear. Bitty turned his head and caught Jack's mouth, and they kissed for what felt like hours only to be interrupted by the buzz of Jack's phone. Bitty pulled away and groaned, his head turned toward it, but Jack put his hand on the side of Bitty's head to direct him back.

"What if it's important?" Bitty asked.

"Then they'll text again."

Unfortunately, that was what happened, and Jack's phone buzzed a second time. He groaned and reached over Bitty's alluring body, fully clothed in his jeans and jersey, to the nightstand where his phone charged. He looked at it. George again.

George What time is Bitty’s game tomorrow? George I’ve got four scouts blowing up my phone

Jack stared at the message, an internal debate raging in his mind. George could have easily looked up the time of the Samwell game, as could the scouts, but she wasn't asking for information. She was asking for approval. Bitty in the NHL would be amazing; he'd always thought Bitty was a world-class player who elevated the game of those around him while still holding his own, but if Bitty wasn't on the Falconers, Jack would spend three fourths of every year away from him. At least now Bitty could pop in during the weekend, or just for a night if he didn't have an early class. There would be significantly less of that if Bitty were in the league as well.

This, however, wasn't Jack's decision. He showed his screen to Bitty for him to decide. Bitty took hold of the phone and stared at it, and as he did his eyes filled with tears that he successfully prevented from spilling over. "Really?" Bitty asked as he looked at Jack.

"Looks real to me," said Jack. "What do you think?"

"I... that would be wonderful," said Bitty immediately, which caused Jack's heart to sink. Four scouts blowing up George's phone didn't include the Falconers' too, otherwise George would have mentioned it. Bitty returned the phone and Jack put it back on the nightstand without responding. Bitty wiped at his eyes and when he took his his hands away from his face, he looked less wistful and more grounded. "It would be wonderful, but that's so much, Jack. What if I ended up in Florida or Texas or all the way in Vancouver? I'd never see you."

"This isn't about me," said Jack. "What do you want?"

Bitty was silent for a long time, looking away from Jack and up at the plain white ceiling. Jack lay on the pillow next to Bitty and held him loosely around the waist, but didn't speak and didn't nudge until Bitty looked back at him. "I love hockey," said Bitty. "I really do."

"But?" Jack asked, vocalizing what Bitty didn't.

"But I don't love it like you do. I don't think this is my life."

"You don't have to decide right now. We can get you an agent, see if you get any offers..."

Bitty shook his head decidedly. "No. Even if I was guaranteed to play with you, I can't. This isn't what I want."

"Are you sure?" Jack asked.

Bitty nodded, but the tears were back in his eyes. "Oh my God," he said. "Oh my God, I just said no to the NHL."

"It's not what you want," said Jack quietly, and he rubbed Bitty's stomach gently. "What do you want?"

Bitty lifted his head. "Well, I just won myself a little nest egg," he said. "I think we should get serious about the bakery. What was that place you saw the other day on your run?"

"It's a nice location. It's a busy street but there's enough parking," said Jack.

"I think we should do it," said Bitty. "I think I should do it."

"If that's what you want," said Jack, and Bitty smiled.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's what I want," he said. "But you know what I want first?"

"What?"

Bitty kissed him again and let Jack roll him onto his back. "Thank God," said Jack as he tugged up the hem of Bitty's jersey. "I wanted to fuck you as soon as you crossed the finish line."

Bitty grinned. "You should have."

"I should have," said Jack. He removed Bitty's jersey and then kissed him again.

***

Jack Thank you, but he’s not interested Jack But you can tell Parse if he wants a rematch, he can eat Bitty’s dust at Faber

#ficlet #my fic #omgcp #zimbits

158 notes · View notes