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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 2 years ago

Text

communication skills

anthony beauvillier x f!reader; platonic!mat barzal x f!reader

warnings: swearing, throwing up, based slightly on 'hits different' by taylor swift, i wrote a good 80% of this drunk so i apologise for everything

word count: 8.7k

The water was warm – not too hot that it burned your skin, but warm enough to encourage you to stand in front of the mirror – refusing to look at your own reflection – and keep your hands held under the steady stream. There was something relaxing about it, watching it cascade off your skin, fragmenting the light.

It was a twisty tap, and after a long period of you washing off the feeling of his last words, desperate to scrub any and all traces of him off your skin, even despite the pathetic futility of such a feat – another hand reached out from behind you, twisting it off and handing you a small pile of paper towels.

Much like your own reflection, you refused to look at the man on your right, keeping your head down and eyes entirely focused on the task at hand. If you even so much as caught a pitying or equally heartbroken gleam in his face, you’d be done for; that unwanted well of emotion would shatter, and Mat would be left to pick up the pieces in a bathroom of a club you’d only been to once before.

The last thing you wanted to do was talk about it, but when you chucked the scrap towels in the bin, the frustration had gotten the better of you, and your words spewed out of your mouth seamlessly. Mat was leant against a wall, nodding along to almost everything you were saying, and you could tell from the grave expression on his face that he was just as affected by the matter, too.

How could he not?

He’d known Beau since they were kids, and because of the inhumane system surrounding transfers, they’d be separated from each other for the first time in years.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” He asked, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, a stern yet altogether curious look about him.

You froze, knitting your brows together in slight bewilderment, “What am I gonna do about him getting transferred?” You checked, puzzled as to his query.

There wasn’t much you could do about anything; transfers were legally bound contacts as far as you knew, and you wouldn’t be able to hammer even the slightest dent in that framework – not that you’d even thought about doing that anyway.

It wasn’t your career, he wasn’t your boyfriend, and you weren’t going to mess with something set in stone. Still, that harsh truth didn’t exactly do anything to numb the stinging hurt prickling at your chest. Your throat tightened, and you pressed your lips together, trying to suppress the mounting build of sadness climbing up your throat.

You hated the helplessness of it all; you couldn’t control a single aspect of anything that had occurred within the last fifteen minutes and it petrified you. It sent goosebumps trailing down your skin, and a spike of adrenaline through your system.

“No,” Mat frowned, blinking at you, “What are you gonna do about Tito moving to Vancouver?”

You swallowed, trying to maintain the knot slowly building, “I don’t follow.”

You weren’t going to do anything. He was the one that had ended it. You were, however, going to go home and watch New Girl to cheer yourself up. Maybe call your parents; the time difference would mean they’d still be awake – and long term? Probably mope.

You weren’t sure you could quite stomach the thought of someone else at that moment – which was a shocker to you.

Moving on was always easy for you to do – it tended to be a benefit of never truly giving yourself to anyone. Yet, somehow, Anthony Beauvillier had worked his way under your defences and you’d given yourself to him in ways you never pictured yourself ever doing.

“I mean,” Mat rolled his eyes, “Are you going to let him break things off and jet across to the other side of North America?” He asked it like it was obvious, his shoulders shrugging as he watched you carefully.

He thought you were taking the entire situation rather well. You had since Anthony had panicked and dumped everything on you – how he’d literally just shouted in your ear ‘I’ve been traded to Vancouver and I’m leaving within the week’ – and how the only reaction you had was a poor ‘oh’ after you’d ingested his words. Other than that, you’d been in a sort of reverie, floating around the rest of the night, a haunted look on your face as you watched him leave.

He’d broken up with you, and Mat was almost certain that you didn’t know why.

Mat knew, of course he did. After Tito had told him, the first thing he’d worried about was you.

“I don’t want her to leave New York for me. She deserves better than that.”

And no matter how many times Mat had tried to persuade Tito that, no, you deserved each other wholeheartedly, Tito was insistent on the fact that the only way to solve that issue of his was to break up with you.

Obviously, he’d neglected to confide exactly why he’d broken up with you, to you.

And that left Mat in this current predicament: you in shock hiding in the bathroom, and Tito, no doubt, packing his suitcase and mourning your entire relationship.

Honestly, Mat was sick of you both. You were too blind to realise that you guys were made for each other – you were just too stubborn to connect the dots and allow yourselves to be happy – with each other.

Your reactions just seemed to lack emotion; it was as if someone had snuffed out your ability to feel – you looked subdued, an empty vacancy hidden behind your eyes.

And when he’d asked you if you were going to go with Anthony to Vancouver, you’d just stared, looking mildly unwell at the prospect.

“What else am I supposed to do?” You asked, placing a hand on your stomach as though to ease the rising sickness. Where had it come from? “He told me he was moving to Vancouver and that he didn’t want me to go with him. In fact, his exact words were ‘I don’t want you to come to Vancouver with me’ and ‘I want to break up’.”

Mat blanched, frustration fisting an angry hand in his chest, slowly pushing its way through his sternum.

He swore you two would be the death of him.

He didn’t say anything, but took your silence as an answer. You’d been throwing hopeful glances at the door, and he’d elected to ignore it in wanting to try to get you to see sense, but it seemed Tito had left that job even more difficult to follow through on with his harsh words.

Reluctant words. Words that Mat knew absolutely killed him to say to you.

He’d seen the way his friend had looked at you, and to know that he was moving to Vancouver – away from him and New York, a feat that he’d be doing alone – and leaving you behind was something that broke even Mat’s heart, and in that, he knew that it destroyed both yours and Tito’s.

If Mat hadn't known that Tito only broke up with you because he didn’t want you to drop everything for him, he would have assumed the guy was running from something.

In a sense, he was running away from you – but in doing so, he was running away from quite possibly the best thing he’d ever had in his life, and Mat wasn’t about to let either you or Tito make that mistake.

He didn’t voice any of that, however, just moved aside and let you through the door, making sure to keep a steady hand on your back in reassurance as you both made it out of the club, past the millions of couples devouring each other – who only served as a sour reminder of the night’s events – and outside.

It was chilly, and the frosty air nipped at your exposed skin.

You’d barely had time to string together a coherent thought before hands were tugging you in all directions; cold and clammy as you were pulled back and forth, concerned touches on your elbows, shoulders, and chin. You barely even registered exactly who you were looking at.

“Are you okay?”

“There’s a cute guy inside that’s been checking you out all night–”

“I can’t believe he just broke up with you.”

“Why isn’t she looking at us?”

Questions were fired left, right and centre, and you were numb to it all; their voices trickling in through one ear and flowing out of the other seamlessly. They sounded like they were underwater, and you felt Mat’s comforting hand on your back once more, gently guiding you away from your friends.

You heard him say something, it must have been something about getting you home because they all let out a chorus of disappointed ‘ohs’ and patted you sympathetically on your arm.

For some reason, hearing the truth of what actually happened barely half an hour ago seemed to set it into stone; it felt different keeping the breakup in the bathroom just between you and Mat – it felt more private somehow, like you could walk out of the room and pretend Anthony hadn’t left you in that club, heart shattered into oblivion and mind stuck on his words and the way he looked like he might break if you so much as even stepped towards him or touched him or whispered even a word of protest.

But you’d wandered outside in the hope of clearing your head, only to be bombarded and heralded and overwhelmed when you were busy trying to deal.

Why did he break up with you? You would have gone with him - you knew you would.

Did he get bored of you? He couldn’t have; he’d just told you he was wildly in love with you three weeks ago.

Had he met someone else? Was he in love with someone else?

And that was when you saw it; although they were further down the street, Mat pushing you into a walk as you both strolled down the sidewalk, you could just make it out in the hazy darkness.

They must have been illuminated by the light from the inside of the bar, because each time a door opened, their section of the sidewalk practically glowed, highlighting them.

You couldn’t see who the girl was, she seemed to be hidden from view by the man, but it was him who’d caught your attention. If it weren’t for Mat coaxing you along, you’d have frozen in place, eyes fixated watching them with the slow drip drip of dread pounding your body.

You were entranced by the way he brought his hands up to the side of her face, throwing his head backwards in a laugh – a real one, unbridled with joy – and then leant forwards, peppering kisses all over her face as she giggled sweetly at his attentions and affections. It wasn’t the PDA that had you stalling.

That man was Anthony. You could only see the back of his head, and he was further down than you, but he was around the same height and you could see the curls in his hair. He was even wearing a typical Anthony outfit.

It was simple, and you were sure almost every guy in the vicinity was wearing some variation of it, but what caught your eye was he was wearing the same grey t-shirt Beau had just left in.

It could have been any grey t-shirt.

But Anthony had just left wearing it and it was logical that he’d broken up with you because he was in love with that girl.

Mat seemed to sense your hesitation, and he slowed to a stop, brows furrowing at the intensity with which you were watching the young couple in front of you. His eyes drifted from you, his hand now gently grazing your forearm as though he was afraid you’d peel and leave him, to the couple.

He didn’t understand what was so compelling about them that had you completely fascinated. Granted, you looked horrified, and your eye twitched, a flash of pain appearing and then disappearing almost as soon as it had made its presence. If he thought you looked ill before, you looked like you were about to throw up–

He’d barely managed to steer you against a wall and wind your hair up before you’d thrown up on the side of the road.

You quickly pulled yourself up, hating that your eyes instantly drifted back over to the couple.

You frowned. The man wasn’t Anthony.

Then you hurled again, and Mat’s level of concern skyrocketed.

“How much did you have to drink?” He asked, helping you to stand back up, a slight grimace to his face as he made sure there were no splashes coating his jeans.

You briefly shut your eyes, stomach turning, feeling your heart break in real time as the emotions you’d bottled started to manifest itself in physical symptoms – completely against your will. Your eyes pricked with hot tears and the lump in your throat was back as your chin wobbled. You tried to hide behind your hand, but Mat had caught the momentary vulnerability before you could turn away.

He sighed, letting your hair fall back down and automatically pulling you into his chest.

“I didn’t have anything to drink.” You admitted.

His chest rumbled, and you didn’t know if it was the comfort he brought, because no one else seemed to understand what you were feeling at that moment, or if you simply craved a human touch from someone you trusted, but you felt your demeanour shatter, the tears tracking down your cheeks before you could catch them and reel them back in.

“I didn’t have anything to drink.” You repeated, shaking your head.

All you’d done was picture Anthony Beauvillier with other girls in love, and then promptly thrown up on the street.

Yeah, you were pretty fucked.

___

Yet, despite the fact that Anthony had moved to Vancouver, there was a temporary feeling about it – as though you didn’t believe the breakup had actually happened, or you didn’t believe it was really…a breakup?

It definitely had something to do with the fact that Mat was currently in your apartment, a rental, pre-furnished – one that rather conveniently, you hadn’t had the time to move into properly yet, and he was helping you box your belongings, taping the edges together and piling them up in the corner.

You were sorting out your clothes, placing them into a suitcase, and he was in the living room, going through your kitchen.

It hadn’t happened quickly. It took Mat a week to plant the seed in your mind, and it took you another three to decide to move out. Honestly, after Mat had pointed out that, in fact, your ‘friends’ weren’t really your friends; your job had previously offered you a different position in Surrey, not too far out from where you’d just rented another apartment – and it was a career move. That was what you kept telling yourself; technically the job move was a promotion – your salary had been upped and it was more of what you actually wanted to do job-wise.

Plus, your parents lived in Vancouver. You grew up there, went to school there, your friends still lived there. The only reason you stayed in New York was because you’d managed to snag a job straight out of college and you’d established a sort of life for yourself. Albeit, completely apart from your family, but you’d gotten used to the loneliness in college.

If anything, the only reason you’d stayed in New York and hesitated to accept that job offer in the first place – one that you’d gotten even before Anthony had dumped that bomb on you – was because of Mat.

You guys were pretty close, and it felt like a betrayal leaving him (especially after Anthony had just done the same thing, though it was out of his control) for the person he’d introduced to you.

And to say he was eager to send you back to Vancouver – ‘for your job opportunity’ – would be a bit of an understatement, if his volunteering to help you pack had anything to do with it.

It almost felt like someone had taken the knife already living in your chest and twisted it when you heard the song playing through the speakers. The song.

The melody was instantly familiar, even more so the croning of the voice, and it sent a pang of nostalgia ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

There were people everywhere; though it could have had something to do with the fact the venue was only one room – a large one at that, with tall ceilings and rather gorgeous curtains. The back wall was made up entirely of windows and the view overlooking the city was gorgeous from where you were standing. You swore you could see stars when you looked up.

Not that you looked very hard; your eyes were indefinitely locked onto Anthony as he leant back against the glass.

You were both sitting on the floor, him with his back to the glass, and you perpendicular. Somehow you’d both managed to find a quiet corner – literally – and sit down, because after you’d gone to get drinks, your chairs were occupied by some unfamiliar faces, and it was the perfect excuse to get him alone, at least to some extent.

You weren’t entirely isolated from the celebrations, but you made it work.

Your legs were stretched out along the floor, and because of the limitations of you being able to wear a dress in public, Anthony had elected to place his legs over the top of yours like some sort of criss-cross pattern. You were pressed together, him almost sitting on your lap, and you could tell he was comfy.

He’d shrugged his blazer off and a few extra buttons had come undone somewhere along the lines. Your hand stroked delicate motions on the material of his suit trousers, and although his head was resting against the glass, his eyes were watching your fingers.

There was a glass of champagne on either side of you both, yours empty, his only half.

Perhaps that was the reasoning behind your exaggerated reaction when you heard ‘Crazy in Love’ begin to play over the speakers.

You smiled to yourself, unaware of the soft look of mild amusement he was giving you. You’d noticed a pattern recently, and even through your high state of mind you’d somewhat remembered it.

“What?” His voice had your attention snapping back over to him, the motion of your hand on his leg never stopping. You could tell he was trying not to laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“You haven’t noticed?” You ducked your head, disbelieving of his obliviousness. You threw your free hand in the direction of the music, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Clearly not.” He breathed a laugh, eyes lighting up at the mock offence you’d managed to implicate on your face.

“Everytime we go somewhere together, ‘Crazy in Love’ plays. Yesterday, at the restaurant; Mat even played it when he hosted dinner the other day…it’s just something I’ve noticed.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it…” He trailed off, a cheeky smile donning his face as his cheeks turned a rosy pink.

“Now that I’ve mentioned it? How convenient–” You started, but were promptly cut off when he leant forwards, reducing the short distance already between you both, and kissed you.

It was an effective silencing method, one that he’d used on you many times before and one that you’d used on him before. You were at that stage where little displays of affection, no matter how intensely they made those butterflies swarm, didn’t swerve or particularly hinder the one-sided conversation anymore. In other words, they’d lost their effectiveness, and even after this realisation, it didn’t seem to stop either one of you giving or accepting such attentions.

“I was thinking,” he muttered, pulling away whilst you kept a hand on his wrist, preventing him from moving too far.

Usually you would have teased him, warned him to be careful in doing such a thing, and it seemed he was expecting some sort of comment, because he paused, brows furrowing when he was met with silence. You nodded, however, unable to hide the fact that you were completely enthralled by his existence – you were sure he could see it on your face; you could even feel your cheeks heat up for no apparent reason at all other than the magnetic pull you felt towards the man sitting in front of you – and urged him to continue.

“Maybe it should be our song?” He asked, lifting the hand in your grasp up to your face, momentarily brushing a strand of hair from your face with his thumb.

He wasn’t nervous about the suggestion, that much you could tell. He was comfortable, eagerly anticipating your answer.

You smiled, tilting your head and you felt your eyes widen slightly. It didn’t seem like a silly idea.

“Why?” You asked, unable to help the quick glance at his mouth.

“I think it’s fitting to us.” He shrugged.

You nodded, not entirely surprised by the implication. You hadn’t said the words yet, but you knew how you felt. Rather shockingly, however, it didn’t fill you with a sense of dread or unease.

So you replied, “I think it is too.”

Despite the complexity of love, it seemed remarkably simple with Anthony.

It certainly didn’t feel that way when you walked into your living room, seeing Mat half attempt to dance along with the music as he placed various cups and mugs into a box on the kitchen counter.

It felt irrevocably wrong to hear it without Anthony there, and that mere fact was what spurred you on to lean over the phone on the coffee table and hastily press the skip button.

You ignored Mat’s groan of disapproval as you wordlessly made your way back to the bedroom.

“What are your neighbours like?” It was Mat on the phone, his face in the frame on FaceTime as he virtually kept you company as emptied the last couple of boxes.

You’d officially moved back to Vancouver a month ago, your parents offering your childhood room back for the first few weeks until you moved in properly. You didn’t exactly have the heart to say no to them, but their coddling (however attentive it was) had begun to get a little overbearing, so you’d taken every opportunity to sneak over to your new apartment and empty as much as you could.

It was fairly livable now: your main priority had been the kitchen and bedroom, and you’d emptied nearly everything to the point you were comfortable actually moving in. In reality, you knew if your parents hadn’t been there you’d have easily put up with living in a skeletal apartment – so for that, you were grateful.

All the nighttime sneaking out of your parent’s house and into your apartment had meant that you’d neglected to actually talk and meet your neighbours. All you knew was there was an elderly couple living two doors down, who’d only smiled at you in passing, and there had been a card posted under your door from your neighbour on your right, but you didn’t know what they looked like.

So when Mat asked you that question, you sighed, “I don’t actually know.”

He didn’t seem too shocked, and nodded in understanding.

“I probably need to, to be honest, I got something posted under my door the other day.”

At this, his interest peaked, and you saw him look up from his plate, raising an eyebrow, “Who was it from?”

You frowned, his rather exaggerated interest raising your suspicions, and froze from where you were unwrapping a glass, “Why?”

He shrugged, playing it off, “Because I think it’s important to know who you’re living around. What if something happens and you need help? Forget your key?”

You returned to your previous task, mulling his words over. You knew he was right because you’d had that exact same reasoning drilled into you since you’d left home in college, but your why hadn’t really been directed at meeting your neighbours, more, “Why were you so interested in who it was when you asked?”

He swallowed, shrugging once more, “Just am. No reason.”

You didn’t believe him, and he could clearly sense it, because he rolled his eyes, not saying anything else.

“It was from ‘Number Twenty-Three’.” You answered, watching him carefully, still not entirely trusting him.

He just nodded, ensuring to keep his facial expressions impassive as he shovelled another spoonful of rice into his mouth, not caring when a few grains fell back onto his plate.

There was a few more minutes of general chatter, and you found yourself sitting back against the sofa, pensieve as you took in your new living quarters.

“Do you think I was silly moving here?” You asked Mat, not looking at him as he pondered the question.

“No.” Was all he said, and you turned your eyes back to him.

The thought was something that had been majorly playing on your mind since you first agreed to move back to Vancouver. There was a part of you that knew you wouldn’t have even considered moving back if Tito hadn’t gone – and it freaked you out. You were aware putting Tito above all else was risky, especially considering the fact you hadn’t messaged him since you’d broken up; you didn’t know where he was or if he’d even want you anymore, if he had a girlfriend. It had been months, and you knew he was a desirable guy. You wouldn’t blame him if he’d moved on.

But there was always that nagging thing that had you feeling like you’d moved only because of Anthony, and you hated it so much. It made you want to curl up and teleport back to your old life in New York, but even the thought of that made your stomach turn because you knew he wouldn’t be there.

It just kept coming back to him.

You didn’t know what would happen if he saw you – that was assuming you ever gained the courage to actually face him again.

A part of you felt almost sheepish at the mere idea of seeing him. Sure, your heart rate picked up and your hands trembled against your will, mouth going dry as you remembered the night he broke up with you.

And the only reason you knew you could confide in Mat was because he had both sides of it; although he didn’t talk about it much – presumably for your own fragile heart – you knew he talked to him as much as he could, if not, everyday. You felt like you were using him as a bridge, and even then his words of encouragement fell on deaf ears, your own insecurities drowning them out with fears of rejection.

You wouldn’t have even moved to Vancouver if it hadn't been for Mat’s support and help.

He sighed, and you could tell he’d sussed you and your doubts out.

“He told me he’s not been able to even look at another woman without feeling like he’s gonna hurl.” He started, pausing to gauge your reaction. You swallowed, feeling a little guilty at the relief you’d felt upon his confession, “He asks about you everyday, and he’s not doing too well. I don’t even know if he’s sleeping properly.”

You remained silent, instead choosing to reach a hand into the box next to you.

Fuck.

One of Anthony’s Islander’s caps.

Almost instantaneously you felt your eyes begin to water, both at the hat and everything Mat had just told you.

It was a lot, all of this new change, in one go.

“I think I’m gonna go.” You said quietly, trying to hide the way your voice cracked a little at the end. You refrained from sniffling, not wanting to raise Mat’s concern.

“Okay,” he muttered, his voice soft, “Look after yourself. Call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Maybe think about replying to number twenty-three? Look at making a few new friends, yeah?”

You laughed, though it was watery – the kind that had you questioning if you wanted to cry or not, “‘S not one of your worst ideas, actually.”

“Hey.” He mocked, faking offence, “But, really, I think you should.”

“I think I might.” You admitted.

You missed the way he sagged.

“Good.” There was a brief pause, “Anyway, love you, miss you, have fun unpacking.” He waved at the camera, flashing you a charming smile, which you didn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

“Miss you too, Barzy. Try not to hurt yourself before I next see you.” It was a low blow, and you saw the hurt flick over his face momentarily.

Then you promptly ended the call, unable to stop yourself laughing a little.

___

Tito had just finished washing up when a piece of paper slipped under his door.

He’d stopped what he was doing, midway to the living room. The paper had slipped under his door coincidentally at the exact moment he was walking past it, and he’d frozen, creeped out at the timing. It was almost as if the person on the other side had known he was walking past the door and chosen that specific moment in time to post the letter through with the purposeful intent of freaking him the fuck out.

Nevertheless, he’d put his coffee mug down on the counter, reaching to inspect the piece of paper.

He almost dropped it when he saw the writing.

His face drained of blood, and before he’d even opened it, he’d thrown the door open, hastily checking the hallway.

It was empty.

Disappointment clawed at his chest, but he remained somewhat hopeful, his fingers working quickly to unfold it, his foot holding the door open in case they decided to make another appearance.

Why did he spend so long looking at it? He could have caught her, for fuck’s sake.

It was a stretch, in hindsight. There had to be at least a million people who flicked their ‘f’ like that, and there had to be even more who wrote at an angle like that, with their letters remaining round.

It had to be common.

Thank you for the welcome, 23.

Then when his eyes tracked down to the sign-off, he swore someone was playing tricks on him.

Obviously, his immediate reaction – completely bypassing the excitement and blinding fear of her having moved on from him bubbling in his stomach – and shut the door behind him, scrambling for his phone.

Mat picked up almost instantly.

“You fucking prick–”

Needless to say, the injured Islander knew exactly what he was talking about.

___

He’d not wanted to scare you, truly.

Since Mat had admitted to everything – from the reason you’d moved to his helping hand in finding you a place to live temporarily – he’d taken measures to ensure you didn’t run into him without any semblance of warning, but he’d found it much harder to put into practice.

He’d almost run into you three times in the past week, and every time he had to leave or enter his apartment, he’d take a cautious look down the hall and run – not wanting to startle you too much.

He just didn’t want to catch you off guard was all.

He knew you’d probably want to see him under your own control, and he was all for waiting for you. From what he’d been told, you weren’t doing much better than him.

But he’d known his luck was bound to run out at some point.

Which was how he’d found himself in this exact predicament.

___

You’d been weirdly wanting to go downstairs. You didn’t know why you’d had the sudden urge, but all you did know was that there was a lounge and a bar, and you were in desperate need of some socialising. It had been a gruelling week – and incredibly dull – unpacking your things and overthinking your first day at work, and you needed to escape from it all.

Each and every time you’d left your apartment, you’d cast a curious glance at your neighbour’s door. Number twenty-three.

They were a perfect neighbour: very rarely did they disturb you, and when they did it was only the quiet hum of some music that you guessed must have been played in their bathroom, because when you pressed your ear against the wall it felt as though you were standing right next to a speaker.

The only issue you’d had with them was that you hadn’t seen them; whenever you’d heard their door shut, you’d immediately gone to look through your peephole, only to be met with an empty corridor.

It had frustrated you to no end, but you’d coped, helplessly wondering when you could thank them. They’d been the first person to welcome you and you hadn’t even seen them yet – there had been a nagging in the back of your mind that perhaps they’d been dodging you, but there was no way it could have possibly been intentional. You’d barely been at work a full two weeks, which hardly gave them time to actually deduce your timetable or hours.

You’d been watching the Canucks, unable to help yourself from consuming every piece of media Anthony was part of, and then you’d switched off the TV a few hours later, completely alone and needing to get out of the confines of your apartment – desperately and immediately.

That was how you’d come to be locking your door from the outside – ever-weary – and frozen, nerves tingling and heart pounding with nerves as you heard a pair of footsteps coming down the hallway. They were slow, and you could vaguely make out the sound of their trudging, so you’d stalled, secretly hoping that they’d be Number 23.

You’d pretended to fiddle with your keys as you waited for the footsteps to round the corner only when they did, you heard them stop short of you, a quiet “Putain” whispered under their breath.

You frowned, not yet looking up at the person. There was something familiar about their whisper, something you couldn’t quite place immediately.

It was a different story when you looked up.

You could immediately tell from the soft echo of sorrow on his face and abundant lack of shock at your appearance that he wasn’t entirely surprised at your presence. His hand was firmly holding the end of his duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder, and he was wearing the usual suit, his cheeks still a little flushed from the match you’d only been watching a while ago.

You couldn’t help thinking that the TV screen did him no justice, because even though he wasn’t smiling or expressing any semblance of excitement at your presence, he was stunningly breathtaking in your opinion. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was parted – he hadn’t wanted to see you at that moment, that much was obvious from the expression stagnant on his face.

You, on the other hand, found yourself quite unable to draw oxygen into your lungs at his sudden appearance. You were completely frozen, unable to do anything other than stare dumbly, your jaw half-dropped in sheer shock.

Your heart was thunderous, practically clashing against your ribcage so hard you were sure you could feel the pain of it, and your mouth had dried, eyes watering. You weren’t on the verge of tears, by any means. In fact, you felt rather numb to any sort of emotion, because you’d prepared yourself for this moment for months, and now that he was standing in front of you, looking almost sheepish at your lack of understanding, you were unable to string even a coherent thought together.

There was a moment when you had thought he’d arrived in your hallway purely to see you, but that had quickly dissipated when he regained his composure, seemingly on the verge of saying something, and slowly walked past you, unable to tear his eyes away.

You let out a shaky breath when he reached the door branded ‘23’, and furrowed your brows.

He’d been in front of you this entire time–fucking Mat.

He’d orchestrated this car crash. He was the one who’d suggested you speak to your boss whilst he’d look at possible apartment rentals for you, and you’d naively agreed, assuming he had no ulterior motives in his uncharacteristic generosity considering he’d been nothing but helpful with your entire move, but right now you hated his guts.

Anthonylooked away, briefly, considering something for a second, before looking straight back towards you, a hand smoothing his hair back unconsciously. Neither of you said anything as he blindly unlocked his door, taking one last look at you, before stepping through.

It was only when his door slammed shut that you were able to take a breath.

The hand that had been fiddling with your keys dropped to your side, and you were hardly able to realise what you were doing before you’d unlocked your door, flinging it open and making a direct beeline for the box you’d purposefully avoided since your unfortunate FaceTime call with Mat. Your hand immediately sought out the cap, and operating purely on adrenaline and the mindset of ‘what-the-fuck-I-have-nothing-to-lose’, you’d made your way back out of the door, plans to head downstairs completely forgotten.

You wouldn’t have done it if you hadn't had the confidence instilled in you from Mat, that Tito had been miserable since he’d left New York, even despite the efforts of his new teammates to introduce him to Vancouver society.

Your brain must have been running a mile a minute, because when you clashed into a suit-clad chest, not entirely taken aback by his sudden appearance, you were pushing the cap at him.

“You made me cry over a fucking hat, did you know that?” You asked, the Islander’s cap hanging between you.

Tito blanched, unable to speak.

You waited in anticipation, pursing your lips harshly to stop yourself from speaking.

You wanted him to say something to alleviate the doubts you’d had.

He gave you nothing.

“Say something.” You implored, hand dropping.

He took a breath, relaxing as his shoulders slumped forwards, “I’m sorry I made you cry over my hat.”

Your jaw clenched, fighting the burning in your eyes. You absolutely refused to cry until he confirmed what Mat had been telling you – only then would you let yourself break. You also had to be inside an apartment; you weren’t about to let yourself cry in the hallway for all your new neighbours to see.

“I’m sorry I broke up with you.”

It was quiet, so much so you would have had to strain your ears to hear him. His voice sounded broken and weak, and when you looked up at him his eyes were pooling with regret, lips turned down in what you could only place as sadness. It was plain and bare, and so hopelessly effortless than you felt yourself soften, even despite the bitterness you still held against him.

“Why?” You asked, not reaching for him. You were determined to keep him in the balance, refusing to give him even a snippet of what you were feeling. It may have been a harsh play on your behalf, but you weren’t about to forgive him too easily for unnecessary heartache.

He hesitated, fingers tapping his thigh uneasily, “Because we’d only been dating a few months and I didn’t want to ask you to uproot your entire life to Vancouver just for me.”

His honesty was startling, and you took a sharp step backwards.

It seemed too good to be true, yet you hated the doubt and mistrust placed in him to the point you felt like you were betraying him.

“I uprooted my entire life to move from Vancouver to New York in the first place, you know that.” You replied, somewhat coldly, turning around and entering your apartment.

There was that prickling feeling as though you were being watched through peepholes, and you desperately needed space to breathe.

You heard Anthony follow you, the door clicking shut behind you with ease, and you threw yourself onto the sofa, dreading and anticipating the late conversation.

“I do.” He admitted, hands in his pocket as he seated himself on the coffee table in front of you, “But I also know that you don’t enjoy change and I felt guilty even—”

“You didn’t even ask.” You interrupted, irritation flaring up.

He sighed through his nose, and you could tell he was almost as fired up as you were. This argument had been a long time coming, the reasons and excuses simmering beneath your skin for far too long, and now you were facing each other with no particular time constraint considering the fact you now shared a wall — something you couldn’t quite decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

“If I had asked, would you have come?”

“I guess we’ll never know,” you snapped back, looking at him as he rolled his eyes, “You really fucking made sure of that, didn’t you?”

“Well I apologise for trying to protect you from making a decision that could have ruined your career–”

“I don’t need protection, Beauvillier,” he winced, the surname jab stinging, “I can make my own decisions perfectly well.”

“Let me rephrase: I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to come with me because I wanted you to.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, jaw clenching.

“I would have wanted to go with you, dipshit.” You fired back.

“Would have?” He repeated, tilting his head, that wild element of determination flashing through his eyes. He was clearly referring to the past tense you’d used.

“Yes.” You breathed, “I would have, because I’d gotten a promotion located in Vancouver, and the only reason I would have said no, as much as I’m ashamed to admit it, was because of you and your stupid hockey team. I thought you’d stay an Islander so I held off–”

He spluttered, “And you didn’t think to tell me?” His voice raised in pitch, hands flying in front of him as he tried to convey his exasperation.

“No!” You raised your voice incredulously, unable to hide your appall from him, “You left before I could even argue against the breakup and I haven’t seen you since.”

“Ah,” he held up a finger, dodging your lame attempt to swat it away, “But when did you get the offer, huh?”

You paused, feeling your cheeks flush with colour, “You don’t have to patronise me, Tito.”

“Tell me when, and I won’t have to.” He explained, eyes wide as he waited for your answer.

“I got it a couple of days before you broke up with me.” You admitted, voice now a few notches lower.

“And why didn’t you say anything before?” His voice tipped with an edge of regret as he spoke, desperation coating his words as he finished his question.

You were both breathing heavily, adamant to portray your points and frustrations. Neither of you seemed to be thinking much of anything but about the other – much less of what or who you’d been doing since your departure – Mat’s words to both of you seemed to have eased that question, allowing you to freely have at one another without any holding back or worrying about the other’s antics.

You were both clearly still hung up on each other, and that knowledge had you feeling both euphoric and hopeful – a dangerous concoction you’d acknowledged amidst partially yelling at each other. Despite that, it was obvious you’d both been holding back – voices strained for the sake of not wanting to disturb your neighbours, even if you were closer to the wall you shared with Tito than your other neighbour.

“Because I didn’t want to be that girlfriend who says ‘oh, by the way, if those crazy rumours of you getting transferred to the other side of the continent were true, you totally wouldn’t have to worry about our relationship because I’d most definitely go with you anyway’, and then before I could tell you that you ran out of the club. Then when I tried to ring you literally a day later, you’d blocked me on everything!” You rolled your eyes, groaning when he took his blazer off, his hands on his hips after loosening his tie.

You didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose to gain an upper hand in the argument, but it had you losing your train of thought briefly.

“Oh, so now it’s all my fault?” He frowned, a crease forming between his brows.

You laughed bitterly, “Dude, of course it’s your fault. You didn’t let me not allow you to break up with me.”

“But you didn’t tell me about the job offer – which, by the way, is amazing, so congratulations, I’m incredibly proud of you,” he sidetracked, his voice becoming gentler and allowing himself to express a little sincerity within his facial expressions, before returning to its previous sternness, “But you telling me about that job offer would have quietened any doubts I ever had about dragging you here.”

“Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” You muttered sarcastically.

“You’re telling me? I just didn’t want you to be unhappy for the sake of my own happiness, okay?” He held up his hands in surrender, waiting for you to respond.

You shrugged, still not quite believing where he was coming from, “Why were you doubting it, I’m literally in love with you. I told you that.”

“Well, I’m in love with you, too. But I guess my guilt overpowered that. I wanted you to come to Vancouver because you wanted to, not because you felt like you had to.”

“You didn’t even ask me, though. You took that right away from me.” You said.

You’d both softened, voices dropping a few octaves and flailing limbs reducing as your frustrations slowly poured out of you.

“And what would you have said if I’d have asked?” He echoed from before, slightly breathless as his chest heaved.

He was looking straight at you, curiosity and a destructive hope practically radiating from his face. He wanted you to say no, to reassure him he’d made the right decision.

“I would have said yes.”

His face collapsed, and his hands immediately went to cover his eyes for a few seconds. You stayed rooted to your spot, watching him mutter to himself and shake his head. You couldn't hear what he was saying – some complex French mutterings, your ears may have picked up a string of profanities.

Then, just as you were beginning to submit to the gravitational pull towards him, he lifted himself back up, eyes watering and rimmed red – it had you wondering if this was how he’d spent your days and nights apart; torturing himself with what could have been if only he’d had the courage to ask you the question. You knew you were in no position whatsoever to criticise his lack of action, however. It was just the only thing you could stomach to blame.

At least this way you knew the fate of your misery the past few months had been out of your control, even if that small voice in the back of your mind screamed against that.

“Of course you would have.” He nodded, foot tapping against your floor. He still had a lot of pent up agitation begging to be relieved.

He’d just played a match and he still had energy to burn.

Instead, you did the thing you weren’t entirely expecting, and you could tell from his face that he wasn’t expecting you to pull such a move, either.

What you really wanted to do was launch yourself at him – there was no doubt in your mind he’d catch you, he always did – and not let him go, but you held back, both for your own sanity and his, as well as the fact that you knew you were both going to have to spend the night in your own beds, absorbing and mulling over every single thing that had come to light.

“We’re both idiots that should probably work on our communication skills a little more.”

The trace of a small smile worked its way onto his face, an idea flashing through his mind, “What was that?”

You didn’t even think before you’d picked up a cushion from the sofa and launched it in his direction. It felt like you’d been anticipating such a trashy joke because your aim was spot on; the cushion smacked him squarely in the face, eliciting a shout of surprise.

After he’d let it fall to the floor you both stood in your half-made-up living room, both your hands on your hips and considering each other carefully.

You didn’t know how you were going to go from here, but you knew what you wanted to get out of it, and what you wanted was the man standing in front of you, bravely looking as confused as you felt.

“You played really well tonight.” You said, desperately wanting to break the tense silence.

You could tell what he wanted to do, and you couldn’t exactly deny that you also felt that same desire begin to burn you from the inside, but you knew you had to make him work for it.

“Thank you.” He replied earnestly, not entirely shocked by your revelation. Since he’d found out you were his neighbour, he’d been keeping an ear out for your TV patterns.

On more than one occasion he’d been able to hear the NHL channel blast through the walls.

“No problem.”

“I think I should go.” He made no move to do such a thing.

“I think you should.” This time, he took a few steps towards your door, his hand hovering over the handle as though expecting you to change your mind, before throwing it open and leaving as quickly as he could.

Your head was a mess and your chest was surely about to implode.

You let yourself think it over for about five minutes, hands pressed together and resting against your mouth as your eyes darted across the room. You caught sight of the Islander’s hat on the sofa – when had you even let go of it? – and picked it up, leaving your apartment to knock on his door.

He must have been standing behind it waiting for you because it swung open only on the second knock and you barely had time to breathe before you were tugged roughly against his chest, your hands not wasting any time in burrowing themselves in his hair, and moving your mouth against his, tongues intertwined and breathing just as heavy as it had been when you were arguing.

It was short, possibly about ten seconds of unadulterated desire and lust and love, before you were shoving him away, attempting to maintain some seriousness. It failed drastically, your eyes working to keep up the act, but your mouth giving you away hilariously as you still felt the remnants of his kiss on you, leaving you able to do nothing but smile dumbly at him.

“I’m giving you this back.” You shoved his hand against his chest, but he made no move to take it off you.

“I don’t want it.”

“Neither do I.”

“It looks better on you.” He argued, taking it from your hand and placing it on your head.

You pulled a face, and swiped it off, “I’ve always been more of a Nucks fan than an Islanders, so, no thank you.” You let it drop between you, before failing to resist pressing another hot kiss to his mouth, dodging out of his needy hold and leaving. You hear the vague protest of “I’m telling Mat you said that!” and you spun on your heel, inappropriately shouting, “Fucking go ahead!” Before you shut your door, unable to process anything until you collapsed onto your bed face-first, cursing Mat Barzal’s wicked plotting.

#tito beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier oneshot #tito beauvillier imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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fallinallincurls · 2 years ago

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OT Winners & Baby Kisses

a fic?? from me?? it’s been a little bit but this little blurb finally got finished and i couldn’t wait to share it! the whole idea was inspired by a gif set thanks to @tonyspep and it was the cutest thing to write! also yes, beau is an islander here so we’re ignoring the trade lol.

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 1.4k

~~~~~

It might be the prettiest goal of his career. Not that Anthony cares. All that matters is the Isles won the game against Toronto in overtime thanks to his top shelf beauty that found the back of the net. His teammates surrounded him in one big hug almost instantly and he got endless helmet taps from everyone for what he did.

But when the celebration is over on the ice and he’s heading back to the locker room for an interview with Shannon, his thoughts are focused on something not even closely related to hockey or the big win.

The love of his life and his little boy.

“Beau! Thanks so much for taking a couple minutes to chat.” Shannon greets him with that same warm smile she always has whenever she catches the boys for interviews. Anthony says it’s no problem and that he’s happy to do it, especially because the fans love these little videos too. “I won’t keep you long. I know there’s a few others who want to congratulate you on the big win.” She continues and Beau nods in agreement.

After going over the questions and trying to think of good responses, Anthony puts all his attention on Shannon and the short interview. The faster it gets done, the quicker he gets to see you and his son.

“I’m here with Anthony Beauvillier, who scored the gorgeous OT winner to give the Isles yet another victory. Beau, can you walk us through the play and how the goal came to be?”

Anthony answers, words leaving his lips in a coherent way and he can’t help but smile thinking back on the goal that doesn’t seem like it just happened. He lucked out in terms of getting great teammates and he loves every second of playing with these guys.

He’s so zeroed in on the camera and his statements about the game, that he almost completely misses the soft murmuring that distinguishingly belongs to a toddler. But he listens to Shannon and tries to tell himself it’s not who he thinks it is.

“We heard your family was here tonight, and if they were, how did that impact your game?”

At that very moment, when Anthony’s breath is stolen away just at the mention of the two most important people in my life, he hears an unmistakable “dada!” followed by toddling footsteps that are heading in his direction. When his blue eyes shift, he spots his sweet little boy running towards him with his arms wide open.

“Frankie!” Anthony immediately mirrors the excited tone of his son as he kneels down to scoop him up in his arms. The happiest giggle escapes past Frankie’s lips and it’s a moment Beau wants to remember forever. He knows that you can’t be far behind and sure enough, he spots you in no time.

Just behind the crew and others passing through the hallway, Beau finds you with a look of adoration and panic on your face. When his gaze meets yours, you mouth a simple “sorry!” even if you both know nothing would’ve stopped Frankie from getting to his father the second he recognized him.

“Sorry, Shannon. Looks like we have a special guest joining us.” Anthony chuckles, adjusting Frankie against his hip. The little boy waved enthusiastically at the woman before settling against his dad’s shoulder.

“Dada win game!” Frankie exclaims, placing a hand against Beau’s cheek while flashing the biggest grin possible. “Win!”

“That’s right, we did win. Good job!” Anthony replies before kissing the top of Frankie’s head and turning back to Shannon. With one silent look, he gave her the okay to ask his son a question which is something he knows will be too cute to pass up.

“Frankie, how cool was it to see your dad score tonight?”

“This much!” Frankie says, holding his hands as far apart as he can. “I yell for Dada when he got goal.”

“I heard you on the ice, buddy. You and Mama.”

The little boy giggles, the sound filling Anthony’s heart with so much love he swears it might burst, before he nuzzles his face into the crook of his dad’s neck. It’s the telltale sign that Frankie has gotten a little shy which only seems to make the moment even sweeter.

“Thanks so much for your time, Beau. Enjoy the rest of the night with your family. Back to you guys!” Shannon finishes the interview, giving him and Frankie a quick goodbye before the broadcast crew leaves.

Before he can even adjust Frankie’s little Islanders beanie so the one floppy piece of hair on his forehead gets tucked back underneath, you’re walking right up to them. The smile on your face can only be compared to the sun and Anthony swears he has never known a love like this.

“Hey, bub.” You say softly, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips that immediately makes Frankie giggle. “You killed it out there tonight. We’re so proud of you.” Anthony can’t stop the swelling in his chest at the compliment. He usually hates any kind of attention surrounding his play, but from you and Frankie, he would take it anyday.

“Thank you, mon amor.” Anthony murmurs, the French rolling off his tongue so smoothly. “What a surprise this one was! Surprising me in an interview.” He continues, bouncing Frankie on his hip for a moment and the little boy laughs before burying his face against Beau’s.

“I happy for goal!” Frankie exclaims with a laugh before squishing a big, dramatic kiss against his father’s cheek. A giggle slips past your lips at the sight. You’ve never known this kind of happiness before and you don’t ever want it to disappear.

“Well, I’m just as happy to see you.” Anthony says, booping Frankie’s nose to get an adorable smile in response, “And you.” He finishes and pulls you in for a soft kiss that’s full of love.

When the two reluctantly pull away, everything in the world feels just right then. Frankie is fisting Anthony’s blue jersey in his tiny hand as he snuggles into his dad and the adrenaline of the game is still rushing through each one of you although your son seems to be getting sleepy. If this is what the rest of your life will be, will feel like, because of Anthony and your little boy, there’s nothing else in the world you want.

“C’mon bubs, Daddy needs to get changed so we can go home and you’re getting tired.” You prompt, reaching over to transfer the toddler to your arms. But before Frankie can respond or Anthony can hand him over, you hear someone yelling as they turn the corner towards where you’re standing.

“Beau! Dude, where have you been?” Barzy calls out before he takes in the scene. “Hey, Y/N! And Frankie! What’s up, little guy?” Mat says with excitement, holding out a fist for Frankie to fist bump.

“Unca Maty!” Your son almost squeals and Anthony has no choice but to put him down so he can toddle over to his best friend on the team.

“I didn’t know you two would be here.” Mat continues with a smile as kneels down to Frankie’s level before picking him up. “Dad scored a goal just for you, Frankie, huh?”

“Yeah! You score too!” Frankie replies, beaming while gently patting Mat’s cheeks. You can’t help but laugh at the scene and you lean into Anthony for a moment, just watching the little boy who you both love so much interact with one of your closest friends.

“Wanna go say hi to the boys? They would be thrilled to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Frankie cheers in response to Mat’s question and you only shake your head before Mat promises he’ll be back with him soon.

“I should go supervise. Make sure nothing crazy happens.” Anthony says quietly, hands finding your hips and his gaze never breaks away from you. It’s almost as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“That would be a good idea. Plus the faster we get home, the faster Frankie goes down for bed and the faster we celebrate, yeah?” Anthony’s eyes go wide as you keep talking and your voice begins getting softer and softer. OT winner or not, you still would’ve wanted to celebrate him but you already had the perfect thing in mind.

“I’ll make sure Mat doesn’t hog him for too long.” Beau smirks, kissing you deeply before heading towards the locker room. And as you’re standing there shaking your head as he runs away with a dopey smile on his face, you know you couldn’t be any happier.

#anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #anthony beauvillier fics #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier x reader #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #new york islanders #vancouver canucks #anthony beauvillier fluff

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starshine-hockey-girl · 1 year ago

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The Invisible String

Summary - Rocky is from Texas, looking to make it big as a tattoo artist in NY. What happens when Rocky meets NY Islanders forward Anthony Beauvillier and two people so unalike discover that they have more in common than they think. Will their invisible string lead to love or friendship?

This is my very late entry to the summer fic exchange. Yes, I am aware that it is the middle of October. The "No results and a story" excuse is that I got a huge case of writer's block followed by an ass-whooping of self doubt. However, I powered through it, and then the story just grew into this massively long piece. (17.2K- yikes)

This is written for @jarmorie who requested a reader insert or OC (she/her preferred). fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers pls I would die with Anthony Beauvillier. Jarmorie is also a big Taylor Swift fan so I tried to incorporate as much Swift content as I could.

Acknowledgements and thank yous-

@laurenairay, I can't thank you enough for pinch hitting for me when I missed the deadline. I am incredibly thankful for your endless encouragement. I hope you enjoy your brief, but pivotal cameo

@cellythefloshie - Thank you for the encouragement and embracing my verbose nature.

@dreamofstarlight and @fallinallincurls for sharing their Swiftie knowledge. I hope that I do that I did Queen Taylor justice.

@wyattjohnston - one for organizing these fic exchanges. It's a tiring and thankless task. Thank you for understanding my struggle and not shaming me.

@jarmorie I am sorry that the story was so delayed. I really wanted to write something that give you everything that you wanted.

@pattiemac1 and @penstxgal1968 for being the best support system ever. Seriously, they both deserve writing credit for all of their ideas.

Gorgeous

Inked On Ice Tattoo Shop - Long Island, NY

“Inked on Ice, how may I help you?” Daisy yawned as the shop’s computer fired up and she settled into her chair.

“Uh yeah,” the deep voice on the line answered, “My buddy and I want to get some ink today. Do you have anyone available?” Daisy glanced at the artist's calendars.

“Well, it’s going to depend on size, subject and budget. What do you have in mind?” she answered quickly. After a brief discussion, Daisy honed in on available artists. “Do you want to do back to back appointments or get inked at the same time?” she asked.

She could hear a discussion on the other end. The bland voice in a spirited discussion with another voice with a slight French accent. “Barzy,” the second said with authority, “I do not need you to hold my hand while I get a tattoo. We can get inked at the same time.”

Daisy’s ears perked up at the name Barzy. “Can I get your names?” she asked as casually as possible as New York Islanders Mat Barzal gave his name along with Anthony Beauvillier. The tattoo shop was owned by Cameron Davies, a former New York Islander. Daisy knew that Cameron would want the pair treated with kid gloves. She examined the schedule again and made an executive decision. She would schedule the more complicated tattoo, Anthony, with JD Porter, master tattoo artist, who just had a last minute cancellation. She would schedule the simpler design, Mat Barzal, with Rocky, JD’s apprentice. .

“So Tito is with JD and I am with Rocky? Sounds good,” the NHL upstart stated as they confirmed details, “See you at 6 PM.”

In the cozy one bedroom apartment, Rocky picked up the phone and quickly read the text from Daisy. “Yes….” Rocky whispered to no one in particular. As a tattoo apprentice, paying customers were difficult to come by. The last minute addition would give her just enough to pay her share of the rent. Given that most of her time at the shop was unpaid, Rocky’s contribution to the rent was more symbolic than practical. Kelly made enough to cover their expenses and then some, but Rocky insisted on contributing, even if it was essentially meaningless.

“Rocky!” Kelly screamed, “Are you even listening to me? We need to leave in fifteen minutes if we are going to be on time.”

“Of course, I’m listening.” Rocky replied, “Listen- don’t be mad, but I can’t go with you. I gotta to work tonight. I scored a last minute tattoo.”

“An actual tattoo?” Kelly mocked, “or will it be another night of cleaning and wiping up after the professionals?”

“Ouch,” Rocky replied, “You know that is part of apprenticeship. I have to pay my dues.”

Rocky’s tattoo apprenticeship was a source of contention in their relationship. The couple had moved to Long Island from Dallas as a stepping stone in Kelly’s financial services career. Together since high school, Kelly disapproved of Rocky’s fascination with all things tattoo. The financial analyst with the fast-rising career wanted a partner that would fit into the corporate world. Rocky decidedly did not fit that mold even if Kelly couldn't admit it. The apprenticeship highlighted their vastly different career paths and their relationship bore small fissures as a result.

“Listen,” Rocky pleaded in an attempt to head off another fight about the apprenticeship. Kelly was convinced it was going nowhere. “It’s an actual tattoo so I will get paid,” Rocky explained, “Also apparently these two guys are some sort of VIPs. The fact that Daisy and Cameron are giving one of them to me to ink is a good sign. I can’t turn it down.”

Kelly stood in disbelief and tried to summon anger at Rocky and none came. Honestly, it was a relief to put off introducing Rocky to conservative co-workers a little longer. “Fine,” Kelly said bitterly, “I’ll see you when you get home.”

Two hours later at the shop, Rocky waited patiently to the side as JD inspected the set-up of her station tucked away in the smallest room in the shop. As a mentor, JD held Rocky to a high standard. An Apprenticeship endorsed by him would carry weight within the tattoo community and JD wanted Rocky to be prepared. He gave a nod and Rocky let out a sigh of relief. Together they walked out to the lobby.

Cameron stood talking to the two athletes about his glory days with the Islanders. Rocky could tell right away that both had passed from polite attention to “oh my god, get us out here” by the tone of their voices. After the third “that’s crazy,’ uttered by Barzal, Cameron noticed JD and Rocky standing there. When he waved them over, Barzal and Beauvillier turned to look over their shoulders. Barzal blinked and gulped while Beauvillier offered a shy smile before looking down at the floor.

Rocky approached Barzal and extended her hand to him, “Hi, I’m Rocky. I think that you are with me tonight.”

“You’re…..You’re….. “ Barzal stammered, “a woman.” Rocky took a step back and dropped her hand in disappointment. JD and Rocky exchanged a glance before Rocky let out a sigh. Usually any pushback she received came from men much older than Barzal so she was honestly a little shocked. Mat looked stunned. “Wait, I am getting tattooed by a woman?” he asked out loud.

“Is there a problem?” JD asked as he looked Barzal in the eye.

“Look, I don’t want to sound sexist here, but…..” he started to say, “I just was expecting a man. I am pretty sure the girl who made the appointment said "man.”

“I did not,” Daisy interjected, “I know for a fact I said no such thing.” When Rocky began as the first female tattoo artist in the shop’s history, Cameron and crew did not anticipate the push-back from their largely male clientele. Most guys came in because of the hockey/Islanders connection and well, their views on gender roles were not exactly progressive. The shop had adopted the policy of referring to all of the artists as gender-neutral as possible. Daisy, Cameron’s wife and partner, was especially intentional about it. Other than a few clients shocked to be facing a petite, brunette pixie of an artist, there had been no issues.

Rocky looked to Cameron and back to Barzal. She knew that Cameron would want to keep Barzal as a client but also did not want to face the wrath of Daisy for caving in. She was about to speak when Tito Beauvillier spoke up. “She can do my tattoo,” he spoke softly at first to everyone’s surprise. Rocky turned to face the blonde and studied his face. He gave a gentle smile and spoke louder, “Yeah, I think I want her to do my tattoo.”

“I have to let you know that she is still in her apprenticeship. Just so that you are aware, she may not be able to give you the tattoo that you want,” JD explained. A pained look flashed in Rocky’s eyes and Tito took notice. Rocky hated the implication that just because she was still in an apprenticeship that she was less talented. She sucked in a deep breath that she hoped went unnoticed. She was mostly successful with the exception of Tito. He recognized the frustration of being underestimated.

Then JD turned to Barzy, “It also means that you are going to pay more for my time. It’s up to you.”

Barzal began to hem and haw. His mouth had gotten the better of him and he had stuck his foot so far into it that he didn’t think it would be possible to retrieve. Even if he changed his mind and selected Rocky, the damage was done. Finally Tito spoke again firmly, “No way Barzy. You had your shot at her and you blew it. I want her now.” His eyes fell onto Rocky’s face and he gave a slight nod.

Rocky laughed out loud, “Well then, let’s get to work.”

The tiny brunette led Tito to her small section of the studio. She pointed to the table and chairs in the corner. He sat down as she picked up a notebook to take notes. “I have a few questions,” Rocky began as the scent of his cologne wafted into her nostrils. She inhaled and let out a small moan before she realized it. Tito cleared his throat and Rocky blushed in response. “The notes say that this is your first tattoo. Is that correct?” she asked in earnest, “What made you decide to do it today?”

Tito blinked slowly and thought. He hadn’t anticipated the question and was stumped for an answer. Finally he spoke, “I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but never got around to it. When Barzy said he was coming, I decided that I would go ahead and do it.” Rocky nodded her head as she listened.

“So do you have a design or an idea in mind?” she questioned.

“Yeah, I found this on the internet and thought it would be cool,” he answered as he fished his phone out of his pocket. Rocky waited patiently as he scrolled this phone. Finally he found the picture and held his phone out to her. She took the phone and looked at the picture.

Rocky blinked slowly and zoomed in on the picture. Internally, her mind raced with thought “No fucking way”, but her reasoning kicked in. Technically, it would be a challenge which pleased her, but something just didn’t sit well with her.

She looked up to see him looking at her with hopeful eyes. “Do you like it?” he asked. Rocky flashed a smile similar to a mother gave a child when presented with a treasured piece of artwork.

“You don’t like it?” he questioned.

“I didn’t say that,” she replied quickly.

“You didn’t say it out loud, but it’s what you were thinking,” he countered.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she responded, “You are a paying client. If you want that design, then that’s what we will do.” Rocky bit her lip and paused before speaking again, “Let me talk to JD and get his thoughts. I want to be sure about some of the technical aspects.” She was trying to buy time to think of ways to politely talk Tito out of his design idea. Rocky walked over to JD’s station just as he was placing the stencil on Barzal’s arm.

“Hey, before you get started,” Rocky started, “Can we go over his design?” They walked away and began an animated conversation.

Tito looked down the hall at Rocky and watched intently. Her hands gestured wildly as she spoke with passion. He couldn’t make out the words, but whatever she said, it was said with conviction. Barzal nudged Tito with his arm, “So she is…… uhhhh…. different.” Tito continued to stare without answering. “Beau!” Barzal said loud enough to draw the attention of JD and Rocky.

Tito was caught staring at Rocky before he quickly turned around to face Barzal with a scowl. “Did you have to yell?” he spoke softly.

“You weren’t answering me,” his friend replied with a laugh, “I don’t like to be ignored.”

Tito looked back over his shoulder quickly before he answered, “Technically, it wasn't a question, but a statement. Yes, I agree. She is quite unique. By the way, what was up with your attitude earlier? You think she can't tattoo because she is a woman?"

"No, that’s not it,” Barzal shot back, “I had a big, burly guy named Rocky in my head so when the pixie queen of tattoos came out, I was surprised. I put my foot in my mouth.”

Tito began to respond but noticed the duo of tattoo artists were walking back to them.

Rocky gave what could be best described as her “customer service” smile and gestured to Tito to go back into her section. He gave a shrug to Barzal and followed her. Then he turned around to Barzal who watched, “You know what you need to do.” Barzal nodded and followed JD back to the table.

The sound of Barzal’s soft yelp and the buzz of JD’s tattoo needle floated into Rocky’s section as they sat down again.

“Soooooo…” Tito smiled.

“So now that I had the technical questions I had about the design answered. I can certainly do it for you,” she smiled.

“Why do I feel like there is a ‘but’ hanging in the air?” Tito smiled.

“There is no but, you want the design then I will give you the correct one,” she replied coolly.

“Rocky, tell me the truth,” Tito urged her to answer.

“How does he know I am lying?” she questioned herself. She looked into his eyes and saw his genuine concern. She paused and thought about her answer. For some people tattoos were just not that deep, but she got the sense that Tito wasn’t one of those people. She decided to flip the script. “What is it about the design that you like?” she asked.

“Well, I like the black and gray,” he began. When she nodded in understanding, he continued, “I liked the logo because I play for the Islanders” When her nose scrunched ever so slightly, he asked, ”What do you not like about the design?”

“This is a design for every wannabe hockey bro that wasn’t good enough to make it to the NHL,” she blurted out, “Why do you want to look like every other Goomba out there? This design tells me nothing about you as a person. It’s bland and generic and that’s not you. You’re not bland and generic.”

Tito laughed, “Tell me how you really feel.”

Rocky’s eyes flashed up and held his gaze, “Look, maybe I should take the easy money and give the tattoo you want, but that’s not the kind of artist I want to be,” she answered with passion, “I want my work to mean something, both to my client and to me. It’s probably not going to make me “successful”, but that’s really not my goal anyway.” She sighed dramatically, “And that’s not even the most obvious objection to it.”

“And what’s the most obvious objection to it?” Tito questioned as he studied the design again.

“When is your contract up? Do you have some sort of non-trade clause?” she asked plainly. He blinked slowly. She continued, “Seriously? When is your contract up?”

“2024,” he said softly as he began to process what she was saying, “I have another season and a half.”

“And you’re sure that they are going to re-sign you?” she prodded, “I don’t know too much about hockey so I don’t know if you are good or not. I do know that tattooing your team name on your body seems like the hockey equivalent to tattooing your girlfriend or wife’s name on your body. It’s a lovely gesture at the moment, but what do you do when things go south?”

Tito gulped and spit out, “I see your heart and soul is as black as your jet black hair.”

Rocky sat up straight, “Would you rather me not say anything?”

“No, you’re right,” he laughed, “You’re totally right. It looks like I am not getting a tattoo, at least tonight.” They sat silently and looked at each other. Both of them sizing the other up. Finally Tito spoke, “So if you think this design is trash, what design do you think I should get.”

“Something unique, something that tells a story about you,” Rocky pondered out loud.

“Unique? What’s unique about me? I am just a guy who plays hockey,” Tito challenged.

“Nah, you are so much more than that,” Rocky answered a little too quickly.

“How can you tell?” he quizzed.

“That twinkle in your eye,” Rocky smiled, “There is a whole world hidden behind the twinkles in your eyes.”

Tito leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I could say the same about you.”

Rocky blushed momentarily before the vibration on her phone drew her attention. It was a text from Kelly letting her know that he would be home late. His department decided on dinner after drinks. Rocky shook her head and silently admonished herself. She wouldn’t exactly call her behavior flirting, but it definitely wasn’t strictly professional. Rocky looked up into Tito’s soft blue eyes again. She was right. There was a whole world hidden in there. A world that she wanted to know more about.

“I could design something for you,” she blurted out before she processed the thought.

“I would be honored,” he answered quickly, surprising himself.

“So tell me about yourself, Mr. Beauvillier,” she leaned forward and put her chin into her hand while her elbow rested on the table.

“Well, I was born in Quebec….” he began.

She held up a finger and grabbed a pen and paper to write notes and sketch ideas. She motioned for him to continue and he did. Every once in a while he would lean forward to sneak a peek at what she wrote down or doodled. She pushed him away with a playful shove and smile

An hour later Rocky jumped at the sound of JD’s loud knocks. “Hey,” he said with a frown on his face, “We’re done in here.” Tito looked up with a smile. JD. grunted and turned around.

“What’s his problem?” Tito nodded his head at the door.

Rocky shrugged her shoulders, “He’s probably pissed that he is going to miss his cut of my fee.” Tito tilted his head in question. “Since he is my mentor, he gets a cut of my fee along with the shop,” she explained, “No tattoo, no fee.”

“If it’s about the money, I am happy to pay,” Tito offered

Rocky neatly piled up her things. “He’s probably pissed too since he told me just to do the damn design.” she added. They walked out together and waited as Daisy cashed Barzal out.

“Beau,” Barzal popped off, “What? Did you wimp out?”

“Nah,” Tito answered, “I convinced her to work with me on a custom design. I am thinking of a half sleeve to start that we can add onto later down the road.” JD’s eyebrows raised and Rocky shrugged her shoulders. Barzal turned to them, “What do you think? Pretty badass, huh?”

Rocky suppressed a giggle, “Oh, totally. You’re like the Lion King. Should I call you Simba?” Tito guffawed until Barzal shot him a look.

“Hurry up so I can pay, Simba,” Tito joked. Barzal casually flipped him off and turned to pay.

“Pay for what? You didn’t get a tattoo?” Rocky said in a stunned voice.

“Yes, I do need to pay. We were in a consultation. JD, what’s the price per hour for consultations?” Tito looked over to ask Rocky’s mentor.

“One fifty,” he answered tersely. Rocky bit her lip. He quoted a rate that was double her normal rate and Tito hadn’t blinked an eye. Of course, she knew that JD’s reasons were not altruistic at all. A higher rate meant a higher cut for him and the shop. It also meant that he could now charge Barzal double his normal rate for the basic tattoo he did. Rocky admired his hustle, even if she felt guilty about Tito paying more than necessary for it.

After Barzal paid, Tito cleared his throat loudly and nodded to Rocky. Barzal shot him a look of confusion. Tito muttered under his breath, “apologize”. Rocky’s head shot up and she looked at Tito who shrugged his shoulders. Barzal nodded in understanding.

“Uhhhh, Rocky?” Barzal started, “I apologize for earlier. I really wasn’t trying to knock you as an artist. I really was just expecting a big, burly guy based on the name. No offense meant.” Rocky smiled and looked down as she contemplated how long to make the hockey phenom squirm. “Seriously, I am not really a sexist pig,” he continued, “I have much respect for women.”

“Sure you do,” Rocky laughed.

“I swear I do,” Barzal squeaked, “Tell her Beau.”

Tito paused to allow him to sit in his discomfort, “I can attest that Barzy is a great admirer of women who happened to stick his foot so far into his mouth that he is choking on it. I am not sure if it's because of the nasty toe jam or God-awful odor.” Barzal’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

Rocky giggled, “It’s okay, Simba. I am just busting your balls out of amusement. A little bit of friendly fire, I suppose.”

Barzal shot Tito a glare. “Thanks. It looks like I may need new friends these days,” he smiled as the group walked toward the exit. Rocky and Tito exchanged numbers, which did not go unnoticed by Barzal. When he questioned Tito in the car afterwards, Tito dismissed his comment. “It will be easier to set up time to go over ideas directly with her.”

“Whatever you say,” Barzal retorted, “I am sure it has nothing to do with the puppy dog eyes you make when looking at her. No, not at all.”

Inside the tattoo parlor, Cameron buzzed about the potential exposure the shop would receive if Barzal posted his new tattoo on social media. JD looked like a deer caught in headlights. While a master tattoo artist, JD was woefully behind the times on social media, considering it an unnecessary evil. Rocky shook her head, “I’ll take care of it.”

Kelly was sitting on the couch when Rocky arrived back at their apartment. She walked over and kissed the top of his head as he watched Squawk Box on CNBC. “How did the dinner go?” she asked softly. She began stripping as he watched the television.

“Huh?” he answered as he glanced over at her bare torso as she stripped off her leggings.

“I said how did the dinner go? Were you able to talk to Ross about your idea?” she asked as she walked into the bedroom to grab one of his large t-shirts to sleep.

“Oh yeah,” he answered, “We just need the go ahead from Grant and we will be good to go. Hey, I brought you dessert from the restaurant.”

Rocky walked back out and smiled, “That’s great. We both got good news tonight.” Kelly had turned his attention back to the television. She sighed and walked into the kitchen, opened the take out bag and stared at the cheesecake in the container. It was covered in strawberry syrup. She looked at Kelly in disbelief and then shook her head. Rocky’s favorite was, indeed, cheesecake, but she was allergic to strawberries. She had been since childhood. Kelly knew this, or at least had been told at least a dozen times. He probably scanned the menu, saw the cheesecake and ordered it in hurry. It was the little details that he ignored that drove her crazy. When he was in his "work zone", he lost all focus on anything else.

She placed the cheesecake into the refrigerator. She mumbled something about going to bed. She glanced at her phone and saw the text notifications.

Rocky looked at her phone and her eyes widened. She had almost 1,000 new followers including Tito, Barzal and a half a dozen other Islanders.

Thursday- Inked on Ice- Long Island

JD did a double take when Rocky passed him on her way to her station. Rocky’s de facto uniform for work days was a vintage concert or slogan t-shirt with distressed jeans. Today, however, she wore form-fitting black leather pants paired with a crisp white button down shirt. The shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hot pink spaghetti strap camisole. Her hair had also been artfully piled atop her head with a hot pink bandana in the “Rosie the Riveter” look. Most of the staff had a similar reaction.

“What?” she questioned when Daisy let out a low whistle, "I just felt like dressing up."

“I hope you are comfortable because you are now officially booked solid," Daisy smiled.

Rocky blinked and swallowed deep. She was finally coming into her own as a tattoo artist. She was still doing smaller and less intricate designs but her technique improved with each one. She took her schedule and got ready for her first appointment.

Seven hours later, Tito walked into the shop. Daisy immediately greeted him, "Rocky is wrapping up a tattoo. It should be a few minutes." Tito took notice of Rocky's neatly labeled portfolio. The contents mainly consisted of small tattoos that she had done in a variety of styles. The mix was split evenly between color and gray. In the back were larger, more intricate designs.

He was lost in thought when Rocky approached from behind. "See anything you are interested in?

"They are all great," he said after he collected himself, "I like these landscape ones. That one reminds me of my days playing on an outdoor rink."

Rocky leaned forward to confirm which drawing he meant. Her breath felt warm against his neck and he inhaled her perfume. "Oh, that one? Let's go talk in my section," she said softly, oblivious to his reaction. She turned around and walked back to her small room. Tito gulped and turned to follow. His eyes involuntarily swept over her body as she walked in front of him.

She was already sitting down when he entered. He stopped at the door and observed her as she pulled out her sketch pad and pencils. "Either come inside or go get me coffee," she joked.

"Coffee?" he asked, "What's your order?"

"Unsweet iced coffee with an extra shot and skim milk, 2 pumps of sugar free vanilla syrup, 2 Splenda and light caramel drizzle," she answered without looking up.

"You know I have zero shot of getting that right," he smiled.

"Beauregard, if you can remember the draft line-up of your draft in order, then you can remember this," she looked up and flashed a smile. He laughed softly. "Or you could just tell them Rocky's usual," she smiled wider, "Whatever is easier."

"You’re a regular over there?" he asked as he began to leave.

"Yes, and I tip very well. Don't ruin my rep, Beauregard," she warned, "Go and let me work. I am inspired."

"Beauregard?" He stopped, "You can't call me Tito or Beau like everyone else?"

"Do I look like a woman who does what everyone else does?' she retorted.

"Silly me," he sighed, "and to think I am paying to go be your coffee bitch." He waited for a response but she had focused on her paper again.

When he returned with her iced coffee, music was playing. She expertly added shading to the drawing while she sang. https://open.spotify.com/track/1ZY1PqizIl78geGM4xWlEA?si=eebcaf1014c24c38

But if you're single that's honestly worse

'Cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts

(Honey, it hurts)

Ocean blue eyes looking in mine

I feel like I might sink and drown and die

You're so gorgeous

I can't say anything to your face (to your face)

'Cause look at your face (look at your face)

And I'm so furious

At you for making me feel this way (this way)

But what can I say?

You're gorgeous

He watched her for a moment before he involuntarily started singing as well.

You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah

There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have

You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad (mmh)

You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah

There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have and

Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats (yeugh)

Alone, unless you wanna come along (oh)

Rocky looked up when she heard his voice and smiled. Tito gallantly presented her with her complex coffee order. He glanced over at the picture before teasing, “So you’re a Swiftie? That’s surprising.”

“Why?” she asked.

He made a hand gesture up and down. “The hair, the tattoos, piercings all scream metal goth girl, but here you are jamming away to basic white girl music while drinking basic white girl coffee. Color me confused.”

“That’s what you get when you judge a book by its cover. You miss the complexity of most humans,” she said philosophically. “By the way, I did notice you jamming along. Are there a lot of Swifties in the NHL?”

“Nah, my ex, Tiffany, was one," he answered, "I became one by osmosis."

"Really?" She replied, "My boyfriend just mocks me."

“Ahhhhh,” Tito, “He doesn’t know what he is missing. Taylor Swift is a musical genius.”

"Well, well, well," Rocky whistled, "Look who is the basic white girl now.”

“Shut up and show me the sketch that you have been so focused on,” he answered as he rolled his eyes.

She slid the sketch pad over to him and looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “I tried to incorporate everything that we talked about last time,” she said quietly. Rocky wasn’t sure as she was filled with apprehension suddenly. Her art was one of the few areas of her life that she was sure about these days.

Tito gingerly touched the sketch pad and took in each detail of the illustration. He was surprised by the lack of color, but it was so effective that he couldn’t imagine the piece in anything but simple black and gray. It was the embodiment of everything that they had discussed.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Tito swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the tears filling his eyes. “I think,” he started before pausing to steady his voice, “I think it’s perfect.”

“Really?” she smiled tentatively, “You really like it?”

He looked up at her and stared for a moment. Underneath the heavy make-up and tough exterior, he saw her sweet spirit. She was more complex and multi-dimensioned than anyone he had ever met despite practically being a stranger. She had put her heart and soul into this drawing and the magnitude of that action was not lost on him.

“Yes,” he smiled, “I wouldn’t change a thing about it.”

MIDNIGHT RAIN

The next few weeks were a blur to Rocky. Her days were filled with appointments and consultations. Word of mouth began to spread as client after client posted their ink on social media. Glowing reviews accompanied each post, and Rocky’s reputation began to grow in the tattoo community. Pretty soon, some pretty big name artists began following her, including Catarina Vandewahl, who was a pioneer female tattoo artist.

With her growing popularity came sacrifices and hardships. Rocky worked hard to capitalize on the buzz around her work and kept herself booked solid. It meant less and less time at home with Kelly. They became like ships passing in the night. He was going to bed as she got home from a long day at the shop and left before she woke up for the day. On the rare occasion they were together, they both struggled to find the connection that had bonded them in their youth. Kelly worked feverishly on his work project while Rocky sat on the couch and watched hockey.

The texts between Tito and Rocky began as strictly business. Short and brief texts to schedule time to work on his tattoo. It was a task that was becoming more and more difficult to complete due to their hectic schedules. However, somewhere along the line, the tone changed from professional to borderline flirtation.

They scheduled his six hour session two days after Taylor Swift’s Midnights album release. It was a rare day off for Tito and Mondays were usually light for Rocky so she was able to make adjustments to her calendar. The plan was for the duo to experience the album together so they swore to each other to remain as “spoiler free” as possible.

In the meantime, Rocky began to follow the Islanders closely. Growing up in Dallas, she was a casual fan of the Stars. She knew the basics of hockey, but not the finer details. She grew frustrated trying to watch Tito play. Eventually, they developed a routine of Tito picking a game on his “off” nights, and they would text back and forth throughout the game. Of course, it was all in the name of teaching Rocky about hockey. However, the subject quickly opened up to broader discussions that almost touched on the philosophical.

Tito kept her updated about life on the road and humorous stories of adventures with teammates. Rocky threw in stories from the tattoo shop. From there, the subject of relationships bubbled up. Tito was shocked to find himself revealing his frustrations in finding a woman that was willing to put up with his unusual schedule while maintaining her own identity. Most women seemed more than ready to give up their own “careers” to make themselves available to NHL players. Tito found it tedious and boring.

Eventually Rocky found herself venting to Tito about how Kelly and her were on almost completely opposite schedules and how isolated she felt from him. Almost immediately, she regretted it and walked back her statements. Internally she scolded herself for crossing some imaginary line. For his part, Tito avoided the subject and redirected back to the game they were supposed to be watching. He couldn’t even think of a reason why he felt the need to change the subject. They were both venting about essentially the same subject. Still he felt a sting as he listened to her vent and he pictured her domestic life with her boyfriend. The sting was especially strong as he looked around his nondescript hotel room and remembered that there would be no one waiting for him when he returned home at the end of the road trip.

The cracks in Rocky and Kelly’s relationship began to deepen the weekend before Tito’s appointment. With his big work project complete, Kelly looked to reconnect with his long-time love. He made a reservation at a romantic restaurant and booked a suite at the Plaza. It was the sort of restaurant that demanded a level of elegance and style that was out of Rocky’s comfort zone.

“Quit fidgeting,” Kelly smiled as they followed the hostess to their table at the back of the restaurant. His hand was on the small of her back as she smoothed her hair down. She had just dyed her hair a vibrant red that morning and spent an inordinate amount of time curling it to achieve the perfect vintage fifties vibe she was going for.

“People are staring at me,” she said quietly.

“Please,” he joked, “You don’t dye your hair that color while wearing that dress if you don’t want attention.” Rocky flinched internally at his words. After they sat down, she quickly picked up the menu to study it. The fact it also shielded the tears that welled up in her eyes was an added bonus.

“Hey,” Kelly said softly, “Let me see your face.”

“I’m deciding what to eat,” she said as she willed her voice to remain steady.

“Rox,” he whispered, “Let me see your face.” She bit her lip. He only called her Rox when he was being sweet and kind to her. While she couldn’t say that he had been unkind recently, there had been a dearth of sweetness over the past couple of months. Slowly, she lowered the menu to let him see her face. “Rox,” he sighed.

“Do you think I dress the way I do for attention?” she murmured, “Do you think I am that kind of person?”

Kelly reached for her hand and grabbed it before she withdrew it. “I think that you can’t dye your hair fire engine red and cover yourself in tattoos and then be shocked when you get attention from normal people.”

“Normal people?” she questioned as she raised her menu again, “I am not a normal person? Since when?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said flatly, “I don’t want to argue. I like the hair and the dress. You look beautiful and unique. You should rock the hell out of it while you can.”

“While I can?” she asked after the server took their order, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Rox,” he said, “Don’t overthink it. I just want to have a romantic night with my girl.”

Something inside of her bristled at the comment “his girl”. She tried to focus on his intent or at least what she believed to be his intent. Kelly wasn’t a malicious person. He was actually quite thoughtful and caring. In fact, it was one of her favorite qualities about him. She looked at him and smiled. "So do you want to hear about my week?" He nodded in affirmation and she began telling a funny story about a misspelled tattoo.

Back in their hotel suite later, they had exhausted all subjects of conversation. Rocky pulled out her phone as a distraction and saw the notification from Tito.

Rocky quickly typed out a reply.

Rocky- Hey…. Quit cheating

Tito- Who? Me?

Rocky- Yes, you - Beauregard

Tito- #sorrynotsorry. I am bored in the hotel room. Staying spoiler free is hard.

Rocky- Quit being a spoiler whore and go to sleep. You will need your energy for Monday.

Tito- That's right- you're going to pop my cherry. Be gentle with me.

Rocky stared at the screen. She knew full well that he was referring to his first tattoo experience. However, suddenly, a very graphic image of her sliding down onto him filled her mind. She could almost hear him whisper in his light accent, "Be gentle with me." Rocky dropped her phone which drew Kelly's attention. He gave a funny face and she scrambled to grab the phone to prevent Kelly from seeing the content. Then she remembered that it had only been a figment of her imagination and not anything that could be read

Tito- Rocky?

Rocky- Sorry, dropped phone. Yes, I will be gentle with you. I gotta go. We’re headed to bed. TTYL.

Tito stared at the screen. "Headed to bed?" he thought. A vision of Rocky riding him while throwing her head back filled his mind. He tried to imagine just how much of her upper body was decorated with ink. He stared at the screen, then put the phone down. He turned on the TV and willed himself to not look at the phone. “Fuck it,” he groaned as he picked up his phone again. Without thinking, he found himself on her Instagram page scrolling through pictures. “Don’t hit like, don’t fucking hit the like button,” he reminded himself as he stalked. It was mainly tattoo photos with an occasional selfie. He scrolled back up and stopped. “Damn,” he whispered to himself, “Damn.”

Before he could stop himself, he responded with a flirty reply. He saw Kelly’s response and exhaled in disgust before clicking on his profile. His posts consisted of mainly “bro” activities - hanging out with friends, tailgating at Jets games, trips to the shore, etc. Tito noticed that they were only rare pictures of Rocky, at least recently.

Pretty soon, he had spent an hour down the rabbit hole of Kelly’s profile. He had pieced together a rough timeline of Rocky’s relationship with Kelly. It started off strong in high school with nearly constant photos. Things definitely cooled in college as Kelly morphed from slightly emo/goth boy to total finance bro . There was a direct correlation between their individual transformations and their relationship-at least based on what you could see on social media. Tito would bet that Rocky's tattoos and fashion style were an issue. The more she got, the less he posted her picture. A couple of years after graduation, other than holiday and anniversary posts, she was non-existent on his timeline. It wasn't as if Kelly was necessarily hiding his relationship with Rocky on social media, but he wasn't exactly shouting it from the rooftops either. He did a similar deep dive onto Rocky’s page and reached the same conclusion.

He scrolled back to her post from that night. How could the things that he found so fascinating about Rocky be an issue for this Kelly dude? He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand it all. Tito gently touched the screen with his thumb. Her smile made him feel things. Her eyes, he thought to himself, her eyes were bright on the surface, but underneath there was a world that he wanted to know. He wanted to know what made her happy and what made her sad. He wanted to know what she thought about the new Taylor Swift album. He wanted to know her thoughts about everything.

Back at the Plaza, Rocky sighed heavily as she tried to get comfortable in the oversized hotel bed. As much as she appreciated the thought and effort that Kelly had put into making the night special, something had fallen flat. Even their lovemaking had been lackluster with them both going through the motions without any true passion between them. Muscle memory elicited perfunctory orgasms for each of them before both they rolled in opposite directions to sleep. Rocky tried "fluffing" her pillow before grabbing her phone.

She glanced at Instagram and smiled at Tito's comment. "Can't sleep?" Kelly said sleepily.

"No, maybe it was the espresso martini at dinner?" She replied.

"Rox, you mainline coffee all day long. How can an espresso martini affect you like this?" he challenged. She shrugged her shoulders. "Come here," he held out his arm to her, "I'll try the head thing." Rocky rolled over and snuggled into his chest. They laid in silence for a minute. Kelly's fingertips ran up and down arm gently in slow, methodical fashion. He could feel the tension oozing out of her pores. "Rox, talk to me," he finally asked, "I know that something set you off tonight."

"Well, first you said I wasn't normal," she started meekly.

"Normal wasn't the right word," he interjected, "Average is more accurate. It wasn't meant as an insult, Rox. You should know that you stand out in a crowd. You are special and unique….."

"Why do I sense that there is a but hanging in the air?" She questioned.

"There is no but hanging in the air…." He snapped back.

"What did you mean when you said I should rock the hell out of my look while I can?" she lifted her head and stared into his eyes.

"There it is. That is what you have been stewing over since dinner," he sighed, "What I meant was that eventually you will need to dress more appropriately. Wait, appropriate is not the right word. Hmmmm, maybe I should say….ummmm, subdued."

"Subdued? Why do I need to be subdued?" She shot back.

He sighed, "because eventually I will need you to be a partner. I can't become a CEO without a good partner."

"CEO?" she balked, "Since when do you want to become a CEO? What happened to the 'work as hard as we can fo the next ten years so we can retire and travel the world" plan? When did that change?"

Kelly blinked, "When I started and discovered that I actually liked it. I am good at my job and I can go further than I thought I could. I know it doesn't mean shit to you but I love it. If you gave it a chance, you might like it too."

Rocky searched into his eyes to gauge his seriousness. Her gaze was met with an expression of such earnestness that she felt actual pain in her heart. "Tell me more about this plan," she said softly before she laid her head on his chest and he wrapped his arm around her to pull her close. She listened as he explained his fifteen year long route to CEO. It included getting married within two years and having their first child two years after that. Everything was mapped out in such detail that Rocky was beginning to wonder when exactly the original plan changed and when he was planning on telling her.

"You're being awfully quiet, Rox," he said at the end as he wrapped up.

"It's a lot to take in," she whispered, "It's a lot to take in."

"You'll at least consider it? Will you at least consider it for me?" He asked hopefully.

"Yes, I will think about it," she sighed.

Kelly kissed the top of her head, "You're the best. I love you."

"Love you too," she yawned, "let's get some sleep."

TWO DAYS LATER- INKED ON ICE Tattoo Shop

Tito winced and gritted his teeth as Rocky worked on the outline of the complex tattoo design they had settled on. “How are you doing there, Beauregard?” Rocky asked cheerfully. Tito had been sitting stoically for almost three hours. The session started out strong. They started with listening to Taylor Swift’s Midnights, but after two times they grew restless. When Rocky suggested switching to Speak Now, he readily agreed.

He groaned, “Why on earth would you willingly do this multiple times?”

Rocky smiled, “I don’t know. The art is worth the pain, I suppose. Of course, it could also be that I am tougher than you and can take the pain. I would have thought a hockey player would be tougher but then again Barzal cried like a little bitch too.”

“Hey,” he whined, “Would you like me to tell you all of the injuries that I have played with?”

“Will it make you quit whining?” she countered, “If so, then by all means, tell me how tough you are.” Rocky knew that it would draw his focus away from the tattoo and therefore the pain. Sure enough, the conversation bought Rocky about forty five minutes of productive work time. When he began to lose focus again, Rocky tapped his leg. “Hey, we are at a good stopping point for a break. You rest and I will go grab us some lunch from next door. The lasagna is top notch.” Tito breathed a sigh of relief. Within minutes, Rocky had prepared his arm enough to move freely. “Stretch, move around and relax,” she instructed, “We have about another four hours to finish it. Think you can handle it?” She looked at him with concern. It was his first tattoo and she wanted to be sure that he didn’t tap out before she finished. Also, she wouldn’t admit to anyone, but part of her wondered if she could take another four hours on trying to focus on tattooing while she ignored the intrusive thoughts in her head.

When she returned with the food, he was casually scrolling through his phone. He graciously accepted the lasagna and bottle water. “What do I owe you?” he asked.

“You don’t need to pay me back,” she insisted.

“I am not used to women buying me food,” he blushed.

Rocky blinked, “Beauregard….. What kind of women are you dating? They don’t even do the courtesy to reach for their wallet? Where are you finding them? Puckbunnies.com?”

“Hey,” Tito cautioned, “Tap the brakes there.”

Rocky immediately hung her head, “I am sorry, Beau. Truly, I am. I am just dealing with a personal thing and it’s got me extra “fight the patriarchy” right now.

Tito’s face immediately softened, “Something personal? With your boyfriend? What’s his name again- Kelly?”

Rocky sighed, “Yeah, something with him. Hey, how did you know his name?”

Tito blinked. He didn’t want to admit to the stalking of Instagram. “Ummm, didn’t he comment on the picture the other day?” he answered casually.

“Oh yeah,” Rocky smiled, “I forgot about that.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The unanswered question hung in the air. Finally Tito asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rocky fought the impulse to open to him. “He’s a client,” she told herself before she took another bit of lasagna. She looked out of the corner of her eye to find Tito staring, waiting on an answer. “Beauregard, I appreciate the offer. It’s nothing earth shattering or dramatic," she offered as an answer. When his eyes didn't move from her face, "Stop staring at me. You're being weird,"

Tito looked down and thought, "Was he being weird?" Then he shook his head and looked at her. Her eyes held a silent plea to drop the subject. He waffled between pushing for an answer, absolutely hoping for any news that the relationship had cracks that could be exploited and letting her tell him without pressure. He grimaced at his mind that jumped at the opportunity to "exploit" any weaknesses in her relationship. No, if they had a future together in their destinies, it would happen without manipulation or pressure. He smiled and deflected, "So, ummmm, where did Rocky come from? Did your dad just really want a boy?"

She was thankful for the deflection. She wasn't ready to put her emotions into words yet. Rocky grinned widely, "It's short for Raquelle. My younger brother, Gabriel, could only say Raq and not Raquelle. Alexander turned it into Rocky after I beat him up." Tito's eyes widened. "Well, he deserved it. He stole my Nintendo DS," she explained.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Raquelle," Tito smiled.

There was something about the way that he said her name made her heart leap with joy. She felt blush overcome her cheeks and she looked away. Tito thought she never looked more beautiful. "Yep, I am going to call you Raquelle from now on," he teased casually.

"Whatever you say, Anthony " she countered. Both of them scrunched their noses immediately. "Nope, Beauregard is better," she declared. She glanced at the clock. "Now eat up, Beauregard," she ordered, "We are going to start in ten minutes and keep going until we are done."

"Yes, Raqueĺle," he cooed, exaggerating each syllable in his slight French accent. Rocky bit her lip and took a bite of lasagna. "I will let you torture me again in ten minutes." he laughed.

Rocky's plan to carb load Tito worked. When they began again, he got into the zone. He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. His body entered into a trance like state and they powered through together. They were reaching the finish line when "Midnight Rain" started. https://youtu.be/Odh9ddPUkEY?si=IRMd5VC86a0xnQ77. Taylor's voice filled the room

Rain, he wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride

I was making my own name

Chasing that fame

He stayed the same

All of me changed like midnight

Rocky's head popped and listened to the song that seemed to encapsulate the current state of her relationship. When the words "Cause he was sunshine, I was midnight rain,.He wanted it comfortable,I wanted that pain" floated across the room, her eyes filled with tears. Unable to see, she lifted the needle from Tito's skin. The lack of sensation reached into his brain but did not penetrate. It was the tear that splashed down on his forearm that got his attention. He looked at the wet mark and then lifted his eyes to look at her face

Tears streamed down as she stared into space. "Rocky? Are you okay?" He sat straight up in the chair. She glanced at him and cried harder. "Rocky, what happened?" He questioned. "Mon ami, what happened? Did you make a mistake?" She shook her head vigorously.

"He is sunshine and I am midnight rain. He wants comfortable and I want pain," she said out loud to no one in particular.

"Who?" His hand went to her cheek, "Kelly?" She nodded her head. "What happened, Mon Ami? You were fine," he soothed.

"The song," she choked out.

He listened as the song ended. "Which song?" He asked.

"Midnight Rains," she whispered.

"The breakup song?" He asked in the tenderest voice.

Rocky wiped her tears, "He has a fifteen year plan now. He wants to be a CEO and he wants me to be the good little corporate wife." Tito's mind raced. "Can you imagine?" She whined, "Can you imagine me at the country club."

"No, no I can't." He answered honestly. "How do you feel about that?"

"Terrified," she blurted out, "What if I can't do it? What if I lose myself in the process?

"Do you even want to do it? He asked sincerely, "Is that the life you want?"

She stared at him like he had three heads. Of course, it was Kelly. He was her future. He had been her future since she can remember. She hadn't considered what she wanted.

He wiped her tears that still flowed." It is just a song," he whispered, "It doesn't have to mean a break up." Internally he screamed at himself to shut up, but he couldn't stop himself. No, if she was going to end things, she would do it without his interference. It was clear that she wasn't ready to let go. "Rocky…." He continued as she stared into space, "Raquelle…." Her head snapped in direction. "It's just a song," he explained, "You get to decide your future. You can have any future you want."

Rocky inhaled deeply, "You think?"

"I know," he smiled back.

"Thank you Beauregard," she smiled, "You're a good friend to me." Her breath hitched as the word came out of her mouth.

"It is my pleasure," he smiled, "It's.honor and a pleasure to be your friend. However, if you don't finish this ink soon, I am going to come to my senses soon and I will never let you near me with a needle again."

Rocky glared, "No way you are tapping out now. Buckle up Beauregard.".He sat back and closed his eyes. "Alexa, play Shake It Off."

Thirty minutes later, Tito stood and admired the design. "It's perfect," he praised, "I can't wait to post it."

Two weeks later - USB Arena

Kelly held the ticket stub in his hand as they walked around the concourse of the USB arena. “Rox,” he said suddenly, “These are lower bowl seats. I think these seats are pretty close to the glass. Where did you get them again?”

“I told you,” she said sweetly, “A client gave them to me as a thank you.” Kelly led them down the stairs to the seats which were right next to the Islanders penalty box. Rocky took the seat nearest the box. Kelly had a thing about having an easy exit out of crowded places and would have felt boxed in. The music in the arena was loud and pulsating. Rocky looked around and absorbed the vibe. She was lost in thought when a loud horn sounded. She looked up to see the Islander team taking the ice. She hadn’t even noticed that she held her breath until she saw Tito step out onto the ice following Barzal. She smiled and exhaled as her eyes stayed glued to him.

She couldn’t help but notice the difference in him. His face was devoid of expression and his eyes focused on the ice in front of him as the group began to make laps around their end of the ice. Gone was the friendly, but somewhat introverted Beauregard that she knew. In place was a determined and focused warrior. Rocky was tempted to bang on the glass when Barzal took a position in front of her seats to begin his stretches. She decided against creating a potential awkward moment. Instead she searched for Tito, she found him on the opposite side of the ice, stretching as well.

A high pitched squeal of "Barzy" penetrated the air and he leisurely looked over his shoulder to find the source. A gaggle of college girls stood behind Rocky holding a sign that said "Barzy- You can go 5 hole on us." He smirked and shook his head before noticing Rocky, who very obviously focused on something that had her complete attention. He had a hunch on the object of her focus. It was confirmed when he followed her sight line that went straight to Tito.

He almost shouted across the ice, but thought better of it. Instead he waited, they stood next to each other for a drill. "Hey Tito, why didn't you say anything about Rocky being here tonight," Barzal remarked casually, "Those are better seats than we normally get to give away. Did you ask for extra nice ones for her?"

Tito's head spun around in surprise, "What? Where?"

Barzal pointed to Rocky's location. Tito looked and saw her staring in his direction. He felt his stomach flip while a smile spread across his face. He waved shyly and Rocky felt her face flush.

"Did that player just wave at you?" Kelly asked. He turned to Rocky who waved back to Tito before she turned to face him.

“Yeah, I know him from the shop,” she answered evasively. Immediately she felt a pang of guilt hit. Between her earlier fascination and not completely honest answer, she walked the boundary of both her relationship with Kelly AND Tito. She added, “I actually did a tattoo for him a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh,” Kelly turned to assess the hockey player, “So that’s why your schedule has blown up recently. You are tattooing ‘celebrities’ these days. Good for you.”

Rocky turned to Kelly with her arms folded. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Did I say that it was a bad thing?” Kelly questioned incredulously.

The couple stood and stared at each other.. The stare down lasted long enough to attract Tito’s attention. His eyes widened slightly when Rocky’s angry expression registered. He started skating before his brain engaged. A guttural instinct took over. Someone had upset his Raquelle and that- it was just unacceptable. He hit the boards immediately in front of Kelly with enough force to knock Kelly’s beer off the ledge he had left it sitting on. The beer splashed Kelly’s jeans while the sound of the hit reverberated through the area. Kelly looked down at his pants, then to Tito who stared him down on the other side of the glass. “Hey!” Kelly yelled as Tito looked at Rocky who stood with her jaw dropped.

Her mind raced to imagine a justification for Tito’s actions and she could find none. Her look of confusion felt like a stab in the heart to Tito. Rocky turned to Kelly who burst out laughing. The reaction of the crowd in the section was the rousing cheer of approval and amusement. Tito winked at Rocky before he skated off to the bench. “Hey Jake,” Tito called the equipment manager, “You have any money?”

“Why?” the assistant equipment yelled back.

“I knocked that guy’s beer over. I need to buy him another one,” Tito explained.. “Come on, you know I am good for it,” Tito cajoled. Jack turned to delegate the task to one of the team interns when Tito yelled again.

As he made his request, Jake looked on incredulously. “You owe me, Beau- you owe me,” he laughed as he walked away.

In the brief time between end of warm-up and puck drop, a hapless team intern came bounding down the steps toward Kelly and Rocky. He stood at the end of the row and yelled down to them. “Hey, Tito bought you a beer to replace the one he knocked over,” the intern said cheerfully as he passed the cup of beer down the row. Then he passed down the large coffee cup and added, “This is for Rocky?” Kelly eyed her suspiciously as Rocky waited for the cup. When she received it, she glanced to get confirmation. It was her ridiculously complicated drink. Tito made someone go to Starbucks and return with a coffee specifically made for her.

“Can you tell him thank you?” she smiled at the intern.

“You can tell him yourself,” the intern responded, “He wants me to bring you down to the locker room after the game. Wait here and I will come get you after the third period.”

“Wow,” Kelly quipped, “That must have been one hell of a tattoo you did for him. You’re getting VIP treatment.”

Later, toward the end of the second period, Rocky leaned forward and intently watched the faceoff taking place in front of her. Kelly had made an early exit to beat the line at the concession stand. The Islanders were in a tight, chippy game against the Dallas Stars- the score tied up at one. Tito lined up against Jamie Benn who acknowledged him with a head nod. Tito looked back over his shoulder and glanced at Rocky but then returned his focus to the task at hand. Benn laughed, “Is that your girl? She looks like fun.”

Tito responded with a shove to Benn’s chest, “Shut up.” Benn retaliated with a stick poke and a smile- content with the knowledge that he had found a way to get under Tito’s skin. Both resumed position again but began jostling sticks back and forth. When the puck dropped, he used his stick to upend Tito.

The move drew the ire of the Islander crowd and Rocky stood up and yelled, “Hey, you can’t do that.” Benn smiled even bigger as Tito got up and launched a shove into his opponent’s chest. The captain grabbed a hold of the stick and they jostled for a few moments before Tito dropped his gloves and reached to pull Benn down into a headlock before he started swinging. He landed several punches before the bigger man was able to pull him down to the ground. Refs separated them. Tito ripped off his helmet as he got back to his feet and shook his head. .

Benn smiled, sure that he had instigated Tito into a penalty. During a tie game, drawing a penalty was crucial. His smile soon disappeared when he realized that it was he that was getting the extra penalty for his trip. Tito gave him a smile, “Thanks for the power play. It will come in handy.”

He entered the penalty box casually, sitting down on the bench and placing his helmet beside him. He wiped his face with the towel as Benn yelled from his box. Tito looked over lazily as he caught his breath. “Lucky you,” the captain yelled and pointed. Tito turned around to see Rocky staring intently at him, her brow furrowed slightly. She quickly smiled as he turned around.

Tito scooted on the bench so that he was closer to her. Suddenly, he forgot where he was and focused on her smile. “Fancy meeting you here, Mon Ami,” he greeted her.

“Beauregard…..” she spoke in an exaggerated drawl, “I’m not a hockey expert, but I do believe that you are supposed to stay OUT of the penalty box.”

“Raquelle…..” he began with a little more accent than necessary. Rocky felt her cheeks begin to flush. Tito stared at her face, “If I stayed OUT of the box, then we wouldn’t have this chance to chat. You know that chatting with you is my favorite thing in the world.” Rocky leaned forward and grinned.

Somewhere in the TV control room, a producer proclaimed, “Are you guys seeing this?” The director looked up as the producer shared the camera view into the Islander penalty box onto the large screen. There, in the picture, were Tito and Rocky shamelessly flirting. Within seconds, the shot was on live TV with the Islanders TV announcers commenting on it.

“Butch,” Brendan Burke chuckled, “It seems like we have a bit of an off-ice situation happening here.”

Back in their bubble, Rocky joked, “I knew you were trouble when you walked in…”

Tito retorted, “It’s me. Hi, I’m the problem it’s me.”

“At tea time, everybody agrees,” she finished.

Back in the control room, one of the female interns shouted out, “Holy shit, they are quoting Taylor Swift to each other.”

The director yelled, “No fucking way!” He suddenly had visions of a viral moment. The information was relayed to the announcers.

Tito moved on to another song, “Best believe I’m still bejeweled, When I walk in the room I can still make the whole place shimmer.”

Rocky picked up, “And when I meet the band, They ask “Do you have a man?” I can still say, ‘I don’t remember’”

Inside the control room, the announcer's booth and the entire Islanders liveblog tag on Tumblr, people watching were losing their collective minds. Comments flew back and forth- “Do you think he even knows that there is a game still going on? The moment was interrupted by the penalty box attendant who tapped Tito on the shoulder, “Fifteen seconds, dude.”

Tito’s head spun around and he remembered where he was. He quickly gathered his equipment and stood by the door. He turned to Rocky and smiled. She started “I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you.”

The door opened and Tito skated onto the ice. He glanced back and saw Kelly returning to his seat. He handed Rocky a bottle of water and she looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. The voice inside Tito's head finished the lyric, “Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.” He felt the sharp pain in his abdomen like a punch to a gut. It pulled him out of dream-like state and back into the reality of the game. “Use this,” he said to himself, “Use the pain as motivation.”

His eyes returned to the play and he saw his opening as he gained speed. He knocked Miro Heiskanen off the puck and took it onto his stick. He weaved his way through the two defensemen and circled the net. He passed the puck to Barzal who shot it at the net. Jake Oettinger coughed up a juicy rebound that landed on Tito’s stick. He lifted the puck up and over Oettinger’s shoulder into the net. It took a second for Tito to realize what had just happened. He was swarmed by his teammates as the arena erupted in cheers.

He looked over to see Kelly pick Rocky into his arms and swing her around. He quickly turned to accept congratulatory pats on the head from his teammates. Rocky’s head spun while in Kelly’s arm to find Tito. When she found him on the bench, she swallowed hard. The focused expression on his face had returned and he stared directly in front of him. It was Rocky’s turn to feel the gnawing ache in her stomach. The period ended and she watched him walk to the tunnel without looking back.

The Islander locker room buzzed with excitement of the new lead. Round of "Thatta boy, Beau, spread around the room. Tito didn't respond. Instead he replayed his time in the penalty box -the ease of talking to Rocky, the way she pulled him out of the game, the butterflies he felt when he looked into her eyes. He could have stayed lost in that moment for the rest of his life.

His thoughts were interrupted by Anders Lee's voice. "Sooooo who is the girl and can we buy her a beer?" he joked.

"Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you," ran through his head. The memory of her hug with Kelly flashed in his brain. Tito gritted his teeth and shook his head. "She's nobody- just the woman who did my tat," he spit out, 'She's nobody." With that, he got up to find the intern from earlier. Barzal watched in silence before getting up and following him. The rest of the team looked at each other in confusion.

Barzal caught up as Tito finished his conversation. "Are you sure" the intern asked. Tito nodded his head.

"Sure about what?" Barzal questioned.

"Sure that I don't want her to come down after the game," Tito answered emphatically.

"Why?" Barzal questioned as they walked back to the room.

"Because I said so dumbass," Tito muttered as he put on his gear.

Upstairs,the intern made his way to Rocky's seats. Kelly looked confused when the intern gently explained, "Tito is not going to be able to see you after the game after all. There is a mandatory team meeting that he can't miss."

Rocky blinked. She knew it was a lie but didn't want to argue or appear too eager to see Tito.. "Oh okay- well, tell him that I will see him around I guess.” She tried to hide the disappointment on her face, but Kelly knew her well enough to spot the fake smile. They rode in uncomfortable silence back to their apartment.

Later in bed, they faced opposite walls with their backs to each other. “So that’s who you've been texting recently?” Kelly asked quietly.

“Yeah,” she said softly, “He has been teaching me about hockey.”

"Clearly it worked. You were really focused on the game. I am glad you had a good time. You deserved it." Kelly yawned "Good night Rox. Love you."

"Ditto, Kels," she replied softly. Rocky's phone began to buzz. She picked it up.

Daisy: Girl…

Rocky: What?

Daisy: You're viral.

Rocky: What? How?

Daisy sent her the link to SportCenter and the segment about Tito's time in the penalty box. Rocky watched in a combination of sweet memory and horror. She thought back to what she felt in the moment. The feeling had been so pure and she struggled to name it. It finally dawned on her- joy.

"What's the problem with joy?" She asked herself as the dread and horror spread around her body. It had been so long since she had experienced true joy. She couldn't remember when the last time was. One thing she knew that it wasn't with Kelly- the person who she should share joy with.

She looked back at Kelly with a wistful look. "I have to be better," she said to herself, "He deserves better." She rolled over and watched the clip again. The feeling of joy returned as she watched Tito's face and a thought popped into her head, "Don't you deserve better?" She pursed her lips and turned off her phone.

Barzal/Beauvillier condo- Long Island

"Fuck you, I would have made that shot,," Tito yelled out to no one in particular as the NHL22 game played. Barzal gave him a side eye and continued playing the video game.

After Tito added "motherfucker," Barzal paused the game. Tito protested meekly before Barzal cut him off, “What in the hell is your problem dude?”

“I don’t have a problem,” Tito countered.

“Don’t lie to me Beau. It insults my intelligence,” Barzal challenged. Tito began a pithy response, but stopped when he saw his roommate’s expression. The concern was apparent and completely out of character for Barzal. “Does it have something to do with Rocky?” Barzal asked quietly. Tito leaned back and let out an exaggerated sigh. “I am going to take that as a yes,” Barzal continued, “Want to talk about it?”

“There is nothing to talk about. I misread her signals,” Tito spit out, “I thought there might be something there, but clearly I am wrong.”

“I am not so sure about that dude,” Barzal sighed. The brunette turned and studied his roommate's face. He pondered his next words carefully. "Look, I was going to wait and let you find out tomorrow, but there is something that you need to see." He pulled out his phone and started the video of Tito and Rocky from the penalty box.

Tito smiled involuntarily at Rocky as his finger went caress her face on the phone screen. He wanted to push the feeling down but it swept over him like a tidal wave. Barzal chuckled, "Dude, you have it bad. You are so into her."

"Too bad she isn't into me," Tito whined.

"Look, she may have a boyfriend, but she is into you," Barzal countered. Tito began to shake his head but Barzal interjected, "Look at her face when she looks at you. She desn't look at her boyfriend that way. I watched her during the game. Trust me there is something there, Beau. It wasn’t just during your penalty. Her eyes were on you the entire game.."

"So what should I do? She has a boyfriend," Tito asked.

"Be patient until she figures it out," Barzal suggested, “I don’t know much but I know that she doesn’t look at him the way she looks at you.”

"So business as usual?" Tito asked. Barzal nodded his head. "One Sec," Tito held up his hand. He reached for his phone and typed a quick text to Rocky,

Tito: Hey sorry we couldn't connect after the game, but it was great to see you.

Rocky: I thought you were mad at me.

Tito: Never mon ami

Rocky: You sure?

Tito: 100% sure

Rocky: You wouldn't lie to me, would you Beaugard?

Tito: Raquelle, you wound me

Rocky: Sweet dreams. Great game by the way

Tito: Thanks- good night

Three days later-INKED ON ICE Tattoo Shop

Rocky tidied her work station and eyed the door. She had received a terse text from Kelly during her last appointment that simply said "We need to talk. I am working at Starbucks. Let me know when you can chat.” She responded with an equally terse "It will be fifteen minutes as I finish up. It can't wait until tonight?"

"No- I don't want to have this conversation after midnight," was the response.

Precisely fifteen minutes later, Rocky looked up when she sensed his presence and their eyes locked. Her soft smile was met with pursed lips. "Hey," she said as she kissed his cheek before he settled into his seat. His hands held a to-go coffee cup that she was certain contained her order to perfection. "What's up?" she asked casually.

Kelly studied her next design before he sat down. His eyes looked at her askance. His mouth opened and shut several times. With each time, Rocky felt a knot in her stomach develop. "Rocky….." he began, "...... you know I love you. I have loved you since kindergarten when you walked up to me, the new kid, and announced that we were going to be best friends." Rocky smiled at the memory. He continued, "You were the girl, Rocky. You were the girl I was going to love forever. You were my past, you were my present, and you were going to be my future."

Rocky gulped, "Were?"

Kelly swallowed hard, "Yes, were. You have to know that we haven't been working for a while. We lead completely different lives with completely different goals. I don't think it's fixable, Rox. I don't think we can make it work now.

"Kelly, I love you. You know that. There is no one I love more than you," Rocky gasped.

"I know, Rox. I love you too. You are my favorite person but somewhere along the way, we fell out of love with each other. It doesn't make you the bad guy and it doesn't make me the bad guy. We are just two best friends whose lives are on separate tracks," he spoke in a hushed tone. "I tried to ignore it but I can't anymore. I deserve to be in love and you deserve to be in love.” Rocky stared at the ground as his words sunk into her soul. Her head popped up when he said, “Honestly, I think you are in love."

Rocky stood up, "What are you talking about? There isn't anyone but you. You think I am cheating on you?"

"Tito," he stared into her eyes, "I saw it when I saw the video."

"We were just goofing off and being silly," she exclaimed.

“During a game? A game that he is passionate about?” Kelly countered, "And when was the last time we goofed off like that?" Kelly sighed, “I can’t ignore the evidence. I mean it went viral.”

"I didn’t mean for it to go viral," she countered weakly, “We’re friends I swear. Nothing else. He just gets me. Kelly- he and I are just friends.”

"I believe that you think that," he stood up to walk to her, "I believe that you are doing everything in your power to honor your commitment to me. You are denying what your heart is telling you."

"And what do you think it's telling me?” she whispered.

"That you are not in love with me anymore and if I were out of the picture, you would fall in love with him," he reached for her hand. "Look, I could tell at the game. It's there and I would be a fool to try to deny it."

"I don't want to hurt you," she cried, "I don't want to break your heart."

Kelly intertwined his fingers into hers. "It would break my heart to settle for less than we deserve. You deserve to be in love. You deserve someone who wants the crazy lives you two lead." He stopped and inhaled, "And I deserve someone who wants the white picket fence, the PTA and the ordinary life I crave. I deserve someone in love with me."

Tears streamed down Rocky's face, "I'm sorry."

Kelly wiped her tears with his thumbs, "Don't be. Don't be sorry for being you. I love you. I love you enough to set us free."

"I love you, Kelly," she leaned her forehead into his chest, "I'll always love you."

"I know, but now it's time to love each other from a distance," he kissed the top of her head, "One day we can be best friends again."

"I would like that," she looked up at him, "So we're over? We're really over?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "at least as lovers."

Out in the lobby, Tito held his finger up to his lips as he entered the shop to keep Daisy from announcing his arrival. In his hand, he held a large coffee and protein box. He turned the corner and stopped in his tracks. Kelly stood with his arms wrapped around Rocky’s back. Her face was nuzzled into his neck. Tito’s body lurched like he had been punched in the stomach. “I love you Rox,” Kelly smiled as he set her down and kissed the top of her head. He then turned around to walk past Tito. He glanced at Tito, who stood frozen, and smiled. Rocky watched the exchange in numb silence. Tito watched Kelly leave the shop and then turned his head to look at Rocky. She gave him a soft smile. Internally, Tito’s mind raced. He didn’t have an agenda when he decided to drop by and see Rocky, but he certainly didn’t expect to witness such a tender moment. “Snap out of it, Beauvillier,” he told himself, “You got the wrong idea. She has a boyfriend- one that she loves even if you can't make it make sense to your brain.”

“Hey Beauregard,” she stepped toward, “To what do I owe this surprise?” She fought to keep the tears out of her eyes and her voice smooth and steady. They exchanged a look and Rocky watched as Tito’s expression hardened before her.

“I, uhhhhh, was in the neighborhood, “ he began. He couldn’t think of a singular good reason why he would be here that didn’t involve a fervent desire to kiss her. So like all good men when forced to face an uncomfortable emotion, he lied. “I wanted to be sure that you were still eating,” he stammered, “You need to eat so you can keep doing good tattoos. I vouched for you and uhhhhhh, I don’t want anyone who listened to me to be disappointed by a sucky tattoo because your blood sugar level dropped.”

He thrust the coffee and food into her hands. Before she could protest, he was half-way to an escape. “Thanks for the coffee, Beauregard,” she called out to him. She could see his body flinch but he kept moving. Rocky watched in despair as he made his retreat.

What had happened? After their post-game chat, Tito had been reserved but still friendly. Now he was running away because of why she did not know. Rocky replayed Kelly’s words in her brain. “If I were out of the picture, you would fall in love with him,” he had said. She sighed bitterly and added, “Yeah, but Kels, clearly he will not fall in love with me.”

She turned to walk back into her section and looked around. She had two consultations and three appointments scheduled. She went to her table and sat down. She started the music but quickly turned it off when the starting notes of “Lover” began. Impulsively, she picked up her sketchbook and threw it across the room. Loose papers and notes tucked into it scattered on the floor. “Whoa,” JD whistled as he entered her section, “What happened here?”

Rocky got down on her hands and knees to gather the papers to her chest. She placed her hand on a blank piece of paper and flipped it over. It was Tito’s tattoo design. Tears filled her eyes and she sat back on her heels. JD looked at the paper and then back at Rocky. Her face dissolved into tears. “Rocky?” he questioned, “What happened?”

"Kelly broke up with me," she cried.

"What? Why?" JD resigned himself to getting down on the floor and sat next to her.

Rocky wiped her nose with her arm. "He wants sunshine and I am midnight rain," she explained to JD as if he would understand. The words brought Tito to her mind and she started sobbing again. "Beauregard would understand," she thought to herself.

JD sat patiently and waited for a break in the sobs. He had not been sure when Rocky had shown up at the shop, boldly asking for an apprenticeship. He found himself unable to say no despite the fact that had never mentored anyone before her, something he had taken great pride in. However in the almost year later, they had formed a unique friendship despite their age difference.

"I am going to assume that was some sort of Taylor Swift reference," he said drolly, "Care to explain it to the non-Swiftie?"

"He was this whole corporate life with the house in the suburbs and PTA wife," she sighed. "I was going to try to make it work," she continued, "but things changed and he didn't want to try anymore."

"You mean he didn't want to try to force a relationship with a woman clearly in love with another man?" he asked gently. Her jaw dropped and she started to protest. "I saw Beauvillier leave," he added.

"Yeah, you saw him leave. He couldn't get out of here fast enough," she cried, "Clearly he isn't interested."

"I think the evidence points to the contrary," JD countered, "but his loss if that's true." They sat in silence for a few minutes. "You know, I think you are ready to end the apprenticeship."

Her head shot up, "Getting dumped twice in one day. That has to be a record."

"I am not DUMPING you. I am telling you that you have freedom to choose your next path," he explained. "You are ready, Rocky," he nudged her shoulder.

"You think I am ready to go solo, really?" Rocky asked in earnest, "What if I fail?"

"I have a feeling that you are going to fly," he leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

"What should I do about Tito?" She asked.

"I think that you shouldn't go from one man to another. If you are going to go solo, then go solo," JD spoke, "but potentially? Yeah, I saw you on Sportscenter and ship it. That's the right word, right?"

"You're learning, old man," Rocky joked.

Daisy poked her head in the room, "Ummmm, I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I overheard about Kelly." Rocky looked up at her. "I canceled the rest of your day and tomorrow," Daisy added, "Pack up your stuff. I am taking you home and we're having a meeting of the 'Boys are stupid and they suck' committee. No arguments, Rocky. We are going to laugh and we are going to cry until you don't need to anymore." Rocky's eyes filled with tears. "See, you've already started."

Hours later, Rocky stood in the guest bathroom of Cameron and Daisy's large home. She looked at her face. Her eyes were puffy from tears but she felt a wave of peace wash over her body. Daisy and she had discussed her future and what she wanted. As much as she felt a pull toward Tito, she could not shake the feeling that she needed time. JD was right. She couldn't jump from one man to another man. Rocky had spent her entire adult life committed to Kelly. It was time to spread her wings and fly. She felt confident that even if she crashed and burned that she was strong enough to make it on her own.

She took a deep breath and picked up her phone. She noticed two things- no communication from Tito and a text from Kelly. She opened the text and smiled, "Rox, I miss you already but know that our destiny lies as best friends. I will be here waiting to see where your destiny takes you. You are capable of greatness. I'll love you forever."

She typed out her response to Kelly. Then she hit the dial button.

"Hey Rocky,” the voice on the other end answered.

"Is that job offer still good?" Rocky asked.

"Yes, are you considering it?" The voice asked.

"If you still want me," Rocky responded.

"Pack your bags. I have a guest house you can use until you get settled. Can you be here in a week?" Cat smiled.

"See you then," Rocky smiled.

STATE OF GRACE

A WEEK LATER- ISLANDERS PRACTICE FACILITY

"Hey Tito," Kelly called to him as he exited the ice after practice.

Tito stopped and stared, "What the fuck does he want?" He thought to himself.

Kelly held out a cardboard tube and Tito, "It's from Rocky."

"A delivery? From Rocky?" He called back, "Why didn't she deliver it herself?"

"I think you know why," Kelly replied dryly. Tito thought about the multiple texts and calls from her that he had ignored. "Just read the card," Kelly added before he turned to walk away.

Tito ripped the card open and read it quickly.

Beauregard-

I hope this note finds you well. This is not the way I wanted to tell you but I am moving.

Tito's eyes snapped up, "You two are moving?"

"No, just her," Kelly explained. Tito tilted his head in question. "We broke up last week. In fact, the day I saw you at the shop, " Kelly added.

Tito thought back to the day. He had been so quick to jump to the wrong conclusion. "You idiot," he told himself, "You fucking idiot." He continued to read.

I tried texting and calling several times, but those have not been returned. I have decided to make a fresh start in a new city. All of my adult life has been bending myself and sacrificing my dream to allow Kelly to pursue his dream. I am going to some place brand new and testing my wings to see if I can fly on my own.

Tito smiled to himself, "Oh mon ami, Raquelle, you can fly. Oh how high you will fly."

I am sad to leave you and our friendship. I didn't want to leave without saying two things. First, I am thankful that fate brought us together as friends. Your friendship reminded me who I am, the part of me that I had hidden away to fit into the mold of what Kelly wanted and needed. I am Midnight Rain and that's okay. Thank you for accepting me and all my quirks. Not only did you accept them- you embraced them which helped me embrace them too.

Second- I am thankful for the joy that you brought back to me. It had been so long since I felt the joy that I felt with you. I love you, Beauregard. I don't believe that our journey is over. In fact I think that you are just at the beginning of a wonderful life full of adventure and more importantly, love. You will bring so much joy to the life of the woman who you love and she will be so lucky. So long for now. In the words of our Queen Taylor- "And when you find everything you looked for, I hope your life leads you back to my door. Goodbye, Mon Ami."

He pulled out the sketch of his tattoo out of the cardboard tube. She had written- "Never forget the joy of hockey. Keep it in your heart forever just like I will keep the joy of you in my heart forever."

"Goodbye Mon Amour," Tito whispered as he placed the drawing back into the cardboard tube, "No, not goodbye-see ya later."

THREE MONTHS LATER- BEAN AROUND THE WORLD COFFEE SHOP-VANCOUVER

The coffee shop was crowded with the morning rush. The barista greeted Rocky with a smile. In the three months since she had moved to Vancouver, she had become a regular so there was no need to give her order.

"So what's your day look like?" Lauren, the barista from England, asked cheerfully.

"I have an easy day today. Only two appointments and a consultation," Rocky answered with a grin.

"Ahhhh," Lauren winked as she rolled her sleeve so her new tattoo was prominently on display, "I'll advertise for walk-ins." Since getting inked by Rocky, Lauren had fed a steady stream or referrals over to the tattoo shop. The large black and gray realistic wolf was a showstopper and customers complimented her on it daily.

"Keep that up and I'll have to give you a discount on that sleeve we discussed," Rocky quipped.

"Don't tempt me," the Brit joked. Rocky moved down to the pick up counter to wait for her drink. She faced away from the crowd and studied her phone.

Further down the line, Elias Pettersson stood with his new linemate. They had just completed a practice and workout. "So you are set in your airBNB?" The Swedish superstar asked, “No issues?”

Tito looked up as they moved up to the counter, "Yeah, I'm all set." Tito had been traded to Vancouver earlier in the week in a trade that the hockey media dubbed "The Bo for Beau exchange". His first game was the next night, "I really like the area. It's got a cool vibe." Canucks players segregated themselves - the married players sought the comforts of the suburbs while the single guys stayed close to the active nightlife by the arena.

"What can I get you, Petey?" Lauren asked the Swede. After he gave his simple order, she turned to Tito, "and you?"

Tito rattled off his order, "Unsweet iced coffee with an extra shot with skim milk, 2 pumps of sugar free vanilla syrup, 2 Splenda and light caramel drizzle."

Lauren looked up in disbelief. What were the odds that TWO people would have that same, very specific coffee order? "Can you repeat that?" she asked. Just then the other barista that made the coffees called, "Order for Rocky."

Tito shook his head in disbelief. Surely he had misheard. They hadn't said Rocky and if they did, it couldn't be HIS Rocky. He turned to see the petite pixie walking toward the door. Her hair was now a pastel pink but there was no mistaking that it was indeed HIS Rocky. He immediately chastised himself, "You have no claim on her, especially with the way she had left." Undeterred, he started weaving his way through the crowded shop while his mind raced. She was here in Vancouver. He was here in Vancouver. His path was blocked at every step. He stopped and yelled "Raquelle!"

She stopped and turned. It sounded like Tito but it made no sense. Why would he be in Vancouver? "No," she told herself as searched the sea of faces unsuccessfully, "You're imagining things." She turned back around and headed down the crowded street.

Tito felt the air leave his lungs when she turned at the sound of his voice. She was here. It felt like a dream so he gave chase. Petersson called after him, "Beau!!" The call landed on deaf ears as Tito made it out to the street.

Fifteen minutes later, a dejected Tito entered the coffee shop. He found Petey sitting at a small table with a bemused smile on his face. "Where did you take off to?" The platinum blonde asked as he handed Tito his coffee.

"A girl," Tito spoke breathlessly, "A girl I knew from Long Island."

"Let me guess. Her name is Rocky?" The Swede said although he had pieced together some info.

Tito took the coffee and sat down, “Yeah. I can’t believe she is here. What are the odds that we would be here at the same time?”

“So this girl- is she an ex or something?” Petersson.

Tito paused before answering, “It’s complicated.”

Petersson raised a single eyebrow, “Men and women are not that complicated unless you make it complicated.”

“She’s the one that got away,” Tito sighed.

“So go after her,” the Swede replied.

“You saw me try. She vanished. I searched, but if I didn’t know better, I would think she was a figment of my imagination.

Now that the rush had subsided, Lauren walked through the shop- straightening tables and greeting customers. “Who is a figment of your imagination?” the beautiful brunette asked with a smile.

Petersson answered, “The elusive Rocky who apparently is the owner of Beau’s heart.”

“You know Rocky?” she replied in her delightful accent, “it makes sense now.”

“Wait, what makes sense?” Tito questioned.

“It makes sense you know each other. You have the same coffee order,” Lauren pondered, “You are the only two people with that order.”

“You KNOW Rocky?” Tito practically jumped out of his seat, “So she is a regular here? She LIVES here in Vancouver?”

“She moved here a few months back. She’s been a regular since starting at the tattoo shop- Pink Ink,” she answered, “She did my wolf.” She held out her arm for Tito to examine.

Tito looked down and studied the tattoo. It was Rocky’s work all right. There was no mistaking her technique. He could tell immediately it was her design and work. He head spun with this newfound information. Electricity ran through his body. Rocky- his Raquelle- was here. She was so close he could feel her pull him to her like a magnet pulling a piece of metal.

Lauren studied him quietly but the realization hit her. “Wait a minute! You’re the guy from that video. The hockey one with the penalty box. Bloody hell, that’s you?….. And she’s the gal, right?” she exclaimed. Tito smiled and nodded his head yes.

“But that doesn’t mean anything now,” Tito said, suddenly filled with apprehension. They hadn’t ended on good terms. Well, more specifically he had acted like an idiot. What if she had moved on already? What if she had sworn off men altogether? Did he still have a chance?

When Tito looked up, she saw the questions in his eyes. “She said she had unfinished business in Long Island with a guy. I didn’t recognize her with the new hair. By the looks of it, her unfinished business must be you.” Tito’s jaw dropped when she continued, “Don’t just stand there. This is True Love. You think this happens every day?”

“Princess Bride!” Petersson exclaimed- proud that he caught the pop culture reference. Tito glared at him. “What? I am a man of many layers,” the Swede continued.

“Where is that shop?” Tito interrupted as he stood up and started walking towards the door. “What’s the name of it?” He heard her answer, Pink Ink, and Googled as he walked. He smiled when he realized how close the shop was and hit the call button on his phone.

Rocky puttered around her station, getting ready for the day. She overheard Emily, the receptionist, answer the phone. “Pink Ink where we specialize in sarcasm, good tattoos and fighting the patriarchy. How can I help you?”

“Hi….uhhhh,” Tito stammered, “I’d like to get a tattoo. I have heard good things about a Rocky?”

“Oh yeah, Rocky? She’s one of the best,” Emily answered, “When did you want to come in??” Rocky stopped in her tracks to listen to the conversation.

“Now?” Tito hesitated.

“Sure, I’ll let her know that she has someone coming in,” the receptionist responded. “Can I get a name? Okay, great- see you soon.” Emily got up and walked to Rocky’s room. “Hey you have basically a last minute tattoo.” Rocky nodded her head in understanding as she finished lighting her candles and started her playlist. “Yeah, some guy named Beauregard,” Emily called as she headed back to the front.

Rocky spun around and walked out to the hallway, “I’m sorry. What did you say the name was….” Her head turned as the front door chimed and the door opened. “Did you say Beauregard?” Rocky questioned. Tito walked in and Rocky’s jaw dropped.

“Raquelle!” he exclaimed as he walked in, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Rocky stood frozen in disbelief. She willed her mouth to say something. She willed her body to move. “Do something!” her mind screamed, “Do something.” She watched him walk towards in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly the message hit the message center of the neurons that controlled her body and her body launched into motion. She sprinted to him and threw herself into his waiting arms.

“Beauregard,” she cried out, “What are you doing here?”’ Her brain raced for answers. “Do you have a game here? How did you find me?” she quizzed, “I don’t care. I don’t care. You’re here.”

“Well, you did say you hope my life leads me back to your door. So here I am,” he laughed as he swung her around. When he stopped to keep from getting dizzy, they stared at each other. Breathless, they stayed glued to each other- their lips nearly touching.

Rocky’s eyes scanned his face. His bright blue eyes sparkled as she searched for any clue as to his thoughts or feelings. Internally, she questioned “What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he is just glad to see his friend?” The doubtful thought was immediately met with the equally loud thought, “Take the chance, Rocky- take the chance.” She brought lips to his lips in a tentative kiss. The electricity jolted through their bodies and together, they deepened the kiss.

“Mon Amour,” he moaned, “Raquelle, mon amour.” They kissed in the hallway, oblivious to their surroundings.

Finally, Rocky broke the kiss and he set her down gently. She took his hand to guide him to her room. When they stepped inside, she turned to him and asked, “Wait, did you say Mon Amour?”

“Yes, I did,” he pulled her to him, “Rocky, I love you. I have loved you from the moment you shot me down and told me that you saw a whole world hidden behind my eyes.”

“But I live here now, Beauregard,” she protested.

“So do I,” he kissed her, “So do I.”

“Wait, what?” she questioned, “You live here? In Vancouver?”

“Oui, I was traded earlier this week. Life literally brought me to your door, or coffee shop, to be exact.” he answered. When she looked confused, he told her the story about their almost meeting at the coffee shop.

It was Rocky’s turn to kiss him, “Remind me that I owe Lauren that sleeve.”

“I owe her everything,” he smiled.

“Did you really want a tattoo or was that a ploy?” she smiled as she studied his face.

“I definitely want a tattoo,” he laughed.

“Oh?” she took a step back.

He pulled up his shirt and pointed to his chest. “I am thinking of getting Raquelle right above my heart in a fancy script. Think you can do that?”

“I mean it’s the kiss of death for relationships. How long have you been with this Raquelle?” she mocked.

“For about sixty seconds, but I have a good feeling about her,” he teased.

“Maybe you should at least wait until after your first date,” she poked his chest before inhaling sharply as she caught sight of his abs.

“That’s a good idea. I have an idea for the perfect first date,” he quipped as they fell into the easy rhythm of their banter.

“What’s that?” she quipped back.

“Have you ever heard of Taylor Swift?” he laughed, “She has a concert this summer near here. You might like her.”

Rocky laughed, “You are going to make me wait until July for our first date? So rude.”

“Fine,” he kissed her before he continued, “How about hockey? I know a guy who can get you into the Canucks game tonight.”

“Perfect first date,” she returned his kiss. Suddenly the words of JD rang in her head- Don’t jump from one man to another. Rocky pushed off of his chest and took several steps back.

“Raquelle?” he questioned, “Did something happen?”

Rocky studied him for a moment, trying to verbalize her thoughts. "Beauregard, I like my life. I have a good job. I have good friends. I worked hard to create a life that makes me happy, and I am absolutely not changing it to fit into yours no matter how much I adore you."

"Raquelle, I don't want you to change anything for me. You're perfect exactly the way you are. Don't change a thing."

"I mean it Beau. I am not giving up my passion for you," she says as he inched toward her.

"I would be disappointed if you did," he said and took another step.

"You're really here in Vancouver?" she said, “Like for real?”

"Yes, I am," he said.

“And you want to be with me?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, I do. I want it more than anything I have ever wanted before,” he continued. He placed his hand on her cheek as she smiled, "It looks like all along there was some invisible string tying you to me."

"You think quoting her majesty Queen Taylor will help your case?" she whispered as he stood inches from her mouth.

"I would call on the hockey gods if I thought it would help me," he smiled.

"Shut up and kiss me," she started to quip back.

"Yes, Raquelle, yes Mon Amour" he cooed before he kissed her.

#tito beauvillier fic #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #the summer fic exchange 2k23 #anthony beauvillier fic #ny islander imagine

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doc-pickles · 1 year ago

Text

emergency contact | anthony beauvillier

summary: you’re sick and all tito wants is for you to take care of yourself

warnings: mentions of being sick, hospital, a few swears

a/n: this idea popped into my head and I knew it was the perfect thing to write tito into!

enjoy!

xoxo nina

Tito always warned you about taking care of yourself. You had a tendency to get lost in your work and skip meals or leave your water bottle at home and go the whole day without even thinking about taking a sip of water. But when you’d come down with a cold, Beau’s insistence that you take care of yourself grew tenfold.

“Did you take DayQuil?”

“Yes.”

“And ate breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“And you-“

“Anthony,” you cut him off as he stared at you from his place at the door. You never used his full name so he knew you were serious. “I’m fine. I will survive going to work for the day while you do tape review. Okay?”

Tito groaned before nodding and pressing a kiss to your hair, “I’m just worried about you baby. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded, leaning into Tito slightly before he left for the day. After he shut the door you heaved a sigh before gathering your work things and heading into the office for the day.

It’s only took 45 minutes of being at work before your migraine cropped back up. You pushed it aside as you worked on the document in front of you.

But the pain became worse, to the point where you could barely see your screen. You groaned and shut your laptop, deciding that you needed a snack and a break from your work.

As soon as you stood up your head began to swim, your fingers reaching for the edge of your desk to try and balance yourself. The attempt was futile as your knees buckled and your vision went black.

Tito was sitting across from Petey and Brock, the trio spread out across Brock’s living room reviewing film. Just as Elias paused the tape Tito’s phone rang.

“Lemme grab this real quick,” Anthony stood from the couch, Elias throwing a pillow at him.

“Bring back more beer!”

Tito laughed as he answered the call, walking into the kitchen, “Hello?”

“Hi Im calling from Vancouver General Hospital. Is this Anthony Beauvillier?”

“Yeah that’s me. Is uh- is everything okay?”

“I have Y/N Y/L/N in the ER and you’re listed as her emergency contact.”

Tito’s heart dropped as he set the beers in his hands down and went to slip his shoes on. Petey and Brock stared at him but he couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge them as he tried to locate his keys.

“Is she okay? What happened?” Tito tried to keep the panic out of his voice but it was hard when the woman across the line wasn’t telling him anything.

“I can’t release medical information on the phone,” the woman said in a dull monotone. “Would you be able to come down to our emergency department?”

Anthony finally located his keys and made his way toward the front door, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

As he hung up his phone Anthony finally looked to Brock and Petey who both looked concerned, “Y/N is in the ER. I gotta go.”

The boys barely got out a few reassuring words to Tito before he was out the door and driving to the hospital, worry lacing his body as he raced to where you were.

“She should be fine, she was extremely dehydrated when she was brought in so we started her on an IV. And I’m assuming the cough and cold have been going on for awhile?”

“About a week.”

“Sounds about right. She’s developed acute bronchitis but it’s very mild so we’ve already started her on a course of NSAID’s to help with the the inflammation. She’ll need plenty of rest the next few days.”

“Okay, thank you so much.”

Although you couldn’t tell who the other person talking was, you quickly determined it was a doctor talking to Tito.

Fuck…

That meant you were in the hospital, right after Tito tried to warn you about taking care of yourself. You heard the door shut and slowly peaked your eyes open, watching at Tito settled into the chair at your side and hung his head. His hands ran through his hair before he took a deep breath, eyes locked on the floor.

“Baby…,” you whispered, Tito’s head popping up at the sound. “Hi. I’m sorry.”

Before you could move a muscle Anthony hopped out of the chair, fingers running across your forehead as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, “You scared the shit out of me.”

You sighed at Tito’s words, leaning closer to him, “I’m sorry. I thought I’d be okay at work. I should’ve listened to you.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m just glad you’re okay,” Tito leaned down to meet your eyes. “You are okay, right?”

“Yeah I got a migraine and went to stand up and…,” you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut to try and keep out the panic that clawed at your chest. “And then I woke up here. So I have no idea what happened.”

Anthony sensed your panic as he pulled you into a tight embrace, his hands skating over your back slowly in a comforting manner. Just his touch on your skin had your breathing slowing, body relaxed in his hold.

“The doctor will be back in an hour to make sure you’re okay then I’m taking you home and you’re not leaving bed for the next two days.”

“What if I have to pee?”

“I’ll carry you to the bathroom.”

“And when you have your game tomorrow night?”

Tito fixed you with a look that had you grinning instantly, knowing you were pushing his buttons, “You’re killing me here.”

“I know, but you love me right?”

“Yes baby,” Tito leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I love you so much.”

#anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nina writes

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swissboyhisch · 1 year ago

Text

Drunken Mistakes

Pairing: Mathew Barzal x Reader

Summary: After receiving some bad news, you just wanted to not be alone. After a couple drinks, what most likely is a bad decision, starts to sound too good to miss.

Word Count: 2576

Warnings: Alcohol, friends with benefits, bad thoughts

NEXT PART >>

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

Alcohol. Something to numb the pain. Anything honestly.

After the news you just received, you wanted some kind of distraction. You didn’t want to stay in your hotel room alone. Being in the city, away from your home. You wanted some kind of comfort. Sure, you had some friends living in the city, but everyone was busy. Leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Mat then popped into your mind. An ex-fling. Your childhood best friend that you had reconnected with. One you had a friends-with-benefits situation with. After nights of constant talking and hours-long phones on the way home from work, you had caught feelings for Mat. In return, he ghosted you. Yes, he had warned you not to catch feelings, but it still hurt.

Neither of you had messaged each other for months. The last thing you discussed was your travels through Europe and how you were doing amazingly. During that conversation, Mat had admitted he was lonely. But something was telling you to text him at this very moment. Maybe it was just your desperate need not to be alone.

Hey

Within minutes Mat had replied. When he asked how you were going, you told him the truth. Not good… Well, more like horrible. With that admission, Mat drove to your hotel to pick you up. Promising to be there as quickly as he could.

You grabbed some clothes for the night and the phone charger before heading down to the lobby to wait for Mat. It didn’t take long before the familiar mop of hair weaved through the few people standing about the lobby.

“Hey,” Mat muttered, pulling you into a hug. He could tell you weren’t doing the greatest. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You relax into his body. Your body goes slack in Mat’s arms, holding you against him. “Can we go to yours?”

“Let’s go,” Mat replies.

The brunette grabbed your bag from your hands and placed his hand on your lower back to guide you out of the hotel. His luxurious car was parked in the valet. Mat opened your door, allowing you to slide into the passenger seat and get comfortable. Once Mat pulled out of the hotel, he drove through the city. The music playing on Bluetooth became the soundtrack to your life as you stared out the window.

“The new place,” You finally spoke up, seeing the building come into view.

“Yeah, the new place.”

You noticed things that were not Mat’s when you walked into his apartment. A pair of shoes near the door that wasn’t his style. A pair of keys to a car that wasn’t his. Well, that you knew of.

“No roommate?”

Mat chuckled at the question, “I got a roommate, one of the traded guys.”

That made your heart hurt—more than it already was. Anthony Beauvillier was one of your closest friends, especially when you and Mat were hooking up. And now he lives in Vancouver. If you were hurting, you could only imagine how Mat was taking the whole ordeal.

“Have you talked to Tito recently?” You ask.

“Every day. Want a drink?”

The yes flew out of your mouth faster than you could predict. After looking through Mat’s vast selection of expensive alcohol, you decided to have a Jack and Coke. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and mixer, a glass from the cupboard, and a shot glass.

“How strong?”

“At least a double,” You answered.

Then the tour began. He started in the kitchen and living room. The occasional picture of his family is scattered on the walls and shelves. Next was the balcony. Quite considerable and well-decorated. The area's main feature is a comfy couch facing the city's view. The last room on the list was his bedroom, which was very Mat: simple colours, well shades of black and white. The wardrobe with mirrors for sliding doors was on the left as you walked in. Across the room was a large window. A dresser with a tv opposite his bed sat centre on the wall to your right—every bit Mat as you’d like.

“My teammate isn’t home, so do you wanna watch a movie in the lounge room?”

“Let me get comfy first,” You mutter, placing your drink on the dresser as you put your bag in the corner of the room.

After changing, you joined Mat on the couch. His feet kicked up on the poof he had, and an enormous blanket lay over his lower half. Without saying anything, you slid under the blanket and sat directly beside him, despite the space on the couch.

“What movie?”

You look at the options on Netflix, “I don’t know.”

“You choose,” Mat decided, handing you the remote.

“Why?” You laughed.

“You’re the guest.”

“Come on, Mat.”

You gave up on that argument quickly and just flicked through the app. Nothing piqued your interest, and Mat wasn’t any help. Then you came upon Molly’s Game. From the description, it was about an Olympian who runs a high-end poker game for the mafia and prominent stars who ends up on the radar of the FBI. It sounded exciting, and you hadn’t watched it, so you pressed play.

The two of you sat watching the movie, alcoholic drink in hand. The occasional comment or questions asked between you about things that had happened recently. After a bit, you finally got comfy. You were leaning into Mat’s side, head on the shoulder. His arm slides up and around your shoulders. He was holding you tightly against his side. Both of you were settled. You came to trace shapes on his chest as you focused on the movie. His lightly ghosted up and down your back.

It was quiet until Mat broke the silence between you both. “I forgot how easy it is with you.”

You felt that deeply. Whenever you and Mat had spent time together in the past, you didn’t have to try. Didn’t have to actively think about what to do. You both just worked so well together. Sometimes you wondered why he didn’t want a relationship with you if that was his thoughts.

“Me too.”

You finished your drink quickly. It's likely quicker than you should have. Mat didn’t hesitate to grab your empty glass from your hand and get up to make you another drink. You watched as he walked around the couch and to the kitchen. Even twisting so you can lean on the back of the couch and watch him. He saw you looking at him and smiled at you. For a quick second, you felt those butterflies in your stomach, similar to when you two had first hooked up.

“Want to do a shot?” Mat asked as he finished making your drink.

Your eyes lit up at the suggestion. Quickly joining Mat at his alcohol stash. “Of what?”

“I don’t know.”

After having a flashback to having had many nights when you were younger doing shots, you knew what you wouldn’t shoot. “Anything but vodka.”

“How about Fireball?” Mat asked as he grabbed his half-empty bottle.

“Sounds great.”

Mat poured out the two shots. Pouring on the smaller side as the shooters were quite large. You both clinked your glasses before throwing back the amber liquid. Cinnamon. Quite pleasant, you thought. You both put down the glass before sharing a laugh. That was when you looked up at Mat and saw how close you were. Without hesitating, you went in for the kiss. Sure, neither of you had discussed how the night would end between you, but it seemed like there was an underlying tension, sexual.

You both smiled at each other and settled back onto the couch. You were drinking and paying little attention to the movie on the large screen. Most of your attention was on Mat. Your hand started to wander. Starting on his chest and then making your way up to his jaw. He currently had more stubble than you had seen him with in the past.

“I like the scruff,” You comment.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then silence once more. Both yours and Mat’s hands wandered, touching each other lightly. Nothing too inappropriate. Even the occasional snuggle into Mat’s chest resulted in his hand coming to scratch the back of your head lightly. Just comforting touches that you needed after the news you had heard earlier.

You watched Mat skull the last bit of his beer, then place the empty bottle on the coffee table to his right. After handing him your drink to place on it, you struggle to get out of the tangled mess of blankets and legs. You made your way through the dark, well, low light, to the kitchen to grab a beer for the fridge. Mat watched in amusement as you walked a little tipsy.

“You didn’t have to,” Mat stated as you opened the fridge.

You grabbed the beer he was drinking, “Twist top?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” You hum before opening the bottle and returning to Mat’s side, handing him his drink before snuggling back to his side. Not without a quick peck to his lips.

Midway through the movie and a few more drinks later, the kissing intensified. Your hand cups Mat’s scruffy jaw as he pulls you in closer. Fingers tangled into your hair.

“Wanna move to the bedroom?” Mat mumbles against your lips.

“Sure.” Mat turned off the tv and placed the empty glass and bottles on the kitchen counter. You went to the bedroom while he did that. Placing your phone on charge and climbing in under the covers.

Mat walked in and slipped off his t-shirt, revealing his abs. A sight you had missed. God, he was so good-looking. Angelic really. The light was changed to red, a staple between you and Mat when you were hooking up. It also doubled as a warning to Tito that you two were fucking.

“Looking hot,” You grin as Mat makes his way to bed with you.

With a hard tug, Mat falls on top of you. He dipped his head once more to capture your lips with his. You pressed your hips against him, feeling his hard-on under his sweats. Hands slid under your jumper. Pulling up the hoodie. Mat broke the kiss to slip off the article of clothing and throwing in the direction of your bag before returning to kiss your lips.

“Mat,” You moaned as the brunette moved to kiss down your neck.

He gently bit that sweet spot he had memorised, then smirked as you moaned again. “Found it.”

His words made you laugh lightly. Then cut off again by a moan since Mat slid a hand up into your hair. A tangled mess and slight tug. A staple move by the big-shot hockey player. In retaliation, you grazed your hands over his cock under his sweats, making Mat halt in his movements, a silent moan. You tug his sweatpants a little.

“You want them off?” Mat smirks.

“Of course.”

Mat listens to your needs and stands up, gripping the waistband and sliding them down. His hard cock sprung out of the waistband. Slapping his abs with a satisfying skin-on-skin sound.

“Your turn.” You lifted your hips, allowing Mat to slide off your sweatpants. Mat chuckled at your underwear. “You planned on getting some, didn’t you?”

“Can ya tell?”

Without saying anymore, Mat slipped off your underwear and pulled your legs, sliding your body to the edge of the bed. You wrapped your legs around his waist. You needed him closer.

“Mat…”

You reached your hands up and pulled him down to your lips. Lips. Tongues. Wandering hands. A little biting on your part. After you and Mat hooked up last time, you knew to hold back on the biting. You moved to kiss down Mat’s neck, nipping and sucking as you went.

His fingers tangled into your hair to pull you away, “Careful. No marking, you know that.”

“I know, I know. I wasn’t planning on doing it.”

The following day you awoke to Mat lying shirtless beside you in bed. Little snores were the only sound echoing around the room. Your phone was suddenly receiving notifications, buzzing on the side table.

“What time is it?” You mumble to yourself. Leaning over to look at your phone. The glowing white numbers. 6:00 AM. “Fuck.”

You had forgotten to change the sleep focus for last night. Usually, you’d be up for work at this time hence why your phone turned notifications back on. You flicked it back onto sleep focus and rolled over to curl into Mat’s side.

“What’s the time?” He mumbles, barely even awake.

“6.”

“Go back to sleep,” Mat huffed.

For the next two hours, the pair of your drifted in and out of sleep. Either you would shuffle and wake Mat or vice versa. Then it got to the point you couldn’t be bothered to try to go back to sleep. Instead, you pulled up Instagram to scroll through whilst Mat slept. You knew Mat liked his sleep, and he had a later morning skate at 10 AM if you remember correctly.

“Mat, it’s 8:30,” You mumbled when you noticed the time. Both of you needed to shower before leaving. And Mat had offered to drop you back at your hotel on his way to practice.

The two of you fell into a routine of getting ready for the day. You showered before changing back into the clothes you wore to Mat’s. Mat jumped in the shower after you. He came out of the bathroom dressed in jeans and one of his many Islanders hoodies. Something that made him look so good.

Mat came over to where you were sitting on his bed, slipping on your Apple Watch. He leant down and pressed a kiss to your lips once more. Probably the final one of the morning. “Want some food before I drop you off?”

“That sounds good.”

You grabbed your bag, and the pair of your made your way to Mat’s car. He had mentioned a bakery near your hotel that was good. It didn’t take too long… in city time that is. The two of you entered the cafe. Browsing all there was to choose from. After looking at all the baked goods, you decided to get juice—something to quell your unsettled stomach, hopefully. Mat stood before you, eyeing up something in the glass case.

“What do you want?” Mat asked.

“Oh, I’m just getting a juice. Don’t feel like getting any food at the moment.” Mat plucked the juice bottle from your hands and placed it on the counter with his drink. You groaned, going to try to grab the drink back, but he smacked your hand away. “Mat, I can get my drink.”

“Don’t stress about it. I don’t mind.”

You didn’t expect Mat to pay for your stuff. Honestly, you hated having people pay for things for you. Mat was a good person, and you knew that. So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. After he paid for your things, you both returned to his car, and he started to make his way to your hotel. It was quiet until you pulled into your hotel driveway.

“Thank you for last night,” You stated as you grabbed your bag. “I need it.”

“Me too,” Mat smiles.

“Good luck for tonight.”

Mat says a quick thank you. “Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

“Bye.”

You send him one last smile. “Bye.”

TAG LIST:

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @daisysthings @barzyblogbabe

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sc0tters · 1 year ago

Text

Not Enough | Anthony Beauvillier

summary: you didn’t find out about Anthony’s trade in the best way leading to the lowest point in your friendship.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, mentions of getting drunk.

word count: 1.92k

authors note: this request has been staring at me for WEEKS so I’m glad I wrote this. In my mind Tito never really left New York but for this I was willing to accept reality.

It was a friendship that nobody could have predicted.

You had met Anthony in a nightclub three years ago, a guy had been hitting on you and the hockey player was quick to come to your rescue when he sensed your discomfort.

The two of you were like chalk and cheese, he was the hotshot hockey star and you were fresh out of college trying to do your best to get by in the working world.

But that never seemed to stop the two of you as he was by your side through thick and thin and you were there for him too.

Anthony’s teammates like your friends always thought that there was something going on between the two of you, it wasn’t hard to believe that. Not when you had your own space in his closet and was found answering the door to his apartment in nothing but his T-shirt on multiple occasions.

However nothing seemed to really happen despite the few drunken kisses that you shared it was purely a platonic relationship.

He was cruel to your heart though. Well over twelve months ago you realised that you had feelings for him, it was challenging to not when Anthony brought you along to everything, every gala, every home game, every team and family event. You were his go to plus one.

The way his arm had its home around your waist of how he’d kiss your forehead whenever he said goodbye made you weak in your knees.

As time went on Anthony didn’t seem to notice how you felt, and that was arguably the worst part about it.

Over the last two weeks you had been taking a step back from him, rumours had been spreading around his place with the Islanders and the alleged move to the Canucks. Sure you tried to ignore it but the thought kept you up at night when you pictured him leaving you.

It hurt that he didn’t mention anything, the Islanders were on a roadie and it felt weird that Anthony hadn’t played on the final night.

Your gut felt weird which is why when he asked you to come over you didn’t hesitate to drop whatever you were doing to see him.

His door stared back at you as you contemplated knocking. After all these years of never knocking and just barging into his apartment you now felt out of place.

The knocks echoed in your ears as you let out a long sigh “hey,” Anthony smiled as he pulled the door open.

He looked tired, like something plagued his mind “come in,” the hockey player added as he stood to the side.

That was when reality hit you. The living room was a mess, everything in boxes and what wasn’t in them looked like it was ready to get packed soon.

Your jaw tightened as you looked around to see that the boxes traveled into the kitchen as well “what is this Tit?” You spun around to look at him again finally putting the pieces together.

Anthony sighed pushed his hair out of his face “I’m going to Vancouver.” He announced as he walked over to you.

You grew sick as your skin tensed up “when?” Your voice began to break as your lip quivered.

He remained silent “when are you leaving?” You repeated your question as you dug your nails into your palm.

Guilt seemed to finally suffocate him “tomorrow morning,” the confession was barely a whisper.

That was everything you didn’t want to hear and more “and when did you plan on telling me?” You were using all of your self restraint to not cry as you were forced to quickly process the news.

All the hockey player wanted to do was hug you as he could see the pain you felt “don’t know,” a fucked up part of his mind truly believed that he could hide it from you.

Everything you heard made you want to throw up “am I that unimportant in your life that you thought I should learn from the fucking Instagram post?” You scoffed furrowing your eyebrows as anger poured out of your ears.

You were hurt by his lack of regard for you “you are important to me,” Anthony reached out for your hand but you quickly pulled it away.

The comment only pushed you further “start acting like it then Beauvillier,” you spat as you held your hand up to stop him.

Every part of him wanted to continue the conversation but he couldn’t when there was a knock at the door “that’s the boys.” Anthony sighed as he heard Mat talk from the other side of the door “I’m going to go,” you forced a smile onto your face as you tucked your hair behind your face.

He knew it was the best thing to just let you leave, it wouldn’t be fair to reveal what was on his mind “night sweets,” Anthony mumbled placing his hands on your cheeks before he kissed your forehead.

The tears began to well in your eyes when you walked to the door “oh hey y/n!” Mat had to say that he was surprised to see you “she good?” His positive emotion was quickly changed to one of alarm when you pushed past him.

Anthony had to admit that he was proud of himself that he didn’t shed a few tears “she knows I’m leaving,” he shrugged knowing that there was so much more to it than just that.

Three months had gone by and you hated it. Sure the conversations were still there but it was like there was a mental block in them. No longer were they the ones that kept you up until four in the morning laughing until your chest hurt. But instead they were dry, mainly consisting of you congratulating him for his performances during games.

What made it worse was that neither one of you were prepared to admit that something was wrong. So you just had to deal with the pain as it kept you up at night.

This week was one that you weren’t looking forward to, Anthony was back in town and Mat sent you a ticket hoping you’d be there.

Something you didn’t know was that Anthony was in the same position as you. Sure his time with the Canucks had started off positively but he couldn’t help it when he’d score and look into the crowd hoping to see you stood there looking back at him.

Reality hit him like a rude awakening as each time he’d get close to calling you to tell you how much he loved you something told him to stop.

Somehow you managed to avoid the game when your friends pulled you into a girls night as they all agree that they couldn’t let you see him. If you did then there was no way that you’d get out of it without telling him how you felt.

Alcohol coursed through your system as the game played on the tv in the bar, just because you weren’t at the game didn’t mean that you didn’t watch it, you always supported Anthony.

You had lost your phone to one of your friends who had seen you staring at a picture that was once your lock screen for so long.

Tito wrapped his arms around you as you were in his jersey after a game when the boys surprised him with you at an away game.

The camera zoomed in onto his face as Anthony was pulled onto the bench. Butterflies broke out in your stomach as you thought about him smiling at you “isn’t he a good player?” Some guy asked as he tried to make a conversation with you.

All you could do was nod “one of the best.” You took a gulp or you drink needing it to survive through the night “shame he left New York.”

You repeated his words throughout the night up until you got to your apartment door when you pulled through your bag trying to find your keys.

Those were with your phone and as you unlocked the door, hand quickly going against your mind as it found Anthony’s contact details.

A grumble left your lips as you pressed call “hey it’s Tito, sorry I can’t take your call so just leave a message!” His voice message made you roll your eyes as you scoffed.

The beep came reminding you that you had to talk “it’s me,” you began as you sat on the floor of your apartment “you know you’re a dick right?” Your words were slurred as you let out a giggle “I tried so hard to ignore the fact that I liked you for so long.” Tears began to stream down your face.

There was still so much more that you had to say “just as I was ready to tell you I love you,” your voice broke as you wiped your nose on your hand. You sucked at your lower lip “you decided to go to Vancouver without wanting to tell me.” The reminder of how he planned it broke your heart “I don’t know why I’m telling you this cause you don’t care.” Your confessional would have gone on for so much longer but the line went dead telling you that it was the end of what you had to say.

Just when you thought that you had grown used to alcohol, your mornings after reminded you at being hungover was just as shit as the previous time.

This was no different as you woke up to the awfully loud noise of someone knocking at your door “I’m coming!” You groaned as you pushed your hair out of your face making your way to the door.

What you didn’t expect was that Anthony would be stood there. Sure you knew that he would still be in New York with the Rangers game that evening “what are you doing here?” Your eyes went wide as you saw him in his tracksuit.

The boy pushed into your apartment as his hands were shaking with nerves “you love me?” Anthony still couldn’t believe what he heard.

It reminded you of the fact that you had told him everything “if you came to turn me down-” you sighed fearing what he could possibly say next.

Anthony shook his head “I want to hear you say it to my face.” He repeated his words ignoring to what you had said.

You nodded as you shrugged “I fucking love you Anthony.” It wasn’t often that you called him by his first name, usually settling on a shortened version of his nickname.

That was music to his ears as he broke out into a huge grin “you love me,” the hockey player cooed as he walked over to you.

Through all the commotion of nerves in his head Anthony didn’t even notice that you were in one of his old training camp T-shirts, those were your favourite things to sleep in.

His excitement made you roll your eyes as he wrapped his arms around you “if you came here to gloat-” you mumbled as you furrowed your eyebrows.

What you didn’t expect was that he’d cut you off with a kiss. It was soft when you let out a mini gasp of surprise. Anthony’s lips seemed to fit perfectly against yours as you tilted your head up so that the kiss could he deepened.

“Came to tell you that I love you too.”

#anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #imagines #oneshots #Anthony Beauvillier imagines #amber writes fics

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mp0625 · 11 months ago

Text

Fairytale of New York

Taglist. Masterlist.

Anthony Beauvillier x reader

For @swissboyhisch for the Hockey Girlies Discord Christmas Fic Exchange

A/N: Merry Christmas Erin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hope you have an a amazing one!!! Sending so many hugs!!!!! This was so fun to write! I’m going to put the masterlist and the taglist in a little while my laptop is being stupid

You wake up to a couple big snuffs in your ear. And when you opened your eyes you saw a big sleek brindle mass. “Ollie you need to go out?” You ask and his tail starts to wag faster. “I’ll wake up daddy.” To wake him up you hit Anthony on the chest. “Your son wants to go outside.”

“He’s your son now.”

“Since when is he my son?” You asked rolling over to face Tito.

“Since he woke me up at 2 am wanting to go outside.”

“That’s not my problem. I’ll make coffee while you take him out.”

“Fine.” As you followed him out the bedroom, him heading to the back door and you to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. As you start pulling mugs and creamer out you hear the back door open and close and Tito coming into the kitchen.

“Why is it so cold outside?” He asks while grabbing you from behind.

“Holy shit your hands are cold.”

“Yeah, it's cold out there.”

“It’s not that cold, it’s New York, not Sorel-Tracy.”

“Are you ready to do presents?”

“Yeah give me five minutes to finish my coffee, I’ll meet you by the tree.”

————————————————————————

“You ready?” He called.

“Yes.” You come walking in with a brindle shadow following you into the living room. “Can we do mine first?” Grabbing a small box with blue wrapping paper with snowflakes on it and handing it to him.

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you, just open it!”

As he rips the paper open he sees the box that he’s been wanting to get for months.

“You got the watch I’ve been eyeing!” He says as pulls out a simple gold watch and starts to put it on. ”It’s perfect.”

“I knew you been wanting it”

“Thank you.” He whispers as he pulls you into a hug. “Now yours.” As he grabs a large box from under the tree.

As you rip open the slightly bad wrapping job you see at the bottom of the box two pieces of paper. “You got me the concert tickets I’ve been wanting.” You launch into his arms.

“It’s down in New Jersey though.”

“I don’t care.” “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

“I have to go start lunch and the pies. I’ll put these in the bedroom so I don’t lose them.” As you stand up from the couch you grab the tickets to put them in a safe space.

From the other room Anthony heard. “Ow, fuck, fuck, Fuck!”

“You good?”

“I stubbed my toe”

“I know.” As he had felt the soul bond radiate with pain from his foot up.

————————————————————————

After you had gotten changed and started the pies and put the ham on the smoker. You started on the sides. “Hey Alexa, play my Christmas playlist.”

“Ok, playing your Christmas playlist.” As the first song came through the speakers you heard Fairytale of New York come on.

“Tito, can you start the green beans?”

“Sure.” He answers. As he starts the green beans, you start the macaroni and cheese by putting the macaroni on to boil.

“Tito, can you grab the pie out of the oven.”

“Which one?”

“Pecan, the sweet potato has about 10 more minutes left.” As he reaches into the oven to grab the pie out he hits the side of his arm on the oven door causing him to burn his arm. As you had your back turned towards the oven you didn’t know he had burned himself until you felt the searing pain radiating throughout your arm. You spin around quickly clutching your arm even though you hadn't burned yourself the soul bond screamed in pain. “Oh shit, come here!” You hiss, pulling him backwards towards the sink. “Soak your arm, it'll make it feel better.” As he soaks his arm you go get the small first aid kit from the bathroom. “Here, sit on the counter.” As he hops up you open the first aid kit and start getting the gauze and Neosporin out. “It should be ok enough to not have to go to the ER tonight. I can’t even imagine the wait in there from all the people burning themselves.” As you finish patching him up his phone starts ringing.

“That’s Matty, probably saying what time he’ll be over.”

————————————————————————

“Matty, it’s so good to see you!” You say as you give him a hug.

“Good to see you too!” “What the hell happened to you man?” He asks turning to Tito after seeing the bandages on his arm.

“I burned my arm on the oven pulling a pie out.”

“Oof that sucks.”

“Is this for me?” You ask, seeing the bottle of wine in his hand.

“Yes, I hope I picked a good one.”

“It looks perfect.”

————————————————————————

“This is some of the best food I’ve ever had!” Matt said, pushing his chair back.

“Are you ready for pie?”

“Yes!!”

————————————————————————

“I’ll see you later man, get home safe.” Tito said, walking Matty to his car.

“Come here I want to cuddle.” You said from the couch.

“Want to watch a movie?”

“Yess.”

“What do you want to watch?”

“What do you think.” You say looking over at him.

“Nightmare before Christmas.”

“Duh.” As he starts the movie and the opening credits roll you cuddle up closer, and Ollie joins you on the couch by your feet. You wake to someone softly shaking you.

“You fell asleep on the couch. Come on, it's almost 11:30, it's time for bed.” As he pulls you up off the couch he ushers you to bed. As you get into bed and get settled in. Tito speaks up. “Good night, Merry Christmas I love my watch!”

“Night, Merry Christmas, I love my concert tickets!”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” As you say that you hear a big huff. “Love you too Ollie!”

“Love you Ollie.”

Taglist: @studioreader @honethatty12 @slafgoalskybaby @swissboyhisch @topguncultleader @wondershells @cixrosie

I know I have a few new people I need to add

#nhl x reader #anthony beauvillier #anthony beauvillier x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl discord #nhl imagine #hockey girlies discord #hockey girlies fic exchange #mp0625 writes

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prettytoxicrevolver · 2 years ago

Text

Trade | Anthony Beauvillier

Requested? No I wish

Warnings? A fuck ton of angst but with a happy ending?

Summary: When Anthony gets traded to the Canucks, the future of your relationship becomes uncertain

Word Count: 1,940

The trade came as a shock.

You had been sitting with your best friend, planning dinner and the rest of night plans when your phone started blowing up. You tried to ignore it at first, enjoying the minimal time you get with your friend but after your phone continued to ring off the hook repeatedly she told you to look.

Firstly it was the tweet notification from the Islanders. Then a text from Anthony. Followed by the ESPN notifications and eventually several texts from several players, wags, coworkers, etc.

“What’s up?” your best friend asks, clearly sensing a shift in your mood.

“Anthony got traded to the Canucks,” you say, still not truly believing the words coming out of your mouth.

“What!?” she yelps, running over to where you’re sitting in bed and yanking your phone out of your hand.

She scrolls for a minute as you space out, trying so desperately to process the news. Anthony was being traded. To a team in a different country, three thousand miles away from where you would be.

You’re snapped out of your daze when your phone drops to your bed with a silent thunk. You look over at your best friend and upon seeing the pity in your eyes you can’t help the tears streaming down without your permission.

“Oh honey,” she says. She pulls you in and you cry on her shoulder, loud embarrassing sobs as the weight of the news finally settles and holds onto your chest like a ten pound weight.

It feels like you cry for hours and hours, your best friend sitting there the entire time. She offers soft, kind, reassuring words to help calm you down. Why did this feel like the five stages of grief rolling through you over and over again?

“I’ll be right back sweetheart,” you hear your best friend say. She moves from your embrace and you fall onto the bed, curling into a tight ball with tears falling messily over the side of your face.

“Baby girl?” you hear.

You lift your head and through the flood of tears and blurry vision, you see Beau standing in your doorway.

“Oh Beau,” you say. You get up and move to him and his strong arms are around your waist in seconds. He rocks the two of you back and forth, one of his hands slowly tugging through your hair and rubbing your back in a perfect cycle.

“I had no clue baby,” he whispers and you can hear the hurt in his voice as well.

It suddenly hits you like a brick wall that this trade was worse for Tito than you could ever imagine for yourself. He has to pick up his entire life and move across the country, be away from you, and leave his best friend and the team he has worked his butt off for for years now.

You pull back, looking up at Beau to find he had started to cry as well. Your hands slide from his neck to his cheeks and you wipe away the stray tears that are left. He leans into your touch, his lips coming to meet your palm in a soft kiss.

“I’m so sorry my beautiful boy,” you whisper.

The next three days are spent helping pack Tito’s stuff up and get it sent out to Vancouver, wrapping up any loose ends, and spending every second possible together. Giving Anthony three days was a blessing from the Canucks especially considering they originally wanted him on the first flight out of New York.

You couldn’t sleep the night before his flight. You tossed and turned and had a rush of nightmares that left you restless for the remainder of the night. When you wake again, sunlight has started to peek through the curtains and you feel Tito’s heavy gaze on you.

“Good morning mon amour,” he whispers. One hand comes up and carefully curls a piece of hair around his finger before releasing it and letting it rest behind your ear. His eyes trace the features of your face, memorizing the way your eyes stay half closed when you were sleepy, the small smile that rested there when you looked at him, the way your hair fans in a million directions when you lay down forming a halo around you.

It feels like the morning happens in slow motion. It’s like your body was put on autopilot, knowing exactly what to do to survive while your brain hesitates due to all of the sadness clouding around you. You swear you don't become coherent until Tito stands before you at the security line.

Your arms are crossed firmly across your chest, your lip quivers as you look at the man you love before you and you look away quickly trying not to cry. Tito keeps his hands in his pockets, it's like you both know that if you hug each other now, you might never let go.

“Call me when you land?” you ask, trying desperately to act as if this is temporary.

“Yeah darling. Get home safe,” he says.

You take a deep breath, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around Titos middle and shoving your face into his chest. You couldn’t meet his eyes, if you did you’d do something embarrassing like ask him to stay.

“I love you,” you say, squeezing him tight. He reciprocates, whispering the sentiment back before pulling away from you and turning without a second glance.

The car ride is deafeningly quiet, you’re shocked still the entire time trying desperately not to let your emotions take over. Your body moves on its own accord, pulling you out of the car, trudging up to your apartment and shutting the door.

The sound of your keys dropping onto the counter is what shocks you out of your state. You slide to the floor, tears falling faster than you can think and suddenly you’re a puddle of sadness and missing Tito and wondering how the hell you were going to make this work without him here.

Tito has to work to make his body move away from you. He has to think through every step and every second to make it on the plane in time and off to Vancouver. He wipes away tears as he looks out the plane window that only takes him away from the one thing he wants.

It takes six weeks before you and Anthony can have an actual facetime call. Not quick texts, not short phone calls that last less than a minute, but a real face to face connection for a longer period of time.

When he picks up the phone, your gasp is quiet but audible enough that Anthony makes a face. It’s only been a little over a month, but everything seems to have changed. He started to grow out his beard, his hair a little longer and falling in waves, but his eyes are bright. He’s happy.

“Mon amour,” he greets and your heart flutters at the pet name.

“Tell me everything,” you demand and Beau smiles. “How’s the team? What’s your apartment like? Is the coach nice?”

Anthony tells you everything about the past six weeks and you’re grinning as you find out how well he’s been doing in his new job and his new home.

“I wish I was back home next to you,” he says towards the end of his recap and your smile falters.

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

You both try to continue the conversation after that, desperate to catch up and resume some normalcy in a relationship that seems to have blown up within the span of two months.

“I’ll talk to you soon?” he asks and you nod.

“I love you beau.”

“I love you too.”

The next few months are more painful than anything.

Beau is attempting to fit into the team, working hard to improve his game and help them win as much as possible for the rest of the season. His issue with achieving that? He still looks for you in the crowd every night.

He was losing you in the crowd quicker than he can imagine and it hurts that he’s struggling to remember the way you would scream and cheer when he scored. The way the fluorescents lit up your smiling face and while he was still living that dream for himself it was empty without you there.

This sadness coupled with the fact he just wanted to celebrate a win with you has him calling you after a particularly good game for him. He fails to notice that while it’s only 10 pm for him, it was 1 am for you.

“Hello?” you answer groggily.

“Oh darling I’m so sorry I forgot,” Tito’s voice falls over your ears and you’re quick to sit up in bed and shake yourself awake.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing I just,” he hesitates and you frown wishing you could see him. “I scored twice and got an assist and I’m just so excited and I wish you were here.”

Your head falls, relieved that Tito was okay but you could feel a slice through your heart at his words. You wanted to be there, wanted to celebrate with him and show off the love of your life. You hated this distance. Hated it, hated it, hated it.

“Oh honey that’s amazing,” you choke out quietly trying not to let your emotions overcome the joyous moment for your boy.

“I should have never left,” Tito whispers out and both of your hearts tear a little more at his words.

He can hear it in your voice, the quiet sighs, the hidden sniffles, and the fact that you’re no doubt crying halfway across the world and he can’t do anything about it. He should have never left you. He shouldn’t have caused this pain.

“You didn’t have a choice babe,” you remind him and he nods even though you can’t see it.

“Are we wasting time? Should,” he takes a deep breath trying to get out the next painful words. “Should we call it quits? I can’t keep doing this without you.”

“Beau,” the word is a plea on your lips. Asking, begging him not to do this.

“We only have two more months till you’re home. We can figure it out then but just wait okay? Don’t give up on this.”

You’re twirling a pen around in your fingers, zoning out as you stare at the pile of work in front of you.

“(y/n)?” your coworker asks. Your head snaps up to look at her and it occurs to you that it’s late and everyone has left.

“Oh shit sorry,” you mutter out moving to get all of your stuff and start heading out.

“Hello mon amour.”

You’re dreaming. You absolutely have to be dreaming. He didn’t come home till tomorrow. You knew that because you had been practically counting down the seconds till he’d be back in the states, back in your life, back in your arms, till he was back.

When you look up you’re more than happy to be wrong.

“Anthony,” his name falls from your lips like a prayer.

You’re both stepping quickly towards each other and when his arms come around you it’s like he never left in the first place. Everything has changed in the past six months since he left but none of it matters. Not when he was here, not when he was pressing kisses to your lips and keeping you so incredibly close it was impossible to get any nearer.

“I’m home,” he says into your hair. “I’m home love.”

#anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier imagine #canucks x reader #canucks imagine #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction

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bqstqnbruin · 3 years ago

Text

Minefield

Hi I wrote a Tito fic so here it is.

This is inspired by this clip from Good Trouble and the song Minefield, originally by Faouzia and John Legend, but the version by Emma Hunton and Josh Pence

Shoutout to @starshine-hockey-girl for being an angel and sending in some suggestions for whatever questions I asked, @fuckyeahmattytkachuk for everything because I ranted to her about this for too long trying to figure out who to write this for, @stfukie so you'd feel included (jk you gave a suggestion to something), @josthours because you said you wanted Tito angst, my chapped lipped menace anon for being you, and then I'm forgetting people I'm sorry

There are probably typos in this but I feel like y'all should expect that by now I'm not sorry

Flashbacks are in italics

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 7250

___________________________

Cleaning out your closet turned out to be more time and effort than you initially anticipated, trying to consolidate everything into a few boxes and donating as much as you could that you no longer had a use for. You were moving in with your boyfriend, excited to get a new place with the guy you were in love with. The things in your room, your clothing and other trinkets and shit, were the only things you really had to move, thankful that he already owned everything else you would have needed.

For the most part, sorting through everything was easy; keep the clothing you knew you wore, donate the things that haven’t come out of your closet in the last year or two, and then keep anything in a box that was too sentimental to give away.

You weren’t expected to find the blue box at the back of your closet, though. The one you thought you threw away when you first started dating your boyfriend, the one with everything from your ex that you didn’t want to see laying around your room and the rest of your apartment. The top had a sticky note taped to it, the classic pale yellow Post-It tapes down, Anthony written on it in your handwriting, a stark contrast to the navy blue box it was on. You remembered when you bought the box like it was yesterday, something you were planning on giving him if you ever got married.

It was full of little trinkets and stuff from your relationship, memories, and symbols as the two of you fell in love with each other that you were supposed to be able to look back at fondly later in life.

You pull out a receipt, dated five years ago. It was from what had become your go to restaurant with Anthony, the place you went to celebrate everything; a big win, a birthday, your anniversary. This was from your very first date.

You were nervous, honestly. It was one of your first dates with a guy that was an actual date, not something that was understood and confirmed to turn into a hookup, something you had done a few times before. Your friend had set you up with her friend, Anthony, neither of you really knowing what to expect out of tonight. Aili knew both of you really well and was convinced you two were made for each other.

You were ‘twin flames’ as she put it, meant to be together and that he was the person you were meant to be with.

Aili was a little out there, though, the friend who you went to when you needed convincing to do something stupid despite knowing it was a bad idea, so you weren’t really sure that you should be trusting her as much as you did.

Anthony had asked you if you wanted him to pick you up to take you to the restaurant Aili had suggested, but you told him you would be leaving right from work so you would meet him there. It wasn’t totally true, but you figured that way, if Aili was wrong, you wouldn’t also have to sit through an awkward car ride back to your place or having to pay for an Uber.

You hadn’t been this nervous for a date in a while, Aili’s pressure about you two being made for each other finally starting to get to you when you pulled up to the restaurant. You felt like your knees were about to buckle under you out of nerves when the host showed you to your table where Anthony was already waiting.

His face lit up when he saw you, his own nerves due to Aili’s hype about you melting away when he brought you in for a hug to greet you. You didn’t remember ever meeting this man before, but his hug was weirdly comforting. You felt like you belonged in the arms of this stranger in front of you.

You two fell into easy conversation, the rest of the noise and bustle of the restaurant melting away around you, like you two were the only people there. He was so easy to talk to. From the outside, you looked like people who had known each other for their entire lives, two friends catching up after a long time apart.

The waiter eventually comes over to tell you that they were closing soon, neither of you realizing you had spent so long sitting at that table when both of you were initially worried about potential disaster. You hurriedly pay your bill and start walking in the opposite direction of your car, Anthony’s hand finding yours as you strolled through the night.

“I want to see you again,” he told you, stopping and pulling you close to the building. His back was pressed against the brick, the cool material nothing compared to what he felt when you put your hand on his chest, his arms snaking around your waist.

“You think you’re gonna have time for me?” you teased him.

“I’d make time,” Anthony said, pulling you in for a kiss.

He always did, too. Anthony was good for keeping the promises he made to you, no matter how unrealistic they seemed to be when he made them. You thought that with hockey, he would never be able to have you and his career in his life, but no matter what, he was there for you every single time.

You turn the receipt over in your hands, the paper turning yellow with time, Anthony’s handwriting on the back, “this is going to last.”

You take in a deep breath, shifting through the box to see what else there was. The heaviest item, somehow still near the top, was your favorite book.

Before Anthony left for the summer after the season ended, you two decided that you were going to see other people. You didn’t want to tie each other down when it was going to be nearly four months before you could be with each other again, not long enough into your relationship to justify the distance.

You still promised to talk to each other as often as you could.

One of your parting gifts, as weird as it might have been, was a new copy of your favorite book.

“So you’re in the same place I am?” Anthony asked you over Facetime one night, the first call you had with each other since he went back home for the summer. He was holding the book up near his face as he lied in his bed, a cheesy grin on his face, posing with it like a child on their first day of school waiting for the bus.

“Yeah, you have my new copy.”

“And, tell me again why you have two copies of it?” he asked, propping his phone so he could flip through the book with both hands. His sheets slid down, revealing more of his bare chest, you for a moment wanting nothing more than to be right there with him.

“Uh,” you started, trying to collect yourself, a stupid smirk covering his face since he knew you were unable to stop staring. “I wore the other copy down after reading it so many times, so I got a new one.”

Anthony looked up at the camera, the smirk now a full smile. “That’s cute,” he said, picking up the phone again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. When do you come back down?”

“End of August, not sure the date yet.” You nod, trying to figure out how long that would be from his ballpark. “What are you doing in the meantime?”

You shrugged, “same shit, different days.” You had no plans. You agreed that if you wanted to take the time to see other people it would be ok. He made it seem like he almost expected you to have guys knocking down your door to take you out. “What about you?”

“Uh, I have a date, actually,” he told you, looking back down at the book. Another condition of the separation, or whatever it was: tell the other if you went out with someone else. He couldn’t bear to look at you when he told you, though. “She’s someone I know from high school. She hit me up when she saw I was home.”

“Oh,” you said, swallowing hard. You didn’t expect to hear that, and you definitely did not expect it to have the effect that it did on you, either. “That sounds great. I hope you have a good time.”

Anthony knew you were faking the niceness you were giving him. He could tell the way your voice was wavering. “Um, what if you asked Aili to set you up with someone? Like she did us,” he suggested, immediately regretting bringing it up.

You let out an awkward laugh, pretending like what he just said didn’t hurt you in the slightest. “Oh, come on,” you tried to joke, “You think I can’t get a guy on my own?”

He smiled at you, lying back down on his pillow, one arm over his head. “I know you could get any guy you wanted.”

“Yeah, well,” you let your sentence trail off, not wanting to tell him what you were thinking out loud. ‘The guy I want is in Quebec right now.’

A few days passed before you heard from him again, letting you know that he thought the date was fine but he didn’t think he would see her again. He was typing as you were walking up to your door, a package sitting outside with your name on it.

Inside was the book you sent him, an envelope sticking out of it. Inside, an undated plane ticket to Quebec, and a note in Anthony’s handwriting, ‘I didn’t want you to go four months without your book, and I don’t want to go four months without you. Come see me when you can.’

Before you could call him, he finally sent his text, ‘my next date is with this girl I’m crazy about, whenever she can get up here from New York.’

You hadn’t even looked at that book since you came back from that summer with him, all but forgetting you even had that second copy. You used that plane ticket a week later, somehow managing to get two weeks off work to spend with Anthony back in his hometown, him leading you around all of his favorite places, telling you that he didn’t want to spend that long without you, that he didn’t want to see other people. You only wanted to see each other.

It’s amazing how times could change things, though.

You shake off those thoughts, digging deeper into what seemed like a never-ending box of tangible emotions when you came across a wristband from a carnival ride at the Hebron Fairgrounds.

“We’ve been driving for almost four hours for this?” you asked him, your legs stiff as you tried to get out of his car. He brought to the Hebron Fairgrounds in Hebron, Connecticut, a ride from the island that should have taken three hours, but your Magellan boyfriend took a wrong turn and ended up heading towards New York State instead of central Connecticut. “What’s so special about this?”

He came around to you, his arm resting on your shoulder as he guided you towards the entrance. “This is one of the only times before the season starts that we can travel together where I don’t have to worry about a game. And this is close enough that it should have been a day trip.”

“So we’re going home after this?”

“Ahh,” he hummed, kissing the top of your head and pulling out his wallet with his other hand, “I have a reservation at a bed and breakfast not far from here, and may or may not have a bag packed for you already in the trunk of my car.”

You looked at him, unable to contain your smile despite the fact that you were confused as to how he managed to plan this without you. He had only been back in New York for about a week, and you had spent every moment he wasn’t on the rink together. “You sneaky boy,” you teased as he paid for the two of you. “There’s no way you got everything if you did it on your own.”

The person behind the ticket counter gave you two wristbands, Anthony taking your hand and putting it on you, his fingers lingering as he wants to take your hand in his. His cheeks turned pink, looking down at your hand as you two moved out of the way. “Ok, Aili might have helped.”

“There it is,” you laughed, the two of you walking through the Fairgrounds together. You had to admit, the four hour drive was worth it. You couldn’t remember going to a fair like this one ever, none of the ones when you were growing upcoming close to this one, and definitely not in New York.

Anthony guided you around the grounds, taking you from booth to booth, buying you anything that you told him you thought was nice from the different vendors, finding a booth that had the most amazing bison burgers and apple cider shakes.

“Jesus, these taste good,” you said with your mouth full, Anthony laughing and reaching over to you to wipe the aioli off the corner of your lips.

He pulled you in for a kiss, laughing as he had to wipe off more food from your face, crumbs from the bun of the burger this time. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” he asked.

The day turned into night, the two of you playing the various carnival games, you not afraid to make fun of him as he sucked at every single one of them, winning you nothing. You did win a small teddy bear, however, making sure to gloat to him and even going as far as naming it Anthony after him.

“Oh, come on,” you whined as you stood in line for the Ferris wheel, shoving the bear in his face, “He’s so cute, just like you.”

Anthony smiled at you as he swatted your hand out of his face, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Am I only cute? Nothing more?”

“No, the bear is better.” He pouted at you, his bottom lip jutting out. “Oh come on, what do you have that Bear Anthony doesn’t?”

“So many things!” he argued as the two of you got into the pod. “I have so many things that the bear does not. And I know for a fact that you enjoy all of them.”

You laughed, the bear sitting in your lap as you rested your head on his shoulder. The ride started, bringing you two up to see the entire Fairgrounds. It stopped at the top, giving you a moment to see everything below you; the rides lighting up everything down below, adults and children, the booths, everything.

“It’s,” you started, trying to find the words when you looked up at the sky, the stars somehow still visible and bright despite the lights, “I love this.”

“I love you,” you heard Anthony say.

“What?” you looked at him, both of you slightly shocked. Aili had banked on you being the first person to say those words, not him.

“I love you,” he told you more confidently. “I know we haven’t been seeing each other for that long, but I do. I think I have been for a while now.”

You could tell he was nervous to say this to you by the way his cheeks were turning bright pink. You rested your head on his shoulder, Anthony putting his arm around you and kissing the top of your head. “I love you, too.”

You weren’t sure where that bear was now though, the little Anthony you won that ended up being a piece of him by your side whenever the real one was gone. But the first time he told you he loved you was, of course, always going to be something special, something worth remembering.

You put the wristband back in the box, now playing a claw game with the contents of the box and pulling out a strip from a photo booth, the two of you looking so happy, you lucky enough to have it captured on film.

One of your friends from college was getting married, and naturally, Anthony was your plus one. Aili was there somewhere, probably already drunk and looking to hook up with a member of the bridal party despite your protests over it.

“There she is,” you pointed to your lilac-haired friend, her back towards you and Anthony dancing together. “How close do you think she is to closing?”

The two of you had been playing sort of a Where’s Waldo type game with your mutual friend, seeing as she had been bouncing from groomsman to bridesmaid in hopes that one of them was both single and interested. It seemed like she hadn’t had luck until she found the man standing in front of her.

“His hand is already on her ass, so I think they’re going home together,” Anthony pointed out, pulling you closer to him. “I could do that to you, you know,” he flirted, his grip tightening around you.

“Not in public,” you whispered to him, “But we have a room upstairs for after.”

He dipped down to kiss you, hearing him hum against your lips as the DJ announced that the bride and one of her parents were going to share a dance together. The two of you moved off the floor, Anthony’s hands never leaving your body.

The two of you watched the bride and one of her parents dance together, Anthony’s arm around you as you rested your head on his shoulder. The song ended as the groom approached his new bride, the two of them sharing another dance together while the guests watched.

They looked at each other like there was no one else in the world, nothing that could break them apart. “I can’t wait for that to be us,” Anthony whispers in your ear, planting a kiss on your jaw.

“You think we’re going to get married?”

“If everything goes the way I would like it to, then hopefully.”

You looked over to him, something about the soft smile on his face made you believe him and want the same. You could see yourself marrying Anthony. Not right now, you didn’t even live together, but eventually. “I like that.”

The night went on, the two of you continuously tracking down Aili as she made her way through the bridal party to find one person to go home with, the guy from before apparently not working out since he had also moved on to another girl.

“Hey, guys,” Aili finally came over, one of the bridesmaids not far behind her, “Scarlett wants to go up to the room she has, so can you watch my stuff until I’m back?” Before you could answer, she handed you her bag and her jacket, not giving you the chance to object while she ran hand in hand with the girl.

“When will you be back?”

“Hopefully tomorrow morning,” she called before disappearing. You couldn’t help but laugh, setting her stuff down with yours. You were sure she would show up at your door, sometime tomorrow afternoon, probably with her hair and makeup in utter disarray but extremely happy with herself.

“Hey, there’s a photo booth, want to take some pictures?” Anthony asked you.

“You think Aili’s stuff will be alright unattended?” you joked, following Anthony’s lead to the booth.

The booth was small, Anthony having to hold you in his lap just to fit both of you in it. He closes the curtain, his arms around your waist. He nuzzles his head on your shoulder, both of you staring at the camera in front of you. “How about a regular smile to start?”

You go through the four photos, a regular smile, two with silly faces, and the last one where you two kiss, a generic, cliche, couple in a photobooth strip.

You knew you had taken a lot of photos like the ones you were holding in your hands, this strip was apparently one of the only ones that you still had. You didn’t even think you had any left on your phone.

You continue the claw game, your phone buzzing with a message from your boyfriend telling you he would be there soon to start loading some stuff into the truck to move to your new place. You should have been packing, but something about the Anthony box made you forget about that. You found the keyring next, his team’s logo now faded, but you knew exactly what it was from.

You couldn’t believe it had two years of dating Anthony. It didn’t feel like two years, simultaneously feeling like you had been together forever but had only known each other for such an insignificant amount of time in the grand scheme of things.

You didn’t realize, however, that you were together for that long when you had called him in a panic, your floor soaking wet from a pipe that burst under the sink in your kitchen.

“My landlord is a dick and said he won’t be able to get anyone out here for three days, please, please, please?” you begged him, hoping that he could figure out what you had to do, or at the very least could bring some tool that you didn’t have that would help you fix it while watching a Youtube video.

“I’ll be over in ten minutes,” he sighed, hanging up on you before you could say anything else. He got there sooner than he should have, a wrench in hand and you hoping it was enough to fix whatever was wrong. “You owe me.”

“You’re my favorite person in the world and I will do anything for you,” you said, dragging him into the kitchen. “Fix,” you say, pointing to the sink, the water still leaking out from behind the cabinets.

The two of you sat down on the towels you had laid out before he got there, Anthony cringing at the feeling against his shorts. He opened the cabinet, getting under there and trying to fidget with the washers that were there to see if he could make anything of it.

“What do you think you need to do?” you asked him, holding a flashlight for him. Before he could answer, more water was spraying at you, soaking your already damp shirt, definitely getting Anthony everywhere, as well. “A towel?”

“Very funny,” he said, weaseling his way out from the sink once he managed to get the water shut off, taking the towel from your hands to dry his face off. “You know, if you wanted me with a wet T-shirt, you could have just asked,” he told you, causing the heat to rush to your cheeks.

“Yeah, that’s why I called you over,” you told him, getting off the ground. “God, I hate living here.”

“You could always move in with me.” You turned around in shock, Anthony rubbing the towel on his head to dry his hair as if what he just asked you wasn’t a major step in your relationship. “What?”

“Move in with you?”

“Well, yeah. Most of your stuff is already at my place anyway, your lease is ending soon thankfully, you have a jackass for a landlord, and I love you,” he told you, pulling you close to him. “Why wouldn’t I want you to live with me?”

You smiled at him, curling your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, getting on your toes to kiss him. “You really want me to live with you?”

He let go of you to reach into his back pocket and fidgeted with his key ring. He pulled off a key, already attached to a charm with his team’s logo. “I had this made for you about three months ago. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to give it to you.”

You loved living with him, forgetting that you still had this stupid blue and orange charm still in your possession. The next thing you pulled out was what finally started to break you, physically feeling like holding this in your hand was ripping you apart piece by piece. The first full season you and Anthony lived together, he got you a postcard for every city he went to on an away game, lists on the back of each one, every city, every away game.

“Anthony, what is this?” you yelled to him when you came back to your place with the mail. It was his writing, a picture of the Liberty Bell on one side of the postcard, his messy script covering the back. “Did you really mail something from Philly to me?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s dated five days ago, you came back from Philly four days ago. You could have just given me this and saved the cost of the stamp.”

“That would have been too easy,” he blushed. You knew him well enough to know that that thought hadn’t crossed his mind, not thinking about how it would have been easier to probably slip it in with the mail instead of waiting for it to make the trip from Philly to the island.

You flip it over, trying to figure out why he would send it to you in the first place. Anthony had written on the back

The Liberty Bell

The Rocky Steps

The inside of the Philadelphia Art Museum

A Game at the Palestra

Rolled ice cream at the Franklin Fountain

Walk Boathouse Row and the Schuylkill

Explore around the Main Line

Have brunch at Sabrina’s

“What is all this?”

Anthony came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. “That’s some of the stuff the guys and I did when we had some downtime. And some stuff we didn’t do that I want to.”

“So, what, you’re just gloating that you get to do fun things when you aren’t working your literal dream job?” you teased him.

“No, no,” he laughed. “This is all the stuff I want to do with you. You know, if we ever get the chance to explore that city.”

Every trip he went on, he came home with a new postcard

Boston

Go into Cambridge and see Harvard

Walk the Freedom Trail

Eat in the North End at an Italian restaurant

Get pastry from Mike’s

Spend the day in the Commons

See a game at Fenway

Calgary

Go to the Stampede

Go to Banff and Lake Louise

Go to the top of Calgary Tower

Walk to Prince’s Island Park

Take the Rocky Mountaineer Rail Journey

Get doughnuts from the Dapper Doughnuts Calgary

Eat at Native Tongues Taqueria

Every city with a list of things you never got to do with him

You weren’t ready for the postcards, tying them back up with the bow that had held them together for however many years the box had been sitting in your closet. It was like the bow that held your relationship together until everything started to unravel

“You know you have to tell him,” Aili said, earning a groan from you.

“Really?” you snapped. “You mean I shouldn’t just disappear on my boyfriend and avoid him so that he doesn’t find out?”

Aili scowled at you. “Ok, you’re stressed, so I’ll let that slide. But he just won the last game at the Coliseum. Do you think now is a good time to do it?”

“Is any time a good time to do it?” Your friend shrugged, falling back into the cushions of the couch. There was nothing left to say until Anthony got home. You sat in silence, the only noise coming from the TV despite you having no idea what you were watching. “I can’t sit here, talk to me about something. How are things going with Scarlett?”

Aili lit up at the chance to talk about her girlfriend, the bridesmaid from the wedding a few years back. Aili did in fact return the next morning to your place for her stuff, but with Scarlett in tow, insisting that the three of you go out for brunch to start what turned into what was probably Aili’s most successful relationship so far. Listening to her talk about Scarlett, for a second, made you forget what you had to tell Anthony.

Until she mentioned that morning after at the brunch place, relaying that she remembered Scarlett telling her how excited she was to go on a double date with you and Anthony when you broke down crying.

“Hey, babe, no, come here,” Aili cooed, pulling you into her arms.

“This is going to break us,” you let out through your sobs. You knew it was going to end your relationship; there was no way you could do this and stay with him.

“It might not last forever,” she told you. “You could always come back.”

Before you can respond, Anthony came bursting through the door, bursting with joy over winning the game, pushing the series to the seventh game. He knew he potentially scored the last goal for his team at Nassau, but, shit, you were about to break him. “We’re celebrating, babe!” he yelled before he saw you and Aili sitting there on the couch, your mood clearly the opposite of his. He was sure you had been watching the game, so he thought you would be as happy as he was when he got home. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Aili looked between the two of you before getting up. “I’m going to leave you two alone.”

Anthony took Aili’s seat, the concern in his eyes bringing you that much closer to tears again. “Hey, talk to me.”

“I got a promotion at work,” you told him.

His face lit up, bouncing on the couch a little bit as he yelled again, “That’s amazing!”

“But,” you started, watching his face drop as he repeated your word while he waited for you to continue. “I have to transfer.”

“To where?” he asked, his voice small.

“Seattle.”

“Don’t go,” he said to you.

“What?” you asked him, shocked by the seriousness on his face. “I can’t-”

“Don’t go. I don’t want you to go.”

“This is my job, Anthony, I can’t not go.”

“No,” he said, fighting back the tears. He knew just as well as you did what it meant for your relationship if you moved to the other side of the country. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Anthony, you don’t get to decide that for me.”

He huffed as he got up from the couch, clearly upset with you for telling him you had to leave. “But what about us? Are you really telling me that this job is more important than us?”

“I never said that.”

“If you take this job then that’s what you’re saying to me.”

You stood there in front of him, both of you now angry at the other. “If that’s what you think of me then I’m glad I’m leaving,” you spit at him, pushing past him to go to your room.

Anthony stood there in shock, watching you go down the hall, jumping again at the sound of the bedroom door slamming. His phone buzzed in his pocket, one of his teammates asking him where the two of you were. He shook his head, going towards your bedroom door. Standing outside, his fist ready to knock to try to talk to you.

His phone buzzed again, another teammate. He couldn’t hear any noise coming from the other side; he didn’t know you were sitting there waiting for him to come and talk to him. You weren’t sure if you had wanted the promotion in the first place. Moving across the country was a lot, and leaving Anthony wasn’t something you were ready for. But his outburst, for whatever reason, made you think that you were supposed to go. If he had come back, you might have listened to him about staying.

Instead, he turned around, leaving the puck he had scored the game-winning goal with. The tape around it said, “For Y/F/I Y/L/I”. You heard the front door close, Anthony leaving to go out with his teammates. You came out, finding the puck sitting on the couch where the two of you were earlier.

The box seemed never-ending, every item in there bringing back emotions and memories that you hadn’t thought of in a while, for good reason, too. You didn’t know how much more you could take, how much longer before you had to load the truck. You were pulling out items and feeling as if you were tiptoeing around a minefield, one stupid artifact from your past away from breaking you altogether.

“Are you really leaving?” Anthony asked you the day you booked your ticket and made arrangements for your stuff to be shipped.

“Yep,” you answered, short. Since the night you told him, things were off between the two of you. You were barely speaking, barely even looking at each other or acknowledging the presence of the other. He was mad you chose your career over him, you were mad he wasn’t being supportive.

He sighed as he sat down next to you on the couch. Even that was different; he would have put his arm around you, cuddled with you, and watched whatever you had on, at that point, he was like you two were strangers who were meeting for the first time. “I’m gonna miss you,” you heard him say, his voice shaking slightly.

Anthony wasn’t one to cry in front of you, but you were almost sure he was about to in that moment. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

Neither of you said anything, sitting on the couch, your arms crossed over your chests.

A knock at your door startled you out of the silence, you and Anthony exchanging confused looks before he got up to find a package sitting there. “It’s for both of us?”

You were definitely curious, the return address indicating that it was from someone’s Etsy shop. Inside were two mugs, outlines of New York and Washington with one of those cheesy ‘we’ll always be together’ lines written in cursive.

“It’s from Aili,” Anthony said, holding a slip of paper. “You’ll always be together, even when you’re apart. You’re two souls of the same, two pieces of the same heart.”

You held the mug in your hand, looking up at Anthony, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Seattle quickly felt like home, you falling into a comfortable rhythm, finding friends, liking your new job, everything was going right. You checked your phone, your boyfriend telling you that he was only a few minutes away. There was only one last thing that you knew was in this box, the last thing you were sure you would be able to look at.

Your phone buzzed to remind you that you were supposed to leave the office five minutes ago and head down to the arena. You were seeing the Kraken play, the hockey jersey you wore every game was folded neatly in the backseat of your car. All you had to do was leave.

“Hey, Vera,” you called to your coworker. “I’ve gotta head out.”

“Are you seeing-” she started, only to be cut off by you.

“Yes, of course I am,” you sang, leaving before she could ask you any more questions. You had rushed to your car, getting to the arena and throwing on your jersey as fast as you could.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it!” Lauren said when you sat down next to her. “I thought you didn’t want to come.”

You knew why she was saying that: the Kraken were playing the Islanders for the first time at home that season.

It was also the first time you were going to see Anthony in person since you broke up.

You shook your head, trying to play it off as if seeing him in warm-ups at that moment was no big deal. “I come to every home game, why would I miss this one?”

Lauren shrugged, the game starting as the two of you sat there and watched in silence. “Does he know about Jamie?” she asked you.

When Anthony told his teammates you were moving to Seattle, Jordan sort of took you under his wing since he and Lauren were moving, too. Anthony thought it was a good idea that you have someone there who you knew while you were getting settled, and it wasn’t like you were going to object to having a familiar face around in an unfamiliar city. What he hadn’t seen coming was Jordan introducing you to one of his teammates. He hadn’t thought about the possibility of you and Jamie getting close when you and Anthony officially broke up.

He didn’t see you falling in love with Jamie.

You told Lauren you had no idea. You weren’t sure if Anthony still followed you on social media, and you definitely didn’t think he followed Jamie, either. Until you saw Anthony coming up behind Jamie, skating faster than you had ever seen him skate and check Jamie from behind. Despite the size difference between the two, Jamie not expecting Anthony and Anthony coming from behind threw Jamie to the ice. He sprung back up, the two of them getting ready to fight despite the uneven matchup, the refs getting between the two of them and throwing Anthony from the game.

“I think he knows,” Lauren said, you sinking back into your seat.

You didn’t pay attention the rest of the game, thinking about Anthony instead. Lauren nudged you at the end, the Kraken beating the Islanders 4-1. The two of you went down to wait outside the locker rooms for your partners, you praying that you wouldn’t bump into Anthony.

“Hey,” you heard a familiar voice say, a pain in your chest hitting you immediately. “I thought I would see you here.”

Anthony was standing in front of you, looking just as nervous as you were. “Yeah. I’m at every home game.” The two of you stood there awkwardly, that comfort you once felt with him gone. “So, uh, how have you been?”

“Good, good,” he nodded, looking down at his feet.

You figured out why when you felt Jamie’s hand snake around your waist, your current boyfriend placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. “Hey, babe.”

“You were amazing,” you beamed at him, forgetting for a moment that Anthony was standing there.

“It helped knowing you were cheering me on,” he said, dipping down to kiss you. Anthony cleared his throat, whether voluntary or not, causing the two of you to pull apart. “I’m gonna wait for you outside, sound good?” He kissed you again before running off, not wanting to see anything happen between you and your ex.

“Does he make you happy?” Anthony asked you, catching you off guard.

You show him a soft smile, thinking of everything Jamie did for you on a daily basis. Like your relationship with Anthony, you fell in love with him quickly, despite taking it much slower than you did with the boy in front of you. “Yeah. He does.”

Anthony swallowed, the words bringing him joy but crushing him at the same time. “That’s all I want for you.” You heard one of his teammates calling his name to get on the bus to head to the hotel, Anthony reaching into his coat to give you something. “You left it when you moved. I didn’t know if it was on purpose or not, so I figured I would bring it and give it to you. If you wanted it.”

He held a gold heart necklace in front of you, the one he got you for the first birthday you celebrated with him. You did leave it there on purpose. You knew it was expensive, and you didn’t feel right taking it from him.

“Uh, yeah, I did. Thanks for this,” you lied to him, taking it from him. The two of you stood there for a moment, neither of you sure what to say. “I should go meet Jamie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, running his hand through his hair as you turned on your heels to leave. “Actually, wait. You,” he started, taking in a deep breath. “You loved me, right?”

“Anthony, of course I did.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“Sometimes, love just isn’t enough.”

That memory, out of all of them, finally broke you. You missed him. You missed the way he looked at you, the way he held you, how he knew everything about you and how to make you happy.

You pull out your phone, his contact still there as one of your favorites. You never changed it, the same stupid emojis by his name that were there since he had asked you out. Your finger hovered over his contact name, knowing that you shouldn’t call him. You hadn’t heard his voice since that night you broke up, even though you told each other you would try to work things out. You could call Anthony, hear his voice. At the very least, get his voice mail.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to hit that call button, instead deleting his contact altogether. You were done with him, moving on to something different. Moving on, and in, with Jamie. That simple action shouldn’t have broken you further than you already were just looking at this floodgate of what should have been good times for you, for whatever reason tears falling down your face no matter how hard you tried not to cry, already having used those tears when you first stopped seeing Anthony. You put your phone down, shuffling through other things in the box, more small pieces of paper, tickets, receipts, photos from while you were together with the dates and events written on the back, reliving every instance as you stared at everything that was supposed to still have significance and that you were supposed to still be adding to.

“Hey, babe, the truck’s downstairs,” Jamie knocks on your door, tearing you away from the contents of that box. He studies your face, probably able to pick up on the tear stains down your cheeks as he gets to your level, sitting beside you on the floor. He gently brushes a lock of your hair behind your ear, cupping your face. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffle, closing the box in your lap. “Nothing.”

“What is that?”

“Might as well be part of a minefield,” you tell him, a confused look on his face. You shake your head, clarifying, “A box of old memories.”

He nods at you, his thumb tracing a pattern on your cheek, you reaching up to kiss the palm of his hand as he asks, “Are they worth keeping?”

You look down at the box in your lap, the one whose contents brought back four years of happiness to you. “No,” you tell him, putting it in the pile of things to throw away. “We’re moving in together. We’re going to make memories of our own.”

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