hellvst

[hellvst]

OMG LUKE IN THIS PICTURE

[hellvst]

FALLING INTO PLACE LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: You’ve always been best friends with Jack, but it’s his quieter, more patient brother Luke who’s been there all along. As you grow older, the bond between you and Luke transforms into something deeper, forcing you to finally see him in a new light.

Warnings :: reader is blind to love, small age gap (reader is the same age as Jack), unrequited love (+ a small amount of heartbreak), angst with eventual fluff, childhood friends(ish) to lovers, kissing, mini arguments, brief description of minor injuries, pining

Word count :: 22.3k

The Hughes family had always been a part of your life.

From the moment you were born, they were there—just next door, just across the lawn, just within reach. Your parents had moved into the neighborhood the same year you and Jack were born, and from the time you were old enough to crawl, your lives had been tangled together like the overgrown vines on the fences separating your yards.

There was never a time when Jack Hughes wasn’t in your world. He was there for every scraped knee, every birthday candle, every summer afternoon spent chasing fireflies. The moment you took your first wobbly steps, Jack had been beside you, already running, already pulling you along with that infectious, boundless energy of his. He wasn’t just your neighbor; he was your person.

It was inevitable, really. Your parents had been close from the start, the kind of friendship that formed effortlessly when two young families found themselves living side by side, both navigating sleepless nights with newborns. Your mothers had bonded over shared exhaustion—late-night feedings, first words, first steps—and before long, you and Jack had become an extension of that bond.

He was the first friend you ever made. And for the longest time, he was the only one that mattered.

Your days had a rhythm, an unspoken routine that started long before either of you were old enough to understand what routine even meant.

Every morning—without fail—there was a knock on your bedroom window. Not a polite tap, not a soft greeting, but a loud, impatient thud thud thud that had your parents groaning in the next room, already knowing exactly who it was.

“Jack, sweetheart, use the front door like a normal person,” your mother had called out once, exasperated.

“But it’s faster this way!” Jack had shot back, as if that explained everything.

And so, every morning, you would shuffle to the window, still half-asleep, and push it open. Jack’s face—grinning, eager, already bursting with energy—would be waiting for you.

“Come on,” he’d say, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’re racing bikes today.” Or “Quinn says we can use his hockey net!” Or “Mom made waffles. You have to come over.”

It didn’t matter what the plan was. You always went. Because Jack always made everything sound like the most exciting thing in the world.

Some mornings, he barely gave you time to get dressed before dragging you outside. There were days when you stumbled out of your house still in your pajamas, only half-awake, your hair a tangled mess, while Jack was already running down the driveway, laughing over his shoulder, challenging you to catch up.

Other days, he climbed right into your room through the window, ignoring every possible protest, flopping onto your bed as if it was his own, acting like there was nothing unusual about breaking into his best friend’s house before 8 AM.

“Jack, you can’t just—”

“Hurry up, Y/N!” he’d groan dramatically, burying his face in your pillow. “We’re wasting daylight!”

You had long since stopped trying to argue with him.

The Hughes’ house wasn’t just Jack’s home—it was yours, too. It had been for as long as you could remember.

You knew that house like the back of your hand. You knew exactly which steps on the staircase creaked the loudest—the third from the bottom and the second from the top—making it impossible to sneak around undetected. You knew where Ellen kept the extra blankets in the hall closet, the ones you always pulled out when you inevitably fell asleep on their couch after a long day of playing outside. You knew that Jim liked his coffee strong and black, and that Jack—despite his endless energy—could never function properly before noon without something sweet to eat.

Their fridge might as well have been yours. You never thought twice about opening it and grabbing a snack, just as Jack never hesitated to raid your pantry for whatever chips or cookies your mom had bought that week. If the Hughes were ordering pizza, there was always an unspoken assumption that you were staying for dinner.

There were no formalities in their home. No knocking on doors, no need for permission. You walked in and out as freely as if it was your own house.

Ellen treated you like one of her own, scolding you and Jack equally when you got into trouble (which was often). Quinn, the responsible older brother, always made sure you were safe, always keeping an eye on you when Jack got too carried away. And Luke… well, Luke had always been there, too.

The Hughes house was warmth and laughter, noise and chaos. It was yelling over video games in the basement, the sound of skates scraping against the driveway, the echo of Jack’s voice calling your name as he ran up to your door, never bothering to knock before barging in.

It was home.

You fit there. As if you had always belonged.

But Jack wasn’t the only Hughes brother in your life.

From the very beginning, Quinn had taken on the role of your unofficial older brother.

He was only a few years older than you and Jack, but at that age, those few years felt like a lifetime. He was bigger, stronger, wiser, as you and Jack had once believed. In a world where Jack was all reckless enthusiasm and boundless energy, Quinn was the counterbalance—the quiet, steady presence who made sure neither of you got into too much trouble.

It wasn’t that Quinn didn’t join in on the chaos—he did, when it suited him—but he was always the one who knew better. The one who thought things through. And, more often than not, the one who had to clean up whatever mess you and Jack inevitably got yourselves into.

If Jack came up with a stupid idea, it was Quinn who sighed, crossed his arms, and shook his head.

“You’re going to break something.”

“No, we’re not!” Jack would insist, already halfway through convincing you to do whatever dangerous, poorly thought-out scheme he had concocted that day.

Quinn would roll his eyes, mumbling something about how he was too young to be dealing with this, but he never truly left you to your own devices. Because when—not if, but when—Jack’s plan went sideways, Quinn was always the one to step in and make sure neither of you got too hurt.

When you were five, Jack decided he was going to make you a hockey player.

It was a rainy afternoon, and the three of you were stuck inside, boredom settling in like an itch that neither you nor Jack could stand for long. You had spent the last hour sitting in the Hughes’ living room, fidgeting, when Jack suddenly bolted upright, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Let’s play mini sticks!” he had declared, already sprinting toward the basement.

You had barely even known what mini sticks were at the time, but you followed anyway, because that was just how things worked—Jack decided something, and you went along with it.

The moment you got downstairs, Jack shoved a tiny plastic stick into your hands and pointed at the net they had set up against the far wall.

“Okay, you have to score on me,” he said, crouching down in front of the goal, holding a goalie stick that was nearly as big as he was.

You looked down at the mini stick, then back at Jack.

“How?”

Jack groaned dramatically, as if your question physically pained him.

“Just hit the ball into the net! It’s not that hard!”

But it was hard. You didn’t know how to hold the stick properly, didn’t know how to control the ball, and every time you tried to take a shot, it rolled harmlessly to Jack’s feet.

Jack, to his credit, lasted all of three minutes before he got frustrated.

“No, no, no!” he huffed, marching over to you. “You’re doing it all wrong!”

“Well, I don’t know how to do it right!” you shot back, annoyed.

Jack groaned again, clearly ready to give up, but before he could, another voice chimed in.

“Here—like this.”

You looked up to see Quinn kneeling beside you, his own mini stick in hand. Unlike Jack, he was patient. He adjusted your grip, gently moving your hands into the right position. He showed you how to angle your stick, how to follow through on a shot.

“It’s all about control,” he explained, demonstrating with an easy flick of his wrist. The ball soared cleanly into the top corner of the net.

Your eyes widened. That was how you were supposed to do it?

“Try again,” Quinn encouraged, nudging the ball toward you.

You did. And this time, the shot actually had some power behind it. Not much—but enough.

Quinn smiled.

Jack groaned.

“Okay, fine, she’s kinda good,” Jack admitted.

But even after that, whenever you struggled with something—hockey or otherwise—it was always Quinn you turned to. Because where Jack would get frustrated and impatient, Quinn would always take the time to help.

Jack’s impulsive nature meant that you got into a lot of trouble growing up.

One summer, when you were seven, Jack had come up with what he insisted was a foolproof plan—jumping off the swing at its highest point to see who could land the farthest.

“It’s so easy,” Jack had said, already climbing onto the seat. “You just have to time it right.”

You had been hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Quinn, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, had sighed heavily.

“You’re going to break your arm, idiot.”

Jack ignored him.

And, predictably, about five seconds later, Jack launched himself off the swing, flailed wildly in the air, and landed in an ungraceful heap on the grass.

To his credit, he hadn’t broken his arm. But he had managed to knock the wind out of himself so badly that he lay there gasping like a fish while Quinn stood over him, unimpressed.

“I told you,” Quinn muttered, before turning to you. “Do not listen to him.”

You listened. Mostly.

But there were still plenty of times when Jack managed to drag you into his ridiculous plans. And, inevitably, there were times when you got hurt.

There had been one particular summer afternoon when Jack had dared you to race him down the street on your bikes.

“I bet I can beat you by so much,” he had taunted, grinning as he climbed onto his bike.

“You wish,” you had shot back, determined to win.

The race had started off fine—pedaling furiously, wind rushing past your face, Jack laughing beside you—but then you hit a pothole.

The bike jolted violently. You lost control.

And the next thing you knew, you were flying over the handlebars.

Pain exploded across your knees and palms as you skidded across the pavement, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Jack had screeched to a stop, his face a mask of horror.

“Oh my God. Oh my God—are you okay?!”

Your knees were scraped raw, blood trickling down your shins, and your palms stung so badly you thought they might be on fire. You wanted to be tough, wanted to brush it off, but your throat was tight, and tears were already pricking at your eyes.

And then, before you even had time to process what had happened, Quinn was there.

“Jesus, you guys,” he muttered, crouching beside you.

You sniffled, still trying to hold back tears, but Quinn didn’t make a big deal about it. He just scooped you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, and started walking you home.

“You’re okay,” he said, voice calm and steady. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Jack trailed behind, looking guilty as hell.

“I—I didn’t think she’d actually fall,” he mumbled.

Quinn shot him a look.

“Of course she fell, Jack. You two don’t think before you do anything.”

Jack had no argument for that.

But even as Quinn sighed, even as he grumbled about “having to babysit two disasters,” you knew he cared.

Because Quinn never let anything happen to you.

And he never would.

Then there was Luke.

Luke had been there from the almost start, having arrived two years late to the world you and Jack had already built together.

It wasn’t that he was unwelcome—not at all. But in the early years, he had been younger—just enough behind you and Jack that the gap felt significant. When you were five, he was three. When you and Jack were racing bikes down the street, Luke was still on training wheels. When you were climbing trees and dangling from the highest branches, Luke was stuck at the bottom, his small hands barely able to reach the first grip.

And no matter how much he wanted to be included, the truth was, there were just some things he was too little for.

Where Jack dragged you into every wild idea that popped into his head, Luke was the one who stood on the sidelines, watching. His wide, eager eyes followed your every move, his tiny fists clenched with determination, his whole body buzzing with the desperate hope that this time—this time—you and Jack might let him in.

“Can I play?” he would ask, gripping his little hockey stick so tightly his knuckles turned white, his gaze flicking between you and Jack.

Jack, more often than not, would groan. “Luke, you’re too little.”

And because Jack was your best friend—the leader of every game, the one who decided what was and wasn’t fun—you had gone along with it.

“Maybe next time, Lukey,” you had said, ruffling his hair before turning to chase after Jack, never noticing the way Luke’s shoulders slumped as he watched you run away.

Luke always wanted to be part of your world.

But back then, you had only seen him as Jack’s little brother.

That didn’t stop Luke from following you both everywhere.

If you and Jack were playing knee hockey in the basement, Luke was there, sitting on the sidelines, cross-legged on the carpet, watching intently. If Jack scored, Luke cheered. If you fell, Luke was the one scrambling up to check if you were okay before Jack even noticed.

If you and Jack were racing across the backyard, Luke was trailing behind, his little legs working furiously to keep up, his breath coming in short, determined puffs.

“Wait for me!”

“Luke, hurry up!” Jack would yell, already halfway across the lawn.

And Luke would hurry. He always hurried, always pushed himself to the limit just to try and close the distance, just to prove that he could keep up with you and Jack.

But more often than not, by the time he caught up, the game had already changed. Jack had already moved on to something bigger, something better.

And Luke—still catching his breath, still trying to process the game that had just ended—would be left standing there, watching as you and Jack disappeared into the next adventure without him.

But Luke never left.

Even when he wasn’t included, even when Jack brushed him off or you followed Jack’s lead without a second thought, Luke stayed.

Because if he couldn’t play, then he would watch.

And when Jack inevitably got bored and abandoned a game to chase after something else—when his attention flitted from knee hockey to soccer to wrestling to something entirely new—Luke was the one who stayed behind.

If Jack left the net in the basement empty, Luke picked up a stick and asked you to shoot on him instead.

If Jack abandoned a game of tag to go inside for a snack, Luke asked you to keep playing.

He never demanded your attention the way Jack did. Never insisted that you pick him first, never threw tantrums when he was left out.

He just waited.

Waited for the moments Jack wasn’t around.

Waited for the moments you finally turned to him.

And you? You never really thought much of it.

Not then.

To you, Luke was just there.

Just part of the background of your life—always orbiting close by, always tagging along if it meant he could be newr you.

It was the summer you were seven, a time when everything still felt simple and innocent. The world was filled with endless possibilities, and your days were spent on adventures with your best friend, Jack. You both had a rhythm—an unspoken understanding that no matter what, you would always be together, running, playing, dreaming. The world had no limits when Jack was by your side. And that evening, in particular, was no different. Or so you thought.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the park, the colors in the sky blending into soft hues of orange and pink. The kind of evening that made everything look surreal, like the entire world was pausing to admire the beauty of the moment. You and Jack were sitting on your usual bench—the wooden one that creaked under the weight of years of memories, positioned perfectly to overlook the expansive field that stretched out before you. The warm summer breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the sweet scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the distant hum of crickets chirping in the cooling air.

Jack was sitting beside you, legs dangling off the edge of the bench, his sneakers brushing against the ground as he swung his feet back and forth. He was talking, as he always did, hands gesturing wildly as he described yet another hockey game he’d watched on TV with his dad or something that had happened on the ice at practice. His voice was animated, full of the kind of energy that made it impossible not to pay attention. His dark brown eyes were wide with enthusiasm as he recounted the details—who scored the most goals, what move one of the players had pulled off, how he couldn’t wait to try it himself in his next game. It wasn’t surprising to you; hockey was everything to Jack. He lived and breathed it, and you could tell by the way he spoke, by the way his hands moved in the air to illustrate what he was saying, that this game, this sport, was a piece of his very identity.

You smiled at him, your head tilted back against the cool wood of the bench as you half-listened, half-watched the way his face lit up. Jack had always been a little bit wild in his energy. There was something so captivating about the way he threw himself into everything. Whether it was talking about hockey, creating new games to play, or just dragging you along on some new adventure, Jack’s passion was infectious.

But tonight—tonight something felt different. It wasn’t that Jack was any less enthusiastic about hockey, but there was a subtle shift in the air between the two of you. As he spoke, his words becoming more animated, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of something unfamiliar. It was a strange sensation that started somewhere in the pit of your stomach and spread out, slowly working its way into your chest. Maybe it was just the energy of the evening—the warm glow of the setting sun, the peacefulness of the park, or maybe it was something else, something you didn’t fully understand yet. But as Jack’s words flowed around you, you found yourself caught in a strange mix of emotions that you couldn’t name.

You were used to listening to him talk about hockey, about his dreams and his wild plans, but tonight, for the first time, you weren’t just hearing the words. You were feeling them.

You turned to look at him, still speaking at full speed, his words coming faster now, his enthusiasm growing with every sentence. He didn’t even notice you watching him in that way, the way you were suddenly hyper-aware of every little movement—how his hands were moving as he spoke, how the sun reflected off his hair, how his voice had a different cadence tonight, more alive, more… intimate, for lack of a better word. It wasn’t anything tangible. There was no clear reason for why it felt different, but the air between you seemed to hum with a silent understanding that had never been there before.

But then, in the midst of his animated storytelling, Jack turned to you with that familiar mischievous grin, the one that always made your heart flutter a little. You had known that grin for as long as you could remember. It was the kind of grin that meant Jack was about to do or say something unexpected, something that would probably make you laugh or roll your eyes, depending on the day. But tonight, something about it felt different.

Jack was always a whirlwind of energy, the kind of kid who could never sit still for more than five seconds. He had an incredible ability to make anything sound like the best idea in the world. And when he spoke, it was with an infectious excitement, like the entire world was waiting for him to tell it what to do. He could make even the simplest things feel like the start of some grand adventure. And, for the most part, you always followed him. He was your best friend, your partner in crime, and his ideas were always bigger than yours, always more fun.

“We should get married when we’re older,” he said, completely casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked, your mind briefly stalling as you processed the words. Your head turned toward him in confusion, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. You weren’t sure whether he was joking, serious, or if it was just another one of his wild ideas. It had to be a joke, right?

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, like you weren’t sure if you’d heard him correctly. You tilted your head, looking up at him with a puzzled expression.

Jack didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension in the air. He just smiled wider, clearly pleased with himself for getting your attention. His eyes sparkled as he leaned back, still sitting on the bench beside you, looking out at the sunset like it was the most natural thing in the world. He always had a way of making everything sound so simple, so easy. Like the world was just a place where everything worked out the way it was supposed to. And this—this idea—was no different.

“You can’t just decide that,” you said with a playful shove, trying to brush it off. You wanted to laugh, to keep things light, because it felt like a joke, right? Jack was your best friend, and this was just another one of his offhand remarks. You nudged his shoulder gently, trying to play along, but deep down, you felt a strange fluttering sensation in your chest that you didn’t fully understand.

Jack, however, didn’t back down. His smile didn’t waver for a second. In fact, he seemed to lean into it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was so sure of himself, his confidence radiating in the way he sat there, relaxed and unfazed by the unexpected question he had just tossed into the air. It was as if he had always known this was where the conversation would lead.

“Why not?” he said with a shrug, as though it was an entirely reasonable suggestion. “You’re my best friend. And married people are best friends, right?”

The words hit you differently than you’d expected. You’d heard about marriage before, sure, but it was always in fairy tales, with knights and princesses and happily-ever-afters. You didn’t really know what marriage meant in a deep, meaningful way, but you understood one thing—Jack was asking you to be with him forever. And though you didn’t know exactly what that looked like, the idea of it felt warm, like the gentle glow of the setting sun.

You laughed, trying to push down the feeling welling up inside you. It was absurd. It was just Jack being Jack, always saying the first thing that popped into his head. Of course, it didn’t mean anything serious. You weren’t even sure he understood what he was really saying.

But still… something about the way he said it—so casually, so confidently—made your heart beat just a little bit faster. The idea of always being with him, of never being apart, settled somewhere deep in your chest. And for the first time, the word “marriage” didn’t feel like a fairy tale. It felt like a real possibility.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. The playful, teasing tone you wanted to use felt wrong all of a sudden. Jack’s grin hadn’t faltered, and his eyes were sparkling with the kind of certainty that only he could have. But you weren’t sure anymore whether you were laughing because it was funny, or because it felt real. Too real.

“Yeah, but…” you trailed off, staring at the ground for a moment, unsure of how to explain the confusion that was building inside of you. “We’re just kids. You can’t just decide to get married.”

Jack didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. He shrugged again, unbothered by your hesitation. “Why not? You’re my best friend. We’ve always done everything together. It just makes sense.”

His words lingered in the air, carrying a strange weight you hadn’t expected. His logic was simple, almost childishly so, but it struck something inside of you that made your chest tighten. You looked at him, really looked at him, for what felt like the first time in ages. Jack wasn’t just your best friend. He was something else, something more. And suddenly, you were hyper-aware of everything—the way his hand rested just inches from yours, the way the sun hit his hair, casting a golden halo around him. His words echoed in your mind. It just makes sense.

You felt a sudden rush of warmth flood your chest, spreading outward like the soft heat of the sun sinking lower on the horizon. You wanted to brush it off, to laugh it off, to keep things the way they always had been between the two of you. But deep down, you knew something had shifted.

You hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t expected it, but suddenly you couldn’t imagine a world where Jack wasn’t your best friend, where he wasn’t the person you shared every adventure with. And the thought of being by his side, of being his in a way that was more than just friends, settled over you in a way that made your heart race.

But it didn’t make sense, right? Not now. You were just seven. You didn’t know what marriage was supposed to mean. You didn’t know what love was. It was silly, wasn’t it? Just a passing thought.

Still, something inside you—something deep and soft—wanted it to be real. Wanted Jack to be that person. Always.

Behind you, just a few feet away, Luke had been quietly swinging, his tiny legs kicking rhythmically, the chains of the swing creaking softly with each motion. It had been a peaceful moment for him, one of those simple, innocent afternoons where he felt content in his small world. But now, in the middle of your conversation with Jack, something shifted for him.

Luke had always been content in his little world, his world of swings and sunsets, of quiet afternoons that stretched on forever. There was something peaceful about the way he lived, the simplicity of his routine, and the certainty that his big brother, Jack, would always be there beside him. And you—you had always been a steady presence in that world too, a familiar face in the background, someone who would push him on the swing when he asked or cheer him on when he kicked the ball to the other side of the yard.

But today, something was different. The moment he stopped swinging—dragging his feet against the ground, the sudden halt so jarring that the swing swayed a little before coming to a stop—it was like the entire air around him had shifted. He didn’t quite understand why, but something in his chest felt tight, something unsettled bubbled up from deep inside him. His feet dragged through the dirt, and his small body seemed to freeze mid-motion. The world around him, so familiar and safe just moments ago, now felt too big, too loud, too heavy.

He didn’t quite know what it was that had made him stop, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from it. Something in the way you and Jack were talking made him feel like he didn’t quite fit anymore. At first, he hadn’t understood the words—you were talking about things he didn’t know about, like the future and marriage, things that didn’t make sense to him at all. But it wasn’t the words themselves that caught his attention. It was the way you were both acting, the way you were standing there, so close to each other, like there was something that didn’t include him. Like there was a secret between you two, something that made him feel like he was no longer part of the picture.

His hands, which had once been gripping the swing chains tightly, now hung limp at his sides. He could feel the stillness in his body, a strange weight settling in his chest. He looked at you both, his little body small in comparison, trying to make sense of the way you were standing together, the way your attention was so entirely focused on Jack’s words, as though he was no longer someone who mattered in the conversation. You were his world too. You had always been his world. But now… now he wasn’t so sure.

Luke didn’t understand what was happening. Not really. He didn’t know what it meant when Jack said, “We should get married when we’re older.” All he knew was that something had shifted in the air, something unspoken, and it made him feel small. He wasn’t sure why, but the words left an ache in his chest that didn’t quite make sense. The way Jack spoke about it—so casually, so easily—made Luke feel like he was standing in the middle of something big, something important that he couldn’t be a part of. And for the first time, he felt like an outsider in a world he had once felt so safe in.

His feet shuffled in the dirt, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, feeling the uncomfortable tension settle deeper in his little heart. His big eyes, full of curiosity and innocence, were fixed on you both. But there was no joy in them, no spark of the usual childlike wonder. Instead, there was a quiet sadness, an intensity that seemed far too old for a seven-year-old. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He didn’t understand why he felt left out, why his world suddenly felt off-balance.

The truth was, he had always looked up to Jack. Jack had been his hero, his older brother, the one who showed him the ropes, made him laugh, and taught him how to throw a ball. But now, in this moment, Luke could sense a shift—a shift that was happening between you and Jack, one that made him feel like there was a new kind of connection between you two that he wasn’t part of. Something unspoken, something important. And that feeling of not being included, not being part of whatever was happening, felt too big for him to carry.

His little shoulders hunched, trying to make himself smaller, trying to avoid the strange feelings crawling up his spine. His feet dragged a little more as he turned away, walking back toward the swings, but he didn’t swing this time. He didn’t know if he could swing anymore, not with the weight in his chest, not with the way his mind felt heavy and confused. So, instead, he just stood there, watching the two of you, trying to make sense of it all.

From his vantage point, everything seemed too complicated. The way you and Jack laughed, how you exchanged looks, the way your attention was so fully on him—it was all so much. It wasn’t like it had been before. It wasn’t like the afternoons where you would smile at him and push him on the swing, where everything felt simple and clear. Now, there was a distance that seemed impossible to bridge, even though he had no idea what it was. All he knew was that he wanted to be a part of it again. He wanted to be included in that world, but he didn’t know how to get back to it.

He glanced over his shoulder at you once more, his eyes full of that quiet sadness, and in that moment, it felt like you were so far away. As if you had crossed some invisible line, and now there was a space between you that couldn’t be closed. His heart hurt. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t even understand marriage, but he understood the feeling—the feeling of not being enough, of not being included in something that had once been his.

But then, just as quietly, he turned back toward the swing. It was all he could do, this small child with no words for the ache in his chest, with no way to express the confusion that was crawling through his mind. He started to push the swing gently with his foot, the creaking chains barely audible over the stillness that hung in the air. But even as he moved, there was a heaviness in him, a quiet realization that something had changed. And that change—whatever it was—made him feel like he was standing on the outside looking in.

He couldn’t understand everything, not yet. But he could feel it. He could feel the change. And that was enough to make him pause, to make him stop swinging, to make him turn away. Because even without the words, he knew that whatever was happening between you and Jack was something that didn’t quite fit with the world he had always known. And in that small, quiet moment, he realized something that made his chest ache all the more: he was no longer the center of that world.

The lake house had always felt like a second home to you. It wasn’t just the lake that made it special, or the house itself, but the feeling of being away from everything familiar, yet somehow closer to everyone that mattered. That first summer you were invited to spend there when you were eight was a turning point in your childhood, a mark in time where everything seemed to shift, like the beginning of a chapter in a story that you didn’t know was going to be so important.

It was the first day, when the sun was still high and the smell of fresh pine and saltwater clung to the air, that you felt the magic of it all. You and Jack had already wasted no time in rushing to the water, shoes abandoned on the dock as you dove in, laughing, splashing, racing to see who could swim the fastest to the floating platform in the middle of the lake.

“I’m going to beat you!” Jack called, swimming ahead, his strokes cutting through the water with ease.

You kicked harder, determined not to let him win. “You wish!” you shouted back, splashing water in his direction.

“Last one there is a rotten egg!” Jack laughed, kicking his legs to build speed, his eyes bright with excitement.

But you could feel the burn in your muscles, the fatigue setting in as the floating platform grew closer. Jack was always faster, always the one who would win the challenges you came up with, but that didn’t matter. He made it fun—he always did. Every game felt like a race, and every race felt like it was the most important thing in the world. You were in it together, the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

You finally reached the platform, gasping for breath, and Jack was already standing there, grinning with triumph. “You’re getting slow,” he teased, splashing water in your face.

You wiped your eyes and smirked. “I let you win,” you said, playfully sticking your tongue out at him.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack laughed, rolling his eyes. “But next time, I’m not going to make it so easy for you.”

You both floated there, letting the water gently rock you, eyes squinting up at the bright sky above. The feeling of the cool water against your skin was enough to make the heat of the summer day feel far away. But then, just as you were catching your breath, you noticed him.

Luke.

He was standing on the edge of the dock, his small frame barely noticeable as he gripped the edge tightly, watching you and Jack with wide eyes. He wasn’t in the water like you, wasn’t playing along with the games. He was just there, standing a little off to the side, as always.

You were so used to Jack’s loud presence, his infectious energy that drew everyone in, that it took a moment for you to really see Luke. He wasn’t as loud, wasn’t as reckless. He wasn’t the one making every day an adventure like Jack did. But there was something about the way he looked at you—something quiet and unspoken—that made your heart twinge. You were used to Luke tagging along, used to him always watching from the sidelines, but in that moment, it felt like something more. It felt like he was waiting for something that you couldn’t give him, at least not in the same way you gave Jack.

“Luke!” you called, waving at him from the water. “Come in, it’s awesome!”

Luke hesitated, his small fingers tightening on the dock as he glanced at Jack, who was still lounging on the platform. “I don’t know…” Luke mumbled, his voice quiet, unsure.

Jack perked up at the sound of his brother’s voice. “What’s the matter, Lukey? You scared?” He flashed a teasing grin, but there was a hint of challenge in his words.

Luke’s face scrunched, his little brows furrowing. “No,” he muttered, though there was no conviction behind it.

“Come on, Luke!” you called again, trying to sound enthusiastic. “It’s not that deep, and we’re having so much fun! You’ll love it!”

He bit his lip, clearly torn, before his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Okay. Fine.” He pulled off his sneakers and set them beside the dock, dipping one foot into the water cautiously.

You and Jack watched him for a moment, both of you already knowing that Luke wasn’t as confident as you were in the water. But after a few more encouraging shouts, Luke finally stepped in, wading slowly, his head barely above the water. You swam over to him, grinning.

“I knew you could do it!” you said, reaching out and offering him your hand. “Come on, we’re gonna race back to the dock.”

Luke took your hand, his grip tight but still tentative. He glanced at Jack, who had already started swimming back toward the shore. “I don’t think I can beat you two.”

“You don’t have to beat us,” you said with a shrug, smiling warmly. “Just swim with us. It’s more fun that way.”

He seemed to relax a little at your words, and for a few moments, the three of you swam together, splashing and laughing, the water cool against your skin. But even as you swam and played, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Luke wasn’t quite part of the same world as you and Jack. He was there, yes, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t as comfortable in the water, wasn’t as reckless in the way he approached everything. He seemed to linger at the edges of every game, a little hesitant to jump in fully, waiting for the perfect moment.

The sun soon set, leading the group of you to settle around the fire pit. As the flames crackled, casting their warm orange glow against the night, Luke couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease settling into his chest. He sat on the edge of the fire, a little further away from everyone else, trying to blend into the background. Jack’s ghost stories were always a source of amusement for everyone, but for Luke, they felt different. It wasn’t the ghosts themselves—he wasn’t afraid of that—but the way his older brother’s voice seemed to pull all the attention, to draw everyone in so effortlessly. And the way you—you—would laugh and play along, giving Jack that familiar, easy smile that made Luke’s heart flutter in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Luke had always been quiet, content with simple games and easy fun, where he didn’t have to think too much about anything. But lately, something had been shifting, and it seemed to revolve around you. It was as though something had clicked that afternoon a few weeks back—something small, but unmistakable—and now, as he sat on the edge of the firelight, his eyes kept drifting to you. Your laughter rang out as Jack continued with his stories. Every time Jack made a dramatic gesture or spoke in his spooky voice, you would laugh, your eyes lighting up with amusement, and Luke’s chest tightened with something he didn’t understand.

There was something in the way you looked at Jack—a warmth, a familiarity—that made Luke feel as though he was standing on the outside of a world he wasn’t allowed to be a part of. He wasn’t angry, exactly, just… distant. A seed of something had been planted in his chest, and it made him feel like he was growing up too fast, like everything around him was changing in ways he couldn’t keep up with.

As Jack’s voice dropped into that familiar eerie tone, Luke tried to focus on the flames. But the words Jack spoke carried a weight that Luke couldn’t shake.

“…and they say the ghost of the old man still haunts the lake,” Jack was saying, his voice dropping to an almost whisper, “waiting for someone to come too close to the water. They say if you stand on the dock at midnight, you can hear his footsteps behind you, dragging along the wood…”

You let out a little laugh and elbowed Jack in the side. “Jack, come on, that’s the oldest story in the book! You’re just trying to scare us.”

Jack grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction. “You don’t know that!” He leaned in closer, his voice lowering even further. “They say if you get too close to the edge, he’ll grab your ankle and pull you in, dragging you down into the depths of the lake, never to be seen again…”

You made a face, clearly pretending to be spooked. “Okay, okay, I’ll bite. But I’m still not scared.”

Luke found himself watching you intently as Jack wove his tale, his words spinning a web of eerie suspense. There was something in the way you played along—how you looked at Jack with that warm, teasing affection—that made something stir inside of him. But it was the way you glanced over at him in that moment, your eyes briefly catching his, that made his heart leap in his chest.

When you reached out and grabbed Luke’s arm during the spookiest part of the story, he froze. For a moment, he thought maybe it was just his imagination, but then he felt your fingers—warm and firm—wrap around his wrist. The touch was small, but it sent a rush of heat through him, making his heart race in his chest. He clenched his fingers instinctively, as if afraid the moment would slip away too quickly if he didn’t hold on. It felt like the whole world paused, and Luke couldn’t stop the flush that crept up his neck.

His fingers felt large and awkward beneath yours, but you didn’t pull away. And for that one brief moment, the ghost story, Jack’s teasing, everything else seemed to fade into the background. He was lost in the quiet of the space between you, the warmth of your hand on his wrist.

But then, just as quickly, you let go, laughing again, your fingers slipping from his. The moment passed so easily, so quickly, as if it had never happened at all. And Luke was left staring at his own hand, the lingering warmth still there, the ache in his chest growing.

Jack’s voice brought him back to the present. “And that’s when they say you’ll hear the screams of the old man, echoing across the water…”

Luke barely heard the rest. He didn’t want to hear it. Instead, he found himself once more focusing on you, sitting next to Jack, your laughter mixing with the sounds of the night.

The group moved down to the dock, and Luke stayed behind, slipping his feet into the cool water. The night was beautiful—deep and vast, the stars scattered above like jewels—but the beauty did little to soothe the tightness in his chest. He glanced over at you again, now lying on the dock next to Jack, both of you staring up at the stars. Jack was rambling on about his plans for the future, his voice excited, and you were listening so intently, leaning toward him. The way you looked at Jack, the way you gave him your full attention, made Luke feel even more distant.

Jack’s enthusiasm was too loud. His laughter rang too sharp against the silence, and Luke found himself retreating further into the stillness of the water, where he didn’t have to fight for attention. Where he could be just there, unnoticed, and just try to understand the confusion that swirled inside him.

It was Quinn who broke the silence, standing at the edge of the dock, his eyes catching Luke’s. The older boy had a way of knowing things without needing to be told. Quinn’s gaze softened, his expression unreadable, but Luke could sense the shift in him. The quiet understanding.

Luke quickly turned his eyes back to the water, not wanting Quinn to see, not wanting anyone to know how much he was changing inside. But Quinn had already seen it.

A small, almost knowing smile curled at Quinn’s lips. He nodded once, just a slight tilt of his head, as if acknowledging the unspoken shift that had started to settle in Luke’s heart.

Quinn didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. And in that moment, Luke felt something settle in his chest—something lighter, something like reassurance. He wasn’t sure if Quinn understood everything, but he felt a little less alone in it all.

But the night carried on, and Luke stayed at the edge of the world, staring at the stars, waiting for something to change, waiting for the gap between him and the rest of the world to close. He didn’t want to be left behind. Not anymore. But the ache inside him—stronger than before—was something he wasn’t sure how to share. He wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap between the feeling he had and the words he couldn’t find.

For now, though, he stayed silent. He stayed at the edge of the dock, watching the night pass by, hoping that one day, it would all come together. That the ache in his chest would make sense, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

The summers always stretched on endlessly, the lake house becoming more familiar with each passing day, and yet every time you and Jack rushed down the dock or leapt off the platform, the excitement felt new. It was a rhythm you had come to depend on, like the pulse of the water beneath you, the steady pattern of life that had taken root here by the lake.

But despite the constant flow of games and adventures, there were moments when the world seemed to slow, when the noise of the days fell away, leaving only the stars, the soft rustle of the trees, and the quiet company of Luke.

One of those nights had arrived by the end of the week, when the air had turned cool, and the sky stretched out above you like an endless canvas. You and Jack had spent the entire day competing—arguing over who could jump from the highest point on the dock, who could hold their breath underwater the longest, who could run from the house to the dock in the shortest time. It was the same thing every summer, the same challenges, the same breathless laughter. But as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, fatigue settled into your limbs, and for once, you and Jack let yourselves slow down.

Jack had gone inside to grab some snacks, leaving you alone with Luke.

Luke had been sitting quietly at the edge of the dock, his legs crossed, his hands braced behind him as he leaned back to stare at the night sky. He wasn’t as loud as Jack, never the first one to dive into the chaos, but there was something about the way he existed in these moments—so quietly, so fully—that made it feel like he belonged here just as much as anyone else.

You stretched out beside him, letting your legs dangle off the dock, the cool wood pressing against your bare skin. The air smelled like pine and lake water, thick with the warmth of the day fading into the crispness of the evening. The kind of night that felt so still, like everything in the world had paused just to let you breathe.

Luke shifted slightly beside you, and you noticed how he always sat a little closer than usual, how his knee brushed against yours every now and then as if he couldn’t quite figure out the space between you. But he didn’t say anything, and neither did you.

Instead, you both just watched the stars, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a blanket.

From Luke’s perspective, everything felt like it was slowing down.

The stars were so big tonight. They seemed to stretch on forever, like they were waiting for him to notice. He didn’t often sit this still, didn’t usually spend his time just watching the sky. There were rocks to skip and trees to climb, adventures to go on. But tonight, it felt different. Maybe it was the way the night air cooled his skin, the way the breeze felt like a promise, or the way you were beside him, the only sound your soft breaths mixing with the rustle of leaves in the trees.

He glanced at you. You looked so comfortable, so at ease, like the world was something you understood in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. Luke had always been quieter than Jack. He didn’t speak as easily, didn’t have the same kind of loud energy that Jack did. But in these moments with you, he didn’t feel like he needed to be anyone else. He didn’t need to act like Jack, didn’t have to say anything clever or jump into a race to prove himself.

Your quiet presence was enough.

But it was also something else. Something that made his stomach twist a little, made his thoughts turn into a confusing jumble. It was the way your knee brushed against his, how you never pulled away, how it felt like you had no problem being near him. You hadn’t noticed, of course. But Luke was aware. More aware than he should have been. His thoughts, his heart, they didn’t make sense. He had never been good at understanding what he was feeling.

He looked at the stars, trying to keep his mind occupied with something else. But there was a part of him that wanted to ask you questions. Wanted to talk to you, share something with you. But what could he say? What did he even feel?

“What’s that one?” he asked suddenly, pointing at a cluster of stars near the horizon.

You turned your head slightly, following his finger. “That’s Orion’s Belt,” you said, shifting to sit up a little. “Those three stars in a line. You can find them every year, and it’s said that they’re the hunter.”

Luke furrowed his brow. He wasn’t sure what the hunter meant. He didn’t know if he even understood the stars the way you did, but he wanted to know. Wanted to understand the world like you seemed to. “Why is he a hunter?” Luke asked, feeling the weight of the question in his chest, “What’s he hunting?”

You paused, and for a second, Luke thought maybe you hadn’t heard him, but then you responded, your voice soft, “I don’t know. I think it’s just something from old stories. Maybe he’s hunting for adventure or something big. He probably had dreams like we do.”

Luke stayed quiet for a moment, digesting your words. He watched the stars again, his mind turning over the idea. He wasn’t sure what adventure meant, but the idea of it—the feeling of searching for something more—caught his attention. He looked at you, your face lit by the soft glow of starlight, and he felt a sudden urge to ask another question. Not about stars this time, but something bigger.

“Do you think we’ll have adventures like that when we’re older?”

It was a question that felt too big, like a thought that had been floating in his chest for a while, and now it had finally found its way out. He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like he was standing on the edge of something—something he couldn’t quite see, but that made his heart beat faster. His voice was soft, quieter than usual. Almost uncertain. He wanted to know the answer, but he was also afraid of hearing it.

Luke’s question took you by surprise.

It was a simple question, really. But you could hear the quiet weight behind it, the way it lingered in the air, like Luke was asking for something more than just an answer about adventures. He was asking about the future. About his future. What kind of life he would have when things weren’t just about running around and having fun at the lake. What kind of person he would be when the world wasn’t as simple anymore.

You didn’t know. You hadn’t figured that out for yourself. You had spent so many summers here, growing up with Jack, and yet you couldn’t predict the next few years, let alone the kind of future Luke would have.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice soft as you turned back to the stars. “I think everyone has their own adventure. Maybe they’re different, but they’re all important. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Luke didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel the way his eyes lingered on you. You didn’t know exactly what was going on inside him, but you could tell that something had shifted in him tonight. Something you hadn’t seen before. There was a stillness to him now, a quiet understanding, and it felt like it was building up inside him, like he had caught a glimpse of something bigger, and it was all tangled up in that simple question.

And when you glanced at him, he wasn’t just looking at you. He was hearing you, too. His gaze was intense, thoughtful, and for a moment, it made your heart beat a little faster. You didn’t know what it meant. But it felt important.

After a while, Jack came back with a bag of chips, shoving the screen door open with a loud bang, breaking the quiet spell between you and Luke. The night faded back into its usual rhythm—Jack talking too loud, the crinkle of plastic as he ripped open the bag, the familiar chaos of another summer night at the lake.

But you couldn’t help noticing how Luke stayed close to you after that.

How he sat just a little closer than before, how he lingered beside you when Jack wasn’t looking, how he seemed to seek out your presence in little, unspoken ways. You didn’t know what it meant, but it felt different.

And even though you didn’t understand it yet, something about it felt like a beginning. Something you couldn’t quite name, but something you were starting to notice more each day.

For now, the night would go on, and Jack would fill it with his usual boisterous energy. But there was a shift, a quiet shift in Luke, that made you feel like the summer was moving forward in a way you hadn’t expected. The lake, the stars, the nights spent in quiet company—this was all part of it, part of the change that was unfolding slowly, one conversation, one glance at a time.

The next day dawned bright and cloudless, the kind of summer morning where the air was already thick with warmth, the sun glittering off the water like a thousand tiny diamonds. The lake was calm, barely a ripple disturbing its glassy surface, and the excitement buzzing between you and the boys was almost tangible.

Jack, as expected, was already hyped up, practically bouncing on the dock as he grabbed his paddle. His energy was endless, like he was constantly running on some invisible fuel that no one else could match. He turned to you and Luke, his grin wide and mischievous. “Alright,” he announced, puffing out his chest like a true competitor, “first one to the floating platform and back wins. No cheating.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re just saying that because you’re the biggest cheater here.”

Jack gasped in mock offense. “Me? A cheater? Please. I’m just naturally faster than you.”

Luke, who had been kneeling beside his canoe, adjusting his paddle, snorted. “You always cheat, Jack. You just call it strategy.”

Jack waggled his eyebrows. “It’s not my fault I’m smarter than you.”

“You’re not smarter,” Luke shot back. “You’re just reckless.”

Jack only grinned wider, already lowering himself into his canoe. “Same thing.”

With that, he was off, shoving away from the dock with an exaggerated push, his paddle slicing through the water in wild, hurried strokes. You barely had time to climb into your own canoe before Jack was halfway across the lake, moving with all the grace of a bull charging forward.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, grabbing your paddle and pushing off.

Luke, still on the dock, rolled his eyes before easing himself into his canoe, far less rushed than either of you. You could see the difference instantly—where Jack was all force and chaos, Luke moved carefully, steadily. His strokes were slower but more controlled, his canoe gliding through the water rather than thrashing against it.

You tried to catch up with Jack, pushing yourself forward, your arms already burning from the effort. The lake was bigger than it seemed from the shore, and the floating platform in the middle felt impossibly far away. Water splashed against your arms as you paddled harder, your breath coming in short, determined huffs. Jack was still ahead, but he wasn’t as smooth as he thought—his frantic paddling caused his canoe to veer slightly off course every now and then, forcing him to correct himself.

“You’re wasting energy!” you called out, laughing as you gained on him.

Jack only grinned over his shoulder. “Yeah, but I’m still winning!”

It wasn’t until you reached the platform that you let yourself rest, your canoe bumping gently against the side of the wooden float. Jack was already there, panting slightly but triumphant. He smacked his hand against the platform dramatically, as if claiming victory. “Boom. Winner.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Race isn’t over yet.”

Jack laughed, already pushing his canoe back toward the shore. “Better hurry up then!”

You were about to follow when you glanced back, realizing that Luke was still a little ways behind. He wasn’t struggling—far from it—but he wasn’t racing either. His strokes remained patient, steady, as if he wasn’t concerned about beating anyone. He was simply moving, letting the water carry him as much as he carried himself.

Something about that made you pause. Jack had already disappeared ahead, but suddenly, winning didn’t seem as important anymore. Instead of rushing after him, you turned your canoe slightly, slowing your strokes to match Luke’s pace.

He glanced up at you, surprised. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

You shrugged, resting your paddle across your lap for a moment. “I don’t mind.”

A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn’t say anything right away, but you could tell he appreciated it. The two of you paddled side by side, the sounds of the water lapping gently against the canoes filling the quiet between you.

Luke hesitated, then spoke, his voice softer than before. “Jack always makes everything a competition.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a laugh, shaking your head. “He doesn’t really know how to do things any other way.”

Luke glanced at you, thoughtful. “Do you like that?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

Luke’s paddle skimmed the surface of the water, creating small ripples. “Always having to race. Having everything be about winning.”

You exhaled, considering. With Jack, it had always been like that—fast-paced, wild, a constant need to prove something. And it was fun, most of the time. But there was something different about the way you were moving now, next to Luke, with no urgency, no need to rush.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing toward the shore where Jack was already climbing onto the dock, victorious. “I guess sometimes it’s nice to just—be.”

Luke nodded, his gaze fixed on the water. “Yeah.”

Neither of you spoke for a while after that, just paddling together in a comfortable silence. The sun was higher in the sky now, reflecting golden streaks onto the lake’s surface. You let yourself get lost in the rhythm of it, the slow, unhurried way Luke moved, how it felt like he wasn’t trying to chase anything—just experiencing it as it came.

By the time you finally reached the shore, Jack was waiting, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. “What took you guys so long?”

You shrugged, stepping out of the canoe and stretching your arms. “We were enjoying the view.”

Jack scoffed, but Luke just smiled knowingly. You caught the small look he gave you—like he understood something you hadn’t fully realized yet. And in that moment, standing there on the dock with the water dripping from your fingertips and the summer sun warming your skin, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Luke had the right idea all along.

The rainy days at the lake house had a magic of their own. They brought with them the soft patter of raindrops against the windows, the smell of damp earth rising from the porch, and the hum of restless energy that filled the house as you all searched for ways to entertain yourselves. The moment the first drops fell, signaling that you’d be stuck inside for the day, Jack would immediately declare, “Knee hockey tournament. Living room. Right now.”

It was a tradition. The coffee table was shoved to the side, pillows lined the edges of the room as makeshift boards, and everyone knew the stakes were high. Jack, naturally, was the most competitive, his grin practically splitting his face as he grabbed a mini stick and tossed you another. “Dream team, back again,” he announced, bumping his shoulder against yours. You caught the stick easily, already grinning. You and Jack were always the duo to beat, your quick reflexes and synchronized movement making you nearly unstoppable.

Quinn, ever the strategist, took his time choosing his teammate, tapping his chin dramatically before slinging an arm around Luke’s shoulders. “I’ll take Luke,” he said, grinning as if he knew something you didn’t.

Luke shifted beside him, his expression unreadable at first, but there was something in his eyes—something determined, something that almost looked like anticipation. He didn’t protest.

Jack just scoffed. “Good luck,” he teased, twirling his stick between his fingers. “You’ll need it.”

The first game was fast-paced, the sound of the plastic ball slapping against the hardwood floor echoing through the house. Jack and you worked in tandem, passing quickly, faking each other out, weaving through the small space with an ease that only came from years of playing together. Every goal you scored, Jack celebrated like it was a Stanley Cup game, yelling dramatically and sliding across the floor on his knees.

But Luke and Quinn weren’t easy to beat.

Luke wasn’t as fast as Jack, and he didn’t have Quinn’s sharp strategic mind, but he had something else—a quiet patience, a precision in the way he moved. He watched the plays unfold, predicting your movements, using his body and stick to block your best shots. He wasn’t reckless like Jack, wasn’t rushing headfirst into every play. Instead, he was steady, deliberate, thinking two steps ahead.

At first, you barely noticed. You were too caught up in the thrill of the game, too focused on scoring. But then, every time you tried to cut around him, he was just… there. Anticipating. Blocking. Smirking a little when he managed to steal the ball from you.

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You’re getting good at this, Lukey.”

He shrugged, but there was something teasing in the tilt of his lips. “Maybe I’ve always been good. You just never noticed.”

That threw you off more than it should have.

Jack groaned dramatically, cutting between you. “Stop flirting and play the game!”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “We’re not—”

But Luke just grinned, turning back to the game as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just sent your mind into a tailspin.

As the summers passed, knee hockey remained a staple of the rainy days, but something about those moments with Luke started to shift. It wasn’t just the way he played anymore—it was the way he was. The way he carried himself. He was taller now, his movements more confident. He didn’t hesitate as much, didn’t linger in Jack’s shadow like he used to.

And then there were the moments—small, fleeting, but impossible to ignore.

Like when you had just swum back to the dock one afternoon, breathless from racing Jack across the lake, your arms aching from the effort. Jack had already hoisted himself up, shaking out his wet hair like a dog before flopping onto his back. You reached for the dock’s edge, ready to pull yourself up when suddenly, there was Luke.

He was crouched at the edge, one hand outstretched toward you. His fingers curled slightly in a silent offer.

You hesitated for just a second before reaching up. His hand was warm despite the coolness of the water, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you up. For a moment, your fingers lingered together, your skin slick with water, your breath caught in your throat for reasons you didn’t quite understand.

And then, just as quickly as it had happened, Luke cleared his throat, dropping his gaze as he let go, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

You swallowed, trying to shake off whatever that had been.

Jack, oblivious as always, sat up, running a hand through his damp hair. “C’mon, let’s go again. Best two out of three.”

But Luke was still looking at you—like he knew something had shifted.

And maybe… maybe you did too.

Some nights, after the chaos of the day had settled and the others had gone inside, you and Luke found yourselves lying on the dock, staring up at the stars. It was never planned, never something you spoke about beforehand—it just happened.

Jack was usually the one who exhausted himself first, retreating inside after a long day of swimming and competing. Quinn would follow soon after, leaving you and Luke behind in the quiet lull of the night, the water gently lapping against the dock.

Luke lay beside you, arms folded behind his head, his gaze fixed on the sky. “Do you think it’s weird that everything looks so big at night?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.

You turned your head slightly to look at him. “Big?”

“Yeah,” he continued, his brows knitting together in thought. “Like, during the day, everything feels… normal. But at night, when you look up, it’s like—you realize how small you are.”

You stared up at the stars, the vast, endless expanse of them. “I guess so,” you murmured. “But I think that’s kind of nice. Like, it makes everything else—everything that feels too big—seem smaller.”

Luke was quiet for a moment, as if letting your words settle. Then, softly, “Yeah. I like that.”

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

Then, in a softer voice, Luke asked, “Do you ever think about what happens after this?”

You turned your head to look at him again, surprised by the question. “After what?”

“After all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the lake, at the sky. “After we grow up.”

You exhaled, staring up at the stars again. “Sometimes. But I try not to think about it too much. I like it here. I like now.”

Luke nodded slowly, as if he understood. And maybe he did. Maybe he felt the same.

The summers were changing. You were changing. And Luke wasn’t just Jack’s little brother anymore. He was something else—someone else. Though your heart still truly belonged to his older brother, no matter how hard Luke tried.

At sixteen, Jack told you after practice one afternoon, back home, when summer was still weeks away.

You had stayed late at the rink, the way you always did, dragging out the minutes after his practice because neither of you were ever in a hurry to leave. The ice had already been cleaned, the faint smell of Zamboni fumes still lingering in the air, and most of his teammates had already headed out. But Jack had slung an arm around your shoulders and said, “One more round,” and you never could say no to him.

So you skated circles around each other for another twenty minutes, taking lazy shots on goal, passing the puck back and forth without speaking. It was comfortable, easy. The way it had always been.

And then, after you finally dragged yourselves off the ice, you sat together outside the rink, letting the cool spring breeze dry the sweat still clinging to your skin. His hockey bag was tossed carelessly beside him, skates still half-laced like he hadn’t quite decided if he was done for the day. The sun was warm against your face, the kind of warmth that made the air feel electric, buzzing with the quiet anticipation of summer.

Jack leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him, and kicked absently at a dandelion sprouting between the cracks in the pavement. His voice was casual, easy, when he said it.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

It took a second for the words to sink in.

You had been in the middle of reaching for your water bottle, fingers curling around the plastic, when the sentence hit you like a slap.

“What?”

Jack turned his head toward you, squinting against the sun, his mouth curling into that familiar lopsided grin. “Yeah. Alyssa. You know her, right? She’s in our chem class.”

You did know her.

She was blonde, pretty, and effortlessly cool—the kind of girl who seemed to float through life with an ease you had never quite mastered. The kind of girl who made sense for Jack, in a way you suddenly felt like you didn’t.

“Oh,” you said, forcing your expression into something neutral, something that wouldn’t betray the way your stomach had twisted into a knot. “That’s… cool.”

Jack’s grin widened, oblivious to the way your voice had faltered. “Yeah, she’s awesome. You’ll love her.”

You nodded, pretending to be interested, pretending that the sudden ache in your chest was nothing more than an odd reaction to the heat.

And then, as if the news itself hadn’t been enough, he added, “She’s coming to the lake house this summer.”

You felt like the ground had been yanked out from under you.

The lake house.

Your lake house.

The place that had always been yours—yours and Jack’s, yours and the Hughes’, yours and the memories you had built there for nearly a decade.

You swallowed, forcing your expression to stay neutral. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Jack didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. He just stretched his arms over his head, looking out at the parking lot like this was just another conversation, just another day. “It’s gonna be great. She’s never been, so I’ll need you to help me show her around.”

You wanted to tell him no.

You wanted to tell him she didn’t belong there, that the lake house wasn’t just some place—it was home. It was the sound of Jack’s laughter echoing off the water, the endless knee hockey battles on rainy days, the constellations you used to trace in the sky when the two of you were kids, whispering dreams about the future.

It wasn’t supposed to change.

But instead, you just nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat. “It’ll be fun.”

Jack grinned, already moving on, already pulling out his phone to check his messages, like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down.

And just like that, everything shifted.

The first night at the lake house, you couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t Alyssa’s fault. Not really.

She was nice in the effortless way that pretty girls always seemed to be. She laughed at Jack’s jokes, tucked herself easily into the spaces that had once been yours, fit in with the family like she had always belonged. She had only been here for a few hours, and yet somehow, she already knew which cabinet the cereal was in, already had Quinn rolling his eyes at one of Jack’s ridiculous stories, already knew exactly how to lean into Jack’s side at the dinner table like she had always been the one sitting next to him.

Like that seat had never been yours to begin with.

Maybe it never was.

Maybe you were the one who had been holding onto something that had never really belonged to you.

So you smiled. You nodded when she spoke to you, laughed when you were supposed to, played the role of best friend because that’s all you had ever been. And if your fingers curled a little too tightly around the edge of the table, if your stomach twisted every time Jack whispered something into her ear, if the food on your plate went mostly untouched—no one noticed.

Or at least, you thought they didn’t.

The house settled into a comfortable quiet as the night stretched on, the familiar creaks of the wooden floors, the distant hum of crickets beyond the porch screens. Jack and Alyssa had disappeared upstairs together after dinner, their laughter trailing up the staircase, and you had felt something inside of you unravel.

So you had slipped out onto the porch, closing the door quietly behind you, needing air, needing space, needing something to dull the ache in your chest.

The lake stretched out before you, dark and endless, the water lapping gently against the dock. It should have been comforting. It always had been before. But tonight, it felt hollow.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, pressing your fingers into your ribs as if that would somehow keep the hurt from spilling out.

The door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn, but you knew who it was before he even spoke.

Luke.

He was always the one who lingered. The one who noticed things even when you tried to hide them.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed against yours, his body warm against the cool night air. He didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to force words where they didn’t belong.

And for some reason, that was what undid you.

The tears came before you could stop them, silent at first, then harder, faster, your shoulders shaking as you tried to hold it in, tried to pretend you weren’t breaking apart right there on the porch.

Luke let out a quiet breath, barely audible over the sound of the water. And then, without hesitation, he reached out, pulling you into him.

You didn’t resist.

You buried your face against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his sweatshirt like it was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely.

He was warm. Solid. Safe.

His arms tightened around you, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as he let you sob into him, let you break apart without saying a word.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—curled into Luke’s chest, the fabric of his sweatshirt damp beneath your cheek, your fingers still twisted into the material like you were afraid to let go. But Luke never moved. Never let go. He just held you like he had been waiting to, like he had always known this moment would come.

And maybe it was because you were crying too hard, or maybe it was because your mind was too clouded with grief for something you had never really had—but you didn’t hear it.

You didn’t hear the way Luke exhaled shakily, like he was holding back something too big to say aloud.

You didn’t hear the quiet, broken words he finally let slip.

“If only I were him.”

But Quinn did.

He had been walking past on his way to the kitchen, pausing at the doorway when he saw the two of you.

His expression was unreadable as he stood there, watching the way Luke held you, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly into the fabric of your sweatshirt, the way he looked at you.

And then, without a word, Quinn turned and walked away.

You had eventually left him there.

Slipped out of his arms, whispered a quiet ‘thank you’, and disappeared back into the house before he could stop you. Before he could say anything—before he could ask you to stay.

Luke had let you go, even though everything in him had wanted to hold on just a little longer. Just long enough to keep you close, to keep you from slipping through his fingers like water, like you always did.

Now, the dock was empty except for him.

But the ghost of you remained.

The warmth of you still clung to his sweatshirt, the scent of lake water and the faintest hint of whatever soap you used lingering in the fabric. The weight of you had pressed into his side, curled into his chest as you cried, and even though you were gone, he still felt you there.

Luke sat motionless, staring out at the water, his breath slow and uneven. The lake stretched out in front of him, vast and endless, its surface dark except for where the moonlight painted streaks of silver. It was quiet now—no laughter, no voices drifting from the house, just the steady lapping of the water against the dock, the occasional rustling of the trees in the breeze.

He should have gone inside.

Should have shaken it off, pretended like nothing had happened. Like holding you, feeling you tremble against him, hadn’t carved something deep into his chest. Like it hadn’t made him ache in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from.

But he couldn’t move.

Because the truth sat too heavy in his bones, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Because the words had already slipped past his lips.

Soft, quiet, spoken to no one but the night itself.

‘If only I were him.’

Luke squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face, as if he could erase the thought from his mind, as if he could shove it back down into the part of himself that he had spent years trying to ignore.

But it was too late.

Because the words were out there now, hanging in the cool night air, impossible to take back.

He wished he were Jack.

He wished, just for a second, that he had been born in a different place, with a different name, with a different place in your heart.

Because then maybe—just maybe—you would have seen him.

Not as Jack’s little brother.

Not as a second choice.

Not as the boy who was always just a little too young, a little too quiet, a little too easy to overlook.

But as someone.

As yours.

Luke let out a slow breath, staring down at his hands. His fingers curled into his sweatshirt—your sweatshirt now, because he knew you’d probably stolen it from Jack’s room at some point. His grip tightened, like if he held on tight enough, he could still feel you there.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you hadn’t heard him.

You hadn’t heard the quiet confession, the words that had been sitting in his chest for longer than he wanted to admit.

And even if you had…

You still wouldn’t have understood what they meant.

But Quinn had heard.

Luke heard the footsteps before he saw him.

The quiet creak of the old wooden boards, the familiar rhythm of Quinn’s stride—it was enough to tell him he wasn’t alone anymore. But he didn’t look up. He just kept his gaze locked on the water, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he could wring the frustration from his bones.

Quinn didn’t speak as he lowered himself onto the dock beside him, stretching his legs out in front of him, their shoulders barely brushing. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The night was still, the lake stretching out before them, dark and endless. The moon carved a silver path across its surface, shimmering in the gentle ripple of the waves. It should have been peaceful. It had always been peaceful before. But now, the silence only seemed to amplify the storm raging in Luke’s chest.

He stared at the water, trying to steady himself, trying to ignore the way his pulse still hadn’t settled since you had been in his arms, since your tears had soaked into his sweatshirt, since you had disappeared inside without ever hearing what he had said, the words still sitting bitter on his tongue.

Quinn exhaled beside him, breaking the quiet with a sigh that felt heavier than it should have. And then, finally, he spoke.

“You love her.”

Not a question. Just fact.

Luke let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. His grip on his hands tightened, knuckles white in the moonlight. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Quinn’s voice was softer this time, but there was something firm underneath it, something unyielding. “You should tell her.”

Luke scoffed, shaking his head. His throat burned, the weight of it all pressing down on him. “She loves Jack.”

The words came out sharp, clipped. He hadn’t meant them to. But saying them aloud made them feel heavier, like they held more truth than they should.

Quinn didn’t say anything for a long time.

The air between them was thick with something unspoken, something impossible to name. Luke could hear everything—the soft rustling of the trees, the distant hum of crickets, the steady lapping of the lake against the dock. It all felt too loud, too sharp against the quiet ache settling in his chest.

And then, finally, Quinn broke the silence.

“She thinks she does.” His voice was careful, measured. “But she’s never even thought about you as an option.”

The words hit Luke harder than he expected.

Because they were true.

You had never looked at him the way you looked at Jack. Never let your gaze linger. Never let your fingers brush his just to feel the contact. Never let yourself wonder if maybe—just maybe—he could be someone to you.

Because to you, there was only ever Jack.

Luke clenched his jaw, his chest tight, his stomach twisting itself into knots. His fists curled against his knees, nails biting into his palms.

“Because I was born in the wrong place,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “If I were Jack…”

But Quinn cut him off before he could finish.

“But you’re not Jack.” His voice was quiet, steady, but there was something firm beneath it, something final. “And maybe that’s a good thing.”

Luke swallowed hard, staring out at the water, at the reflection of the stars shimmering in the dark.

But he wasn’t sure Quinn was right.

Because if being himself meant always being second, always being the afterthought, always sitting alone on this damn dock while you smiled at someone else—then he wasn’t sure he wanted to be Luke at all.

Luke never brought it up. And neither did you.

The night you had cried into his chest, the way his arms had wrapped around you so tightly—like he could somehow hold you together—it was never mentioned again. It became one of those moments that lived in the quiet spaces between you, something fragile and unspoken.

But it lingered.

He felt it every time you sat at the dinner table, smiling when you were supposed to, nodding along as Alyssa laughed at something Jack said. Every time your fingers curled around the edge of your glass just a little too tightly. Every time your eyes drifted toward them—toward Jack and the girl at his side—and took on that faraway look, glassy and unreadable.

Luke knew you were hurting.

And God, he hated it.

But there was nothing he could do.

Because even though he wanted to reach across the space between you, to shake you, to tell you that Jack wasn’t the only person in the world worth loving—you didn’t see it.

You didn’t see him.

And Luke didn’t know which was worse: the fact that you were in love with Jack or the fact that you didn’t even realize how much Luke loved you.

So he stayed quiet.

He watched as the summer stretched on, as you smiled when you were supposed to, as you forced yourself to be okay. And maybe to everyone else, it worked. Maybe Jack and Alyssa and even Quinn believed the act.

But Luke didn’t.

He saw how your hands clenched in your lap every time Jack threw an arm around Alyssa’s shoulders. He saw the way your throat tightened when she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He saw the way you looked away, always just a second too late, always after the damage had already been done.

And it killed him.

Because you deserved more than this—more than spending the summer pretending you were fine, pretending your heart wasn’t breaking every time Jack smiled at someone who wasn’t you.

Luke wanted to tell you that.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just kept sitting beside you on the dock, kept making quiet jokes when the house got too loud, kept handing you a marshmallow before you even had to ask for one by the fire. Kept being there, in the only way you would let him be.

And maybe that wasn’t enough.

But it was all he had.

The first time you missed the trip to the lake house, it seemed trivial. Just a weekend, right? You could make up some reason—something simple that wouldn’t raise suspicions. Family obligations, work commitments, even the classic “I’ve got a lot of homework” excuse would be enough. After all, you’d been going to the lake house for as long as you could remember. It had become a part of you, woven into the fabric of your summers, a backdrop to countless memories with Jack, Luke, and Quinn. A weekend away wouldn’t change anything, right?

But it did.

You could feel it the moment you hung up the phone with Jack. The weight in your chest, heavy and undeniable. You thought you could escape the feeling, put it out of your mind, but it lingered in the corners of your thoughts. The lake house wasn’t just a place; it was a memory, a comfort, and now it was a reminder of everything you were trying to avoid.

You told yourself it would just be one weekend. That you were just taking a break. You convinced yourself it was temporary. You were busy, that’s all. There would be another time. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple. There was something more, something unspoken between you and the others that you didn’t know how to confront. It had been brewing for weeks now, something under the surface, something you couldn’t put into words.

When Jack called, you almost dreaded hearing his voice. It was familiar, comforting, but also the thing that felt like a weight around your neck. The guilt hit you all over again, curling deep in your stomach.

“Hey, are you coming this weekend?” Jack’s voice was casual, but there was an edge of expectation underneath it. “We’ll be at the lake house, like always.”

You could hear the unspoken promise in his tone—this is what we always do. And you hated yourself for it. Hated that you couldn’t just say yes, that you couldn’t be there like you always were. Your hand gripped the edge of the counter, your knuckles white, as your mind raced for an answer.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to slip back into that familiar rhythm, to fall into the comfort of the lake house and the people who filled it. You wanted to be with Jack and Quinn, and especially Luke, but the thought of seeing them all together made your chest tighten. You weren’t ready. Not yet. You didn’t know how to face them, how to face yourself in that space. You couldn’t bear to see their faces, not when you had so much left unsaid, so much you hadn’t dealt with.

“I… I can’t, Jack,” you said, your voice faltering just slightly as you tried to keep the lie steady. “I’ve got work.” The words sounded hollow, even to your own ears, and the guilt twisted in your gut. “Maybe next time.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. You could almost hear him processing, trying to understand, but the confusion lingered there in the quiet. You hated that it was so easy to lie, that the words came so naturally. You hadn’t been ready to deal with what was really going on inside you, and so you just pushed it all down.

Jack sighed, a sound that carried a touch of disappointment, but also something more—something patient. He always knew how to give you space when you needed it, even when it hurt him. “Alright,” he said softly, his tone still holding that hint of sadness. “Well, we’ll miss you. But I get it. Just… don’t stay away too long, okay?”

You promised him you wouldn’t, but deep down, you knew you were lying. You didn’t know when you’d go back, or if you would. And as soon as you hung up the phone, you knew the distance between you and the lake house, between you and them, was widening.

The next weekend came, and you stayed home again. And the one after that. And then it became easier—slipping out of the routine, making new excuses, burying yourself in other things so that you wouldn’t have to think about it. It was easier to hide behind a wall of work and other commitments than to face the truth.

And what was the truth? That you weren’t ready. Not for the lake house, not for Jack and Alyssa, not for Luke. It was easier this way, wasn’t it? To stay away. To pretend like everything was fine, like you didn’t feel the aching pull between what was and what could never be again.

The absence didn’t go unnoticed, though. Not by Jack, and certainly not by Luke.

Jack didn’t say much. Maybe he didn’t want to push you too hard. You were always good at deflecting, at making light of things, and maybe that’s what Jack saw in you—a person who was always willing to pull herself together, even when it didn’t make sense. But Luke? Luke noticed everything. Every little shift, every subtle change. And when you weren’t there, when you stopped showing up, it was like a part of him was missing too.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks, and you knew it. The last time you’d crossed paths had been so fleeting—just a few minutes at the grocery store, the briefest exchange of glances. He’d smiled at you, but it wasn’t the smile you remembered. It was distant, guarded, like he was afraid to get too close. And maybe he was. You were afraid too.

It wasn’t just that Luke noticed your absence—it was the weight of what was left unsaid between you, the quiet space that had grown larger with every missed trip. Every time you saw him from a distance, there was something in his eyes that pulled at you, something unspoken that you couldn’t ignore, but also couldn’t face. You had known him longer than anyone else, and yet now, he was the one you couldn’t quite reach.

The weeks stretched on, and the distance between you and the lake house deepened. It wasn’t just the physical distance—it was the emotional gap that had started to separate you from Jack, from Luke, from everything you had once known.

And Luke? Luke was the hardest part of all. Because no matter how hard you tried to keep your distance, no matter how many excuses you made, you couldn’t escape the way your heart twisted whenever you thought of him. You couldn’t escape the way you missed him—missed the way he’d been there for you, the way his presence had felt like home. It was easier to pretend, to tell yourself that you were just busy, but you knew the truth: you were avoiding him. You were avoiding everything, and truly you didn’t understand why.

The silence between you and the lake house grew louder with each passing day. And somehow, you felt yourself drifting further away—not just from the lake house, but from everyone you once considered family. But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Because if you did, if you allowed yourself to face them, then you’d have to face everything you were running from. And that was the hardest part of all.

The week after the summer had ended and you missed yet another lake house trip, Quinn found you. He hadn’t been looking for you exactly. He wasn’t sure what had driven him to come, but the truth was he knew something was wrong. You’d stopped coming, and it was starting to weigh on him. The silence between your absence and Luke’s growing frustration wasn’t something Quinn could ignore, even though Luke never said a word about it. But Quinn could feel it—could feel how the absence of you was slowly becoming too heavy for all of them to carry.

Quinn had no clear plan as he stood outside your door, his knuckles hovering just above the wood, unsure of whether he should knock or simply leave. The house had always been a place of comfort, a home that felt like his, but today, it seemed different. Quiet in a way that made his chest tighten, the sounds of your laughter no longer filling the corners. The soft shuffle of your footsteps, the casual conversations you’d had over the years—those sounds were missing, and in their place was a hollow emptiness that Quinn could almost taste.

You answered the door slowly, and for a moment, he wondered if you had been expecting someone else. Your eyes were too tired, too distant, and there was something about the way you stood there, half hiding behind the door, that made him feel as though you were trying to shield yourself from something—or maybe from him. He couldn’t quite tell.

He didn’t want to make things worse. He wasn’t sure how much to push, how much you’d be willing to share. The hesitation in his step betrayed his uncertainty, but when you met his gaze, he saw something that twisted in his chest: something sad and lost.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, the words hanging in the air between you.

You gave a small smile, but it was strained, and Quinn could see right through it. He didn’t believe you for a second.

“Yeah, just… busy with school and everything. You know how it is.” You shrugged, but the motion felt hollow, and your eyes never quite met his.

Quinn nodded, but he knew it wasn’t the whole story. He could feel it—could feel how your words didn’t match what was in your eyes.

“You haven’t been around the lake house much, though,” Quinn ventured, his voice calm but holding a trace of concern that you couldn’t miss.

You shifted slightly, the space between you both feeling thicker than it should. “I’ve just got a lot going on.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t the real reason, not by a long shot. “Really? Because Jack misses you. We all miss you.”

At that, he saw it—the brief flicker in your eyes. It was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Hurt. Regret. Whatever it was, it made Quinn’s chest ache, his heartbeat a little heavier. There was something more to this than you were letting on, something that made him wonder if you even saw how much everyone else was hurting.

A long silence stretched out between you both, a quiet that felt like it would swallow him whole. The distance was painful. It had always been easy between you and him—friendly, easygoing. But this, this was something different. Something that Quinn didn’t know how to fix, but something he couldn’t leave unresolved either.

Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Quinn. It just doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and heavy, and Quinn’s heart sank. He had always known you as part of the rhythm of the lake house, the one constant they could count on. And now, you were drifting away, and he had no idea how to pull you back in.

“What do you mean?” Quinn asked, trying to keep his voice steady. It wasn’t like you to avoid questions like this, to shy away from the truth.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, a flicker of pain passing over your features before you spoke again. “Everything’s changed. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Maybe it’s not about fixing it,” Quinn said, his voice gentle but firm. “Maybe you don’t need to fix anything. Just… come back. Come back to the lake house. We miss you.”

You shook your head slightly, stepping back from the door, as if you were trying to distance yourself from him, from everyone else. “I can’t. It’s too hard.”

Quinn’s stomach twisted with the weight of your words. It wasn’t just that you were avoiding the lake house—it was that you had withdrawn from everything. From everyone. And that scared him more than he let on.

“It’s not about being perfect,” Quinn said, his voice quiet now. “We’re all just… trying to figure things out.” He took a step closer, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. “We just need you to be there. We all do.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time, but Quinn could feel how your breath quickened, how the weight of what he was saying started to sink in.

“I don’t belong there anymore,” you murmured, your voice cracking on the last word.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of realization. It wasn’t just about the lake house. It was about you, about how you had come to see yourself outside of all of them, outside of the family you’d once been a part of. And that hurt. It hurt more than he was prepared for.

“Of course, you belong there,” Quinn said, his voice breaking a little. “You always have.”

But you didn’t believe it, did you? Quinn could see it in your eyes—the sadness that seemed to swirl just below the surface, a darkness he couldn’t reach. He felt helpless in a way he never had before. He didn’t know how to make it right, how to bring you back to them.

“I miss you at the lake house,” he admitted, his voice softer now, raw with emotion. “We all do. Jack misses you. Luke misses you more than you know.”

Your chest tightened at that, the truth of his words cutting through your defenses. You knew Luke missed you. In fact, it was one of the hardest things to face—that the one person you didn’t know how to deal with, the one person you couldn’t bring yourself to confront, was the one who missed you most.

“Maybe,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “but it doesn’t matter. Things are different now.”

Quinn studied you for a long time, his gaze intense and unwavering. You wanted to look away, to shut him out, but his eyes held you captive. You saw it then—the rawness, the vulnerability, the care that Quinn had never been one to show so openly.

“I know you think it’s different,” Quinn said quietly, “but you’re wrong. Things haven’t changed as much as you think. You’re still part of this family. You always will be.”

And in that moment, with those words hanging in the air between you both, you could feel something shifting. You didn’t know if it would be enough to bring you back to the lake house, back to them, but you could feel it in your bones: the connection, the love, the deep-rooted truth that no matter how far you pulled away, they would always be there, waiting.

The next few weeks were a blur. Jack kept calling, trying to bridge the gap, and you kept finding reasons to avoid his calls. Work. Homework. Other commitments. It never seemed to stop, and every time you answered with another excuse, the guilt only piled higher.

But Luke… you hadn’t seen Luke in weeks. And that absence? That ache in your chest that you just couldn’t explain when you thought about him? It was always there, quietly gnawing at you, reminding you of what you were running from.

Then, one afternoon, Jack showed up at your door.

His presence was like a weight, a storm that had been gathering, ready to break. Standing there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something quieter, more serious. The frustration in his eyes was unmistakable, and his voice, when he spoke, was softer than it had ever been.

“I don’t get it,” Jack said, his words hanging between you both. “What happened? Why are you pulling away?”

You swallowed hard, a lump rising in your throat. There was no easy way to answer, no simple excuse you could give to make it go away. “I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… need space.”

Jack’s expression softened, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell how deeply he felt the distance. “You don’t need to do this alone, you know? We’re all here for you.”

You nodded, but even the words felt hollow. “I know. I just… I’m not sure how to fit back in.”

Jack took a step forward, his gaze intense as it locked with yours. “Don’t shut us out. We’re your family.”

And just like that, the weight of it all hit you—the weight of the lake house, of Jack, of Luke. You couldn’t keep running away, not anymore. But you weren’t sure how to face the truth. The truth that Luke was still there, waiting, somewhere in the shadows, and the hardest part of it all was knowing that, maybe, you hadn’t been able to face him yet.

The air was beginning to shift as the first hints of fall whispered across the trees, rustling the leaves in the distance. It had been another summer of avoidance—weeks stretching into months, each one slipping by as you found more and more reasons to stay away from the lake house, from Jack, from Luke. The reasons weren’t as simple as school or work or family, but they were the excuses you told yourself to make it easier. To convince yourself that pulling away didn’t matter. But as you sat behind the wheel of your car, driving down the familiar road leading to the lake, you couldn’t deny the knot in your stomach.

You didn’t know how you’d gotten here, but you could feel the weight of it in your bones—the guilt, the emptiness. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt truly connected to any of it. To the people, to the place that had once been everything. It was as if, over the course of a summer, the distance between you and them had grown to a point where it felt too difficult to cross back.

You could see the lake house in the distance, the same wooden structure that had once felt like home, but now it was just a shadow of itself. Everything about it felt different, hollow in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

As you stepped out of your car and made your way down the familiar path that led to the dock, you wondered why you were here. You had avoided coming for so long—avoided the people, avoided Luke. And now, walking in the direction of the place you had always felt safest, you couldn’t help but feel like a stranger.

Your eyes scanned the area as you approached the dock, the soft sound of water lapping against the shore mixing with the gentle rustling of the trees in the breeze. It felt peaceful, serene even, but there was an ache in your chest you couldn’t ignore. A heaviness that made your steps feel uncertain, as if you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be here.

And then you saw him.

Luke was sitting on the edge of the dock by the water, his back stiff, his hands resting on the wooden panels beneath him. He hadn’t noticed you yet, his gaze fixed out toward the horizon, where the golden light from the setting sun danced across the surface of the lake. His hat was pulled low over his face, casting a shadow that made his expression unreadable, but there was something about the stillness of his figure that made your chest tighten.

It was like time had paused in that moment. The world around you faded as you watched him, your eyes tracing the outline of his silhouette, the familiar shape of him that you hadn’t seen in weeks. There was a distance between you now, one that seemed to stretch out endlessly, a chasm that you had been too afraid to face.

You hadn’t meant to avoid him, not really. But with Jack and Alyssa together, everything had changed. And with every day that passed, the more it seemed impossible to go back to how it was before. You missed Luke. You missed the way he’d been there for you, the way he had always been in the background, supportive and understanding in a way that was easy to take for granted. And yet, when you thought about him, you always found yourself circling back to the same thought: It’s too late now.

The wind picked up, and the leaves in the trees swayed gently, their movement in rhythm with the pulse in your chest. You stood still for a long moment, just watching him, unsure of what to do next. The quiet between you felt suffocating, a reminder of the unspoken words that had been left unsaid for so long. You wanted to call out to him, to ask how he had been, to break the silence and bridge the gap that had been growing between you. But you stayed silent, not knowing what to say, what right you had to speak when you had stayed away for so long.

Then, as if sensing your presence, Luke shifted slightly. His body tensed for a moment before he turned, his eyes lifting slowly from the horizon to meet yours.

In that instant, everything in you seemed to stop. His gaze was heavy, intense, as if he had been waiting for this moment—waiting for you to come back. But there was something more in his eyes, something deeper. His expression was unreadable, but there was an undeniable pull in the way he looked at you, like he was seeing through all the walls you’d built up, all the excuses you’d made.

“Y/N,” Luke said quietly, his voice carrying across the distance between you. He didn’t stand up, didn’t move. He just stayed there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if you hadn’t been avoiding him for months.

You couldn’t find the words. You wanted to say something, anything to break the silence, but nothing came. Instead, you just took a step closer, stopping a few feet away from him. You both stared at each other for a long time, the quiet stretching out longer than either of you was comfortable with.

Finally, Luke broke the silence. “Why do you keep running away?” His voice wasn’t angry, but there was a rawness to it that you hadn’t expected.

You froze, the question hitting you harder than you thought it would. “I’m not running,” you said quickly, trying to sound calm, but even you could hear the lie in your voice.

“Yes, you are,” Luke replied, his words sharp now, like they had been building up for a long time. “From the lake house, from me.”

The words stung more than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You just stood there, unable to process what he had said, what he was implying. You felt something inside you snap, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it.

“Luke, what are you talking about?” you finally asked, your voice coming out softer than you had intended.

Luke let out a sharp breath, like the weight of everything he had been holding in was finally too much. He stood up then, but didn’t come closer. Instead, he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time in a long while, like he was waiting for you to really see him, to understand what he had been carrying.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, the words slipping out of his mouth like a confession he had been holding onto for years. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was.”

The world around you seemed to stop. The trees, the water, even the air itself seemed to freeze in place, leaving you standing there, staring at him in stunned silence. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came.

Luke took a step closer, his voice growing quieter now, but more intense. “But you never saw me, did you? I was just Jack’s little brother to you. I was always just there. In the background. You never noticed me for anything else.”

His words hit you like a freight train, shattering everything you thought you knew about yourself, about him, about what had been right in front of you all along. You stood there, frozen, as if the world around you had suddenly slowed down. His confession wasn’t just a declaration—it was a breaking point, a revelation that you couldn’t escape. You had always thought you knew who Luke was, always thought you understood the quiet, steady presence he had been in your life. But you had been blind.

The memories flooded back all at once—those small, seemingly insignificant moments you had brushed aside without a second thought. The way Luke’s gaze would linger on you when you laughed, how he would stay behind after everyone else had gone home to help clean up, how his voice had always been a little softer, a little more patient whenever he spoke to you. The way he had stood in the background, never demanding anything from you, never asking for more, but always there. Always just a little too quiet, a little too distant, a little too kind for you to notice. And now, as the weight of what he had just said hung heavy in the air, you understood. All those moments weren’t coincidences. They had been his way of loving you without you ever realizing it.

You opened your mouth to speak, to process it all, but the words were stuck in your throat. I never knew. The thought echoed relentlessly in your mind, but you couldn’t say it aloud. You couldn’t bring yourself to voice the truth, not yet. It was too overwhelming, too raw, and yet, as much as you wanted to deny it, you felt the heavy sting of regret curling up from somewhere deep within you. You had missed it. You had missed him.

You took a small step forward, the movement feeling more like a leap into an unknown space, like walking on the edge of something fragile and delicate. Every part of you felt exposed, the rawness of the moment too intense for your usual walls to hold up. Your heart was hammering in your chest, each beat louder than the last, thumping in your ears as if to remind you how real this was.

Luke was still watching you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those familiar eyes—spoke everything. There was a softness in them now, a quiet vulnerability that you had never seen before. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look bitter. He didn’t look like he had been holding onto this for years just to lash out. No, instead, he was just standing there—quiet, patient, waiting. Waiting for you to see him. Waiting for you to finally look at him the way he had always looked at you.

You took another step closer, the words that had been building in your chest finally spilling out. “Luke…” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper, but it was enough for him to hear. Enough for the world to hear the weight of it all. “I never knew.”

There was no sudden shift in him—no dramatic reaction, no sigh of relief. He didn’t move. He didn’t take a step toward you or away from you. Instead, his expression softened even further, and for the first time in years, you saw Luke as he truly was—vulnerable, raw, and, in that moment, completely open to you. He wasn’t holding back anymore. He wasn’t hiding his feelings, wasn’t waiting for you to come to him. He had already given everything he could, and now it was up to you to decide what came next.

“I know,” he whispered back, his voice so soft that you almost couldn’t hear it over the pounding of your heart. It was a simple response, but it felt like it contained the weight of everything he had carried, everything he had hoped for. “But I needed you to.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate thread between you both, and you felt the weight of them settle in your chest. He needed you to see him. He needed you to stop running, to stop avoiding the truth that had always been there, hiding behind the easy smiles and the comfort of friendship. He needed you to finally understand that, all this time, he had been right there. Right in front of you. And you had missed him.

It wasn’t just about the lake house, or Jack, or the old memories of summers past. It was about you and Luke. About everything that had been unsaid, everything that had been quietly building up in the background while you had been so caught up in your own confusion, your own feelings for Jack. You had never allowed yourself to see what was standing right there in front of you—what had been waiting for you all along.

A sudden ache pierced through your chest, a mix of regret, guilt, and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. You had been running from him. You had been running from his love, from the possibility of something deeper, something real. And now, standing there, with him just a few feet away, you realized just how much you had lost by not seeing him sooner.

Luke was still standing there, waiting. He wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t asking for anything. He had already given you everything. His love. His time. His patience. He had been there for you in ways you hadn’t even understood until now. And for the first time, you felt the full weight of it.

You took a deep breath, the air around you thick with emotion, and you felt something shift inside you. You had been running for so long, but now, in this moment, you didn’t want to run anymore. You didn’t want to hide from the truth. You wanted to stop pretending that everything was fine, that you had everything figured out when, in reality, you had been avoiding the one thing that could make everything right.

The silence hung in the air, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t a chasm between you that needed to be filled with words, but a soft space of understanding, a quiet kind of anticipation. It was as though everything that had once been said, and everything that had been left unsaid, was coming together in this one moment. The weight of what Luke had shared with you, the rawness of his confession, it wasn’t a burden anymore—it was a bridge between you, and you could feel it stretching out before you.

You stood there, a few feet away, and your mind raced, scrambling to find a way to process what had just happened. But no matter how hard you tried to make sense of it, you kept coming back to one thing—Luke. Luke, standing there, his eyes soft, his expression vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. He was no longer just Jack’s younger brother. He was Luke—the boy who had been there for you in every way, without ever asking for anything in return.

It was almost as if, in that moment, you could feel the shift deep inside of you. Everything you had been running from, everything you had been hiding from, came rushing to the surface. You realized, with a sharp clarity, that you had been avoiding him, yes—but you had also been avoiding yourself. Avoiding the truth that had always been right in front of you.

And then, without thinking, without hesitating, you closed the space between you. One step. Then another. The sound of your heartbeat was the loudest thing you could hear, each beat reverberating in your chest, urging you closer. You had no plan, no idea what you were doing, but somehow, in that moment, you knew. You knew you had to stop running.

Your breath caught as you stopped just inches from him, the world narrowing down to the two of you. His presence seemed to envelop you, a warmth that you had once only felt in his friendship, but now… it felt different. It felt like it was pulling you in, like gravity itself had shifted, and the only place you could go was to him.

You raised your hand instinctively, your fingers brushing against his sleeve, and then, without saying a word, your lips met his.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t the wild, impetuous kiss of a first love or an overwhelming rush of emotion. It was something softer, quieter—a hesitant question that had never been asked. You could feel the uncertainty between you both, as if neither of you was sure what this meant, but you both knew you needed it. You needed to close the gap, to answer the question that had hung between you for so long. It was a kiss that felt like the very beginning of something, not a culmination.

But then, as the seconds stretched, as the warmth of his lips against yours seemed to sink deeper into your skin, something shifted. The hesitation melted away. It was like the dam inside you had finally broken, letting all the emotions that had been bottled up for years flow out in one sweeping wave. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, but urgent now—as if you were both finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you had kept locked away. His hand gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get close enough. And you—your hands found their place on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The rhythm matched your own, and it felt like you were syncing with him in a way that was more intimate than anything you had ever known.

In that moment, you felt like you were being seen—not just as the girl who loved Jack, but as yourself. As you—the person Luke had always seen and loved in his quiet, steady way, even when you had been blind to it. It wasn’t just the touch of his lips on yours. It was everything—his patience, his understanding, his willingness to wait for you to finally see him for who he truly was.

When you pulled away, your breath came in short, shaky bursts. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so exposed, so utterly vulnerable. But at the same time, it felt like everything had fallen into place. All the fear, all the doubt—it had evaporated in the warmth of the kiss, leaving only the quiet certainty that this, whatever this was, was real.

You rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling together as you both tried to catch your breath, to come back to reality. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening either. The two of you, standing there in the quiet of the evening, under the pale light of the setting sun, it felt surreal, but it was also exactly where you were meant to be.

Luke’s thumb brushed over your cheek, the motion tender and slow, like he was memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. He opened his eyes then, looking at you with a depth that made your heart skip a beat. There was no anger in his gaze, no resentment for the years you had spent blind to him. There was only something softer—something more powerful. Something that told you he had always known you would come back to him, even if you didn’t know it yourself.

He let out a shaky breath, the words escaping him quietly, as if he were confessing something deeply private. “I’ve waited so long for you to see me like this. To see me for me.”

The weight of his words landed on you like a soft wave, gentle but impossible to ignore. You hadn’t seen him—not truly. Not until now. But now, in this moment, you could see everything. Every little piece of him that had been hidden in the quiet corners of your heart, waiting for you to wake up.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a second, savoring the feeling of being held, of finally being seen. His words echoed in your mind, and you felt an overwhelming ache in your chest, a deep sense of longing that had always been there but had been buried under years of hesitation, confusion, and missed opportunities.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking as the truth finally tumbled from your lips. “I didn’t know. I should’ve seen you. I should’ve been there. I didn’t…”

He shook his head softly, interrupting you with a quiet smile, the kind that made your heart ache with tenderness. “You’re here now,” he said, his voice full of warmth, of understanding, of everything he had been waiting for. “That’s all that matters.”

And in that moment, you realized that he was right. The past didn’t matter anymore. The things you had missed, the time you had wasted—it didn’t matter, because you were here now. Together.

You took a deep breath, pulling away slightly to look at him. The future was still uncertain—still unknown. But standing here, in the quiet, the world around you seemed to fade. The wind ruffling the trees, the soft murmur of the lake—it all became background noise, insignificant compared to the pull between the two of you.

And when you looked at Luke, you didn’t see Jack’s younger brother anymore. You didn’t see the boy who had been stuck in the shadows of his older brother’s life. You saw Luke—the boy who had always been there, waiting, loving, patient. And for the first time, you were able to see him for who he truly was.

And that was enough. That was more than enough.

The next summer at the lake house felt like a new chapter, a fresh breeze sweeping through the familiar spaces. The house, though unchanged in its appearance, felt different to you—like it had grown, expanded, become something more than it had ever been. The old rhythms were still there. Jack’s easy laugh echoed in the kitchen, Alyssa’s chatter floated through the air, and Quinn’s voice was a steady undercurrent, always with that knowing smile. But there was something new now. Something you couldn’t put into words, something that had shifted in the space between you and Luke, something that made the house feel like a home.

As you walked through the front door, your heart fluttered slightly in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves. The familiar scent of the lake, the wood of the house, and the salty air filled your senses. You had missed it all, but it felt different now. You had avoided this place for so long, spent so many months running from it, running from him. And now, standing here, you felt a mix of both vulnerability and relief. You knew what had changed—it was the way you saw Luke now, not just a background figure in your life. He was Luke. And he was everything you had needed and didn’t know you had been waiting for.

When you walked into the living room, your eyes immediately found him. Luke was standing by the window, his broad shoulders relaxed, and that warm smile of his lighting up his face. It was the same smile you had seen a thousand times, but now it felt like it was meant for you, and you couldn’t help but return it. His gaze flickered over to you, and his smile deepened—no longer the shy, almost hesitant grin you had seen before, but a confident, knowing one. He waved, his eyes playful, but there was no longer any hesitation between you. No more distance. No more of the quiet longing that had once been there. Just Luke. Just the two of you.

You found yourself walking toward him, almost instinctively, like you were following some unseen thread that had always been pulling you closer. As you approached, he reached for your hand, slipping his fingers into yours with an ease that felt completely natural. The touch felt right, as though the universe had always intended for you two to be this way.

Jack was sitting on the couch, his arm around Alyssa, and Quinn was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed but with a small, knowing smile on his face. It was as if Quinn could see something in you and Luke that no one else could, like he had been waiting for this moment for years. His smile was subtle, but there was a quiet pride in it, a quiet satisfaction. He knew what this meant. He had watched his younger brother love you from the sidelines, and now, as he looked at the way you and Luke stood together, there was a peace in his eyes. It was as if he had been holding his breath for so long, waiting for Luke’s feelings to be reciprocated, and now, finally, they were.

The evening passed like it always did, with laughter and familiar chatter filling the space. But there was a new dynamic now—one that everyone could feel. Jack, ever the easygoing older brother, noticed the subtle but undeniable shift between you and Luke. He didn’t say anything, but you could see it in his eyes when he caught your gaze—acknowledgment, understanding, and maybe even a little relief. Jack had never been the type to need to understand everything, but he could see what had always been there between you and Luke, and now, seeing the way Luke’s eyes lit up when he looked at you, seeing the way you seemed to belong by his side—it was clear. There was no need for words. The change had come, and it was undeniable.

When the evening wore on and the sun began to dip low over the lake, painting the sky in warm golden hues, you and Luke found yourselves outside. The air had cooled, the breeze soft and comforting, and you both gravitated to the old bench by the water. It was the same bench where so much had unfolded between you in the past, where you had first realized the depth of your feelings, where you had started to see Luke in a new light. It felt almost like fate that you would return here, as if this spot, this place by the water, was the point where everything had started to change.

Luke sat down first, his hand still holding yours, and you followed suit, settling beside him. His arm brushed against yours, and for a moment, the two of you just sat there, letting the quiet wash over you. The soft rustling of the trees, the gentle lapping of the water, the distant call of birds settling in for the night—it was all so familiar, yet now it felt new. The air between you and Luke was filled with an unspoken understanding, a peace that neither of you had ever experienced before. You didn’t need to say anything. You didn’t need to explain the emotions swirling between you, because you both felt them. You were here. Together. And that was enough.

Luke’s hand gently slid into yours, his fingers entwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. You looked over at him, your heart swelling as you realized how far you had come. The awkwardness, the uncertainty, the hesitation—they were all gone now, replaced with something deep and sure. You finally felt like you had arrived, not just at the lake house, but at a place where you could truly be yourself, where you could finally see Luke for who he was and love him the way he had always loved you.

The stars began to twinkle overhead, the sky darkening as the night crept in. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was peaceful. And when you looked over at Luke, you saw him looking up at the sky too, a soft smile on his lips, the glow from the stars reflecting in his eyes.

“I never thought this would happen,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the peaceful sounds of the night. “I didn’t know I was running from the one thing that was right in front of me all along.”

Luke’s eyes met yours then, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re here now,” he said, his voice steady and full of warmth. “And that’s all that matters.”

The words were simple, but they held so much weight. You had been running, yes, but you had stopped now. And in stopping, you had found something more beautiful than you had ever imagined. You had found him. And that was enough.

As you sat there, side by side, under the stars, you realized that everything had come full circle. All the years of missed moments, all the moments of doubt and confusion—they were behind you now. You were finally here, with Luke, where you both belonged. And as the cool breeze ruffled your hair and the distant hum of the night surrounded you, you felt like the world was finally right again.

And from where you sat, you could see Quinn watching from the porch, that small but knowing smile still on his face, as if he knew this moment was a long time coming. Luke had always deserved this. And now, finally, he had it. He had you. And you had him.

In that moment, there was nothing left to do but lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beside you. The world might have been uncertain, but here, with him, you felt more certain than you ever had before. And you knew that, for once, you wouldn’t run anymore. You were right where you were meant to be.

[hellvst]

Absolute cuties. | Jack Hughes & Quinn Hughes

[hellvst]

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 4.1k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; hey...it's been over a month oops! was in a bit of a writer's block, but i'm here now. i am not abandoning this lol, i have a lot of ideas planned for this fic :D not proofread! happy reading <3

CHAPTER SEVEN

SYDNEY

Note to self: No matter how desperate a coworker asked you to fill in for them on a Saturday, don’t do it. 

I hadn’t planned on working today. The weekends were my days off, but Micah–one of the other instructors at the studio–had texted me this morning, practically begging me to cover for her classes because she had an emergency.

The moment I stepped inside the studio, I was met with a full day of back-to-back sessions that absolutely drained me. 

Although, that was all my fault–I probably should have refused the moment she asked–considering Micah was notorious for her heavy workload. We have been coworkers for a while now and she promised to make it up to me someday, so a part of me didn’t mind it. 

Now, exhausted, I finally made it home. I was quick to drop all my things onto the floor and had barely made it to my living room. My muscles ached, although the quiet hum of my apartment was a welcoming contrast to the loud and constant chatter in the studio.

I caught a moment to breathe–before my thoughts were instantly flooded with the session with Quinn earlier in the week. It was like a loop replaying in my head constantly. I could’ve easily shut them out, but no, it was easier said than done.

After I had embarrassingly fallen on top of him, I tried not to let it get to my head before the next session. But strangely enough, the following Thursday had felt like a regular routine between us. 

He came in as he always did, we stretched, and we talked during the session. A lot.

I had introduced Quinn to a different style of Pilates such as Cadillac Pilates, a bit of a challenge at first since the new equipment–the straps and bars–had intimidated him. 

But he was determined–I’ll give him that–almost stubborn in his refusal to back down from a challenge. To no surprise, by the end of the session, he had managed to hold his own.

I had to admit, seeing his drive to improve was oddly satisfying.

After getting comfortable on my couch and sinking deeper into the cushions, the weight of my eyelids were getting the better of me. Just when I was about to fully shut my eyes, my phone buzzed. A text from Diane.

‘On my way over. #readytogetfuckedup’

I groaned, tilting my head back against the pillows. 

I hadn’t forgotten about Diane’s birthday, but I hoped Diane might. Unlikely, though, she had been talking about it all week. Her birthday had been lingering in the back of my mind all day, but I’d barely had time to process it with training sessions and classes, it became a fleeting thought.

We had unofficial plans–or rather, Diane told me what we were doing later in the night.

Going to the club and getting absolutely fucking wasted. 

A page taken straight from Phoebe’s playbook. Diane and Phoebe lived by the same philosophy of go out and have fun.

It honestly concerned me how similar they were–like Diane was the younger version of Phoebe. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe that they were related. 

I sighed, staring at the text. 

I wasn’t against clubbing. Not entirely, it wasn’t my scene. But I would be lying if I had said that I hadn’t stepped foot in a nightclub before.

There were several occasions that I had been dragged out of my own will–losing a bet to Diane, celebrating milestones or birthdays, losing more bets to Diane. I was horrible at rock paper scissors.

I wasn’t much of a drinker either, but I never shied away from drinking games or an opportunity to dance when the music was good. And if I was being honest, sometimes Diane and Phoebe were right–it was fun.

Before I could reply to Diane, my phone buzzed again. This time with an incoming video call. Simon.

Why was he calling? 

Then again, I haven’t heard from him in over a week. I promised not to bug him, knowing that he had a lot on his plate with Cassie and the baby. I told him to update me whenever he could, I just wasn’t expecting him to call this late.

“Hey, what’s up?” I answered.

Simon’s face filled the screen, then the camera shifted to show a tiny bundle in his arm. “Look who’s here. Syd, I’d like you to meet your niece.” 

I sat up straight, my eyes going wide. My heart melted immediately. “Oh my God–Simon!” I cooed at the screen, voice softening. “Hi, sweet baby girl. Simon, she’s beautiful.”

The baby stirred slightly but remained asleep, her cute little nose scrunching, her tiny face peaceful as she rested against Simon’s arms, and my chest instantly tightened with warmth. Simon was finally a father. 

“What’s her name?” I asked.

My brother offered a smile before looking at the baby. “Her name is Stella.”

Wait. I paused at the realization. “Stella? As in our grandmother?”

He nodded and smiled down at his daughter. “Funny story actually. Cassie was sleeping when the nurses gave me the birth certificate to fill out, and I was so set on naming my kid after me somehow. But then, I thought of Grandma Stella, and it just felt…right.” 

I let out a small laugh. Of course, he’d name his own daughter while Cassie was asleep. I wasn’t sure if I was more concerned or impressed that Cassie had let that slide. 

But the name was only fitting, perfect even. Our grandmother had been a significant part of our childhood. Despite our parents introducing us to our respective sports on the ice. Grandma Stella was the person who taught both Simon and I how to skate. 

The tears threatened to fall, but I blinked them away just in time. Although, my brother couldn’t miss an opportunity to tease me. “Don’t get all emotional on me now, Syd.”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes at him before I let one tear escape. “That’s really beautiful, Simon. But–” I frowned at him when I took note of what he said earlier. “–you filled out the paperwork without consulting Cassie?”

Simon let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry. When she woke up and found out, she ended up loving it. It was perfect.”

I smiled, shaking my head at him. “It really is. Grandma would’ve loved that and would’ve loved to meet her.” 

Our grandmother was my absolute world. She was everything you could ask for–sweet, kind, caring–most of all, very supportive of her grandchildren. She couldn’t make it to all of my competitions, or Simon’s games, but she still cheered us on from the sidelines even if she was ill and had already passed years ago.

Simon’s voice broke through my thoughts before I could reminisce. “Sorry I’ve been MIA recently. This past week has been crazy, and I barely touched my phone. But, I should’ve at least texted you.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “I figured you were busy with everything that was going on.”

Simon nodded, gently setting down Stella into her crib. “Mom and Dad are already on a flight out to San Diego.”

“Oh, really? That’s great.” The ‘enthusiastic’ tone in my voice wasn’t necessarily believable, Simon didn’t miss that either.

“Have you talked to them?” He asked, watching my reaction carefully. “Mom was asking about you. I thought you said you already spoke with her.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I haven’t spoken to our parents much lately. I was so caught up in work and life that I let it slip my mind. But if I were being honest, there was more to it than that.

My relationship with my mom was fine–we still talk every now and then–but with my dad, it was different. Simon was his pride and joy, the son that made him proud and made his dreams come true–making it to the NHL. Meanwhile, we hadn’t been the same since my accident.

I had been his talented figure-skater daughter he was once proud of. Now, I was just his daughter, and that didn’t seem to be enough.

“No, not yet. I’ll call her soon.” I answered back vaguely.

It was enough to let it go by Simon, he knew he was walking around eggshells just by mentioning it the first time. 

He was well aware of our family dynamic over the years, and we had a few conversations about it. Simon had always encouraged me many times to talk to our dad about the problem, and I appreciated that he cared strongly about making amends, but he didn’t understand how hard it was.

I wasn’t ready for that, at least not right now. 

So my brother didn’t push any further. “Alright. Just making sure.” He paused before shifting gears and letting out a deep exhale. “So, why didn’t you tell me that the cross-training program was still happening?”

Shit.

“I didn’t want to bother you. You had more important things going on, and I figured–”

“Figured what?” Simon cut in, his voice slightly sharper now. “That I’d rather hear it from someone else? Because that’s exactly what happened. I had to find out from the guys instead of hearing it from you first. You’re my sister, Syd. And that sucks.”

Guilt rested heavily on my chest, like it was about to crush me. “I’m sorry. I just…didn’t want you to explode or freak out when you heard about it.”

He sighed, knowing I was completely right about that given his reaction. “Well, too late for that. When JT told me, I was about to lose my fucking mind. To the point that I was debating on booking a flight back to Vancouver to give Tocchet hell for continuing the sessions.”

I snorted. It was exactly how I called it–my brother proving me right yet again, he’s always been so dramatic.

“So, how’s it going? Have you been making Hughes work? I sure hope you are.” He said.

“Yeah, you could say that.” I tried to play it off. “But, he’s surviving and doing much better than I expected.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I wanted to hear, Syd. Perhaps ‘no, he’s doing terrible,’ or ‘no, he’s the worst student I’ve had.’”

I shook my head at him. “I would much rather have him cooperating and trying his best, than him not trying at all, Simon. If anything, I think he’s doing better than you would have if you were still here.” 

“Ouch, that one hurt,” he grimaced playfully. “But I am glad he’s not giving you a hard time, because if he was then I would’ve–”

“Simon.”

“What? I’m being serious, Syd. I would rather fly back to Vancouver than let you deal with Hughes alone. Especially when he’s…”

I blinked. “Especially when he’s what?”

What if he found out about the incident at the studio? He definitely knows that I was in Quinn’s car and drove me. What if he found out that a part of me actually liked training with Quinn. Simon was going to kill both of us.

“Especially when he’s such a dick,” Simon said after hesitating for a second. “He’s such a teacher’s pet, so don’t ease up on him just because he’s keeping up. Also, don’t let his pretty face get to you. I haven’t seen him with any girls yet, but how would I know? He and his brothers are popular with them, so probably gets with girls all the time and–”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’ve heard enough, Si.” I stopped him before he continued to spout out things that probably weren’t true at all, or could be, who knows?

I let out a loose breath out my lungs. Good, he didn’t know about the media incident.

“Remind me again–” he started. “–you still don’t have a thing for hockey guys, correct?”

Now that caught me way off guard by the way I almost choked on air. Where was this coming from?

I narrowed my eyes at him. “No? Why are you even asking–”

“Nothing. Just making sure that Hughes has zero chances with you.”

My body almost leaped out of my couch after hearing those words from my brother’s mouth. The last few times Simon had talked about Quinn, I barely knew him. Now, after spending time with him, I wasn’t sure that was entirely true anymore. 

Quinn wasn’t at all what Simon painted him to be, he was quite the opposite.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” Simon added, “because if you did, I swear, I’m going to end him. Seriously-”

“God, Simon.” I groaned, I wasn’t about to talk about my dating life with my brother. “I am not looking to date anyone right now. It’s not a good time.”

“Good, let's keep it that way.” His expression seemed to relax, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. But,  he believed me–I hoped. He nodded but then suddenly frowned. “That still doesn’t explain why that prick left me on read after my texts.”

Texts?

Well, that definitely piqued my interest. “Wait, what texts?”

“Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Simon. What. Texts?”

Before he could even answer, a constant knocking sound at my door. I already knew who it was–she was the only one who ever knocked on my door like a drum.

“Who’s that?” Simon’s overprotective instincts kicked in.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s just Diane.” 

I made my way over to the door and sure enough, Diane bursted through it. “Let’s get partying! Wait–” she eyed me up and down. “–why aren’t you ready?”

I glanced down at myself, I was still in my studio clothes, sweaty, no makeup, looked completely burnt out. Definitely not club-ready opposed to Diane’s attire–tight black mini dress, hair that was styled to perfection, and a vibrant red lipstick smeared on her lips. 

“I just got home from work,” I sighed at her. “Do we really have to go?”

“Where are you going?” Simon butts in, his skepticism was practically palpable through the screen. I almost forgot he was still on video call for a second.

Before I could answer, Diane beat me to it, bringing her face to the screen to see Simon. “Hey, Simon. It’s my birthday, so we’re heading to the club. Can you convince your sister to come with me, she seems pissy today…”

“Excuse me,” I gave her a look. “I’m standing right here.” 

Simon let out a chuckle. “You should go. It’s her birthday after all, Syd.”

They were both right. But more surprised with my brother’s instant support. He would be barking at me for even considering going to the club–just like the other time. He practically wouldn’t let me out the door. 

I struggled to find the words, but there was no reason to refuse Diane. I wouldn't miss my friend’s special day just because I was tired or didn’t feel like going–then I would be a shitty friend for that.

“Okay, okay. Give me a few minutes to get dressed.” I caved in.

Diane squealed in my eyes and clapped her hands together excitedly. 

I quickly said my goodbyes to my brother on my phone, and made sure he would give updates to me whenever he could before ending the call. 

I looked over to Diane, a very mischievous expression written across her face. “Oh, we’re going to make you look so hot tonight.”

I rolled my eyes before she dragged me towards my closet, raiding it without asking, and began looking for something to wear. She had suggested a few dresses–which I forgot I owned–and I quickly shut it down, saying they were too revealing for the occasion.

As Diane was working through my wardrobe, I was lost in my own thoughts as I couldn’t help but revisit what Simon had said earlier: Just making sure Hughes has zero chances with you.

I thought about it for a brief moment.

And I wasn’t sure if I could say that was still true.

Diane and I agreed if this was the night we were getting absolutely fucked up, there was no way in hell either of us were driving. 

It might’ve been the smartest decision we made tonight.

The Uber ride to The Inferno mostly consisted with Diane’s excitement, her voice buzzing with anticipation. Majority of the time I just nodded along, my mind was too preoccupied with what the rest of the night could spiral into. And they weren't necessarily good things.

I should’ve known better than to let Diane pick my outfit. The moment we stepped out of the car, a gust of wind sent a shiver down my spine, and I tugged at the material of my thin dress. I regretted my decision entirely. 

The city was alive, buzzing with the kind of energy that only a Saturday night could bring. Bright neon lights glowed, illuminating the crowded streets as groups of people filed into nightclubs and bars, so eager to drown themselves the only way they knew how–in alcohol and music. 

The Inferno stood center of it all, one of the hottest new clubs in downtown Vancouver. Its name alone promised chaos. I would know, considering this wasn’t my first rodeo here.

The line outside stretched far, but Diane barely seemed to notice. 

She bounced on her heels, gripping my arm ever so tightly. “This is going to be the best night ever.”

I wasn’t so sure of that. 

Once the bouncer checked our IDs and waved us through, we walked down a long hallway leading to the main doors. With each step, the pulse of music grew stronger and stronger, vibrating through my bones.

As soon as we stepped inside, we were hit with an explosion of sound and light.

The Inferno was infamous for its massive, open-concept that it was hard to believe a nightclub like this existed–that you would only find in the lively cities like Vegas or Florida. 

There were two sleek bars on either side, a second-floor balcony overlooking the entire club, and the center filled with booths and couches for those who wanted a more chillaxing scene–to escape the chaos.

The real action, though, was further back, where the dance floor stretched beneath flashing strobes and a DJ booth commanded the large crowd of people. 

Diane’s fingers wrapped around my wrist as she dragged me straight to the bar. “First round’s on me!” she shouted over the blaring music.

I slid into one of the empty stools next to her, my gaze flicking across the sea of people. There were way more bodies packed in here than the last time we came. The heat, the scent of booze mixed with expensive cologne and perfume–it was intoxicating and overwhelming all at once.

“Don’t you think there are more people here than last time?” I asked, shifting on my seat uncomfortably.

Diane barely glanced around before dismissing my concern with a shrug. “I don’t think so. Seems about the same to me.”

Of course she’d say that. Diane didn’t have a care in the world right now–she just wanted to get shitfaced. 

She wouldn’t let me ever stop her from doing so, especially when she turned to the bartender, and ordered two shots. He sent down the glasses, I immediately recognized the bottle he began pouring in front of us.

“Tequila?” I winced. “We won’t make it home in one piece, Di.”

Diane rolled her eyes, lifting her shot glass. “Syd, it’s my birthday today. So for the love of God, take the shot.”

She glared at me, waiting. I hesitated, glancing down at the golden liquid.

I thought about it. Taking this shot would be the beginning of a very, very bad–or possibly great–decision. Either way, there was no turning back. It’s my friend’s birthday after all. Don’t ruin it for her.

With a sigh, I clinked my glass against hers. “Cheers to turning twenty-four.”

We downed the shots in one go, the burn racing down my throat. I hissed, shaking my head. “I forgot how much I hated this.” 

Diane only laughed, knowing what we both got ourselves into. She tapped the counter for another round. “It’s going to be a long night, Syd. I hope you’re ready for it.” 

I was definitely not ready.

By the time we hit our fourth–or was it fifth?–I could feel the alcohol settling in my system, warm and intoxicating. My limbs were lighter, my movements became more sluggish, and my heartbeat thundered faster.

I thought I had a higher tolerance for booze, I didn’t remember being this much of a lightweight. And soon enough, five shots turned into eight and I was starting to feel incredibly drunk.

Diane, naturally, was in her element, feeding off the energy of the club, throwing back drinks like water. At some point, we found a group of strangers to drink with, all of them laughing and clinking glasses as I raised mine–very out of character for me to do so.

“Everyone, it’s my best friend Diane’s birthday today!” I shouted, my voice louder than I intended at the group circling us by the bar. “I want everyone here to wish her a happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday Diane!” The group cheered, and we all easily tipped back another shot. 

Moments have gone by as I chatted with a few girls by the bar, while slipping in another glass. 

Until a familiar song blasted through the speakers, and my eyes lit up. My body reacted a lot faster before my brain had even processed it–I wanted to dance. 

I turned to Diane, only to find her head resting on the bar’s counter, her eyes barely open. 

“Diane, I love this song! Come dance with me, please?” I shook her shoulder, trying to get her to move. 

She groaned, lifting her head just enough to meet my gaze. “I’m not really feeling good right now.”

I frowned at her. “But you were the one who said to have fun tonight. That’s what I’m trying to do, silly.” 

“I did,” she laughed, though it was much weaker now. “But now that I’m on the fucking verge of throwing up, I think I might tap out.” 

I let out a deep sigh, glancing at the packed dance floor. The energy was electrifying, the kind of moment I wouldn’t want to waste. “I’m having such a good time, but it would be even better if you danced with me.”

“And I’m so glad that you are enjoying yourself. I wouldn’t want to be the reason you aren’t.” Diane gave me a sleepy smile. “I’ll watch you from here. Now, go dance–I know you love this song.” 

I hesitated, giving her a look before nodding anyways. Who was I kidding? I wouldn’t miss this song for the world.

“Okay, but don’t die.”

“No promises.” 

She sent me off, shooing me away from her as I weaved through the crowd.  I found my way to the center of the dance floor, singing–more like screaming from the top of our lungs–with a few girls surrounding me to the song Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado.

The beat pulsed beneath my feet, and I let myself go, moving fluidly and effortlessly with the music–like there was nobody else in the room. My body swayed, arms raised, my hair swinging side to side as I lost myself in the moment.

It felt good, better than I had in a long while.

Then a pair of hands landed on my hips.

I froze instantly. Then I turned my head just enough to see a man. Tall, smirking, and too fucking close.

“Hey, get your hands off me!” I stepped away from him. 

He leaned in closer, voice smooth. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You looked so hot while you were dancing, I’m just trying to have fun here.”

Almost immediately, panic and disgust clawed its way up my spine. “I said, get the fuck away from me! Fucking creep.”

He didn’t listen. His hands reached for me again, and this time–I smacked them away. My eyes flicked to his, only to find his gaze burning through my skull. Oh fuck, he didn’t like that. 

I tried to step back, but he followed. The more I moved, the gap between us closed, the smaller my world became as bodies pressed around me. I was starting to feel trapped, my body has never felt more stuck and unable to move.

But then I hit something–no, more like someone. A hard, unmoving chest.

I turned, ready to push away whoever the fuck it was, until my eyes widened when I met his familiar green orbs.

Quinn.

“She said to get the fuck away from her,” his voice was cold and sharp. “And I think it’s best that you do that. Now.”

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[hellvst]

so luke is gonna have quinn and jack cheering him on during playoffs

that’s their baby 😭

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 5.4k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; longer chapter update! let's just say...i had fun writing this one scene for the upcoming chapters lol. not proof-read but i will later. also check out the playlist i've made for this fic! happy reading! <3

CHAPTER SIX

SYDNEY

The moment my foot stepped inside the arena, a wave of nostalgia hit me so hard it nearly knocked the breath out of me.

The sharp, crisp scent of ice, the faint sound of blades cutting through the rink, the soft hum of chatter from the skaters–it was all the same.

Home. That was what this place had once been to me.

It was weird thinking of it that way, but in truth, that was the only word to describe it. 

I swallowed, trying to push down the rush of reminiscence. It’s been years, you should be used to this by now.

It wasn’t that long ago when I finally mustered up the courage to bring myself back to this arena–or to any rink really. I don’t know why I’ve pulled myself away from it. Perhaps it was feelings like this that I wanted to avoid. 

Disappointment. Sadness. Regret.

I was only avoiding the inevitable. I just needed to stop moping around and grow a pair of pants. But, how could I?

When the one thing that defined me, that thing that gave me a sense of purpose, the fire that fueled me was suddenly gone–it felt like a wave of water putting it all out. And now, I was just drowning.

For a long time, I let myself stay underwater. I ignored competitions, unfollowed my former teammates, avoiding every reminder that skating had ever been part of me. 

I tried convincing myself that I could move on, that I didn’t need it. And for a while, I almost believed it. 

But Diane never let me disappear completely. She convinced me to come by now and then, just to visit, just to watch. And somehow, those visits turned into me coming to the rink every week or so.

It wasn’t the same as being on the ice, but helping in any way I could for those kids, it felt like I was on the ice with them.

I don't remember the last time I visited, it’s been a while. More bookings and classes were piling up at the studio, I couldn’t find the time. Then Diane had told me a few days ago that the kids she trained were asking about me. They missed me, apparently. 

And that alone had been enough to convince me to come.

So, I figured I’d drop by after my session with Quinn.

I just didn’t expect Quinn to be here too as he walked beside me, looking around as if this area of the building was foreign territory to him. It probably was. 

I knew the Canucks trained at this same arena–besides the Rogers Arena–but their rink and practice times had always been separate from the figure skating academy’s. Or at least, that was how it used to be. 

Now, with the off-season schedule and the regular season over, things had shifted. Today, by some uncanny coincidence, Quinn’s practice and the academy’s session overlapped.

I had expected him to head straight to his rink, but instead, he followed me as I made my way to the side of the smaller figure skating rink.

“The Canucks’ had practices here for years and I had no idea they had a figure skating academy here.”

“I expected that,” I glanced at him while we walked. “Didn’t take you for someone who strayed from the main rink.” 

He smirked slightly. “Didn’t take you for someone who had another life as a skater.”

“Former skater.” I corrected him.

My lips pressed together as I realized how defensive I sounded. But luckily, Quinn didn’t seem to catch on to it since his focus was on the rink in front of us.

I spotted Diane gliding across the ice, effortlessly moving between her young students as she gave out directions. The kids followed her lead, some practicing jumps, their blades slicing clean lines into the pristine surface, others focused on footwork.

Diane noticed me first, her face lighting up as she waved from the center of the ice. She blew her whistle, calling out, “Alright, everyone, finish up with a few laps!”

The kids groaned but obeyed, starting their loops around the rink. I saw from my peripheral Quinn smiling at that–I was guessing he had related to the same memories as well.

Diane skated towards us against the boards, her arms already outstretched. I barely had time to prepare before she pulled me into a tight hug. 

“Hey! So glad you came–” Her words cut off as soon as her eyes landed on Quinn who stood next to me. I knew that look on her face. It was the expression she had when Channing Tatum popped up on the screen. Mid-hug, she leaned in and whispered, “–What is Quinn Hughes doing here? With you?”

“I’ll explain later.” I mumbled quickly before pulling away from her embrace. Then I turned to Quinn. “Hughes, this is my friend, Diane. She runs the figure skating academy as one of the development coaches.”

“Hey. I remember you from the cafe a few weeks ago with Sydney, right? I’m Quinn.” He held out his hand and offered Diane a handshake.

Diane shook his hand far too excitedly, like she was more happy to see him than me. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you. Congrats on a great season by the way, I’m a huge fan.”

“But you haven’t even watched the Canucks play–”

“So,” she stopped me before I could finish. “What brings you here? Isn’t the bigger rink over on the other side of the building?”

“I’m just tagging along.” Quinn said loosely, hands in his hoodie pockets. “I’ve never visited a figure skating academy before, so I figured I could check it out."

Before Diane could dig for details, the kids finished their cool-down laps and were down swarming towards the doors. 

As soon as they spotted me, their faces lit up, and in an instant, I was engulfed in their smaller arms and excited voices overlapping each other.

“Sydney! You came!”

“Miss Sydney, we missed you!”

“Took you long enough!”

I laughed, hugging them back, memories from months ago flooding in. 

During the times I've visited, I usually sat, watched, or helped whenever I could. I never overstepped, just gave them some pointers on jumps, refining their edges, and corrected their landing. Diane never minded–if anything, she encouraged it.

But, I still kept my distance at times knowing that being too close to the sport would only bring back the ache I had worked so hard to numb.

“I missed you guys too.” I said while greeting each one of them.

My eyes flickered to the one skater who didn’t join in on the chaos. Arielle.

She lingered on the ice and stood along the boards, gripping them tightly, frustration etched into every line of her face. I knew that look. I understood the weight of it.

Before I could say anything, she made a beeline past us with her head down, then disappeared to the locker rooms.

“What’s wrong with Arielle?” I asked.

“She kept falling on her jumps today. She’s mad about it.” One of the kids explained.

I let out a short exhale and exchanged glances with Diane, fully aware about it.

My gaze followed the direction Arielle had gone. I had known Arielle for a while. She wasn’t the loudest in the group, but her passion for skating burned quietly beneath the surface. She was one of the older and more advanced skaters in the academy, incredibly talented but took mistakes hard.

Before I could dwell on it, I heard an excited gasp from behind me.

“Wait a second–Quinn Hughes?”

And just like that, all hell broke loose.

The kids turned their attention to Quinn–completely abandoning me for the Canucks’ captain.

Their eyes widening in disbelief followed by shouts of excitement. Some squealed, others gasped, and a few immediately began digging through their bags for their phones or anything he could sign.

Quinn, to his credit, handled it well. He laughed while greeting them, “Hey guys, looking good out there.”

“You think so?” One of them pipped.

Quinn smiled. “Are you kidding? You all looked so cool, I don’t think I could ever do that.”

The kids practically melted in admiration for the NHL star which accompanied with a wave of voices. All of them pleading for signatures and photos. Quinn was in the center of the group, looking slightly overwhelmed.

I was quick to step in. “Alright, guys that's enough. Give him some space. He’s a really busy guy.” 

The kids frowned and sighed disappointedly at that. But Quinn glances at me, shaking his head. “I don’t mind.” 

I gave him a look. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no trouble,” he said easily, then he turned to face the kids. “Anything for you guys.”

They all cheered and quickly lined up in front of him. So, I backed away closer to Diane as he let the kids take turns posing with him, signing skates, chatting, and entertaining them.

In contrast to what happened earlier at the studio with the reporters–this Quinn was more soft and warm towards the younger skaters. The sight of it tugged something in me. It was cute.

Meanwhile, Diane leaned in, her question from earlier resurfacing. “Are you going to tell me how you and Quinn Hughes came here together?”

I sighed, unsure whether I wanted to relive that chaotic moment. But, Diane would pry it out of me anyways. “We had our session at the studio earlier. Then when it ended, things got crazy with the media showing up and came by surprise. And I couldn’t get to my car, so he offered me a ride. I was already planning to head over, and his practice was at the other rink. It just worked out, that’s all.”

Diane’s eyes widened, looking surprised. “Sydney, that’s fucking insane. You ran into trouble with the media? How are you so calm right now? I would be freaking out.” She was clearly not buying the casualness of my explanation.

“I mean, if Quinn wasn’t there–” I paused, glancing at him with the kids. “–I would have been mobbed by the reporters. He helped me out of it.”

Just when Diane was about to fire rapid-questions at me, one of the girls, after taking a picture with Quinn, walked over to me and Diane. 

She gestured to me to lean down, whispering in my ear. “Your boyfriend’s cute. You’re so lucky to be dating him.”

Wait. What?

“What? Wait–no, Quinn’s not my–”

Before I could say anything and deny it to her, she had already ran off with a cheeky grin plastered across her face. 

I barely had the chance to process it before Quinn returned as he finished dealing with the kids. He had walked over just in time to hear the last bit and tilted his head at me. “I’m not your what?”

Shit.

“Nothing.” I stiffened. He was about to press further, but I quickly changed the subject. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for practice by now?”

“Yeah, in a bit.” He checked the wall clock sitting above us. “It’s still a few minutes early. Are you two heading out soon?”

Diane nodded. “Syd and I have big plans for the evening.”

That piqued Quinn’s interest, but I rolled my eyes at my friend’s exaggeration. “I wouldn’t call watching The Office and downing a bottle of wine ‘big’ plans, Di.”

“But you were the one most looking forward to it than–”

“That reminds me–” I butt in before my traitorous friend exposed me, earning both of their attention now. “We need to go get my car from the studio. I think the reporters should be gone by now.”

Diane nodded as she began gathering her things. “Yes. We’ll get going soon. Just give me a sec.” She picked up an average size box next to her filled with stacks of paper. “Kenneth told me to print these flyers out to tack them down on the arena’s bulletin boards.”

Kenneth was the head director of the academy. He didn’t coach either me or Diane when we skated, but I haven’t met another person who had the same passion for figure skating as I did. Always supported his skaters and never missed an opportunity to show up to competitions.

I shook the thought out when Diane handed me one of them to read. 

Quinn walked closer from behind and soon enough leaned over my shoulder to examine the paper. He towered over me, his chest was basically against my back, and his face hovering very close to mine.

He wasn’t even touching me, but his presence was enough to make my face burn up despite the rink’s chill. Get it together, Syd.

“‘The Vancouver FSA presents the Fifteenth Annual Junior Skating Challenge taking place in late September.’ That’s pretty cool.” Quinn read aloud.

Diane nodded. “It’s a big stepping stone for a lot of young skaters.” 

“Did you two ever compete in it?” He glanced between me and Diane.

My friend beamed at that. “Are you kidding? Sydney won it several times growing up! She was the best junior skater in the academy–actually, in the city if I’m being honest.” 

The expression on Quinn’s face shifted into something almost…impressed. “You were? You didn’t tell me you were such a star, Gray.”

“No, no, I wasn’t. Trust me, I wasn’t that good.” I tried denying it, but Quinn didn’t look all that convinced. Based on Diane’s reaction, he knew she wasn’t lying or exaggerating either.

“Why would you quit if you were that good?”

My stomach twisted. I couldn’t tell him, not right now. So I forced myself to say, “I just didn’t want to skate anymore.”

I felt Diane’s sympathetic gaze burn into me. Besides my brother Simon, she was the only other person who knew why I dodged around that question. She had been there and saw it all happen.

Quinn frowned at my answer. “Oh come on, no one just stops doing what they love.”

“Figure skating is a hard sport.” I argued.

“I would have loved to see you compete. You know, teach me some edge work.”

“Trust me, you don’t want that. Like I said, I wasn’t that good.”

I could tell that Quinn was slightly getting frustrated with me and my dismissive answers. I don't blame him. He knew what I was doing, he wasn’t stupid. 

But, he wasn’t satisfied yet as he scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. Not when Diane just said you were the best skater in the city. I’m sure she wouldn’t lie about that.”

“She was just exaggerating.”

“I highly doubt it–”

“I got hurt, okay!” The words escaped before I could even stop them.

Oh no.

My voice rang through the now empty rink, sharper and louder than I intended. I swallowed hard, felt my heart pounding as silence fell between us. Diane looked away, and Quinn's eyes were on me, startled, then shifted as if he realized he had pushed too far. 

Quinn reached a hand out towards me. “Sydney, I’m–”

Diane cleared her throat, ever the savior stepped in. “We should get going, Syd,” she turned over to Quinn, offering him a small smile. “It was nice meeting you, Quinn.”

He returned the smile back with his lips pressed into a thin line. “You too,” he said to Diane. Then his apologetic eyes that reeked of regret and guilt laid on mine. “I’ll see you on Monday, Gray.” 

It sounded a lot more of a question than a statement. He’s probably wondering if this conversation had cost him the one-on-one cross-training sessions, wondering if I was ever going to see or speak to him ever again. I thought of that as well. But, I chose to settle for–

“Looking forward to it, Hughes.” I gave him a nod and a weak smile.

I didn’t look back once we started walking to the exit of the arena, I felt Quinn’s eyes idle on me before we turned the corner and out of his view. 

“Wow,” Diane said once we got inside her car.

And she didn’t have to say anything more.

I didn’t know how to put it into words either.

“So, did you get up to anything fun last weekend?”

It was the last few minutes of my regular morning slots with Phoebe. While she was going on about her rant about the new events in her life–including her divorce papers being finalized–my body moved through the last half of the session like I was on autopilot.

I barely processed what she had asked before giving her a small shrug. “Not really, just the usual.”

Phoebe hummed, unconvinced as she adjusted her stretching position on the mat. “I don’t buy that one bit, Syd. You think I haven’t noticed you seem a bit checked-out today?”

Just when I thought I could keep it together. Clearly, I couldn’t.

I hesitated, not knowing what to say to her. Besides Diane, Phoebe has known me long enough to catch on with what was roaming in my mind before I did. I couldn’t tell if that was for better or for worse given that she loves to pry the drama out of me.

“It was a tough morning, I didn't get to make my coffee in time.” I didn’t necessarily lie to her, it was true. Just not the real truth I wanted to tell her.

Phoebe nodded, she seemed to buy it, letting out a laugh. “Yeah, no, I get it. I’d be a total menace without my coffee. My brain just doesn’t boot up properly without it.”

I sighed in relief as Phoebe began rambling, something about her weekend or the gossip she overheard in the hair salon. But as she was talking, my mind completely drifted off elsewhere. I couldn’t focus because my thoughts were pulled back to what happened last week.

With Quinn.

He was going to be here in a few hours for our cross-training session, and I had no idea how I was going to face him without thinking about the other day. Without thinking about the way I lashed out on him–snapped really, and held back from telling him everything.

Why didn’t I just tell him?

Because the truth was, I wanted to.

I wanted to tell him about the accident, about the way my entire world had shattered in the space of a few seconds. But there was a part of me that kept pulling back from doing so, something warned me against opening up.

And yet, I couldn’t avoid it forever. If we were going to be working all summer. There was no doubt that I’d have to tell him sooner or later–or he’d figure it out for himself.

If the conversation we had at the arena was any indication of that, Quinn wasn’t the type to let things fly past him. Not when he wanted answers. He had already pushed me to the point of breaking right then and there. I wasn’t so sure if I’d be able to hold it in next time. 

Hoping there won’t be a next time.

“Syd?”

Phoebe’s voice brought me back to the present. She raised her brows at me, noticing I haven’t been paying attention to her. “Sorry,” I said, shaking the rest of my thoughts out. “I, uh–What were you saying?”

Phoebe smiled as she began packing her things. She knew better than to force her way to make me tell her what was really bugging me. So she didn’t push. “I was just saying that I should get going now. See you later in the week?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, forcing a smile. “See you then, Phoebe.”

As soon as she left the room, I let out a slow breath. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved that Phoebe wasn’t her usual pestering-self that I didn’t need to tell her what was going through my head. Or even more unsettled knowing that in moments from now, I would have to face Quinn. Alone.

The moment he stepped into the studio, I knew it was going to be awkward. I felt it in the way he hesitated by the door before he walked in, the sound of his footsteps echoing lightly against the hardwood floor.

“Hey,” he said as he set his duffle down.

“Hi,” I said in return, keeping my voice neutral. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” He nodded as he walked over to the mats–while pulling over his hoodie–and started stretching. “So,” he paused, nudging back to the foyer. “What’s with the security guard in the front?”

Oh right. That.

I guess he couldn’t have missed it considering how out of place it was. A security guard for a Pilates studio? What an odd combo. 

But after the fiasco last week, Grace had talked with Rick to implement tighter security if the media were to come back again. They were lucky to keep any of the pictures or articles out of wraps before they were posted anywhere. What a disaster that would’ve been.

“Oh yeah,” I started. “Grace, Rick, and the Canuck’s management hired them after the surprise attack the other day. They couldn’t risk that happening again, so this was their solution.”

Quinn hummed in agreement, then scoffed lightly. “Gotta love the press, right?’

I shook my head before I turned to face him. Our eyes accidentally locking on each other, and for a second we stayed like that, before I blinked and moved over to the reformer. “Funny…let’s get started.”

The awkwardness between us was almost unbearable. We went through more initial stretches and the first half of the session in near perfect silence. I only spoke when I guided him through each exercise, and the sound coming from the music playing through the speakers. 

It was so fucking obvious that the tension between us wasn’t going away.

Just a matter of who was going to talk about the elephant in the room first.

Though, it was Quinn who finally cracked, surprisingly enough. 

“Listen, Gray,” he said, breaking the silence. “About last week–” I tensed, already knowing where this was going. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I really had no business asking you those questions that weren’t mine to ask.” 

I fixed my eyes on him and sighed. “I’m sorry too. I overreacted and shouldn’t have snapped at you the way I did.”

“No,” Quinn said firmly. “It was my fault. I never should’ve asked if you didn’t want to answer.” 

“It’s not that I didn’t want to answer.” I paused and there was a beat of silence. “It’s just…hard.”

I knew what I had to do. If we were going to be stuck doing the cross-training program together, I might as well tell him. There was no avoiding it anymore, especially now that he knew about my skating past.

It was one thing to keep it from people I knew such as my coworkers, Phoebe, and other friends. But it was another trying to hide it from a professional athlete who also grew up skating on a rink their whole life. 

I exhaled slowly. “I got into an accident and it happened seven years ago, I was only seventeen during a junior competition to qualify for nationals.” Quinn didn’t interrupt and stopped his movements on the reformer. He just listened. “I attempted a jump I had landed a hundred times before. Then during the short program, everything was going well until I landed wrong on my right leg. My knee–” I stopped, swallowing down the lump in my throat, looking down at where the scar was. “It gave out and I severely tore a ligament. And just like that, my career was over and now the start of this one.” 

I hadn’t told or talked about it since. It had happened so long ago that I doubt anyone remembered. Although, people were there to witness my fall. I remembered looking at them, they stared at me with pitiful eyes and told me that they felt bad for me. I hated that.

The weight of my confession hung between us. Quinn’s expression shifted, his features softening with steady sympathetic eyes. No, don’t do this. Don’t feel sorry for me.

“Sydney…” he said, voice low. “I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t like it when people felt bad for me. It made it worse, somehow. Made me feel like I was being pitied rather than understood. 

But with Quinn, it felt different. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to have someone care—not out of obligation or pity, but simply because they wanted to.

I gave him a faint smile. “Thanks Hughes, I appreciate that, really.” The air between us grew thick again. I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the heavy emotions tempting to break. “Alright, enough talking. Let’s get back to work, you still haven’t finished this set yet.”

Quinn returned the smile and got back to his original position on the reformer. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

We worked through the rest of the session in silence, but this time, it wasn’t as heavy. The tension from earlier had shifted into something else. Something lighter.

To break the mood and pick up the intensity, I gave him a difficult variant of the lunge exercise–using the carriage and free-weights. And as predicted, he struggled with it. I tried not to smirk at the sight of it. I had to keep his ego in check somehow.

To his credit, he tried. He really did. But as each rep passed, I could see him falter in his form. His balance wavered, his muscles trembling from the effort.

“Need some help over there?” I asked, tilting my head at him.

“No, I got it,” he said immediately. Stubborn as ever.

I sighed and went over to him anyway to correct his form, adjusting his stance. But his body was reluctant to move. “You’re going to tip over if you don’t–”

Before I could finish or react, Quinn lost his balance mid-lunge, and not a second later, he was falling straight to the floor.

And I came down with him.

He hit the hardwood first with an audible groan. I shook my head, that fall basically gave me whiplash as my head ran in circles. Neither of us moved for a moment. The impact sent a shock through my body, but that wasn’t what made my breath catch.

It was the realization of the current position we were in.

I don’t know how, but I landed on top of him–straddling–as my hands were braced against his chest. And his hands–large, warm, and firm, free of the weights he was holding seconds ago–were gripping my waist, like he’d instinctively tried to steady me on the way down.

I felt my face start to heat up with my face so close to his, but I couldn’t look away. His chest rose and fell beneath my palms. And the way they felt underneath–solid, grounded, safe.

Safe? No, no, no.

I needed to get up now. But for some reason, I couldn’t. Couldn’t? Or didn’t want to?

We were underneath the cooling vent from the ceiling above, and the blast of air sent shivers up and down my arms. Quinn’s body was the only source of warmth. 

My eyes drifted down for a second. A soft dark grey shirt was molded to shoulders and chest, not too tight but enough to see the hint of his muscles through it. Most likely ridden up because of the fall, revealing a strip of his skin above the waistband of his shorts. And unlike the usual sharpness of his green eyes, they seemed to soften as his gaze flickered down. To my lips.

My heart thundered as if it was going to leap out my chest. Was he going to–

And then, of course– because fate had a cruel sense of humor–the door flung open. 

Fuck.

“Hey Syd. I forgot my water bottle. Oh–” The familiar voice that belonged to Phoebe cut through the moment like a knife. Quinn and I both snapped our heads toward her. She blinked, unsure as to what she was seeing. Then she began smirking, which wasn’t a good sign. “Oh my, who’s this? Are you two–”

“Phoebe!” 

I tried my best to scramble off Quinn, accidentally putting all my weight on him, earning a slight groan. I was quick to find Phoebe’s water bottle on the floor where she had left it, and practically shoving it into her hands. 

“Sorry, this is a private studio session,” I whispered to her. “How did you even get in here?”

“I told the security guard I forgot something and he let me in,” she said amused, like she made the right decision to retrieve her bottle at the perfect timing. Her eyes flicked between me and Quinn, her smile even more evident than before. “So…what exactly did I just walk into, hm?” 

“Nothing,” I answered too quickly for comfort.

“Mmhmm. Sure.”

Yep, there was no way out of this one. She was not going to let this go.

I groaned, ushering her back into the hallway. “I’ll fill you in on it next time. Now please, go.” 

“You sure you don’t want to introduce me to–”

“Next session, Phoebe. Please?”

"Okay, okay. Fine." She chuckled but finally left with a teasing wave. 

I exhaled, turning back to the room, and directing my attention to Quinn. He was still on the floor, staring off into space like he was still processing what happened a few seconds ago.

“Are you just gonna sit there all day?” I said with a soft smile, walking over to my bag on the floor.

Then he sat upright, holding himself up, and leaned back on his palms when he heard me. “Maybe. The floor’s kind of nice. Thinking of making it my new workout mat.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms at that. “Try not to fall next time then.”

“Try not to use me as a landing mat, Gray.” His lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “You basically manhandled me mid-lunge.”

“Manhandled? Don’t be dramatic, Hughes.” I spat like that had really offended me. “And besides, if you had better balance, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

He raised his brows, and was suddenly on his feet, inching closer to me. “Weren’t you the one who said touching a client while moving on the carriage was a safety hazard?” He smirked once he saw the growing realization in my face. “What? Surprised that I actually listened?”

He–well, okay, he had a point. “No–” I faltered, giving him a look. “–but, I’m flattered that you actually listen during my sessions, and taking it seriously. I don’t think my brother would have lasted the entire summer.”

Quinn shook his head, going after his belongings on the floor. I hadn’t noticed it was the end of our session already. Time really did fly whenever I was with him for training. 

“I doubt that he would,” he said before sipping water from his bottle. “Do you think he planned the birth of his baby to avoid doing all of this?

I let out a laugh, “Maybe not, but wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.”

We both made our way to the studio’s entrance, greeting the security guard, and stood in awkward silence for a moment until Quinn spoke.

“Sorry about earlier, I’ll try not to fall next time,” he started, but then took a slow exhale, probably wanting to talk about what I had told him earlier. “Also, thanks for sharing about your accident. I know you didn’t want to and you don’t really trust me yet, but I’m glad that you did.” 

I didn’t make a habit of trusting anyone besides my family and Diane, but at that moment, it was hard to remember why I kept Quinn at arms length.

I nodded and smiled, “Thanks for listening, Quinn.” 

There was something about the way his eyes lit up and a growing grin after hearing his name roll off my tongue so effortlessly–like I was meant to say it. I hadn’t realized until now that I never called him by his name, at least not directly. 

I probably got it from Simon whenever he went off about Quinn. That was the only appropriate name he had for the Canucks captain other than–actually, it’s best to not mention them. 

He said ‘bye’ before walking out–no reporters this time thankfully–leaving me standing there with a racing heart and mind of thoughts I didn’t know how to deal with.

Quinn wasn’t my brother’s enemy as everyone kind of perceives him to be or my trainee–he was the person that listened to me, and didn’t make me feel like an object of pity when I had told him about my accident.

I caught myself smiling at the thought, but easily wiped it off. What was wrong with me, honestly?

That alone was enough for me to realize–that Quinn Hughes could matter in ways I wasn’t ready for.

Which made him all the more dangerous. 

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[hellvst]

HIS LITTLE "REALLY?!” AND SWEET SMILE ABOUT IT

SNOOPY HUGHES YOU ARE SO SPECIAL TO ME

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 3.7k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; woohoo quinn's back & it's not just luke for hughesbowl lol! not really proof-read. happy reading <3

CHAPTER FIVE

QUINN

Simon: ‘Touch my sister, and you’re dead.’

Simon: ‘She’s off-limits, so don’t even think about it, Hughes.’

I woke up to a very cryptic text from Simon. A threat, really.

My eyes idle at it for a long moment, then tossed my phone back onto my nightstand and rubbed my hands down my face.

What the fuck did that even mean?

Simon never texted me ever, not once in our years together with the Canucks. He never had the reason to reach out to me. So, he most likely got my number from our team’s group chat–which I had to be very active on as the captain. 

The team and I sent messages to each other, updated each other during breaks or days off, hockey shit, and a few memes here and there. Simon never responded to it, maybe once or twice, but almost never. 

The only time he would text in the chat was when he had something to show off to the guys. Typical. 

I didn’t bother answering him. I figured I’d get my answer when I saw Sydney later today, but that text threw me off guard. 

Sydney Gray.

During the few days after officially meeting her, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that she was the cafe girl from weeks ago. On top of that, she was our trainer and–worst of all–she was Simon’s sister. How does one cope with all that information dumped onto them all at once?

But, she wasn’t anything like I’d imagined.

The few times I overheard Simon talking about her over the years, I’d expected her to be just as lively, stubborn, and prideful as her brother. Sure, they had the same spunk and shared some traits with one another. But she was nothing like that at all.

Sydney was more level-headed, quieter, and dry-witted. The complete opposite to Simon.

If Simon was all fire, then Sydney would be ice. Not cold…just more controlled.

When I showed up to the Lumé Wellness studio days ago, I was fully prepared to at least tolerate her–and Simon–just to get through the summer. But what I didn’t expect to find out was that the same girl I had met at the café–who I couldn’t stop thinking about–was siblings with the one person who had it out for me.

I wasn’t sure why Simon thought otherwise and was implying that I had a ‘thing’ for his sister. This thing between me and her was strictly professional, nothing more and nothing less. 

I had no intention of going for Sydney Gray.

So why were you eager to leave this Canuck’s campaign shoot to get to the studio earlier to see her?

I scoffed at the little voices in my head. Shut the hell up.

As soon as I arrived at Lumé Wellness not long after the shoot, I walked in the same studio room from the other day, but stopped by the door frame when I saw her.

Sydney was already stretching on the mats, bobbing her head to the rhythm of the music blasting through the speakers.

“Rihanna? What happened to Michael Jackson?” My voice cuts through the music, just enough for her to hear me. 

Sydney turned to face me. Our eyes collided, causing me to stand upright by the door. 

She looked surprised at me as she stood up to turn the volume down. “I didn’t think you’d ever listen to a Rihanna song.” 

“Oh come on, Gray. Way to underestimate me.” I said as I placed my stuff on the floor, next to hers. “I don’t live under a rock.”

“I highly doubt that.” She smirked.

I found my spot next to her and started following her stretches, keeping one eye on her as she moved through the routine with ease.

For a moment, we fell into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the speaker filling the space. 

The stretch had become routine now, something that should have felt mindless. But as I reached down towards my toes, feeling the familiar pull in my hamstrings, my gaze flicked to the clock on the wall. 1:17 PM. Simon was late. 

I recalled the events that happened on Monday, when Simon got an emergency call from his wife and left the session early. Then Sydney mentioned that he was going to be a father soon. It made me realize, even as teammates for the past few years, that I really knew nothing about him at all.

I exhaled through my nose holding the pose as I glanced at Sydney. She was focused, rolling out her shoulders, which I noticed she always did before we started.

“Is Simon coming?” I finally asked.

Sydney paused for a second, then shook her head. “No, not today. Or–” she tilted her head. “–at all, actually.”

I gave her a confused look. “What do you mean?”

Was I missing something here?

“Simon’s wife is going into labour,” she started, sighing. “He left for California the same night he got the call. Your coach okayed his leave and he’s officially out for the summer. So, that means it’s just the two of us now.”

Now that explained the random-ass text I woke up to this morning.

If I hadn’t been so groggy and barely awake, I would’ve understood that more clearly. But now, hearing Sydney say that Simon was officially out of the cross-training sessions, it made more sense.

“Wait,” I said, my brows clashing together. “Then why are we still doing this? If Simon’s out, doesn’t that mean we should–”

Sydney shook her head, denying my question before finishing it. “Grace said the agreements between the studio and the Canucks were already signed and the program was already paid for. There was no going back just because one person had to make a sudden leave.” 

“Right.” I stood up straight, finishing my stretches, and turned to face her. “And you’re okay with this?”

I was only curious about what she thought in light of recent events. I mean, I don’t blame her for being upset or annoyed that this was how things turned out. It wasn’t ideal for the both of us given her slight tinge of annoyance in her voice while she was explaining. 

What if she was looking forward to it? Nah, who was I kidding? Of course she wasn’t.

Sydney shrugged her shoulders as we exchanged glances. “It’s not like I had a choice.”

Oh come on, don't look so disappointed.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. “I guess there’s no point in fighting it. So now it’s just you and me.” 

She only nodded, “Yeah.”

I let out a slow breath, settling onto the reformer before Sydney demonstrated an exercise using the carriage and the foot rest. 

This whole thing was getting more complicated than I wanted it to be.

I wasn’t opposed to the idea of having one-on-one training with Sydney–as much as I hate to admit it, I enjoyed the first session more than I expected. But that wasn’t the point.

I also couldn’t stop thinking about how I could be in Michigan right now.

Spending time with my brothers, training with my dad, cooking with my mom, playing pool in the basement, getting out on the lake, watching the on-going Stanley Cup finals–although, it would've been difficult for me to watch knowing our team could’ve been playing on the big stage as well.

The point was, if I didn’t have to be here, I could be back home. Living out the off-season like I always did.

Instead, I was in Vancouver, about to suffer through another session with Sydney Gray. 

“So, are you ready to start for real this time?” Sydney asked once I finished a few sets of the first exercise. “Because you said last time this wasn’t difficult enough for you.”

I will admit, just from that first exercise, I was definitely starting to feel it. But I tried to conceal that from her. “Did I say that? I don’t exactly remember.”

“Yes, you did.” She tapped the frame of my reformer. “Let’s see if you still think that today.”

I didn’t.

We started the real session, and I immediately knew I was in for it.

The reformer exercises were harder than last time. During the first day here, I had held my own, keeping up with whatever Sydney threw at me. I thought it was easier than I assumed, but clearly not since those were only the basic workouts.

Not halfway through the next few exercises when my muscles were burning. My legs shook as I pushed through another rep, my arms were going limp as I struggled to maintain my form.

Sydney noticed. Of course she did.

“Are you sure these aren’t that difficult for you?” she asked, the smirk in her voice making me want to push and power through it out of spite.

I gritted my teeth. “Yeah. Don’t mind me.”

She let out a soft laugh but didn’t say anything else. The sight of me having a hard time was her new source of entertainment.

By the time we finished and hit the end of the session, I was sweating more than I wanted to admit, my breathing a little heavier than it should have been. 

“So, was that enough of a challenge? You look pretty banged up.” Sydney folded her arms, obviously pleased with herself–I was a mess in front of her.

I shot her a look, pretending like that hadn’t absolutely kicked my ass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, playing it off. “Barely felt it.”

“Sure…” I heard her mumble out.

She began picking up her things, indicating that our time was up. 

I waited for her by the door of the room, watching as she fetched her water bottle before walking towards me. We yet again found ourselves walking side by side in the hallway.

Not too sure why I did that the first time around–waiting for her. It was like an unspoken rule between us, like we didn’t want to end our conversation just yet. Or maybe it was just me. Most definitely.

I glanced around the studio as we walked in silence. Like the last time I was here, the studio was so empty that it was eerily quiet. No other clients, with the exception of a few other instructors lounging around. And us.

“Where is everyone?” I asked. “Why aren’t there any other classes happening?”

Sydney looked around before shrugging. “Grace said it’s for safety precautions. We clear out the studio before and after your sessions.” 

Well that’s a bit much.

I blinked. “Why?”

“Apparently,” she started. “The studio can’t afford to have too many people know about your special training here.” 

My eyes widen a bit, taken aback. “For me?”

She nodded. “I guess they didn’t want to risk the media circus or something.”

I took that in, feeling a strange mix of appreciation and guilt.

They went through all of this for me, to make it easier for me. They didn’t have to, but they still did.

At the same time, I understood why they couldn’t risk it. I’d had moments before where reporters caught me outside of hockey, anywhere in public really. Fans stopping me for pictures and autographs wasn’t anything new, I didn't mind that. But to this extent? Where would they clear out a whole studio for me?

That was an overkill. I didn’t think I was that much of a celebrity for it. I was sure I could handle it if anything did happen–

I spoke too soon.

The second Sydney and I reached the foyer to the front doors, we were swarmed and blinded by flashing cameras from the other side of the glass doors–deafened by the voices overlapping as questions were thrown at me from all directions.

“Quinn! How do you feel about losing in the second round of the playoffs?”

“Quinn! Quinn! When did you start taking Pilates?”

“Rumors say that you’re training with Simon Gray this summer. Is this true?”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

"Quinn! Are you two hooking up?"

I tensed, my jaw clenching as I stared at the sea of reporters and photographers in front of us. I had thought I was in the clear on my way here from the arena. I guess not considering that they found me here. 

How?

I have dealt with this kind of thing before, but never in my life like this. Never where I felt trapped or confided. And I hated it–the sudden ambushes, invading my space, making me want to just flip them off–but I couldn’t do that.

And then I looked over to Sydney.

She was stiff beside me, her eyes wide, her breathing slightly shaky. Anxiety and discomfort was written all over her face, and I knew she wasn’t used to this. She didn’t deserve to deal with it.

I had to get us out of here. Fast.

Without thinking, I reached for her arm and pulled her back into the hallway. “Is there another way out?”

“Back exit, through there.” Another voice cuts in, I glanced and recognized the woman who was presumed to be the owner of the studio. Grace–was it? “I’ll handle them. Go. Now.”

Sydney and I nodded quickly, not wasting a second leading her through the hall, navigating through the studio, moving faster than I thought possible after the workout I just finished.

We made it out the back door, into the back alleyway of the studio, and carefully walked towards the other end of the building.

I peeked around the corner, enough to see the mob still crowding the front.

Grace was out there, stepping outside the studio doors, trying to get them to leave. But it wasn’t working as they continued to press on her.

“Shit,” she said under her breath. “My car is parked right in front of them. They’ll definitely see me if I make a run for it.”

In my head, I tired coming up with different ways to get–

One of the reporters turned, locking their eyes on me. Fuck.

There was no time to think.

“Follow me.” I said, my hand finding hers, clasped together tightly, as she ran with me to my car.

Sydney slid into the passenger seat, then I immediately started the engine, pulling out of the lot before anyone of the reporters could catch up. I wasn’t even sure where I was driving. I just knew I needed to get us out of here.

The car ride was quiet for a moment, save for the faint hum of the engine and the distant sound of traffic as I drove away from the chaos.

I kept my eyes in front of me, but I could see her in my peripheral. Sydney was staring out the window, her hands still clenched into fists in her lap. She was trying to calm down, so I gave her the space to do that. 

I was anxious about how she was feeling, most likely feeling all sorts of emotions. But the last thing she needed was me bombarding her with questions.

After a long while, Sydney let out a slow breath. “Thank you for what you did back there. I wouldn’t have known what to do if it weren’t for you.”

I took my eyes off the road for a second, glancing at her. “You okay?”

She let out a slow breath and nodded. “Yeah. Just…probably didn’t expect my first encounter with the media to be this crazy.” She shook her head slightly, like she couldn’t believe what had just happened. Then she turned to look at me. “Does that happen to you often?”

“No. Not like this.” I admitted, but I found it hard to believe that she had never experienced something like that–considering who her brother was. “You’ve really never had this happen to you? I figured you’d have to deal with it before since Simon gets swarmed all the time.” 

Her brother had been in the league longer than I have, and let’s just say, he wasn’t exactly media-trained. Reporters loved to leech on Simon, always trying to get him to slip up, to say something worth putting on the articles. I mean, it was his fault for giving the reporters nothing to work with during post-game interviews. The guy was a walking soundbite, whether he meant to be or not. 

If she was related to him, surely, she would have been dragged into it at some point.

Sydney sighed, leaning her head against the seat. “Simon and I don’t really get involved in each other’s lives like that. As much as I stay out of his hockey career, he stays out of mine too. We have our own things, our own spaces, we don’t overlap much.”

“So you never go to the games? Or attend family events?”

“Maybe one or two games in his whole career. The only time we really spend together is at each other’s house or when we text and call.” 

“You two are pretty close then.”

“Yeah, well, we try our best to be. We grew up here in Vancouver with our parents, so we were naturally close. Even though Simon was three years older than me and played sports on the ice together as kids, we still got along well. He was like my built-in best friend. Always looking out for me.”

Although I hated that the conversation was about Simon, I could easily get lost in Sydney’s voice. It was less about the subject–her brother–and more about her. Just the way she spoke–soft, thoughtful, unguarded. 

I could listen to her talk all day.

But then something she said caught my attention, and I wasn’t going to dismiss it either. 

“Wait, sports on the ice?” I repeated her words, my grip on the wheel tightening. “Did you play hockey too?”

Sydney hesitated. I saw the flicker of uncertainty cross her face, the way she tensed faintly like she revealed something she hadn’t meant to.

I was about to take it back, tell her she didn’t have to answer, but then she spoke.

“No, I didn’t play hockey,” she paused before continuing. “For as long as I can remember, we both grew up on the ice together. While Simon had hockey, I had figure skating. I’ve been a figure skater for almost half of my life and then I quit years ago when I was eighteen.”

I slowly nodded, not missing the way she said it–regret, maybe?–like there was something more to it. I figured if she wanted to talk about it more, she would. So I knew better than to push on the matter.

Still, the fact that she had a background in skating–that was something I never would have guessed. It was weird. I hadn’t thought I would ever get a glimpse into Sydney’s life like this. At first, she seemed so closed off and had her wall up from anyone trying to break their way in. 

But now that she was opening up, I was more intrigued than ever.

I was so lost in my thoughts while my gaze was still on her, that I barely realized that the lights were changing and she noticed. Shit.

“Quit staring and eyes on the road, Hughes.”

I snapped my attention forward, just in time for the light to turn green, pressed my foot on the gas. 

Clearing my throat, I scrambled to cover up the fact I had been caught staring at her. “We can’t go back to the studio. Not if the reporters are still there.”

Sydney checked the time on her phone and sighed. “Yeah, I figured. It wouldn’t be a smart idea to head back right now.”

I paused before asking. “Did you have plans later?”

“Yeah, sort of. I was supposed to meet my friend at her workplace after training today.”

I thought about it for a second. I still had about an hour to kill before my own training. Considering what happened earlier, I owed it to her. And besides, I still haven't made it up to her for ruining her hoodie the first time we met.

“I can drive you there.”

She paused, giving me a look. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

For a long while, Sydney eventually caved in, as if deciding it wasn’t worth arguing about.

She handed her phone over with the address, and the moment I saw it, recognition hit me instantly. It was the arena was the same place I was heading to for practice. 

“Funny story actually,” I paused. “I’m heading to the exact arena for practice.”

“Oh, that’s convenient.” Sydney said, her expression was unreadable. “Are you sure? I could just bus–”

“Gray, I am completely sure. Just let me do this for you, please?”

She seemed very reluctant to accept any offers from me–first the hoodie, now this. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, but gave me a short nod and didn’t say anything more. 

My curiosity was starting to get the better of me, though. “Do you often not let other people help you? Or is it just towards me?”

“Just to you, Hughes. And It’s definitely on purpose.” Sydney said.

I caught the corners of her lips curve in my peripheral, making me chuckle at her words. “I believe that. You know, since you don’t need anything from an NHL player and all.”

She gave me a look once I repeated what she had said to me during our first encounter.

Sydney rolled her eyes, “How do you still remember that? Seems like ages ago.”

I shrugged. “It’s easy when you’re not that hard to forget, Gray.”

She was quick to turn her head out towards the window, shaking her head with a small laugh, not commenting any further. So instead, I chose to let it go and focused on driving.

Then my mind wandered back to what she had said about her friend that she was going to meet up with. 

If her friend worked at the arena, then maybe I worked or knew of them. A trainer? An employee? Maybe even a player? God, I hope it’s not someone I already knew.

Instead of keeping my thoughts to myself, I asked her. “What does your friend do at the arena?” 

Sydney simply smiled, glancing at me. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 3.7k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; sorry this was delayed, but here it is now!! i also have 2-3 chapters lined up for you all very soon. happy reading <3

CHAPTER FOUR

SYDNEY

Quinn’s expression on his face shifted so fast it was almost comical. 

One second, he was his usual deadpanned-self, the next, his brows shot up to the ceiling, his jaw sunk to the floor, and his gaze flickered between me and Simon as if he were trying to solve some impossible equation.

I probably should’ve have told him who I was from the very beginning when we first met. But once Simon spilled the beans and told Quinn that I was his sister, I couldn’t help but be entertained at the sight in front of me. 

Quinn Hughes never looked so confused yet so horrified.

“She’s your sister?” Quinn finally asked, his voice laced with disbelief, still trading glances at my brother and I.

I smirked and took a daring step forward to him, extending my hand. “Gray–” I said with a tinge of guilt for not introducing myself sooner. “–Sydney Gray. I’ll be training you both for the summer.”

I watched Quinn hesitate for half a moment before shaking my hand, his grip firm but not overbearing. Surprisingly wasn’t as calloused as I thought it was, considering he earned them from playing hockey for his whole life.

Looking at him up close, I took the opportunity to actually study him–without my temper from coffee stains covering my clothes. Instead of a hat on his head–his messy brown hair that waved at the ends roamed freely, he shaved since didn’t have as much stubble on his jaw than before, and he wore a black t-shirt that showcased the muscles on his arms and chest. Not bad.

I said he had a unique attractiveness to him, and I meant that. I would be lying if I told myself otherwise that Quinn Hughes wasn’t good looking. Because in truth, he was good looking.

I shouldn’t be thinking like this, if Simon ever found out I had actually said something nice about Quinn–he would lose his shit.

These thoughts should be locked away in the back of my head, just so they don’t ever slip out.

For a second, neither of us spoke. I thought I was just imagining things–I felt his thumb linger for a fraction of a second longer before he let go. Weird.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something, I clapped my hands together, interrupting whatever thought he was about to share. “Alright, let’s get started.” I said as I moved over the matted area of the room and they followed behind me. “We’ll begin with some stretches. Shouldn’t be a problem for you guys, right?”

Simon groaned. “I already warmed up before I got here.”

“You mean you walked from your car to the studio doors?”

That got a short laugh out of Quinn, and Simon just rolled his eyes.

I led them through a series of deep stretches and other warm-up exercises–basic movements to loosen their muscles a bit. For professional athletes, they managed well enough. To my surprise, Quinn moved through the motions with ease, his movements controlled, like he actually knew how to engage his muscles properly. With my brother, I could tell he was already dreading where this session was going, and it hadn’t even begun.

“Simon, what are you doing?” I asked, concerned at what I was seeing.

“My best,” he grunted, attempting to mimic the stretch I was demonstrating, but looking more like a dying starfish.

“Yeah, that’s real impressive, Gray,” Quinn chuckled mid-stretch. “Try to keep up, will you?”

Simon shot up, “Listen here, Hughes–”

“Quit it,” I cut in, looking over my shoulder at them. “If you two have enough energy to argue, you have energy to do this properly.”

Simon only glared at him, muttering all sorts of curses under his breath while trying to hold onto the pose. I ignored the bickering and led them through the rest of the warm up until we wrapped it up. 

Next, they both begrudgingly followed my lead as we moved over to the Pilates reformer. I briefly explained and walked them through the mechanics, the different adjustments, and straightforward safety precautions. 

“These machines might look simple, but the carriage is actually tougher than you think.” I told them, moving the base of the carriage to show them. “My first time using one, the second I tried to do a basic lunge, and the next thing I knew, I was down on the floor.”

I smiled to myself at the memory. Definitely a learning moment.

Quinn was listening intently, his focus surprisingly sharp. While Simon on the other hand, was already eyeing the reformer like it had personally offended him.

We started with a fundamental exercise, nothing too intense. I showed them how to do it first before letting them try on their own. Simon barely got through his first rep before groaning in frustration. Beside him, Quinn had managed it so effortlessly, his posture nearly perfect on the first attempt.

They quieted down with the bickering once we began the workout routines on the reformer. That shut them up really fast now that they were breathless during the first few exercises. Which meant that I was actually doing my job–to make sure they don’t kill each other. 

“I don’t know how you do this for fun.” Simon grumbled, adjusting his grip on the foot bar. “And I thought figure skating was harder–”

“Because this is my job, Simon,” I shot back at him, quick enough to cut him off with whatever he was going to say. I didn’t want him mentioning it, not here. I let out a laugh, though, it sounded a lot more like a nervous one. “I can’t believe you always thought hockey was harder than this.”

I glanced over to Quinn, who paid no attention to Simon and I as he continued on with his reps. He unsurprisingly picked the exercises up quickly. Strong, flexible, and had good body awareness. So, I wasn’t too worried about him struggling through the entire summer for now. At least he was focused and taking this seriously. 

Quinn completed multiple sets of the exercise I demonstrated, while Simon was still struggling on finishing one. It looked like he was fighting against the reformer rather than cooperating with it.

Quinn sat on the carriage, trying to catch his breath. “You sure you don’t want to tap out now, Gray?” He leaned back with an amused expression while looking over to Simon. “I mean, Coach Gray might let you sit this one out.”

“You think you’re so hilarious, don’t you?”

Quinn shrugged, “I think I’m right.”

And just like that, the arguing came back. Just when I thought I was holding the fort down, it just came crashing. They started throwing jabs about who did what better, better stats, other hockey bullshit I couldn’t care less about right now.

Simon stopped his movements and glared at him. “I swear to God, Hughes–”

“Enough!” Their fighting died out at an instant, both of them turning to look at me, probably surprised at my sudden outburst. I let out a sharp exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s like I’m dealing with children right now.” 

As if this moment couldn’t boil my blood even more, a phone rang. It was Simon’s ringtone. I snapped my head towards my brother who made a beeline to his bag, my annoyance flaring. “Simon, I told you no interruptions during our sessions–”

“Shit,” Simon muttered, reading the caller id on his screen. “It’s Cassie. I have to take this.” And Simon didn’t need my permission to answer–my eyes read clearly as a green light for him to answer it. 

He nodded as he picked up the call. “Hey, Babe–wait, slow down. Are you serious? Like, right now? Shit. Alright, I’ll call you back.” When he hung up, he turned to me immediately. “I gotta go. Emergency. I’ll tell you later.”

I nodded, understanding the situation at hand. “Go, update me as soon as you can.”

Cassie was Simon’s wife, my sister-in-law. They’d been together for years before finally tying the knot two summers ago. As much as I loved having a brother, having her as my sister meant the world to me. And now, they were expecting a baby girl very soon which was not only exciting for them, but for me too. The last time I saw Cassie on video call, she looked like she was about to pop any time now.

As Simon rushed out with his things, Quinn faced me with a concerned look. “Everything alright?”

I sighed, “Yeah, his wife is pregnant. I’m guessing something to do with that.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Quinn asked. 

Seconds ago, he was taken aback when I indicated that Simon was going to be a parent. I don’t blame him, I was even shocked when I heard the news at first.

I gave him a small shrug, not having a single clue. “Hopefully, Simon just needs to be there for her.” 

He nodded, not pressing any further. I caught a glimpse of the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Do you think he’ll survive fatherhood?”

That earned a laugh out of me. “Debatable.”

Seconds go by with silence filling the air–awkward air between us. I didn’t know what else to say to him at that moment. Then, my mouth worked faster than my brain.

“So, now it’s just us.” I pointed out the obvious, sounding incredibly lame.

“You sound thrilled.” Sarcasm.

My face was beginning to flush ever so slightly. “I just didn’t plan on being left alone with you on day one.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” he said along with a sly smile, unexpectedly good-natured about it.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, which read the end of our first session. I didn’t realize how much time had passed already. “Guess that means we’re done for today.”

I went straight to my belongings by the mirror to begin packing up, and Quinn looked a little surprised when he realized the time as well.

“That went by fast,” he commented, hanging his duffle bag on his shoulder. “Maybe time flies when it’s not that difficult.”

I scoffed at his new-found confidence. “Careful, don’t get all cocky now, Hughes. I’ll make sure you regret it in the next session.” 

Quinn smiled, “I’ll hold you to that.”

I finished getting all my things, making sure I had everything before leaving the studio. The cross-training sessions were my last ones of the day. I could only think about how to spend my evening later–after meeting up with Diane. 

Although, I could have sworn that Quinn had waited for me to finish packing up. He stood around the room, and could have easily left the studio without saying much as a ‘bye’. But no, only then he started moving until I started walking towards the door.

Now, we both moved through the hallway side-by-side. Then, he finally spoke. “So, you’re Simon’s sister.”

It was like he had been waiting to get that one out his system during the session. Though, with Simon around, he probably felt like it wasn’t the best time to mention it. 

Good. Because it would’ve been a shitshow if Simon found out that we had already crossed paths.

“Sorry if I disappointed you or something.” I joked.

He huffed out a small laugh, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Nah, I get the resemblance now. I was stupid not to realize it.” 

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Not a lot of people saw the physical similarities between my brother and I at first, but it was a common reaction once they put the pieces together.

Sure, he and Simon–well moreover Quinn–tolerated each other, but they weren’t exactly the bestest of friends–or just friends. And yet, there was something in the way he looked at me–like he was trying to figure something out. 

Just the way he throws careless grins my way had my face heating and my heart pulsing tenfold.

“I guess I have to be extra nice to you, though,” he added. “Since you’re related to Simon, I figured you’ve suffered enough.” 

I barely stopped myself from reacting too much. The comment was unexpected, and worse, it made me laugh–really laugh. But, I wasn’t about to let him know that. “Shut up, Hughes.”

Quinn slowed down and stopped, and I nearly bumped into him. He leaned down slightly, bringing his eyes level with mine. I wasn’t sure what he was doing. The only thing I was worried about was if he could hear my heart racing just then.

“You say my name so often that I’m starting to think that you like the sound of it.” He shrugged, barely looking fazed.

“I don’t.” I blurted out, too quickly. I had pretended as if that comment had any affect on me, which in fact did.

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

His expression flickered, and for a brief moment, something shifted.

I raised a brow at him, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounded like you were flirting with me.” 

“This is me trying to make conversation,” he simply said, his voice lower, more deliberate. “Not flirting, Sydney.”

The way he said my name for the first time–sent an unexpected spark through me. Almost electrifying. I hated that it had an instant effect on me.

Sentences failed to form in my head, trying to figure out how to respond to that. Until my phone rang in my tote. What’s with phones today? 

But, it was only Diane. Thank God. “Hey, Diane.” I breathed in relief as I answered. “Yeah, I’m on my way.” 

Quinn watched me as I hung up, clearly amused. “Saved by the bell?”

I shook my head, “Not everything is about you, Hu–nevermind.” I wanted to slam my hand on a car door. Great, I was proving him right. That was the last thing I wanted.

“Yeah, sure.” He dragged it out teasingly.

As we walked out to the parking lot, we lingered for a second, the air between us still humming with something I didn’t have a name or label for.

“Well, see you on Thursday,” I said, walking towards my car and he did the same across the lot. 

“Looking forward to it,” Quinn replied, and for some reason, I believed him.

As I drove off, I found myself gripping onto the wheel tighter than necessary. What the fuck happened? 

I wasn’t supposed to find Quinn Hughes interesting. 

And yet, somehow, I did.

‘Coming over for dinner later.’

I stared at the text message from Simon. That was it. No explanation, no extra details. Just five words that made my mind spin with possibilities. It wasn’t uncommon for my brother to show up unannounced sometimes, but I have waited the entire day to hear back from him.

I hadn’t texted him after he took off, he didn’t need other problems in his way.

I sighed, placing my phone back onto the counter before struggling to reach for the box of spaghetti in the pantry. Damn these high shelves.

If Simon was coming over, I might as well cook his favorite–spaghetti meatball pasta. It was his comfort meal, something our mom always made for us when we were kids and had a rough day–or in Simon’s case–bad games. If he was stressed, this would help. 

In an hour or so, I finished plating our meal on the table just in time when Simon arrived at my apartment door. He stepped inside, looking exhausted, his usual sharp eyes clouded with something I couldn’t quite place. He barely shrugged off his jacket before sinking into one of the kitchen chairs.

As the routine followed, I fetched him a glass of water, and watched him twirl his fork through the noodles absentmindedly.

“So, what’s going on?” I prompted, sliding into the chair across from him.

He exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face. “Cassie’s in the hospital.”

My heart skipped. “What? What happened?”

“She started having severe contractions earlier today. It was bad enough that they admitted her. She’s fine now, but she’s having the baby sooner than expected.”

I blinked, then my brows clashed together. “Wait, but she’s not due for another couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, tell that to the baby,” Simon muttered, pushing his food around with his fork. “I’m flying out to California tonight.”

I stopped my movements and just stared at him. Cassie was staying with her family back in San Diego. Simon wanted her to be with her loved ones before returning back here in Vancouver. But obviously, that wasn’t happening now.

A wave of emotions rushed over me–excitement, worry, disbelief. My brother was going to be a dad. “Simon, that’s–”

“I know,” he cut in, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “I just need to get to her. I texted Tocchet for an absence-leave, but honestly? I don’t care what he says. No one’s stopping me from being there for my wife.” 

My hand found its way across the table, squeezing his hand. “Of course. You need to be there.” 

He nodded, but there was something else lingering in his expression once he let go. I knew that look on his face all too well–he had something else on his mind.

“The only thing that’s been on my mind–aside from Cassie–is you.”

“Me?” I frowned.

He sighed, setting his fork down. “Syd, I know you’re good at handling yourself. Especially since you got hurt a few years ago–” Simon glanced at me, my eyes wavering to not talk any further. “–but, the idea of leaving you here with Quinn for the rest of the summer? That doesn’t sit right with me.” 

There he goes again…trying to play the older brother treating me like I was some kid. Simon always felt the need to be protective over me growing up. As much as I loved him for it, I never felt like I could truly live life without him looking over my shoulder the whole time.

I scoffed, leaning back. “Oh, please. You think I can't handle training without you? If anything, the training wouldn’t even continue. There’d be no point.”

“I just don’t like the idea of leaving you alone with him.” Simon wasn’t all that convinced, but then his eyes softened. “But, I agree–it would be a dumb idea to continue on with the sessions.”

I sipped on my glass of water and gave Simon a look. “Quinn can train on his own however he pleases. If you’re not here, they’ll just call the whole thing off.”

I hoped that was the case. Because the idea of one-on-one Pilates sessions with Quinn Hughes? I couldn’t tell if I should be dreading or looking forward to it–which was slightly terrifying.

Surely, they wouldn’t go on with the cross-training program. Right?

Thursday came too fast.

I sat in Grace’s office, hands rested firmly on each side, waiting for her to tell me what I already knew. This was a formality, nothing more. There was no way the program would continue without Simon.

My brother had already left the city the same night he came over, with Tocchet’s approval for his leave. Although he was skeptical of the timing of it all–but with family emergencies, there was no arguing with that.

So with that being said, Simon was released from the cross-training program for the summer.

Grace pulled me into her office, again. I wasn’t as intimidated to get called in there as I was the last time. I was only anticipating the news of my brother’s leave, and how it would effect on my schedule with the cross-training program as there was one less person to train.

Oh how I was so fucking wrong.

“The sessions will continue,” Grace said, folding her hands on the desk, calm as always. “We’re moving forward as planned.” 

I stared at her, perplexed as ever. 

My brain was trying to process what she had just said. I still couldn’t believe what I just heard. “I don’t get it. How does that make any sense? Without Simon, that means there’s no one else for Quinn to work with.”

Grace tilted her head slightly, like she had already predicted this reaction from me. “The program was never just about Simon and Quinn getting along. It was about training–giving them both a different kind of conditioning than what they are used to. Besides, Rick and I have already signed the paperwork, the expenses are covered. One person leaving doesn’t change any of that.”

“Right, of course...” I got completely shut down.

In my head, I could almost hear Simon’s reaction to all of this–the string of curses, the immediate rejection. Did he know about this? I knew he wouldn’t have agreed to any of it.

Because if he was informed of this, he would be flying back to Vancouver in a second. But, I wasn’t about to let him do that. He also doesn’t have a single say in the matter, there was no point in arguing there.

Grace must have noticed my hesitation and doubt. “Is that going to be an issue for you?”

Part of me was telling every bone in my body to answer yes. That it was a problem. That this was unfair. That I didn’t want to be stuck training alone with Quinn Hughes for the rest of the summer.

It would have been so easy to just say it, to back out, to find some excuse to put an end to it before it even started.

But my mouth betrayed me.

“No.”

Her sharp gaze stayed for a beat before she nodded. “Good. Then it’s settled.” She began overlooking her documents and files sprawled across her desk, then her eyes found mine. “If there’s nothing else you would like to discuss, then you are free to go.”

I wavered, still debating if I should fight harder to shut this down.

There was still that part of me–not quite ready to acknowledge–that didn’t entirely hate the idea of training alone with Quinn. Stop–why did I consider it?

The weight of reality pressed down on me. I was really doing this.

I left the office pit in my stomach, my mind in a tangled mess, dreading what was to come. 

Because whether I liked it or not, I was going to spend the entire summer with Quinn Hughes.

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 3.5k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; woohoo chapter three is here! also what's up with the hughes brothers getting hurt within the last 48 hours...hope they're ok :c also thank you all for the recent support, means a lot! uh this isn't proof read, but happy reading <3

CHAPTER THREE

QUINN

The bell above the café door chimed as I stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries hitting me almost instantly. I wasn’t much of a coffee guy, but I definitely needed it today.

The place was an average size for a café, cozy, slightly packed with students hunched over laptops and the occasional older couples chatting over mugs of tea.

Conor, who trailed behind me with Brock next to him, actually suggested this spot, claiming it to be one of the best coffee in this side of Vancouver. It wasn’t my go-to energizer. Still, after the morning skate we had, I could use something to wake me up.

After coming off a big-time loss, post-practice was always tougher.

If people thought we’d been left off the hook to start the off-season early the following day. They have never been more wrong. So fucking wrong. Just because we were out of the game, did not mean that it was over.

Everyone on the team had been anticipating that text from our coach and told us to “Get your asses in the rink. Now.” Knowing Tocchet, he was ready to give us hell–more specifically Simon and I. And we got it.

The skating and puck handling drills were relentless. I don’t think we’d ever been pushed like that before. They were much more intensive, fast-paced, more difficult targets to hit in the goal post. I tried my best to keep up, which I did, but I would be lying if I had said it didn’t wear me down to the max. My body absolutely felt like I was checked over and over again.

Not the best feeling in the world. Trust me, I would know.

Conor and Brock stood behind me, still joking about the brutal morning skate we had to endure. “Man–I need something strong.” Brock said while his eyes wandered the menu. “I swear, if we have another skate like that, I’m gonna need a new set of legs.”

Conor huffed a laugh. “Better legs wouldn’t make a difference for you, buddy.” 

I smiled while Brock gave him a look, “Whatever–” he waved his hand before looking at the menu again. “So, what do you usually get here Gar?”

“Yeah, Garland. You’re the one who said this place was good.” I muttered.

“Because it is. And you need some caffeine in you, Huggy.” Conor shot back, nudging towards the counter. “Maybe then you’ll stop looking like you wanna skate into oncoming traffic.” 

I ignored him since it was probably true, and not a terrible idea considering what I had to deal with in a week or so.

My mind was stuck on last night’s game and the conversation with Tocchet. I couldn’t get it out of my head. The rest of the team didn’t hound me after figuring out what transpired in the coach’s office between me and Simon. They knew not to press me on it–I was glad that they did as I was already in a bad mood. I doubt that Simon kept his mouth shut about it to some of the guys, ranting to them per usual. 

Conor and Brock continued on with their banter. I was only half-listening as I stared at the menu, pretending I knew what any of the drinks meant or how–

I blinked and before I could react, as soon as I took a step forward, the person in front of me turned around–colliding straight into me. I watched as the girl’s cup tipped forward, brown coffee spilling all over her grey hoodie.

“Fuck!” She let out a sharp and frustrated voice under her breath.

My stomach dropped. This wasn’t good.

I staggered back, looking at her. The girl in front of me–who I had just completely steamrolled–stood frozen and appalled, coffee staining the front of her hoodie. The brown liquid spreads rapidly across the cotton like wildfire. 

Her jaw clenched, a mix of annoyance and disbelief flashing across her face.

“Shit, I–” I started, but the words barely left my mouth before she snapped her gaze at me, clearly about to let me have it–then she froze.

I watched her expression shift, something unreadable flickering her chestnut-colored eyes. Her pupils softened, but still held that glare. Her gaze swept over me in a quick assessment. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

Oh, she was pissed.

Looking at her, she was strikingly beautiful. Dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, long eyelashes, very light freckles dotting her nose across her tan skin, the kind of natural beauty that didn’t need any effort. But it was the look in her eyes that got me–like she had already sized me up and made her judgement. 

And from the way her mouth pressed into a tight line, it wasn’t in my favour at all.

“I, uh–” I looked at the sight in front of me, wincing at the view. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Shit. Not the best first impression.

I grabbed napkins from the counter and held them out to her. She took them but didn’t seem all that convinced they would be much help. I watched as she tried to dab at the stain, her expression growing more annoyed by the second. Yeah, the napkins weren’t much help.

It was only right that I offered to buy her another coffee–although, I figured it would make matters worse–so I opted to at least buy her a new hoodie. 

She shook her head to refuse, still working with the napkins. What she said next had caught me completely off guard. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Then she stopped, her own words registering, her eyes widened slightly.

My brows furrowed. “So, you know who I am?”

Maybe she was a Canucks fan.

She met my gaze again, unimpressed. “Yes, I do.” The tone in her voice made it clear that wasn’t exactly a compliment. 

Alright, maybe she wasn’t a fan.

That surprised me. Most of the time, when someone recognized me, there was some level of excitement. But her? She didn’t seem impressed in the slightest. If anything, she looked more annoyed and pissed than before.

A strange mix of amusement and curiosity flickered in my chest. What the hell, that was new.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” I asked, then immediately realized how that sounded. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.” 

I had no other intentions behind that statement. For all I cared, I just wanted to make a things right. Not just because there were now a couple of eyes watching us, but it wouldn’t be fair for her to leave this place without anything in return to help her. Then I’d feel like a complete asshole. 

Sure. She was pretty. Beyond her looks–and her built up frustration–she carried herself with grace and poise. Even in a stained-hoodie, black leggings, and white sneakers, there was still that elegance to her like no one else had–you just had to be born with it.

Wait. I couldn’t be like this.

“I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” she gestured down. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours, but thank you though.”

Before I could say anything else, she turned away.

Don’t look like an asshole. Don’t look like an asshole.

On instinct, I reached out, lightly catching the material of her sleeve. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” She paused, raising a brow at me.

Of course I’d feel terrible. She could have gone off on me in front of the entire shop, but she hadn’t. And now I was weirdly determined to fix it.

But she smirked slightly. “I think I’ll survive without your help, but thanks.”

I stared, absolutely stunned, but a tinge in my lips dared to curve. And just like that, she walked off, returning to her table with another woman–most likely her friend–before I could even respond.

Well that caught me off guard. I don’t think I’ve ever been let down like that. Strangely enough, I was not bothered by it, but just fascinated. It’s not everyday I get these kinds of interactions.

The sound of laughter brought me back, and I turned to see Brock and Conor watching the whole thing unfold with shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. I forgot they were here for a moment.

“Dude,” Brock said, he shook his head in disbelief. “Did we just witness the Quinn Hughes talk to a girl?”

Conor was quick to add, whistled lowly. “Not just talk. Get rejected.”

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t a complete rejection, noting she ‘respectfully’ declined.

“She didn’t reject me.”

“She literally just rejected you,” Brock deadpanned.

“She didn’t even let you buy her a new hoodie,” Conor mentioned the obvious, also shaking his head in mock sympathy. “That’s tough, Huggy.”

“Maybe she saw last night’s game and watched us play like shit and–”

“Shut up.” I said under my breath. 

Given she knew I was an NHL player, there was no doubt that she knew about last night’s game. I wondered if she had even watched it at all. Better if she hadn’t, the sight of us losing on our home turf was not only embarrassing but rather disappointing.

If I were a fan, I would be feeling anything but happy. That realization crashed down on me a lot more than I thought it would.

Brock’s laugh brought me out of my short trance. “No, no, this is big,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “Quinn, do we need to have the talk? You know, the one where we tell you how to approach women like a normal person?”

“You two are the worst.” I wasn’t completely paying attention to them. 

My gaze drifted towards the exit, just in time to watch the same coffee-stained hoodie girl leave the cafe alongside her friend. 

I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t even get her name. But, there was that feeling down my gut that told me this wouldn’t be the last time I was going to see her. 

And usually, my gut-feeling has always been right.

I had two weeks of freedom. A glorious, responsibility-free stretch of time before I had to start this personal hell.

And I spent it the only way I knew how: watching hockey, reading new books that I got a few weeks ago, hanging out with some of the guys, and watching more hockey. 

It was the perfect balance of nothing and everything. Until now. Until this.

I pulled into the Lumé Wellness parking lot, stared at the building through my windshield like it was about to swallow me whole. The building itself was tucked in the center of downtown Vancouver, which was near the Rogers Arena. The area around the studio wasn’t too busy or lively, I didn’t have to worry about the media at this time.

If I could put this mandatory cross-training off another week, I would have in a heartbeat just to prepare myself for this moment. Hell, I would have put it off forever if it meant I wouldn’t have to do this with Simon.

But no, that wasn’t an option, not if I wanted to come back at my best instead of my ass being glued to the bench next season.

My fingers drummed against the steering wheel. I was about to hop out when I glanced around the lot and realized that Simon’s car wasn’t here yet. I took the liberty of keeping track of his cars whenever I could, just to avoid bumping into that prick at random places. 

I was expecting him to be here, especially considering his whole ‘I’m better than you, I know everything, and I make the shots you would have   missed’ complex. But, who was I kidding? Simon didn’t want to be here, and so had I. If he didn’t show, then I wouldn’t blame him. Since he wasn’t here yet, that either meant he was running late on purpose or–worse–he was about to show up here with his sister.

The hoodie girl at the café popped into my head before I could dread what was about to come. 

The thoughts of our interaction weeks ago lingered in my head, which was strange, because usually I didn’t dwell on these things. But the reminiscence of spilling coffee all over her and interacting with her, it had been itching at my brain ever since.

She looked so annoyed, so unimpressed. 

It also didn’t help the fact she knew exactly who I was. I had no idea if she hated me or not, but she probably did now. Not that I cared what people thought of me on or off the ice–except, for some reason, with her, I kind of did.

I shook the thoughts out of my head, got out of my car and walked towards the entrance of the studio, pushing open the glass door. 

The foyer was empty, which was unexpected. I came prepared to see a lot of people here, but it was quiet–too quiet. The scent of essential oils idled in the air, a mix of eucalyptus and lavender, almost enough to make me forget how much I didn’t want to be here. 

I made my way past the front desk, my gaze roaming over the sleek, modern with contemporary wooden interior. Soft lighting, smooth hardwood floor, and floor-to-ceiling arched mirrors in every studio room.

Great. That meant I’d have to watch myself struggle through whatever the hell was about to happen here.

As I wandered further into the hallway, I passed more studio rooms, each one either empty or locked. Then, as I turned the corner, I caught the faint sound of music–Michael Jackson.

I slowed my steps, glancing toward the slightly opened door at the end of the hall. Inside, a single figure was stretching in front of the mirrors.

My feet stopped moving. It took me half a second to realize why.

No. There’s no way.

The café girl. 

She looked the same as the last I saw her. Brown chestnut eyes, her hair in a braid instead of a loose ponytail. Rather than a stained grey hoodie, she wore black yoga pants and a matching fitted jacket. 

I traced her face through the reflection of the mirrors, watched as she moved fluidly, adjusting her position with practiced ease. She was focused, lost in whatever she was doing–until she wasn’t. 

I hadn’t realized how long I was like this for. She must have sensed me, because she suddenly straightened up, her eyes snapping to mine through the mirror. 

“What are you doing here?” She turned to face me, looking just as surprised.

I blinked, clearing my throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Her lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “I asked first.”

Okay. Fair enough.

“I, uh–” I scratched the back of my nape. “I have a session today.”

She tilted her head in amusement, probably found it hard to believe that me, Quinn Hughes, would be at a Pilates studio. I also found that reality hard to grasp around my head. “I’m sure you don’t see a lot of guys here, right?” 

“Well, believe it or not Hughes, I see a few male athletes here and there for Pilates. So, don't go around thinking you’re all that special now.”

Great, it looks like she hadn’t forgotten me after all. I couldn’t tell if I should be happy or worried about that. “So, you remembered me.”

She only nodded, but not in a way that meant it was a good thing. “Well, duh. You’re the reason I had to throw my favourite hoodie in the bin.”

I saw that coming, there was no way she would look at me any other way than this. I wasn’t just an ‘NHL hockey player’ in her eyes, instead I was now dubbed ‘the guy who ruined her clothes’.

“I offered to buy you another one or pay to get it cleaned–”

“I’m just kidding,” she chuckled, ever so lightly, waving her hand. “It’s a good thing washing machines and laundry detergent exist. It took a few cycles and extra scrubbing to get it out, but it’s all gone–good as new.”

That weight I have been carrying on my shoulders for the past two weeks, instantly lifted after hearing that. So, she didn’t hate me in the end. I dodged a bullet there.

“Oh, good–” I huffed out in relief. “I am sorry about that, again.”

All she did was smile. Who knew that a single smile would ignite something beneath my chest. There was that feeling from the cafe again. And I wasn’t sure why it only kept happening around her.

Taking that she hasn’t kicked me out yet, I took a few strides into the room, inviting myself in. I have never been to any Pilates studios, so I have never seen what was inside one–although, I had a good idea of it. 

One side of the walls were large arched floor to ceiling mirrors, the opposite side were windows that overlooked outside, multiple pilates reformers in one neat row, and the other end were laid out yoga mats and more equipment.

“Do you come here often?” I asked.

I figured she was in her twenties, but I could be wrong. I guessed since most Pilates’ clients were either young adults or middle-aged. I did some research prior to coming, and I would know a bit about it since my mom picked it up a couple years ago.

She gave me a vague shrug, “Something like that.”

I exhaled, shifting my weight as I walked around the reformers, taking in my surroundings, still keeping my distance from her. “I should’ve known you did Pilates.”

I recalled from the café; she stood so close that I noticed the small flecks of sweat glisten against her skin. She most likely earned them after being here.

Her brows lifted, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, you seem like you’d be good at it.”

Now that I realized it, I sounded awkward just then. I mentally face-palmed myself for my ‘game’–more like lack thereof. Maybe that talk Brock and Garly were referring to on that day might have come in handy for times like these. I sound like a fucking idiot in front of her.

But, I wasn’t trying to flirt with her. This was simply to make conversation. That’s all.

She stared at me for a moment before she shook her head with a laugh–like she wasn’t sure if I was complimenting her or just making shit up.

I was about to say something else, anything to save me from my impending doom, when Michael Jackson’s voice blasted through the speakers again. I recognized the song immediately.

“Beat It?” I said, more to myself than anything. “Solid choice.”

She turned her back to her bag on the floor, kneeling to grab her water bottle. She glanced at me, amused. “Yeah, you a fan?”

“I know good music when I hear it.”

That earned me a small smirk on her pink tinted lips. 

I didn’t know why, but I felt the need to keep talking to her. I wasn’t usually like this–I didn’t go out of my way to make conversation, unless I had to–but, especially not with strangers. But, my mouth was already moving before I could think about stopping.

“What's your name? You know, since it's only fair because you know mine.” I asked, looking at all the equipment surrounding us.

She exhaled a short scoff, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re not answering them.” 

She twisted the cap off her bottle and took a sip, like she was debating on whether or not she wanted to humor me. Before she said anything, though, another voice cut through the air.

“Let’s not waste time and get on with it.”

I knew that voice all too well. Fuck.

I turned my head just as Simon strolled into the room like he owned the place, then tossed his bag to the side by the wall.

The café girl–her entire posture shifted. She walked over to the speaker where the music came from and turned down the volume. Her head snapped toward him, her expression tight. “Took you long enough. Didn’t I tell you to get here earlier because of traffic in the area?”

Simon barely looked fazed. “Turns out you were right after all. There was traffic. Duly noted for next time.”

My stomach twisted, and I wasn’t sure why. Simon has a wife, I knew that, but it did put me on edge to see her and Simon talk to one another. They spoke casually, so effortlessly, like they had known each other forever. Not that I was jealous or anything.

It seemed like I was invisible and there was a wall between myself and the two of them. 

I cleared my throat and interrupted their conversation. “Do you guys know each other?”

Simon shot me a look, one of those ‘are you the dumbest person on earth?’ expressions he was always good at–towards me specifically.

“No shit, Hughes,” he deadpanned. Then he jerked his chin toward her. “She’s my sister.”

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 4.7k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; quinn is playing + canucks won yesterday against la? we are soo back! i kinda forgot to give simon a face claim...oops! but, i did have an idea or picture him to look similar to kevin fiala or roman josi, i just can't find a face claim for him. it's up to your imagination as well! happy reading <3

CHAPTER TWO

SYDNEY

My alarm went off multiple times within the past fifteen minutes, and kept hitting the snooze button each time it did. So much for wanting to wake up early this morning.

I fluttered my eyes open, adjusting to the natural light through the window.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the dull ache in my right leg. It wasn’t a sharp pain–more like a persistent stiffness, reminding me that no matter how much progress I made, and lots of physiotherapy sessions, I wouldn’t always feel one hundred percent.

There was no point in dwelling on it. I had a busy day ahead, and self-pity wasn’t on the agenda. Not today.

I ungracefully got out of bed–did some stretches, single-leg squats, and hopped on one foot.

Nothing some movement wouldn’t fix.

The discomfort usually disappeared once I got my body moving. Truly odd, but if it got me through the day, I was not going to complain.

I moved through my morning routine with muscle memory. A quick shower, skin care, matching black compression set, an oversized hoodie thrown on without much thought, and tied my hair into a ponytail.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, the coffee machine was already doing its magic. As I waited, I flipped the TV on in the living room out of habit as I did every morning. 

The post-game analysis was still running from last night’s Canucks-Oilers’ game. I wasn’t surprised that this was the first thing that popped up on the screen, considering it’s been a while since my hometown, Vancouver, had made a playoff appearance. It was a huge deal for the city.

I caught a whiff of the last few minutes after getting home late from the studio–just in time to witness the whole debacle unfold. 

My brother, Simon, and his teammate.

The miscommunication. The puck hitting the post. The loss.

A blown play that cost them a ticket to conference finals. 

Now, every analyst, reporter, or fan was commenting and dissecting it.

“This was a complete breakdown,” one of the reporters began. “Simon Gray and Quinn Hughes were on totally different pages the entire game. You can’t have your best forward and your top defensemen out of sync in the most important moments–”

I turned the TV off and took a sip of my coffee, already knowing how that played out. My stomach was tightening at the sight of Simon after the buzzer went off.

Before the game, I sent him a short and simple ‘good luck!’, and haven’t heard from him since. Fair enough, given the outcome of the game.

Simon was going to be miserable for days, maybe weeks, more likely the entire summer. My brother was going to be impossible to deal with after that. And if history has taught itself, he was going to blame others for his mistakes. He always did.

I looked at the time, almost choking on my coffee, “Shit.”

I was running late for my first private session of the day, and Phoebe–one of my regular clients–was going to get there before me. Again.

If someone had asked me years ago what I saw myself doing, being a Pilates instructor wouldn’t even make the list. But life has a way of throwing you in places you’d never expect.

It started after the incident, I don’t talk about it much–there was nothing left to say. It happened. It definitely changed things. And for a very long time, I felt lost in my own body, like going through motions without purpose.

Doctors and my physiotherapist gave me exercises, stretches, and a never-ending list of things to “try”. Nothing clicked. Nothing felt right.

Until, I stepped into my first Pilates class. I remembered feeling a bit skeptical at first, convinced it was another trendy workout–the one all the girls tried out. It was the first time in a long time I felt connected to myself again. 

I kept going. I got better. And then I got really good. Good enough that one day, the owner of the studio I’d been training at, pulled me aside and asked if I ever thought about teaching. 

I laughed at the time, but the idea lingered that it stuck. And here I was: an instructor at Lumé Wellness–the top studio branch in Vancouver–fully booked for the summer, doing what I love.

The studio wasn’t that far from my apartment, twenty minutes tops without traffic which most days I was thankful for.

By the time I made it to the studio, sure enough, Phoebe was already inside one of the private rooms, stretching on the mat.

She raised an eyebrow at me as I put my bag down. “Would it kill you to be on time for once?” Phoebe teased, pulling her dark curls into a bun.

I rolled my eyes and started stretching beside her. “It’s five minutes.”

She shrugged and wiggled her brows, “Five minutes that I spent wondering if you were late because a guy kept you up last night.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned with a smile. “Don’t start this again, Phoebe.”

All she did was grin, absolutely delighted at the sight of my suffering. Phoebe was in her late forties, a social butterfly with too much energy for the morning slot, and too much curiosity for her own good. 

Plus the fact she was newly single and thriving in the chaos of her impending divorce, loved to poke at my non-existing dating life. She was a sucker for drama, and if my love life–or lack thereof–could provide her entertainment, she’d without a doubt take it.

“Oh come on, humor me, Syd. There has to be someone,” she said, settling onto the reformer. “You’re giving off the ‘I’m seeing someone new’ glow.”

I scoffed at her. “That ‘glow’ you’re referring to is just the new overhead lighting.”

She snorted then sighed dramatically as I adjusted her stance, “You know, you should really make time for some fun.”

“I have fun.” I argued.

“Pilates and binge-watching The Office at home doesn’t count.”

She got me there.

We continued on with our session. Usually with Phoebe, time flies so fast when all she did was rant about her life–pestering me about mine–but she eventually let it go once we began the harder exercises.

I barely got a moment to breathe before moving on to my bigger group session. To my luck, this group was breeze to get through as they followed my exercises on the reformer with ease. Not to mention, the music blasting through the speakers in the studio allowed them to get into that rhythm which was helpful as well.

Just when the last song ended, the group of ladies’ chests heaved, the room was filled with breaths of exhaustion, and a few went straight for their water bottles.

“Alright, ladies! Great work today! Hope to see you in our next class.”

They all left one by one, saying ‘bye’ on their way out, until I was the only one left.

Two or three classes to teach in the mornings usually had me working around lunch.

And by then, I was starving. 

My routine was pretty much the same, there was not a lot to do with an hour break. But, most days consisted of grabbing a quick meal at the nearest bistro or cafe with my closest friend. As I was about to pick up my things off the floor, my phone in my pocket buzzed.

Speak of the devil herself.

“Hey, Diane,” I answered, tucking my phone in between my ear and shoulder as I packed.

“Are we still on for lunch? I’m already at the café.”

I heard the faint lively sounds of the city of Vancouver in the background. “Yeah, I’m about to leave the studio and make my way–”

“Sydney?”

Right as I was trying to make a beeline to the doors, I turned to see Grace–the owner of the studio–peeking out her office door. My stomach dropped.

“One sec, Di.” I lowered my phone, ending the call. “Everything alright, Grace?”

“Can you step into my office for a minute?”

Fuck. This cannot be good. 

I followed her inside. It was a rare sight to see any of the studio employees in Grace’s office, she usually came to talk to me after my classes, never the other way around.

She never gave off vibes that ever intimidated me. I have never seen her upset with anyone, unless they truly pushed her buttons. The word ‘nervous’ wasn’t enough to express how I was feeling right then and there.

“Have a seat,” she gestured to the empty chair across from her. I gave her a smile, but beneath that was a wave of anxiety washing over me.

I tried to figure out what I might have done wrong. Did someone complain? Did I mix up the schedules or bookings? Did Phoebe finally rat me out for showing up late most of the time? The idea of me getting fired was not on my list of things today.

Grace sat behind her desk, clasping her hands together. “I have some news for you.”

Oh God. This is it. I was getting fired.

“I know your lunch break just started, so I’ll just get straight to it.” Grace had always been forward when she spoke. “There’s an opportunity with the Vancouver Canucks. Their management reached out about a summer cross-training program. They wanted us to coordinate it.”

I blinked at her, “And…?”

“And I told them you’d do it.”

As if my eyes couldn’t get any wider than it was. I stared at her in complete and utter disbelief, waiting for some sort of punchline. “You’re joking.”

Grace smiled, “Nope.”

I would have never imagined she’d say those words. This might be worse than getting fired.

There had been a few occasions when I had worked with soccer clubs, and a few college football players for cross-training. But, I had never done a session with the professional leagues such as the NHL. This was way different.

“Grace, I’m flattered but–” I thought about my words carefully, “I have a full schedule this summer and–”

“I am aware of your busy schedule,” she said, waving a hand. “I already adjusted your schedule accordingly to accommodate for this.”

Of course she did..

I opened my mouth, then closed it. This conversation was already headed towards the direction I dreaded. “There are other instructors here that I think are more qualified–who have worked in this studio for much longer that are more deserving for this job.”

Grace raised a brow at me, “Do you think I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you were more than qualified?”

Shit. I had that coming. I basically dug that hole myself. 

I stayed silent for my own good, Grace knew she was right and she sighed. 

“They want you,” she said simply.

“What? Why?”

I answered a bit too quickly, unknowingly raising my voice an octave or two. I shift in my chair, clearing my throat having just panicked in front of my boss.

“Well, given that you have a good background on hockey, I thought you were perfect for the position. Not to mention that their head coach, Rick Tocchet, had also referred to you. And if it helps, it’s not the entire team you will train with. Just two of their players.” Her lips twitched as she leaned in her seat. “One of them being your brother.”

My stomach twisted. I should have seen this from a mile away. Why didn’t I make that connection instantly right when she said ‘Vancouver Canucks’?

After all, my older brother Simon was one of the top forwards for the team.

Although, he may be my family and I would do anything for him–I wouldn’t train him or anyone on his team for that matter. Hockey was Simon’s thing, and I had my own so we stayed out of each other’s lane. And we like to keep it that way.

Plus, I wasn’t all that into men that played hockey. They weren’t my go-to type. But, I would be lying to myself if I didn't think there were some head-turners, but nothing too crazy of the sort. I have never dated a hockey guy.

I blinked, tapping out of my short trance. My brain was processing the fact that I was going to spend all summer with my brother and his teammate. 

Which led me to another question for Grace. 

“So, if I’m training my brother–” I said, dragging out the last word. “–who is the other?”

She took a moment before she replied, “Quinn Hughes.”

That brought me to a full stop. What?

My eyes were nothing but bloodshot, “Quinn Hughes?” There was absolutely no hiding my distraught expression, even if I tried my hardest to contain it. “That’s asking for the impossible, Grace. It would take a miracle for those two to work together.”

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling.

Simon hated Quinn Hughes. I have spent the last few years listening to him ranting about how Quinn came in a year after he was drafted and ‘ruined’ everything–climbing the ranks, breaking franchise records as a defensemen, and taking the spotlight. 

I never truly understood the obsession. Simon had never acted this way growing up, especially towards another teammate. Now, he’s spent years resenting Quinn, blaming him for everything that has gone wrong in his career. I have asked multiple times specifically why he hated him so much, all I got was some half-assed answer.

And I’ve never met the guy, but from what I’ve seen, he seems alright.

“Your job is to make sure they don’t kill each other,” Grace continued. “I told Rick Tocchet you’d do it. And of course, you will be paid. More importantly, the Canucks��� are willing to invest in our studio. We’re growing and this would help fund more studios to expand, Sydney.”

Wow. It would be a great deal for Lumé Wellness now that I think about it. After adding the brand new Pilates reformers and more intensive sessions, our class attendances shot through the roof. The space in our studio was limited and we were growing in numbers as waitlists were piling up. 

What kind of Pilates instructor would I be if I didn’t want that for the studio?

I exhaled a sigh, “What about the media? They will be a problem–”

“We will handle it,” Grace cut me off. “After what happened last night, there’s no doubt that the press will track two of their star players’ moves throughout the summer. That’s why Rick, the Canuck’s team, and I will ensure that we will keep the training sessions on the down-low to prevent the media from talking.” 

That reassured me to an extent, but I was still skeptical. This was a bad idea.

It was easy to figure out why this arrangement was set in the first place. Those two, especially my brother, needed to stop acting like children and start acting like grown adults. Play like real professional hockey players. 

After the loss last night, it was only a matter of time when their team did something about it. I was surprised that it took them long enough. A few years ago, I wondered why they hadn't forced them to be stranded on an island together. Maybe surviving off an island together surely would have allowed them to work together at least.

The look in Grace’s eyes were telling me that there was no way out of this. Even if I came up with more excuses or tried to find a replacement, her (and apparently Rick Tocchet) mind was already made up.

I leaned back in my chair, my head was spinning in constant circles. “Is there any way for me to get out of this?”

“No.”

Damn. A complete shut down.

“Of course not,” I mumbled.

She gave me a knowing look, “Everything will be fine, that I can assure you, Sydney. Sessions will begin in two weeks.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed. Great.

I nodded my head as Grace dismissed me out of her office, gave her a small wave. I stepped out of the studio, took a deep breath trying to process what just happened in the last few minutes. I still couldn’t believe it.

My phone went off. Four missed calls and numerous text messages from Diane.

I called her back, and the second she picked up, she was already yelling. “Where the hell are you?”

A dull throb in my temple ached. “I got held up, I’ll be there in ten.”

“What happened?”

I sighed and began walking down the sidewalk. “You’re never going to believe me if I told you.”

The café was already packed by the time I got there, the low hum of conversation blending with the clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine.

I spotted Diane almost immediately, she sat by the window, with a half-eaten bagel and small bits of crumbs on the table. She glanced up just as I approached her and instantly raised a brow.

“You’re late,” she said, pointing at me with her bagel in hand. “Again.”

“Sorry, I got held up.” I told her as I dropped into the chair across from her.

She playfully scoffed and held up her now empty cup, “Enough that I already finished one latte.” She smirked before setting it down. “Alright, spill. What was so important that you hung up on me and left me hanging here?”

“Grace.”

Diane’s eyes widened at that. She knew how rare it was for me–or anyone in the studio– to get caught up in Grace’s hair to get sent to her office. There were only good things I have told Diane about my boss over the years. Like the time she gave all the studio employees a gift certificate to the infamous spa in the north side of the city. It was generous of her, but it was quite expensive.

I took a deep breath before explaining to my friend of my new summer plans. Having to say it all out loud made me realize how real this was. It was going to happen and I wasn’t just dreaming in that office.

“Wait. I’m sorry, what?” Diane nearly choked on her coffee.

“Yep,” I popped the ‘p’, and nodded at her. “You heard me.”

For a split second, there was silence. 

Her face lit up accompanied with a squeal. Oh no. Here we go.

Diane’s expression was something between shock and excitement, “Syd, are you serious? That’s freaking nuts!” Unaware of her volume, she earned the glances of other customers in the café. We were both quick to give them apologetic nods. She leaned closer across the table, her voice quieter this time, “That’s huge, Syd!”

I scoffed, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

Diane grinned, “Are you kidding? You get to train professional athletes. NHL players. Do you know how many people would kill for that opportunity?”

She was right. It’s not everyday that you get to work with athletes in the big leagues. Anyone in the studio could have easily taken this job and taken the news a lot more lightly and professionally than I did. But no, oddly enough I didn’t have any other choice or say in the decision.

I shook my head at her, slumping into my seat. “It’s not that simple.”

Diane tilted her head as if I grew another pair of eyes, “What’s not simple about that? You get to train with your brother and I don’t think that’s all too difficult, right? Shouldn’t it be easier since he is your brother?”

As much as I loved my brother, we liked keeping our lives separate from each other. He had his career, and I had mine. Not saying that I wasn’t proud of him or embarrassed that my brother was one of the hockey stars in the league. I was very proud that he achieved his dreams, why wouldn’t I be? I just liked supporting him from the sidelines. 

“Me and Simon are close but–” I paused, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my finger. “We don’t mix our careers or get involved in each other’s business. Now, I’m being thrown right into it and it just…complicates things.”

Diane watched me carefully, “Is that really a bad thing?”

I hesitated before answering her. “I’ve never really been a part of his hockey world, this was totally unexpected. Hell, I don’t even know if he knows about it. He hasn’t texted me since yesterday before the game.” 

“Okay, so you’re only training your brother. Big deal. It’s not like you’re training with the whole team.” She waved a hand, acting like that was the only issue I was dealing with.

I shot her a look, I accidentally left out a big piece of information while explaining to her.

“And Quinn Hughes,” I added flatly.

Diane’s jaw dropped to the floor, “Wait–Quinn Hughes? As in, the captain of the team and the best defensemen in the league ‘Quinn Hughes’?”

As far as hockey goes for Diane, she had no interest in the sport, unless there was eye-candy on the team. When it came down to the NHL, the only names she was familiar with were the ‘good-looking’ guys, my brother, and Quinn Hughes. 

I nodded, then took a quick sip of my coffee, “Apparently, my job is to make sure they don’t kill each other during the summer.”

“Wow. That’s definitely…something.”

“Exactly.” I crossed my arms. “I barely know Quinn. But, Simon? He’s been going off about the guy for years. And now I’m supposed to train them. Together? That’s a shitshow waiting to happen.”

Diane shrugged her shoulders, looking at me thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s an opportunity.”

My brow raised at that, “To do what? Watch my brother have a meltdown? Yeah, no thanks.” 

“But–”

I groaned, “Diane.”

She was teasing, and she never fails to get away with it. “I’m just saying, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. You’ll be challenged. You’ll make new connections. And–” She paused. “Who knows, this might just be the most interesting thing going for you right now since the accident–nevermind, sorry.”

Ouch. That stung.

But, Diane was right. As much as I’d like to think that my life was perfect and everything was going the right places, deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Ever since I got hurt and went through months of recovering, the course of direction my life was heading towards took a hard turn.

Now, I have ended up here. But, I wasn’t not grateful as things could have been worse, very worse. Over the years, I had to learn how to go with the flow and accept it.

I knew she didn’t mean to say that with bad intentions. Diane always wanted what was best for me, and I was glad that she felt that way since I would do the same with her. She was my longest friend for as long as I could remember.

She gave me an apologetic smile, “If anything, maybe your brother can introduce you to his teammates or–”

I playfully shook my head, then stood up with my empty cup in my hands. “I’m getting more coffee.”

She laughed, “Fine. But, I am not done talking about this.”

I gave her a look over my shoulder before heading over to the front counter. The café was even busier now, and I had to squeeze past a few people waiting for their orders. I handed my cup to the barista, tapping my fingers against the counter as I waited.

Diane’s words lingered in my head. Maybe this was a big opportunity, Maybe I was overreacting. But there was still that anxious feeling in my stomach, my subconscious telling me that I was not ready for this.

The barista handed me the the refilled cup, and I turned back towards our table–

Only to be met with a sudden, solid force.

The next thing I knew, the warmth of hot coffee spilled down the front of my hoodie. I sucked in a sharp breath as the heat seared against my skin right through the fabric. “Fuck!”

The impact rattled me, as I staggered back, barely managing to keep hold of the cup and maintaining my balance. I looked down at the damage, dark brown stains spread across the pale gray fabric.

I clenched my jaw. Just perfect. 

“Shit, I–”

I glanced up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my fucking mind and–

I froze. No, it can’t be.

Quinn fucking Hughes.

Stood right in front of me, low and behold, looked just as surprised as I did.

Up close, he was taller than I expected–maybe I was just short– lean but solid, his broad shoulders filling out his fitted black hoodie effortlessly. His dark hair was slightly tousled under his hat; damp at the ends like he’d just finished practice or a workout, and completely blended with the crowd of people as if he wasn’t one of the biggest NHL players in the league.

I blinked, my brain lagging for a second. I’ve seen him on TV, many times before, in clips that Simon had angrily sent me after a few bad games, but seeing him up close was different. Very different.

He had his own unique attractiveness, I won’t lie. He had the light scruffy stubble around his jaw–sharp jawline, and piercing green eyes that made him look intense, but there was a softness in the way that he blinked at me, momentarily thrown off.

What was he doing here of all places?

He didn’t seem to realize that I wasn’t saying anything and ran a hand through his hair, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I, uh–” He hesitated, looking vaguely horrified at the sight of my hoodie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to calm down despite the feeling of coffee soaking into my hoodie. “Yeah, no kidding.”

 He pulled a handful of napkins from the counter and offered them to me, “Here.”

“Thanks.” I took them from his grasp and attempted to clean the stain, knowing it wouldn’t do much but tried anyway. 

“I can buy you another one,” Quinn offered, nodding towards the counter. “Or, at least a new hoodie?

I shook my head, frustrated that the napkins were making my hoodie worse. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Oh shit. My eyes widened as soon as the words slipped from my mouth. 

That caught him off guard, and so had I.

Quinn’s expression lit up and brows furrowed instantly at that, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “So, you know who I am?”

“Yes, I do.” I said in a tone indicating that it wasn’t a good thing. 

He studied me for a moment. Probably thinking that I was a hockey fan or whatnot.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” He paused, scrambling to rephrase what his intentions were behind that question. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.”

He sounded pretty genuine and his intentions were nothing but pure, hopefully.

I gave him a look, “I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” I looked down at the mess. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours.”

As I was about to turn my back on him, his fingers found the material of my sleeve, and swiftly pulled me back. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” 

He only nodded, which amused me.

“I think I can survive without your help, but thanks.”

Quinn’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but thought the better of it before I turned around.

I felt his eyes linger on me as soon as I made my way back to Diane. She watched the whole thing and she looked like she was about to lose her damn mind once I sat down.

I glanced over my shoulder back to where Quinn stood. I was so lost in that interaction that I hadn’t noticed two other of his Canuck buddies were standing behind him. I watched them laughing–most likely teasing him–about what they witnessed. Great, that was just great.

“What the actual fuck just happened, Syd?” 

I wish I knew.

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray) & oc!brother

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 2.7k

✮⋆˙ series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; hi everyone, here's the first chapter of 'offseason'! i thought about making this a prologue but decided not to lol. and again, this fic is inspired by the striker by ana huang BUT make it hockey. also note that this was set around the same time as the 2024 playoffs. weekly updates unless noted otherwise and let me know if i'm missing any warnings. not really proof-read so excuse any mistakes & happy reading!

CHAPTER ONE

QUINN

I wasn’t the type to get a wave of anxiety while playing, but something about playing the biggest match of your life really does fuck you over; both physically and mentally.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, a tidal wave of noise continued to wash over me. 

My sweat dripped down my face, stinging my eyes. My lungs burned, but the adrenaline rush fueled every muscle in my body. There was no stopping me at this point. I was on a high.

Fans cheered for my team, for me, which always fired me up. I mean, I’ve always dreamed of this moment ever since I started to learn how to skate. Playing in the NHL, competing for a Western Conference title, and hopefully earning a spot to win the Stanley Cup.

It’s every hockey player’s dream. And here I am.

Game 7. A tied series against the Edmonton Oilers in the second round playoffs.

Everyone in this building was putting their faith in us–putting their faith in me to win it.

But in this very moment, I tried not to think about the immense pressure that has been put on me throughout this season. Being the new captain this year had its perks, but more importantly, all eyes were on you.

There were lots of articles and reports about me after announcing my captaincy; wondering if my team’s performance would either sky rocket, or plummet down to the ground with my new leadership in the mix. 

Everyone thought that it was a bad idea to name one of the youngest guys on the team to take on such an important role. I get it. Not a lot of people saw me as a leader since I wasn’t the loudest or biggest guy in the room. But seeing how my team’s come this far into the playoffs, I’d say I was doing pretty well. 

The scoreboard flashes: CANUCKS 2 – OILERS 3.

The game clock ticked down. One minute left. The crowd’s tension in the arena was palpable as they were on their feet.

My grip on my stick tightened when I reached the defensive zone, next to Demmer, our goalie. Eyes glued onto the puck, watching the swarm of Canucks and Oilers trying to battle along the boards for possession. 

Edmonton’s Cody Ceci got a hold of the puck, and tried to wrap around the post in front of me. 

He flicked his wrist. But my body reacted faster than I could process as my stick inched forwards in Ceci’s way. The puck bounces off my stick and rebounds off of Demko’s pads.

Fil dived forwards, swiping the puck loose in my direction.

I swiftly caught it and passed it forward to Conor Garland, racing towards the blue line. 

The Oilers were pressing hard as they closed in. Connor McDavid was breathing down Garly’s neck as he skated down, cutting the ice. He sped up ahead, but stumbled–although a piece of his stick poked the puck just enough out of McDavid’s reach.

I was too far behind, I won’t be able to get there. 

I scanned the ice, looking for anyone to take it.

“The puck is loose! And looks like McDavid will take it–AND THERE COMES SIMON GRAY!” The announcers shouted. 

Simon came out of nowhere in my line of view. 

A few seconds ago he was by the boards, but being a fast skater like himself, he easily swiped the puck and gained possession.

Gray skated towards the blue line, glancing up only to find two Oilers about to press on him. 

I caught up and flanking on his left by the blue line, Garland trailing slightly behind.

He needed to pass it, now.

“Yeah, Gray!” I yelled at him, my stick ready to wind up.

Simon ignored me, eyes kept scanning the ice for Garly or Fil, looking anywhere but at me.

What the fuck?

The clock was ticking down, twelve seconds left. We were still down by one.

I was open, wide open. Why won’t he fucking pass it to me?

Ten.

I heard Tocchet spit out a variety of curses directed at Simon, so did our teammates on the side.

My heart hammered against my ribs, my eyes reeked of desperation.

Eight.

Seven.

Frustration loomed over me and took over. I began slamming my stick onto the ice. Hard. Yelling louder than I ever had, “GRAY! PASS THE PUCK.”

He gave me a short lived glance, fleeting look of annoyance. The two Oilers were basically about to jump on top of him. 

Four.

Simon tightened his jaw as he looked at the net with hesitation. Just give me the puck.

Three.

He lifted his stick, winding it back. The crowd roared in anticipation.

Two.

He fired a wrist shot, and the puck rockets towards the net.

One.

It sailed wide, hitting the post in a sickening thud.

My head drops along with my stick. The air in the arena was thickening, heavy with the weight of disappointment. My team just stood there, appalled, as they stared into the abyss of the Oilers flooding the ice.

It’s over.

We lost.

This was the season I thought we had it; a chance to advance to the Western Conference Final, and a chance to compete for the Stanley Cup. This would have been the year for the Canucks.

Everyone expected a lot from us–from me to bring home a championship, but we lost.

I skated back to the bench, joining my teammates as they gave me consoling pats on the back and helmet.

I looked over my shoulder. My frustrated eyes found Simon, who was still on the ice, staring blankly ahead thinking about what he had done.

He was probably lost in whatever excuses he came up with.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

The game was over. The damage was done.

The atmosphere was tense. Silence filled the air with the exception of occasional clangs of the equipment being tossed onto the floor. 

Nothing was more awkward than coming back to the locker room–when you just lost one of the most important games in your life. No one knew what to say. But there was nothing worse than facing our coach who entered the room last.

Rick Tocchet walking in the locker room was like a storm rolling in–controlled, yet charged with something heavy. He wasn’t the kind of coach who needed to yell to make you feel the weight of his words. His silence did enough.

The room was dead silent as he stood in the center, arms crossed, looking down at the floor. 

I kept my head up, but I could feel the frustration pulsing off him, off all of us. He wasn’t just pissed at the loss–definitely not–he was pissed about how we lost. 

About the selfish plays, the missed connections, the opportunities that were handed to us on a silver platter but let slip away.

Finally, he spoke, his voice even but firm.

“You wanna win? Start playing like a damn team. What I saw out there was nowhere near a team that would win a championship. This is the playoffs for fuck’s sake!”

No one said a single word. We didn’t need to. We all knew exactly who he was talking about.

I slumped into my stall, jaw clenched, replaying the last few seconds in my head like an endless loop. My chest heaves as I stare at the floor. Across from me, Simon leaned back against the lockers, arms crossed, looking unfazed.

Myers shook his head, the first guy on the team to break the silence, “We had them. We just needed one more clean play.”

The others nodded, thinking the same thing.

Those last ten seconds of the game was between me and Simon, everyone in the room knew that. It was just the matter which one of us was going to speak first.

Simon wasn’t going to talk, but when had he ever? 

Being the captain, the team’s eyes fell onto me, I guess I won that latter.

I let out a sharp exhale, then looked up–directly at Simon.

“Why didn’t you pass it to me?”

Simon shrugged, clearly uninterested, “Didn’t see you.”

My brows almost immediately clashed together. Is he being serious right now? A few players exchanged looks. JT Miller, Millsy, scoffed at that, shaking his head. Simon always had a way with his words, clever tongue. There were times when he caught Millsy off guard, he didn’t like that, not one bit.

“Bullshit.”

Simon smirked, spoke in a mocking tone, “Wow. Cap is swearing now? Must be serious.”

I stood up unwillingly, the blades of my skates clattering against the rubber floor. “You know what? Yeah. It is pretty fucking serious. You don’t want to pass it to me? Fine. But you put yourself above the team, and that’s why we’re packing our shit instead of getting ready for the next round.” 

It’s not that he just chuckled, and shook his head as if this was another post-game rant that pissed me off. He looked amused to see me riled up like this. That’s all Simon ever wanted. To provoke me.

I wanted to slap that grin off his face.

“Relax, Hughes. It’s one game.” He said loosely.

As if the air in the room couldn’t be more suffocating, I was about to lose my mind.

I stepped closer, glaring at him, “It’s not just one game, Gray. It’s every damn game. Every shift. Every time you decide you would rather play your own game than be a teammate. I don’t give a shit if you’re a great player–you’re a shitty teammate, and you have been for years now. It’s not helping this team.”

Silence. Simon’s smirk faded, his jaw tightened. A few of the guys shift in their spot uncomfortably.

This was the first time I had to ever do something like this in front of them. I wasn’t really thinking once my mouth started running–which was very out of character for me, but I couldn’t help it, not when I was so frustrated. I could have said much more, but seeing the increasing tension in the room, they got the point.

JT’s voice was low, “He’s not wrong…”

Simon exhaled sharply through his nose, standing up. Both him and I are practically nose to nose now. I lifted my chin, sizing him up a bit. But it didn’t help that he was an inch taller than me. “You don’t like the way I play? Cool. But don’t come crying when I end up with more points–”

“Hughes. Gray. My office. Now.” Tocchet’s stern voice caused my head to whip to him, and so did everyone in the room.

We both traded glances–both annoyed, neither surprised. It was about time our coach pulled us apart. If Gray kept going, my fists would be colliding against his face not a second later. But I kept my cool.

There was no questioning. We just obeyed, dragging our feet to the coach’s office.

Tocchet was already behind his desk, hands firm on the armrest of his chair, eyes burning with barely restrained anger. 

Once the door was shut behind us, it didn’t take long for the man to be straightforward.

“You two have a problem.” He stared at the both of us. 

He was only stating the obvious. It has been like this for years–the moment I arrived here in Vancouver to be exact. Simon got drafted to the Canucks a year before I did, and he did nothing but give me hell, and progressively got worse each season. 

I don’t know what went wrong. There were many conversations–I tried to figure out what his problem was with me. But, he wouldn’t budge at all no matter how many times I asked.

So, I learned to tolerate him. We didn’t need to be friends as long as we worked together on the ice. I was willing and trying, but clearly he couldn’t do that either.

“Ten seconds. That’s all we needed. But instead, I got–” He gestured to the both of us, “–whatever the hell that was. Sims, Hughsy was wide open while you had two guys on you. Hell, he was so loud that the entire fucking arena heard him.”

Simon sunk further down his chair, “Coach, I thought I had it. If I had passed it to Hughes, it would’ve–”

“Would have what?” Tocchet seethed.

He was upset, all three of us were. I stayed silent, staring off into space, replaying what could have been–actually–the worst last few seconds in the season. He knew if he had given the puck to me, then I would get all the glory in the end. But, I don’t care if I had the winning goal, I never cared about that. I cared about the team. And just because Gray was his selfish, arrogant, and–

“But, Coach–”

“Sims, you don’t need to like Huggy, you just need to work together and start acting like teammates. Because next season? This bullshit stops.”  He said pointing at the two of us.

Tocchet grabs two files and tossed them onto the desk. Simon and I immediately gravitate our attention to it. “This isn’t up for debate. You two are a disaster together. So, this is my way of fixing this mess. I’ve set up a mandatory off-season program for the both of you.”

I frowned at that, reaching for the file, “Off-season?”

“What kind of program?” Simon slowly grabbed the other.

“Cross-training. Pilates. Together.”

“What?”

Both Simon and I practically bursted at the same time.

I wasn’t sure if I heard correctly, like my ears were messing with me. There was no way Tocchet was making the two of us spend our entire off-season together. 

There were no rules about how to spend your off-season, players did whatever they pleased during those four months. Some went on multiple vacations, or hung out with friends, and spent time with families. The organization didn’t care where you were or what you were doing–as long as they put in some summer training before the preseason camps starting in September.

“You’re joking…” Simon said.

Tocchet shook his head, “Does it look like I’m joking, Sims? I threw in a small surprise for you too. I was told she was the best of the best. You will be training with Sydney Gray.”

Wait, Gray? As in–

“My sister? No way in hell! I am not training with her.” Simon said, raising his voice a little. The guys on the other side of the door probably heard that, considering how silent it got out there.

“That isn’t fair. There has to be some sort of bias behind that.” I reasoned.

Since Simon rarely talks to me, I didn’t know much about his family–unless I overheard him talking about them. So, I knew he had a sister, and they seemed close the way he talks about her. Therefore, spending my summer with the Gray siblings just means a recipe for disaster.

“This isn’t up for discussion. I talked with her studio and you two are booked in. You will do these sessions with Sydney twice a week. She is one of the best pilates instructors here in the city. That means you will give her nothing but your utmost cooperation and respect.” Tocchet’s voice seemed to have dialed down, but still held some intensity behind his glare. “Because if you can’t show me that you figured your shit out by September, you’re riding the bench next season. That’s final.”

And there it was…the big drop.

I was anticipating him to whip out that card sooner rather than later. But worst of all, I knew he wasn’t joking. Rick Tocchet doesn’t mess around, at least, not with this.

“Understood?”

“Understood.”

Simon and I both sunk further in our seats, as if our world just stopped moving.

I wanted this offseason to be just how I planned. Time with my family, a chance to reset after the pressure of my first year as captain. Instead, I’m stuck with the one guy on the team who would rather shoot a puck into the post than pass to me. 

And now we’re supposed to fix it with fucking Pilates? With his sister, Sydney Gray, training us? 

Yeah…this was going to be a nightmare.

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray) & oc!brother (simon gray)

summary ; quinn hughes and simon gray can never work together as teammates on the ice. after blowing the canucks' ticket to the conference finals, both of them are put in a mandatory offseason cross-training program in pilates. there's one problem, their instructor was sydney gray, simon's sister. not only does quinn have to spend his entire summer with the person he loathed, but also his sister who was completely off-limits. things got complicated once simon steps out of the picture–but the more time they spent together, the harder it was to stay away.

warnings & content ; the striker but make it hockey, trainer, former figure skater, teammate's sister fmc, trainer-to-friends-to-situationship-to-lovers (i think? lol), explicit nsfw, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, brother's kinda a douche to quinn, and explicit language, more to add.

dual pov ; quinn and sydney

song ; safety net by ariana grande

etc ; playlist & face-claim (dekota thompson)

a/n ; first ever fic on tumblr, spare me and pls be kind! also note that what i write is purely fiction, therefore most things didn't actually happen irl. the portrayal of these characters/people in this fic isn't how they are portrayed in irl either, just for the sake of this story. this is also inspired by ana huang's book the striker, basically the hockey version my own with my own twist. masterlists and more links will be available soon! thank you!

table of contents;

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

more coming soon!

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.