one day all my love will come back to me
Spending a mid-degree gap year in the guest bedroom of your best friend who you’ve been in love with for ages seems to be a recipe for disaster until a hook up with a player from a visiting team threatens to change your future forever
pairing: nathan mackinnon x reader; brayden point x reader
warnings: creative liberties taken with the 2021-2022 regular season schedule and the availability/contributions of Brayden Point during the 2022 playoffs, typical angst associated with a love triangle with a hint of unrequited love, sexual themes (not quite smut but more than implied) and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc.)
word count: 10.9k
a/n: surprise @senditcolton i'm your summer exchange fic writer! i'm so so so sooooo sorry this is late, @wyattjohnston and i were having a hot girl european summer and it's not an excuse but a bit of an explanation. when i saw you had written brayden point twice in your players list, i knew it was time to dust off this fic idea i had last year and do her proper justice. i hope you like it!!! shout out to demi for the many "replace c with C" suggestions on google docs and @thomasschabot for the other suggestions. ok i'll shut up now, enjoy!!
The Avs are up by one with thirty seconds to go and you’re pretty sure you’re going to puke. It’s a good thing everyone is far too focused on the action going on at ice level to question why your gaze keeps bouncing between the good guys and a certain forward on the other team. It’s such a strange feeling—you want with your entire being for your boys to hoist the Cup, but there’s a small part of you that never wants to see the boy on the other team you care for so deeply, so upset. He was right, you both crossed the line past hooking up a long time ago.
-
“You look hot.”
In any other circumstance, those words from Nate would have your heart going into overdrive. As it stands, your heart is already pumping at a rate you fear is not healthy while you lie on a trampoline with your niece’s sprinkler set up beneath it. For every bitter complaint you’ve ever had about a Canadian winter, the opposing heat waves might just be slightly worse.
“A/C’s broken,” you say like that explains everything.
Nate hums in response like maybe it does before pulling himself up beside you.
Somehow the air around you feels even hotter, precipitation building at your hairline. You fuss for a minute, wiping away the sweat before dramatically slapping your hands down on the trampoline in protest.
Nate ignores you, choosing to instead cheerfully proclaim “This is nice!”
“What do you want?” you ask in response. There are layers to your grumpiness, but for now you can pretend it’s all related to the unbearable heat.
“Can’t a guy visit his best friend?”
You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep yours closed. “Not when it's 34 degrees out and humid as hell and he has to leave his air conditioned mansion to do so.”
“I saw your story and I was coming to invite you to my air conditioned mansion.”
“Is Sidney home?” Your tone is so much more nonchalant than you feel. It doesn’t matter that the aforementioned man went from Nate’s childhood hero to mentor to near-brother; it will never not be weird to have but one degree of separation from the man who’s name is on your town’s welcome sign.
Nate laughs like he can read your mind, but you still don’t glance over at him. You don’t need to, not really. The image of him beside you comes all too easily to your inner mind. His hair’s got a wave from the humidity, his nose tinged red from the hot sun, and his chest golden and chiseled and harlequin romance novel cover-esque—
“You know one day you’re going to have to get used to being around guys who made it to the show. Hell, I'm a guy who made it to the show.”
Finally you turn to look at him and he’s somehow even more beautiful than you’d just imagined. “That’s different Nate. You’re….you.”
He smiles at you and it’s brighter than the damn sun causing you so many problems today. “And Sid’s just Sid. And the guys in Denver are just the guys in Denver.”
His words have your nose scrunching and you promptly go back to laying flat on your back. “Don’t remind me.” There’s silence for a beat or two and then you continue, “Speaking of, are you sure it’s still okay—“
Nate doesn’t let you finish this time. “Yes, I’m sure it’s okay for you to hang around my apartment in Denver while you take a year off from school to figure out what you want to do.”
“Thanks Nate,” you reply and he hums in response. Abruptly you sit up, sliding a little from the slick trampoline surface. “Your A/C offer still standing too?”
He grins this time and you’re damn near blinded. “For you? Always.”
Sidney—Sid waves at you both from his kitchen when you pull up to Nate’s but that’s as far as it goes. Nate makes a joke about banana bread that you don’t quite get, mood souring considerably when you wonder aloud if he thinks Sidney will bring some over.
It’s all forgotten when the cold air hits you as you enter the lake house.
-
The summer passes by quickly without too much incident—just the nagging of your mother about your future and your own tiptoeing around the feelings you have for your friend.
On one of your and Nate’s last nights before leaving for Denver, your niece pulls him aside and sternly instructs him to bring home the Cup for her.
He laughs, but there’s something in his eye that says he means it when he says he will. That intensity doesn’t waiver, even as his gaze slides toward you. It has you thinking about a future by his side, celebrating those moments with him in a way so much greater than you do now.
The thought doesn’t leave you as you kiss your family goodbye, trying desperately to not let any tears shed at the thought of no longer being a small distance away. Nate’s constant near proximity and the promise of more of it takes away the sting a little, but you fall into your sister’s embrace that little bit more all the same.
Even as you do a final check of your things—two large suitcases, a carry-on and a backpack to house everything you’ll need for the next year—you think about it, of what it would be like to do this every year. What it would be like to pack with the intention of unpacking your things beside Nate’s in his closet. It’s silly, but sometimes you still feel like you’re fifteen years old, realizing you’re in love with your best friend as he goes away to the same hockey school as his idol.
Two flights full of self doubt and Nate sleeping on your shoulder later you’re convinced spending your impromptu gap year at his place is a bad idea. But then he’s smiling and ‘welcome home’-ing you and you step through the door.
-
Unemployment and a mid-twenties life crisis isn’t so bad from the guest bedroom of a lavish semi-detached in the suburbs of Denver. The bed’s softer than the one in your childhood bedroom. Bigger too. And the closet leading into the attached en-suite has no business being the size it is.
There are downsides of course. You are still unemployed and in the middle of a life crisis. Nathan is woefully unaware of your feelings and likely to never reciprocate. His teammates look at you like they know, though. And there’s the whole banning of any food that brings any modicum of enjoyment that you’re not entirely sure is serious or not.
The teammates that come around are kind to you when you’re around them enough to let them be. A small part of it is the intimidation of them being professional hockey players but they’re good guys and you’ve met many of them before. Really, it’s something more akin to the inherent uncomfortability of your predicament. It’s Nate’s house and you’re free-loading.
Of course he would argue differently if you voiced your thoughts and hang ups but that’s precisely why you don’t.
Nate may have never caught onto your feelings for him, but he’s not an oblivious person. That’s probably how you end up in the family box, being personally invited to brunch with the Better Halves by the best-half-in-charge herself, Mel Landeskog.
You find yourself nodding despite the anxiety of the possibility of making new friends, certain it’s less of an invitation and more of a demand.
She tells you as much, pressing a mimosa into your hand when you arrive at a cute restaurant and a table full of beautiful, predominantly blonde women. If Nate’s teammates were intimidating on a personal level, their wives and girlfriends are a whole other level. Never in your life have you been so surrounded by a group of women so put together—every outfit perfectly on point, every head of hair treated to an expensive blowout, every foundation shade perfectly matched or worse, no makeup needed.
It has you self-conscious, despite having spent ages picking out something to wear and trying to tame your hair into something presentable. The mimosa helps, and so do the compliments from Ashley Kadri. Little by little you open up, and by the end of brunch you have a killer buzz and a dozen new instagram followers and numbers in your phone.
When Nate picks you up, the bubbles have gone to your head. You spend the entire ride back to his place with the back of your head pressed to the passenger side window so that you can grin stupidly at his side profile.
“The girls are great,” you tell him with a silly giggle. His returning smile reeks of satisfaction of a job well done, but you don’t focus on it. “We’re gonna get dinner this week too!”
-
Although Mel takes you under her wing, it’s Heidy, Cale’s girlfriend who you instantly click with.
She’s every bit as beautiful and kind as the rest of them, but you connect with her on a different level. It’s almost like you’ve known her as long as you’ve known Nate. She shares your love of Taylor Swift and gets your jokes and is more than happy to let you bounce future career plans off her.
You can tell the girls have questions about your relationship with Nate, and truthfully they can get in line behind you. Sometimes, when you’re not careful, it almost feels like you’re not alone in how you feel. Sometimes it feels like you’re high school sweethearts, playing house on the precipice of a greater future.
Nate doesn’t help it himself though. It’s you he calls on long road trips, you he pulls into a giant hug outside the locker room before driving you both home after a game. You who is invited to WAG functions as a connection to him—both informally in a social context and more formally and broadly. Things like charity toy drives and the family box at games. A part of you fears the possibility of playoffs—especially with odds so clearly in the Avs favor—and what it would mean to be so publicly claimed as Nate’s while privately remaining the way you always have been.
It’s Heidy who you confide in. She’s always there to offer her ear, her shoulder, her opinion. And, although she encourages you to share your feelings, she also knows when to back off and let you do it when and if you’re ready.
You don’t think you’ll ever be ready.
-
With Christmas comes the Better Halves Christmas Tree Auction. It’s Mel’s favorite charity event of the season, she tells you gleefully.
“Every event is her favorite,” Suzanna says behind her back later.
Designated Favorite Human of the Avalanche Children is usually your favorite title, but it means you have one kid hanging off of you when the girls drop the bomb on you.
“So what are you thinking for your WAG tree?”
It’s an innocent enough question, especially when you think it’s aimed at one of the aforementioned WAGs in the family box. Only when there is no response do you look up and realize it’s meant for you instead.
“Sorry, what?”
“Your…Tree,” someone says slowly and you shake your head.
Your tone and words are almost as flustered as you are. “No I heard you. I’m just—What do you—Why are you asking me?”
“Well, Nate said…”
It all comes clear. Yet again, you’re expected to play the part. At great personal cost, mind you. It’s a mindfuck and a half, having to do all the things that you do for a man you love when it doesn’t mean anything.
Your thoughts are invaded with a tempestuous mixture of Nate and your relationship or lack thereof and yet another public acknowledgement.
Truly, you wonder if the others in the box pity you or laugh behind your back.
“C’mon,” Heidy says later, when the final buzzer sounds, cementing another win. “I’ll drive you home.”
“Nate’s,” you correct weakly.
She nods and repeats his name, grabbing your arm and leading you away.
-
You’re stewing in silence when Nate comes home.
“You okay?” he questions upon finding you in the living room, lit up only by the light filtering in through the large bay window.
The twitch of your eye is the only indication you’ve heard and recognized his words for a long moment. You can practically hear the gears whirring in his head, can feel the moment he’s about to speak again.
Not wanting to give him the opportunity, you ask, “Why?” His brows furrow and his head tits and so you continue. “Why did you say I would do your Better Half tree?”
“It’s for charity…You love charity work.” Nate visibly relaxes and you understand why. He’s not wrong, engaging in charity work has been a big part of why you’re not wallowing in self pity, but this isn’t just simple ‘charity work’ and you tell him as much.
“I love toy drives and helping at the soup kitchen and adoption events at the ASPCA. This is different, this is your WAG tree. It means something. It’s in your name, like I’m—I’m—“ you can’t bring yourself to say it.
“Everything you mentioned you do in my name.” He doesn’t seem to get it, frustrating you further.
“It’s not the same, Nate! All those other things I do as part of the larger group. It’s all facilitated by your team and your teammates ‘Better Halves.’ Their wives and girlfriends. They’ve all made me feel welcome, but I'm not one of them. This implies that I am one of them, but I’m not your girlfriend and certainly not your wife.”
“You basically are.” The phrase has your heart jumping into your throat. Of every daydream or fantasy you’ve ever allowed yourself to slip into, you never dreamed this would be how it all went down—“Without actually being my wife or girlfriend.”
“Right.” Your voice is short and clipped, masking the hurt quickly overtaking you. You won’t cry—you’re stronger than that. So strong in fact, that you lay down a firm boundary. “I won’t do it. Get Sidney to do it or something.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, pausing and then asking, “We’re good, right?”
“Yep.” You feign nonchalance and then wish him a good night.
The pillow holds all your tears and secrets.
-
The incident sticks with you, despite your many attempts to shake it off. Even Heidy can’t help. She tries anyway.
You’re not his.
But you are. You’re his and you have been for years now. Since he was leaving for school. Maybe even many years before that. Regardless of the true beginning, it doesn’t quite matter. What really matters is this: you’re not sure it will ever have an ending, but you’re almost certain if it does, it won’t be the one you want.
You’re his but he’s not yours.
Part of him is, sure, but you share that part with the other residents of Cole Harbour. The other part with the team and his teammates and their families, with the fans and the haters alike. The part you so desperately want to be yours has belonged to many a woman, but never to you.
It was a lot easier to live in the space between his childhood best friend and everything more when you were separated the majority of the year. A summer chock full of other things to do and focus your attention on to keep the longing at bay and enough distance for the rest of the year to forget how it feels to have him near without really having him.
One of Heidy’s distraction schemes involves hitting up downtown Denver a few nights later.
“But it’s Thursday,” you say when she shows up at Nate’s dressed up like she’s ready to hit the bar.
“I have tomorrow off and you don’t have a job, so,” she replies.
You frown, “Ouch.” She throws a look your way as if to not take it so personally and continues perusing your closet. “I’m not really feeling up to going out tonight.”
“Too damn bad,” she replies. “You can’t just sit here and wallow for the rest of your life.”
“Watch me,” you retort but start to get up anyway.
She smirks and tosses some clothes at you. “Get dressed and do something with your hair. I’ll do your makeup.”
“Where are you guys going all dressed up?” Nate questions when he spots the two of you in the foyer.
“Out.” Heidy is curt, a consequence of her not only being a good friend to you, but also her own awareness of his behavior.
His brows knit together but he soldiers on, “Do you want company?”
“Nope!” She’s much more cheerful now that she’s handed you your coat and bundled herself up. “Don’t wait up!”
Heidy drags you out to Cale’s car, where the man himself sits waiting. You instantly feel bad—between your protesting and actual time spent getting ready, he’d been sitting a while.
“Have you been here the whole time?” you ask as you get in the backseat. He shrugs with a rosy smile as Heidy pushes you in further and takes a seat beside you. After pressing a quick kiss to her boyfriend’s cheek over the center console, of course.
Cale doesn’t stick around after dropping you both off—a wave, a ‘be safe’, and ‘call me when you’re ready to go home’ and he’s gone.
You’re terrible company admittedly, mouth set in a deep frown that doesn’t crack even as you sip your drink. Heidy does most of the talking at first, blabbing away about everything and nothing. Until she sighs, slaps her hand down on the bar top and says, “You need to deal with this. Either you need to resolve things with Nate or you need to get over it, distract yourself with something or someone else.”
You nearly choke on the last of your drink. “Gee, Heidy, could you be any more subtle?”
“I’m worried about you.” She’s so earnest it tugs at your heart.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try. Really.”
She smiles, relaxing into the seat at the bar top.
Just then, the bartender sets another drink in front of you.
“I didn’t order another,” you state politely, attempting to hand back the drink.
The bartender shakes his head, motioning to the table in the corner as he speaks. “From someone at that table.”
It’s a group of athletic men, but only one is looking your way. He’s all intense eyes framed by intense eyebrows, but the look on his face doesn’t match the intensity. It’s…intriguing to say the least. Soft but confident, and definitely interested.
It’s not until one of the other men at the table elbows him that you realize they’re the team playing the Avs tomorrow night.
Quickly you spin back around and whisper to your friend, “Someone from the Tampa Bay Lightning just bought me a drink.”
Her eyes widen and she herself turns around quickly to get a glimpse of your admirer across the bar. You grab at her arm and bring her back to face the bar top.
“Heidy!” you hiss.
“Sorry!” she replies, “What are you going to do?”
You think about it for a second before throwing caution to the wind. Putting on your flirtiest smile, you turn around a lot more gracefully this time. Raising the gifted drink, you tilt it in a ‘Cheers’ motion before wrapping your lips around the straw for a sip. He responds with an identical gesture, although with an amber colored beer bottle instead.
Satisfied, you resume your earlier position while Heidy speaks.
“When I said you needed a distraction that is not what I meant!”
You roll your eyes. “It’s a drink, not a marriage proposal. Relax.”
She does, until you pull her out to the dance floor with eyes only for the man across the bar. Lucky for you—and less lucky for Heidy’s resting heart rate and blood pressure—he’s got eyes for you, too.
It only takes half a song for him to approach and introduce himself. “I’m Brayden.”
You smile and reciprocate, waiting a beat for Heidy to speak too, but she just tilts her nose up. An elbow to her side doesn’t get her speaking and so you introduce her, too.
One of Brayden’s eyebrows raise and you find yourself momentarily mesmerized by the action before quickly explaining, “Big Avalanche fans.”
He nods slowly once, then shrugs. “Maybe I can change that.”
“Doubtful,” she says under her breath, but if you heard it, you imagine Brayden did too.
She doesn’t thaw any, even as the song changes. Nor does she get the hint to take herself elsewhere and so you rather pointedly ask if she can go get you both another round.
Heidy isn’t even able to get out whatever she was ready to grumble before Brayden is offering, pausing to ask what Heidy is drinking. She begrudgingly tells him and he disappears.
“Seriously? You could have any guy here and that’s who you go for?” she asks.
You shrug, “He’s the one I want.”
She softens at your earnest tone. “Okay.”
“Call Cale,” you tell her. “Go curl up on the couch and watch TV together or whatever you would have done if you weren’t worrying about me.”
“I don’t know…”
“Go. I’ll be fine. And I’ll text you if I need you,” you confirm.
She sighs. “I’m waiting for my drink first.”
You laugh and pull her into a side hug. “Love you.”
True to her word, she finishes the drink Brayden brings her—even managing a ‘thank you!’—before slipping off into the crowd and, you imagine, into her boyfriend’s car.
Brayden looks a little concerned at her rapid exit. “Did I do something to make her leave?”
“Besides playing for the wrong team? Nah.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but the concern fades when you wrap your arms around his neck.
It’s all but gone when you press your lips to his.
You dance for another few songs and another drink before your inhibitions are just low enough to drag him in the direction of the bathrooms.
The men’s is empty when you enter, and so you flip the lock on the door and press yourself against him.
He reciprocates, crowding you against the door with his mouth hot on yours.
Your whole body lights up at his touch, coming alive beneath his fingertips. There are no thoughts of Nate or the predicament you’ve found yourself in, just Brayden.
His hands are curved around your jaw, and your leg is wrapped around his waist when he pulls away. “Wait...wait.”
“You don’t want…?” You’re not drunk, just a little bit more sensitive to rejection than you usually would be.
“No that’s—That’s not it at all. I want you, like, really want you.” He kisses you, and as good as his touch feels, being wanted feels that extra bit more. “Not like this. Not here.”
Truthfully, you’ve never been the kind of girl who lets someone hit and quit in a bar bathroom before. Or anywhere really. A part of you that you thought was long buried stirs inside of you and you realize for the first time in a long time you’re feeling something for a man who isn’t your best friend.
Your best friend. Shit. “I have a kind of odd living situation right now, my place isn’t an option.”
“Your parents?”
You bark out a laugh that he immediately covers with his mouth. “No, they’re back in Canada.”
“Your husband? Your boyfriend?” He’s joking, but you can’t help but get the sense there’s an ounce of worry that he’s right. It’s such an inconceivable notion that Nate could ever be either to you that you laugh again.
“No, I just live with a friend who probably won’t be understanding about a strange man in their house.”
Brayden visibly relaxes, pauses, and then says, “I have a hotel room…you’ll have to be quiet though.”
“I can be quiet,” you reply, barely hiding your smirk.
You try your best, really give it your best effort, but no one has ever touched you like he does.
Nate doesn’t cross your mind once.
-
You sneak out early in the morning, determined to not have a semi-public walk of shame in front of an entire hockey team. It’s almost a success until you run into his captain in the lobby. Feeling your face grow hot, you give him a little nod and escape to the waiting Uber. You can only hope he doesn’t get too much shit, telling him as much using the newest number in your phone.
You’re not nearly as lucky, facing the firing squad that is Nate as you slip into the entryway. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see your best friend awaiting your arrival, if the several messages that popped up when you’d finally opened your phone to send the aforementioned text to Brayden were any indication.
“Where have you been?” he asks and you have to keep from rolling your eyes.
“Out,” you say, calling back to Heidy’s response last night but he doesn’t accept it as easily coming from you.
“All night?” he continues the interrogation.
“I crashed at Heidy’s last night, what’s with the fifth degree, Dad?”
He looks like he was waiting for this moment as he replies, “No you didn’t, I talked to Cale.”
This time you do roll your eyes. “It’s none of your business, Nate.”
“It is my business if you’re under my roof,” he says, doing his best impression of your father for real this time.
You know it’s not his intention, but your stomach drops all the same. The old feeling of guilt and shame and failure floods your veins, and you can tell he notices.
“I’m sorry,” he offers, “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just worried and you didn’t answer my messages.”
“I know,” you say but the words taste bitter in your mouth. “I’m going to go get some more sleep. See you later.”
He repeats the words back at you, but you’re more focused on the buzzing phone in your pocket.
Safe in Nate’s guest bedroom, you slip into something more comfortable, get beneath the covers and open your messages.
Bar Guy 💙🤍: Got fined
Bar Guy 💙🤍: Probably going to get chirped for a month
Bar Guy 💙🤍: Worth it though
You: I would tell you I’m sorry but I’m not
Bar Guy 💙🤍: Me either
-
If you thought that was the beginning and the end of Brayden you would be sorely mistaken.
Long distance flirting becomes a long distance hook up becomes him flying you out to see him. Any time you protested the latter, you’d find a non-refundable ticket in your email and a ‘please’ in your text messages.
Fall fades into Winter and Bar Guy 💙🤍 turns to Brayden turns to B 💙. As your feelings for him grow, you find thoughts of Nate as anything other than someone-you-grew-up-with fade.
You come clean about the ‘friend you live with’ being Nathan MacKinnon before the first time you fly down to see him, worried that your lie by omission might be a dealbreaker. Brayden only laughs, he figured Heidy’s hostility was more than just motivated by more than sports team loyalty.
The thing about Brayden is he never makes you feel bad about Nate. He is understanding and gracious, never demanding, never unreasonable. A small part of you sometimes thinks about how if the roles were reversed, you don’t think Nate would be quite the same.
Initially unsupportive and apprehensive, Heidy comes around, although her persistence turns from telling Nate how you feel to telling Nate about Brayden. You don’t do either, and she keeps your secrets.
Nate being selected for the All Star Game in Vegas while Brayden isn’t brings a unique opportunity for a week straight in hot, sunny Florida. The chill of Denver isn’t quite as biting as back home, but you’re excited to escape it all the same.
He doesn’t ask you to join him in Vegas, but you do wonder if he thought he didn’t need to.
It doesn’t matter either way, when an errant high stick in overtime breaks his nose and dashes his All Star dreams.
Your first thought upon seeing him bloody and disoriented on the ice is that there is no way you can go to Florida.
It probably looks much worse than it is, the girls try to reassure you in the box, but you’re not convinced.
Nate’s reassurances later don’t do much either. Not with his face puffy and bruised and some dried blood on his chin.
It’s not until he assures you that his mom and sister will be coming down to Denver since they had the time off anyway that you decide for sure you will go.
The day you leave for the airport, his pathetic form on the couch is almost enough to have you last minute cancelling on Brayden.
Nate all but demands you don’t miss out on his account, asking that you ‘be safe’ and ‘have fun’.
In return you hit him with a ‘thanks Dad’ and ‘take it easy’ despite knowing just by virtue of who he is as a person he will be doing the exact opposite.
Thoughts of Nate, broken and bruised, haunt you the entire journey. They don’t fade until you’re in Brayden’s arms. Even then, it’s a dull ache that you do your best to ignore.
Evidently you don’t do a very good job of hiding it, or maybe Brayden just knows you better than you think, because he catches on before you’ve even reached his place.
“You okay?” he asks, gently squeezing your knee where his hand rests.
Turning to look at his side profile, so earnest and sweet, you don’t even think of lying.
“I’m worried about Nate.”
“I get that,” he says and you wonder if he truly does. “I’m glad you’re here with me though.”
Smiling at him, you are too, and so you try to push down the guilt and focus your attention on the man you’re with.
You check on Nate periodically throughout the week, never getting much more than a thumbs up emoji, but at least you know he’s alive.
Brayden wines and dines and, well, you know the rest of the rhyme.
By the time the week is up, you don’t want to leave. It’s strange how meeting one person can change things so drastically. Before Brayden, you would never have dreamed of spending a week with another man when Nate was injured and possibly may have needed you.
It also puts things into perspective for you.
Really emphasizes how much additional emotional labor you put in—and were expected to—in your relationship with Nate. The lines and boundaries had long since blurred, and it took dedicating your time and energy to another man to see it.
If Nate notices the way you pull back even further when you return, he doesn’t say anything about it.
-
Falling for Brayden is easy. It’s a gentle float down to the ground, landing among a field of flowers to catch your fall. A stark contrast to the free fall of being pushed from an airplane at 10,000 feet by Nate.
Where Nate’s sharp edges have cut you time and time and time again, Brayden’s curves wrap around you and hold you tight.
When you’re not physically with him, you’re texting and calling, and when you’re not doing that you’re thinking about him.
Neither of you make any move to define the relationship further, but it doesn’t sting like the years of being strung along by Nate did. It’s probably because while no words have been exchanged to that effect, Brayden lets you feel how much he cares for you.
-
You’re nearly found out late in the regular season.
Something about Tampa has started to feel familiar and safe—you try not to think about exactly why that is—and so, despite the knowledge that the boys are in town, too, you’re not as careful as you should be.
There’s an ice cream spot near Brayden’s that you’ve taken to frequenting. As a consequence, it’s also near the arena.
Because it’s so close, you decide to walk there, teasing him the whole way about how one ice cream cone won’t derail his nutrition plan. He’s arguing back, but you know it’s in vain because his sweet tooth and the lilt of your voice will win in the end.
Your hands naturally brush as a result of your close proximity and you take the opportunity to link your pinkies. He smiles softly and you walk in silence for a minute until he breaks it.
“You really won’t let me give you my jersey?” It’s a question that has come up before, but every time it does you wonder if it’s a little bit more serious of an ask than the last.
“I’d rather die. Maybe if you were a better hockey player,” you tease, jumping back to avoid his grasp.
He gasps playfully, thick eyebrows raising with his wide eyes. “Take that back right now.” He takes a step closer to you but you dodge his advances, sliding to the other side of the bench.
“Sorry baby, you know I bleed blue and maroon. Wouldn’t be caught dead in traitor blue.” Not to mention you’d never ever hear the end of it from the boys if someone saw you in it.
He fakes left and you fall for it, giggling madly as he wraps you up in his arms and scrapes his beard against your cheek. “What about just for me?” he asks, kissing your neck once and then nipping at it with his teeth before pulling back to look into your eyes. “In my bed with nothing else on?”
It’s like the already beautiful temperature rises even higher when he presses his mouth to yours. You give in quickly, pressing onto the tips of your toes to get even closer. It turns dirty quickly, his tongue in your mouth and his fingers buried deep in your hair.
And then a familiar voice calls your name.
You pull from Brayden like you’ve been burnt, a look of pure panic crossing your face as you realize you know the body attached to the voice.
It’s JT and he looks like been standing there long enough to figure out what’s going on.
“JT—“ you start to explain, but pause. There is no easy, simple explanation. There are months and months, hell years and years, of backstory and layers to even get to this point.
“I thought—“ He appears to change his mind, stopping his thought mid sentence and switching to a question. “What’s going on here?”
“Brayden and I are, well, we’re.” It’s a struggle to explain what you are to one of Nate’s teammates when you haven’t had this conversation in full with the man beside you. Finally, you land on “We’re together.”
You don’t look over at Brayden to see his reaction.
“How long?” is the natural follow up.
It’s another tough question, but you decide to go with the first time you met and slept together. “Before Christmas.”
“Does Nate know?” he asks. The wild look in your eyes must give you away because he signs and says your name. “You have to tell him.”
You get that, really you do. But at the same time it’s your business what you do and who you do it with, not Nate’s. At the same time, you know it would be a really shit thing for him to find out through someone who isn’t you.
Beyond that, you’re pretty sure right before playoffs isn’t the right time to have that conversation and you tell JT as much. “I know, I will. After the season I’ll tell everyone.”
JT looks less than convinced.
“You know Nate, it wouldn’t do anyone any good while the season is still going on. Please, you can’t tell him.”
JT might be as aware as you are of who Nate is as a person, and he’s certainly more aware of who Nate is as a hockey player and so he agrees despite his clear hesitance. “Promise me, after the season.”
“I promise.”
When he’s gone, Brayden finally speaks up. “You want to go public with us?”
You worry you’ve said the wrong thing, starting to babble about how you’re sorry the conversation didn’t occur privately first, and how you don’t need to go public if it’s not something he wants to do when he silences you with a kiss.
“I want to tell everyone,” he says earnestly and you kiss him again.
JT thankfully keeps his word.
-
Nate doesn’t watch any other team in the playoffs.
It makes trying to catch Brayden’s games tough, sneaking out to sports bars, watching games on your phone in Nate’s guest room, even flying out to watch a couple home games during the run.
The only supportive merch you sport is a necklace with his number, and on occasion a little blue and white lacy number under your clothes. You’re not offered a WAG jacket—whether that’s due to Brayden knowing well enough you don’t want to be that public or because your reaction to the style of jacket itself was less than positive.
In the back of your mind you recognize there’s a chance it could come down to the teams of the boys you care for most; one Eastern Conference, one Western Conference.
Selfishly, when the first round between the Bolts and the Leafs goes to seven, part of you hopes for it to end right there. Most of you is glad they push through.
On Colorado’s side of the playoff bracket, they absolutely rip through everyone who stands in their way.
You are offered a jacket with Nate’s name and number in glitter, but you turn it down in favor of a lucky baseball cap, though you do accept an unpersonalized crop from Madison.
Some of the girls decide to travel for the away games. You have to turn them down because there are already tickets with your name on them to see Brayden. There’s no way you can—or would—miss any Avs home games, and so instead you end up being one of a handful of supporters in the likes of Toronto, Miami and New York.
It’s a difficult balancing act as the playoffs progress in both teams’ favor.
And then your worst nightmare comes true. The quest for the Cup comes down to your… whatever Brayden is to you and to Nate and the team you’ve supported since he was drafted and all the other people who have come to feel like family.
Whispering to Brayden in the dark of night before the Finals begin, you tell him, “You know I support you, but…”
“It’s okay,” he whispers back, even though he has no reason to match your tone all alone in his home in Tampa. “I get it. As long as you still like me, you can like them a little bit more.”
You giggle, “It’s got nothing to do with liking you, you dolt.”
“Bolt,” he corrects, and even though you can’t see him you know he’s smiling.
“Oh my God, shut up.” You don’t mean it literally but he’s quiet for a second too long. “No matter what happens I’m proud of you.”
For two people who have never properly defined nor publicized their relationship, it might be too heavy of a moment, but his quiet thank you is laced with emotion.
“Go to bed,” you say after another few beats of silence. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The first two games are in Colorado, and the boys take both at home.
“Ain’t over til it’s over,” is both of your boys’ philosophy after the first two.
Nate is positively buzzing, especially after so decisively winning the second, but still cautious—very aware of how quickly a 2-0 lead can turn into the end of the line and empty hands.
Brayden is also cautious, and this isn’t his first or even second rodeo at the Cup final in as many years. You try to kiss it better in a random hallway in the bowels of Ball Arena.
Finally accepting the Better Halves’ invitation to travel to road games, you have a good seat to Tampa taking back some momentum in game three before promptly handing it back to Colorado.
You die and come back to life a dozen times in game four as Brayden and his team hold on.
Game five is to be played back in Tampa, and you spend the night before the game in Brayden’s bed instead of the hotel Nate has paid for. “Good luck,” you whisper against his lips early in the morning before you leave to meet the girls for breakfast.
“You don’t mean that,” he teases, stretching out in such a way that has you considering skipping breakfast—certain teasing and interrogation be damned.
“Good luck to you,” you amend, kissing him once more. “Your team can rot.”
His laughter rings in your ears as you leave.
Mel corners you after breakfast, a familiar offending piece of clothing in her hands. “This could be it,” she explains, offering you the jean jacket.
If it were any year previous, you might have worn it. If you didn’t have Brayden, you might have worn it. If Nate had offered it to you himself alongside a confession, you might have worn it.
None of these things are true, and so you decline. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”
Her smile has a twinge of sadness and understanding as she replies, “Okay.”
-
Sitting alongside the girls in the box with your cropped sweater hiding the 21 necklace around your neck, you’ve never felt more torn.
Brayden’s captain nets one early in the first, and you’re not sure you breathe again until Nate’s powerplay evens the score early in the second. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the box alongside the nervous energy. Midway through the second, Arturri tips it in and Amalie Arena is silent.
It stays like that for the rest of the period until you excuse yourself to grab a drink at intermission. Standing in the long drink line, you spot a little girl in a Point jersey and your stomach twists as you think about how no matter which way this ends, someone you care for will be hurt.
That feeling doesn’t leave as you sit through a scoreless third period. The arena gets loud with Bolts fans throughout, celebrating every blocked shot and turnover. That intensity picks up in the dying seconds of the game as Brayden picks off the puck in the defensive zone.
He rushes up the ice flanked by his linemates, but is momentarily stopped by Cale.
He gets his stick back on the puck and your nails dig into the leather arm of the box seat. Suzanna grabs your hand, assuming it’s worry for her boyfriend and his teammates and you let her think that and hold your hand.
Three seconds.
Two seconds.
He shoots right as the buzzer sounds and Darcy gloves it down like there was never a question of him stopping it.
The entire box explodes in a chorus of cheers—there’s shouting, swearing, crying, laughter and you’re right in the middle of them all. Your boys are Stanley Cup Champions.
Someone grabs you, and then someone else joins in and suddenly you’re in the middle of a dog pile. “They fucking did it!”
You’re so fucking excited, incredibly proud and honestly a little weepy about your favorite people finally getting their hands on their childhood dream. But, a bigger part of the organ in your chest than you want to admit aches for the downturn of Brayden’s head as he skates back to the bench.
An attendant appears and wrangles the rowdy bunch down to the ice. You’ve got Linnea Landeskog in your arms and a giant grin on your face as your feet touch the ice.
“Down please,” she politely states while trying to wriggle out of your grasp. The second she’s down she’s running at her daddy who sweeps her up in his arms.
And then Nate’s on you in a way that you used to long for when you were younger. He’s red and sweaty and out of breath but none of these things stop him from hauling you up into his arms and spinning you until you smack at his chest, demanding to be let down much like Linnea only minutes ago.
He stops spinning but he doesn’t let go, staring up at you with a look he’s never given you before. You’re so caught up in the excitement of it all you barely notice, grabbing his cheeks and shouting in his face, “You fucking did it!”
“We fucking did,” he says like he can’t believe this moment is happening—whether that’s due to you in his arms or the Cup that will now bear his name no one can really say. He kind of looks like he’s about to do something stupid, leaning in ever so slightly, and so you finally succeed at leaving his arms, slipping slightly as you reach the ice once again. Brayden is watching from across the ice, a sad look on his face that you just want to kiss off. You don’t though, just pat Nate on the back once and continue moving, throwing yourself at Cale, then Burky, then Mikko.
It’s a blur of celebrations and photos with the Cup—you even let Linnea convince you to take a photo with her and the Cup, her mom remarking that it looks good on you. When you pull from your photo pose, you give her a questioning look. “A baby and a cup,” she smirks, blatantly looking over at Nate who seems to agree.
You laugh nervously—last year that was all you wanted, the boys to win and Nate to want you in that way. Now? Now you can picture it still, you just picture it with someone else.
Finally, you’re able to sneak away and Brayden has the same idea, telling you to meet him in a closet by the locker room. No words are exchanged as he pulls you in by your hips and kisses you like he needs it to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” you tell him and you mean it.
A crinkle forms between his eyes. “No you’re not.”
You kiss him again once, “I’m not sorry the boys won tonight, but I am sorry it was against you.”
“There’s always next year.” It’s far more flippant than you had anticipated, really you thought you’d be dealing with an upset Brayden and that might have broken your heart.
“I thought you’d be more upset.”
“Can’t win ‘em all,” he says and you give him a look to be serious. “So what, we didn’t win the Cup this season. I got you, didn’t I?”
“Fuck off, dont be stupid.” Your cheeks are hot and your eyes are wild.
“I mean it. I’d take you over the Cup nine times out of ten.”
“What about the other one?”
“Need to win another one for us to put our future babies in.”
“Awfully presumptuous for a hook up.”
“This is so much more than a hook up.”
“Yeah,” you admit, sinking deeply into another kiss.
“Besides,” he pauses, “Already got two rings.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Okay I gotta go. Will you come get me later?”
He looks at you like you’re stupid to ask, like he’d go into the pits of hell itself for you without hesitation. “Of course. Now go. Celebrate. I’ll see you later.”
You slip out first, making sure the coast is clear and go find the others. A Stanley Cup Champion hat is placed upon your head and a bottle of champagne in your hand. There’s a celebration in the visitor locker room and then the party moves to a local bar.
Someone shells out the money for a few bottles of vintage Dom Perignon that you indulge in, but mostly you just relish in the happiness of everyone around you. If you’re honest, you spend a fair amount of time avoiding Nate who has a serious look every time you catch him staring.
Shortly before midnight, you slip out of the bar and into Brayden’s waiting car. The bubbly must have gone to your head, because you forgo any verbal greeting in favor of launching yourself over the center console to press your lips to his.
He pulls away and very somberly states, “I can’t take you seriously in that sweater.”
Looking down, you spot the Avalanche crop and laugh as you pull it off and toss it in the back. “Better?”
He hums, fingertip tracing the chain around your neck from your clavicle down between your breasts to reveal his number on the pendant. “Much.”
You sink back into another kiss before remembering where you are, who you’re with and what you’re doing meanwhile the bar you just left is crawling with people you’re not quite ready to come clean to just yet.
“Take me home, Bray,” you say as you relax back into the passenger seat.
You don’t have the power to bring your lover the Stanley Cup your friends were just drinking out of. All you have to offer is yourself, but he accepts it with as much gratitude as your best friend accepted the Cup earlier.
Later, he looks like he wants to ask you to stay, and you think you look like you want him to.
In the end, it doesn’t matter as you fall asleep next to him and somehow make it back to your hotel room in the morning with no one the wiser.
-
Nate spends a few more weeks in Denver after the win, celebrating with the guys and riding the high of winning it all. You only spend a couple days and then move out of his house and back into your parents.
You don’t tell him about Brayden, content to let Nate enjoy his successes.
As a consequence, you don’t see much of him in July or August. Even when you’re both home, he’s busy with all his other friends and his family, and you’re busy with your niece and deciding on what to do in the fall. You’ve determined the best course of action is to finish your degree and then apply to a masters program in order to change your career path.
The choice, then, is where to do so. You can stay at home, commute an hour each way into the city—supported by your hometown friends and your family. Or you can make the shift to Denver for real, with your found family and with Nate. Or…
The University of Tampa Bay has an excellent program. You know from your time visiting Brayden through the season that the university is right around the corner from Amalie Arena and Brayden’s. It’s awfully presumptuous, but you find yourself daydreaming about the possibility much like you used to daydream about a future in Denver.
Of course, there’s an entire continent of possibilities, hell an entire world of possibilities, but these are the three most attractive options.
There are many discussions to be had, and choices to be made. You don’t want to do either until you’ve had a chance to speak to Brayden in person, but just as Nate’s had a busy summer, so too has he.
He messages you every morning before and after working out while you’re still asleep. Every conversation eventually devolves into some combination of ‘I miss you’ and ‘when can I see you?’
You do manage to spend a few days with him in the Rockies mid-July that fly by far too quickly. Every time you leave Brayden it gets harder and the implications of it all have your stomach in knots when the thought crosses your mind.
-
It all comes to a head spectacularly the day before Nate’s day with the Cup. You’re at Nate’s, helping to prepare for the post-parade celebration when you’re called away by his sister. She wants your help deciding on which photos to display—it’s a mixture of past and present alongside an elementary school assignment two decades old wherein Nate declared his future profession would be ‘Stanley Cup Champion.’
You’re smiling, lost in the memories when Nate comes crashing into the room you’re in. There’s an indiscernible look on his face, but it reads somewhere between anger, frustration and hurt. The look on your face betrays your confusion, and it only deepens when you see your phone in his hands.
“What are you doing with my phone?” you ask.
His jaw ticks. “Thought it was mine.”
It doesn’t really do anything for your confusion. If anything, it deepens it. “What’s your problem Nate?”
“This! This is my problem.” He finally cracks, shoving your phone in your face to reveal messages from Brayden—under the contact name of the letter B and a heart—wondering when you plan on making the trip to Calgary to see him. Your stomach drops and your heart feels like it’s at risk of falling right out your chest. It was always going to come out, but especially as you crossed the line between sharing body heat with Brayden and sharing your secrets, hopes and dreams.
That being said, it is a shit way for your relationship to come to light for sure, but you can’t help but feel your friend is overreacting. Sarah is looking between the two of you, panicked and frozen like she doesn’t know what to do.
“I think your mom could use some help in the backyard, Sar,” you say gently, and she gladly takes the opportunity to flee. Once she’s gone, you turn on Nate. “I’m sorry that you found out this way, but you had no right to come in here like that. Poor Sarah looked terrified!”
He looks at you incredulously. Now that his sister is out of ear shot, he appears to have allowed himself to lean into his emotions a little more. “I have no right? What about you? Hooking up with some random guy in Calgary? Is that where you’ve been running off to these past few months?”
You know that this is probably the least important part of his rant, but you feel the need to clarify. “He’s not just some guy, Nate. His name is Brayden. And for the record, no. I wasn’t in Calgary, I was in Tampa.
He looks confused in addition to enraged, and so you put the pieces together for him. “I’ve been seeing Brayden Point.”
“You’ve been sleeping with the enemy?”
“Are you joking?”
This is not your friend Nate. This is some angry being inhabiting the body of your friend Nate.
He doesn’t back down. “It was between us and them in the final, pretty sure that qualifies as the enemy!” He pauses for a second and then continues, “How long have you been sleeping with him? During the final? Were you rooting for him instead?”
“Nate—“
“No, don’t Nate me. I bet you were, I bet you wanted them to win, him to win. I bet you were sitting there in the family box, using tickets I paid for, against me the whole time.”
“That’s not fair!” you try to interject, despite the tiny grain of truth to his words. It would be untrue to say some small part of you wanted Brayden to succeed, but your loyalties have always been with Nate and his team.
“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t trust a thing you said right now. Not after this. Not when you know.”
“Know what?” you question.
“How I feel! About you. And me.” The blurred edges start to come into focus. He’s been acting like a man scorned, because in his eyes he is one.
Unable to form any coherent thought, you repeat yourself from earlier. “Are you joking?”
He’s less angry now, slipping further into the hurt brewing under the surface. “It’s always been us. Since we were kids. And now you’re messing around with some guy on another team. I can't believe you!”
The tears start to pool at your waterline, but you’re too stubborn to let them fall. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You string me along for years and years and years, expecting me to play the part of your girlfriend without being your girlfriend and to wait around for you to figure it out. I am sorry you found out like this, but I’m not sorry about him. I’m not sorry about Brayden.”
He flinches at the sound of Brayden’s name, the anger clouding his eyes even further. “You want him so bad, why don’t you go to him right now?”
“Nate—“ You’re not sure he knows what he’s saying, what the implications of all he’s said really are. What it would mean if you left for Calgary this afternoon. What it would be like if you weren’t there tomorrow to join in his celebrations.
“Go.” When you don’t move he speaks again. “Get out of here.”
He hasn’t raised his fists or even his voice, but you do as he suggests. Calmly, begging the tears not to fall, you walk right out of his house and get in your car and you drive.
Brayden picks up when you call while driving, and there’s a ticket in your inbox before you’ve even made it home.
A short layover in Toronto—and with nothing but the clothes on your back and a small carry- on—later, you’re sinking into Brayden’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” he says, but you shake your head where it’s buried in his chest.
“Thank you,” you say, leaving hundreds of words unspoken in your gratitude.
The kiss he pressed to your lips and the way he says ‘Anything for you’ tells you that he understands.
He’s got his own place in an affluent suburb of the city, and you’re grateful for the fact that you won’t have to see anyone else with your puffy, bloodshot eyes.
The last time you’d cried this hard, it had been over the loss of your childhood dog. Nate had been there then, flying in after a late game to hold you while you cried. Maybe you had misunderstood his feelings for you, missed the signs he thought he had laid out so clearly. Maybe that would have mattered a year ago.
It doesn’t, now.
Not when Brayden’s arms feel like home. His warm gaze feels like the sun. His kiss and his touch feel like heaven on earth. His love feels like everything you’ve ever wanted.
Your world nearly stopped in Nate’s living room, but it resumed spinning here in Brayden’s bedroom.
You’re curled up on his chest while he soothingly runs a hand along your spine when you tell him. “I love you.”
His hand stills on the middle of your back, but you don’t panic. Your mind and heart are clear and in unison. He doesn’t make you wait long, cupping the back of your head and tilting your head back ever so slightly so that your eyes meet.
“Yeah?” he asks like maybe he needs the validation.
“Yeah,” you reply, giving it to him.
The grin on his face might be worth everything you’ve been through.
You squeal as he flips the both of you, ending in a position where his arms bracket either side of your head in order to keep from crushing you with his full weight.
“I love you,” he repeats, kissing every inch of your exposed skin.
Tangling your fingertips in the hair at the nape of his neck, you say it again and again and again. It’s a chant and a ritual, told between sighs and moans and whimpers. He strips you of your clothes, taking you apart piece by piece and then putting them all back together.
It is intimate and sweet as he takes you to the highest peak, hearts and limbs and minds all intertwined. There is no doubt, no insecurity, no hesitation. All of the love you have to give is reflected back at you. You and Brayden are two sides of the same coin, destiny and fate and all the good forces in the world have brought the two of you together.
That’s why when, in the dark of his room later, you say yes when he asks you to move in.
-
Despite the apparent suddenness, your family is more than supportive of you and Brayden. Though that may be because he charmed the pants off all of them the following week when returning to your childhood bedroom to pack your things.
Your niece is delighted when she learns that Brayden’s “job is hockey!” as she so sweetly declares, requesting he win her a Cup too.
It reminds you of Nate and how you haven’t heard from him. You don’t reach out either.
Your time in Calgary is short, punctuated by the bittersweet news that although many of your credits will transfer over, you’re not able to start college classes at the University of Tampa until the second semester.
“Now you can come with me on all my road games,” Brayden says when you tell him.
“Fat chance.”
Training camp sneaks up on you both and before you know it, you’re making the permanent move into Brayden’s bedroom and his life, publicly this time.
The Tampa WAGs are sweet and welcoming, but you find yourself missing the Colorado Better Halves. That’s probably why you agree to dinner with Heidy the first time in the season that the Avs are in town.
You make plans to meet at a cute spot downtown near the arena.
The minute you spot Nate waiting outside, you start to turn around. Not so much as an Instagram like since the day before his day with the Cup and now he’s at one of your favorite restaurants in Tampa like everything is okay?
“Wait,” he says and for some reason you do, pausing mid turn. “I’m sorry.”
That’s enough to have you turning back around to look him in the eye as you scold him. “Really? I haven’t heard a word from you in months and that’s what you have to say?”
“I know,” he says.
“You were really shitty Nate! You knew how I felt and apparently felt the same way, but you just took advantage of me and my feelings for you for years! And then, you made me feel like trash for falling for someone else.”
“I know,” he says again.
“Can you say literally anything other than I know?” you say exasperatedly.
“I—“ he starts and stops with the look you give him. “I don’t have a good explanation for the first bit. You’re right, I’ve been taking you for granted for a long time. I don’t know, I guess I was just scared to lose you if we ever crossed that line.”
“I get that,” you reply. “Why do you think I never said anything either? I’m less mad about that and more mad about you being a giant asshole about me meeting someone.”
He nods. “I know. I was jealous and hurt and I lashed out and hurt you too. I never meant for it to get like this, but the longer it took for me to reach out and apologize the harder it seemed. I am really sorry, and I’m happy you found someone who treats you the way you deserve.”
It’s a sincere apology and one you’re certain he means. Beyond that, you just miss your best friend and so you throw yourself at him in a big hug. He’s startled, but very quickly wraps his arms around you too.
“Things aren’t magically okay, you really hurt me, but you’re my best friend and I’ve missed you so much. There’s been a million times where something happened and I wanted to tell you about it, but couldn’t.”
“You’re my best friend,” he says.
Nate scores a goal during the second period of the game but it’s not enough for the Avalanche.
Brayden comes home the clear winner to find you curled up in his bed. First he undresses and then he slips into bed beside you.
“Glad you made up with Nate,” he says, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and wrapping an arm around your waist.
“Glad you won,” you reply, feeling the way his lips curve in a smile against your neck and knowing he’s about to say something stupid and cringe.
“In more ways than one, baby,” he laughs, caging you in with his arm as you struggle to get away from him and his bad jokes. “In more ways than one.”
Despite the way you playfully try to escape his clutches, the truth is you feel like you’re the real winner.
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no better company than you | nathan mackinnon
a/n: alright, i’m rolling in late for @antoineroussel oussel summer exchange (thank you love, for running such a lovely exchange again, it was wonderful and i’m glad i was able to particiapte) and i’m very sorry for the lateness! i had the pleasure of writing for the lovely @ghstandpucks 💜 again, i am SO sorry about the wait but i hope you enjoy this!
word count: 3.2k
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“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I’m late!” You slide into the booth and throw your bag down next to you, hoping to god you don’t look as frazzled as you feel; this restaurant is far too nice.
Nate just smiles at your words, too familiar with your family by now to know that you’re always running 5-10 minutes behind. He’s ordered a bottle of wine- a nice rosé, fitting for the beautiful end of summer day- and had already started pouring a matching glass for you the second you started sitting down. “How’d the interview go?”
You bite your lip. “Eh.”
“I’m sure it went better than you think.” Nate says encouragingly. “You’re too hard on yourself. All three of you are.”
And well, that’s not a lie. Your siblings were just as critical of themselves as you were. Sid was famously known for it and Taylor, your twin, was as bad as you. But…
“Listen to you!” You laugh at him. Nate’s just as bad as the three of you. A mini-Sid in many ways, to many people in your hometown.
But that was in Canada. This was Denver. And here, Nate was cool. Laid-back. Lowkey. Everything a professional athlete should be. Nobody knew about what a dork he really was, except his teammates.
And now, maybe you too, if all went well with this job interview.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nate says, looking at his menu to feign ignorance.
You giggle, pulling your own up toward your face. “Sure, buddy.”
It’s not often that you and Nate spend time one on one like this, even if you see him all the time over the summer. He’s usually with your brother when you see him, politely trying to decline your mom’s invites to dinner or already hanging at Sid’s house when you invite yourself over to your brother’s house for pool or lake time. Usually time one on one with Nate like this is brief, usually like in passing while he’s waiting for Sid in the kitchen while you’re eating.
It’s nice. Nate’s funnier than people give him credit for and it’s easy to relax into dinner and conversation, to forget about the anxiety from your interview as you chat about what’s new for both of you and gossip about people you both know.
By the time he drops you off at your hotel, it’s late and you’re too tired (and maybe just on the right side of tipsy) to even worry about the interview. You just barely change into pajamas, run through your nightly routine, and climb into bed, before shutting the lights off. It feels like you’re asleep before your head even hits the pillow.
In the morning, you’re awoken by the sound of your phone ringing, and it takes a second for you to place the sound, but when you do you pounce on it, recognizing the local area code immediately. “Good morning.” You say, trying your hardest not to sound like you woke up literally thirty seconds ago.
It’s human resources, from the job you interviewed for yesterday.
You got it.
-----
“Ew, no!” Your dad holds his hands up innocently, when you rush over to stop him from unpacking a box. “Why would you put that there?”
“Hey, sweetie, maybe it’s time for a break.” Your mom says gently, exchanging a look with your dad, who nods his agreement enthusiastically.
Which is fair. You’d just about almost taken his fingers off just because you didn’t like where he was unpacking colanders.
“Dinner!’” Your dad latches onto immediately. “Nate offered to take us all out tonight, I’ll let him know we’re ready.”
“Ready?” You frown, looking down at your workout shorts and baggy t-shirt.
“We’ll be ready in an hour.” He amends, already texting Nate.
Nate knocks on the door to the new condo you’re renting an hour and fifteen minutes later, sheepishly grinning when your dad tells him that you and your mom still need a few minutes. “Thought I had my timing perfect.”
Your dad snorts. “Oh buddy. Keep dreaming.”
He’s not too off on his timing, but unfortunately for Nate, you don’t have too much else going for you in your condo yet. Your dad had gotten your TV all set up, but in addition to the TV and living room furniture, you haven’t gotten much else, and that includes food and beverages. So the two of them sit in mostly silence while they wait another few minutes for you and your mom to finish getting ready.
“I told you that you should have just met us there.” You tell Nate, as he trips on a box on his way out the door.
“Oh, so this wasn’t deliberate sabotage?” He deadpans.
“You caught me. Just trying to keep you around the city full time until I have time to make better friends.”
Nate laughs, as the two of you follow your parents out the door. “Be nicer to me or I won’t introduce you to my friends.”
“Who said I want to be friends with your friends?”
“Children.” Your mom turns to look back at you and Nate smiles at her innocently, but it’s been a while since that’s fooled her. “Do we need to stay home?”
It serves to get the two of you moving, even as you laugh at her joke. Nate drives you to another one of his favorite restaurants, and dinner flies by, with Nate insisting on picking up the tab, even when your dad tries to fight him on it.
It’s started to cool down a little by the time you’re walking back toward the car, Nate and your dad still fake-fighting about paying for dinner, and you find yourself not realizing you’re smiling at the two of them as you walk behind them until your mom bumps your shoulder. “A few hours off for dinner with some good company was just what you needed.” She says.
And even though the smile on her face seems too knowing, you’re too tired to ask about it right now, so you just nod in agreement. “Yeah, this was nice.” You smile back at her.
-----
Mel Landeskog pokes her head around the corner and you wave at her, trying to catch her attention. “Jesus Christ.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think he was serious.”
“I mean.” You bite your lip. “I did have to work today.”
“I would have picked you up!” She shakes her head, muttering under her breath, and you know Nate’s going to get an earful from her later. “But no, no. That dumbass just let you come all the way over here by yourself. Sends me a text to come meet you by the door. All casual.”
“I mean.” You send her a look. “Did you expect anything different from Nate?”
It’s the way she looks at you and sets her face that almost has you nervous for Nate. You’ve known Mel for a long time now, but really, you don’t know her from more than just years of NHL events. “I do now.” She says.
You hope Nate knew what he was getting himself into sending Mel a text to come find you earlier.
Once she leads you up into the box with some of the wives and kids, she’s back to smiling and laughing, making introductions all around. The mood all around is light and easy, everyone excited for the home opener of the season, and happy to be back with everyone again.
It’s fun to be back in this atmosphere. Hockey’s been a part of your life for so long and there’s truly nothing like the energy of the first game of the season. You feed off the energy, catching up with some familiar faces and chatting with all the other girls, probably too excited when they invite you to a girl’s night later in the week, but it feels good to have plans that don’t involve trying to invite yourself to Nate’s when you’re bored.
“Hey, good job tonight.” You nudge him afterwards, catching up with him in the family room.
He laughs, pulling you in for a hug. “A little different than what you were used to?”
“It lived up to the hype, I guess.”
“I’ll turn you from a Pens fan.” Nate promises.
It’s your turn to laugh. “Feel Sid’s wrath.”
“What’s he going to do? Check me into the boards? Bring it.”
Nate’s been hanging out with your brother and your family for years now, so he should really know better by now. “Okay, buddy.” You pat his shoulder patronizingly. “Sure.”
“I could take him.” Nate insists.
“Throw hands. Next game. I dare you.”
He side-eyes you, because you both know that’s not going to happen and it’s only a minute before you’re both laughing.
“I better see you on Friday!” Ashley Kadri shouts out to you as she’s walking past with Naz and Naylah, interrupting your laughter. “No excuses!”
“I’ll be there!” You call back. “Promise!”
When you look back, Nate’s pouting-exaggerated, albeit, but pouting. “Are you ditching me this Friday?”
“Yup. Found better company.”
“How dare you?” He cries. “There is no better company.”
“Well.” You shrug. “I’ll know for sure after happy hour on Friday.”
“Find your own ride home.” Nate says and then he starts speed walking away from you at an absurd speed.
“Nate!” You protest, jogging to catch up and he finally slows down enough for you to catch up when you round the corner, bumping your shoulder right back when you purposely bump into him in retaliation.
-----
No one lets loose like a group of moms when they’ve got a night without their kids.
Someone has mentioned this to you before, at a bachelorette party or a wedding or something, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen it really in action before until this happy hour.
“If the waitress comes back, order me another drink!” Kerry calls, before running off to the bathroom.
The waitress nods at her, before addressing the rest of you. “Another round?”
“Oh, please!” Mel nods quickly and repeatedly.
“Can we get a few more orders of mozzarella sticks too, please?” You look down at the empty plates in front of you. “And maybe some nachos too?”
“Yes!” Jackie lights up across from you. “Great call!”
It pretty much only goes downhill from there and by the end of the night, both Mel and Ashley are crying for reasons no one is sure of entirely and you’re pretty grateful to see Nate among the group of husbands and boyfriends to come to pick up all their girlfriends.
So grateful you scream his name the second you see him. “Nate!”
He winces, trying to pull his ear away from you, but he’s laughing. “Guess you had a good time, huh?”
“Uh huh!” You nod enthusiastically, not realizing how loud you are until he winces again.
Nate laughs. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.”
You gasp loudly. “I can’t leave my new friends!”
“Your new friends are all leaving you!”
You frown, but look around and realize he’s right. Naz has already sneakily pulled Ashley out of the bar and Gabe and Erik were collecting Mel and Jackie’s things. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Nate parrots. “Come on, get your stuff, crazy girl.”
“Hey!” You protest, grabbing your purse. “I am the least crazy person in my family.”
“I hate to break it to you.” Nate says, as he guides you into standing. “But that’s not saying much.”
He’s right, but you bump him with your shoulder anyway as you walk past. That’s about sibling honor and shit.
Nate parked too far away and by the time you reach his car, you’re leaning on him, the adrenaline from hanging out with friends wearing off quickly. Nate’s nice about it, guiding you to his car and then helping you into his front seat before heading around to the driver’s side.
“You guys had a fun time then?” Nate says, once he’s started driving and you’re half asleep leaning against the window. “Looks like it at least.”
“Yeah.” You nod sleepily. “But you were right.”
He chuckles. “About what?”
“There’s no better company than you.”
-----
Nate becomes pretty clingy after that night, texting and facetiming whenever he’s out of town, and stopping by pretty much anytime he’s got a free minute. It quickly becomes something you look forward to, missing his visits when he’s out of town and looking forward to his calls, smiling when his texts come in and breaking up your work day. And it isn’t long before you realize that you’re being just the same. Sending him messages before and after games. Inviting yourself over for dinner and making Nate cheat on his diet.
In a blessed move from the NHL scheduling department, Sid and the rest of the Pens are scheduled to arrive in town on a Friday morning and aren’t leaving until the end of the weekend.
They have a practice scheduled for early afternoon, which is perfect for you to wrap up your work day before heading over to watch the end.
Geno lights up when he sees you watching from the glass, the first person to acknowledge you, and skating over in the middle of the drill, leaving behind two shocked linemates. “Mini!” He shouts cheerfully, even as you roll your eyes at your least favorite nickname. All because you happen to be the shortest of your siblings. “Great to see you.”
“You too, Geno.” You smile warmly at him, a little annoyed that you can’t get a giant bear hug from your favorite pseudo-older brother right away. “But I don’t think a few other people feel the same right now.” You jerk your chin back over his shoulder.
He turns his head quickly but then looks back. “Psh. They’ll get over it.”
You bust out laughing, which is right about when your brother comes over, and in classic Sid fashion, is all about hockey. “Stop being a distraction.”
“I was minding my own business until Geno came over here!” You protest, even as Geno starts laughing and Sid eyes you skeptically.
“Why don’t I believe that one?” Sid says dryly and sure, maybe you were making faces at some of the guys you knew well as they were passing you, but you weren’t actively being a distraction.
“That’s your prerogative.” You tell Sid, who shakes his head and pulls Geno back for the remainder of practice.
Practice doesn’t last for too much longer and you spend a few minutes chatting with the coaching staff while you wait for Sid to change. But he and Geno finally come out of the locker room and you stop mid-sentence to throw yourself at your brother.
Sid’s laughing and so are you, but both of you start laughing even harder when Geno pulls you both into his arms. “Two of my favorite people!”
“Taylor’s going to be so offended.” Kris grins, watching the three of you amused.
“Taylor?” You grin back at him, going for a hug once Geno releases you. “How about his wife and kid?”
“Those are my other favorite people.” Geno reasons.
“Now I’m offended.” Kappy deadpans.
“You’re not even close.” Geno grins, roughing his hair.
Kappy tries to get him right back, but Geno just swats his hand away and then Sid’s shaking his head, like this is just the same shit, different day. “Look what you did.”
You grin, leaning against him. “Not sorry. I’ve missed this entertainment.”
Sid shakes his head. “Then you can round them up for dinner.”
You do. Easily.
Nate had suggested one of the team’s favorite restaurants and you’re happy to see that he’d accepted your invitation to join everyone, even if he rolls in a little late. You’re deep into Kris’ camera roll, looking at pictures of his kids and catching up on stories that you haven’t heard about them recently, so you don’t even notice he’s arrived and said hello already until he blows on the back of your neck.
You jump. “What the hell?”
Nate’s grinning. “Hey.”
You shake your head at him and bump your shoulders against him. “Hey.” You mimic and then turn right back to Kris.
But your shoulder stays leaning on Nate, and it remains there comfortably all night.
-----
Sid’s a little cranky when you first meet him for breakfast the morning after the game and you’re sure it has everything to do with the last minute turnover that cost them the game (and bragging rights over Nate this summer, which is really what he’s probably cranky about).
He gets over it pretty quickly though, and soon the two of you are laughing and talking, catching up about your family and your lives.
“-and I even love my office, the vibes are just great!”
Sid shakes his head. “Vibes.”
You grin. You know he hates that word. “Good vibes.” You confirm.
“So you’re liking Denver?”
“Love it.” You confirm, smiling.
“Meeting good people?”
You eye him skeptically. “Yes dad. I already said my coworkers are great and I’ve been hanging out with Nate and his friends a lot too. It’s good”
“Geno thinks there’s something going on between you and Nate.” Sid says casually.
The jump of your heart is far from casual. “Oh yeah?”
Sid eyes you but his response to that is surprising. “You know if there was something going on between you and Nate that would be okay?” He pauses, watching you again, but your face is completely neutral, purposely not moving. “Right?”
“You know if there was something going on between me and Nate that your opinion wouldn’t matter at all, right?”
He grins, laughing as he nods, but after he takes a bite of pancakes he says, “To you, yeah. To him, it does.”
“Why?” You blurt out, giving yourself away before you can stop yourself.
But Sid doesn’t say anything to that. He grins again and then changes the subject entirely.
-----
You only make it about a day before you’re knocking on Nate’s door, pretty forcefully.
“What’s up?” He swings the door open, with a frown. “You okay?”
“Does what my brother thinks really matter to you that much?” You blurt out. It’s been bothering you ever since Sid mentioned it at breakfast. That you lasted this long was probably a miracle.
Nate blushes and your jaw drops. “It-”
“Oh my god.” You grin delightedly. “Come on, really?”
“That’s not-” He blows out a frustrated sigh. “You’re really going to make me say it?”
You nod, but you’re pretty sure he’s not going to get far into what he’s going to say.
He sighs again. “It’s not about, like, his approval, or shit. It’s just- he’s important to you. So obviously he’s important to me-”
You kiss him.
“You know that you don’t even have to worry about that, right?” At some point, you’d slid one hand to his hip and the other arm around his neck, and the hand there plays with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I’ll argue about that with you later.” Nate says impatiently and so you’re laughing when he kisses you again.
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