#just a silly little story about how max mayfield strikes fear into the hearts of men despite being a total softie

[aceshavens]

a quick little drabble, based on the words “ward, guard, youth”

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“Alright guys, break it up!”

Max Mayfield groans in relief, immediately skating over to the side of the ice rink and hauling herself over the rim. It’s hard with the forty extra pounds of hockey gear weighing her down, but she’s sure that she manages to look cool regardless. Hawkins wasn’t big enough for an indoor ice rink, so every November a couple of high school jocks were recruited into setting up a slap-shod rink.

It’s nice because they don’t have to worry about seating everyone like in the school gymnasium, and after getting tackled she can stare up into the sky and wallow in her misery for a few seconds before forcing herself up. However, the gusts of wind that had been buffeting her from all sides this entire morning weren’t as pleasant, especially since she’s no longer moving.

It’s days like this, where the sun does little to alleviate the chill of winter that leave Max wishing that she had stayed in California. It is a guilty wish, and a foolish one because if she was still in California she would have never met Lucas. Or El. Or Mike or any of the others. But goddamnit, she missed having winter be a vaguely cool season instead of whatever kind of hell a midwestern winter was. Winter break was still two weeks away for christ sake, Max thinks grumpily.

A hand lands on her shoulder, and she twists around to see Steve smiling at her in his awful earsearing windbreaker. He, of course, looks perfectly fine and not cold at all. Max hates him a little.

“You’re killing it out there kid,” He says, patting her on the back with enthusiasm, “I really liked the way you sent Collin’s scrawny ass flying.”

Max grins at the reminder. Jacob Collins was a scrawny boy barely a year older than her, and he liked to spend most of his time chasing after girl’s skirts and drinking cheap-ass beer. She would have disliked just for that, but he liked to say shit like I can’t believe Harrington let that redhaired bitch join community hockey.

Hence, the hard shove she had given him when he had skated too close to the goalie posts, a move that wasn’t exactly game-legal. Max hadn’t expected for him to go flying, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for him and his broken nose.

“He had it coming,” Is what she decides to say, “He should really pay attention or he’ll be a ‘weakling dragging down the entire team’” She makes quotations marks around the last part of that, and Steve’s grimace tells her that he recognizes from one of Collin’s many, many rants.

“Forget about him, Max. He’s a little punk that’s too cowardly to say shit to your face.” He grins, , “Besides, if you keep on improving you’ll probably be the best player on the team.”

Max scoffs a little, but- Steve is nice, but he’s not a good liar like most nice people are. When he says shit like that, he actually means it. The realization sends a wave of fondness through her, and she scuffs the floorboards with the tip of her skate, looking down so she can hide her smile. She’s pretty sure she fails.

“You really think so?” The words come out more vulnerable than she intended. But Steve doesn’t skip a beat.

“Hell yeah I do.” He pats her back again, harder this time, “You’re a bonafide natural. The poor sods you’re plating against will piss their pants when they see you.”

Max laughs, sharp and high. A couple of the boys glance over, and she can she the way one or two of them blanch at whatever expression is crossing her face right now, Good, she thinks fiercely, they should be afraid.