Summary: in which Macklin moves out of Joe Thornton’s guest-room
Series Masterlist
“Okay, so this one has two bedrooms, two and a half baths, in-unit laundry, and a parking spot,” you say, scrolling through the listing on your laptop. “But it’s on the third floor and there’s no elevator.”
Macklin looks up from where he’s sprawled on your couch, his own laptop balanced on his chest. “That’s a dealbreaker?”
“After a game? When your legs are dead? Yes, that’s a dealbreaker.”
“Fair point.” He makes a note on his phone. “What about the one in Santana Row?”
“The penthouse?” You pull it up. “Macklin, this is four thousand square feet.”
“So?”
“So what are you going to do with four thousand square feet? You’re one person.”
“I could have people over. Host team dinners.”
“Do you want to host team dinners?”
He thinks about it. “No. I want to order takeout and play video games.”
“Exactly.” You close that tab. “Next.”
It’s been like this for three days. Ever since Macklin told you he needed to find his own place before the season starts, you’ve been helping him search. Living with Joe Thornton for his first two years was great — like having a mentor and a dad rolled into one — but at twenty, Macklin needs his own space.
“What about this one?” He turns his laptop to show you. “Two bed, two bath, modern kitchen, gym in the building.”
You study it. “Location?”
“Downtown. Near SAP Center.”
“How’s the parking?”
“One assigned spot, street parking for guests.”
“And the noise level? Being downtown?”
He blinks. “I-I didn’t think about that.”
“You’re going to need to sleep, Macklin. After games, after practice. If you’re hearing sirens and traffic all night-”
“Right. Good point.” He adds it to his notes. “See, this is why I need you. I never would have thought of that.”
“That’s because you’ve been living in Joe’s quiet neighborhood in the suburbs. Downtown is different.”
“What else should I be thinking about?”
You set your laptop aside, giving him your full attention. “Okay, practical things: distance to the rink, obviously. Parking — both for you and for guests. Natural light, because seasonal depression is real. Kitchen size, because I know you don’t cook much but I do, and I’m going to be over a lot.”
He grins at that. “You are, are you?”
“Unless you don’t want me to be.”
“I always want you to be.” He reaches for your hand. “What else?”
“Noise, like I said. Floor plan — you want good flow, not a weird layout. Storage, because hockey equipment takes up a lot of space. Building amenities — is there a gym? A doorman? Package handling?”
“I didn’t know I needed to think about package handling.”
“You’re about to be living alone for the first time. You’re going to be ordering a lot of stuff online. Trust me, you want a place that handles packages well.”
He’s taking notes furiously now. “What about the building itself? Age, condition?”
“Newer is better for things like insulation, electrical, plumbing. But older buildings sometimes have more character, thicker walls, better soundproofing.” You pause. “And you need to think about security. You’re a public figure. You want a building with good security, maybe a doorman.”
“Okay, so: location near the rink but not too downtown, parking, natural light, good kitchen, storage, building amenities, newer building with good security.” He looks at his notes. “This is a lot.”
“Welcome to adulting.”
“Can you just—can you pick one for me?”
You laugh. “No. This is your home. You need to choose it.”
“But you have opinions. Strong opinions, apparently.”
“I have practical considerations. But what matters is what you want. How you want to live.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I want to be close to the rink. I want space for people to visit — my family, the guys from the team. I want it to feel like home, not just a place I sleep.”
“Okay. That’s a good start.” You pull your laptop back up. “Let me filter by some of these criteria.”
***
Two days later, you’re standing in the lobby of a high-rise in downtown San Jose, waiting for the realtor.
“This is the fifth one we’ve seen,” Macklin says.
“And we’ll see a sixth and a seventh if we need to. You’re going to be living here for years, probably. It needs to be right.”
“I know, I just-” He looks around the lobby. “I don’t know what ’right’ feels like.”
“You’ll know when you see it.”
The realtor arrives — a woman named Teresa who’s been very patient with Macklin’s indecision and your long list of questions.
“Ready?” She asks cheerfully.
“Ready,” you confirm, because Macklin just looks nervous.
The elevator ride up is quiet. Macklin’s hand finds yours, and you squeeze it reassuringly.
“Relax,” you murmur. “It’s just an condo.”
“It’s my first condo.”
“And it’s going to be great.”
The unit is on the fifteenth floor. Teresa unlocks the door and steps aside to let you in first.
And oh.
The first thing you notice is the light. Floor-to-ceiling windows along the entire living room wall, flooding the space with natural light. The view is incredible — you can see the whole city, the bay in the distance.
“Wow,” Macklin breathes beside you.
You walk further in. The living room is spacious but not cavernous. The kitchen is modern, updated, with actual counter space and a gas stove. The floor plan flows naturally — living room to dining area to kitchen, no weird awkward spaces.
“Two bedrooms,” Teresa says, leading you down the hall. “Master has an en-suite. Second bedroom could be an office, guest room, whatever you need.”
The master bedroom is big. Really big. King bed big, with room for dressers and chairs and whatever else. The en-suite bathroom has a huge shower and a soaking tub.
“Heated floors in the bathrooms,” Teresa mentions. “And the whole unit has smart temperature controls.”
“What about storage?” You ask.
“Walk-in closet in the master, closet in the second bedroom, plus a storage unit in the garage that comes with the condo.”
You nod, mental checklist running. Macklin is wandering around, taking it all in.
“The building has a gym, obviously,” Teresa continues. “Twenty-four hour concierge, package handling, two parking spots assigned to this unit.”
You glance at Macklin. He’s standing by the windows, looking out at the view.
“Can we have a minute?” You ask Teresa.
“Of course. I’ll be in the hall.”
Once she’s gone, you join Macklin by the windows. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“The light, the view, the space — it’s all perfect.” He turns to you. “What do you think?”
“I think the kitchen is actually usable. I think the closet space is good. I think two parking spots is great because then guests don’t have to deal with street parking.” You look around. “I think the layout makes sense. I think you’d be happy here.”
“But?”
“But what?”
“You have a ‘but’ face.”
You smile. “No but. I think it’s really great, Macklin. The location is good — fifteen minutes to the rink, close to restaurants and grocery stores. The building is new, good security. The unit itself is spacious without being overwhelming.”
“So you like it.”
“I like it a lot.”
“Okay.” He takes a breath. “Okay, let’s look at the rest.”
You spend another twenty minutes going through every detail. Testing the water pressure. Checking the closet space. Looking at the storage unit in the garage. Asking Teresa about maintenance fees, utilities, everything.
By the time you’re back in the car, you can tell Macklin is overwhelmed.
“That was a lot,” he says.
“It was. But good?”
“So good. I think-” He pauses. “I think that’s the one. The condo.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It feels right. Everything you said to look for, it has. And it just—it felt like home. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.” You squeeze his hand. “Want to sleep on it? Look at a few more?”
“No. I want that one.” He’s decisive now. “I want to put in an offer.”
“Okay. Let’s call Teresa.”
***
Three weeks later, the offer is accepted, papers are signed, and Macklin has the keys to his own place.
“This is insane,” he says, standing in the empty living room. “I own this.”
“You own this,” you confirm. You’re standing next to him, both of you staring at the vast empty space.
“I need furniture.”
“You need a lot of furniture.”
“Where do I even start?”
You pull out your phone. “I made a list. Essentials first — bed, couch, dining table, basic kitchen stuff. Then we can worry about the extra things.”
“You made a list.”
“Of course I made a list.” You show him. It’s color-coded by room and priority level. “See? Red is immediate need, yellow is soon, green is eventually.”
He looks at the list, then at you, then pulls you into a kiss.
“What was that for?” You ask when he releases you.
“For being you. For making lists and thinking of things I’d never think of and making this whole thing less terrifying.”
“It’s not terrifying. It’s exciting.”
“It’s both.” He looks around again. “Okay. Furniture shopping. Where do we start?”
***
The next two weeks are a blur of furniture stores, delivery schedules, and assembly instructions.
Macklin quickly learns that he has opinions about things he didn’t know he could have opinions about.
“What’s the difference between these two couches?” He asks in the third furniture store you’ve visited.
“One is sectional, one is standard. One is leather, one is fabric. One is modern, one is more traditional.”
“Which one should I get?”
“Which one do you like?”
He looks between them. “I don’t know. They’re both couches.”
“Okay, practical questions: Are you going to have people over a lot?”
“Probably? Team guys, my family when they visit.”
“Then sectional might be good. More seating.” You sit on it, testing. “But leather might be better than upholstery if people are going to be over a lot. Easier to clean.”
“See, I never would have thought of that.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
He ends up getting the sectional in a dark gray Italian leather. And a coffee table that you have to talk him out of buying in glass (“You’re going to put your feet on it. Glass will show every mark”).
At the kitchen store, he wants to buy every gadget.
“Macklin, you don’t need a garlic press.”
“What if I want pressed garlic?”
“You can chop it. With a knife.”
“But this is easier.”
“You don’t even cook.”
“I might start.”
You give him a look. “Fine. Get the garlic press. But you’re not getting the avocado slicer.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a single-use tool that you’ll use twice and then it’ll sit in a drawer forever. Use a knife.”
He pouts but puts the avocado slicer back.
For the bedroom, you let him choose everything. The bed frame (platform, upholstered headboard), the mattress (he tests fifteen before finding the right one), the bedding (you veto his first choice as “too college dorm” and guide him toward something more adult).
“What about this?” He asks, holding up a duvet cover.
You examine it. “It’s nice. Good quality, neutral color. You like it?”
“I do. But-” He hesitates. “Would you like it?”
“It’s your bedroom. What I like doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. You’re going to be here a lot. I want you to like it too.”
Something warm blooms in your chest. “I like it. It’s perfect.”
By the time everything is delivered and assembled, the condo is starting to look like a home. The sectional faces the windows, the coffee table is the perfect height, the dining table seats six. The kitchen is stocked with basics (and a garlic press). The bedroom has a bed that’s actually comfortable, blackout curtains for sleeping in after late games, and bedding that looks adult and put-together.
“We did it,” Macklin says, collapsing on the new couch.
“You did it. This is your place.”
“No, we did it. I couldn’t have done this without you.” He pulls you down next to him. “Seriously. I would have bought that glass coffee table and the avocado slicer and probably like, a disco ball or something.”
You laugh. “A disco ball?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know what I’m doing! But you do, and you helped me, and now I have a home.”
“You have a beautiful home.”
He’s quiet for a moment, looking around. “It’s weird. I’ve been living in San Jose for two years but this is the first place that’s actually mine. That I chose. That I made into what I wanted.”
“How does it feel?”
“Good. Really good. Grown up.” He grins. “I’m an adult with a home and a garlic press.”
“Very sophisticated.”
“I am very sophisticated, thank you.” He pulls you closer. “Thank you. For all of this. For the lists and the advice and talking me out of bad decisions.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Is it?” His voice goes quieter. “Is that all you’re here for?”
You pull back to look at him. “What do you mean?”
He’s nervous suddenly, fidgeting with your hand. “I mean you’ve been here for all of this. Helping me find this place, furnish it, make it home. You have opinions about my kitchen and my closet space and whether I need blackout curtains.”
“Because you asked for my help.”
“I know. But-” He takes a breath. “It made me think. About how much time you spend here already. How you have a toothbrush in the bathroom and clothes in the closet and your favorite coffee in the kitchen.”
Your heart is starting to race. “Macklin-”
“And I was thinking, if you’re going to be here all the time anyway, and if you’re going to have opinions about the furniture and the layout and everything else-” He looks at you directly now. “What if you just lived here?”
You stop breathing.
“What?”
“Move in with me.” The words come out in a rush now. “I know we’ve only been together nine months. I know that’s fast. I know you have your apartment near campus and it’s convenient for school. But I also know that you’re here most nights anyway, and I sleep better when you’re here, and I want to wake up with you every morning, and-”
“Macklin-”
“I love you,” he continues. “I love you so much. And I know this is a big step and we can take it slow if you want, or we can wait, or-”
You kiss him. It’s the only way to stop the rambling.
When you pull back, he looks dazed. “Was that a yes?”
“That was a let me think about it.”
His face falls slightly. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, of course, take your time-”
“Hey.” You cup his face. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying I need to think about the practical aspects. My lease, my commute to school, logistics.”
“Right. Practical aspects. You’re practical.” He’s nodding, but he looks disappointed.
“But Macklin?” You wait until he’s looking at you. “I love you too. And I want to live with you. I just need to figure out how to make it work.”
His smile is like the sun coming out. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“So it’s not crazy? Asking after nine months?”
“A little crazy. But we’ve never been conventional.” You kiss him again, softer this time. “Let me look at my lease, talk to my landlord. Give me a few days?”
“You can have as long as you need.”
“How about three days?”
He grins. “Three days works.”
***
You spend those three days running numbers.
Your lease is month-to-month. Breaking it means losing your deposit, but that’s manageable.
The commute from Macklin’s place to Santa Clara Law is actually shorter than from your current condo. Twenty minutes instead of thirty.
Rent: you’d be saving money living with Macklin, even if you insisted on paying half of everything. Which you would, because you’re not going to mooch.
Pros: Living with Macklin. Waking up together every day. Not having to pack a bag every time you want to stay over. Building a life together.
Cons: You’re trying to think of cons and coming up empty.
On day three, you show up at Macklin’s new condo with your laptop and a folder of documents.
“That looks official,” he says, letting you in.
“It is.” You set everything on the dining table. “Okay. Let’s talk logistics.”
He sits across from you, nervous. “Okay.”
“My lease is month-to-month. I can give thirty days notice and be out by November first.”
“Okay.”
“The commute from here to school is actually better than from my current place.”
“Okay.”
“I want to pay half of everything. Maintenance, utilities, groceries. I’m not going to live here for free.”
“You don’t have to-”
“Yes, I do. We’re partners. Equal partners. Agreed?”
He nods. “Agreed.”
“I’ll need space in the closet. And drawer space. And half the bathroom counter.”
“Done, done, and done.”
“I study a lot. Late nights, early mornings. I’m going to need to be able to spread out and not worry about being in your way.”
“The second bedroom. We’ll make it your office. Desk, bookshelves, whatever you need.”
“I’m messy when I’m studying. Books everywhere, notes all over.”
“I don’t care.”
“I will have opinions about how we organize the kitchen.”
“Please have opinions about how we organize the kitchen. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
You’re trying not to smile. “I’m going to want to cook. A lot. Which means I’m going to want certain ingredients stocked, certain tools available.”
“I will buy you anything you want. Including the avocado slicer.”
“I don’t need the avocado slicer.”
“But if you wanted it-”
“Macklin.” You set your pen down. “Are you sure about this? Really sure? Because once I move in, I’m here. All my mess, all my stress, all of me.”
“That’s what I want. All of you.” He reaches across the table for your hand. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. Well, except maybe the hat trick bet, but that worked out pretty well.”
You laugh despite yourself. “It did.”
“So?” He’s hopeful, nervous, young and earnest and yours. “Will you move in with me?”
You look at him. At this man who asked you out seventeen times. Who scored a hat trick to get a date. Who lets you take the lead and calls you when he’s hurt and trusts you with every vulnerable part of himself.
Who wants to build a home with you.
“Yes.”
His face breaks into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. “Yes?”
“Yes, I’ll move in with you.”
He’s around the table in a second, pulling you up, kissing you hard and desperate and happy.
“I love you,” he says between kisses. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
“You’re going to live here. With me. In our home.”
“Our home,” you agree, and the words feel right.
He picks you up, spinning you around, and you laugh against his neck.
“When can you move in?” He asks when he finally sets you down.
“November first, if I give notice tomorrow.”
“That’s six weeks.”
“Is that too long?”
“Any time without you is too long. But I can wait six weeks.” He kisses you again. “We should celebrate.”
“How?”
“Well, we have a perfectly good couch that we haven’t christened yet.”
You laugh. “Macklin Celebrini, are you suggesting we have sex on the couch?”
“I’m suggesting we have sex in every room in this condo.” His hands are already sliding under your shirt. “Starting with the living room and working our way to the bedroom.”
“What about the kitchen?”
“Especially the kitchen.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
“I really do.”
***
Six weeks later, you’re carrying the last box into the condo. Macklin’s teammates helped with the heavy furniture earlier, and now it’s just you and Macklin, putting away the final pieces of your life into your shared home.
“Where do you want this?” Macklin asks, holding a box labeled BOOKS.
“Bedroom bookshelf. Left side.”
He disappears down the hall, and you look around. Your books are on the shelves. Your coffee mugs in the kitchen. Your clothes in the closet. Your toothbrush in the bathroom.
You live here.
Macklin comes back, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “How does it feel?”
“Surreal. Good. Right.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You turn in his arms. “I live with my boyfriend. In our beautiful condo. With our sectional couch and our garlic press.”
“Don’t forget the avocado slicer.”
“You bought the avocado slicer?”
“I bought the avocado slicer. It’s in the kitchen gadget drawer.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“You moved in anyway.”
“I did.”
He kisses you, soft and sweet. “Welcome home.”
“I’m home.” And you are. Not just in this condo, but with him. “We’re home.”
“We are.” He rests his forehead against yours. “This is it, you know. This is everything I wanted. You, me, our place. Building a life together.”
“We’re so young,” you say. Not arguing, just observing. “Twenty and twenty-four, living together. Some people would say we’re crazy.”
“Some people said you were too old for me. Some people said I was too young to play in the NHL. Some people are always going to have opinions.” He pulls back to look at you. “But I don’t care what some people think. I care what you think.”
“I think we’re doing exactly what we should be doing.”
“Good.” He kisses you again. “Now come on. Will and Ekky are coming over later to help us properly break in the condo, which apparently means pizza and video games.”
“Of course it does.”
“But first-” He’s pulling you toward the bedroom. “We have some christening to finish.”
“We already christened the bedroom. Twice.”
“But not with all your stuff here. That makes it different.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Are you complaining?”
You look at him — young and happy and so in love it radiates from every pore.
“Not even a little bit.”
***
Later, after the team has left and the condo is quiet, you’re lying in bed together. Your bed. In your bedroom. In your home.
“I’m really happy,” Macklin says into the darkness.
“Me too.”
“I was thinking-” He pauses. “This is it. This is the start of our actual life together. Not just dating, not just spending nights here and there. Actually building something.”
“It is.”
“And I know we’re young. I know we have school and hockey and a million things to figure out. But I also know-” He rolls to face you. “I know I want all of it with you. Every part. The boring parts and the exciting parts and everything in between.”
“Macklin-”
“I’m not asking for anything. I’m not—we just moved in together, I’m not going to propose or anything.” He’s rambling now. “I just wanted you to know. That I see a future. With you. A real future. Marriage and kids and growing old together, all of it.”
Your heart is so full it might burst. “I see that too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I love you. I love this life we’re building. I love that we get to do it together.”
“Me too.” He kisses you. “Me too.”
You fall asleep like that, tangled together in your bed, in your home, in the life you’re building together.
And in the morning, when you wake up and stumble to the kitchen for coffee, you’ll find your favorite mug already out, the coffee already brewing because Macklin set the timer last night.
And you’ll realize that this is what home feels like.
Summary: in which you and Macklin officially hard launch your relationship
Series Masterlist
The photos are perfect.
Macklin has been staring at them for twenty minutes, trying to decide which ones to post. There’s the one of you two at sunset, your head on his shoulder, both of you smiling at the camera. The one of you in the infinity pool, your arms around his neck, his hands on your waist. The one of you laughing at something he said, caught mid-giggle, genuine and beautiful.
And then there are the others. The one of you in that white bikini that made his brain short-circuit. The one of him kissing your neck while you tilt your head back. The one of you two in bed — nothing explicit, just limbs tangled in expensive sheets, but intimate enough to make a statement.
“You’re overthinking it,” you say from the balcony, where you’re reading in the sun.
“I’m not overthinking it.”
“You’re absolutely overthinking it.” You don’t even look up from your book. “Just post them. Who cares what people think?”
“I care what people think.”
“Since when?”
“Since-” He pauses. “Okay, fair point.”
You finally look at him, lowering your sunglasses. “Macklin. We’ve been together for seven months. Your family knows. My family knows. The team knows. The only people who don’t know are random strangers on the internet.”
“I know.”
“So post the pictures. Or don’t. But stop agonizing.”
He looks at the photos again. At you, happy and relaxed and his. At seven months of memories that no one else knows about.
“What if people are weird about it?”
“People are always weird on the internet.” You set your book down. “Come here.”
He goes, sitting on the lounge chair next to you. You take his phone, scrolling through the photos.
“These are beautiful,” you say softly. “We look happy.”
“We are happy.”
“Then show people that.” You hand the phone back. “And if anyone has a problem with it, they can fuck off.”
He grins. “So eloquent.”
“I’m on vacation. My eloquence is off duty.” You kiss him quickly. “Post them. I promise the world won’t end.”
So he does.
He picks ten photos — a mix of sweet and slightly spicy, a perfect summary of your relationship. He writes a simple caption best summer ever 🌊☀️and tags your Instagram.
Then he hits post and immediately puts his phone face down on the table.
“Done?” You ask.
“Done.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“Ask me again in an hour when the comments start coming in.”
You laugh. “Come on. Let’s go to the beach. You promised to rub sunscreen on my back.”
“I did promise that, didn’t I?”
“You did. Very enthusiastically.”
“What can I say? I’m committed to sun safety.”
You throw a towel at him, and he catches it, laughing.
***
The first hour is fine.
His phone starts buzzing immediately — likes, comments, follows. His teammates chirping him in the group chat (FINALLY, Will sends, followed by about fifty heart emojis). His mom commenting with heart eyes. Tyler commenting About time, Mack!
You’re lying on an oversized beach bed, the kind that’s basically a floating mattress with a canopy, and Macklin is indeed very committed to sun safety. He’s been rubbing sunscreen on your back for the past ten minutes, and you’re pretty sure he’s just using it as an excuse to touch you.
“You’re very thorough,” you observe.
“Don’t want you to burn.”
“Mmhmm.” You’re grinning into your arms. “This has nothing to do with you liking to touch me.”
“That’s just a bonus.”
His phone buzzes again. And again. And again.
“You should check that,” you say.
“It’s fine.”
“Macklin.”
“I’m on vacation. Vacation means no phone.”
“You literally just posted to Instagram.”
“That was different.”
You roll over, making him move his hands, and pick up his phone. “I’m checking.”
“You don’t have to-”
You’re already scrolling, and he watches your expression change.
“What?” He asks.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not your nothing face. What is it?”
You hand him the phone without a word.
The comments on his post are mostly positive — teammates, friends, fans saying you two look cute together. But someone has noticed his tag of you, and people have clearly found your page.
Your Instagram is public. You post mostly about law school, coffee, books, the occasional photo of you and your friends. And, for the last seven months, photos of you and Macklin.
There’s one from February: him sleeping on your couch after a game, your hand in his hair. Captioned my favorite person.
One from March: you two at dinner, him looking at you like you hung the moon. Captioned date night 💕.
One from April: a mirror selfie where he’s behind you, arms around your waist, kissing your temple. Captioned grateful.
They’re sweet. Intimate. Clearly a couple in love.
And now his fans have found them.
Most of the comments are nice. But some-
She’s 23 and he’s 19? That’s weird.
Four year age gap when he’s a teenager is kind of sus
She’s giving predator vibes ngl
Isn’t she an intern? She 100% groomed him
Poor Macklin, he doesn’t even realize he’s being manipulated
His jaw clenches. “What the fuck?”
“It’s fine-”
“It’s not fine.” He’s scrolling now, getting angrier with each comment. “They’re calling you a predator. They’re saying you groomed me.”
“Macklin, it’s just internet strangers-”
“I don’t care. They don’t get to say that about you.” He’s on his feet now, pacing. “You didn’t groom me. I chased you for two months. I’m the one who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“I know that-”
“They’re acting like you’re some kind of-” He can’t even finish the sentence. “You’re four years older than me. Four years. That’s nothing.”
“To some people, it matters when you’re nineteen.”
“Well, those people can fuck off.” He’s typing now, fingers flying over his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Setting the record straight.”
“Macklin, you don’t have to-”
“Yes, I do.” He looks at you. “I’m not letting anyone talk about you like that. About us like that.”
You’re quiet for a moment, studying him. Then you sigh. “Okay. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going live.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.” He’s already opening Instagram, already tapping the live button. “Come here.”
“What?”
“Come here. I want you in the frame.”
You move to sit next to him, but he shakes his head. “No. I want to—can I lie on your lap?”
You blink. “You want to go live lying on my lap.”
“Yeah. Problem?”
A slow smile spreads across your face. “No problem at all.”
You sit back against the pillows, and he settles with his head in your lap. The phone is propped up on the table next to the bed, angled to show both of you — him reclining, you running your fingers through his hair.
The viewer count is already climbing. 100. 500. 1,000.
“Hi,” Macklin says to the camera. His voice is casual, but you can feel the tension in his shoulders. “So. I posted some photos today. Apparently, we need to have a conversation.”
The comments start immediately.
WHO IS SHE
OMG MACKLIN
You guys are so cute!
She’s too old for you
That last one makes him scowl. You squeeze his shoulder gently.
“First of all,” he continues, “this is my girlfriend, Y/N. We’ve been together for seven months. And before anyone asks — yes, she’s twenty-three. Yes, I’m nineteen. Yes, that’s a four-year age gap. And no, I don’t care what you think about it.”
The comments are flying now, too fast to read. The viewer count is at 5,000 and climbing.
“Second,” he says, “I’ve been seeing some comments calling her a predator. Saying she groomed me. And I want to be very clear about this.” He looks directly at the camera. “That’s bullshit.”
“Macklin,” you murmur.
“It is. It’s complete bullshit, and I’m not going to let people spread that narrative.” He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable in your lap. “You want to know how we got together? I asked her out. Seventeen times. She said no every single time.”
Someone comments: “Why did she say no?”
“Because she’s smart and she knew people would be weird about it,” Macklin says. “Because she was the Sharks’ legal intern and I’m a player and she wanted to keep it professional. Because she thought I was too young and wouldn’t be serious.”
“And?” Someone asks.
“And I scored a hat trick to get her to say yes.” He grins at the memory. “We made a bet. If I scored a hat trick in a game, she’d go on one date with me. If I didn’t, I’d stop asking.”
The comments are going crazy now.
THAT’S SO ROMANTIC
A hat trick bet??? King behavior
Did you score it?
“I scored it,” Macklin confirms. “In overtime. Walk-off goal against Utah. And she went on that date with me, and then another, and another. And now we’re here.”
Your fingers are still playing with his hair, and he reaches up to lace his fingers with your free hand.
“So no,” he says firmly, “she didn’t groom me. She didn’t manipulate me. She didn’t take advantage of me. If anything, I’m the one who pestered her until she finally gave in.”
“You were very persistent,” you say softly, speaking for the first time.
The comments explode.
HER VOICE
She sounds so sweet!
You guys are adorable
“Persistent is one word for it,” Macklin says, looking up at you with a grin. “Annoying is probably more accurate.”
“You weren’t annoying.”
“I asked you out seventeen times.”
“Determined, then.”
He brings your joined hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. The gesture is casual, automatic, and the comments lose their minds.
OMG
THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER
I’m crying they’re so in love
“Anyway,” Macklin continues, “I wanted to address this directly because I’m not going to let people disrespect my girlfriend. We’re both adults. We’re both happy. And our relationship is nobody’s business but ours.”
“And your mom’s,” you add. “She has opinions.”
He laughs. “Okay, and my mom’s. But she loves you, so.”
“She does?”
“Are you kidding? She asks about you every time we talk.” He looks back at the camera. “My whole family loves her. My teammates love her. Everyone who actually knows us loves us together. The only people who have a problem with it are strangers on the internet who don’t know either of us.”
The comments are shifting now. More supportive, less critical.
You guys look so happy
Age gap isn’t even that bad
My parents have a 16 year gap, you’re fine
If you’re both happy that’s all that matters
“We are happy,” Macklin says. He shifts to look up at you. “Right?”
“So happy,” you confirm, smiling down at him.
“See?” He looks back at the camera. “Happy. So everyone can calm down.”
Someone asks: “How did your teammates react?”
“They’ve known for months,” Macklin says. “Everyone’s been super supportive.”
“They’ve been great,” you add.
“She makes the best cakes,” Macklin says. “Brought one to a team barbecue and now everyone asks her to bake for events.”
“You helped make that cake.”
“I ate half the ingredients. That’s not helping.”
You laugh, and the sound is clear and genuine. The comments are full of heart emojis now.
You guys have such good energy together
This is so cute I can’t
Okay I take back what I said, you’re perfect
What do you love about her?
Macklin doesn’t hesitate. “Everything. She’s the smartest person I know. She’s funny and kind and she calls me on my shit when I need it. She makes me better — at hockey, at life, at everything. She’s my best friend.”
Your hand in his hair stills for a moment, and he knows you’re trying not to cry.
“And she’s beautiful,” he adds. “Obviously. But that’s not why I love her. I love her because she’s her.”
The comments are a wall of hearts and crying emojis.
STOP I’M SOBBING
GET YOU SOMEONE WHO TALKS ABOUT YOU LIKE THIS
Okay fine you win, you’re adorable together
What about Y/N? Someone asks you. What do you love about him?
You’re quiet for a moment, and Macklin looks up at you expectantly.
“I love that he’s genuine,” you say finally. “What you see is what you get with Macklin. He doesn’t play games. He doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not. He’s just himself. And himself is pretty incredible.”
“See?” Macklin says to the camera. “She thinks I’m incredible.”
“I said pretty incredible. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. Already there.”
You tug his hair gently, and he grins.
The viewer count is at 15,000 now. The comments are overwhelmingly positive.
“Can we be invited to the wedding?”
“NHL couple goals“
“I’m obsessed with you both“
Someone asks: “Are you living together?”
“No,” you answer. “I have my apartment near campus. We’re taking things at our own pace.”
“Which is slow,” Macklin adds. “Because she’s responsible and mature.”
“One of us has to be.”
He pokes your side, and you squirm, laughing.
“Okay, one more thing,” Macklin says, getting serious again. “I know I can’t control what people say on the internet. I know some of you are always going to have opinions. But Y/N is important to me. She’s-” He pauses. “She’s it for me. So if you’re going to be weird about our relationship, just unfollow me now. Because I’m not going to stop posting about her. I’m not going to hide this. We’re together, we’re happy, and that’s not changing.”
The comments are supportive now. Defending them. Shutting down the haters.
If you don’t like it, leave
He’s literally so happy let him live
Age gap discourse is so tired, they’re both adults
“Okay,” Macklin says. “I think that’s everything. Any questions?”
Comments flood in.
When did you know you loved her?”l
“First date,” Macklin says immediately. “Actually, no. Before that. The hat trick game. When I scored that third goal and looked up and saw her in the stands, I knew.”
“You’re such a romantic,” you say, but your voice is soft.
“Only for you.”
STOP
I CAN’T HANDLE THIS
You guys are killing me
Last question, someone asks. Any advice for relationships with age gaps?
Macklin thinks about it. “Honestly? Communication. And not caring what other people think. Y/N and I talk about everything. We’re honest with each other. And we don’t let other people’s opinions dictate our relationship.”
“Also,” you add, “making sure you’re on the same page about everything. We had a lot of conversations early on about expectations, about what we both wanted. Age gap relationships can work, but only if you’re intentional about it.”
“See?” Macklin says. “Smart. I told you she’s smart.”
“Okay, for real this time, we’re done,” Macklin says. “We’re on vacation and there’s a beach and drinks with umbrellas calling our names.”
“Thanks for watching,” you add.
“And thanks for being cool about us,” Macklin says. “Most of you, anyway. The rest of you can fuck off.”
“Macklin!”
“What? It’s true.” He grins at the camera. “Bye, everyone. Be nice to each other. Don’t be weird on the internet. Go outside. Touch grass.”
He ends the live, and the sudden silence is jarring.
“Well,” you say after a moment. “That was something.”
“Was it okay? Did I say too much?”
“It was perfect.” You cup his face. “Thank you. For defending me. For for all of it.”
“Of course. I’m not going to let people talk shit about you.”
“My knight in shining armor.”
“Just your boyfriend who loves you and won’t tolerate disrespect.” He sits up, turning to face you properly. “Are you okay? Really?”
“I’m okay. I knew there would be some negativity when we went public. It’s the internet.”
“Doesn’t make it okay.”
“No, but it’s reality.” You kiss him softly. “What matters is us. And we’re good.”
“We’re better than good.”
“We really are.”
He checks his phone. The live has already been screen-recorded and posted to Twitter, TikTok, everywhere. The comments are overwhelmingly positive now.
Macklin Celebrini really went live to defend his girlfriend, we love to see it
The way he looks at her 😭
Them lying on the beach bed together ... relationship goals
I was skeptical but that live changed my mind, they’re actually perfect together
His Instagram post has doubled in likes. Your Instagram has gained thousands of followers.
“You’re internet famous now,” he observes.
“Great. That’s exactly what I wanted while trying to study for the bar.”
“You love it.”
“I love you. The internet fame I could do without.”
“Too late. You’re stuck with it now.” He pulls you closer. “Stuck with me.”
“I can live with that.”
“Okay,” he tosses his phone aside. “No more phone. We’re on vacation. Let’s actually enjoy it.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, you still need more sunscreen.”
“Do I?”
“Definitely. Sun safety is very important.”
“You already did my back.”
“What about your front?”
You laugh, pushing him down onto the bed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
“I really do.”
You kiss him, and he thinks about the live. About going public. About all those people watching, seeing you two together, seeing how happy he is.
And yeah, some people will always have opinions. Will always think they know better. Will always have something negative to say.
But lying here with you, on a beach in Cabo, the sun warm on his skin and your lips on his-
He’s never been more sure of anything in his life.
This is right. You’re right. You two together is right.
And anyone who has a problem with that can fuck right off.
***
Later that night, you’re at dinner when you check Instagram for the first time since the live.
“Oh my god,” you say.
“What?”
“Your fan accounts are making edits of us.”
“Already?”
“Already.” You show him your phone. Someone has edited clips from the live with music, focusing on the way Macklin looks at you, the casual intimacy of his head in your lap, the way you play with his hair.
the way he defends her 😭 this is what real love looks like
“We’re a meme now,” you say.
“We’re not a meme. We’re-” He watches the edit. “Okay, maybe we’re a little bit of a meme.”
“I can live with it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You set your phone down. “It’s kind of nice, actually. That people can see how happy we are.”
“We are pretty happy.”
“Understatement of the century.”
He reaches across the table, taking your hand. “I’m glad we went public.”
“Me too.”
“Even with the weird comments?”
“Even with that. Because now I get to post photos of you without worrying who sees them.”
“You’ve been posting photos of me for months.”
“Yeah, but now I can post the really good ones.”
“Define really good.”
You grin. “You’ll see.”
And later, when you post a photo of him from that night — sun-kissed and smiling, looking at you like you’re the only person in the world — with the caption mine ❤️, the internet collectively loses its mind.
But Macklin doesn’t care about the likes or the comments or the attention.
He only cares that the world finally knows what he’s known for months.
He’s yours, you’re his, and that’s all that matters.
I saw this video on twt for the first time with audio (last time I only saw it muted). Wills laugh is so adorable. I don’t want to sound crazy but Mack playing with Marleau’s kids when he was obviously just there to spend time with Will is so “I want to make a good impression on your family” coded. I mean obviously that’s just where he’s staying but if someone was living in my house and they had a friend showing up all the time I’d hope they’d be socializing a little and that’s what Mack does (obviously). Just love how Will is so in awe of the whole thing 🫠🫠🫠
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