Macklin Celebrini x Taylor St. James (OC) - masterlist
summary: where a clumsy social media girl apologizes for her teams accident
a/n: dedicated to my lovelies @babypuck & @oscmints
It was the perfect game in San Jose: the Rangers had beaten the Sharks 6-1, and the goal replays and the team win graphic had been posted across socials. Taylor considered tonight pretty successful, too, and she always felt this kind of calm after the storm when the arena emptied after games. She let that feeling overtake her as the team piled into the bus, still in tow behind them. Taylor had her own postgame rituals. It wasn’t crazy like some of the vets in the league, but it was no joke to her. This entailed patting down her shoulder for her backpack, then squeezing her camera bag, and finally making sure the camera had the accompanying SD cards—three, to be exact.
When she got to her final check, something wasn’t adding up. Taylor had counted one card in the camera, another in the camera bag's side pocket, only to come up short of the third one usually found with her extra batteries.
Her fingers roamed the fabric, pausing at the emptiness. Taylor’s smile dropped as she went through her mental checklist again, this time patting her pockets down and rummaging through her other bag. She dug past her laptop, some tangled chargers, and her media lanyard.
It wasn’t there. And that made her stomach drop a little.
“No, no, no…fuck”, she mumbled under her breath, watching everyone get ready to leave San Jose.
The third SD card wasn’t just a backup. It had the pre-game warmups and almost the entire first period, and with the win tonight, they would definitely want to edit the clips later. Worst of all, she hadn’t uploaded anything besides the goal replays onto her laptop.
Mentally retracing her steps, Taylor remembered that she’d swapped cards during first intermission, meaning that it was definitely still in the media room.
Amie, the senior social media director, was the closest thing Taylor had to an older sister and took the most credit for helping Taylor get a full-time job once she graduated.
Taylor tapped her shoulder frantically, eyes wide. “I just need to grab something I left in media—uh, I’ll be right back!”
For California, the air was chilly on her jog back inside the arena, swiftly trying to put her credentials back on. She was a flash of red and blue, the squeak of her sneakers filling the hall as the familiar hallway came back into view. To her luck, the door was cracked open, and the SD card was sitting right where she had changed it earlier. Lungs still burning from the run, she slipped it into that tiny pocket of her jeans.
She barely took a breath before turning on her heel and bolting right back out to the exit. Once the bus was back in sight everyone had taken their seats and were waiting on her. Still catching her breath from what felt like a marathon she mumbled hushed apologies to everyone before taking one of the only seats left—the third row to the front.
“Got it?” Amie leaned over from across the aisle, eyebrows raised.
Taylor nodded quickly, still catching her breath. “Yeah—yeah, I got it.”
The brunette settled into her row, allowing herself to take a deep breath she’d been holding in since her sprint. Behind her, toward the back, the bus hummed as it started up with music playing to commemorate the far from close win.
Crisis averted. The SD card was in her pocket. Taylor was fine.
When the bus backed up to pull out, it lurched backward only to collide with a screech. It felt like the entire bus jolted and its center of gravity shifted.
The screech sounded far too metallic to be only the curb. A moment of silence followed, where everyone looked at each other, almost waiting to see someone move.
“Oh, my God.” Taylor didn’t know what possessed her to get up, but she was on her feet within seconds, failing to let the driver exit first. As she walked to where the sound came from, she was met with a fairly nice Range Rover with a giant dent on the front and a lack of paint simultaneously. She scanned the lot for the owner only to be met with Macklin Celebrini, who appeared to be less concerned than he should have been.
Mack didn’t look mad at all. He was actually kind of smiling, like the weight of the situation hadn’t caught up to him quite yet, still in his game-day suit.
And that somehow made Taylor even worse.“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” the words came out instantly, breathless and rushed as she hurried toward him, hands already lifting like she could somehow fix it with her own jumbled word vomit. “That’s your car—it’s like really nice and that’s not just a scratch it’s–” she winced, cutting herself off for not even half a second before rambling on anyway, “it’s bad. That’s really bad.”
His green eyes flicked between the bus and her panic-ridden face.
“We just got here, we were literally just leaving—I don’t even—oh, you—you must have somewhere to be, and now you’re stuck here,” she frowned.
“It’s fine,” Mack mumbled, barely glancing over at the vehicle, focusing more on the credentials around her neck.
“It’s fine?” she repeated. “Look at your car—I’m so sorry, that’s completely our fault.”
As that final word left her mouth, the bus driver put a hand on her shoulder, halting anything else that might leave it.
“Kid, I’ve got this, head back,” the driver said sternly, lips pressing into a thin line.
“But–,” she tried.
“We’re gonna sort it out. You need to head back on the bus.”
Taylor took a step back, turning on her heel to oblige, not wanting to further the situation. And she made it barely two and a half steps before adding a “I’m really sorry,” and continuing her stride to the bus.
Mack, however, continued to nod along to whatever the driver tried to convey about insurance to him, every word drowned out like white noise. He watched over the older man’s shoulder as she trailed off in a nervous red and blue blur. The hockey player couldn’t help but smile at her sincerity and complete panic.
Once she was out of Mack’s eyeline, reality set in, and the scratch seemed way bigger than before, and the driver was no longer white noise to him, and his face dropped.
“—so we’ll exchange information and—” the driver continued.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you need,” Mack nodded, pulling up his father's contact to help sort this out while being flooded with texts telling him the team plane was waiting.
He scribbled down whatever his dad told him to, handing it over to the older man. Once the driver did the same with his own information, Mack ran his finger over the flaw, watching the bus pull out.
Macklin Celebrini x Taylor St. James (OC) - masterlist
summary: where a clumsy social media girl apologizes for her teams accident
a/n: dedicated to my lovelies @babypuck & @oscmints
MARCH 2026
It was the perfect game in San Jose: the Rangers had beaten the Sharks 6-1, and the goal replays and the team win graphic had been posted across socials. Taylor considered tonight pretty successful, too, and she always felt this kind of calm after the storm when the arena emptied after games. She let that feeling overtake her as the team piled into the bus, still in tow behind them. Taylor had her own postgame rituals. It wasn’t crazy like some of the vets in the league, but it was no joke to her. This entailed patting down her shoulder for her backpack, then squeezing her camera bag, and finally making sure the camera had the accompanying SD cards—three, to be exact.
When she got to her final check, something wasn’t adding up. Taylor had counted one card in the camera, another in the camera bag's side pocket, only to come up short of the third one usually found with her extra batteries.
Her fingers roamed the fabric, pausing at the emptiness. Taylor’s smile dropped as she went through her mental checklist again, this time patting her pockets down and rummaging through her other bag. She dug past her laptop, some tangled chargers, and her media lanyard.
It wasn’t there. And that made her stomach drop a little.
“No, no, no…fuck”, she mumbled under her breath, watching everyone get ready to leave San Jose.
The third SD card wasn’t just a backup. It had the pre-game warmups and almost the entire first period, and with the win tonight, they would definitely want to edit the clips later. Worst of all, she hadn’t uploaded anything besides the goal replays onto her laptop.
Mentally retracing her steps, Taylor remembered that she’d swapped cards during first intermission, meaning that it was definitely still in the media room.
Amie, the senior social media director, was the closest thing Taylor had to an older sister and took the most credit for helping Taylor get a full-time job once she graduated.
Taylor tapped her shoulder frantically, eyes wide. “I just need to grab something I left in media—uh, I’ll be right back!”
For California, the air was chilly on her jog back inside the arena, swiftly trying to put her credentials back on. She was a flash of red and blue, the squeak of her sneakers filling the hall as the familiar hallway came back into view. To her luck, the door was cracked open, and the SD card was sitting right where she had changed it earlier. Lungs still burning from the run, she slipped it into that tiny pocket of her jeans.
She barely took a breath before turning on her heel and bolting right back out to the exit. Once the bus was back in sight everyone had taken their seats and were waiting on her. Still catching her breath from what felt like a marathon she mumbled hushed apologies to everyone before taking one of the only seats left—the third row to the front.
“Got it?” Amie leaned over from across the aisle, eyebrows raised.
Taylor nodded quickly, still catching her breath. “Yeah—yeah, I got it.”
The brunette settled into her row, allowing herself to take a deep breath she’d been holding in since her sprint. Behind her, toward the back, the bus hummed as it started up with music playing to commemorate the far from close win.
Crisis averted. The SD card was in her pocket. Taylor was fine.
When the bus backed up to pull out, it lurched backward only to collide with a screech. It felt like the entire bus jolted and its center of gravity shifted.
The screech sounded far too metallic to be only the curb. A moment of silence followed, where everyone looked at each other, almost waiting to see someone move.
“Oh, my God.” Taylor didn’t know what possessed her to get up, but she was on her feet within seconds, failing to let the driver exit first. As she walked to where the sound came from, she was met with a fairly nice Range Rover with a giant dent on the front and a lack of paint simultaneously. She scanned the lot for the owner only to be met with Macklin Celebrini, who appeared to be less concerned than he should have been.
Mack didn’t look mad at all. He was actually kind of smiling, like the weight of the situation hadn’t caught up to him quite yet, still in his game-day suit.
And that somehow made Taylor even worse.“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” the words came out instantly, breathless and rushed as she hurried toward him, hands already lifting like she could somehow fix it with her own jumbled word vomit. “That’s your car—it’s like really nice and that’s not just a scratch it’s–” she winced, cutting herself off for not even half a second before rambling on anyway, “it’s bad. That’s really bad.”
His green eyes flicked between the bus and her panic-ridden face.
“We just got here, we were literally just leaving—I don’t even—oh, you—you must have somewhere to be, and now you’re stuck here,” she frowned.
“It’s fine,” Mack mumbled, barely glancing over at the vehicle, focusing more on the credentials around her neck.
“It’s fine?” she repeated. “Look at your car—I’m so sorry, that’s completely our fault.”
As that final word left her mouth, the bus driver put a hand on her shoulder, halting anything else that might leave it.
“Kid, I’ve got this, head back,” the driver said sternly, lips pressing into a thin line.
“But–,” she tried.
“We’re gonna sort it out. You need to head back on the bus.”
Taylor took a step back, turning on her heel to oblige, not wanting to further the situation. And she made it barely two and a half steps before adding a “I’m really sorry,” and continuing her stride to the bus.
Mack, however, continued to nod along to whatever the driver tried to convey about insurance to him, every word drowned out like white noise. He watched over the older man’s shoulder as she trailed off in a nervous red and blue blur. The hockey player couldn’t help but smile at her sincerity and complete panic.
Once she was out of Mack’s eyeline, reality set in, and the scratch seemed way bigger than before, and the driver was no longer white noise to him, and his face dropped.
“—so we’ll exchange information and—” the driver continued.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you need,” Mack nodded, pulling up his father's contact to help sort this out while being flooded with texts telling him the team plane was waiting.
He scribbled down whatever his dad told him to, handing it over to the older man. Once the driver did the same with his own information, Mack ran his finger over the flaw, watching the bus pull out.
