WHERE YOU GO, I GO / CLAYTON KELLER
SUMMARY All throughout Clayton's career, Riley Baker always seemed to be in the same place at the same time as him. But she swears she's not stalking him.
WORD COUNT 4.5k
WARNINGS/TROPES childhood friends(ish)-to-lovers, timeskips, jack and quinn (but mostly quinn) being scheming little shits
AUTHOR'S NOTE To the anon who wanted this fic back, I spent all afternoon looking for players to replace the man who shall not be named, and I hope Clayton is a good replacement. I always wanted to write for him, but never figured out a plot. Anyway, it should mostly be the same, but I hope the changes I made didn't alter your love for this story.
PLYMOUTH, MICHIGAN, 2015
Riley Baker liked to think she was awfully good at being adaptable—a trait that came with moving around so much, thanks to her father's job. She made friends like it was second nature every time she found herself in a new school, figured out how to navigate stressful situations with a clear mind, and, most of all, she was tactical when it came to sports.
But where Clayton Keller was involved, she found her shortcomings.
"Damn it, dude!" she whined with exasperation, tossing her head back.
Clayton laughed, smacking her braided ponytail that swung like a pendulum.
Riley yanked the yellow flag out of his hand and reattached it to the belt around her waist. "You gotta stop reading me so well," she said.
This had been one too many times of him blocking her rush attempts despite the different routes and strategies that her team's quarterback had signaled.
"You're distracted," Clayton smirked, his dimple carving into his cheek, as they walked back into position.
Riley rolled her eyes, putting her hands on her hips as she caught her breath, her heaving chest glistening with sweat from the sweltering heat and overexertion.
Clayton bent forward to take his spot across from her, watching her follow suit until their eyes were level. "Just gotta guard yourself better, babe."
That nickname only seemed to rile her even more.
"I mean, I could just," he reached for her waist, "pluck that off right now."
Riley slapped his hand, and their PE teacher's whistle screeched.
"Keller, Baker!"
"Sorry!" they shouted insincerely.
Riley rested her elbows on her slick thighs. "Be a gentleman and let me win one time?"
Clayton snickered. "Mouthguard in, babe."
She grumbled but did as she was told, just in time before the quarterback started the snap. Her feet scuttled over the grass as she dodged Clayton's attempt to defend her, and her eyes locked onto the football spinning across the field. Clayton's name fell from her lips like a mantra each time he slipped into her peripheral vision, as though it would deter him from nearing her.
He wouldn't tell her that he had only pretended to skid over the grass just before she caught the ball.
Riley stuck her tongue out at him as she hurtled the ball toward Mrs. Webster.
"You're still about fourteen points behind. You do realize that, don't you?" Clayton said, his eyes brightening with amusement.
"It'll be the comeback of the century!"
It was not the comeback of the century.
A groan ripped through Riley's vocal cords when the game ended—another loss on her shoulders. It was a friendly match, nothing more than their teacher's attempt at getting them to run around and exercise, but the competitive flame inside of her died a little more with each loss she encountered.
"Some gentleman you are," she told Clayton as they filed off the field.
His shoulders shook with laughter as he pushed his fingers through his short, sweat-soaked hair. "I never agreed to that. You are also always more than welcome to join the winning team."
"Webster seems to think otherwise," Riley said. "Besides, how else am I supposed to look at your pretty face up close?"
Clayton shook his head with a lopsided smile as she ran into the locker room.
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, 2016
College was an exciting time, and once again, Riley thrived. There were new people to meet, new challenges to face, and new places to explore in a city she hadn't yet had the privilege of calling home.
She'd seen her home in Phoenix, and Anaheim, and New York, and Minneapolis, and, most recently, she'd seen it in Plymouth.
But Boston was new.
Her cousin, who went to Boston University, had talked her into enrolling there instead of a school closer to their native Arizona, and she'd agreed without any hesitation. Riley had always been close to her cousin ever since they were little kids, and though she'd always been able to find her footing in all these new cities, a part of her didn't mind the joys of familiarity and having family nearby—a built-in friend to show her the ways around town, campus, and this new stage of life.
The first day of class was daunting, nevertheless.
Riley settled in an empty seat near the edge of a row in a grand lecture hall beside a guy who'd brought her into a swift conversation—one too many "What's your major?" and "Where are you from?" that was quickly growing boring after the first few times she'd endured them.
The guy came off strong, and Riley picked out his intentions from the beginning. Her cousin had copiously warned her about what the first week of classes entailed—this was one thing she'd come prepared for.
Riley noticed the guy's gaze drift, and she spared a glance over her shoulder, meeting the familiar pair of blue eyes that haunted her senior year of high school.
"Hey, babe." Clayton jutted his chin out in acknowledgment, flashing a charming grin. He shrugged his backpack off his shoulder as he slid into the empty seat to her right. "Looks like you get to look at my pretty face up close again."
Shivers ran up and down Riley's spine as she cringed at the relayed words.
"Boyfriend?" the guy she'd been talking to asked Clayton. Riley tried not to get offended that he didn't bother asking her.
"No," she answered for him.
Still, the guy's attention waned, though she wasn't at all peeved about the jilted bubble of freshmen innocence.
Riley twisted on the cramped wooden seat to face Clayton, who tried to hold back his laugh behind his hand, playing it off as a skate over his jaw. Her eyes narrowed into slits at his evident delight in the situation.
"Didn't know you chose BU," he said. "But you knew I did."
"Are you suggesting I'm following you around?" She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a stalker. My cousin goes here."
"Lola?"
"How'd you know?"
"You only mentioned her every five words or so."
Riley shoved his shoulder, her feigned stony expression melting away at the sound of his laugh, mellow and kind of raspy. It barely occurred to her how egregiously parabolic he was: She'd perhaps only mentioned Lola in passing once or twice in the short time they'd known each other.
The lights dimmed slightly as the lecture slides infiltrated the screen at the front of the hall, and the voices of chattering students faded into silence.
Clayton crowded into Riley's space, lowering his voice to a mere whisper. "Try not to get distracted this time around."
Riley shot him a glare.
PHOENIX, ARIZONA, 2017
Boston wasn't what it was made out to be, Riley quickly deduced. It was a great city—she loved exploring the historic neighborhoods, walking up and down the Charles River, watching the Red Sox dazzle under the Fenway lights—but the school wasn't for her.
And so, when the school year ended, she'd packed everything she had and made the trip back to Phoenix, where the rest of her family resided.
Maybe it was all of the moving around that had finally gotten to her. It wouldn't hurt to return to where she came from for a little bit, try to dip her feet in the feeling of home—where her cousins fled to the lakes to avoid the scalding desert heat in the summer, where they spent hours upon hours outside at one with nature, despite their dermatologists knocking at their doors.
Riley would never hear the end of it from Lola, who nagged and begged her to stay in Boston to the point that she had to applaud the effort. But most of all, if Clayton were to ever find out, she'd never hear the end of it, either, for he'd signed his contract with the Arizona Coyotes and jumped the college ship.
She'd found that out through the grapevine after he'd stopped showing up to class. She doubted the grapevine worked the other way around, though.
"Nana, what do you want?" Riley asked her grandmother once they found a table in a local coffee shop.
"Oh, I'll take whatever you're having."
Riley nodded and locked her grandmother's wheelchair in place. She walked to the growing line at the front, her eyes scanning the chalkboard menus hanging on the wall behind the counter. Part of her wanted to try something new, but like her desire to settle into a routine of familiarity that led her home, she decided otherwise.
She'd been so focused on reading the menus that she hadn't noticed the group of guys nearing her until one of them pummeled into her from behind. Her complaint died on the tip of her tongue when she recognized the voice spewing apologies.
Her eyes widened. Oh, she was really going to hear it now.
"Babe?" Clayton's eyebrows jumped in surprise when she turned around. "Are you sure you're not stalking me?"
"Real gentleman-y of you to accuse me of that."
Amusement washed over his face as a memory passed through his eyes. He crossed his defined arms, not heedless of the way her gaze briefly flickered to them. "Shouldn't you be in Boston?"
Riley moved up the line. "Maybe if I still went to school there." She notched her head toward her grandmother. "Transferred to ASU because I was homesick."
Clayton's attention slid to the lady with graying hair and features that Riley had clearly inherited. He almost had shivers roll across his skin like a tidal wave from how she was staring at them—piercing eyes, unreadable emotions—but he offered a wave and watched the steely expression on her face wilt away, overtaken by a kind smile.
"I forgot you aren't from Michigan," he said.
"Yeah, not stalking," she assured before noting the group of guys he'd shown up with who'd gone in and out of observing their interaction. They all had similar builds—muscular, tall, sculpted, maybe missing a few teeth. His teammates, she realized, and her face faltered with panic. "I promise I'm not a psycho stalker."
Clayton laughed. "Riley 'Babe' Baker," he introduced.
Her face twisted. "Just Riley works, too."
"Of course—Babe's reserved for me."
"Oh, you really grind my gears."
Clayton held back another laugh, though he internally dreaded the teasing his teammates would hold him to once she was out of earshot. "We went to high school together."
"And college," Riley added. "Before he dropped out."
"Tried to escape you, and look where we're at."
Riley shook her head with a suppressed smile, eyes tracking his teammates' faces to gauge their thoughts. There was amusement, mostly. At least they didn't think of her as an obsessive creep—that was all she asked for.
One of Clayton's endearingly skewed smiles peeled back his lips, and he clasped her shoulders, pushing her to the front of the line. "Don't argue," he told her before turning to the cashier, whose eyes blatantly roamed up and down his figure. "Her order's on me."
Riley kept her thoughts to herself for fear of holding up the line. "Two medium iced lavender lattes and two blueberry muffins, please," she told the cashier, whose instant crush had been snuffed out just as quickly as it appeared.
As Clayton gave his order, Riley subtly reached for her card. She'd be damned if she let him win, outdoing her once again. Her competitiveness was still a burning ember, worsened by her decreased involvement in sports as she got older, and still trying to be better than Clayton.
But like always, she'd found her shortcomings around him.
Clayton grasped her wrist, gently pushing her hand away before she could put her card into the reader. He huffed out a laugh, not quite mocking but almost, as her eyes bore holes into the side of his head. "All this talk about my not being a gentleman, and here my efforts aren't appreciated."
Riley let him drag her aside as his teammates took their turns ordering.
"Lola didn't make a fuss that you were leaving?"
"She did," Riley hummed. "Didn't stop me. Obviously."
"Obviously."
Riley cracked a smile.
Clayton's teammates found them one by one, and their tall statures dwarfed her until she was unconsciously inching toward him like he was a beacon of comfort. Maybe he was; it seemed that despite all the moving around, he'd become a constant in her life.
Distant, sometimes barely acknowledged, but a constant nonetheless.
Where the buildings cycled through unfamiliarity and familiarity, the roads were named after people with histories she didn't know, and people had different speaking patterns, Clayton was a warm, quilted blanket on a frigid winter day.
She wondered if they'd continue this game of cat and mouse—if they'd continue moving around and if they'd continue to find each other.
Or maybe these have merely been a coincidence?
But what was that saying?
Once was happenstance, twice was coincidence, and thrice was a pattern?
A barista called Clayton's name out, pulling him from the conversation spoken in a lexicon entirely of its own league that she never quite picked up on (though she did appreciate the way Clayton would break away occasionally to reel her in).
He had one of his teammates hold his drink before he grabbed both of Riley's. She took the muffins and followed him toward her table, lowering the gold-rimmed plates in front of her grandmother, whom Clayton had immediately taken the liberty of introducing himself to, charming in all the right ways.
"Well, it was nice seeing you again," Riley told him, "and thank you for paying."
Clayton smiled—a little softer around the edges than the one she'd seen him show around his friends. "Anytime, babe."
Riley could only shake her head when he winked at her before returning to his teammates.
"Well, that Clayton is a fine gentleman," her grandmother commented with a twinkle in her wise eyes.
With a dismissive laugh at her grandmother's insinuation, Riley stole a glance his way, hoping he couldn't see the way the apples of her cheeks flushed when their eyes connected. "Yeah, he is."
BRATISLAVA, SLOVAKIA, 2019
With the semester over and done with, Riley and her friends decided to go on a girls' trip to commemorate making it out of such a hell-hole. They threw a dart at a map in their dilapidated college house and watched the tip dagger itself into the city of Bratislava.
That was how they ended up roaming the winding cobbled streets of the historic city.
As it turned out, however, Riley was not the only one from her high school who'd found themselves there either.
On a fated day exploring, Riley had heard the unmistakable yell of a certain Quinn Hughes. She'd swiveled around, more surprised that he'd remembered who she was rather than that they'd found themselves together in a city entirely different from the one they'd known each other.
After all, she and Clayton always seemed to find each other.
She wondered what he was up to these days. It had been a hot minute since they'd seen each other at a house party they'd coincidentally attended. He'd walked her and her roommates home, parting with a lingering kiss to her temple that she could still feel if she revisited the memory enough in a drunken haze.
Last she looked up, the Coyotes failed to make the playoffs.
The afternoon path-crossing had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and Riley didn't think much of it until she'd gotten a DM from Quinn. He was quick to the point, inviting her and her friends for a night out at a bar.
"You look good," Quinn complimented Riley in the hotel lobby, where he said he'd meet them. His gaze drifted to her friends. "You all do."
Riley didn't dwell on the awkward cadence of his words. Even though they had rarely crossed paths in high school—Quinn being a year younger than her and Clayton—she'd always known him to be a little stilted in his interactions. At least compared to Jack, who had no problem yapping away with her friends.
They walked to the bar, and Riley canvassed the area.
"Over here." Quinn pulled her through the crowd before she could fully absorb her surroundings. They ended up near the back, where several bar tables were occupied by loud-mouthed Americans, and Riley's eyes were magnetized to the familiar blues she still thought about.
"You've got to be shitting me," she blurted out. "Clayton Keller, what the hell are you doing here?"
His eyes gleamed with the joke before it reached his mouth, and Riley was ready for it, yearned for it even. "If it isn't my little stalker. To think I was finally free."
Riley hummed her amusement. "You're not a hard guy to find."
Clayton's lips tipped up, and she felt something spark in her chest, a homely warmth that kept her toasty. "C'mere, babe."
Riley slotted herself between his sinewy legs and fell into his open arms with an excited grin, inhaling the cologne he'd overdone. She swore his grip tightened around her waist before they pulled away.
"Was no one going to tell me that we were having a little Michigan reunion over here?" Adam asked, giving her a friendly hug before draping his arm over Riley's shoulders.
"Oh," Johnny's voice dragged out, "so we don't need to call for help?"
"No, no psycho stalker here," Clayton assured, eyes drifting to Riley. His teammates noticed the affectionate gleam immediately. "Just Riley."
"Not babe?" Adam raised an eyebrow. "That's a first."
Riley made a disapproving noise, her face pinching with a frown. "No, that's reserved for Clay."
Clayton bit back a smile. He failed.
His teammates introduced themselves to her, and he watched realization settle on why they'd all ended up in Bratislava when someone mentioned it offhandedly. But his heart clenched when Quinn replaced Adam, and Riley remained by his side; it was casual, the way Quinn held her, his hand never finding the dips or curves in that strangely intimate way, yet it was a reminder of who she'd come to the bar with.
And, oh, how he hated the smug grin on Quinn's face.
Clayton's palm lent itself to the small of Riley's back, and she broke off from the conversation, eyes wide like a doe, throat vibrating with an acknowledging hum. He leaned closer, nearly standing from his barstool. "You know, I'm a little offended Hughesy knew you were in town before I did."
Riley chuckled. "Wasn't by choice. Heard him yell my name while my friends and I were sightseeing today."
"He...yelled?" Clayton asked with incredulity.
"And this might be hard to believe, but not everyone keeps up with hockey," she added. "I didn't know you were here. Didn't even know Worlds was happening, let alone where."
"But you do," he said softly, "keep up with hockey. The NHL, at least. You were wearing a Yotes shirt the last time I saw you."
A soft blush took over her cheeks. "Hometown team."
Clayton raised an eyebrow.
"And maybe because I know a guy on the team." Her eyes crinkled with her sheepish smile.
Clayton had long given up trying to restrain his smile around her. Soft and sweet, Riley wanted to make it permanent.
Her gaze jumped to Quinn when his arm slid off her shoulders. He hadn't spared her a glance, still engrossed in his friends, and she took the opportunity to step toward Clayton, whose attention fell to her empty hands.
"What d'you wanna drink?" he asked.
She looked at his glass, and though she hadn't asked, Clayton handed her his drink. She brought the beer to her red-painted lips and was ready to hand it back when he gestured for her to keep it.
Riley only tore her attention away when Johnny directed a comment to her, and she played into the conversation for a bit, seemingly less deterred by the vocabulary she'd begun to piece together from the very few hockey games she would tune into. She was awfully aware that Clayton's hand was still perfectly molded to the curve of her spine, and she hoped no one spotted the heat crawling up her neck.
Once her input faded, Riley turned to Clayton again.
Quinn wasn't talking beside her, but she could hear his voice, an echo of earlier. As if to silence his imaginary voice, she held Clayton's side, her fingers sprawled against his ribs. His hand slid from her back to her waist, smoothing over the skin her shirt didn't cover, and his hum rippled against her ear.
"Quinn told me something interesting earlier," she said, letting him pull her closer. Her hand fell to his thigh to stabilize herself.
"Oh, yeah?" Clayton raised an eyebrow, his gaze easing to Quinn, whose expression was once again puffed out and mischievous. Even Jack bore the same shit-eating demeanor. They were going to have a word after tonight.
Riley nodded. "Said something about how you'd be so thrilled to know I was here."
Clayton laughed, and this wave of jollity elicited a boldness that jostled her further into his grasp, until she was pressed up against him. "Oh, babe, you have no idea."
"I think I do," she murmured.
Riley momentarily slipped away from Clayton's hold, though his touch lingered as she gently grasped Quinn's bicep, vying for his attention. She apologized for interrupting the conversation before they whispered a few words, Quinn's amusement growing and Riley's cheeks turning beet-red with each second.
Clayton could only watch, though his ears tried to pick apart what he could grasp. Riley shook her head as Quinn mentioned something about a wedding invitation. They shared a quiet laugh that looked like it should've been saved for a room with just the two of them.
In all honesty, he wondered when and how they'd gotten to know each other well enough that Quinn felt comfortable coming out of his shell, though he supposed their world was small. But there was a comforting stroke to his ego that brought a slant to his lips when he looked at the beer in her hand, the glass rim lined with her red lipstick.
That was his glass, not Quinn's.
Clayton arched his eyebrow when Quinn nudged Riley in his direction.
"C'mon." She grabbed his hand and towed him toward her friends, who'd busied themselves with Clayton's teammates. She only spent a few seconds with them before she continued toward the bar.
Jack and Quinn laughed to themselves at the scene.
"Isn't she supposed to be your date?" Zach cocked an eyebrow after noticing the way Riley and Clayton had slipped away with beaming grins that spoke of something else, something cherished.
Quinn crossed his arms over his chest, perhaps more smug than anyone had ever seen him. "Sure, technically," he affirmed, "but Kellsy's always had a little crush on her."
"That's an understatement," said Adam. "You don't even want to know how many times the other guys in the Program and I have had to hear about all the times he's bumped into her in Boston and Phoenix."
"Even I heard about it," Jack inputted, "and they were gone by the time I entered the Program."
Johnny made a noise, a hmm soaked with curiosity. "Z, you didn't hear about it?"
"Clearly not."
"Interesting." Johnny nudged Quinn. "What a mastermind, you."
"Hey, it was about time someone did something about it."
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH, 2024
For what felt like the millionth time, Riley had packed up everything she had and left.
With the trunk of her car packed to the brim with suitcases full of way more clothes than usual, boxes filled with sentimental decorations, and a bag loaded with hockey gear, she drove through the state line until she reached the cooler mountains of Utah.
It wasn't the most ideal scenario.
In the perfect world, the Arizona Coyotes still played in her home state, and the past few weeks weren't spent in a home that was a mere shell of what it used to be—late-night talks on the couch replaced by phone calls that didn't feel the same, and the kitchen, once full of laughter, now had the mumble of music that fanned away the silence.
And she would've left earlier had it not been for the job that'd clung onto her for as long as possible.
But there she was now, hauling her possessions with a tired gleam in her eyes.
Riley supposed she could've asked for help, especially since she had a whole arsenal of family members to split the load with, but she was impatient, itching to leave. Besides, she had an ego to uphold, one that screamed about her abilities to do this all on her own.
The ring on her left hand glinted under the summer sun as she turned onto the street her phone read out, her eyes wide with awe at the belt of large houses that seemed endless. Green trees and flourishing shrubbery lined the curbs, casting shadows that cooled the asphalt and cemented sidewalks.
How far away they were from the arid deserts of Arizona.
A smile peeled back her lips when she pulled into the driveway of a house she'd only seen through photos. She rolled down the window, letting the familiar man approach and lean against her car. "You know this ruins our thing, right?"
Clayton raised an eyebrow. "What thing?"
"The thing of you going somewhere and me somehow finding my way to you."
"All it means is that you won't be a crazy stalker anymore."
Riley's smile was infectious as she climbed out of the car. Her arms threaded around his neck, and her heart skipped a thousand beats as his hands found the dips of her hips. She pushed the long strands of his silky hair out of his face, noting the changes since he'd gone to Utah for the team press conferences and to search for a house they'd spend most of the year at.
"Welcome home," he whispered into the space between them, bringing her into a sweet kiss.
Riley savored the feeling of his lips against hers before pulling away. "I still have to go back to Arizona."
Clayton fixed her a flat look. "I bought furniture and the appliances you always use. What else do you need to bring up here?"
"Just a few more things," she said. "They should all fit in a suitcase. I'll fly this time. Unless you wanna do a road trip?"
"More time to be with you?" he asked. "Who would say no to that?"
"Charming." Riley brushed her thumb over his eyebrow. "But you've already won over my heart."
Clayton squeezed her hip. "Always more to be won."
Riley tilted her head. "It's always about winning with you," she said fondly.
"Coming from you?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's rich."
A smile curved her lips. "Be prepared to do a lot of cleaning because if we're keeping that house for the offseason, I don't want to come back to a mess."
Clayton brought her in for another kiss. "Yes, ma'am."
