everything will be okay — bowen byram
requested: yes
pairing: bowen byram x fem!reader (hockey player!reader)
summary: you’re there for him when he gets hurt
warnings: light swearing, mentions of head/bodily injury
word count: 2.2k
You watched closely from your seat in the stands, eyes locked on the puck. You felt something brush your arm, but shook it off, assuming you had just made contact with Tracy’s side for the thousandth time tonight. After all, arena seats weren’t exactly the most spacious. But then you heard Tracy’s voice calling out to you, and you pulled your focus away from the game. She was tapping you on the arm, and you realized she had been trying to get your attention.
“Jeez, Earth to Y/n!” she joked.
“Sorry,” you laughed, “Got distracted.”
The two girls giggled at your sides, knowing how dialled-in you got watching Bowen’s games. The interest came from being a hockey player yourself. Most of the WAGs followed the game loosely; some could never fully grasp the concept of the game, and some were just too preoccupied with their kids to pay attention to what was happening on the ice. But for you, hockey was everything. You devoted your life to playing the sport, and jumped at the chance to watch and analyze the game whenever you could. Especially when your boyfriend was playing.
—
Your eyes followed the boys up and down the ice, never leaving the puck. When the play was held-up in the defensive zone, Eric made his way to the bench for a change and Bowen hopped on the ice in his place. It wasn’t long before Bo gained possession of the puck, the play having now transitioned to the neutral zone. Staying close to the blue line, he looked around for an open lane and decided on Alex, who was alone near the top of one of the circles. Bowen sent the puck across the ice to his open teammate, before expertly making his way around the two Tampa players standing between him and the offensive zone. Shooting a quick glance backward, his eye caught TJ approaching the red line. Bowen picked up speed, making a sharp turn just inches from the crease, and called out for his teammate’s attention. In an instant, the puck was back on his stick, and he took action without wasting a second. Spinning on his heels, he took a heavy swing at the puck, sending it flying right over Vasilevsky’s left shoulder, almost ripping right through the netting.
The entire building erupted in cheers and whistles, and you (along with the other twenty thousand fans in Ball Arena) shot out of your seat to celebrate your boyfriend’s game-winning goal.
You turned to hug Maya and Tracy, the three of you jumping in each other’s arms with excitement.
“Fuck yeah, Bo! That’s my boy!” you screamed with both hands cupping your mouth, in hopes l the sound would travel far enough for Bowen to hear it. After getting an assist early in the first and now scoring his second goal in two weeks, you were sure this game was going to be a memorable one for your boyfriend.
And it was—for all the wrong reasons.
—
As the remaining minutes of third period ticked by and the Avs came closer and closer to pocketing the win, the other WAGs began getting ready to leave the stands—packing their things, putting on their coats, making sure they still had sight of all their kiddos—the usual.
You were about to join them, when your attention was suddenly caught by a series of whistles and a sea of gasps from the crowd. Spinning around to face the ice, you caught a glimpse of an Avs player laying flat on the ice. Your breath caught in your throat. Shit. You whipped back to face the girls, scanning their eyes for any hint of who was injured, but slowly, all their eyes trailed over to you. Within an instant, your felt your heart fall to your ankles, and your attention shot back the player laying on the ice, hoping to get a better look at who it was.
By now, the medics had already made their way onto the ice and were setting up a backboard for the transfer of the injured player. After they successfully lifted him onto the stretcher, they fastened the safety straps and began rolling the gurney towards the zamboni doors. You didn’t get the clearest look at the numbers on the player’s jersey—from where you were seated, the scene was blocked from your view, only peaking through the wall of medical professionals for a split-second—but you didn’t need more than a glimpse to recognize the big burgundy #4 printed on one of the player’s sleeves. You felt your heart sink further, as if that was even possible.
Without a second thought, you lunged for your purse and took off in the direction of the Avs dressing room. A few of the WAGs called out after you, but you couldn’t hear them. Your ears were buzzing and your head spun as fear took complete control over your body. After everything Bowen went through last season, you knew how vulnerable he was to further injury, and your heart broke thinking about him having to start all over again.
You turned a corner leading to the locker room and ran into the team’s GM, Chris, who had been waiting for you. It didn’t take long—mere seconds, really—for him to read the look of panic on your face and understand the state you were in. He skipped the pleasantries and immediately wrapped his arm around your shoulders, leading you straight towards the medical room.
You practically barged through the door, heart shattering at the sight in front of you. Bowen was laid out the nurse’s table, still strapped to the gurney. He was in a full neck brace, surrounded by medical equipment and barely moving.
“What…” you started, out of breath, “What happened?”
The team physician shifted his gaze from your boyfriend to you, a certain disappointment in his eyes. No no no, this can’t be happening.
“It’s his head, isn’t it?” you choked.
He sighed, “We can’t say the severity of his condition yet, but yes, it’s looking like another concussion.”
You could barely see clearly anymore, a thick wall of tears welling up in your eyes.
“How bad?”
“I’d say it’s most likely to be at least a grade-3 concussion,” he sighed, “I’m sorry, Y/n.”
You felt like you had just been hit by a truck. Another concussion meant the possibility of severe brain damage—something that could change Bowen’s life forever, let alone keep him from playing hockey.
You didn’t even realize that you had started crying until the attending nurse approached you and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, snapping you out of your spiralling thoughts.
“Let’s go sit outside while Dr. Sokolowski finishes examining Mr. Byram,” she suggested, “I will try to answer any questions you have out there.”
You simply nodded, not being able to find your voice, and allowed her to guide you out of the room.
—
A few days later, you found yourself sitting beside your boyfriend’s hospital bed, fingers intertwined with his as he slept peacefully. His parents had left not too long ago, and you were waiting for the nurse to bring him his dinner. In the meantime, you sat in silence, gently running your fingers over his knuckles. This was as close as you had been able to get to Bo since he suffered the concussion, and it made you realize how much you missed being able to touch him.
You felt a stray tear make its way down your cheek, and quickly wiped it away with your sleeve. You were trying your best to hold it together for him, knowing he would only feel worse if he saw how much this was affecting you.
The click of the doorknob caught your attention and when you looked up, the dinner cart was being wheeled in. You smiled at the nurse as she placed a tray on the bedside table and slid it over Bo’s bed. She sent you a friendly smile back, and disappeared out the door as quick as she came.
It took you a while to wake Bowen up and get him seated in a position where he could eat safely, as everything had to be done extremely slowly to keep from worsening the injury.
Once he was alert enough to eat, you carefully fed him spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and broccoli soup, making sure he wasn’t chewing or swallowing too hard. After finishing his plate, you cleaned up the tray and placed it next to the door. Sitting back down in the chair next to his bed, you reverted to position you had been in before the nurse came in—your hands cradling his. He couldn’t turn his head to look at you, so you shifted in your seat to be facing him.
“Hi,” you spoke softly.
He sent you a small smile in return, before trying to respond. He opened his mouth just enough to try and speak but he was obviously struggling to get the words out, so you shook your head and shut down his efforts.
“It’s okay, Bo,” you assured him, knowing he was frustrated with himself and the fact that he still had a hard time doing simple things like talking or eating. Your boyfriend had always been strong-willed. He might come off as a quiet guy, but he held himself to extremely high standards and wouldn’t settle until they were met. It was a good quality to have as an athlete, but it was also damaging to his recovery. Every time he suffered a concussion, he would be so hard on himself if he wasn’t getting better at the projected recovery rate. You tried to tell him that he needed to cut himself some slack, but it never changed anything. It was just the way he was wired.
Clearing his throat as gently as possible, he made a second attempt at trying to respond to you, and succeeded.
“It’s not okay,” he croaked out, “I should already be better by now.”
“You are better, Bo,” you countered, last week you could barely swallow liquids without giving yourself a migraine, and now you’re able to eat solids foods without a problem. You have to be more patient with yourself, my love.”
His eyes softened, and he looked to the floor. “I’m trying, but it’s hard not to think about how slow I’m progressing,” he confessed, “If I don’t get better soon, I won’t be able to play again this season.”
Your heart broke for him. You knew how much hockey meant to Bowen—hell, it meant everything to you too. “Sweetheart, you say you won’t be able to play if you don’t get better, but you need to stay positive in order to get better in the first place,” you tried, “I mean, think about everything you’ve been through in the last two years—the concussions, the leg injury, the ankle issues. Bo, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met and I know you can get through this. You always do.”
“But what if I don’t?” he pressed, bottom lip quivering, “There’s no guarantee, Y/n. Not after the last two concussions. You heard the doctor last time - another injury could end my career.”
You squeezed his hand tighter. “Listen. Even if something were to happen that would force you to step away from hockey, the world won’t end. Everything will be okay. I know how much it means to you, baby. I would feel the same way if I was in your shoes and had to give up the game, but what matters is your health. If it isn’t safe to play, you need to be able to step away from it, for your own good.”
He sniffled, and slowly but surely brought his hand up to hold the side of your face.
“Hockey or not, you’ll always have purpose, my love. You’ll always have your family, your friends, the team, me. You can find a way to keep hockey in your life, even if you’re not playing. You can coach, you can start a foundation, you can train kids—maybe even work for the Avs brass. Life doesn’t end after hockey, Bo. You hear me? You don’t need to be scared. And that’s only if something were to happen—we’re not even at that stage yet.”
Tears were streaming down his face at this point and you reached out to carefully wipe them away.
“Thank you,” he hiccuped, “Thank you for being here and sticking with me through all of this bullshit. I couldn’t do it without you. I love you.”
“I love you too, Bo,” you smiled, “Always.”
He took a deep breath and blinked the remaining tears away, before speaking again. “You’re right, I’m gonna try harder to not think about what could happen, and focus on getting better,” he said with conviction, as if to try to convince himself of the words that were coming out of his mouth, “I’m gonna get through this. No matter how hard it is, I am going to play again. I don’t care what anyone says, I will.”
Letting out a shaky laugh, your nerves finally letting up, you leaned forward to press a light kiss to your boyfriend’s lips. After pulling back, your eyes found themselves locked on his, and you hummed in agreement.
“No doubt about it, my love.”
a/n — back from yet another writing break (thank you, college), so i’m feeling a little rusty. anyway, this is my first imagine for my baby Bo, so i hope y’all enjoy this one even if it isn’t too polished <3
