Edmonton - Frederik Andersen (part 3)
summary: you and Freddie still navigate the aftermath of what happened, will you find your way back to each other after all?
pairing: Frederik Anderse x Brind´Amour!reader
word count: 11.2k
tropes/warnings: post-breakup angst, some tension, age gap (25/36, not really discussed), hurt/comfort
part 1 / part 2 / part 3
----
Nearly three weeks after the breakup, there was a knock at your apartment door.
You frowned.
You weren't expecting anyone.
When you opened it, Seth Jarvis stood there holding a cardboard tray with two coffees.
He smiled awkwardly. "Hi."
You blinked. "...Hi."
"I know this is weird."
"A little."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I was in the neighborhood."
"Liar."
"Yeah."
He sighed. "I wanted to check on you."
Your expression softened. "You didn't have to."
"I know." He held up the coffees. "But I figured you probably weren't answering many texts."
"...I'm really not."
"I noticed."
There was an awkward pause. Then he smiled. "Can I come in?"
You stepped aside. "Sure."
A few minutes later the two of you sat on opposite ends of your couch. Seth looked around. "It feels weird being here."
"You've never been here."
"I know."
"But Freddie talked about it."
Your heart skipped. "He did?"
"All the time."
You looked down at your coffee. "What did he say?"
A small smile spread across Seth's face. "Mostly that you had the world's strongest opinions about coffee mugs."
You laughed. "I do."
"He was terrified of putting them in the wrong cabinet."
That made you laugh harder. "He did."
"He reorganized them once."
Your eyes widened. "He told you that?"
"He called me in a panic because he couldn't remember where they originally went."
You laughed so hard you had to wipe your eyes. For just a moment...It didn't hurt.
Seth watched the smile slowly fade from your face. "He misses you."
The words hung in the air. You closed your eyes. "I know."
"I've never seen him like this."
You didn't answer.
"He doesn't talk much anymore." Silence. "He blames himself."
You nodded once. "He should."
Seth looked down. "I know."
You looked at him carefully. "Did he ask you to come here?"
Seth met your eyes immediately. "No."
"If he had..."
"I wouldn't have."
You believed him.
"I came because I care about both of you." He sighed. "And because watching two people who are obviously still in love be miserable is kind of awful."
Your chest tightened. You looked down into your coffee. "So is living it."
Neither of you spoke after that.
----
After Seth left, the apartment felt too quiet again. For the first time in weeks, someone had talked about Freddie without pity in their voice.
Just...normally. Like he was still the man you'd laughed with on your couch. Not just the one who'd broken your heart.
You hated how much that mattered.
----
The next morning was your dad's annual charity golf tournament. Normally, you would've been there before sunrise helping your mom check people in, making sure sponsors had everything they needed.
This year, you almost didn't go.
Your mom had talked you into it over breakfast. "You've hidden long enough."
"I haven't been hiding."
"You've been avoiding people."
You sighed. "There's a difference."
"There is."
She smiled knowingly. "But today, you're coming anyway."
----
The course buzzed with familiar faces. Players. Former players. Staff. Sponsors. Families.
Normally it felt like home. Today it felt strange.
You hadn't realized how many people unconsciously associated you with Freddie until you found yourself wondering which conversations would become awkward if anyone mentioned him.
Luckily, no one did. At least not at first.
"Well, look who finally showed up."
You turned just in time to see Jordan Martinook walking toward you with his usual grin.
"There she is." He wrapped you in a quick hug before stepping back. "We've missed you."
"I've only been gone a couple weeks."
"Exactly."
He looked you over. "You okay?"
You gave the practiced smile you'd perfected lately. "I'm alright."
Martinook stared for exactly two seconds. "...Terrible liar."
You laughed. "So I've been told."
He smiled. "Good."
"What?"
"That." He pointed at your face. "You laughed."
"I did."
"We'll count that as progress."
----
Throughout the morning, people stopped to talk. Some about work. Some about your family. Some simply because they'd known you for years. No one mentioned Edmonton, until lunch.
You were carrying two bottles of water back toward your parents when someone called your name.
Nikolaj Ehlers was walking toward you, sunglasses perched on top of his head.
You hadn't seen him since before everything fell apart.
His smile softened when he reached you. "Hi."
"Hi."
For a second neither of you knew what to do. Then he opened his arms. You stepped into the hug without thinking. He squeezed you gently. "It's really good to see you."
"You too."
When you pulled apart, he looked at you carefully. "You've lost weight."
You rolled your eyes. "I knew I shouldn't have hugged you."
"I'm serious."
"I've been eating."
"Not enough."
You sighed. "I'll work on it."
"I know you will." He glanced toward the crowd before lowering his voice. "I wanted to check on you."
"Seth already beat you to it."
"I know."
"He told me."
You smiled faintly. "You two talk too much."
"We're concerned."
The word made your chest tighten. "Thank you."
He hesitated. Then carefully asked, "Can I ask you something?"
You nodded.
"Are you angry with me?"
Your eyebrows drew together. "What?"
"For knowing."
Realization crossed your face. "You knew before anyone else."
"I did."
"And I never told you he was struggling with free agency."
You shook your head immediately. "Nik..."
"I keep wondering if I should've said something."
"You couldn't."
"I might've stopped this."
"No."
Your voice was gentle but certain. "You couldn't have."
He looked unconvinced. "If Freddie wasn't ready to tell me..."
You shrugged sadly. "...it wasn't your place."
He let out a slow breath. "I hoped you'd say that."
"It's true."
Another silence settled between you. Finally he asked quietly, "Do you still love him?"
You looked down at the water bottles in your hands. "...Yes."
"So does he."
You closed your eyes for a second. "I know."
"He hasn't stopped talking about you."
"Nik..."
"I'm not trying to change your mind." He held up both hands. "I promised him I wouldn't interfere."
"Then why tell me?"
"Because I think both of you deserve honesty." He met your eyes. "He knows he failed you."
"I know."
"He knows saying sorry isn't enough."
You frowned slightly. "He does?"
Nikolaj nodded. "I've watched him rewrite apology letters for three days."
Your heart twisted.
"He finally stopped."
"Why?"
"Because he realized apologies don't rebuild trust."
Your grip tightened on the bottles.
"He said..." Nikolaj smiled faintly. "'She doesn't need another letter telling her I love her. She needs proof I'd never do this again.'"
You looked away before he could see the tears forming. "He actually said that?"
"He did."
The words lingered between you. Not because they fixed anything. They didn't. But because they were the first indication that Freddie had understood what you'd been trying to tell him that morning in your apartment.
"I don't know what happens now," Nikolaj admitted.
"Neither do I."
"And I'm not asking you to forgive him. I'm asking you not to convince yourself he didn't love you."
Your eyes immediately met his.
"Because he did. He still does."
You swallowed hard. "I never doubted that."
Nikolaj looked surprised. "You didn't?"
You shook your head slowly. "No. I doubted whether he trusted me."
The distinction made him smile sadly. "I wish he had understood that sooner."
"So do I."
Across the lawn, your dad looked up from his conversation with one of the sponsors. His eyes landed briefly on the two of you. On instinct, he started walking over.
Nikolaj noticed first. "I should probably go."
"You don't have to."
He smiled. "I think your dad would like a word with you."
Despite everything, you laughed. "Probably."
Before he turned away, he hesitated. "He'll be back in Raleigh before training camp."
You frowned. "What?"
"He still owns the house."
"He didn't sell it."
You hadn't even thought about that. "I figured he'd list it."
"So did I." Nikolaj shrugged. "He says he's not ready."
Your heart gave one painful beat. You didn't ask why. You already knew.
As Nikolaj disappeared back into the crowd, your dad reached your side. "What did Nik want?"
You looked down at the bottles in your hands. "Just checking on me."
Rod studied your face for a moment. "And?"
You let out a slow breath. "He told me something I think I needed to hear."
"What was that?"
You looked toward the parking lot where Nikolaj had disappeared. "That Freddie finally understands why I left."
Your dad was quiet. "Do you believe him?"
You thought about the flowers. The note. The stories Seth and Nikolaj had shared. The weeks of silence he had respected.
You nodded. "I think I do."
Rod slipped an arm around your shoulders. "That's different from forgiving him."
"I know, but it's the first time since all this happened that I don't feel like he and I are remembering two different relationships."
Rod smiled gently. "No."
He looked toward the clubhouse. "It sounds like you're finally speaking the same language."
You weren't ready to admit it aloud.
But for the first time in nearly a month the future no longer felt completely closed.
It was still uncertain. Still painful. Still fragile. But it no longer felt impossible.
----
By the time the tournament ended, you were exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally.
Every conversation had required a version of yourself you were still trying to find again.
Your dad insisted on driving you home.
"You don't have to."
"I know."
He unlocked his truck. "I'm still going to."
----
The drive back was quiet. The windows were down, warm Carolina air filling the cab. Your dad drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time with whatever song was playing on the radio. Eventually he spoke. "You seemed lighter today."
You looked out the window. "For a little while."
"I'll take a little while."
"So will I."
He smiled. "You know..." He glanced over at you. "...Nikolaj's a good friend."
"He is."
"He didn't cross any lines."
"No."
"He was careful."
You nodded. "I appreciated that."
Rod pulled into your apartment complex. Before putting the truck in park, he looked at you. "You don't owe anyone a second chance."
"I know."
"But..."
"But don't let pride make the decision either."
You frowned. "Pride?"
"If, six months from now...or a year...Freddie has actually done the work. He respects your boundaries. He shows you he's changed." He shrugged. "Don't tell yourself no simply because you've already said it once."
You looked down at your hands. "I won't."
"Good." He reached over and squeezed your shoulder. "I trust you."
----
Edmonton
Freddie had never hated apartment hunting before. Now every place looked temporary.
Too small. Too empty. Too quiet.
He signed a short-term lease because everyone told him it made sense. Inside, there were bare walls, rented furniture, and a kitchen that still smelled like fresh paint.
There was no trace of you. Which somehow made it worse.
His phone buzzed. Rod.
Freddie answered immediately. "Coach."
"You busy?"
"No."
"I've got about five minutes before another meeting."
Freddie sat down on one of the unopened moving boxes. "What's up?"
"I wanted to tell you something before you heard it from someone else."
Freddie's stomach tightened. "...Okay."
"I saw you come up in conversation today."
"At the tournament?"
"Yeah."
He waited. "With her?"
"With Nikolaj."
Freddie closed his eyes. "Oh."
"He didn't overstep."
"I didn't think he would."
"He told her you've stopped trying to apologize."
Freddie smiled faintly. "I have."
"You figured out why?"
"I think so."
Rod nodded to himself. "Good."
Freddie hesitated. "...How did she take it?"
Rod thought for a moment. "It mattered."
Hope flickered. "Really?"
"It mattered."
"But don't mistake that for an invitation."
"I won't."
"You've respected her space."
"I'm going to keep respecting it."
"I know."
Another pause.
"Freddie."
"Yeah?"
"You're going to be back in Raleigh before camp."
He blinked. "I have some things to finish with the house."
"I figured."
Rod looked out the window of his office. "I have one piece of advice."
"I'm listening."
"When you come back don't come back expecting anything."
Freddie nodded. "I won't."
"If you happen to see her treat her the way you would've wanted to treat her before all this. Not because you're trying to get her back. But because that's who you're trying to become."
Freddie smiled sadly. "I can do that."
"I know."
----
Three days later, you were finally settling back into your own routine.
Work had become easier. You weren't crying every morning anymore. Some mornings. Not every one.
It felt like progress.
You were carrying groceries up the stairs to your apartment when you heard footsteps behind you.
"Need a hand?"
The voice made you freeze.
Slowly you turned around. Freddie stood two steps below you. A baseball cap pulled low. Jeans. A gray T-shirt. He looked thinner than you remembered. More tired. His own grocery bag hung loosely from one hand.
Neither of you spoke. For several long seconds, the world seemed to stop.
He hadn't expected to see you, you could tell.
The surprise on his face mirrored your own. "I..." he started quietly. "...I didn't know you were back here."
"I live here."
He gave the smallest, embarrassed smile. "Right."
"I meant..."
"I know what you meant."
Silence again.
You noticed he had grown a beard. He noticed the dark circles beneath your eyes were finally beginning to fade.
Neither of you looked away.
Finally Freddie lifted the grocery bag slightly. "I was just getting the last of my things."
"The house closes next week."
Your chest tightened. "So after today..."
He nodded. "I'll officially be gone."
You didn't know why that hurt more than the contract announcement had. Maybe because this made it real.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed willing to be the first to end the conversation.
Finally Freddie spoke. "I've wanted to call you every day."
You looked at him.
"But you asked for space. So I stayed away."
You nodded once. "Thank you."
It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't affection. But it was honest.
He smiled faintly. "I figured respecting that was the first thing I needed to get right."
The words landed differently now. Not like another apology. Like someone quietly telling you what they'd learned.
You searched his face. "You've been thinking."
"A lot."
"I can tell."
Another small silence.
"I read your note," you said.
"I know."
"The flowers were beautiful."
"I'm glad they made it."
You looked down at your grocery bags. "They didn't change anything."
"They weren't supposed to."
You looked back up. "No?"
He shook his head. "They were supposed to tell you that I wasn't giving up on us." He caught himself. "Not by ignoring what you asked for. By letting you know how I felt. I wasn't asking for anything back."
Your heart squeezed painfully. He meant it. You could hear it. No expectation. No pressure. Just honesty.
A car drove through the parking lot, breaking the silence. Freddie stepped back half a pace. "I should let you go."
You nodded.
Neither of you moved. Finally, he offered a small smile. "You look a little better."
"So do you."
He laughed quietly. "I definitely don't."
"No."
"You don't."
For the first time since Denmark you both smiled at the same time. It only lasted a second. Then it was gone.
Freddie adjusted the grocery bag in his hand. "I hope you're okay."
"I'm getting there."
"I'm glad."
He hesitated. Then, very gently, he said, "Take care of yourself."
"You too."
He nodded once. Then walked past you toward the parking lot.
He never looked back. Not because he didn't want to. Because he'd promised himself that if he ever saw you again before you were ready...
He would leave first. Halfway up the stairs, you found yourself stopping. Without thinking, you turned around.
Freddie was unlocking his truck. Just before climbing in, he glanced toward the building. Your eyes met one last time across the parking lot. This time neither of you smiled.
You simply held each other's gaze for a heartbeat. A silent acknowledgment.
Neither of you had stopped loving the other. You just weren't ready to bridge the distance between you.
Not yet.
----
Weeks later
The first time you saw the Oilers schedule, you closed the tab immediately.
You told yourself you didn’t need to know. You told yourself it didn’t matter. But hockey had a way of circling back into your life whether you invite it or not and when the date finally arrived - Edmonton in Raleigh - you felt it before you even opened your eyes that morning. Like something heavy sitting behind your ribs.
----
Freddie had told himself he wouldn’t look for you. Not in the arena. Not in the stands. Not in the hallway behind the locker rooms where family and friends usually waited after morning skate.
He told himself that three separate times and still, the moment the team bus pulled into the arena loading zone, he found himself scanning every familiar corner of Raleigh he used to share with you.
Old habits don’t die easily. They just learn how to hurt differently.
----
You didn’t go to the game. You told yourself you wouldn’t. Not yet. Not when you were still trying to breathe without thinking about him.
Instead, you stayed in your apartment, the same one where he had once fallen asleep on your couch after a late flight, one arm draped over your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Now that couch felt too big. Too empty. Too loud with memory.
The game started at seven. By 7:18, your phone lit up. You ignored it. By 7:41, it lit up again. You still ignored it. By 8:06, you knew without looking that he would be in net.
You knew the rhythm of his starts better than you wanted to admit and somewhere deep down, you also knew something else.
He was thinking about you too.
----
Freddie played like a man trying not to feel anything.
He made saves he didn’t remember making. He heard the crowd, but it sounded far away. What he couldn’t ignore was the empty space in his head where your voice used to sit during games.
The little text that used to come between periods:
Breathe. You’ve got this. I’m here.
Nothing came now and still, every time the puck dropped, part of him looked for you in the corners of his vision like instinct.
The Oilers won. He didn’t feel it. He nodded through interviews, answered questions without hearing them. Then he went back to the locker room and sat in front of his stall long after everyone else had left.
His gear was half-off. His skates untied. His phone in his hand.
And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t wait.
He stood up, grabbed his jacket and left.
----
Your apartment doorbell rang just after ten.
You froze.
It rang again. This time, slower. More certain.
You already knew who it was before you opened the door.
Freddie stood there in his suit jacket, tie loosened, hair still slightly damp from the post-game shower. His eyes met yours and held. No hesitation. No pretending. Just exhaustion and something underneath it that looked dangerously close to breaking.
“I couldn’t go back to the hotel,” he said quietly.
You didn’t answer.
“I tried,” he added. “I really tried.”
Still nothing. His jaw tightened slightly. “I just…I can’t keep doing this.”
That made your chest pull tight. “Doing what?” you asked.
“Standing ten feet away from you and pretending I don’t know you.”
Silence. The hallway light hummed overhead. Freddie ran a hand through his hair.
“I didn’t see you,” he admitted.
You didn’t need him to explain. “I know.”
“I looked for you in the stands.”
Your throat tightened. “I wasn’t there.”
A beat. Then, quiet: “I still looked anyway.”
Your hands gripped the edge of the door. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“I know.” Another pause. Then he said it anyway. “I just needed to see you.”
Your breath caught. “Freddie…” His name came out softer than you meant it to.
He flinched slightly at that like hearing it hurt more than anything else so far. “I’m not asking for anything,” he said quickly. “I’m not trying to change what you decided. I’m not…”
He stopped himself, exhaled. “I just needed to tell you something in person.”
You hesitated. Then slowly opened the door wider. “Five minutes,” you said.
His eyes flickered. “Okay.”
----
He stepped inside like he was afraid the moment might disappear if he moved too fast.
For a long second, neither of you spoke. The apartment felt smaller with him in it or maybe it was just your heart remembering how to beat around him.
“I played tonight,” he said finally. “It was weird.”
Your eyes lifted to him.
“I didn’t feel it the same way.”
“What did?”
“The win.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, but it didn’t carry humor. “Everything used to feel like I could tell you about it after.” His gaze dropped. “Now it just…ends.”
Silence stretched. Then he looked back up at you. “I miss you.”
The words landed heavier than the flowers ever had.
“I know,” you whispered.
“I know you’re angry. I know you’re hurt.”
“I am.”
A pause.
“I know I don’t get to fix that tonight.”
You shook your head slightly. “No.”
“I just needed you to hear that I’m not…moving on from you.”
Your chest tightened sharply.
“I’m not asking you to wait,” he added quickly. “I’m not asking you to - God, I’m not asking for anything. I just…” He exhaled, frustrated with himself. “I love you.”
The room went still.
You closed your eyes for a second. When you opened them again, your voice was quieter than you expected. “You don’t get to say that like it doesn’t change anything.”
“I know.”
“It changes everything.”
“I know.”
Another silence. This one felt different. Less like distance. More like gravity pulling against both of you.
Freddie stepped back slightly. “I should go.”
That snapped something inside your chest. “No,” you said immediately.
He froze.
You swallowed. “Don’t…don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Come here, say all of that, and then leave like it doesn’t matter.”
His expression tightened. “I’m trying to respect you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how to do this right.”
“I know.” Your voice cracked slightly. “But I don’t want you leaving every time it gets hard.”
Freddie stared at you. Then very quietly: “Then what do you want me to do?”
That question hit harder than anything else, because you didn’t have an answer that was safe. Not yet. But you also couldn’t let him walk out like that. Not after everything.
So, you stepped forward before you could stop yourself and you grabbed his sleeve. He went still instantly.
“I’m still mad at you,” you said.
“I know.”
“I’m still heartbroken.”
“I know.”
Your grip tightened slightly. “But I also -” You stopped. Your throat tightened. You hated how true it still was. “I still love you,” you admitted finally, almost angry at yourself for it.
Freddie didn’t move, like he was afraid breathing would ruin the moment.
Your voice dropped. “And I hate that I still do.”
His eyes softened in a way that looked almost painful. “I don’t want to hurt you again,” he said. “I would rather lose you completely than be the reason you stay hurt.”
That made your chest ache.
You looked down. Then back up at him. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
Freddie blinked. “What?”
Your hand was still on his sleeve and suddenly it felt like the most honest thing in the room. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t survive,” you said quietly. A beat. “You already did that once.”
His breath caught. “I know.”
Silence. Then you let out a shaky exhale. “I told you not to do this like it’s over.”
Freddie’s voice was barely audible. “I don’t know how not to.”
You stared at him for a long moment. Then you stepped aside slightly. Letting the door close behind him without letting go of his sleeve. “Then don’t leave like this,” you said.
His eyes searched yours. “Then how?”
Your voice broke a little. “Stay.”
The word hung there. Simple. Terrifying. Real.
Freddie didn’t move for a second. Then slowly, like he was afraid the world might change its mind, he stepped closer again. Not touching you. Just close enough that the distance between you finally felt optional instead of final and in that space between heartbreak and something not yet repaired he stayed.
The apartment seemed impossibly quiet.
Freddie stood only a step away now, his eyes never leaving yours, almost as if he was afraid you would change your mind if he looked away. "I don't want to misunderstand you," he said carefully.
"I know."
"I don't think you do."
A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If I stay I need to know I'm staying because you asked me to."
"I did."
"No." He shook his head gently. "I need to hear what you mean."
You closed your eyes for a moment. "I don't know what this is."
"Neither do I."
"I don't know if I can forgive you yet."
"I understand."
"I don't know if I trust you."
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I know."
"But..."You looked at him again. "I also know that watching you walk away again hurts more than having you here."
Something in his expression cracked. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to see how desperately he'd been holding himself together.
"So stay," you whispered. "But I'm not promising anything."
"I'm not asking you to."
"And I'm still angry."
"You should be."
"And I'm probably going to cry again."
"I'll stay through all of it."
That made you laugh quietly. The sound surprised both of you.
Freddie smiled. "I've missed that."
You rolled your eyes. "Don't ruin it."
"I'll try."
----
You moved into the kitchen almost out of habit. It was easier to talk without looking directly at each other every second.
"Do you want something to drink?" you asked.
Freddie blinked. "You don't have to…"
"It's water, Freddie."
A sheepish smile crossed his face. "Water would be nice."
You handed him a glass before leaning against the opposite counter. There was nearly six feet between you. It somehow felt both impossibly far and much too close at the same time.
He looked around the apartment. "It looks different."
"I packed your things away."
"I figured."
"They're still here."
He nodded. "I wasn't expecting you to throw them away."
"I didn't want to."
"I know."
"I've replayed that morning a thousand times."
"Only a thousand?"
He smiled sadly. "Probably closer to a hundred."
You looked down at your glass. "So have I."
"If I could change one thing..."
"You'd tell me."
He answered immediately. "Before my agent. Before my parents. Before the media. Before anyone." His voice grew quieter. "You would've been the first person I called."
You searched his face. "I believe you."
His eyebrows lifted. "You do?"
"I believe that's what you'd do now."
A long silence followed. The distinction wasn't lost on him.
"But that's not what happened."
"No. It isn't."
----
He set his untouched glass on the counter. "I need you to know something."
You nodded.
"When I said I wanted to make the decision on my own..." He sighed. "That wasn't because I didn't value your opinion."
"It felt like it."
"I know."
"I've spent weeks trying to understand why I thought that made sense."
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. "I think I've spent so much of my career believing that every big decision had to be my responsibility. No matter what happened I had to own it. So, I convinced myself that asking you to carry it with me was unfair."
Your eyes softened. "And then?"
"And then I realized something." He smiled bitterly. "I wasn't protecting you from the decision. I was protecting myself from the possibility that you'd have an opinion different from mine."
You frowned. "What?"
"If you'd asked me to stay, I don't know what I would've done."
The honesty surprised you.
"I was terrified that I'd resent you if you would´ve told me to not take the deal."
"You would have?"
"No and that's the point. I wouldn't have, but I was afraid I might. So instead of trusting us to figure it out together I took the choice away from both of us."
The room fell silent. You hadn't expected him to say that. Not like this. Not without excuses. Not without trying to soften it.
"I've been so angry," you admitted.
"I know."
"But not because you left but because I kept trying to explain that to people. My mom. Amy. My dad. They all kept saying hockey players get traded. They move. They leave." You shook your head. "That was never the problem."
"I know."
"The problem was that I didn't matter enough to be included."
Freddie stepped forward instinctively. Then stopped himself. "I know."
"No." Fresh tears filled your eyes. "I don't think you do."
His shoulders fell. "You thought I was the person you trusted most."
"You were."
"I thought when something huge happened I'd be the first person you wanted."
"I did."
"But I wasn’t."
His eyes closed. "I know."
"No." Your own voice broke. "You wanted me after. After the contract. After the interviews. After the announcement. After everyone else already knew." Tears rolled freely down your face now. "I wasn't your partner. I was the person you planned on informing."
Every word landed like a punch. Freddie's own eyes glistened. "I swear to you..." His voice cracked for the first time. "If I could take back one hour of my life it would be that one."
He took one careful step closer. Not enough to touch you. Just enough that you could see every emotion on his face. "I've lost playoff games. I've been injured. I've been bought out. I've had nights where I thought my career was over." He looked at you. "None of those compare to realizing I made you feel like you came second."
Your tears didn't stop because for the first time you believed he truly understood. Not the consequences. The wound. "You did," you whispered. "And I don't know if I can ever forget that."
"I'm not asking you to." He smiled sadly. "I'm asking if, one day you might let me replace that memory with better ones."
You looked at him for a long time. "You really think that's possible?"
"I don't know." His answer was immediate. "But I know giving up guarantees it isn't."
You laughed softly through your tears. "You always were stubborn."
"So were you."
"I learned from my dad."
Another silence settled between you but it still wasn't comfortable. Still, it wasn't unbearable anymore either.
You wiped your cheeks. "I'm not ready to be your girlfriend again."
His heart sank for only a second before he nodded. "I understand."
"But..." You hesitated. "I think I'd like to start by getting to know the man standing in front of me."
His brow furrowed. "You know me."
"I knew the man I dated a few months ago but I want to know the man who spent two months learning from his biggest mistake."
Freddie felt something inside his chest loosen for the first time since the day he walked out of your apartment. It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't reconciliation. It wasn't even a second chance. It was simply a chance to earn one.
He smiled - a small, genuine smile you hadn't seen in months. "I'd like that."
"So would I."
You looked at the clock on the stove. "It's almost midnight."
He laughed quietly. "I should probably let you sleep."
"Probably."
Neither of you moved. Again.
You shook your head with a smile. "We're really bad at saying goodbye."
His expression softened. "I'd rather get better at saying goodnight."
The words made your heart ache in a completely different way than they had weeks ago. Not because they erased what had happened. But because, for the first time since he left your apartment after the breakup neither of you was saying goodbye.
You were simply agreeing that tomorrow was worth showing up for.
----
The first rule was yours. "No expectations."
Freddie nodded. "No expectations."
"The second?"
"You don't get to show up unannounced anymore."
"I won't."
"If you want to see me..."
"I ask."
"And if I say no?"
He looked at you for only a second before answering. "I'll tell you to have a good day."
That answer stayed with you. Not because it was romantic, because six months ago, Freddie would have decided what was best for both of you.
Now he was letting you decide for yourself.
----
Three days later, your phone buzzed.
Freddie: Morning.
You smiled
I Morning.
Freddie: Can I call you after practice?
Just one sentence. You stared at it for a long moment. Then typed back: Yes.
----
The call lasted twenty-three minutes.
You talked about hockey for maybe five. The rest was about life.
His apartment in Edmonton. The grocery store he couldn't figure out. The neighbor whose golden retriever had apparently adopted him. A new coffee shop he had found that reminded him of one in Copenhagen.
Not once did he ask where you stood. Not once did he bring up getting back together.
When you hung up, you realized something. For the first time since the breakup talking to him hadn't exhausted you.
----
A week later, he texted again.
Freddie: Can I ask your opinion on something?
You frowned.
I Sure.
A picture arrived. Two dining tables. One oak. One walnut.
Freddie: Which one?
You laughed out loud.
I You're asking me about furniture?
Freddie: You have better taste than I do.
You looked between the pictures.
I Oak.
Freddie: Why?
I Because you'll regret the dark one every time dust shows up.
Three dots appeared.
Freddie: I never would've thought of that.
I That's why you asked.
A minute later another message arrived.
Freddie: Thank you.
Simple. But somehow still different.
----
The weeks settled into a rhythm.
One phone call. Maybe two. A few texts every couple of days. Sometimes longer stretches.
Neither of you forced conversations. Neither of you counted who reached out last. You simply talked and got to know each other again.
----
One Sunday afternoon, your dad walked into the kitchen to find you laughing at your phone.
He leaned against the doorway. "That him?"
You looked up. "...Yeah."
Rod smiled knowingly. "What did he do now?"
You turned the screen around. Freddie had somehow managed to shrink an expensive wool sweater in the dryer and now tt looked like it belonged to a twelve-year-old.
Your dad laughed. "He actually sent you that picture?"
"He wanted to know if it was salvageable."
Rod shook his head. "It isn't."
"I told him that."
"What did he say to that?"
You grinned. "He asked if doll-sized sweaters were fashionable."
Your dad laughed harder. Then he noticed something about yourself too. You weren't forcing your smile anymore.
----
Another week passed. Then another.
One evening Freddie called while walking home. "I have a question."
"Uh-oh."
"I've been invited to Connor and Lauren´s for dinner."
"Okay."
"I don't know what to bring."
You blinked. "You called me for hostess gift advice?"
"Yes."
"You could've asked literally anyone."
"I wanted your opinion."
The words made you pause. Not because they were grand but because they were becoming ordinary.
He asked. You answered. Sometimes he agreed. Sometimes he didn't. But every single time he included you in the decision.
----
The change back to almost normal didn't happen all at once. It happened in dozens of tiny moments.
"What do you think?"
"Does this sound reasonable?"
"Would you handle this differently?"
"Can I run something by you?"
They weren't life-changing decisions. Most of them barely mattered.But you noticed every time. Because he noticed too.
----
One night, nearly three months after your breakup, you were on FaceTime while Freddie unpacked boxes in his now permanent Edmonton house. "I found something."
"What?"
He held up a tiny ceramic whale.
You burst out laughing. "You kept that?"
"It was from that first time in Denmark."
"I know."
"You won it at that ridiculous carnival game."
"I cheated."
"You absolutely cheated."
"You still let me keep it."
He smiled. "You looked happier than the kid who actually wanted it."
You rolled your eyes. "You've always exaggerated."
"I've always loved watching you happy." The sentence slipped out naturally.
Neither of you spoke for a second. Months ago that sentence would have hurt. Now it simply settled quietly between you. Honest and comfortable.
You looked at him through the screen. "I've missed this."
"What?"
"Talking."
His smile softened. "So have I."
----
Your dad walked into your office one afternoon holding a printed itinerary. "Are you busy?"
"A little."
He sat across from you. "We leave Thursday."
You frowned. "For?"
"The Western Canada road trip." Then he smiled. "You've got vacation days."
Your eyebrows lifted. "So?"
"So." He slid the itinerary across your desk. Edmonton was circled.
Your stomach immediately tightened. "You planned this."
"No."
"I merely noticed."
"Dad."
He leaned back. "I also noticed you've spent the past weeks getting to know a man who seems determined never to make the same mistake twice."
You looked down at the paper. "I don't know if I'm ready."
"I didn't say you had to see him if you come."
"You know I will."
"I do."
You laughed quietly. "You two are impossible."
"We're patient."
----
When Freddie found out Carolina's dads' trip included families traveling with the team, he stared at his phone for nearly five minutes.
Freddie: Heard you're coming to Edmonton.
Nearly a minute passed. Then your reply appeared.
I Looks like it.
His heart beat just a little faster. He smiled before typing.
Freddie: Would you have dinner with me while you're here?
Another pause. Longer this time.
He waited. Didn't send another text. Didn't follow up. Didn't pressure.
Finally your response came.
I I'd like that.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Just one sentence. No hearts. No promises. But this time it wasn't a chance to earn another chance. It was the first time since that morning in your apartment that you had agreed to spend time with him not because you needed answers, but because, quietly and cautiously you wanted to.
----
As the plane carrying the Hurricanes lifted off for Edmonton two days later, you looked out the window at the clouds below.
For months, you had been learning who Freddie had become. Not through speeches. Not through grand gestures. But through consistency. Through patience. Through hundreds of tiny choices that slowly rebuilt what one terrible decision had broken.
You still didn't know where the two of you would end up, but as the plane headed west, one thought settled in your mind.
For the first time since Denmark you weren't flying toward the man who had broken your heart. You were flying toward the man who had spent months proving he wanted to be worthy of holding it again.
----
Edmonton was colder than you remembered.
The moment the plane door opened, a rush of dry winter air hit your face, making everyone instinctively pull their jackets tighter.
Behind you, your dad laughed. "Welcome to Alberta."
"I already want to go home."
"You've been here thirty seconds."
"I've seen enough."
He nudged your shoulder. "Liar."
----
The team checked into the hotel just after lunch.
Players scattered to their rooms before heading to the rink for meetings. Amy disappeared with some of the other coaches' wives to explore downtown.
You found yourself standing in your room, staring at your phone. One unread message.
Freddie: Hope your flight was okay.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
I It was.
His reply came almost instantly.
Freddie: Dinner still okay?
You looked at the screen for a long moment.
I Yes.
Freddie: I'll meet you in the lobby at seven?
I Seven works.
It felt strangely normal.
----
At six fifty-eight, you stepped into the hotel lobby.
Freddie was already there. He stood near the entrance in a navy coat, hands tucked into his pockets.
The moment he saw you, he smiled. Not the practiced smile from interviews. Not the polite one he'd worn the night he'd come to your apartment.
This one reached his eyes. "You made it."
"I did."
"You look..." He stopped himself.
You raised an eyebrow. "I look what?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I was going to say beautiful and then I remembered I'm trying not to overwhelm you."
You laughed. "I appreciate the effort."
"It's still true."
Heat crept into your cheeks. "Thank you."
He opened the restaurant door for you. Neither of you mentioned that he always had. Some habits didn't need fixing.
----
The restaurant was small. Quiet. Far away from the downtown crowd.
"You've been here before?" you asked.
"Twice."
"And?"
"The food's good."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'm mostly hoping you'll think it's good."
You laughed. "Still outsourcing decisions to me?"
He smiled. "Only the important ones."
----
Conversation came easier than either of you expected.
You talked about work. About your parents. About Edmonton. About his teammates. He told you Leon had discovered Freddie couldn't cook anything more complicated than scrambled eggs. "I can cook," he swore.
"You once burned pasta."
"I still don't know how."
"It was boiling water."
"There were distractions."
You narrowed your eyes. "You were watching hockey."
"I was."
"I rest my case."
He laughed. "You always win these arguments."
"I usually do."
----
Dinner plates had long since been cleared when Freddie became quieter.
He rested his hands around his coffee cup. "I've been wanting to ask you something."
You looked up. "Okay."
"What made you answer when I came to your apartment?"
The question caught you off guard. You considered lying. Instead, you looked out the window for a moment and took a deep breath. " To be honest, I almost didn't."
His expression didn't change.
"I had my hand on the door and I was convinced I was going to tell you to leave."
He nodded once. "What changed?"
You looked back at him. "You looked..." You searched for the word. "...finished."
He frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"You weren't trying to convince me. You weren't trying to defend yourself. You just looked tired."
His shoulders relaxed. "I was."
"And then I realized something."
"What?"
"If I'd let you walk away without hearing you I would've spent the rest of my life wondering what you wanted to say."
Silence settled over the table.
Freddie looked down. "I'm really glad you didn't."
"So am I."
----
When they stepped back outside, snow had started falling. You instinctively looked up. "I forgot how pretty snow can be."
Freddie stood beside you. "You always liked the first snowfall."
"You remember that?"
"I remember everything." The words slipped out before he could stop them. He winced slightly. "I'm sorry."
You looked at him. "For what?"
"I keep saying things that sound bigger than I mean them to."
"They're okay."
"They are?"
You nodded. "I don't mind hearing that you remember."
He smiled. "I remember too much."
You bumped his shoulder lightly. "I don't think that's possible."
He looked at you. "It is when every memory reminds you of someone."
Neither of you spoke after that.
----
"You know," Freddie said after a while, "I've been terrified of tonight."
"You?"
"I thought you'd cancel."
"I almost did."
"I figured."
He smiled. "I also thought there'd be long silences."
"There weren't."
"No."
"I forgot how easy talking to you is."
He laughed softly. "I never did."
You stopped walking. He took another step before realizing you had stayed behind. When he turned around, you were watching him. "What?"
You walked the few steps separating you. Then, before you could think yourself out of it, you reached up and straightened the collar of his coat.
It had folded underneath itself. "There."
He stared at you. Your hands dropped immediately. "Sorry."
"No." His voice was quiet. "Don't apologize."
Neither of you moved. Snowflakes settled in his hair. On your scarf. Around you, the city continued without noticing that the world between two people had just shifted.
"I've missed taking care of you," you admitted.
His eyes softened. "I've missed letting you."
The honesty of it stole your breath. Not because it was romantic, because it was true. For so long, Freddie had believed that loving someone meant protecting them by carrying everything alone. Now he was admitting that letting someone care for you was its own kind of trust.
You smiled. "I noticed."
"I hoped you would."
----
Back at the hotel entrance, neither of you reached for the door.
"I had a really nice time," Freddie said.
"I did too."
"I'm glad you came."
"I'm glad you asked."
He looked at you for a long moment. "There is something I want to do."
Your heart skipped.
"But I'm not going to unless you want me to."
You swallowed. "What is it?"
His gaze never left yours. "I'd really like to hold your hand."
The request was so unexpected that you almost laughed. Not because it was funny but because six months ago, Freddie would've reached for it without thinking.
Tonight he asked. He gave you the choice.
You looked down at the space between you. Then back at him. Slowly you held out your hand.
He smiled. A real one. The kind you hadn't seen since before everything fell apart.
He slipped his fingers between yours gently, giving you every opportunity to pull away.
You didn't.
His hand was warm despite the cold. Familiar. Comforting. He didn't squeeze. He didn't pull you closer. He simply held it. Like it was a privilege instead of something he was entitled to.
You stood there for another minute, saying nothing. Neither of you needed to. When you finally let go, it wasn't because either of you wanted to. It was because your dad happened to walk into the hotel lobby at exactly the wrong moment.
Through the glass doors, Rod stopped in his tracks. His eyes dropped to your hands just as your fingers separated.
Freddie followed your gaze. "...Well."
You laughed. "I think we're about to have a conversation."
Freddie rubbed the back of his neck. "I definitely am."
Your dad opened the door, looked from you to Freddie, then back again. "So..." His voice was calm. "You two want to tell me why my daughter is smiling at my former goaltender?"
For the first time in months the answer didn't feel impossible. It just wasn't simple anymore.
Rod looked from you to Freddie and back again. Neither of you spoke. Finally, your dad sighed. "I leave the lobby for five minutes."
You laughed, the sound escaping before you could stop it. Freddie looked relieved to hear it. Rod noticed. Of course he did. He had coached Freddie long enough to recognize every expression on his face. "You two had dinner?"
Freddie nodded. "Yes, sir."
Rod raised an eyebrow. "And?"
Neither of you answered immediately. You looked at Freddie. He looked back at you.
Finally, you spoke. "It was nice."
Rod waited. "That's it?"
You smiled. "It really was."
He studied your face. Not your words. Your face. For months he had watched you force smiles. This one wasn't forced. It was small and careful, but real.
He looked at Freddie. "You were walking her back?"
Freddie immediately answered. “Yeah. We were just saying goodnight. I wasn't coming inside."
Rod caught the wording. I wasn't coming inside. Not she wouldn't let me. Not I wanted to. Respect.
He nodded almost imperceptibly. "Good."
The three of them stood awkwardly for another second before Rod looked at you. "Amy sent me to find you."
"I figured."
"She also told me to stop hovering."
You laughed again. "I definitely figured."
Rod looked at Freddie. "You got practice tomorrow?"
"Morning skate."
"Then I'd suggest you get some sleep."
"Yes, sir."
"And Freddie?"
"Yeah?"
Rod held his gaze. "Have a good game."
Freddie blinked. It was such a normal thing to say that it almost caught him off guard. "Thank you."
A familiar conversation. Coach and goalie. For just a moment, it almost felt like nothing had changed. Then Rod looked between the two of you once more. "I'll head upstairs."
He started toward the elevator before stopping. Without turning around, he added, "Don't stay out in the cold too long."
The elevator doors closed behind him. You looked at Freddie. "Was that his way of pretending he didn't see us?"
Freddie smiled. "I think it was."
"I've never known him to pretend."
"I don't think he is."
You tilted your head. "What do you mean?"
"I think..." He watched the elevator numbers climb. "...he's choosing to trust you."
The words settled warmly inside your chest. You hadn't thought about it that way.
"You know," you said after a moment, "he likes you."
Freddie laughed. "I'm not sure that's true."
"No." You smiled. "He does."
"He was furious with you."
"I know."
"But he never stopped respecting you."
Freddie looked down. "I didn't deserve that."
"Probably not."
A quiet laugh escaped both of you. Then your smile softened. "He also watched me fall apart."
"I know."
"He won't let anyone hurt me."
"I wouldn't expect him to."
Freddie looked back at you. "If I had a daughter I'd hope she'd have someone like him."
Your heart squeezed. "You know..." You stepped a little closer. "I think that's why this matters so much."
"What does?"
"The fact that you're different."
He frowned slightly. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
You searched his face. "The Freddie I fell in love with was thoughtful. The Freddie I broke up with stopped letting me stand beside him. And the Freddie standing here asks before he reaches for my hand."
His eyes glistened. "I don't ever want to stop doing that."
"I know."
"I don't mean just your hand." He held your gaze. "I mean asking. I mean listening. I mean remembering that loving someone doesn't make me responsible for making every decision alone."
You reached out instinctively. This time, you were the one who took his hand. "You've changed."
"I've learned."
"There's a difference."
He nodded. "There is and I still have more to learn."
You smiled. "I'd hope so."
He chuckled. "So..."
"So."
"You'll be at the game tomorrow?"
"I will."
"You cheering for Carolina?"
You gave him an exaggerated look. "My father coaches them."
"Fair point."
"And you?"
He smiled. "I'll be trying very hard to make your dad miserable for sixty minutes."
You laughed. "He'll appreciate that."
"I hope so."
Silence settled again. Comfortable this time. No uncertainty. No fear. Just two people standing in the Edmonton cold, no longer trying to erase what had happened. Instead, they were quietly building something new on top of it.
When you finally turned toward the hotel entrance, Freddie didn't reach for you. He didn't ask for a kiss. He didn't ask what this meant. Instead, he smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."
You smiled back. "You will."
It was a simple goodbye. But unlike the last one you had shared outside your apartment months ago, his one came with something neither of you had then. The certainty that it wasn't the end of the conversation.
----
The team wasn't flying out until late afternoon, so, most of the morning was free.
You were sitting in the hotel café with a book you hadn't turned a page in for twenty minutes when someone cleared their throat.
"Is this seat taken?"
You looked up. Freddie. You smiled. "I was wondering how long it'd take you."
"I didn't want to assume."
"You've gotten very good at not assuming."
He sat down across from you. "I'm trying."
----
Breakfast stretched into nearly two hours. Not because either of you had that much to say. Because neither of you felt the need to rush anymore. There were pauses. Comfortable ones. Moments where you simply watched people walk past the windows.
It felt normal.
When you finally stepped back outside, the cold bit at your cheeks.
"So," Freddie said.
"So."
"I've been thinking."
You laughed. "I know."
"No, really."
"You've done a lot of that lately." His expression slowly became serious. "I don't want us to pretend nothing happened."
"I don't either."
"If we..." He paused. "If we ever try this again...I don't want it to be because we missed each other."
You frowned. "What do you mean?"
"We were always going to miss each other." He looked at you. "But missing someone isn't enough."
"No."
"It has to be because we're better than we were."
You nodded slowly. "I agree."
"I don't want a second version of our old relationship."
"Neither do I."
"I want our first chance at a healthy one."
You looked at him for a long moment. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"What scares you now?"
He answered without hesitation. "Thinking I know what you're feeling without asking."
You smiled faintly. "Good answer."
"What scares you?"
You looked out at the snowy street. "That one day something difficult will happen and I'll start wondering if you're shutting me out again."
Freddie nodded. "I've thought about that."
"You have?"
"Every day." He reached into the inside pocket of his coat. "I actually wrote something down." He unfolded a small piece of paper.
"What is that?"
"A promise."
You looked at him curiously.
"I don't want you to keep it." He shook his head. "I want you to hold me to it."
He handed it to you. Written in his neat handwriting were only three sentences: No decision that affects our life will ever be made without a conversation. If I'm afraid to tell you something, that's exactly when I need to tell you. We're partners before we're anything else.
You read it twice. Then a third time. "You wrote this?"
"The night after I saw you again."
Your eyes filled with tears. "It's not poetry."
He smiled sheepishly. "I've never been good at that."
You folded the paper carefully. "It's better."
"Why?"
"It tells me how you'll love me."
His eyes softened. "I hope so."
----
You walked another block before stopping in a quiet park. Snow covered everything. The city seemed unusually still.
You turned to face him. "I've spent months trying to decide if I could trust you again and I don't think trust comes back all at once."
"I don't think so either."
"I think it comes back every time someone gives you a reason to."
He nodded. "I agree."
"And you've been doing that."
For the first time since he knocked on your apartment door months ago, hope truly settled on his face. Not excitement. Hope.
"You've been patient. You've listened. You've stopped deciding things for me." A laugh escaped you. "You even asked before holding my hand."
"I was very proud of that."
"You should be."
"I don't think I'm ready to pretend none of this happened."
"I'm not either."
"But..." You reached for his hand yourself this time. "I think I'm ready to stop pretending we're not still in love."
His fingers closed gently around yours. "Are you sure?"
"No.” You laughed. "But I'm sure about one thing."
"What's that?"
"I'd rather build something new with the man standing in front of me than spend the rest of my life wondering what would've happened if I hadn't."
His eyes glistened. "I love you."
You smiled with teary eyes. "I love you too."
The words felt different now. Not lighter but stronger, because now they carried everything you had survived together.
He stepped closer. Slow enough that you could stop him. You didn't. His hand came up to rest lightly against your cheek. "Can I kiss you?"
You laughed through your tears. "You still ask."
"I always will."
Your answer was closing the last few inches between you. The kiss was gentle. Unhurried. Nothing like the desperate one you had shared in Denmark months ago. This one wasn't about trying to stop someone from leaving. It wasn't about fixing something broken. It was about choosing each other again. When you finally pulled apart, your forehead rested against his. "You know what's funny?" you whispered.
"What?"
"We've been acting like we're dating again for weeks."
He smiled. "I noticed, but I didn’t want to assume."
"We're kind of terrible at labels."
"I think we've earned this one."
You laughed softly. "I think we have."
----
When you returned to the hotel that afternoon, your dad and Amy were sitting in the lobby.
Amy looked up first. Then smiled immediately. "You kissed him."
Your eyes widened. "How do you-"
"I´ve known you for sixteen years."
Rod looked over the top of the newspaper he wasn't actually reading. "So."
"We're trying again."
Your dad folded the newspaper, then he looked at Freddie, who was standing a respectful step behind you, looking more nervous than he had before any Game 7.
Rod stood, walked over and stopped in front of him. Freddie straightened instinctively. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure I never make her question her place beside me again."
Rod held his gaze for a long moment, then he nodded. "I believe you. But..." Rod pointed a finger at him. "If you ever make my daughter find out something important from television again..."
Freddie laughed. "I think I'd deserve whatever happens then."
"You absolutely would." A beat of silence. Then Rod stepped forward and pulled him into a brief hug. "Welcome back."
Freddie closed his eyes for just a second. "Thank you...Coach."
Rod pulled back and smirked. "You know, since you are my daughter’s boyfriend you should call me Rod now."
Freddie glanced at you. "I don't think I can."
Rod laughed. "I figured."
He looked between the two of you. "Take care of each other."
"We will," you said.
Freddie looked at you before answering. "No." He gently squeezed your hand. "We'll take care of us."
Your eyes met his. There it was. The lesson that had taken both of you months to learn. Not me. Not you. Us. And somehow, that one small word made you believe that this time you were finally going to be okay.
