Edmonton - Frederik Andersen (Pt. 2)
summary: life moves on after your break up with Freddie, or does it?
pairing: Frederik Andersen x Brind´Amour!reader
word count: 8.7k
tropes/warnings: post-breakup angst, some tension, age gap (25/36, not really discussed tho), general heartbreak on both sides
authors note: part 3 (last part) will be out next week and it will be over 11k words.
part 1 / part 2 / part 3
not proof read!
----
The drive from your apartment was a blur.
Freddie couldn’t remember turning onto the highway. He couldn’t remember stopping at the first red light or passing the grocery store he had driven by a hundred times before.
All he could remember was your voice.
I thought I had a partner.
Every sentence replayed with painful clarity.
The TV.
The missed phone calls.
The look on your face when he admitted he had left you out of the decision.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles turned white.
He had walked into your apartment thinking he could explain. Thinking that if he was honest enough, if he admitted that he had handled everything badly, the two of you would be able to work through it.
Instead, he had watched the trust disappear from your eyes with every word he said.
He had spent his entire career making difficult decisions under pressure but this one had been the hardest.
Not signing in Edmonton. Walking away from your apartment without you.
His phone buzzed in the cup holder.
Nikolaj.
He let it ring.
A minute later, Seth called.
Then his agent.
Then Sebastian.
He ignored every one of them.
By the time he pulled into his driveway, the house felt unfamiliar.
It had been home yesterday, but now it was just another place filled with reminders of you.
A pair of your sneakers still sat beside the front door. The oversized hoodie you had stolen from him was draped over the back of the couch.
There was a half-empty bottle of your shampoo in the master bathroom that you always insisted smelled better than his.
He stood in the middle of the living room for several minutes before finally sinking onto the couch.
The blanked the two of you always shared was still folded over the armrest. Without thinking, he picked it up.
It still smelled faintly like your perfume.
That was enough for him to break.
----
You didn’t move for a long time after he left.
The apartment had never felt so quiet.
It was strange. Only an hour ago, all you had wanted was for him to show up and explain himself.
Now, that he had…you wished he never came, because now you knew.
He hadn’t stopped loving you. That would have been easier.
Instead, he had been afraid.
Afraid of making the wrong decision. Afraid of asking too much from you. Afraid of letting your relationship influence the biggest choice of his careed.
And somewhere in all of that fear he had forgotten to trust you.
You wiped your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt before looking around the apartment.
Everything reminded you of him.
The coffee mug he had bought you because it reminded him of Denmark. The book he had left on your coffee table after insisting you would love it.
The hoodie hanging over one of your dining chairs because you had stolen it last week and hadn’t given it back yet.
You walked over and picked it up. His cologne still lingered on the fabric.
Your chest tightened so hard that you dropped it immediately.
“No,” you whispered to yourself.
You weren’t doing this. Not today.
----
You tried to distract yourself by turning on the tv.
Five minutes later you turned it back off because every sports channel was still talking about free agency.
You picked up a book and read the same paragraph six times without understanding a single word.
You opened your laptop to answer work emails, but you stared at the screen until it dimmed.
Your phone buzzed. Amy asking if you wanted to come over for dinner later.
Then Skyler sent you a stupid video on TikTok.
One of your friends was asking how your week had been.
You ignored all of them.
Around lunch time you forced yourself to eat half a sandwich. It tasted like cardboard because you couldn’t bring yourself to put the bread in the toaster and put anything but dry peanut butter on it.
By three you were sitting on your bedroom floor with your back against the bed, wondering how everything had fallen apart in less than twenty-four hours.
You thought about calling Amy or your mom but they would know that something was wrong before you would speak a single word and then they would ask why and you weren’t ready to tell either of them that you had been secretly dating one of your Dad´s players.
Former players.
The thought hurt all over again.
You thought about calling one of your friends, but none of them knew either.
You had been careful. So determined to keep everything private until the timing was right, but now there wasn’t going to be a right time anymore.
Your eyes drifted toward the framed family picture sitting on your dresser.
It had been taken after one of your dad´s milestone wins.
Everyone was smiling. Your dad stood in the idle with one arm around Amy while you and your siblings crowded around them.
You found yourself staring at him. He had always been the person you went to when your life fell apart.
When you were fifteen and didn’t make varsity. When your first serious boyfriend cheated on you in college. When work overwhelmed you.
He never had all the answer, but somehow, he always knew what to say.
Except he couldn’t help thins time.
He didn’t even know there had been something to lose.
You laughed bitterly.
Of course, the one time you needed your dad the most was the one time you couldn’t tell him why.
----
The afternoon dragged into evening.
The sun disappeared behind the trees outside your apartment, but you still didn’t turn on a single light.
Your phone rang again.
Dad.
You stared at his name.
For a second, your thumb hovered over the answer button, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually pick up.
If he asked how you were doing, you would lose it all over again.
The call went to voicemail a minute later.
A few seconds later a text came through: Everything okay, kiddo? Haven´t heard from you today. Let me know if you need anything.
Fresh tears filled your eyes as you drafted up three different responses and deleting all of them as soon as you finished typing.
I Just tired.
His reply came less than a minute later.
Dad: Long week?
You swallowed.
I Yeah, something like that.
Dad: Come by if you need anything. Amy is making dinner.
You stared at the message for a few minutes. Come by if you need anything.
Your dad had no idea what he had just offered.
----
It was almost nine before you finally gave up pretending you were okay.
The drive to your parents´ house felt automatic.
You had made it hundreds of times but tonight felt different.
The lights were all still on when you pulled into the driveway.
Amy´s car was in the driveway next to your dad´s truck.
For a second you considered putting the car back in drive and going back home.
You couldn’t explain this, could you? But you were already crying again before you reached the first step up to the porch.
The front door opened before you could knock.
Your dad frowned. “There you are.”
He looked you over once and his expression changed immediately. “What happened?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
Your dad didn’t ask another question then; he simply stepped aside and opened his arms. “Come here.”
The second you walked inside; he wrapped his arms around you. That was all it took for every ounce of control you spent all day clinging to, to disappear
A sob tore out of your chest so suddenly it almost startled you.
Your dad held you tighter. “Oh, sweetheart…”
You buried your face against his shoulder, crying so hard you could barely breathe.
“I´ve got you,” he murmured against your hair, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Take your time.”
“I…” you tried, but the words dissolved into another sob.
He guided you into the living room without letting go. Amy appeared from the kitchen with concern immediately replacing the smile she had been wearing. “What happened?”
Rod looked at her before looking back at you. “I don’t know yet.”
He sat beside you on the couch while you stared at the floor, desperately trying to catch your breath.
Nobody rushed you, your dad and Amy simply waited.
After several minutes, your crying eased enough that you could finally speak. “I have to tell you something.”
Your dad nodded. “Okay.”
“I should have told you months ago.”
Confusion crossed his face. “What do you mean?”
You looked down at your shaking hands. “I…” your throat tightened again. “I´ve been seeing someone.”
Amy blinked while your dad´s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You´ve been dating someone?”
You nodded. “For a few months.”
A small smile almost appeared on your dad´s face. “You know, sweetheart, that´s not exactly…”
“It was Freddie.”
The room fell completely silent.
Your dad didn’t move for several seconds. He simply stared at you as though he wasn’t sure he had heard you correctly. “Freddie…?”
You nodded once, tears spilling over again. “Andersen.”
Your father´s face slowly lost all expression as the realization settled over him piece by piece.
The rising amounts of games you wanted to come to.
The times you simply disappeared right after.
The reason you had seemed happier all season.
All of it.
“I…” he said quietly.
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
His eyes stayed on yours. “How long has that been going on?”
“Since the end of summer.”
“When you went to Denmark?”
Another nod, then you watched the entire timeline click into place in his head. “Oh…”
Your voice cracked. “He signed with Edmonton yesterday.”
Your dad nodded but stayed silent.
“He never told me.” That’s when the tears came back with full force. “I found out on NHL Network.”
Rod´s jaw tightened.
“He came over this morning to explain.” You laughed through another sob. “And now it´s over.”
The words sounded just as impossible spoken aloud as they had in your apartment that morning.
Your dad looked at you for a long moment, then, without saying a word, he reached over and pulled you back into his arms.
This time, you didn’t even try to stop crying.
----
No one spoke for a long time.
The only sound in the room was your uneven breathing as your dad held you the same way he had when you were little and had scraped your knew, or when your first heartbreak was nineteen had convinced you that world was ending.
Eventually, your crying slowed enough that you could breathe without gasping.
Rod loosened his hold just enough to look at you. “You found out on television?”
You nodded.
“And he didn’t tell you beforehand?”
“No.”
Your father´s jaw tightened again.
“He called after it was announced.” You laughed weakly. “Twice.”
“But by then…” Amy said quietly.
“It didn’t matter anymore.”
Silence settled over the room again.
Your dad looked away for a moment, rubbing a hand across his mouth.
You knew that look. He was trying very hard not to react before he had all the information.
It was the same expression he had worn after difficult losses, controversial calls and trades he hadn’t agreed with.
He always wanted the whole picture first.
“So…” he said carefully. “How did that happen?”
You took a shaky breath. “I met him in Denmark.”
His eyebrows lifted. “When you visited your friend?”
You nodded. “We literally ran into each other at a café.”
Amy smiled faintly. “That does sound like Freddie.”
Then, slowly, the whole story spilled out.
The coffee, the dinners, the first kiss before you flew home. Talking every day while he was still in Denmark.
Him asking you to be his girlfriend after he got back to Raleigh.
The secret dates. The teammates who had accidentally found out.
Every piece of it.
You expected your dad to interrupt. To be angry and to ask why you had hidden it from him. Instead, he listened.
Sometimes he glanced at his wife, sometimes he simply nodded for you to keep going.
When you finally reached yesterday, your voice cracked again. “I kept waiting for him to tell me.”
Rod frowned. “He knew he was leaving?”
“I think so.”
“Did he tell you for how long?”
“He said the deal became real yesterday afternoon.”
“And he chose not to call?”
“He said he needed to make that decision on his own and that he didn’t want anyone influencing him.”
“That was his explanation?”
“I told him I would´ve understood.” Another tear rolled down your cheek. “I would have, Dad.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“If he had just called me…” Your voice broke. “I would have told him to take the contract.”
Both of them looked at you.
“I would have been scared, yes, but I would´ve supported him.”
Your dad reached over and squeezed your hand.
“But he never gave me the chance. He just decided for both of us.”
Another silence settled over the room, but this one felt heavier than the last one.
Rod leaned back against the couch, staring at the floor before he sighed. “I owe you an apology.”
Your head snapped up. “What?”
“I´ve spent years telling you kids to not date players.”
“Dad…”
“No, hear me out.”
He rubbed his palms together before looking at you again. “I said it because I never wanted one of you caught in exactly this kind of situation.”
You frowned.
“I´ve watched players get traded overnight. I´ve watched families uproot themselves with a day’s notice. I´ve watched careers end because someone´s knee gave out.” He looked at you. “I know what this league asks of people and I didn’t want that for you or your siblings. I figured if you never dated a player, I´d never have to watch one of my daughters get hurt because of hockey.”
You reached over and took his hand. “Dad…”
“I still should´ve noticed.”
“You couldn’t have.”
“You were so much happier.” He looked frustrated with himself. “I noticed that, but I just thought you were settling into work.”
You shook your head. “We were very careful.”
“I can see that now.” He managed the smallest smile. “I suppose Freddie was, too.”
You laughed softly. “He was terrified you´d find out.”
That earned the first genuine smile from you dad. “I would have had a few questions.”
“A few?”
“A few hundred.”
You smiled faintly, but it disappeared almost immediately. “I still love him.”
The confession slipped out before you could stop it, but your dad didn’t look surprised. “I know.”
“I also hate him.”
“I know.”
“I don’t actually hate him.”
“I know that too.”
You covered your face with your hands. “I don’t know how to stop loving someone overnight.”
“You don’t, love doesn’t disappear because a relationship ends. It sticks around, sometimes longer than you´d like.”
You nodded slowly.
"So if you wake up tomorrow still loving him..."
He shrugged.
"That's normal."
"If you miss him next week..."
"That's normal too."
"If you cry because you smell his cologne on a sweatshirt three weeks from now..."
You blinked.
"...that's normal."
Fresh tears filled your eyes. "I feel stupid."
"For what?"
"I ended something with someone I love."
Rod's expression softened. "No. You ended something with someone you couldn't trust anymore."
The distinction hit you harder than anything else he had said.
"I wanted to trust him."
"I know."
"I still want to."
"I know."
"But trust doesn't come back because you want it to."
He reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear just like he had when you were little. "It comes back because someone earns it."
Your lip trembled.
"And right now..."
He sighed.
"...he hasn't."
You looked down at your intertwined hands. "I don't think he meant to hurt me."
"I don't think he did either."
Your head lifted. "You don't?"
Rod was quiet for a moment. "I know Freddie."
Not as your boyfriend. Not as the man who had kissed you in Denmark or made you laugh until your stomach hurt.
As a player. As someone he had coached for years.
"He's thoughtful. He overthinks almost everything. He carries more on his shoulders than people realize."
He paused.
"None of that excuses what he did."
"But..."
"But I don't think he woke up yesterday trying to break your heart."
Your eyes stung.
"I think he convinced himself he was protecting everyone."
"And in doing that he made the exact mistake you told me he made."
"He stopped treating you like his partner."
You nodded. "That's exactly what I told him."
There was another quiet moment before your dad stood. He walked into the kitchen without saying anything. When he came back, he handed you a bowl of vanilla ice cream.
You looked at him, confused. "What?"
"When you're heartbroken," he said matter-of-factly, "Amy says you're supposed to eat ice cream."
She smiled. "I do."
"So, we're eating ice cream."
A watery laugh escaped you.
Your dad smiled too. "There she is."
"What?"
"That's the first real laugh you've had since you got here."
You looked down at the bowl in your hands.
It wasn't much.
Your heart still felt shattered. Tomorrow was still going to hurt. The day after that probably would too.
But sitting between your parents, wrapped in one of your mom's blankets with a bowl of melting ice cream in your lap, the pain didn't feel quite so impossible to carry anymore.
Not because it was smaller.
But because, for the first time since the television broadcast, you weren't carrying it alone.
----
At first, you hadn’t planned on staying.
After coming clean to your dad, you had intended to pull yourself together, to hug him and Amy goodbye, and to drive back to your apartment.
Instead, sometime after midnight, Amy quietly disappeared upstairs and returned with one of your old shirts and a pair of sweatpants she had kept after you moved out.
“I washed these last week,” she said with a small smile. “I was going to donate them.”
You looked down at the faded university logo stretched across the front. “You can still donate them.”
“Not tonight.”
Your dad looked up from where he had been pretending to watch a late-night baseball game. “You´re staying.”
It wasn’t really a question and you were too exhausted to argue, so you nodded. “I don’t really want to be alone.”
“You won´t be,” he smiled.
----
Your old bedroom hadn’t changed much.
The walls had been repainted years ago, and most of your childhood posters were gone, replaced by framed pictures Amy had insisted made the room look “grown up”.
But it still smelled the same. Still had the same old bookshelf your dad had built when you were ten. Still had the tiny scratch in the hardwood floor from when Skyler had crashed a remote-control car into your dresser.
You stood in the middle of the room for a long moment.
It felt strange but also safe in a way your apartment wouldn’t tonight.
You changed into the clothes Amy had given you before crawling beneath the comforter.
The silence settled around your almost immediately.
There was no tv playing in the other room. No hum of Freddie´s dishwasher while he cleaned up after dinner. No text from him asking if you made it home safe.
Your chest tightened.
Almost without thinking, you reached for your phone.
His name was still at the top of your messages.
The last conversation stared back at you.
Pictures from three days ago. A joke about one of Seth´s Instagram stories. A picture of the dinner he had cooked. A heart you had sent after he texted you goodnight.
Your thumb hovered over the conversation.
You wanted to read every message; you wanted to listen to voice memos just to hear his voice again.
You wanted to ask him why.
Instead, you turned your phone face down on the nightstand.
Sleep eventually came sometime after two.
----
Freddie hadn’t slept all night.
He had spent the night pacing through his empty house.
Every room reminded him of you.
The blanket folded over the couch. The mug with the tiny painted lemons you insisted was yours. A bottle of moisturizer beside his sink.
He couldn’t stop seeing you standing in your apartment either.
I thought I had a partner.
He had replayed that sentence so many times he had lost count.
Around six in the morning, he gave up on pretending that he was going to sleep.
He showered, got dressed, and drove into town by eight.
The florist recognized him immediately from the many times he had gotten you flowers before. “Goor morning.”
He smiled politely. “Morning.”
“What can I help you find?”
He looked around the shop. “I need a bouquet.”
“Special occasion?”
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “The opposite actually.”
Her expression softened. “I´m sorry.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I need something that says I know I messed up.”
She smiled sympathetically. “That´s a difficult bouquet.”
“I know.”
Together they walked through the shop.
He eventually stopped in front of the white roses. “They´re beautiful, aren’t they.”
He shook his head. “Too much like an apology after a funeral.”
“What about peonies?”
“They´ll remind her of her mom´s garden.”
He smiled faintly before moving on.
Sunflowers. Hydrangeas. Delphiniums. None of them felt right.
Eventually, they settled on a large arrangement of soft white garden roses, blush ranunculus, pale pink peonies, eucalyptus, and delicate baby´s breath.
Elegant, warm and hopeful.
When the florists finished arranging them, Freddie stared at the bouquet for a long time. “They´re beautiful.”
“They are.”
She wrapped the stems carefully. “Would you like to include a note?”
“Yes, please.”
She handed him a small cream-colored card.
He picked up the pen, then sat there for nearly ten minutes.
Every version sounded wrong. Every apology felt too small.
Finally, he wrote.
I know flowers can´t fix what I broke and I´m not asking you to forgive me today. I´m only asking you not to let this be the end of our story.
I should have trusted you. I should have talked to you. I will regret that for the rest of my life.
If you´ll let me, I meant it when I said that I´ll spend the rest of my life earning that trust back.
Please don’t close the door on forever.
I love you.
F
He read it twice before setting the pen down.
The florists quietly slipped the card into its envelope. “Where are they going?”
He gave her the address.
She looked up. “Not your home?”
He smiled sadly. “No.”
He already knew where you would be. Whenever life became too much you went to your dad.
----
You woke to the smell of coffee and for a few blissful seconds, you forgot why you were in your old room.
Then everything came rushing back.
Edmonton.
The fight.
The breakup.
You buried your face in the pillow, wishing sleep would come back, but it didn’t.
By the time you wandered downstairs, Amy was making breakfast while your dad stood at the kitchen island reading something on his tablet.
He looked up immediately when he heard you walking in. “Morning, kiddo.”
“Morning.”
Your voice sounded rough from all the crying yesterday.
“Coffee?”
You nodded. “Yes, please.”
Amy placed a mug in front of you before gently squeezing your shoulder. “Did you sleep at all?”
“A little.”
Your dad pretended not to notice the dark circles beneath your eyes.
Instead, he started telling you about a neighborhood dog that had somehow wandered into the practice facilities parking lot before animal control came to pick it up.
You knew exactly what he was doing.
Trying to give you five minutes where your heart wasn’t breaking. You loved him for it.
The doorbell rang.
“I´ll get it,” Amy said.
A minute later you heard voices in the foyer. Then silence. Followed by another voice. “Rod?”
Your dad frowned. “What is it?”
“It´s…” Amy answered slowly. “You should probably come here.”
He stood, confusion written all over his face. You followed a few steps behind.
A delivery driver stood on the front porch besides the largest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen.
Your heart stopped.
The deliverer looked between Amy, your dad and you before reading from his tablet. “Delivery for…” he said your name.
Amy looked at you while Rod looked at the flowers.
Then he noticed the small envelope tucked carefully between the blooms and he knew he didn’t have to ask who they were from.
For a moment, no one moved.
The bouquet was almost comically large, overflowing with white and blush flowers arranged so carefully they looked like something out of a wedding magazine.
You recognized them immediately.
The peonies.
Your favorite.
Your stomach twisted.
The driver looked down at his handheld scanner. "I just need a signature."
Your mom glanced at you. "Do you...?"
You couldn't answer.
Your dad stepped forward instead. "I'll sign."
The driver thanked him, handed over the arrangement, wished everyone a nice day, and walked back to his van.
The front door clicked shut.
Silence settled over the entryway.
Your father looked down at the card tucked between the flowers before looking back at you. "He knows you'd come here."
It wasn't a question.
You nodded faintly. "I always do."
Your dad was quiet for a second before carefully pulling the envelope free.
"You don’t have to read it."
"I know."
He held it out to you. "But I think you should."
Your hands trembled as you took it.
You stared at your name written across the front in Freddie's unmistakable handwriting.
He had always written your name the same way - slightly slanted, careful, almost too neat.
Seeing it now made your chest ache.
Amy quietly carried the flowers into the kitchen and set them on the island.
"They're beautiful," she murmured.
"They are," your dad agreed.
You swallowed hard before opening the envelope.
The paper shook in your hands.
You read the first line. Then the second. By the third, your vision blurred.
A tear splashed onto the page. "Oh..."
Your voice barely existed.
Your dad stepped closer. "What does it say?"
You tried to answer. Instead, you handed him the note.
He looked at you. "Are you sure?"
You nodded. "I can't..."
He unfolded it carefully.
Amy moved beside him, resting a hand lightly against his arm as they read together.
Neither of them spoke until they had reached the end.
Rod folded the note again.
Very carefully.
As though rough handling might somehow make the words hurt more.
"He loves you," Amy said quietly.
You laughed through fresh tears. "I know."
"And he's sorry."
"I know."
Your dad looked at the bouquet for a long moment before speaking. "He also thinks flowers can fix something they can't."
"I don't think he thinks they'll fix it." You wiped your cheeks. "I think he just didn't know what else to do."
Rod nodded slowly. "You're probably right."
You walked over to the kitchen island.
Up close, the bouquet was even prettier.
He remembered.
Every flower.
Every color.
The pale pink peonies you had pointed out during a walk through the botanical gardens last spring.
The white garden roses you had stopped to smell outside a restaurant in Denmark.
Even the eucalyptus.
Once you had told him you loved how fresh it smelled.
You'd forgotten that conversation.
He hadn't.
"You remembered everything," you whispered.
You reached out, brushing your fingertips across one of the peonies. "You idiot."
Your voice cracked around the words. "You remembered the flowers."
Another tear rolled down your cheek. "But you forgot to trust me."
----
Rod picked up the note once more. "I'd like to keep this."
You looked at him in surprise. "Why?"
"So, I can read it again later."
You frowned. "Dad..."
"I've coached Freddie for years." He leaned against the counter. "I know when he's saying what people want to hear."
"And?"
"He isn't."
You looked away. "I know."
"This..." He tapped the folded card lightly. "...this is someone who's realized exactly what he's lost."
Your shoulders slumped. "I don't want him to realize it after the fact."
"I know."
"I wanted him to realize it before."
"I know."
You sighed. "I hate that this makes me happy."
"The flowers?"
"The note."
You looked at your parents. "I wanted him to fight for us."
"He is," Amy said gently.
"Now."
"Yeah."
You gave a sad smile. "Now."
Your dad nodded. "The question isn't whether he's fighting."
"It's whether he started fighting too late."
----
Across town, Freddie couldn't sit still.
He had been staring at his phone for nearly an hour.
No call.
No text.
Nothing.
He knew the flowers would've been delivered by now.
He imagined you opening the door. Reading the card. Maybe crying. Maybe throwing it away. Maybe never reading it at all.
Every possibility hurt.
His phone lit up.
Not you. His agent.
He declined the call.
A minute later it rang again.
Then another message.
Need confirmation on travel plans.
He tossed the phone onto the couch.
Travel plans.
Edmonton.
It all suddenly felt meaningless.
What was the point of signing somewhere new if the person, he had imagined calling after every game wasn't going to answer anymore?
The house felt unbearably quiet.
He found himself wandering into the guest room.
One of your hair ties still sat on the nightstand.
He picked it up.
"You always steal the ones I bought you," he complained once.
"Because yours are better."
"They're literally the same."
"They're not."
"They're black."
"So are mine."
"They stretch differently."
He laughed so hard he nearly fallen off the bed.
Now he closed his hand around the tiny elastic.
The memory hurt.
Everything hurt.
His phone buzzed again.
This time it was Rod.
Freddie froze.
He stared at the screen until it almost stopped ringing before forcing himself to answer. "...Coach."
Rod was quiet for a moment. Then he said evenly, "The flowers arrived."
Freddie closed his eyes. "Okay."
"They're beautiful."
"She likes peonies."
"I know."
Another pause. "She read your note."
Hope flared so suddenly it almost hurt. "She did?"
"She did."
Freddie held his breath.
Rod sighed. "She's crying again."
The hope disappeared just as quickly. "I figured."
"I wanted you to know she read it."
"Thank you."
Another silence.
Finally, Freddie spoke. "Is she okay?"
Rod looked through the kitchen doorway. You were sitting at the island, staring at the bouquet as if trying to memorize every flower.
"No," he answered honestly.
Freddie shut his eyes. "I didn't think so."
Rod's voice stayed calm. "But she's here."
"I know."
"I'll take care of her."
"I know you will."
There was another long pause.
When Rod spoke again, his tone softened almost imperceptibly. "You made one hell of a mistake."
Freddie's throat tightened. "I know."
"And I'm not talking about Edmonton."
"I know."
"You should've trusted her."
"...I know."
Rod let the silence stretch. "I've never heard my daughter cry the way she cried last night."
Freddie lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, unable to stay standing. "I'm sorry."
"I believe you."
Those three words surprised him enough that he looked at the phone. "But being sorry isn't going to fix this."
"No."
"You've got a long road ahead of you if you want another chance."
Freddie swallowed. "I'll walk it."
Rod looked back toward the kitchen. "I figured you would."
Then, after another beat, he added quietly, "For what it's worth don't stop trying."
The line went silent.
A second later, Rod hung up.
Freddie remained sitting on the bed, staring at the blank screen.
It wasn't forgiveness.
Not even close.
But it wasn't the end, either.
For the first time since walking out of your apartment, there was the smallest crack in the hopelessness.
Not because anyone had promised him another chance.
But because your father - the man with every reason to tell him to stay away - hadn't.
----
The house settled back into its normal rhythm over the next few hours.
Amy insisted you stay for lunch.
Your dad disappeared into his office for a while to answer emails before training camp preparations for next season inevitably took over again.
You drifted between the kitchen and the living room without really accomplishing anything.
The bouquet remained on the kitchen island. Every time you walked past it, your eyes found it. You hated that it still made your chest warm. You hated it even more that it made you smile for half a second before the hurt came rushing back.
By midafternoon Amy noticed. "You've looked at those flowers at least twenty times."
"I know."
"You don't have to punish yourself."
"I'm not."
She tilted her head. "You are."
You sighed. "I just..." Your fingers traced the rim of your coffee mug. "I keep thinking about how much attention he paid."
"What do you mean?"
"He remembered every flower."
You looked toward the arrangement. "I forgot I even told him I liked eucalyptus."
Amy smiled sadly. "The little things are usually the easiest to remember."
You laughed softly. "He always remembered the little things."
----
Later that afternoon, Rod found you sitting on the back porch.
The Carolina summer heat had settled in, but the shaded swing your parents had installed years ago made it bearable.
You watched birds hop through the backyard without really seeing them.
Your dad stepped outside carrying two glasses of iced tea.
He handed you one before sitting beside you.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
"You know," he finally said, "there's something I've been thinking about."
You looked over.
"When players leave people assume it's always about money."
"It isn't?"
He smiled faintly. "Sometimes."
"But a lot of the time..." He shrugged. "It's opportunity."
"You know Freddie. He wanted to keep playing."
"I know."
"He probably felt like this was his last real chance to prove he still belonged."
You nodded. "I understand why he signed."
"I figured you did."
"I don't understand why he shut me out."
Rod looked down at his glass. "Those are two different things."
"I keep trying to make them the same."
"Don't."
He met your eyes. "If you start convincing yourself that you have to hate the contract in order to justify ending the relationship..." He shook his head. "...you're rewriting what actually happened."
You frowned. "What actually happened?"
"You respected his career."
"He didn't respect your place in his life."
His words settled over you.
Simple.
Painfully accurate.
"I would've celebrated with him."
Your voice was barely above a whisper.
"If he'd called..."
"I know."
"I would've helped him pack."
"I know."
"I probably would've cried."
"I definitely would've."
You laughed quietly.
"Yeah."
"But I still would've supported him."
Rod smiled gently.
"That's why you're my daughter."
----
Across the county, news of Frederik Andersen's departure dominated sports coverage.
Interviews.
Analysis.
Predictions about Edmonton's goaltending.
He ignored all of it.
Instead, he sat at his dining room table with a notebook in front of him.
Blank.
He had started writing you a letter three different times.
Every version ended up in the trash.
I miss you.
Too selfish.
I'm sorry.
Too small.
Please come back.
Too unfair.
He crumpled another page and tossed it toward the overflowing garbage bin.
The doorbell rang.
He almost didn't answer.
It rang again.
With a tired sigh, he pushed himself up and opened the front door.
Nikolaj stood on the porch, two paper bags from his favorite takeout place hanging from one hand. "You look awful."
Freddie let out a humorless laugh. "I know."
"I figured you hadn't eaten."
"I haven't."
Nikolaj held up the bags. "I brought food."
Freddie stepped aside. "You didn't have to."
"I know."
Nikolaj walked into the kitchen like he had done dozens of times before, setting the bags on the counter.
He stopped when he noticed the notebook covered in crossed-out sentences and the trash can overflowing with crumpled paper. "You've been trying to write to her."
Freddie nodded. "I can't get it right."
Nikolaj pulled out a chair. "You won't."
Freddie looked up. "What?"
"There isn't a version of a letter that fixes this." He sat down across from him. "You know that, right?"
Freddie sank back into his chair. "I do."
For a minute neither of them spoke.
Finally, Nikolaj asked quietly, "How bad?"
Freddie stared at the tabletop. "She ended it."
Nikolaj closed his eyes for a second. "I figured."
"I've never seen her look at me like that."
"What happened?"
Freddie took a long breath.
"I told her I signed with Edmonton."
Nikolaj frowned. "Yesterday?"
"Yesterday morning."
"And when did you tell her?"
Freddie didn't answer.
Nikolaj already knew. "Freddie."
"She found out on NHL Network."
Nikolaj leaned back in his chair, stunned. "You didn't tell her before it broke?"
"I was going to."
"When?"
"I don't know."
He rubbed both hands over his face. "I kept thinking I'd call once everything was finalized."
"And then?"
"I ran out of time."
"No," Nikolaj said gently.
"You made time for everything except the conversation you didn't want to have."
Freddie looked down. "I know."
Nikolaj sighed. "Why?"
"I thought..." Freddie searched for words. "If we talked before I signed, I'd start thinking about us instead of hockey."
Nikolaj was quiet. "And now?"
"I'd give anything to have that conversation." His voice cracked. "I would've taken any argument. Any tears. Anything."
He looked around the empty house. "I just wanted one more chance to tell her before she found out from someone else."
Nikolaj's eyes drifted to the bouquet receipt still sitting on the counter. "You sent flowers."
Freddie nodded. "To her parents' house."
"You knew she'd go there."
"She always does."
A small smile tugged at Nikolaj's mouth. "She really loves her dad."
"So much."
Freddie smiled sadly. "I knew the second she didn't answer her phone that she'd end up there."
"You talked to Rod?"
"He called."
Nikolaj's eyebrows shot up. "He called you?"
Freddie nodded. "He told me the flowers arrived."
"And?"
"That she cried."
Nikolaj sighed quietly. "I'm not surprised."
"He also told me not to stop trying."
That caught Nikolaj's attention. "He actually said that?"
"More or less."
For the first time since his friend had arrived, Freddie looked up. "I don't think he hates me."
Nikolaj gave him a long look. "I don't think he does either."
"But..."
"But if you hurt her again..."
He didn't bother finishing the sentence. He didn't need to.
Freddie nodded. "I know."
Nikolaj leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So."
"So."
"Are you trying to get her back because you hate being alone?"
Freddie answered immediately. "No."
"Because you feel guilty?"
"No."
"Because you got caught making the biggest mistake of your relationship?" Freddie shook his head. "I'm trying because I love her."
"And because she was right."
Silence settled between them.
"I stopped treating her like my partner."
The words came easier now than they had that morning. "I kept telling myself I was protecting us but I wasn't. I was protecting myself from having a difficult conversation."
Nikolaj nodded slowly. "That's the first smart thing you've said since I got here."
A weak laugh escaped Freddie. "I've had a rough twenty-four hours I don’t need you to bully me too."
"I'd imagine."
Nikolaj reached across the table and squeezed his shoulder. "You know this isn't going to be fixed with flowers."
"I know."
"Or letters."
"I know."
"Or grand gestures."
Freddie looked down at the notebook. "So, what do I do?"
Nikolaj didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he thought for a moment before saying, "You become the man she thought she was dating."
Freddie frowned. "I thought I was."
"You were." Nikolaj met his eyes. "Until the first really hard decision came along."
The words stung because they were true.
Nikolaj stood, gathering the untouched takeout containers and setting one in front of Freddie. "Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"I wasn't asking." Freddie managed the smallest smile. "Bossy."
"I learned from you."
For the first time all day, Freddie actually picked up the fork.
It wasn't much.
But it was a start.
----
The next few days settled into an uncomfortable routine.
You stayed at your parents' house.
Originally it had only been meant to be one night. Then Amy asked if you wanted to stay another.
Your dad quietly moved his laptop to the dining room so you could use his office if you needed to work.
No one pushed you to go home. No one mentioned Freddie unless you did first.
You appreciated that more than you could explain.
It gave your heart room to hurt without having to defend it.
----
By Friday morning, the flowers had become part of the house.
Amy had found the biggest vase she owned, but even that barely fit the arrangement.
They sat in the middle of the kitchen island, impossible to ignore.
Every morning you walked downstairs and saw them. Every night they were the last thing you noticed before heading to bed.
You still hadn't decided whether you loved them or hated them.
Probably both.
----
Your dad was already sitting on the back porch when you wandered outside with your coffee.
He looked up from the newspaper. "Morning."
"Morning."
"You sleep?"
"A little better."
"I'll take that as progress."
You smiled faintly before sitting beside him.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you had never been uncomfortable. It reminded you of being a kid, sitting beside him after games while he watched film.
Eventually he folded the newspaper. "I've got something to ask."
You looked over.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"Okay."
"When you ended it..." His voice stayed careful. "...did you want it to end?"
The question caught you off guard.
You stared into your coffee. "I don't know."
He nodded once. "I thought so."
"I wanted..." You sighed. "I wanted him to fight me."
"You mean argue?"
"No."
You shook your head. "I wanted him to give me one good reason to believe this wouldn't happen again."
Your dad listened quietly.
"He apologized."
"He did."
"He admitted he was wrong."
"He did."
"But..." You swallowed. "He never actually told me how he'd do it differently."
Rod leaned back in his chair. "That's an important distinction."
"I know."
"I kept waiting for him to say..." You paused, trying to find the words. "'Next time I'll tell you first. Next time we'll decide together. Next time I'll trust you.'"
Another tear slipped down your cheek. "But he never said any of those things. He just kept saying he was sorry."
Your dad nodded slowly. "Apologies matter."
"They do."
"But they're only the beginning."
----
Freddie couldn't stop thinking about that conversation with Nikolaj.
"You become the man she thought she was dating."
The sentence followed him everywhere.
While he packed boxes. While he answered calls from Edmonton's management. While he signed paperwork.
He kept coming back to the same realization.
He had spent two days apologizing. He hadn't spent a single minute explaining how he intended to change.
For someone who had built an entire career on reviewing mistakes and correcting them before the next game...
How had he missed something so obvious?
His phone was already in his hand before he had fully thought it through.
He scrolled until he found Rod's number.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
This was probably a terrible idea.
He called anyway.
Rod answered after the third ring. "Freddie."
"Coach."
"What can I do for you?"
Freddie took a slow breath. "I'm not calling to ask about her."
Rod stayed quiet.
"I'm calling because I owe you an apology."
That wasn't what Rod had expected. "For what?"
"I lied to you."
Rod frowned.
"You never asked me if I was dating your daughter."
"No."
"But every time you trusted me..." Freddie looked down. “...I knew something you didn't."
Silence stretched across the line.
"I should've come to you. I know that you would've killed me but I should have."
Rod huffed a quiet laugh. "I would've certainly considered it."
"I know."
"But I still should have."
Rod leaned back in his office chair. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because I'm trying to stop hiding behind the easy conversations."
Another pause.
"I've done enough of that."
Rod could hear the exhaustion in his voice. "You really love her."
"I do."
"Then why are you calling me instead of her?"
Freddie closed his eyes. "Because she asked me to leave."
"And?"
"And if I love her..." His voice was steady now. "...I have to respect that."
Rod didn't answer immediately.
"I don't know if she'll ever want to see me again."
"I don't know either."
"But if the first thing I do after she tells me she needs space is ignore her request..." He shook his head, even though Rod couldn't see him. "...then I haven't learned anything."
Rod looked out the window toward the backyard.
You were sitting on the porch swing reading a book. Or at least pretending to.
"I appreciate that."
Freddie let out a slow breath. "I was wondering if..." He hesitated. "If one day... When she's ready...I could ask for five minutes."
Rod didn't answer right away.
When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle but firm. "That's not my decision."
"I know."
"It never will be."
"I know."
"The only person who gets to decide whether you have another conversation with my daughter..." He watched you turn another page without reading it. "...is my daughter."
"I understand."
Rod smiled faintly.
"I think you finally do."
----
That afternoon, you drove back to your apartment for the first time.
Your mom insisted on coming with you.
Not because she thought you couldn't handle it. Because she knew you shouldn't have to.
The apartment smelled stale after being empty for several days.
You stood just inside the doorway.
Nothing had changed.
The blanket still lay folded over the couch. The book Freddie had left on your coffee table was exactly where he'd forgotten it. His hoodie still hung over one of the dining chairs.
You walked over slowly. Picked it up. Held it against your chest. For just a second. Then carefully folded it.
Your mom watched from the kitchen doorway. "You keeping it?"
You shook your head. "No."
"What are you doing?"
You looked around the apartment before finding an empty storage box in your hall closet. "I'm putting everything that reminds me of him in here."
Your mom frowned. "You don't have to throw it away."
"I don't want to." You smiled sadly. "I just can't look at it every day."
One by one, you filled the box.
The hoodie. His favorite mug. The book he'd left behind. A charger he had forgotten. A baseball cap. The tiny bottle of cologne he'd accidentally left in your bathroom cabinet months ago.
Each item came with a memory. Each memory hurt.
When the box was finally full, you taped it shut.
Your mom rested a hand on your shoulder. "You okay?"
You looked down at the cardboard box. "No."
Then you looked up. "But I think this was something I needed to do."
For the first time since the breakup, it didn't feel like you were pretending to move forward.
It felt like the first real step.
Even if it was a painfully small one.
The box stayed in the corner of your bedroom.
You hadn't hidden it away in a closet.
You weren't trying to pretend those months hadn't happened.
You just couldn't have pieces of Freddie scattered around your apartment anymore.
Not while everything still hurt so much.
----
A week passed.
Then another.
Life kept moving, whether you wanted it to or not.
You went back to work.
You met a friend for lunch after finally telling her the whole story.
She spent the first ten minutes staring at you in complete disbelief. "You dated Dad's goalie?"
"Former goalie."
She blinked. "You had a whole relationship."
"I know."
"You didn't tell me."
"I know."
"You kissed him at family barbecues?"
"No!"
She narrowed her eyes. "...Almost?"
"We got caught once."
She covered her face. "I cannot believe I missed this."
You laughed. Then, almost immediately, your smile disappeared. "I miss him."
Your friend reached across the table and squeezed your hand. "I know."
"I hate missing him."
"I know."
"You know what the worst part is?"
"What?"
"I still understand why he signed."
She frowned. "But I don't understand why he didn't trust me."
----
Freddie moved to Edmonton three days later.
The house in Raleigh felt strangely empty when he locked the front door for the last time.
He stood on the porch longer than he needed to.
Every goodbye felt wrong.
The house. The city. You.
His realtor asked if he wanted to list the property immediately.
He said no. He wasn't ready. He couldn't explain why. He just wasn't.
----
Edmonton welcomed him exactly the way every new team did.
Medicals. Photos. Interviews. Media day. Smiles.
Questions about expectations. Questions about the Oilers. Questions about Connor and Leon.
Not one person asked how it felt leaving Carolina. Not one person knew he'd left more than a hockey team behind.
"How excited are you for this opportunity?" a reporter asked.
Freddie smiled politely. "I'm very grateful."
It wasn't a lie.
It just wasn't the whole truth.
----
Nikolaj called that night. "How's Canada?"
"Cold."
"It's August."
"I know."
Nikolaj laughed. "You settling in?"
Freddie looked around the furnished apartment the Oilers had arranged temporarily. "It doesn't feel like home."
"It won't."
"No."
There was a brief silence. "You talked to her?"
"No."
"You planning to?"
"I promised myself I wouldn't."
Nikolaj frowned. "What changed?"
"Nothing." Freddie leaned back on the couch. "I keep thinking about what she said."
I can't spend the next year wondering if the next big decision in your life is something I'll find out about on television.
"I don't want my first attempt at fixing this to be ignoring the boundary she asked for."
Nikolaj smiled to himself. "That's growth."
"It feels terrible."
"It usually does."
----
Back in Raleigh, hockey became impossible to avoid.
Training camp coverage had started. Sports radio discussed the offseason every morning.
Your dad's press conferences filled your social media feed.
And, inevitably...
Freddie.
His introductory press conference with Edmonton appeared on your Instagram before you could stop it.
You froze.
His smile looked practiced. His eyes looked tired.
The caption read: Frederik Andersen speaks to Edmonton media for the first time.
You shouldn't have watched it.
You did anyway.
One question made your stomach knot. "What made Edmonton the right fit?"
Freddie answered calmly. "It was the best opportunity to keep playing at a high level."
Nothing wrong with that.
Then another reporter asked, "Was it an easy decision?"
There was the briefest pause. Almost too small to notice. "No." His voice stayed steady. "It was one of the harder decisions I've had to make."
You stopped the video.
You couldn't listen anymore.
----
That evening, Rod found you sitting on the back porch again. "You watched it."
You looked up in surprise. "How did you know?"
"I've known you your whole life."
Fair enough.
"He looked..."You searched for the right word. "...sad."
Rod nodded. "I noticed."
"I hate that I noticed."
"I know."
You rested your head against the back of the swing. "I keep waiting to be angry."
"And?"
"I'm mostly disappointed."
Your dad was quiet. "I think disappointment lasts longer."
You frowned. "You think?"
"I do."
"Anger burns hot." He looked out across the yard. "Disappointment sits with you."
You thought about that. It sounded painfully accurate. "I don't know what I'd do if he called."
Rod glanced over. "You don't have to know."
"I feel like I should."
"You don't."
He smiled gently. "You don't have to decide today what you'll do next month."
You nodded. "I guess."
"Just heal."
You let out a quiet breath. "I'm trying."
"I know."
