Summary: a series of events which has you and Quinn balancing growing careers and keeping secrets - in the aftermath of the new addition, you and Quinn face the anxiety that come with an unplanned pregnancy.
Notes: Please bear with me, the first few weeks of pregnancy are nothing but sleeping, nausea, and raging hormones.
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Previous Chapter
“I don’t understand why my cost went up.” The irritated man reworded his sentence for the third time. “I’ve been going to this pharmacy for years.”
“I understand your loyalty to us, and we really do appreciate it, but unfortunately there was recently a rise in price for your particular medication.” You tried to explain calmly, the balance of your career hanging by a thread with your rapidly shrinking fuse. “I understand your frustrations..”
“No, you don’t understand. None of you morons ever understand what it’s like. You all just want to steal money from people who are vulnerable.”
“Sir, please..” you pleaded, desperately keeping yourself composed. If he raised his voice anymore, you were liable to break down right there behind the counter, or maybe even snap back. “I’m just a technician. I have no control over this.”
The lead pharmacist walked up to the counter, taking over the situation just in time. In the end the customer paid for his medication anyways, making you roll your eyes as soon as he turned around. “How about you take a breather?” He told you, noticing how tense you were. “You alright?”
You nodded before looking down, knowing damn well you were anything but. It wasn’t the job causing you distress, but only you and one other person knew about it, and he was currently on a plane to Dallas. It’d been a few days since you’d taken the test, and even another two the next day just to make sure. Three plus signs, three chances for the universe to let up on the practical joke. But no, you were knocked up with a professional athlete’s baby. Lucky you.
When you’d first moved to Vancouver, you had nothing to your name but a beat-up car and a brand new lease in a rundown apartment complex. You worked two jobs to keep it together, grocery store stocking in the mornings and working the bar at a restaurant downtown. You worked your way up to the pharmacy in the store as an assistant before promoting to pharmacy tech. Now that you’d been at this particular job for a while, you no longer needed side gigs to keep you going. Life was becoming liveable, until Quinn appeared.
The details were rather fuzzy with how you met, but you’d known who he was. How could you not? He was a local hero, getting ready to return to the ice after a great season. Decent playoff run, recent winner of the Norris, and had just been put on the latest cover of EA Sports NHL with his brothers.
At first you were just friends, with a little harmless flirting. But one night, after an embarrassingly bad date, you’d reached out to him in a different sense, expecting to get laughed off. But he’d surprisingly asked for your address, and the two of you spent the next few months using each other as vices. You had shitty customers and betraying friends, he had locker room drama and injuries he was desperate to ignore. Before long, it became second nature to leave your front door open after bad games.
After a few minutes of recollecting yourself after what felt like the 14th wave of hormones, you returned to your station. You’d spent the rest of the day mindlessly fulfilling your duties, only stopping for a lunch made entirely of apples and peanut butter, the only thing you’d been able to keep down. When the shift ended, you were more than ready to get out, barely saying goodbyes before leaving.
As you walked into your rundown apartment building, your energy hit total depletion. Of all the side effects that were starting to creep in, the lethargic feelings had to be the worst. Your job demanded you being on your feet the entire shift, and your newest ailment was not helping the matters at all. Your google searches were quickly becoming a list of questions like “what can I eat without throwing up?” and “will I get my energy back?” To make matters worse, you still had those four sets of stairs to climb, each flight becoming more and more difficult.
When the hike finally ended, you were fighting to keep your eyes open as you unlocked your door, crashing in with your feet barely below you. You laid down on the couch, insisting you’d get up and change out of your uniform after you rest for just a bit. Three hours later, you’d melted into the cushions, staring uselessly at the wall across from you. Once again overthinking everything you were currently dealing with.
————
Quinn was known to be a chronic sleeper. Everywhere he went he’d get caught taking a cat nap, even in the cubbies of the locker room from time to time. But those days were officially long behind him. In fact, he hadn’t slept more than a few hours the entire week.
It was abundantly clear that the situation in his personal life had affected his gameplay after the team lost 5-2 at home against the Blues. He’d desperately tried to hone in and stay in the zone like he always did, but the news had fucked him up bad. He got off the ice more tense than he’d ever been in his life, just to get bombarded by reporters asking obvious questions. And deep down, he knew they were just doing their jobs, but he couldn’t be less in the mood for it.
He’d tried to make it a point to come see you before the plane took off, but your schedules clashed like they often did. So he got on the plane, an exhausting amount of unknown in the mix of his life. When things got rough, he’d usually be able to call his parents or his brothers, but the situation was so new and there were too many questions he simply didn’t have the answers for. He wasn’t prepared for interrogation from Jack or Luke, and he didn’t know if his mom would be disappointed for not being safe. In the end he bottled it up, and it was seriously starting to take its toll.
He swiped his keycard to his hotel room, thankful as fuck he didn’t have a roommate this time around. If he had to hear one more “You good, huggy?” he might actually lose his fucking mind. He abandoned his suitcase by the door and dropped his backpack to the floor with a thud, not stopping until he landed face first into the plush mattress. In the privacy of the room, it finally came crashing down as he let out a guttural scream into the duvet.
A father. He was going to be an actual fucking father. And worse off, it wasn’t the exciting, hopeful moment he’d hoped it would be. Images of you in a panicked, crying state were permanently stained into his eyelids, making the sleep he was desperate for that much harder. When he did fall asleep, his mind played over every last detail to get to that moment.
The last time he’d been over to the apartment, life had gotten really hectic. Quinn had just gotten back from the media tour, which had already stressed him to the max. It was no secret he hated being on camera, especially when they had him doing embarrassing things and asking him simple questions. He’d done his best to just smile and bear through it, but it had taken its toll on him, leaving him over the public view completely.
At first, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to call you. He didn’t really talk to you much while he was back home for the summer, and he truthfully felt terrible for it. He’d become perpetually bad at only reaching out when he needed a release, but there had been times where you did it too, justifying his actions. By midnight, he finally shot you a text, sure that you wouldn’t be awake at the ungodly hour. Your response was simple: To come over, the door was already unlocked.
When he got there, you were already in your room. Wearing only a large shirt he’d left one night over a lace thong. Words didn’t need to be spoken, only tension to be liberated. It was just you and him and the fucked up entanglement of using each other. Hands on hips, nails on skin. The same spark that always turned into flames.
Quinn relented from rotting into the bed, standing up to change out of his clothes. As he emptied out his pockets, he finally switched his phone out of airplane mode, since he uncharacteristically wanted nothing to do with it for the entire trip. As soon as service came back, it began going off with missed emails and text messages. You still hadn’t reached out, and it began to worry him, so he broke his streak of silence and finally called. Just to check in, to maybe bring his mind some peace.
“Hey.” Your groggy voice came over the speaker as he tugged off his t-shirt.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, a breath of relief that you weren’t ignoring him.
“Rough day at work, melted into the couch cushions for a few hours afterwards.”
“Have you been able to keep anything down? I can order you something on delivery.” He offered, knowing that you needed to eat, even if it was something small to replenish what you’d lost over the last week of illness.
“I had some fruit at lunch.” You told him, the tone of your voice telling him that you both knew that wouldn’t be enough. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something.”
“Whatever you want, I’ll pay. You need to take care of yourself.” He stated, pulling up Venmo to send you enough to order an entire menu. “I’ll be home next Friday, but if anything happens..”
“Quinn, you’re the only one I can call if something happens.” You said, reminding him once again just how unnerving this probably was for you. He knew you were on your own in Vancouver, how no one stayed permanent in your life. “Can you do me a favor though?”
“Anything.” He said, no holding back in the desperation of his voice. Wanting to show that from the moment you told him, that he’d go to whatever means necessary to show you weren’t ever going to be alone, that he’d be with you every step of the way.
“Don’t let this hurt your game, Q. You won’t be in the right headspace to have a proper conversation if you’re beating yourself up.” You told him. He knew you’d picked up on his patterns, but he never put two and two together. That’d you’d been watching, silently looking out for him. “Be the best version of yourself out there, this will still be here no matter what.”
“I know, it was just a lot… for the both of us. I didn’t mean for it to affect me on the ice.” He confessed, actually speaking his thoughts out to you instead of the usual alternative. “I’ll win one just for you.” The words came out of his mouth before he could think.
“Win one for yourself. And get some real sleep. We’ll be alright.” You’d said, your voice sounding more level than it had the last time he spoke to you.
“You too. I’ll check in with you when we land in Chicago.” He promised, exchanging good nights before hanging up. He was thankful to hear you almost back to your normal self, and the added wisdom he never noticed you had helping him realize how the impossible could somehow be accomplished, despite the hardships to come.
For the first time all week, his shoulders started to feel lighter, his lungs working properly. After a quick dinner, he’d drift off comfortably for the first time in days, his racing mind finally shutting down.
Summary: A series of events which has you and Quinn balancing growing careers and keeping secrets - A rare moment of stillness in both schedules result in a late breakfast and cracks in the wall.
Warnings: a deeper grasp at terrible parenting, cursing, poor editing I’m so sorry I just wanted to get this to you guys.
Chapter WC: 2.6k
Notes: listen, the trade really sent me into a spiral when I was already six weeks behind schedule. This has been a wooooork in progress.
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First Chapter | Previous Chapter
After a year of late night meetings, you could always tell when Quinn was going through something. He’d already given the vibe of being a homebody when he was in Vancouver, focusing solely on hockey. This year had proven how hard it was to hide away when all eyes are already on him, with the rumors surrounding his contract ending and the Olympics creeping on him. It was getting to a point where he wasn’t just wearing every mistake made, he was stewing in it.
Combine that with the growing secret, you started to wonder if his constant state of motion would come back to haunt him. It turned out you were foreshadowing everything.
You: Hope you’re okay, just saw the news.
A simple text message, yet you’d stared at the send button for 10 minutes, willing the message to go on its own. After Friday afternoon’s rejection, you weren’t sure where you stood. Your emotions couldn’t take another push, and when you finally took the plunge, you felt like you could throw up yet again.
You’d decided to put your phone down and focus on enjoying your only day off your feet, but the plan was quickly abandoned halfway through a chapter of your sappy romance novel when your phone buzzed.
Quinn: Don’t worry about me, how are you feeling?
A typical Quinn answer. His level of privacy was so high, he never wanted the attention on him, even with just two people. You shook your head as you typed away, thankful he wasn’t uncomfortable with you.
You: Curled into the couch with a book, craving Waffle House.
The cravings weren’t just something you thought about, it was something you actually obsessed over. You’d dreamed about a double plate of their hashbrowns for several days by this point, and despite your best efforts and multiple online recipes, you had yet to successfully cook them the way you needed.
Quinn: Waffle House? Like the American restaurant?
You: …Yes?
It took less than 30 seconds for your phone to start ringing, a snicker escaping as you accept the phone call.
“How the fuck do you know about Waffle House?” He questioned, the tone of baffled in his voice.
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Q.” You replied as you put your book down in your lap, stretching out on the couch more. “You really need to work on that.”
“Hey, you lucked out, everything you need to know about me is a google search away.” He huffed out, making you shrug your shoulders even though you’re alone. “Back to Waffle House.”
You rolled your eyes as you folded the book shut before pulling your knees towards your chest, picking at a stray thread at the hem of your overstretched sleep shirt. “My dad’s American. I have dual citizenship.”
“You never told..”
“Yeah well, I was a kid when my mom brought me back up.” You said, effectively cutting him off, following with a murmuring, “It’s long and complicated.”
“Yeah, well, I’m out for at least two games, I’ve got time.” He said, making your chest tighten up.
The details of your childhood were intertwined with trauma and anxiety, things that would just make a conversation awkward. You’d had friends back off after confessing your past, and more than anything you couldn’t lose what little you had with Quinn.
“I’m not trauma dumping to you over the phone.” You declared.
“Then trauma dump over here.” He said like it was the obvious solution, throwing you into a spiral.
“W-what?” You stuttered out, sitting up straight on the couch, still in shock.
“Come over, I’ll listen.” He repeated. “I’m on mandatory bed rest or I’d come to you.”
You stared at the wall, jaw dropped as he informally invited you to spend time in his apartment, somewhere you’d only been a handful of times.
“Quinn, I’m at least 15 years overdue for a therapist, you don't want to open that can of worms.”
“You said it yourself, I need to work on knowing you.” He said, throwing your words right back at you in a strategic move. “You don’t have to tell me what you’re uncomfortable with, but I’d like to know more about the mother of my child. I can’t order Waffle House, but I can get something close.”
“You’re serious?” You asked quietly, the thread you’d been picking at now twirled tightly around your finger.
“Dead serious.”
“I.. okay..” you mumbled, standing from your spot slowly. “Umm.. give like 45 minutes.”
“You don't have to get dolled up.” He joked. “I would not judge you if you’re in your pajamas.”
“I mean.. technically I am..” You laughed as you walked through the threshold of your bedroom, immediately searching for a pair of sweats. “But I’d look pretty batshit walking through your building in sleep shorts in late October.” Quinn laughed wholeheartedly as you locked eyes with your target.
“Okay, maybe you’re right about that one.” Quinn’s voice came through the phone. You didn’t miss the way his tone sounded lighter than the beginning of the phone call. “I’ll see you soon?”
“Yeah, see you soon.” You said softly as you hung up, shoulders tightening.
You thought about what you might tell him as you changed bottoms, trying not to delve too deep into the spiral that happened when you thought about your past. Knowing that you and Quinn had come from two very different places in life, you couldn’t imagine the horror on his face if you admitted too much, revealed one wrong thing. Would he look at you differently? Would he see how your confidence was just a blanket over a lifetime of sadness and dark moments?
Would he see you as broken?
You felt yourself moving in a bit of a daze, from the moment you grabbed your keys until you were in the driver seat of the car you’d had since high school. It stemmed into self doubt, feeling the effects of not fitting in properly with his world. You could pretend he belonged in your apartment, he was just a normal guy there. This energy creeped in every time you made the journey to his apartment, but this go around felt particularly thick.
As sky drizzled rain down your windshield, you suddenly felt transported into a movie. Sitting at a stoplight, you watched as a young couple walked the crosswalk in front of you, the man’s arm wrapped protectively around his love. Her smile glowing with the midday sun while one of her hands rested on his stomach, protruding slightly out of her open overcoat. You smiled softly as they laughed in each other's company, wondering if that could be you one day.
And possibly, could it be Quinn too?
———
Quinn had never been the type to sit still. When you’re a professional athlete it’s par for the course, but even off the ice or in his free time, he was always doing something to keep his mind occupied.
Naturally this made bed rest an enemy, and Quinn’s mind simply could not take that.
Sitting still meant he had time to think, having time to think meant reworking every single wrong move he’d ever made in his life. A shot that went too wide. Passing to Evander when Petey was wide open.
Re-signing with the Vancouver Canucks?
Quinn shook his head, effectively ripping the thoughts from the root as he attempted climbing off the couch, attempting a halfassed clean up as he hobbled. Pulling a few blankets onto the couch, grabbing a stray sock. Anything to make the apartment feel welcoming instead of off putting. Thanking himself for throwing his gear out on the balcony to air out instead of leaving it to simmer next to the front door.
Because every girl looooves that used glove smell.
A few days of separation from you had been more difficult than Quinn would admit, especially after such an awkward escape from the apartment. He’d wanted to text several times, typing out even more awkward apologies before immediately deleting them all together. Inviting you over was a new step forward, and he meant what he’d said about wanting to get to know you, though it wasn’t just because of the circumstances.
The chemistry had been undeniable. He remembered from the few times your circles collided, when your friends were all babbling about god knows what, but you weren’t paying attention. Your eyes had drifted, from what Quinn could notice, glancing at the memorabilia on the walls and the backs of strangers heads. Until you blinked towards him, locking eyes for a few too many moments before a smile ran across your lips. He couldn’t help but smirk shyly, how there were many others taller or more built in the room, and yet you smiled at him.
Quinn’s eyes widened when you politely broke from your group, making your way to him with a confident stride. The fabric of your black dress shined with every step, swaying halfway at your thighs. You looked like you’d dressed to impress, like you were on a secret mission.
“Fancy seeing you here, Q.” You’d told him as you leaned against the table he’d been camped out most of the evening, your fingers wrapped around a tumbler with mostly ice inside.
“Yeah well, the guys decided beating the Oilers was cause for celebration.” He’d said, placing his own drink down on the table. “You know, first win of the season.”
“Yeah? At least one of us had a great start to the night.” You’d said with a humorless laugh as you brought your glass to your red-painted lips. “Came here after a bad date.”
“Oh? Twenty minutes late?” Quinn said in an amused voice, watching as you processed the events.
“Thirty.. and his shirt was unbuttoned to like the fourth button.” You grimaced, pretending to shiver as you laughed.
“What? You don’t find belly buttons attractive?”
“Not when they have a forest growing on them.” You bounced back, effectively causing both of you to laugh. “A few of the girls convinced me to make the most of the night instead of being a hermit.”
“Yeah? And what does one do to make the most of the night?” Quinn questioned, curious what your response would be.
“Well to start, asking the handsome hockey player in front of them for a dance.” You’d stated, placing your glass next to his and extending your hand out. He let a smirk out as his hand connected with yours, immediately pulling him towards the dance floor.
Quinn was pulled back into reality when the buzzer rang, alerting him that you were at the door downstairs. He quickly dropped the clothes in the hamper and limped to the intercom, buzzing you in before taking a few quick glances at the apartment.
That’s gonna have to do, chief.
After what seemed like forever, Quinn finally heard the knock at the door, calling out a simple “come in” as he carefully slid back into the couch cushions. He looked over just as you passed the kitchen island, taking in how exhausted you looked.
“I couldn’t find a Waffle House, but there’s this restaurant by the arena that has great waffles, do you want me to see if they deliver?” Quinn offered as you sat down on the opposite end of the couch, head falling back into the cushion.
“Please, I don’t want to go anywhere else today.” You told him, pulling your feet up into the seat next to you. After a quick confirmation and sending in the order, the room grew silent before you finally spoke up again. “So, what do you want to know?”
Quinn contemplated what to ask, not wanting to hit a nerve. He wasn’t oblivious when he’d noticed your change of tone over the phone, your parents were a touchy subject, as you’d never mentioned them before today. That for a moment you let your confidence slip again for him, a snippet of vulnerability. “Just start where you see fit. You have the floor.”
He watched you take a deep breath before starting your story. “My mom had a student visa, getting an education in Colorado. Went out to a bar, met my dad, fell in love. Total romance novel vibes. Older man, thick southern accent, working on a cattle ranch.” Quinn noticed how you tapered off, exposing something wrong with the story.
“But..?”
“The thing about ranchers is that while they work their asses off, they run off anger and caffeine all day. When they come home all they want to do is drink and watch the Broncos.” You continued on, tugging on the sleeves of your sweater. “Or the bar, in his case. He wouldn’t come home until past midnight, and often didn’t even make it to the bedroom.”
Quinn’s heart sunk at the look on your face reliving the memory. He’d known he and his brothers were extremely lucky, and he was grateful for his large family. His parents were very involved in their passion for hockey, wanting the best for their sons. He never had to watch one parent rot in real time while the other handled the house.
“When I seven my mom picked me up from school and.. we didn’t go home.” Your head was drooping and your voice was barely audible to Quinn’s ears. “She didn’t stop going until we made it to Merritt. He wasn’t a great dad, but I didn’t even get to say goodbye. That messes up a kid who didn’t see him as a torrential fuck up.”
“Did you reach out when you were older?” Quinn couldn’t stop himself from asking, hoping there was some sort of hope in the dark. He was quickly shut down by the sigh that escaped your lips.
“A few years after the divorce.. there was a bad storm out at the ranch, they think his horse got spooked during a crack of lighting. The rule was never to go out alone, but..” Your voice broke as you looked up at Quinn, meeting his gaze with teary eyes. “He’d just filed for custody, the paperwork showed he was sober for over a year.”
“Fuck.” Quinn whispered, his eyes squeezing shut. “I’m so sorry.”
“My mom always expected the alcohol to get him, but when the ranch called.. she wasn’t the same after that. I think every time she looked at me, she saw his face and was heartbroken all over again.”
Quinn reached over, grabbing your hand before lightly pulling you towards him, signaling you to come closer. You crawled over, curling under his arm as he squeezed you tight, knowing nothing he could say would help the situation. “I don’t normally cry like this.” You muttered as you frantically wiped your face. Quinn shook his head before grabbing your chin, guiding you to look at him.
“You’re allowed to be sad, ya’know.” He said softly, using his thumb to wipe away a stray tear under your eyes. It gave him a moment to examine them a little deeper, noticing the lighter strands of color and how they tangle with the darker ones.
You curled into his hold a little more before your eyes fully locked with his, and suddenly his chest felt tighter. Every interaction between the two of you over the past few weeks had him feeling more and more nervous, but this moment felt different. Like if he didn’t make the right play, the moment would be gone.
He made the decision to act, slowly leaning into your space. When you didn’t immediately move he moved closer until he was inches from your face, not oblivious when your eyelids started to flutter. His lips were about to meet yours when there was a knock on the door.
Summary: Winning gold was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of Quinn's life, but the fallout of a leaked video makes him question if it was worth even going.
Warnings: The olympics (and every shitty thing that followed), 🍊 (name not said because ew), angst, an argument, cursing (should i even bother putting this warning anymore), depression cave core.
WC: A stagerring 4,174 words.
Notes: Let me give y'all a quick rundown of my week. I overworked my lower back cleaning my bathtub and couldn't move for a week, as soon as that was better I got sick (on the 4th of july of all days), posted Ch15, had a violent fever dream, got my kid sick (SAHM mom vibes), and wrote the second half of this chapter in 12 hours. Also in case anyone was curious, I wrote readers pov BEFORE the leaked phone call (2-22-26), so take that with a grain of salt.
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First Chapter | Previous Chapter
You couldn’t say you’d worked as hard as Quinn had this month, but it didn’t mean getting out of bed at 6:30 in the fucking morning wasn’t difficult. Crawling out of bed at 5 months pregnant was hard enough, and after you’d been up every other hour to go pee you weren’t surprised you bypassed your first two alarms. But you’d made a promise to Quinn that you’d watch every game, just like you did during the regular season for the NHL, so here you were. Curled up in the fuzzy blanket that lived on the couch and the jersey with Quinn’s name on the back, eyes glued to the tv.
You cheered when Boldy had gotten the goal in the first period, more than ecstatic that they’d managed to score first. A simple “it’s alright boys, we’ll get the next one.” when Makar scored in the second. Suddenly you were on the edge of your seat with the blanket drooping off your knees as the final moments of the third period wound down, dreading overtime.
Overtime was bad enough in the NHL, with the five minute 3-on-3 slots. This was a whole other ball game entirely, as it wasn’t the ten minutes like earlier in the week when Quinn scored the overtime goal, but a full fledged twenty minutes with the same winner takes it all mentality. It made your head spin, because even if it was the same thing to Quinn and his teammates, the longer time meant anything could happen.
By the time the players were on the ice, you were standing straight up and swaying from side to side with rattled nerves. Quinn had such a shitty 2025 that you couldn’t help but want this for him. When Quinn took the shot you felt your lungs stall in your chest, hoping it would make it through but literally falling just short. The look on his face when the play ended matched the one on your own, how it often felt in the world of “almost.”
And then along came Jack.
The moment was like a warp in time, moving in slow motion but also in the blink of an eye. Jack faced McDavid like he wasn’t scared of anything, McDavid losing sight of the puck while Werenski proved why he was up on the list of defensemen to watch. The poke, the swerve, the pass.
The gold medal winning shot.
You screamed like you’d just won the game yourself, knowing you were pissing off Quinn’s neighbors downstairs. Your cheeks were hurting from how hard you were smiling. You’d never felt more proud to be American than you did in that moment.
More importantly you’d felt so proud of Jack, someone you’d met only a month ago and had already become a prominent part of your life. The media and Devils fans had really put him through the ringer lately, and he’d proven without a shadow of a doubt that not only did he deserve to be there, but that he still had that spark. Watching it all unfold made your hormones overload for the hundredth time this week, and soon you were on the couch crying an ocean while they delivered the medals and raised the flag. It was such an embarrassing sobfest that you couldn’t help but be a little quirky with your congratulations to Quinn, snapping a close up photo at an unattractive angle of the tears dangling from your chin.
You: sobbing on the couch. couldn’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you guys. 🥇🦅
Quinn: I apologize in advance. I’m already three beers deep.
You knew Quinn was on his phone, his Instagram stories were growing longer and longer by the minute. If something was being posted about the win or Jack or the team in general, it was on his very public story. His phone was probably blowing up with messages congratulating him, and he still made sure to respond promptly and honestly to you. A promise he made and kept.
It wasn’t long before the broadcast on the tv was making you giggle, Quinn toasted like a marshmallow and hanging on for dear life to Jack and Hellebuyck, babbling a barely legible sentence. Letting loose wasn’t always Quinn’s specialty, and after all he’d pushed through he earned it more than anyone would ever know.
The excitement from the win was relentless, you could only imagine how it was in Italy. Quinn himself was fucked up on a cocktail of adrenaline and alcohol, but you were the one who felt like you were drunk. Your day went on, doing absolutely nothing at home and getting the same updates everyone else was. You were content with it, if you were in the same shoes you’d be in a bush before midnight. And if it weren’t for the fact there were probably staff members wrangling the team like a bunch of toddlers on a field trip, he probably already would be.
By the time 7:00 rolled around in St. Paul, you decided you had spent enough time loafing around and started getting ready for bed after the early as shit start. You collected a pair of cozy pants and the stolen hoodie you now faithfully wore to bed and walked into the bathroom across the hall from your room. You’d just started putting everything down when your phone flashed with Quinn’s new contact photo, the one of him downing a Michelob Ultra fresh off the ice.
“Hi, Q.” You spoke softly, joy still evident in your tone but wary enough of just how inebriated he was.
“Hiiiii Doll.” Quinn’s voice was gone, replaced by deep, hoarse, and extremely slurred sounds. The Olympic village really was the place to be.
“How are you doing there, buddy?” You giggled, pulling your hair out of the lazy bun you slapped on earlier.
“I’m like.. stuuupid drunk right now.” He wasn’t yelling over loud background music, telling you that he’d either safely made his way back to his room or casually slipped out of the chaos just to call you. The idea of the latter had your chest doing palpitations already.
“Yeah? Is Jack with you?”
“Nooo. I think he’s trying to take over the DJ booth again.” Quinn stated, and by the grunting sounds between sentences, you envisioned him turning around a corner outside to look in the window. “He’s fine, it’s whatever.”
“Well are you okay?” You asked with concern, leaning against the bathroom counter.
“Oh yeah, I’m peachy. We just won gold, you know.”
“I’m aware, Quinny.” You replied, your worry of him possibly being anxious and alone in a different country melting away. “What’d you need?”
“I just.. I wanted to tell you something, doll.” He droned out. “But if I don’t do it now I’ll never do it.”
“What is it?”
“I love you.” The words came out fast and blurt-like. “That’s it, I love you. I want to actually date you and you can have my babies.”
You bit your lip, both to keep from laughing and shrieking like a middle schooler. “Quinny, I am having your baby.” You managed to say after a few moments, holding it together by a split hair.
“Oh shit, you’re totally right!” Quinn giggled on the other side. Read that again, he giggled at you. “How ‘bout that.”
This is the father of my child. You thought to yourself, your face now covered with a toothy grin. “I like you a lot, Quinn.” You confessed softly, twirling a loose section of hair around your finger nervously. Quinn was past three sheets to the wind, and if he remembered this conversation at all it could be considered an Olympic sport. “I’m thankful you’re in my life.”
“I wish you could’ve been here, doll.”
“I’m more prone to the private side of your life.”
“But you shouldn’t be.”
“How about we have this discussion when you’re coherent.”
“Yeah we can talk about it when I’m inherent.”
A small laugh escaped as you pushed off the counter, turning to face the mirror. Your face was still shining with joy, despite knowing it would be difficult for him to recall any part of this phone call tomorrow. “Go get yourself a violent hangover Quinn. I’ll see you in the states.”
“Yes ma’am.” He giggled again from the other side before you hung up.
“Oh my fucking god.” You were finally able to let the laughs out, holding onto the stone for stability. In the moment it wasn’t about the confessions either of you expressed, but the unbridled joy in Quinn’s voice combined with the absolute idiot he is when he’s shitfaced.
After a shower just hot enough to ease the ever growing ache in your hips and a thorough trip through your skin care you crawled into bed, finally feeling the effect of the early wake up call. You knew in the morning the aftermath of the phone call would probably carry a different tune, but for the first time in a while you felt hopeful for what your future could be.
—————-
Quinn’s eyes drifted open as the pilot announced the soon-to-be landing in Minneapolis. Normally that sound was music to his ears, a signal that he would be home within the next hour. This flight was less exhausting than the one from SNL, but the impending conversation was not going to be fun, especially with how beat his brain already was.
Everything in Miami was a bit of a blur. Judging by videos he’d later see online, he wore that stupid fucking grin and couldn’t keep him thumb down wherever he went. Quite literally the lamest way of showing your excitement. Instead of being allowed to properly crash in a hotel room and sleep off the night before, Jack and Quinn instead got pulled away for something he never saw himself doing: Damage control.
What was supposed to be an exciting moment for not only the team but the entire country quickly turned into an absolute political dumpster fire. One two minute video, one phone call, and suddenly it was interviews and phone calls and too much attention all at once. He’d expressed that he was proud of the win for both teams, excited to go to the State of the Union, but it wasn’t enough to stop the waves of hatred.
To make matters worse, he hadn’t heard from you since the night of the win. Even better, he didn’t remember a single fucking thing he said to you in that 3 minute phone call.
You hadn’t gone longer than two days without speaking to him since Christmas, and there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make him forget how that made him feel. There weren’t enough distractions in the weeks ahead to keep his mind off of what was going through yours. Not enough words that could fix whatever he had done. What had he said on that short phone call that suddenly made you go dark?
He’d try to call multiple times, send countless texts, all unanswered. If the backlash from that leaked fucking phone call wasn’t bad enough, now he was going through PTSD from December. He’d become mute with almost every interaction, trying his best to just keep polite and professional despite the storm that was awaiting him back home. On ice it was very apparent, getting only two secondary assists in three fucking games. Whoever he was in Milan he left there.
When the movement finally came to a grinding halt, Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. You’d successfully avoided him before he flew to New York for the Tonight Show, but you couldn’t do it forever. He wouldn’t let you do it forever. Whatever it was that he’d done or said, he needed to fix it.
“Doll?” Quinn called out into the nearly abandoned apartment. The jacket he’d abandoned on the barstool was right where he’d left it Sunday night, which was uncharacteristically unlike you. You always went behind him and tucked it into the coat closet where it belonged, trying to keep the apartment clean like it was your job. The souvenirs he’d grabbed for you and the baby in Milan were still on the counter untouched. If you’d even left your room at all, there was no sign of it.
Quinn looked over at your bedroom door, seeing a faint glow from underneath the gap. Either you had fallen asleep without turning off your lamp, or you were actually ignoring him, and that last option was much worse. The clock on the stove flashed the time of 10:45 as he walked across the open living space, knocking softly when he reached his destination.
“Doll?” Absolute silence, again. Quinn couldn’t take it anymore, and while he wanted to respect your privacy, it was time to rip the bandaid off. Quinn turned the doorknob gently, poking his head in and hoping you were fast asleep in your bed. But no, your eyes were wide open and boring holes straight into his skull. “Look, I know I did something to upset you but..”
“You’ve done more than enough to upset me, Quinn.” Your voice was gravelly and hoarse, as if you’d been screaming or crying for days. Judging by how your usually cleaned room had become a bit of a cluttered cave, Quinn didn’t doubt that was the case.
“Can you just tell me what I did to make you upset? Was it something I said that night?”
“No, it was not something you said during that phone call. In fact, that phone call was the last time I saw the Quinn I thought I knew.” You’d pushed the covers off your lap, as if preparing yourself for a battle. Quinn took in your distraught figure. Your hair was in a haphazard bun with stray hairs sticking out, dark circles surrounding your usually bright eyes, and the unmistakable signs of heart break in your stature. “What good did you think it did for you?”
“Did what do it for me?”
“Partying with an absolutely idiot of an FBI Director, laughing at the expense of the women’s team, a team your mother helped build by the way. Defending your fucking actions and saying it’s ‘not politcal’.” You’d wobbled your way onto your feet, legs shaking with untapped rage. It was absolutely haunting to Quinn. “And don’t even get me started on fucking Miami.”
Quinn’s face scrunched in confusion. “It’s not all political.”
“Quinn, it fucking is!” You cried out, throwing your arms in the air. “Just because I haven’t lived here very long, doesn’t mean I’m not affected by what that fat fucking cheeto has done. How unbelievably difficult it is to restart here. There is a difference between pride and straight fucking ignorance.”
“What are you saying?”
“I get that you are proud to be American, and believe me when I say that night I was too. But that asshole that you and Jack and all those other guys were so fucking excited to meet has ruined lives. Lives you represented in Italy. Fans who buy your jerseys and watch your games and chatter non-stop about how you’re the best at your job. And you stood there like a good little political pawn. He doesn’t give a shit about any of you, he’s just happy he got a fucking win while burning this country to the ground.”
“What do you want me to fucking do about it, Doll? What’s done is done, I can’t take it back now.”
“Not that you would.” you grumbled under your breath, an action that sent a new form of frustration through his veins.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You wouldn’t take a single thing you did back.” Quinn visibly watched the last bits of your patience snap, standing tall despite shaking from the confrontation. “You’ve gone on and on and on about how the men and women’s team are close and blah blah blah, but I saw the frustration on Hillary Knight’s face. How she’s having to convey the feelings of her team. And my god, am I glad she got to take that fucking jab at you assholes on SNL, because she fucking earned that shit. That’s the kind of athlete I hope our daughter looks up to.”
“You know damn well I didn’t… our daughter?” Quinn’s heart fell directly out of his ass, every ounce of anger turning to guilt in an instant. It was suddenly very obvious why you were upset, why your own pride was out on the line. “We’re having a girl?”
You rolled your eyes, walking right past him and out to the living room. Right there on the coffee table sat a basket filled with little pink clothes, accessories, and care items a baby might need along with some of Quinn’s favorite cheat day snacks. A little picture book next to a baseball cap proudly proclaiming him to be a Girl Dad. He’d been in this apartment two days before and didn’t even notice it sitting there.
“I was so fucking excited to get your reaction.” Your anger still hadn’t subsided, and really Quinn couldn’t blame you. Everything he’d done over the past week, everything the men in his field did that harmed women as a whole. Even if he didn’t see how before, it suddenly made so much sense. It wasn’t just about the women’s team, it was about all the women they represented. “And now I don’t even fucking care. Tell whoever you want.”
“Doll, wait.” Quinn grabbed your wrist as you turned back towards your room, as if you were already prepared to lock yourself back up. “Please don’t do this.”
“Quinn, that poor excuse for a leader has done more than enough to harm so many women and children. There’s proof all over the internet, across the fucking country.” you stated, almost violently yanking your arm out of his grip. That hurt most of all, that you couldn’t even stand being touched by him, when a week before you were serenity when his mind was chaos. “If that’s how you see us, then how can I believe that you could ever think she could be something in this world?”
“She will be, she already fucking is, Doll.” Quinn’s ribs felt like they were caving into his lungs, clinging for the ropes at the edge telling him that this could be saved. That he hadn’t just lost the one thing in his life that made him more than just what he was on the ice. “You and her have changed me so much, for the better.”
“For the better?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Who I saw in those photos, in that club.. That wasn’t the man I fell for.”
“No Doll, you’re right. That wasn’t him.” Quinn rubbed his tired eyes, the hole he’d dug himself into getting deeper and deeper by the second. The words he’d said to you back in January came to mind, back when the biggest worry on his mind was making you comfortable with the possibility of a relationship.
“Hockey players do stupid shit. It’s in our DNA, we are born and bred to be dumb motherfuckers who get their asses caught in controversies all the time.”
“I won a gold medal and suddenly I’m the same man I swore up and down I wouldn’t be.” Quinn’s voice was soft, not a brave cell left in his body. All his work, all the effort and phone calls and nights of wondering if you’d ever open up to him had completely washed away. He was utterly broken as he dropped to his knees, desperately clawing for the last bit of hope he could find between the two of you. “I have put you through so much fucking bullshit, and all for fucking what? Glory? Magnificence? It means fucking nothing if I lose you.”
Quinn was never a crier. He was always really good at bottling up his emotions, not even letting tears fall when he was injured. But there on the living room floor, with his whole world crumbling around him, he let them. They poured down his cheeks violently, refusing to stop no matter how badly he wanted them to. “I can’t lose you, Doll. Not again. Not ever.” He sobbed, collapsing into a ball on the floor.
He’d expected you to leave him there, to walk back into your room and let him rot like he deserved. In between sobs, however, he felt those soft hands slip over his shoulders. Felt the circles soothe his muscles between shakes. And then slowly, he felt your body crumple around his, your knees tucked close to his legs and your bump pressed against his ribs.
“I can’t forgive you so easily this time,” you finally said after the apartment once again grew quiet, except for the occasional sniffle from one of you. “But just because I’m upset and hurt and you’re an absolute fucking idiot doesn’t mean I’m letting go of what we have.” Quinn felt you lift yourself up off of him, giving him the room to move up as well. You reached up and wiped his cheeks slowly, finally touching him for the first time since New York.
“I can’t promise you I won’t be a fuckwit again.” Quinn stated, sitting on his heels and reaching for your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “But I will never, ever let you think I don’t believe in you, or our daughter, or any other woman who wants to change the world.” He watched the last remaining ounces of anger release from your shoulders, leaving behind two broken humans. “I do have one question, though.”
Your eyebrows scrunched together, as if not sure what else there could possibly be left to ask. “What’s that?”
“We had a phone call at like three in the morning in Milan.” Your shoulders immediately started shifting with suppressed laughter, instantly making him nervous about just how stupid he was when absolutely plastered. “Oh fuck, what did I say?”
You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, shaking your head much lighter than you had at the beginning of the fight. “You told me you loved me and that you wanted me to have your babies.”
Oh my fucking god, you are never drinking again.
Quinn tugged at his face so hard his eyesockets were past his cheekbones, dreading just how fucking stupid he was.
“I also told you that we should have that conversation when you were more coherent, and you agreed that we should do it when you were more inherent.”
Note to self, AA meetings go on the schedule.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Quinn sighed as he stood up before extending his hands to you. “For the love of all that is holy please don’t tell Jack that.”
“I won’t be telling Jack shit. He’s on my shit list too.” You expressed, brushing some dust bunnies off your legs before standing straight. “How’s his mouth by the way?”
“Busted the fuck up.”
“Hmm. Good.” You shrugged, turning to look at the gift basket once more. “It really was supposed to be a sweet gesture.”
“It was, Doll.” Quinn sighed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you laid your head against his. “I’m sorry I ruined it for you.”
“We’ll get through it.” You expressed, confident yet tired. “For now, it’s almost midnight and ripping your heart out has exhausted the fuck out of me.” Quinn laughed as he walked with you to your room, already having small ideas to make your life easier after all that you’d done for him while he was gone. Anything to make the hurt less agonizing for you.
As he crossed the threshold and started picking up the few dishes and food packages that had accumulated in the room, he spotted an old hoodie that had followed him from college hanging off the footboard. He tried fighting back the smile as met your eyes, seeing yours widened horrifically. “Now doll, I know damn well that was in my bedroom closet.”
“It was. It smelled like you.”
Not all is lost, Hughesy.
Quinn just laughed, putting down the small stash of clutter and pulling the one he was wearing off, hanging it in place of the old one. “I’ll help you clean up tomorrow before my nap. Get some sleep, Doll.” He then picked up the stolen hoodie and the pile he’d already started on and walked out.
After a quick drop off, he looked over the hoodie as he made his way to his own room. A few of your hairs were tangled in the fibers of the hood and the fabric smelled like a mixture of his own fading scent with your body wash. Your half with the lavender and peppermint hadn't faded either, telling him that even though you had probably imagined him as a dartboard all week, you’d still been wearing his hoodie to bed.
Summary: a series of events which has you and Quinn balancing growing careers and keeping secrets - despite the amount of research you and Quinn go through preparing for the first trimester, sometimes things slip through the cracks.
Notes: this definitely should’ve been done sooner, but instead I went to the boy aquarium and got stood up by half the Canucks (good news, Brock’s okay!)
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First Chapter - Previous Chapter
Vancouver is not a warm city, especially not in mid-October. You’ve often found yourself in 2-3 layers by this time of the year, or sitting cozy under a blanket with fuzzy socks while sipping a warm drink. But this time around, you had become the textbook definition of a space heater. You were still wearing your summer wardrobe around the house, and the only drink you’d been downing at this point was ice cold water. And you could not seem to get enough of it.
And that’s not the only change to your “normal”, as you’d now become the spokesperson for tums with the amount of heartburn you’ve been experiencing, and you’re already starting to feel like your brand new Victoria’s Secret bra is already tighter. And goddamn, you paid good fuckin’ money for that.
Your list of changes has grown to about a mile long, and you HATE change. You are by no means a stickler for routine, but when something is off you can feel it, and lately it’s ALL been off. What kind of batshit crazy person has the air conditioning on full blast in the fall in Canada? You apparently.
When Quinn called to check in with you in Chicago, there hadn’t been much to report, other than your intense craving for chicken nuggets. You’d told him how his unprompted Venmo had been used wisely in the eyes of his unborn child, to which he couldn’t help but laugh.
By the next phone call in Washington D.C., however, you’d spoken your mind about everything that was happening. It had become overwhelming, and the man did say if you needed anything, he’d be there. At that moment, you needed to vent.
“Do you run hot?” You’d asked him as soon as you picked up the phone. No hellos, hi how are ya’s, or anything. Straight to the point, no time for bullshit.
“I- what?” He asked, a little taken back by your questions. “I mean, I guess so?”
“This kid is boiling me from the inside out.” You blurted as you pushed your shoes off by the door, just coming home from your shift. “That might be why I am so fuckin bloated.”
“I’m.. sorry?” He said, not necessarily out of sarcasm but with confusion in his voice.
“Quinn, I’m dead serious right now. I can’t be more than what, five, six weeks along? How the fuck does this shit work so fast?” You ranted on, ripping off your work pants. “I even wore my athletic slacks to work today and I still felt like I was in a sauna.”
“I mean, yeah. I run pretty hot, but I’m a professional athlete. I work out for a living, it’s hard to gauge on that kind of thing.” He explained, and you could tell he was trying to just stay on your good side until he could get home.
“Well, if this is how it’s going to be for the next 8 months, I’m apologizing in advance for being a raging bitch.” You stated as you started your daily hot shower, the only thing that brought you any form of relief from the bloating in your abdomen. “I can not stop drinking water because I’m so fuckin thirsty, but the water is just making me feel more bloated.” You’d put him on speaker phone so you could finish stripping out of your sweat-soaked clothes.
“Yeah, I read about that.”
“And I- wait. You read about that?” You asked, eyebrows contorted with confusion.
“Yeah, I’ve been reading up on pregnancy symptoms and what you can do to ease them.” He stated in a non-chalant manner, as if it were obvious.
“You’ve been doing research?” You replied, awkwardly reaching for the hooks on your tight bra.
“Yeah? What you can do to help with nausea, what other symptoms you might be feeling, what I can do to help from the other side of the continent.” He said as you stared at your phone, particularly dumbfounded. “I told you, I want to help you.”
“I just didn’t think you’d have the time for..”
“I sit on a plane every other day on these road trips, I have nothing to do but research or worry. And frankly, we’ve both done too much of the latter.” He told you bluntly.
He wasn’t wrong about it, but the almost daily phone calls with Quinn had become a safe haven, knowing someone was there for you for the first time since you’d moved there. You’d gotten so used to being on your own, it was new having someone to lean on when it got to be too much. He’d really stepped up, and you couldn’t be more thankful, especially with all the loose ends in the air.
“I’ve got two more stops after the game tomorrow night, and then I’ll be home late Thursday night. When are you free?” He asked, a strange expression of eagerness in his voice. You’d never really gotten to know this side of Quinn, being how your relationship was never more than that of the passionate variety.
“I’m.. off Friday.” You said, trying to remember your work schedule off the top of your head. “You could grab breakfast and head over here, and we can discuss everything then. Work a plan.”
“Great. It’s a date.” He declared, and the word itself made your heart do a small flip. You tried to brush it off to the odd heart palpitations you’d been experiencing recently, yet another peculiar phenomenon in your new normal. “I’ve gotta get going, but I’ll call you when I get to the hotel in Pittsburgh.”
“Sounds good. And thanks again for the lifetime supply of chicken nuggets.” You told him, making his laugh yet again. You couldn’t help but smile with him, the initial horrors of the last week starting to relax.
“Of course, now enjoy your shower.” He said with a smile in his voice before the line went dead. Your chest did that weird flutter again as you finished undressing before climbing in, letting the hot streams pour down all over your aching muscles and flooded belly.
——
Quinn was never known to be the confident type. His fans, teammates, and leadership would prove time and time again that he was a great hockey player, but to him it was just another day at work. Just one more game, pushing the limits of how long one guy should be on the ice.
But when he got a text message from you saying “I’m not gonna lie, that was hot” about him shooting an empty netter from 65 feet away through two different Dallas Stars, he couldn’t help but feel his chest puff up just a little.
Riding the high of knowing you’re now actively watching him play along with the three game winning streak, he entered PPG Paints Arena with his head high. Confident that he’d finally gotten back into his rhythm, that his team had found it’s groove.
Man, was he sorely mistaken.
It looked really great at first, with Conor scoring early into the first period. It didn’t take long before the team got sloppy, as if they could pull in from behind like they usually did. Wrong. By the third period Quinn was convinced that Marc-André Fleury had developed a youth potion and gave it to his drafting team as a parting gift, because how the fuck had his team gotten out run like this?
Nashville was worse, as he’d found himself back in the same place in his head he’d been in countless times. It’s a 23 man roster, but the C on his chest reminded him time and time again that he shouldn’t keep letting this happen. The injuries were piling up, the plays were getting loose, and he was getting too much fuckin’ ice time. By this point, all he wanted was to just go home.
It hit him on the plane ride home, when he tried to force himself to sleep, that the usual routine for a terrible road trip was no longer an option. He knew that you were still able to have sex, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it now. He had made a promise to himself to not just be there simply so he could sleep with you, but to be the support you needed. Didn’t stop the thoughts from crossing his mind, mentally slapping himself for even thinking them in the first place.
In an effort to avoid the inevitable, he drove straight to his apartment, not stopping until he hit the shower. Thinking maybe the freezing water would pull his head out of the situation. All it did was remind him that men on average think about something sexual 19 times a day, and he was apparently having all of them at the same fuckin’ time.
He cursed his peanut-sized brain as he forced himself face first into the mattress, determined to press the thoughts away. This was just a vice that needed to be broken, that he needed to show more respect towards the mother of his unborn child. He’d gone without before, it was a piece of cake. And yet hours later he was staring at the ceiling, thoughts of you on top of him like you belonged there.
He almost called and canceled the next morning, not confident enough in himself to keep his hands off of you. Not good, not good at all, he’d thought as he grabbed the brown paper bag with everything you'd been craving this week. The stairs felt like hail Mary’s, once again fueling his hatred for the decrepit building. Thoughts of happily paying child support just to keep both of you far away from this complex.
All these thoughts escaped right out the window when you opened the door, wearing black leggings and a red tank top, hair up in a high ponytail. You are absolutely, totally and utterly fucked, Hughes.
“Good morning.” You beamed as he passed off the array of snacks, turning into your small kitchen. He followed along with you, examining the apartment as he passed. It was clear you’d been living there longer than he’d known you, with decorations on the wall expertly placed and the furniture legs indenting into the carpet. You’d maintained it well, better than he could’ve ever hoped to do in his own home. Uniform recipe books on a cabinet, cute little rugs on the floor in front of the sink and stove. A little slice of paradise in the otherwise impaired structure.
“You’re awfully cheerful.” He spoke suspiciously, leaning against the counter while you put away his selection of snacks.
“I’m giving myself a false sense of security.” You replied. “You look like you slept like shit.”
“Hardly at all.” He choked out watching you bending into the fridge. He had usually been so good at maintaining some sense of control, tried to be some form of gentleman-like, even when he was here for exactly what he was currently craving. It felt like his body was running purely on instinct, reality slipping with the way you looked absolutely breathtaking. The way you glowed in the sunshine pouring through the windows. He was convinced he was not going to survive this conversation without jumping your bones. “Had a uhh.. hip pain.”
Hip pain? What are you, 50? His internal monologue was quickly growing its own personality, another sign of delusion from the lack of sleep. He was even convinced of his small lie and by the look on your face, you weren’t either. By the grace of the universe itself you let it go, moving over to the couch with the breakfast burritos he’d brought for breakfast.
“I’m not gonna lie, I've already overthought this conversation 100 times.” You told him as you sat down, unwrapping the burrito like a Christmas present. “I know you said you got me and I’m part of your responsibility now, but it didn’t shut my brain up.”
“There’s a lot to go over, I can understand if you overwhelmed yourself.” He breathed, trying not to laugh as you practically made love to your food. “What’s the most daunting thing for you? We’ll just get the hard thoughts out of the way first.”
“How are we going to balance this? You’re a celebrity, with actual fans. Girls wear your number in every stadium you visit.” You commented. “It’s not exactly an ideal situation for you.”
“That’s what my agent’s for, I’m not concerned at all about that. I’m focused on you.”
Really focused on you. The inner monologue had apparently morphed into a hormonal monster, stealing glances at your curves every so often as the conversation progressed. Picturing you carrying his child, holding a bundle of blankets in your arms. He could feel Anti-Quinn’s ego inflating the more he thought about it. In fact, if Anti-Quinn were a cat, he would’ve already been doused with a spray bottle.
“You’re sure you want to commit to this? There are other options.” You said to him, catching him off guard. Did I say something to make you think I was bullshitting?
“It’s not up to me.” He stated immediately, the most confident he’d been about this for the last month. He wasn’t going to endure body changes, hormonal shifts, or any emotional trauma by deciding to back out. “Do you want to?”
He watched as a small smile tugged up on your lips, making him wonder if you were seeing the picture he was seeing. Painting the spare bedroom in his apartment, putting together a crib, and learning how to change a diaper on a teddy bear. “I keep having these dreams.” You admitted, picking at your thumbnail. “A little girl, giving me a run for my money. Little legs running after you after practice. I want it so bad.”
“Then why do you seem so hesitant?”
“I’ve been on my own since I was 18. I don’t want fuck it up like my parents did.” You mumbled, your emotions faltering.
“I think that might be a sign you’ll be great.” Quinn said, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “You don’t want them to go through the things you went through. And they’ll have a family. A fearless mom, a nervous dad, two bat-shit crazy uncles and two grandparents who will consider you both family, regardless of the circumstances.”
“Did you just Captain me?” You laughed, a smirk bouncing between the both of you.
“Depends, do you find it attractive?” Quinn casually flirted as the anxiety dissolved.
“Oh you have no idea, Q.” You whispered, biting your lip. “These hormones are no fucking joke.”
Welcome back to Hornyville. Population Quinn Hughes. Quinn was losing ground with every passing moment, desperately trying not to pounce on you. Your pouty lips, a new form of siren call. It’d been six long weeks, according to your math, and his body was screaming as you gave him the same opportunity you always did.
He held on tight, kissing your cheek before making up the excuse that he needed to call his agent. The sad look in your eyes made him regret his decision almost immediately, but he was nothing if not stubborn when it came to his weaknesses. As he slid into his car he let out a sigh of relief, the self-torture ending for now.
Summary: a series of events which have you and Quinn balancing growing careers and keeping secrets- The Pacific Northwest and Quinn Hughes have one thing in common: Full of Surprises. What will your unexpected afternoon have in store?
Warnings: cursing (as always), lots of speaking, fluff for fucking once.
WC: 2.4k
Notes: heeeeeeey.. long time no see eh? I was halfway done with this chapter when the incident occurred (not anti-Quinn approved, btw), and the entire situation left me not only depressed but in a huge writing slump for weeks. When I finally got back to it, I wasn’t confident in my decision to even post it, and even when I was? Motherhood creeped in. Not to worry, D&D is back on and we’re going to see if we can’t catch up on the timeline. (But knowing me probably not, oops.)
As always, if you wanna be on the Taglist, let me know. If you no longer want to be on the Taglist, I completely understand. Please bring it to my attention!❤️
First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Tying off the last bag of clothes to donate felt like a victory, knowing it was the last daunting task left of this move. The final piece of furniture in the apartment was just your bed, already scheduled for pick up the morning you flew out of your hometown. For the first time in your life you were unemployed, much to the dismay of your colleagues. There was no physical trace of you left in Vancouver.
“This is so surreal, Q.” You exclaimed as you triple checked your apartment, every drawer and cabinet as clean as the day you moved in. “I don’t know how I managed to pack up four years worth of shit in two weeks.”
“I don’t know how you managed to stay in that dingy apartment complex for four years.” Quinn laughed back. The echo in the speaker had told you he was in a car, though you weren’t sure where he could’ve possibly gone. “You all packed up?”
“Just about. The only evidence that I live here is my bed.” You snickered, closing the final cabinet door. “That dude who bought the dresser tried to lowball me again.”
“How do you lowball a $40 dollar dresser?” Quinn scoffed as a small clicking noise appeared in the background.
“Well, I didn’t know we had to carry it down five flights of stairs.” You mocked in a fake deep voice. “Bitch! I told you I was on the top level of my complex, and it was only four flights of fuckin’ stairs.”
“Worst four flights of stairs I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.” Quinn grumbled.
“You never complained about them when you knew what came afterwards.” A smirk was on your lips.
“Yeah, well I’m complaining about them now.” Quinn proclaimed. “The smell is absolutely putrid.”
“You play fucking hockey, I know it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever smelled.”
“My gear doesn’t smell like mold, doll.” Quinn argued, using that damn nickname again.
“Okay, fair point. Is the gear smell something I’m going to have to get used to?” You asked, moving on to check your closets.
“No, the gear stays at the arena.” Quinn explained, the door to the car he was in slamming shut. “Equipment managers deal with it during the season. I don’t even bring workout clothes home.”
“I guess that makes sense. What are you doing?”
“Oh, just doing some sightseeing. There were a few things I wanted to do while I was here.”
“In Seattle? Haven’t you been there a few times already?”
“Well yeah. It’s a big area, full of things to do.” His voice sounded like he was out of breath, like he was climbing a mountain. “Have you ever been?”
“Fuck no, too expensive.” You huffed. “Maybe one day I’ll get to travel to all the fun places.”
“That’s too bad, Seattle has something for everyone.” He huffed out, exhaling harshly.
“Dude, are you okay?” You asked with concern.
“I told you, I fucking hate these stairs.”
You stopped dead in your tracks, your breathing staggering as you processed what he said. You did a full 180 and raced for the front door, practically ripping it off the hinges just as Quinn made it up the final step.
“Hello, doll.” Quinn breathed, his chest shifting to account for how fast he ran up the stairs. You stood there, mouth ajar as you took in the figure in front of you. And despite the exhaustion in his features, he had a proud smile from him managing to surprise you.
“Y- you..” You stuttered, standing shocked in the musty hallway. He was right, it’s fucking gross out there. “You’re here?”
“I’m here.” He beamed, walking over and holding your upper arms to stabilize you. “They gave us the day off, so I thought I’d come see if you needed any last minute help.”
“Quinn! You didn’t get in until like 1:00 last night!” You gasped, your breathing still shaky, as if you’d just jogged up the steps instead. “That was like a three hour drive.”
“Doesn’t matter, I saw an opportunity and I took it.” He expressed. “Plus, I wanted to see you.”
“You wanted to see me?” You questioned, more baffled than surprised. “You spent 3 hours driving to a city that is mourning you like a dead husband just to see me?”
“That, and I know you sold your car, so I figured I could help you with any last minute errands you needed.” He said, jingling the keys to his rental car. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“Let me get my shoes.” You sighed, knowing by now that there was no changing his mind. You turned into your wide open door, with Quinn following behind you.
“Holy shit, it’s like you never lived here.” Quinn breathed, looking around the bare apartment. “You did all of this in two weeks?”
“Mhmm.” You nodded, walking around the pile of boxes to locate your coat and tennis shoes. “This is all that’s left.”
“How much did you get rid of?” He queried, his eyes looking over the small amount of boxes. “There’s no way you got everything you wanted in there.”
“Most of the kitchen, everything but the books in the living room, and almost all of my clothes.” You explained, tugging the collar of your sweatshirt over your head. “They didn’t really fit anymore.” When the garment came off, your sight exposed Quinn staring at your abdomen with wide eyes. You looked down, worried something was wrong until you remembered he hadn’t seen you since your bump really started showing.
“I’m sorry for staring,” he managed to choke out, blinking rapidly. “I just.. wow.”
“I had a bump when you left, Quinn.”
“You also dealt with a month and a half of bloating, that looks like an actual baby bump.” He defended as you pulled your winter coat over your arms. “Can I?”
“Of course you can.” You permitted as his hands came to your belly, resting over the spot you swore you were feeling movement under. “They’re not kicking yet, but I can tell they’re swimming around in there.” Quinn’s smile was unwavering as his hands curved around your bump, as if it was how it was always supposed to be.
“When do you find out?” Quinn questioned, practically forcing himself to pull his hands away from your belly.
“Not sure, my anatomy scan was scheduled for the end of the month and the OB in St. Paul hasn’t gotten back with me.” You explained, grabbing a bag of donations. Quinn attempted to grab the last few bags before you could grab another, insisting that he can handle it and that you shouldn’t carry it down four flights of stairs. “I haven’t been carrying these down the stairs.”
“Well then what have you been doing?” He questioned in a confused tone as you pushed your door open and walked to the guard rail at the landing. You pulled the bag over the edge and looked down, like you’d done several times over the last few weeks, before lining the shot and dropping it. Quinn watched it fall and fall until it finally hit the dingy carpet on the bottom floor with a thud, before turning to look back in your eyes. “Impressive.”
————
Quinn couldn’t wipe the crooked smile off of his face if he’d tried. The day he’d had with you had him feeling the way he did when he was with his brothers on the lake: easy, relaxed, with no worries about saying anything wrong or right. Spending time with you felt natural now, with no need to impress or worry about saying the wrong thing. Quinn felt like there would have to be a hundred phone calls before it could amount to a fraction of.. this?
The two of you were laying comfortably on your sides, with your laptop on the mattress between you playing a ‘cult classic’ Quinn had never heard of. Something to the nature of time warps and antici..pation!
“When they show it in theatres it’s a massive spectacle.” You explained, a chocolate covered strawberry between your fingers.
“Like how?” Quinn laughed softly, reaching for a napkin to wipe his face.
“The audience will dress up in costumes like the characters, throw rice during the wedding, that kind of thing.” You explained to him casually before taking a bite and licking your lips. Quinn’s heart began to race, desperately wanting to go for it before having to return to the real world. Carefully hiding his expression behind the napkin.
Just kiss her, you loser.
Quinn turned his head back to the movie as the antagonist brings his experiment to life, his eyes squinting. “There is so fucking much happening right now.”
“Trust me babe, it gets worse.” You said casually, forcing Quinn’s chest to falter entirely for a few moments.
“Was this even a box office hit?”
“No, that’s why it’s a cult classic.” You stated, putting the stem of the strawberry in the top of the pizza box. “A small but dedicated group who won’t let it die. Passionate about it.”
Quinn nodded at the explanation, knowing full well how passionate fanbases could be. The last few weeks were a madhouse in the city he’d smuggled himself back into, but the one he was with now welcomed him with open arms.
Quinn sat through the rest of the movie with minimal conversation, aside from the occasional question regarding just how mental shit was going on in the movie. “Doll, this movie is terrible.”
“Well yeah, it’s a Rocky Horror Picture Show.”
“I thought it was called that because the guy’s name was Rocky.”
“It is, but it’s also rocky, like a bumpy road.” You explained, talking with your hands like you often did when you got to talk about things that interested you. A little trait Quinn had noticed over FaceTime the last few months.
“How do you know about so much weird shit?” Quinn laughed, closing the laptop as the credits rolled.
“I was an only child with unlimited internet access. I’m talking chronically online.” You spoke about it like it was almost a burden. “Rotted my brain quite a bit, to be honest.”
“You don’t seem worse for wear.” Quinn said, lightening your expression.”But I’ll make a note, definitely limit the kiddo’s internet time.”
“If all goes well I don’t want them on the internet at all.” You scoffed. “Kids did fine without screens before us, what’s the point now?”
Quinn’s smirk stayed prominent on his lips, feeling relief about actually talking about future plans. You wanted your kid to live in the world, not through a screen. Quinn could make that happen, Quinn wanted that to happen.
“Besides, the kid is gonna be so hooked on hockey they won’t have time to be on a screen.” You laughed, holding your head up on your hand. “I had a great day, Q.”
Do it, you idiot.
“I did too,” Quinn said, not knowing what words he could follow with.
Oh, I don’t know. How about I’m thankful you’ve given me a 100th chance? I enjoy these stolen moments with you? You’re becoming the best part of my day? I can’t wait to see if the baby has your eyes??
“I should probably get going.” Quinn sighed reluctantly, not wanting this moment to end but knowing he had early practice tomorrow.
“Yeah, I don’t need you falling asleep on the way back.” You agreed, pushing yourself off the bed as carefully as you could, like you’d been practicing how to maintain balance with your constant changes.
“But seriously, I had a great night. I promise, when you get to Minnesota, that there’s more chances for moments like these.”
You had a blush on your cheeks and a soft smile, and Quinn knew immediately that he was pulling another brick off that wall. “I’ll hold you to it.” You promised as you walked Quinn to the door, leaning against the wall as he tugged his coat on, purposefully moving a bit slower.
DO IT YOU IDIOT.
“I’ll see you in a few days.” Quinn managed to squeeze out, effectively ignoring Anti-Quinn’s bellowing requests. He didn’t want you to feel like he was rushing too soon after everything went down. Was it too soon?
It’s not too soon, KISS HER NOW!
“Be careful on the road, let me know when you get to your hotel.” You requested, giving him a quick side hug before he walked out of the apartment. The door behind him shut softly as he started walking down, each step slower than the last.
You are about to go to the fucking Olympics. You work for a professional hockey league and you can’t fucking kiss her?
He made a floor and a half. At the landing between the 3rd and 4th floor before regret set in, stopping him dead in his tracks and leaning against the wall.
Oh now you want to kiss her??
Quinn’s neck arched back, the back of his head landing on the wall he pressed his back to, looking back up in the direction of your apartment. Exhaling deeply. Would it be pathetic to go back up? Would it make a statement? Do you even want to be kissed by him?
She’s pregnant with your child, kissing her wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve ever done.
“What am I even doing?” Quinn groaned to himself as he made his way back up to the fourth floor above him, now climbing with a newfound urgency. Turning sharply towards the stairs that led to your floor, doing his best to ignore that god awful musty smell. Crossing your landing in two strides and knocking on the door louder than necessary.
When the door opened, he noticed you didn’t even lock it. When you appeared around the door, confused since he’d just left two minutes before, he had one more moment of doubt before:
Fuck it.
He wrapped his arms around you, one at the small of your back and the other cradling your neck, pulling you in tight and pressing his lips to yours.
Summary: a series of events which has you and Quinn balancing growing careers and keeping secrets - a misjudgement in protection leads to a serious conversation with your favorite vice.
Warning: Friends with Benefits!Quinn, accidental pregnancy, cursing
Chapter W.C.: approx. 2.0k
Notes: This is literally only the first chapter and I got stuck on the last two paragraphs for A WEEK, and then the graphic and title took two more days. 😵💫
Wanna be on the tag list? Let me know.
You’d never considered how daunting a drugstore could be until this moment. But after the third day of waking up to no evidence of a crime scene and the inability to keep your breakfast down, you knew why you were there. You just didn’t understand how it happened.
Well, you knew HOW it happened, but you’d been nothing if not cautious. Your birth control was taken religiously and you’d always made sure your friends-with-benefits always wore a condom. You’d told multiple guys to fuck off if they ever whined about it, but Quinn never did. He didn’t want to risk it, with his public career and the lack of a romantic relationship between the two of you. It would be a PR nightmare.
But as the family planning sign swayed from the ceiling in the draft of the air conditioning, it was very apparent that something had gone horribly wrong.
You scrolled through google, trying to figure out which test was the best option. Pink test, blue test? Digital, not digital? Store brand or name brand? In the end, you just got even more confused, snatching the box with the most test for the cheapest price and walking away.
After going through the self check out, because god forbid you look someone in the eyes while you purchased them, you walked the short distance back to your apartment. Each step is heavier than the last. The staircase feeling like a funeral home to your freedom. Your fingers shaking as you unlocked your front door, dropping the box on the floor several times in your nerves.
“Good grief, get your shit together, woman.” You muttered to yourself, picking up the box as you crashed through your apartment, ripping it open on your way to the bathroom.
The pamphlet made it seem easy. Pee on the stick for several seconds, wait three minutes, evaluate the results. But fuck whoever wrote those instructions, because directing a stream is a man job, and far more complicated for a girl. And more disgusting. You couldn’t even handle getting a little of your own pee on your hand, how to fuck were you supposed to handle a BABY?
You’d flipped the test facedown, set your timer, and anxiously tapped your foot. Gaslighting yourself that everything was fine. That stress was the reason your period hadn’t come. That your responsibilities were the reason it was hard to keep food down. That you suddenly having an arbitrary craving for licorice, despite calling it the devil's candy your entire life, was just your tastebuds maturing.
The timer went off far too quickly, leaving you staring at the six inch piece of plastic like it would slice your finger. You reached for it like a piece of glass, flipping it gingerly. And there, you found your attempts at changing the course of history were null and void. One dark blue plus sign, with the indicator window confirming it wasn’t a fluke.
“Great.” You groaned, leaning back against the wall behind you before sliding down to the floor. “Now what am I going to do?”
You’d sat there for too long, overthinking every possible outcome for the next nine months. For the next 18 years. Could you handle a kid? Could he handle a kid? Does he even want a kid? Would it look like you, or would you have a reminder of him every time it looked up at you?
And how the fuck were you supposed to tell him?
By the time you finally stood up, the sky had grown darker. Your small apartment was too dark, the only light outside of the bathroom coming from the city on the other side of the window. The darkness and the increasingly suffocating walls made you feel nauseous again, nerves like a live wire in a rainstorm as you dialed his number. He was either at home or at a game, so you had a 50/50 chance at keeping it bottled up another day. And the line rang, and rang, and rang until you were sure you’d get his automated voicemail, but the ringing stopped too soon.
“Hey.” His voice was gruff like he’d already been in bed for several hours, despite it only being a little past 9:00.
“I- can you come over?” Your voice came out a little desperate, playing it cool out of the question. “I’m not doing too good.”
“What’s going on?” He’d asked, movement heard in the background of the line. He was always quick to come when you called, constantly walking your situation like a tightrope.
“I’m not talking about this over the phone, Quinn.” You said, pain in your chest as you said his name. “Just.. please.”
“Gimme fifteen minutes.” He said before the line went dead.
————
Quinn’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel anxiously as he stared at the traffic light, willing it to turn green. In the several months that the two of you had been messing around, not once had you ever called him in a panic like that. In fact, he’d never heard you so stressed, your carefree attitude always carrying in your infectious laugh.
The drive through Vancouver was far too quiet, except for the light patter of rain glazing the windows. By the time he’d seen your apartment in the distance, his stomach was coiled into tight knots, desperately trying to piece together what had you so spooked. The staircase up to the 4th floor reminded him of how much he despised this building, the climb exhausting and the smell far too musty. A sign of how good he had it in life compared to you.
When he reached your door, he’d noticed it wasn’t even closed all the way, another indication of something wrong. He pushed at the door carefully, like someone would pop out at him before crossing the threshold. The environment was quiet and dark, the only light coming from the only room he’d ever spent any time in.
There didn’t look to be any form of a struggle, nothing toppled or dug through, so it wasn’t any form of robbery. Had you been followed? Were you hurt? Quinn’s heart raced once more, slowly making his way to your bedroom.
You were sitting on the edge of the bed, chewing your nails. No suggestions of injury or danger, immediately calming his nerves just a bit.
“Hey, I’m here.” He said softly, breaking you out of whatever trance you seemed to be stuck in. Your eyes flashed to him, wet streaks escaping in the corner. “What’s going on?”
“I ran out of tampons.” you started, standing up and walking towards the bathroom.
“Okay?” He asked, walking through your small bedroom.
“And I went down to the corner store, to grab some and some medicine because my stomach has been rejecting itself for days.” You continued as he heard you shuffle around the room. “But then the thought occurred to me that I either needed tampons or a pregnancy test.”
Quinn’s eyes widened instantly, turning the corner to face you. “And..?”
“Well, I'm stocked up.. for like a year.” Your face was much more pale as you shifted the stick towards him on the counter, the bright blue plus sign screaming his name.
“Oh fuck.” He whispered, inspecting the stick as if it would magically change.
“I know, I know.” You whimpered, arms shaking as you braced yourself against the counter. “I swear on my life, I did everything to prevent this.”
“We both did.” He said, still in shock. “I just… fuck.”
“I found out an hour ago, I didn’t even know how I was going to tell you, I haven’t even gotten this far.” Quinn watched as you pushed past him and back into the bedroom, rambling your thoughts. “The season just started, and you’re not going to be home a lot, and I just got in my head.”
“What is there to get in your head about?” He asked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you close. “We have more than enough time to figure this out.”
“I just.. you’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad? We both made the bed.” Quinn brought one of his hands to graze your cheek. “You didn’t think I’d leave you alone to deal with this, did you?”
“Well..”
Quinn shook his head. His brain was still rattled by the news, but he was trying to keep calm for your sake. He directed the two of you towards your bed, pulling you to sit next to him comfortably. “I know that some men don’t have the capacity to handle their responsibilities, but I can assure you that I’m not like that. I’m not a coward, I make more than enough money to raise a kid, and I’m not the type to run away from my problems.”
“I can barely afford this apartment.”
“Forget about that. Throw everything about you not being able to afford living right out the window. From this point forward you are my responsibility, this is my responsibility.” His hand cupped your flat stomach, caressing you gently over your shirt. “Don’t worry about anything, it will be taken care of.”
Quinn watched as you stared at his hand, eyes starting to water. His other hand wrapped around your back, pulling you tight to his chest as you started sobbing. “I’m so fucking scared Quinn.”
His heart started cracking with your sobs, not used to seeing you this way. You’d always been so sure about everything, even when life crumbled around you. It was what drew him to you in the first place. “It’s okay to be scared.” He whispered into your hair, trying to keep himself from breaking down right alongside you.
He’d always thought about having kids one day, most people do. He’d assumed he’d be married, in a house with a yard and a large enough concrete pad to show them how to play mini sticks. Maybe even a little dog running around alongside them. But it doesn’t always happen that way, tonight showed him how realistic life could be.
The sobs from you didn’t seem to cease. Everytime he’d think you were about done, you’d pick back up again, dragging yourself further into your head. It got to the point where he got down on his knees on the floor in front of you, looking up into your eyes with desperation, needing you to calm down so he could figure out his next move.
“You’re not going to be able to make any level decisions in your state. Give yourself a few days, and then you and I will have a mature and rational discussion about our next move. Okay?” He took your hand in his, rubbing your soft knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
“You’re probably right.” You mumbled, wiping your tears with your free hand. “I have to go to work in the morning with all of this on my brain.”
“Call me on your break, let me know how you’re feeling. Anything you need, I’ll be there for you.” He told you, pushing a little bunch of hair out of your face. “I mean what I say, you’re not going through this alone. Whatever you decide.”
Quinn pulled the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand, clearing your cheeks before standing up. He gave himself the ultimatum that he needed to leave, not to hurt you but to give you the space you needed to process your thoughts. He was just about to your bedroom door when he heard your soft voice. “Quinn?” He lifted his head, turning back to meet your eyes. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
He exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, giving you a small smile before kicking his shoes off by the dresser. He then tugged his hoodie off before climbing into your bed behind you, holding you tightly. As you laid in his arms, he glanced at the bathroom counter across the room. His heart raced as he stared at the little stick exposing his new future.
Summary: the one in which the reader and Quinn make a pact where if they’re both single at 30, they’ll just marry each other.
Warnings: Cursing, slow burn, reader is painfully oblivious, Quinn is painfully in love, and mentions of divorce and arguments.
Notes: Writing fics is 100x harder when you have a teething baby. Buckle up bitches , this one’s a novel.
BONUS NOTE: WERE GOING TO PRETEND HE DIDNT GET FUCKING TRADED
WC: Approx. 7,000
If all else fails, we could just get married at 30
Twenty-Five
Everything about this day had gone completely off the rails. The bridesmaid dresses were the wrong color. The groomsmen waited until the last possible minute to double check their tuxedos, resulting in the moms scrambling to fix pant legs and shine shoes. The catering team was over an hour late to the venue, and the meal options weren’t even the selections you and your fiance had chosen. It was like the entire day was surrounded by one giant curse, like all of your terrible decisions had added up to some ultra strong level of karma.
To make matters worse, you weren’t even in a dress you loved. Your fiancé, Derek, had expressed concerns in your Pinterest inspirations, stating that the vibe you were going for was far too exposed. That the guests wouldn’t want to see so much of your skin.
You weren’t even sure what the problem was. The dress you had wanted was simple yet elegant. Long bell sleeves, A-line neckline, with a short train in a chiffon fabric. Instead, you were in a skin tight, sweetheart neckline with an extreme tule train that looked like it had flowers hot-glued to it. Your wedding had seemingly been taken over by your future in-laws. While you understood that since they were paying for the event that they should have a little input, you couldn’t grasp the idea of why their opinion was needed for every last detail. In the end, the arguments with Derek just weren’t worth the trouble, despite it supposedly being your big day.
You were sitting in the bridal suite, staring at yourself through the mirror, barely recognizing your face at all. The make-up and hair weren’t even correct, for fucks sake. You’d heard the door open and then close softly, whoever it was silently coming up to you. A glance behind you in the mirror revealed Quinn, your best friend since high school.
“You look..” he said, meeting your eyes through the glass. You’d let out a dramatic sigh before turning in the spinny chair, facing him directly.
“I look like a drag queen got a hold of me.” You puffed, shoulders sagging at how everything had gone so wrong.
“I was going to say beautiful, but since you said something first, yeah you kinda do.” He had laughed, his large hand gripping your shoulder. “Very dramatic.”
“And nothing like me at all.” You had whined, turning back around to look at yourself again. “Tell me, what in the world could make a Smokey eye ‘natural’?”
“Dunno. Maybe if the venue was on fire?” He joked, but neither of you laughed. “Don’t worry, no one is going to care about your makeup. They’re going to be busy trying to fight the urge to take pictures at a no phone ceremony.”
That made you chuckle, the pressure in the air suddenly releasing. You sat in silence for a moment before he excused himself, saying he had wanted as close to the front row as possible to ‘watch the show,’ whatever that meant.
Before long, you and your bridal party had been pulled in for pictures before the ceremony, putting on your best smile despite the tension swirling around you. Then it was time for the actual ceremony, where everyone played their parts perfectly, the guests completely unaware of the ongoing amounts of damage control the weekend had going on. By the time it was your turn, you’d walked alone down the aisle to a song that you actually despised, but Derek had insisted on seeing you walk to.
Derek was already standing there, a tight grin across his lips, but he wasn’t the man who had your attention. Instead it was Quinn, standing at the third row in front of the aisle seat, his calm exterior keeping you sane. Funny how not too long ago, the two of you had made a vow that many others had made countless times before.
“Let’s make a pact right now. If we’re still single, if all else fails, we could just get married at 30.”
Quinn had sat on the floor, back braced against the footboard of your bed, your hair mindlessly splayed across his lap. You’d called him asking to come by your college apartment after a miserable date, offering pizza in exchange for permission to rant to him about how men were terrible, present company excluded.
“I heavily doubt that you’re going to be single at 30.” He had said, trying his hardest not to comb his fingers through your hair. He’d made himself a promise not to ruin what he’d had with you, despite his feelings screaming for him to do otherwise.
“At this rate, I’m never going to find a man who doesn’t pick up after himself, might as well be with someone I know I get along with.” You’d said as you popped a stray piece of greasy pepperoni in your mouth.
“Alright, first of all, ouch.” Quinn laughed, chewing on a piece of crust. “Second, if you really think that’s going to happen, then I will make the pact with you.” You’d stuck your pinky out and laced it with his, as if it were a contract.
It was a mindless agreement many friends had made in the past, but it would serve to plague Quinn’s mind in the upcoming weeks, months, and eventually years.
Twenty-Six
Derek had made it clear very early into the vacation that he didn’t want to be there. You had to practically beg him to go to the lake house, and Derek couldn’t understand why you wanted to be there. Sure, you’d gotten the invitation from Quinn- someone whom Derek had expressed his distaste for- but you’d been wanting to go back home for a while, wanting to see your family and old friends, wanting to enjoy the warm Michigan sun.
From the moment your feet hit the pavement of the driveway, Derek had made your trip an actual nightmare. Bitching about the humidity. Whining that the group was always on the boat. “Why can’t we just stay inside?” In the years you’d been with Derek, not once did you ever realize how much of a homebody he truly was, until you were in what you considered to be your happy place.
The tension had grown so much that by night three the two of you had ended up in a screaming match out on the pier. Words neither of you would ever be able to take back, anger spewing from both ends. When the argument had finally ended and he had stormed off down the street to walk it off, you looked back up towards the house to see all three Hughes brothers watching you like a hawk, itching to jump at the first real sign of trouble. You laughed humorlessly as you turned towards the end of the pier, planting yourself at the edge with your feet dangling just above the water.
You would’ve been content just withering right there for anyone to see, but after a long while another body came to rest next to yours. At first you thought it might be Derek, ready to apologize for the way he’d been acting, for ruining your time with your childhood friends. But then the familiar scent of Quinn wafted in the air, and suddenly you weren’t as tense as you’d been all night.
“you alright?” He asked after the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the full moon reflect off the waves.
“no.” You sniffled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. You hadn’t even noticed that your rage had turned into tears. “I love being on the lake. Why can’t he just be happy that I’m happy?”
You could feel his gaze on you, as if contemplating his next words as carefully as he could. “I wish I could give you the answer you need.”
“Coming home was a mistake.” You muttered, pushing your hair haphazardly out of your face. “We're leaving tomorrow.”
“Hey, don’t leave just because of one little fight.” Quinn responded quickly, sounding desperate. “Jack and Luke want you here. I want you here. We haven’t seen you since the wedding.”
“If all I’m going to be doing for the next two weeks is babysit my husband, then I’m not going to be having a good time.”
“Then send his ass home. You haven’t even gotten a chance to see your parents yet.” Quinn defended, more animated than you’d ever seen him before.
“Yeah, stay at the lake house with three guys he can’t stand, in a completely different state while he goes home to rot. I’m sure that will bode over well.” You scoffed, picking at a splinter piece of wood under your leg.
“He’ll deal with it.” Quinn said like an ultimatum. “you’re not leaving.”
You shook your head, watching the waves from the night breeze crash over each other. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough arguments for one night.” You said quietly, throwing the piece of wood you picked off into the water.
“I’m not arguing, I’m pleading. There’s a difference. I’m begging you not to leave.” Quinn stated, taking your hand in both of his and giving you the largest puppy dog eyes he could muster. “Please don’t leave?”
You sighed, giving him a defeated smile. “Fine, I’ll stay. But if he stays, you’ve got to help me find something he’ll enjoy doing.”
“Deal.” He said almost too quickly, standing up before pulling you with him. You were halfway up the pier when Derek emerged from his walk, much calmer than he had been earlier. Seeing you with Quinn made a small frown creep on his face before quickly masking it.
“Can we talk?” He asked you, Quinn planting himself firmly at your side. “Alone?”
“Dude, relax.” Jack had whispered as they reached the paint-chipped steps of his childhood friend's home. “I’m sure she’s still oblivious that you’re in love with her.”
“I’m not in love with her,” Quinn quickly denied, pushing his hair off of his forehead. He knew he should’ve gotten a haircut after the season ended. “She just sounded.. excited to tell me something when I talked to her earlier.”
Jack hopped the stairs two at a time behind Quinn, meeting his older brother at the door. “Yeah, whatever. Just try not to drool when you see her.”
Quinn shook his head as he knocked, standing patiently before the woman he thought of as a second mother opened the door.
“Quinn! Jack! It’s so great to see you guys!” She exclaimed as she opened the door for the boys. “Have you guys grown?”
“Not since college, ma’am.” Quinn said politely as his best friend rounded the corner from the living room.
“Quinn!” You squealed, running up to hug him tight. “Haven’t seen you since sophomore year! How’s Vancouver treating you?”
“Almost as amazing as Ann Arbor.” He smiled, holding you tight. His grip loosened when a tall, unknown figure walked into the foyer, a hint of annoyance in his features.
“Quinn, Jack, this is my boyfriend Derek. Derek, these are the two boys I told you about.” She introduced as Derek’s look quickly changed to a polite smile, extending his hand out to shake the brothers. “Where’s Luke?”
“It’s move-in week at UMich, I’m afraid. But he does send his best.” Jack said, a smirk pressed in his lips.
Quinn and Jack followed the others to the living room, sitting next to each other in the loveseat across from the couch. “So, Derek, tell us about yourself?” He questioned politely, hiding any signs of disappointment.
Derek had gone on to tell them about just how absolutely fucking fabulous he was, laughing at jokes he made that Quinn didn’t quite understand. He played along, for the sake of his best friend, who looked at Derek as if he hung the moon. Quinn recognized that look, he’d seen it from you countless times when he swore you felt what he did. When your mom came into the living room to say dinner was ready, Jack had gotten up with you, telling you about how amazing it is to be in Jersey and how excited he was to get into the pros, but Derek stayed behind with Quinn.
“She’s told me so much about you.” Derek had said from across the room, the same kindness he displayed earlier now wiped away.
“You as well,” Quinn said, a silent stand off starting as the two stood up.
“Just don’t make it a habit to look at her like that when I’m in the room.” Derek hissed after an awkwardly long time, walking towards the dining room. Quinn followed behind, ignoring Derek’s glare as he sat in the chair on the other side of you at the table with a smile on his face.
Twenty-Seven
“I don’t fucking understand, Derek.” You mumbled as you sat on the couch, your abandoned blanket crumpled on the ground. “Why are you getting pissed at me for watching the game?”
“You’re always fucking watching the game. It’s always something with those fucking brothers. I am so sick of coming in second place to those fucking guys.” Derek yelled, pushing things off the bar onto the floor, causing you to jump in your seat. “Just once, I’d like to come into my own home and not see Quinn fucking Hughes on my god damned TV.”
“I’ve known them since I was kid, I’m always going to support them. You knew this when you fucking married me.” You called back, raising your voice to match his. “And if you don’t stop throwing shit around, we’re going to have a fucking problem.”
“Seems to be the only way I can ever get your attention when he’s involved.” Derek hollered, gesturing to the TV as Quinn gave a post game interview. You stared at the screen for several seconds before turning back to Derek, steam practically coming out of your ears.
“I am so fucking sick of you picking fights over this. I’m not going to isolate myself from everyone for you!” You were now screaming, getting dangerously close to him.
“I’m the one who’s getting fucking isolated. You stayed at a fucking lake house with him last summer, how am I supposed to know if..”
“Don’t bring this up again.” You warned, eyes locked on his. Every time there was an argument, which recently had become everyday, he always brought up how he left Michigan and you didn’t. How he believed that you slept with Quinn, possibly even Jack and Luke too, even though you didn’t. How you probably talked mad shit to him every time you fought, even though you hadn’t talked to Quinn or the others in weeks.
“I can’t stand this anymore. You need to make a choice right now. It’s either me or him.” Derek’s demand had you baffled. The man who claimed to love you wouldn’t even bother to see your side of things, had never once took your feelings into consideration. Without another word, you rushed into your bedroom, snatching your suitcase out of the closet and stuffing it with anything you remotely cared about before grabbing your purse and walking out the door. Derek did absolutely nothing to stop you.
He’d taken you from home, isolated you in another state with absolutely no support, and had belittled you endlessly for too long. Now he’d made you choose between him and the only friends you had left. Absolutely not. There would be other Dereks in the world.
But there was only one Quinn Hughes.
By the time you’d gotten to your car in the apartment complex parking lot, you were sobbing heavily. So many years had been wasted on someone who would only ever see things his way. You’d used to have a sparkle in your eyes, now they were surrounded by bags and dark circles from the many nights you had slept on the uncomfortable, and frankly hideous, couch.
You didn’t know where you were going to go, but one thing was clear. You needed your best friend. You’d pulled into the empty parking lot of a shopping mall and sobbed until you collected your thoughts before dialing Quinn’s number.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hey.” He answered. “It’s nearly 1 a.m. Are you alright?”
You spent 45 minutes ranting about everything that had happened over the last few weeks. The arguments, the accusations, the last words. How you were alone in a city with nowhere to go, crying your heart out in the middle of a parking lot without a plan.
“Listen. Go to the nearest Four Seasons. Tell me which location you’re at, I’ll give them your name and you can stay there until we figure something out.” He explained, shuffling in the background on his side of the line. “We have a few away games in California this week, I’ll help you get the rest of your things. We’ll get this taken care of.” His voice calm and reassuring until the two of you hung up the phone.
When you’d gotten to the hotel, the lady at the desk already seemed to be waiting for you, sending a sympathetic smile as she handed you the keycard to your room.
Quinn didn’t even bother going to the prom. He was perfectly content with staying home and enjoying his final days of life before the real world took over. It didn’t stop him from checking Snapchat, watching his friends at the over priced, school sanctioned party. All except one.
He remembered you mentioning that you were going, had even gotten yourself a date, and how you were excited to wear the dress you picked out. So when he saw your bitmoji still at your house, he knew something was wrong. He slipped out of the house before anyone noticed and climbed into his car, driving the short distance until he parked in your driveway. From there, he witnessed the most heart shattering thing he’d ever seen.
You were sitting on the steps of the front porch, still in your royal blue two piece dress, hair done but makeup streaking down your cheeks. He couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, running up the stairs until he was next to you, wrapping his arms tight around you as you cried.
“He stood you up, didn’t he?” He asked, anger seeping through his pores. You nodded into his chest, sniffles and staggered breathing being the only sounds you made. “Shh, shh. It’s alright.”
In that moment, Quinn felt everything come together in his mind. The jealousy he’d feel when he’d see another guy talking to you in the halls. How his day was instantly brighter when you walked in the room. How he was more into the game when he knew you were in the stands watching. He’d been in love with you for years, and he didn’t even realize it.
“I never want to look at another boy again.” You whimpered after your chest finally relaxed. “Besides you, of course.”
Quinn laughed as he reluctantly let go of you, helping you stand up. “C’mon. Let’s go get you cleaned up and then we can watch whatever sappy romcom you want.”
And that’s exactly what you did, curled up in a hoodie you stole from him months ago, watching movies on your couch until you fell asleep. Only this time, he didn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around you as you innocently snuggled into his side.
Twenty-Eight
The divorce had been finalized one week before your 28th birthday.
You’d accepted that the love you’d felt for Derek wasn’t there anymore. Most likely had been long before you left. Quinn helped you remove your things from the apartment, bribing some of the team rookies and sneaking in and out while Derek was at work. Quinn even paid for your lawyers, even though you’d begged him not to. You guessed it was a testament to how well Jim and Ellen had raised the three of them.
Now you sat in your mom’s dining room, blowing out the 2 and 8 candles on a homemade cake while Jack and Luke obnoxiously sang happy birthday off-key. You told the people you called family that you’d wanted a small celebration, not wanting anything crazy, stating that the last year had been enough. You felt sad, being in your late twenties, freshly divorced and having to start over, but your circle reminded you constantly that you weren’t alone. Not now, not ever.
After the party, you went back to the lake house with the boys, who were kind enough to offer you the house as sanctuary after last year. You’d spent most of the winter watching the snow cake onto the surface of the once alive lake, curling up to the fire while you read a book or worked from home, trying to figure out your next move in life. But the lake house was lonely while the boys were away, and you’d always hated being alone.
“Come back to Vancouver with me.” Quinn requested as the two of you sat on the porch swing the next night, watching a few of his hockey friends sitting around the fire not far from the house. “I have a spare room, I know you’d love it there. I can help you with your visa.”
“You’ve already done so much for me.” You said as you heard a few of the boys laughing at someone’s expense.
“Let me do one more thing.” He asked, giving you a shy smile. “I know you’re lonely when it’s empty here. I see it in your eyes every time we talk.” The FaceTime calls had become second nature between the two of you. Every night he was home, or when he got to his hotel after games. Sometimes you’d talk about the games, sometimes you wouldn’t talk at all. Quinn had read you like an open book. “We have all summer to get your paperwork in order.”
You looked out towards the pier where Quinn had comforted you just a few years ago, remembering how he’s always been there to catch you if you fall. It didn’t matter if he was right down the street, or had the Canadian border between you. He didn’t let you down then, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“what all needs to get done?” You asked, making a large smile stretch across his lips.
“I am so proud of you.” You had mentioned as Quinn packed his suitcase for Dallas. “I’m just sad you’re going to leave me.”
“You don’t think I’m not going to miss you?” He asked as he shoved a pair of sweats inside. “You‘ve always been at most a block away, now we’re going to be states away.”
“More like an entire country away.” You mumbled as he zipped up the divider in the middle. Your shoulders were drooping as you leaned back against his headboard, hair in your face to hide your expressions. Quinn shook his head as he walked over to you, pushing your hair behind your ear. “I don’t like the idea of you being in Canada.”
“Don’t worry, the border won’t define our friendship. And besides, I’m not going anywhere until the end of this season.” Quinn reminded you for the 10th time, pulling his hand away as to not give away his true feelings. “I’m still committed for another year.”
“I know, I know.” You said, pushing yourself to stand up. “But what am I going to do for the other two years? I have, like, two friends on campus.”
“You could always come with me?” Quinn said in a nonchalant manner. “You’re so smart, you could transfer to whatever school you want.”
“Please, you don’t actually want me following you to Vancouver like a lost puppy.” You scoffed, meeting him face to face. “You’re going to have your own life. New friends. Hell, the love of your life is probably sitting on her couch waiting for you.”
Quinn didn’t believe that for one minute. The love of his life wasn’t in Vancouver. She was standing right in front of him, looking him right in the eye. She’d been by his side for years.
“I’m going to be all alone in a new country. Sure I’ll make new friends, but I’d rather have my best friend with me for support.” Quinn insisted, walking over to the closet to pull out the suit his mom had sent for dry cleaning. Anything to keep from touching you, doing something he might regret.
“I wish I could.. really.. but you’ll be on the road a lot, I’ll never see you.” You sighed, pulling out a hoodie he’d carelessly thrown in the other side of the case and folding it neatly before replacing it. He knew you were right, it wouldn’t be fair to leave you all alone while he could be on the road for weeks at a time, so he let it go. Even if he believed you’d thrive wherever you went.
Twenty-Nine
The past year with Quinn had been amazing. And terrible, but not in the ways your life had been in the six years with Derek. It’d been confusing, how your feelings had gotten wrapped up in all this.
Quinn was still his normal self, spending everyday with you either at home or exploring Vancouver. Showing you his favorite eats, places to get away when life got heavy, and where to look when the sunset was at its best. He always came home with your coffee order after morning practices, and he called you every night when he was on the road. Before long, you found yourself trying to stay awake when he was flying home late, and more often than not you’d be passed out on the couch when he got home. You never stayed there, always ending up tucked in perfectly in your bed.
One night, after Vancouver defeated Calgary on home ice, it hit you like a ton of bricks. You’d found yourself unable to sit back down, standing on your toes with your eyes glued to the TV when Quinn scooped the puck behind the goalie for the overtime win. He even let out a rare smile when it happened.
And that’s when the ball dropped. His smile sparked something inside you. How could you have been so blind all this time? Derek never seemed to genuinely smile, to you or anything else. You chased after affection from that narcissist for years, when Quinn gave it to you for free your entire life. And not once did he ever ask for anything in return.
When you were abandoned by your date on prom night, he was at your house before you could even tell him.
When you told him you’d met someone, he smiled and told you he was happy for you.
At your shitty wedding, when everything was all wrong, he assured you that everything would be just fine.
And when it was falling apart, he swooped in again to help you pick up what was salvageable.
While Quinn was giving a postgame interview, you ran for your closet, digging out the box you swore you’d never open again. The contents were the remnants of your failed marriage, pieces you couldn’t let go of quite yet. In the pile of photos at the bottom, you dug out a picture of you walking down the aisle, the camera capturing you from behind.
And there he was, in the third row aisle seat, standing there with what looked like a reassuring smile, but his eyes spoke differently. Hurt. Regret. Love.
You held the photo as tears streamed down your face, walking out of your room mindlessly until you were sitting on the couch, staring at the 3x5. He watched you marry someone else while he was painfully in love with you, and not once did he get in your way. Until this moment, he’d always been the shy kid with braces you grew up with, but as you looked up at the tv while he was answering the final question, it became clear he wasn’t anymore, that he hadn’t been for a long time.
He was your person. Your pride and joy. And you were in love with Quinn Hughes.
You sat on the couch for so long, that by the time the front door unlocked and Quinn walked in the door, your shoulders had gone stiff from being stooped over your knees, lost in your thoughts.
“Hey, did you watch the g- are you okay?” He asked when he saw the dried tear streaks on your cheeks, rushing to your side.
“I’m fine. Well, actually I’m not.” Your confliction became public knowledge, keeping your eyes from his.
“What’s wrong? What can I do?” He asked, his hands holding your shoulders to steady you, almost like it was second nature.
“That’s just it, Quinn. You always ‘do’, and I’ve been a fucking moron.” You say, finally throwing the picture onto the coffee table in front of you. He looked at the photo for a moment before looking back at you. “How long have you known?”
He pulled his hands away sheepishly before they landed in his lap, fingers fidgeting. “Prom night.”
“My god, I’m actually an idiot.” You scoffed, standing up quickly and lacing your hair into your hands. “You’ve given me more affection than my husband did our entire marriage and I accepted that shit?”
“Am I.. missing something?” He asked, genuine confusion on his features.
“My best friend has been in love with me for over a decade, and I spent more than half of it with a man who played the victim. I could’ve been with the right man the whole fucking time and didn’t even realize it.”
“Wait, are you saying you..” he stood carefully, his steps slow until he was in front of you.
“The last few months, every time you did something little to brighten my day, it just left me more confused. I find myself counting down the days until you’re home from a roadie. Staring at my phone waiting for you to call. I- I’m just-“
“I’m sorry.” He says out of the blue, throwing you a curveball.
“Sorry? What makes you think you need to apologize?” You ask, looking up into his eyes. He broke the contact reach for your hand, as if mentally preparing himself.
“If I hadn’t been so scared to lose you, if I had just told you how I felt from the get go, you wouldn’t have to deal with this now. You wouldn’t be a divorcé, you wouldn’t have had to argue with a brainless asshole for several years, and you DEFINITELY wouldn’t have had to wear that god awful dress.” He held your hand in both of his, and for a moment you’re back on the pier, with him begging you not to leave him behind.
“I fucking knew that dress was ugly.” You said, making a small laugh escape both of you. “I don’t know why it took me so long to realize. You’ve been nothing short of amazing to me. It was always you.”
Quinn stared at you for a long minute, trying to read you, as if making sure he wasn’t imagining this moment. Shellshocked. You weren’t sure what could break him at first, until you finally crossed the small distance between the two of you and leaned in, kissing his lips gently. His response was immediate, hands holding your hips like he’d been holding himself back, like he’d finally won the war.
Seeing the invitation in his hands had caused him to spiral. He’d dropped it on the floor as if it were on fire, as if touching it would cause third-degree burns. Within minutes he was out the door, on autopilot until he laced his skates. Skating from line to line, shooting until his arms ached.
Even after he spent a few minutes catching his breath, he got back to it, racing and racing around the ice, chest tight as he mindlessly pushed himself. He was already dealing with drama in the locker room, had fucked up his hand just last week, and this was the final straw. It was hours on the ice before his blade finally snagged on a divot in the ice, sending him flailing to the ground. He laid there for a lot longer than necessary, body on fire and stomach on the edge of spilling its contents.
“Should’ve just fucking told her, Hughes.” He’d said to himself on the cold surface, staring at the ceiling until the timer on the lights ended, leaving him in just the glow of the security lamps. He begrudgingly got on his feet, skating off before he could do any more damage to his body.
Thirty
Oftentimes, when two people make the ‘Married by 30’ pact, it usually involves two people who are hopeless romantics, but not with each other.
The last year would prove the statistics otherwise. You still remember going home from Christmas, hand in hand as you reached Jim and Ellen’s front door, ready for the inevitable chirps from his brothers. And boy, were they relentless.
“I could’ve gotten a college degree in the time it took you.” Jack yapped as he spotted the two of you walking in the house.
“We got GTA6 before you got the girl.” Luke said shortly after.
“Hope you got the deposit back on your lease from the friend zone.” Jack laughed as he pulled Quinn in for a hug, breaking you away from him.
Your thoughts of memory lane were interrupted as your computer went off, an email from your boss. You had been sitting at your desk, working on a work project in your home office, formerly known as your bedroom, when you lost your train of thought. You responded professionally before finishing up for the day and logging out, thankful for the weekend ahead.
As you shut down your computer, the front door to the apartment unlocked, the click echoing through the silence. You bounced out of your seat, giddy that Quinn was finally home from another long stretch of days on the road. You thought you’d missed him before, but ever since the two of you became official, it only got worse. Your home was too quiet. The kitchen was too clean. Your sheets were too cold. Quinn was and still is the best part of you.
You practically tackled him as he rolled his suitcase through the threshold, jumping into his arms like a koala. His smile against your neck sent electricity through your veins, fully recharging you after a long week of work and loneliness.
“I missed you.” You whispered, kissing his nose as he looked up into your eyes, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
“Missed you more,” he said softly, easing you back onto your feet. His hands lingered along your lower back, holding you tight against him. “FaceTime doesn’t do it justice anymore.”
“You’re telling me. I have to tuck your pillows against me just to get a few hours of sleep now.” You confessed, lacing your fingers through his hair, making his eyes close in comfort. He’d always loved it when you played with his hair, but after more than a week on the road, it was clear that he had begun to feel touch starved.
The two of you stood there for a while, releasing any tension the two of you might’ve had until you finally moved to your now shared room, helping him unpack his suitcase and get his laundry started. You both changed into comfy clothes before snuggling on the couch, eating Chinese take out and watching a rom com.
“Remember when we did that?” You asked as one of the main characters made the same pact the two of you did in your college dorm room.
Quinn was out of his goddamn mind. He’d officially lost it. The two of you had been absolutely swamped with trying to get your visa settled for the move to Vancouver, and the amounts of paperwork had only fueled his insanity. The bell above the door rang as he walked in, the empty showroom closing in on him as he approached the counter, browsing the different options of jewelry.
He’s been in the store several times before, like when he’d bought his mom a necklace with the birth stones of her three sons, or when he bought you a charm bracelet for your 21st birthday. But those times were absolutely warranted, this visit was not.
“Welcome back, Mr. Hughes.” The long-time manager expressed with a welcoming smile on his face. “What can we help you with today?”
“I-“ Quinn stuttered, placing his hands on the glass. He wasn’t sure where to start, if he was starting to regret his decision or if it was just plain nerves. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, pulling open the screenshots he’d snagged from your Pinterest account. “Do you have anything close to these?”
The manager looked at Quinn’s screen, a smug grin on his face. “Oh, found yourself the one? I have a few selections over here.”
In the end, Quinn had decided on a piece completely different from the boulder you’d had before. The band was simple silver, with two small white diamonds on each side of a larger pale blue stone in the middle, almost on a flower shape. It was anything but typical, but so were you.
He wasn’t sure what possessed him to purchase a ring. You still weren’t his, not even at a point in your life where you were ready to start looking again, but it didn’t matter. He’d already let you slip through his fingers once, he wasn’t going to let it happen again. He’d been patient for over a decade already, what was a few more years? And if all else fails, there was still the pact from the floor of your dorm room.
If that were the case, you deserved a ring at the very least, and one that fit you. Not flashy, or large. You deserved the wedding of your dreams, with your natural makeup and your basic dress. His light Pinterest stalking had shown him just how much of your wedding was truly wrong, and he intended to fix every mistake from it.
At the end of the summer, when the nightmare was over and you were fast asleep in your own room, he slipped the box into the back of the drawer in his nightstand, patiently waiting for the moment you’d finally wear it.
Thirty- One
When you and Quinn agreed to the pact, it was supposed to be a joke. At the ripe age of 19, you wouldn’t have ever thought in a million years that you would’ve actually married your best friend. The boy who still had baby fat in his cheeks and only ever thought of hockey and sleep. You never would’ve guessed that a little over ten years later, at the lake house with all of your close family, he would get down on one knee. That he would agree, without question, to your vision of a perfect wedding.
“You look stunning.” Ellen gasped as you looked into the full length mirror, next to the window facing the lake. Your skin was glowing under the a-line hidden dress with the long bell sleeves and the short train, your make up light and natural, your hair in an updo you could never dream of putting up on your own. Ellen and your mom came up to either side of you, your mom’s chin resting on your shoulder.
“You look like you want to get married.” She whispers, holding your hand comfortably.
Every wedding has its quirks, but this one wasn’t the dumpster fire from the first time. In fact, the only issue was Jack misplacing the book where Quinn had kept his written vows away for safe keeping, and you hadn’t even heard of the incident until after it had been located. The caterers were perfect, the florists were early, and the venue was your dream location- your happy place- on the lake.
This time around, you didn’t get a special visit from Quinn, for obvious reasons. For the first time in years you’d had to spend an entire day away from him during the offseason, and it might’ve been why you were so anxious this time around.
About an hour before the ceremony, Luke had knocked on the door, smiling like a moron. “I get to see you before Quinn.” He had said in a singsong voice, giving you a hug before delivering you a small box, quite similar to the one Quinn had kept your ring tucked in. “A present from the groom.”
You cracked it open as he and the mom walked out, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Inside was a pair of earrings designed to match your engagement ring, the same pale blue you admired everyday. A small, folded sticky note had fallen to the floor as you opened the gift. As you picked up the note you braced yourself, not sure if he was going to make you cry or laugh.
Wanna be my date to the wedding?
Turns out it was the latter.
When the time finally came, you didn’t feel at all what you’d felt when you were 25. There was no unnecessary stress, no one changing your decisions, no one failing to pick up their responsibilities. You didn’t feel like a clown, but instead a princess, awaiting her knight on the other end. As you turned the corner to face the lake, the guests stood to admire you, but once again you only had your eyes on one person.
Quinn stood next to his brothers, unable to contain his emotions. He was far from the haunted guy on the ice, or the boy you knew from your childhood. He was, and always would be, more than what he appeared. Your partner-in-crime, your savior, your rock. He had never let you down, never would. A promise he would always keep.
Summary- A loud dinner and bright city lights add to the growing pressure of your life, but Quinn’s surprises keep you wanting more.
Warnings: anxiety, sad Luke, surprises, cursing (duh), and the Tk*ch*ks.
WC: 3,443 words. Idk how I did it either.
Notes: If I don’t post this now it’ll be another month before I find the courage to. The Olympics are coming up (and something else I don’t want to think about but alas), but there are other fun twists and turns included in the near future. Thanks for all the love for the series, I’m happy to be back in the groove. ❤️
Wanna be on the Taglist? let me know ❤️
First Chapter | Previous Chapter
The private party room was boisterous and loud, very evident that you were surrounded by hockey players. Despite knowing you had the brothers nearby, you didn’t feel comfortable at all. Before dinner Quinn had taken the liberty of introducing you to the guys he’d played with, both past and present, but even though you’d learned their names and they learned yours you couldn’t shake the feeling that you stood out like a sore thumb. The sweater falling off your shoulder was loose enough to give you the security you needed, not wanting the eyes locked on your stomach the entire night, but it still felt like eyes were on you.
When Quinn was distracted by the Tkachuks, going on and on about how “this was our year” and “we’re going to be blasted when we get back”, you found your opportunity to slip out of the room. You did your best to not look distraught or frightened as you made your way outside of the restaurant, pulling at your clothes as if they were suffocating you when you finally made it there. The cold New York air did absolutely nothing to ease your tightening lungs, hands shaking as you turned the corner from the front entrance and leaning against the stone wall.
“I should’ve just stayed home.” You murmured to yourself, wiping under your eyes to keep from smearing your minimal makeup. The light snow built up along the curbs as you tried desperately to get your breathing under control, the cold making your shivering even worse. Your name started being called into the night air from the entrance, causing you to debate your next move. You could catch a cab back to Jack’s apartment and hide away in the guest bedroom before the voice could catch up to you, but then you’d remembered you’d left your wallet with Quinn. It didn’t matter what you’d try to do, because soon Luke was turning around the corner and running straight into you.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Luke questioned as he walked closer, his tall frame blocking out the wind blasting across your damp cheeks.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” you started before shaking your head, looking down at your feet. “I feel like a fraud.”
Luke’s eyebrows scrunched as he leaned against the wall, mimicking your stance with his hands in his pockets. “What makes you say that?”
“I.. don’t know.” You mumbled, your fingers messing with the hem of your sleeves. “Everyone in that room knows someone else in that room. You guys have years of friendship with each other, or at the very least have played together at some point. I’ve known you for less than a month! And I’m hiding this big fucking secret and.. I just.. I feel like..”
“Like you don’t belong there?” Luke accurately finished your thought, making you nod bashfully. “Yeah, me too.”
That made your eyebrows scrunch, looking up at him confused. “What makes you think you don’t belong in that room? Everyone in that room loves you.”
“I..” Luke took a deep breath, flipping to where his shoulders were pressed into the cold stone, staring off at the traffic that passed the two of you. “I’m proud of Jack and Quinn, really I am. But this entire season has been a black hole, and truthfully I’ve been held together with duct tape. So being in a room full of guys who are moving up to the highest level, somewhere I tried to be.. I can’t help but wonder how different it would be if one or two things changed.”
Luke’s words made you look at him in a different light. He was right, he was having the worst season of his career so far. He wasn’t able to produce, he’d already missed a string of games due to his previous injury acting up, and the fans and press had been drowning him with statements about how he was the “other Hughes“. You couldn’t blame him for feeling the way he did, you too had been left behind while everyone else went on to chase their goals head on.
“I’m sorry, Lu.” You sighed, trying to come up with a way to not make it so mushy. Your time around Quinn had made you realize that he hated people feeling sorry for him, and you could imagine the same could be said for Jack and Luke. “At least I know I’m not the only imposter.”
Luke laughed at your joke, his smile so similar to his oldest brother’s. “C’mon, Quinn will kill me if he finds out you got sick because I let you stay out in the cold.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, guiding you back inside. “And for the record, you do belong there. They’re all normal guys.. well except for the Tkachuks.”
“Yeah no, those guys rub me the wrong way.” You agreed as Luke opened the restaurant door, making way for you to enter first. “I know they’re friends of Quinn’s but..”
“You don’t have to like all of his friends. And he’s got better ones that aren’t in that room. You’ll see when we get to the lake house this summer.”
The daunting lake house. You’d expressed concerns to Quinn about moving around, but he was convinced that the lake was the kind of thing you’d need. He’d told you that despite what you thought, there didn’t have to be an over abundance of people coming in and out. That the views were breathtaking and the area was safe and quiet, which would provide you with enough time to collect your thoughts when you would be so heavily sleep deprived. In the end you agreed to go, but it didn’t settle your concerns about having to fly out while so heavily pregnant.
“A lake house full of people with a newborn baby sounds terrifying.”
“I know it does, but having that village around you will make everything so much easier for you and Quinn.” Luke explained gently as the two of you stopped just outside of the private party room. “It’s quiet most of the time, it’s not always crawling with hockey players. I know you’ll love it, and mom and dad have already made plans to be there. You’re a part of the family now, we won’t let you try to take this on alone.”
You smiled at his statement, nodding. “Thanks Luke. I think I needed someone other than Quinn to remind me to breathe.”
“I get it, really. It’s not easy being ‘behind’ everyone else. Just because you’re paused doesn’t mean you’ve stopped. It’s a marathon, not a race.” Luke gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before waving you ahead into the room.
As you walked in, your eyes locked onto Quinn, who seemed to be watching the door from his spot at the table. You slipped into your seat next to him, sending him a muted smile. “I needed some air.”
“It’s a little loud, we can slip out afterwards.”
“No Quinn, I don’t want to take time from your-“
“I’m about to spend two weeks straight with all these guys, you’re who I’m worried about right now.” Quinn’s voice was solid, his choice already decided. “Besides, I’ve got plans.”
Your brow cocked up and your head tilted, while his crooked smirk was already on full display. Quinn had already proven before that when his mind was set on something, that was it. And when he had already made plans, you never knew what it was he’d have in store.
———
“Quinn, can you please tell me where we’re going.”
“Doll, I promise you’ll love it.” Quinn was smiling from ear to ear as he carefully guided you out of the elevator, the cold wind blowing through your wavy hair. He’d been covering your eyes since the two of you had gotten out of the Uber, so long his arm was starting to go numb, but he didn’t mind.
When this adventure began and most of your conversations had been over FaceTime, you’d told him that you’d wanted to travel but simply never had the funds to. Quinn had known immediately that New York had to be on the list, with the city’s proximity to a large portion of his family and many of his favorite spots to see. The city was like its own world, with so many places that could leave one speechless.
This particular location was on the Hudson River, a rooftop park located on one of the piers. It gave a great view of the skyline at night while also providing some quiet you definitely deserved after dealing with the energy of an entire Olympic hockey team and their families all night. And when he lowered his hands and let you finally see, the look on your face was completely worth the wait.
“Woah.” You whispered, walking to the staircase that led to the edge of the park while Quinn stepped back, watching you take in the views. Quinn’s smile grew as big as your lit up eyes, knowing he’d made the right choice in location.
After a moment Quinn scaled the stairs, joining you as you leaned on the edge of the pier staring at the Statue of Liberty. “I didn’t feel like you would be down to go up really high after such an.. exciting night, or really anywhere near crowds in general.” Quinn felt his words start to bubble out, his body screaming to just reach out and grab your hand. “And I know it's freezing so we don’t have to be out here long, but I didn’t want you to feel cooped up before Jack and I fly out so..”
“Quinn, I love it.” Your voice was as solid as the day he’d met you, before the baby and the trade and the vices. For a moment Quinn felt like he was back in that bar in Vancouver, his eyes glued to the beautiful girl walking over with a glass of liquid courage in her hand. Only it wasn’t Vancouver, and you weren’t the same girl. You were someone else, broken and put back together to reveal a more powerful and gorgeous version of yourself, the kind of person Quinn saw a future with.
Tell her. Just fucking tell her.
And Quinn contemplated it. The words were right on the tip of his tongue. The pier lights sparkled in your eyes, making you look like a dream. You were bundled up in his spare coat because you still hadn’t got a winter coat even after a month of living in Minnesota. You glowed brighter everyday, the darkness that had consumed the both of you beginning to fade far away in Vancouver.
You hadn’t even meant to, but you’d consumed his entire life. And you had done it just by living across the apartment, making him post game meals, or being perched on his couch with your legs across his lap while you read your sappy romance novels and drank chamomile tea every night before bed. The nights on the road didn’t feel as difficult knowing you’d be there when he got back, the losses didn’t chew at his bones before spitting him back out onto the ice. He was going into the biggest moments of his life all at once, and he wasn’t scared at all with you cheering him on here.
“There’s something for you back at Jack’s.” Quinn finally spoke, making you squint with curiosity. “I meant to give it to you before we flew here, but I just.. didn’t know how you’d react.”
“You didn’t know how I’d react?”
“You’ll see what I mean. C’mon.” Quinn extended his hand out to you, lacing your fingers with his as he dragged you back inside and down the elevator. He tried holding back the shaking the entire ride back to Jack and Luke’s building, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your cold knuckles. “Where’d you go earlier?” He finally asked, doing anything to keep him distracted.
“I told you, I needed some air.”
“Doll, I can tell when you’ve been crying. I just want to make sure it wasn’t something I did.” Quinn responded, not really wanting to beat around the bush.
“You know how hard it is to not feel like every person in the room is staring at you?” You responded as the car exited the tunnel under the Hudson River, the lights of Jersey City flashing through the car window. “Like despite your best efforts, you can’t help but shake their gaze?”
“Doll..”
“Just.. I know you did your best to not allude to anything involving the baby and keeping the conversation based on us just being friends, but it just didn’t sound believable to me. And yeah, I’m not a dumb hockey player who wouldn’t think twice about it. But there weren't just hockey players in there. There’s wives and girlfriends, and I can’t help but feel like we didn’t fool any of them.” Your free hand had come to your lips, your teeth gripping to your thumb nail as Quinn listened to your worries.
“Well, what do you want to do?” Quinn asked calmly, his breathing steady. “Do you think we should say something? When I get back, we could make an announcement if that’ll make you feel better. Mom’s already talked to the PR team about it.”
“I just hate how we’re not telling the entire truth, Q.” You look up over the front seat, realizing the uber driver was in his own little world with his headphones in. “Everytime I think I’m getting over this heap of hot mess, it comes right back around.”
“These things take time to process, and yeah we’ve been managing it privately for the better part of six months, but I don’t want you to think you have to hide. Doll, if you wanted to climb onto the top of Grand Casino with a bullhorn and tell the entire city you were pregnant with my child, I’d be right up there on the roof with you. You determine the timeline, I’m totally on board with whatever you want to do. In the end, the only people who matter already know and are there for us. Isn’t that enough?”
You looked at Quinn with dewy eyes, a smile peeking out. “You really are something else, Hughes.”
“Is that a good thing?” Quinn’s lips tilted into an almost flirtatious smirk, and he wasn’t trying to hide it either. The brick wall around your heart was morphing into a paper mache consistency with time, and Quinn could feel like he was breaking through it.
Are you even listening to me? Tell her.
“Yeah, it is.” You laughed in a breathy manner. “Let’s get through the Olympic break and see where we’re at.”
“Okay.” Quinn nodded, pulling your knuckles up to his lips as the car pulled up in front of Jack’s building. He helped you climb out of the backseat, the low height making it a little harder to get out without making it look like its own Olympic event.
“You think they’re back yet?” You asked as Quinn typed in the security code at the door and held it open for you to walk in first.
“Absolutely not.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because Jack texted me 5 minutes ago asking, and I quote ‘Where the fuck did you go, asshole?’ Such a loving brother.” Quinn scoffed as he walked into the elevator after you. “We’ve been gone for what.. an hour?”
“At least.” You giggled out, making Quinn’s heart thump. Sure, you always laughed at his jokes and odd behaviors before, but something about this noise never got old for him. His thumb glided across the side of your pointer finger as the elevator dropped the two of you off on Jack and Luke’s floor.
When Quinn walked you into the guest room of Jack’s apartment, the package he’d left on the bed was waiting for you. Your eyes locked on it, eyebrow raised as you walked over to the plastic envelope and lifted it off the bed. “You didn’t have to..”
“I wanted to.” Quinn stated confidently as you ripped it open, revealing a patriotically blue jersey with white and red accents across it. “You didn’t want to go to Milan, and I can’t blame you because of the circumstances, so I wanted to make sure you had a piece of the Olympics with you while I’m over there.”
He watched as you flipped the article over to reveal his name and number on the back, a small laugh escaping your lips. “This feels like you're claiming your territory.” You snickered, your fingers running across the stitching on the numbers.
I mean.. she’s not wrong.
Quinn shook his head as he walked closer, his thumbs coming to their natural place under your bump, tracing small circles. “I’m trying my best to behave, Doll. But the thought of you wearing a blank jersey, or god forbid anyone else’s name, sickens the fuck out of me.” He confessed quietly as you inspected the letters, making sure you weren’t a victim of the fanatics' experience. “This was the only solution.”
“I love it.” You laugh, pulling out of his hold to try on the jersey. It came over your torso loosely, not tight around your curves, but still proudly displayed your bump. You did a small spin, boastfully wearing his last name.
Damn, that name looks fucking great on her.
Quinn couldn’t stop his laughter, pulling you closer to him. Ever since the last appointment he’d made it a point to slowly ease his way into more affection towards you, not trying to rush despite feeling like he needed to. Gentle touches, stolen kisses, anything to take the edge off of his growing desperation to be near you.
Jack picked on him at dinner when you’d disappeared, his head craning frantically over the heads of everyone in the room trying to find you. When Luke reappeared with you a few minutes later his heart felt like it would fall out of his ass, every worry he had about you floating away when you returned safely. The urge to make sure you were okay all the time took over his brain more everyday, and him heading to the other side of the world didn’t help his cause at all. Knowing he would be busy the entire time he was in Milan while you were once again plunged into the quiet made his skin crawl.
“You okay there, Q?” You questioned softly, your fingers wrapping around his biceps tenderly. Quinn shook himself out of his thoughts, blinking rapidly until he was focused on you again, on how your touch had become grounding to him.
“I can’t help but be worried..” Quinn started, trying to muster up his thoughts. “You’re going to be home for two weeks alone. I don’t know how much time I’ll have to call, the time zones are going to make it harder. I don’t want you to think..”
“Quinn, you’re going to be playing in the Olympics. The fucking Olympics!” You said, your voice showing nothing but excitement. “You’re going to go over there and give it your all like you always do. Shit, I wouldn’t be surprised if you score the winning goal. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.”
Fucking tell her dude.
Quinn took a deep breath as he looked you over one more time. Your skin glowed in the light of the bedside lamps, your smile was soft and genuine, and fuck if you didn’t look absolutely perfect wearing his name across your shoulders. It simply wasn’t the time to ruin a great moment between the two of you with a confession, regardless of Anti-Quinn’s persistent pestering. “I promise I’ll call you whenever I can, I already have a setting in my phone to keep track of the time difference.”
“I know you will,” You confirmed, one of your hands coming up to push his hair out of his face. “I am so fucking proud of you. You’ve really made the most of the craziest fucking year of your life.”
Quinn couldn’t help himself, smiling as he leaned in and kissed you sweetly, wrapping his arms around your lower back as he towered over you to account for the bump. “It would’ve been for nothing if you weren’t there with me.”
It wasn’t a confession of feelings, not quite yet. Just another small step towards his goal. Life would still be here when he got back, and he was looking forward to the future. Blissfully unaware of what was to come.
