#ntdp

[tangerineona]

the way leno wanted to bump fists with will but will didn’t even look at him…I feel sick…

[whirlpool-blogs]

whirlpool’s NTDP Primer

Chapter 1.1 - “Oh my god, get me out of here.”

Note: I highly recommend you read my first ntdp post (NTDP primer chapter 1.0, if you will) before reading this one! It will give you important context, and prevent excessive re-explaining in this post.

Breaking down the individual

"We run around the building with logs on our shoulders. That brings us together, because you can never leave somebody behind, we always have to stick together.” x

“They come here and need to learn how to play as a team so you want to break down the individuality." x

"Boot camp situations with log and tire carries, push-ups and intense cross-training workouts. Physically excruciating conditioning challenges players to endure adversity and, in turn, builds teamwork skills as individuals learn discipline and mental toughness." x

“tries to break you down to build you back up to be mentally a lot stronger and tougher than you were.” x

“The team spent all of their time together building muscle and camaraderie” x

“They went through an entire offseason program, which is typically 10-12 weeks of training, in just six weeks. The NTDP has that standard — they are going to work hard and train hard." x

"The head coach of U18 team this year, he comes in the gym every single day to check out what's going on, doesn't say a word. Looks around and says, How the boys looking? I say, They look like crap. He goes, Okay good, hit 'em. And he walks out." x

Will Smith: “The first couple months were like, Get me out of this place. It was just, it was awful. The workouts, everything. The workouts and all that, it just…you’re at the rink for 8 hours a day. I mean, it was army-style.” x

Ryan Leonard: “Countless hours, every single day with them, going through hell with them, countless hours of workouts, skates that are just pissing you off, workouts that just don't end. It's like, Come on, get me out of here.” x

Coaching philosophy

“They’re tired. We grind them. […] Because we are exhausting them, we’re stress inoculating them. So they're using every ounce of energy, physically, emotionally, everything. They’re away from home, their mom and dad aren't there, they’re emotionally drained, they're physically drained, they're challenged by the competition, by us, by their peers. They’re pushed, so when they add one thing or their grades start falling in school, everything falls apart.” x

"Once you see a player can do it, can keep pace, then you demand that from them more. Then, they give you more and you ask for more." x

“They need to be pushed. They’ve never been there [past their limits], they don't know. Any way you can push them, push them.” x

Push/Squeeze/Pull & Constant Demand being one of the core tenets:

“Manipulate emotions” on coaching slide: x

Very…interesting names of video review clips seen when a coach was adjusting his screenshare (this was the 2002s i.e. Brock Faber, Matty Beniers cohort. also note the clips for the incoming 2004s):  x

USA U18 POST YT SHIT EFFORT 2-28-20

USA U18 LRF POOR EXECUTION 3-10-20

Training load

"NO OFF DAYS!" (on a slide from Coach Seth Appert) x

"We hammer them in the weight room." x

"At the one-hour mark, the coach blew his whistle and the members of the NTDP skated to the bench and walked off through the open gate in single file - they didn't head to the dressing room, but through a tunnel to another freshly flooded pad in the building. A great convenience: a two-hour practice didn't have to hit pause while a Zamboni circled the rink." x

Also mentioned here: “the team are on the ice at USA Hockey Arena — after the first 60 minutes of practice, the team walks through a tunnel to a second pad, thus not having to wait for the Zamboni to flood the rink. Practice runs a full two hours and it’s high-tempo.” x

Trainer: "We lifted after BU, we lifted after we lost to North Dakota, we lifted after we lost to Wisconsin...we lose a lot." checking the schedule, these were ROAD games, so this was either at the hotel gym, or straight off the bus after driving through the night. x

"This year...I think the U17's did close to 150 off-ice workouts, about 200 skates. Both teams were in that range. So that's pretty much training every single day." / "[we do] skates every day during the week now" / schedule showing 7 days a week: x

"Half of the 46 players I have do ice baths in the morning at the hotels before games." x

Regular normie trainer who was hired and was at first shocked at the training load, then learned they could 'take a lot' and he could push them even harder than he ever thought possible ("I couldn't believe it, the intensity level was so high" to "I noticed how much these guys could take" to "I realized I've been undertraining kids.") x

“There are no days off with the program,” Hughes said. x

"They're pretty ripe" and the male suppleness chart

The entire rest of the medical/athletic field calls it Flexibility or Mobility. So does USA Hockey do the same? No, they decided to be unique and chart male "suppleness". (Note: I did a lot of digging to see if this was some insane niche term, but all other sources that call it suppleness are merely pulling wording from the original USA Hockey model). x

"This window now between 16-20 is huge for development, when the hormones are kicking in and last couple surges, the recovery is there, it’s a unique time. There’s an opportunity to get bigger, faster, stronger, it’s all about really buying into it." (Coach Wrobo) x

"15-year-old boys who enter the NTDP leave as 18-year-old men." x

Coach: “I love being on the road because we have no veterans. There are no returning players that can show guys the way things are run around here. We get 20 rookies at a time.” x

“He turns boys into men.” x

"Bill Smith recalled sending a boy away to Michigan two years ago. Will Smith came home this spring as a man." x

Ntdp trainer who describes boys at this age as "pretty ripe" x

Very odd rambling quote from a coach about Alex Turcotte: “He’s very respectful but not guarded behind it. Like some kids are respectful to all adults and aren’t willing to kind of cultivate that relationship because of that. He’s not that way. He’s respectful but also is part of the family. I don’t know if that makes any sense but he’s very unique in that regard where just because he and I have a close relationship or he and the other coaches, he doesn’t overstep because of that relationship. It’s like he has figured out what you usually don’t figure out until you’re an adult as far as what line to cross.” x

"The trainer's room sometimes tends to be a hangout as well," Hodges said. "We've got recovery boots and a cold tub." x

Will Smith with trainer Hodges’s dog.

Players as packages and products

“He was a Bambi-looking kid,” Wroblewski said. “But the package looked too good to pass up." x

"We were looked at like pirates and the bounty was the player," Cronin said. x

"He's as good as I've seen come through here in terms of talent, work ethic and being the complete package on and off the ice," said senior director of operations Scott Monaghan. x

No qualms about describing and comparing/contrasting the bodies of literal teenagers...Coach Wrobo: "Jack was tiny, so small, so weak.” x Director of operations Scott Monaghan: "He's more like Patrick because of his skating and shiftiness than Auston, who was really big and strong.” x

USA Hockey-written headline: "Fifteen NTDP Products Will Play for Team USA at World Juniors" x

'Wroblewski calls Hughes "manicured." It's an excellent way to describe him. Hughes doesn't sound like a 17-year-old. He's well-spoken because he's well-groomed, unfazed by the hype.' x

"I feel like it's the best place to be for a 16-year, 17-year-old," Hughes told The Associated Press. "No one trains as hard as us. We skate every day. We lift three days a week. We play a great schedule. I think it's the best place to be to groom yourself to be an NHL player someday." x

"Part of the philosophy here is that it was like a PR show.” x

“It’s become like a factory.” x

On food

"The players know when they’re a pound up or a pound down" x

"[Our coach] was really strict - you couldn't drink pop, he didn't want guys eating dessert, your body is your temple. One night, I go to [my teammate], "Hey, you want to get a McFlurry?" He was like, "Oh, man, that sounds unreal." We went through the drive-thru, looking over our shoulders to make sure nobody saw us, and just crushed those McFlurries. Didn't think anything of it. The next day, we had a team meal and [our coach] says, "Well, gentlemen, two of your teammates decided to be selfish and have some ice cream last night." He asked if anyone wants to own up to it." x

4-5x a year, players undergo a full detailed frame assessment, including measurements of height, seated height, shoulder width, weight, lean mass, bodyfat composition, etc. x

If a player is "slipping" by "not making lean mass gains, or they're gaining fat, or they're overfat and not losing fat" then the trainers can re-assess the individual as often as they want, noting "the numbers don't lie." x

Players must "maintain their desired caloric intake as designated by the team nutritionist" x

Players eat “dinner per the schedule from a nutritionist” x

the looming orthorexia in this Will Smith/Ryan Leonard/Gabe Perreault video

screenshared athlete meal plan with guidelines such as "snack may be protein bar OR a baggie of assorted nuts" (god forbid you have both...?) and "a piece of toast" as part of breakfast (god forbid you have two…) x

screenshared portion control guide that is given to NTDP players, including detailed serving sizes such as “16 grapes”, “10 fries”, “23 almonds”, “12 baby carrots” x

no wonder these boys are OBSESSED with chipotle…they’re hungry!! no wonder auston matthews was getting choked up at the memory of him mom sending $20 to get chipotle with the boys, and will and zeev were spending four hours at Red Lobster!

Post-NTDP quotes:

Will Smith: “My food schedule is pretty intense. It is kind of about what you're eating but the timing of it, too. You got to plan how your day is more.” x

“For me, it's getting bigger, stronger and enhancing my skills," Hughes said. "Maybe like two or three pounds, nothing crazy though. I don't want to get too big to where I can't move out there." x

“Hughes said he had some food after the game, but after he found out he wasn’t playing Saturday, he dialed back his typical recovery and hydration routine.” x

Special mention: NTDP slop philosophy x

ntdp figured out that soft foods (shall we say, SLOP) are easier for the players’ (young, exhausted) bodies to digest

so when they cater food to hotels for road games, they order chicken, rice, and then a BUNCH of soup. to pour all over the food. I am not kidding. 

related anecdote, when the U17’s were at an international tournament:

Coach Wrobo had this belief that “you CAN out-eat your opponent” so they had a huge breakfast at the hotel

then the trainer went back to the kitchen and ordered seconds of everything and had the hotel keep bringing out more food 

Team Finland was witness to this entire slop fest and looked on with something akin to fear

and then USA lost to Russia

Playing up

NTDP trainer: "They're away from home and they're getting their ass kicked every weekend because they're playing up. So it's somewhat of a trial. It's not for everybody, I guess." x

"They are 17 year olds paying against 18, 19 and 20 year olds,” says Jim Hughes. “The first year is turbulent and it’s rocky because they’re playing against older competition on a daily basis." x

"punching up a weight class against a lot of 19- and 20-year-olds in the USHL, or punching way, way up against collegians who might be four or five years older." x

"People seem to forget that when you're playing at the NTDP, it's the hardest schedule in minor hockey," said Jim Hughes, Jack's father. "You're playing against Division I colleges, a difficult USHL schedule against kids three to four years older.” x

“The crucible of competition against older teams means players have to develop quickly. And we’ve found—through experience—that they do improve at a rapid pace when playing against older, more experienced players.” (NTDP FAQ)

Will Smith: "17 [under] year was brutal. The first couple months were like, Get me out of this place. Cause we would just go out to Youngstown and lose 10-1, you couldn’t - it was just, it was awful." x

Trevor Zegras: "We were pretty nervous going into our first USHL game because we had heard a lot of stuff from the 2000 group on how hard it was and everything." x

"I played 100 games my senior year or something like that. You're playing junior, you're playing out of your comfort zone. You go from playing 45 games at prep school to anywhere between 80 to 95 games." x

The Program regimen

NTDP trainer: "When I got here, I've seen it firsthand now, and I think part of that is the regimen, we have a regimen: the sleep, the eating, skating, the lifting, they're scheduled for two years, so regimented. These guys are getting a two-year head start on that and they're coming out just machines." x

"An all-consuming environment with daily practices, off-ice conditioning, strength training" x

“Players realize committing to the program means much more than working hard on the ice. There also is schooling and a strict weight-training program.” x

“If you don’t go to bed early, this place will eat you alive,” Jim Hughes said. x

NTDP trainer: “It’s not enough to just put the sweater on. It’s just not enough. You’ve got to go to bed at a certain time, you have to eat right, you have to do off-ice work, or you will not survive - not the way we practice. And if you don't buy into the nutrition, if you don't buy into the regimen, you're gonna have a very, very hard time.” x

“Wroblewski said the NTDP has a rather regimented setup and that going to college will allow Zegras to take more ownership of certain aspects of his life such as picking his classes and balancing coursework.” x

“[Jack] eats a dinner per the schedule from a nutritionist. After dinner he does his homework and if the stars line up, has an hour at liberty. He’s in bed at 9:30. Though living at home, he follows the schedule laid out by the NTDP staff for all players.” x

Will Smith: “The two years at The Program flew by. Everyone says it does... And there’s some days where you’re like Oh my god, get me out of here.” x

"I didn't realize how hard it was going to be. We practiced almost every day or did something. You try to have a social life, but you don't have much of one." x

Practices and competitiveness within the team

"You're fighting for spots on the roster every day. You're trying to move up the depth chart, get certain positions on the penalty kill or power play. We're good friends off the ice, but on the ice ... Let's just say it's really competitive." - Jack Hughes x (Example: Wrobo taking Alex Turcotte off the half-wall on the power play to give that preferable spot to Trevor Zegras x)

Getting into scrums in practice: "Tempers flared midway through the drill when Zegras was cross-checked by McCarthy. Zegras returned the favor, and a twisting bear hug ensued as teammates converged to separate the two." x

Coach Dan Muse (coach of Will Smith/Ryan Leonard/Gabe Perreault et al cohort): "Guys have to have their heads up [...] and they go until there's a whistle, on the whistle. A lot of times we'll make this a little competition, there'd probably be like three push-ups on the line for the player that doesn't have a puck." x

"Every day having a highly competitive environment. We keep score in a lot of the things that we do... having weekly or monthly winners, just really creating that highly competitive environment." x

"Put players in positions that compete constantly throughout our practices. So as many ways as you can, whether that's physical competition, whether that's competition and the scoreboard, keeping score of a drill, a game, whatever it is - we want to foster competitiveness." x

Coaches aim to “create chaos” by design x

"You want everybody to be fighting every day to try to be the best player on the ice. We do post it [for the players to see]." x

Alex Turcotte: "You’re really competitive with each other. It makes you compete against one another. No one wants to look bad. You face the best." x

Constant monitoring / lack of privacy

Recruitment process: “The NTDP players are tracked and evaluated for two years prior to coming to the NTDP.” x

"About the program, I noticed they're the most overanalyzed group of players on the planet." x

"They watch how these guys go over and back over the boards. They watch everything. Somebody asked me about one of our players, saying 'he looks like he walks around [with] shoulders internally rolled'. You're sitting in a chair like this, you're not gonna make that team. They're not just looking at how good you are as a player, [it's] body posture, body language." x

Phone confiscation at USA Hockey Arena / hotels: "how we do it at The Program - one of the things for cell phones, we have a bag and when you come in the building, your phone goes in that bag. You do not have that bag while you're in the building, period. We bring it on the road. We have, at the hotel, we have a technology check-in. They have to check in at like nine o'clock usually or maybe a little earlier, you know, depending on the game, they have to turn in their cell phone, computer, iPads, no technology." x

"Within a couple hours of a game, a member of the NTDP staff will edit together videos for the players - general team footage, but also packages specific to individuals, readied for the coaches to review. The coaches will probably wait until the next day to screen it, but Hughes and a lot of his teammates won't. As soon as that video is up for sharing and streaming, Hughes will be all over it." x

"Jack Hughes has to arrive at school shortly after 7 a.m. and if he's tardy or misses a class, USA Hockey has a staff member who knows it and there are consequences." x

Trainers check players' lock screens x

Coaches keeping tabs on the boys' dating lives ("You know, we had one kid that just went through his third girlfriend.") x

Coach asking players to write down if they have a girlfriend, and if so, how much time are they spending with that girlfriend instead of on hockey x

and even getting teammates to call each other out for it ("After the kids get to know each other, beginning of the second year, I'll have them write their priority list on a big whiteboard just like this, and then I'll have their teammates grade him, say 'nope no no way you're with your girlfriend all the time')

“Intern coaches perform location checks of each player by conducting random curfew calls during the season” visiting the players at their billet homes as late as after 11:30pm….. x

Trainers were looking at the heartrate monitoring data and noticed some of their players’ heartrates were ‘through the roof’ as early as the national anthem of a game. This was a surprise to them, because the players had never shared that they had any issues, i.e. the players must have been telling them they were fine. Do you see where I am going with this? Through the heartrate monitors, they even knew when they were being lied to. x

Special mention:

Coach Muse forcing 15- (in Zeev's case) and 16-year-olds (Will, Ryan, Gabe, et al) to dress and undress in the public hallways of the USA Hockey Arena for a month until they "earned" the right to privacy

Also for your consideration: in Bardown’s puff piece NTDP locker room tour, the hosts show the lavish locker room, showers, sauna, cold tub, etc. but when they get to the private changing room, it’s full of boxes and clearly unused. x

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE

“One of the things we say at NTDP is take responsibility for your own development. The goal for them is to be professional athletes." x

"Your priorities as a player, you need to evaluate that. You need to take responsibility for your development." x

You might be wondering, how does all of this get normalized? Well, it's simple. Because they are taught that everything that happens to them, they are responsible for it.

And if they ever forget it, all they have to do is look up in the hallway they walk through every single day:

I’ve reached the link limit, so yet to be covered: billets with legal guardianship, how they go to school (both before / after their transition to online classes), NTDP origins, noted crimes and coverups, and any other facts I can think of. It will be another long post!

[lcvlyhughesy]

☆࿔*:･　SUMMER IS ENDING -> WS⁰²

will smith x riley hughes

summary: riley and will try and take advantage of a lonely morning in the lake house but it doesn't go as planned. cw: 18+ | smut (fingering), caught having sex, awkward encounters, fluff | i know i say i don't write smut but i felt like the scene called for it. its probs very cringy tbh

i'm gonna be honest, this is unedited and i might come back and edit it. let me know if there is something crazy that needs to be fixed.

let me know if y'all want me to write anything else for will and riley or ryan and ellie. REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

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Summer in Michigan was hot but it was always tempered by the lake.

Riley loved the lake. As a kid, if she wasn’t on the ice, she was in the water. While the family lived in Toronto, their summers were spend in Elk Rapids, Michigan. Riley and her siblings spent every waking moment in the water.

What she loved now, was that she could share that experience with her friends and most importantly, her boyfriend.

Will didn’t grow up on the lake. Will’s summers were spent at country clubs, golfing and playing baseball. He swam in elaborate country club pools that had splash pads and diving boards while Riley was swinging as high as she could from a rope tied to an old knotted tree.

This was a very different experience for him, however. The lake, the raw outdoors was new. There were a few adjustments he’d have to make. He quickly got used to making their own food. No one was bringing them food and with out Quinn there, they were left to their own uniquely minute skills.

Ryan, shockingly enough, figured out how to use the grill after watching several YouTube videos. Ellie was a good cook and she’d usually take care of a few sides to go with whatever Ryan had managed to not burn.

Will had made breakfast. Every. Single. Morning. It was always the same thing: scrambled eggs with bacon. It was getting a little repetitive after four days.

That was where Riley found herself on Thursday morning, laying in her bed, texting back and forth with Gabe and Ryan while Will was fast asleep:

Riley put her phone back on the nightstand before looking down at Will. His beautiful blonde curls were splayed out on the pillow as he was practically snuggled into the pillow.

His back was bare as the sun radiated off of it. Riley couldn’t help herself as she fully turned to her side and slide her hand over his back, rubbing gently. She watched as he shifted, his body moving closer to hers.

He groaned, his morning gravel evident as he started to wake up.

“What time is it?” He groaned.

“8:30-ish” Riley whispered, still drawing smooth shapes over his spine. Will shivered, “You cold?”

“You’re giving me goosebumps.” He mumbled into the pillow before rolling over and staring up at her. “Good morning, beautiful.” He closed his eyes, only briefly as he pursed his lips, expecting a kiss.

Riley eagerly granted his wish, leaning down and mumbling “Good morning, handsome.” Against his lips before pressing a lingering, soft kiss to his mouth.

Will yawned when they separated. “I’ve gotta get up and start breakfast.”

Riley stopped him, putting a hand on his chest. “Actually, the guys went to the store. They wanted something else besides eggs.”

“I asked if they liked ‘em.” He complained, “They said they were the best!”

“Yeah, they just wanted something different.”

Will seemed to ponder her words for a moment before looking over at her. “If they’re at the store, that means we’re alone. Right?”

Riley scrunched her brows, “Yeah?”

“Stay here.” He said quickly as he practically jumped out of the bed in nothing but his underwear. He ran out of the bedroom and down the hall.

Riley stared blankly at the open door, hearing Will’s footsteps thumping on the floor as he sprinted back to the room before slamming the door behind him.

“What were you doing?” She asked with a giggle as he approached the bed, practically throwing himself on top of her. He didn’t say a word as he started placing kisses on her neck.

“Making sure they’re gone. This is the first time we’ve been alone all week. I wanna make the most of it.” He smiled against her skin, sucking a piece of it between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. Riley let out a deep groan as his hands roamed her body.

They travelled low on her hips, working their way under the rather large NTDP shirt—his own—that, aside from her underwear, was the only thing blocking him from having full blown skin-to-skin contact with her.

His hands were warm and rough, traveling over her skin as his mouth moved lower and lower. Eventually, he detached his mouth from her skin, trailing a string of spit.

Will pulled the shirt over her head, throwing it across the room and onto the floor. “You’re so pretty.” He breathed out, mouth coming down again, this time meeting her own. Riley whined as he kept kissing her, wanting more.

Will read her mind, his hand moving over her stomach before dipping into her underwear.

He wasted no time, earning a quick yelp that mixed with a moan from the girl beneath him. His fingers were magic—at least Riley thought so.

Will rubbed soft, slow circles over her folds before pushing past and stroking her clit. She was practically vibrating, her nails digging into his shoulders as she brought him back down, forcing their mouths to meet, although this time, they barely kissed, Riley couldn’t help it as she kept moaning into his mouth.

He moved lower, inserting a finger, then a second which made Riley jolt. Her brain was growing foggy as she felt her climax approaching. Will was practically humping the mattress as he mouth at her own mouth and then her cheek before moving to her jaw.

Everything was wet. Their kisses, the sounds, it all sounded so sensual, it was good that no one else was in the house.

“Will—” Riley squeaked, “I— I’m gonna—”

“I know,” He groaned, “I can feel it. It’s okay, baby. I’ve got ‘ya.”

Riley clung to his shoulders tighter, her arms wrapping around him, a hand traveling into his blonde curls. She gripped tight, feeling every movement and curl of his fingers, bringing her closer and closer—

“Riley!?”

They froze. It was a voice downstairs. Much too deep to be Ryan or Gabe.

“Hello!?” It called again.

Riley panicked, shoving Will off of her. “Who is that?” Will whispered, scrambling off the bed and when Riley finally got a frantic look at him, he was no where near presentable. His hardon, while slowly dissolving with embarrassment, was still evident. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was a mess.

Riley scrambled off the bed herself, grabbing Will’s old shirt off the floor and a pair of shorts from her hamper, not caring that they were dirty.

“Stay here.” She directed, “I’ll take care of it.”

“No, I should go. What if its a kidnapper?”

“It’s not a kidnapper, Will.” Riley rolled her eyes before darting out of the door.

Riley made quick work of getting down the stairs. When she entered the living room, she was greeted with her worst nightmare. Connor Hellebuyck was standing there, his two-year-old son, Joey, on his hip with the sliding door cracked open behind him.

“Hey,” She breathed out, suddenly realizing how out of breath she sounded and tried to calm herself. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

“Hey, I’m just stopping in. Jack said you’d be here by yourself for a few days and wanted me to make sure you hadn’t burned the house down.” He clarified.

“Oh! I’m doing great.” Well she was until he interrupted her nice morning. “I don’t know if Jack mentioned but some of my friends are staying over too.”

“Are they still asleep?” He questioned, looking behind her as there seemed to be no life in the house, at all.

“Grocery store. I wanted to sleep in so I’m here,” She added, “By myself.” She cursed herself after that one as she heard Will’s footsteps coming down the stairs behind her, “And Will.” She added reluctantly, “He just woke up from his bed.” God, she wished she could stop talking.

“Will?” Connor asked, looking behind Riley as Will came up behind them.

Riley turned around, thankful he’d put on some clothes. A lot of clothes in fact. A sweatshirt and sweatpants, much too odd for summer.

Riley just hoped Connor wasn’t putting too many things together.

“Good morning, Will.” Riley stated, “I see you’re awake.”

“Yes.” Will caught on, “Just woke up. From my bed.”

Okay, Riley was ready to throw herself into the deepest end of the lake now.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Connor stated, stepping forward and extending his hand. “Connor.”

“Yeah— I mean— I know. I’m sorry.” Will finished, shaking Connor’s hand. “I’m Will.”

“Nice to meet you, Will.” Connor smiled, although he could feel Will’s nervousness, Riley could tell, she just hoped Connor interpreted it as being “starstruck” rather than almost getting caught.

“This is Joey.” He introduced the toddler. “We’re about to go out on the boat, do either of you wanna join?”

“We’re good.” The both responded in unison both equally high pitched. Riley was ready to dig her grave now.

Joey finally decided that he’d chime in, just to add to the atmosphere of the event. “What’s on your neck?” He said loudly, pointing at Riley.

Her eyes widened as everyone else’s eyes looked at her neck. Her hand shot up, covering the spot she knew Will had been leeching on just minutes before. “Bug bite.” She rushed out, “Mosquitos.”

“Eww!” Joey let out. “I hate bugs.”

“Yeah,” Riley forced a smile. “They’re nasty little bloodsuckers.”

“Alright,” Connor finally interjected, “We’ll get going, now. If you need anything we’re right across the lake.”

Riley nodded with a forced smile as she quickly followed them to the sliding door, smiling with a wave as she slid the glass door closed and clicked the lock quickly.

When they were finally far enough away, Riley turned to Will with a frown.

“Well…” He started, “We could just…” He pointed back toward the stairs with a raised brow.

“No.” Riley crossed her arms over her chest. “The mood is ruined.”

“We probably have like 15 minutes before—”

“No, Will.”

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[capischao]

agree with you about college. They’ve also failed to note that they would have played against each other since high school when Will was at national dev and Mack was at prep. Those tournaments - they stay at hotels with the other teams and hang out. I’ve been to them with my brother. They would have been very well known to each other well before rookie camp and Mack went into rookie camp hot on Will. He was readyyyy

Yes!!!

I had this whole post with a timeline of willmack’s pre-college days and interactions but I lost it bc I’m an idiot. I’ll definitely redo it soon tho. Too many people forget they had ✨history✨ before the college rivalry

As far as i know the first time they faced each other it was in 2020 for the All-American Prospects 14U finals (Will’s team won)

Mack’s quote on the matter is literally:

My first impression of him was “wow, he’s really good”.

Go figure.

After that, they STILL faced each other before college MULTIPLE TIMES when Mack played for the Chicago Steel and Will for the USA NTDP

Mind you. During this period of time they played 3 times against each other. Mack’s team won all of them.

The first time, Mack scored the game winning goal during a shootout (after Will missed his shot).

The second, Mack assisted on the game winning goal.

The third, Mack scored twice in the first period and assisted another 2 goals in the second. Will didn’t get a single point that game.

AND THEN!!!!

They face each other at the U18 Worlds in 2023. Will gets a hattie in the semifinal. USA goes home with gold, Canada with bronze.

And adding insult to injury?? Will GOT THE MOST POINTS OF THE TOURNAMENT AND MATCHED THE ALL TIME RECORD

They’ve been intertwined from the start. It makes me sick. Haunting each others’ narratives from day 1

Anyway. I’ll make a masterpost with all of this in order, with photos and stuff. For science (completely self indulgent)

Apparently I was wrong. The first time they played against each other was 2018. I will do my due diligence and come back to you with a master post in chronological order because what the actual fuck

Edit: I did my due diligence. There’s no concrete evidence of them ever facing each other in 2018…

[missmaymay13]

got you - m.boldy

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

m.boldy x fem!oc | 20k?

summary: when the hughes brothers ask matt boldy to watch over their "little sister" while she is away for college, things take a turn when he ends up falling for her

authors note: this was the VERY first piece i ever ever wrote! sorry if its all over the place! its like half edited!

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Fate, in all her quiet mischief, had chosen a very specific day to intertwine the lives of the Stella and Hughes families—the day the Stellas bought the lakeside cottage right next to the Hughes’. From that moment on, it was as if the two families had always existed side by side. It didn’t take long for the connection to deepen. With Dominic Stella rotating through assistant coaching jobs across the WHL and Monica Stella proudly carrying her legacy as a former assistant coach for Boston College Women’s Soccer, it was clear: sports ran in their veins like oxygen. Passion bled from both lineages.

The two couples became fast friends, the kind of friends who blurred the lines between family and neighbors. Dinners turned into sleepovers, tournaments into family vacations, and somewhere in between, Maisy Stella became the honorary fourth Hughes sibling—no questions asked.

The Stellas had two kids. Their eldest, Darien, carried the weight of an older brother’s love with an iron grip. Eight years separated him from Maisy, but the bond between them was ironclad. Darien was fiercely protective, to the point where it became his second nature. Watching Maisy grow up was like watching a star he couldn’t hold onto, not forever. He always knew the day would come when he couldn’t be there to watch over her—and it terrified him.

But then came the Hughes boys.

When Darien saw the way Quinn, Jack, and Luke looked at Maisy—as if she were made of glass and sunlight all at once—he felt something settle in his chest. Relief. They were captivated, just like him. Maybe it was the way she skipped through life with careless joy, giggling at nothing, dancing with everything. Maisy had always been a walking burst of light, the kind of girl who didn’t just walk into a room—she changed it. And now Darien wasn’t the only one who saw it.

Maisy had been just eight when she first met the Hughes boys, gravitating immediately toward the youngest—Luke—who was barely a year younger. From the start, they were inseparable. While the older boys busied themselves with teasing and pestering Darien about girls and parties, Luke and Maisy would retreat into their own little world—curled up in the backyard on picnic blankets, whispering to each other under the stars. Their laughter would drift through the night like music, private and sacred.

Then came hockey.

It was everything to the boys. Quinn, Jack, Luke, and Darien all breathed the sport, their lives defined by frozen rinks and worn-in sticks. Everyone tried to pull Maisy in, but she had her own rhythm. Soccer claimed her heart, much to Monica’s quiet delight. Still, Maisy was always in the stands—cheering, screaming, supporting her boys. And in return, they sat under the sweltering sun watching her dominate the pitch, proud as ever.

But time, as it always does, moved forward.

Darien was eventually offered a contract to play pro in Europe—a dream, a risk, a leap. He was torn. He could’ve taken the safe path and gone to the University of Michigan, stayed close, kept watching over Maisy. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold her hand forever. And so, he chose the unknown.

That night, after the news broke, Darien and Quinn sat around the firepit behind the cottage. Flames crackled low, shadows dancing across their faces. Quinn noticed the way Darien stared into the embers, jaw tight, eyes distant.

“You’ve been quiet, man,” Quinn said gently, nudging him with an elbow. “What’s going on up there?”

Darien exhaled a breath that felt like it had been sitting in his chest for years. He rubbed his face with his rough, hockey-worn hands. “I’m just… worried. About her.” He shook his head, voice thick. “When I’m gone, who’s gonna look out for her?”

He should’ve been ecstatic—Europe, pro hockey, a dream within reach. But all he could think about was leaving his baby sister behind in a world that didn’t always play fair.

Quinn didn’t need an explanation. He understood. As much as he teased Jack and Luke, as much as they bickered and bantered, he would burn the world down for them. He knew that same protective ache—the one that settled deep in the chest and never quite went away. He had grown to love Maisy too. She wasn’t just Darien’s sister anymore. She was family.

And in that moment, something shifted in Quinn. A vow, quiet and unspoken, rose within him.

He met Darien’s eyes—serious, steady, unwavering.

“I’ve got her.”

Three words. That was all it took.

But in those three words, Darien heard everything he needed to. Loyalty. Brotherhood. Promise.

And for the first time since he made the decision to leave, Darien felt like maybe—just maybe—it would be okay.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Quinn was the first to invite a friend to the cottage for the summer. He was fifteen when he brought Josh Norris along to spend a few weeks lakeside with the Stellas and the Hugheses—a quiet introduction that would become a core memory for Maisy Stella.

The moment Maisy laid eyes on Josh, she was convinced she was in love. She was only eleven, but it didn’t matter. Her heart raced every time he looked her way, and her cheeks flushed a shade of pink the Hughes boys quickly learned to tease her about mercilessly. Jack called her "Mrs. Norris" for a week straight, and Luke couldn’t stop snickering whenever Josh so much as said hello to her.

Quinn, though, didn’t take it lightly. He knew she’d grow out of it—everyone had childhood crushes—but she was still his little sister in all the ways that mattered. And Josh? Josh was his best friend. He trusted him. Quinn made it clear, without ever needing to say it out loud, that Maisy was off limits. And Josh wasn’t stupid. He was around the Hughes family enough to know exactly how fiercely protective they were of Maisy. Besides, she was way too young. He would never risk his friendship with Quinn for a fleeting crush that wouldn’t lead anywhere.

Maisy, however, wasn’t exactly subtle. She insisted on sitting behind the bench at every game Josh played in. She'd avoid eye contact at all costs—except when she was very obviously staring—and giggle at things he said even if they weren’t funny. Her crush carried on for months after that summer, lingering like a sweet ache.

So, when Quinn casually told her that Josh would be spending part of the next summer with them again, Maisy panicked.

She called her brother in a spiral, pacing her bedroom and rambling about how she wasn’t ready to spend the summer with "the love of her life." Darien, ever the protective older brother, didn’t hesitate. He launched straight into big brother mode, insisting she was too young for boys, let alone crushes, and then promptly texted Quinn to make sure Josh stayed as far away from Maisy as possible.

Quinn responded with a laugh and a promise. Josh wasn’t that kind of guy. He never had been. Maisy would be fine.

But then came the heartbreak.

One afternoon, after one of Quinn’s games, Maisy saw Josh come out of the rink holding hands with another girl. She froze. It felt like something inside her cracked. She blinked hard, hoping she’d imagined it, but the image was burned into her mind. Her throat tightened. She barely made it out of the arena before the tears came.

She cried into Luke’s hoodie that night, curled into his side on the couch. He held her awkwardly at first, unsure of what to do, but he stayed with her. Quiet, loyal. Eventually, he texted Jack, who ran out to grab snacks, and started setting up a movie night downstairs while Maisy sobbed quietly into the fabric of his sleeve.

Quinn, meanwhile, took the moment to sit beside her. He wasn’t the comforting type—not in the way Luke was—but he knew when to talk. When her tears slowed and her sniffles softened, he handed her a blanket and spoke.

“Boys can be jerks,” he said simply. “Even the good ones. Especially when it comes to feelings.”

She didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“You’ve gotta protect yourself,” he continued. “Because we’re not always going to be around to do it for you. Life’s not fair. People don’t always mean to hurt you, but they will. And I don’t ever want to see you shattered because you gave your heart to someone who didn’t know what to do with it.”

She didn’t fully understand what he meant. Not yet. But the way he said it, the way his voice was softer than usual—like it carried the weight of something he’d lived—made her nod.

Eventually, she’d grow up and remember those words. She’d carry them with her through heartbreaks and hope, through every moment someone made her feel small. She’d learn, piece by piece, what it meant to protect her own heart. But that night, surrounded by her boys, cocooned in blankets and flickering screen light, all she needed was to feel safe again.

And she did.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Jack was the next Hughes brother to bring friends into the fold. After entering the USA NTDP program, he found himself surrounded by a new brotherhood of teammates—guys he clicked with instantly. It didn’t take long before he started dreaming about introducing them to cottage life. But inviting his new friends to the lake meant exposing them to Maisy. And that meant boundaries. Before any handshakes or hellos, Jack made one thing abundantly clear: Maisy Stella was off limits. No flirting, no teasing, no second glances. A code of honor sealed with a promise.

Trevor Zegras, Cole Caulfield, and Alex Turcotte arrived that summer, full of energy and charm. Maisy, now in her early teens, clicked with them instantly. Trevor was loud and hilarious, always up to something mischievous. Cole’s laugh was infectious—he made her feel welcome, like she was part of their world. And Alex had a quiet gentleness that reminded her of Quinn; protective glances, a soft smile when the others were too loud. The first time they met, there was a beat of stunned silence. Maisy’s big blue eyes and soft, airy voice captivated them instantly.

Then came the smacks to the backs of their heads. Jack and Luke, ever the enforcers.

The promise stood: Maisy was off limits.

That year, though full of laughter and warm nights, weighed heavier on Maisy. Darien had been in Sweden for a few years now, and it was starting to ache. They barely spoke—time zones, soccer, school, life. She buried herself in soccer camps, obsessed over perfect grades, did everything she could to distract herself from the growing emptiness.

It all came crashing down during a local game. She saw them first—Quinn, Jack, and Luke—sitting in the stands, proudly wearing those ridiculous homemade shirts from years ago. Maisy’s Cheer Squad. She should’ve laughed. She should’ve smiled. But she didn’t.

Because one chair was still empty.

Darien’s chair.

She played the worst game of her life that night. She fumbled every pass, missed easy shots, lost herself. Afterward, her boys tried everything—ice cream, jokes, comfort. Nothing worked. She just kept whispering, "I miss him. I just want him here." Jack finally broke. He sent Darien a message, telling him to come home. Whatever it took. He had to be here.

That night, Darien booked a one-way ticket.

Summer came like a dream. The sun hung heavy over the lake, Jack’s friends were on their way, and Maisy—Maisy couldn’t stop smiling. Darien was coming home. Everything felt right again.

On their first night back, the two families transformed the Stellas’ backyard into a makeshift movie theater. A white bedsheet was strung between two trees, blankets and pillows covered the lawn, and Grease flickered onto the screen as laughter echoed through the night air. Halfway through, Ellen noticed something.

Luke and Maisy were missing.

Following her gut, she wandered past the patio, past the firepit, and around the yard until she found them. Side by side on a picnic blanket, lying beneath the stars. They didn’t even notice her. Just like always, they were in their own little world. Luke was talking about a girl named Sammy from his class—his eyes shining, cheeks a little pink. Maisy teased him relentlessly, nudging his arm and giggling. They’d been teased for being so close, but it never bothered them. They knew. It was never like that. It was deeper. Safer.

Luke eventually turned the question back to her. Did she like anyone? Maisy blushed, admitting there was a guy named Mark in her English class who made her heart flutter. They laughed about it. She was glowing. Her best friend beside her. Her brother coming home. For the first time in months, everything felt like it was finally falling into place.

A week later, a scream pierced the night.

Ellen and Jim Hughes jolted awake. Red and blue lights bled through their bedroom window. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

They shook Quinn awake and raced next door.

Inside the Stella house, time stopped.

Monica was on the floor, wailing in a way that didn’t sound human. Dominic sat beside her, eyes vacant, tears pouring silently. Two police officers stood nearby, solemn and still. The world felt tilted, like it had slipped out of orbit.

Quinn’s eyes scanned the room.

No sign of Maisy.

He didn’t speak. Just turned and ran. Room to room. Nothing.

Then—outside. The dock.

He spotted a tiny figure, sitting at the edge, feet skimming the lake. Her hair was down, her body hunched. The sky above was still dark, but it didn’t matter. He knew it was her.

He walked slowly, quietly, and sat beside her. Neither of them spoke. The water lapped gently at their feet. His pajama pants soaked through, but he didn’t care.

Then he looked at her.

And his heart broke.

Maisy’s face was pale, her skin blotchy from crying. Her eyes—once the brightest shade of blue—had dulled to a stormy gray. Her lips trembled. Her voice cracked.

"He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone…"

It hit Quinn like a freight train.

Darien.

He was supposed to come home. Tomorrow morning.

Maisy turned to him, eyes hollow, voice barely above a whisper.

"He’s gone, Quinn. Darien’s gone."

And just like that, everything shattered.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Maisy was never the same after that night.

The girl who once radiated light—who made people smile just by walking into a room—disappeared into the shadows. It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside her, extinguishing the sun. The warmth in her laugh, the sparkle in her big blue eyes, the way she used to bounce through life with a soccer ball at her feet and a grin on her face—it was all gone. The Maisy the Hughes boys knew and loved didn’t just fade. She vanished.

In her place stood someone cold, quiet, and unreachable. She spoke in clipped tones. Her smiles were rare and hollow. She shut everyone out—everyone except Quinn, Jack, and Luke. With them, she still allowed flickers of her old self to bleed through, but they were just that: flickers.

After Darien’s funeral, the tension inside the Stella home began to boil. Monica and Dominic’s relationship fractured under the weight of their grief. They fought almost every night, their voices sharp and unrelenting. Maisy couldn’t bear it. Her house no longer felt like home—it felt like a battlefield. So she fled. Night after night, she’d slip away to the Hughes house, curling up on the couch or slipping into the spare room without saying much at all. Ellen and Jim became her refuge, the safe harbor she desperately needed. They held her as she cried, fed her when she didn’t have the energy to eat, and let her grieve at her own pace.

Eventually, Monica and Dominic made a choice. They didn’t want to lose their daughter, not after already losing their son. The pain had cracked them too deeply to ever fully mend, so they separated. Dominic returned to Canada, chasing the familiarity of coaching in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. Monica stayed behind with Maisy, helping her get through the last stretch of high school.

It crushed Maisy to watch her family fall apart, but she understood. Somewhere deep down, she knew they were all just trying to survive. She missed her dad at her soccer games—missed his cheers, his proud grin—but she knew he was still rooting for her, even from miles away.

Once the dust had settled, once the casseroles from neighbors stopped coming and the whispers faded, the Hughes boys found themselves drawn back to the dock. The same one where Quinn had once sat with Maisy as her world collapsed. This time, it was Quinn, Jack, and Luke.

They didn’t speak for a long while. The sun had dipped low, casting golden light across the lake, and the silence between them was heavy—but not empty. It was filled with memories, pain, and quiet resolve.

Quinn’s mind was a storm. His NHL draft was only weeks away. College loomed. Everything in his life was shifting, but none of it mattered more than the promise he made to Darien. A promise forged in grief, sealed by firelight.

He stared out over the water, his voice steady but soft. "We have to be there for her."

Jack and Luke looked over at him.

"She’s going to be hurting for a long time. Maybe forever. I don’t care how hard it gets, or how long it takes—we have to help her find her way back. She needs to know we’re not going anywhere. We don’t let go. Not of her."

Quinn’s throat tightened. He blinked back the sting in his eyes.

Without a word, Jack wrapped an arm around his brothers, pulling them close. Luke leaned in, silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

"She’s gonna be okay," Jack whispered, voice thick with emotion. "We’ve got her."

And in that moment, surrounded by the only constants left in their world, they made a silent pact.

Whatever it took.

They were bringing their sister back home.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Matt had been coming to the Hughes cottage for a few summers now. The place was serene, addictive—every sunset etched into his memory like the lyrics of a favorite song. Each year, the group of boys seemed to grow, their laughs louder, their bond stronger. Eventually, the Hughes cottage couldn’t hold them all. Thankfully, the neighbors—the Stellas—were close friends and happy to open their doors. Their house became a much-needed extension of the Hughes summer crew.

Matt was always intrigued by the Stellas, mostly by the girl who rarely spoke and never smiled. Maisy.

To Matt, Maisy Stella was a mystery. She was nothing like the Hughes boys—her energy cold and quiet, her presence guarded and sharp. Most of the boys steered clear, but Matt watched. Quietly. He saw the way her edges softened around the brothers, how her scowl would melt into something gentler when she looked at Jack, Luke, or Quinn. He noticed how she wore their jerseys to games and only showed up to parties when one of the Hughes boys hosted. She rarely talked to anyone outside of that tight circle, and when she did, her words were clipped, uninterested.

Matt didn’t know much about her, only what Jack occasionally shared: she played soccer, had worn the USA crest more than once, and carried the weight of more than anyone could see. He’d gone to a few of her games, always at Jack’s insistence, wearing those obnoxious pink t-shirts that read Maisy’s Cheer Squad. Trevor brought a cardboard cutout of her face to one match. It made her blush and bury her face in her hoodie, but the boys caught the flicker of a smile she tried to hide.

Lately though, something had changed.

Maisy had been getting rides home from someone else. Jack mentioned a boyfriend—Mark. Some guy from school. Matt didn’t think much of it. Until that night.

Trevor heard about a party across town and insisted it was the perfect way to kick off summer. Maisy initially declined. Parties weren’t really her thing. But Trevor was relentless, and eventually, she caved.

Matt and Cole were the designated drivers. The rest of the group was already tipsy before they even left. It took some effort to pack everyone into the two vehicles, limbs tangled and laughter filling the air. The party was packed—one of the football guys was hosting, and in Michigan, that meant the entire town showed up.

People dispersed quickly once they arrived. Trevor and Cam flirted their way across the backyard, Jack and Turcs disappeared somewhere inside, and Matt ended up by the beer pong table with Beech. An hour or so in, Matt went hunting for a bathroom.

Every door was the wrong one. He tried upstairs, the last hope. Three doors. The first—a linen closet. The second—he flung open and immediately slammed shut. A guy in a Packers jersey and a redhead, tangled on the bed. Gross.

Then something clicked.

That guy. The jersey. The face.

Mark.

He didn’t have time to think before the hallway door opened behind him. He turned to find Maisy standing there, about to reach for the same bedroom door. Her voice was soft.

“Any luck finding the bathroom?”

He froze. Shook his head. Panic blooming in his chest.

Maisy shrugged, hand on the doorknob.

And then the door swung open.

The redhead stumbled out first, giggling, adjusting her skirt, clearly drunk. Maisy tried to move aside—and then bumped into someone.

Mark.

Too busy zipping up his pants to notice her, he brushed past her like she was no one. No pause. No apology.

Matt watched her freeze. Watched the color drain from her face.

She backed into the wall, slowly slid down to the floor. Her arms wrapped around her knees. Her shoulders began to shake.

Then she broke.

The sobs came fast. Hard. Raw. Her face buried in her arms, tears falling like rain. Matt rushed to her side, unsure of what to say, unsure if anything could help. So he did the only thing he could—he wrapped his arms around her and held her. Let her cry until her fists balled in his sweater and her heartbreak soaked into the fabric.

He didn’t move. He let her soak him in sorrow, his arms firm around her like an anchor in a storm. The weight of her pain pressed into his chest, and he accepted it without question, without hesitation. Her sobs slowed to quiet trembles, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Matt wasn’t sure why, but in that moment, he knew she just needed someone to stay. So he did.

Eventually, Trevor stumbled up the stairs, Jack and Alex trailing behind. They stopped cold at the sight.

Jack’s face dropped.

“M? Maisy? What happened?”

No response. Just her small body shaking.

Jack turned to Matt, demanding answers.

Matt said only one word.

"Mark."

A week later, Mark had the audacity to show up at the Stella house. Bags in hand. Smiling. Expecting a summer like nothing had changed.

Luke answered the door.

The second he saw Mark, every muscle in his body tensed. He gritted his teeth and stood tall, blocking the entrance.

Mark frowned. “What’s your problem, man? Let me in.”

“You’re not welcome here,” Luke said, low and cold.

Mark tried to step forward, using his height to intimidate. But Luke didn’t budge.

Inside, Quinn looked up from the couch where he was sitting beside Maisy. Her head was on his shoulder, eyes distant. The commotion drew his attention, and he walked toward the door, voice even.

“You need to leave. She doesn’t want to see you.”

Still, Mark pushed. Claimed he didn’t know what was going on. Said it was all a misunderstanding.

Bullshit.

The boat docked in the distance. Jack was back.

Cole spotted the unfamiliar car in the driveway first.

“That’s Mark’s car,” Jack muttered, fury rising.

He didn’t even wait to tie off the boat properly. He sprinted toward the house, Trevor and Alex on his heels. Bursting through the front door, he saw him.

Quinn grabbed Jack before he could launch himself at Mark. Alex and Trevor pulled him back.

“You absolute piece of shit—how dare you show your face here?!” Jack shouted.

Maisy emerged from the hallway. Her eyes landed on Mark and something inside her hardened.

He lit up. “Baby, tell them to stop! Tell them we’re fine!”

Maisy didn’t blink.

Jack snarled. “Fine? Who the hell was that redhead then? The one you were inside when she walked in?”

Mark stammered. “It was a mistake! She came on to me!”

Maisy stepped forward.

Two hands on his shoulders. Her eyes locked on his.

And then she brought her knee up. Hard.

Mark doubled over in pain, gasping.

Maisy leaned in, grabbed his chin. Whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“Get out. Before I let Jack finish what I started.”

Then she slapped him—hard—and turned on her heel, disappearing into the house.

The door slammed shut.

And for the rest of the day, she didn’t come out.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It was hard on Luke and Maisy when Quinn left for Vancouver. They’d always leaned on him—he was their anchor, their voice of reason, the steady older brother who made things feel safe. His absence was like losing a part of their foundation. But they had Jack. And having Jack around made it a little more bearable. He filled the space Quinn left behind in his own chaotic way—louder, messier, but warm and constant.

Now, Jack was getting ready to leave too. His NHL draft was just days away, and all signs pointed toward New Jersey. Maisy was thrilled for him—so proud she could burst. But underneath all that joy sat a quiet ache.

She remembered Quinn’s draft day like it was yesterday. It came just a few months after Darien’s passing, and the weight of his absence was unbearable. Everyone tried their best to smile, to celebrate, but it hung over the day like a shadow. Maisy stuck close to Luke and Ellen, trying to keep it together. She didn’t want to cry—not on Quinn’s big day.

But Quinn had always seen through her.

Just before they went to find their seats, he pulled her aside. She was already crying.

“He’s so proud of you, Quinn,” she whispered, voice cracking.

Quinn blinked, a single tear slipping down his cheek. Maisy reached up, wiped it away, and smiled through her own.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

When they got home after he was drafted to the Canucks, Quinn and Maisy ended up on the dock—the same place they’d sat the night Darien died. They stayed there for hours, trading stories and memories. They talked about everything—about growing up, about missing him, about the ache that never quite faded. And when the sky turned dark, they tilted their heads back and scanned the stars.

Trying to find the one that belonged to Darien.

Jack’s draft day was different. Louder. Crazier. Cameras swarmed the venue, buzzing like bees, documenting every move of the projected first overall pick. Jack was magnetic—cracking jokes, flashing his trademark grin, soaking up the attention like he was born for it. He posed for pictures, answered questions with charm, and moved through the day with the energy of someone who knew he belonged on that stage. But underneath the confidence, Jack carried something else. Something heavier.

He hadn’t told many people. Just his family. Just Ellen.

When the media crew asked about his suit—a sleek, custom navy piece with a burgundy tie—he chuckled and told them to give him a second. He slowly shrugged off the jacket, folding it over one arm before flipping it inside out. There, stitched behind the left breast pocket, directly over his heart, was a number.

26.

Darien’s number.

Gasps from those watching nearby filled the air. The camera zoomed in. Jack glanced sideways and found Maisy in the crowd. Their eyes locked, and she crumpled. The tears came fast, unrelenting. She buried her face in Jack’s chest when he reached her, wrapping her in the tightest hug.

“You like it?” he asked, voice cracking.

She nodded into his shoulder, unable to speak.

“You think he’d be proud?”

Maisy pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. "More than proud. He’d be bragging about you to every coach in the league."

He let out a shaky breath, one hand cupping the back of her head as he kissed her temple. Jack never said it often, but Maisy was his sister just as much as she was Luke’s and Quinn's. This moment wasn’t just for him—it was for all of them. For Darien.

When his name was finally called, time stood still.

"With the first overall pick in the 2019 NHL Draft, the New Jersey Devils select... Jack Hughes."

Cheers erupted. Flashbulbs burst. Jack made his way to the stage, accepted the jersey with pride, and slipped it on. Before walking off, he paused.

He looked up, his chest rising as he pointed to the sky.

The arena quieted just slightly, long enough for people to understand.

Later, in an interview, Jack explained.

"That was for my brother. My oldest brother, Darien. He didn’t get to be here, but I know he’s watching. I carry him with me every day. Especially today."

After Jack left for Jersey and Quinn returned to Vancouver, the silence hit harder than either of them expected. For the first time, the house felt too big, too still. The echoes of laughter that once bounced through the walls were replaced with long stretches of quiet.

Maisy started sleeping over more, sometimes without saying much at all. They didn’t need words—they just needed each other. Luke would wait for her after practice, drive her home from games, sometimes just to sit in the driveway and talk about nothing. Other nights, they’d sneak into the Hughes living room at 2 a.m. with bowls of cereal, watching reruns of shows they used to love with Jack. It became their thing.

They went on long walks with no destination, talked about the dumbest things, but also about the things that mattered. About Darien. About the way grief sometimes felt like wearing wet clothes—always clinging, always cold.

One night, Maisy had a nightmare. She showed up at Luke’s door crying, and he didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into his arms and held her like Quinn and Jack once did. That night, he promised her again. "I’ve got you, M. Always."

They were just two kids carrying too much, holding each other up the best they could.

Maisy’s final year of high school came with a decision she had been avoiding. Everyone assumed she’d go to Michigan. It made sense—Quinn had gone, Luke would be there soon, and it was home.

But her heart was restless.

She needed change.

She needed to feel alive again.

Boston offered her that.

She kept it quiet at first, afraid of what it might mean—afraid of breaking Luke’s heart. But she knew she had to tell him.

They were lying in the Hughes backyard, heads tilted toward the stars. A comfortable silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, she spoke.

“Luke… I want to go to Boston.”

She said it softly, like it might shatter between them.

Luke didn’t say anything right away. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes shimmered in the moonlight, and for the first time in years, he saw something there—hope. A sparkle he hadn’t seen since before Darien.

His heart cracked a little. Of course he wanted her at Michigan. He wanted her close, always. But this—this was what she needed.

He nodded.

“I know.”

Maisy blinked. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “You’ve been stuck here too long. You need something new. Something just for you.”

She smiled, but it wobbled.

“I’m gonna miss you, Lukey.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, M. But I’m proud of you. So damn proud.”

He reached over, threading their fingers together.

They lay there under the stars, just the two of them, not quite ready to say goodbye—but starting to understand that letting go didn’t mean losing each other.

It just meant growing.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It was officially move-in day for Maisy.

Her stomach twisted with nerves and anticipation. Boston felt so big, so unfamiliar. The campus buzzed with early arrivals, but it was still quiet compared to what it would be in a few weeks. The air was thick with the weight of change. The women's soccer team was kicking off summer training, which meant Maisy was one of the first to move into her dorm—no crowds, no chaos, just the hollow echo of new beginnings.

Luke came with her, of course. He wouldn’t have let her do this alone.

They carried up her things—box by box, bag by bag. He helped hang her fairy lights exactly the way she liked, folded her clothes with the precision only a younger brother trying to stall time could manage, and arranged her desk with ridiculous attention to detail. They didn’t say much while they worked. They didn’t need to.

It was a bittersweet kind of silence—the kind that settles when you know you're about to turn a page and leave an entire chapter behind.

When the time came to say goodbye, they lingered. Maisy stared at the open door, her arms wrapped tightly around Luke, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. She didn’t want to let go. Neither did he. This was it. This was the end of what they knew—the late-night drives, the cereal, the dock, the whispered memories. This was the start of something new for her. And for Luke, it was letting go.

“Text me when you wake up,” he whispered.

“You’ll be the first,” she replied, voice cracking.

It was bittersweet.

They both felt it—that push and pull of pride and heartbreak. It was the beginning of something new, something Maisy needed. But it also meant the closing of a chapter they weren’t quite ready to end. One written in backyard stargazing and cereal at 2 a.m., in unsaid words and lifelong promises.

Eventually, reluctantly, she pulled away, telling him he needed to get on the road before the sky turned too dark. He nodded, brushing his sleeve across his eyes before turning to leave. But instead of pressing the elevator button to go down, Luke pressed one for the floor above.

He had one more stop to make.

Matt had only just finished unpacking the last of his things. The walls of his dorm still smelled like fresh paint and cardboard boxes. Alex Newhook, his roommate, was off at the gym, and Matt was enjoying the rare silence. Until a knock echoed through the door.

He didn’t think much of it—maybe Alex forgot his key. But when he swung the door open, he froze.

Luke Hughes.

Standing there, looking exhausted and wrecked in a way that had nothing to do with moving boxes.

"I need you to promise me something," Luke said. No greeting. No small talk. Just a voice weighed down by something far heavier than words.

Matt stepped back and gestured for him to come in. "What’s going on? What do you need?"

Luke looked around the room like he didn’t know how to start, like the words themselves were too big. He rubbed a hand over his face before finally meeting Matt’s eyes.

"I need you to take care of her."

Matt’s brow furrowed. "Maisy?"

Luke nodded. "She’s not just my best friend. She’s my sister. She’s our sister. Me, Jack, Quinn—we’ve spent our whole lives protecting her. Watching over her. And now we can’t be here. None of us. Not like we used to."

He took a breath, the kind you take before saying something sacred.

"We lost someone once. Darien. He was her everything. And after that, we made a promise to look out for her. To never let her feel alone again. And I know you and her haven’t… you don’t know her the way we do. But I’ve seen the way you are, Matt. I’ve seen you at her games. I’ve seen you sit with her when she’s quiet. I’ve seen you notice her when no one else does."

Matt’s throat tightened. He hadn’t known it showed.

Luke took a step closer.

"I need to know that if she ever breaks, someone will be there to pick up the pieces. That if she starts to pull away again, someone will remind her she’s not alone. That someone will protect her the way we always have."

It was more than an ask. It was a responsibility forged in love and grief, entrusted to someone they barely knew—but hoped could become her anchor.

A sacred passing of the torch.

Matt nodded slowly, the weight of the moment settling into his chest.

Then, with calm certainty, he met Luke’s gaze.

"I’ve got her."

Luke blinked, his jaw tensing with emotion. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Luke reached out and gripped Matt’s shoulder—a silent thank you, a silent trust.

And then he turned, walking out of the room.

Leaving behind the one person he hoped could become her next safe place.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Maisy was settling into her new situation a lot better than she had expected. In the weeks leading up to her move, she had braced herself for the worst—awkward roommate situations, homesickness that wouldn't let up, or worse, feeling like she didn’t belong. But Boston had surprised her. The campus had a kind of energy that buzzed beneath her skin, and the soccer field felt like a second home the moment her cleats hit the turf.

She was finally starting to feel like herself again. The girls on the soccer team were sharp, funny, and tough as nails, and they welcomed her into their circle without hesitation. There were jokes at water breaks, music blasting in the locker room, and fierce competition that pushed her to her limits. That was what Maisy thrived on. Being pushed. Being seen.

She bonded quickly with her roommate, Addison—Addy—who was easygoing in a way Maisy found comforting. Addy didn’t ask too many questions, but she always knew when Maisy needed to vent or be pulled out of a slump. They shared playlists, swapped clothes, and whispered late into the night like they were kids at summer camp.

Maisy’s confidence on the field grew with every practice. She was earning her place—not just skating by. It was the kind of progress she hadn’t felt in a long time. For the first time since Darien’s death, since the goodbye with Luke, she didn’t feel like she was walking around with a hole in her chest. Here, she had purpose. Structure. A shot at something more.

For a while, things felt... good.

But that high didn’t last forever.

One quiet night, the homesickness crept in like a slow fog—thick and relentless. It wasn’t triggered by anything specific. No sad song on shuffle, no familiar scent wafting through the dorm, no phone call gone unanswered. It just arrived, heavy and unwelcome. She had been sitting by the window in her room, watching the streetlights flicker, when the weight in her chest began to grow.

She missed the comforting chaos of home, the background noise of Jack's obnoxious laughter, Luke’s half-hearted attempts at cooking, the warmth of Quinn’s protective silence. She missed her mom’s voice echoing through the kitchen, and even the quiet grief they still carried together. And more than anything, she missed Darien. That ache never really left—it just faded into the background sometimes, waiting for the silence to settle so it could come clawing back.

She missed Michigan’s grey skies and chilly mornings, the way the air always felt a little damp but familiar. She missed knowing exactly where she was, who she was, and who had her back. Here, everything was new. Everyone was new. And for all the things going right, there was still a void that nothing could quite fill.

She wiped at her eyes quickly, frustrated with herself. She hadn’t even lasted a month. What kind of fresh start was this, if she already wanted to run home?

Addy and a few girls from the team noticed her mood dip. In true college fashion, they decided the cure was a night out. Frat row. Loud music. Cheap drinks. Shiny outfits. Anything to shake the blues.

They dressed her up in the cutest outfit they could throw together—a sparkly silver tank top that caught the light with every movement, a tiny black skirt that flounced with each step, and glittery heels that made her legs look a mile long. Addy curled Maisy's hair into effortless waves and dabbed on just enough highlighter to make her glow like she owned the world. Lip gloss? Check. Perfume? Spritzed generously. They hyped her up like it was game day. Taylor Swift blasted from the Bluetooth speaker while the girls danced around their dorm, snapping selfies and screaming compliments at each other. It was girly pop time, and Maisy, for the first time in days, actually laughed—loud, bright, and free.

By the time they stepped out into the warm Boston night, the group of them looked like they belonged on a magazine cover. Confidence buzzing through their veins, they strutted down frat row like it was their runway. For a little while, Maisy felt like maybe—just maybe—things would be okay.

Matt had made a promise—and he didn’t break promises. Especially not the kind that came with Luke Hughes’ glassy eyes and trembling voice.

So when he saw Maisy at the party, obviously drunk and pressed up against some random frat guy whose hands were way too familiar, something in him snapped. He didn’t think. He just moved.

He slid between them in one quick step and shoved the guy back.

“Bro, do you mind?” the frat boy slurred.

“Yeah, actually. I do. Back off before this becomes a problem.”

Matt was big. Broad. Confident. And pissed. The other guy took one look at him and wisely backed off.

Maisy, on the other hand, was not pleased.

Her jaw dropped. “What the fuck was that?” she yelled, glaring up at him.

“I’m just looking out for you,” Matt said, his voice gentler than his actions. “He was getting handsy and you’re—look, you’re too drunk.”

Maisy’s expression shifted from surprise to fury. “Yeah? Well I don’t need you babysitting me, Matt. So fuck off.”

And with that, she stormed away, leaving Matt standing alone under the flashing lights.

Maisy couldn’t take it anymore.

Everywhere she went—there he was.

Matt Boldy had become a permanent fixture in her orbit. A tall, broad, aggravating presence that hovered just a little too close, a little too often. It was almost like one of the Hughes brothers had hired him to be her full-time chaperone. And honestly? That sounded exactly like something Jack would do.

She thought moving to Boston would be her reset button. Her clean slate. But no, Matt Boldy—of all people—had to be here, too. Or rather, he had already been here. But that didn’t make his constant appearances any less maddening.

He showed up everywhere. At every party, at the gym, in the dining hall, in group hangouts. If she turned a corner, he was probably there. Watching. Hovering.

And not in a creepy way. More like an annoying, I-promised-your-brothers-I’d-keep-you-safe way. But that didn’t make it better. If anything, it made it worse.

The girls on her soccer team started to notice it, too. They teased her relentlessly, whispering that maybe Matt had a crush on her. That maybe he was secretly in love with her. That maybe this was his weird, hockey-boy way of flirting.

They were wrong. Maisy knew it.

This had Hughes written all over it.

What made it worse was that her roommate Addy had started dating his roommate Alex. Which meant that every group lunch, every casual weekend plan, every movie night—Matt was there. Smiling like he didn’t just ruin her night the weekend before. Acting like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t the reason guys kept a five-foot radius from her at parties.

Every time she tried to talk to someone—just talk—Matt would appear like some six-foot-two hockey-playing storm cloud. “You’re too drunk.” “That guy’s sketchy.” “You sure you want to be around him?”

It got to the point where people just stopped trying. They knew about Matt. And no one wanted to mess with BC’s golden boy.

She felt cursed. Like she had the cheese touch.

Maisy counted down the days until the hockey season officially started. She prayed he’d get too wrapped up in practices and games to keep breathing down her neck.

But until then, she was stuck with him.

And to make matters worse? He wasn’t even all bad. He was... infuriatingly decent. He was funny in a dry, unexpected way. He showed everyone pictures of his dog back home like a proud parent. He wore the same blue Drew hoodie every other day and somehow made it work. And he really did care about his teammates.

It was enough to make her almost forget how insufferable he was.

Almost.

It all came to a head at a football afterparty.

Maisy was about to make out with Connor—the quarterback, the definition of tall-dark-and-handsome—when Matt appeared, seemingly out of thin air. He grabbed her arm and pulled her away before she even had the chance to lean in.

"Sorry man, not tonight," Matt said coolly to Connor before leading Maisy toward the group of hockey guys on the other side of the house.

Maisy yanked her hand back, face flushed with fury. “What the fuck is your problem, Boldy? You can’t tell me what to do. I don’t care what Jack or Luke told you.”

“Leave me the fuck alone. I’m fine without you. I mean it.”

She turned to walk away, but Matt caught her wrist again and leaned in, his voice low and sharp.

“Really? You’re fine? Going out every weekend, getting wasted, throwing yourself at every guy who looks at you—that’s fine to you?”

The words hit her like a slap.

“You need to wake up, Maisy. Pick yourself up.”

She yanked her arm free and didn’t look back.

Maisy kept her distance after that.

Soccer season was about to begin, and the pressure was on. The home opener against Wisconsin loomed over every practice like a shadow, and Maisy knew this was her moment to prove herself. She wasn’t just fighting for playing time—she was fighting to show everyone, including herself, that she belonged here.

So she buried herself in the grind. Conditioning drills, early morning lifts, tactical sessions. She was the first one on the field and the last one off, her body running on adrenaline, stubbornness, and protein bars. Her cleats barely left the turf as she sprinted, again and again, chasing a version of herself that felt whole.

The loneliness crept in at night, during the quiet moments. Luke had a tournament that overlapped with her first game. Jack and Quinn were buried under their NHL calendars. No one was coming to the opener. No one would be in the stands wearing her number, cheering when her name was called.

The ache of that truth settled in her chest like a rock.

So she ran harder.

It was midafternoon, the sun relentless, when she finally dropped to the grass beside the field. Her shirt clung to her back, her lungs burned, and the world felt like it was spinning slightly off-center. She lay there, face tilted to the sky, trying to slow her breathing and not cry out of pure exhaustion.

Then a shadow fell over her.

She groaned. "Can you actually fuck off for once in your life?" she muttered, eyes still shut.

"Wow... that's harsh! And I thought we had something going at the party the other night."

Her eyes flew open.

Connor.

Maisy jolted upright, flustered. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

Connor laughed, easy and amused, offering her a hand. She hesitated a beat before taking it. Once standing, she brushed grass off her legs, avoiding eye contact as her cheeks flushed.

“No worries, princess. What’s got you out here working like it’s the World Cup?”

Maisy finally looked at him, squinting slightly against the sun. He was even better looking in daylight. His hair curled gently around his ears, a little damp from a workout of his own. His eyes were green and bright, and that smirk of his? Devastating.

She cleared her throat. “We’ve got our home opener coming up. I’m a rookie—I’ve gotta work twice as hard to keep my spot.”

Connor nodded, clearly impressed. “Damn. Respect. You looked locked in out there. Intense.”

She smiled, bashful and surprised by the compliment. “Thanks.”

He glanced toward the gym. “I’ve gotta run—coach is waiting for me. But we should hang out sometime. You know, when you’re not trying to outrun the flash.”

He handed her his phone with Snapchat open, and she typed in her username, trying not to fumble it. Their fingers brushed as she returned the phone, and her stomach flipped—just a little.

Connor started to walk away, then turned back with a grin.

“By the way—you still owe me a kiss, 26!”

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Word spread fast across campus: Maisy Stella and Connor Owens were a thing. It started with a few casual sightings—walking together after classes, sharing smoothies on the quad—but what sealed the gossip was when someone caught her sneaking out of one of the football team’s houses wearing a hoodie far too big to be hers. The dots weren’t hard to connect.

Matt Boldy hated it.

He’d known Connor since freshman year, and if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Connor Owens was bad news. Charming? Yes. Smooth? Absolutely. But Matt had heard enough from the girls on campus—some of whom were his friends—to know Connor had a pattern. He’d flirt, win them over, keep them just long enough to satisfy his ego, and then leave without warning. Always with a different girl, always with the same outcome.

And now Maisy? Sweet, firecracker Maisy, with her razor-sharp tongue and guarded heart? She didn’t deserve that.

Matt tried to let it go. Tried to keep his distance. But it gnawed at him. So, one afternoon after classes, he caught her just outside the building they both had lectures in.

“Maisy,” he called out, jogging to catch up.

She turned, brows already furrowed.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. "About Connor."

Maisy didn’t even wait for the warning to come out of his mouth. "You’ve got to be kidding me," she snapped, loud enough to draw attention from a few students walking by. "What, are you following me now too? Just like every other second of the day?"

“I’m serious, Maisy. He’s not who you think—”

“Fuck off, Matt!” she yelled. "Seriously. Just leave me the hell alone."

She stormed off before he could say another word.

Matt stood frozen in the hallway, heart pounding—not from fear, but frustration. He hated how she looked at him like he was the bad guy. Like he was trying to ruin something good.

Later that night, guilt ate at him. He couldn't sit with it anymore. He picked up the phone and called Jack.

It backfired.

A few days later, as Matt was leaving the rink, mentally preparing to dive into the mountain of homework waiting for him, he spotted a small blonde figure marching toward him with fury in her steps.

Oh no.

Her eyes were sharp, jaw clenched. She was all stormcloud.

“You're actually so unbelievable,” she seethed.

Matt raised a brow. “People tell me that all the time.”

Smack. Her hand connected with his shoulder, then a shove. It didn’t move him much—she was strong, but he was bigger. Still, the force behind it made a point.

“You told Jack? Are you fucking serious?”

Matt’s smirk dropped. “Maisy—”

“What are you? His little bitch now? Can’t fight your own battles so you have to go crying to him?”

That one landed. Hard.

Matt’s insecurities—about being second best, about living in the shadows of Jack’s spotlight—came rushing to the surface. That comment cut deeper than she knew.

He looked down, voice softer. “He’s not a good guy, Maisy. I just didn’t want you to get hurt. Again.”

That word. Again.

It hit her like a brick wall. Images of Mark, of that awful party, of betrayal and heartbreak—all of it surged back. The flashing red lights. The girl stumbling past her with smeared lipstick. The numbness that sank in when she saw him zipping up his jeans, acting like she didn’t exist. It all played in her head like a cruel movie on repeat. Her eyes welled, and she blinked them away quickly, refusing to let Matt—or anyone—see her fall apart like that again.

She didn’t say another word. She turned on her heel and walked away.

She avoided him after that. Lunch? Taken to go. Group hangs outs? Skipped. She buried herself in practice, in studying, in anything that kept her from seeing Matt’s stupid face.

Things with Connor were... fun. At least on the surface. He said all the right things. Knew how to make her laugh. Had this way of making her feel like the only girl in the world when they were alone. She spent most nights at his place, wrapped in his oversized sweatshirts, believing—desperately hoping—that maybe this time, it would be different.

It was the afternoon of her home opener. The stadium buzzed, and so did she. Her name had cracked the starting lineup. After weeks of pushing herself harder than she ever had before, she had earned it.

And yet... the stands felt too empty.

Her brothers weren’t there. Luke had a tournament. Jack and Quinn were mid-season. It hurt more than she let on.

But Connor said he’d be there. Front row. Loudest in the stands. He’d stayed up with her all week as she spiraled through her anxiety. Reassuring her, rubbing her back, telling her she was amazing.

She clung to that.

When they called her name and number, she ran onto the field, her heart pounding. Her eyes scanned the stands, looking for his signature green eyes and floppy brown hair.

But he wasn’t there.

Instead, she caught a different pair of eyes. Blue. Familiar. Matt.

He was wearing that goddamn pink t-shirt—the one her brothers always wore to her games. Maisy’s Cheer Squad.

The sight of him—so still, so steady—knocked the wind out of her. After everything she had said, every harsh word thrown like knives, after pushing him away over and over again... he still came. He still chose to show up. No expectations, no need for recognition. He just sat there, right in the front row, wearing a ridiculous shirt and clapping like she was the most important thing in the world.

Maisy’s chest ached with the weight of it. That kind of loyalty—it didn’t just appear. It was earned. It was rare.

And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, a part of her had been hoping he’d come. A part of her had been looking for him, maybe even before she looked for Connor. Because somewhere deep down, beneath all her anger and confusion, she knew Matt would never let her down like that. He never had.

Her throat tightened as the guilt sank in deeper. The memory of their fight still fresh—her rage, the slap, the words that cut far too close. The look on his face. She remembered it too clearly now. But he showed up anyway. And for a brief, painful second, it reminded her of another night. Another party. Another boy she trusted.

That night with Mark flashed in her mind like lightning. The red lights, the pounding music, the girl stumbling past her with smudged lipstick, and then him—zipping up his jeans, not even looking at her. Acting like she meant nothing. The way her heart shattered in silence while everyone else kept dancing.

That night had changed her. And maybe, just maybe, Matt knew that.

Maisy blinked the sting from her eyes. She couldn’t fall apart now.

Focus.

She turned back to the field.

Focus.

The game began.

She played like her life depended on it. Her passes were sharp. Her defense impenetrable. And then came the breakaway. One clear path to the net. She darted, weaving through defenders, picked up speed—then the fake step, and the ball soared over the goalie’s reach.

Back of the net.

Her teammates swarmed her. Her first college goal. Her first win. It should’ve been perfect.

She looked to the crowd again. Still no Connor. Just Matt. Still in that ridiculous shirt. Still clapping with that stupid proud smile.

Connor never showed.

And he never texted.

No call. No excuse. Just silence.

Maisy told herself it didn’t matter. That she didn’t care. That maybe he just got busy. But the ache in her chest told the truth.

She scrolled through her phone after the game, trying to distract herself. Messages from Luke, Jack, and Quinn flooded her screen—photos of them in their pink shirts, too. Only this time, they weren’t just the old ones. They’d added something.

#ForDarien26.

She broke.

Maisy called each of them that night, crying, laughing, telling them how much she loved them. They weren’t there, but they made her feel like she wasn’t alone.

Her inbox buzzed. Congrats from Trevor. Cam. Johnny. Even Josh Norris, who she hadn’t talked to in years. It all meant something.

And then there were two texts from Matt.

We’re all proud of you, M. Go kill it out there.

Unbelievable game! So happy for you. Treat yourself tonight. Check under your car :)

She paused. Threw on a hoodie and ran to the parking lot.

There, tucked behind her front tire, was a small bouquet of daisies and a note. Matt’s messy handwriting scrawled across the front.

Inside: a gift card to her favorite ice cream shop, and another note.

You were magic tonight. I hope you know that. –M

Maisy stood there, frozen, heart thudding. Everything was a mess—her feelings, her friendships, her sense of trust—but somehow, standing there with daisies in her hand and the night breeze brushing her cheeks, it didn’t feel so heavy.

Maybe she’d been too harsh. Maybe she didn’t know everything.

And maybe... Matt wasn’t the problem at all.

She slid into her car, starting the engine.

Ice cream sounded really good right now.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It was finally the weekend, and the soccer team had one thing on their minds: celebration. Their first win under their belts, adrenaline still coursing through their veins, they were ready to let loose. Maisy, still emotionally tangled in the wreckage of the last few weeks, needed a night where she didn’t have to think. About Matt. About Connor. About any of it.

Tonight wasn’t about heartbreak. It was about music, red solo cups, bad decisions, and losing herself in something other than the noise in her head.

The party was everything she needed—loud, sweaty, chaotic. She played drinking games with her teammates, screamed the lyrics to early 2000s throwbacks, and laughed louder than she had in weeks. For a few blissful hours, she forgot how heavy everything felt. Her empty cup in hand, she told Addy she was going to refill and made her way through the crowded living room.

The line at the keg was short, and Maisy let her eyes wander as she waited. She scanned the room lazily, watching the blur of bodies dancing, couples making out in corners, people swaying and spinning and laughing.

She’d spotted Matt earlier in the night. He hadn’t approached her, hadn’t hovered. He’d finally given her the space she’d screamed at him to give her. It should have felt like a victory. It didn’t.

Her turn at the keg came quickly, and once she had her drink, she turned to head back. The room had grown even more packed in her short absence, and every few steps she bumped into someone. And then she collided into a solid chest, beer sloshing everywhere.

“Oh shit, I’m—” she began, but the words froze on her tongue.

Connor.

She took a step back, wide eyes taking in the familiar face she hadn’t seen—or heard from—since the game. And then she saw it: his hand. Interlaced with another girl’s.

Her stomach plummeted.

His smile curled, lazy and cruel. "You got a problem?"

That smirk—it used to make her blush. Now, it twisted her insides. It looked so different tonight. Cold. Detached. Like she had never meant anything to him at all.

It hit her all at once.

The familiar pang of betrayal. The humiliation. The ache. The way her chest tightened so suddenly it felt like she couldn’t breathe. It was Mark all over again—the redhead girl at that party, the flash of guiltless eyes, the hand shoved through her as if she were invisible. The breaking. The erasing.

Maisy pushed past Connor, barely able to see where she was going as her vision blurred with tears. The music and crowd pressed in, making the room feel too loud, too hot, too full. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she shoved through the crowd, desperate for an exit, for air.

And then a hand.

Not rough, not forceful—gentle. Steady.

Matt.

She didn’t even have to look. She knew.

He tilted her face up, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. She met his eyes—calm, concerned, warm. No pity. No anger. Just him.

“Maisy?” he asked, voice low. Safe.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Matty... I wanna leave.”

That was all he needed.

He led her through the mess of bodies like it was muscle memory. Shielding her with his frame, never letting go of her hand. The second they stepped into the cool night air, Maisy let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. A breeze rolled across her bare shoulders and she shivered.

Matt immediately shrugged off his brown button-up, draping it over her. Then he wrapped his arm around her again, pulling her close as they walked in silence.

About halfway back to campus, Matt gently guided her to a bench on a quiet stretch of sidewalk. The moment she sat, the dam broke. Tears spilled freely, sobs shaking her frame as she buried her face in his chest. He didn’t say a word—just held her. Firm. Solid. There.

Like always.

Why was it always him?

When the sobs turned to quiet sniffles, Maisy finally whispered, “You’re always here. Why?”

Matt shifted. He leaned back just enough to see her face, his hand finding its way to her cheek again.

He looked at her for a long moment. Really looked. At her trembling lip, her tear-rimmed lashes, the vulnerability she tried so hard to bury.

And then he said, simply, “Because I want to be.”

The silence that followed was charged, thick with everything they weren’t saying. Her hand reached up, holding his wrist where it cradled her face. Their eyes locked, and neither one looked away.

Matt’s arm still held her close, his other hand now trailing up to the back of her neck. Their bodies had molded into one another, the bench a shrinking island in an otherwise still world. She could feel his breath. Her hands pressed to his chest, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt.

He dipped his head just slightly, gaze flicking to her lips. Her name slipped from her lips in a whisper. “Matt...”

He looked back at her eyes—something shifting behind his. Something fragile. Longing. And then a car drove past, headlights sweeping over them, breaking whatever spell they were under.

Matt pulled back first.

“I should get you home,” he said quietly.

Maisy nodded. He wrapped an arm around her again, pulling her against his side as they walked the rest of the way. Neither spoke.

But everything had changed.

And Maisy didn’t know what scared her more—how much she wanted to kiss him, or how much it already felt like home.

What the fuck was that.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The days after the party passed in a haze neither of them could quite shake.

Whatever had happened between them that night—on the bench, under the stars, in the heat of heartbreak—it was real. Tangible. But now it hovered unspoken in the space between them.

Matt couldn’t stop replaying it in his head. The way she looked at him like he was safety. The way she clung to him like he was all that tethered her to the earth. The softness of her whisper, the near-kiss that had nearly destroyed him. And God, the way he had wanted to close that distance.

But he hadn’t. Because he couldn’t.

Maisy Stella was off limits.

Jack and Luke had never said it directly, but they didn’t have to. It was understood. Maisy was their sister in every way that mattered, and Matt couldn’t cross that line—especially not with everything she’d already been through. She had already been broken by boys who only saw the surface, who never stayed. Matt didn’t want to be the next name on that list.

So, he did what he thought was best.

He put distance between them.

He stopped sitting with her and Addy in the dining hall. He walked different routes to class. He kept himself busy with hockey and late-night gym sessions and assignments he suddenly cared way too much about. He avoided eye contact when they passed in hallways. He laughed louder around other people, hoping it would drown out the ache he felt every time he noticed her across a room.

And Maisy noticed.

She noticed the way his eyes wouldn’t meet hers anymore. The way his seat at their usual table remained empty. The way he didn’t hover at parties or shoot her quiet glances when no one was watching. He wasn’t there at all.

And it confused the hell out of her.

What had she done? Had she imagined it all? The way his arms wrapped around her. The way his voice softened only for her. The look in his eyes when she whispered his name. The way he almost kissed her—almost.

Maisy wasn’t stupid. She’d known how guarded he was. But that night? It felt like a breakthrough. And now, it was like he’d slammed a door in her face.

She went quiet.

Not just with Matt—but with everyone.

Practice became routine. She stopped staying after to joke with her teammates. She ghosted Addy’s offers to go out. Her laughter faded, bit by bit, until it was gone entirely. The light Matt had seen in her—so bright the night she scored that goal—had dimmed.

And that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hey.”

Matt froze when Luke’s name lit up his phone screen.

He answered, trying to keep his voice neutral. “Yo. What’s up?”

“Is something going on with Maisy?”

The question made his heart stutter.

“I mean,” Luke continued, “I dunno, man. She’s just been... off. Like, more than usual. She doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t smile. Even Addy says she’s been weird lately. And I know you’re around her a lot so I figured I’d check in.”

Matt didn’t know what to say.

How do you explain to the kid you promised to protect her that you might be the reason she’s hurting?

How do you admit that you got too close, that you let her in, and now you’re pulling away—not because you don’t care, but because you care too much?

He rubbed a hand over his face, swallowing the guilt that climbed up his throat.

“She’s just been through a lot,” Matt said eventually, voice low. “Maybe she just needs time.”

Luke sighed. “Yeah, maybe.”

But Matt heard the doubt.

He hung up the phone and sat there in silence, heart pounding. The truth settled heavy in his chest.

He was the reason she was hurting.

And the worst part?

He missed her too.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The home opener had finally arrived for the Boston College hockey team, and the energy buzzing through the arena was electric. Matt could practically taste it. This—this was what he lived for. The crowd, the lights, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He needed this more than ever. A few hours on the ice, free from the spiraling chaos inside his head.

He hadn’t let himself think too much in the weeks leading up to tonight. Every spare second had gone to hockey or school. He skipped the parties. Avoided the group hangouts. Avoided her. No Maisy.

But tonight, she’d be here.

Addy had told him as much when she mentioned Maisy was tagging along to watch Alex. That knowledge added a twist to his gut he couldn’t quite shake. He tried. God, he tried to shake it off as he laced up his skates and took the ice for warmups. The second his blades hit the rink, he let the noise fade. Let it be background to the rhythm of routine: one lap around the net, a few wrist shots, then into his drills.

Hockey. That was all that mattered.

The game started off rough. The Eagles took time to find their footing, the opposing team coming in hard and physical. But by the end of the first period, they were finding their groove, Matt falling into his flow like muscle memory.

Meanwhile, in the stands, Maisy sat curled into her seat, surrounded by cheers and chants. She’d been to dozens of hockey games before—between her brothers and Jack, she practically grew up in a rink. But this was the first time she was watching Matt.

And somehow... it felt different.

He skated with a purpose, a sort of silent command that left her breathless. Every stride was precise, every move calculated. She could see the fire in his eyes, the way he read the ice like he was born on it. And she couldn’t stop watching him.

Her mind wandered back to her own home opener. To the nerves, the pressure, the overwhelming weight of it all. And Matt had shown up anyway, even when things between them were... complicated. He still cheered for her. Still left her daisies. Still reminded her of the kind of person he really was.

Without giving herself more time to hesitate, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure. Then, she typed:

Good luck #12. Cheering for you x – Maisy

It wasn’t much, but it felt like everything.

Back on the ice, Matt didn’t check his phone until after the game, when the Eagles had pulled out a comeback win. He was exhausted and exhilarated, the weight of the game falling off his shoulders as he peeled off his gear and jumped into a quick shower.

When he got back to his locker, towel slung around his neck, he saw her name flash across his screen.

Maisy.

Just her name sent his heart stuttering.

He read the message once. Then again. Then smiled.

Alex, standing beside him, saw the shift and gave him a shove. "Go talk to her, dumbass," he muttered under his breath before disappearing toward the exit.

Maisy was standing off to the side of the family-and-friends section with Addy, chatting and waiting. Her eyes searched the crowd as the players started to filter out. She wasn’t even sure why she’d stayed. Maybe she wanted to see him. Maybe she hoped he’d look at her the way he had on that bench weeks ago.

And then she saw him.

His hair was still damp from the shower, messy and curling around his forehead. The burgundy BC shirt clung to his chest, and the low gym shorts did very little to hide the veins trailing down his arms. She had to look away for a second, her heart pounding embarrassingly hard in her chest.

God, he looked good.

"You played really good tonight," she said when he finally approached, her voice soft.

"Thank you for coming," Matt replied, his voice just as soft. "And for the text. I really appreciated it, M."

Her cheeks warmed. She looked down quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. That nickname.

Addy and Alex swooped in a moment later, full of energy and praise, and within seconds Addy was proposing a celebratory meal.

“Ooh! The four of us should go get food somewhere! To celebrate.”

Maisy and Matt exchanged glances—silent communication still unspoken between them—and they nodded, agreeing to go.

The diner trip was easy. Light. Comfortable in a way that Maisy hadn’t felt in weeks. And from that night on, something between them quietly shifted.

They were civil. The group dynamics returned to normal. They started sitting together again. Supporting each other’s games. He still wore the Maisy’s Cheer Squad shirt. And she still looked for him every time she scored.

Eventually, group hangouts turned into parties again. The four of them became a unit—Matt, Maisy, Addy, and Alex—often moving together through the crowd like their own little orbit.

And somewhere along the way, Maisy started to let her guard down. The anxiety she used to feel around Matt was replaced by a giddy buzz. She found herself laughing more. Touching his arm when she joked. Sitting closer.

They were undefeated beer pong partners—somehow completely in sync. It was stupid how well they worked together. How he always knew where she was. How her eyes always flicked to him first when something funny happened.

Outside of the group, though, they still didn’t hang out one-on-one. Not yet. Not after what happened at the football party. That night still lingered like fog neither of them could clear.

And Maisy? She was spiraling.

She tried to convince herself it was nothing. But her body betrayed her every time he passed her a drink, fingers brushing hers. Or when he’d silently tug off his hoodie and toss it over her shoulders. The small things—the protective hand on her back when they were crossing a crowd, the way he’d pull her away from guys who stared too long—they no longer annoyed her.

They made her blush.

She noticed it in herself too. The way her heart picked up speed when she spotted him in a room. The way her stomach fluttered when their knees touched at a party.

It was undeniable now.

She was falling for Matt Boldy.

And that terrified her.

Because he was Jack’s friend. And despite everything, that meant something.

She couldn’t talk to Luke—not when he’d probably panic, or worse, tease her. Quinn maybe. But Jack? Absolutely not. He’d flip.

So she turned to the only person she trusted enough—Addy.

“I think I’m falling for Matt,” she confessed one night, sitting cross-legged on her bed, fingers nervously twisting the hem of her hoodie.

Addy’s response was instantaneous.

"Oh my GOD. FINALLY!" she squealed, practically jumping on the bed.

Maisy blinked. "Wait—what?"

“You have no idea how many nights me and Alex have talked about this. Like so many. So... did Matt finally get the balls to admit he likes you back?”

Maisy’s jaw dropped.

“He likes me too?”

Addy’s face fell. Panic swept across her expression.

“Oh God... Alex is gonna kill me.”

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Maisy didn’t know what to do after her conversation with Addy. She tried to act normal around Matt, tried to pretend like everything was the same. But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Addy’s words echoed in her head constantly: "He likes you too." They looped again and again, gnawing at her from the inside out. What if Addy was wrong? What if Matt had just been friendly? He was a good guy. He cared about people. Maybe everything he’d done was just part of that. Maybe the flowers, the texts, the soft touches—maybe they were just him being Matt.

And yet, her heart couldn’t help but hope.

She needed to clear her head. So she laced up her cleats, grabbed a ball and her headphones, and headed for the soccer field. Music blasting in her ears, she let the rhythm of her drills drown out the noise inside her head. She ran until her legs ached, until her lungs burned, until her thoughts finally slowed.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the trees, casting long shadows across the field when she felt it—that unmistakable feeling of someone watching her. She paused, chest rising and falling rapidly, and looked up.

There he was.

Matt.

He was sitting in the bleachers, in his BC hockey sweatsuit, damp hair curling slightly from a recent shower. His hoodie sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, a duffle bag at his feet. He looked like he always did after a game: calm, slightly flushed, focused.

Without thinking, Maisy made her way over, climbing the bleachers to stand one row below him. Her hair clung to her neck from the sweat, her cheeks were flushed, and she was panting from the sun and drills. But when she looked at him, all that exhaustion disappeared. Her heart skipped a beat. A jolt of energy surged through her.

“Hi,” they both said at the same time.

They smiled, both laughing softly at the coincidence. Matt ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more—and Maisy could barely breathe. He looked good. Too good. The soft outline of his muscles beneath his shirt, the fading bruises along his jaw from a recent game, the glint in his eyes.

And Matt? He was stunned.

She was radiant. Glowing under the last bits of afternoon light. Freckles dotted her flushed cheeks and nose, and loose strands of hair curled around her face from under her headband. Her ponytail swayed slightly with each movement. No makeup. Just her. And she was perfect.

His chest tightened as he watched her. He remembered why he came here. He had to talk to her. He couldn’t keep pretending nothing happened. Couldn’t keep skating around the truth.

They both opened their mouths again at the same time.

Maisy let out a nervous laugh. “You first.”

Matt took a breath, looking down at his hands for a second. “I know.”

Maisy tilted her head, confused.

He looked back up. “Alex told me.”

Maisy’s heart stopped.

She stood frozen, unsure of what to say, how to move, what this meant.

Matt chuckled nervously, rubbing a hand across his face. “Addy really needs to learn how to keep a secret.”

He stood up slowly, stepping down to her level so they were face to face. His hands came up gently, cradling each side of her face like she was something precious. She didn’t pull away. She couldn’t.

Their eyes locked, and the air around them shifted. The world quieted. Maisy could feel every beat of her heart. Could feel the heat of his hands on her cheeks, the way his thumbs brushed softly over her skin.

He leaned in slowly, brows furrowing slightly like he was asking for permission.

Just then—

Riiiiing...

Maisy jumped slightly at the shrill sound of her alarm blaring in her back pocket. She cursed under her breath and reached back to silence it.

They stayed close, forehead to forehead, neither wanting to pull away just yet.

“I have to go to class,” she whispered.

Matt nodded, not moving.

They stood there for a few more seconds, eyes closed, soaking in the moment. Then, finally, she stepped back.

For the next few days, Maisy felt like she was walking on clouds.

Her mind replayed that moment over and over. The feel of his hands on her face. The almost-kiss. The look in his eyes when he said he knew.

She was falling hard, and fast.

They hadn’t seen each other since. Schedules clashed. Practice, class, team events—but tonight was Friday, and both the soccer and hockey teams had the night off. A party was happening, and their friend group was going out.

Maisy was nervous. This would be her first time seeing Matt since the field.

She dressed in the cutest outfit she could find—one that said casual but I tried. Her hair was loosely curled and tucked behind her ears. Right before leaving, she downed a quick shot of vodka to calm her nerves.

Addy laughed, watching her. “Stop stressing. You look amazing. Matt’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Maisy rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.

They made their way to the boys' dorm. The room was packed. She scanned the crowd, eyes flicking around—and then she saw him.

Matt stood near the back, deep in conversation with Alex. But the moment their eyes met, his lips curled up in a soft smile. His eyes never left hers.

Her stomach flipped.

They didn’t talk before leaving, but on the walk over to the party, she felt a strong arm wrap around her shoulders. He pulled her in close.

“You look really good tonight, M,” he whispered in her ear.

She didn’t respond—just leaned closer into his side, heart racing.

At the party, the group began to scatter. The lights were dim, music loud. Maisy turned to Matt, grabbed his hand, and without a word, pulled him into the closest empty bathroom.

The door clicked shut.

Matt’s face was flushed, a huge smile spreading across his cheeks.

“Tell me you’re sober right now,” he said, voice low.

Maisy nodded. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to forget this.”

He stepped forward, cupping her face again, and kissed her. It was gentle. Urgent. Like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

She clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world, fisting the fabric of his shirt in her trembling hands, pulling him so close there wasn’t a breath of space between them. The kiss deepened, slow and desperate, like they were trying to memorize the taste of each other. Emotion poured out in waves—weeks of built-up tension, silent longing, quiet glances and missed chances, all spilling into this one perfect moment. His lips were soft and warm, moving with reverence, like she was something sacred, something he'd been aching to touch for far too long. One of his hands slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, holding her gently but firmly, grounding her as everything else blurred away. She was dizzy, weightless, and entirely his in that moment—and he kissed her like he knew it.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, he rested his forehead against hers.

She reached up and wiped the smudge of lip gloss from his mouth, and he took her hand in his, kissing her palm.

“Matty...” she whispered.

He let out a soft groan, his grip tightening slightly.

“What is this?”

He was quiet for a moment, scanning her face with that intense gaze.

“I want this,” he finally said. “I want you. All of you.”

The party was a blur after that.

Neither one of them said anything to the group. They kept it quiet. Close. Personal.

For now, it was just theirs.

They snuck lunches together. Texted nonstop. Studied side by side, worked out together. He made her laugh. She calmed his nerves. They didn’t need to tell anyone yet. They had time.

A few weeks later, just before a big home game against Wisconsin, Matt invited her over.

She found daisies on his bed, her favorite candy beside them. And beneath it all—a Boston College jersey, perfectly folded, her last name printed across the back: BOLDY, #12.

Her heart swelled.

“Awe, Matty,” she said, turning to him with misty eyes. “Are you asking me to wear your jersey tomorrow?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “And for every game after that.”

She practically tackled him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his lips.

She’d never felt more like his than she did in that moment.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The crowd was as loud as ever, chants echoing through the packed arena as the student section let their disdain for Wisconsin be known. Booing erupted the moment the visiting team stepped onto the ice for warmups. It was chaotic, electric, and exactly what college hockey was supposed to feel like.

Maisy stood tucked between Addy and a few of the other hockey girlfriends in the stands, her hands buried in the oversized sleeves of her new Boston College jersey. Matt’s jersey. It swallowed her whole, hanging past her hips and drowning her frame—but it was perfect. Because it was his. She felt safe in it, like a piece of him was wrapped around her even with the boards between them.

As Matt skated his usual warmup lap, he slowed right in front of where she stood. His eyes locked with hers through the glass, and the noise around them faded for a split second. That signature toothy grin spread across his face, and even through all the chaos, she heard him shout, "Looks good on you, M!"

Addy shoved her playfully, squealing like a proud best friend. Maisy rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the blush that rose to her cheeks. With a grin, she blew him a gentle kiss through the glass before he turned and skated back into formation.

The game itself was fast and physical. Boston College fought hard, their passing was clean, their pressure unrelenting—but Wisconsin came out strong, too strong. It was a battle until the final buzzer, but ultimately, the Eagles walked away without the win.

Matt exited the locker room wearing a tired expression, his face tight with frustration. He hated losing. Hated it more when he felt like he hadn’t played up to his own standards. Maisy waited at their usual spot by the family and friends section, arms open the moment she saw him.

She didn’t bring up the game. She didn’t need to. Instead, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, holding him to her chest, her fingers gently brushing through the back of his damp curls. He clung to her a second longer than usual, grounding himself in her touch.

They spoke with Matt’s parents for a bit, polite smiles all around, but Matt’s energy was off. Tired. Worn. Eventually, he mumbled something about wanting to just go home and crash. Maisy didn’t hesitate. She gave his parents a hug and took his hand in hers as they walked across the icy parking lot.

They stayed quiet, wrapped in their little bubble. Her arm circled around his waist, his around her shoulders, keeping her close. They walked like that until they reached the car.

Matt stopped at the passenger door, opening it for her with a tired smile. One hand on the doorframe, the other bracing against the car roof, he leaned down slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he moved in for a kiss—

"ATTA BOY, BOLDY!!!"

Maisy flinched, startled by the sudden yelling.

Alex and Cole stood across the lot near their team’s charter bus, laughing and packing up gear. Matt’s head snapped up, his entire body freezing in place.

Panic.

Pure panic.

What if they saw her? What if they told Jack?

Matt turned quickly to block their view, waving them off with a fake grin while Maisy ducked a little lower in the seat, her cheeks burning.

They were quiet for a beat, both processing the very near exposure.

And then Matt let out a snort.

Maisy followed, unable to stop herself from laughing. It bubbled up out of her chest, and soon they were both breathless with laughter, heads thrown back, the stress of the moment melting away.

After a few long seconds, she met his eyes with a grin. "You’re so dead to them."

The rumors started spreading like wildfire.

By the time everyone was home for Christmas break, the USA NTDP group chat was in chaos. The boys were relentless. They hadn’t missed Matt cozying up to a blonde mystery girl outside the Wisconsin game, and now they wanted answers.

Thankfully, Alex and Cole hadn’t seen Maisy’s face—just a flash of long blonde hair before Matt had stepped in and blocked their view. It was enough to send the group into a spiral, but not enough to expose the truth.

Matt played it off, shrugging the whole thing off with a "just some girl" excuse, tossing crumbs and hoping the boys would get bored. They didn’t. They asked for names. Details. Instagram handles. He gave them nothing.

Maisy, for her part, played it just as cool. When Alex and Cole texted her a few days later asking if she had any clue who the girl might be, she rolled her eyes and typed back:

“No idea. But bless her if she’s putting up with him.”

Back home in Michigan, Maisy had been back for a week, spending every second she could with Luke. Her best friend had been soaking up every second with her around, even if he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different.

She was... glowing.

It wasn’t anything she said. It was the way she smiled more. The way her laughter came easier. The way she wasn’t carrying the same weight in her shoulders. Luke had no clue what—or who—was behind it. But he didn’t care. He was just happy to see pieces of her returning to herself.

The house felt alive again.

Quinn and Jack flew home for a few days during the holiday break, and with the four of them finally under one roof again, the Hughes-Stella home was bursting with noise and laughter. It hadn’t felt that full in years. Not since Darien.

Each of the kids shared their updates. Luke, flustered, admitted he had a girlfriend, which earned him endless teasing. Maisy proudly rattled off her stats and rookie achievements, earning cheers and high-fives. Jack boasted about settling into life in Jersey. Quinn, despite his usual quiet demeanor, took his teasing about the Canucks in stride.

Their moms—Monica, Ellen, and Jim—all had misty eyes. It had been so long since they’d seen their kids this happy, this whole. Even Dominic, who wasn’t there, was spoken about warmly, and the air felt light.

On the day before Jack and Quinn were scheduled to fly back out, the group piled into the family van and made the drive to the lake cottage.

The drive was quiet, peaceful.

When they arrived, they spent an hour or two laughing and lounging around the snow-dusted cottage, reminiscing about old summers and sharing stories. Then, they bundled up, grabbed a few bouquets from the local market, and made their way to the path behind the house.

There, nestled between snowdrifts and pine trees, was Darien’s headstone.

Maisy laid the blanket down gently, brushing snow from the edges of the stone. One by one, each of them laid their flowers down. They didn’t say much. They never did when they came here. Words weren’t needed.

But this time, Luke broke the silence.

“May…?” he said softly. “You’re happy again.”

Maisy looked up at him, then at Jack and Quinn beside him. All three wore soft, unreadable expressions. Their lips quirked into gentle smiles.

She sucked in a breath, adjusting her worn Michigan-blue mittens. Her voice was quiet but sure.

“Yeah. I think I am.”

And that was all they needed.

They didn’t know why yet. Didn’t ask. They just knew their sister was smiling again. That the spark in her eyes—the one they thought might never return—was flickering back to life.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

Maisy Stella was home.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Summer came quickly, and with it, the impossible task of trying to figure out how—or when—to tell the rest of their world about their relationship. Maisy and Matt still hadn’t come up with a good way to come out with the truth. They weren’t hiding because they were ashamed, but because this felt sacred. Quiet. The kind of love you held close to your chest before the rest of the world had a chance to tear it apart.

Maisy had a sneaking suspicion that Luke had caught on. There were moments when his knowing gaze would linger on her just a second too long. But he never pressed her for details. He simply told her that as long as she was happy, and the guy treated her right, that was all that mattered.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from texting Matt anyway.

You got anything to do with Maisy glowing like this? he’d typed one night.

Matt, with his usual poker face, replied: Still her number one hater, don’t worry.

Three weeks into the summer, Matt finally arrived at the cottage. He had been counting the days. Texts and late-night calls had been their only lifeline for weeks, but none of that compared to seeing her—holding her.

When he arrived, the rest of the group was already there, most having come the day before. Jack met him at the driveway and led him to his assigned room for the trip.

Matt blinked.

It was the room across from Maisy’s.

He looked around quickly before Jack patted him on the back and ran off to rejoin the group. The moment he was gone, Matt dropped his bags, crossed the hallway, and knocked gently on her door.

“J, go away—I’m not in the mood.”

He grinned at the sound of her voice.

"M? It’s me."

There was a flurry of movement before the door swung open, and there she was—sun-kissed and barefoot, wearing a hoodie that was definitely his. She yanked him into the room by the collar of his shirt and closed the door.

Maisy practically tackled him, pressing kisses to every inch of his face. Matt laughed, his arms wrapping around her and lifting her clean off the ground. Their mouths met in a real kiss, finally, and they both sighed into the embrace like it was air.

They stayed like that for a while, breathing each other in.

Eventually, they agreed it was best not to be suspicious. They staggered their entrances downstairs, Maisy going first, doing her best to hide her blush.

Luke didn’t miss it. He raised a brow, silently clocking the difference in her mood. She’d left grumbling upstairs, and now she practically glowed. He didn’t say anything, just observed.

Over the next few days, Luke kept an eye on them. Maisy and Matt never touched in public, never said much to each other when others were around—but they were always near each other. Always hovering.

Luke noticed everything.

He saw how Matt always had a hoodie nearby when the sun dipped and the night got cold, one that would somehow end up draped over Maisy's shoulders.

He noticed how Maisy would crack open two beers at a time, placing one beside her where Matt would eventually pick it up. He noticed how their gazes found each other across rooms, how their hands brushed for a second longer than necessary when they crossed paths.

Luke smiled to himself. He didn’t need her to say anything. He knew. And if Matt Boldy was the one bringing this light back into his best friend’s eyes, then he was all for it.

One night, he and Maisy lay out under the stars, as they’d done for years.

“How’s Matt?” he asked casually.

Maisy blinked. “He’s fine?”

Luke turned to look at her, soft and knowing. “How’s Matt.”

She let out a little sigh, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s good, Lukey. He’s really good.”

Luke smiled, pulled her into his side, and kissed the top of her head.

“Good.”

—

The rest of the boys were slower on the uptake. Blissfully oblivious.

One night, around the fire, they brought up the infamous mystery girl from the BC vs. Wisconsin game again. The chirping was relentless.

Matt eventually groaned and stood up to grab another drink.

He wasn’t gone long—but long enough for Alex to catch the way Maisy casually reached out and touched his arm as he passed. The look they exchanged was subtle, but electric.

Alex blinked.

Did... did he just see that?

“Cole, did you—”

“Nope.” Cole was mid-story, not catching any of it.

Alex let it go.

Until later that night.

Maisy sat at the bar behind the couch in the Hughes' cabin basement, nursing a drink. The group had moved inside after the bonfire, filling the cozy space with laughter and music. When Matt approached, she looked up with the same soft smile that had haunted Alex since the hockey game was brought up. They exchanged a quiet word, then Matt leaned over to grab his drink.

It was identical to the scene at the arena.

Alex and Cole both went quiet, jaws dropping.

“Holy shit,” Cole whispered.

“Maisy,” Alex muttered.

They didn’t say anything then. Just exchanged wide-eyed glances.

Later that night, they agreed: Let them have their moment. They could mess with them later.

Matt said I love you on a boat.

Probably the worst place to say it, considering how loud and chaotic it was—but he couldn’t help it. They were surrounded by laughter, the sun casting that golden hour glow across the lake. Maisy sat beside him, legs tucked beneath her, wind whipping her hair in every direction as she grinned at something Cole shouted from the front of the boat. She looked radiant, glowing with life in a way that made Matt’s breath catch.

He watched her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks pink from the breeze. She turned and caught him staring, and instead of teasing him like she usually did, she just reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his.

That was it. That was the moment.

He leaned in, just barely above a whisper, but still loud enough to be heard over the wind.

“I love you.”

Time seemed to pause—until Trevor, clueless as ever, shouted from the other end of the boat:

“I LOVE YOU TOO, MAN!”

Matt froze. Maisy laughed, her whole body shaking with it, before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his ear.

“I love you so much.”

His heart practically burst in his chest.

From across the boat, Alex and Cole watched the moment unfold in disbelief. They exchanged wide-eyed, knowing looks—the kind of silent conversation that said, oh my god, it’s happening. Cole leaned into Alex, grinning like a fool.

"Boldy's gone," he muttered under his breath.

Alex smirked, not taking his eyes off the two. "Yeah. Totally whipped."

And at the helm of the boat, Quinn’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw them—Maisy with her head thrown back laughing, Matt looking at her like she was the only girl in the world.

Quinn smiled to himself.

His little sister was happy. That was all he’d ever wanted.

Jack was the last to figure it out. Something was going on and it seemed like everyone knew this big secret except for him. He missed all the not-so-subtle interactions between the couple, and if it wasn’t for him actually catching them in the act, he might never have found out.

It was a warm summer night and a few of the boys were out at a party, including Maisy and Matt. It was late, and a few rounds of beer pong had been going for hours. Jack challenged Maisy to a game of doubles—Jack and Quinn versus Maisy and her partner of choice. Instead of picking Luke, like usual, she ran to the couch and grabbed Matt by the arm.

“Boldy?”

“Oh J, just watch. We’re undefeated back in Boston.”

Huh. He didn’t realize they knew each other like that.

Too drunk to think much of it, Jack played. To his surprise, they got absolutely demolished. After Maisy sank the final ball into his cup, she leapt into Matt’s arms, and he spun her around like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The next morning, Jack woke up to the smell of bacon, pancakes, and maple syrup. Excited, he jogged downstairs to find the beer pong champs cooking a full breakfast spread. Still, nothing clicked.

He missed how Matt’s hands flew away from Maisy’s waist when he came in. Missed the way they sat on either side of him in silence, smiling like idiots.

That night, most of the boys went to another party. Maisy stayed behind, hoping for quiet time with Matt. Luke and Quinn stayed too, happy to hang back.

With most of the house empty, Matt and Maisy finally relaxed. They curled up on the couch in the basement of the Hughes cabin, threw on a movie, and forgot about the world. They kissed and whispered until they fell asleep, tangled together like puzzle pieces.

They didn’t even stir when the door opened hours later.

“Let’s play pool downstairs!”

Luke and Quinn exchanged glances.

Jack, oblivious as always, barreled forward.

He stopped halfway down the steps, spotting Matt’s head peeking over the couch.

“Boldy! Get up buddy, we’re drink—oh.”

He froze.

There, asleep in Matt’s arms, was Maisy.

Matt’s head rested atop hers, their bodies tucked together like they belonged.

Jack stared.

Then he looked at Luke. Then at Quinn. Then back again.

Luke winced. “I think she broke him.”

Jack stepped closer, crouched slightly. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he smiled.

He stood back up and wrapped an arm around each brother’s shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “He’s got her.”

[whimsysful]

I can't wrap my head around Will Smith "bearing his neck to Will Vote" Hockey still being like that post ntdp.

and that he was thriving there too.

I can't even put it into words but it just makes no sense to me that they didn't even like try to get him to physically stand up for himself at least a little bit

so the thing abt will is that he has always been very, very good. we all know he had the second highest points total ever in the program's history while there, incl. a season that he spent consistently playing up a year. he's been the best on the ice for most of his life, which means he never really needed to learn how to take a hit because he could outthink outplay and (usually) outskate the other players on the ice. he also got used to leno and gabe (and his other teammates before that) doing the dirty work in the corners, along the boards and in their zone to get him the puck, so like. he never really had to be the one getting hit over it. and it didn't matter because once they got him the puck, he was doing absolutely filthy ungodly things with it.

unfort now that will is no longer the unqualified best offensive player on the ice, he really does need to contribute more defensively, which requires getting a lil more comfy w taking a hit. the december shoulder injury def didn't help; it can take a young guy a while to bounce back from a hit like that, esp one like will who's never really been abt the goon life. is he ever gonna be milan lucic or even a kiefer sherwood? no, and he doesn't need to be. but he should probably spend the off-season doing his version of the rocky montage up the philly art museum steps or whatever and like. get his head in the game. which i'm sure he will!

the other thing is that while the ntdp does famously include some dryland fighting lessons, its alumni are also known for learning how to avoid a hit (eg, the comment screenshot in this post talking abt jack hughes, ie, the player with the first highest points total in program history). say what you want about the program—and i do—but for better and for worse, they never forget that they're in the business of breaking down boys to turn into men. and you can't hit a growing boy over and over and over. it's not good for business to break them too soon

[ohgodshutit]

Will Smith Hockey’s Promotional Contents for NTDP 2022 Star Wars Jersey

screenshot from this video, pic 1, pic 2,3

i was gonna stop with the smithness for today but this anon woke up the beast in me (again). this is just priceless. hysterical even. perfect for my little will’s birthday compilation😭

even earned them a nod from luke skywalker himself. the game worn jerseys are typically auctioned off for charity!!

[lennonyoung]

When you and the boys like bouncing