20. Shay #3
“Hey.” Gently, I press a kiss against his chest. “You’re a great son, Matt. You do so much, and I know they feel how much you love them.”
Gradually, he nods. “Yeah. It’s just … hard.”
“I know.”
His hands find my jaw, and he pulls back just enough to bend and kiss me. “Thank you.”
My chest flutters. “That’s what I’m here for.”
He smirks. “As my coach or as my girlfriend?”
I shrug. “Both.”
“I like you a lot, Rooney.” He kisses my forehead and slides his hands down my arms before spinning me around, a fit of giggles erupting from me in response.
“Good. I like you too.” I feel the but in my voice coming, and he senses it, too, a hesitation in his eyes. “But we are in the middle of the most important tournament.”
“And I need to get my act together,” he murmurs.
I lightly slap his chest, scolding him for speaking poorly of himself. “Stop that. You had a moment, a very emotional one, rightfully so. There’s no shame in that.”
His lips twitch to the side. “I know. But I also need to be there and show up for my team.”
I don’t hesitate. “And you will. I have no doubt.” I fist his shirt, pulling him down to me. “You can do this, Matt. You’re the best.”
“You’re biased,” he mutters.
I lift my hand up, my thumb and pointer finger an inch apart. “A tiny, tiny bit. But it’s still the truth.”
“What if I choke?” he whispers.
I shake my head in disbelief. “You won’t. I’m certain.” I swallow.
He bites his lip nervously. “I don’t know what game prep was like for you, but usually, I isolate myself away from everyone, mentally living in the arena.”
There will be no hard feelings from me. I would expect the same if the roles were reversed.
“The season is almost over, one way or another. I would much rather spend a few days or a week apart and then celebrate a victory than to risk this opportunity.”
“Are you hungry?” he asks, changing the subject, and I let him. “I’d kill for some pancakes right now.”
My stomach rumbles, as if on cue. “I’d love some pancakes.”
It was the hardest goodbye ever, but Matt went back to his place after our breakfast date—which had been incredibly cute, might I add. We went to one of my favorite breakfast spots, Snooze. We each got a flight of pancakes, and we split a plate of hash browns. It had been absolutely delicious.
When I get back home, I hop on a Zoom call with Andy. We’ve been wanting to go over more footage of the Wild’s top line to get ready for the next game. One of their main players is injured, so their lines have switched a bit.
I’m sitting on my couch, waiting for Andy to join, and I get an odd Instagram notification.
People you follow: New post by MacArthur.
Curiosity, of course, gets the best of me, and I can’t help but to click it.
I’m sure it’s a post like many of his others—him in gear, on the ice, or with his teammates.
But I’m taken aback when I see a picture of him and his dad, Matt’s arm draped around his shoulders.
They both have the biggest smile on their faces, and my heart instantly melts.
Multiple photos are in the carousel, and each one brings my eyes closer to tears, especially when I get to the last one. It must be the most recent picture they have together. His dad looks older here, and Matt’s hair is long, like it is now.
Matt’s behind his dad, his arms draped over his short dad’s shoulders, clasping his hands together. You can feel the warmth and love exuding from the picture.
A tear breaks the barrier of my lashes and rolls down my cheek as I scroll down enough to read the caption.
This is my dad, Rick, who has been my rock my entire life.
He’s been battling Alzheimer’s disease for the last couple of years.
As many of you know, we are incredibly close, and it’s been hard to watch him fade over time.
I needed to take a few days off for my mental health, and I appreciate the organization’s and fans’ support. Thank you.
Immediately, I open the comments and instantly wish I hadn’t. The feedback is mixed, both positive and negative. But they are in stark contrast.
You’re so strong, and so is your dad.
We’re right beside you, cheering both of you on.
Thank you for opening up about your mental health.
Man up, Jesus Christ.
You should’ve taken a permanent mental health day.
What a pussy!
Boohoo! My dad’s already dead. So what? Grow up and get on the ice.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, when did men become such wussies?
Sometimes, I swear, fans look at us players as superhumans, able to power through any injury or problem, but at the end of the day, we are just as weak as everyone else.
My tears are now pouring down my face, and my heart is shredded raw. I hope he hasn’t read any of them, but I know that’s an empty wish. He clings to his socials for strength, using the Nighthawks fan base as support. God, this is going to hurt …
I shoot him a quick text, wanting him to know that I’m here. Even though we’re focusing on our separate roles, I’m here if he needs me, always.
Andy pops onto the Zoom meeting, and I stow my phone, but not before seeing Matt heart my message and replying, Thank you, baby.