Injuries are hard for anyone, but especially a professional hockey player. Your boyfriend Beau had hurt his wrist in November and four months later he was still on IR. At first he was okay with sitting on the sidelines and watching his teammates, but now he was starting to get antsy. Even after games they’d won he was upset, and after games they’d lost? It was a never ending rant of ‘I could have done that so much better I if I were playing’ or ‘this is my fault for getting injured!’ At times like that you knew to give him some space, but be supportive.
After two back to back losses to the Flyers, he was livid. Not just because they lost, but because he could have played better, or helped them, or not let the Flyers get to his head. “It’s not fair that they get to play, and not me!” He stormed through the front door and stated complaining before you even got to ask him how the game went. Of course, you figured out pretty quickly that it hadn’t gone well.
“Why do they even bother playing Taylor Pyatt? I’d be better than him with a broken wrist,” he complained and looked through the fridge for something to drink. “And Megna? Why?”
“Didn’t he score a goal tonight?” you said meekly, not wanting to upset him more.
“(Y/N) that’s not the point, it could have been me scoring that goal,” he sat down at the table and you sat across from him, watching him play with the lid from his beer bottle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get mad at you, I’m just so frustrated that I can’t play. And what if they like him and decide to keep him and not me?”
“Who, Megnatron?” You asked, using the cute nickname he’d gotten in his NHL debut last fall.
“Yes, like what if they realize he’s better than me?” Beau asked, suddenly looking a little sad, but also a little something else.
“Beau bear, are you jealous of Jayson?” You ask as you detect a hint of jealousy in his tone.
“Don’t call me that, and now, I’m not jealous,” he denied. “I’m just…. I don’t want my wrist to be broken any more.”
“And you want to be Jayson Megna,” you teased before getting up to get yourself a drink too.
“I do not, I’m way hotter than him, right?” he shouted to you in the kitchen and you laughed.
“Maybe, he is pretty cute though,” you teased him, knowing it would distract him from his frustration over not playing.
“What? You think he’s cute?” He stood up and walked toward you in the kitchen. He looked concerned, and so adorable.
“Yeah, I mean his hair is just, fabulous, and his eyes? Wow,” you pretended to fan yourself with your hand. “H.o.t.”
“(Y/N), are you joking? Because if you’re not, I’m going have to hurt Jayson, maybe mess up his pretty face so he isn’t so cute anymore,” he said with a smirk, but a slightly deviant tone.
“Of course I’m joking! I have eyes for you, and you only, sir,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Please don’t hit Jayson, or anyone else. You might mess up your hand even worse, and then you’ll never play.”
“Don’t joke about that,” he said with a smile and kissed you back. “But seriously. And for the record, I never broke my hand, or my wrist, it was a-”
“Yeah, I know,” you smiled and grabbed onto his non-injured hand to pull him off to the couch.
-Lila
