The First Game (Chris POV)

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The Boston Brute - Pt. 3 (The First Game) Chris POV

Pairing: NHL!Chris Evans x Athletic Trainer!Reader (female character)

Summary: When you graduated from Northeastern University, you had your sights set on the West Coast. And then you were offered a position with the Boston Bruins Athletic Training Department. And then you met Chris. A 6′3″, ruggedly handsome hockey player dead set on making your life a living hell by pushing every button and getting on every nerve. Despite your obvious disdain for each other and the 'No Fraternization' clause in your employee contract, you're drawn together in a passionate, fiery love affair that seems to burn everything in its wake.

Warnings: Chris is an asshollleeee, language, sexual innuendos, parental death mentioned, Chris gets into a fight, blood mentioned. Toxic ex is mentioned and introduced into the fic. Smut mentioned, (18+ only, minors DNI).

W/C: 7.8k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All players and scenarios are made up completely. This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the NHL or with its players.

 This story does not reflect things that actually happen in the NHL or with its players

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The first game of the season.

Chris walked past the line of fans and press, his face remaining impassive and unreadable despite the questions and praise being thrown at him. 'Welcome To The Jungle' by Guns n' Roses blared through his AirPods, blocking out most of the noise as he entered the building and made his way to the locker room, his dress shoes sticking slightly to the rubber floor as he walked. T-Minus 3 hours until the face-off.

He walked past your new office, dipping his chin in his version of a greeting when you stepped out. You jumped in surprise, almost running into him when you exited the room. Chris wanted to smile when his greeting was met with an ice-cold glare, satisfied that you were successfully pissed off. He blamed his indifference towards you on your 'rainbow and sunshine' personality, trying to rationalize his behavior because no one was really that fucking happy in life. Ever. Something was hiding beneath your happy-go-lucky façade and he was going to break you.

He'd gotten pretty close, but he wanted to see you unravel, not just throw a couple of f-bombs at him. Still, Chris imagined that this side of you wasn't something Connor was accustomed to. He had been very surprised by your reaction last week when you'd told him to fuck off. Chris thought it was funny. Connor did not. He definitely ripped Chris a new one for how he'd been acting towards you.

He, of course, tried to defend himself, reciting some of the insults that you'd thrown his way, but Connor didn't care. Chris knew that he couldn't exactly play the victim here.

He wasn't Mr. Sunshine, and there was a reason they called him the Boston Brute. He was an asshole. Chris was unapologetically blunt, he took what he wanted, and he made no apologies for whoever he fucked over in the process. On and off of the rink. His mother blamed it on hockey. That it was a savage sport that had turned Chris into a man who lacked emotion and empathy. Someone who solved his problems with his fists instead of words. Though this past week, his words proved to be just as lethal.

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