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A Game of Inches- connor bedard

Connor bedard x reader
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It was a cold Friday night in Chicago, and the city buzzed with excitement as the Blackhawks were set to face off against the Pittsburgh Penguins. For Connor Bedard, the young phenom touted as the next big thing in the NHL, it was an important game. He'd worked hard, sacrificing weekends and late nights, driven by the dream of greatness. But this night was not to be his.
You, on the other hand, had been excited for this game for a different reason. As a freshman at the University of Chicago, you'd been dating Connor for a couple of months, and seeing him play at the United Center was always a thrill. You loved the energy of the arena, the noise of the crowd, and most of all, seeing Connor in his element. He had a way of lighting up the ice with his speed and skill.
But tonight, the energy was different. The Penguins scored early and often, and the Blackhawks couldn't catch up. Connor had a few chances, but the puck just wouldn't go in. The final score was 5-1, and as the final horn sounded, you could see the frustration on Connor's face as he skated off the ice. It wasn't the first time he'd lost a game, but this one seemed to hit harder.
You waited for him outside the locker room, the cold air seeping through your coat. The other players filed out, some with nods and quick smiles, but Connor was one of the last to leave. When he finally emerged, he was still in his gear, carrying his stick and helmet. He didn't see you at first, his head down, his eyes distant. You stepped forward and touched his arm.
"Hey," you said softly.
Connor looked up, and his eyes softened a bit when he saw you. "Oh, hey," he replied, trying to muster a smile. But it didn't reach his eyes.
"You okay?" you asked, knowing it was a silly question but hoping it might open a door.
He sighed, setting his stick against the wall and running a hand through his hair. "Not really," he admitted. "That game was rough."
"I know," you said, rubbing his arm gently. "But it's just one game. You have a lot more ahead of you."
He nodded, but you could tell he wasn't convinced. "Yeah, but I should've done better. I had chances, you know? It just... didn't happen."
You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You did your best. Sometimes things don't go the way we want them to. It's not your fault."
Connor looked down at your joined hands, then back into your eyes. "I just hate letting people down," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You're not letting anyone down," you said firmly. "You're an incredible player, and everyone has off days. It's part of the game. Besides, you're human, not a robot."
He chuckled at that, a small, hesitant sound that warmed your heart. "I guess," he said, shaking his head. "I just... I really wanted to win tonight."
"I know," you said, pulling him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "And you'll win again. This is just a bump in the road. You still have me, don't you?"
He squeezed you tighter. "Yeah, I do," he said, his voice a little lighter. "Thanks for being here, Y/N."
You held him for a while, letting him find comfort in the embrace. Eventually, he pulled back, a genuine smile on his lips. "Do you want to grab some pizza or something?" he asked. "I think I could use some comfort food."
"Sounds perfect," you said, taking his hand and leading him toward the exit. "Let's go find the best pizza in Chicago. I hear deep-dish fixes everything."
As you walked out into the night, Connor's mood seemed to lift. The loss still stung, but with you by his side, it didn't seem so bad. You knew there would be other games, other challenges, but you were ready to face them together. And that made all the difference.