Morgan Rielly Imagine

Just My Job

               I watch in amazement as once the doors open, the reporters scatter. Most going to Matthews and Rielly, though several other players are soon trapped in by the pressing media. I watch everyone carefully, trying to get a feel for how each player conducts himself. Soon enough I find myself beside the Rielly scrum and I watch him curiously.

               He takes his time with each answer, choosing his words carefully and I can see a young player beside him on the bench also taking notice. I smile at that, remembering the article last season about Morgan calling himself the "dad figure" of the group.

               I remain beside his scrum until the questions become more pressing. Somehow, through all the faces, Morgan catches my eye and he sends me a silent plead.

               "Alright, enough for tonight," I say, raising my voice and gesturing with my hands at the group, like they are a bunch of stray chickens. I get a few dirty looks and a few disgruntled murmurs directed at me but I ignore them.

               When the last of them disappear out of the room I glance back at Morgan.

               "Thanks," he grins at me and bends back down to sit at his locker, still in half of his gear.

               "Just my job," I say lightly and tell myself to turn and walk away, knowing that I'm needed somewhere else now. But I don't. "Is it like that every night?" I find myself asking.

               Morgan glances back up at me, slipping his shoulder pads off. "Pretty much, though more intense when back home. Here there aren't as many." He says and gets an amused smile when my eyes bug out of my head.

               "More?" I ask incredulously. "How can you do that every night?" I shake my head and rub my temple. "I already have a headache and I was just standing there."

               At this Morgan laughs, the sound is bright and warm and I blink at him, mesmerized by the sound. "Welcome to Toronto then," he winks at me and stands to pull of his shorts and though he has pants on beneath them I awkwardly look away.

               "Then here's to hoping I'm back on a plane to Montreal soon enough," I mumble and his eyes flash back to mine, a frown pulling at his mouth.

               I swallow and hurriedly look away, catching sight of Mason as he waits for Babcock to meet with the media. I give a curt nod in Morgan's direction and walk to Mason's side.

               "Where have you been?" He snips at me.

               "I was in the locker room," I pipe back, meeting his own glare with my own.

               "Well you're supposed to leave when the reporters leave and come help out here," he snaps and I puff out a sigh as he turns away from me and heads to Babcock's side, his own recorder in hand. At least I don't have to do that tonight, it's always awkward as hell holding an object in another person's face.

               So I watch from the sidelines, luckily the game went very well for the Leafs, and Babs doesn't get too heated at the reporters. Which I'm almost a little disappointed about, cranky Babs is fun to watch on T.V.

Soon after, much sooner than I had thought, I'm marching back to the bus waiting to whisk us off to the airport. Mason is up ahead of me and though he mets my gaze, he makes no effort to wait for me. I'm about to open my mouth to say some smart remark when I feel a shoulder graze mine.

"I have a question," Morgan says to me and my stomach plummets into my stomach. A thousand scenarios flash through my mind until Morgan glances down at me, unsure about my silence.

"Go ahead," I cough out and clear my throat.

"You don't seem to like Toronto," he says, looking back forward as we stride along down the long hallway.

"That's not a question," I retort and I'm blessed with a skeptical Mo look.

               "Fine. You don't want to be in Toronto, do you?"

               I frown this time. Had I made it that obvious already? I glance back over my shoulder at the few players straggling behind us, I meet the eyes of a few of them and then look back to Morgan who is regarding me curiously again, just like last night on the plane.

               I sigh and toss my hair over my shoulder in annoyance. "It's not that I don't like Toronto, I don't think I've been here long enough to say whether or not I enjoy it," I pause, hoping that my explanation was enough and he'll drop it, but he waits. "Honestly, I just feel like I've been demoted." I say in a rush and hate the heat that floods my cheeks.

               I hadn't even told Nick I felt like that. I instantly regret it and walk a bit quicker, trying to make some space between me and Morgan.

               "Why would you think that? Aren't you here on a loan or something?" Morgan asks, easily keeping up with me despite my best efforts to jog in heels.

               "Think of it this way, Rielly," I huff, "what if you were loaned to the Marlies. What if you were scratched from a game with no explanation except 'you're too good to play here'?"

               Morgan is silent beside me, probably thinking my comparison is ridiculous and that I'm just a girl whining because I didn't get my way.

               "Well, what if it was like a test?" He asks and I frown at him.

               "What?"

               "Like, what if it was just a test to see how you react and help another organization grow?"

               He opens the door for me and the gust of fall air takes me by surprise and I gasp, reaching for the skirt of my dress to make sure it didn't flop up at all.

               "Don't you have a jacket?" He scolds and I blink in surprise.

               "No? I'm from Edmonton, this isn't cold," I roll my eyes at him but take the opportunity of climbing onto the bus to ponder his previous question. I expect him to continue past me to his seat after I sit down, but once again he sits himself across the aisle from me.

               "What do you mean 'grow'?" I ask him slowly between the bodies filing past us.

               "Well, you were brought in because there weren't enough people here, media wise at least. They could have hired someone else, there are plenty of people going into media studies and would love the opportunity to grow in the sports area," Morgan shrugs his shoulders and beside me I see Mason raise his head to glance between us. "Yet they chose to bring you in, maybe because they thought you could help, not just go through the motions."

               I stare at him as he finishes and don't return the smile he flashes at me. My brow furrows as I let his words sink in. The bus pulls away from the LCA and I reach out a hand to brace myself on the seat before me as we go around a corner.

               "That's..." I stutter, "Just ridiculous. I liked my old job, I was good at my old job. This is just a temporary thing. I'll be back in Montreal before Thanksgiving." I say soundly, willing the words to come true.

               I peek at Morgan but see he's staring at Mason, some sort of silent conversation going on between them that makes me uneasy as I glance between them. Finally, Morgan's eyes drop to mine, a hidden smile winking at me behind blue eyes.

               "Sure," he says nonchalantly and stares back out the window.

               I look at Mason for an explanation but he's already got his headphones on and typing away on his phone. Shaking my head again, a new habit I seem to be forming, and decide I don't care enough to decipher anything that's been said in the last then minutes. 

               Flipping my phone screen on, I startle when I have two missed calls and several text messages from Nick, all asking how the game went and then if I was alive. For the first time in nearly three years, he had slipped my mind.