NHL Imagines

Travis Konecny - Worth It

A/N: Y/EC = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Swearing/language, angst, anxiety, fight on the ice, guy who doesn't know the word "no"

Word Count: 1.8k

You were walking through the doors of Wells Fargo Center with Claude's wife Ryanne, and she was telling you about her day when your phone rang in your jacket pocket.

"Do you want to get that?" Ryanne asked.

"Nah, it's probably just a cold call. I've been getting so many lately!"

Ryanne nodded sympathetically and kept talking, but she only got through one sentence before your phone started ringing again. Annoyed, you pulled it out of your pocket and picked it up without even looking at who was calling.

"Listen, I'm not interested in whatever you're selling, so stop calling me!"

"Are you sure about that?" Travis joked on the other end of the line.

You blushed. "Shit, I'm so sorry! I thought you were a cold call."

"It's fine," he said. "Are you here yet?"

"Yeah, Ryanne and I just walked into the arena." At this, Ryanne mouthed, TK? and you nodded.

"Can you come down?"

Your eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, are you alright? You didn't hurt yourself playing soccer, did you?"

"No, no, Y/N, I'm fine, I just need to talk to you," he rushed to reassure you.

"Um, alright, I'll be down in 5."

You said your goodbyes, hung up the phone, and turned to your friend. "Sorry, Ryanne, Trav wants me to..."

"Go downstairs, I heard," she finished for you. "It's fine, don't worry. You'll be up at the box before the game starts though, right?"

"Of course. See you then!" you said, already walking to the escalator that would take you down to the basement.

You took the steps two at a time before running down the hall to the locker room. You and Travis Konecny were best friends since he started playing for the Flyers, and he was so unpredictable that you were always prepared for surprises, but the anxiety in his voice unnerved you.

In your mad dash for the locker room, you didn't look where you were going and ended up crashing into a large body. Unfamiliar hands steadied you, which you expected, but when the hands remained on your waist, you looked up to find they belonged to Rangers resident agitator and goon Ryan Lindgren.

"Whoa there. In a rush, are we?" he said, sounding amused. You just glared at him. Travis had complained about this guy and his cheap shots before.

"None of your business," you spat at him before getting out of his grip, which was thankfully very light, and running to the Flyers security guard.

Before you could even get a word out, the guard said, "Travis? Go on through."

"Thanks." You walked down the hall to the locker room, the door of which was propped open halfway, but you knocked anyway.

"Come on in, Y/N!" Claude shouted from inside. "We're all decent, I promise."

You slipped through the doorway and nodded at Claude before heading to Travis' stall.