The Boston Brute Series: Pt. 6 (Don't Give Up On Me)
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: Crude language. Chris is an asshole. Somewhat toxic relationship/situation. Lots of Angst, neglect from the previous part is mentioned in this one, too. (18+, please. Minors will be blocked.) Mentions of violence, Chris being hit. The reader is cornered and made uncomfortable by someone in her hotel room. Forced Proximity with Chris. Please do not read this series if you are not a fan of asshole Chris or fics with a lot of angst. As always, let me know if I missed anything!
W/C: 9.8k
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. Additionally, I talk about Chris's family in this fic. Again, work of fiction and is no reflection of his parents or grandparents in real life.
Chris POV
Thursday Night:
"Bro, what the fuck?!" Connor yelled after Chris, jogging to catch up with him after you'd quite literally shoved him out of your house. His track record for leaving your house peacefully wasn't looking good.
Chris didn't blame you, though. He deserved it.
But he saw the look on your face when he told you you were beautiful and he panicked. He had been honest with you, though. Chris thought about you constantly. All day, every day. His thoughts revolved around you, which scared the living fuck out of him. It's the whole reason he'd kept his distance this week. The two of you didn't really even know each other that well and the way he felt about you, the protectiveness and the want, scared him.
It was no secret that he's gotten around. He's hooked up with his fair share of women, some more than once. But he's never felt this desperate for someone before.
He's never ached to touch someone like he ached to hold you.
No one's smile has even made his stomach flip like yours does.
It was confusing for him.
He'd never had an example of what love or healthy relationships should look like and even though he craved that with you, he knew he could never have it. He didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve a relationship that would be doomed from the start. You deserve someone who could treat you like you were meant to be treated. Someone who worshipped you. Not that Chris wouldn't, per se, but it wasn't enough. No matter how deeply he could fall, he knew that he would always do something to fuck it up.
"Chris, bro. Stop!" Connor reached out, grabbing Chris's bicep and pulling him to a stop. "What the fuck happened?"
He shrugged out of Connor's grip and stopped walking when he reached his SUV, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair. "Jesus, Townsend. Can you mind your own fucking business? I think I missed the part where it was your fucking concern."
Chris could tell that he wanted to snap. He watched Connor's jaw flex, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the words he really wanted to say. "What happened?" Connor asked in a calm voice.
He sighed, his fingers dragging through his hair again. "We fucked. Okay? We– God,–" Chris sighed, shaking his head as his chin fell to his chest. "–I fucked her. And I– I fucked everything up." His hands curled into fists, clenching at his sides. He wanted to throw a punch. He wanted to fight someone. He was used to working out these kinds of frustrations in a gym or on the ice and right now, he had no fucking clue what to do.
"Just– calm down. Okay? What did you do?"
Chris inhaled a deep breath through his nose, exhaling slowly and looking back up at Connor. "I just– We can't be anything more than sex. We can't. I told her that. I told her not to read into anything."
Connor shook his head, clearly disappointed in the way Chris handled things. "Why would you tell her that, bro?"
"Because it's the fucking truth, Connor!" Chris yelled, dragging his hand down his beard. "There was an obvious attraction. We... satiated the want. We... scratched the itch. It's done. Just sex."
Connor's jaw ticked in irritation. He took a second to compose himself before responding. "Chris. I'm done defending you, man."
Chris let out a sarcastic laugh. "I never fucking asked, Towns."
He held up his hand to Chris, gesturing for him to shut up. "You're a fucking idiot. What happened? What happened to the Chris who was protecting her at the bar? What happened to the Chris who stayed up with her all night to make sure she didn't choke on her own vomit if she happened to throw up?"
Chris's eyes widened. He didn't realize that Connor knew.
He raised his eyebrows at Chris. "That's right, bro. I know. I know what you've done for her. I know that you have feelings for her and you won't act on them for whatever reason. I get it, man. Your family has a fucked up past. We all have shit. But it's no fucking excuse for treating her like that and denying that there's something between you two. I don't know what. I don't think either of you does. But if you don't pull your fucking head out of your ass, you're gonna lose everyone. She's not gonna play these fucking games with you. I know that much."
They stared at each other for a minute before Connor sighed heavily.
"I strongly suggest you get over yourself and figure out what the fuck you want before you drag her into any more of your shit. She's a good fucking person, Chris. And I know you are, too. But figure out whatever the fuck you need to figure out before you pull her back in. She won't do this again. You let her walk away again, it's the end."
Chris shook his head. As much as he wanted to give heed to Connor's advice, his first and only reaction was denial. "You're being a little fucking dramatic, don't you think? There can't be anything to end because nothing has started. She can't walk away from anything because there's nothing to walk away from, Connor."
"You're incredible." Connor sighed. "Figure it out, Chris. And figure it out fast because she's not gonna wait for you forever." He turned, walking back towards the house and leaving Chris in the front yard.
He hated how well Connor knew him. He could try and bullshit his way out of this as much as he wanted, but the truth is, Connor was right. Chris had a lot to work through and he knew he shouldn't have come over here tonight. He knew exactly where he wanted this to go when he punched in the address of your house in his GPS, but he also couldn't stop himself.
There was something between the two of you. It was apparently very obvious to everyone around you. But he still struggled.
All because the two people that were supposed to love him the most couldn't love each other. It sounded like such a shitty excuse when he thought about it like that. He hated that he gave his parents that much credit for how emotionally fucked up he was.
He opened the passenger side of his car, tossing his shoes on the floorboard before walking barefoot around to the driver's side. Before he climbed in, he glanced up at your house, his eyes stopping when they reached your bedroom window. Chris's stomach churned while he thought back to just moments ago and the words that he so nonchalantly threw your way.
He watched you pace in front of your window and while the sheer curtains prevented him from seeing anything clearly, he could tell that your arms were wrapped around your torso as you paced. You paused to lift your hands, wiping under your eyes and shaking your head.
And as much as it hurt him, he was proud when you stood up straighter, pulling your shoulders back and puffing your chest slightly. You had no intention of letting him break you and he was thankful for that. One of the two of you needed to be strong and he wasn't sure it would be him.
Chris's hand scrubbed down his beard. Be mad, princess. Be mad at me. Find someone better. Please.
Once your silhouette disappeared from behind the curtains, Chris climbed into his car and sped off towards home.
Friday Night:
Chris came home after practice, dumping his bag on his couch as he slipped his phone out of his pocket. He knew he had no right to contact you, but after everything he did last night, he was desperate to apologize. Again.
This is the exact reason he knew it would never work with you guys. This was the exact kind of situation he wanted to avoid. This endless, vicious, cycle of him fucking up, you being in tears, and him begging for forgiveness.
Though, there wouldn't be a truce this time. No forgiveness. He wouldn't go there again. Chris just needed you to know that he was sorry and that was that. He needed to apologize so you knew that the way everything transpired last night was not how he intended. Not because he wanted forgiveness but because he had noticed how insecure you were in the beginning and he was afraid that you'd let this get to you and it most definitely had nothing to do with you.
His thumb hovered over your name for a second before he pressed down on the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.
"I'm sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please try again at a later time."
"Motherfucker." Chris ran his fingers through his hair, tossing his phone on the couch as he paced the length of his living room.
You blocked his number.
Fair. He deserved that. He knew that.
It didn't help that you were right back to ignoring him at work, too. Again, fair. He still deserved it.
"Fuck!" He grabbed the TV remote from the couch and threw it against the wall, plastic pieces and batteries scattering across the floor.
He crossed the room, picking his phone up again and dialing Connor.
"Yeah?"
"She blocked me."
Connor snorted. "Understandable."
He sighed. He needed Connor to understand that he's never even attempted a serious relationship or pursued someone before. This was foreign territory. "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do here."
"That's pretty fucking obvious. I mean, I don't know what to tell you. I've been talking with Marlowe and Y/N is... She's fucking pissed, Chris. She's hurt."
Chris knew that pissed was a fucking understatement. He'd crossed a line with you that both of you were hesitant to cross and then he ruined the whole damn thing because your eyes lit up like no one had ever called you beautiful before and he fucking panicked.
He plopped down onto his couch, stretching his hand across his forehead and using his middle finger and thumb to rub at his temples. "I don't know if I even want to fix this, man. This is... it's all I'll ever do."
Connor sighed through the phone. "Chris, you gotta give yourself a little credit. You aren't your parents. You aren't your grandparents. You're not destined for the same failed relationships. You live and you learn. I mean, shit the two of you aren't even a fucking couple and you've already done more for her than Bob ever did for Lisa."
He might've had a point. Chris's father was always distant unless it involved Chris and sports. He wasn't affectionate with his mom. He wasn't around until dinner time and then he would disappear for another few hours, come home around 10pm and pass out on the couch.
From his conversations with his mom now, his dad held a lot of resentment towards Lisa for getting pregnant (like it didn't take two people to achieve that). Apparently during their divorce, one of the many horrible things Bob said to Lisa was that he wouldn't have married her if she hadn't gotten pregnant.
Chris knew that he would never treat you like that. In the years that his parents were married, he couldn't even remember seeing them hug or kiss. He would often find his mother crying on the toilet, using the fan to drown out her sobs. Chris knew that despite his tendency to fuck everything up out of fear if you fell in love with him, he would try his best to never give you a reason to doubt it.
With the past 'relationships' that he's had, he's never wanted to do a simple gesture like holding someone's hand and whenever he was around you, his fingers longed to intertwine with yours.
He wanted everything cheesy.
Forehead kisses. Giant teddy bears on Valentine's Day. Food fights in the kitchen.
And he would never fucking admit it, but the man famously nicknamed 'The Boston Brute' would even wear matching PJs with you if you asked.
He just didn't know how to get there. Especially after last night. He wanted you to walk away. Find someone better. Someone who wouldn't constantly make you feel horrible like the way Chris did. He's made you cry more than once now and he wasn't sure what to change within himself to make sure that it didn't happen again.
"How do I fix this?" Chris asked quietly. "Can I fix this?"
Connor was silent for a second. "I don't know, man. Honestly. I don't have an answer. Just... talk to her. Maybe not this weekend. Give her some time to cool off. But you just gotta open up and put yourself out there. Let her know you know you're a fuck up and you're working on it."
"Thanks, asshole." Chris scoffed, shaking his head.
"Hey, I didn't say anything that wasn't true. Also, I think you and you alone hold that title right now."
"Yeah, I guess I can't argue with you about that."
"We fly out in 2 hours. Get packed and give her some space. Figure it all out Monday."
Chris sighed, his back sinking into the couch cushion. "Right. Okay. I'll see you in a few."
Connor was right. Despite being so much younger than Chris, he was one of the only people Chris wanted to go to for advice. And he never seemed to run out of it. Especially the unsolicited kind.
But, he did just what he suggested. Chris took his time and packed his bag for the weekend, hopping in the shower after to rinse away the sweat he'd accumulated at practice.
While it sucked that you were so pissed off you couldn't even make eye contact with Chris, he felt better about leaving knowing that you'd be in the same city as him. Although, this was an away game against Montreal... so you'd also be in the same city as fucking Dean.
Chris assumed after the last game, Dean would have a bone to pick with both of you. He kind of hoped that his broken nose would prevent him from playing, but he also figured that nothing would stop him from taking the ice and trying to prove himself.
4 hours later, the plane landed in Montreal and Chris knew the nausea he felt wasn't motion sickness. He'd seen you board the plane dead last, bags under your eyes, your lips puffy from crying.
It also didn't help that Connor made it clear you'd basically been crying since he left last night.
He wanted to say something. Anything to let you know that he was sorry, but Connor was right about yet another thing. You needed time and space. He'd fucked up and coming back from this wasn't going to be easy, especially if he couldn't get out of his own head.
Throughout the 90-minute flight, he'd worked up the courage to at least approach you at the hotel, fire off a quick apology, and then run back to his room with his tail between his legs, which wasn't a normal feeling for Chris. He's never been afraid to do anything. But his stomach was in knots picturing the look on your face or the way your body would stiffen when you laid eyes on him, just like it had at the bar.
He hated that you hated him.
It seemed like maybe Connor picked up on what he was planning to do because he stayed glued to Chris's side from the moment the plane landed to the moment Chris swiped his key to his hotel room. Connor being his neighbor of course.
Before his door shut all the way, he tossed his back onto the luggage rack and turned to Connor.
"I just wanna apologize."
He shook his head, reaching out to stop the door with his hand. "Not this weekend. You both need to focus and take a breather. As soon as we land Sunday, it's all up to you, bro. But not now."
Chris wanted to be angry, but he also knew that Connor would always have your best interest at heart and if Chris was too selfish to see that right now, there was a little bit of a relief knowing that you still had someone strong in your corner.
Defeated, he crashed onto his bed knowing he needed some rest before the game tomorrow.
Saturday Afternoon:
The game started in an hour and Chris could tell his head was nowhere near the ice. Warm-ups were rough. He'd already been chewed out several times by Pearson, reminding him that his head did not belong up his ass and that he strongly recommended he remove it before the game started.
But he couldn't help it.
Every time he let himself steal a glance, the disheartened look on your face sent another pang of guilt through his chest. It looked like he wasn't the only one who was mentally checked out.
"Yo, Evans!" Brett stood in front of Chris, his glove tucked under his arm while he snapped his fingers in his face. "Anyone home?" Brett grinned a partially toothless smile, shaking his head. "You good?"
Chris nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. What's up?"
"You good?" He repeated slower.
Right now, that felt like a really fucking loaded question.
He nodded. "Fine."
"Whitt's been eyeing you again."
Good. Chris thought to himself. As much as you would hate Chris getting into yet another fight with your ex, he needed something to punch. Dean's nose was the perfect target.
But instead of saying any of that out loud, Chris shrugged.
"What's his beef with you anyway? Are you really sleeping with her?"
More loaded questions. Chris sighed deeply. "No."
Brett threw a look at Chris that told him he didn't believe a word he was saying, but he also didn't pry and Chris was thankful for that.
Knowing he needed to focus, he tried his best to push you from his mind and focus on the ice. He needed this win.
2nd period. Chris sat on the bench, his right leg bouncing nervously. He'd been playing like shit and if that wasn't enough, every fucking time he'd turned around, Dean was there.
Whether it was a dirty hit or an "accidental" trip, he was right fucking there and Chris was starting to lose patience.
Pearson walked over, grabbed Chris's jersey, pulling him off of the bench and into a corner. "What the fuck is going on with you and Whittaker?"
Chris's eyes flickered to you sitting in the corner and then back at his coach. "Nothing."
"Don't fucking bullshit me."
He sighed. "He thinks I'm sleeping with some girl he used to date so he's trying to get even. Plus, he's pissed about earlier this week."
"Y/N?" Rick asked in a lowered voice.
Chris's brows furrowed in surprise. "How'd you know that?"
"I'm old. But I'm not dumb. I know they were together. I hear people talk." He paused, shaking his head. "Are you?"
"I don't know how that's any of your business. You're my hockey coach, not my life coach." Chris regretted those words as soon as they spilled from his lips. Rick had treated Chris like a son during his time with the Bruins and he knew he was being unnecessarily harsh.
Pearson's jaw clenched together. "Get your shit together Evans. You're playing like your head is up your ass." With that he walked away, turning his attention back to the game.
Chris was going to have a lot of apologizing to do this weekend.
The whistle blew and Chris knew it was time for a line change. He started to make his way towards the bench door when Pearson grabbed his jersey again. Chris half expected Rick to tell him to sit his ass down.
"I'm serious, Evans. Play some hockey out there." His voice was stern but soft. Like he could tell there was a war raging inside of Chris's head.
Chris nodded, using every ounce of self-restraint he had to avoid looking your way as his skates touched the ice.
He took a deep, calming breath, gliding over to where the face-off was getting ready to take place, ignoring the smirk Dean had on his face. Chris decided early on he didn't have the energy to stoop to his level today.
"Looking pretty rough out there today, Evans." Dean skated over, skidding to a stop basically right on top of Chris.
He bent over, resting his stick on his knees. Dean was your classic middle school bully. Ignore him and he gets bored.
"Trouble in paradise?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow as he looked towards the bench.
Chris didn't have to follow his gaze to know he was looking at you. He swallowed against the dryness of his throat, keeping his eyes trained forward. God, just start the fucking play.
"I can give you some advice, you know? As someone who used to–"
Chris stood up, his jaw clenched shut tight. The roar of the crowd was instantly drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears as his heart pounded against his ribs. "How's the nose, Whitt?" He spat, standing chest to chest, Chris's heaving as the adrenaline pumped through his veins.
He could stand there and listen to Dean talk shit all day, but the second he brought you up or insinuated that his hands had once touched your body, Chris was blinded by rage.
Dean smirked. "There he is. Been wondering where The Brute went. Thought you were starting to lose your touch, old man."
Chris's eyes flickered over to the team captain, Derek, who met his gaze with a warning glare, shaking his head only once. Taking a deep breath, Chris backed away, earning a roar of disappointment from the crowd, who were obviously itching for a fight.
Dean scoffed, muttering something under his breath about Chris being a pussy as he skated away, but he ignored it. He allowed himself to subtly glance your way, quickly turning his focus back to the game when he noticed your eyes already on him. His heart skipped a beat. You were looking at him.
Chris took another deep breath, exhaling slowly. It doesn't mean anything.
Focusing on the face-off, he cleared his head the best that he could as soon as the puck hit the ground, taking off around Dean. He was going to score. He needed it.
He sped towards the goal, keeping his eye on Dean, but also waiting for Jones to pass the puck. Two Montreal players pinned Derek against the glass as they all fought for control over the puck, Chris swooping around the goal to relieve him as he shot the puck off towards him. It hit Chris's stick with a smack and he pushed forward to make his way around the goalie when he was checked from behind. He flew forward from the force, his helmet flying off, face smacking against the plexiglass and everything faded to black.
Reader POV
Thursday Night:
You sat at the foot of your bed, scrolling through the contacts on your phone. Stopping once you got to Chris's name, you wiped a stray tear from your cheek and blocked his number.
He was never going to get the opportunity to make you cry again.
You were so unbelievably pissed at him. For so many fucking reasons.
How could he just ignore the obvious connection the two of you shared? How could he just pass it off like what just happened between the two of you was nothing?
Chris felt the connection. You knew he did. For whatever reason, he was deciding to turn a blind eye and you weren't sticking around to figure out why. The betrayal that you felt squeezed your chest so tight, you felt like you were fighting for each small breath you managed to take.
There was a light tap at the door, momentarily pulling you from your thoughts. "Yeah?"
The door cracked open a tiny bit, Connor's head poking through. "You okay?"
"Yeah." You whispered, wiping at a tear on your cheek.
"Can I come in?"
You sighed. "Connor... I don't wanna hear about how nice he is and–"
He offered a sympathetic smile. "Just 5 minutes."
"Let me put some pants on." You mumbled, climbing out of bed when he shut the door and pulled out a pair of sweats.
You weren't sure what you could stand to listen to tonight. He had to have talked to Chris... There's no way he can still be defending this asshole. Especially after what just went down. You walked by your door, pulled it open, and took a seat on your bed, crossing your legs. "It's weird seeing you in my house."
His smile grew a tad. "It's weird being in your house." Connor gestured to your bed after shutting your door. "Can I sit?"
You nodded, folding your hands in your lap.
Connor sighed as he plopped onto your bed, running his slender fingers through his blonde hair. "Y/N. I know you don't wanna hear me out, but just... try, okay?"
Your eyes welled with tears, your nose burning as emotion overtook you. "After tonight, I don't think I can. Or care."
He nodded, pulling his lips to the left to chew on the inside of his cheek as he contemplated what to say next. "It might not seem like it, but he is a good guy. He's just... confused? I guess. I don't know. Chris has a fucked up perception of relationships. And I know, the worst fucking excuse in the book. I know that. But... it's true."
You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I don't care, Connor." You mumbled into your palm before sitting up straight. "We've all been through shitty stuff. Whatever perception he has, is no excuse for what he did tonight. Or how he's treated me in the past."
Connor held his palms up to you while he nodded. "I know, Y/N. I'm not saying that it does. I just– Chris has... some pretty intense feelings for you. He's drawn to you. I can tell. He might act like we don't know each other that well, but I'm the closest thing the fucker has to a best friend. I see how he is around you. How he protects you. He's trying to come to terms with how he feels and I don't really think he knows how."
"This isn't the playground, Connor. He can't just pull my hair and run away and then expect me to fall in love."
"I know." He paused, sighing before meeting your eyes again. "He doesn't think he deserves a relationship. He just continues to think that every relationship he's in is destined to fail, like his parents and their parents and the guy cares so much about you that he's pushing you away like this to keep you from getting hurt."
"He already hurt me, Connor! He treated me like some puck bunny piece of ass he picked up at a bar. That is not how someone treats you when they care about you. Fucked up past or not!"
"I'm not excusing his behavior–"
"Maybe not, but you're trying to justify it! Like I deserved to be fucked and tossed to the side like that."
He shook his head. "No, Y/N. I mean, I don't know. I guess that's what it sounds like... fuck! I don't know. I told him I can't keep defending him–"
"So don't! I'm not interested in hearing about how his parents getting a divorce led to him treating me like shit."
Connor sighed again. "It's deeper than that, Y/N. He's just– I mean, Chris's dad wanted nothing to do with the family unless Chris was playing some kind of sport. Literally. He was never home, never around until Chris had a game and then he was there. Watching and judging. He would rip into Chris after the game and then leave again. He... had a heavy hand when it came to discipline and he treated Lisa like shit. He watched his grandparents' marriage unfold like that, too. Chris is terrified that he's going to treat someone like his father treated Lisa. He's been compared to his father his whole life and he's scared that if he actually finds someone he cares about, he's gonna do nothing but find ways to fuck it up."
You inhaled a shaky breath, exhaling slowly through your nose. "I'm sorry that bad things happened to Chris. Bad things happened to me, too. But I can't forgive him simply because he thinks he might be his father one day. I have more self-respect than that."
He nodded slowly. "I get it. Look, I'll go. I just... I needed to say my piece. To both of you."
"Okay." You watched Connor as he stood, making his way out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.
You waited until you heard Marlowe's door shut before you scooted up to your headboard and pulled your knees to your chest. After a couple of seconds, the dam broke, sob after sob shaking through your body.
You didn't want to cry over him. You didn't want to cry for him.
He didn't deserve the tears either way. But you were hurt and conflicted. Chris had never told you anything about his family, really. You had no clue that his father was a shitty person. But you meant what you said to Connor. His past didn't excuse his shitty behavior now. You could empathize and kind of understand, but you didn't forgive him for the way he's been treating you. Especially tonight.
You could work with Chris for however long you needed to, you'd just pretend he didn't exist and send Kip his way whenever he needed something but this was just another sign. It was time to cut your losses and move. You were over Boston and whatever the east coast had to offer. It was time to make your move west.
Saturday Afternoon:
You held your breath as Dean lowered his shoulder, ramming into Chris and sending him flying towards the wall.
Chris's helmet flew off, his head smacking on the glass before he collapsed onto the ice. You couldn't stop the audible gasp that left your lips. You stood quickly, peering over Rick's head, waiting for Chris to pop back up and give Dean another beating. But he didn't.
Your breath stilled in your lungs.
Someone needed to get to him.
Someone needed to help him. He was still down. Helmets were being thrown to the ground and you could vaguely hear your name being called, muffled by the adrenaline pulsing through your bloodstream.
Chris needs help. Someone fucking help him! You shouted in your head.
Rick's hands clamped down on your shoulders. "Y/N! Evans is down. Can you do this?"
Two thoughts came to mind.
Fuck. Rick knows.
And
Fuck. You're the one that is supposed to help Chris.
You offered a curt nod, grabbing your pack and pushing past the sweaty hockey players on the bench. Jones held the door open for you, holding out his arm to help guide you across the ice towards where Chris lay limp on the ground. "How bad?"
"He's breathing. Just out. Gash on his forehead."
Derek's calm voice seemed to ease your panic for a second.
"Can you do this?"
Fuck. Derek knows.
"Yes. I can do my job." You snapped, shuffling your feet faster as you got closer to Chris.
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
"Leave it, Derek. I have this."
You let go of Derek's arm rushing to Chris, your knees bruising against the ice as you fell to his side. With the help of Kip, you rolled him onto his back, his eyes were shut, but his chest moving. He was breathing.
Grabbing the penlight from your breast pocket, you hovered over Chris's head, checking both of his pupils. "Evans, can you hear me?" As hard as his head hit the glass, he definitely had a concussion. "Evans, can you hear me?" You repeated, raising your voice.
He groaned, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
You reached out to Kip. "Gimme the brace, get the medics out here with a stretcher. Have a bus ready to go to Mont Gen."
Securing the brace around Chris's neck, you tucked your penlight into your pocket as he came to.
He took a deep breath, groaning again as his eyes fluttered open. "Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened?" He reached up to pull at the brace.
"Stay still." You ordered in a clipped voice, pulling his hand back and setting it down by his side. "I'm pretty sure you have a concussion. You're being taken to the hospital. You hit your head pretty hard, how are you feeling?"
"Fuck." His eyes closed again. "There's two of you."
You were trying to remain professional, but now that Chris was awake, your concern was gone and you wanted to replace that neck brace with your hands. "That's normal." You responded, keeping your tone even. He definitely had a concussion.
"You're mad."
His teammates were entirely too close for this. "Shut. Up. Chris." You mumbled through clenched teeth, looking and scanning the ice for the medics. This was not the time or the place. There would never be a time or a place for this conversation. "How are you feeling?"
"Y/N, promise me we can talk later? This isn't how today was supposed to go." He groaned again. "My fucking head is pounding. Who hit me? How long was I out?"
You looked down, meeting Chris's eyes. "Who do you think? 90 seconds, max."
"I'm gonna fucking kill that son of a bitch." He growled, reaching up to pull at the brace again.
You smacked his hand away. "No. You're not. You're gonna go to the hospital to rule out any other injuries and then you're gonna go back to your hotel room and see if you can manage not ruining someone's fucking life for a change." You whispered, keeping your voice low enough that no one could hear out but him.
His expression softened, the flicker of regret that you saw Thursday night returned, but he said nothing.
As the medics approached, you stood off to the side as they loaded Chris onto the stretcher, hoping he'd be kept overnight so you wouldn't have to monitor him in his room. You quickly briefed them on what happened, then grabbed your bag and made your way across the ice and towards the bench.
Connor sat on the bench in his dress pants and Bruins quarter-zip, his eyes watching you cautiously.
You stepped back into the bench area, took your place on the chair in the corner, and stared straight ahead.
"You okay?" Connor asked, leaning towards you slightly.
"I don't know why I wouldn't be."
He huffed out a sigh, shaking his head and turning back to face the rink.
How many people fucking knew about this? You were for sure going to have to save face with Rick. If he assumed or knew that something was going on with you and Chris, he could go to the GM and get you fired for breaking your contract and the last thing you needed right now was losing your job before you had another one lined up.
The rest of the game was relatively quiet. Dean got a major penalty for his hit and more than likely a game suspension and the Bruins pulled ahead, winning 3-2.
After the final buzzer, Connor walked up to you, standing by your side. "I'll walk you to your car." Normally, the head athletic trainer would take the bus, but these men took so fucking long to leave. So you decided at the last minute to rent a car for the weekend after your flight landed.
You threw your backpack over your shoulder, pushing past him. "I don't need a chaperone."
"With Whittaker pissed off? Yeah. You do. And Chris would be pissed–"
Turning quickly, you shoved your finger into Connor's chest, deciding you could apologize for your misplaced anger later. Your voice lowered to a whisper, "I don't give one single fuck about what Chris thinks. We are not in a relationship. I am not his responsibility or his problem, understand? If I want to walk out on my own, I will. If I want to go out to some bar tonight, I will. If I wanna hook up with Dean, I will. I don't need a babysitter and I don't need Chris's permission. Fuck. Chris."
Connor stared at you for a second, blinking slowly. "I understand you're mad. But I'm not letting you walk out alone. Dean and Chris aside."
"Fine. But I'm not letting you because of anything that has to do with Chris, got it?"
He nodded. "Got it."
You square your shoulders, turning back around and storming through the locker room, Connor following closely behind.
God, Chris is the fucking worst. Assigning Connor to you like a personal fucking bodyguard? Who did he think he was? He had absolutely no right and the more you thought about it, the more pissed you got.
"I can't believe him." You scoffed.
"Who, Dean?"
You laughed sarcastically. "Chris. I mean, asking you to walk me out? What right–"
"He didn't ask me anything, Y/N."
You looked over at him, searching his expression to see if he was lying. "Then why say he would be pissed? If he didn't ask, it shouldn't matter what he thinks."
Connor's mouth twitched as he held back a smile. "Because. It matters. Regardless of how you currently feel about him, he cares about you. He's protective of you. If he found out somehow that I left you alone to walk to the bus, he'd rip me a new one."
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Fucking men. You guys suck." One teeny tiny little butterfly fluttered in your stomach and you willed it to die. You imagined stomping it into the ground and squishing it to a pulp until it no longer existed. Even as hurt and pissed off as you were right now, Chris's protectiveness still did something to you. But butterflies only had a lifespan of like 10 days right? 10 days. That wasn't so bad. This imaginary butterfly would cease to live after 10 days and so would any leftover feelings you had for Chris.
"Plus, Marlowe would think–"
You looked over, arching an eyebrow. "What do you care what Marlowe thinks?"
His face flushed pink and you couldn't help but grin. This man was smitten.
"Don't hurt her."
He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Don't plan on it."
You hummed in surprise. "Wow. You really like her."
"I do." He answered truthfully, a small, shy smile on his face.
Wow. Connor fucking Townsend. You didn't even think he could be shy about a girl, yet here he was.
Connor walked you out to your car and thankfully didn't say another word about Chris. You'd half expected him to plead his case and beg you to hear Chris out, but he walked by your side and waited to head back until you were buckled and on your way out of the parking lot.
As much as you tried to keep your thoughts from looping back to Chris, you weren't doing a good job. Your mind raced as you drove back to the hotel, so much has happened in the last few days, you felt like you were going crazy. Did he care? Did he not? The man was a walking contradiction.
Even though you were drawn to Chris, what he did Thursday felt irreparable. Chris's fucked up past or not, he hurt you and you weren't sure if there was anything he could say or do that would fix it.
About an hour after you got back to your hotel, you'd placed an order for room service after taking a long shower. It was close to 6, and Chris should've been released from the hospital by now, so maybe the fact that you hadn't heard anything meant he was okay and you were off the clock for the rest of the weekend?
You stood, walking towards the door when someone knocked, expecting someone with a plate of food to be on the other side. Boy, were you fucking wrong.
You swung open the door and immediately went to shut it again, Dean's smug ass grin looking down at you. "Hey, you." He reached out, stopping the door with his arm. "Why the rush? Expecting someone?"
"Yes. My dinner. Leave."
Your jaw clenched while his eyes raked over your body, disgusted by the way he was looking at you.
"Y/N, come on. Invite me in. For old time's sake."
Scoffing, you shoved the door again trying to get him to leave. "No. Bye."
He rolled his eyes, pushing past you and sauntering into your room. God, how could I have ever dated this prick?
"Just need a moment of your time and then I'm out."
"Your moment is about up, speak fast." You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. At least you were wearing a hoodie and sweats.
Dean stood, walking over to where you had planted yourself by the door. "Are you with Chris?"
"No." You answered firmly.
His hand reached up, fingertips gently brushing your jawline, making you recoil. "Good."
"I'm not with you, either. Ever again. We've been done for a long time. And now you're making me uncomfortable. You need to leave."
He sighed. "You seemed awfully worried about him today. I saw your face when you walked over to him."
Your brows snapped together in confusion. "Dean, it's my job to worry about the players. Maybe you weren't paying attention when you hit him, but you hit him hard. Entirely too hard. He has a concussion and it could've been a lot worse. You knocked him out. You're lucky it wasn't worse."
"I knocked him out and he's the reason I have a broken nose and two black eyes. I'd say we're even."
You let out a sarcastic laugh, shoving his chest to push him away. You walked across the room, putting more distance between you. "Why are you even getting even?! You guys are morons! I don't want either of you. You're both pushy assholes who wave around a stick for a living. Get out of my room, Dean! I mean it!"
Before he could answer you, someone else knocked on your door. "That's probably my food. You can leave. I'd like to eat my dinner in peace." You stomped over to the door, pulling it open, your eyes widening. "Rick! Hey."
FUCK ME!
Angling your body, so both you and the door were hiding Dean, you put on the most unconvincing smile ever.
"You... okay?" He asked, his eyes peering over your head and scanning what little he could see of your room.
"Perfect! Fine. Yup. Just– I uh– I thought you were room service. I ordered dinner." You palmed the back of your neck nervously. "What's up?"
"Evans is back. For sure a concussion. Are you around to monitor?"
Your smile stayed plastered on your face, but you groaned inwardly. No. I'm not. Not now. Not ever. Especially for Chris. "Sure thing. I'll make sure to knock on his door every 2 hours."
His hand scrubbed down his face. "Sure, that's fine. Can you hang around for an hour or so, though? He's still unsteady on his feet."
GOD! NO!
"Sure thing. I'll head over there as soon as my food gets here."
"It's right here, miss!" A scraggly man in a hotel uniform walked down the hallway towards your room.
Mother of God, talk about fucking wrong timing.
"Ah-ha! Perfect!" You exclaimed, your voice shrill and panicky. Reaching out, you snagged the covered plate from his hands. "Thank you!"
He smiled, nodding slightly before turning and walking back towards the elevator.
"You sure you're okay?" Rick asked, trying to scan the room again.
You nodded. "Yup. I'm just gonna grab some things and I'll head over. Text me his room number?"
"Yeah, okay." With a wary look on his face, he turned slowly to leave. "Let me know if you need anything."
You stepped back into your room. "Great, thanks!" You shoved the door closed, turning to see a smug Dean standing behind you.
"I think I like being your dirty little secret."
"God, you're disgusting. If I wasn't leaving, I'd call security." You set your food down on the table in your room and grabbed your phone and the book you brought with you, then hooked your backpack over your shoulder. Your phone pinged with Chris's room number and your stomach dropped. Being at the rink with him today and the plane yesterday was bad enough. Now, you had to be stuck in a small hotel room with him and his concussion...
"I'll follow you out."
Your blood was boiling at this point. "Go ahead. I'll leave when I please."
"Aren't you on your way out to see your new man?" He teased.
"Dean, I swear to fucking god, if you don't stop talking to me, I'm gonna punch you in the nose so fucking hard you won't see straight for a week." Your hands were shaking from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your hand curled into a fist and you itched to punch that smug grin off of his face.
He held his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'm out."
You ground your molars together as you followed him out of your room, the door falling shut behind you as you entered the hallway.
Unbe-fucking-lievable. Could this fucking day get any worse?
"As always, thanks for a good time, sweetheart." Dean winked at you, then turned around and walked off towards the elevator.
You rolled your eyes at his comment and turned to walk to Chris's room, coming to a stop when you saw him with his arms crossed over his chest, hip resting against the wall. He. Looked. Pissed. His face was flushed red, his jaw flexed as his eyes bore into yours.
THAT WAS RHETORICAL! You shouted in your head.
Your first instinct was to explain that it wasn't what it seemed, but then you remembered who you were talking to and that you owed him no explanation. You knew that nothing happened. It didn't matter what Chris knew or didn't know. It was none of his business.
Also... you'd be lying if you said it didn't feel a little good to see how pissed he was. Karma's a bitch, asshole.
He made it very clear that nothing was happening between the two of you. He drew the line in the sand. He put his foot down. This was not your problem.
Standing a little straighter, you cleared your throat and walked towards where he stood. "How's your headache? Still dizzy?" You asked, the steadiness of your voice taking you by surprise and giving you a little more confidence.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Y/N."
You held your ground, ignoring his comment. "Are you still dizzy? How's your headache?"
Chris stood in front of you fuming, his chest heaved and his nostrils flared when you ignored his question. "I'm fine."
"That's not what I asked."
His tongue raked over his top teeth as he stared down at you. "This isn't my first concussion. I'll be fine. You can go."
"Respectfully, Mr. Evans, I was asked to monitor your symptoms and if you're feeling dizzy or slightly out of it, you might not be the best person to make a judgment call like that. Plus, I don't answer to you." You offered a tight smile. "So. Let's go. I only have to sit with you for an hour or so and then check on you every two. After that, you're free–"
"Don't. Save it." Chris turned, storming back to his room.
You followed closely behind trying to keep the smug smile on your face from growing. Seeing him pissed? Awesome. Seeing his eye twitch when you called him 'Mr. Evans'? Icing on the fucking cake.
"What are you doing?" Chris stopped in front of his hotel room, turning to look at you.
"My job."
His jaw flexed. "Do your job elsewhere."
God, this man was insufferable. "Jesus fucking christ, Chris. Let me in the goddamn room. My job is to make sure you don't fall over, crack your head open, and bleed out on the bathroom floor. I know that for whatever reason you can't stand me, but I could give two shits what you want. Do you seriously think I'm dying to sit in a fucking room with you after the way you treated me? Because the answer is no. I would rather pull my teeth out with pliers than spend one more minute with you. But I don't have a fucking choice because it's my job. So let me in the goddamn room."
Chris stared at you for a second, his shoulders dropping a tad. His face softened, making him look sad instead of pissed off, and for some reason it made you want to punch him even more. What right did he have to feel sad right now? "Did you– Did you sleep with him?"
You scoffed. "That's unprofessional and none of your business." Your lips pressed together in a tight line, your pissed-off expression unwavering. "Are you done?"
"Are we done?" He asked softly.
Taking a shaky breath, little hairline fractures splintered your resolve at the tenderness in his voice, but you still couldn't just forget what happened and how he treated you. "There is no 'we', Chris." You paused, tearing your eyes away from his and dropping them to the patterned carpet of the hallway, "Please don't make this any harder than it already is."
Without saying another word, he turned, swiping his keycard in front of the scanner and pushing the door open. He walked through the threshold, sticking his arm out to hold the door open for you.
"Thank you." You mumbled, holding your novel to your chest, you walked through and immediately sat at the table across the room and flipped the switch to the tiny desk lamp. If you had to sit in here, you'd do it quietly, only speaking when you needed to. You set a 2-hour timer on your phone and set it on the table face up so you could watch the time tick down. "Now, can you answer my questions?"
"Minor ache. Yes, I'm still dizzy."
You nodded. "You should turn the lights off and rest. I'll wake you up in two hours." You replied in a clipped voice, opening your novel and pulling out the bookmark as you began to 'read'. Your mind was too frantic to focus on the small words on the page in front of you, especially when Chris was so close. His intimidating presence loomed over you as he made his way across the room to climb into bed.
Instead of climbing under the comforter, he laid right on top, his head resting on the pillow, fingers interlaced over his stomach. You peered at him over the top of your book as he stared at the ceiling.
"I'm sorry you have to be here, Y/N. Truly. I asked for Kip, but I know he can't since he's just an assistant."
You weren't exactly sure if he expected a response, so instead, you just kept your mouth shut. He couldn't possibly think you were interested in entertaining a conversation with him? Lowering your eyes back to your book, you started to actually read.
Chris sighed, cursing slightly as he rubbed his temples.
Goddammit. You hated your job right now. "Do you need something for the pain?"
"If you have it."
Sighing, you sat up and rifled through your pack until you found Tylenol, pouring out a couple of pills into your palm and snagging a bottle of water from the fridge in the room. You handed them over to Chris, "Get some rest. You need it."
He sat up, pushing himself back and resting against the headboard while he popped the Tylenol into his mouth and chased it with a swig of water. Satisfied that he did something without being difficult, you walked back over to your chair and plopped down, opening your book and starting the page over.
"What are you reading?"
You paused, scratching the corner of your mouth with your thumb. "A book. Go to sleep."
"I can't sleep with you in here."
This man made you want to pluck your eyelashes out one by one. It was like putting that toddler you used to babysit in college to bed. "You're not trying."
"I'm not 4." He argued, making your mouth twitch up into a smile. Your smile was quickly replaced with a frown when you remembered who you were talking to.
"Then stop acting like it." You snapped, keeping your eyes glued to the page you've been trying to read since you entered his room. This was quite literally your worst nightmare. The hurt that Chris caused was still extremely fresh and the fact that you were stuck taking care of him made you want to scream. Not to mention, that despite Connor attempting to defend his behavior once again, Chris was back to being an asshole to you. Not that he ever really stopped, honestly.
But there was something different about him Thursday night. When he first came over, he seemed open and vulnerable. The walls that he'd built to keep everyone out, seemed to fall that night. But something changed so quickly and he closed himself off again.
You couldn't keep up with the back and forth. You wouldn't. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe whatever this attraction was couldn't progress any further.
You were desperately trying to convince yourself that you didn't care.
The moment you shared was gone. You'd trusted Chris, you'd given yourself to him in the most vulnerable way that you could and he pushed you away when he was finished with you like he didn't care. You knew that he did, even if it was just a small part of him and that's what made it so hard.
While the majority of your heart knew to be mad at Chris, there was still that small part that ached for him. Especially after what Connor had told you about his parents. You shouldn't have listened. But then again, this was exactly what Connor was hoping to do. He was trying to get you to see that Chris was damaged and it fucking worked.
Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you cleared your mind of Chris and focused on the book in front of you. If you didn't derail this train of thought now, you wouldn't be able to stop the tears from falling and there was no way in hell you would let Chris see you being vulnerable like that ever again.
Several minutes and several pages later, the only sounds that filled the room were turning pages and soft snores coming from Chris. You felt yourself relax, knowing that while he was asleep, he couldn't argue or ask questions you didn't want to answer. It was a lot easier to throw yourself into the book when you knew he wouldn't interrupt.
Before you knew it, you were almost finished with your book and your two-hour alarm was softly ringing out of your phone speaker. Once you bookmarked your page, you silenced the alarm and looked over at Chris. He was sprawled across the king-sized bed, his arm draped over his eyes as he snored. You almost felt bad waking him up.
"Chris." You called out softly, not wanting to scare him awake. The steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest told you he was not interested in waking up. You sighed, standing and walking over to the side of the bed closest to his head. "Chris." You repeated, your voice a little louder.
He stirred a little, inhaling a deep breath as he stretched. You kept your eyes locked on his face and were actually ashamed of the amount of willpower it took to not glance at his abs when his shirt rode up a little. "It's been two hours already?"
Even mad at him, the huskiness of his voice stirred something in your belly and settled between your thighs.
"Yup. Do you feel better?" You asked, looking down at him.
He nodded sleepily, blinking heavily a few times as he woke up. "Yeah. Headaches gone."
"Good. Any dizziness, blurry vision, memory loss, nausea?"
"Nope."
"Okay." You responded softly. You glanced at the clock. "I'll be back to check on you in 2 hours, okay? Try to go back to sleep."
You turned to leave, but Chris's hand shot out, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. You stilled, your body stiffening under his touch. His thumb rubbed gently against your skin.
"I wish I could blame the concussion for what I did."
You closed your eyes for a second before realizing you needed to leave. Your throat constricted, burning with emotion as tears threatened to spill over. "Me, too." You replied in a quiet voice.
"Don't give up on me."
His plea knocked the air out of your lungs, your chest aching at the vulnerability in his voice. You pulled your wrist from Chris's grasp and silently walked over to grab your things, blinking furiously as you tried to keep your tears at bay.
Somehow, hearing that he was sorry was worse than thinking that he wasn't.
Hurrying out of the room, you fumbled with your keycard when you approached your room, your vision blurring. Why did he have to fucking say something?
You stumbled into your room, dropping your things to the floor and pushing the door shut behind you. Why did he have to fucking say something? Your back met the door and slid down slowly, pulling your knees to your chest as the first few tears fell.
After everything he did to you, you still found yourself feeling sorry for him. But you and Chris were done. There was no turning back. You wouldn't let yourself be hurt by him again.
Chris needed someone to show him that he was worthy of love. You knew that. But you just finished patching up the holes that Dean left behind and couldn't chance the possibility of reopening those wounds.
Not now. And not for Chris.