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boeserbby · 5 years

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Only Time Will Tell- Brock Boeser 1.3

about/request: I really wanted to explore a relationship where you are ‘the other woman’ this is the result of that. I’m not sure how long this will end up so…. sorry.

warnings: cursing, i think that's it??

authors note: Sorry I took such a long time bringing this out, I didn’t know if anyone actually liked this or not. Remember that a lot of details in this story are made up or changed. Make sure to check out parts one and two, I fixed some mistakes and made some corrections.

timeline: march 2017

word count: 2614

Hockey used to be a life for not just me, but my whole family. Three nights a week we would hop in my dad’s old work truck to cruise over to wherever Charlie, and in turn Brock, played. Often times we would meet up with the Boeser’s to grab the best seats right by the ice. Here my mom would yell to “Shoot the puck!” or boo at whatever call she felt didn't fit the crime. My dad would grab a couple of beers while talking to some guys he knew from his work. Small towns mean most people there he knew so he would rarely sit with us the whole game. Sometimes I would sit by my mom and Brock’s mom and sisters. Sometimes there would be kids from school or members from the team who were scratched I would sit by instead. Wren was often the one scratched. He never made it to practice on time and when he did he would spend more time talking to guys on the team then practicing. He was nice and seen grew to be one of the guys on the team I felt fully comfortable with. He understood what it was like to be the younger sibling and live in the shadow of our elders. His older brother Josh was team captain and lead them to 3 state titles in a row.

After the game, all of us would go out to eat. The Boeser’s and the Y/L/N’s and whomever joined along from the team. Dad would tell Charlie what to do better, of course Dad knew what it was like to play hockey. He played for the University of Minnesota until a really bad accident his sophomore year took him out. Charlie, and me too (at least for a little bit), just wanted to impress him. Often times dad would rag on Charlie until they got into a mini fight. Charlie would hitch a ride back with Brock and his family. My dad would then spend the whole drive home complaining that Charlie was never going to be as good as him if Charlie didn't take his advice.

Although the bad seeped into the good. The hockey rink was were my family was one. We all would come together to scream when number 6 would skate out. Cause no matter how awful things were going at home, the rink was a time of escape. It was when hot chocolate would warm cold fingers in the late second period or the high of sugar rush from skittles in the second intermission. It was a time to giggle at the little kids they brought out between periods. They wouldn’t yet be comfortable on skates so they would slip and fall or miss the puck completely. I couldn’t remember what it was like when Charlie and I were that young playing, but I like thinking we were better than that.

After he had died, I didn’t go to many games. There was no more hot chocolate or skittles high. No little kids falling or scoring on their own net. We never went out to eat after the games. There were no more arguments between dad and Charlie. The nearby rink which once held the best memories was purposely avoided at all times. Life went on, but each day seemed to hold some emotional punch of remembrance. Like one day, about 3 months after he died I came home from school and my mom had cleaned out his room. Neat piles of his clothes and pictures were placed in bins labeled “attic” or “giveaway.” His first skates, his autographed Detroit Red Wings Steve Yzerman jersey, and so much more was packed away to be set aside. His posters, CDs and other trinkets were thrown out or donated to a thrift store. I remember yelling at my mom that this is his room. She told me she needed to heal and that dad had been asking her to do it for two weeks. It was time to move on.

Since moving I had gone to no hockey games. And the Vancouver Canucks were not a bad team. They had just been having a difficult time in recent years. That didn’t make city pride for them any less. Any game night and the always crowded downtown streets turned into an obstacle only the bravest could handle. I never purposely put myself in a position to make the drive down to the stadium in the past 2 years of living in Vancouver. Occasionally I was invited to games by friends and classmates. I managed to get out of it every time too, but somehow escaping this invite seemed impossible.

It was Brock’s mother’s last night in the city before she had to fly back down to Minnesota to care for Brock’s younger siblings. I was extended an invite due to my ‘gracious’ hosting, my mother called me and told me how Laurie, Brock’s mother, raved how I grew into such a beautiful and caring young woman. So there I was crammed in Rogers Arena with 18,000 or so people. Laurie was on one side of me wearing a new Boeser jersey. I, even though I lived there awhile, owned no such fan gear and instead dressed in a thick sweatshirt. Natalie tried to get me to wear her old Trevor Linden jersey, but I high tailed it out of there before she could fish it out of her closet.

I loved hockey growing up, but standing here made me feel so out of place. Life had changed so much in the past two years. I was no longer the little tomboy with scraped knees and a messy ponytail. I longer wanted to play hockey. Now, I had put hockey out of my life so much that welcoming it back in right now felt traitorous to everything I had done to avoid coming here. Laurie was cheering and dancing. I guess there is nothing quite like the debut of your child in the NHL. Warm ups had just started so every guy was on the ice. It was easy to spot him in the white 6 with the dark blue background. I got chills the first time I saw it. Boeser was spelled out in big letters across his back. I imagined at that moment seeing Charlie out there. He would mess around and probably fall trying to impress some girls he would see on the front row. But he would be here, and he would be happy.

“I’m gonna go grab a beer, want one?” I asked his mom. Canada drinking laws are sort of amazing. I remember getting carded at a bar when I first turned 19. There was a split second of panic before I remembered I didn’t really need to be 21 up here.

“No, hun, I’m going to facetime the girls so they can see Brock on the ice,” she said grabbing her phone.

People were still pouring in from the front doors. Lines were long for everything even the escultors. I recognized some people from college and waved. They sported brand new jerseys and held in their arms peanuts and beers and popcorn. “We are gonna win!” They all said. People were invigorated with the call up of Brock. I was invigorated to get a beer in me that's for sure. Fifteen minutes and 16 bucks later I carried my two beers back to our spot. Laurie was finishing up her call to Jessica and Paul, Brock siblings along with Duke. I waved and said hi to everyone.

“Kid, you gotta come back more often,” Paul said. Paul was Brock’s oldest sibling and he always acted like he was so much older than the rest of us. Add on to the fact that I was the youngest in our family friend group, “Kid” has been my nickname well into my early teens.

“I will soon, I have just been super busy with college and all.”

It had been mine excuse through out my time here. For the first 8 months my parents begged me to come home. At this point they didn't even call me anymore. I guess it's far cause I don't call them up much too.

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay back home,” Laurie said. “Are you guys staying up to watch the game?”

“Only for a little bit, I work early in the morning.” Jessica said. West coast games ended way too late to stay up watching them in Minnesota. While it was only 7:00 our time it was 9 there so the game could last until 12 or 1 am.

We all said our goodbyes as the lights dimmed. The Canucks opening video was being shown on the big screen while music blared in the arena. This was pump up time. As our guys skated out people cheered loudly. This game was supposed to be good. The Ducks always had a little rivalry with us. Add on to the fact that this was Boeser’s first home game and we were on a two-game losing streak. The team, and the fans, were hungry for a win.

Unfortunately moral lasted until the ducks scored for the third time in the first period. Add on when Montour scored to make it 4-0 in the second, people began realising that not much has changed even with Brock. As the zamboni entered the ice for second intermission, Laurie turns to me.

“So, your mom told me your in college,” she started. God, she was fishing. Mom’s think they are clever trying to get information by stating the conversation at a wide base value and steer it to the cavity in the situation.

“Yep, I go to the University of British Columbia for journalism,” I said sipping water I got after downing both beers in the first period.

“That must be a lot of work, what do you do for work?” she asks.

“I actually write for Vancouver’s newspaper, they pay pretty good, and I do work study, so they pay for so much of my tuition that isn’t covered by my scholarships and then I get some of the money”

“What do you do for work study?” she asks.

“My English professor needs an assistant. I’m basically his gopher. If he needs a book from the library or a coffee I go get it. I transcribe his lectures for any kid who misses class. Sometimes I will tutor kids or help them find good sources for their papers. It’s not too bad, maybe three or four hours per day and I get like 6 credits towards my English major.”

“Gosh, that's a lot. He needs you to do all of that?”

I shrug, “It sucks sometimes but the professor is nice so…”

“Your mom said that you haven’t come home since moving here.” They way she phrases the end of it is hard to respond to. It's not a question, more of a statement. She didn't sound mad or upset like my mom does when she says it. Laurie just sounds concerned. Her voice feels like a hug.

“It’s just soo much,” I start. “Charlie’s gone and mom and dad are splitting up. Mom met this new guy and he is so proper. Dad hasn’t even called me in two months because I said I’m not coming home for his huge labor day party. Plus I just got so much going on.”

“It’s okay to be hurt by what's going on, but don’t hide from it. Your parents love you a lot. They just don’t know how to love each other with so much hurt.”

“I don't know how to love them with so much hurt.” I mutter.

Everyone is buzzing as the crowd makes its way out of the arena. We may have lost, but Brock put one in the beginning of the third to excite the crowd. Laurie and I hang back to give Brock time to get ready. The team could have lost 10-1 and she still would have been glowing with excitement for Brock. His life was changing, and he was no longer the little boy who fell over on the ice. Where most parents would have been freaking out, Laurie handled with grace, something she has done her entire life. No matter the situation Laurie put on her big girl pants and muddled through.

We meandered our way to the locker room, showing our passes to the security guard. In the hallway we waited as different guys from the team joined up with their wives or girlfriends. They all hugged Laurie telling her how wonderful her son is. Everyone loved Brock. Well almost everyone.

Brock finally made his way out. His hair was still wet from what I was hoping was a shower and not sweat. He and Laurie hugged when he reached us. It was an awkward second or two while we figured out if we would hug or not. Wrapping my arms around him felt weird, almost as weird as the time we kissed. Yet there was a nostalgia in it too; we went always so awkward. In fact I remember a time in my life where I never thought we would ever be strangers. I remember once when I was about 12 and Brock was about 13, I had a dream that Brock and I were dating. The next day I remember being shy and awkward especially when he called me “Kid”. I went all pink and Charlie would not let it go for a whole year. Finally, when Brock asked a different girl to the joint 7th-8th grade dance Charlie let it go. I spent the whole night crying and accepted Thomas Miller’s invite. He had braces and dark hair and spent all night trying to kiss me. After the second slow dance song I joined up with my friends instead. The next day I heard a rumor going around that he said not only had we kissed, but that I let him touch my boobs. Charlie had been mad and cornered me about it. When I admitted it false, he said he taught Thomas a lesson. The next week someone “anonymously” shared a picture of Thomas at a birthday party sucking on his thumb with a stuffed animal. From there rumors spread he wet the bed every night.

We always had each others backs. It made we wonder how things ended up so differently. We all walked out together. As I reached into my pocket to order an Uber, Laurie offered to have them drive me back to my apartment.

“It’s too late for a young woman like you to hop in some random mans car.” she insisted.

“”I couldn’t bother you guys,” I said.

“No bother,” Brock said. “Might be nice to see more of the city anyway.”

Thirty minutes later I lay in bed without make up and in an old, ripped up shirt from Natalie’s older brother that he left here. Natalie was already deep asleep when I got home with one of the Harry Potter movies on full volume. With school for both of us the next day, it was important to get as much sleep as possible. But as I laid there all I could think about was Brock’s hair and his cologne. I wished things could have ended better for us all those years ago. Maybe there’s time for change now. A girl could hope.

As I finally started to drift asleep my phone’s ping jolts me awake.

Brock Boeser has texted you.

Thanks for coming tonight. I hope to see you soon.

God, it’s going to be a long night.

#brock boeser #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser imagines #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks imagine #nhl #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #imagine

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boeserbby · 5 years

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colton parayko lifts the stanley cup | blues @ bruins - scf, game 7 | 06.12.19

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boeserbby · 5 years

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Pettersson’s three childhood best friends got deported back to Armenia when he was about thirteen. This year they finally got their Swedish citizenships. Petey’s brother, Emil, and his brother’s girlfriend, Fanny, surprised him by bringing his friends to Slovakia to surprise him. This is Petey seeing his friends after the Sweden-Finland game ft. the softest fucking hugs ever.

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boeserbby · 5 years

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Hockey is pure happiness❤️

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boeserbby · 5 years

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It’s remarkable how many of people are reblogging my Trevor gifset all surprised how beautiful he is like?? Where have y’all been??????

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boeserbby · 5 years

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One of the best parts of sportsblr that we don’t talk about enough is when you’re following a bunch of people who hate each others’ teams and the teams are facin off and your dash is filled with passionately conflicting accounts of what’s unfolding in the game

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boeserbby · 5 years

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boeserbby · 5 years

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Only Time Will Tell- Brock Boeser 1.2

about/request: I really wanted to explore a relationship where you are ‘the other woman’ this is the result of that. I’m not sure how long this will end up so…. sorry.

warnings: cursing, panic attack, underage drinking, yelling, dark thoughts

authors note: Just a reminder that this story is made up. Charlie is based off a real person but everything else is made up. Also Brock played in Iowa for the 14-15 season in Iowa so he really wouldn’t have played in Bloomington, but I made it so he played for his high school team again. Italicized is inner thoughts or you are speaking to yourself. This is two separate flash backs. More real time in the next part.

word count: 2330

I never really understood where Brock and I stood after I left. I wonder if he remembers that kiss they way I do. That kiss was my first and was unlike any other. Maybe it was the beer or the fact that “Hey! I’m kissing Brock.”, or possibly both, but that kiss was as unforgettable as the first taste of whiskey. It wasn't too long after Charlie died and the hockey team dedicated a game in his honor. After first period all of Bloomington High School Boys’ Varsity hockey team joined my parents on the ice. Almost all of Bloomington High School packed the stands same with parents, community members and old coaches who knew Charlie.

People were weeping as my mother stone cold delivered a beautiful performance that deserved an Oscar nomination. The moment of silence that followed was the loudest 60 seconds of my life. No one dared speak, even the children stood in solemn protest of the death of Charlie Y/L/N. The team annihilated our adversaries 14-1, and I could hear Charlie in the background complaining how the big defeat like that wasn't fun.

The real fun began much later. Long after parents were at home, a huge party started at Louis Newton’s house. People poured in and poured drinks in honor of my brother. Of course I had no plans on going. It was a Friday night, the last Friday before finals started. I had not slept a full night in months without waking up to a nightmare of some sorts. I couldn't drink, or at least I wasn’t supposed to, with the anti-anxiety and antidepressants I was taking. Add on to the fact that if I do go people would stare. I was the dead kids sister. It wasn’t until as I walked out of the arena Wren Conn, another one of my brother’s friends, convinced my parents it would do me good to go get dinner with the team.

Walking into Louis Newton’s house was like walking into a brewery that was invaded by wild animals. People were everywhere. Some I recognized that Charlie and I had played with on the Jr. Mites back when we were 4. Everyone was in that weird drunk stage where the liquor didn't quite hit them fully, but the slight hazy buzz wafted around. Wren was the first to arrive from the hockey team so a large amount of cheering started once he walked in. I wasn't sure where the others were but Wren didn't seem to care much as he grabbed us two drinks. Years of being the sober cab when Charlie and Brock did this made me hesitant to drink the reddish orange liquid but after the first cup, each slid down faster and magically tasted better too.

I wouldn't have even noticed the arrival of the rest of the hockey team 45 minutes later if it wasn't for the entire house erupting into the off key singing of “We are the Champions” as the boys filed into the already cramped quarters. To be honest by then the weird mixture I had been chugging almost made me forget the big blonde boy I had been avoiding. Almost.

I had lost Wren as I made my way through the living room, or at least right then it was the makeshift dance floor. The kitchen was my destination. My goal was my 5th or maybe even 6th drink. I was alone inside that room and even more so inside myself when he walked in.

An awkward silence enveloped the room as I tried to pour my drink and not make eye contact. I tipped the jug higher hoping, praying, that I would be able to fly out of their. Escape from Brock, from my parents, from Charlie and the guilt I had because of him. I don't even know what he was doing while the cup slowly filled. It wasn't until as I grabbed the cover to the gallon that his hand touched mine. I stayed looking at the countertops as I could feel the anxiety I had been avoiding all night tighten my chest.

“I’m gonna have some too,” he mumbled.

I wasn't watching as I grabbed my cup and attempted an exit. Attempted is the big word in the sentence. Right when I had the idea to leave another individual had the idea to streak through the entire house including through the kitchen. He rounded the corner just as I had followed the countertop and boom. We met and there was liquid hangover all over.

To be specific it was all over me. Buffy managed to escape the flood of liquor as he whooped and continued through the maze of rooms. Brock managed to grab my arm in time so I didn't fall from the streaker.

“Are you okay?” he asked turning my body so he could make sure I wasn't seriously hurt.

I could feel the tears well up in my eyes as each heart beat thumped deep in my chest. I could feel my hands starting to shake as each breath seemed to have a harder and harder time going through my chest. I think Brock sensed what was happening. It wasn't the first time I was having a panic attack around Brock. One time when I was 13 I forgot my homework sitting on my desk at home. I remember Brock calmed me down and raced back home which was quite far, especially as it was dead winter and 3 feet of snow plus thick coats, snow pants and boots made sprinting hard. Yet he made it there and back in 5 minutes which was usually a 15 minute walk.

He grabbed my wrist and made his way upstairs and into a dark bedroom. He sat me on the bed and went into the bathroom, running slightly warm water onto some hand towel.

“Put this on your neck,” he said using a voice as sweet as honey. “Focus on your breathing.”

Yet in that moment all I could think of was Charlie. Weird I know. Here I am drunk off my ass in some random guys bedroom with my brother’s closest friend thinking of that brother.

“In” Brock said, sucking in a big breath of his own.

Why did it have to be Charlie? Why wasn't it me?

“Out.”

It should have been me. I bet mom and dad would have been happier if Charlie lived and I didn’t. Charlie would have made something of himself. You’ll never make anything of yourself.

“In.”

I bet Brock would be happier too. He wouldn't have to be sitting in some random guys house in some random guy’s bedroom trying to calm down some little kid. The only reason he is here with you is because he pities you. He could care less about you if your brother wasn't dead.

“Out.”

No one would care if you were dead. Hell even Charlie wouldn't have cared.

“Y/N/N I know there’s a lot going on your mind but you have to listen to me. I know you're thinking about Charlie” he starts strong but starts muttering towards the end.

Between each struggle for breath you hear Charlie’s name come out of Brock’s mouth. It peaked my interest, but my booming thoughts smothered any light his words brought. Then it happened. He went from kneeling in front of me as I sat on the bed to having his lips meet mine.

God, my heart. If I wasn't afraid of a heart attack before that, I was terrified of it now. He tasted of gatorade and beer which I know saying it makes it sound gross and believe me it was disgusting. No way in hell do gatorade and beer ever belong together. Don't try it. It doesn’t taste good, trust me. Yet as soon as he pulled away I was too focused on the fact we kissed I forgot about my guilt.

To be honest, everything after that was super blurry. I only remember that as I was lying down now clothed in Brock’s shirt in the bed as Brock lay on the floor, I started to cry. It was silent, but not quite enough for Brock to not hear. He got up and lay next to me. That was the first time I slept without nightmares.

The next morning I woke up and the bed was empty. My head hurt something awful and I couldn’t remember anything after that kiss. I got up and pulled my pants on. I was just buckling the when the door started to open. Brock walked in carrying a bottle of ibuprofen and large cups of coffee.

“Hey, I thought you might want some,” he said throwing me a bottle of pain relievers.

“Thanks,” I mumbled as he hands me my cup and he sits on the bed.

“You okay?” he asked. That was such a weird question. Okay was a relative word and meant different things for different people. Mabe right now I was okay but once I walked out that door would I still be okay?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, trying to ignore the major headache.

“About last night,” he said. Suddenly everything wasn’t okay anymore. He means the kiss. Oh gosh, that was my first kiss. What if he says something about it?

“Yeah?” I said trying to discreetly wipe my hands on my knees.

“I don't really remember everything that happened, I was just double checking that you are 100% alright,” he said. A strange feeling washed over me in that moment. It certainly wasn't relief. It was more like dread, but why dread?

“Yeah, I’m just trying to live each day as best I can.”

That was the last good memory I had of me Brock. Our last conversation was a lot different. Of course it was right after a huge loss in playoffs. The refs called stupid things and for some reason Brock got into a fight with the other team’s center. They both got ejected. My parents went over to the Boeser’s house that night for our weekly family dinner they tried to start to keep our families close. I think it was so my parents could feel close to Brock because in some ways it was like being close to Charlie.

When we got to the house I saw Brock going for a walk towards the old park Charlie and him would always go to which inevitably meant I went too. I jogged to catch up to him but hung back a bit. I could tell when he was angry. It was in his walk, the way he shoved his hands deep inside his pockets, the way he breathed in deep breaths like he was trying to keep from screaming at even the bird who whistled it's call far in the distance.

When we got to the park he harshly sat on the merry-go-round. He started spinning slowly. I sat directly across from him, but angled my body so I faced him as he kept his legs turned out towards the rest of the world.

“You did really good, Brock” I said. I knew he was frustrated about losing the game and I knew he was going through it over and over again in his head.

He stayed silent. So I tried again, “Brock, I’m sorry you guys didn't go farther.”

“You don’t get it,” He said.

“What? What don’t I get?” I asked.

“Anything! Everything!” he said raising his voice just slightly. “I just wanted to spend some time alone, but here you are. Just like when Charlie and I went anywhere. You always had to come with.”

I didn't know what to say, I just sat there in silence. “Did you ever think that maybe Charlie didn't want you to come with everywhere he went? Charlie would sit here and complain about how clingy you were but I really didn't notice until he was gone how bad you really were. Can’t you just get over yourself and leave people alone for 5 minutes,” he said and by now he was standing and looking right at me.

“I’m sorry you felt that way,” I said quietly getting up from my spot. I started to walk back to his house, not bothering to look back. Once I got back I faked sick and had Wren pick me up and drive me home.

I locked myself in my room for a whole week after that. I spent the whole time laying in bed or looking at baby pictures. I ignored my phone and even debated blocking Brock, but every time the little pop-up screen came up asking if I was sure, I couldn’t hit it. So I silenced him and his 38 calls and 56 texts.

By then it was about time for him to leave for development camp before the draft. Brock and his mother stopped outside the house the day they left. My parents went out but I made up some stupid excuse. Instead I watched out the window. When my parents came back inside they fought for what seemed to be the 80th time that week. I texted him that I accepted his apology and wished him luck. Then I focused on my future. Nothing was going to stop me from leaving Minnesota. Nothing.

I never even really said goodbye to Brock. Once I left it seemed like contact between us ceased to exist. Occasionally there would be a like on Instagram or maybe one of those stupid comments on a family picture on Facebook. Neither him nor I reached out to each other, and soon we were just two ships in the sea. I made a new Instagram page and turned off my Facebook account, all but deleting him and most of my Minnesotan past. I focused on college and I guess so did he. Now look at us. Strangers in familiar faces. Strange how life works.

#nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #brock boeser #brock boeser imagines #brock boeser imagine #Vancouver canucks

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boeserbby · 5 years

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Only Time Will Tell- Brock Boeser #1.1

about/request: I really wanted to explore a relationship where you are ‘the other woman’ this is the result of that. I’m not sure how long this will end up so…. sorry.

warnings: cursing, cheating, mentions of death

authors note: Let me know any mistakes you see. I can use as many tips with my writing as I can get.

word count: 1996 words

I decided the day I got my acceptance letter that Vancouver was my future. June had held lots of ups and downs that year. To be honest, getting that letter had been the highlight of my summer. It was the first time since my brother Charlie died that I had felt semi-normal. Writing that email back to the dean made everything feel a little more ordinary, at least it did for a little bit. Telling my parents was a little harder. They seemed happy, as happy as you can be to have both children leave within a year of each other. Of course there was a huge difference between me and my brother leaving: mine wasn’t final. I guess they were just glad to see me a) going to college, especially after turning down that full ride from University of Minnesota; b) I was acting more like myself from before the accident; and c) that I hadn’t- as my therapist says- ‘gone into the drugs path that claimed so many others who lost their twins’. Bullshit if you ask me.

The day I got the letter was the same day that my brother’s- my dead brother, that is- best friend got drafted. Brock Boeser was one of the guys my family “adopted” in (my brother’s friends became like family not too long after he befriended them). They were always together which in turn meant I was always with him, but Brock was always different from the rest. He never treated me like a little sister like so many other of Charlie’s friends had. To him I was his honorary best friend. I held that title whenever Charlie was sick in bed or, the more often the case, they needed someone to be goalie. Growing up I was just happy to be with them. Some of my old friends always said their siblings held them at arm's length. Charlie and I were different. We were best buds who happened to be friends with the same people.

Brock getting drafted was bittersweet. Of course it was happy times, Brock and my family had remained close in the year span between Charlie’s passing and the draft. It was also a reminder of what could have been. Before the accident, Charlie was ranked #65 in the world. People had been coming from all over to watch him play. Scouts from universities, OHL team, NAHL teams, and even a few from NHL saw him play some of the best hockey. They had talked to both him and my parents about his playing and how far he wanted to go.

“All the way, baby,” he would say with that awful frat boy smirk. Those scouts thought that’s exactly where he would go too. They told him they saw him rising higher up in the draft come time to be picked.

It was hard seeing Brock getting selected by the Canucks. For one, that was where I was going to spend the next couple years going to college. I was going 1,400 miles away to escape people from my town, yet here I was going to the exact same place as the person I most wanted to escape from, next to my mother and father that is. But Brock had already committed to North Dakota all the way back in February. Plus Vancouver was a big city, it is 7 times larger than my hometown of Bloomington. There was no way we would see each other.

At least that had been my hope, and it had worked for nearly 2 years. Until my mom did what she does best and messed it all up.

“Mom? It's only-” I paused to check my watch, “- 3:15. Why are you calling so early?”

“Honey!” she said in her cheery voice which meant I was in for some trouble. “You’ll never guess what happened yesterday.”

I sat down on my chair ready to hear about another stupid thing Brenda did at work or how my father sat on a fish hook again, “What?”

“Brock got called up!” she exclaimed.

“Wow,” I said my voice was mixed with actual excitement and that of what you would say to your children’s “wonderful” macaroni art project. This wasn't news to me. I had seen all over Instagram and had gotten the notification from the NHL app I had on my buried deep within phone.

Even if she heard the tonality of my voice my mother ignored it, “I know! Jess and him are flying up tonight I told them you could show them around.” The way she said it seemed like I had no choice in helping out Brock and his mother. Don’t get me wrong I wasn’t busy or anything but it was hard seeing him right away after the accident and even now. It was like Charlie’s death had been the axe splitting the log that was our friendship in two.

But if there was anything that growing up in Minnesota had taught me it was that being nice made things a hell of a lot easier. “Of course,” I said. “What time are they flying in?” I didn't live too far from the airport, maybe 20 minutes.

“ They should be flying in about 4:10 in Gate C,” she stated. I check the time again noting I had about 30 minutes.

“Okay, I’ll text Brock and tell him I’ll pick them up,” I said getting up from the couch. I grabbed my coat from the closet by the door and scooped out my keys. Winters here weren’t as bad as back home but the cold still gets to you.

“Alright, I’ll call you later?” she voiced.

I said yes and hung up as I walked out of the elevator into the parking garage. As I slid into the seat of the car I texted Natalie, my best friend and roommate, to let her I know I would be out until late and one to Brock letting him know I would be waiting by Gate C when they arrived. The cold inside the car was enough to make me wish I used that remote car start my friends installed for me for Christmas. I sat shivering as the car’s heat slowly made the temperature inside a little more bearable.

I had only been inside Vancouver International a total of maybe 7 times. Once when I got here, 3 or 4 times picking up my parents when they came up for a visit and the rest for when old friends needed a tour guide on a layover. The thing about airports though is that they are almost all the same. The outside may make you think the insides would be different but nope. All have the same look and feel, and maybe the same carpet,. It was annoying, but also super helpful. I sat waiting for Brock and his mom to get through customs.

Part of me worried that we would have changed too much to recognize each other when we did meet up. It would make things awkward to hug someone you hardly recognized and sit there pointing out all the differences in each other. Another part of me, the larger part, worried that we wouldn’t have changed at all and that I would have to look into the eyes of my deceased brother’s best friend’s eyes. Now that’s a heavy thought.

“Oh my goodness,” I hear a voice say behind me, “Y/n, you… you look so grown-up!”

It had been about two years since I heard seen Laurie Boeser, but I could recognize that voice from 10 miles away. I got up from those awful plastic airport chairs and turned to give my second mother a hug. Stepping back I saw the boy who still looked like the kid I spent most of my time with growing up. Now though he looked bigger, tougher and more like a hockey player. He still had that blonde hair he got from his dad Duke and his smile shown identical to that of Laurie’s. I gave him a hug as he struggled with holding bags of all sorts.

“Hey guys,” I said, politely smiling. “How was the flight?”

“It was amazing!” Laurie starts. “Brock got us into first class so the flight attendants are all ‘Could I get you sparkling water and warmed nuts, Ms. Boeser?’ and getting us blankets.”

“I mean you do look young enough to be Brock’s sister,” I say.

Laurie playfully swats in my direction, “Oh please stop.”

After catching up a bit more I offered to take some of the bags Brock was holding and showed them to the car. I could see from the corner of my eye Brock looking at me as we made our way through airport parkings and even as we strapped in the car. I think he too was worried about thinking of what to say, especially with how we left things before I left. Lets just say Charlie wouldn’t have been happy with what had happened. To be honest I wasn’t too happy with what happened.

Laurie and Brock were staying about 10 minutes away from my apartment. We dropped off their luggage and I showed them a little bit of downtown Vancouver. It was fairly late by the time we grabbed food at a hole in the wall pizza shop and walked a bit of the boardwalk by the ocean. I dropped them back off at the hotel room with a promise to Laurie we would go get breakfast when Brock went to morning skate the next morning. By then the car company will have delivered the rental car to the hotel so I wouldn't have to drive Brock there and pick him up.

When I got back to the apartment Natalie had claimed the big sofa and was watching the mini marathon of Harry Potter movies.

“What were you up to?” she questioned.

“Nothing?” I said grabbed a handful of chips before flopping on the loveseat.

“Who was it? Was it that weird guy from Chem? Nick.. no David?” she prodded. One thing to note about Natalie, she's intense and everything that is yours is hers too.

“You mean Arnold? And no it just someone I used to know. Isn't this the one where Harry kills the big snake at the end?” I said trying to deflect.

“It's called a basilisk. Hold on, you’re trying to change the subject,” she said. “Which means that you don't want me to know who it is, harsh.”

“I’m not doing anything. And it's not that I don't want you to know who he is-” I started.

“So it’s a he, huh” she interrupted. “Wait its that Bruiser kid isn't it?

“It’s Boeser,” I corrected.

“So it is him!” she said sitting up a bit more.

“I…. um,” I tried to say.

“Y/N it's okay,” She slinked over to me. “Did you talk to him about Charlie yet?”

I slouched a little in her arms. Natalie knew a lot more of my demons then most people. She knew some of the struggles I went through losing Charlie, she knew the pressure I put on myself after he died and she knew how poor my relationship with my parents is. I let her in on more things then I usually feel comfortable with but there was something about her that made opening up really easy. “No, his mom came up with him to help him get settled so I haven’t really gotten to talk with yet.”

“Maybe you should see if you two could meet up tomorrow to talk, let some off your chest,” she soothed.

“We’ll see, I think for right now though I’m just going to leave it,” I said. “At least until he gets settled in more.” I promised myself I wasn't going to let this go, once Laurie left we were going to talk out everything that happened, including the kiss we shared.

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