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tkwrites · 20 days

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I'll Be Proud For You - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photo from Pinterest via Bauer Hockey

Title: I’ll Be Proud For You - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (OFC)

Summary: When an opportunity for Quinn to meet her uncle arrives, Sarah jumps at the chance, and they attend a St. Patrick's Day party at her uncle's house on Salt Spring Island. On the ferry ride back home, Sarah finally explains why she had to be close to family after her mothers death, necessitating her move to Vancouver.

Warnings: Mentions of depression, grief, and meeting new family. Talks of suicidal thoughts and suicidal ideation. No attempts or methods are described or discussed.

Word Count: 5,600

Comments: I’ve been working on this fic for a long time. In many ways, it's extremely self-indulgent. I loved writing the banter between Sarah and her uncle Travis, and it was very healing for me to write about Sarah’s experiences after her mothers death.

Sarah’s experiences are very similar to the experiences I had after losing my father. My dad died three years ago in September, and I have not experienced any kind of suicidal ideation for over a year and a half. While I was in the thick of it, it felt like I was always going to be stuck in that darkness. The other side of that chasm is so beautiful and so worth the work it took to get here.

I was very lucky that I already had a therapist who could refer me to a specialist and friends and family who cared very deeply about me and my mental well-being. Seeing a psychiatrist to get on medication was one of the best decisions I ever made.

If you are having or have thoughts like these in the future, please, please talk to a friend and a professional to get help. The world is such a better place with you in it. xx

I’ll Be Proud For You

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Sarah grabbed Quinn's wrist as he walked toward the kitchen. “Do you have plans for St. Patrick's Day?”

“I think Garly's having a party. Why?”

“My uncle Travis always hosts a dinner party since we’re Irish, and I wondered if you wanted to come with me.”

“Sure.”

A smile took over her whole face, and he was instantly glad he agreed.

Internally, though, his heart was racing. Her uncle was the closest family she had nearby. When she first moved to the city, she'd lived with him for a year. She still went to his house at least two Sundays a month. Quinn knew they were close.

At least he had three days to mentally prepare.

“It’s a bit of a drive - they live on Saltspring, so we have to take the ferry.”

“Just means I get to spend more time with you,” he said with a shrug. “Plus, I like it over there.”

Her smile got bigger, and he swore his knees got a little weak. God, what wouldn’t he do for that smile?

“Is there anything I should do to prepare?” he asked, sitting next to her.

“Just wear something green. And don't wear anything that says 'Kiss me, I'm Irish' unless you actually want to be kissed.”

“Wouldn't mind being kissed by you,” he said with a wink.

Laughing, she leaned over and obliged.

He instantly wished they weren't at the dining room table so he could lay her out and kiss her like he meant it.

A few minutes later, the nagging feeling of neglecting her studying won out, and Sarah pulled away. “I'm sorry,” she said, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, “I really need to finish this. Give me thirty minutes?”

“Then you're mine for the night?”

She nodded.

“Okay.” He kissed her forehead and wandered to the kitchen to make dinner.

As she left school for the aquarium the next day, Sarah called her uncle Travis.

“Hey, Sar, how are you doing?”

“Good. How are you, Trav?”

“Great. Samson started crawling on Tuesday.”

“What? No.”

“Yep.”

“I refuse to believe he’s crawling already.”

“I know. It’s the worst. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know I'm bringing someone with me on Sunday.”

“One of your roommates?”

“No, someone I'm seeing.”

He actually seemed to choke on whatever he was drinking and coughed a few times before asking, “I'm sorry, what?”

“We've been going out for a while, and I want him to meet everyone.”

“How long is a while?”

“Two and a half months.”

“And you were going to tell us when?”

“I was waiting to see how serious it would be.”

“And it's serious?”

“I think it’s headed that way. I want to see what you think of him.”

“What's his name?”

“Quinn.”

“How did you meet?”

“At the aquarium,” she said, “he asked me out to lunch, and we've been dating ever since.”

“He lives in the city?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything I should know about him?”

“Just that I really like him. Please promise you won't embarrass me.”

“No can do. That's what uncles are for, but I can promise I won't pull out your baby pictures.”

“You don't even have my baby pictures.”

“Precisely. Otherwise, I probably would.”

Rolling her eyes, she asked what she could bring to dinner. After deciding she would bring the soda bread and butter, they hung up, and she sent the plan to Quinn.

Great. When should I pick you up?

I'm driving, so I'll come get you.

You have a car?

Technically, it's my uncles, but I haven't driven in forever, so I’m calling transportation on this one.

He laughed. Tocc canceled practice tomorrow so we can leave whenever.

I'll pick you up at 1 then?

What time is dinner?

5, but the drive over is 2 and a half hours, and I like to be there a little early to help out.

“Why does your uncle keep a car here?” Quinn asked as he buckled his seatbelt.

“I have parking included with my apartment, so it just made sense. I drop it off at the Ferry terminal once or twice a month for Trev when he has to come to the mainland for work.”

“I didn’t know that. Let me know next time and I’ll give you a ride home.”

She shot a grateful smile at him before looking back to the road.

It was a strange thing for Quinn to be a passenger. He was usually the one driving, and rarely got the chance to watch her for such a long period of time uninterrupted.

He was taken with her. With the constellation of freckles on her cheeks and the button of her nose, and the round swell of her bottom lip. He wondered if anyone would notice if they just made out on the ferry ride over. She didn’t have tinted windows. Probably not the best idea.

She was wearing the same green dress she’d worn when Brady came to town. It still looked beautiful and soft, and he still couldn’t stop the fantasies of stripping it off her from clouding his mind.

“How was your morning?”

“Fine.” he scrubbed his hands over his face, “It’s nice to have a day off.”

“I bet,” she said, reaching over to entwine her fingers with his.

They held hands until they hit traffic and she had to get back to the gear shift.

He’d never driven a manual transmission, and he was impressed by her seamless shifting, despite the fact that she was a bit of a terrifying driver. He found himself reaching for the door handle more than once as she weaved in and out of traffic and went a little too fast for his liking.

“How was your day?” he asked to distract himself.

“Good. I did some reading and finished up some assignments I’d put off from earlier in the week.”

“I didn’t know you were capable of putting things off,” he teased.

She snorted and threw him a sarcastic look.

“You’re so organized, I didn’t think you could.”

Quinn had seen her planner once. It was the size of a college notebook with a column for every day of the week. Each of her classes was assigned a different color, and every day was an organized riot: hours blocked for class, work, assignments, tests, and readings to be completed. He didn’t know how she got it all done. He was exhausted just reading it. Then, he’d smiled when he realized he was there. She had all his games and their plans and dates written in sparkly blue ink.

“I still miss things. Sunday is my catchup day,” she explained. “Usually, I sleep in and do my homework on the ferry over and back, but I wanted to have it done early so I could spend the time with you.”

“It would have been okay,” he said.

The smile she gave him made his heart patter against his lungs. That, along with a stop so sudden, the seatbelt engaged to snap him back, made it a little hard to breathe.

“Thank you, but I would rather spend this time with you.”

His heart warmed at the gesture, and her willingness to give up her one morning to sleep in to spend time with him.

Once on the ferry, they stayed in the car and talked instead of going up on deck. He told her about practice and trying to push aside his nerves about making the playoffs, “Everyone keeps talking about it like it’s a guarantee.”

“Well, you are second in the league.”

“Yeah, but so much could change. I don’t want to get my hopes up, and the media asks about it practically every day. I’m getting so tired of telling them, ‘that’s what we’re aiming for, and we have a group that can get there.’” He threw his voice into a self-depricating, exaggerated version of itself.

Despite her attempt to stifle it down, a giggle spilled out of her mouth. “I think they’re probably asking because it’s going to happen.”

“We don’t know that. Demmer’s out, and we haven’t been doing great…” he trailed off.

“You’re still first in the Pacific by almost 10 points, Quinn. Can’t you celebrate that for a minute?”

He sighed, “it’s just… so much can change in a month, and I don’t want to be the guy who talks about how good it will be to play in the playoffs only to have his team not make it. I’d be a laughing stock on the internet for the rest of time and a lesson to all other captains to not jinx it.”

“I’d never considered it that way.”

He made a noise of ascent in his throat.

“You can celebrate it with me, though, right?” she asked, lacing their fingers together.

Quinn wanted to agree, he really did, but the superstitious part of his mind went to war against it. The result was a kind of half-hearted grimace.

Laughter burst from her. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to talk about it. I’ll just be proud for you,” she said, bringing his hand to her mouth so she could kiss his knuckles.

His stomach did a jerking little jig, and a real smile spread over his face.

Eventually, their conversation turned to her uncle.

“Trav is a sound engineer, and he toured with Brooks & Dunn for a long time. He moved to Vancouver because he said it’s the most beautiful city he’s been to.”

“I would agree with that,” Quinn said.

“Now he stays at home with their kids. Trevor is a copyright lawyer.”

“Oh, your uncle’s gay,” he said with a spark of understanding.

“Is that a problem?” Sarah asked, raising her brows.

“No, of course not. I was just confused. You mentioned Trav and Trev, and I wasn’t sure if I was hearing his name wrong or what.”

When they pulled off the ferry, Sarah turned onto a small two lane road, running away from town. It didn’t look like anything was out here except forest and pebble beaches.

Sarah had an incredible inherent sense of direction - the kind he had to rely on his phone GPS for - so he knew they weren’t lost, but he couldn’t see anything that looked remotely like civilization.

When they turned onto a small driveway tucked right into the woods, drove up a hill, and pulled in front of a home that looked more like a cabin than a house, Quinn wasn’t too shocked.

“What a view,” he said as they got out of the car.

Despite the drizzly weather, the horizon was still stunning. The gray blue water of the Salish Sea seemed to melt into the rolling, gray clouds, making them indistinguishable except where pine covered islands rose out of the water, vibrantly green against all the neutral colors. The city skyline cut a dark, jagged edge across the water. If the commute wasn’t so long, he would live out here, too.

“I know, right?” she said, picking up a tote bag and taking his hand to lead him up to the front door.

“Hey Trav,” she said, embracing him as soon as the door was opened. “Trav, this is Quinn. Quinn, this is my uncle Travis,” she introduced when they broke apart

Other than the fact that he had her same bright blue eyes, her uncle didn’t look anything like he’d expected. Quinn had braced himself to meet a middle-aged man who was around his dads age. Instead, Travis looked no more than ten years older than Sarah. The oldest looking thing about him was his gray hair, which was casually swept back in that effortless way Quinn’s hair could never quite manage. He wore jeans and a green band t-shirt without socks or shoes. His toenails and fingernails were painted various shades of green.

“It's nice to meet you, sir,” Quinn said as they shook hands. If he wasn’t so used to seeing it, he would have missed the way Travis’s eyes widened slightly in recognition.

“Just call me Travis,” he said with a snort, trying to cover his shock. “No one has ever called me, sir in my life. Come on in.”

Trying to catch her eye as they passed, Travis wondered how, when he’d asked if there was anything he should know about this guy she was bringing, Sarah didn’t think the fact that he was Quinn Hughes was something he ought to know. She didn’t notice, and he dropped it before Quinn did.

“Beara!” a little girl yelled as she ran toward them. “Beara! Beara!” She had curly pigtails, each tied with a green bow that flopped as she ran.

“Sawyer!” Sarah caught her before they collided, picking her up and swinging her around. “I missed you,” she said, pulling the little girl against her chest.

Putting her hands on Sarah’s cheeks, she said, “missed you more.”

When she noticed Quinn, she turned her face away from him and put her thumb in her mouth, suddenly shy.

“Sawyer, this is my friend, Quinn,” she said, turning so they could make eye contact.

“Hi, Sawyer,” he said. “I like your ribbons.”

She smiled around her thumb at him. She had those same bright blue eyes, though they were slightly wider than Travis or Sarah’s.

“What do you say to that?” her father coached gently.

“Thank you.” she didn’t take her thumb out of her mouth when she said it, so it was a little garbled, but he got the idea.

Sarah set her down, and she ran back to the kitchen, squealing when Travis chased her down the hallway.

“Beara?” Quinn asked, humor in his eyes as she took his hand, following after them.

“My whole life, my nickname has been Sar Bear. When she was younger, Sawyer had a hard time saying her S’s, so she started calling me Beara instead of Sarah, and it just kind of stuck.”

He snorted, “oh god, the guys are going to have a heyday with that.”

“With what?”

“You know how they call me Huggy Bear sometimes?”

She nodded.

“Huggy Bear and Sar Bear?” He snorted, “I mean, come on.”

The house, while rustic on the outside, was homey on the inside. Neutral gray walls and a modern, light kitchen. It seemed the whole back half of the house was made of glass, giving a perfect view into the misty forest. It was beautiful, but Quinn wasn’t sure he’d want to be here at night to see what came out of those woods.

Sarah was laughing as she entered the kitchen, hand in hand with Quinn. The shock of Quinn Hughes being in his house, of Quinn Hughes dating his niece, who had always been more of a little sister to him, still had him reeling.

Even through that startling revelation, Travis wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her so relaxed and happy since her parents died. The protective part of him held himself back from reading too much into it. The last thing Sarah needed in her life was more heartache.

“Quinn, this is my uncle Trevor.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little busy,” he said, gesturing to the meat he was fishing out of a marinade. “I hope you like beef stew.”

“Sounds great.”

“And this,” Sarah picked a pudgy little boy up from his high chair, “is Samson.”

Quinn held a hand out to the little boy, who wrapped his tiny fingers around one of Quinn’s as he smiled and babbled. Samson looked more like Trevor. He had dark curly hair, dark eyes, and smooth olive skin. Quinn wondered if each of them had fathered an embryo for a surrogate.

“Can I get you a beer?” Travis asked.

“Sure.”

“We only have Guinness today.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. It’s the Irish way, right?”

Laughing, he handed the can off to Quinn before turning to Sarah. “Hey, can you help me find the barley?”

He knew he was being obvious as he pulled her into the pantry, but he hoped this was a little less obvious than pulling her back into the living room would be. At least he had an excuse for her help this way.

As he shut the door behind them, he heard Quinn ask, “is there anything I can help with?”

Travis clicked the light on. They were standing nearly chest to chest in the tiny room, baby Samson squished between them. He didn’t seem to mind as he continued to babble, reaching out for the brightly colored packages.

“You didn’t tell me you were dating Quinn Hughes!” he hissed.

“You know who he is?”

“Everyone in this entire province knows who Quinn Hughes is, Sarah.”

“I didn’t when we met.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Why not?” If she didn’t have a baby in her arms, she would have folded them over her chest.

“You’re too busy learning stuff to pay attention to things like that. He was all over the news for three weeks when they put him in as Captain this fall. Plus, you only care about football.”

“I do not. Well, not anymore, at least,” she said, catching Samson’s hand before he could pull a box of pasta off the shelf. “Anyway, why does it matter that he’s Quinn Hughes?”

“He’s - I mean,” Travis blew a harsh breath out of his nose. “When you said you met at the aquarium, I thought he was some guy who works there, not the captain of the fucking Vancouver Canucks!”

“He's just a guy, Trav. He just happens to play hockey for a living.”

His mouth opened and closed as he seemed to realize he couldn't argue against that point. “He’s a pro athlete, Sarah.”

“So?”

“So, they’re gone all the time, and the money fucks with their heads and pretty soon they’re all cheating on their partners.”

One of her eyebrows arched up, “do you only watch reality TV, or do you sometimes deviate to Lifetime?”

Despite himself, he laughed. “I just mean,” he paused, glancing down at his green fingernails. Sawyer had insisted on painting them and pulled out every shade of green polish in the house, determined to use them all. “I don’t want you to get hurt. He treats you well?”

“Yes. Very well. I wouldn’t keep dating him or bring him to meet you if he didn’t. He's actually the best guy I've ever dated,” she added.

Travis's eyebrows shot into his gray hairline.

“Just spend some time with him. You'll see. He’s really thoughtful and nice.”

“Okay, but I’m having a talk with him by the end of the night.”

“No.”

“Listen, I just need to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

“Don’t you think that’s something I can decide for myself?”

“I’m just going to have a chat with him, man to man. You’re the one that wanted to know what I think of him,” he said. “It's happening whether you like it or not. I'm just letting you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but don’t embarrass me. And none of that asking for permission bullshit. I'm not a possession.”

“Dont insult me,” Travis chided, smiling, loving seeing pieces of his oldest sister in Sarah. He was glad Becky had instilled those same, strong feminist values in her children. “Of course he doesn't need permission. I just care about you.”

“Thanks, Trav,” she said, touched.

He pulled her into a hug, smooshing Samson between them more. He let out a tiny grunt.

“Here, take your baby,” she said, handing him off and grabbing a box of cookies as an alibi as she left.

If Quinn thought anything was suspicious, he didn't let on, continuing to chop the lettuce Trevor had set him to preparing.

“Teddy Graham?” Sarah asked, offering the box as she stood next to him at the long island.

“Sure.”

“Hey Sar, we were thinking about coming into the city for your birthday. I have to be in that day for a few meetings, so Trav was going to bring the kids on the ferry. Do you think that would work? We thought we could take you to dinner.” Trevor said, looking up from braising the beef.

“Yeah, I would like that,” she said with a big smile.

As he walked back into the kitchen, Travis caught Quinn’s wide-eyed expression.

“When’s your birthday?” he asked, tipping the lettuce into a bowl.

“On April third.”

He gulped. It was a gesture Travis immediately recognized as a man grappling for a purchase with new information.

Quinn pulled out his phone and quietly breathed, “we’re in Arizona that day.”

“I know,” Sarah said with a smile that tried but didn’t totally succeed in covering her disappointment.

Something about it made Travis’ hackles rise. Quinn wasn't actively hurting her, but his lifestyle was.

Quinn saved her birthday in her contact card and put his phone back in his pocket. “I guess we’ll celebrate when I get back.”

“That would be nice,” she said with a smile that was genuine this time.

Travis got her a can of Guiness, and she wrinkled her nose. “Can I have whiskey?”

“You hate whiskey.”

“I’d rather it than this tar,” she said, pushing the can back to him. “At least whiskey can be mixed into something palatable.”

“Here here,” Trevor said, laughing.

Travis mimed pulling a knife out of his chest. “You’ve insulted our ancestors, Sarah.”

“Listen, the Irish invented a lot of really great things: boycotts, modern chemistry, the stethoscope, the submarine,” she said, counting them off on her fingers.

Quinn gave her a surprised look.

“I did a presentation on Irish inventions in high school,” she explained, flipping her hands, “the point is, is that their alcohol is not one of them.”

Travis laughed, taking the can for himself. “You want a ginger highball then?”

She beamed, “I think you know the answer to that.”

“What is that?” Quinn asked.

“It’s whiskey and ginger ale. It’s delicious.”

Before other guests arrived, Travis asked Quinn if he'd like to see the vintage shelby Mustang he was restoring.

Quinn agreed and gulped when Trevor asked if Sarah could help him find Sawyer. This was one of those talks. He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her uncle out to the garage.

“Listen,” Travis said after they admired the beautiful white car, “Sarah isn't my daughter, but she means a hell of a lot to me, and I want to make sure she’s not going to get hurt. She’s gone through enough heartache already.”

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Quinn licked his lips before responding, “the last thing I want is to cause her more pain. I know she’s been through too much. I don’t know that I can guarantee she’ll never get hurt, but I can say that I would never hurt her intentionally.”

“Do you think your job will get in the way?”

“The travel definitely takes a toll. But I really like Sarah, and I think we have a lot of potential.” Times like these, he was glad for all of his media training. Not that this was anything like a press conference, but they did get him used to thinking fast and answering hard questions.

“She’s not really a model NHL girlfriend.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Quinn demanded, barely keeping a glare off of his features.

“Just that most of your lot date models that don’t have normal jobs and aren’t in school,” Travis said, fighting to keep a smile off of his face. That defensiveness answered a lot of his questions.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” he agreed, biting down the urge to correct him. Most of his teammates were married to their high school or college sweethearts. “I like that Sarah has her own stuff and that she’s so independent. Before I met her, I dated a girl like you described, and I was always a little worried about what she was doing while I was on the road. I don't ever get that with Sarah.”

“What do you do on the road?”

“Mostly, I sleep or hang out with the guys. We don't have as much free time as people think.”

Travis was still looking at him appraisingly over the hood of the car. Had he not been exposed to Sarah’s blue, blue eyes, he would have found her uncles stare incredibly intimidating.

“Look, Sir - Travis,” he corrected quickly, “I really -” he stopped himself, not wanting to say that to her uncle first. “I really like Sarah, and we really get along. I know it’s not an ideal thing for me to be on the road during the season, but it seems to be working well so far. I want to be with her, and if she’ll let me, I’d like to be in her life for a long time. I just want to make her happy.”

Travis nodded. “What’s your favorite thing about her?” It was a question his mother-in-law asked him when he met her. It wasn’t until this moment that he realized what a telling question it was.

“She treats me like a normal person,” Quinn admitted. Even though he knew it made him sound conceited, it was his favorite thing about her. She’d never treated him like anything else than a normal guy. “And she’s interesting and easy to talk to and really respectful to people around her.”

“Okay,” Travis said, nodding, glad to see Quinn saw the same things he did. “Okay.” His face split into the natural smile he’d given Sarah when he first opened the door. “I can see why she likes you.”

Despite his attempt to stay cool and collected, Quinn felt a blush splash onto his cheeks as relief relaxed his shoulders.

“I'm not going to say I'll kill you if you hurt her, but just know she has me and Trevor in her corner.”

Quinn smiled, “I get it. I would want to hurt anyone who hurt her, too.”

The dinner party was small - no more than 10 people, and only one of them, their friend’s teenage son, Jace, gawked when he walked in to see Quinn in the kitchen. Quinn took it in stride and talked shop with Jace for a while before dinner was served and he took his seat next to Sarah, who had been watching him with a secret, proud kind of smile on her lips.

Halfway through the night, Travis looked over at them to find Quinn watching her as she talked with someone, with this quiet, infatuated look on his face. A few more of his fears were put to rest.

As he stood at the kitchen sink with his niece, drying the pots and pans she was washing by hand, he leaned closer to her, “I can see what you see in him,” he said, conspiratorially.

“See,” she said, nudging her shoulder into his as she handed him a knife, “I told you.”

“How did you manage going to school from here for a year?” Quinn asked as they pulled onto the ferry for the ride home.

“When I lived with them, they lived in the city. They needed to move into a bigger house when Samson was born. By that time, Trevor was working from home most of the time, and I was okay to live with roommates. So, I moved into the apartment I'm in now, and they moved onto the island.”

He waited until the car was parked before asking, “what do you mean you were okay to live with roommates?”

She pulled in a heavy breath. It was bound to come out eventually. May as well tell him while they had a solid hour and a half boat ride to talk about it.

“After my mom died, I really struggled.”

“Wouldn’t anyone?” Quinn asked.

Sarah pushed the seat back to give her enough room to turn and face him. Her right knee pressed up against the center console. She needed to be looking at him when she said this.

“I mean… I really,” she paused, trying to find the right words. “I remember I flew back to Hawaii a week after the funeral, thinking it was going to be so nice to get back into my routine, but I had this massive gulf in front of me and a literal ocean between me and my family. My roommates were kind of party animals, and they had no idea how to support me, and I had broken up with Kaleo, my boyfriend, before I left because he didn't want anything to do with her funeral or my grief. It felt like no matter where I was, I was just so…alone.”

It felt like someone was reaching down Quinn's throat and wringing his heart.

“I called my sister one day - I think I woke her up, which was really shitty because she had a six month old who was teething.” She laughed a little, but there was too much sadness in it for it to be convincing.

“Anyway, I called her crying because I…I started having these really intense thoughts about killing myself.”

A steep breath stuck in his lungs. He wasn’t totally sure what he thought she would say, but he hadn’t expected that.

“She flew out to be with me, and I moved home two days later. Just packed everything up and left. I didn’t even tell my boss - I was still on FMLA for the funeral, and she had to call me when I didn't show up to work the next Monday.”

“Did you ever…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Attempt?”

He nodded, and Sarah shook her head, “no, but the thought of it was really terrifying. Like, I saw for the first time how someone could get into that headspace where they might take their own life. I just remember ruminating on those thoughts and thinking, ‘I don’t wanna die.’” She pressed the heel of her hand under her eye to catch some of the tears that slipped.

“How did you get out of it?” Perhaps she was just really good at hiding it, but she didn’t seem that depressed in all the time he’d known her.

“I stayed with my sister for the next nine months. I got on some meds and started seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist, and we talked through what was bringing those thoughts up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d already gone through the grief process with my dad, so I knew how awful it was. I never expected to have to go through another big death while I was still single. I thought by the time my mom died, I would have a consistent partner in my life - maybe even a family - and I just kept thinking, ‘I don’t want to do this again.’”

Quinn wanted to go back in time and make it better. Somehow make sure they met before she was in the city so he could be there for her when it all happened.

“Anyway, my psychiatrist told me our brains are basically just big problem solvers. You give it a problem, it wants to fix it. So when I kept telling myself, ‘I don’t want to do this again,’ my brain was just coming up with the swiftest solution for me to not have to do it again. When I changed the way I was thinking about it and started giving myself some more grace, those thoughts lessened a lot.”

God, she was even stronger than he thought.

“Even with all that stuff, I still really wanted to go to grad school, and my therapist and my psychiatrist agreed that it was best for me to have a goal to work toward, even if it meant moving away from home. I was really scared that if I moved out totally on my own, those feelings would come up again, and no one would be around for me to talk to about them, and I might hurt myself. But I couldn't study the ocean in Nevada. My brother actually suggested UBC and living with Travis. I called him to see what he thought. I hadn't even applied, but I didn't want to if I didn't have a plan for when I got in. I pitched that I could be a nanny of sorts when I wasn't in school. They told me they’d love to have me stay with them. I applied and by some miracle was accepted on the first try, and the rest is history,” she said, shrugging.

“Do you…” he paused, not totally sure how best to ask this. “Do you still think about it?”

She shook her head, “not much anymore. Every once in a while, it comes back when a big grief marker comes up, or I get really, really stressed or anxious, but the thoughts are always really fleeting.”

Even though it meant the console was pressing into his stomach, and she was pitched back slightly, Quinn leaned over to gather her against him. “I can’t believe how strong you are.”

“It’s not like I had any other choice.”

“Clearly you did,” he said, reluctantly settling back into his seat.

“I didn’t,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “There was no way I was going to put my family through another death, and like I said, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to not be in pain anymore, and those are very different things.”

“I just think you should be proud of yourself, that’s all.”

“I mean, I am proud that I got out of it, and proud that I know how to ask for what I need now, but being strong in the face of death is just something you have to do. There’s no way out but through.”

“Fine,” he said, repeating her action from earlier and bringing her knuckles to his lips, “I’ll be proud for you.”

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

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#quinn & sarah snapshots #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x oc #qh43 #quinn hughes fan fic #q hughes #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey romance #tw sui ideation #tw sui talk #tw grief #grief #cw sui ideation #sui ideation

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literarygoon · 4 months

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Azalea and the Ghost Mists of Mount Tzouhalem, Part 1

by Will Johnson

Azalea Johnson had only been nine years old for three days when her Dad packed her into his minivan and drove her up the winding slope of Mount Tzouhalem, leaving the rest of their family at home.

It was early December, so jagged crusts of ice had accumulated in the rain puddles, the trees shimmered with frost, and the air had a sharp, sweet taste that moistened the back of her throat. It didn’t snow much on Vancouver Island, and it didn’t stay long when it did, but winter was still Aza’s favourite season of the year. Lazy flurries were drifting down from the white sky, bringing shimmering curtains of mist with them.

It was rare that Aza got uninterrupted one-on-one time with her Dad — her siblings Celista and Kristopher were omnipresent — but that morning he’d announced happily that he had a belated birthday surprise for her. He told her to dress warm, with hiking boots, gloves and some sort of warm hat. They were headed to the criss-crossing mountain bike trails five minutes higher up the mountain, a spiderweb of winding forest routes that included access to some of the best views in the area.

You could look one way to Saltspring Island or the other way at Mount Prevost.

From her low slouching vantage point in the passenger seat, the world beyond the windshield was mostly blank white. But she also had a clear view of the tendrils of mist interspersed amidst the towering trees that framed the mansions in their Duncan neighbourhood. She put her feet up on the glovebox, but Dad didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

He was too focused on the road.

“Sorry Aza, it’s foggier out there than I realized.”

“It looks like smoke.”

“A little bit, maybe. But I’ve always thought it looked more like ghosts.”

Aza gave him a sideways glance. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Her father shrugged. “Maybe you’re right about that.”

Now she was questioning herself. She watched the mist coil and weave like spaghetti through a looming arbutus grove beyond the houses. It did kind of look like ghosts.

“Are they real, Dad?”

“They?”

“Ghosts.”

“What do you think?”

“I think they’re made up.”

“Now why would somebody make something like that up?”

She didn’t have an answer for that. Her father’s nonchalant attitude about ghosts was making her feel confused and anxious. Wasn’t he supposed to reassure her? If ghosts weren’t real, then she wouldn’t have to be afraid of them—right? But if they were real, then it would be totally appropriate to be afraid.

She watched the mist and bit her lip.

“These are the ghost mists of Mount Tzouhalem,” her Dad said, sipping from his oversized coffee mug. “And they’ve been here since the beginning of time.”

Her mouth gaped.

“They’re not as scary as they sound, baby. It’s just the spirits of the people who used to live here, all tangled up in our reality and lost in time.”

“Dead people?”

“Yeah, dead people. But in a way, they’re more alive than we are now.”

This was not the sort of thing Mom talked to her about. Sometimes Aza felt like she lived in multiple realities. There was the world of Catholicism, the world of stories, and the world of Dad. Each one had its own rules, its own explanations for how the universe operated. In Dad’s world, God wasn’t the only thing to believe in. He believed in all kinds of stuff that wasn’t in the Bible, or at least the parts of the Bible that were read to her at Sunday School.

Sometimes it was hard to know where to place her trust.

Their minivan had reached the narrow driveway to the hiking trails, an opening between two houses at the top of the mountain’s highest cul-de-sac. There were tire tracks in the slush, so it was clear they wouldn’t have the place to themselves, but this was still the most deliciously alone Aza ever felt. She loved the sound of raw nature, which was throughly muffled by human hubbub down at their house. Up on the mountain Aza liked to study moss, crane her head back to follow tree trunks into the sky, and splash through puddles until her jeans were soaked.

This was where she’d grown up, and Mount Tzouhalem had taught her far more than any school ever had.

Her Dad pulled the van around and parked next to the trailhead sign. Wearing two layers of plaid, one of them with a black hood that he was wearing draped over his head, he had a curly red beard with straggly white streaks. He placed his mug in the cupholder, grabbed his phone and swung open the door, grunting as he stood.

“Where are we going?” Aza asked, shutting her door and coming around the trunk.

“It’s just a little ways up here, at the plateau."

“Why are we going there?”

He laughed. “Are you trying to make me ruin the surprise? I wouldn’t want to live a life without surprise.”

“You’re so weird, Dad.”

“You might be right about that, baby. I am pretty weird.”

For the first few minutes they didn’t talk, trekking side by side up a steep incline. Dad was breathing hard, clouds of mist coming with every breath. She watched his face for some hint of where he was taking her and saw nothing but a glassy, emotionless determination. Beads of sweat were drooling slowly down his pinkened face, and he swiped periodically at his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Have I ever told you about your baptism?” Dad asked between struggling breaths.

“I’ve seen the picture,” Aza said, thinking of the image taped to his office wall. She was cradled in Dad’s arms while Mom looked on, the Filipino priest pouring water over her head from a white clamshell. She was wearing a frilly white dress with tiny white shoes, only a month old.

“That was New Year’s Eve, 2023. Nine years ago. Did anyone tell you that?”

She shook her head.

“We only found out later that the date — 12/31/23 — was ‘one, two three’ in sequence, twice. Two threes in a row, a special event that only comes along once every hundred years. That’s when we first got the sense, your Mom and I, that there was something going on that we didn’t quite understand. That we couldn’t control.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the third child of a third child, Aza. And your middle name comes from another third child. You were born on December 3, in the year 2023. Do you see what I’m saying? The threes are everywhere.”

“So three’s my magic number?”

“Your holy number. Like the trinity, Aza. This is divine math, baby, that will carry you through the rest of your life. But you have to be looking for the numbers. Always look for the numbers, everywhere.”

Her Dad pulled out his phone and squinted into the mist ahead. He whispered something under his breath, tucked it away into his plaid, and then picked up the pace slightly. Aza half-jogged to keep up as they stepped over a mossy trunk and made their way towards an opening in the treeline. She could see Lake Quamichan beyond.

“People will tell you that you’re crazy for thinking this way, but there’s more than one way to think. Do you understand that? Most people go their whole life without hearing the music of creation, without understanding the dancing ghosts that surround us at all times. The divine math of existence may seem scary, my girl, but I promise it will light your way as long as you follow the threes.”

“Follow the threes?”

“Promise me you’ll do that, okay?”

Aza reached out and took his hand. She didn’t always understand the things her Dad said, but she didn’t need to. She liked his language.

“I promise.”

They crested the hill looking out at Mount Prevost, and followed along a flat mossy field cut through with bike tracks. The mist was thick now, crowding in at all sides, and for a moment Aza thought she heard voices out in the white. She shuddered.

“This is it,” Dad said, clambering up a protruding rock. “This is your brother’s favourite spot, since he was two-years-old. We were playing Peter Pan one morning and he named this rock Strong Rock. He would chant ‘strong rock, strong rock, strong rock’.”

Her Dad seemed melancholy now, gazing off as he remembered the earlier life of the Johnson family. He chuckled to himself with one Blundstone planted against the pointed tip of the rock, the other braced flat against its middle.

He pulled out his phone again.

“This is what I’m talking about. Look what time it is,” he said, holding up his phone. “It’s 1:23.”

“So?”

“One, two three. See?”

Aza was confused by this whole expedition. Dad was acting scatter-brained, and he was making less sense than usual. She noticed that his forehead was shiny and he was fighting for breath, winded from their short jaunt. For a moment he seemed legitimately afraid.

“Dad, what are we doing here?”

He sighed, and closed his eyes for a long time. Then he sat down and ushered her over, his face now deadly serious. He held her by both arms.

“Aza, my girl. I can’t make the rest of this trip with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve brought you this far, but I can’t go any further. There’s a whole story waiting for you out in that mist, but I’m not going to be a part of it.”

“Out in the mist?”

“The more I explain it, the less it will make sense. But I was told to bring you here on this day, at this time, and to wait for you at this spot.”

“By who?”

“I can’t tell you that in a way that would make sense right now, okay? I know it seems strange now, but you have to trust me. There are people out there who have been waiting to meet you for a long, long time. People who knew your name before you were even born.”

Dad sat down at the tip of Strong Rock. He gazed out into the billowing fog expectantly.

“And you’re going to wait here?"

“I will be sitting here on Strong Rock for as long as it takes for you to come back. If you don’t come back for 100 years, you’ll find my skeleton here. No matter how long it takes, baby.”

He touched her face, and gave her a pained smile.

“What’s out there? Why is this happening?”

He kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Remember to look for the threes.”

The Literary Goon

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