Slipping Through My Fingers - Nathan MacKinnon

Chapter 6

Fourteen years old

"Okay, so he's a center," Reed pointed out, sitting next to Beth and handing her the food he had brought from home - which involved some popcorn and drinks. "So the one in the middle?"

"He's the one in the center." you repeated for the hundredth time, tapping his arm multiple times and pointing at the ice, where the teams were lining up.

"The big one?" Reed asked skeptically.

"No, that's the goalie, you dumbass!"

"Then which one is he?"

"Number 22." You stated, watching him skate until he reached the center of the rink, eyes concentrated. He was adjusting his helmet, analyzing his opponents as he let his stick hit the ice a couple of times.

"He looks concentrated." Beth whispered, almost as if she was scared Andrew could hear her and lose his focus.

"He's also very superstitious," you stated, watching him bend down just before puck drop. "Like his father."

The game started with loud cheers from the audience, and you recognized some of Andrew's school friends just down a few stands from you. They were loudly chanting his name, making you smile before letting your eyes get back on the ice.

Andrew was sprinting around, passing the puck to his teammates, getting close enough to the opposing net to shoot and score. The other team's goalie was fast, though, extending a leg to block the sliding puck from entering the net. A long groan left your mouth. "Fuck's sake."

"This sport is too quick for me to be able to follow." Reed mumbled, voice uncertain as his eyes went back and forth on the ice.

"You'll get used to it," you mumbled, shooting up your seat when Andrew's left-winger came close to the net, your son shooting past the defensmen to reach his teammate. In the blink of an eye, though, he lost the puck, handing it to the opposing team.

Time was clicking, your heart shooting out of your chest when the other team skated towards Logan, your goalie, ready to shoot and score. Their wristshot could have been perfect, but Logan's gloved hand shot up, catching the puck.

The referee's whistle sounded, stopping the game to retrieve the dark disc from your goalie as you clapped loudly, shouting a few praises.

"Y/N, you're a menace," Reed said, making you laugh. He was watching you in horror, stealing some popcorn from his daughter. "Beth, what did we get ourselves into?"

The fifteen-year-old giggled, her eyes not leaving the ice. Well, not exactly the ice, more like the bench. Reed stood up, dropping his half-empty bottle of water on the ground. "I gotta go hit the toilets."

"Reed is entering his elderly years, I see," you teased, shooing him away. "Go take a piss, you old man."

He scowled, shooting you a middle finger. "I'm not incontinent, you pest."

"Not yet!" You sing-songed. The kids on the ice kept moving, the first period almost coming to an end with no goals from each team. You could tell Andrew was getting antsy, sitting on the bench. He wanted to get back on the ice and prove that him and his boys could do it. The 'C' on his chest was there for a reason, after all.

"Who's that guy on the bench?" Beth whispered from your side, her small voice catching your attention. "The one in the goalie gear?"

"Callaghan," you pointed out, sheepishly looking at her as heat spread across her cheeks. Andrew had slipped back onto the ice, exchanging some words with the opposing captain. "Backup goalie and oldest player on the team."