Slipping Through My Fingers - Nathan MacKinnon

Epilogue

Twenty years old

You had always hated taking days off.

You'd spent years training to be a lifeguard, worked your ass off, and enjoyed what you did, days off had never been necessary to you. To add onto that, you hated disappointing Raffie. You hated promising the team you'd be present the entire week, only to be stuck at home with a fever. You hated signing off early to go to doctor's appointments, and you hated staying at home by yourself.

Your view on off-days had quickly changed when Andrew had come along. Not only would you take days off for yourself - which you still hated doing -, but you'd have to take days off to take care of him. Maybe when he was sick, maybe when he needed to go see a doctor himself. When Andrew was the reason you stayed home, it made you feel a little better. Who could say no to a free day with their son?

That day was the first time you didn't feel selfish when you took a day off.

Sitting down on the couch in front of the TV, you blew out a relaxed sigh. The arena behind your screen was lit in yellow and black, skaters you had learned to recognize shooting past the cameras.

Familiar American accents filled your living room, announcing a few remarkable moments of the Boston Bruins' playoffs season. Holding a hand to your chest, you tried to keep your heart rate at a normal pace.

Andrew was on the ice, having the game of his life. The Stanley Cup finals. Just one year after starting his career in the NHL. To say you were proud was an understatement.

The crowd was buzzing, with people yelling in excitement as the referees entered the ice, ready to start the game. Your eyes fell on your son, who was sitting on the bench. He was in second line, which was a good start for someone his age. You'd eventually see him on the ice in a few minutes.

The puck dropped, the game starting off with blue and yellow jerseys racing past the cameras in a quick pace, the teal and blue ones following soon after. It was a heated game, with tension so thick you could feel it all the way to Australia.

Your head was spinning with nerves, hands trembling as you gripped your phone tightly. There was no way your eyes would leave the screen for the next two hours, that you were sure of.

"Line change for the Bruins, we see number 22 on the ice-"

The commentator's words were enough to push you out of your trance, your heart thumping against your rib cage. You followed Andrew with your eyes, tears threatening to spill as you watched him skate, his eyes concentrated.

Your boy was on the ice, living his dream. He was close to winning the Stanley Cup, just like he had always told you he would. He was there, and it was one of the best days of your life, right after Andrew's birth.

You watched him skate past his teammates, shooting the puck to the left-winger as they skated closer and closer to the opposing net, your body threatening to give up on you. His body crashed against a Kraken player - one of their defensmen - and slammed him against the boards, receiving a loud yell from the commentators.

"That was a good hit by MacKinnon!" One of the two exclaimed when the camera crew replayed the hit in slow-motion. You smirked proudly, a hand running through your hair. That was your boy.

When the game came to a halt after the end of the first period, you stood up. Your legs felt sore from sitting down, so you headed towards the kitchen, fetching yourself a cup of chamomile tea, just like the old times. Your eyes fell on your phone, seeing a text from Reed to check out his Instagram story.

With your eyebrows furrowed, your fingers tapped automatically on the social media app, your eyes almost watering when you discovered what he had posted. It was the team, holding up a sign that read: 'good luck, Andrew'.