Hockey Imagines

Never Enough | Mathew Barzal

#13, Center for the New York Islanders
Word Count: 2.4 K

"Y/N, mon amour, where are you?" I hear Mat call as he closes the front door behind him. I pull the covers over my head, not wanting to see him right now.

"What do you think you're doing, hiding from me?" He asks teasingly, pulling down the covers so he can see me.

I glare up at him. "Go away." I grumble.

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Kitten, what's going on? Why are you upset? Wait, did I do something? Is that why you're mad?" He asks worriedly.

I roll over so I can't see him and tug the covers from his grasp. "Leave me alone."

He takes a seat on the bed behind me, rubbing my back. "You know you can talk to me, right, petit ami?"

My heart swells at his use of French. Mat speaks fluent French, which is how he and I met. I grew up in France, and he was visiting with the team when we met. He instantly charmed me when he started speaking the language flawlessly.

"Mat, please." I whisper. Today has been a really bad day for me, though Mat doesn't know that. He's been out with the guys and at practice all morning, so he doesn't know about my depression has been terrible today. Or about my depression at all.

I'm not exactly happy that I've managed to keep me having depression from him for the last year and a half that we've been together. It was easier in the beginning, when I was going to NYU and he was always busy with hockey. But the past six months that we've been together, it's been difficult. I've never mentioned it, though, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

He sighs. "I'll leave you alone, kitten. Let me know if you need anything, alright? I'll be right in the living room. All you gotta do is text, or even call for me. I'll be here. Is that good?" I nod and he kisses my temple before leaving the room. He gently closes the door, giving me peace and quiet.

I sigh, burrowing my face against his pillow. It smells just like Mat, calming me. I just want to be alone right now, but being surrounded by my boyfriend's smell makes it a little easier. But the comfort doesn't stop the tears from spilling from my eyes at the reminder of all the gorgeous girls who were at the Islanders' practice today, taking pictures with Mathew and his teammates.

Maybe I should talk to him. Explain to him why I'm upset, why this feeling is overwhelming me. I mean, he would understand, right?

Mathew has always assured me that he loves me no matter who I am. He's never made me feel insecure. But the girls that are constantly around the team, the puck bunnies, do. And so does society. Instagram and beautiful, fit, tan, perfect girls make me feel so insecure, it isn't even funny. But telling Mat that will make me look pathetic, right?

I swipe at my nose, willing myself to stop crying. There's no way Mathew can't hear me, and I know he's worrying. He hates it when I'm upset.

I sniffle, trying to calm myself. I can't keep relying on meds and my boyfriend to make me happy. I need to start trying to be stronger. To fight the depression on my own. It's not healthy, how much I rely on Mathew. And he doesn't deserve it. But what he does deserve is for me to be honest with him.

I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and slowly open the door. Mat's sitting on the couch, watching hockey, but he immediately turns off the TV when he notices me. He holds out his arms. "Come here, kitten."

I walk over to him, but stop him before he can bring me into his arms. "I need to tell you something, Mat." I whisper anxiously.

"You know you can tell me anything. What's going on, petit ami? Talk to me." He says softly, trying to conceal his worry.