Timeless - Connor Dewar

six - connor

TW; mentions of depression, medication

Present Day

Knock, Knock, Knock. 

The sound shattered my sleep like a rock through glass. I groaned, rubbing my stiff neck and squinting at the dashboard clock through bleary eyes. It was barely five a.m. The absurdity of being awakened at such an hour almost made me laugh.

Almost. 

Then again, sleeping in my car in a Costco parking lot came with its own set of predictable inconveniences.

My life had been a mess ever since the trade. Minnesota had been a sanctuary of sorts, a place where I had finally begun to feel a semblance of stability and happiness—or as much happiness as someone with my mental health struggles could muster. I ignored the rumours, hoping against hope that I wouldn't be the one on the chopping block. But fate, in its usual cruel fashion, had other plans.

The first blow was losing my best friend on the team, Brandon Duhaime. The farewell had been painful yet straightforward—an exchange of half-hearted promises to keep in touch and a somber pat on the back. But the very next day, the axe fell on me. Toronto. The word alone felt like a sentence, and the journey there, a pilgrimage through purgatory.

So now, it was me packing my stuff. It was me, giving awkward half-hugs to my teammates, the staff, the man who drafted me all those years ago. I threw essentials into my car—clothes, toiletries, my hockey gear, and my trusty acoustic guitar. The rest I sold off or stashed in a storage unit, a tangible testament to my uprooted life. Thirteen hours of driving northeast, the landscape changing but my dread remaining constant, like a dark cloud in my rearview mirror.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I pulled the blanket off the driver's side mirror and saw a young man standing outside, his breath a mist in the cold morning air. He smiled faintly, gesturing for me to roll down the window.

I obliged, my glare impassive. The young man cleared his throat. "Sorry to wake you," he began, his voice tentative, "but my manager noticed you've been parking here overnight for a few weeks now, and I've been sent to ask you to... leave."

The bright red vest made sense now—Costco employee. My lips pressed into a thin line. "Okay, I'll leave," I replied curtly, starting the car and reaching for the window button.

The man leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning the mess of belongings in the back of the car. "Hey, man, do you have anywhere else to go?" He said, and his concern was genuine, catching me off guard.

I paused, my hand hovering over the button. "No, not really," I admitted, the words heavy with exhaustion. "It's been... rough."

The man nodded, sympathy in his eyes. He pursed his lips, glancing away at the still dark distance before looking back, "You just move? I know there's a bit of a job crisis out here."

I rubbed my eyes, nodding slowly. "Yeah, something like that. Just got here from Minneapolis. It's... different, for sure." I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to mask my vulnerability. "I'll be okay, though."

The young man studied my face as he brushed a lock of his own dirty blond hair back, a flicker of recognition dawning. "You look really familiar..."

My heart skipped a beat. I wasn't even fully accustomed to being recognized on the ice, always being a bottom six, so being recognized now caught me off guard. "I get that sometimes," I said, hoping to deflect further questions.

"No, like, really familiar," the man insisted, leaning closer. "What do you do?"

I sighed, and for a second I considered lying, just so I wouldn't have to have this conversation at all, but the fatigue I was feeling made it easier to tell the truth. "I'm a hockey player," I said quietly. "Got traded to the Leafs recently."