"Since Trouba was unable to perform at the level he needs to, the Winnipeg Jets have been mathematically eliminated from the playoffs.." you sigh and roll your eyes as you hear for the umpteenth time about how poorly your boyfriend Jacob Trouba played tonight against the Minnesota Wild. You weren't able to make it to the game tonight since you had to stay late at work, but you got home in time to catch the third period and the post-game interviews and highlights. You knew Jacob would be upset; how could he not be with all of this negative press aimed towards him?
You braced yourself for the argument that was bound to come; Every time that Jacob did poorly he always seemed to take it out on you, although he never meant to. You decided to make some popcorn and watch a movie while you waited for your boyfriend to come home.
About half an hour later your heard the front door open and close quietly, which was surprising because he normally got pissy and slammed the door shut like a toddler having a tantrum. You said nothing, knowing it would be best if he had some time to cool down.
Soon enough you felt the spot beside you on the couch sink under his weight.
"Hey." he said, grabbing a handful of popcorn out of the bowl you were eating from.
"Hey babe, sorry I couldn't make it to the game tonight. I'm really sorry about the playoffs too," you say.
"Me too, honey." he quietly says, staring blankly at the wall across the room.
"What's wrong Jacob?" you finally ask. "Normally you come in here pouting or yelling or both after a loss like this; why are you so quiet tonight?"
Jacob didn't say anything for a while, so you assumed he wasn't going to answer. After a couple minutes of silence you decided that you'd go to bed since it was getting late.
"Y/N, I'm really sorry that I didn't play well tonight. I cost our team our playoff spot, I'm a huge failure," Jacob mumbles quietly.
You pace back over to the couch and snuggle up next to him, tucking your head into his chest. "Jacob, you're not a failure. You have nothing to apologize for baby. There are a bunch of other guys on that team that really could have stepped up tonight but didn't; the media just needs somebody to blame," you say as you rub his arm comfortingly.
"Thanks babe, you always know what to say," he says, and he kisses the top of your forehead.
The two of you go upstairs to your bedroom a little while later and snuggle all night. You were sad that the Jets didn't make playoffs, but you were secretly happy that you'd have Jacob to yourself for a longer off season.
