One Timers

Mitch heard the loud thud of the puck hitting the boards and let out a satisfied noise. He could feel the power coursing through his veins, and a smile had made its way on to his face when he realized his shoulder didn't hurt.

Okay it hurt, but it wasn't as bad as last week and he was almost back to his full shooting strength. Coach might even let him play tomorrow. That thought had Mitch reaching for another puck and pulling back his arms for a slap-shot. The puck flew through the air, and only stopped when it reached the back of the net.

"There's no way man, you've got to be joking." The voice surprised Mitch as he thought he was alone. He had shown up before his teammates, wanting to have his practice before the scheduled time. He had plans tonight, plans with his girlfriend tonight and fuck if he was going to let the reservations to the fancy restaurant he had booked go to waste because of practice.

"No man I'm telling you, she was fucking gorgeous." Two voices? Mitch shook his head but took their arrival as a chance for a much needed break. He skated over to the bench and took a long sip from his water bottle.

"Marns?" Auston and Bozak were now standing on the ice beside him, sticks in hand and warm up jerseys on. The pair both held confused looks as they weren't expecting him here.

"Yeah, hey. What're you guys doing here?" Mitch shook the sweat out of his hair and looked back to his teammates. They're here early Mitch thought to himself. He was busy doing calculations about the time, it couldn't be past 4, when the rest of Maple Leafs skated on to the ice.

"Marner, I thought you weren't going to be here?" His coach stood by the bench and had the same confused look as Mitch.

"Me? What're you guys doing here? Its like, 4'o clock." Mitch watched in horror as every single one of his teammates exchanged looks. It was Bozak that broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Dude, it's almost 7."

"No, no, fuck shit!" Mitch had never moved so fast in his life. The first thing he did when he entered the locker room was check his phone.

6:54

8 missed calls

14 missed messages

Fuck!

He didn't even bother to read the messages or listen to the voicemail you left him. Instead, he focused on getting changed, stripping off his warm up jersey and untying his skates at basically the same time. He didn't even take a shower, making the track pants he wore stick to him awkwardly.

He left the locker room, not caring that his gear was haphazardly thrown around the room. It wasn't until he was seated in his truck that he chanced another look at the time.

7:12

Oh God, he thought, I'm so fucking dead. The Toronto traffic was slow, excruciatingly slow, making Mitch even more upset with himself. He tried calling you, but his calls kept going straight to voicemail. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel and let out an aggravated noise.

By the time Mitch pulled up to the house it was nearly 8 o'clock. He sat in his vehicle for a moment and tried to think of an apology

Time just got away from me...

I don't know how it happened...

I'm so fucking sorry...

He slowly made his way up to the front door, head hung low with shame.

It was quiet when he entered, he closed the door soundlessly and ventured further into his home. He was surprised to see you sitting on the couch in a pair of sweatpants and a sweater. Your hair, which had obviously been curled, was held away from your face with a ponytail and when you finally turned away from the tv to look at him his breath caught in his throat.

You'd been crying.

"Baby..." He spoke, but he wasn't really sure what he wanted to say. His hands moved away from his sides like he wanted to hold you, but the look of sadness in your features had him drop them immediately.

"Did you forget?" You asked him curiously, not an ounce of accusation in your voice. It was only three words but Mitch felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. He felt anger build up inside him, he felt like shit for making you cry and now you thought he forgot?

"No baby of course not, I just..." Mitch let his sentence trail off when he saw you wipe under your eyes. In an instant he was beside you on the couch, trying to wrap his arms around you. "Don't cry, please don't... I'm sor-" He didn't get to finish though. He felt his own throat swell with tears when you shook your head and placed a palm on his chest in order to prevent him from hugging you. You gently pushed him away, creating distance between you two.

"What happened Mitch?" He could barely hear you over his heart pounding in his ears.

"I was at the rink, time just got away from me. I- my shoulder felt good and I wanted to test it to see if I could play tomorrow..." You wouldn't look at him and it was breaking his heart. His hands were balled in fists in his lap in order to keep from reaching out and touching you.

"So it was hockey?" Again, it wasn't an accusation, just a simple yes or no question, but Mitch felt the weight in your voice. He knew you weren't really asking what he was doing, you were asking what he was doing instead of being with you. The words were loud and clear in his head so it was hockey instead of me?

"It's not like that babe. I'm sorry I was late, that we missed our reservation but you know that's my job, hockey is number one..." You physically flinched at his words, cowering away from him and standing from the couch. He stood too, but made no effort to move closer to you. Instead, he watched as fresh tears sprang to your eyes, and he heard the crack in your voice as you spoke.

"I guess that's the problem, I did know I just thought..." You laughed and wiped your cheeks, finally making eye contact with him. "I thought I was your number one."

He was shocked. Of course you were his number one, you would always be his number one. He didn't get a chance to tell you this because you were already walking away from him.

"I need some time to... to get my priorities straight. Please just let me be alone." And then you were gone, walking down the hallway to your shared bedroom and closing the door with a soft thud.

Mitch let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and sat back down on the couch. His head hung between his shoulders as he replayed the conversation that had just taken place.

He was sorry, God, he was so fucking sorry. How could he say hockey was his number one? He shook his head and looked down the hallway, thinking of ways to make this up to you. If you didn't believe that you were his number one, than god fucking dammit he was going to do everything he could to show you.

Notes

Hello again. Thanks for taking the time to read this :) My requests are open so feel free to drop a players name and a scenario in the comments. As I'm posting this the Penguins are playing the Senators and Murray started in net instead of Fleury and my heart :) is :) literally:) broken :)