Heartstrings on the Blue Line - Quinn Hughes

chapter thirty seven- see you again

"𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕀'𝕞 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕤, 𝕀'𝕞 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕫𝕖, 𝕞𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕠𝕥𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕."

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walking out of that bathroom was the most stressful thing to do. I didn't know if he would be waiting by the exit. I had purposely taken a long time in there, fixing my hair, putting some more concealer below my eyes and the blemishes that were on my nose.

I stood by the door, Hand on the cold handle. Debating on opening it.

It wouldn't be the worst thing if he was out there, you know.

I don't think I'm ready to actually talk to him again, especially not with something like this fucking journal that has every feeling that has ever come across my brain about him in it.

I have to get back to my dad though, he is probably wondering where I was and why I was taking so long. With that in mind I made the mental decision to just make a run for it.

I'll put my AirPods in and if he calls for me, I'll pretend that I don't hear him.

Real mature, Gen.

I don't even care at this point. I just want to get out of this awkward situation.

I grip the door handle, and pull it open revealing nothing directly facing the door.

"Thank god." I whisper under my breath.

I put on 'Boys a liar pt. 2' and blast it through my AirPods.

"Gen?" I still am able to hear through the music from that all too familiar voice.

I choose to ignore my problems, and keep my head up and keep walking back to where my dad last was.

"Gen!" He calls out my name again. I can't bare to look back, my heart is telling me to, but my brain is saying no.

I guess he gave up, because I don't hear my name being called anymore, so I assumed that he went back to his team. I felt really bad for ignoring him, but I thought I was doing what was best for me.

Wow, you're such a hypocrite. In your journal you always gush about him, and wish you hadn't left but you were given the chance to speak to him and you brushed him off..

Well technically, I had my AirPods in, he should have seen that.

I try to brush all thoughts of him away, which seems like a chore all the time. He's always on my mind.

I go back to the home bench, where I find the players off of the ice, gone somewhere, and my dad talking to the one and only Sheldon Keefe.

I inhale and exhale, and prepare to interact with them. My dad was just standing at the bench preparing all the medical equipment in a storage drawer that they had in the bench.

"Hi Gen," my dad greets me, "what took you so long?" He chuckles.

"I almost got lost.." I laugh it off.