Morgan Rielly Imagine

Flustered

This road trip proves to be the worst.

Nick barely talked to me the next day and the day after that, and when we did it was just arguments that left me feeling miserable and alone. Even now, sitting on the air plane headed to Boston, surrounded by people, I keep my head low and pretend to type away on my iPad.

               Mason shifts into my view and I can see he's looking at me and I can feel tears welling in my eyes.

               "Not now Mason," I plead, not even having the energy to put my usual snide tone when I talk to him. Even to me my voice sounds broken. I unbuckle myself and hurry down the long aisle to the bathroom. Stares burn into my back even as I close the door softly beside me, one particular stare searing into me.

               I hadn't talked to Morgan since the night we got to Nashville. Not for lack of him trying, but every time he seemed to find me was right after I got done with a conversation with Nick and I had jumped into the nearest hallway to avoid him. I felt guilty, but I kept his scarf on me. Even with the slightly warmer weather Nashville had offered, I hid the scarf beneath my jacket.

               Now I lean back against the narrow door and fight to keep my tears at bay.

               I just want to go home. I want to pretend the last several weeks hadn't happened and wake up in my own bedroom in my own apartment with my own friends.

               I know I can't stay hidden in here forever. Giving myself a few more minutes than usual, I poke my head out the door and make sure everyone is back to their own activities. I take a step out but nearly run into a female flight attendant who gives me a small smile and pushes a bottle of water in my hand before touching my shoulder gently.

               "Thank you," I whisper to her, touched by her small gesture when I know she doesn't know my name just as I don't know hers.

               She nods and then gestures for me to head back to my seat.

               Fewer stares trail after me this time around, and when I sit back down I let Morgan catch my eye.

               He looks at me with concern on his face and I give him a small smile that doesn't feel right on my face before taking a long drink and busying myself with my work.

-

               The media in Boston are rude. I glare at a female reporter who keeps pushing against me in an effort to get to the Leafs locker room.

               "A few more minutes," I say as calmly as I can despite the look on my face. "Please be patient."

               It wasn't Toronto's best game this season. After a solid win over Nashville earlier in the week, this game came as a big disappointment and their first blow out of the year. I stopped watching after the fifth goal in the second.

               "This is ridiculous, there are regulations," the woman snaps back at me, "they should have opened their doors by now."

               I resist the urge to offer her a piece of gum, and try in vain not to wrinkle my nose.

               "Maybe for Boston the doors would be open already, Toronto has their own regulations as I'm sure you know after years of working here in Boston," I again say as calmly as I can and I spy Mason giving me an amused grin.

               "Why don't we trade Y/N, go see what's going on?" Mason asks, appearing at my side. The lady immediately stops trying to get by me and stares in awe up at Mason.