Alaska || Auston Matthews

twenty six

ALASKA

When we get inside my vacant house, I drop my bag on the stairs and kick off my shoes out of habit. Auston does a circle, taking in the foyer while keeping his hands buried deep in his jean pockets. I tap his arm and motion for him to follow me out to the living room. He follows behind me without question, his heavy footsteps echoing on the deep hardwood. 

I hit the switch for the fireplace and snag the TV remote off the coffee table, switching the flatscreen onto hockey of all things. Auston smirks at the TV, taking in the Penguins and Stars game going down at PPG Paints Arena, the Pens home ice and my home away from home. I smile at his simple amusement then walk the short distance to the kitchen for some snacks. Swinging open the cabinets, I begin collecting food, starting with Doritos and ending with a tub of chocolate ice cream. 

Knowing my own clumsiness, I slowly make my way back to the living room. The bowls begin to wobble a few steps away from the landing zone, also known as the coffee table. Thankfully, Auston notices and grabs a handful of snacks before anything could fall. I quickly splay the snacks out on the wooden table, my arms tired from the minimal amount of weight they held. I make a mental note to actually use my gym membership.

"You could've told me to carry some of this out here," Auston says, sitting down on one side of the dark, cushioned couch. I shake my head, sitting a few feet away with my legs crossed. 

"I had it under control," I say, reaching for the container of ice cream. Auston scoffs while handing me a bowl and spoon.

"You do know it's okay to ask for help sometimes, right?" he says, chuckling.

"I do ask for help sometimes," I say in defense before shoveling a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth.

"No, you don't," Auston says, tossing a chip in his mouth before continuing, "You're the epitome of the term 'Miss. Independent.'"

I toss the idea around my mind, evaluating the accuracy of it. I guess he's partially right. I don't like asking for help and avoid it at all costs, but a lot of people are like that, right? I just hate feeling vulnerable and letting people help me makes me feel incompetent of taking care of myself. Is this irrational? I'll let you decide.

"Yeah, so I like doing everything myself; is that so wrong?" I ask, clearing my spoon of ice cream.

"No, but everyone deserves a little help once in a while. You have to depend on other people sometimes to stay sane," he replies, stretching his long legs out on the plush material of the couch.

"Says you, Mr. Macho Hockey Player With No Feelings And The Occasional Touch Of Bipolar Disorder," I say, the name tumbling out of my mouth without thinking. I immediately clamp my mouth shut, even though it's a little late for it now. 

Auston raises his eyebrows and pauses, continuing our eye contact. I'm mentally preparing myself for the rebuttal I deserve. However, just when I think the rude remarks are about to fly, he breaks out a huge smile and starts laughing. His laugh resembles rolling thunder, shaking his torso and causing his eyes to squeeze shut. It's also quite contagious because I can't help but start laughing along with him.

"I've been called a lot of things, but I must admit, that's my new favorite," Auston says when he stops laughing long enough to get a coherent sentence out. I continue laughing, partly out of relief that he isn't mad.

"It was one of my more creative insults, thank you," I say, leaning the side of my head against the couch in a position where I can still see Auston. He chuckles again, shaking his head.

Another minute or two passes before my attention is turned to the Penguins game we had completely forgotten about. The goal horn blares and cheering ensues, denoting a Pittsburgh goal. The camera narrows in on Crosby and Letang as they celebrate their goal. An involuntary cheer escapes my mouth, making Auston groan.