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I.
“What do you mean, you’ve never been skating?”
The idea seems foreign to him. As one of the best hockey players of his generation and the son of one of the greatest hockey players ever to play in the NHL, Garrett Graham has been on skates from the moment he took his first wobbly steps. He can’t fathom that the girl he’s fallen for has never -
“Seriously, you’ve never gone skating? Did Indiana ban skating or something? You know, like that one movie where the town banned dancing?”
Rolling her eyes, Hannah suppresses her smile. “You mean Footloose?” At his nod, she shakes her head. “No, we had skating rinks, obviously, but…” her voice trails off and then she shrugs. “I was always more into my music. Plus, super klutzy, always struggled in PE, it was a whole thing. Putting thin metal blades under my feet and expecting me to move with any semblance of grace or coordination on sheets of ice seemed like a recipe for disaster.”
Laughing, Garrett wiggles his brows. “I could teach you how.”
“Garrett.”
”Wellsy. Allow me to teach you.” This time, his voice is lower, a little raspier, and his mouth spreads into a smug little smirk at the flush climbing his girlfriend’s cheeks. After all these many months since their original deal, the fact that he can still make her blush has become a bit of a turn on for him, though if he’s being perfectly honest, just the thought of her is a turn on for him.
Trying to keep the nerves out of her voice, Hannah clears her throat. “Seriously, G, just how long have you been waiting to use that line on me?”
The smile on his face widens. “Should’ve used it sooner if I’d known that was the reaction I’d get.”
Hannah simply shakes her head, curling closer to him on the couch while they watch The Cutting Edge, a classic, in her opinion, that Garrett has never seen.
Two days later, she finds herself at the hockey rink late at night, long after the building has emptied out. “Where did you even get these skates for me?” She demands to know, sitting on a bench while her boyfriend ties the laces tightly on a pair of blindingly white figure skates, which Garrett has explained are easier to learn on than hockey skates.
“That’s on a need to know basis,” he responds, winking up at her while making sure the skates are on properly and fit snugly. Soon enough, he’s pulling her onto the ice, his hands firmly gripping hers and she would absolutely stumble were it not for him, a backwards baseball cap perched on his head as he focuses his gaze on her, making sure she’s comfortable and balancing as well as one can on thin metal blades.
She’s clad in jeans and absolutely engulfed in one of his hockey jerseys and he spins around slowly and slides away a bit, hiding his smile at the look of fierce concentration on her face. She takes tiny baby steps towards him, marching like he’s instructed her to, keeping her knees slightly bent. When she looks up, catching him staring, she grimaces. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Garrett. You’re absolutely wasting your time.”
He slowly shakes his head, reels her in and when she stumbles, grips her tighter around the waist before pulling her in tight against him. “Don’t you know by now, Wellsy, it’s never a waste of my time as long as it’s time spent with you?” Utterly charmed by the blush climbing her cheeks, he leans in for a kiss and holding her close, takes his girl for a spin around the ice.
II.
“Garrett, there are no prices on this menu.”
The proclamation is made in a hushed whisper because this is the kind of restaurant where one only speaks in a hushed whisper, or so she thinks, since her version of midwest fancy is a special night out at the Olive Garden.
But Garrett had been very insistent and secretive about his plans and particular in his instructions. A fancy dinner to celebrate Wellsy’s major accomplishment, becoming the youngest Musicianship Scholar in Briar University’s storied history.
She’s been stressed for months, questioning herself, filled with self-doubt and worry. Three original compositions, a detailed personal statement about her musical inspirations and how they informed her artistic point of view, and two rounds of interviews with a judging panel made up of some of the biggest names in music. Her final panel had included Yo-Yo Ma and Ludwig Göransson, for heaven's sake! When Garrett had looked blank at that name, she’d had to explain who the three time Oscar winning film composer was.
When the head of the music department had personally called to give her the news, she’d sat in stunned silence, unable to believe that she’d won. With victory had come a scholarship which would ensure the remainder of her Briar University education was fully covered… and, at Garrett’s insistence, a very fancy celebratory dinner at La Voile. The Michelin star restaurant required reservations months in advance but he’d pulled strings, or rather, he’d gotten Dean to pull strings attached to his well connected family and Dean had been only too happy to do him a favor, especially if it was to celebrate Hannah.
“Wellsy,” he murmurs now, sitting across from her at a small table for two covered with crisp white linens and flickering candlelight. “Would you just relax and let me spoil you?” He grins, shaking his head affectionately. “After all,” he continues, “I am a trust fund baby now.”
She openly laughs at that and darts a quick nervous glance to make sure no one is staring, the candlelight dancing across her face, her eyes glowing despite her anxiety over the amount of money this dinner will cost her boyfriend. Trust fund baby or not.
When he leans closer, extending his hand across the table to grasp hers, her tension eases. “Have I told you yet how gorgeous you look?” He murmurs.
Allie had dragged her out to buy a new dress - “La Voile requires a new dress, Han-Han,” she’d proclaimed and then had found the gorgeous vintage red dress for her at an upscale thrift store. She’d had the Briar U theater program’s costume department alter it to fit Hannah’s body like it had been made for her and the results had been spectacular. She’d also played fairy godmother for the evening, doing Hannah’s hair and makeup and insisting on taking pictures when Garrett had come to pick her up. And when Garrett had seen Hannah in that curve hugging dress, well, it wasn’t often that she’d seen him at a loss for words but her in that red dress had rendered him speechless.
“You have but I don’t mind hearing it again,” she responds with a smile and adds “you look really good in a suit,” her eyes lingering on broad shoulders and defined muscles encased in dark wool. She’s accustomed to seeing him in hockey gear or sweats or jeans but she could get used to Garrett Graham in formal wear.
A sudden throat clearing forces their attention away from each other and they both look up to see a well dressed middle aged couple standing by their table.
“Excuse me, we couldn’t help it, we’re huge fans of Briar hockey,” the gentleman explains, enthusiastically shaking Garrett’s hand and then proceeds to recap the entire season and all of the highlights to the very man responsible for so many of them.
The woman turns to Hannah, a wide smile deepening the lines around her eyes. “You must be so proud of your boyfriend,” she exclaims. “Are you two here celebrating the team’s fantastic season?” and before Hannah even has a chance to respond, it’s Garrett’s voice filling the silence.
“Actually, we’re celebrating her,” he says, his attention wholly focused on his girlfriend. “She just became the youngest person ever to be named the Musicianship Scholar at Briar U. It’s a really big deal,” he adds, the smile on his face growing in direct proportion to the blush on Hannah’s face. “Yo-Yo Ma told her she is a generational talent. He’s going to play one of her pieces when he performs with the Boston Symphony Orchestra next month. So, you’ll defnitely want to remember tonight as the night you met the great Hannah Wells.”
An awkward silence ensues but Hannah, with pinkened cheeks and a soft smile on her lips, only has eyes for her boyfriend. An elite college athlete bound for the NHL and routinely touted as one of the best to ever play the game and yet, he’s just spent the last few minutes extolling her brilliance. When the couple bids them a good evening and hurries away, she can’t help but let out a little laugh. “Garrett, we didn’t even know those people. I really don’t think you needed to talk their ears off about my - “
“About how brilliant and smart and talent and amazing my girlfriend is?” he interrupts. “Wellsy, all these people wanted was to talk about my hockey season and I am fucking bored to death of talking about our season.” When she just stares at him, he shakes his head, an affectionate smile curving his lips. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m proud of you. I’m so goddamned proud of you.”
She’s had parents and professors tell her they’re proud of her but having it come from Garrett Graham hits a little differently. So, she sits back in her chair at the linen covered candlelit table in the incredibly fancy and expensive restaurant and lets him spoil her.
III.
“Have we become boring?” Hannah asks after swallowing a bite of her sandwich. “Also, Jesus, what is in these sandwiches Tucker made?”
She and Garrett are sprawled out on the floor of his bedroom in the hockey house, having a private picnic for two. There’s a raucous party underway downstairs and they’ve put in a brief appearance. Garrett had said he was willing to mingle for thirty minutes but hadn’t even made it to twenty before pulling Hannah away.
“Not sandwiches, they’re dippables,” he corrects her around a mouthful of food.
“I’m sorry, did you just say dippables?”
“Hey, that’s Tucker’s terminology, not mine,” he protests. “And no, we have not become boring.” He pauses then reconsiders, tilting his head. “Wait, do you think we’re boring?”
Laughingly shaking her head, she wipes her hand with a napkin and moves the now empty plate off to the side. “No, but look at us, hiding up here while there’s a whole party going on downstairs.” There’s a scream from down below, followed by loud maniacal laughter that sounds suspiciously like Dean’s before the music changes and a loud thumping bass spreads through the whole house.
“You want to go back down to the party, Wellsy?” he asks, arching his brows in surprise. The Wellsy he knows and loves would much rather have a quiet night in rather than a loud party but if that’s what she’s looking for, he’ll give it to her.
When she replies with the most genuinely heartfelt “God no,” he can’t help but release a sharp crack of laughter at the vehemence in her tone. It’s been a rough week for them, an away game that they won by the skin of their teeth, extra shifts to cover for a sick coworker for her, plus a full load of classes for them both.
All he really wanted at the end of this long and exhausting week was a night alone with his girlfriend. No hockey, no friend drama, just him and Wellsy, tucked away somewhere private, ideally with far less clothing but the night is still fairly young and he’s optimistic about his chances.
When her nose crinkles up with confusion, he follows her gaze to the window, his eyes landing on the pile of board games stacked on the seat. “The Greek system did their yearly swap meet and Dean grabbed those for our 4th of July trip up to his family’s cabin.”
“Sorry, Boggle, Monopoly, Life, Scrabble…Twister?” Grimacing, Hannah shakes her head. “Ew, no. I can’t even imagine bodily fluids on that plastic mat. Especially if it came from a frat house.”
Giving the game in question a serious side-eye, Garrett shudders. “Yeah, that one should definitely go in the trash.”
Pulling the Scrabble box down, she opens the board, divides up tiles, ignoring the smirk on her boyfriend’s face. He’s helped her recover her words after almost five years of silence and now she wants to give some of them back to him. Peering up at him from underneath her lashes, she grins hopefully. “Fancy a game, Garrett Graham?”
The rules are simple, she decides. They can only play words that have to do with them, each word has to signify something. The winner gets a prize of their own choosing, though, judging from Garrett’s smug smile, she can already tell what he would pick.
She starts off simple, with SKATE and then he uses the S to plunk down MUSIC and she takes the M and makes it into SCREAM (“every time you guys score a goal, you let out this primal scream,” she defends against his protestations) and then laughs when he adds AL to MUSIC and then she turns the C in SCREAM into PUCK.
He looks at her for a second, the smile on his face almost too innocent for her comfort and then, very deliberately, places three tiles using the L in MUSICAL and -
“OGLE?” she asks, immediately suspicious. “That’s not following the rules.”
“Sure, it is,” he replies calmly. And then proceeds to absolutely decimate her equilibrium by using it in a sentence. “The first time I noticed you was when I was showering in the locker room and turned to see you shamelessly ogling me.”
Hannah gapes at him, opens her mouth to respond, then closes it, and then closes her eyes for added measure. Finally, she scoffs. “That wasn’t…I wasn’t ogling you.”
But he’s already pulled out his phone, typing furiously. “To ogle, per the lovely people at Merriam-Webster,” he reads, not even bothering to hide the glee on his face, “ is to glance with amorous invitation or challenge.”
He pauses at her “HA! There was no invitation or challenge!”
“To eye amorously or provocatively,” he continues, his smirk growing more pronounced. “To look at especially with greedy or interested attention.” The words land as he intends them to, incontrovertible and with a deliberate finality.
A second passes and then 5 and then finally Hannah speaks through gritted teeth, thoroughly annoyed. “I was working. I had my headphones on. I didn’t know anyone would be there.” Her eyes flashing with annoyance and, if she were being truly honest with herself, maybe a little bit of heat at the memory of that locker room encounter, she leans back against the foot of his bed, legs stretched out in front of her. “I wasn’t ogling. I was startled.”
“Mmm hmm,” Garrett responds, leaning back against the side of his desk. “Let's roll back the tape, shall we, Wellsy? I believe I asked you if you were looking for someone and I’m pretty sure your response was to say fu - “
His words are cut off abruptly when Hannah lets out a rather loud and emphatic “gahhhh!”, once more closing her eyes in frustration and remembered mortification.
“And then what happened, Wellsy?” he continues, undeterred, his voice shaking with repressed laughter. “Oh, that’s right, you upended the laundry cart and ran away. Overcome with lust from ogling me.” Shaking his head with mock disappointment, he sighs. “One day, our kids will learn this story and I can’t even imagine how traumatized they’ll - “
“You can’t tell our future kids about this!” Hannah exclaims, sitting up. “You absolutely cannot - “ breaking off, her eyes wide with shock, she slowly lifts her hands up to cover her rapidly reddening cheeks. “I didn’t mean… that’s not…I’m not implying that we….” her voice trailing off, she blinks, flustered and unsure just how this conversation got away from her so quickly.
“What? You don’t want to have kids with me?” The question is posed casually, a hint of teasing in the tone but the look in his eyes is all serious. When she stays silent, he quirks an eyebrow in that arrogant, smug way of his. “I don’t mean now, obviously, but some day. But I’m a man of tradition,” he intones. “You’re gonna have to put a ring on it and husband me up before we have any babies, Wellsy. I’m not budging on that.”
Rarely has he ever seen Hannah Wells so at a loss for words, so completely flustered and discombobulated and he wants to memorialize this moment, the look of shock and utter wonder in her eyes.
Finally, she speaks. “You…you imagine us married and with kids some day?” The question is soft, almost shy and there’s a hint of a smile lurking around her mouth.
“Well, yeah,” he pronounces as if it’s a given. “Not yet but in a few years, when we’re settled in our careers and have a house in the suburbs and I’m in the NHL and you’re composing music and winning Grammys, we’ll get married, maybe on a beach somewhere, the sand at our feet and the wind in our hair, and then we’ll grow our family, have a few Wellsy-Grahams running around.” Even as the words slip from his lips, he feels it in the soul deep part of his being, that this future he’s painting has an air of inevitabilty to it. “After all, we’re endgame, Wellsy.”
She smiles at that, a full-fledged, honest smile. “A beach wedding sounds nice,” she admits softly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
For a moment, they just stare at each other, smiling goofily and then, as Garrett Graham is wont to do, he wrecks the moment.
“Our kids will definitely be scarred for life though when they hear about their mom shamelessly ogling their dad in the locker room shower. Might need therapy. But that’s a problem for future us.”
Shaking her head, Hannah lets out a groan. “Oh, for fucks sake. Your penis was right there. And that butt. What was I supposed to do, not look?”
At his cackle of laughter and the “I knew it, I fucking knew it,” she lets out a reluctant grin.
They continue the game, trading memories and recollections and inside jokes that make up their shared history, the fabric of their relationship stitched together by tiny perfect moments in time.
She claims victory by a margin of 8 points in a hotly contested game and collects her prize. Turns out, they both win.
IV.
“A bet is a bet is a bet.”
The pronouncement comes from John Logan as he heads into Malone’s on karaoke night.
Every table is full, every chair occupied. There’s barely any standing room left as the entire group winds their way through the crowd, Logan leading the pack, Garrett, clutching Hannah’s hands in his as he brings up the rear.
The entire hockey team is present. Beau Maxwell has brought the vast majority of the football team AND his fraternity brothers. Briar U students stand or sit on every available surface.
“Della’s gonna make bank tonight,” Allie whispers to Hannah. “Kinda regretting not being on shift. The tips are gonna be massive.”
Eyes wide with shock, Hannah glances around. She’s never seen the place so packed. “Seriously, are all these people here to just to hear - “
“To hear Garrett Graham sing,” Dean finishes, jumping up on the makeshift stage.
“You ready?” Hannah asks, turning to her boyfriend who has been suspiciously quiet this whole evening. “I can help you pick out a song,” she offers, wondering why she’s more nervous than he seems to be.
But he just smiles, that easy, charming smile that used to make all the girls sigh and do whatever he asked, the one that Hannah has to actively guard against because otherwise, she’d fall prey to it as well. “Don’t worry, Wellsy. I got this.”
No one even knows what the bet was about, at this point. A bet between Logan and Graham that he’d seemingly lost. And now, he has to sing for his supper.
Dean, being Dean, informed literally everyone he knew (and that boy knows everyone), hence the packed to capacity crowd at Malone’s tonight.
“Alright, alright, everyone shut up,” Dean barks into the microphone. “Without further ado, I give you Garrett Graham.”
“Wait, he needs time to pick out a song,” Hannah protests but Garrett is already on the stage and the crowd is raucous in their cheering and hooting.
Somewhere behind her, she hears Tucker’s calm voice. “He’s already picked out a song. Been practicing all week while you were in class or at work.”
Surprise etched on her face, she turns to respond but then Garrett’s growly voice comes over the microphone and everyone, including her, goes perfectly still and silent.
“A bet is a bet. So, one song. It’s dedicated to Hannah Wells. Because, well, uh, she’s the one I think of when I hear this song. So, this one’s for you, Wellsy.” And then -
Tastes like strawberries on a summer evenin'
And it sounds just like a song
I want more berries and that summer feelin'
It's so wonderful and warm
At first, all she can do is blink in shock. His singing is….good. Relatively in tune. But then, the words penetrate her shock.
By then, he’s already onto the chorus, crooning “Watermelon sugar high” while staring directly at her, a little smirk on his face. The singing must get easier, the crowd clapping in rhythmic encouragement, because he jumps off the stage and shimmies his way over to her, and suddenly she’s reminded of that night so many months ago, when she went over to collect a favor from a friend and he put her at ease by doing a “sexy lil’ dance.” That night that changed the course of their lives.
But she doesn’t have time to dwell on the past because he’s got her in his arms now, dancing with her, all the while singing Harry Styles’ infamous ode to female pleasure.
She laughs, she can’t help it, even as she feels the blush blooming on her cheeks, as he presses up against her and then spins her out and pulls her sharply back in, his front to her back, his hips swaying suggestively against her butt. This is somehow simultaneously the most Garrett Graham thing Garrett Graham has ever done and the least Garrett Graham thing he’s ever done, she realizes, half in delight, half in awe. And he’s doing it in front of a crowd.
So, she gets into it, heated cheeks and all, grinding up against him, a mischievous grin spreading across her lips when he misses a note, his voice cracking slightly.
When the song comes to a blessed end, not even three minutes later, Garrett is breathless, a little embarrassed, and a lot turned on. Laughingly hiding his face against Wellsy’s neck, he squeezes her around the waist. The crowd is cheering, his teammates clapping him on the back, Dean proclaiming this song is wildly inappropriate for his innocent ears and Logan and Tucker are passing around shots. But he only has eyes for his Wellsy. “Just how mad are you?” He asks, that crooked grin of his belying his words.
She can only laugh in response, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and pulling him down to her height, her mouth close to his ears. “I can’t believe you just sang me a song about the female orgasm.”
A wicked glint in his eyes then, as he pulls her closer, his arms tight around her waist. “Don’t you worry, Wellsy,” he replies, his words soft, only for her to hear. “Later on, I plan to do a lot more than sing about it.”
V.
“Are you seriously telling me you’d move out of the hockey house?”
They’re in the shower together when Hannah poses that question. Shower sex is not on the table. They tried it once and water, while slippery, makes for a shockingly bad lubricant (“Water shouldn’t make everything so fucking dry” Garrett had bemoaned). Their singular attempt had resulted in a banged knee (for her) and a black eye (for him) that had been awkward and difficult to explain to his friends.
But now that midterms are behind them, they’ve found time to just be and Garrett has cajoled Hannah into the walk-in shower in the bathroom that’s attached to his bedroom, promising only soap and bubbles and absolutely no hanky-panky. “And it’s not even a Thursday afternoon,” he adds for good measure, referring to their Thursday afternoon nap dates.
Rolling her eyes good naturedly, Hannah turns him around so his back is to her and proceeds to scrub it. “Back to the question at hand,” she pointedly says, ignoring his comment entirely. “You’d seriously leave this house?”
An unconcerned shrug and then it’s his turn to wash her back. “Why not? It’s just a rental. We’d have to give it up after graduation anyway.”
They’ve been debating this topic for weeks now, going round and round the idea of Garrett and Hannah getting their own apartment together for their senior year at Briar. “Plus, you’re here more often than not,” he adds, squeezing more of her lily scented soap into his hands. He’s going to smell exactly like her after this shower, he realizes almost belatedly. And he’s not mad about it. “You said the house smells like roadkill. I’d think you’d be relieved to be rid of this place.”
Turning around, she regards him thoughtfully. “Oh, are you going to leave your stinky hockey gear elsewhere, then?” she inquires, her voice deceptively polite.
Narrowing his eyes, he opens his mouth when his bathroom door abruptly swings open. He can’t see who the party-crasher is but the voice is immediately recognizable.
“Hey, G, do you have a spare toothbrush?” Dean asks, still hidden by the door. “Turns out, it was my turn to clean the shared bathroom and uh…I kinda forgot so Tucker ended up doing it. And the fucker claims he cleaned the toilet with my toothbrush.” A pause and then in a woebegone voice, “Not entirely sure if he’s serious but probably best not to chance it, y’know?”
“Probably?” Garrett mouths to himself, even as he feels his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He’s already pulled Hannah between him and the shower wall, all but hidden from prying eyes. The steam from the hot water had already turned her body pink but now her cheeks are a bright red, eyes wide with panic and mortification.
“Uh, I’m sure I do,” he answers Dean, mouthing a silent apology to Hannah. “But I’m kind of a little busy at the moment, dude, maybe give me five and I’ll grab you a spare?”
“Oh, I can grab it myself, just tell me which drawer,” Dean replies, his voice much more upbeat than just seconds ago.
“Dean, I’m in the shower, I think your toothbrush emergency can wait,” is the terse response.
A pause and then, Dean answers somewhat timidly, “well, actually, I just ate a whole bunch of salsa and Allie is on her way over here and I would like another snack when she gets here.”
Several seconds go by during which both Garrett and Hannah contemplate all of their life choices that have led them to this exact moment.
Completely oblivious to the vibes, Dean continues, unabated. “By another snack, I mean her, G. And I don’t think Allie would appreciate my salsa breath, if y’know what I mean.”
“Yes, I get it, loud and clear,” Garrett mutters, his tone drier than the Sahara. “There are extra toothbrushes in the middle drawer on the left.” A pause and then he clears his throat. “Just don’t sneak a peek at me.”
Scoffing, Dean strolls in and immediately starts rooting around the drawer in question. “G, we share a locker room, what do you have that I haven’t already seen a million times? Ooh, you have soft, medium, and hard bristles. This must be Wellsy’s doing.”
Just when Garrett thinks he and Hannah might live in his shower now, Dean finally grabs a toothbrush and saunters out. “Thanks G, owe you one. Oh, and hi Wellsy, bye Wellsy! I’ll let Allie know you might be otherwise occupied when she gets here.” Reaching behind him, he shuts the bathroom door, leaving a silent and shocked Hannah and Garrett in a rapidly cooling shower.
Eventually, Garrett turns off the water and musters up the courage to open his mouth, Hannah’s death glare making him second guess the wisdom of what he’s about to say. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thinks to himself. “Y’know,” he says in what he hopes is his voice of reason, “if we get our own apartment, we wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of nonsense.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Or I could just not shower here anymore.”
“Seriously?” He asks. “You’d rather use the communal bathrooms in your dorm?”
A scowl and then a “fiiine” falls from her lips and then she’s stepping out of the shower and into the towel he holds out for her.
Two months later, they sign a lease for a 1 bedroom in the brand new student apartments that are a block away from the hockey house. To Hannah’s delight and Garrrett’s consternation, Dean and Allie rent the apartment across the hall from theirs.
“Yay,” Hannah exclaims, joyfully hugging Allie, “we’re going to be neighbors.” A tense pause follows during which she gives Dean major side-eye. And then turning to Garrett, firmly states, “he’s absolutely not allowed to have a spare key to our apartment.”
“Yes, ma’am,” is the immediate response from Garrett. After all, he got Wellsy to agree to live with him. He knows how to choose his battles wisely.
+1
“Hockey Man is a very happy drunk tonight.”
The observation comes from Allie, who’s currently leaning up against the bar at Malone’s, where the hockey team has gathered for an impromptu party to celebrate their Frozen Four national championship.
Years and years of back-breaking work and dedication had paid off, both for the Briar U hockey team and for Garrett, who, in a couple of months woud most likely become the #1 draft pick in the NHL.
“I offered to be the DD and told him to let loose tonight,” Hannah confides in her best friend and one time roommate turned across the hall neighbor. “It’s his last national championship, in a couple of months, everything is going to be so different and I just wanted to give him this night with all his favorite people, his teammates and best friends and…” breaking off, she winces when she sees Garrett back on the stage.
It wasn’t supposed to be karaoke night but Dean had charmed Della into setting it up because no one, not even the ornery owner of Malone’s, could say no to a handsome face like that (to quote Della herself).
The four boys of the Hockey House, Garrett, Logan, Dean, and Tucker had done Bye Bye Bye (Dean, unsurprisingly had taken lead on that and knew all the dance moves) and then Dean had dragged his Allie-Cat up on stage with him to sing I Got You Babe. Tucker had brought the house down with his rendition of Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy) complete with a cowboy hat he’d brought along and Hannah had serenaded Garrett, despite only drinking virgin piña coladas, by singing Baby Now That I’ve Found You, resulting in Garrett laying a lingering kiss on Wellsy that had gone on for so long that it had even embarrassed Dean.
“Garrett, babe, whatcha’ doin’?” Hannah calls from the bar, unsure if he’s even heard her over the din. But the noise is dying down even as she speaks because, aside from a very memorable occasion months ago when Garrett sang Watermelon Sugar to his girlfriend, he doesn’t perform solo on karaoke nights.
Except, Garrett Graham is uncharacteristically wasted on this night and feeling great about life. And maybe also feeling slightly unhinged.
“Hannah Wells, my sweet cherry Wellsy, where you at?” he speaks, his mouth a little too close to the microphone, causing his words to sound a bit muffled. Finding her in the crowd, he grins, a wide, open grin of utter delight like a child who just spotted his favorite ice cream in the freezer. “There you are, my sweet cherry pie. You are a cool drink of water and a sweet surprise. And you do make me cry, Wellsy, and I’m a grown man. Or a growing man.”
The crowd is beginning to get a sense that this night is about to take a turn and Hannah can’t do anything but stand there, gaping at her usually cool, calm, reasonable boyfriend.
Somewhere in the background, she can hear Dean asking in a loud plaintive voice, “is he making Cherry Pie into a spoken word album?” and Allie unsuccessfully trying to shush him.
“Wellsy, I love you so much,” Garrett continues from the stage, still grinning like a fool. “You are the wind beneath my wings, you are the sunshine of my life - “
“Seriously, is he just quoting song lyrics now?” Logan mutters off to the side of the stage, his arm draped over Grace’s shoulders.
“Not to mention, Wellsy, your body is a wonderland. And you’re perfect, Wellsy, just perfect.”
It takes Hannah a moment to clock the Ed Sheeran song title but by then, she’s also laughing at the spectacle.
Half an hour later, after he’s serenaded her with Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falilng in Love, she, with the help of their friends group, drags a reluctant and recalcitrant Garrett back to their apartment. “I’m not drunk,” he protests and then, in the very next breath, “you know what would be fun right now? Tacos!”
Logan pours him into bed and shakes his head when a droopy eyed Garrett reaches up and drags him closer. “You’re the brother I never had,” he proclaims and then “I love you so much, bestie.”
At this point, Dean looks utterly delighted, like Christmas came early.
“Are you recording this?” Allie asks from the doorway.
“Duh, Allie-Cat,” comes the immediate response. “Prime material for when we give the best man speech at his wedding, someday.” Looking over at Hannah, he grins mischievously. “You want me to airdrop this to you.” Without waiting for an answer, his fingers fly over his phone. “Sent!”
Shaking her head, Hannah ushers everyone out of the apartment, assuring a worried Tucker she can handle the rest on her own. In the almost two years they’ve been together, she can count on hand the number of times she’s seen Garrett get this drunk and she wouldn’t even need all five fingers. He’s extremely careful during the season and even in the off-season, would rather stay sober and make sure she feels safe enough to let loose when they go out. A completely inebriated Garrett Graham is a rarity.
Heading back into the bedroom after grabbing some water bottles from the fridge, she’s surprised to see Garrett still awake, staring up at her with what can best be described as a love-sick expression on his face. “Alright,” she mutters, half to herself. “We’re gonna get your shoes off and then your jeans off and then - “
“And then we’re gonna make sweet, sweet love,” he finishes, hope ever present in his voice.
“Noooo,” Hannah laughs, “and then you’re gonna go to sleep, Garrett.” By then, she’s pulled off his socks and shoes and is struggling with the buttons on his jeans, an endeavor made harder when his hands join the mix.
“Why, Wellsy,” he exclaims with mock horror, his lips curving up with a gleeful smile, ‘you tryin’ to get into my pants?” Alcohol has loosened his lips but dulled his coordination and somehow, through a lot of effort, Hannah manages to drag his jeans off, leaving him in a dark tshirt and his boxer briefs.
“Eh, good enough,” she mutters slightly breathless from the task and then somehow manages to get Garrett to sit upright in the bed. “You have to drink some water, babe,” she cajoles and then it turns into a negotiation that ends with a resigned Hannah agreeing to give him a kiss for every three sips he takes. “Big sips,” she prods, after promising that tomorrow when he’s sobered up, they can indeed make “sweet, sweet love.”
Finally, the bottle is finished and she’s kissed him three times (“on the mouth, Wellsy!” he demands except he’s so drunk and tired by the time the third kiss comes around that he’s practically sleeping sitting up and she places a soft sweet kiss on his forehead) and then he’s out, snoring and she just sits there for a second, smiling at him because usually, he’s the one looking after her after a drunken night out and for once, the tables are turned and it’s her turn to look after her guy.
In the morning, she’s drinking coffee in the kitchen when she hears the shower and then 15 minutes later, he shuffles in, shirtless with a pair of gray joggers, smiling and wide awake as if he wasn’t drunk off his proverbial ass the night before.
“Ughhh, I have no idea what happened last night but I’m guessing it was epic.”
“Oh, it was epic alright,” Hannah murmurs, trying unsuccessfully to hide her grin.
Eyes narrowed, he stares at his girlfriend. “Wellsy,” he prods.
She’s had most of the morning to herself, has perused Instagram and The Fifth Line has posted the entirety of Garrett’s spoken word…performance online. It’s gone viral. She would’ve been worried about his NHL prospects except that the overall reaction seems to be one of delight. Even the Bruins official account has posted a comment, a series of fire emojis and a “album dropping when?”
Biting her lips, she tries for an innocent look, immediately dissolving into laughter when his glare intensifies. “Have…have you checked your phone yet?”
Wordlesly grabbing his phone, he does a double take at the number of notifications, and then watches the video in utter shock, a slow red flush climbing his cheeks. “It..I..what -” he sputters even though there’s a slight glimmer of amusement coloring his words.
“Oh, yes,” Hannah murmurs in a sing-song voice. “You were on fire last night.”
By then, he’s scrolling, looking through the comments, a huff of laughter spilling out even as the flush on his face intensifies.
“Why, Garrett Graham,” she teases, unable to keep the delight out of her voice. “Are you blushing?”
Groaning, he drops the phone, looking up at her with those irresistible, puppy dog eyes of his. He’s known for being cool and calm and collected under pressure. “This might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” he mutters.
For a moment, Hannah studies him, trying to see beneath the surface. “You want me to call Jules, see if they can take it down?”
He looks at her and then at the phone and then back at his girlfriend, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Wellsy, if the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done in my life is declare my love for you in the most public and unhinged way possible, then, I think I’m doing alright. Let ‘em see how much I love you. I’m not trying to keep it a secret.” Smirking at the look of smug satisfaction on Wellsy’s face, he tugs her towards the bedroom. “Now, I do believe it’s time to make some sweet, sweet love.”
Fin