Chapter Text
October 9th
Time was moving in slow motion for Luke, for everyone in the arena. Luke spectated among the fans from twelve rows back. Two rival players were chasing the puck across the ice, one jersey an unfamiliar dark burgundy and the other with a name and number 92 matching the borrowed jersey that Luke wore, a bright red with white accents. The burgundy player stuck his stick out to reach for the puck, catching number 92’s skate in the process. 92 fell to the ice, tripping up the other player in the process. The slick ice continued to carry them at full-speed right into the boards. There was a loud crack, and then the arena erupted in gasps.
Luke jumped to his feet as the burgundy player slowly rose to his as well. The glass above the boards separating the fans from the ice wobbled menacingly. Luke’s hands were balled into fists, hidden by the long sleeves of the jersey he was wearing. His chest tightened more and more every second.
Get up. Just get up! Please!
But, number 92 didn’t get up. A sea of bright red jerseys surrounded number 92 on the ice, shielding him from the view of fans and cameras. A man in a polo, a trainer, raced onto the ice and broke through the barricade of teammates. Moments passed, and the entire arena was silent, no one moving as they waited for number 92 to rise.
But, number 92 wasn’t rising. A stretcher was carried onto the ice by a few more men in polos and the players in red dispersed to allow the trainers to raise the stretcher, now with number 92 atop it, and exit the ice.
Luke watched intently. 92’s gloves had been removed, but his helmet remained on his head.
Look at me. Move a finger. Something!
-
Eight Days Prior, October 1st
You’ve got to be kidding me, is all that is going through Luke’s mind. Luke was paying thousands of dollars a year to study journalism at university so that he could get a job at Rolling Stone, not Sports Illustrated. So, why had Luke, of all people, been assigned to write an article on hockey superstar, the university’s golden boy, Michael Clifford?
Luke’s glaring daggers into the professor’s head. Half of the classroom is glaring daggers into Luke. Literally everyone else wanted this assignment.
It isn’t anything personal. Luke doesn’t know Michael Clifford, doesn’t know anything about him. In fact, Luke has never come in contact with the boy. Luke just doesn’t like sports, and he really doesn’t like athletes. And Michael Clifford is an athlete.
But, Luke fights through the day, nonetheless, only dreading five o’clock, when he has to be at the ice arena to meet up with Michael Clifford.
-
It's five o’clock, and Luke's standing in the hallway waiting for Michael Clifford to exit the locker room. However, the players aren't even in the locker room yet. Luke can hear the coach screaming from the direction of the rink.
A man in a black polo shirt walks by and seems a bit surprised to see Luke standing there. “Oh, are you the kid doing the story on Clifford? Coach’ll probably keep ‘em a little longer today. Bad loss yesterday. You can go out and watch, if you want.”
Luke sighs heavily and mumbles a ‘thanks’ before he trudges upstairs to sit in the seats surrounding the ice. He sits a few rows back, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. There are a few other people watching - three girls who are giggling and whispering sit in the front row right at the middle line of the ice, a couple of other men in polos stand at an entryway behind Luke.
The coach continues yelling at the players. They all look exhausted, occasionally stopping and doubling over to catch their breathe, all except one. Luke’s watching number 92 closely, he’s the only one who continues to skate nonstop from one end of the ice to the other. There are no names on the back of these jerseys, as they are practice jerseys, but Luke has an idea. This idea is confirmed when the coach blows his whistle to signal the end of practice. Number 92 takes off his helmet, revealing a mess of red. And, Luke knows that much about Michael Clifford, because no one else on campus has hair that’s red like that. Luke makes his first mental note about Michael Clifford: show off; wants everyone to know that he’s everything they’re not. And this is why Luke hates athletes.
So, Luke sighs again before pulling himself out of the seat and heading back down to the hallway he was waiting in before.He taps his foot impatiently because, honestly, how long does it take to change? Before long, however, players start spilling out of the locker room. Some throw unpleasant glances at Luke, but most of them ignore him completely. They’re all tall and broad shouldered, they all look alike, Luke thinks. But, it’s nearly impossible to miss when the locker room door opens to reveal the man with bright red hair peeking out from underneath a backwards baseball cap, with two other men at his side. They are laughing about something, and Michael Clifford nearly walks right on by Luke without a thought.
Luke squares his shoulders and clears his throat. “Um...”
One of the boys walking with Michael Clifford stops and turns to Luke, causing the other boy and Michael Clifford himself to turn around.
Luke just stares at Michael Clifford for a moment. A wide, warm grin remains from the conversation he was having with his friends. He’s got a piercing at the end of his right eyebrow. Luke looks down and sees three bands tattooed and wrapping around his right arm, near his elbow. He’s not what Luke was expecting, up close, but at the same time he’s everything Luke was expecting. The piercing and tattoos make it known that he thinks he’s tough, but his face looks to be kind and upbeat. Luke’s almost mesmerized.
“Oh, uh,” Michael Clifford looks to his two friends. “I forgot, this kid’s interviewing me for the school’s magazine. I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?”
His friends nod and they bump fists with Michael Clifford before they continue on down the hall, leaving Luke staring at Michael Clifford (totally not in awe).
“So, uh, what’s your name?” Michael Clifford asks, readjusting the strap of his equipment bag on his shoulder.
Luke snaps out of his daze. “Luke. Hemmings.”
“Alright. Well, uh, I’m Michael.” Michael Clifford nods his head slowly. “Is there some place you wanted to go to do the interview?”
“Um, well, actually it’s not just an interview? Um, I’m supposed to, like, talk to you a bit every day for, like, a week. Like, get to know you and write about your life, instead of just about hockey, I guess?”
“Oh, well that’s cool. Kinda gets boring answering the same questions about my favorite shootout move, y’know?” Michael smiles.
“And also, it’s not for the school’s magazine. It’s for one of my journalism classes. But, the best stories are going to be in the magazine.”
“Your’s better be the best then. I need the free publicizing,” Michael laughs. “I’m kinda hungry. Do you want to grab something while you...get to know me?”
Luke smiles, figures that maybe Michael Clifford isn’t so bad. “Sure.”
Michael Clifford drives, because he has a large, black, expensive, SUV. (Your parents can afford to give you a nice car when you have a full scholarship to university.) They end up in a small diner on the outskirts of campus, small as in ‘there are only six booths in the entire building and a few seats along the counter.’
Michael Clifford slides into one of the booths, and Luke sits on the other side. Michael Clifford grabs two of the menus that are setting on the edge of the table, handing one to Luke.
“You ever been here before?” Michael Clifford asks.
Luke shakes his head. “What’s good?”
“Everything! But I usually just get the burger. And fries. And a chocolate milkshake.”
Luke orders the same thing, because he doesn’t want to hold up the ordering process for Michael Clifford. The red-haired superstar grins when he hears Luke order.
“So, what do you want to know?”
Luke puts on his glasses and pulls a pen and small notebook out of his back pocket. “Um, what are you majoring in?”
“Business.”
Luke jots that down to keep from rolling his eyes because how generic, an athlete majoring in business. “What classes are you taking?”
“Economics, management, some computer science class...”
“Are you doing well in them?”
Michael Clifford’s eyes widen. “Uh, well, that’s a little personal, don’t you think?”
“I thought you liked getting questions that ‘weren’t about your favorite shootout move,’” Luke fires back.
Michael Clifford stays silent.
“Fine. Why did you choose to major in business?”
“I don’t know, because that’s what everyone else on the team is majoring in?”
Luke can’t stop the eye-roll this time. Michael catches it.
“What?” Michael asks. “What else was I supposed to choose?”
“Something you are actually interested in! What do you plan on doing after college?”
“Playing hockey! I was drafted by the Kings!”
“What about after that, though? You can’t play hockey forever.”
“Then I’ll get on SportsCenter or something. Do commentating.”
“Why didn’t you major in journalism then? Commentating is like broadcast journalism.”
“I don’t need to go to school to learn how to talk about hockey.”
Michael Clifford was quickly re-earning the title of stereotypical jock in Luke’s book.
The food arrived, thankfully, giving the boys a distraction from each other. Michael Clifford was angrily scrolling through his phone as he shoved french fries into his mouth. Luke nibbled at the burger but the uncomfortable situation has ruined his appetite.
They each pay for their meals before Michael Clifford says, “Um, so, I’ll take you back to the arena, then.”
Luke points out his car, and Michael Clifford pulls up beside it. Luke reaches for the handle to open the door, but pauses.
“Look, I don’t have very much time to write this and I know you want to have it done as soon as possible too, so let’s just meet up again and I’ll try to get everything I need and then we won’t have to deal with each other any more.”
Michael Clifford nods. “I have practice tomorrow, again. See you after, yeah?”
Luke doesn’t respond, just opens the door of the SUV and hops out. He quickly unlocks his car and slips inside, waits until he can see Michael Clifford driving away, and then he cries.
And maybe Michael Clifford isn’t as bad as those football players at Luke’s high school, but Michael Clifford is still an athlete. And Luke hates athletes.