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The roar of the crowd had since faded, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt like it was pressing the air right out of Mack’s lungs.
The silver medal hung around his neck, a cold, shimmering weight that felt more like a millstone than an achievement. Silver was just first place among the losers. For Mack, the weight was compounded by the expectations he’d carried on his shoulders since he was a teenager. He had played his heart out, he had pushed his body to the absolute limit, but it hadn’t been enough.
The walk back to the locker room had been a blur of lights and muffled congratulations from officials that felt like insults. Now, inside the of the locker room, the silence was deafening. His teammates were scattered, some staring blankly at the ceiling, others hunched over in their stalls, the rhythmic clink of equipment being slowly stripped away, the only sound in the room.
Mack sat in his stall, his jersey still damp with sweat. He didn't move. He didn't even breathe properly, just staring at a singular scuff mark on the rubber flooring. His mind was a chaotic whirl of "what ifs" and "should haves." He felt raw, exposed, and inexplicably small. The world felt too loud, even in the silence, and the fluorescent lights above seemed to hum with an intensity that made his head ache.
He was zoning out, the edges of his vision blurring, when a figure appeared beside him.
A hand, firm and steady, landed softly on his shoulder. He didn’t jump, he didn't have the energy. He just slowly tilted his head up.
Sidney was looking down at him. To the rest of the world, Crosby was the gold standard, the untouchable captain, the machine of efficiency. But right now, his eyes were soft, filled with a paternal kind of empathy.
"You did so good, Macklin," Sidney murmured, his thumb giving a small, comforting squeeze to the shoulder. "You played a hell of a game. I'm proud of you."
Macklin felt a lump form in his throat, thick and suffocating. He wanted to say something, to apologize, to explain why he felt like he’d failed, but the words felt too big for his mouth. He just managed a small, jerky nod.
"Get changed," Sidney continued, his voice gentle but guiding. "Get out of these wet clothes, go back to your room, and get some rest. Your brain needs to shut off for a while, okay?"
Macklin nodded again, the simplicity of the instruction acting like a lifeline. He didn't have to think, he just had to follow. As Mack began to peel off his gear with slow, clumsy movements, he could feel Sidney’s gaze lingering on him. Sid had been in this game longer than Macklin had been playing competitive hockey. He knew the signs of a crash before the person even felt it happening.
By the time Mack gathered his bag and slipped out of the locker room, he felt like he was floating a few inches off the floor.
The hotel room was dark when he entered, the heavy curtains blocking out the celebratory lights of the city. He didn't turn on the lamps. He just dropped his bag by the door and sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, the bright screen searing his tired eyes.
Willy ❤️🦈: Hey superstar. Proud of u, call me later.
The words were kind. They were encouraging. They were exactly what he needed. And for some reason, that was what broke the dam.
A sob escaped him. A small, hitching sound that surprised him. Then came another, and suddenly Macklin was curled into a ball on the bed, weeping into the duvet. It wasn't just about the game anymore. It was the pressure, the exhaustion, the feeling of being a kid playing a man’s game, the overwhelming sensation that everything was too much.
Through the haze of tears, he felt a desperate need for comfort. He didn't want to be alone in the dark. With shaking fingers, he dialed Will.
Will answered on the second ring, his voice warm and concerned. "Mack? Buddy, you okay?"
"I—" Macklin started, but his voice sounded strange to his own ears. It was higher, thinner, lacking the steady cadence of an NHL player. He sounded... small. "I just... I can't..."
"Hey baby, breathe. Just breathe for me," Will said softly.
He wanted Will to hold him and tell him it was okay. But as he tried to formulate the words, a strange sensation washed over him. The adult part of his brain, the part that managed schedules, played power-plays, and handled interviews, felt like it was receding, pulling back like a tide. He felt a sudden, intense fog rolling in, making the conversation feel difficult. The words Will was saying started to sound like they were coming from a long way away.
"Can't talk," Macklin whispered, his voice now barely a whimper. "S-sorry."
"Macky, don’t hang u—"
Macklin ended the call. He didn't know why he did it, he just couldn't handle the noise of the conversation anymore. He felt spacey, detached from his own limbs. He looked around the room, and suddenly the furniture looked too large, the ceiling too high. He felt an instinctive, primal urge to find someone, someone who could take over. Someone who could tell him what to do.
He stood up, his movements uncoordinated. He didn't put on shoes, just wandered out of the room in his socks, his oversized San Jose t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, the only thing that felt like home. He didn't have a destination, he just drifted into the hallway, his eyes wide and glazed, his thumb instinctively rubbing against his pointer finger.
The hallway was mostly empty, the carpet plush beneath his feet. He wandered for a few minutes, feeling less like a professional athlete and more like a lost child. He didn't know where he was going until he rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into a broad chest.
Macklin gasped, stumbling back, his eyes welling up again.
"Whoa, easy there," a familiar voice said.
It was Sidney. He was dressed in comfortable clothes, likely heading back to his own room after some late-night talk with the rest of the team. He stopped dead, his eyes scanning Macklin from head to toe.
Sidney saw it all instantly. The vacant, wide-eyed stare, the slumped posture, the way Macklin was clutching the hem of his shirt, the subtle, rhythmic swaying of his body.
In his years in the league, Sidney had seen everything. He’d seen breakdowns, injuries, and the rare, well, whatever this is. He’d seen a couple of teammates go through it during high-pressure seasons.
"Hey," Sidney said, bending down a bit to make eye contact, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that warm and grounding anchor again. "Look at me, Macklin. Look at Sid."
Macklin looked up, his lip trembling. The moment their eyes met, the last remnants of "Adult Macklin" dissolved. He didn't see a captain or a legend, he saw a safe space.
A small, broken sound escaped Macklin's throat, a whimper that was purely childish.
"Oh, you're way far down, aren't you, bud?" Sidney whispered, his expression melting into one of pure kindness.
He didn't ask for an explanation, not that he needed one. He didn't tell Mack to "snap out of it." Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped a sturdy arm around Mack’s shoulders, pulling him close. The physical contact acted like a switch. Macklin leaned into him, burying his face in Sidney’s shirt, his small hands gripping the fabric of his sleeves.
"I've got you," Sidney murmured, rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. "You're okay. We're just gonna get you back to my room, alright? No more scary hallways."
Macklin nodded against his chest, a soft "mm-hmm" escaping him.
Sidney guided him back to the room, his grip protective and firm.
"First things first, kiddo," Sidney said, glancing around. "You're shivering. Let's get you something warm."
Sidney looked around for his bag. He rummaged through it until he found a thick, oversized team sweatshirt. He pulled it out and held it up. The big “87” printed on the back staring right at Mack
"Here we go. Let's get this on you."
Macklin stood still, his arms hanging limp, as Sidney gently helped him pull the sweatshirt over his head. The garment was huge on him, the sleeves swallowing his hands and the hem reaching mid-thigh. It smelled like laundry detergent and the faint scent of the arena. To Macklin, it felt like a suit of armor.
"There. Much better," Sidney said, patting his shoulder. "Now, do you think you can sit on the bed for me?"
Macklin obeyed instantly, climbing onto the mattress and curling his legs up toward his chest. He looked up at Sidney with huge, trusting eyes, his thumb finally finding its way into his mouth. Mack quickly realized what he had done and ripped his hand away.
Sidney's expression softened immediately,
"Hey," he said gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he wasn't towering over him. "You don't have to hide that from me."
Macklin hesitated for only a second before slowly lifting his hand again. His eyes searched Sidney's face one last time, looking for any hint that he'd changed his mind. There wasn't one.
With a tiny, almost shy movement, he slipped his thumb back into his mouth. Sidney's smile grew just a little, warm and reassuring.
"There you go," he murmured. "That's better."
He reached over carefully, brushing a few strands of hair away from Macklin's forehead before resting his hand lightly against the top of his head.
The words sent a wave of relief through Macklin that was almost physical. The pressure that had been crushing him for weeks, the expectations of the fans, the pressure from the media, the weight of the silver medal, simply vanished. In this room, under Sidney’s care, he wasn't a professional athlete. He was just a kid who needed to be looked after.
Sid found a bottle of water and held it for Mack, making sure he hydrated. He found a soft pillow and propped it up behind him, Talked to him in a low, melodic stream of consciousness, telling him stories about his own early days in the league, focusing on the funny mistakes he’d made rather than the triumphs.
"I remember my first big game," Sidney murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the way Mack had curled into himself and was now blinking hazily at him. "I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up right on the red line. I felt like everyone was watching me, waiting for me to mess up. It's a lot, isn't it? Being the one everyone expects things from?"
Macklin let out a soft sigh. He didn't have the words to answer, but he didn't need them. The understanding in Sidney's voice was enough.
"It's okay to feel small sometimes, Mack," Sidney continued, reaching over to ruffle Macklin's hair. "Even the biggest players need a break. You've been working so hard. Your brain just decided it was time for a nap, huh?"
Macklin giggled, a tiny, bubbly sound that was completely devoid of the stress of the Olympics. He shifted, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of the sweatshirt.
"You've been doing so good kiddo," Sidney whispered. "Just need to relax."
Sidney glanced toward the television mounted across the room. Maybe silence wasn’t what Mack needed right now. Maybe his brain needed something easy to focus on, something that didn’t involve hockey, interviews, or the loss.
"How about we put something on?" Sidney asked softly.
Macklin didn’t answer, only gave a tiny shrug.
Sidney grabbed the remote and flipped through whatever was available, not really paying attention until he landed on a random children’s channel. A bright, colorful cartoon filled the screen, cheerful sounds echoing quietly through the room.
He expected Macklin to ignore it. Instead, the second the characters appeared, Macklin’s whole face changed. His eyes widened. The sadness that had been sitting there all night disappeared for just a second.
"Wait."
Sidney looked over. Macklin was staring at the screen.
"Octonauts," he whispered.
There was a tiny spark of excitement in his voice that Sidney hadn’t heard since before the game.
"You know this one?" Sidney asked.
Macklin nodded quickly, hugging the blanket a little tighter.
"Willy lets me watch it."
The words came out before he seemed to realize he’d said them.
Sidney tilted his head slightly. "Willy does?"
Macklin nodded, already distracted by the cartoon, his eyes following the little creatures moving across the screen. For a second, Sidney just watched him.
Willy.
The name caught his attention. He knew a lot of people in Macklin’s life, but he couldn’t think of anyone who went by that. Not a family member. Not anyone on the current team. Then it clicked.
"Smith?" Sidney asked gently.
Macklin glanced over, like he couldn’t understand why Sidney sounded unsure.
"Yeah," he said simply. "Willy."
Sidney’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Will Smith.
Of course. His teammate back home.
The kid who always seemed to be around Macklin. His best friend. He just hadn’t realized there was more to it.
"Oh," Sidney murmured, a small smile tugging at his face. "Will Smith."
Macklin nodded, already turning his attention back to the screen.
"After a bad game," he slurred, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "He knows it helps."
Something in Sidney’s chest shifted. He didn’t say anything right away. Because suddenly a few things clicked into place. The way Will had always been so attentive to Macklin’s moods. The way he seemed to know exactly when to push and when to soften. The way he never treated Macklin like he was just another teammate when he was struggling.
Sidney looked back at Macklin. The thumb. The cartoon. The way his shoulders had finally relaxed. The way Will had apparently already had a routine for nights when things got overwhelming.
Will knew.
And more importantly, he knew how to help.
Sidney’s expression softened as he reached over and adjusted the blanket around Macklin.
"Sounds like Willy takes pretty good care of you," he murmured.
Macklin’s cheeks went a little pink, but he didn’t pull away.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "He’s the best."
Sidney smiled faintly, turning his attention back to the show.
"Good."
The best.
There was so much trust in those two words. He watched Macklin’s attention drift fully back to the television, pillow tucked under his chin while he followed along with the episode. The change in him was almost impossible to miss. The tension that had been wrapped around him since the final buzzer had slowly started to unravel.
And then Macklin started talking. Not about hockey, or the loss. About the show.
His voice was softer, a little quieter than normal, words occasionally running together as he pointed out things happening on the screen.
"The octopod is so cool," he mumbled around his thumb. "And Captain Barnacles is the best one 'cause he’s brave, but Kwazii’s funny. Willy says m kinda like Kwazii sometimes ‘cause I do dumb stuff and then pretend I meant to."
Sidney couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his face.
There he was.
Not the kid who had carried the weight of a country on his shoulders. Just Mack.
Sidney didn’t move closer right away. He’d learned over the years that sometimes the best way to help someone was to let them come to you.
So he stayed where he was, sitting near him, letting Macklin have the space to decide.
A few minutes passed.
Then another.
Slowly, almost without realizing it, Macklin shifted closer. His shoulder brushed against Sidney’s arm. Sidney didn’t react beyond a soft glance down at him.
A few more seconds passed, and Macklin leaned in just a little more, the pillow squished between them.
Only then did Sidney move, carefully resting an arm around him.
"Comfortable?" he asked quietly.
Macklin nodded, already focused on the cartoon.
"Yeah."
He let the silence sit for a while before speaking again.
"So..." Sidney said gently, keeping his tone casual. "What else do you usually do when you’re like this?"
Macklin immediately perked up. The question opened a door.
"Oh," he said, and suddenly he was talking faster.
"I have stuff at home."
Sidney hummed. "Stuff?"
"Yeah," Macklin nodded. "I have a buncha toys. I have this one stuffie that Willy got me because he said it looked like me, but it doesn’t, it’s jus a little kitty."
He paused to think.
"And I have coloring stuff, n Lego. But not the hard ones, the little kid ones because the other ones make me mad when they don’t go together."
Sidney listened, smiling softly.
He continued, words getting a little more slurred as he relaxed further into him.
"And I like cartoons and sometimes I play games, but only the easy ones. Willy lets me pick the snacks too. Sometimes we make popcorn but he puts too much butter on it and then my fingers are all yucky."
A quiet laugh escaped Sidney.
"He sounds like he’s got this pretty figured out,"
Macklin nodded seriously.
"He does."
Sidney looked down at him.
"And he knows what helps you feel better after bad days?"
Another nod.
"Yeah."
Sidney gave a small squeeze of his shoulder.
"That’s a good person to have around."
Macklin smiled sleepily at the screen.
"Yeah. Willy’s good."
Sidney stayed quiet for a while, watching the way Macklin’s eyelids were slowly getting heavier. He looked peaceful now. Not completely back to himself, not magically okay, but calmer than he’d been when he first walked into the room. And that was enough for Sidney.
Still, one thought kept nagging at him.
Will.
If Will already knew how to help Macklin through this, maybe he should know where Macklin was. Maybe he was worried.
Sidney glanced down at Macklin.
"Hey bud," he said softly. "Can I borrow your phone for a second?"
Macklin looked up at him, blinking slowly.
"My phone?"
"Yeah. Just wanna check something."
Macklin didn’t seem bothered by the request. He simply reached over, grabbed it from where it was sitting nearby, and handed it over with a small shrug before turning his attention back to the cartoon. Sidney unlocked it, filing away that he would have to have a conversation with Mack when he was big about putting a passcode on it, and immediately noticed the notifications.
Missed calls.
Several of them. And a string of messages, all from Will. His expression softened. He opened the conversation.
Willy ❤️🦈: You good?
Willy ❤️🦈: Mack, please call me when you see this.
Willy ❤️🦈: I know today sucked. I’m here, okay?
Willy ❤️🦈: Just let me know you’re safe. I love you.
Sidney looked over at Macklin, who was now half-curled and half asleep against him, staring at the tv. Without thinking too much about it, Sidney snapped a picture and typed a quick message.
Found him. He’s okay. Watching cartoons and resting. I’ve got him. - Crosby
The reply came almost instantly. Sidney barely had time to set the phone down before the typing bubble appeared. A small laugh escaped him.
Of course, Will really had been waiting.
Willy ❤️🦈: Thank god.
Willy ❤️🦈: Thank you. Seriously.
A second later:
Willy ❤️🦈: Tell him to call me later when he’s awake, okay? Don’t wake him up though.
Sidney smiled at the message. Even through a phone screen, he could feel how much Will cared. He set the phone down carefully beside him. When he looked back, Macklin was barely hanging on. His thumb had slipped away, his eyes fighting to stay open as he watched the bright colors on the screen.
"You getting tired?" Sidney whispered.
Macklin shook his head immediately.
"No."
Sidney raised an eyebrow. Macklin paused.
"...maybe."
Sidney smiled.
"Thought so."
Macklin yawned, trying to hide it and failing completely, his body relaxed against Sidney’s side.
"You can sleep," Sidney murmured. "You don’t have to stay awake."
Macklin blinked slowly.
"Willy...”
"It’s alright," Sidney reassured him. "He just wants you to rest right now."
That seemed to satisfy him. The last bit of tension left Macklin’s shoulders.
"Okay," he mumbled.
A few minutes later, his breathing evened out, the tv still playing softly in the background. Sidney stayed exactly where he was. Because after everything Macklin had carried today, he deserved someone to sit with him while he finally put it down.
There were a lot of questions Sidney had now.
A lot of things they’d need to talk about.
He wanted to understand how long Will had known. How often this happened. What Macklin needed when he got overwhelmed. Whether there were things Sidney should know if he was going to be someone Macklin trusted too.
Sidney reached over and gently adjusted the blanket, making sure it was tucked around him comfortably.
The conversation could wait until morning.