Chapter Text
Rey has three great loves: Knights hockey, bottomless nachos, and how easy her relationship with Beaumont Kin has always been.
So while they’re laying in Beau’s bed, it comes as a bit of shock when he says, mildly, with the same tone he uses when commenting on the weather or discussing yesterday’s game, “Rey… I don’t think we should do this anymore.”
“This?” Rey asks, because this is a vague word that could encompass any number of things. It could be suggesting they don’t order bottomless nachos at the local bar for the third time that week. It could be that he has to work late Thursday so she’ll have to manage her own ride home. It might even be that he’s thought about it and, yes, they should get a dog. Even if they don’t technically live together. Even if—
“This. Us. You… coming over when we both know it isn’t going anywhere.”
“Us,” Rey repeats, because that’s a vague word, too. But she understands its meaning.
Beaumont had been her first everything. Hook up, fling, sort-of-boyfriend. And sure, they’d dated others here and there, but being with him had always been effortless. They didn’t have to work through the complicated couple stuff, because they weren’t a couple. And when they weren’t with anyone else, they always managed to be together.
“You’re great, Rey. Just… really great.” He smiles his kind, easy smile. The one that makes his eyes shine. It’s cruel, that a smile can be so kind when the words he’s saying… aren’t. Because Rey knows there’s a but coming.
The relationships in her life always have an expiration date. Even the easy ones.
“Just great. There’ll never be a girl who can shout obscenities at hockey games the way you do. You…” He smiles again, twisting the knife that’s lodged itself in her sternum. “You can eat more nachos than anyone I’ve ever met. Rey, you’re like… You’re like my old hockey stick. You know the one—from when I played in high school.”
She can only blink.
“It’s a great stick. Solid, always been there for me. I know I can fall back on it, and it’ll work out, be there for me. It’s—solid, reliable… always a good time. But it’s time to pack those parts of my youth away. You know, it’s time to…”
No. She hasn’t the slightest fucking clue. “It’s time to what? To upgrade your hockey stick?”
It’s oddly phallic for a metaphor for her.
“Rey…”
“So, what? You want something serious?” she asks. She can feel the fight building. Can feel it ready to snap like an elastic band. “Then fine. Let’s make it serious.”
“ You want to do serious?”
She shrugs. “I could do serious.”
He shakes his head. “Rey… I don’t think I’m ready for serious.”
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4 months later
🏒 ❤️ 🏒 ❤️ 🏒 ❤️ 🏒 ❤️
She drags a soggy chip through some of the delicious, jiggly orange cheese coating the bottom of the plate while Finn catches her up on tonight’s lineup. The Knights are back in town for a home game, and when she and Beau had parted ways, Rey gained custody of their season ticket seats.
It was really the least he could do…
And since Finn’s boyfriend couldn’t sit still for ten consecutive minutes and didn’t know what icing was, Finn and Rey made a pact to never miss a game.
While Finn checks the opposing team’s injury report, Rey polishes off the last of the chips. With nothing for her hands to do, she picks up her phone and scrolls Instagram.
She follows most of the players from the team, a handful of her coworkers from the Youth Hockey Center, and her friends from college—including Beamont.
Beaumont, who’d posted a photo just that afternoon.
A photo of him with a stunning brunette. She’s smiling with her hand shoved against his chest. A hand adorned with a sparkling diamond ring.
“Mother fucker!”
Finn looks up from the Dallas Stars’ injury report with a look of confusion, and she shoves her phone under his nose.
“I told you to block him.”
“He’s seeing someone ?!”
“Jessika. She’s… She’s fine.”
“He’s engaged, Finn.”
Finn’s jaw drops. “Impossible.”
But it is possible—the proof of it in the glittering cushion cut diamond on Beaumont’s fiancee’s manicured hand.
“Guess he upgraded his stick after all…”
“What?” Finn asks, and Rey only huffs in reply. Because the reality of it is too mortifying to say out loud.
When she looks back at her phone, Rey decides she should probably block him. She isn’t heartbroken or anything—honestly, she’d put up more of a fight for the season tickets than their relationship—but still, it stings.
Rey’s come far since being abandoned on Fremont Street as a child. She’d grown up in the Nevada foster care system, shuffled from foster home to foster home in the desert until she was able to graduate and go to college in the city.
Years of therapy and friends like Finn have helped her self-worth. But still, it burns a bit when someone says they don’t want something serious and then, four months later, go and get engaged…
She sighs, tipping back her pint glass and finishing off the final dregs of beer. And because she doesn't want to look at Beaumont’s shiny fiancee and her equally shiny ring, Rey scrolls to the next photo.
Ben Solo.
It’s a dramatic black-and-white photo of him in his Knights jersey. His helmet is on, his lips are pursed, and Rey has to fight the urge to stick her tongue out at the image.
Because she and Beau’s favorite argument was over Ben Solo. Solo was his hero. The man Beau rooted for on the ice and idolized the way no adult man should idolize a professional athlete. Beau had a home and an away jersey with SOLO printed across the back. Talking about the infamous “Kylo Ren” while they lay in bed.
“We should get going, Peanut,” Finn says, and she can tell he’s watching her carefully. Finn’s kind, the sort that never pushes her, even if he always worries.
If she can talk about this with anyone, it’s definitely Finn. But Rey doesn’t want to talk about it. Belly full of beer and nachos and with only half an hour until puck drop, she has better things to channel her energy into.
Jumping off the barstool and dusting the back of her denim shorts, Rey shakes her head. “Yep, let’s go.”
At that evening's game, she watches as Beaumont’s favorite player does what he always does. She really shouldn’t. She knows it’s a bad idea. But it’s like a loose thread on one of her jerseys. She can’t help but fiddle and pick and yank until it unravels. Like the scratch of that same jersey, it aggravates her until she can concentrate on nothing else.
Solo never passes soon enough, always clinging to the left wall and holding onto the puck for five seconds too long.
He lets his temper get the best of him, and he shoves an opponent into the glass.
He slams his gloves against the bench of the penalty box and scowls like the consequences are entirely unfair, even given the sum of his actions…
It’s all his fault, of course. And if it weren’t Finn by her side, Beau would be telling her how Solo was just so passionate .
He isn’t. Beaumont’s an idiot, and Solo’s an idiot. A decent player, but he’s sorely under-utilizing his skills with his shitty play style and inability to control his temper…
At their bar after the game, Poe meets them for drinks. He slaps his hands on both Rey and Finn’s backs, grinning despite the melancholy of loss that hangs in the air.
“Tequila,” he says, holding up three fingers.
Kaydel exhales as she pours their trio of shots. “Rough night.”
Poe doesn’t give a shit about hockey, but he enjoys drinking at their local sports bar whether the Knights win or lose. Perching himself on the barstool at Rey’s side, he asks how she’s doing.
She grunts. “I assume you saw the news.”
“That your team lost?”
She glares at him.
Poe shakes his head, despite the teasing smile that tugs at his lips. “Oh? That your ex is engaged? Sure. I saw.”
“It’s a shit day, is all,” Rey mumbles. The instant Kaydel hands over their shots, she knocks it back. Tequila isn’t her drink of choice, but since Poe’s paying and today was, well, today , she’ll take anything.
“You need to get back at him,” Kaydel says, leaning across the bar and making Poe perk up.
“Yes! Exactly.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes. Rey thinks she should probably order some food. Nachos, or maybe one of those burgers the size of her head. Anything to help absorb the alcohol making its way through her system.
“I say you slide into his best friend’s DMs and flirt a little,” Poe says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I’m pretty sure he considers Finn his best friend.”
Finn pats her knee. “I consider you my best friend. And you can always flirt with me, if it’ll make you feel better.”
Rey laughs and picks up her empty shot glass. “Maybe after a few more of these.”
Before she can order another drink—or that food she really wants—she notices the notification on her phone.
It’s Beaumont. Rey squints at the little blue speech bubble and the words staring back at her. Words that explain how he's sure she saw the news. That it just “sort of happened” and how he hopes she can be happy for him.
And how, because they’re still friends, he’d love for her to come to the wedding.
“You look constipated,” Poe says, far too close to her ear. Rey shoves the phone under his nose and Poe gasps.
“That ass.” He holds out the phone to Kaydel who stares at the cracked screen with a scowl.
“I’ll pour another round. On the house.”
“I can’t believe he…” Poe’s words trail off, so Rey isn’t quite sure what he can’t believe, but suddenly Poe is scrolling through her phone, looking quite pleased. “Oh hey, look…”
On her Instagram feed is the photo of Ben Solo. The black-and-white one that’s very dramatic. She squints at the way his dark hair curls under his helmet. He’s sort of… almost… Well. He isn’t bad looking.
Tall. Wide. And shoulders—two of them, to be exact. Big, square shoulders that look like they could pick up a willing woman and toss her around the bedroom. A slightly crooked smile and unfairly nice, dark hair.
She likes the way the waves stick to his forehead and neck when he throws off his helmet. And he’s the exact sort of temper tantrum throwing professional athlete she’s always coaching the kids at the Vegas Youth Hockey Center not to grow up to become. And yet…
Poe grins. “Can I slide into his DMs and ask if he’ll be your date to your ex's wedding?”
She snorts. Yeah, that’d be something. Showing up to Beaumont’s wedding with his idol on her arm…
Rey allows the fantasy to marinate. Allows herself to imagine Beaumont’s shocked face when she sees his old hockey stick showing up with Ben Solo. The Ren of Vegas' Knights of Ren. Ben Solo who could be endorsed by all the hockey sticks if he— Well, the stick metaphor was getting warped. But still. It’s nice to picture Beau a bit flustered that she’s already moved on. That she’s moved up.
And the next morning as she’s nursing her hangover with a bowl of Lucky Charms in a fat coffee mug, she nearly chokes.
Ben Solo had messaged her back.