The Mighty Ducks Imagines

He Bailed

I'm no stranger to being ditched by people who are supposed to love me. It messes with your head and boy does it suck. As much as it kills you inside, having the right people around you can help you see your worth - though it'll always sting at least a little. I didn't meet those people until a couple of years ago when I joined team USA hockey at the Junior Goodwill Games. Considering how our friendship started, none of us could've excepted us to be where we are now.

I'm not the only person on the team with familial issues. With the progress I've made, I try to help the others out when this stuff flairs up. Everybody knows about Charlie's issues - he never shuts up about it. However, I'm more perceptive since being a silent observer has often been a form of survival. The Bash Brothers (other than being the first guys to fight for me if anyone interferes with me in my crease) are riddled with these issues, especially with their dads - but same here.

Fellow quiet kid Fulton often struggles to find an outlet, bottling everything up until everything bubbles over. I see so much of myself in him - especially as we've grown closer. Sometimes I know that something is wrong before he does - almost like a spider-sense. We take care of each other and that's all we've ever truly wanted.

Despite the fact that today is one of the rare days that Fulton has plans with his dad, a gut feeling is telling me to head to the alley. Being a goalie who is well aware of the damage his shots are capable of, I've learned never walk past the alley without my glove. As I follow my instincts and near the deadly opening, I raise my glove to cover my face and prevent a shattered skull. As per usual, I feel a puck slam into the leather.

"Jesus, Fult, how have you not broken someone's hand before?" I question as I remove the glove and examine my hand.

"Sorry." He looks as if he's beating himself up about it already.

"It's fine, I'm sure my hand will stop hurting in a minute." I quite literally shake it off as I walk over to him and hand him the puck. "What're you doing here anyway? I thought you were doing stuff with your dad today."

"Yeah, so did I." He remains stone-faced.

"What do you mean?" I ask as I sit on one of the crates behind him - though he doesn't provide an answer, causing it to click in my mind. "Wait, don't tell me he bailed on you again." My face drops.

"Of course he did!" He takes a monstrous swing, sending the puck soaring.

"You gotta be kidding me." I mumble through gritted teeth. "How many times in a row is that now?"

"37. And that's not even his longest streak! I've only seen him twice since the divorce - which was 6 years ago! He does this every time! I don't know why I still hold onto a shred of hope as if it's magically gonna be different next time." He yells his frustrations before dropping his stick and gloves and slouching on the crate beside me with a hefty sigh.

"Hey, I get it. I used to do the exact same thing before I left Colorado." I shrug. "You hold on because he's your dad and he's supposed show up and care, even if that's not the reality." I explain what he knows deep down as I stare at my fidgeting fingers.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." I continue watching my uneasy hands.

"What did I do?" His trembling voice catches my attention. "W-Why am I so unlovable?" My heart shatters into a million tiny shards as I look to him and immediately notice the tears in his eyes and quivering bottom lip.

"What? No, Fult, that's not even remotely true! I love you to death - we all do!" My gaze remains firmly on my closest friends as I try to reassure him - though he struggles to look at me in the eyes.