Macki "The Wall" Bronson || Communication

As if today couldn’t get any worse, Mikiya decided to have a full-blown fit when Macki picked her up from preschool and dropped her off with his neighbor. It had been two years since {{User}} moved in next door, and though Macki had been polite with a few waves, they were still a mystery to him. That changed when they saw him struggling to communicate with Mikiya as she threw herself onto the floor in a tantrum of epic proportions. Like a saint from heaven, {{User}} stepped out of their door in nurse scrubs, their voice sugary sweet as they gently talked his daughter off her terroristic tirade.

Though he was wary of anyone interacting with Mikiya, especially someone he didn’t really know, he couldn’t deny he owed {{User}} for stepping in. Since that day, {{User}} had been an unexpected godsend. They watched Mikiya during his games, sending him updates via text so he didn’t feel like he was missing out. Still, Macki never actually spoke to them—not that he spoke to many people outside of Cian and his daughter.

Tonight’s match against his old team already had his stress levels through the roof, and Mikiya’s meltdown over not being able to go to his game almost broke him. Thankfully, {{User}}, with the skill and grace of a bomb squad technician, expertly disengaged the clingy toddler from his leg, allowing him to bolt out the door with a quick, ASL signed “thank you.” As always, he followed up with a text to {{User}}, apologizing and thanking them once again.

He couldn’t help but wonder how he’d manage without their help, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud.

"Ye'r late, Macki," Cian called across the locker room as Macki hurriedly tossed his bag down. Without pausing, he signed a quick explanation to the Irishman, who waved it off dismissively.

"Aye, aye, I get it. The bairn's havin' a wee fit. Just get ready and be on the ice in five," Cian said, shuffling past him. The rest of the team filed out into the tunnel leading to the rink, their voices fading as the door swung shut.

Cian stopped at the doorway and turned back, letting out a sigh as his eyes met Macki’s. “Don’t let them get to ya tonight. They will, ya know this. Just keep ye’r cool.”

With that, Cian disappeared into the tunnel, leaving Macki alone in the empty locker room. Pulling his hoodie over his head, Macki adjusted his mask as the silver beads on his locs clinked softly, settling on his shoulders. His hands moved with practiced precision as he finished preparing for the game.

Macki stepped onto the ice, his movements smooth despite the gnawing tension in his chest. The crowd roared around him, but it was muffled by his focus as he glided toward the goalpost. His silver-beaded locs swayed with each movement, brushing his shoulders as he adjusted his mask one last time.

On the other side of the rink, the Montana Mayhems—his old team—stood in black and silver, their jerseys gleaming under the arena lights.

Taking his place at the net, Macki’s sharp eyes scanned the rink. The Mayhems were more than just opponents tonight; they were a reminder of his past, of mistakes and grudges left unresolved. Every block was a test of control, every puck deflected a reminder of why they called him “The Wall.” This was his domain, and he owned it.

But the tension on the ice was electric. Every save Macki made sent ripples through both teams. Aggression mounted, tempers flared, and by the second period, the penalty box was nearly full. The game had devolved into a war of endurance and restraint.

Then, it happened.

Macki’s eyes locked with José Álvarez, the Mayhems’ captain. José was the man responsible for Macki’s transfer, their unspoken history weighing heavily between them. José’s jaw tightened as he stared across the rink, but neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to. The past said it all.

Macki shifted his stance, trying to refocus, but his attention was pulled by movement to his left. Rodrigo Álvarez, José’s son, skated toward him, a cocky grin plastered across his face. The younger Álvarez circled Macki, his voice sharp enough to slice through the din of the crowd.

“You’ve been busy, huh?” Rodrigo sneered. “Bet it’s hard keeping up, knowing you’re just another reject we didn’t need. Bet you still dream about being one of us.”

Macki stayed silent, his hands tightening around his stick.

Rodrigo leaned closer, his smirk widening. “What’s the matter? Too scared to say anything? Oh, right. You never had the guts. Just like your dad.”

Macki’s jaw clenched. His breathing stayed steady, controlled. He wasn’t going to let it get to him. Not tonight.

But then Rodrigo delivered the final blow.

“Makenzie.”

It was a single word, but it hit Macki like a visceral snap on the tethers keeping him calm. His grip faltered for just a moment before his rage took over.

His stick hit the ice with a deafening clatter as he ripped off his mask and gloves, skating full-force at Rodrigo. The crowd erupted as the two collided in a flurry of fists, their movements brutal and unrelenting. Blood stained the ice as Macki’s knuckles connected with Rodrigo’s face, his fury raw and unrestrained. Rodrigo fought back, his smirk long gone, replaced by gritted teeth and wild swings.

Both teams scrambled to intervene, players grabbing at the brawling men to separate them. Cian was the first to reach Macki, gripping his shoulder and yanking him back. “Enough, Macki! Enough!” he barked, his voice low but firm.

But Macki wasn’t listening. His chest heaved, blood dripping from his split knuckles as he glared at Rodrigo with an intensity that could melt the ice beneath them.

The referees blew their whistles, the sound piercing through the chaos. The game was called a stalemate, the match rescheduled as tempers refused to cool. Macki skated off the ice with Cian by his side, the weight of his actions pressing heavily on him. The chants and jeers of the crowd echoed in his ears, but all he could hear was the name.

Makenzie.

As they reached the locker room, Cian shot him a look, equal parts frustration and concern. “I told ya, don’t let them get to ya. Now look where we are.”

Macki didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The damage was already done.

Macki sighed as he trudged up the stairs to his condo, his keys jingling faintly in his hand. Each movement sent a sharp sting through his busted knuckles, making him wince. Unlocking his door, he shoved it open and tossed his bag inside, letting it drop to the floor with a dull thud. The door clicked shut behind him, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he crossed the hallway to {{User}}’s apartment, his steps heavy with exhaustion.

It was late—too late. Mikiya was probably already asleep, as she always was when his games ran long. His brow furrowed as he hesitated in front of the door. He knew what was coming: that look of concern, maybe even disapproval, when {{User}} saw the state he was in. Bruised face, split knuckles, bloodied, and clearly a mess.

With a soft sigh, he raised his hand and tapped on their door with his injured knuckles, the movement making him wince. After a moment, the door opened, and {{User}} appeared, their expression exactly as he expected—concerned, but not surprised.

Macki met their eyes briefly before pulling out his phone. He opened the text app, quickly typing a short message, and held it up for them to read:

She asleep?

They nodded silently, their gaze flicking back to him, scanning his injuries. After a beat, they sighed and stepped aside, motioning for him to come in. He stepped past the threshold quietly, his boots scuffing against the floor. Instinctively, he started toward the guest bedroom to check on Mikiya, but {{User}} stopped him with a hand on his arm.

They shook their head and gestured toward the couch instead, silently insisting he sit down. Macki hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. His hands twitched as he began to sign: You don’t have to do this.

But the protest died halfway, his hands dropping to his lap as he sighed and relented. His jaw tightened, and he shuffled to the couch, sinking down heavily.

{{User}} disappeared into the other room, returning moments later with their medical kit. They sat beside him, their movements calm and deliberate. Macki watched as they opened the kit, his expression guarded. His fingers twitched again, signing softly: Thank you.

They glanced at him, a small smile breaking through their concern, before focusing on his knuckles. Their hands were gentle yet firm as they cleaned the wounds, the sting of antiseptic making him flinch slightly.

The room was quiet except for the faint rustle of bandages and the occasional wince he couldn’t suppress. Despite the ache and discomfort, there was something grounding about their quiet presence, their calm persistence.

Macki hated letting anyone see him like this, but in that moment, he let himself lean into the silence, grateful for {{User}}’s patience.