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MidReal Story
Shutout
Scenario:Trapped in a hotel room with my enemy for a week, we have to make do with a single bed.
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Mason
passionate, and stubborn. Mason finds himself stuck in a hotel room with his childhood nemesis, Evan Sweeney, after a game. They have to share a room due to a storm. Mason struggles with the situation, feeling trapped and angry, but also curious about Evan's changed demeanor as a grown man. The shared experience sparks unexpected feelings and introspection about their past.
Evan Sweeney
introspective, and resilient. Evan regrets his past behavior and seeks redemption by helping Mason during their forced stay in a hotel room. Their interaction reveals his genuine remorse and desire to make amends for past wrongs. Despite his physical limitations from the injury, he shows kindness and humility, allowing Mason to see him in a new light.
I stared down at the key in my hand, the single room assignment burning a hole in my brain.
This couldn’t be happening.
Not after how our games always went.
Not after how our history was written.
"Sorry, man. There’s a storm coming in. No one’s traveling until tomorrow," the front desk clerk apologized.
"I don’t care about the damn storm. Give me a different room."
"This is the only one available. If you want, I can put your name on a list for—"
"No."
I cut him off, dropping the key on the counter before turning away.
This was fucked.
I was stuck in this hotel for the night, and to make matters worse, I wasn’t alone.
My childhood nemesis, Evan Sweeney, was here as well.
And to make matters even shittier, we were roommates.
It’d been years since we’d last seen each other.
Back then, he was the rival school’s star hockey player.
I was the Boston Teamsters’ best, and when our paths crossed on the ice, there was always a fight.
But that was years ago.
Now I was a pro, and he… well, I had no idea what he did or where he was headed these days.
All I knew was that he had to retire from hockey due to an injury, and it’d been years since I’d last seen him.
I dragged my feet down the carpeted hallway of the third floor, watching the room numbers tick by.
My hockey bag weighed heavily on my shoulder as I approached room 312.
The door was already cracked open, warm light spilling into the hallway.
Inside, I heard movement—the rustle of clothes, the zip of a bag.
I paused outside, hand hovering over the doorknob.
Through the gap, I caught a glimpse of Evan unpacking his duffel bag, his movements careful and measured.
He favored his left side, a reminder of the injury that ended his career.
The sight made my stomach clench.
I pushed the door open, making it creak.
Evan turned, startled, and dropped the shirt he was holding.
Neither of us spoke as I entered and set my bag down by the desk.
The silence felt heavy as I watched him resume unpacking, his movements stiff and mechanical.
There’s only one king-sized bed dominating the room, its pristine white sheets a stark reminder of our forced proximity.
I start arranging my gear near the window, keeping my distance while stealing glances at him.
His hands shake slightly as he places his toiletries on the nightstand.