New Story!!

As promised, I won't make you wait to start reading my new story and for those of you who wanted to pound Sid in the head in this story, I think you'll be much more pleased with our boy in this new story, so follow me over to this new story:

http://boysofsummerhockey.blogspot.com/

Chapter 44

First and foremost, for those of you who've made it all the way through, thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for caring about the characters and the story and thank you especially to those of you who took the time to let me know that you were reading and caring and taking sides. It is a great privilege to know that you are out there.

I think this is as far as the road goes for this story but I hope to have the first chapter of my next story up soon, so I hope to see you there.

Merci, thank you!

“Are you sure about this?” Max asks as we gaze up the steps of the beautiful old gothic cathedral.

“No,” I reply honestly, “but I feel like it’s something I have to do,” I add, taking a deep breath. If it wasn’t for the warm, firm grip Max has on my hand, I know I couldn’t go through with it. But I also know that if I don’t, I won’t have that closure that I’m sure I need. I glance over at Max in his dark, pin striped suit with his stylin’ fedora and feel a genuinely happy smile grow on my face.

The ceremony is over, not that I’d had the stomach to watch that. We’d waited, outside, until the guests started streaming out, including Jordy and Kennedy, though they’d both told us they wouldn’t go. For Jordy’s sake we’d told them they should. After all, Jordy wasn’t the one who’d asked for a one way ticket out of the city.

Max’s hand tightens around mine as the ‘happy couple’ comes out of the cathedral to the sound of loud cheers, both from the hundreds of guests standing on the steps but also from the thousands of fans who have been waiting outside all morning behind security lines. We are somewhere in between. Too well dressed to be thought of as mere well wishers, and besides, he is Max Talbot and so we’d slipped by security and waited in the antechamber, slipping out just before the rest of the guests.

“She stood there and dabbed at her eyes the whole time. It made me want to hurl,” Kennedy hisses as she finds us at the bottom of the stairs, looking up to where the hired professional photographer is only getting slightly better position than the rest of the media for shots of the young phenom with his new lady love.

“If you just signed away your right to all his money in a prenup in the limo right before the wedding you’d cry too,” Jordy offers, creating a vision to which it’s impossible not to grin. Sidney had never talked about such legal necessities with me. It made me wonder if he had been going to spring them on me this morning too or if he’d really never thought of me as a threat to his millions. Daddy dear would have, I’m sure, at some point. I stare up at Sidney and I can’t help but see that boyish smile of his, all dimples and teeth and I can feel a flutter inside of my chest.

“Do you think she’ll make him happy?” I ask, more to myself, not that anyone knows her well enough to know any better than I do, standing here, thinking I should feel scorned or whatever they call it. I don’t. It feels sort of like I’m watching a show, a movie or something else that I’m not invested in. Like what I’m watching doesn’t affect me at all.

Except that it does.

But then again, does it?

The photographer wants a shot of just the bride and her bridesmaids and shoos Sidney away to the side and I feel Max give my hand a hard squeeze.

“You don’t have to do this,” he reiterates, but I do. We both know that I do. So I smile at him, hoping he can see that I appreciate his standing by me this way, and then I let go of his hand as I take a deep, deep breath and then it’s just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other until I find myself standing in front of Sidney, looking handsome but just a little bit like a boy getting dressed up in a man’s suit.

It takes a minute for him to notice me. Not that I can blame him, considering the zoo around us, but if nothing else, it makes it clear to me that if we had ever had any kind of special bond, it was truly broken now. In fact it took a sharp elbow from Flower in Sid’s ribs to snap his attention away from watching his new wife ,who, I had to admit, albeit a little grudgingly, very beautiful in her huge princess dress with its full skirt and all of the crystal beading on it. It wasn’t my taste, but I was willing to bet it had filled the aisle of the church better than mine would have.

“You look…great,” Sidney says at long last, his gaze finally settling on me after cautiously gazing around to see who else might be watching I suppose. “Did you wear that on purpose?” he adds, glancing down at my dress, and I allow myself to smirk, for a moment before shaking my head.

“Yes, but not for you. Max likes it,” I explain, smoothing my hand down the light purple dress that I’d worn that fateful night, the night of the two kisses…. “And we’re on our way to Bali and I wanted to wear something…light,” I add by way of a better explanation that I hope doesn’t make it sound like Max ordered me to wear the thing. He didn’t. He asked and the look in his eyes had made it impossible for me to turn him down. “Look I just wanted to say…I mean…that there’s no hard feelings. I don’t blame you any more than I blame myself,” I begin, the speech I’d prepared in my head failing me utterly as his gold flecked gaze holds mine and a sort of sorrow and pity stare back at me through his eyes.

“We could have worked on it,” Sidney says quietly, reaching for my hands, holding them in his own, the pads of his thumbs stroking along my knuckles in a way that used to be relaxing, comforting, but now just makes me want to pull my hands away.

“We would have ended up like our parents,” I reply honestly, withdrawing my hands slowly and dropping my gaze from his while I take another, long, deep breath to steady my nerves. “I don’t think that’s what either of us wants,” I add, finally managing a smile as I look back up at him.

“So you and Max…?” Sid’s voice trails off as he looks over my shoulder to where Max is keeping his distance and then down at my hand where the far less inconspicuous ring sits on my finger.

“Will be waiting a while before we rush into anything,” I reply, not quite able to keep the judgmental tone out of my voice or the sarcastic smile off of my face. “I’m sorry,” I apologize immediately, “maybe it’s a good thing for you to be a little impulsive for once. I’ve always told you not to over think things. I usually meant hockey but…,” I shrug and Sid nods.

“I know it seems a little spur of the moment but I’ve decided to try and be in the moment a little more often,” he explains, his cheeks turning bright pink for a moment. “I’m sorry if this seems like…I mean it wasn’t about you or anything,” he stammers and I just shrug. I may have taken it as a slight, at first, but not now.

“I only came to say that I really hope you’ll be happy. Honestly,” I reply, meaning it as I stand there awkwardly, not knowing what the right thing to do is. I don’t feel like I can or should hug him but it feels strange just standing there, staring at him.

“And you…will you be happy, do you think?” he asks, glancing past me again.

“I think so,” I reply quietly, glancing back over my shoulder and giving Max an encouraging grin. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure but…we’ll see. I want to…make sure this time, you know?” I add, realizing that that too sounds accusatory but I can’t help it if it happens to be true. Sidney nods and then reaches out to run the knuckle of his index finger down my cheek. Part of me wants to turn my face away but I don’t because the other part of me is sort of enjoying the guilt that’s now plain as day on his face. “Who knows, maybe we’ll turn out to be like Flower and Vero, the happily unmarried couple,” I add, trying to sound more jovial than I feel, and I’m afraid it must show in my face, as Sidney doesn’t so much as give me the briefest shadow of a smile.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispers, and I shrug, which makes his hand fall away.

“I think you’re needed,” I smile, glancing over to where his bride is now looking our way with an obviously concerned look on her face. Can I blame her? No, but I think there’s been enough third wheel stuff already in our relationships. I didn’t come here to get in the way or cause a scene. I’ve said my piece, time to go.

“Mel,” he grabs my wrist and I look down at where his fingers are digging into the thin skin, forcing the small bones in my arm to rub together, almost painfully, and then I look up at him. “I am sorry,” he insists, and I find myself smiling, despite the pain. It’s the first time in months that he says it and I think he actually gets what he’s supposed to be sorry for.

“I know,” I nod, and then look meaningfully down at my hand. I watch his fingers peel away and then I look up at him and give him a smile that I hope says something like ‘someday we’ll be friends’. I don’t know when that time will be, I just hope that someday that time will come. I turn to go, but as soon as I turn, there’s a camera in my face. “I’m just a friend of the family, you don’t need to take a picture,” I growl, putting my hand up to his lens, careful not to actually touch it, and then, without looking back, I slowly make my way back to Max and I’m glad when he doesn’t try to say anything, just offers me his hand and leads me down the steps and back down the street to the car.

_________________________________________________________-

“What was all that about?” Charline hisses into my ear as I rejoin her for more pictures. Oh, so now she’s going to be insecure?

“She was just saying goodbye,” I reply quietly, taking a deep breath and then putting on my best advertising smile. I didn’t expect it to hurt, today of all days, but Mel was so fucking calm, so unemotional and I can’t help it if it hurts my pride, just a little, can I?

“That was all it was?” Charline asks, her grip on my hand tightening.

“Fuck woman, I just put a damn ring on your finger and this fucking picture will be on the front page of every paper in Pittsburgh and Canada and you’ll have a five page spread in Hello magazine, what more do you want from me? She’s leaving, right now, for Bali with Max. We’re married. Enough already,” I snarl. Great, I haven’t even been married five minutes and I’m already regretting it.

“I just…it looked…it looked kind of…intimate,” Charline says quietly, sounding hurt and I guess I did snap.

“Mel and me…we go back, but she’s definitely with Max,” I sigh, turning to cradle Char’s face in my hand and I can hear the sound of hundreds of cameras going off as I do. “You have my ring. I don’t want to hear another word about it, okay?” She nods and I kiss her lips and just for a moment, I feel the same ache in the bottom of my stomach that I had when I woke up this morning and there’s that little question again. Am I doing the right thing?

Of course it’s too late now. If I’ve fucked up royally, well, it’s done.

Not that either Troy or Mario would have let me walk out on her this morning, even when I was holding fast to a bottle of JD and swearing that I couldn’t do it.

I had made my bed, they’d told me, it was time to be a man and lie in it.

I’d thought it was all better when I saw Charline walking down the aisle in the beautiful dress behind all her teammates in their red and white satin gowns. It hadn’t seemed like such a crazy idea then. Everything had been fine, until Mel was there and now….

“You’re a good looking couple,” Troy says putting his hands on both of our shoulders and Char turns around to beam up at him. He likes her. He approves. Well, of course he does. She’s a hockey player and a goalie to boot. The fact that she’s still a student and actually has less of her future planned out than Mel did, well, that hasn’t occurred to my father yet.

“And I hope we’ll be hearing the pitter-patter of little feet very soon?” my mother chimes in and Char’s smile gets even wider.

“We will, sooner than you think,” she says, winking at me and my skin crawls for the second time today. The first was when she whispered it to me on the way back up the aisle. She’d said that she’d taken a test this morning and it was positive. I’m gonna be a daddy. I want a big family. It was one of the things that Mel and I argued over, so why did every hair on my head stand up when she told me?

“That’s great, let’s get one of the family,” the photographer calls and I my dad puts his big ape like arm around me and I can’t help but gaze down the street to see Max holding open the door for Mel. She stops, and they kiss, a long, slow kiss and then she slides into the car and my chest gets tight.

But I’ve made my bed and I will lie in it and I’ll do my best to make it work because I hate to fail, at anything, even though I might be watching my biggest failure drive away.

__________________________________________________________________


“Un sou pour vos pensées?” Max asks, his warm body curled around mine in the cot on the private deck beside the private pool in our private villa near the beach. Staring out at the millions of stars that are glittering down over us from the darkest of night skies, I can’t actually put my finger on what I’m thinking, everything and nothing at all.

“Nothing specific,” I mumble, closing my eyes and laying my head down on his arm, reaching for his other hand, the one that’s resting on my hip and lacing my fingers in his. “Which makes a very nice change,” I add with a sigh and a contented smile. I feel totally relaxed, maybe for the first time in months, and am able to revel in the languid feeling of afterglow for maybe the first time…ever.

The air is heavy with heat and humidity and my body is sticky with sweat and other body fluids and the small private pool is looking inviting but I can’t quite be bothered to move. I like the feel of Max’s body pressed against mine, the occasional brush of his lips on the back of my neck, my shoulders and knowing we don’t have to worry about being found out, that the worst we have to face is a few heartbroken puck bunnies if and when we go back to the ‘Burgh.

“That was a brave thing you did today,” Max says at long last, breaking my dreamy silence as he his warm breath bathes my neck.

“I don’t know about brave,” I sigh, bringing his hand up to my lips to press a soft kiss to each bruised and scarred knuckle. “I think that I had to see it, that he was really going through with it…,” I let my voice trail off as I think about Sidney in his tux with his bride in her enormous, over the top ball gown. “They looked like something off of the top of a cake,” I muse, rolling onto my back so that I can look up into Max’s face, which, for the moment, is impassive. He unlaces his fingers from mine and traces my bottom lip with his thumb and them replaces his finger with his lips and kisses me, gently and thoroughly, until my body begins, once again, to turn into a wet noodle.

“You don’t have to be brave about it,” he whispers, his eyes, the colour of twilight, search mine as his fingertips run gently down my jaw and onto my shoulder. “You don’ t have to pretend to feel nothing at all for him,” he adds seriously, his fingertips grazing over my collarbone and then lower, making me shiver, even in this tropical heat.

“I’m not,” I smile up at him, sucking in a ragged breath when his fingertip traces a slow, deliberate circle around my nipple. “I thought I’d feel…mad… disappointed…even humiliated but all I felt was…well, I guess I felt sorry for him really,” I sigh as he reaches across to trace the same circle on my other breast. “Maaaxxx!” I hiss as I arch my back, my body no longer relaxed in his arms.

“Sorry, it’s just so much fun to play with you,” he whispers, capturing my lips with his, his mouth moving over mine, our tongues dueling for a moment before he pulls back to look down at me, curiosity brimming in his ocean blue eyes. “He did look a little…overwhelmed.”

“Mostly, honestly, I just feel bad that I don’t see he and I being friends,” I mutter as Max’s lips and teeth make their way down to my neck, making it easy to forget that it should hurt to think about that.

“So you weren’t even juste un petit peu jaloux about the dress and the bridesmaids?” Max asks, pushing himself up on his elbow so he can look down at me, obviously expecting some hesitation or some different answer than the one I give him.

“No, and don’t push Maxime,” I reply gently but firmly and Max replies with a cheeky grin.

“If you never marry me, as long as you’re with me, mon amour, je serais le plus heureux des hommes,” he purrs, cradling my face in his hand before he captures my lips with his and seals his promise with a soft kiss that slowly heats until our bodies meld into one, locking together, a tangle of sweat slicked limbs. “Mon amour, je t’aime,” he whispers and I feel my heart swell. “Thank you….”

“Je t’aime Max,” I whisper back, nipping at his ear. “Thank you for being there for me, for waiting,” I add, feeling tears filling my eyes.

“Oui, parce que je savais, tout ce temps, je savais que tu était à moi,” he whispers back, his eyes full of the kind of love I’ve always wanted and I know that my heart has its home, for now, forever.

Chapter 42

as always, thank you tons and tons for all your support. I can smell the end of this story from here, but have no fear, I've already started the next one and I have a feeling Sidney will be a much more heroic figure in the next one, but in the meantime...

“Fuuuuuuuuuck!” I stab myself for what seems like the hundred thousandth time as I pin yet another model into her outfit. Considering we’d just had them in to try the garments on the day before I am about ready to stuff some cookies into some of these girl’s mouths. How they could lose an inch in one single day, and why they would when they knew damn well that they had a job….

“You need to start getting into your own dress,” Gareth reminds me, taking the pin cushion out of my hand and reaching carefully to draw the ones I have held between my teeth out. “Hair and make up, off you go.” I give him one, long, pleading look but he just shakes his head and points towards the area where chairs and mirrors have been set up, where flat irons and hair dryers are being wielded like weapons of mass destruction. A shudder runs through my entire body and my stomach begins to clench uncomfortably, reminding me that I haven’t eaten in maybe a day, maybe two, but all the same it thinks it can find something to bring up.

“Ah the wedding dress girl,” the beautician gushes as he reaches to run his fingers through my freshly dyed hair. Kennedy insisted on doing it this morning, even while I was half asleep.

“I don’t care if you cover my head with a potato sack,” I mumble, as he reaches for a very large can of hairspray.

“This face? Oh darling, if you were a few inches taller you’d be on that runway twice a day and on the cover of Vogue,” he replies encouragingly, to which I can only roll my eyes. How many times have I been told that I’m pretty just not pretty enough? I know that part of the make-up artist at these things is to build the girls’ confidence before they step out onto the runway, like cheerleaders with blush brushes instead of pompoms. It’s hard to believe, in all of their tall, skinny loveliness that they could be as insecure as I am, but I know it’s true.

“You have a visitor,” Kennedy whispers in my ear, her hand firm on my shoulder in a non verbal gesture that says ‘be strong’ or ‘don’t run’, one or the other. I immediately feel the fluttering of birds’ wings in my stomach and put both hands down over it, as if I might really feel the brush of their wings against my skin.

“I don’t know that the best man is supposed to see the bride, isn’t that bad luck or something?” Kennedy asks, glancing up at where Max has suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking a little worse for wear, unshaven, and in the way that says he hasn’t slept for days.

“I’m pretty sure it’s just the groom,” I mumble, taking the veil out of Kennedy’s hands and shoving the combs into my hair hard enough that the plastic teeth graze my scalp and make both me and the beautician wince. “Could you just give us a moment?” I ask, glancing up at Kens and then at the hairdresser, telling myself to be calm, that whatever is coming I can deal with it.

We both watch Kensie drag the hairdresser out of the room, keeping our thoughts to ourselves until she’s well out of earshot. I don’t even try to do anything while I wait for him to speak, I just fold and refold my hands in my lap, feeling the cool slick ivory satin beneath my hands move against my thighs as I wait.

“Is it…is it over with him?” Max asks finally, sounding defeated even as he says it, and when I look up at his reflection in the mirror before me, his expression says that the knows what I’m going to say. ‘So why say it? ‘ I wonder to myself, turning my gaze back down to my hands, staring at the Claddagh ring; Sidney’s promise to me and mine to him. “Tabernak woman, you aren’t even in love with him.”

The sting of having my own words thrown back at me makes me wince but I just keep staring at the ring and reminding myself that there has never been any other for me, only Sidney and no matter what else has happened, there can never be another to take his place. There’s never even been the remotest possibility of that.

“I have to get ready,” I mumble, forcing my hand up and forward to grab a tube of mascara, feeling it shake as I try to twist off the cap.

“Merde! You stubborn woman. I’m in love with you. Doesn’t that mean anything?” The mascara wand drops from my hand, my fingers having gone numb along with everything else, as I stare back at him, watching his green blue eyes grow misty. “Oh don’t look at me like you didn’t know. It’s been months, months! You had to know how I felt.” I shake my head, denying it because I’m used to denying my feelings around Max but they were my feelings and half of me is relieved he’s not asking me to be honest with my feelings. But this…this I didn’t expect. I didn’t know. “Sainte Criss! Did you not think when you came to my bed that it was more than some cheap thrill? Could you not tell how much I wanted you?” I open my mouth to say that it was all nothing but I can’t make the words come out.

“You’re my friend. You’re his friend.” It’s my defense, my argument, my only fall back and Max deftly dekes it as he strides across the room and falls to his knees at my feet.

“I’ve tried to be but this? You can’t go back to him. You can’t go crawling back to him…because you don’t love him and he’s my friend and because I love you and you’re mine.” My heart beat doubles and I feel a fine sheen of sweat breaking out across my brow.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, forcing the words through my teeth; part of me wanting desperately to fall into his arms and the other part of me still clinging to my dream.

“What I want? What I want is to tear your clothes off with my teeth and fuck you up against that door,” he growls, pointing at it, his breathing becoming heavy and labored, “until you scream my name so damn loud that everyone out there can hear you. What I want is for you to look at me,” he continues, grabbing my chin in his thick fingers and forcing me to look at him again, “and tell me the truth. Tell me who you love. Vraiment, qui aimes-tu?” I press my hands over my stomach again, feeling those wings beating a mile a minute.

“I can’t do this. Not right now. I…I have things to do,” I mumble, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

“Melody,” his voice is calmer now, quieter, but there’s still an edge to it that says he means business, that he wants an answer, an answer I’m not prepared to give. This is something I’ve been trying so hard not to think about that I if answer now it will be an emotional knee jerk reaction and I’ve screwed up so many times already basing things on gut reactions instead of taking the time to think things through….“Ma chère, mon amour,” his hand rests on my cheek, gently but insistently forcing me to look up at him, to meet his passion filled gaze. “Si tu peux m’aimer même un peu….” His voice catches in his throat as his hopeful gaze searches mine and my heart begins to beat so hard that it feels like there’s no way my chest can hold it in.

“Max…,” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his skin transferring to mine calling up so many memories that make my body tingle, that threaten to steal my breath away. “Max I can’t…you can’t ask me things like that right now.” I open my eyes and let him see my fear, my confusion, and I add a plea to the maelstrom of emotions that are making it hard for me to even speak. “Un peu de temps. Un peu d’espace. Mon ami, si tu sentes quelque chose pour moi du tout….”

“Je sens quelque chose, je sens l’amour,” he insists, that angry edge leaking into his voice, anger, mixed with passion that reminds me of the stairs in his house and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from whimpering at the sense memory that makes my insides clench and my nipples ache.

“We have to finish,” the hairdresser says, almost apologetically, holding up a round brush and that can of hairspray and both Max and I stare daggers at him but I know that he’s right and this time it doesn’t take more than a silent pleading look to send Max away, shaking his head, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

____________________________________________________________

“So what are your plans?”

I look up from toying with the scrambled eggs on my plate to find both Nathalie and Mario standing side by side, staring down at me with looks of equal amounts concern and bewilderment on their faces.

“What? Am I being traded or something?” I mumble, not really serious, although I recognize that something is going to have to be done to make the team more competitive next year. I’m sort of hoping that it’s going to be Geno and Max or even Flower, just not me.

“Nooo,” Mario begins, but narrows his eyes at me in a way that says ‘we’ll talk hockey later’. “We’re wanting to know what your plans are for dealing with wedding. Will you be calling around making the cancellations or is Melody doing that from New York?” I nod, understanding now where they’re coming from while I stab at my eggs. I haven’t had much of an appetite since before the game last night.

“I doubt Mel’s had time to do anything about it. She’s got that…show or whatever,” I mumble, pushing my plate away at last. “I haven’t thought about it,” I reply honestly, shrugging.

“Well, it’s coming up, pretty quickly,” Nathalie adds quietly, taking my plate away and heading for the sink. “Do you think that you and Mel will be…making any kind of conciliation?” she asks, hesitantly, over her shoulder. Now I’m wishing I still had the plate of eggs in front of me to play with.

“I uh…no, I don’t think so,” I manage, my tongue feeling thick, my throat closing around a ball of emotion as I say it. It’s not that I’ve suddenly come all over emotional over it. It’s just that I feel guilty and I’ve been sitting here wondering if we’ll ever even be friends again.

“Well then, don’t you think it’s about time you started calling it off?” Mario asks, and I nod.

“Yeah, I guess I should,” I sigh, “considering it’s really all my fault.” Look at that, I think to myself as I slide off the stool at the breakfast bar. I even manage not to blame her for sleeping with Max, even though I still can’t picture my little Mel being that girl that just…jumps someone.

I pull my cell out of my pocket, knowing the caterer and the wedding planner’s number are on it, and there’s a text waiting for me, from Charline.

I thought you might need some TLC, I’m flying in. Pick me up at the airport


Huh. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my lips for the first time in days. Maybe all that cancelling stuff can wait…for a few hours anyway.
_________________________________________________________________________


A dozen very fit, very well sculpted topless men in white satin tights, wearing fantastical horse heads over their own, pull a white baby grand out onto the stage. Lady GaGa is singing something…is it Boys Boys Boys or Eh Eh? I don’t know…I can’t really hear it past the rushing of blood in my head.

“Go, go!” Gareth gives me a push out onto the stage and I almost stumble even though I’m only wearing kitty heels.

Blank, I tell myself. Keep your face blank, concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, small steps, no stomping. That had been what one of the other models had suggested when she saw the dress. Small steps would show the dress better.

Ignore the flashes. Stop at the head of the runway, take the bouquet of blood red roses and sparkling crystal encrusted fake flowers and hold it in one hand, pick up the skirt with the other to show the Grecian inspired sandals wrapped around your leg. Don’t look down at the people seated beside the runway. Now, look down the runway as you start to walk and….

Standing there at the end of the runway in a black tuxedo, crisp white shirt and slightly shiny black tie is a clean shaven Max, or at least wearing only a few hours’ worth of stubble, which truth be told, is the way I prefer him. For the second time I nearly stumble, my legs feeling even more like spaghetti than they had a moment ago and now I’m certain all I can hear is my heart pounding wildly in my chest. I drop the hem of the dress and my hand flies up to my chest, as if my heart might really beat its’ way out of my chest and I might actually be forced to hold it in.

I glance around, not sure what to do, not sure if I should keep walking or not. I catch sight of Gareth, Kennedy and Jordan, all sort of holding onto one another with these big, goofy grins on their faces and Kensie is even wiping at her eyes as if she’s crying which means this is real, this is really happening.

Taking a deep breath, I take another step and then another and then…and then Max goes down on one knee and I freeze again, all the air leaving my lungs in one whoosh of a breath.

I can hear a sort of buzz around me and I’m not sure if it’s in my head, in which case I’m about to faint, or if it’s the sort of hum of excited hushed voices but I try not to think about it as I watch Max reach into his jacket pocket. ‘Oh god’ I think, forcing myself forward, my eyes trained on the expectant and nervous smile he’s wearing as he watches me. ‘Oh my god’ I repeat to myself as his hands open like a clamshell revealing a large, sparkling diamond that catches the lights over the runway and seems to turn into a rainbow before my eyes.

I shake my head, trying to clear the buzzing, half sure that I’m seeing things. A few minutes ago Max had looked disheveled. Now he looked…well not exactly like the handsome prince from Sleeping Beauty but he did look…well sort of like a sexy James Bond. Like Gerard Butler in Tomb Raider Cradle of Life when Laura Croft finds him in that Chinese jail….

“Do you remember?” Max is asking as I draw near, his voice low, pitched for only my ears. “That first night, at Sidney’s party in Cole Harbour, when I said to you qui pourrait oublier une si belle creature?” I nod, my eyes filling with tears, my head swimming with memories half forgotten. “I think I’ve loved since that very first moment. I know you’re not expecting this ma chere, mais, je t’aime. Tue s devenu ma vie entire. I will never lie to you. I will never put hockey in front of you and I will never, ever make you a promise that I won’t keep. Mon petit chaton, ferez vous moi l’homme le plus heureux au monde entire, serez vous mon épouse?”

Chapter 41

wow...I'm flattered & just a little scared by how vehement some of the opinions are about how this story should turn out...oh well, I'm just going to have to go with my gut and hope you're okay with it.

Not that this is the last chapter...just saying


“Her boobs aren’t big enough,” I grumble, holding the fabric up with one hand and reaching over to the table with the other, blindly feeling for the double sided tape.

“I’m right here,” the very pretty but very skinny model snipes at me and I afford her one, quick, disgusted glance.

“You’re a clothes hanger and clothes hangers don’t have opinions,” I snap, tearing off a piece of tape and pressing it down against her skin a little harder than is strictly necessary. She opens her mouth to make another smart remark no doubt but one more narrow look from me and she shuts her cherry stained lips and stares straight ahead like a good mannequin should. I press the fabric to the tape but the dress doesn’t look right. It just sits there on her flat chest, gaping in one spot and falling flat in another. “This looks like hell.”

“Mmmm, you’re right, her tits are way too small,” Kensie agrees, looking absolutely drop dead goth girl sexy in a streamlined black gauzy gown that shows off her subtle curves and makes her look about ten inches taller than she already is.

“Maybe we can trade, she might look okay in your dress,” I mutter, standing back to compare the two shapes but when I look up at Kensie’s face she’s wrinkling up her nose and as she stares at the younger, willowy model.

“She’d look like crap in this too,” Kennedy sighs, fingering the barely there fabric stretched over her hips. “She’d make it look like an empty garbage bag.”

“I’m right here,” the girl insists again but both of us shut her up with one of those ‘if looks could kill’ glances.

“You know that was made for you,” Kensie reminds me. “It fits you. Unless we can find a model with a sweet rack like yours….”

“You’ve been hanging out with Jordan too long,” I snort, shooting her a look that I know says ‘I appreciate the sentiment but really?’, before I start looking around at the other models all of whom are even taller, thinner and almost all of whom are lacking almost anything in the boob department. Curvier models are saved for commercial shoots, for FHM, Maxim and Stuff.

“You’ll have to wear it,” Gareth says, appearing from nowhere and tipping his head to one side, “unless you have another piece to put at the end of the show.” I wish I could say that I do but I don’t. I’ve been spending so much time in Pittsburgh that I have a lot of stuff on paper, but not a lot of pieces actually complete enough to put on a model.

“Me? Out there?” I can hear the sounds of the stage and runway being set up, the chairs being put out for tomorrow’s show and all I can think of is if I have to go out there I’m seriously going to need some time with Miss Jay.

“We could do something…we could have like a swing or something rigged to come down right at the front of the stage,” Gareth thinks out loud while he fusses with the bodice of the gown, trying, just as I’ve been doing, to make it fit the model’s boyish figure. “Maybe two swings…Ga Ga on the other….” That makes my stomach hurt. As if the idea of being out there in front of celebs and photographers isn’t bad enough, I’d almost forgotten about Gareth’s favorite new patron being involved.

“Or we could find another model,” I say, hopefully, looking from Kennedy to Gareth and hoping for some sign that they will agree.

“Kennedy’s right,” Gareth grins as he cups my cheek and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You made it for you, you’re going to have to wear it. We don’t have time to do any alterations on it. You’ve got enough to do tonight.” That was true. Almost every garment needed some finishing touches, an inch taken in there, a hem taken up there. Then there was the accessorizing…it was going to be a long night. “Besides, my muse, you outshine most of these girls, especially this one,” Gareth adds, grabbing both of my cheeks and planting a kiss on my forehead. “Now get this off of this girl and get her into something that fits and I’ll see you in the morning.” I stare after him, half filled with butterflies at being called his muse and half filled with dread at the thought of all that I still have left to do.

“C’mon, let’s get a move on,” Kensie sighs, turning so that I can yank her zipper down. “I’ll help as much as I can.”

“Thanks Kens, I don’t know what I’d do without you right now,” I sigh, signaling for the stick thin model to turn so I can undo the laces on the back of the gown.

“Yeah well, I hope you remember that when I want to go to the Bahamas next week with Jordy,” she reminds me and again, those butterflies wake in my stomach. Sidney had hinted at a honeymoon on the white sands of an exclusive resort somewhere sunny. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d still go, maybe with one of the guys, maybe with some other woman….

Shaking my head, I tell myself not to think about that now, or him for that matter.

Every time I start to my stomach started to hurt and my throat started to get tight. There was going to be plenty of time to feel sorry for myself later, after the show.

____________________________________________________________________

The room was quiet. Like, you could hear a pin drop quiet. It was almost worse than losing game seven to the Wings two years ago. That had been the quiet of everything being left out on the ice and not having the energy to say anything. This was the quiet of shock, of disbelief. We’d owned Montreal all year. Well three out of four games anyway. We didn’t think we could lose and yet, here we are.

The urge to point fingers is pretty high, except the first and foremost finger has to point at me. I’ve been telling myself that I’m trying hard but…but with only a few seconds off the clock I was already in the box and I couldn’t get my head on straight after that.

I could blame Mel. This whole thing with her giving me the ring back and then finding out that Max wants her…well it’s thrown me for a loop.

But I can’t. I can’t blame either one of them. I’ve been in a foul frame of mind and it’s my own fault. I knew I was trying to force a round peg into a square hole and I just kept trying to stuff it in there because there was something about having her here, supporting me, that I was looking forward to having for a long time.

“So, a whole summer for a change,” Jordy says quietly, half a smile on his face as if he’s expecting me to jump down his throat and pull his balls up through his throat. Under normal conditions after this kind of a loss, the guys know to leave me alone for a while. At least until I’ve talked myself down off the ledge. It’s pretty brave thing Jordy’s doing.

“Yeah, I guess,” I manage to which he nods and goes back to unlacing his skates. We have played a lot of hockey in the last couple of years. Not that we minded the last two summers being a little short. Not if it meant we were one of the best teams in the league. Actually the last two summers were a lot of fun.

I look across the room to find Max almost entirely out of his equipment already.

“You going straight up to New York?” I ask, causing Max to pause, half way out of his shoulder pads. He glances over at me, wary, like he’s expecting me to go tell him I’ve changed my mind about giving him permission to date Mel. Not that there would be any point, apart from warning her away from him and that thought has crossed my mind, more than once.

“I am,” he says quietly, dropping his shoulder pads into his bag, like he’s not expecting to come back here.

“You gonna ask for a trade?” I ask, staring at his bag. No one else has their bag out. Everyone else will be back in a day or two to clean out their lockers her in the Mellon in a day or two. It doesn’t look like Max is planning on joining us for that particular ritual.

“Thinking about it,” he mumbles, glancing over at Kris and Flower who both stop what they’re doing and stare at him. “Ne me regardes pas comme un traître. What would you do?”

“Tu ne sais pas même ce qu’elle dira,” Tanger points out and Flower gives him that look that says ‘yeah, what about that?’ and Max shrugs.

“Tu pense que je pourrais rester ici et jeu avec lui?” he asks, an accusatory tone leaking into his voice as he points at me.

“I just gave you permission to ask her out,” I point out but the look Max gives me tells me this isn’t just about that.

“Tu la penses qu’elle voudrait tu voir? Chaque jour?” I think about not seeing her, maybe never seeing her again and my there’s a pain, deep in my chest. Not that I’d blame her for not wanting to see me. Not that I could blame him for wanting to steal her away and keep her all to himself. And yet….

“Why don’t you let her decide that?” I ask, hoping Mel might remember that above everything else, that we’ve been friends for a really long time. “If she wants you that is,” I add, unable to stop myself from planting that seed of doubt. I just can’t picture her with him.

“I’d never presume to make decisions for her,” Max snarls, shaking his head. “J’ai le respect pour elle,” he continues, “àla différence de vous.”

“I’ve been her friend forever,” I remind him to which he continues to shake his head.

“Some friend,” Max laughs sarcastically and I find myself on my feet, my hands curled into fists.

“Ralentissement mes amis,” Flower jumps in between us and suddenly that silence is back and the only thing I can hear is the sound of my own blood pulsating through my veins as I stare at Max, willing him to take the first shot so that I can take out all of my frustrations on him, so that even if he does go to her, he’ll be black and blue and I don’t care if that makes him sympathetic. Right now I don’t care about that. I only care about putting my fist through his self satisfied face.

“Tu as raison Flower. He’s not worth it. I have a woman to woo,” he grins at me, showing every one of his teeth, like a threat. “Have fun explaining to the press why you’ll be spending the summer tous par tu-même, mon capitaine,” he adds, reaching out to give my cheek a tap, but I push his hand away. “You don’t want to toss me those tickets to the Maldives do you mon capitaine? After all, you won’t be needing them,” he adds, grinning wide, like a fucking retarded jack o lantern.

“Max, please” Jordy pleads, pushing my sometimes wing-mate towards the showers. “You might still be teammates next year. Don’t make this worse. C’mon, let’s just get ready and get out of here.”

“You’re going with him?” I feel like adding et tu Bruté and reeling backward as if I’ve been stabbed but I decide there seems to be enough theatrics right now.

“Kennedy’s in Mel’s show, they’re expecting us,” Jordy explains apologetically, shrugging his big shoulders as if that is all that needs saying.

“They’re expecting you? Mel’s expecting him?” I point at the furry Frenchman and then look up at the big blonde forward whose blue eyes are a little too wide.

“Well…I mean, no not exactly. I mean…I’m sure she won’t be surprised…I mean…I mean…,” the big farm boy looks around for help and that hush falls over the room again and all of a sudden I get that prickly feeling at the back of my neck telling me that I’m missing something, something that should be obvious, after all, everyone else in the room seems to know.

“What do you mean Gronk? Tell me…I’m curious. Why would Mel be expecting Max?”

“They’re friends,” Tanger reminds me, and, having taken a deep breath, I decide I can accept that argument and decide to drop it in the name of team unity.

“And she knows I’ve been waiting for you to screw up and now that you have…I intend…,” Max’s voice trails away and then he shrugs and just shakes his head.

“What? What do you intend to do Max? Go on, tell me? I’m dying of curiosity now,” I call to him as he turns to head into the showers. “And what do you mean she’s been waiting? What the fuck does that even mean? Mel’s so in love with me….”

“Yeah, so in love with you she’s spent two night in my bed,” Max snarls, whirling on me and crossing the room in two strides to push me off of my feet and onto my ass.

There it is, that silence again. This time I know that everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for me to get up to my feet and shove my fist down his throat. The funny thing is, even though I’m angry, blood boiling angry, I don’t feel like hitting him. I actually feel kind of relieved. I actually feel like I’ve been holding my breath and all of a sudden I’ve come up to the surface of a deep pool and I can actually pull oxygen into my lungs again.

“You…you slept with Mel?” I almost laugh as I climb to my feet and brush myself off and it actually requires a certain amount of willpower not to. Max stands there, staring back at me with an expression on his face that speaks volumes about how much he would like to take back what he’s just said but I can also see that he’s too proud to. “You stood there and lectured me about Charline, and you were sleeping with my fiancée the whole time?”

“You keep calling her that mais tu ne l’aimes pas meme! You starved her of affection. Her eyes dance when you come in a room mais tu l’incites à se sentir comme elle n’est pas mériter de ton temps! Don’t you dare stand there and try to make this something ugly, quelque chose sordid. Je l’aime avec chaque fibre simple de mon être, something you could never understand.” I’ve rarely seen Max quite this passionate about anything or anyone. The usually laid backed, jovial, goofy man I’ve known for years is staring daggers at me. Even when he fought Carcillo, I never saw murder in his eyes.

“Jesus Christ Max…have you felt like this the whole time?” I watch as a bright pink stain creeps up from beneath his collar and finally makes its way to the tips of his ears. “Fuck…you have haven’t you? Fuck man, why didn’t you just say something?”

“Because…because she’s in love with you! Because I was trying to be your friend. Because I wanted her to be happy, quelque chose que tu pourriez avoir pensé pour essayer.” It’s like being stabbed with a knife and not in my back and not exactly in my heart either. More like in my conscience. Suddenly it’s impossible to look at him, to meet his gaze or anyone else’s. “Oui, tu as été un piqûre égoiste. Time to grow up and stop trading on the fucking pure as hell image you think everyone fucking buys into,” Max snarls, brushing past me, heading into the showers.

It’s only then that the normal sort of buzz of activity begins again and leaves me standing there in the middle of the room, staring at my feet, wondering just what kind of asshole I’ve actually turned into.
_________________________________________________________________


“Still up?” Kensie asks, yawning and stretching as she appears around the corner wearing a faded grey t-shirt that I’m guessing probably belonged to Jordan once upon a time. It’s long and miles too big for her, nearly reaching her knees.

“Yeah, but I’ve only got a couple more little pieces to fix,” I smile gratefully up at her as she leans on the edge of the sewing table. “Thanks for staying here,” I add, glancing briefly at the cot in the corner of Gareth’s studio where she’s been curled since about two in the morning. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being here all night by myself.”

“Hey, what are friends for. Speaking of which, how long are you gonna keep wearing that?” she asks, picking up a pair of shears and using it to point at the Claddagh ring on my hand. I stare down at it, holding my hand out like it’s not really a part of me, which at almost five in the morning isn’t that much of a stretch. I’ve been sewing, half asleep, for hours. I have so many pin pricks and needle jabs I could pass for a junkie.

“I dunno,” I answer honestly. “I haven’t really thought about it,” which is a lie. I have. I just keep hoping that somehow…some way we can salvage something from this mess, and not even necessarily anything like the girlhood dream I’ve now come to terms with doing without. Just…friends. “I’d settle for friends now,” I shrug, looking up at Kensie, expecting her to give me one of those sort of big sister disappointed looks. Maybe it’s because she’s tired or I am, but she smiles and reaches forward to muss my hair.

“He’s crazy if he doesn’t at least value you that much,” she adds, moving to pry my fingers off of the piece I’m finishing, putting it and the needle in my hand down on the table. “I’m not as good at this as you but I think I can manage a hem. You need to get some sleep or you’ll have to have as much make up on as GaGa when you go out on that runway this afternoon.” I start to reach for the piece but when I look down at my hands and see them shaking, I give in and let her lead me to the cot. “Oh and by the way, just so you don’t flip out if you happen to see him skulking around tomorrow, Jordan’s coming,” she adds as I try and stifle a yawn.

“Jordy? But aren’t they…?”

“They lost tonight. Man you really haven’t paid any attention have you?” she smiles as she pulls the blanket up over me.

“I’ve been making a concerted effort not to,” I sigh, closing my eyes. “I can’t believe they lost to the Habs…Sidney must be…,” I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying it. I have to stop thinking about him all the time. What would Sidney do? Like some kind of mantra that he’s not really deserving of. “I wonder if Jordy will bring Tanger or any of the guys?” I wonder aloud, as sleep pulls me down into through the haze and into the deep darkness of sleep.

Chapter 40

A special shout out to K whose comments I always smile when I see them and I love that you get the familial and genetic reasons behind the behaviors. Thank you

As for the rest of you thank you for enjoying and craving more.

“Mother fucking son of a cunt licking whore!!” I’d heard Army put together that particular string of profanity once and I’d liked it, but I keep it for special occasions. Having to go to a game seven against a team that we’ve owned all year seems like an appropriate time to use it.

“Sacre bleu,” Tanger laughs, and I round on him, ready to snap and let him have it with both barrels until I see the sardonic look on his face and then I just nod.

“It’s another game,” Gonchar shrugs, putting his hand on my shoulder and leading me away from the defenseman who I can see is already blaming himself. “We can do better next game.”

“Maybe you can,” I grumble, “I can’t hit the fucking broadside of a barn with a fucking map and a mother fucking compass.”

“Maybe if your head was in the right space,” Billy G begins and I feel my upper lip curling at the indictment in my winger’s voice. “Don’t look at me like that kiddo. We’re all friends here. I have to be honest with you and I think you already know it. You’re head isn’t in it. I don’t know where the fuck it is but you haven’t been yourself lately, and I don’t just mean since the other night,” he adds quickly, obviously seeing that I’m ready to argue the point. “I’m not asking you to tell me what’s going on with you but you’d better get your head on straight or it isn’t just going to be that little girl that you’ll be losing.”

“She’s got nothing to do with this,” I snarl but both he and Gonch shake their heads.

“I’m not saying whatever happened between you two the other night is what’s messing with you out on the ice, but I am saying that whatever head space you’re in is and probably had something to do with what’s happening between you and that girl of yours. So do yourself a favor, on the ride home tonight, instead of playing games or whatever, maybe think about what the fuck you’re doing right now and get fucking honest with yourself kid. You’re better than this, on both counts,” Billy adds and then with one, long disappointed father look on his face, he turns and heads to his stall.

I stare at his back, all kinds of retorts springing to the tip of my tongue, but all I end up doing is standing there looking like a fish out of water, my mouth opening and closing uselessly with nothing coming out of it because I know he’s not wrong, I just don’t fucking know what’s right. I’ve been off for most of the second half of the season and I can’t figure out why. I’m not injured, not anymore than anyone else, and there have been games where I’ve felt like myself but ever since the Olympics….

“Aaaarrrgh! Fuck it!” I toss my gloves down and run my fingers through my hair because my head hurts and because I want so much to fucking punch a wall and I know if I do I’ll hurt myself and I’m already letting everyone down….

“Quoi de neuf?” Flower asks quietly, looking sheepishly up at me like he’s half afraid I’m going to knock his block off and why wouldn’t he? I can feel the murderous rage pumping through me and I know it shows, it always shows.

“Je suis très confondu en ce moment,” I explain, leaning my head against the wall and closing my eyes.

“C’est au sujet de la fille de l’equipe Canadienne?” he asks, almost under his breath and I grunt in reply and it almost hurts to do it, like it’s painful to admit to it and I keep thinking so it should be. I let Mel down. She trusted me and I’ve been fucking horrible to her because of this and she didn’t deserve it. I’ve known it. It’s been there, in the back of my mind, like a fucking cancer for weeks. “L’aimes tu?”

“Don’t ask me that Fleur,” I beg, banging my head against the wall. “I don’t fucking think I know what that is.”

“Tu aimes Mel?” he asks, and this time I don’t even shrug or grunt or anything. I know the answer to that. I’ve known it all along but I’ve been trying to do the right thing, or what I thought was the right thing, but now…?

“No,” I sigh, turning to slide down to the bench before dropping my head into my hands. “I mean…I’ve tried to…I’ve wanted to but…no, no, I don’t think I do.” I raise my head, prepared for whatever disapproving or sympathetic look Fleur might give but instead my gaze locks with Max’s intense and angry glare across the room. He’s supposed to be one of my best friends but lately we’ve hardly been talking and I don’t have to ask whose side he’s on. It’s clear on his face.

“Are you done?” he asks, his voice gruff and low, his gaze level and simmering. “Es tu fini jouer des jeux avec elle?” I open my mouth to argue that I haven’t been playing games, but I guess from the outside looking in, it might look exactly like that.

“I never intended to hurt her,” I begin but Max shakes his head and his gaze grows even darker until it reminds me of the look he had out there on the ice tonight when it was clear the rink had tilted in their direction and we were digging our own grave, fast.

“Je me blâme,” Max shrugs, his gaze still holding mine intently. “I should never have talked you into speaking with you at your partie de celebration pendent l’été,” he continues, a sneer that Billy Idol would be proud of on his face. “Mais cela n’importe pas maintenant. All I want to know now is…is she free? Es-tu fini mettre son bas et la prendre encore?”

“Max…,” Flower’s voice holds a warning but it’s clear from the grim but determined look on Max’s face that whatever is on his mind, he’s going to let it out.

“is. She. Free?” he snarls, his meaty hands curled into fists on his knees.

“You mean…you and…and Mel?” So many things are clicking into place now, how angry he’s been, how disapproving he’s been…. “Have you had a thing for her this entire time?” I ask, still trying to picture the two of them actually together, and not just the show they put on for my benefit a few months ago…at least Mel told me it was a show.

“Is. She. Free?” he repeats, forcing the words through his teeth and I feel a strange mixture of jealousy and relief as I think about giving him my blessing to date my fiancée, if that is what he’s about to ask.

“And if I say yes?” I ask, watching his expression carefully. His eyes narrow and his lips purse and I can see that he’s trying to decide if he’s going to answer the question or not and then he stand, shrugging out of his shoulder pads and half turning away.

“If you do or you don’t, I can’t watch you do what you’re doing anymore. She…she doesn’t deserve you.”

“Oh I see, and she does deserve you?” I ask, thinking about all of the times that Max has had three, sometimes up to five girls on the run at the same time.

“Oui,” Max says quietly, that joker’s grin that’s more threat than smile slowly spreading across his face. “You see, I love her. Je mourrais pour elle, c’est la difference, non?” I find myself staring at him, my breath literally stolen from my lungs as he stares me down, daring me to disbelieve him and I can’t. Not when it’s clear on his face that what he wants to do right now is to rip me to shreds, except that he won’t because he’s loyal like that, because we’re teammates and the team matters more than the individual. “Je peux voir que tu comprends. I’ve tried, god knows, I’ve tried not to feel…how I feel for her because I love you like a brother but…I won’t…not anymore. I can’t stand by and let you treat her like…comme une putain commune, comprends?”

“Oui, je comprends,” I say quietly, feeling like there’s a knife in my back but that I probably deserve it. “Just do me one favor,” I ask quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Tell her I’m sorry.” Max stares at me for one long, silent, uncomfortable moment and then he nods and holds his hand out towards me. I stare down at it, a little shocked that he’d offer it to be honest. But then I take it and we shake and I know that it will be okay, whatever happens.

____________________________________________________

“You’re not even going to watch it?” Kennedy asks as she drops her leather jacket onto the chair and tosses her keys in the bowl before heading for the kitchen to grab a beer. Every time she does that, I wonder how many girls she beat out for a modeling job today are busy picking away at some plain lettuce and a boiled chicken breast while she’s drinking beer. Life just isn’t fair.

“Nah,” I answer, glancing at the TV set that I haven’t even turned on. “I have some designs I’m working on,” I explain, grabbing another coloured pencil and shading the edge of the jacket I’ve been designing.

“Mmm,” Kensie looks over my shoulder, digging her pointy elbow into it as she does. “It’s good. I’d wear that.”

“But is it haute couture?” I sigh, lifting the pencil away and looking down at it disparagingly.

“Gareth just said he wanted good ideas from you, he takes care of that outlandish crazy shit that people don’t really wear. You’re prêt-a-porter, remember?” she reminds me, tipping the neck of the beer bottle towards me before walking over towards the TV and dropping onto the couch, one foot slung over the back. “So you’re really not gonna even watch? I mean, that’s really it? You’re really done with the love of your life?” she asks sarcastically, grabbing the remote in her free hand and aiming it towards the TV. I wince as I watch the picture flicker to life. It hasn’t been nearly long enough for me to feel convinced of my own will power quite yet, hence the game not being on.

“Don’t call him that,” I mutter, doing my best to focus on the page in front of me and not on the little black and gold figures racing around the ice.

“Well you’re the one that’s been going around all cow eyed,” she smirks, downing half of the beer to try and hide the smile on her face. I know she’s just teasing. Well, teasing and testing me. She was great when I got home, let me cry and didn’t ask any questions, so I guess I can put up with a little good natured ribbing.

“I’ve decided that he isn’t the person I grew up with.” I can’t keep my eyes off of the screen, no matter how hard I try. I find myself watching the screen, searching for his number almost absentmindedly, like my brain is do attuned to doing it that I can’t stop myself.

“He probably isn’t,” Kennedy agrees, pushing herself up to an actual sitting position and regarding me with sympathetic eyes.

“I think that we didn’t give ourselves time to get to know who we are now,” I continue thoughtfully, watching him sitting on the bench, gnawing anxiously on the corner of his bottom lip. “Or maybe I just didn’t want to see who he is now,” I add with a little sigh as he jumps out onto ice and glides easily towards centre ice.
Neither of us says anything for a while. We just watch the Pens running in circles trying to keep up with the obviously more energized, more hungry Habs who, unlike the Pens, are making short, crisp tape to tape passes and successfully blocking shots.

“What about Max?” Kensie asks as the cute furry faced Frenchman slams into the SS Gill behind the net and manages to make it look like he wasn’t trying to cause the big defenseman some serious physical damage.

“Ahhh,” I sigh, feeling that now familiar tightness in my chest.

“What’s that mean?” Kensie asks, leaning over the back of the couch to look at me.

“There can’t be a Max,” I reply, somewhat wistfully.

“Why not?” she asks, dropping her chin onto the backs of her hands and peering at me with pursed lips as if I’ve said something stupid. Tipping my head to one side I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, besides the obvious friendship and teammate things.”

“Does there need to be more?” I ask. “And besides…I’m broken hearted here. I can’t start…I wouldn’t want to start…and it would be too complicated and…and it was just sex anyway.” They’re all the reasons I’ve told myself, words I’ve practiced in my head. They sound right, honest, sane but when I watch him being lead to the sin bin, I can’t help smiling back at the mischievous grin he wears on his face.

Chapter 39

I think we're probably all reeling from last night. I know I am. I don't think this is going to help like some of you seem to hope it will, but here goes nothing...


“Was there ever any doubt?” TK shouts as he raises his hands above his head, celebrating our victory. I can still hear the crowd leaving the arena, it sounds like the buzz of a beehive.

“Fucking A!” Jordy howls, dragging his jersey off and tossing it in the pile in the middle of the room before making a muscle man pose and growling like a rabid dog.

“It’s one game guys, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Papa G counsels quietly from across the room where he’s quietly taking off his pads. Christ it was good to have him out there again, even if I still came up empty handed as far as the score sheet is concerned.

“I say we drink to our win,” Brooksy announces, one hand on his chest, the other out like he’s holding a shot, and knowing Brooks, it’s going to be named something like sex on the beach and have whipcream on it.

“Drink? We haven’t won anything yet,” Flower points out, looking over to me for support and normally I’d be right behind Billy G with his warnings to cool it but even though I haven’t been able to crawl my way onto the score sheet and even though we’re not handling Montreal as easily as I think we should….

“I’m up for it. So Diesel or Privé?” I ask, watching Fleur’s mouth fall open as I do. “What? It’s not like whatever I’m doing is working and I had sex before a game and we won so…why not?” I feel a cool hand on my forehead and spin to see Jordan looking down at me with a furrowed brow.

“Who are you and what have you done with the Creature?”

“I’d take him up on his offer if I were you.” We both turn to Max who has quietly sat down beside me on the bench and is untying his skates. “Just wait until he has ankle biters, he won’t be so accommodating then.”

“So Privé it is,” TK announces, standing up on the bench. “First round’s on the Captain,” he adds with a grin and wink in my direction.

“You coming Max?” I ask, to which he shrugs as he gets up to put his skates on the shelf above his name.

“May as well,” he sighs, tugging his jersey off and adding it to the growing pile in the middle of the room before eyeing the door to the room with a wariness that isn’t like Max at all. “Is she coming?”

“She who?” Jordy asks, sounding interested, as if he hasn’t been exclusively hot and heavy with my fiancée’s roommate for months now.

“Je ne sais pas,” Max replies, raising an eyebrow as he drops his hockey pants and grabs a towel, throwing it over his shoulder. “Will it be Mel tonight or Charline?”

“Mel, definitely Mel. I’m committed to that now. I’ve decided,” I reply happily, thinking about how acquiescent and sweet she was last night after we got that little matter of ‘our song’ out of the way. It’s nice to be wanted, I’ve decided. Nice to know that she still needs me and that this whole job in New York thing hasn’t entirely distracted her from our relationship.

“Oh so you’ve decided now have you? Well I guess that must be so comforting to Mel to know that you’ve ‘decided’ to commit to her now,” he snorts sarcastically before shaking his head and heading for the showers. “Lucky her, to have you so committed,” he adds, making rabbit ears in the air as he walks away from us. “Quelle fille chanceuse.” I open my mouth to argue but Jordan puts his hand on my shoulder and just shakes his head.

“He’s just…,” Jordan stares after him and shrugs. “He’s having a hard time out there and you two are hardly hanging out now…it’s hard for him,” the big blonde defenseman explains, as if that excuses Max being such a petty bitch.

“Oui, laisseaz-le seul pour maintenant,” Flower agrees, his gaze also following our furry French friend towards the showers. “He’s dealing the best he can.”

“What about me? I haven’t scored…well unless you count last night,” I add with a grin, earning me a hard punch in the arm from Jordan.

“Shut up! When’s the last time Mel brought Kensie with her? Give me your fucking phone. I’m calling your ho and telling her to get that bitch on a plane,” Jordan makes a grab for my jacket and I swat his hand away.

“Hey, use your own phone and my fiancée is not a ho, thanks very much. She’s a very sweet girl from a small town and I’d like you to treat her accordingly,” I laugh, grabbing my own towel and starting to twist it to use as a weapon.

“Okay, okay, I’m going, fuck!” Jordan howls, sucking his gut in and running for the showers. “Hurry up Cap, I wanna get drunk tonight!”

“You boys don’t stay out too late,” Pappa G admonishes us, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We do still have one more game. At least I hope it’s one more game,” he adds with a grin, and then, with only his towel thrown over his shoulder, he too aims for the showers, leaving me and Flower and Cookie alone in the room with reporters breaking down the doors.

___________________________________________________

“This place is…,” I let out a long low whistle as I turned around and around in the middle of the club, the VIP section which didn’t make a lot of sense, being smack dab in the middle of everything where everyone could gawk at us, but who was I to say?

“I think swank is the word you’re looking for,” Jordy tries to finish my sentence as he grabs another glow in the dark martini from the platter being carried by a tall, voluptuous brunette. Not that Jordan even looks twice at her, a fact I remind myself to pass on to Kennedy when I email her later.

“I was thinking more along the lines of classy,” I muse, taking in the luxurious couches, the diffused lighting, and all of the well dressed clientele. “This is way better than that other place you boys like to go and get sweaty at,” I add, taking the drink from Jordan and joining him on the couch next to where Tanger is deep in conversation with a curvy dark haired girl with glasses who is giggling and blushing at whatever, probably profane, things he’s saying.

“You mean Blush?” GoGo asks, returning from the bar armed with a tray of shooters.
“I think she means Diesel,” Sid sighs, rolling his eyes at his teammate, shaking his head at the tray when it’s offered.

“I thought you said you were going to have some fun,” TK sighs, taking two shooters himself and downing both of them without seeming to even swallow. I shake my head, eyeing a whip cream and cherry topped shooter and wondering if Sidney would dive into my cleavage for it but before I actually get my hands on the tiny glass, Sidney’s pulling me onto his lap and sliding his hands up under the hem of the black leather halter dress, one of the pieces from the collection that Gareth has given me that I had had no idea where or when I was going to wear it but clubbing it with the Penguins seemed like an appropriate use of it.

“Have I told you yet how good you look tonight?” Sidney asks, his fingertips tracing the patterns in the lace at the top of my stockings.

“Have I told you how funny you are when you’re drunk?” I ask, glancing furtively around to see who, besides his teammates, might be watching the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins getting overly friendly with his fiancée in public.

“I’m not drunk babe. If I was drunk…,” his voice trails off and he gets that look in his caramel coloured eyes that tells me exactly how much farther his hands would be up my dress if he was well and truly under the influence.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk,” Jordan chimes in, watching the two of us with a mixture of jealousy and genuine curiosity.

“Can’t think of the last time I was,” Sidney replies thoughtfully, his eyes still glazed over, that half smile of his telling me that he isn’t really thinking about that at all.

“I remember,” the voice behind me makes the small hairs on my neck stand up on end. “Diesel, last year, after we won, you were hitting on everything in skirt,” Max adds dryly, reaching past me to grab a shot from the platter, downing it and then reaching for another.

“I seem to remember you stumbling around too,” Jordan reminds him quietly but pointedly, his gaze clearly adding a warning that, with a quick glance up at the bearded Frenchman, I can clearly tell he’s going to ignore.

“I have Mel to keep me on the straight and narrow,” Sid replies with a wink to me, as if I’m in on some kind of secret, his hand sliding even further up my thigh until I emit an involuntary shudder as his fingertips chase along the edging of my panties.

“Stop it,” I hiss, grasping his arm, my hand too small to even wrap around his muscular forearm but my nails long enough to dig in and leave nasty red welts behind. “I am not one of your puck fucks to be toyed with in public,” I growl, struggling to free myself from his grasp but his hold on me is firm and unyielding. “You are drunk,” I snap, digging my nails in deeper to his pale, white skin.

“I am not and you need to relax,” he smile boyishly, as if butter wouldn’t melt, his fingertips now gently brushing the outside of my panties, just at the spot that even the smallest brush steals my breath and makes my body go rigid. “Kennedy, give my girl here another shot. She’s not having fun yet.”

“I was having fun,” I insist through clenched teeth, blinking back tears of humiliation as Sidney continues to softly stroke the center of what seems to be the nerve centre of my entire body. My head, now entirely at war with my body, is sending signals to swat him, to rake my nails across his face. My body, being traitorous, is pressing against his hand, wanting more. “Don’t…just…mmmm,” I bite down on my bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth as his fingers find their way beneath the edge of my panties. Heat flames in my cheeks and I press my forehead into his shoulder. “Please Sidney, don’t,” I beg, but he only chuckles in response.

“You say don’t, but you’re so wet,” he whispers into my ear as his other arm, the one that’s been cinched around my waist, slides up until his hand is cupping my breast, his thumb flicking my nipple, which, also being traitorous, is almost painfully hard. “We could find a quiet, dark corner and have a private celebration,” he suggests, his voice like liquid honey in my ear.

“Stop. It. Now!” I snarl and with one hard shove, dislodge myself from his lap, smoothing my dress down and looking around for an exit. I notice that none of his teammates will even look at me, and the few other WAGs that have joined their men for this celebration are giving me that look, as if I’m some kind of cheap whore who’s crashed their party.

Feeling ashamed and embarrassed and with my eyes brimming over with tears, I stumble towards the velvet ropes, the invisible barrier holding back the ‘riff-raff’ from joining in the Pens’ players celebrations. No one tries to stop me. No one reaches out or turns to ask what’s wrong and Sidney doesn’t follow me. All I can hear is a buzzing in my head, the thrum of my blood surging through my veins, panic and the urge to breathe fresh air sending my body into flight mode, until I hear a voice that, just one moment I think it’s only in my head, that I’m imagining it.

“We have a request here from the superstar of last year’s game seven against the Wings, the Pens very own number twenty-five, Max Talbot, sending a shout out to a lady very near and dear to his heart that he wants to send a special message to tonight. You know who you are. And I have a message for you too, give the guy a break, the poor dude’s wrapped around your finger.”

I stop, my hand on the door as I hear the first bars of the song, a song I’ve been listening to over and over again on my iPod since I first heard it. The song is so incongruous for the place that we’re in that everyone seems to be standing still, confused. It’s probably my imagination but it feels like everyone’s watching me, as if they’ve all turned at once to stare.

What I’d give to take you dancing
What I’d give to make you mine
If you’ve got questions, I’ve got answers
And my answer is yes to you every time
What I’d give for just one minute

My heart is already pounding, my pulse already rapid, my chest already nearly too tight to breathe, but now my knees begin to give way, except that a pair of hands reaches out to steady me, or I’d have fallen, right there on the floor in the middle of the lounge. Instead, I find myself staring into the grey blue of a storm building off the coast that are Max’s eyes and the plea that is crystal clear there, shakes loose the last of my defenses.

His full lips open to speak and I already know what he’s going to say and I know that I can’t hear those words, don’t want to hear them, and I shake my head, tears rolling down my cheeks and I don’t know what or who I’m crying for. All I know is I have to get out of this place. I have to breathe the night air into my lungs. I have to clear my head. I have to think.

“Don’t…please don’t,” I whisper, reaching out to press my fingertips to those lips that I know would raise a fire in me if I let them and Max closes his eyes against the plea in my own expression and lets me go, his hands slipping away from arms as he turns and disappears into the crowd, vanishing before my eyes.

I stare at the place where he’d just been standing, part of me aching to go after him, to have him hold me and tell me again, as he’s always done how it’s going to be alright, but my feet stay rooted to the spot and the next pair of hands I feel on my shoulders turn me to face the crème caramel coloured eyes of the man I want to love as he searches my face curiously.

“What is with you tonight? You’re as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof,” Sidney asks, reaching up to cradle my face tenderly in his hand.

“I don’t think…I don’t think this is what I want,” I whisper, my hands shaking as I raise them, as I stare down at the antique ring on my finger. I glance up into Sidney’s curious gaze and see a flicker of panic pass behind his darkly fringed eyes. But then he controls it, wipes it away, just as he would on the ice. Never let them see you sweat.

“Think about this…before you do something…brash,” he says quietly, like a threat.

“I have,” I whisper as I turn the wring on my finger, pulling it slowly up and over my knuckle. “I seem to do nothing else,” I add as I reach out to cup his hand in mine, pushing the ring down into his palm with my other hand. I stare down at the ring, at how small and insignificant it looks in his hand, and then I force myself to look up into his fierce gaze, trying my best to school my expression. I want to see hurt there. Hurt and disappointment, but all I see in those caramel coloured eyes that I have loved to look into since I was a little girl in pig tails, is anger. Anger and loathing.

“You’ll regret this,” he hisses and I nod.

“I do,” I whisper, blinking through the tears that make it hard for me to see. “You have no idea how much I do,” I repeat and then, going up on tip toe, I press my lips to his cheek and then turn and force myself to walk slowly away, keeping my back straight and my head high.

Chapter 38

This is kind of a shorty but there was a couple of things I wanted to do before the next chapter so bear with me.

“And what’s complete bullshit about that is, in the last game, if I’d done that…no penalty. But this guy…this guy won’t put his fucking whistle away and even if he didn’t call a penalty he’s warning us that next time he will. All I want to know is, why can’t they call it the same every game. Or better yet, have the same refs for each game?”

I smiled and nodded, agreeing, because in theory, I agreed but the problem was, I was bored and it was all I could do to stifle a yawn behind my hand.

I used to listen to this for hours, I thought as I watched his full, pink lips move as he continued to go on and on about Devorski, who the players endearingly call Doughnuts. Not only did I use to listen to this for hours but I would argue, vehemently, right along side of him and I would understand everything he was saying. Of course, then I would have watched every moment, every second of the game and could have given the box score right off of the top of my head.

Now, as I watched him gesticulate passionately, I felt…nothing.

No, not nothing…I felt apprehensive.

Could I do this? I asked myself as I sipped at the chilled white wine and leaned back into the jet that was massaging my back, letting my feet float up into the water. Could I listen to him like this after every game, analyzing and over analyzing every play, ever scintilla of action over and over again until even he grew tired of the sound of his own voice. Could I, if we had one child? Two?

Worse than that, I was beginning to realize we had nothing else to talk about, or so it seemed. He shows absolutely no interest in what I do, doesn’t want to hear about the petty squabbles the gay cloth cutter has with the Puerto Rican seamstress that I work with. Every time I even try to talk about designs I’ve created or the upcoming fashion shoot, his eyes literally go blank and I know that he’s gone somewhere in his head; somewhere where he can think about hockey.

We don’t talk about anything else. Nothing else.

It’s nothing like when Max and Tanger were in New York and Max could have stayed in the Waldorf with Tanger but he didn’t and we stayed up all night eating popcorn and watching Sex in the City and talking…for hours.
____________________________________________________

(flashback)

“A seahorse? A seahorse can’t be your favorite animal,” I snorted, tossing a white, fluffy, butter covered kernel towards Max whose nose wrinkled up and he actually managed to look tortured by my accusation.

“Why not? It’s like a horse,” he began and even he couldn’t keep a straight face.

“It’s a fish. No, it’s not even good enough to really be a fish. It’s a basically a giant sea monkey,” I snorted, popping a kernel into my mouth that had a particularly envious dusting of salt on it.

“Hey, seahorse males have the babies, I think that you should give them extra points for that,” he pointed out, making that a-ha face and practically daring me to contradict him.

“Well if we’re going with that kind of argument, then fine. A female praying mantis beheads her mate and eats his brains after coitus,” I grinned over at him and watched his eyes go wide.

“I’m almost scared for Sid,” he laughed, and I felt my cheeks go bright red. “Favorite flavor of ice cream,” he asked immediately as if he actually wanted to avoid my being embarrassed.

“Chocolate,” we both said at once and then started laughing again.

“What’s your favorite colour? No, wait, I think I know this one,” Max shut his eyes tight and a slow, sly grin spread across his face. “Purple, right?” I nodded, and felt my forehead wrinkle as I wondered how he knew. “You had that purple Duster you used to drive. I think I remember Sid telling us how you used to work on it out in the driveway.” There was something about the way he said it and then licked his lips, like the thought of a little grease and a wrench in my hand was a dirty thought. “Plus you wear these all the time.” He reached out and his fingertips brushed the edge of my ear where a second set of earrings are embedded behind a pair of silver hoops, the amethyst studs that my father gave me for my sixteenth birthday. “You never take them out,” he added, his fingertips then brushed back my hair gently, sending a shiver down my neck. His hand fell away, almost reluctantly and then the brash, mischievous Max was back. “Favorite band, no wait, I know this one too,” he said, getting up to grab my iPod where it had been sitting beside my purse, like he needed to get away from me, like he needed to put some space between us. “It’s one of those Finnish bands that Ruuts was always listening to,” he continued, scrolling through the music on my iPod and I had a moment where I thought that this was almost an invasion of privacy and yet it never seems like that with Max.

“They’re called HiM and I thought Metallica was Ruuts’ favorite band,” I countered, which caused Max to stop and think, which was comical in and of itself.

“I didn’t say they were his favorite, I just said he listened to them,” he replied, continuing to scroll through my iPod.

“Looking for something?” I asked, watching him standing there with my purple metallic iPod appearing so small in his big hands.

“Favorite song,” he mumbled, and that made me laugh. Not the question, just the idea of a favorite song. I didn’t have one, or it depended on the day. “Do you and Sid have one? A song?” he asked and then looked up at me, a wary, almost awkward look on his face. I stared back at him and blinked like an owl.

“No,” I replied honestly. “No, we don’t.”
________________________________________________________

(present day)

“And then there’s the fucking SS Gill, hanging off of me like some kind of rabid dog humping my leg.” Sid is still going on about the game and I stare at him, feeling resentment and anger coming off of me in waves and feeling, at the same time, wonder that he can’t feel it.

“He can hardly skate. Hal Gill can barely skate backwards and skates like a duck on stilts forwards. You can get around him. You’re one of the best three skaters in the entire league and you’re bitching about that big behemoth?” I shake my head, climbing out of the hot tub and grabbing my towel all in one motion, wrapping it around me as if to make a shield of it. “You need to stop bitching and moaning and feeling sorry for yourself. Get out of your own head. You’re no good to the team like this, crabbing about what everyone else is doing instead of asking what you can do better,” I point out, sticking my feet into my sandals and turning to head into the house.

I hear his wet feet on the concrete behind me and then his arms are around me, pulling me back towards him, his body warm and solid behind mine.

“I’m sorry. I know, I do this all the time. Talk about hockey. You probably want to talk about what you’re doing. Come back in the water, tell me all about the uh…the fashion show thing,” he stutters because he doesn’t know what to ask, because he hasn’t paid the least bit of attention to what I’m doing and doesn’t care.

“What’s my favorite colour?” I ask, staring straight ahead, wanting him to answer quickly, and correctly.

“Ummm, green right?” he says, because that’s his favorite colour and of course I should have the same.

“No, it’s not,” I reply quietly, peeling his hands from my waist and pulling away from him. “We don’t even have a song. Did you know that? You don’t know what I do, you don’t know my favorite colour and we don’t have a song,” I sniff, blinking back tears before I run into the house, slamming the heavy wooden door behind me and sliding down onto the floor with my back against it.

It only took a few minutes before I could hear the tell tale sound of wet bare feet on hard wood floors and I hunker down, determined not to let him talk me around. I hear him stop on the other side of the door and I imagine him standing there on the other side with his hand raised to knock on the door, trying to decide if I’m worth it I guess, or maybe what he could possibly say but he then the footsteps fade and for just a moment everything in me want to scramble to my feet turn the knob and chase after him but I tell myself not to. ‘You’ve chased him your entire life. Let him chase you for once.’

But the tears flow all the same even though I can’t decide what I’m crying for. For myself, for the little girl that still loves him and wants him more than anything or for all the wasted time….

That’s when the iPod slides under the door. I stare down at the big, plastic classic white iPod and it takes a minute to realize that it’s dialed to a song. Picking it up, I stare down at the selection and then the tears start all over again, even as a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

Picking up the ear buds, I stick them in the hit the button to make it play.

I’m gonna check my scars at home
Gonna cash my chips and roam
Gonna walk before I fade to black
I’m gonna write a new resume
I’m gonna write you off the page

Slowly I push myself up to my feet and wipe at my tears, try to make my face impassive. After all, I’m supposed to still be mad but….

And in a little while
I’ll see the distant smile returning
Just like back in the days
When we were so naïve

It’s a song I’d listened to a lot the first summer he’d gone away. It was from an older Tom Cochrane album, I think it had been my dad’s but the song had stuck with me. I’d given Sid a copy of the album when he’d finally left for good. We’d listened to it in my car the night before he’d flown to Pittsburgh and left me behind, for good I’d thought at the time.

That distant smile returning
Just like a ghost in a dream
That we had way back when
Then she’ll turn and smile and say
Come again

Slowly I open the door to find Sidney standing there, arms crossed, waiting, watching my door. Taking the ear buds out of my ear, I go to wipe at my tears again but his hand is there first and then his arms are around me and I’m sixteen again, failing utterly to convince him that I’m happy for him and that I really do wish him well and he’s eighteen again, comforting me when it’s him that needs comforting.

Oh god I am, I really am my mother.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper against his shoulder and feel his chest rumble beneath my cheek as he laughs.

“For what? For reminding me not to whine like a little bitch?” he asks, tilting my chin up so that I have to meet his gaze, which I’m surprised to see seems to be amused and not angry. “For reminding me that you matter to me?”

“You have so much to worry about, I don’t want to be one of those clingy little bitches,” I mutter, which makes him laugh as he holds my face in his hands and presses a kiss to first one eyelid and then the other.

“You could never be one of those,” he grins, his voice and expression softening as he leans in to press his mouth softly over mine. “Come to bed?” he asks softly, and I nod, letting him lead me down the hallway.

Chapter 37

This chapter kicked my ass, so thanks for your patience. Must have something to do with the Nucks and the Pens both losing...


“How long has that been going on?” I turn from watching Charline and a couple of her other teammates heading down the corridor under Mellon to find Max and Jordan standing behind me, watching me with obvious disapproval.

“Oh don’t go all Mother Goose on me. Half the guys on the team are married and every one of them has some girl in one city or another…,” I begin but Jordan just shakes his head at me and turns away, so I look to Max for corroboration and he just keeps staring at me like I’ve stolen his damn teddy bear. “What? Oh c’mon Max. You’ll fuck anything that moves. Are you going to seriously stand there and tell you wouldn’t hit that?” I ask, pointing at the girls’ retreating forms.

“We’re not…je ne parle pas de moi,” Max breathes, grabbing me by my collar and pushing me out of the way of the trainers as they load our equipment into the shipping containers that will follow us to Montreal. “Look, if you were looking for some…I don’t know…wiggle room,” he sighs, pushing a rolled up newspaper into my hand, “you should have thought of that before you did this.” I unroll the paper, already knowing what I’m going to find and stare down at the nearly half page announcement; so much for a tasteful and trivial mention. “You didn’t even do it properly,” he grimaces, snatching the paper back from me. “Cette image ne ressemble pas la même fille.”

“Okay now you’re just letting your best man duties get the better of you. You’re supposed to be supporting me,” I remind him, feeling like I should be getting a high five, not some kind of lecture on ethics and dating from Professor crabs.

“This is you…and you’re supposed to be above that kind of shit.” He insists, grabbing my shoulders and staring into my eyes like he’s trying to do some kind of Vulcan mind meld.

“Says who?” I laugh, pushing his hands away from my shoulders.

“Says me,” Max snarls indignantly. “You’re supposed to be better than that. You’re supposed to be the good guy, the guy we all try and fucking emulate,” he continues, rambling on like some kind of deranged lunatic, gesturing wildly and then finally running his hands through his short, cropped hair.

“I didn’t sign up for that. I never asked anyone to appoint me a god damned saint,” I tell him, shrugging. “Is this because you’ve gotten close to Mel?” I ask him and he shifts uncomfortably, shuffling his feet as he looks away from me. “Look I get it. It’s kind of…. No, it is bad, I get that but if she wasn’t so damn vanilla in bed,” I begin trying to explain my side of things only to have Max turn back to me, staring at me, wild eyed.

“Vanilla? You must be fucking joking,” Max hisses at me, and for just one minute, I think he’s going to say more and then he looks away. “What I mean is…I mean the way she talks I just thought….”

“I didn’t say she was bad, exactly, she’ just not…I don’t know, it’s not great is what I’m saying. So I have one last fling and get it out of my system, it’s not like it’s something you wouldn’t do,” I point out to him, fully expecting him to give me one of those barely there shrugs that would signal that he didn’t have a comeback. Instead, he shakes his head and glares at me.

“She’s your god damned fiancée,” he reminds me, managing to look both threatening and disappointed at the same time. “You’re about to promise to have and to hold and all that….”

“Yeah about to,” I remind him, taking a step back from my usually easy going friend who keeps looking at me like I’ve just kicked his damn puppy. “Damn Max. I never thought I’d be getting this lecture from you. Papa G yeah but…,” I begin but when Max gives that heavy sigh and drags his fingers through his hair I let my words die away until he looks back up at me.

“I just thought…fuck man! You’re like my hero, d’accord? And I know, I haven’t always treated women...avec autant respect que je pourrais avoir, mais…mais je sais que tu n’as pas voulu un rapport avec une femme célibataire, mais…I just always thought when you did, quand le bon moment est venu, that you would be the guy who’d do la bonne chose, be the Prince Charming, que ton serait la fin hereuse de conte de fées and we’d all look up to you and we’d know…we’d have something to…pour aspirer à,” he explains, falling into Frenglish as he grabs me by the shoulders and literally shakes me.

“So now you’re disappointed in me? I’ve got news for you mon ami, I’m a fucking human being. I don’t want to be your role model. I didn’t ask to be anyone’s role model or Prince Charming or what the fuck ever. I just want to live my fucking life,” I snap back, pushing him away and for just one moment, I think Max is going to lose it and I’m going to get one in the chops, but he takes a deep breath instead and hangs his head.

“What about her? What about being her Prince?” he asks, his gaze meeting mine slowly, the anger that seemed to dissipate while he lectured me begins leaking back.

“I am her Prince,” I shrug. “Whether I deserve to be…I don’t know Max. I’m just a guy. I’m not better than you or Tanger or Dupes. I am what I am. Mel…she knows that. Maybe you don’t think she does but she’s a pretty smart cookie. I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” I tell him but I can see he’s far from being convinced.

“So you’ll tell her then? Dires-lui au sujet de ton affaire?”

“Affair? Max…seriously, you’re blowing shit way out of proportion,” I laugh, patting his shoulder and turning away. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her and it’s a one off, I tell myself, and Max won’t tell her either.

Nah…he won’t, bros before ho’s and all that. Max may be a lot of things, including, obviously a way too emotional Frenchman, but he’s no snitch. There’s a code on a team and I’ve always kept my mouth shut when it came to things even I wouldn’t take part in. It does make me rethink the whole best man thing though.

He does have a point, sort of, I think as I walk away, putting some space between his disapproving glare and the burgeoning feeling of guilt sitting in the pit of my stomach. I am about to say those vows, it might actually be time to start thinking about living with that reality. After all, he is right about one thing. If I was going to have cold feet about it, announcing it in the Pittsburgh Tribune was probably not the right thing to do.

Not that I’ve thought about calling it off. I mean, it’s seemed pretty inevitable since we met up again that this was the direction it was going to go, and it’s not like I don’t want to get married it’s just…funny how I can’t close my eyes and imagine myself, standing there in a tux and her in a white dress. For some reason I can’t wrap my head around that idea.

Maybe it’s like winning The Cup. You can imagine it but you can’t, not really, not until you’re holding it.

That must be what it is, I decide as I head out towards the bus. That and we’re not really doing our own planning so it’s all going to be kind of a surprise anyway. If I knew what it was all going to look like maybe that would help.

Or not.

Either way, all I can and should be thinking about now is Montreal and stuffing some pucks past Halak and I know from the Olympics that that is going to be no easy task. I’ll just have to leave that kind of thinking for some other time.

______________________________________________________________

“I’m going to do it,” I announce as I bounce through the door to the apartment. “I’m going to ask Sid to call off the wedding…for now,” I add as I round the corner to find Kensie at the kitchen table staring intently at her lap top.

“Well that should make things interesting,” she replies dryly.

“I think he’ll understand. I mean we shouldn’t rush into anything right? I mean I know I’ve known him forever but we’re just getting to know each other properly and there’s no need to rush into anything,” I continue, feeling confident in the decision I’ve come to. That is until I actually look at the way Kennedy is looking up at me over her lap top with that ‘are you quite done’ look on her face complete with raised eyebrow and impatient gaze.

“While god only knows that I agree about the whole putting the brakes on this circus, but when I said that should be interesting, I meant because of this,” she sighs, turning her lap top to face me. The confident, self assured smile I’d been wearing since my dad had put me on the plane with the promise to be strong is wiped completely an entirely off of my face.

“How…when did this happen?” I ask, my knees giving way beneath me, the air literally being sucked out of my sails as I drop into the chair beside her. I stare at the screen, half of me wishing that I haven’t just seen what I know I’ve seen, but then wishing doesn’t make it so. “I didn’t…he didn’t tell me he was going to announce anything,” I add in a half whisper.

“Yeah, I wondered about that,” Kensie turns the lap top back around, and, with a few strokes of her fingers pulls up yet another engagement announcement, this time in the New York Times, with a picture.

“Oh god…” I cover my mouth with my hand as I stare at the picture of us I knew his mother had taken of us at Christmas.

“I know, very deer in the headlights,” Kennedy muses sardonically as she gets up to look at the pic over my shoulder. “You’d think he could have waited to have something more formal done. It’s not like the Pens don’t have a professional photog on staff,” she adds, giving my shoulder a supportive squeeze before heading deeper into the kitchen to grab two mugs and a box of tea bags.

“I just can’t understand,” I mumble, half to myself. “Why would he go and do something like this without talking to me first?”

“At least give a girl a heads up that she’s gonna be in the New York Times. He had to have done that knowing you work here and like, everyone in Manhattan reads the society pages,” she adds, which does nothing to improve my current state of mind. “So, like I said,” she begins, having turned the electric kettle on and turning to lean her back against the counter, arms crossed, “that kind of complicates your plan.”

“Just a little,” I manage to breathe, wrapping my arms around my stomach. Suddenly the sandwich I’d had on the plane isn’t sitting too well in my stomach.

“So what are you going to do now?” Kensie asks, tipping her head to one side so that her hair falls over her shoulder. “Because this doesn’t mean that you can’t call it off you know,” she adds, and I nod, hearing her but somehow I can’t quite imagine actually doing it now, even though I had it all planned out in my head how that was going to go. “On the other hand, and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this,” she adds with a half smile, “this might mean that he’s actually taking this seriously. I mean this might be his big romantic gesture ‘cuz god knows he hasn’t really held up his end on that score yet.” I look up at her and I can tell by the way she immediately rolls her eyes that the sudden and overwhelming feeling of relief flooding my body shows on my face. “I said might be” she adds with a smirk as the kettle begins to whistle and she turns to pour the steaming water into the two cups, adding a fragrant tea bag to each before turning around and coming back to join me at the table. “Have you even talked to him?” she asks, pushing one mug towards me.

“Yeah…I mean…well as much as you can talk to him during the playoffs. It’s mostly that refs an asshole and that player is a dick and Geno should get his head out of ass and…so yeah we’ve spoken but talked…?” I shrug, closing my eyes and inhaling the steam coming from the mug, peppermint and green tea, an excellent remedy for the pounding headache behind my eyes.

“You should go see him,” Kennedy says, not like it’s a suggestion, but like it’s an order.

“I don’t want to distract him,” I begin, but hearing the whine in my own voice, I square my shoulders and take a deep, cleansing breath. “I should, shouldn’t I?”

“You should,” Kennedy grins, reaching over to grasp my hand and give me an encouraging smile.

“Yeah…I should.”

____________________________________________________________

“GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING SHIT!!!”

“My sentiments exactement,” I grumble, tossing my stick aside as we head down the hallway at La Colisée after literally dropping an egg on the fucking ice. Tanger kicks his helmet across the room and we all watch it hit the wall with a satisfying smack.

“Je suis si désolé Fleur,” he says, again, and again, Flower just shrugs. It’s not like he tried to kick the damn puck in the fucking net and we all know it, but most of us also know how it feels like you should have been able to do something, anything, to get the puck to go another direction.

“We’ll just have to kick their asses at home,” I offer, but there’s no uproarious ‘hell yeah’ of agreement. Not that I’m expecting one. It’s worse to lose when the crowd is that fucking loud and you had it in your god damned back pocket. At least the rest of the guys weren’t getting boo’d every time they touched the puck.

“Crosby, you’ve got a visitor.” I turn around, my jersey half off, to see Mel leaning in the doorway of the room, and I’m surprised to feel relieved and happy to see her. Dropping my jersey on the pile in the middle of the floor, I cross the room and grab her around the waist, lifting her off of her feet as I bury my head in her neck. She smells like strawberries and vanilla frosting.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, putting her down, searching her flushed face for signs of impending doom. “Is something wrong with your mom? Your dad?”

“No, I just…you’re not mad I’m here?” she says, like she expected that I would be, and searching in myself I know that I normally might have been a little pissed about her showing up unexpectedly, especially after losing like this, but I’m not.

“No, of course not,” I grin, brushing her cheek with my hand before leaning down to capture her lips with mine. She tastes like cinnamon.

“It was…it’s the engagement announcement,” she explains quietly, her lips brush my cheek. “It was kind of…unexpected,” she adds, reaching up to run her finger along my upper lip when I pull back from her.

“I know, I know, pathetic, you don’t have to tell me,” I sigh. I keep hoping, every year, that my playoff beard will get better. It doesn’t seem to.

“It’s cute,” she grins. “I’ve never seen it up close before,” she adds, her fingertip now running along my jawline where the denser, thicker stuff is growing. The itchy shit.

“I know it’s not like Max’s Sasquatch growth,” I point out as Max emerges from the showers already, a towel clutched around his mid section. He stops and stares and when I turn back, Mel’s cheeks are flushed again. “Hey, do you guys mind not getting naked in front of my fiancée?” I yell, grabbing her hand and pulling her out into the hallway. “Wait here. You’ll fly back with us right?”

“Yeah,” she smiles softly, her fingers lacing with mine. “If they’ll let me,” she adds, sending a sheepish glance towards Coach B who’s striding into the room with a dark look on his face, and I can’t say that I blame him. I’m probably in for it and I know I deserve it.

“They will, just…wait here,” I insist, putting my hands on her shoulders and searching her face. “This was a good surprise Mel. I don’t know what you did back home but…it’s good to see you.” With that I kiss her again, clasping her cheeks in my hands and rolling my tongue around hers’ before leaving her, surprisingly reluctantly to go in and take my beating as required.
____________________________________________________________________

With his head on my shoulder, Sid snores quietly, a blanket pulled up to his chin. Unlike most of the other guys, he doesn’t seem to need a sleep mask. In fact, the whole plane is almost silent except for the snores and other sounds of restless sleep. The only other people awake on the plane seem to be Disco Dan, who has been analyzing the game on his laptop, his stereo headphones on, and Max.

Ever since I saw him in the dressing room, his muscles gleaming with steaming water from the showers, it’s seemed like he’s been wanting to talk to me, to say something. Not that I think that’s a good idea. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s an entirely bad idea. Especially since all of the thoughts in my head, all of the prepared speeches I had for Sidney about respecting me and asking my opinion before he does things, went entirely out the window the moment my eyes fell on his round shoulders and made their way down to his goody trail on the flat plane of his stomach.

Even now, knowing that he’s right across the aisle, I can barely breathe. Watching the quick movement of his thumbs on his blackberry, texting or playing a game, I can’t tell, I’m too aware of what those fingers can do and how they can make me feel. And no matter how hard I try to concentrate on the words on the pages in front of me, I keep feeling his gaze, like a soft, warm touch, on my skin.

“Stop it,” I hiss, my gaze still riveted to the magazine in my hands although I’ve probably read the same ten sentences over and over and I still couldn’t tell you what it says.

“Arrêtes ce qui?” I turn to glare at him but now he seems engrossed in whatever is on his blackberry, looking calm and composed, as if he hadn’t just been staring at me.

“You know what,” I snarl back, turning the page of my magazine with a snap, giving myself a paper cut in the process.

“Cessez de vouloir vous avoir?” he asks, making it sound innocent when just saying it out loud makes my belly clench and my mouth go dry.

“Stop it Max…please,” I whimper, shutting my eyes against the vision of his naked torso moving over me that suddenly appears in my head.

“Ou tu veux dire que je devrais cesser de fantasmer au sujet de ton beau corps dans mon lit?” he asks, his voice low and rasping, just as it is when it’s full of need. “Because if that’s what you’re asking, ma petite, that will never happen, c’est impossible.”

“You have to,” I growl back. “I’m marrying him. Did you see the announcement?” I ask, staring at a picture of Liz Hurley in some eenie weenie bikini and I can’t decide if it’s her hip bones or the vision of Max’s that has me more furious.

“Oui, j’ai fait, mais, il ne tu aimes pas. He doesn’t move you like I do,” he growls, sounding like a jungle cat as he finally puts his blackberry aside and turns those deep emerald orbs of his towards me.

“He does…love me and…what do you mean he doesn’t move me?”I hiss, unable to drag my gaze away from his, knowing I should, that the longer I look the more my skin begins to warm and the harder it becomes to breathe.

“He told me, mon petit chat. He called you…maintenant, ce que était le mot qu’il employé? Ah oui, vanilla, he called you vanilla ma petite and if it’s one thing you have never been to me…,” his voice falls away as does his gaze, and I shudder at the relief of being released from his gaze. I’d almost begun to feel like I was about to go up in flames.

“You must…you have to have misunderstood.” My voice catches in my throat and comes out almost as a whisper. My heart had swelled to twice its size to have Sid happy to see me, to have called me vanilla….

“There was no misunderstanding ma petite, I assure you,” Max whispers, his voice thick and velvety as he reaches across the aisle to reach for my hand, but as his fingers brush mine, I feel Sid’s heavy body stirring and he sits up, rubbing at his eyes like a child.

“Fuck…I needed that. Are we almost home?” he asks, lifting the cover from the window to peer out at the night sky.

“Almost,” Max replies, his blackberry once again in his hand, his voice normal, as if nothing at all had happened. “Wheels down in twenty and then home to bed eh mon ami?” he grins, looking lecherously over at us, his thick eyebrows arched.

“Hot tub, then bed,” Sid answers, yawning , before once again snuggling up to me, wrapping his arms covetously around my waist. “Did I tell you what a good surprise this is?” he asks again, that boyish grin of his lighting up his crème caramel coloured eyes.

“You did,” I smile at him, my cheeks aching from smiling when I don’t feel like smiling at all.