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 26

Fair warning, you might not want to read this in class, or at work or any place that you may be asked why you're turning red & sweating...or at least that's what it did to me.


“You going to sit out here by yourself all night?” Lauren asks, the sound of her flip flops on the flagstones beside the pool echoes loudly in the silence of the dark night.

“Can’t sleep,” I answer honestly. I’d been, in turns, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling unable to count sheep or do anything else to relax myself enough for sleep. “I put new sheets on but the room smells like him and...I just can’t sleep there.”

“So sleep in one of the guest rooms,” she suggests, a pack of cigarettes appearing in her hand and the sound of a match being struck drags me out of delirium.

“I was going to but...when did you start smoking?” I ask, staring at the old Hollywood elegant way she holds the lit cigarette before taking a long drag on it, the ash at the end turning cherry red before she takes it out from between her lips and blows out several smoke rings which sort of answers my question. A while, I’m guessing.

“I only do it when I’m stressed,” she replies coolly, turning to give me a warm smile before producing a dish into which she taps the ash and tosses the burnt match.

“And what could you be stressed over?” I ask, thinking that she’s pretty and rich and wants for nothing and she doesn’t have the same worry that I’ve had keeping me up half the night.

“Joey Haddad,” she sighs, a dreamy expression on her face.

“A guy form school?” I guess but she shakes her head.

“Baby Pen. Six two, built and I mean...mmmdamn built,” she sighs again, her eyes taking on this far away gleam.

“But he’s in Scranton,” I guess and she sighs by way of a reply. “Let me guess, you can’t think of any plausible reason to be staying overnight in Scranton?” She nods and rolls her eyes.

“I know, pathetic right? I mean, I’m old enough to be date and stuff but I swear to god if dad knew I was going there to jump one of his players...,” she draws her thumb, nail in, across her throat and I nod.

“Well I guess there’s always the old stand-by. Just say you’re staying at a friend’s place. Just make sure she’s in on it,” I offer but she shakes her head.

“The whole PTA group is too... close. They check with each other. I’d so get caught,” she sighs and then butts out her cigarette. “I’ll just have to entice him down here,” she adds with a mischievous grin. I nod and then she stands and stretches and yawns. “I think I’ll go back to bed and dream that I’m not chained to this house,” she moans. I waggle my fingers at her by way of saying good-night and she turns to go, but that question that keeps coming to the forefront of my mind is suddenly there at the tip of my tongue.

“Lauren...have you...you know since you and Kris LeTang...have you done it since?” I ask, staring intently at the lift reflecting on the cool blue of the pool.

“Well of course. I didn’t lose it so I could just go back to being a nun,” she laughs.

“So was it...I mean was it better after, y’know, the second time?” I ask, turning to look at her so I can read the truth in her features and she grins wide.

“So much better the second time. It was so worth it, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she grins and then turns on her heel and heads back into the house.
Yeah, I think to myself. That’s what I thought.
_____________________________________________________________________________

“What are you doing here?”

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Max opens the door wider and peers at me through lidded eyes.

“You kissed me and then you left. Don’t you think we have something to talk about?” I ask, stepping forward, expecting to walk by him and into his house, like I have done a dozen times before, but he moves his arm and blocks my way.

“Not now…I mean just…tomorrow or something,” he mumbles and I realize he’s looking past me and not at me.

“I’m not here to argue,” I say more quietly, hugging my arms close around me.

“Then what are you here for, mon chère?” he asks, his gaze focused on one of the flagstones near my feet.

“I think you know,” I whisper, wishing the courage I’d gathered to walk up the driveway wasn’t failing me now. His brow furrows and then his gaze finally rises to meet mine.

“Mel, ma petite…I’m half asleep. You’re going to have to do better than that,” he says in a hoarse whisper before he swallows audibly and his hand slides down the door jam.

“I could have gone to Tanger’s,” I whisper, stepping near him, so that there’s barely a breath in between us. I reach out and run my finger down the center of his bare chest, just where the swirls of soft hair begin end down to the middle of his six-pack. I watch my finger pause there, just above his belly button and then I look up at him and the sleep has disappeared entirely from his eyes.

He steps aside, closing the door and throwing the bolt. A security measure, I suppose, or maybe it’s not even something he’s aware of doing, and yet the sound makes me jump. I look around the tiled foyer at the plants that the maid service must water, Max couldn’t possibly take care of them himself, and the dark wood furniture that looks like it belongs in the house of older or at least more sophisticated people.

My gaze roams to the stairs that lead up to the main floor, to the living room, the kitchen and…and the bedrooms and my heart skips a beat, an almost painful feeling that makes me suck a breath in through my teeth.

“I can’t do it,” I whisper, because it’s dark in the house and it’s the middle of the night and for all I know, Max being Max, there might be some girl upstairs waiting for him to come back to bed and the last thing I want is for someone to hear me ask what I’ve come to ask.

I turn to see him standing near the doorway, in nothing but a pair of black, or at the very least dark coloured boxer briefs and nothing else. My gaze roams over his tight abs, the dark cross and fleur-de-lis decorating his ribs, the shield and T sketched on his bicep as he raises his arm to scratch at his head, his short hair in disarray, a few days growth on his chin.

“I can’t…no, I don’t want to go to his bed…you know…not knowing,” I whisper, feeling my cheeks burn as I think about how close we’ve already come to sleeping together and how nervous I’ve been and how in control Sidney always is. I feel Max’s arms slide around me, his strong arms pulling me against the solid wall of his chest, his lips pressing against my temple as he chuckles, a warm low sound.

“Ma petite, you worry too much,” he says quietly as he holds me close, one hand on the small of my back, the other cradling the back of my head as he holds it against his shoulder. “Have you been lying awake all night worrying that Sid will care about something like that?” I nod, knowing he’ll feel the rise and fall of my cheek against his skin, the ropey muscle of his shoulder relaxing as he rocks me in his arms. “He would be un imbécile inconsidéré if such a small thing as your purity bothered him and our Sidney is no fool,” Max promises, reaching between us to tilt my chin up so he can study my face and though his smile is warm, there’s something in his eyes that tells me that he’s not really thinking about Sidney’s feelings at all and that is exactly what I was bargaining on when I drove over here.

Not that I’ve entirely worked up the courage to do what I came here to do, which makes me look away from his searching gaze, laying my head against his shoulder instead. I’m not going to beg. That’s one thing I’ve promised myself I won’t do. I didn’t, however, promise myself that I wouldn’t give him another hint if at first he didn’t understand, and so I slide my hand, very slowly up his ribs, tracing the large tattoo there and his skin ripples beneath my touch.

“He doesn’t want me that way…not…untouched. I asked. He expects…more,” I explain when I turn my face up to his and I can see the knowledge in his eyes, desire warring with what he knows is right and he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, at least until I turn and press my lips against his warm skin, just above the collarbone. I hear him let out the breath he’s holding in one long rush of air and his arms tighten around me.

“La plus belle femme, que faites-tu à moi?” He growls, but tips my face up to his and his lips come crashing down over mine. His mouth and his tongue are both insistent and bruising as he kisses me fiercely and hungrily. I feel his hand fist in my hair, pulling my head back as he drinks at my mouth, as his tongue battles with mine.

It’s like being with Sidney and nothing at all like it all at once. My body is alive, every sensation doubled, tripled as he kisses his way down my neck, but there is none of Sidney’s tenderness in the way his teeth dig into my shoulder, or the way his hands slide down to capture my ass in an almost painful grip.

And Sidney’s never pulled me up off of my feet, but Max does, turning to press me against the wall, stepping between my thighs to hold me up with the force of his body against mine as his pelvis grinds against mine. I hear myself whimper as his arousal becomes physically apparent and I know that this is when I should chicken out, when I should beg him to stop and let him talk me out of this. But I don’t. Instead I whisper in his ear the words I know he wants to hear and is probably dreading at the same time.

“Take me Max, please. Fuck me.” He growls against my throat, the vibration sending a shiver down my spine but I only tighten the grip my legs and arms have on him and nip at his ear, digging my teeth into the soft, sensitive flesh there and repeat my demand until he carries me into the entertainment room, kicking the door in and depositing me on the pinball machine.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, ma petite. Ce que tu me demandes de faire est fou. You don’t want this,” he mutters in a voice made hoarse by lack of sleep and desire, more like he’s trying to talk himself out of it than me. I have not, however, rescinded my hold on him and with one hand on the back of his head I press my lips to his while guiding his other hand to my breast.

He doesn’t move, not for what seems like minutes but then I hear and feel him moan into my mouth and his hand closes around my breast, squeezing it gently and then his fingers tug at my nipple until I moan into his mouth.

I feel the rasp of his beard against my skin, and it feels nothing like Sidney’s soft smooth cheeks and even though I’m sure Max has been with just as many, if not more, women than Sidney has, his kisses feel…different. Not just less refined, but more urgent, less practiced and far, far less patient. His lips are not as soft, and, when his hand slides up underneath my top, I find his hands are not as soft either.

When Max’s lips close around my nipple, when his teeth tug on it and by doing so tug a moan from my lips, I think this is as far as Sidney and I have gone and he…he was less rough, more gentle, more tender. He’d taken his time, working his way there while, even as his teeth tug at my nipple, Max’s hands are busy working their way down and my eyes flutter closed and I release his name as a sigh from my lips as his fingers slide up inside of me.

“If we do this, si je te fais l’amour, it can never be taken back,” he whispers, his serious gaze searching mine. “I’ll always be your first, ma biche. Once done, I cannot undo this.”

“I…I want this,” I reply, my heart beat sounding like thunder in my ears as my gaze roams over his broad round shoulders, down his chiseled torso to the waistband of his boxer briefs. “I don’t want him to know that…I don’t want him to go back to thinking I’m that…little girl.”

“Mon chaton…if it is that way between you then why…?” I silence him with a look and my fingers pressed to his mouth before I reach with my other hand to drag my dress up my thighs and then help him pull my panties down. “No…no ma petite, this is….”

“This is what I want,” I remind him, kicking my panties aside and allowing my legs to drape over the edge of the pinball machine, keeping my calf away from the plunger. Then I slowly lift my up and off, tossing it too to the floor andt that seems to decide it and while I bite down on my bottom lip, Max slides his boxer briefs down and positions the head of his cock at my entrance. We both look down at it, and then his gaze meets mine and the expression I see is both apologetic and full of desire, one warring with the other. “Please, mon ami, pour moi,” I whisper, my hand reaching to stroke his where it rests on my thigh.

“Oui, pour mon ami,” he repeats, his free hand reaching to pull me close, holding me against him. “Hold on to me,” he whispers, cradling the back of my head as he slides his long, thick cock inside of me, I forget everything else but the pain and shut my eyes and hold on to the edge of the machine while we both wait for the pain to subside.

It’s only when I let out a little gasp and begin to breathe normally again that Max begins to move again and then I realize that while it still hurts, just a little, that it feels good too. I open my eyes to smile at him, feeling grateful and…and something more, something deeper but any words I plan to say I swallow when I see the look on his face.

He’s ashamed of himself, of me, but he’s soldiering on, for me. He’s doing this because I asked him to but somehow I know that he’s not enjoying this like he would if I were one of the girls he’d take home from the bar. That’s good, I tell myself. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid with Sidney. I didn’t want to see that disappointed look, I didn’t want him to have to do this like it’s a duty, to get it over with.

“Tell me what to do Max,” I beg, and he blinks, like he can’t believe I can speak, and then he stops altogether but before I can ask why he merely lifts me up off of the pinball machine like I weigh nothing and lifts me down to my feet. Reaching up to cup my cheek, he kisses me then, a soft, sweet sort of kiss, before taking my hand and leading me upstairs.

I assume, of course, that he’s taking me to his bed but instead he leads me to the bathroom where he lifts me up onto the counter beside the sink and proceeds to wash the blood of my now lost maidenhood from my thighs, taking special care to hold the cool wet washcloth against the slight throb left behind by his taking it. It’s such a sweet and tender thing that it almost makes me wish that I had saved this moment for Sidney after all, but then his thumb starts to stroke my clit and he leans in to dig his teeth into the thin flesh just over my collarbone and I forget the pain and the sweet moment altogether as I urge his mouth towards my breast.

He slides me off of the counter, his hands strong and sure beneath my ass, and slides me down over his cock. It hurts, just for a moment though, and then a new sensation begins to swell within me and all my breath leaves my lungs at once as he turns to press me back against the inside of the bathroom door.

Wrapping my legs around him, I beg him to go deeper, harder and place kisses all over his face as he obliges me by sliding his cock deeper until my eyes flutter shut and it’s all I can do to drag a ragged breath in through my teeth as the pain grips me. He waits then, I can feel him holding himself still, waiting for me to take the next move.

As the pain subsides and all I can feel is my muscles stretching around him, accommodating his size and girth while at the same time, clutching at him, pulling at him. Locking my ankles beneath his muscular ass, I try to pull him into me and as I do, I feel his fingers splay across my ass, tilting me so that he can slide up into me at a different angle and that too takes my breath away. This time though, he doesn’t wait again, but makes slow, achingly slow strokes that only leaving me wanting more.

I hear myself making sounds, whimpers and little cries as he pushes up into me that I had always thought were fake when I’d heard them made in movies but now I know how hard it is to actually speak, to form words when your body is joined with another’s. Max, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have that same issue. I hear him whisper words, almost all of them en Français and they sound dirty and sexy all at the same time.

With a growl, Max drops me to my feet, pulls the door open and then pulls me to him again, his mouth crashing down over mine as he half pushes and half pulls me to his bedroom. There he guides me to his bed and walks me backwards to it until my knees buckle at the mattress and I fall backwards onto the quilt. He stands there, half kneeling on the bed and stares down at me, his eyes roaming greedily over me as if I’m some kind of expensive steak. He even licks his full, sensuous lips before he reaches to pull my body nearer the edge of the bed.

I assume he’s going to slide back into me again but instead he reaches over to turn on the bed side light and it takes every ounce of self control that I have left to m not to grab his quilt and cover my nudity from his sight. I can’t look though, as I feel the bed dip beneath his weight, as he lays down beside me and begins to run his fingers gently down over the slope of my breast, down to my belly and over my hip. It feels too intimate, too tender.

“Do you know how to put a condom on?” he asks out of the blue, and I turn and stare at him, almost laughing in relief. Reaching over into the drawer of his bedside table, Max takes out a roll of purple foil covered Trojans and tears off a square and hands it to me.

Hands shaking, I rip open the package and shake the rubber ring loose. My eyes must be going wide or some other signal makes it obvious that I’m a novice at this too and Max’s hands cover my own as he guides them down, helping me unroll the latex tube over his still very hard cock until my hand curls around the base of him, feeling the coarse wiry hair there, a stark contrast to the heated silken smooth skin in my hand.

I look back up into his face and he smiles indulgently down at me before motioning for me to get on top. I stare at him in disbelief and shake my head. I just wanted a hard missionary position fuck but he insistently shakes his head.

“My petite, you said you wanted him to think you know what you’re doing,” he insists, taking my hand and pulling me over him until I’m straddling him, feeling my slick wet folds engulfing him. “This will please him and believe me, you’ll enjoy it too,” he advises as he help me to guide his cock inside of me. “Lean forward,” he instructs as all of the air is once again pushed out of my lungs by his entrance. “Do you feel that mon Coeur?” he asks, his fingers digging into my hips to slow my movement. “Do you feel your clit pressing against my pelvic bone?” I nod, my eyes screwed tightly shut as a shiver runs through my entire body. “And when I do this, ma belle?” he asks, pressing his body up and into mine. I nod again, moaning as I press back against him. “Oui, ma cherie, juste comme ça. Laisses-moi tu remplir. Mouvement maintenant, “ he urges, pushing up into me again and then I don’t need his guidance, I just do what feels right, riding him slowly and then quickly, feeling his hands sliding up to my breasts where he cups them, tweaking my nipples and rolling them between his fingers before sliding his hands back down to my hips and pulling me down hard over him until he is completely sheathed inside of me.

When the moment comes, when I feel like my entire body is going to burst open, when my breathing quickens to match my pulse and my entire body is locked in one long shuddering cry, he rolls me onto my back and holds me there, pinned beneath him. Looking up into his green eyes , his gaze locks with mine and for a moment his green eyes seem to swim before me and then his breath catches in his throat and his eyes flutter shut and he lets out a cry of triumph as he pushes himself deeply into me and I can feel his cock throbbing inside of me as we wrap our arms around one another and hold each other, forehead to forehead as our breathing begins to slow.

___________________________________________________________


I shouldn’t have sent her away. As I jog around the athlete’s village in the chill of the early morning air just before dawn, I realize that she’s waited for this moment just as much as I have, that she’s cheered me and encouraged me towards this moment as much as my mother or sister have and both of them will be in the stands this afternoon when we play for the gold.

She’ll probably watch with the other guys, maybe at Mellon, maybe at Max or Jordy’s. I’m sure they’ll have a good time but it won’t be like I know it will be here.

Even though the sun hasn’t come up yet, I can feel the hum in the air, the anticipation. I feel it in the tension of my muscles, like I can’t relax. Like I won’t relax until it’s decided, will I have the gold around my neck or won’t I? Will I be Canada’s favored son or the loser who didn’t win the gold?

And if I don’t, I wonder as my breath hangs in the air before me as I push my body to the edge. If we lose to the US today, I know Taylor and my mom will still hug me and they’ll take some of the sting out of the look of disappointment that will be on my father’s face but she won’t be there. Just like she wasn’t when I won the Cup because I pushed her away, my friend.

I’ve been so selfish. I’ve taken her for granted. I knew she’d be back in the Harbour over the Summer and whether I realized it or not, I looked forward to her back handed compliments, her sarcasm that would be dulled by the real affection, the very real love in her eyes, the love that’s been there the whole time, the love I’ve just always thought would be there.

And now I’ve sent her home to wait for me because I can’t handle having her here worrying about me and chewing her nails to the bone for me. Because I can’t stop thinking about her soft body next to mine. Every other guy here has their girl, their wife, their family around them. They can all handle it, and now it’s too late for me to even tell her to come back.

“Earth to mon ami,” Flower laughs, catching up to me, his hair hidden under a bright red team Canada toque, his eyes flashing with mirth. Sure it’s easy for him. He’ll be watching from the press box and win or lose he’s just happy to have been here. The next games will be his. This time, if we win, he’ll get a medal and won’t have had to do more than be the best cheerleader we’ve got.

“Just thinking I shouldn’t have sent Mel back with the boys,” I tell him honestly and he nods.

“Oui, tu es très stupide,” he laughs, ducking a punch I send his way. “You’ll just have to make it up to her when we get home, est-ce que j’ai raison?”

“I plan to,” I sigh, giving him a shove before digging my feet in and taking off. I hear him laugh and then the sound of his feet on the pavement not far behind me. Damn, that always works with Max but then Flower is a better runner than Max will be.

_________________________________________________________


Wearing one of his t-shirts that I picked up off of what I think, by the smell, is the clean pile of clothes, and by rolling down the waist of one of his pair of track pants I manage to clothe myself while I call for a taxi. I reach for the door handle and stop at the sound of him turning over in the wreck of sheets but he doesn’t wake.

For myself, as much as I’d been dragged down a time or two in between, I couldn’t really sleep. I had wanted to keep touching him, to feel him touching me. I understand now how you can become addicted to this, how you can want it all the time. From the first time the orgasm ripped through me with him firmly inside of me, I wanted more and more.

A wry smile plays across my lips as I turn to watch him lying there with his full lips just slightly parted, a smile of utter contentment on his face. He’s certainly fulfilled his end of the bargain. There can be no possible way now that Sidney will ever know what it was like to be with the Melody who knew nothing of men’s b bodies or how to make love. For that I hope that we will both be thankful.

Turning back, I slip out into the hall and tip toe down the stairs to clean up the evidence in the rec-room, tossing my dress and panties into a shopping back and even folding his briefs up at the bottom of the stairs just in time to hear the taxi honking outside.

Walk of shame, I’ve heard my friends call what I’m doing I think as I walk down his driveway and slip into the back of the cab, handing him a twenty as I give him my address. Funny, I don’t feel shame, or guilt, I think as I lean back in the seat and just for a minute close my eyes. I feel relieved yes, and…and something else I can’t quite place. Different I guess, I think as I shift a little uncomfortably trying to find a spot that doesn’t ache from either being newly opened, spanked or bitten. Yes, I think as I smile contentedly to myself, different, a woman, that must be it.

Chapter 23

Looks like a lot of you definitely picking sides here so I am curious to see what the results are after this chapter.

“Aren’t you mister popular today?” Bergie smirks as my phone begins to vibrate across the table towards the plate of sushi we’re sharing. Rolling my eyes, assuming of course it’s my mother asking if I can come to lunch, again, I grab my phone and then grin.

“Hey Max! You on your way?” I ask, popping another Ikura roll into my mouth.

“Uh...actually no,” he replies, and then I’m back to rolling my eyes.

“Let me guess. You met some hot chick in New York and you just rolled out of her bed and missed the flight?” I laugh and Bergie grins back at me, sharing a knowing look that says ‘that sounds like Max’.

“You realize it’s her show today, oui?” Max says slowly, like he’s talking to Gronk and not me, the way we do when we’re treating Jordy like the retard he can be sometimes.

“Is it? I’m kinda busy here so, you know, I guess it might have slipped my mind,” I snort, rolling my eyes again.

“It’s worth fifty percent of her grade, it’s kind of important. At least tell me you’re going to call and wish her good luck? Send some flowers maybe?” he says like it’s an order and not a suggestion.

“I’ll call her after the game,” I sigh. The last thing I need right now is another distraction. It’s bad enough that Charline is sitting two tables away having an animated conversation with some husky looking bobsledders. There’s utter silence on the other end of the line. Or, I should say, not silence exactly. More like disapproving breathing while he’s waiting for me to say something. “Okay, whatever. Have some roses sent for me while you’re on the way to JFK. If you get the next flight you might get here in time for the after game party after we kick Kane’s ass!” I call across to the next table and then turn to high five Toewsie. A general cheer goes up from our table so I don’t exactly hear what Max says, only that he’s talking, so I plug my ear with my finger and yell into the phone. “You are coming right?”

“Like I said, you’ve got a lot of people there. I mean the whole fucking country is cheering for you. She’s just got sa mere ici. I thought I should stay, for her,” Max replies and part of me wants to call him a fucking puss but I’m in too good a mood to fight with him.

“Whatever man, your loss. It’s gonna be epic,” I laugh and snap the phone shut because Bergie’s eyeing the last eel roll and you don’t get sushi this fresh back in the ‘Burgh.
____________________________________________________________

“No, no. I said slicked back. This isn’t about her hair, it’s about my clothes,” I snap, grabbing the comb out of the hair dresser’s hand and dragging it through the model’s hair until it sits flat to her scalp. “Like this. Do you think you can manage that?” I snarl, giving the hairdresser my best ‘or else’ look before I turn to go back to supervising the choice of outfits. If it’s one thing I’ve learned today is that you can’t let the models choose their own.

“Nervous?” I spin, my heart leaping in my chest, to find Max standing behind me with a huge bundle of daisies in his arms and I immediately find myself grinning from ear to ear.

“Omygawd, a friendly face. You have no idea. I want to throw up,” I blurt out, gazing longingly at the flowers but knowing I can’t touch them, not yet. Not only is it bad karma to take flowers before the models hit the runway but if I get pollen on my hands and then on the clothes and then god forbid one of the models has hay fever... “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought you left to go to Vancouver!” I realize, feeling a surge of guilt. I know some of the guys have tickets to the next couple of games and Sidney was expecting him.

“Yeah well, he’s got all of Canada rooting him on and from what you’ve said about your mom...I thought maybe you needed my support more than he does,” Max says sweetly and I find myself standing there in the middle of absolute chaos, feeling like I could just sit down and have a good old fashioned cry. It must show on my face, because Max puts the flowers aside and pulls me into the circle of his arms and just holds me until I can breathe again.

“Sorry, I’m a mess. This is like...it’s like the Calder Cup for me. If I can get past this then I have a chance at working in a design house and....” Max holds me at arms’ length and looks down at me like I’ve just grown another, less attractive, head.

“You know if you two get married you’ll never have to actually work a day in your life, comme ca?” he asks, as if I don’t know that my boyfriend is a multi-millionaire.

“If you think for one minute that I’m the kind of girl that would sit around eating bon-bons and watching Coronation Street and Oprah all day...,” I begin, feeling fired up at the very idea anyone would mistake me for one of those girls that grabs onto the coat tails of a shooting star and once there digs in her claws for dear life, scoops his plastic and shops all day long, drops a rug rat once every three years and figures getting a mani pedi once a week is actual work.

“No, non that’s not...I’m saying or trying to say de ma proper manière maladroit,” he adds with a half a grin, “is that I think it’s good. No it’s great that you know you don’t have to do this but you have a dream too. It’s good,” he adds earnestly and the fire in my belly goes out.

“Merci mon ami, vraiment merci,” I whisper, grabbing his face and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Now go, get a seat out front. There’s a surprise at the end of the show you don’t want to miss,” I add with a wink before turning back to what is almost a non-recoverable disaster of a wardrobe cart. “Fucking models,” I mutter, grabbing a now empty hanger and looking around for the half starved thieving whore who’s grabbed the mini dress from it.

“The flowers?” Max asks, retrieving them from the table behind him and I hold my hands out defensively in front of me.

“After. Save them for after. But thank you Max. I’ll see you later,” I grin before turning to slap another stick thin hand away from the rack. “Oh, Max, did Sidney tell you I loved daisies?” I turn to ask and he looks down at the bouquet and then back up at me with the most curious expression on his face.

“Uh...no...I mean, mais oui! He told me to get these for you. This?” he laughs, pointing at the huge bunch of white and yellow flowers in his hand. “This is totally him. All him. Would I buy flowers for a girl? C’mon, this is Superstar we’re talking about. I don’t have to buy flowers for some chick, they beg for it!” He adds with a wink and a grin before turning to head back out towards the curtain between this chaos I’m in and the chairs around the runway. I watch him go, shaking my head and laughing.

Max. That boy...

“Hey, bitch, did I say this outfit was for you? You don’t have the tits to hold up the halter, are you shitting me?” I growl, snatching a long, flowing sun dress from one of the she-giraffes and handing her form fitting evening gown instead. “Have some cake or something. Guys don’t actually like hip bones, I don’t know if you know that,” I add, shaking my head.

_____________________________________________________________

I stare at my phone, as it dances and bumps its’ way along the table. It’s pretty funny when you watch it from table level which is what I’m doing, because the table feels kind of cool and I feel like I’ve just drunk a whole case of JD. Finally I reach out and grab it, and stare at the display.

“Maximus dogimus, if you’re calling to tell me we could have used your two goals against Detroit...,” I begin, closing my eyes against the throbbing in my head.

“I saw the score mon ami. Je suis vraiment très désolé,” my friend replies and manages to actually sound like he means it. It makes me wonder if he lost a bet.
“No, what I called about...did you get the photo I sent?” Cracking one eye open, I tab to the icon for my received texts and begin to scroll through.

“If this is gonna be some skinny ass model you picked up at the show...,” I begin but Max sighs impatiently on the other end of the line, so I stop my usual line of questioning. “Could you just tell me man, please? My head is banging and I swear...I just need to like sleep or something,” I mutter, wondering if Nathalie packed me any Advil.

“Did you even call Mel to wish her good luck?” he asks, with that tone in his voice that makes me think of my father. ‘Did you do your stretching exercises before you went out son?’ I’ve gotten over that so Max doing it has about as much of an effect on me.

“Well I’ve been sort of busy here. Didn’t you get her the damn flowers?” I grumble, wishing he’d just get to the point and get on with berating me for being a bet friend or whatever so I can go back to remembering the shots I missed or didn’t take. Fucking Miller....

“The picture. Did you get the picture yet?” Max asks impatiently and I finally find his message somewhere about twenty five down from the top and open the attachment and then I just sit there, staring at it, for a long time.

“Wow,” I breathe, staring at the vision on the display of my phone, and then, when my brain actually starts to tick over, I email it to myself and then open my lap top so I can see it better. “I don’t think...I mean...is that Mel?” I ask, which is stupid because it’s obviously her, just...more so. I’ve never seen her look like that. Like some fashion magazine has gotten a hold of her and did things with her hair to make it bouncy and to her lips to make them look all...full and sexy and as for the rest.... “She looks like an angel,” I mutter, still dumbstruck by the vision in silver and white that is now blown up on the screen of my lap top.

“Oui, elle est un ange...and if you’re not completely blind, ce que je commence à penser que tu es, that, I believe, is her fucking wedding dress.” At first all I’d seen was the white toile and the silver threading but sitting back, putting it altogether, yes...I can't deny that what she's wearing could be a wedding dress.

“But...I haven’t...we haven’t...Oh for fuck sakes, I haven’t asked her so how could it be? How can she be wearing a....?”

“Parce qu’elle tu aimes,” Max admonishes me, “et elle crois que tu feres la bonne chose.” There’s silence on the other end of the line. A long drawn out silence that asks, will I? Will I do the right thing? Am I going to do the right thing? What is the fucking right thing? “Just call her. Fucking congratulate her at least. Can you do that Creature?”

“Don’t lecture me on my relationship Max, like you’d know how to have one. I’ll call her...I will. Just...what is it to you anyway?” I ask, feeling annoyed at being cornered, in more ways than one.

“You make her unhappy and she doesn’t even know it. Comprends?”

I hit 'end' because I don’t need to have Dr. Talbot ‘relationship therapist to the stars’ tell me that I’m a bad boyfriend. Mel gets it. She understands how important this is. She texted me a good luck message this morning before the game and a sad face and a gift certificate for a back rub after the game. She gets it. I don’t have to follow her around like a puppy and pretend to be interested in what she’s doing.
And he’s got to be reading shit into that dress. That’s so not Mel. She looks great, no doubt about it but it’s not her. Even if I do ask her, she’d never want anything that over the top. She wouldn’t want all that sparkly shit. That’s just something for class.

No, I tell myself, I don’t have anything to worry about except the next game. A must win to stay in this tournament. I have to play better. Mel will understand that I have to concentrate on this. That’s what’s so great about her. She’s not demanding and high maintenance. She doesn’t need me to get involved in what she’s doing. I’m sure she’s just fine.

______________________________________________________

“Don’t keep staring at your phone dear, it’s rude,” my mother hisses at me as through her teeth which I’m sure, like any good pageant girl, are probably covered in Vaseline to make them shiny and to remind her to keep smiling. I keep waiting for some sign of life from Sid, who I’m sure is berating himself and generally getting down about what happened against the States. I was hoping to distract him, if only for a few minutes, but he hasn’t answered any of my texts so far. “Is that Donna Karan?”

“Is it mom? I’m not sure,” I mumble, knowing in my head I’m supposed to care about some of the VIPs that have been invited to the show, that it’s important for me to introduce myself to them and point out which pieces where mine in the collection, but I can’t help worrying about Sid.

“Now that is definitely Adrienne Vittadini. Darling, you should definitely introduce yourself to her. She is so classy. I would love to tell everyone at the club that you’re working for her.” I glance towards the tall blonde with the impossibly high cheekbones and grimace. Well of course my mother would love her. She caters to that old fashioned twinset and pearls crowd. I was hoping for someone a little edgier, someone like Emma Cooke.

“Is this when I give you the flowers?” I turn to smile gratefully at Max for saving me from my mother. I accept the bouquet this time and his kiss on my cheek.

“Oh...well I see how it is now.” My heart stops in my chest and the spark of warmth I felt with Max’s greeting is quickly blown out.

“Mom this is....”

“So you’re not dating Sidney, you’re dating one of his...teammates.” She says the word like it’s something distasteful to be spat out. She even wrinkles up her nose and looks at the two of us with a cold, disapproving glare.

“You don’t have to worry Mrs. Kelly. Your daughter is far too classy to go out with me,” Max interjects, in an honourable attempt to save me from my mother but I'm not having any of it. If there’s one thing I live for, it’s upsetting mommy dearest.

“You don’t have to lie for me babe,” I coo, turning and planting my lips against Max’s and then wiping my lipstick from his mouth with my thumb. “He’s a superstar. He scored the winning goal to win the Stanley Cup, didn’t you babe?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at him and making my best ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ face. Though Max’s eyes are a little wider than normal, he steps right into his role and snakes his arm around my waist.

“That’s right. They call me Superstar,” he grins, transforming into Mad Max before my very eyes.

“Melody, may I speak with you...privately?” my mother hisses, venom dripping from her words.

“You know what mom...no. Like you said, I have to mingle and besides you told me you were proud of my pieces and I’d like to hold onto one nice thing for the day,” I sigh, picking up the trailing fabric of the full skirt of the dress, the pies de resistance of the show, and, tucking the bouquet into the crook of my arm, I reach my free hand out for Max’s and feel his thick, warm fingers clasp onto mine. “Come honey, you can help me get out of this.” I feel his hand twitch around mine and guess that he’s doing his best not to laugh out loud as I stare my mother down and tug Max behind me in the direction of some younger, more cutting edge designers.

Chapter 8

“I’ve just been worried about this…about us being together ruining our friendship,” I explain, pressing my lips to the top of her head while she wraps her arms around my middle.

“Oh c’mon, really?” She makes a derisive sound in the back of her throat and looks up at me with her eyes narrowed and her soft, full lips drawn into a confused line. “We haven’t been friends for a long time; probably not since you went off to Shattucks. I don’t know what happened to you there, and,” she adds with just the hint of a smile as she reaches up to stop me from trying to explain, “I don’t know if I want to know but…whatever happened there, by the time you came back we were just…different.”

“You mean I thought you were still eleven and you were really thirteen?” I sigh, nodding as she tips her head to one side with that ‘you know I’m right’ look on her face. “I did notice…I mean…you know; kinda hard to miss?” I add, feeling heat rush up into my face as I glance down at the way her breasts tug at the bib of her overalls.

“Ah yes, the girls…suddenly I couldn’t quite get away with just being one of the boys anymore. Either you all were too busy noticing or too busy not noticing,” she smiles and then lets out an unhappy sounding sigh. “Besides, by then you were already ‘the Kid’,” she adds, letting go of me to make bunny ears with her fingers around that nickname that I hate but can’t seem to get rid of, “and you didn’t have time for that little girl next door that worshipped the ground you walked on.”

I want to apologize, or at least it seems like I should as I reach out to pull her back to me, to put my arms around her and hold her close while she goes quiet and still. I think about that little girl that used to follow us all around and about that girl that sat on her front steps and watched us play but didn’t even ask to play anymore and my chest gets tight.

“I’m sorry, I just…I didn’t know.” I don’t know what else to say and am relieved when she finally turns her eyes up and gives me a smile that tells me that she understands.

“Of course you didn’t. You had all your buddies and besides you had Taylor. It’s not your fault that you’ve always been my whole world.” It’s like taking a slap shot to the cup to hear her say that to me. Christ, it’s never occurred to me that, being an only child, the boy next door would be brother, best friend and very likely her only escape from her overbearing and controlling mother.

And then I abandoned her….

“Mel…I don’t know what to say. I…..” She lifts her hand to cover my mouth and then replaces her fingers with her soft mouth and, just for a minute, makes me feel a little less like a heel.

“I just said that it wasn’t your fault dummy,” she whispers softly against my lips. “I figured out a long time ago that women are far superior to men intellectually, so I don’t hold it against you.” I’d argue but the smile she gives me tells me she’s just playing…or at least partially and suddenly I feel like we’re back in those days when we used to walk to and from school together and it was just us and we could tell each other anything. “That’s better,” she whispers, her cool hands curling around my neck, bringing my lips down over hers’ again, her lips opening beneath mine, and our tongues twine in a dance that feels entirely unfamiliar and intoxicating. I feel like I could kiss her forever. I feel like we’ve wasted so much time not kissing.

She tastes sweet, and her body feels soft and warm in my arms. I’m tempted to march her backwards to the couch and press her down onto it just to feel her body beneath mine and as soon as I start to think of that I can feel my body reacting accordingly and so I withdraw instead, just enough to get a little air and a little space.

“So when did all this start?” I ask, peering at the work she has on her desk, afraid to touch anything but curious about this new Mel that I’m half afraid to stop holding onto.

“If you had cared to know, a long time ago,” she sighs, seemingly happy to stay in the circle of my arm, her cheek resting against my chest.

“I didn’t even know you could draw,” I say apologetically as I trace the outline of one of her designs, a sketchy silhouette of a figure in a full skirted wedding dress.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she chuckles, lifting her lips to mine again and I’m only too happy to oblige her, covering her mouth with mine and easing into a long, soft leisurely kiss but as soon as that heat begins to build again, I break it off and clear my throat nervously.

“I thought you wanted to be a mechanic.” I keep thinking about her with grease up to her elbows and a wrench in her back pocket. This new, more feminine Melody is going to take some getting used to.

“Why do you boys always see things so black and white? Are you saying I can’t wear a dress and change a tire?” she asks, giving me a punch in the stomach, which reminds me that I had planned on eating dinner on the train.

“Put on a dress for me now?” I ask, releasing her hair from the confines of the elastic holding it back, and as I run my hands through it I can’t help but think of the way she looked when she came to the barbeque during the summer. “I’ll take you to the most expensive restaurant in Manhattan and show you exactly how much I think of you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she grins, ducking her face away from my gaze. “You could take me to McDonalds and I don’t think I’d be less happy than I am now.”

“Are you happy?” I ask, lifting her chin in my hand and searching her gaze, wanting to know the truth and wanting to see if every shadow of hurt and disappointment has, at last, has been erased from her eyes.

“Are you?” she asks in return, raising her eyebrow inquisitively at me and giving me that smile that I knw all too well which has just as much of a ‘fuck you’ as it does an invitation to fight. I’ve seen it right before she beats my ass at Mario Kart or sends a fastball directly at my head.

“Are you always going to make me say it first?” I ask, shaking my head at her as her grin grows, showing her straight white teeth, and still it’s more menacing than a smile should be.

“Maybe not always,” she drawls, “but I think considering how long it seems for you to figure things out, I think that’s more than fair.”
_____________________________________________________________________


“He slept on the couch?” Kennedy asks incredulously as she stares at the remnants of our first, very innocent, night together; the quilt from my bed now lying abandoned on the floor and the cushions still showing the indent of his body. I’m tempted to touch that indent, to see if it’s still warm, but I manage to control the temptation and turn instead to go back and refill my coffee cup.

“He took a cab to JFK early. He wanted to be on time for practice,” I explain, leaving out the part about the discussion we had about taking things slowly. Not that that had come as a huge surprise to me, considering, instead of a Lambo or a Ferrari, Sidney chose the safer, sturdier Land Rover for a vehicle.

“So you’ll be packing then? When do you go to the ‘Burgh?” she asks as she joins me in the kitchen, grabbing her own mug and pushing it suggestively in front of me. I fill her cup, smiling to myself as I think about our plans.

“I’m not going anywhere, for now.” I wonder too myself as I say it how much of that decision was really about my finishing the semester out as it was about Sidney trying to be a gentleman. I know it hadn’t been easy for me to send him to the couch and it had probably been far less easy for him. I don’t have proof that the shower he took before curling up on the couch had been a cold one, though I’d been sorely tempted to peek knowing he was naked in my apartment, but I hadn’t. I’d also been sorely tempted to release the tension in my own body but had been far too afraid of his hearing me should I momentarily lose control. The thought of his shocked face peering into my bedroom door catching me in the act makes me blush and Kensie just shakes her head.

“You’re really going to let him roam around the ‘Burgh without keeping an eye on him? I mean, now that you finally have what you want?” she asks and I know exactly what she means. It’s not like the thought hasn’t occurred to me; all of those girls offering themselves to him, partying with Max and the boys and a long list of puck bunnies.

“I have to trust him,” I sigh, leaning back against the counter, thinking of his gentle, soul searching gaze as we stood at the door in the early hours, knowing he was just as worried about leaving me behind as I was about letting him go. “Besides, if I did go…if we were together all the time right away…there’s always that chance that things would be great and then…fizzle out.”

“The burn brightly and hot and then poof thing,” Kensie nods sagely, like she’s been through it before and she probably has. I don’t know from experience but I’ve seen it happen and that isn’t what I want for us. “So,” she grins, giving me a punch in the arm, “when’s the wedding?”

“Oh fuck,” I laugh, squeezing my eyes shut and wrinkling my nose. “I don’t dare tell my mother. She’ll put a fucking announcement in the Truro Daily News.” I shudder at the thought, knowing full well that there is nothing on earth that would make my mother happier than to be the mother of the bride of the year. Not that isn’t something she’s been contemplating since I was old enough to crawl around after Sidney. Of course that’s always been part of the problem. How could I possibly want the same thing my mother wanted?

Well, no, that’s not entirely true. I don’t care about all the attention that he gets. In fact I’ve hated it and been jealous of it in turns since the television crews started showing up at his house and the local rink to see the ‘next one’. It never has been and never will be about any of that for me. It’s only about him and about his arms around me and how safe I felt last night.

Oh, and the way he kissed me when he left this morning, like he wanted me to remember it. Or maybe he just wanted me to have to have a cold shower.

“Fuck. Look at you. You’re really in love with the boy aren’t you?” she grins, looking me over like I’m some kind of odd specimen and that is pretty much how I feel. My skin is tingling, my lips feel bruised, and my pulse just feels…different. It’s like my blood has turned into thick, liquid honey and it’s having a hard time getting around my body.

“I’ve loved him for a long, long time Kens,” I sigh. “I didn’t know I could love him more but…,” I can’t even say it out loud. My heart suddenly feels too big for my chest and it doesn’t seem right to even be saying it out loud, or at least I don’t think I can say it without crying and laughing at the same time.

“Wow…okay, I think it’s a good thing you two get a little space if you’re going to get all fucking mushy like this,” she laughs, but pulls me into a long hug anyways.
I don’t think either of us really wanted the space but I can’t help thinking she’s right, no matter how hard it feels to be away from him right now.
_______________________________________________________________________


(flashback)

“How long will you be gone?” Standing at the end of my driveway, watching his dad load his gear into the back of their station wagon it’s all I can do not to cry. But I won’t, not in front of him. I’m going to wait until their car goes down the block, so he won’t know.

“I’ll be back at Christmas. You won’t even know I’m gone,” he laughs, like it’s funny. Like it’s possible that I won’t feel like half of myself has disappeared. Like I won’t feel completely alone the minute he’s gone.

“Is it far?” I ask, hoping he’ll say no. Wondering if I can run away from home on my bike and live under his bed, where my mother can’t braid my hair and try and put me into stupid, frilly dresses when my Grandmother comes to visit.

“Yeah, Mel, it’s far. I don’t know…it’s in the States,” he says matter-of-factly, like I’m stupid for not knowing. Shattuck St Mary’s. It sounds French. It sounds like maybe it could be in New Brunswick where they speak that guttural French Scottish brogue and that’s not that far. Not really.

“Why can’t you stay?” I ask, or rather beg. I can hear it in my voice. I’m going to cry. I hate that he seems happy about this, excited. I mean, I understand why. I know what it’s been like. I’ve heard the comments the other parents make. I know some of the older boys have been really hurting him out on the ice. But he can’t leave me here. Not by myself.

“If anyone gives you any grief, you just tell them I’ll give them what for when I get back, okay?” he grins, that toothy grin of his, his eyes narrowing the way they do when he really smiles, when he’s happy. If I’m his friend I should happy for him but….

“I hope you hate it there. I hope everyone’s mean to you…you…you stupid jerk!” I curl my hand into a fist, just like he’s shown me to do, with my thumb on the outside and I hit him in the chest as hard as I can.

He looks at me, wide eyed, surprised and stricken and his mouth just sort of hangs open as I stand there, watching him clutch at his chest and all I can think is ‘good, I hope it hurts’. Maybe he’ll know how it feels to be stabbed in the heart.

I can feel the tears now so I turn and run back inside, slamming the door behind me and rush right past my dad, the man who says nothing and never helps with anything, and head straight into my room, grabbing my pillow and hiding my face in it so that no one will hear me cry.