Chapter 24

Happy Easter one and all. Hope everyone's still on an easter bunny chocolate sugar rush. Happy reading


“Mmmm remind me to thank Vero for taking Fleur out shopping,” I hum happily into Sidney’s chest, my eyes closed, his warm and familiar scent filling my nostrils and making me slightly lightheaded. He feels all warm and relaxed in his sweats, fresh from practice, his skin still that almost fever temperature from the showers, his dark hair still damp. On the other hand, I feel like I’ve been sitting for hours on that damned plane and am grateful just to allow my muscles to relax.

“I can’t believe they’re going to stand in that line to get Olympic mittens. We got mittens in our Olympic welcome kit,” Sidney mumbles, sounding half asleep, but the way he’s stroking his hand through my hair tells me he’s not quite falling asleep on me yet.

“You did, she didn’t and honestly Sid, you should see the crowds out there. There are literally thousands of people walking around in the streets,” I tell him, the feeling of just walking the few blocks from the nearest street the taxi could get us from the airport to the Olympic Village still makes my heart sing. “Everyone’s wearing team Canada jerseys and waving flags...babe you should see it,” I add, looking up into his face but his eyes are closed and his full lips are slightly parted like he is about to go to sleep on me. “A lot of the guys are going out. I think even you could get away with it.”

“Why? Because Superstar did?” he asks, his lips turning up in a grin as he pulls me closer and snuggles further down into the quilt without opening his eyes.

“No, I mean a lot of the guys. I mean Shea Webber and....” I hear him make a sarcastic snorting sound and poke him in the ribs until he looks at me.

“Oh c’mon Mel. You know he could walk down the street and no one would know him but I’m damn sure Lou and Brodeur aren’t out there walking around. Some guys can, some guys can’t. You know that.” It stings, to have him talk to me like that. Like he would his younger sibling instead of his girlfriend but with a deep breath, I let it go. “Besides,” he adds, with a sigh, going back to stroking his fingers through my hair, making it easier to forget his biting remark. “I’m not playing that well. I don’t think I’d win myself any brownie points by going out and hanging at Molsen House, do you?” I have to agree with this, but it’s also one of the reasons I know that he’s allowed me to be here.

“You have to get out of your head Crosby.” It’s my turn to admonish him, albeit far more gently than he's done to me. “You need to stop thinking about the crowd and the pressure and what it all means.” I add, rolling over so that I have the upper hand, so that I have my chin resting on the back of my hands in the middle of his chest. “You need to think about each play as they happen, each pass, each shot. Don’t anticipate. Just be grasshopper,” I add with a grin that makes him laugh as he reaches up press an errant curl behind my ear.

“How come when you give me that speech it sounds so much better than when Troy does it?” he asks, a sentimental warmth filling his gold flecked eyes.

“Because I’m prettier than your dad?” I grin back at him, batting my eyelashes and generally attempting my best ‘adorable’ look.

“That,” Sidney growls, rolling to pin me to the bed before attacking my neck like a bloodthirsty vampire, which causes my eyes to flutter shut and my lips to fall slack, “goes without saying.”

“And you told me to behave,” I remind him, biting down on my bottom lip as his teeth graze the thin skin behind my ear. “I thought you said I had to keep my hands to myself during your nap time,” I add, sucking in a ragged breath as one of his strong hands slides down over the lightweight fabric of my t-shirt to cup my breast. With a frustrated groan, Sid flops over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

“You’re right,” he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing under his breath before he rolls up into a sitting position, facing away from me. “And then there’s no sex during the playoffs...fuck!” he snarls, curling his hands into meaty fists on his knees and slamming them repeatedly on his thick thighs.

“There’s time before the play offs,” I remind him, getting onto my knees and moving behind him, careful not to brush his back with my breasts, not to make it worse as dig my hands into the knots in his shoulders.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighs, reaching up to still my hands, clasping one of my hands in both of his and bringing it down to press his lips into the centre of my palm. “I’m just feeling...I don’t know, frustrated right now,” he adds in a husky sort of voice as I remain rigid behind him, afraid to move. “I don’t mean to take it out on you,” he sighs, turning to look up at me.

“Used to it,” I remind him with half a grin. I am used to it and I’m also feeling very proud to know that he feels safe enough with me to show me his real emotions.

“It’ll be better after this,” he promises, a little boy earnestness in his eyes as he gazes up at me that makes me want to cradle his face and cover it with kisses. I nod and ease myself around him until we’re sitting side by side on the single bed he and every other athlete has been provided. “I’m glad you came though,” he adds, with just the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his full, plump lips, “even if my dad didn’t want you to be here.” It’s like a shot to the gut, one that knocks the wind out of you but isn’t enough to require actual help but still leaves you sitting helplessly gasping for air. I say nothing for a long time, just staring at my bare feet on the tan coloured rug, counting to ten and willing myself not to cry.

“Is there ever going to be a time when I’m good enough?” I ask, my voice sounding squeaky like an old door hinge as I turn to look at Sidney who is looking straight ahead with his jaw thrust forward in that defensive sort of way that says ‘don’t start something’. So I still can’t cross that line. He can say whatever he wants about his old man but no one else can.

“They’ll see...when we’re together in the summer. They’ll see then,” he says finally, reaching over to cover my hand with his. I look down at our hands and then up at him and I know that the look on his face is supposed to be supportive or something but it doesn’t feel like it. But I nod anyway and try to not to let him see that it bothers me that he doesn’t take my side. I came here for him. Not me.

“About being...together,” I begin, that voice in the back of my head that’s been niggling at me, telling me that I have to tell him, getting louder as we sit there on his bed.

“Yeah, about that,” he gives my hand a squeeze and then reaches over to cup my cheek while he presses his lips to the centre of my forehead. “We shouldn’t over think that either,” he tells me with grin. “Not that I don’t know it’s going to be great. I’m just so glad we’re both adults and haven’t been waiting all this time, you know? Did you know that’s what Jordy and Heather were doing? Oh wait, not Jordan, obviously, but Heather was totally holding out for a ring...can you imagine?” I grin like a fucking idiot and shake my head, all the while biting down so hard on the inside of my cheeks that I can actually taste the coppery tang of blood.

“Waiting...no...Wow, really?” I squeak as Sid shakes his head and laughs at poor Heather’s misfortune.

“I didn’t know people still did that kind of shit. I mean, look how well that worked for Jessica Simpson,” he adds and I’m still bobbing my head like the Taco Bell dog trying to ignore the screaming sounds in my brain, except for the one that keeps telling me that he knows.

“So ummm you don’t have that whole...breaking in the new gear kink that Tanger’s got?” I ask a little too breathlessly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He just rolls his eyes before turning entirely towards me, and framing my face with his hands, he kisses me deeply, his tongue curling enticingly around mine.

“I remember when Jack told me how...how good you were. I wanted to kill him,” he admits breathlessly, his thumb tracing my bottom lip before he captures my mouth again, kissing me back onto the bed, his other hand slipping down to knead my breast. “But now...now I can’t wait to find out for myself,” he adds, with a growl as he nips and kisses his way along my jaw and down my neck.

“Really...Jack...?” I’m caught between the flame licking up between my thighs from his kisses and telling him the truth that I know full well will have the very same effect as throwing ice cold water over both of us. “So you’re not...ummm mad?” I ask, pushing him away long enough for him to look down at me with a huge grin on his face.

“Do you think I’d actually want that kind of responsibility? Don’t I have enough to live up to?” he replies with a grin before grabbing the wrist of my arm that I’m holding him at bay with and all I can do is shake my head and mutter something inane like ‘of course not’ while his other hand slides up over my breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching my nipple until I whimper his name. “It’s going to be so good between us Mel,” he promises, grinding his not very confined and very obvious erection against my thigh. All I can do is nod and try to ignore the panic rising in my chest, threatening to cut off the rush of oxygen to my lungs. “Babe...would you...just so I can relax?” he whispers in my ear, his tongue making wet circles around my earlobe as he pushes my hand down to his rock hard erection. “Please Mel...just...need...relief.” My hands shake as they slide down, beneath the loose elastic of the waistband of his track pants. This isn’t how I imagined this moment. This isn’t what I’d wanted or the way I’d wanted it, but I wrap my hand around the heated thickness of his dick and am rewarded with a shudder and his tongue wrapping around mine as he kisses me into submission, or not quite.

I slide down the length of the bed and take his track pants with me, leaving them bunched around his knees before I kneel over him, staring down at the long, thick length of him. This...this I dreamed of and it’s every bit as beautiful, as perfect as I’d imagined that it would be. Gingerly, my entire body shaking with nerves, I reach out to lick away a drop of pre-cum glittering on tip of head. He looks adoringly down his body at me and it’s the gratitude mixed with the heat of passion that has me swallowing my pride and sliding my mouth down the length of him, or as far as I can, until I hear him sigh my name out loud. Then I close my eyes as I feel his hands knot in my hair, forcing my head down over him and I try not to feel humiliated as he fucks my mouth with his cock, athletically lifting his hips off of the bed, his abs crunching enticingly in front of my eyes.

This isn’t how this should have been. There was supposed to be candles and wine and romantic music and rose petals and, most importantly, it should have been him doing the honours first to ease my nerves. Instead I screw my eyes tightly closed and breathe through my nose, doing my best not to gag every time the head of his cock buts up against my tonsils because I can and I will do this for him. This is why I came, for him, because he was wound up as tightly as a coiled spring and he needed me. Me.

So I will not cry over spilled milk and I will not begrudge him this one thing and I will not ask him for anything in return, because he needs me, because I’ve always wanted him to need me the way I’ve needed him.

_________________________________________________________


“I can’t take it. I can’t watch,” I squeal, covering my eyes with my hands but peeking through my splayed fingers at the same time. “I hate when they pull the goalie.”

“You have to watch,” Max laughs, prying at my fingers. “I think it’s bad luck or something if you don’t.”

“Ouch, what are you trying to do? Break my fucking fingers?” I snap, as he pries one of my fingers back enough that it hurts.

“Just watch and quit whining. You remind me of your boyfriend. He hates to watch the shoot-outs too,” Max grins, shaking his head at me as Belarus sweeps into our end.

“He’s always in the shoot-out, how can he not watch?” I ask, partially because I want to know and partially because it’s better than watching the swarm of blue jerseys heading for our net.

“God, remind me never to go to a movie with either of you,” Tanger grouses, giving Max a shove that sends him into a hipcheck that puts me back in my seat, which is good, because then I really can’t see. “You’re like a couple of old women,” he adds, shooting us both a distasteful look. “Merde! Luongo you useless fuck. You almost cost us the game!” he calls through tented hands, as if the big goalie can hear him from where we are up in the team Canada box, thanks to Sid and Mario.

“Hey, hey, someone might hear you,” I hiss at him, to which Tanger, without ever taking his eyes off of the action on the ice, only scoffs.

“Oh whatever. Flower would be much better than this greasy wop. I mean look at him. I’m Count Sieve. One, one early goal. Two, two easy goals,” he adds, doing his best Count from Sesame Street, which, and not for the first time, has Max and I holding our ribs. For his part, Flower, sitting on Tanger’s other side, just shakes his head and keeps his own counsel.

“C’mon Neidermeyer, clear the fucking puck!” I yell, my pulse racing as the crowd begins to count down the seconds. “Oh god, I hate this!” I add, going back to my original defence, hiding behind my hands, but this time I squeeze my eyes shut for good measure. “Tell me when it’s over.”

I hear the whistle, or at least I think I do, but just as I peek through my hands to check, Max grabs me in a bear hug and lifts me off my feet. The crowd is going is berserk. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything this loud before in my life. Everyone’s jumping around, yelling, screaming, waving flags and blowing horns, but I’m not and Max is not.

One minute I’m in the air in his arms, grinning and laughing and the next minute he’s put me down but isn’t letting go of me and there’s this moment, this long, uncomfortable moment where we’re just looking at each other and we’re in our own little world because we both know everyone’s watching the guys celebrate on the ice and no one cares about what we’re doing.

That’s when he kisses me, and not just the ‘yeah aren’t we happy’ little smooch that would be okay from your cousin kind of kiss. No, this is the his body is pressed to my body and his hand is cradling my cheek and I know he’s going to do it and for some reason I don’t stop him and then he’s doing it and his lips are soft and warm and they’re moving over mine and I’m thinking that this is a really, really bad idea but I’m still not doing anything to get that message across, even when his lips pull back and I find myself looking into those hooded green eyes of his and I can see that he’s waiting for me to push him away or smack him. When I do neither, he bends in to kiss me again and I just wait for him to do it, except he doesn’t.

Instead, he screws his eyes shut and he lets go of me all at once so that I fall, ‘plop’, back into my seat. I stare up at him, watching him, waiting for him to say something because I don’t think I can and he doesn’t. He just keeps shaking his head.

“Let’s go down and see them,” Tanger grins, grabbing Max by the shoulders and shaking him. For some reason, I really want Max to say no, to come up with some other idea, anything else, but he smiles and nods and, even more surprisingly, offers me a hand up which I take, feeling an electric shock the minute my fingers slide over his palm.

We both stare at the spot, so that I know he’s feeling it too, and the next thing I know, we’re get stuck in this current of humanity, pouring out and down the hall and towards an elevator. There’s way too many of us to fit and for that I’m grateful because now that my brain is starting to clear, I need to ask Max what the hell has just happened, except when I turn back to ask him, he’s gone, disappeared into the crowd.