Doug's parents called him back to reality a few days after they beat out the Shamrocks. They were doctors and they confirmed that Doug had a broken ankle, and was going to be off the ice for at least four months- conceivably the rest of the season and change. Mrs Glatt attempted to console the crestfallen team by making them cookies; but she was a horrible baker and as a result the cookies didn't cheer up anyone, least of all Eva.
For Eva had realised that Doug was like a golden retriever. You don't mistreat a dog, because it only forgives you and then you feel like shit, or it won't fight back and then you feel like shit. Eva had had a little terrier like that once, but her parents split up and the dog went with her dad, who was far more practical at caring for things. But anyway, her wandering mind announced, Dougie was the most loyal dog ever. And he was going to be unhappy cooped up off the ice. So that meant she had to do something about it.
Eva became a Nice Girl. She wasn't great at it, terrible at cooking and giving him welcome home hugs, always forgetting to hide her crates of beer or shut up when the fights came on. She told his parents to fuck off in about as many words when they came over one evening. But she tried, and Eva could tell Doug appreciated it when he snuffled into her hair and grinned at her, the lopsided little smile with a fake plastic tooth. She loved his battle scars, and his simplicity. Her warrior dog was home for a rest.
One lazy sunshine afternoon, Eva was kicking her feet around with a soccer ball, taking her mind off work. She worked as the store manager for Priceworld, and god was it awful. Self pass, slam, score, rebound, go.
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket- a text from Doug.
'Xav is sounding really low and needs to talk to a girl. Do you know anybody?' Intrigued, she called him but it went straight to voicemail.
"Goddamnit Dougie!" Eva hissed, auburn hair swishing out of her eyes, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance.
The truth was Eva was not so much a Nice Girl as she tried to be. And Doug's roommate was temptation on legs. Xavier LaFlamme, Quebecois sex god, first class asshole and absolute master of hockey… even thinking about him tested her limits. For Doug, for Doug she told herself, fully aware that if she didn't, Xavier would be so so so easy to come to… come for… oh Fuck. Being a Nice Girl sucked.
Incoming call- Doug Glatt
"Eva? Hey Eva?"
"Hi Doug. Why'd I go to voicemail?" She grins, loving the simple affection present in his voice.
"Ahum… Xavier and I were talking."
"You were talking?"
"Right, and I… I was wondering if you had any friends, because he would really like to find a fi-" the phone crackled and LaFlamme's gorgeously broody French accent was heard saying "I don't need no fucking whore friends of your whore, you fucktard. I can find my own puck bunnies!"
"Captain says you give single mothers herpes in a parking lot." Doug's voice is smiling, but slightly stilted- awkward, like they've just talked more in detail about something. Eva is immediately drawn to the dirtiest train of thought imagineable.
Xavier huffs off in an explosion of indignant passionate fury. She wants that passion lathered all over her.
"Eva? You still here?"
"I'm still here Doug. Is everything ok?"
"Yeah, I guess he doesn't want to talk to a girl anymore. He's going to play hockey."
And that, indeed, was precisely what Xavier LaFlamme did, which is where this story begins.
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He's got his skinny jeans and beanie on, not even bothering to change into his full hockey kit. Just brings his skates, freshly sharpened and worn in and ready for ice. He stopped in at a Tim Hortons on the way to the rink and grabbed a mocha, which explains the small smug smile on his face. Montreal never beat this shit.
The rink seems empty, coz most people have jobs on a Thursday morning and so it is very easy to hop the turnstile and slide into the changing rooms' back entrance. The rink is still perfect. Nobody has been on since the Zamboni.
He changes into his skates and laps the ice, flying round and round and round, twisting and turning and using his footwork skills, crossovers and backwards and in any way he can think of. He can skate and he is fast.
Soon LaFlamme loses himself to the ultimate freedom of being able to move. This is where he can think- where it isn't really thinking but reacting, just using instincts and drills to respond in creativity. He has been doing this for so long that he doesn't feel tired at all, merely awake and throbbing with adrenaline and being alive. Hockey makes him feel alive.
He has to think now, about what to do about the Highlanders. His game is back and he's still young. He has attention again, coaches and managers talking about money for playing. But LaFlamme knows that it's really Doug who gave him the confidence back. Doug was the real reason that they won against the Shamrocks, against Rhea. It's strange now, that Ross 'The Boss' Rhea doesn't shake him like he used to. He was never pansy terrified, not even Quebec scares him (that he'll admit) but Rhea was an obstacle that he couldn't quite get over. It's thanks to Doug now that he can.
When the offers come in, and there will be offers for contracts, he needs to know whether he will say yes or no. LaFlamme closes his eyes and skates slower, in time to the beat in his head, knowing the dimensions of the rink so well that he never needs to falter. Does Doug really limit my success? Will the team survive without me? The money is enough. Can I be better?
That last one makes him smile. Yes, said his mother, you can always be better. He drifts to a slow elegant halt, one leg nonchalantly taking all his weight, and suddenly the focus is back outside on the world, and he knows. He knows that at heart Xavier LaFlamme is an arse and a cutthroat hockey player who will do anything to become better. He is 26. That is still enough time.
He opens his eyes. He is not alone.
A girl sits dangling her legs on the edge of a seat, head resting on a propped up elbow, watching him lazily.
He is sure she will recognize him, because let's face it the Highlanders are the team around here and he is their sexy as fuck scorer. But in fact her face does not change from the passive curiosity, and he awkwardly skates off the ice, feeling her gaze as a weight on his shoulders.
Xavier sneaks a look around at her once more as he undoes the laces on his skates. She is staring at the ice now. Not hot, exactly. There's too weird a vibe coming off her to be hot. But she's got long dark hair that he can wrap his fingers in and a little pink mouth. The pale skin, now that he's judging her, would be really hot to see getting flushed. Eyes are too dark to see more of at the moment and she has delicate forearms.
He deliberately leaves his jacket where it is as though forgotten.
"uh.. Sir! You left your jacket."
Target locked.
"Ah merci Madamoiselle, je ne sais quoi j'ai pensé." He turns to fetch it, and flashes her his smile that he knows makes women weak at the knees. She blushes and then frowns. Silence, while he zips up and dons the beanie.
"Je suis desolée, mais je ne parle Francais, nur un petit peu comprende." Xavier mentally grins. He's looking for action tonight, and this is the luck of the draw. She's obviously interested, because she's drawing out the interaction. And this is a perfect chance to come closer to her.
He walks up the aisle of the benchers and ducks his head, as though embarrassed.
"That is ok, I speak English too. You have a really pretty accent." Doug is rubbing off on him- no clever word plays, just simple statement. He does like the foreign way that she enunciated every word, as if careful to make sure her language is understood. But honestly? Pffft, he understands mangled death threats through mouthguards, she doesn't need to bother.
She nods back at him, hesitating, and he waits for her to give her name, just considering all the sexy variations-
"Could you teach me to skate?"
His jaw hangs open. Of all the things he was expecting her to blurt out, that was not one of them. Xavier scratches the back of his head and there is an awkward silence again.
"Uh, I guess. I am not a teacher though and I have no time."
Her face, previously hardened up and expecting rebuttal, blooms into youth and vibrant joy. He notices suddenly that she is properly young, like 17 or 18. Beyond his reach young. Her hands clasp together unconsciously in excitement and it for some reason makes him content, as though this pose is the right way of things.
"I knew it! You just skate unconsciously. You have to be a hockey player to skate like that, it just emanates from you, ya know?"
"I am the scorer for the Highlanders," he nods, drawing himself up to his full height, "so maybe no surprise." Now that the girl is off limits, he ponders the question using his head and not his dick. She is not his usual teammate, slighter than even he is. But compared to other girls, he has no idea. She is definitely not the usual girl he 'gives herpes in a parking lot'. There hasn't really been anyone else, except for Amelie…
Amelie is long gone though. So he sighs and asks her if she's got skates, she comes out onto the ice and.
Wow. Cette femme a putain jambes, la merde!
Yes he swears a lot, but she's immediately low to the ice and he can see strong defined quads and calves and a keen sense of balance. That's good, plus points to her already.
The girl is also leaning forward awkwardly, hesitant to move too fast for fear of falling over. Oh chouchou, he smirks, you have to be able to think and your body just does. Imagine doing the limbo under a stick? By the time you imagine, I moved. That's how fast it is, the puck is just a concept, too fast to really see more than its effects.
Xavier has never had to teach that ease of movement to someone. Sure, he can talk through power plays and three on two movements enough to enlighten even Doug, but this is just way too basic. He scratches his chin, unsure on how to proceed.
"Turn your toes owt, like this. Like you are the ballerina, and push. Non, dig into the ice, use the edge of the skate." She stumbles, and he lunges forward and then catches himself. Let her fall.
All that's happened is she has wet knees. Not the worst symptom. She huffs, and Xavier waits to see how she'll get back up again.
He circles around her as she attempts to place one foot firmly only to see it slip away again, absentmindedly more concerned with discovering how his abdominal muscles twist when he goes in circles. Xavier has been playing and skating unconsciously for so long that now he's taking the time to consciously learn how he moves.
She flicks the hair from in front of her eyes impatiently and tries again- once, twice, thrice- before managing to propel herself into a crouch that is unstable but at least off the floor.
"I thought you were gonna teach me…" she grouses. Xavier rolls his eyes and hoiks her up with one hand into a standing position, never losing his balance for a moment. The girl sighs, gratefully, and for some reason that sigh seeps into his bones, leaving a trail of warmth, leaving a silent observation that he might have a little more time for this one.
"I can't make you learn how to move," he says after a pause, "that's something you will need to teach yourself. I'm not good at the basics."
"The basics suck though. I want to learn to skate the way you do!"
And Xavier finds this funny, starts thinking of the way he learnt to skate, and before he knows it he's laughing, a deep throated chuckle that reverberated round and round before leaping out of his mouth. Through watering eyes he notices the girl frown at him and attempt to move again, and her guts only makes him laugh even more.
"Mais tu ne voulais vraiment pas à apprendre à patiner comme je le fais, comme un fils de pute de badass."
He reverted to French in his moment of weakness. She remains there, watching, arms folded now that she can stand steady. Unamused scowl on her face, and Xavier dimly realises that teenaged girls have sensitive souls and must never never ever be laughed at. She wouldn't understand he was laughing at himself, and the way he plays things.
"Mister, what's your name?"
"Eh, it is not importante." And with that sense of finality looming over his head, Xavier turns around and skates off the ice, trotting past the bleachers. She doesn't let him go just yet though ('damn women, always ruining my exits!') yelling out words that are distorted by the cavernous shape of the rink.
"Hey what the fuck? I was just trying to be nice! My name's-"
He tunes her out and keeps on walking. It feels good to be such a bitch again.
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A/N: I watched Goon and fell in love. So this is a continuation of the saga, because we know Xavier is nice but not that nice, and Doug doesn't heal instantaneously, and Eva is not a Nice Girl. People change, but not that quickly.
Would love a review or two :3
~rememberthekey