Story Title
We See Thee Rise
Summary
"Tell me the story." Rosalie is asked by her daughter to recount the events of Feburary 28, 2010, the day of the men's hockey gold medal game. AH.
Rating
M
DISCLAIMER
Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.
The organizers of this contest and the authors of the stories submitted intend no copyright infringement.
ANONYMITY DISCLAIMER
This story is the work of its author and not of this contest. It has been submitted under the With a Burning Heart pen name for the purposes of this contest only. It remains the work of its author.
"Mom, you look so young here!"
Rosalie looked up from the catalogue she was flipping through and narrowed her eyes at her daughter.
"You know what I mean," he daughter replied, rolling her eyes.
"What photo album are you looking through, Vanessa?" Rosalie asked, eyeing the blue and green album.
"This one!" Vanessa replied, shoving the album over top of her mother's catalogue.
"Have I told you lately how much you're like your father?" Rosalie smiled sweetly. Her daughter replied by sticking her tongue out as she all but fell onto the couch beside Rosalie, wrapping herself in the pile of blankets there. "Why were you looking through photo albums anyway?"
"I've been sick and stuck at home from school for three days now. There's only so much 'Young and the Restless' a girl can take, Mom."
Rosalie wrapped her arm around her overdramatic teenage daughter, and adjusted her so that Vanessa's head was resting on her shoulder.
"Tell me the story? The one that goes with the picture?" Vanessa asked. "I tried asking dad about it before he left for practice, but all I got was, 'Best moment of my life, next to meeting your mom. We kicked ass and your mom and I did it in the dressing room. Bye honey!'" Vanessa blew her nose noisily, throwing the Kleenex onto the already large pile on the floor, then looked up at her mother pathetically. "It scarred me for life, mom. I like your version better. Please?"
Rosalie sighed. How could she no to that? She nodded and began to tell the story without looking at which picture Vanessa had been referring to. She knew which one it was.
~*~*~
February 28, 2010, apprx. 11:30am. Vancouver, Winter Olympics.
The raw energy that was crackling through the Canada Hockey Place was intense. There was no other word for it. The game was starting in half an hour and already the crowd was intense.
The game. The men's hockey gold medal game in the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver. The game.
I wished I could be with Emmett right now, calming him down, doing something useful. Hell, who was I kidding, Emmett wouldn't be nervous. I was nervous. These past few weeks had been a blur and had begun to wear on me. It was so much worse than regular NHL playoffs. My nails, which had been perfectly manicured two weeks ago, were now bitten as short as I could get them. My voice was hoarse from cheering and screaming, and I had dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. I was exhausted, and running on fumes of yesterday's energy.
I was sitting in my seat in the stands while Emmett was down in the dressing room with his superstitious team. 'No seeing your other half until after the game' was the newest superstition, up there with, 'Emmett needs to wear his Scooby Doo boxers' and 'Edward needs this kind of tape to wrap around his stick this way'. I had always been amused by their quirky superstitions...Until last night, when I had been straddling Emmett, and he said, "Sorry Rosie, Coach said no sex 'til after the game." I, of course, proceeded to grab one of Emmett's skates from the top of his open hockey bag next to the bed, planning on tracking down our wonderful, dear 'Coach' and convincing him to retract it. Unfortunately, Emmett caught me before I could make it to the end of the hallway. He grabbed me around the middle with one arm, and put his hand over my mouth with the other, telling me to 'Stop making a scene, Rosie, baby'. His teammates that were staying on the same floor poked their heads out of their doorways and nodded sympathetically at us.
"Told her about Coach's new rule, eh? My girlfriend made it halfway down the stairs with my skate laces before I managed to catch up with her," said one of the guys as we passed.
So, here I sat in the stands, nervous, sleep-deprived, and sexually frustrated--
--
"MOM!"
"Okay, okay, I'll keep it rated 'G' for you from here on out."
--
So, I was quite honestly one step away from a nervous breakdown at this point, and desperately needing to find a distraction. Emmett McCarty's wife does not have nervous breakdowns. Rosalie McCarty does not do breakdowns--
--
"Oh, but chasing down a guy with a skate is perfectly normal?.....Geez, put the glare away, I'm shutting up now, Mom."
"Good girl."
--
I gave myself a little pep talk, trying the 'calming breathing' that the team was told to do. It worked until...
"Hey Rose," a voice said from beside me. It was quiet, barely above a whisper, but damn, it scared me.
"Damnit, Bella, way to give me a heart attack." The tiny brunette smile apologetically as she sat in the seat beside me.
"Sorry, Rose. I'm glad the guys were able to get us seats beside each other though. I don't think I'll be able to handle this alone, and I'd much rather sit with you than with Edward's parents. His mom is a nervous wreck and his dad keeps saying 'That's my boy!' to anyone within earshot." Bella rolled her eyes and smiled at me.
I took a moment to look at Bella and realized she looked just as strung out as I probably did.
"It's okay, Bella. Nice jersey, by the way," I said, grinning over at her. Bella was sporting our team's jersey with the name 'Cullen' displayed prominently across her back, along with Edward's number. I was wearing a matching one, with Emmett's name and number. They were gifts from the guys. Personally, I thought it felt like being branded--as if the wedding ring wasn't enough--but you know, national pride and all that.
"You think you'd be used to this level of stress, what with Edward being in the Stanley Cup final for the last two years," I said to her, smiling to let her know that this wasn't a jab at Edward's success.
"Not like this. This is the Olympics, Rose. Gold medal game. Edward's been dreaming of this moment since he could skate. All he said to me this morning was a quiet, 'I love you' before leaving with the team." She sighed and slumped in her seat.
"He can handle this, Bella," I replied. "He's got his guys. He'll be fine." Bella and Edward came from similar backgrounds as Emmett. All from small towns that lived and breathed hockey. It was sometimes hard for me to relate to them. Growing up, I dreamt of being a princess or a famous singer or an actress. These guys dreamt of winning Stanley Cups and gold medals, and Bella dreamt of marrying her true love--a hockey player, of course. I loved Emmett more than anything, but sometimes our worlds just weren't the same. It definitely took some adjusting and some things made it easier while others made it more difficult. The guys were hometown heroes, and Bella was as well, by default of being Edward's other half. I was luckier. While I certainly didn't mind the attention, it was easier without it. Edward was the 'golden boy', the 'rising star', the current hockey hero. Emmett on the other hand was talented, but didn't get the publicity that Edward did. This made life easier for us, especially since I was new to the world of hockey. The last thing I had needed was someone to come up to me on the street and ask about Emmett's last hat trick, while I stood there with a blank stare. I slowly learnt, though. By the time it came to announcing the Olympic team, I was knowledgeable enough about the hockey world to know how important it was. When the team was announced, people had been shocked that Emmett had made it. He was constantly being underestimated. Edward, however, had always recognized his potential and they were friends long before Bella and I were on the scene, thus giving me at least one friend to help me through the madness that was the NHL.
--
"Shut up, you love the attention, Mom! You just love having an excuse to dress impeccably and get your hair done 'professionally' and--"
"Honey, I love you, but if you interrupt me again, I'll stop the story and turn the TV to yesterday's episode of Y & R."
"...Continue..."
--
Bella nudged me with her elbow and tilted her head toward the left. Two reporters from TSN's special 'Olympic Hockey Panel' were standing with their camera crew, finishing up their pre-game predictions.
"...Cullen's performance has been exceptional, working well with his teammates. So, Bob, what do you think of the sudden line change?"
"I think it was a risky move, Pierre. McCarty's been consistent, but his performance needs to improve in order to reach Cullen's standard."
I huffed and crossed my arms, turning away and facing the ice. Bella squeezed my arm, silently saying 'Ignore them'. They wrapped up their segment and packed up to leave.
"Don't you love the cold though?" Bella asked, interrupting me while giving the reporters my best 'if my eyes were lasers, you'd be dead' look.
"Hmm?"
"The cold. Don't you feel it?" I nodded. I really could. Most people who didn't give a damn about hockey walked into an arena and felt a chill, making them long for hot chocolate and heaters. I used to be one of those people. The first time I went to one of Emmett's games, I spent the entire time nursing several hot chocolates, buying new ones whenever one would cool down. Now, though, the cold was different. It was the kind of cold that settled in your bones, somehow managing to warm you from the inside. The kind of cold that made breathing easier, that made your senses clearer. The kind of cold that woke you up and whispered, Something's about to happen. I found that now that I was focusing on it, I was beginning to calm down. I smiled over at Bella.
"Thanks," was all I said. She just nodded and closed her eyes. My watched beeped and Bella's eyes shot back open.
"Game time."
It was halfway through the second period. Bella had her hands in her hair and was chewing on a stir stick from her long forgotten hot chocolate. I was clutching the armrests beside me, sitting on the very edge of my seat.
"What! That was so clearly offside! No! No, damnit, don't pass in front of the net! Hit him, Emmett, hit him! What the hell is the goalie doing?! Get back in your net, you idiot!" Too late. The opposing team scored.
"FUCK!" Bella yelled, then slapped her hand over her mouth, looking around completely mortified. I could care less, however. I stood up and yelled.
"What the hell was that, ref? They were offside! OFFSIDE! Clearly offside. That's right, you go over there and tell him, baby!" Emmett and Edward had skated over to the referees, and were gesturing wildly, faces red and angry. The ref blew the whistle again, and waved the guys away. They slowly skated away, shaking their heads and sitting back down on the bench, while I continued to yell--
--
"What happened to 'Rosalie McCarty doesn't do breakdowns', blah blah blah? It's called 'class,' Mom."
"Honey, you did the same thing last night at your dad's game against the Senators."
"Point taken."
--
Anxiety filled the arena as the second intermission descended. The score was tied at two each. I told Bella I'd be back, and hurried out of my seat to find the nearest concession stand. I needed caffeine, and quick. On my way, I spotted the two TSN reporters again and snuck a little closer to hear what they were saying.
"...one beauty from Cullen, and he assisted on the other, but this team's got their work cut out for them. The pressure is on like you wouldn't believe, Bob."
"Oh, I believe it, Pierre. But how about McCarty? He's really stepped up his game. I questioned the coach's motives at first, wondering why he would suddenly change the lines up, but now, no more doubt. McCarty has been at the point at the right moment, every time. His penalty killing has been spot on, and I have no doubt that the score would be quite different if he wasn't there to hold things together. He and Cullen are working together like they've been playing together all their lives. It's great to see two young guys work so well together, especially under these circumstances, and with it being the first Olympics for both of them. Now, over to Don Cherry and Ron McClean for 'Hockey Day in Canada'."
Well now, that's more like it, I thought. Emmett really was kicking ass out there. I always knew he was good, and I've always supported him 100%, but...damn. This was so much better than good. Whenever Edward would get the puck, he would barely look before passing it. Each and every time, Emmett was right there waiting for it. It was pure hockey magic and it made me swell with pride.
I bought my overpriced coffee and turned around, almost running into two teenage girls. Their eyes widened when they saw me.
"Oh my god, are you Rosalie McCarty? The Rosalie McCarty?"
I figured I could handle this one of three ways. I could pretend to not know who they were referring to; I could play the attention-loving wife and treat them like they should worship me; but I didn't have the energy for that. Instead, I put on my best Hockey Wife smile, and tucked some loose strands of hair behind my ear.
"Yes, yes I am. What can I do for you ladies?" I asked, smiling kindly at them.
"What's it like, being married to Emmett McCarty?" one of the girls asked, looking starstruck while the other one giggled.
"Messy," I replied, laughing. "Hockey players don't know how to clean up after themselves. Keep that in mind, ladies. Don't forget." I winked at them, waving and walking away as they giggled. They were like mini versions of Bella, with rose-coloured glasses when it came to this game. I didn't want to shatter that illusion, but I didn't want to indulge it either, so I figured a quick escape was best. I clutched my cup of coffee to my chest as I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd, making my way back to my seat.
"Here, Bella, have another stir stick. That one has seen better days," I said, sitting down.
"Thanks," she said, throwing the old one into the garbage can a few rows down, and sticking the new one between her teeth. "Nervous habit. Picked it up from my brother's minor hockey coach when I was little. It's terrible, I know."
I smiled over at her and sipped my coffee, before it sunk it that intermission was wrapping up. The air was buzzing as people filed back to their seats. The next twenty minutes would decide whether we would be celebrating on the ice or sombrely climbing into our car and heading back to the hotel. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could almost hear Bella chewing on that stir stick.
This was it.
15:24 left. Score was still tied at 2-2. Bella was chanting, "okay, boys, come on, boys, let's go, boys," over and over under her breath, like it was some kind of life preserver, like the guys could actually hear her and draw strength from her words. I was staring intently at the back of Emmett's helmet, doing something I had never really done. I prayed like hell.
--
"That's blasphemy, Mom...Nevermind..."
--
10:02 remaining. Two guys decided to get into a stupid fight--which had me standing up and yelling. Still no goals. I noticed that Edward was on more and more often, double-shifting it, and Emmett was hustling back and forth down the ice like his life depended on it. Nervous energy still filled the building, and the crowd started chanting. When the wave started, Bella and I ignored it.
2:30. Still tied. The last thing they needed was for this to go on even longer. I was just about to mention this to Bella when the ref blew the whistle and pointed at Emmett. Wait, what? No way. There was no way that Emmett was getting called for tripping now of all times. A penalty was the last thing we needed.
I stood up to yell, but no words would come. I couldn't believe this! I looked around and noticed that everyone around us was yelling at the ref for his poor call and a chorus of 'Boooo' was echoing out. Bella tugged on the sleeve of my jersey and I sat back down. Her eyes were wide when I looked over at her.
"Rosalie...what if...this is...I can't..." she stuttered out. I put my hands on her shoulders and shook her a little.
"Focus, Bella. Focus on Edward. There's still time. They can still do this." We sat quite literally on the edge of our seats, hand in hand, constantly glancing between the ice and the clock. I looked over at Emmett in the penalty box and saw that he was looking right at me. You can do it, baby, I know you can, is what I hoped my look said. Whatever happens tonight, I love you, is what I hoped he saw in my eyes. I'm so proud of you. He took a deep breath and stood up, breaking eye contact. I looked up at the clock. His penalty was almost over, only 8 seconds left.
Edward got the puck. He started working his way down the ice, but kept coming up blocked. 3...2...1...Emmett was out of the box and charging into the other team's end just as Edward blindly shot the puck forward a split second before he was knocked into the boards. The puck connected with Emmett's stick and as he raised it to take a shot, everything but Emmett disappeared. Time slowed down, then stopped completely. The only sound was that of my heart beating. It was as though everyone in the building was collectively holding their breath. Wood connected with rubber and everything sped up again as the puck careened toward the goaltender and-- in the net!
"HE SCORED! Emmett scored!" Bella was jumping up and down, screaming at the top of her lungs, waving her arms around, while I sat in complete shock. Thirty seconds left in the game and Emmett--my Emmett-- broke the tie, put us in the lead. As this finally sunk in, I jumped up and joined Bella in screaming. We turned to face each other, both yelling, "He scored!" and hugged. I started laughing as we turned, arms still around each other, and watched as they faced off again and play continued, the seconds on the clock counting down. 10...9...8...This was it. I couldn't believe it. 7...6...5...The crowd began chanting along with the countdown and Bella and I held each other tighter. 4...3...2...1...Game over.
Bella and I began jumping and screaming all over again as we watched our other halves jump on each other in celebration. I felt my eyes well up with tears, but didn't wipe them away. I looked at Bella and saw that tears were streaming down her cheeks as well and we smiled at each other. A representative from the team came over to us to say that we were welcome to join them on the ice in celebration, and Bella and I practically ran down the stairs of the stands.
"Emmett! Baby, over here!" I was slipping all over the ice, but I really didn't care. I grabbed onto whoever happened to be near me to keep my balance as I continued to push through toward Emmett.
"Rose! Rosie, there you are!" I saw Emmett as he managed to push through a group of players ten feet away. I ran full speed toward him, ice be damned, and jumped at him when I got close enough. He caught me and I wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing every part of his face that I could reach. He laughed, his chest rumbling beneath all of his hockey gear. I looked at him, he looked at me, and we just stayed like that, smiling. Somewhere, in some part of my mind I registered that a camera was flashing in our direction, and I buried my face in the nook of Emmett's neck as he hugged me even closer.
"I love you, Emmett."
"I love you, too, Rose."
~*~*~
Rosalie peeled back the clear, sticky sheet that was holding the picture in place and tugged it out. It was that moment, Emmett holding her up, the two of them holding each other. The one next to it was of Emmett, standing on the blue line with his arm around Edward, gold medal hanging around his neck as the national anthem was played and the flag was raised. Beneath that was a picture of Rosalie and Bella, taken by Edward's mother. They had their arms around each other, and smiled through their tears, wearing their matching jerseys.
"Your dad might be a pain sometimes, but..." Rosalie trailed off.
"But he's ours, right Mom?"
"Right, honey." Rosalie got up from the couch and took the gold medal off of the hook on the wall. She walked back over and placed it around her daughter's neck. "Now be quiet, lie down, watch your father's game on TV, and get better. And next time you complain about daytime television, I'm telling this story the way your father would tell it." Rosalie walked to the kitchen, away from the muffled, "ewww" that came from the pile of blankets on the couch that was her daughter.