"I'm strong on the surface
Not all the way through
I've never been perfect
But neither have you." Linkin Park
There was no practice this morning because the game was at 2pm but Coach asked me and a few others to lace up for some drills. They needed to test out the new guy.
I walk into the dressing room sipping my Venti Non-Fat Sugar Free Vanilla latte. Tably is there and Brooksy and at first I think the giant hulking guy with his back to me next to Tanger is Geno. But then he turns and I realize it's the guy I was googling last night.
Clay Morgan looks up as he finishes taping his stick and sees me.
"Hey," he says casually, then rests his stick against the wall, takes a step toward me and extends his hand.
"Hi," I shake his hand. It's enormous. He's another giant like Geno. "Welcome to the club."
He smiles. "Thanks."
I walk over to my locker and start to undress. Clay finishes dressing when Dan, our head of Player Personnel, comes in and takes him out of the dressing room to talk about temporary player housing.
Jordy and Geno wander in from the weight room and Clay stops to shake their hands too.
As soon as Clay is out of earshot Jordan slides over next to me. "When did we get a Morgan brother?"
"Yesterday," I reply. "It's crazy he got here already."
"Is he playing tonight?" Brooks wants to know and I shrug.
"Do we like him?" Max asks and I laugh.
"We don't not like him, Maxie," I reply and pull on my shoulder pads.
"Kid's dad was a great goalie coach," Brooks pipes in as he ties his skate laces. "Was a legend at BU. When he died I swear the whole university was crushed."
"His dad died?" That sucks, I think and wonder how I didn't come across that in my internet search.
Brooks nods. "Yeah his parents died in a car crash in 2001. I was still at BU at the time."
"Bad," Geno says which is clearly an understatement but the best he can come up with in English.
I just nod my head and as I finish getting dressed I can't help but run numbers in my head. According to wikipedia he was born in '85 which means he was 16 when his parents died. If my parents died at 16 god knows what the hell would have happened to Taylor and I or if I'd have ended up as successful as I am.
Brutal. Now I want to like the kid. I hope he's good out there.
The drills are incredibly light. But Clay is giving it 110%. And despite trying his best, Flower isn't able to stop all his shots.
It's a good sign.
When Coach finally blows the whistle and ends it we take our time skating back off the ice. And I slide up beside him.
"Good work out there," I say casually.
"Thanks," he replies with a small smile.
"You playing tonight?"
He shrugs. "Mr. Lemieux is working it out now. He's hopeful."
I smile. "You can call him Mario."
We reach the boards and he moves and offers me the chance to step off first.
"McKinnon find you a place to squat till you get something permanent?" I want to know as I pull off my helmet.
"I'm at the Hilton for a day or two," Clay explains. "He gave me a list of furnished rentals we'll check out this week."
We…. He said "we". I try not to show any reaction on my face but this news truly bums me out.
"The wife?" I ask calmly as we reach the dressing room.
He laughs at that. "No."
"No wife?" Max repeats, picking up the last bit of our conversation and making it his own.
"Nah," he shakes his head.
"Bon!" Max gives an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Another wingman. Glad to hear it."
Clay looks amused by this but says nothing.
I start to strip out of my practice gear in silence.
"We're playing your brother tonight," Jordan says and Clay nods. "Any tips?"
Clay thinks about it as he wraps a towel around his waist. "He loves to shoot high right. It's his go to. That is the shot he'll take 95 percent of the time. And if you keep grinding him on the boards he'll get frustrated and take a penalty. Every time."
Jordan looks thrilled with getting the information.
He nods and walks towards the showers but slaps Jordy lightly on the shoulder as he passes. "I expect the inside scoop when we play the Rangers or Hurricanes."
Jordan smiles. "Always."
Once again when he's out of earshot Clay's the subject of discussion.
"He's single," Max muses. "I like him."
"You like anyone who will help you hunt tail," Brooks says as he starts unlacing his skates.
"Yep," Max agrees and then he shoves him playfully.
"Just because he's single doesn't mean he'll be a wingman," Jordy reminds Max. "Look at Sid."
"I have a girlfriend," I remind them for the hundredth time.
"Right," Max replies in a tone you'd give a 6 year old who is talking about an imaginary friend.
"Banging a chick twice in a year doesn't make her your girlfriend Sidney," Jordan lectures me with an evil grin.
"Thank god that's the truth or else Tably would have 18 girlfriends." Brooks snarks.
"Mais non! Je ne dors jamais avec un fille deux fois," Max argues.
Everyone laughs.
"We email and talk all the time," I mutter but only half-heartedly. The truth is I hadn't talked to Kathy in almost 2 weeks. And the guys we're right, we'd only ever hooked up twice and the last time was almost 2 months ago.
Later, I head back out to my car to grab my ipod which I forgot. I see Clay getting into a lemon yellow Volkswagon Beattle Bug.
He sees me and instantly looks horrified.
"It's a rental," he explains, turning red. "I swear I thought I was getting and SUV."
I laugh out loud.
"The guys are going to haze you mercilessly if they see it," I warn before asking. "Where you headed?"
We don't usually leave the rink with a 2pm game start.
"Gotta pick someone up at the airport. But I'll be back in time to suit up. Mario said the paperwork is done," Clay explains. "I'm looking forward to playing with you guys."
"Looking forward to it too" I nod. "See ya tonight."
I watch him cram his 6'4 frame into that ridiculous chick car and laugh.
Forgetting all the hurt inside
You've learned to hide so well
Pretending someone else can come
And save me from myself." Linkin Park
He looks casual and relaxed and that's a good thing. I follow along beside him and hope that I look as calm as he does. Inside I'm a freaking ball of nerves. I hope he's not.
I glance up. He's jaw is relaxed and his eyes are soft as he stares down the length of the hall we're traveling in the bowels of the Pens home arena.
He stops in front of an elevator and points.
"Take these," he hands me two black passes with giant penguins on them. "Go up here to the third level. There's supposed to be a door to your left and down that hallway are the boxes. You're in 3."
I nod glancing at the tickets and open my mouth to speak when his phone buzzes and he pulls it out of this pocket. He glances at the screen and smiles.
"Bitch," he mumbles.
"Dean?"
Clay chuckles and nods as he texts back.
"What did he say?" Vanessa wants to know.
"That he's going to school me so hard in front of the home crowd the Penguins fans will think Lemieux has lost his mind for ever taking me on." Clay tells us and I roll my eyes.
"What juvenile egotistic put down are you going to respond with?" I ask dryly not surprised or impressed with my brother's antics.
"Sabourin is going to make you his bitch and I'm going to help him."
"This is a side to hockey ESPN doesn't cover," Nessa mutters.
I just smile and hit the button for the elevator. The doors open and Vanessa and I step inside, I hold the door open with my hand and ask him "Where are we meeting afterward?"
"Parking lot," he tells me and glances down as his phone buzzes again. "Be good up there. Don't embarrass me or anything."
"So flashing my tits at the jumbotron is out then?" I question and he looks disgusted.
The elevator doors close and Ness turns to me. "I didn't get to tell him good luck."
"Good. Wishing him good luck before a game is bad luck."
"It is? Why?" She looks confused.
"I don't know why," I respond. "Why is the sky blue?"
The doors ping and open and we step off and I'm about to reach for the handle on the door to the left when it swings open and suddenly I'm knocked completely off-balance by a male chest hitting me square in the face.
"Oh god! Sorry!" I feel hands reach out and grab me by my elbows and steady me.
I grab the forearms of the guy who both assaulted and saved me and struggle to regain my balance in my high heeled, knee high leather boots.
"I was rushing. I didn't see you. Sorry!"
"It's okay," I look up to find his face – Sidney Crosby's face – pink with embarrassment and grim with remorse. "I'm fine. It's fine. I promise."
His grip slowly loosens on my arms. "You're sure?"
I nod and he lets go.
"Hi." Vanessa says behind me.
He glances at her and smiles tightly. "Hi."
He looks down at me again and there are a million questions racing through my head. Why is he up here? Is he not playing tonight? Why is he so much better looking in person? I thought his eyes were darker than this. I thought he was taller. I thought…
"I really have to go."
"Yes," I agree like an idiot. "Go."
"Sorry again."
"It's fine."
And then he slips into the elevator and disappears.
Vanessa looks at me with impatient brown eyes as I stare after him.
"You have no idea who that was do you?" I ask and she blinks and shakes her head. "That was the one and only Sidney Crosby."
"All I know is he was a hottie." She grins, her big brown eyes twinkling. "Hockey player right?
"He is THE hockey player." I say not sure why I sound as excited as I am or why my heart is fluttering. "The Wayne Gretzky of our generation."
She nods but clearly just doesn't give a crap. "Well, this new Gretzky is way more smoking hot than the first Gretzky."
We make our way through the door Sidney came out of and make our way down the hall. Vanessa looks back over her shoulder like she expects Sidney to be following us.
"He was gorgeous," I admit in a hushed voice. "Way hotter than on TV."
"Pretty eyes," Nessa muses aloud.
"Pretty lips," I add and run my own tongue out along my bottom lip.
When we find box 3 we are greeted by two young, pert blonde wearing pink and black Pens jerseys. There are a few other guys in suits standing around the buffet table. We smile demurely at them and make our way to seats in the front row.
Ness then goes and grabs some of the food and returns with a heaping plate of Kobe beef sliders, popcorn and bacon wrapped scallops. She also hands me a Corona.
"I know you're too nervous to eat but you're never too nervous to drink," she tells me and winks.
I love Ness. She's the best best friend a girl could ask for. I push the lime wedge into the beer and take a sip.
The box gets more crowded and a few people come over and say hello introducing themselves as the agent of so-and-so or a Pens scout of whatever. I can barely pay attention. I just want the game to start.
The lights dim and the players come out and I find myself scanning both sides of the ice. I see Dean instantly and then find Clay on the bench. I try my best to avoid looking at number 17. I will not allow Ryan Kesler to cloud my thoughts tonight.
"Half their faces are covered by those damn helmets and they're all padded up… so how do hockey players manage to look so freaking hot?" Ness wants to know.
"I have no idea," I reply and my eyes land on 87.
In the history of my brothers' careers I had never met him. I had seen him play in Montreal against Clay last year but never seen him in person, without all the equipment. I knew he was cute. But damn…. He's down right gorgeous.
The game starts and Clay is on the bench. Dean is on the ice playing left wing next to 17. I watch him line up with Jordan Staal. 17 wins the draw and gets the puck to Dean. But it suddenly becomes clear to me that Staal has Dean's number because he checks him into the boards and holds him there a little longer than necessary, but not long enough to draw the penalty.
This goes on for most of the first until Dean finally draws a penalty for slashing. I roll my eyes.
Clay totally told his new teammates how to anger his big brother.
Clay has completed two shifts and managed to get a strong shot on net, which the giant Italian Montrealer Roberto Luongo stops, but then collapses. The arena goes silent as Vancouver's trainer comes running onto the ice and the Canuck players mill around nervously.
"He pulled his groin," I announce. "Badly."
"Really?" A suit who introduced himself as the agent of Maxime Tablot says with a smirk. "And what makes you think that, honey?"
"The way he went down," I reply coolly trying not to let hiss misogynistic comment get under my skin. "He'll have to be pulled. He'll also have to be helped off the ice and won't be able to put weight on one of this skates. Judging by the way he rolled over, I'm betting it's the left."
A few minutes later Luongo is indeed helped off the ice his left skate nowhere near the ice and I smile smugly. The sleezy agent is staring at me.
"She was a goalie," Vanessa explains with a smile.
"And the daughter of a goalie coach," I add smiling.
The Canucks score shortly after that and I can see tension rise on the Pens bench.
When the second starts Therrien has bumped Clay up from the third line to the second and I realize with dread that means he's out there for a face off with Ryan.
"Fuck," I whisper and realize with a cold knot forming in my stomach that my brother never did unequivocally promise not to leave Ryan alone.
"What?" Ness wants to know.
But before I can say anything, seconds after the puck drops and Kes wins the draw and tries to skate away, Clay comes up behind him and crosschecks him hard in the back.
"I'm going to murder him," I say harshly and feel anger and panic surge through my body.
Kes jumps up from where he fell and turns on Clay, but Dean is already there, holding his little brother my the jersey and trying to push him backward. Clay is yelling something and it makes me cringe to think what that might me. Clay shoves at Dean and then reaches over him and cuffs Ryan with his gloved hand on the side of the face. Now Beiksa is skating in and Cook yipping. It's turning into a tangle of Blue jerseys and black ones.
The next thing you know Dean shoves Clay so hard he loses his balance and falls back onto the ice.
The refs jump in putting Clay and Dean, in the box.
I'm so angry and upset that I'm shaking.
"I told him to let it fucking go," I hiss and cover my face with my hands. "I said I was over it."
"Clearly C is not over it," Vanessa replies tartly. "Good on him, that Kes asshole deserves a punch."
"Yeah because that is going to make a fabulous impression with his new team," I answer.
And then things go from bad to worse as Kesler scores on the powerplay.
In the end the Penguins lose 3-1 to the Canucks and as Ness and I get up and head through the somber halls filled with disappointed Penguins staff and VIPs, I can't wait to get home and beat the crap out of my brother.