A/N: I know, I know. I upped the rating. Cue OHMYGOD. (No, really, it's just for some foul language.)
And, without further ado, I give thee Trade: Chapter 4...
...
Matt, the saint, up before 10 am on a Wednesday, drives him to the airport. He's only got a few bags, the rest of Derek's stuff is being shipped—the stuff he needs, anyway, of which there is very little. He donated most of his big stuff and he thought about taking his TV, but figured it would just be easier to get a new one on the other side of the border. So he showed up on Edwin's doorstep the evening before with the television, gift-wrapped complete with a giant bow and the two said a quick goodbye. Then some of the guys from the Leafs took him out, last night on the town style.
He woke up alone on Matt's couch this morning, surrounded by suitcases and with no note from any escaping lovers, fairly sure that none had accompanied him home the night before.
Back in the car, en route to the airport, Matt asks, "You're gonna be okay on the other side?"
"I'm a big boy, Matty," Derek says, "The real question is if you're gonna be able to score any goals without me."
"Oh, I'll manage. I've been scoring goals since long before I met you."
"Sure, I'll believe it when I see it."
They pull the car into short-term parking, and Matt helps Derek get all of his bags into the airport. Outside of security, Derek stops and looks at his friend, "Matty, are you crying?"
"What? No," he says, as he rubs at his eyes with his right hand. "But I'm gonna miss ya, bro."
"Well, start playing a little better, and maybe New York will take you away too," Derek tries to lighten the mood.
"Course. I'll be following in your footsteps within the month."
Outside of the security clearance area, Matt and Derek hug, awkwardly, triangle style, for a second and a half, just long enough for a single pat on the other one's back.
"Look me up if you're ever in the Big Apple, Matt. I mean it."
"I will, D," he says as Derek makes his way toward the line. "See ya around."
"See ya, Matt."
...
"He's going to be in town later today, from what I've heard," Tom explains to Casey the next day at work. "So you should try and set up your first interview for sometime after his first practice, you know, give him some time to develop some first impressions about his new gig."
Casey is nodding along with Tom, scribbling a few things down in her notebook, pretending like this isn't really happening right now.
He releases her from his office, and she returns to her desk. As she rounds the corner of her cubicle, she spots a new take-out cup of coffee and a sample pack of chocolates from the shop in lobby of the magazine's building.
"Kate," she says to no one in particular, "Aren't you a saint?"
Speak of the devil, "Figured you'd need a little pick me up after last night," Kate says by way of explanation, clutching her own coffee cup. "So, when do you walk into the lion's den?"
"Probably sometime this weekend. Tom wants us to get our exclusive in before anyone else can jump on him."
"So, you're just going to show up as a reporter like you two don't even know each other?"
Casey looks at her toes, "That's what I was thinking, yeah."
"Casey," Kate chides. "You know that's a stupid idea. You're not going to get any work done. I mean he knows you're in town, so he's had a little time to prepare, but you can't just show up out of the blue like, "So, Mr. Venturi, what's it like being a New York Ranger?"
"Well, why not?" Casey questions, rather petulantly.
...
He'd say even their jerseys are nicer, if he didn't know that couldn't possibly be true and if it didn't make him sound like a priss. Less than 12 hours after he got off the plane yesterday evening, he's sitting in the locker rooms somewhere deep inside Madison Square Garden.
The Ranger's Coach, Jim, enters and walks straight toward Derek, "We're putting you in the third line with Volkov and Crawford. You three can get to know each other before we start," Coach directs his attention to the rest of the room and calls over Derek's new line. Two guys, one blonde and rather slim and the other dark haired and tall as a horse, look up from their gear and make their way over.
Jim looks back to Derek, "You'll continue to play as a center forward," he explains.
"So I'll be seeing plenty of ice time,"
"Of course. We didn't pay all that money for you so you could warm the bench for us."
Derek's new linesmen join them. The dark haired one introduces himself first, "Vicktor Volkov," he says, his accent faint, but distinctly Russian.
"And I'm Wes," the other offers, "Wes Crawford."
Derek introduces himself, and then there is a slight pause.
"Right, I'll leave you boys to play nice," Coach says, and then he addresses the entire locker room, "On the ice in five, boys."
"Hey," Wes leans in conspiratorially, "You started for the Leafs, right?"
"Yeah," Derek says, nonchalant, "but they weren't as strong a team, so…"
"No, no. That's not what I'm saying," Wes amends.
Derek crosses his eyebrows, "Okay, what are you saying?"
Vicktor jumps in, "That's Wes' way of saying we're really excited to have you. We're tired of being the third line."
"And, since you were a starting forward, we figure we have a better chance now," Wes explains.
Derek smiles, catching on, "Don't worry, boys, I don't intend to stay third string for long."
Once out on the ice, it doesn't take Derek long to figure out Wes's strength. He might be smaller than himself and Vicktor, but he's fast. Really fast. They are doing suicides to start, which gives Derek enough of a reason to think this team is more hard core than any one he's been on previously, and Wes is skating circles around all of them, showing no sign of tiring. And Derek may not be captain of the team, but Wes and Vicktor definitely made him captain of their line, so to keep himself from actually committing suicide, he starts planning.
…
Casey reluctantly acknowledges that Kate probably has a point. It's not a good idea to just go to the rink and pretend like they're strangers. It really would not be fair.
Unfortunately, after she and Derek fell out, she deleted every trace of him. Of course, she still has his phone number memorized, but her procrastinating mind has convinced herself that he's changed it by now. She knows the chance of him changing said phone number is slim, but she hasn't talked to Lizzie in a while, and she will definitely have the correct number, so she takes her lunch break to catch up with her younger sister.
"I assume you heard the news," Lizzie says instead of hello.
Casey sighs.
"And how are you doing?" Lizzie softens her tone.
"Do you have Derek's phone number?"
"You're gonna call him?" she asks, clearly excited.
"It's not like that, Liz."
"Well, I mean, I just assumed you'd pretend like he was still in Canada. I don't really understand Manhattan, but your chances of crossing paths are pretty slim, aren't they?"
Again, Casey sighs.
"Aren't they?" Lizzie presses.
"See, at the magazine, we cover New York sports teams, Liz. Derek is now a New York sports player."
"No," Lizzie says, horrified.
"We have a meeting scheduled this weekend, the day before his first game."
"Casey, you can't just show up there out of the blue, I mean the boy gets nauseous with regular nerves, if you walk back into his life without warning—Casey, you'll ruin his career! He won't even be able to play."
"I know, Liz. That's why I want to call him. Meet up beforehand, so it's less of a shock on Saturday. So, if you've got his phone number…"
"It's the same one he's always had," she says dismissively but lists it for Casey's benefit anyway. "God, Casey, what are you going to say?"
"For once, I have no idea."
"Oh boy," Lizzie says. "Listen, I have to get back to class, but if you need anything. I mean anything, you can always call me."
"Yeah, Liz. Thanks. Talk to you soon?"
"Yep. Love you, Case."
"Love you too. Bye."
Casey hangs up and looks down at the phone number she's scribbled on her hand.
…
"Damn," Derek swears, back in the locker room, the hardest hockey practice of his life finally over. "I'm not going to be able to move in tomorrow."
Vicktor laughs, "Russian remedy, Venturi."
Wes joins in on his laughter, "Yeah, we know this great place down in the Village."
"Lots of vodka, lots more women," Vicktor says, "Wanna come with?"
"Yeah," Derek agrees, "Though I'm sure I'm gonna regret it in the morning."
"Nah, man," Vicktor claps him on the shoulder, "You'll feel good as new."
…
She hasn't even spoken to him yet, and already Derek is driving her to alcoholism. Casey went home after work and stared at her hand for a full three hours before she gave up, realizing that tonight, however important it was to call him, was not the night. So she's back at the bar, although this time, she is without Kate. Fortunately, it's late on a Thursday evening, and she's not the only one who's decided to start the weekend early.
…
By the time they head down to the subway—Derek gets a crash course in the MetroCard system—a few more of his new teammates have joined them. And this must be a weekly event or something because all of the guys, not just Wes and Vicktor, know how to get there.
…
The bartender slides her cranberry vodka across the bar, and tries to engage her in conversation, but Casey's not biting.
…
"The great thing about coming down to the Village," Wes is explaining to Derek, "is that people don't care about hockey. We get to be regular guys down here."
"You make it sound like it's a different country," Derek says.
"Trust me," Wes fist bumps his shoulder, "It practically is."
Derek shrugs, "If you say so."
"You'll see. You haven't been living here long enough to realize it, but you will see," Wes promises.
Their group rounds another corner; here, the streets aren't as wide as they are uptown, and more often than not, they are cobblestoned rather than paved.
A few steps up the block, Vicktor stops. "We're here."
…
There is a bit of a ruckus at the front door that distracts Casey from her pathetic musings and hand staring. Just as she looks up, a bunch of big guys walk into the bar. She looks away. Dimly, Casey thinks she should call Kate. It's a rare occasion there are more men than women in this place.
…
Derek looks around. It's quaint, but Vicktor was right when he said there were lots of women; he figures the girls outnumber the boys two to one. Their group does a little to even the ratio, but not enough. Not that he's complaining.
"I'm gonna grab a drink," Derek tells Wes.
"Not wasting any time, huh?"
"My whole body hurts, I need something to numb the pain."
"Yeah, I hear ya. We usually grab the table in the back."
…
Next to Casey, a man steps up to the bar. "Jack and coke," he orders, in a voice that sounds like home.
"There's no way," Casey mutters, too quiet to be heard. She swallows, braces herself, and looks up. He's cleaned up, less sweaty and more put-together, but he looks the same as he did on the television: proud jaw, mop of brown hair. She can't help it. She swears, really loud, which catches his attention.
Derek looks away from the bartender mixing his drink, and down into Casey's eyes. He blinks several times; his stomach hits the floor and then he finds his voice, "Holy fucking shit."
...
Ah, breathe. Sorry this update took so much longer than the last few. Spring break is over, and unfortunately, I do have classes that occupy much of my day. Anyway, I want to thank everyone for adding Trade to their story alert lists, favorite story lists, and even adding me to their author alert lists! Does a girl real proud. But my absolute favorite is when you leave a review! Even if it's just to tell me that I suck, or you want less hockey and more Dasey. So, go ahead. Push that pretty little button and I promise I'll be motivated to update that much faster. :)