May 2010

And just like that the season was over. Game 7 in the conference semifinals went to Montreal and the Penguins played their last game in Mellon Arena. I looked around my office the next morning. It was time to pack. The end of the regular season had been hectic and being in charge of scheduling travel for the postseason on my own had been exhausting. Now the season was officially over and it was time to start packing for the move. In the coming weeks the contents of the office would be moved across the street to the Consol Energy Center, the new home of the Pittsburgh Penguins. A pang of sadness overcame me as I thought about the memories in this building as well as the one of the more memorable one that took place in this office two months ago. As I began putting folders into boxes, my face flushed thinking about that day. About what I had done and what I had said. About how after I'd convinced myself that I could do this. That something was better than nothing. In the weeks that followed, I met Sidney three times. Once at an apartment he owned in the city and twice in my apartment. All three times were awkward and he had been the one to initiate the meetups. I may have had a brief wave of bravery suggesting this "arrangement," but about 30 minutes after he left my office that March afternoon, all I could think was what had I done?

You know when there is something big, whether it's bad or scary or just wrong and you think, I will never do that. But then you do. And then you do it again. And you realize you can live with it. That you can live with yourself having done it. And then you tell yourself it's not so bad, it's not so scary, it's not so wrong. And you convince yourself that because you've done it, because you've gotten over that hump, that initial fear, you not only can do it again, you can accept it for what it is. And it's not something to be proud of. It's not some act of bravery or strength that allows you to do it. It's resignation, its compromise in its most vacant form. It's realizing that it's never going to be like you wish, so instead you accept this other version and the thing that you once rejected becomes part of who you are.

This was that thing.

The first two times were terribly awkward. He texted me, I responded and within the hour we had hooked up. There was forced conversation the first two times, it didn't last long and by the third time, we didn't even bother. He knocked at my door, I let him in and we got down to business. It was strange. This arrangement and I wasn't sure what I thought about it. On the one hand, it was nice. Well, better than nice. It was great. Even though there was a distance about it, Sid had a way of awakening all these desires I didn't even know I had. When I was with him, I could pretend. I could pretend I was someone else. That the situation we were in was something real. It wasn't the real thing, but for that time I could convince myself otherwise. Then it would be over. And neither of us seemed to know what to do, other than get dressed, mumble some lame excuse and leave. When it was done, I would usually take a long hot shower and replay all the moments in my head. It was during that time that I would pretend. Pretend that he was all these things I wanted him to be. Wanted us to be.

And then the shower would end and I would go to bed alone. And the loneliness, it overwhelmed me. Strangled me until a restless sleep overcame me. Then in the morning I would promise myself I wouldn't do it again.

But I would.

Our time at the Mellon Arena was done. Come fall we would go into a new building, this one new and shiny. With all the latest bells and whistles. The endearing flaws of the Igloo would become a memory too. And saying goodbye to the this place, it was like saying goodbye to that naive girl who walked through these doors 18 months girl who traded in dreams and aspirations for obligations and a fractionated form of companionship. A quiet, backwards brainiac who discovered a whole new world and a new part of herself. One that I wasn't quite proud of, but nonetheless wouldn't deny. That girl was going into the new building a little bit new and shiny too, shedding an innocence of sorts for something more packaged. Not necessarily fake, but manufactured all the same.

A place and a person where on the surface you have everything you could even want, but when you look a little deeper you see the structure isn't as strong, the heart and soul isn't quite there, at least not yet. And all you can hope that in time the structure will prove its strength and the heart and soul finds its place where new memories replace the old.

And you hope that it will be like it once was, only better.

And you wait for that magic to someday reappear.


December 2010

It's the annual Christmas party and this year it doesn't quite feel right. I don't know if it's the new arena, or the camera crew that doesn't seem to ever leave us alone. I skate on the ice, playing with teammates kids and joking with the guys, but one eye stays steady on one corner of the ice. It's been like 20 minutes that Rebecca had been huddled up with Mitch from HBO. I'm pretending I don't see, that I don't care.

But I do.

Finally he gives a slight nod of the head and shakily skates away. I watch as Rebecca kicks off and starts skating the perimeter of the rink. She's shaky too. Moving stiffly across the ice and my brain flashes to that day on the ice that now seems like a lifetime ago. Since then she hasn't improved her skating skills. She pauses to talk to some of the wags and I take her in. She's wearing a short black skirt with a festive sweater that seems to engulf her.

Her hair is longer again. It falls over her shoulders in soft waves and I can feel the tightness in my jeans as I watch her tuck a section of hair behind her ear as she laughs as something Vero has said. I watch her and I think that this is what I want. She is what I want. And I'm going to get it. I just need to ease her into the idea. Warm her up to it.

Since the beginning of the season we've been together twice. It seems like each time gets a little less strange. The first few times were brutal, but since the fall she seems different, more confident, but also harder, not as easy to rile up or get flustered. I can tell she's growing into her role and while I find the confidence, the professionalism somewhat sexy, I can't help but miss the girl who took study breaks in the old weight room and couldn't tell a hockey stick from a broom.

I watch her and suddenly I have to have her. It may be the bourbon from the eggnog I gulped down during dinner talking, but I want her right now and all I have to do is say the word. I don't say that to sound cocky or like some sexual predator. The truth is, every time we have hooked up since our arrangement it's been me who has done the initializing. And I get it. I'm not stupid. I know that she's apprehensive about making the first move but I'm just not sure why. I can't imagine she thinks I would deny her. I never would. In fact, lately I've been thinking about reintroducing the idea of giving us a shot. A real shot. My heart has mended from the hotel debacle and if she didn't care then, I think she might now.

I think she might because I see her when she watches me. When she looks too long. I think she might because lately she's become even more responsive. Her touches last longer, she doesn't bolt out of bed like she did the first few times. She holds onto me a little bit tighter, her mouth is a little bit softer against my skin and I wonder that maybe there is a chance for something more.

Everything is going right. I'm on a scoring tear, everyone is amped up for the game on New Years and now I think Rebecca might be coming around.

I've seen her with the HBO guy a few times. He's a producer and she must know him from setting up their accommodations while they're here. I see them in the hallway, chatting, laughing. He's from some town near her, supposedly they know some of the same people, I overhear them say.

I'm not jealous but I miss her laugh. Even now, even when she seems...comfortable with me, she doesn't really smile, let alone laugh.

I watch her head off the ice and over to the visitors bench to unlace her skates. Everyone else is still on the ice, families continue to skate, while the other guys chat amongst themselves. I glide over to the bench, open the small door and drop down beside her.

I pretend I don't notice her tense up.

"Hey," I say casually.

"Hi," she replies not looking at me.

I slide a little closer and I notice her hands are shaky. I place my palm on her thigh, the legging clad thigh is warm and soft, I move it up a bit higher, disappearing under her skirt and I give a light squeeze.

She looks at me panicked, then out at the rink. But no one notices.

It's been weeks since we've been together and if it weren't for the fact that the point streak has got me all amped up, I'd be humping the net post in sheer frustration.

"Not here," her voice is quiet, her cheeks a dark shade of pink. Even if she's different, she's still her and I know the affect I have.

My voice drops low and I bend my head towards her ear. "Meet me in my suite, ten minutes." I can smell the scent of her hair and it's now brought me to full hardness.

She pulls back and looks at me with surprise.

I stare at her, my eyes more pleading than I would like.

"Please," I say, my voice a bit strangled, my palm moving up and down her leg, slowly and carefully.

She nods.

The suite overlooks the arena, so we have to be careful about where go. The minute she walks in the door, my hand closes over her wrist and a tug her into a dark corner.

My mouth is on hers, my hands everywhere. I know it has to be quick, but I still want to savor her. Everytime I pray that time will stand still, but instead it goes by too fast.

We kiss, we touch, we fumble with our clothes and then I'm inside her. The sound she makes when I'm completely inside, is something I will never get tired of. She holds onto me tightly as I rock in her. My hand is up her sweater as I fasten my lips against the smooth column of her neck. We move in tandem and while it's not exactly romantic or even that intimate, it is something.

But it's not enough. I want more. And I want her to know that.

She clenches around me and I know I won't last much longer. My movements become erratic and suddenly her mouth is searching for mine. I kiss her, deeply and she pulls me closer and it's how she tells me that this is more than what we are telling ourselves.

It's only a minute or two more and I find my completion, just as she pulls her mouth away from mine, bends her head back and let out her own cry of ecstasy.

I want more. But everyone is going to notice I am gone.

I brush back the damp bangs from her forehead and press my lips against her fevered skin.

I notice she locks up again, a side effect to the arrangement. No intimacy, nothing that makes this seem more than it is

But I want more.

We're silent as we rearrange our clothes. I pull up my black track pants, as she smooths out her skirt and adjusts her leggings.

We exit together. She keeps a safe distance as we walk the desolate hall and towards the elevators and back to the party. As we wait, my fingers itch to touch hers. The halls are decorated for Christmas and on the side table next to the elevator are some greens surrounding a festive arrangement. I pluck a sprig off the table and pull her to me. I don't know how she'll react to this, but it's Christmas and I love her, even if I don't get to tell her that.

She stares at me, wide eyed, then I hold the sprig above my head and I kiss her. Fully, soundly. She's frozen for just a moment, then she relaxes and her mouth moves softly against mine.

I pull away and look at her, it will be the last I see her until the new year. Between road trips and winter break and the craziness of the classic, I know we won't have another moment together.

"I want to talk to you about something," I say, my voice quiet, my arm still curled around her. "When you get back, after the Winter Classic, I thought we could talk."

I look at her pleadingly, hoping, praying she will say yes. I don't want to scare her, but I also think that this is finally it. This is finally our chance.

She gives a small smile and then a nod. "Ok." She says softly.

I can't help but grin and for my Christmas present this year, she smiles back at me.

And I think, it can't get any better.


April 2011

"Call him!"

The bar is busy, so Chelsea's exclamation is barely noticed, but I shush her all the same. My head is sort of spinny, my vision a little blurry, but still I don't want anyone to hear what our conversation is about.

It's just after midnight, officially my 23rd birthday and I'm buzzed. Ok, more than buzzed, I'm drunk. The small surprise party ended an hour ago and Chelsea and I have been sitting at the bar ever since. And now she's gotten it in her head that I should call him for some booty call.

"Birthday sex!" She exclaims, her face lighting up like she's just invented the light bulb.

I nearly choke on my drink.

"No," I say shaking my head faster than I should and feeling a little dizzy as a result. "I won't do that."

Her face falls, "Why not? He would come, ha in more ways than one." She starts laughing hysterically at her double entendre.

I just roll my eyes and try to change the subject.

But she's determined. And I think she's wrong too.

He wouldn't come. I barely even talk to him. In four months, we haven't said more than two words to each other. These days I hardly ever see him.

It was chaos when I came back from break. Everyone around the Consol seemed to be walking on eggshells, holding their breath for more information, more clarity, some sense on what had happened and everyone was trying not to panic.

In the time since that hit on New Year's Day, I rarely see him and when I do, he's never alone. His dad's been around a lot, doctors have been in and out of Ray's office and everyone from the front office to the ice crew walk around in tense silence.

And I worry. I worry all the time about what has happened. I worry when requests come across my desk for bookings to clinics all over North America. In the months since January, Sid is in and out. He went home for a while, but has been back for the playoffs. The team is in the middle of the first round, but with Sid and Geno out, there is little hope. But the postseason is the least of anyone's problems. I hear words in the hallway like early retirement and CTE. Concussion-like symptoms. I've heard arguments amongst teammates, curt conversations in hallways and Sid walks around like he's in a daze. The few times I see him, he looks different, lost almost. A historic season cut short and replaced with a fear that he may never play again.

And I think about what he said. And I wonder about that talk he wanted to have. The one that never happened. He doesn't text me. He doesn't even look my way. So no, I'm not going to text him for "birthday sex."

Chelsea gets a gleam in her eye and grabs my phone. I reach out half heartedly for it, but she pulls it out of reach. Her fingers fly over the keyboard and with a flourish she presses send.

She drops the phone on the bar and smiles widely.

"He won't respond," I tell her, but a moment later my phone buzzes. I lunge for it, but she beats me to it.

She grins, presses a few more buttons and I just watch her, my heart hammering against my chest. A buzz comes through a few seconds later, she smirks at the screen, then hands the phone back to me.

"He'll be here in 20 minutes."

Two shots later, Chelsea is calling a cab and I feel nauseous. I'm nervous, terrified even. I don't know what to say to him. I feel foolish. Here he is dealing with a life altering situation and he's getting drunk dials from his "friend with benefits." If that's even what we are anymore.

My phone buzzes and I look down at the display.

Meet me around back.

Chelsea says her goodbyes and pushes me out the back door of Mario's. I stand on the sidewalk of the side street, Max's house in clear view. I look up to the rooftop and the memories flood my fuzzy brain. How much has changed...or really not changed in the more than two years since that night.

Around the corner the large SUV comes into view and I stand still as he pulls up, comes to a stop and jumps out. I watch him come around the front of the car. The sounds of Carson street just feet away buzz in my ears, as he walks up to me and gives me a small smile.

He doesn't say anything, just opens the passenger door and I climb in.

"It's my birthday."

We're driving the back roads to the freeway when the first words are finally spoken.

"I know," he replies, his eyes focused on the road.

I stare at him openly, feeling the effects of those final two shots.

"How do ya know?" I can hear myself slurring my speech.

He looks at me.

"Your text." He replies and then turns his attention back to driving.

I fish out my phone and pull up the texts. Immediately my face goes red.

It's my birthday, come fuck me.

Where are you?

Mario's, wet and waiting.

I'll be there in 20 min

Oh my god. I don't know if I could ever be drunk enough not to be mortified by the words staring back at me.

I want to disappear. Teleport myself to my bedroom. Be anywhere but here.

And then I want to kill Chelsea.

But I won't let Sid see me sweat, he doesn't get to know how embarrassed I am.

Instead, I go for broke.

I lean towards him, my hand finds his thigh, see how he likes it now.

"Well, I am." I say, trying to sound seductive, my hand moving up and down his jean clad leg. The muscle twitches beneath my fingers.

"You're drunk." He says simply.

I frown.

Then lean back into my seat.

He's turning onto the freeway, but going the wrong way and I tell him so.

"This is the way to your place," he says his brow furrowed.

I tell him about how I've moved. How I bought a house a few months ago in Squirrel Hill and I give him the address.

So he turns around and heads in the other direction.

My head lolls to the right as I stare at the city before us, then back to the left and look at his profile. He's put on some weight, but it doesn't look bad. He looks tired. It's the first time I've really looked at him since the concussion.

He glances towards me and I smile.

"You came."

He nods but doesn't say anything.

"And you will again in just a little bit," my voice is sing songy, as I lean towards him, my hand coming up boldly to play with the hair that sits at the nape of his neck.

"I think we just need to get you in bed."

I nod, "That's what I'm saying."

"Not tonight, Becs." His voice is serious. Oh so serious.

I heave a sigh and pull my hand back.

I stare back out at the window.

"You're drunk, it wouldn't be right." He says softly.

"Never stopped you before," I grumble.

I see him tense out of the corner of my eye.

"That was different," he replies.

I want to argue with him, but my eyes have become heavy and the hum of the car is like a lullaby. I blink once, twice, and then there is darkness.

I wake to a bright light and softness beneath me. I see the top of Sid's head as he eases my shoes off my feet. We're in my bedroom. The overhead light is bright and my brain tries to figure out how we got here.

I'm still dressed and I can only surmise that he carried me up here.

"Sid," my voice is hoarse and quiet.

He looks up at me; he's going to leave. I know he's going to leave.

"Please," I can't say the words but I hope he knows, he has to know.

"Becs, I ca-"

"Just stay, I don't want to be alone. Please don't leave." My voice is pleading, begging even and in a sober state my pride would never let me do this.

He looks sad and I know he's going to say no. So I turn to the side and try to keep the sting of tears at bay. I won't let him see me cry. I made that decision over a year ago. He doesn't get to see me cry ever again.

He walks to the door and turns off the light. There is a moment, then two, then I feel the bed dip by the weight of him. I hear a thud, then another as his shoes hit the floor. His arms come around me and I nearly weep with relief. I back myself into him until I feel my back hit his chest. I savor the feeling of being held. I never wanted to be one of those girls who dreamed of having a man to hold them and protect them, it all seemed so archaic. But right now it feels good. Better than sex even. The pull of sleep becomes too strong and I fall into a heavy sleep.

I wake to a moistness on my neck and for a second I'm confused. I blink a few times, allowing my eyes to get used to the light. I then realize the feeling on my neck is Sid, his mouth pressing against my skin. My head hurts and my mouth is dry and thick, but instantly I feel the heat and the pull between my legs. I turn towards him and his eyes are big and brown and all I see. They crinkle.

"Happy Birthday."

I manage a smile.

"How do you feel?"

"Eh, not bad," I tell him.

His eyes flicker over my face and then he leans towards me. Before I can worry about morning breath, his lips brush against mine.

He's still in his clothes and so am I. He kisses me for a few minutes and my brain is too slow to overanalyze what is happening.

Before I know it, his mouth is gone and his hands are working the button of my jeans. I try to help.

"No." He says, "Stay still."

I do what he says and soon my jeans and my panties are gone. I'm a smart person, so I don't understand why I'm surprised at what happens next, but I am.

There is the heat of his breath against my lower stomach, then the cool palms of his hands on my butt. His nose nuzzles against me and my legs fall open in response.

I've never done this before. And before I can protest, his lips, full and warm move against the sensitive skin. His tongue works its way between my folds as his hands position me the way he wants. And then I feel the long swipe of his tongue and I buck my hips against his face.

"Oof" he makes a sound.

"Sorry," I squeak.

"S'alright," he mumbles against my skin.

He holds me firm as he swipes his tongue again. And then I can't think anymore. It's a flood of sensations, nothing I've ever felt before. He licks, he nips and suddenly his finger is inside me, then another. He continues to feast on me, as I writhe beneath him. I struggle to keep myself from screaming out. I can't think, I can't speak, I just lay there and feel...everything.

His mouth closes over the bundle of nerves pulsing painfully between my legs and I think that I won't be able to take much more. I look down at his dark hair, his eyes are closed as his mouth moves lewdly and quickly between my legs. It's like he hasnt eaten in days and I'm the buffet. I want to keep watching but my head falls back against the pillow and my eyes screw shut as the pressure begins to build. It grows and grows until I don't think I can even breath. I shout, I scream and then pleasure like I've never known knocks me nearly unconscious. His mouth stays there the whole time, until I finally make my way back to earth. I can barely breathe, my chest is heaving as he licks the result between my legs. Then he's crawling up my body, his mouth finding mine. The tangy taste of his tongue strange, but not terrible. He fumbles with his jeans, I help and then I get what Chelsea said I needed.

I get my birthday sex.


He's putting on his shoes and I just lie there. The familiar feeling of guilt and emptiness comes, but it's not as bad as usual. Instead of the sharp stabbing pain, it's more dull, throbbing. Like something I'm used to, chronic, more than a surprise, or unexpected.

"How are you feeling?" I ask quietly.

He looks at me and quirks a small smile, "Eh, not bad."

"Is it hard? I mean, is it scary, does it hurt?" I don't know how to ask, there is so much I don't know about what is going on.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he replies, his voice apologetic. "Listen, Becs...I…"

I know it's coming and I don't want to hear it.

"It's ok, Sid," I tell him.

"I just, well, things are just…" he trails off.

I pretend it doesn't hurt, that I don't care.

"Sid, don't worry about it, This, us, it's just fun. And when it's not fun anymore, we stop."

He looks relieved and I hate him for it.

He looks like he wants to say something more, but doesn't.

And then he is gone.

And my heart. My stupid heart, who never learns its lesson, hardens a little bit more.

***Author's note: This chapter sort of took on a life of its own, so I will have to finish up the "in between now and then times" in the next chapter, then onto present time (which due to my slow updating is now becoming a then time too, yikes). One of my New Years resolutions is to be more timely in updates, so hopefully part II wont be too far behind, but then again, timely updates was a resolution last year too. Whoops. Anyway, thanks so much for your feedback and reviews. I love hearing from you guys and again you are all the best for your patience and support. Happy to see the Pens are starting to turn it around! All the best to you guys in the new year and Go Pens!***