*Would appreciate knowing what you guys think of the story so far! Thanks for reading!
Chapter Four
Dear Diary,
Sidney Crosby is an asshole. And a spoiled brat. And a douche. No – not just a douche, a huge douche! What the fuck everyone sees in him, I don't think I will ever understand. The guy is totally full of himself. I'm surprised he can make it on to the ice at all – he'd have to tear himself away from loving himself long enough to tie his skates. Fuck, he probably has someone to tie his skates for him.
And what the fuck is wrong with James? Seriously. He's all like, 'Sid's a good guy'. Fuck that. First impressions are lasting impressions and my first impression is
"What the fuck are you doing in here?" I jump and slam my diary shut as Mr. Crosby comes into the kitchen.
"James said I could probably muster up a peanut butter sandwich down here…"
"The bread is in the cupboard," I offer him bluntly. There is no way in hell that I am making any god damned sandwich for some prima donna princess that was too busy taping hockey sticks to learn how to fend for his god damned self.
"Great. Thanks," He nods and heads to the cupboard.
"You didn't get enough for supper? Food not up to your standards?" I snap, watching him pull down a loaf of bread and begin searching for the peanut butter. I watched him push the food around his plate at dinner, like I was trying to torture him with my terrible food.
"No… no nothing like that… I just… got the munchies, is all…" He stutters apologetically.
"Whatever," I roll my eyes and climb to my feet, wrapping my sweater around me tightly and grabbing my journal.
"Did I do something to offend you?" He asks, as I walk past him.
"Nope. I guess I'm just surprised that that sandwich fits into your menu plan," I grumble and leave the kitchen. I have a four hour drive ahead of me in the morning and apparently I am already in a bad mood, so I guess I better get to bed early. Get a good night sleep so I can plaster a better fake smile on tomorrow.
-.-
"I'm gonna head for a jog, you wanna join?" Please say yes, I silently plead. I think I'll get lost if he doesn't say yes. I need to clear my head. Between Richards being a douche, that Angela girl throwing herself at me and now Liz, apparently hating me… I don't know how much more I can take in one night… fortunately, he nods and climbs to his feet. He slips on his shoes and we head outside. The sun has gone down but the running path is dotted with lamps. It's a nice night out, warm with a cooling breeze – perfect for fishing really. Too bad.
"So, anybody else we know coming to this thing?" I ask James, heading down the path away from the main building, towards the cabins. The last thing I need is another bombardment. Is Pronger going to jump out of the bushes while we jog and beat my face in? Is Konopka waiting around the next corner, ready to pounce? I need to know these things…
"Um… I'm not sure… usually there are some guys you might know…a lot of them have kinda faded off over the years though," James stops in his tracks and thinks. "Um… Wisneiski and Steve Downie came up last year. They both played with Charlie. Carcillo and Richards, obviously, you saw they were here… both guys knew him. He was close with the Pyatts and I think Marc or Eric Staal... I can never remember which one is the older one…"
"Eric," I offer.
"Yeah, so then Eric... there was a bit of a rivalry there but they loved each other. They were fierce on the ice against each other, it was something…" James shakes his head, clearly remembering some good times. Reminiscing seems to be the theme of this camp.
"Like any of the Staals playing each other?" I ask with a smile, trying to understand the pre-tense. I hate walking into a situation I don't fully understand and one is enough for today.
"Yeah!" James laughs. You don't need to play for the Pens long to see the Staal family dynamic is a bit fucked up. "I love that they say it doesn't affect their game but then somehow they all miraculous play better when another is in the building!"
"I doubt they will ever stop denying it…"
"It's full out mental warfare out there!"
"We could both take notes on chirping from the Staals." I laugh with him. He nods in awe of the Staal's verbal sniping ability, a talent I guess you adapt with three hockey playing brothers. We continue down the path, around the back of the property, past the rink and training facility, past the baseball diamond and large field.
"Whoa, hold up man." James puts his arm out and I come to a complete stop, as we approach the main building once again.
"What's up?" I ask, following James' eyes down the path to where two figures are clearly getting into it.
"I don't like this," He shakes his head and begins slowly walking towards them. I follow him, still not able to see who exactly is fighting. As we get closer, I can begin to see that it's a girl and a guy. A couple more steps and I recognize the female to be that Lizzie girl but the dude has his back to us.
"You are coming to L.A. with me and that's that! I am tired of having this conversation!" The man shouts. I look over at James and he shrugs.
"I am NOT going to L.A.! I live here. I belong here." Liz yells right back. She is definitely a feisty one – I don't know if I would take her on. But whoever is fighting with her clearly knows her better then I do, as he reaches out and grabs her by the shoulders.
"You don't belong here. You never did!"
He seems to have figured out who it is and picks up his pace, taking a couple steps ahead of me. I take a couple more steps and begin to realize who exactly is in the exchange. I can't help but smile as the revelation kicks in. Mike Richards is balls-deep in an old school battle he has no chance of winning and by the looks of James fists, clenched and tight, he has put his hands on the wrong girl.
"I made a fucking promise! How can I help you if you won't god-damn let me?" Richie yells, giving our host a slight shake.
"Me? Help me? I don't need your help!" She throws his arms off her and gives him a solid, angry shove. "You had a chance to help and you were too busy drinking and fucking everything that walked to help… You think sending me a cheque every month is you helping? Does that help you sleep at night? You know what would help me sleep at night? If my husband was still alive and if you would leave me the fuck alone!" Liz turns and stomps past us, with Richards yelling and following after her.
"Lizzie! Lizzie get back here!" Richards is quick on her heels but James steps in his path, cutting him off. I didn't exactly come here to get in a fight but I'm here now, so…
"Okay buddy I think it's time for you to lay off her…" James blocks Richards attempt to get past him.
"Fuck off Neal! Stay out of it!" I watch as the spittle flies from Richards lips and lands in James' face but that doesn't seem to deter him any.
"You know I can't do that… I have just as much of an interest in protecting her as you do…"James defends himself. I am not sure what that means but I'll bring it up later.
"Really? You think so…" Richards hisses, pushing James away from him – or attempting to. James holds his ground.
"Come on man, we were all friends of Charlie…"
"Yeah and some of us stuck around longer then others, hey?" Richards points out with venom. From the way James told me the story, I could tell that there were some lingering guilt issues but judging by his body language, I gravely underestimated it.
"Fuck you…" James slurs, through clenched teeth.
"No fuck you! I tried to help him. I was here. I did the best I could…" Richards yells, poking his index finger into James chest. "Now all I have left is a promise I made a friend before he blew his fucking face off, that I would take care of his girl and the bitch won't let me…"
"Don't you dare say shit about Lizzie! Don't you fucking dare!"
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I'll fucking kick your ass!" James raises his hands and grabs Richards by the shirt. I take a step forward and put my hand on James shoulder, trying to pull him back a little.
"Oh yeah? You and what fucking army, ya fucking little weasel? Him? I doubt that's permitted by his contract…" Richards laughs, turning to me. "Gotta protect the pretty little face of the league, don't we?"
"I don't need any fucking help to smash your face…" James assures him and I thank my lucky stars I didn't have to get involved. I don't know if taking a blow to my head would be such a good idea right now and as much as I know I can handle myself in a scuffle, I also know it's often the man fighting with the most passion that wins. I would be the odd man out here.
"Oh I get it… you think that defending her against me is going to get you into her pants… that's what you wanted all along isn't it? I bet you couldn't wait to get into her bed. Just had to wait for the sheets to get cold, didn't you?" Richards laughs and I can see James recoil in shock. I don't know if it's the truth or not but this is taking a turn to the ugly.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" I offer, attempting to step up between the two of them. I didn't want to get involved. I tried to stay out of it, I really did but that was crossing a line.
"Stay the fuck out of this Crosby!" Richards barks at me, giving me a little shove.
"Come on James, let him go… lets just walk away…" I offer to clearly the more level-headed of the two, reaching across them and closing my hands over James' fists.
"Is that how number one's fight? By walking away, being a pussy?" Mike continues and I ignore him. I am good at ignoring his meaningless words by now. I concentrate on James and getting his eye contact. He is shaking mad and this can't end well. He doesn't need to get hurt before the season even starts.
"James. Let. Go." I repeat myself and feel his grip loosen. I successfully pull his hands away and spin him around, to head back down the path we came.
"And the Lord Sidney commandeth," Richards quips sarcastically from behind us and before I can control him, James spins around and his fist connects with Mike's face, sending the unbalanced forward spiralling to the ground. I try to stifle my laughter, as James stomps off, but it doesn't exactly work. I let a little chuckle escape, offering Richards an 'I warned you' shrug, as he lets a string of curse words fly and spits out a mouthful of blood. Hehehe.
-.-
"Where's James?" I demand walking into the common room. Sidney is lying across one of the couches and every bone in my body has to resist the urge to flip the couch. I don't know why but I giggle mischievously to myself at the image of sending that man flying across the room.
"He went to get ice for his hand…" Sid explains, looking up at me.
"Did he go to the kitchen?"
"I dunno… I guess. Is that were you keep your ice?" He asks with a dismissive shrug.
"There is also a training room at the rink," I point out and he seems surprised. "We were once a state of the art facility, I"ll have you know."
"I'm guessing that was a while ago…" He laughs. Oh, no he didn't.
"Yeah well, you were once top of the league. Shit happens." I know I may have gone too far but he deserves it.
"I have a concussion. I will be on top again," He hisses at me, making a guarantee that I don't doubt he will pull through on. Hell, I still plan on picking him in my fantasy draft. That's not the point.
"And we will be too." I reply with the same determination he offered me in his response. My statement, I probably wouldn't bet on with the same gusto but I'm a proud woman and apparently delusional.
"Listen, I didn't mean to offend you…" Sid climbs to his feet and raises his hands in surrender.
"Well you did." I respond coldly, cutting him off. I don't care who he is, he needs to be held accountable for his words.
"If I could get a word in, I am trying to apologize," He snaps at me.
"I don't need your apology. You are entitled to your opinion. Even if it's wrong," I add. I turn and head to the hall, before turning around and offering behind me. "Oh and if you see James, save me the time and punch him in the face for me, would ya?"
"He was just defending you!" Sid calls after me and I stop in my tracks, spin around and pop my head back into the common room.
"Who asked him to do that?"