*I know this is a short chapter but if I left it connected to chapter 10, is was crazy long. I will put up chapter 10 shortly though so it won't be a long wait!

Chapter Nine

I excuse myself from the table at the Cornerstone and head to the bathroom. There are only so many 'Charlie was a hero' stories I can hear at a time. I have to take many, many breaks throughout an evening like this one. They clearly didn't know who he really was, or maybe they do and are more able, more willing, then I am to bury those memories. He would have outscored everyone at that table. He would have rubbed it in their faces. They probably swore at the very sight of him on more then one occasion but as they gather here, they seem to forget all that. Maybe it's all just part of the hockey code but that's a bunch of bullshit too.

I step into the ladies room and stroll up to the counter. I wet a napkin and wipe the back of my neck for refreshment and then decide some gloss might do the trick, help give me a little boost. As I smear my lips with my strawberry flavoured, slightly pink gloss I notice what can only be described as frown lines. Lines - as in wrinkles. I am not old enough for wrinkles! That is just salt on the wound!

I stop making faces in the mirror as some other women come into the room, laughing and giggling. They offer me a simple smile and I nod back, before grabbing my purse and making my exit. Whatever they were talking about, I doubt they want some wrinkly stranger eavesdropping.

As I step into the hall, I see Mike standing, leaning against the wall, looking down into the screen of the phone. Shit.

"What are you doing?" I ask him and upon hearing my voice, his head darts up.

"Oh hey, I just came to see if you were alright…" he offers and stands up straight, dropping his phone into his back pocket. He is wearing acid-washed jeans that are maybe a bit on the tight side and a casual t-shirt that pulls across the muscles in his chest and shoulders. I know he probably spent a lot of time doing his hair, just to make it look like he didn't spend time on it. I don't want to admit that he looks good - and that if I were any other girl in this bar, I would probably be drooling - but that might just be a fact I can't avoid.

"I'm fine," I offer with a roll of my eyes but lower my head to my feet uncomfortably. Sometimes I think it's sweet how much he cares.

"You look beautiful tonight."

"Thanks," I reply sincerely, letting myself for a second look up into his green eyes. He slips his hand around my waist and pulls me in towards him, letting the two girls that were in the washroom with me slip past as they emerge in the narrow hall. I look up quickly and see them both flash him a familiar smile and turn back in time to see him smile right back. I have spent enough time around hockey players to know a puck bunny and to recognize a player when I see it. I push away from Mike's wide chest and silently lecture myself for being stupid enough to think for even a moment I was standing in front of a changed man.

"You were always the most beautiful woman in this town," he assures me, reaching out and tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Mike…" I warn him, shaking my head.

"I bet you'd fit in real good in L.A…" He breaths, just over a whisper.

"I am NOT going to L.A. with you!" Not this shit again! How many times do we have to go over this? Every summer it's the same shit! After Charlie died, he all but packed my bags for Philadelphia. I visited him a couple times but just couldn't handle the idea of being away from a place I had called my home for so long. "Goddamnit already! Get it through your head!"

"You can just stay here your whole life. There is nothing here for you," He snaps back.

"You don't think I know that?"

"Do you? Then why stay?"

"I dunno…" I reply honestly. "I just… I have to…"

"You don't. Come to L.A., be with me and…"

"And what? We'll live happily ever after?" I can't help but laugh.

"Why not?" He barks. Two seconds ago he had two girls flirting with him right in front of me. Is he really this stupid? Does he really think I am that stupid? I am certainly not going through all that again.

"Can you give it all up? All the women and the drinking and the partying, being the superstar? Can you really be with just one woman? I don't think you know how…"

"I can." He attempts to assure me but I can tell he is uncomfortable just saying it, never mind actually committing to it.

"Really?"

"Yes REALLY! Give me some damn credit here Liz!" He snaps angrily. "And besides, it's not like you made Charlie do it!"

"That was low…" I can tell the second he said it he regretted it. I know he probably didn't mean it to hurt me but… wow, did it ever.

"I'm sorry…" he stumbles out an apology. "I'm just saying that I'm not like him!"

"I think you are…" I state as unemotionally as I can. I can see his temper rising, as his fists clench at his side and his jaw muscles flex.

"No, I am not!" He hisses. "Unlike him, I fucking stuck around when things got hard!"

Ouch. And there it is again, that sharp tongue of his at work. "Wow, really? That's where you are going with this? Well gee golly, better buy me a plane ticket to Hollywood, cause you just totally sold me!"

"Liz… I'm sorry… I didn't mean… that came out wrong," he stutters but I am so far beyond done with this conversation.

"Whatever, I'm going back to the table."

"Lizzie…" he reaches for me one last time but I shake off his hand firmly and walk away.

-.-

I know beyond a doubt that somewhere I have an ex-teammate sitting in a bar right now, maybe somewhere in Quebec, maybe even back home in Cole Harbour, telling embarrassing stories about me, trying to come across as cool for knowing me or playing with me or whatever. Maybe he is trying to get into some girls pants, maybe he is just trying to be respected on his rec league. At least he is not telling stories to honour my memory, to cover up the pain of passing, maybe the guilt of not doing more to help me. That is the last thing I would ever want.

I tune into stories all around the room. James is off to one side, talking to one of his junior teammates about some pranks they pulled. I have heard my fair share of prank stories. Beside me some guys, who I think play in the CHL or ECHL, are sharing some more entertaining stories and it seems like the more alcohol they get into them the more entertaining the stories get. And the more inappropriate.

"Oh my God! Remember dat night in Altantic City? We went and play poker in dat sketchy basement…" one of the French guys recalls.

"Oh shit I thought we were going to die! Some Jersey Guido was going to come and put a bullet between our eyes for winning!"

"Charlie was killing them!" The guy on my right turns to me and begins explaining. "He was up thousands on the guys and they were not happy! But he was like, cool as a cucumber man. No sweat. Just like an everyday situation, no more stress then brushing your teeth."

"We were all like, 'Dude, how can you be so fucking calm? You're about to get us all shot!' "

"And if we weren't shot, we'd still have to explain to our coaches why we were two hours past curfew!" Another guy chimed in and everyone roared with laughter.

"It might have been better to have been shot!"

"No shit!"

"Anyways, can I finish my story?" The guy beside me cuts them all off. "We asked him, how are you so calm? And he smiled, winked and pointed under the table. We were all like, 'Fuck, is he stacking the deck? Does he have hidden cards? We are all going to die!' but no, under the table, he had this little Jersey girl, with big hair and fake nails with her hand wrapped around his cock, pumping away!" The guy makes the stroking gesture, as if I don't know what a hand job looks like.

"He was getting a hand job under the table!"

"And we didn't know then but it was one of the big guys' daughters!"

"We would have all died!"

"Wow…" I breath. If one guy had told me the story, I wouldn't have believed it but the whole group of them were there for it. That added a ounce of credibility to what I would normally brush off as one of my dad's famous fishing stories - the ones where the landed fish gets bigger each time he tells it.

"It was awesome! That was Charlie though, livin' on the edge!" The guy besides me lowers his head and shakes it solemnly. A moment of silence falls over all of them, as seems to be the tradition at the end of every story told so far tonight. I respect the silence and reach for my wine glass. At the same time I see Liz reach for hers, with a vacant look on her face. I hadn't noticed that she had been sitting there. I had seen her get up and leave the table only a couple minutes ago, I didn't know she was back. I watch in a slight panic, as she lifts the glass to her lips and pours the remainder of the glass into her mouth. I don't know how much of the last story she had heard, or if she had heard the story before. I don't know what the protocol is here, as I look over to James for help but realize that he sees the same thing that I do.

-.-

I wish I had noticed what story they had started telling, so I could have tried to get them to stop telling it. I guess no one saw her re-enter the room. Normally the guys are good at editing their stories for when she is around – you know, making them appropriate and all. Not that Charlie ever was really. I hated the way he treated her. I hated knowing that while he had some girl sucking him off in the back of some arena, Liz was back home thinking everything was alright. I don't think anyone ever told her. Maybe if someone had, she wouldn't be stuck in the hell she is now.

I see her remove the napkin from her lap and gently fold it and place it across the plate in front of her. There is still lots of food on the plate that she hasn't even touched. She reaches for her freshly topped up glass of wine and tips it into her mouth, not stopping until the glass is empty again. I don't blame her for drinking tonight. If I were her, I would be smashed too.

She pushes back her chair and excuses herself from the table again, offering a friendly smile to the guy now perched at her side, who helps move the chair out of the way as she slides past him gracefully. I watch as she heads back towards the bathrooms and make a mental note that if she isn't back in a minute or two, I'll get one of the female waitresses to check on her.

I rejoin the conversations around me, telling stories, everyone trying to one-up each other on their amazing conquests or achievements to date. I can't help but laugh because it seems like as soon as someone thinks they have made it to the top of the story telling pyramid, on some amazing goal or scoring record they have broken, Sid drops a fork, or spills his wine or sneezes, and it reminds everyone who is sitting at this table. None of them have anything on that guy.

After dinner we all clear out of the restaurant area and head into the adjacent lounge, where the locals are forced out of their regular routine's by the invading army of twenty or so hockey players. Everyone in the room looks at Sid and you can see them debating with each other if that's really him or not. Nobody comes up to him though, which is nice and not something that would happen in most Canadian towns.

It takes a while before I realize the room is one person short. damn. I forgot to check on her. Has she been gone this whole time? I don't even know.

"Have you seen Liz?" I lean in and ask Sid, who is still potentially the most sober of the lot.

Sid looks around "Ummm… no not for a while…"

"Shit."