January 10, 1994

The day of her mom’s funeral Montana runs away. She slips out the back of the funeral home and just starts running. She’s only six but she knows that her mom is gone forever. She thinks the body in the box back in that place is fake. Her dad told her that her mom was never coming back.

Montana doesn’t want to come back either and she goes to her favorite place. She runs to the ice rink her mom has been taking her to for the last two years. She doesn’t even have her skates but she sits in the rink and watches a few figure skaters circle the ice.

She knows her mom is dead but she doesn’t understand words like ‘cancer’ and ‘terminal’. She thinks about these things for hours until her brothers find her. All three come crashing through the rink, scaring people. Brandon picks her up and buries his face in her neck. He’s the oldest. Ten years older than her and he has always looked out for her. Marcus is already talking about how terrible she is for running away. He’s two years younger than Brandon. Jack says nothing, just watches her with quiet eyes. Jack is only a year older than her. They have to stick up for each other against Marcus.

Her brothers don’t play hockey with her. They watch her, though, and cheer her on. Brandon doesn’t ever complain about having to drive her to practices or games when their dad has to work. Marcus stops complaining about having to give up baseball to fund the need for new equipment for Montana. Jack teaches her how to fight. He learned, young, that being quiet and nerdy means being picked on in school. He encourages Montana to be loud and boisterous and to use her fists when necessary.

The hockey doesn’t make up for the fact that her mom is gone but sometimes Montana thinks that if she just keeps pushing she’ll be okay. She pushes harder than anyone else and gives up everything for her goals, for hockey. When she’s only ten she’s already playing with the middle school boys when she goes to the rink. Her mom would be so proud. Montana closes her eyes when her Aunt Cherie hugs her tight and whispers ‘I love you’ into her ear during the annual family Fourth of July party in 1997.

Montana returns the sentiment and squeezes tighter. Aunt Cherie sort of smells like her mom, she thinks. If she can just hold on longer everything will be okay. Uncle Bill claps a hand on her right shoulder and squeezes.

“How’d you like to come play some real hockey for a while? There are a few teams here in Detroit, in the MWEHL. I’ve got a friend who coaches for Honeybaked. They have a girls U-12 team that you’d do great with. And, you can live with us.”

That gets Montana to look up. Hockey. There’s always hockey.

Her dad claps a hand on her other shoulder and grins down at her. “Figured that’d interest you.” She thinks he looks a little worried for her. He’s been alone for four years with four kids. She knows this has been hard on him and her hockey is an expensive extra bill every month. He works two jobs, Brandon works with him out on the farm as well. All hands on deck. Detroit could help out with all of that. Her family could finally get on with their lives.

Montana thinks that she’s holding everyone back and they don’t even realize it. She nods and writes a new history for her family.

*.*.*

August 29, 2001

She meets Pat Kane the first day back to school. He’s just arrived from Buffalo and she can see how homesick he is when they literally run into each other in the cafeteria. She knows who he is; there’d been murmurs about the kid all summer at the rink. He might actually be able to give her a run for her money.

Here, in the awful florescent light, he looks sad and she gives him a bright smile. “Welcome to Michigan. I promise it’s not that bad.”

He gives her a weary look. She smiles even wider and grabs his arm. She sits them at the end of the table with the other guys on the U-13 team. They all know her. She’s practiced with the majority of them for the last three years during the seasons. They apparently all know him too which totally makes sense because he’s been in town for two weeks.

She’s digging into her delicious cafeteria mashed potatoes when Kane elbows her in the side. “Who are you?”

She chuckles. “My bad. Sorry. I’m Montana.” She almost holds out a hand but one of the guys across the table throws a napkin at her head.

“Don’t let her fool you Kane. That’s Cunning. And she will flatten your ass if you let her.” There’s a bit of wonder in his eyes when he looks up at her and she grins. Then she winks. Kane turns a little red and if she wasn’t charmed enough by his blond curls, that blush does it.

“Your name is weird.” Kane elbows her again.

“Your hair is ridiculous. You’re gonna have to play with me and Peters. We can have a blond squad!” Ben throws another napkin. Kane drops the subject and goes back to eating. They’ve only got a few minutes left when she leans into him. “After practice we’re going to go catch Rush Hour 2 if you wanna join.”

Kane watches again, and then nods slowly. “Yeah, sure.”

And just like that she brings Kane into the hockey family and makes a friend for life. Mostly.

*.*.*

September 2, 2002

“This is going to be the most amazing show ever.”

There’s mumbles from around the Verbeek living room, the guys agreeing or disagreeing. Montana watches the new Sci-Fi show on Fox, Firefly, over the top of Pat’s head who sits in between her legs on the floor. He’s got one arm thrown over a knee and he keeps glancing back at her frequently. She whacks him on the back of the head after the tenth time.

“Eyes front, soldier.”

“BFFs, Montana. Forever.”

She laughs.

*.*.*

June 18, 2005

“Are you sure you’ve got time for this, hot shot?”

Pat snuggles further into the blanket thrown over both their bodies. He rubs his face into the back of her neck and tugs her tight against his chest. “Firefly marathon? Oh hell yeah. We’re not leaving until it’s over, Pretty.”

Montana sighs and presses play on the remote.

The voiceover, the history of Earth-That-Was, filters through her dad’s house. They’re alone, one blessed night of silence. She’s convinced him to spend a week back in Michigan with her, visiting friends and hanging out. Montana knows that Pat’s going to get drafted to the NHL in the next few years. He’s going to be a hot commodity and her best friend is going to disappear. She takes every chance she can to spend time with him. He’s got precious few days before training ramps up for his development program. Her first full year of art in college was boring as fuck and if she never has to think about negative space again she’ll be happy.

They make it through three episodes before she feels him let go of consciousness. It’s only three in the afternoon. He mumbles against the nape of her neck and she moves around a bit, trying to get more comfortable. Pat’s right arm is curled under her head and its pressing oddly against her ear.

She pulls his left arm, wrapped around her stomach, towards her ribs. He sputters nonsensically. He won’t wake up, not Pat. The kid can sleep through a lot. On the TV, Kaylee is making friends with the hoity toity and Mal is getting jealous of Inara’s client.

She passes out around the end of the episode, Mal muttering something about being just all right.

It’s dusk when she wakes up. The interlude music on the DVD set has been blaring for hours. Pat shifts again, violently, and she realizes that he woke her up with a bad dream. She turns in his arms and says his name. Twice. His eyes fly open when she places a hand on his cheek and shakes his face.

“Holy fuck!” His eyes are wide, panicked.

“Shhh, it’s okay PK. Just a dream.” Their faces are close and he relaxes immediately with her eyes filling his view. He sighs and leans his forehead against hers. His arms tighten around her body.

“I couldn’t play anymore. I fucked it all up. Fuck, it was so real.” He’s breathing ragged and Montana doesn’t think. She just presses a kiss to his lips and murmurs that everything is fine. Everything will be all right.

She lifts her head and gives him a smile trying to let him know that she’s right here for him. He’s got a far too serious expression on his face and she has about a half-second of warning before his lips come crashing back into hers. She fights it; Pat is her best friend. They have never had a sexual relationship.

“What are you doing?!” His mouth stifles any more protests or questions. His left hand pushes under her shirt, resting warm and strong against her upper back. His thigh slides between her legs and she gasps at the sensation of strong muscle pushing against her sensitive core.

She has never had sex before. She’s a second-base only sort of girl. His tongue begs entrance to her mouth and she lets him in. She wraps her own arms around his back, around his neck. Things are happening to her; crazy and unexpected things and it scares her. It excites her too, driving her to act recklessly. She really wants this, wants him. Right now.

He doesn’t have a condom and she’s never had condoms but they don’t stop after they’ve got their pants off. He rolls to his back, pulling her on top. The sensation of feeling him, hard between them, slip inside of her shocks her. And shoots thrill down her spine. She groans and pushes down, needing more. He slips right in without hesitation. It feels . . . awkward. That’s the best reaction she’s got. It feels awkward and full and not really all that great.

He sees the discomfort on her face and pulls her down to kiss him before saying, “It’ll get better. Just wait a minute.” She thinks he’s the one who can’t wait, pumping his hips lightly. Still too much. He finds her left nipple with his finger tips and his lips close over her right. She throws her head back and groans and right then she feels it.

Deep inside of her Pat hits a spot that’s got her squirming against him. She tries it again. It feels like a bowling ball to the sense each time, blackening and heavy. “Oh fuck, PK.”

“Say my name, Montana.” His mouth forms the words around her flesh and she whimpers.

“Pat. Fuck. What was that?”

She can feel him smile. “I think that’s called the g-spot but I could be wrong. I’m not exactly an expert here.” He breaks the ice and she lets herself giggle. They manage to set a pace that’s not too uncomfortable for her and rewards her with bolts of pleasure.

“Montana, I’m gonna-“

She finds that if she twists her hips quickly, bouncing forwards and backwards, he hits that spot in side of her and rubs her clit at the same time. She knows all about her clit and this movement feels delicious. She’s so close, almost close enough to find herself an orgasm, when his hands clamp down on her hips. He shoves up into her three times in quick succession and then he’s moaning her name. She watches his body tense and then his eyes roll back in his head.

That’s it, then, she thinks.

Impetuous best friend; that’s what Patrick Kane is. Reckless too. He lifts her up gently and pulls her back down next to him. They’re a sweaty mess and she smells blood in the air. “You okay?” She isn’t, not really. She feels empty now and unfulfilled. She nods anyway and wills her body to relax.

He’s frowning down at her, knowing that she’s lying and she gives him a smile that doesn’t convince anyone. His hand creeps down her front and she gasps when he hooks two fingers inside of her. He works until he finds that spot again and she groans. “Fuck, Patrick. Yes.”

He wears his silly, accomplished smile when the heel of his hand pushes against her clit and her orgasm surprises both of them. Pat lets her ride it out; he keeps his hand still and lets her work it as she wants to. When she’s finally still he kisses her forehead before pulling his hand up. She definitely smells blood. He grabs his boxers and cleans them up.

She’s tucked into his side and he sighs, happily, into her hair.

“Pat, what the fuck was that?”

He hums happily. “Figured you’d be a good choice for my first time. Looks like I might have been a good first choice for you, too.” His laughter fills the air and she slaps his chest, hard.

“You prick. You could have asked first.” She would have probably still said yet.

“I thought the whole tongue-down-your-throat thing was a pretty good way to kick things off, ya know?”

“Fuck you PK.”

“Give me twenty minutes. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

They don’t fuck again. He tries, after a brief nap and she smacks him upside the head. They’ve had too much excitement for one evening and it’s creeping her out, thinking about sex. With Kaner. All the thrill that she’d felt, having him beneath her, inside her, is gone and in its place is worry. She really doesn’t want to fuck things up with him. He doesn’t push and they don’t ever really talk about it.

*.*.*

November 13, 2005

Montana’s first game with the Michigan Tech Husky JV team is almost canceled by snow. The power is out in half of Houghton and most of Hancock but it’s fixed with two hours to go before game time. Montana is not relieved. She’s been dreading this moment since she started practicing with the team. When her cappy tries to give her a word of reassurance on the way out of the dressing room she almost falls over in her haste to make a wastebasket.

The guys don’t give her shit for puking but they don’t cut her a break. When her name is announced she’s already got her helmet on and she doesn’t know if her sex has been broadcasted. This is not something she’s ever really talked about with management. She’d just as soon tell no one.

She gets a couple of assists, a really sweet goal from the blue line, and lays four guys out. All in all it’s a pretty good game except for the dick from UND. He takes exception to a totally legit open ice hit on one of the forwards who was too pretty for his own good.

The goon plasters her face first against the boards and she struggles as hard as she can to kick the puck at her feet loose. He’s going to keep trying to flatten her until then. “You’re a little shit, aren’t you cunt-ing?”

That’s an old insult and one she’s heard before. “Not my fault your boy can’t skate, homeslice. Now fuck- OFF.” She’s almost screaming and she kicks the puck free with a final huff. The goon backs away from her slowly and when she turns she can see it in his eyes. He knows. He raises his hands and looks at her with shock. And disgust.

“What the fuck?”

She sort of wants to skate off the ice and hide. Her daddy didn’t raise a coward though and she skates after the guy instead, shoving him hard in the chest. “What’s the problem, fuckwit? Upset because a girl is kicking your ass?” She keeps her voice low. “Or are you upset that it took you this long to realize I don’t have a dick?” She pushes him again. He’s getting angry.

Montana feels like this is some sort of life-changing event and she shoves the guy’s mask up and off, giving him the best face wash she can manage. Now he’s really angry and she’s about to get into her first fight. He finally pushes back.

The ref isn’t fast enough to keep him from throwing the first punch that knocks off her helmet or the fantastic haymaker she lays onto the guy’s left ear. They both get a few more punches off before a ref is blowing the whistle and peeling them apart.

She doesn’t know if the crowd gasped or what when she’d lost the helmet. They’re cheering for her now though and her team is banging on the boards like crazy sons of bitches. The other team stares as she’s dumped in the penalty box. Play doesn’t resume for ten long minutes while coaches talk. Players talk. The refs look at a complete loss.

The crowd is roaring when the puck drops again. She’s sort of calmed down when her penalty is up and her defensive partner passes long across center ice. The rubber hits her tape and she’s on the goalie seconds later, scoring a quick back hander top shelf on the blocker side.

There’s defeat in the goalie’s eyes. Her teammates bury her on the ice in a pile of stinky gear and shouts. The crowd is still standing when she gets to the bench and her coach taps the top of her helmet.

*.*.*


March 21, 2006

Jack comes out to her during her first Spring Break at Michigan Tech. They’re spread out on their stomachs in the den, playing poker, when he throws down his cards and just announces, “I like guys.” She cocks an eyebrow at him. He looks frustrated by her lack of expression. “Like, I’m into guys.”

She keeps her gaze steady. He’s growing more and more flustered and she thinks she’s probably the test run for a later conversation he’ll be having with the rest of the family. She puts him out of his misery, saying, “Me too.”

He coughs in surprise and turns bright red.

Her cards are ignored as she launches herself at him and wrestles him. He’s not as strong as she is but he’s quick. She pins him only to get flipped a second later. Jack throws her against the couch, knocking her breath out. She retaliates with a nifty leg lock movement she’s picked up in her hand-to-hand class and he falls back with a laugh. Her arms are in the air, about to announce herself as ‘King of the Lab’, when he gets her under him, sitting on her ass.

“King of the Lab!” He crows cheerfully, all earlier awkwardness and frustration gone. He lets her up when she admits defeat. They separate, breathing heavily and just laughing at each other softly.

Montana whacks him hard in the shoulder when their heart beats slow. “”Dude, Booth is so hot.”

Jack cracks a wide grin and ducks his head. “Yeah, yeah he is.”

Montana didn’t think it was possible to love Jack any more. She watches his smile, lighting up his whole face, and she grins back.


*.*.*

October 2, 2007

Montana promises herself and her dad that she won’t date other hockey players. He has a really awkward conversation with her when she’s seventeen about boys and sex and her face burns so brightly that she feels uncomfortable for weeks after.

They both agree, though, that playing the game means that she can’t play the field. There’s too much drama in it. She keeps her promise for a full three years until she gets her ‘A’. The day the coach announces his decision in the locker room during her junior year in college she’s asked out by the captain. Matt is a senior and has always been one of her biggest supporters on the team. She doesn’t even realize it’s a date until he’s got her back at his place and they’re drinking their fifth beers.

His hand grazes her outer thigh and she shivers under the contact. She can’t think of any reason to complain when he pushes his hand into her hair and pulls their lips together.

She’s not a virgin. She’s a hot girl in college who is usually way too keyed up to keep herself amused with toys alone.

Montana goes four rounds with Matt that night and it is far better than sex with any of the nerds she’s been picking up. He’s unstoppable and so is she. The next day they don’t speak about it and they never hook up again. An unspoken agreement about not fucking up the team dynamic passes between them in the first tense look they share and that’s that.

She keeps her off-ice activities quiet. She sleeps with a guy from the University of Alaska, Anchorage. One from U of Wisconsin, Madison. She keeps it all under wraps and only fools around on the road. She’s not stupid enough to draw things out and at the end of the fun, that’s it. Ended. She is also not a push-over and then next time she sees both guys she upends them just to prove that she can.

*.*.*

December 29, 2007

“Hey Pretty. Got a minute?”

Montana slides to a stop at center ice and gives Peters an expectant look. The U of M Captain is kinda hot but it doesn’t have a lot of effect on her. “What’s up Ben? How’s the family?” She’s known the guy for years from the pee-wee leagues in Detroit but she hasn’t seen him in months.

“I just wanted to say good luck. And ask you to go out for a drink after the game.”

She laughs, long and deep. “I’m sure I’ll be too busy celebrating with my team tonight. After we kick your asses, that is.”

Ben laughs now and whacks her across the shins. “Far too cocky, Pretty.”

The Wolverines win in a close battle; this is a milestone for Michigan Tech though. This is the first time they’ve taken second at the Great Lakes Invitational in, like, a decade. Montana is all grins in the handshake line; Ben asks again for a drink that she still turns down.

She’s one of the last ones out of the visitors’ changing room and she takes her time wandering the halls of the Joe. She’s a senior now. She has one semester left and then she gets to go disappear and teach grade school kids how to weave with craft yarn or some shit.

She’s pouting a little and she stops right in front of the Gordie Howe sculpture. A smile chases across her lips as she looks up at the greatest to ever play in Detroit. The hall is mostly deserted so she clearly hears the sharp clip of dress shoes coming up behind her.

When she turns her jaw drops because standing right there in front of her is Darren McCarty and Kris Draper. Draper’s eyes light up when he catches sight of her. “Hey! You’re Montana Cunning, aren’t you?” She can’t even form words right now she’s so startled.

“That was a sick goal during the MSU game, man. Just a beaut.” McCarty now. She’s bright red.

“Thank you. I-“ She is never this awkward.

“How long have you been playing? You’re from Michigan, right?”

She nods and slides her back hands in her pockets to keep from flailing. “Yeah. Port Huron. I played in Detroit with the junior league too.”

McCarty’s eyes light up and he slaps her on the shoulder. “I’m playing Port Huron in a couple of days! Are you still on Christmas break? You should come watch! I’ll get you tickets.” It all comes out in an excited rush and Montana can only nod and agree. She’d been meaning to spend some time with Aunt Cherie and Uncle Bill but she’s pretty positive that they won’t be too upset if she ditches them.

“Great!” Another slap on the shoulder. “Bring your gear too. Be at the rink a couple hours before puck drop.”

“Uhhhh, what?”

*.*.*

January 3, 2008

“All right slobs, shape up. We’ve got a guest at practice today.”

The Flint Generals coach is stopped at center ice when he draws everyone’s attention over to the home team bench where Montana is walking out. She doesn’t have her helmet on yet and her hair is artfully braided back on both sides. There’s laughter from the lined up players, unbelievable. But they all look like they’re expecting her. McCarty gives her a little wave when she hits the ice and skates to the coach’s side.

“This is Montana. She’s going to practice with us today, as you have all been made aware. I do not expect you to take it easy on her.” He glances down at Montana and tilts his head, considering. “I’m pretty sure she’s not expecting it either. All right, let’s get to work. Lutes, you’re with the newb.”

It’s not like Flint picks her up magically. She actually doesn’t mesh well with any of their defensemen. She likes working the PK with McCarty, who insists she call him Dmac, but other than that she’s just not clicking. She’s a little disappointed when the Generals hit the showers and she spends an extra twenty minutes on the ice. This is the first time she’s skated at McMorran and it is pretty cool.

She waits too long and the IceHawks take the ice for their practice while she’s working on agility drills. She’s pleased to see that she recognizes several of the members from teams she’d played on years ago.

It’s the IceHawks who she clicks with, that old chemistry coming back. She practices with them the next two days in a row and right before she’s all set up to head back up to Houghton for school, the head coach calls her. Drulia makes her an offer she really can’t refuse.

She drops out of school, one semester shy of graduation. There’s a great deal of conflict between her and MTU over this, but she gets just enough in a signing bonus (tiny but enough) to pay off her scholarship. She gets cleared by the Huskies and starts playing semi-professional hockey. Her achievement makes the national news but she keeps her head down and works hard; harder than her teammates by double because she’s got twice as much to prove. She’s never been happier.

*.*.*

March 3, 2008

The hardest battles she fights over her sex and her current profession comes from the WAG contingency. Their husbands and boyfriends love having her around but she quickly realizes that the women of the IceHawks do not take kindly to her presence.

She’s invited to a party at the captain’s house. Carroll is pretty cool and a few years older than she is. He’s still one of the young guys on the team. Mrs. Carroll is gorgeous and appears very well put together and is the only woman there that doesn’t give her filthy looks.

Her drink mysteriously spills on her several times. She drenches her shoes and takes them off. The next one drenches her socks so she takes them off. The third coats her lower legs and she rolls up her baggy jeans, revealing Pacman, chased by ghosts circling her calf. The guys go nuts. Children of the 90’s. The women leave her alone for the rest of the night.

The next party is the same though. She’s always getting something spilled on her. She’s pretty sure someone dumped salt into her beer. How fucking juvenile. The hockey girlfriends at school were never like this. She tutored half of them in French and they’d loved her. They’d been all, “Let’s go shopping, Montana. No, that shirt shows off too much skin. Trashy. Try this one.” and “That nerd is totally checking you out. You like the really shy ones, don’t you?”

In hindsight perhaps the hockey girlfriends were just keeping her away from their men by keeping her close.

What none of these women realize is that the inside of a locker room smells like the back end of a moose during rutting season. It’s disgusting and it does nothing for her libido. Also, the guys are good, but they’re not panty-dropping good. She watches the NHL for that kind of action. Seriously, watching Datsyuk undress three players and score a goal is enough to send her into convulsions. Her little semi-pro team doesn’t come close.

Furthermore, she hasn’t ever dated. Ever. And she’s certainly not hooking up with them on the road. She thinks that maybe she should lay it down for the WAGS all one day when they’re all good and sauced. She goes for the opposition, never the home team. It’s . . . complicated and messy. She thinks. For example, she’s pretty sure two of the forwards are banging regularly. They have tiffs all the time and they fight like badgers before they figure out their issues. And then they disappear for days. Montana doesn’t really have to wonder about what they’re doing.

One day she should ask to join.

No- not acceptable. She shakes off that thought every time she has it. She plays hockey with them. Sometimes she hangs out with them. She will never be naked around them and she will never see them naked. It’s the system and it works, for fuck’s sake.

The WAGS still put her through some harsh questioning when she’s been with the team for a month. What’s she even doing playing hockey? Why is she always with their men? Does she even like guys? Montana has never had a long term sexual relationship with a woman but she considers herself an equal opportunity sexual participant. Should the situation arise . . . who knows?

Her answers aren’t really good enough and her team mates all cool off towards her until she starts dating Travis. Travis charms but never really spends a lot of times with the WAGs, even though he is sort of one of them, much to her very giggly amusement. His presence has been enough, finally, that they’ve laid off on her. At the end of her first half-season they even invite her along on outings. They start to do the same thing that the hockey girlfriends at MTU did.

Keep her close. Keep an eye on her. And then they realize that she’s around for everything with the team; suddenly she is responsible for all the taken men. She’s forced into a blood sacrifice to protect the sanctity of the team relationships. They prick her finger and everything. She’s born into a sisterhood that’s a little bit awkward and super suspicious but if it’ll get them to leave her booze alone she’ll take it.

*.*.*

April 18, 2008

Her only serious boyfriend shows up out of nowhere at a bar in Port Huron. She’s celebrating her first playoff win against the Muskegon that resulted in her getting five points when a large body pushes her into the bar. She spills the beer in her hand all over the bar top and she yells out.

The man grinning sheepishly back at her is huge. And gorgeous. His hair is dark and his eyes are a piercing blue that twinkle with laughter. “Buy you another?”

She’s not quite 21 and it is way easier to get someone else to buy. Montana lets this guy, Travis, charm her pants off of her both literally and figuratively. They spend days holed up in his apartment until her next game. And it keeps going like that.

They don’t have a lot of time apart. Her games are never more than an eight hour trip away and she’s home most nights but Travis hates that she’s around these guys all the time. The only friends she still has in Port Huron all play for the team. Or for other teams. She cooks Dmac dinner whenever he can get up from Detroit. The WAGs leave her alone and she doesn’t keep in touch with friends from grade school, separated by too many years and thousands of miles. So, she’s not swimming in social opportunities. Travis likes that, likes that she’s usually all his.

He lasts through the end of that first half-season with Port Huron and into the summer. Things are great. He’s great. He’s just too fucking perfect to deal with going back to hockey. After her first away game he’s there when the team returns. He sees the hugs she gives to everyone and rather than being overjoyed that she is home he’s pissed as fuck.

He’s got receipts and logged phone calls and all this evidence that she’s cheating on him with one of the guys on the team. He claims that it’s been going on for months and she is so blown away by his accusation that she can’t even find the words to deny it. Everything is circumstantial and she’s sure each of the guys has the same sort of ‘evidence’ floating around their lives. Hazards of strange work hours and long trips.

After Travis she sticks with what she knows and doesn’t date. She fucks instead and when she’s lonely she calls up team mates and kicks their asses at Mario Kart with a sometimes startling frequency.

*.*.*

November 26, 2008

“Seriously Pretty, you have got to come to the game tonight. And then we’re going out.”

Montana stands up and stretches, cracking her back. She’d taken a massive hit two nights ago and her left side is sore as fuck. And really pretty shades of black and blue. She lifts her shirt and glances down at the bruises coming up from her hip.

“Pretty. Come on. You’ve gotta meet the boys.”

She sighs and crosses into the kitchen. It’s kinda chilly in here but she’s got the house to herself. Dad and the boys are at camp, hopefully shooting some deer. “I’ve got a game tomorrow in Fort Wayne, Kaner. I can’t go out drinking tonight. And besides, we’re too young to drink.”

“Psshhh. Whatevs. We’ll just go to Gerry’s. I’ll have you home by one.” He says the last like it’s a really great selling point. It really isn’t. Her bus leaves at, like, eight AM.

She braces a hand on her forehead and sighs again. “For fuck’s sake Kaner I’m not jumping the border to get shitfaced with you tonight.”

“Pretty.” She hears the change in Kaner’s tone of voice and she groans. Not the voice. “Please. You haven’t seen any of my games yet.” She just knows that dick is smiling on the other end. That voice gets her every time.

“Leave me tickets at will-call and text me after.”

Kaner whoops and Montana hears someone in the background yelling at him for jumping on the bed. It’s early afternoon; it’s only an hour and a half to the Joe. “See you tonight, Pretty.”

Kaner plays well. Really well. So well that when he scores the game winner she actually cheers for him. She gets tons of dirty looks from everyone around her especially since she’s wearing her Yzerman jersey.

She gets a text as she’s puttering around the main hall, once more in front of Gordie Howe and Kaner tells her to come down to the visitors’ dressing room. It’s been eleven months since she was here during the GLI and she smiles to herself as she winds her way into the belly of the Joe.

She hears Kaner just seconds before he explodes out of the dressing room and tackles her. He’s like an overly eager puppy; she almost expects him to start licking her face. He doesn’t and when he straightens she smiles. Little PKane grew up a lot during his second season. He’s actually her height now and he might have twenty pounds on her.

Kaner gives her a long look and blushes but keeps smiling. She’s put on some muscle too. “Come meet the boys.”

The visitors’ dressing room is much as she left it a year ago. Stinky and full of hockey players. A hush falls over the men gathered and they look at Kaner but then at her. She recognizes a lot of faces and introductions are easy. A few are surprised to find out that she’s that Montana Cunning but they’re all friendly, asking her about how she’s doing in the IHL.

In the van that takes them across the Ambassador Bridge to Windsor Kaner makes her squeeze in the very back with his new BFF, Jonathan Toews. Montana likes Toews. He’s quiet and polite and doesn’t push her over when she’s climbing out in front of the bar. Unlike Kane who apologizes while he’s still laughing and pulling her up to her feet. “You’re a dick Kaner. I don’t know why we’re friends.”

“The Blonde Brigade is still legendary; we will be friends forever.”

Toews leans past Kaner with one eye brow raised. “Blonde Brigade?”

Montana laughs and tosses her hair. “I used to be super blond. And so did half of our team. What year was that, U-13? I think?” Kaner nods and she slings an arm around his shoulder. “Ages ago. Back when the boys were boys and I still kicked all their asses. Let’s get a drink.”

Near midnight Toews pulls her off the dance floor and back to the table cave they’ve been sitting in. The thing is really a cave; she thinks the club retrofitted a Chinese bed, one of those wooden box ones, and then stuck some benches in with a table. She sits and beers appear. Magically. She gives Toews a twinkling smile in thanks as she drinks.

Toews doesn’t drink. He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “I remember you.”

“I hope so, hot shot. We met four hours ago.”

Toews shakes his head and she leans forward too, intrigued now. “Three years ago. Your first college game. You rearranged Mark’s face and he outted you to the world.” He says the last with a sweeping arm motion. “I was on the other team.”

She squints and tilts her head to one side. She should remember him, right? He’s far too pretty for his own good. And then it dawns on her. She’d flattened him center ice. Totally legal hit but his enforcer had taken exception. “The forward, from UND? I didn’t even realize.”

“Yeah, imagine my surprise when Kaner announced that he knew one of the only women to ever break into professional hockey who I actually kind of knew and that we were going out with her.” The way he looks at her, starting at the modest neckline of her top up to her eyes, makes her a little nervous. “You’ve grown up a lot in the last three years.”

She can’t help it and she blushes.

Kaner catches them later on, when everyone’s ready to go, necking in the back of the booth. He’s horrified and starts yelling at both of them immediately but his anger is forgotten when he’s distracted two seconds later. Toews nuzzles against her hairline and whispers that they’re playing in Montreal in two days. They’re not even going back to Chicago. Just staying in Detroit tonight before they fly out tomorrow afternoon.

She hears the offer in his voice and it makes her shiver. She loves the feeling of new romance. Loves the thrill of instant attraction and it’s just the thought of having to play the Komets in, oh, seventeen hours that keeps her from climbing into his lap right then.

“I can’t.” The regret darkens his eyes instantly. She kisses his jaw. “Got a game tomorrow. Bus leaves Port Huron in seven hours.”

Toews doesn’t really say anything else. She gets back to the house with enough time to catch six hours of sleep and bombs the next evening against the best team in the IHL. She supposes, as she packs her gear back up, that there’s worse trade-offs than one game for one night of hot making out with Jonny Toews.

*.*.*

December 27, 2008

“You’re coming to the Winter Classic. You really have no choice, Pretty.”

Patrick Kane does this to her every time he needs something. Or wants something. Usually wants because the guy doesn’t need for much of anything anymore. She knows better than to fight it at this point. “I’m on break from the IceHawks for almost a week. I can give you four days but then I need to spend time with my family. Brandon’s wife is claiming the new baby isn’t his and he’s torn apart.”

Kaner makes a soft noise of discontent. “Poor Brandon. Is AJ his?”

She thinks about the laughing giggle of her three month old nephew. “He looks like every single one of us as a baby. Of course he’s my nephew. Anyway, you’re booking and paying for my flight. I make next to nothing.”

“Deal. I’ll make sure someone’s there to pick you up from the airport. See you in a few days!”

She should have known that he’d send Toews to come get her. Kaner has been pestering her for almost a month about the two of them making out. She thinks he’s finally come to terms with her being a girl that occasionally engages in sexual interactions with other people. It’s just a little surprising that he’d serve Toews up on a platter. He’s all gentlemanly, though, when he holds open the door to his truck for her and insists she call him Jonny. She tells him to call her Montana.

Jonny takes her out to dinner. At the restaurant he pulls out her chair and compliments her outfit. He tries almost too hard and she wants to tell him that he just has to offer.

He offers without her ever having to voice it. They’re on the way over to Kaner’s when he puts a hand over hers and asks if she’s staying with ‘Pat’. She hadn’t really thought about it but she smiles and asks if he’s got a better idea. He does, it turns out.

Jonny’s place is brand spanking new and doesn’t even look that lived in. They do a damn good job of tearing the apartment up a bit and by the time Kaner calls to find out where the hell they are Jonny’s left his print on almost every inch of her body.

A girl could get used to this.

Jonny is fun to be around but really competitive. She matches him as best as she can and some things she’s better at. Some things she’s not and he’s kicking her ass two days before the Classic. They’re playing NHL09 and she is just sucking all over the place. On the TV screen her defenseman takes a funny turn and ends up in the boards instead of covering the center like she’d intended. Jonny scores and does a victory dance. She wouldn’t feel so bad except that he’s done this nine times already in the past half hour.

“I am the best who ever lived!” Jonny is triumphant. Montana doesn’t get a chance to tackle him before Kaner does it for her. The two fall to the floor and wrestle for a good ten minutes before Jonny finally lets Kaner up. Jonny just gloats some more and sinks down next to her. “That was pretty good, though. Right?”

He’s all grins and she elbows him. “Maybe for a video game. I don’t think you could take the real thing though. I’d undress you so fast you’d swear you were a stripper.”

The room goes quiet. The few guys dicking around in the kitchen look over the island at them curiously and Kaner’s eyes have gone wide. Jonny is also very still watching her.

“You really think you could take me?” Perhaps challenging the most competitive guy ever to a game that he’s far better at than she is was a really poor choice. There’s no backing out now.

“Anytime Toes. Anytime.”

“How about now?” And the group starts to look around. Great. No one feels good about this. No one except for Jonny, probably. “Come on Montana. The UC should be empty right now. Let’s go put these skills to test.”

They’re out the door in under 10, on the ice in less than an hour. She convinces Jonny to let Kaner, Steeger, and Soupy come out and play for a while too. She warms them up and has a great deal of fun outworking Kaner in two-on-ones. Kaner is pissed but she still remembers most of his tricks. They haven’t been on ice together for almost half a decade but his silly moves are easy to catch.

“Alright. Enough fooling around. Soupy, set up the puck at center ice.” Jonny slides to a stop next to her. “Do you wanna start at a face off?”

He looks so smug. She pulls him down by the front of his practice jersey and smashes their lips together. There’s not a lot of finesse to it and she shoves him back when she’s done. She skates away to a stupid, goofy grin on Jonny’s face then stops half-way to the crease. He looks shell-shocked.

“Well, come at me bro.”

He does.

She’s watched a lot of his tape; she knows how quick he is and it is only through a well-placed poke check that she knocks the puck free when he comes down the right lane. He recovers it so damned quick though and she makes a wide sweep with her stick. His shot is knocked wide. They scramble to the boards.

There’s a five minute tussle that follows. Jonny pushes her around on the ice with more ease than she’s comfortable with but she still gets a poke check in the way forty percent of the time and she thinks it’s going pretty good. He scores on her twice; they don’t bother resetting just send the puck in the corner again. She scores once on him too. And then it happens. Someone is moving around on one of the benches and Montana sees Jonny glance over. She takes the initiative and lays him out on the ice. Softly.

He lands on his ass with a thump and a curse and she is cackling manically as the clapping starts. At first she thinks it’s just the other three guys but there are too many people. Some are banging on the boards. She looks over at the bench and the first words out of her mouth are, “Dmac!”

The Wings arrived sometime during her and Jonny’s face-off. Dmac jumps the board and skates over to give her a hug. “Hey kid. Looking good out there.” Drapes joins them. If the rest of the Wings find her presence, or those of the Blackhawks, odd they don’t say anything. Rather they start their own practice.

“You playing for the Hawks in a few days?” Drapes gives her a disapproving look that she knows is mostly fluff.

“Come on Ginger General. You know my heart belongs to Michigan. Just teaching them a few tricks. Not that it’ll help. I know you guys will steamroll them.”

“Hey!” Jonny and Kaner squawk their indignation at the same time behind her and she glances back. They’ve been hovering, probably scoping out the competition. Montana’s friendship with the veteran players has been common knowledge between the three of them since Jonny and Montana first met.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know.” She actually sticks her tongue out at them and bids Drapes and Dmac both farewell.

When she leaves a few days later Jonny gives her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek with the promise to call him when she’s not so good at robbing him. They both know this weekend wasn’t forever. This thing wasn’t lasting. But it was fun and she knows she has a lifelong friend in Jonny Toews. For the most part.