January 1, 2011

“Happy birthday!” Helmer’s smiling face is the first thing she sees when she opens the door to her apartment. She registers the grin, the boyish smile that makes her heart skip a few beats, and she grins back.

“What are you doing here and how do you know it’s my birthday? I never told anyone on the team.”

Behind Helm, over a dozen guys all pop up and Montana groans. The entire team under the age of 30 is hanging out in the hallway. In the back she glimpses Danny and Homer as well as Lids. Scratch that. The better part of her team is clogging her hallway, all holding snacks or beer. And Helmer has a cake.

“Google search!” Helmer explains with glee and pushes past her. She’s handed a medium-sized, wrapped box as he heads inside and she stands at the door as everyone gives her a present along with a hug or a kiss. Her arms are really full by the time Lids gets there. He’s got a basket with a bow on it and he holds it up for her so she can dump all the presents inside. All except Abby’s which is three feet long and sounds like metal that requires assembly. She bets it’s a razor scooter. He makes fun of her all the time for walking so slowly around the Joe.

“Happy Birthday, little sister.” Lids has been calling her sister for two months now. It made her uneasy at first but now it just makes her feel warm and kinda loved. “Thanks Lids. And for the basket. Always prepared, eh?”

“Under preparation is for the weak.”

There’s a mighty crash from inside the kitchen and she turns back into her apartment, alarmed. She hears four voices all call out that everything is fine. Eavie, Val, Abby, and Homer. What a terrible combination. The world will never be the same. She’ll need to find a new apartment.

“Weren’t we all getting together at your place for the Classic this afternoon?” She knows this crowd isn’t leaving any time soon. They brought in enough food and beer to feed their small army.

“Sam isn’t feeling well and the others kicked me out of the house. They said I was hovering.” Lids shrugs and puts a warm hand on her shoulder. “Sorry for the invasion but we brought beer?” He grins and holds up a six-pack of her favorite New Holland Brewery stout and she squeals with glee.

“You’re the best captain ever.”

She thinks he mutters something about remembering that in the future but she can’t be sure. The party drags on for hours, mostly due to the fact that the game is so delayed but then because the boys keep breaking her stuff. She’s lost three glasses and half of a wall of photos by the time the game starts and her teammates settle.

The Classic is a thing of wet and insane beauty. They cheer mostly for the Caps, still smarting from the loss to the Pens a few years ago in the Finals. Montana doesn’t really care, one way or the other. They’ll play the Pens next week, her first foray against them, and the Caps sometime after the All Star Game. It’s good to keep an eye on the competition and she watches the defensemen for both teams. Her eyes are drawn to both Letang and Green any time they take the ice. She admires the way Green takes the offensive when he’s needed and she really loves the way Letang can shut down an incoming play.

She’ll have to pick their brains when she meets them. She loses her spot on her couch to Homer, in a deep discussion with Z in Swedish. She camps out in front of the sectional instead, leaning against both Bert and Helmer’s legs. At one point Bert gets up for another beer so she shifts over, taking up the space between Helmer’s knees. He’s even so nice as to give her a shoulder rub which is excellent and she leans her head back, closing her eyes and enjoying the massage. His hands are strong and leave shivers in their wake. The team shouts out and her eyes snap open. Crosby is on the ice and she watches the replay of him getting tagged in the head. It looks back and she frowns. Hits like that are awful.

Spirits lift when the Caps pull out the win. She’s forced to leave her back rub when the majority of people bail. It’s late, after all. The younger guys get a game of Battlefield going on her TV while she’s wishing the others good-bye.

At midnight Eavie and Val bail and then it’s just her and Helmer and Lids. The Swede has to make his excuses though; he’s got a family that’s probably wondering if he’s been kidnapped. He pulls her in for a hug as he’s on his way out the door. “Incest, Pretty. Don’t get caught up.” He’s about to say more but Helmer choses that moment to walk around the corner, asking where her dishwasher soap is hiding.

Montana yells something about under the sink and returns her captain’s embrace. “I know. I promise.” She tries to look as solemn as possible and he kisses her forehead.

“Don’t stay up late. We’re in LA in two days.” Famous last words, it feels like to Montana. She closes the door after Lids and locks it. She has no idea when Helmer will want to leave but she’ll be damned if she’s gonna let random people wander into her apartment right now.

She kind of has an answer when she walks back into her kitchen to find him pouring two glasses of wine, all of the dishes from the party put away and the counters wiped down. The answer is he’s never leaving, apparently. She takes the glass he offers with a smile. “Do you clean windows too? I can’t find a cleaning lady that’s willing.”

He glances around her space and chuckles. “Is that how you keep it so clean in here? I always wondered; your hotel rooms are always destroyed.”

He comes around to stand next to her and she takes a sip of wine before answering. “That’s only because you guys are always declaring movie night in my room since I don’t have to share.”

Helmer tilts his head to the side and grins. “Wanna watch a movie now? Late practice tomorrow and I haven’t seen the new Girl With The Dragon Tattoo movie yet.”

She cringes internally. He’s openly flirting. She doesn’t always catch him when he does but this time it’s pretty obvious. “Helmer-“

“You’re right. Too serious. Something lighter?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer, just takes the bottle off the counter along with his glass and disappears into the living room. She glances around her kitchen in frustration. Lids’ words echo in her head. Incest. They’re all her brothers. She drains the glass in one gulp and follows Helmer.

He picks Zombieland and they laugh through all of it. They both groan every time Twinkies are mentioned. They haven’t eaten anything with a sugar content that high in years. The movie ends with the both of them sprawled out at opposite ends of her fabulously long couch and he nudges her knee with a foot.

“What would your name be? In Zombieland?”

It’s a ridiculous question. She’s had too much to drink. “Montana isn’t good enough?”

“You’re not from Montana.” She raises her glass in a small toast and drains the last few sips.

“Well, I suppose Port Huron then. That’s not exciting enough though.” She tips her head back and thinks. “Warren. I live in Warren now. Sounds too much like a guy, though. It’ll have to be Detroit.” She slaps the knee she can reach. “You could be Detroit, too.”

“What? No. I’m from St. Andrews.”

“Nope. I have a cousin named Andrew. Totally not allowed to have the same name as him.”

“Manitoba?”

“You live here now. Your soul belongs to Michigan. Detroit it must be. Everyone on the team, we all take the same name. Then if we ever get separated we’ll be able to find each other because of the rumors!”

He arches a blond eyebrow. “Rumors?”

She rolls with it, shifting so she’s kneeling on the couch, excited. She has a secret love for discussing the zombie apocalypse. “We’d be bad asses at zombies, legends in the land of survival. I have it all planned. Great group tactics, able to back each other up. And just think of all the modifications we could make to the sticks. Blades with real blades on them. Spikes on the ends. Our away jerseys would be super awesome splattered in blood.”

He starts giggling at blades with blades and by the end of her joyful crowing he’s doubled in half with laughter. He’s crying he’s laughing so hard. It makes Montana laugh too and she has to put her wine glass down. It clatters to its side next to his empty and the bottle, also auspiciously vacant.

“We could recreate the world in our image; hockey for everyone. No more Avalanche fans!” She’s still laughing, curled in towards him, but Helmer isn’t laughing anymore. No, he grabs her shoulders and pulls her up, pulls her closer. When she looks up she’s a little teary-eyed but his face is serious. He slips his hands up to cup her jaw and she inhales, sharply.

“Pretty.” His voice is so serious. A warning bell goes off in her head. She feels frozen though.

The warmth of his hands travels down her neck, setting off little pinpricks of sensation along her skin. He’s rubbing one thumb along her jaw, brushing against her bottom lip now. Her lips part and she is so fucking aware of him. She hears ‘bad idea’ echo in her brain.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” This would be the moment where she pushes him back and tries to explain that she can’t, not with teammates. And especially not with him because she might be sort of in love with him and she wouldn’t fuck that up for the anything. Because he’s Helmer and he’s special; he’s boyish smiles, nerdy one-liners, and strong hugs when she needs one. He’s the Wings, packaged up and so thoroughly pure that it makes her heart ache to think about losing him.

She doesn’t say anything though; still rooted to her spot on the couch when he leans forward.

He takes his time, starting with a slow press. No tongue. Her heart rate jumps and she knows he can feel it under his hands at her neck. He pushes further into her, backing her up against the arm of the couch she’d been reclining on moments ago. Helmer’s body is hard and insistent as the kiss deepens. A deep burn starts in her stomach, lit by the press of him along the full length of her body. He slips a leg between hers and she whimpers at the pressure against her core. She’s starting to get wet, fast.

There is too much happening too fast and she feels so lightheaded. He is stealing all of her air and she feels like she’s drowning. She finally lets her hands start to roam. One gets buried in his hair; her fingers tighten in the locks and pull him tighter. The other one tucks up under his shirt, ghosting along his ribs and stomach. His muscles jump under the touch. He grinds against her; she can feel him, hard and insistent, against her thigh. They are rapidly approaching the point of naked, sexy times.

Incest, Pretty. Incest. Lids’ words take a baseball bat to the forward thinking capacity of her brain and she gasps, getting her hands on his shoulders to stop him.

“Helmer- Helmer, stop-“

“Shhhhh. You think too much. We both want this so why not? No one has to know.” He moves his mouth down to her neck, whispering these words against the heated skin there.

She sure as fuck wants this. But she can’t have it. “Helmer, we can’t do this.” He nips and she arches her whole body. It makes him chuckle. She pushes. “Darren.” This time her voice has a hint of frustration and anger.

This does make him pause and he looks up at her through his blond eyelashes. Her heart aches for how handsome and familiar he is. He’s been a constant for so long and she hates how confused he looks. “Montana, you want this. I want this. What’s the problem?”

“We just can’t. Not us.”

He pulls away from her fully, leaning back against the couch and still confused as hell. “What do you mean, ‘not us’? Is there something wrong with me?”

She protests immediately, reaching for a hand that he pulls out of her range. “Helmer, no. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Is there someone else? Someone on the team?”

“No! I’ve never had sex with anyone on the team. I never will. That’s what I’m trying to tell you-“

His hands scrub at his head violently, like he’s trying to scratch sense into his brain. “You’ll fuck everyone with a number on their back but not a Red Wing, huh? What’s the matter, are we too easy for you?” His voice is soft but bitter, self-deprecating.

Her mouth drops open. The last of the warmth she’s been feeling from their make-out session seeps out of her body. “Fuck everyone else? What the fuck are you talking about?”

He has tears in his eyes. He looks like he’s been betrayed. “We all know, Montana.”

She’s angry now, her eyes flashing and her voice dangerous. “Know what, Darren?”

“We know about all the guys. Sneaking out at night on road trips. The ones you bring back to your place. Fuck, Pretty. You’ve only played in twenty games and you’ve slept with dozens of guys. I don’t even know how you have time for all of them. You did start early though, didn’t you? The popular rumor is that you were giving it up to Kane before you even made the minors.” His voice slips from confused and hurt to angry and bitter during his tirade and every word feels like being boarded, over and over again.

“You need to leave.” She keeps her voice level and her eyes glued to his face. She has never been so insulted in her life before.

“What’s wrong, Pretty. Does the truth hurt?”

His tone of voice hurts. His accusations hurt. This is Helmer. The guy who’d held her during her only break-down since joining the NHL. Her partner in crime. They spend most of their free time together. He helped her decorate her place. Publicity sends the two of them out together more than the Eurotwins. That’s Helmer, not this cruel, cold hearted man standing in front of her. “I really need you to go. Now.”

He takes a step away, pauses, and then stalks from the room. The door jingles, the locks click open, and he slams the door on the way out. She lasts about five minutes before she’s racked with sobs so hard she curls into a ball.

*.*.*

February 14, 2011

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?” Helmer’s shouting echoes off the walls of the visitors’ room at Consol. He starts throwing gear and kicking things. The rest of the team shuffles in after him but Montana bears the brunt of his anger. Her face kinda hurts. Talbot only landed one punch before Homer had pulled him off but it fucking sucks.

She sits at her own stall, patiently, as he rails. She feels pretty shitty right now. “LETANG?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, MONTANA?! He’s like the NHL’s biggest push-over. You couldn’t even pick someone who could fight his own battles-”

She glares up at him, cutting him off. Her mohawk hasn’t even started growing out and the spikey bangs still hide her full expression. He’s got tears in his eyes. She sinks her eyes back to the floor. She doesn’t want to see this, not from him. Not after the way everything went down with Kris. He has no right to judge her. Not now, not ever again. “Of all the- no, you know what. Fuck it. FUCK YOU, Montana.” He pulls up right in front of her and drops his voice. No one else is talking and they’ll hear exactly what he’s about to say.

“I’m really glad I never fucked you. I’m really glad I didn’t and you know what, I found something better. Someone better. Someone who won’t lead me on for years and then tell me that she’ll fuck anyone with a number on their back as long as it’s not me.”

That hurts. Like a fucking knife to the chest. And it’s totally unexpected. When her eyes fly to his face she recoils at the anger she sees twisting his features and the truth that makes his eyes burn. The rest of her guys look away, unwilling to even step in to defend her. And they shouldn’t. This is her mistake, her fault. She’s gonna get sent back to GR for sure. Lids is suddenly at his shoulder and Helmer backs away, returning to his own stall and viciously ripping off his gear.

Lids cups her cheek, looking over her face. “That looks pretty bad. Go get checked out by the medic.” She might be bleeding. She doesn’t know. Everything had happened so fast, right at the end of the period, and she’d shrugged off any attempt at assistance, just to make it to the end. When she wipes at her cheek her hand comes away bloody. The doctors take a look at her shoulder too; she winces through the whole procedure because she’s almost completely sure the blindside hit from Talbot had separated something before he’d hit her face.

Babs benches her for the rest of the game. She’s angry when she strips off most of her gear and lets the equipment guys take her jersey. She’s just getting down to her socks when the full brunt of Helmer’s anger hits her. Her head drops to her hands. She has fucked this up and good.

Montana doesn’t cry but she has to get out. The staffers don’t even try to stop her as she exits the dressing room and disappears into the bowels of the CONSOL, still in her pads. She finally collapses, hiding in a side hall. She hangs her head between her knees and tries not to cry too hard. Or vomit. She really feels like she might vomit.

The goal buzzer brings the tears because the roar of the crowd means it wasn’t her team that’s scored.

It has to be a few hours later. The game is over. She’s counted six goals by the sounds, all of them laced with the sound of excited Penguins fans. Her fight with Talbot must have lit a fire under the Pens’ collective asses. The Wings had been up 4-2 when the second had ended.

The sharp click of dress shoes on the tiles brings her head up. She really expects it to be Lids, come to kick her off the team. She really hopes it’s just a trainer though, fetching her forth from her misery. She is just not expecting to look up and see the stern face of Evgeni Malkin staring back. She watches, kind of alarmed, as he pulls a phone out of his pocket and places a call. A rapid-fire conversation in Russian follows that she doesn’t understand at all.

He stops in front of her and scowls harder. She’s hauled to her feet and her eyes drop to the floor. She feels penned in. Back against the wall. He’s pretty good at doing this same thing on the ice. He wouldn’t hit her now, right? “You hurt Tanger. Bad. He not right since All-Star game and he tell Max this your fault.”

His English is worse than Pasha’s but she catches his meaning. This is exactly why she’d thrown down the gloves with Talbot; because she’d handled a bad situation poorly. She just hadn’t expected it to play out quite like this, trading blows on ice with Talbot and then getting torn apart verbally by a teammate. She nods along to Malkin’s accusations. She might not have meant for this to happen but it is her fault.

“I get call, though. Russians have strong . . . “ He looks for a word mentally. “Chain. Pasha say you not mean to. He say you heart-broken by own captain.” This gets her to raise her eyes. She’s blinking back tears again. Malkin isn’t scowling anymore. He just looks sad for her. “You tell him you sorry, even if not your fault totally. Not Max. He not like you much. Tell Tanger.”

There’s warning in his voice and Montana thinks he wants to tell her more when another set of shoes sounds. They both turn to see Pasha stop in the main hall. Her Alternate looks pretty pissed and she thinks Malkin probably called him when he found her. The Russians congregate at the entrance to her hiding hole and conference. Yeah, she doesn’t catch any of that either. Malkin shoots her one more warning look before he leaves and she’s alone with Pasha. He just nods his head in the direction of the dressing room and then walks back.

She follows, feeling an awful lot like a lost puppy.

That feeling lasts until she sees Z waiting for them too outside the dressing room. Now she feels like she’s being led to her execution. This is it, she thinks. She’s gonna get kicked off this team and will never play hockey again. She squares her shoulders and raises her chin, trying to find some sort of bravery in the face of her short comings.

Pasha and Z share a look. Z opens the door for her and ushers her inside. Pasha does not follow.

“Get changed and showered.” She tries to decipher the look on his face but she gets nothing. She does as she’s told and twenty minutes later she’s changed into her suit, her mohawk French-braided on the top of her head. Z has waited for her, sitting on one of the benches and she takes a seat a few feet away.

“Nick is too angry to talk to you right now. You actually made him almost raise his voice.” This is like when her dad didn’t get angry after she’d misbehaved, just told her that he was disappointed in her. “You fuck with the team dynamic, it fucks with you, Pretty. The loss tonight is on you and we can’t have a repeat, ever again.”

She picks up her eyes from where it’s been buried in the floor again and looks over at Z. His face has softened and he tries to give her a reassuring smile. “One chance to fix this. I convinced Lids to let us stay back. You’re going to find Letang and apologize. And then we might have to go find Talbot and apologize. And when we get back to Detroit you’re going to find Helmer and beg him to forgive you for being such a bitch.”

She bristles through his plan for them; Helmer is just as guilty for the outburst in the locker room as she is and the things he said . . . they still make her blood boil. She doesn’t object, though. She’s been given an out and she absolutely has to walk this treacherous path carefully to make sure everything comes out roses on the other side.

“If you can manage this you might have a shot at staying on this team. Otherwise, you’re done. Do you get me?”

She nods, miserable. “Yes, sir. Whatever I need to do.”

Malkin provides Pasha with Kris’s address who gives it to Z who orders the cab driver to hurry. She stares out at Pittsburgh. She could never live here, she thinks. Big, bustling city. At least Detroit is quiet, most days. Less crowded now that people are moving out to the suburbs.

Z makes her pay for the cab with a pointed and exasperated look. He clearly doesn’t like baby –sitting duty. Kris has a nice house and she can see movement inside. At least he’s home so she can get this out of the way. She’s really nervous about talking to the guy. She’s got mixed feelings: the sex was great and he was probably the nicest NHL player she’d ever met. But it was one weekend and she didn’t think, at the time, that there’d been any reason to keep in touch.

Seriously, there was no way they’d do something crazy like date. They play on opposing teams. Despite at least half a dozen situations in which she almost texted him to share something she knew he’d enjoy, she never did call. It would have been awkward, right? She doesn’t have Lapierre or Prust or Carter on speed dial.

She thinks it might be a disservice to put Kris in the same category as the other guys though. He had been different, way different. He was a generally really nice guy who’d been dropped and she really regrets that. He’d looked so sadly at her that night during the game. Like he missed her or something. At least up until the point Helmer had tried to put his fist through Kris’s face. It’d been pretty downhill from there.

Kris is beyond surprised when he opens the door to her persistent knocking. She wonders if Malkin considered telling him that they were coming. Would that have helped? She doesn’t think so, seeing the distrust and disgust on Kris’s face. He would have probably left his own home, just to avoid her.

“I’m not even going to ask to come in. You don’t owe me that much. But, I have to tell you I’m sorry. For how things went down in Raleigh. I never meant to hurt you.” His arms are crossed.

“Forced apologies are condescending, Cunning.” He looks meaningfully over her shoulder at Z.

“Non, Kris. Je suis desole.” She hopes the French will convince him of her sincerity. He raises his eyebrows but still wears hurt in his expression. She’s such an ass. “S’il te plait, Kris, je suis tres desole. Je n’ai jamais voulu te blesser.”

“You’re not making this any better. I do not trust anything you say. And don’t call me Kris.” He slams the door in her face and she visibly deflates. This mission was doomed to fail from the start. She’s turning away, leaving, defeated, but Z pushes her right back around.

“Try harder.” He’s growling at her and she risks glancing at him. He is glowering, face dark behind his beard. Dammit. These situations don’t come with instructions. She’s about to open her mouth, explain that this is impossible, but she shuts it when he growls again, “Harder, Pretty. One chance.”

She knocks again. And again. And for fifteen minutes straight until the door is ripped open again. “I just called the cops. You might want to leave.” When Kris goes to shut her out again she plants her hand on the wood and stops him.

She’s hates her life right now and she’s angry about everything. “Look, I really am sorry we didn’t end on a high note. You’re way fun but, fuck, Kris. It was a weekend. What happens at the All-Star game, right? Stays there? You cannot tell me you haven’t had one-offs before. No one gets that good in the sack without lots of practice.”

He blushes bright red but at least he stops trying to violently slam her fingers in his front door. “Seriously, I’m sorry. I thought you understood ; nothing is permanent in this league. People come and go all the time. I don’t regret spending time with you, I actually kind of like you. But-“

“Enough.” He cuts her off quietly, accepting. Thank God, it worked. “I get that it was a ‘one-off’, like you said. I liked you too and you never even called. And then you send your goon after me, like I have done something wrong.” His expression is so French that she almost laughs at it, forgetting the seriousness of the situation.

“Helmer has other issues, things that have nothing to do with you.” Kris looks thoroughly unconvinced. She sighs in exasperation and drops her arm. He’s not trying to keep her out and she wants a little physical protection for this next bit, which she didn’t want to discuss but was preparing for anyway. “He came on too strong at the beginning of January. I turned him down because I don’t fuck my teammates. He had a lot of choice things to say about my character and he’s still pissed about it, thinking I’m sleeping with half the league, which I’m not.” She adds that last bit quickly like it’s a band aid she needs to get rid of.

She goes for an open and honest expression next. “You are the last person I’ve slept with, Kris.” Now he looks convinced she really didn’t mean to hurt her. Thank fucking God. This sucks. “Remember how I told you, that first morning, that I regretted not remembering what we’d done before?” She waits for his nod. “Well, now I regret that we ever hooked up because you are an amazing person and I will never get to be your friend.”

That one could have gone either way and he looks a bit insulted, to be realistic. No guy wants to be told that a girl regrets fucking them but Montana realizes that this is one hundred percent true. “You could have called.”

“Point. We’re in the middle of a season, though. A little busy.”

When Kris sighs she knows he might actually forgive her. He steps back, in clear invitation. “Do you want to come inside?”

Behind her, Z clears his throat and she shakes her head. “I’m- we are heading back tonight, I think. Have to catch a later flight. Thank you though.” She thinks for forgiving me, for still looking at me like I’m not a crazy, psycho bitch, for possibly still wanting to be my friend.

“Ah. Well, have a safe flight then.” He actually smiles and Montana’s heart soars. She would never deserve to be with someone as good as Kris Letang, not in a million years.

“For sure.” She cracks her own smile and is turning, walking back down the stairs, when he calls her back.

“Use the phone, at least.” She just gives him a nod and he closes the door behind himself. She feels pretty good about that. All’s well that ends well? Z pulls her into his side and gives her half a hug. She appreciates the gesture, knowing that she’s not her Alternate’s favorite player ever but that he’s still here for her.

“Have you talked to anyone about Helmer?”

His question really shouldn’t be surprising but she looks up at him with wide eyes anyway. “No, of course not.” She had almost forgotten that he was behind her when she’d let slip that gem. He doesn’t respond again, instead calling them another cab.

He doesn’t force her to go apologize to Talbot and when they land back at Metro he tells her to go home and get some rest, no mention at all of having to go over to Helmer’s too.


*.*.*

May 12, 2011

She botches a pass up the right wing to Abby half way through the third period of game seven against San Jose. It’s intercepted. That’s the story. That’s all she’s got because about three seconds later Setaguchi buries one past Jimmy, putting the Sharks up by one.

Her pass. Her interception. Her wing, wide open because she was still expecting Abby to be in the scoring zone, not looking at her with disgust. She hits the ice three more times before the game is over and she plays so hard, opens up so many chances for her forwards, even getting one past the screen only to find Niemi’s glove instead of the twine. It’s not enough. The Wings lose the Conference and her first playoffs in the NHL ends with disappointment.

She’s not used to losing, not like this. It had been different with Port Huron. She’d lost that game thinking there was going to be a next year and that it didn’t really matter anyway because it’d just been fun. It hadn’t really meant anything. But this . . . this was the Cup and it had just slipped right out of her grasp.

She doesn’t say anything while they change. No one really says anything. A few of the guys ruffle her hair, cut evenly short now that the sides have grown out a bit. She takes the shortest shower possible, just wanting to get out of there, get back to Detroit. They’ll fly out tonight and when they get back she’ll have a whole apartment to herself to wallow in.

She gets text all through the night from friends and family. Kaner texts her ‘Welcome to the club!’ Jonny says he’s sorry but there’s always next year. Everyone keeps saying there’s always next year but she won’t believe it until it happens. She catches Helmer’s eye, once, when they’re leaving the tarmac at DTW and heading home.

He looks sad to her. Like he’s lost something very important to him. She knows it can’t be her and when she might possibly open her mouth to ask him if he’s okay his face shifts back to neutral and he’s gone. Mule claps her on the shoulder and walks by her side, all the way back to baggage. “You know how to golf, right?” It’s enough to make her laugh a little and nod her head. It’s going to be a really fucking interesting summer.

*.*.*

August 4, 2011

The call comes in at four in the morning and Montana sleeps right through it. The buzzing of her voicemail notification rouses her instead, causing her to knock over not just her phone but also her lamp. She’s cursing and fumbling in the dark and when she finally flips her phone open, her heart stills. Marcus has followed up his call with first one text and then another.

‘Jack in hospital, car accident. He’s in surgery at General.’

‘CALL ME BACK.’

Four hours later she’s holding AJ, sleeping fitfully in her arms, when the surgeon comes into the waiting room. The guy has probably spent years schooling his features to be impassive but there’s a truth on his face she absolutely doesn’t want to acknowledge. Failure. She sees failure on his face and she’s crying before he can even tell them that Jack hasn’t made it.

AJ cries with her instinctively, not understanding at almost 2 that something terrible has just happened. He will never remember his uncle, she thinks. The thought makes her cry harder.

When she calls Kaner that afternoon she’s finally cried herself dry, for now. He’s in Buffalo but promises to be on the next flight into Detroit and she drives down to pick him up. She collapses in his arms outside the terminal and she lets him drive her back to her house in Warren. He hasn’t been there yet but he knows her well enough to guess where she keeps her alcohol.

She doesn’t let him get her too drunk, wishing instead just for comfort. He holds her through the night, crying most of the time with her because Jack, by benefit of being her closest brother, was his friend too. They mourn together, never more than a few feet apart. It’s for the best, really. Every time she thinks she’s okay and steps away she falls apart. He keeps pulling her back.

Jonny arrives for the funeral but she doesn’t think anyone else in the hockey world knows about this. Jack’s accident is a blimp in the back of the Port Huron Times Herald. She doesn’t check on-line and doesn’t call anyone. This isn’t her hockey life and she doesn’t want it here, except for her two friends. After they put Jack in the ground she lets both of them work drunken magic on her.

She passes out between them; all three share her overly large bed back at her house. In the morning she wakes because they’re sharing an impossibly sweet kiss over her face. This is how Kaner copes now, she knows. He’d told her as much months ago and she lets him have this. She buries her face in Kaner’s chest, turning so he can reach over her with his cast-free arm to clutch at Jonny. They don’t include her but don’t let her leave. She lets their emotional outpouring wash over her and forgets that she’ll never have this.

It hurts most when they leave a week later. She’s alone and she feels dangerous. Unhinged. Brandon and Marcus call frequently but her dad still isn’t really talking. Her relatives in the area come over but she doesn’t answer the door. She calls Kesler once, letting him know what’s going on and he threatens to come rouse her from her hole but she begs off. He gets precious time with his kids as is; he doesn’t need to babysit her too.

She calls Lids, two weeks in. He’s still in Sweden and she can hear how much he wishes he could be there for her. He asks if he can call someone else, send someone over. There’s a whole host of options. Ozzie and Drapes are less than an hour away. Dmac is even closer. She says no. She just wanted to let him know and that it won’t affect her game; she’ll be in top shape when the season starts.

His voice actually breaks when he tells her she has nothing to worry about and that he’s here if she needs anything, anything at all. She hangs up before she can tell him she just needs her brother back.

There are some things not even the Perfect Human can do.