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.

*.*.*

October 13, 2011

The season starts off weak for Montana. Between the long summer months away from the team and losing Jack, she’s not the same person who returns to training camp. She’s never felt like more of a grown up and there’s a tension between her and the rest of the second line that no amount of bonding can fix. Bonding is mostly a joke, anyway, as she and Helmer still aren’t talking. They haven’t said a word off ice since he’d attacked her in Pittsburgh. She can deal with the distance if it means he doesn’t say those things again.

He doesn’t say anything so she doesn’t say anything. Their first pre-game hang out session, a huge get-together at Lids’ mansion, results in her watching him parade his very pregnant girlfriend around, all smiles. He looks happy. For the most part. She fucking hates her life.

She hasn’t had sex since the All-Star game.

She feels betrayed but only by herself.

The emotional recoil of being back helps her forget about Jack; instead the close proximity to Helmer is throwing off her game. She’s sloppy on all her passes in Traverse City and when they hit the first pre-season game she takes a bad penalty resulting in the Blues getting the game winner. She takes two more bad penalties, a slashing and a major for fighting, before the game ends.

The second pre-season game is against the Hawks. Kaner notices she’s off during warm ups. He stops at center ice and motions for her to join him. “You okay?” She shakes her head sadly. “Is it . . . Jack?” He’s tentative and apologetic. She knows it’s not her brother; it’s her team. She gives him another small shake of her head before tapping his shins with her stick. He taps her back and they separate. She sees Helmer watching them both, a scowl on his face.

Defeat usually comes after the game but her heart just isn’t in it tonight. A threatening little pep talk from Babs gets her motivated enough for an assist but she takes seven separate hits. She gives none in return. She is black and blue when she meets up with Kaner afterwards. He hugs her, apologizes immediately when she whines in pain, and offers to drive her home. The teams never get much time together before or after games because the cities are so close but the Hawks have got a game in two days in Toronto. He’ll be free for at least an evening

They avoid Jack without ever meaning to, bitching about everything else. Kaner curls her into his body and listens to her complain about Helmer and the preseason, and stupid things like feelings. He fires back that it could be worse. Helmer could be a girl too and then she’d not just be crossing the teammate line but also the gay line. She just hugs him. They get drunk to celebrate how fucked they are, finishing a 24-pack of the shit beer Kaner brought over before passing out around midnight.

It’s close to 3 AM when her phone goes off once, twice, three times. She lifts her head up from the couch and pushes Kaner’s arm away. She’s still drunk and her hand misses her cell the first two tries. She finally picks it up and glares at the bright display. She’s got texts, lots. And more coming in. She fucking hates mass texts, every response gets sent back to her phone too. She unlocks it to find the master text and her stomach drops.

‘Anna and I welcomed baby Allison Leigh at 2:13 this morning. Mom and baby are doing great and she is beautiful! Love you guys.’

Helmer. A dad. She wonders why he would bother including her in this text. She rationalizes that it would look weird if he’d texted all their team mates but ignored her. Or maybe he just wanted to rub the fact in her face. Happy, smiling, father.

He’s back at their next practice two days later and not a whole lot gets accomplished. Between the cheers and the cigars Helmer is the center of attention. When Babs does get them on the ice it’s for another speech about how great it is that Helmer is a dad and then he runs them through light drills. She feels like nothing gets done.

When the team hits the showers Montana stays behind. She needs practice. She needs to push herself and reassure herself that everything is okay, at least with hockey. She does suicides and the burn feels like escape. The bruises the Hawks left behind on her body are screaming through all of it but she wants that. She deserves it. Her last sprint of the day is torture for her strained muscles and she’s exhausted when she skates over to the bench.

Helmer appears in the tunnel as she’s taking a deep drink of her water. She freezes, water still pouring. She chokes moments later and he actually smacks her on the back. “Easy there, killer.” He gives her some space when she can breathe again.

“Hi. Congrats.” She watches him, wary of his every move. He buries his hands in his jeans and leans against the boards. He looks relaxed and gorgeous, his hair curling softly at his nape and over his forehead. Montana swallows thickly.

“Thanks. It’s pretty surreal, ya know?”

She drops the water bottle and starts collecting her gear. “Not really. I don’t have kids.”

Helmer expects her sad voice and gives her a smile. “Maybe one day you will.” His tone is perfectly neutral and when he shrugs it appears that he’s just being friendly. She doesn’t think so, though. This feels like his revenge.

She hates it and right now she’s not too fond of him. “What do you want?”

“Just wanted to say hi. We haven’t really talked yet this season. What are you up to?”

Her jaw drops and she stands stock still. He’s still all casual. “Not talking wasn’t my choice Helmer. And it’s really none of your business what I’m up to. Off the ice you really don’t have a right to know.”

She goes to move around him and he steps in front of her quickly. He’s usually never confrontational but he looks like he’s got a surge of confidence running under his skin. “But on the ice. What’s up on the ice? You’ve been off.”

She thinks back to the end of last season. She’d been on fucking fire the last four months after the all-star game, even after the blow out in Pittsburgh with Talbot. She’d upper her plus/minus to a 64. Unheard of. She’d cleared 50 assists, 24 goals. Amazing for a ‘rookie’. But the summer destroyed her. All alone, with no one to tell her any differently, she dug a hole and then buried herself in it.

Then Jack had died and she just disappeared into training. She stopped drinking after that first horrible week, stopped talking to anyone, stayed in her apartment for days on end just working out in her spare room. Helmer wouldn’t know, no one knows except for Kaner, Jonny, Ryan, Lids and her family. “Nothing is off. I’m just having a rough start. Partied too much during the summer, I guess.” She baits him because she’s a glutton for punishment, because she doesn’t want him to know how bad it really was. How bad it still is.

Anger flashes in his expression before he can tamp it down. None of the guys had really stuck around Detroit in the off season so he’d really have no way of knowing that she’d pushed so hard, every single day, just to forget his smile, forget her brother’s smile too. “Well, we’re back now. You need to start working harder or you’re going to get kicked down to the 4th line.”

And now he’s making threats. She has no patience for this. “Helmer, get out of my way.”

“No.”

She wonders what he could possibly hope to accomplish with all this. “Go home to your girlfriend and your brand-fucking-new baby Helmer. I don’t need this.” When she shoulder checks him on the way past he doesn’t retaliate.

She doesn’t get better. She practices harder, tries to clear her head before games. She even picks up a couple of yoga sessions with Jenna Osgood. Nothing helps.

*.*.*

October 22, 2011

When Greenie racks up his fourth point for the night, Montana breaks a stick across the goal post. The shot had come from the point, right where she hadn’t been looking. She should have known better. She should always know better when it comes to Greenie.

He gives her some shit, thanking her for screening her own fucking goalie, and she really wants to put her fist through his face. She’s sitting at a -6 for the night. Almost every goal against the Wings has been her fault. Greenie pulls up short at the frustration on her face. “Hey, relax. Everyone has bad games.” He still sounds a little gleeful.

She’s having a bad life right now. Too many penalties. Too many mistakes.

When the game ends, finally, their perfect start comes to a quick end with a 7-1 loss. She and Helmer bear the brunt of everyone’s frustrations, both having been on the ice for every power play goal. They’ve gone from being the perfect PK to a hot mess and Babs even calls them out in the media.

Montana is only a little surprised when Greenie is waiting for her, after she’s done cleaning up. He gives her a grin and then ruffles her hair. “Let’s go get a beer.”

She wants to protest and tell him that he should be out celebrating a great game with his team. He shakes his head and drags her away. She drives them to a place by his hotel and he spends a good forty minutes buying rounds and trying to drag her out of the shell that she’s in.

She thinks about a lot as he babbles. She thinks maybe she should actually do what he’s asking and open up, share her problems. She won’t though. They’re not that close and her problems are her own.

Finally, Greenie breaks down. “At least tell me this: you’re okay, just having a rough patch, right? You’re not, like, dying, right?”

Montana takes a moment too long to answer, a moment in which she thinks about Jack and Helmer and her play. He grabs her hand and says, “Oh, man Pretty. You’re not dying, right?” He sounds overly concerned.

Montana gives him a small huff of laughter. “Not so far as I know. Just . . . a lot of shit going on right now.” She stares at the table, tracing the scratches in the wood and trying to remember what it was like when she was the best at everything. She was so full of herself, thinking that she could do so well for so long.

Greenie drags her attention back to him by kicking her in the shin. She glares at him when he gives her a pleasant smile. “Seriously, everyone has bad nights. We’ve all been there.” He would know. He’s been at this longer than she has. She feels like this is something more, though. She feels like this is a downward spiral that’s only got a pit of disappointment and no hockey waiting for her when she finally stops. Greenie gets sick of her silent shit far faster than Kaner or Jonny would. He bails on her after another half hour and she drives home, sad and aching with disappointment.

She’s on the third line by the time December rolls around.

*.*.*

December 23, 2011

Evil things are afoot at the Osgood residence.

“This dress is way too tight Jenna. My tits are trying to escape out the top! It’s insanity! Cats and dogs living together; pure madness!” Jenna Osgood slaps Montana’s hands away from the neckline of the slinky dress she’s squeezed into. Jenna calls it a mermaid cut and it’s tight as fuck from tits to knees.

“Can’t I just wear a tux? The guys are all wearing tuxes. This is gender-biased!” She continues to mumble in protest. She doesn’t actually raise her voice. She’s a little frightened of Jenna. And Julie. Draper. Who is hanging out in the corner, making her all nervous and stuff.

“Turn around Montana. Your backside looks amazing.” She gives Julie the reverse view, fending off Jenna’s attempt to pull the dress in.

The Wings WAGS are too genuinely nice. Especially these two. She’s known Julie for years through Drapes and when she’d been signed full time last season she and Jenna made it their personal duty to gussy her up a bit. Most of their efforts are pleasant and welcome; they’d single-handedly reinvented her wardrobe as designer and sexy, but professional. No skirts, no pink, just sleek black suits and dazzling shirts.

Tonight though, tonight they are on a mission to make her a real girl, slinky dress not optional. Montana shakes her head in defeat as Jenna guides her to the vanity to do her hair. She approaches the chair and then stops, dead. “How do I sit in this thing?” They both laugh, again. “Seriously, paaaants suit. SUPER comfy.” Jenna pulls up on the sides a bit and there’s just enough give for Montana to plop down.

“Stop squirming. I’ll be done soon enough.” Montana sits still under Jenna’s hands.

She watches the progress. Jenna manipulates her hair with efficiency, pulling it off her neck and slicking it into a beautiful twist in the back. Montana regards herself. She looks the same. But wildly different at the same time. She looks older than her twenty three years.

Jenna goes to work on make-up next and her face comes together, very understated.

Sophistication. That’s what Jenna has given her. When she’s done with the final lipstick blot Jenna stands with a hand flair and a, “Voila!” Julie comes up behind them and both women watch Montana’s reaction in the mirror. She thinks she’s never seen herself look like a woman before today.

“You look amazing. Beautiful. The guys are gonna go crazy when they see you.”

This earns Julie a begrudging laugh and she finally looks back into the mirror to smile. “Thank you guys. I still feel like a duck masquerading as a sheep but I appreciate your effort.”

“Duck?”

“Sheep?”

“Holy shit, what did you do with the defenseman?” All three whip their heads to the door. Ozzie, looking quite dapper in his tux, wanders over and surveys the damage in his guest room before making Montana stand. He twirls her and whistles appreciatively. “Someone is going to get shot tonight, mark my words. Dueling pistols at midnight.”

Montana can deal with corny jokes. “Good thing I wore the ankle holster then, I guess.” She flips the bottom of the dress and then stares down at her bare feet. Shoes. She needs shoes. Jenna just hands her a box with a smile. Montana flips the lid and sighs in relief. Sensible ballet flats. Black. Simple. “Thanks for not forcing me into the six-foot plus range.”

“I feel really bad for the trainers.” She gives Ozzie a questioning look while she slips the shoes on.

“They are completely unprepared for the fifty heart attacks you’re about to unleash upon the team. We’re going to have to call up the entire Griffins roster.” He thinks about this a second and then pokes her shoulder. “Keep out of Howie’s eyesight. His save percentage is off the wall right now.”

No one dies when they walk into the Olympia Club. Conversation hits a significant blockage when she approaches the main knot of players and one wife asks her who she’s with but other than that Montana is subject to heaps of praise and compliments.

She smiles and laughs and generally charms her way around the room. When dinner is announced she’s in the bathroom, having an argument with the dress about using the toilet. By the time she gets readjusted she’s one of the last taking a seat. There’s no table assignments but she notices the players are all clumped together up by the stage. She heads their way; eight huge round tables are packed with players and wives except for the last one on the end.

There’s only one seat left. Right next to Helmer. She’s gotten really good at avoiding him and only interacting on the ice. In fact it’s been two months since he said anything to her directly. She stumbles a step when she thinks about being cornered after practice. She passed an empty seat in the back of the club, she thinks. With some of the PR folks.

She’s ready to turn and run when Danny Cleary gets up from the table and takes her arm. “Better late than never, as always, Montana.” She stares at him dumbly but lets him lead her to the table. He even pulls the chair out for her. Danny rejoins his wife on her other side. Bert and his lady are there as well along with the Howards. She and Helmer are the only single people. Well, he’s not single, but his girlfriend person is not present.

She can feel him more than see him next to her. “Julie said they had to tranquilize you to get you into that dress, Montana.” Sarah Howard. She looks stunning, glowing with new motherhood. Their first son was born in October, not too long after Helmer’s kid.

“Uhhh, almost. They gave me lots of wine, instead, and promised that they’d let me wear whatever I wanted to the next press function. I’m thinking footy pajamas.”

The WAGs smile politely while their husbands laugh a little louder. Even Helmer snorts out a chuckle next to her. She really can’t stop the grin when she glances over at him. He has a mischief in his eyes; it feels like they’ve rewound 12 months. Still friends. Still close. She misses him. She’s missed him every day since she turned twenty three.

Dinner is less awkward than she thought it might be. She and Helmer talk around each other but they can both laugh when Bert tells a filthy joke, earning a slap on the shoulder from his wife. They can pass food between them without words. They can share wine with their team mates. Desert is winding down when Babs takes the stage.

His speech is short and to the point and soon tables are cleared for a dance floor. She’s not a great dancer but she’s surrounded by half a dozen men looking for a spin around the floor before the first song ends. Each takes their turn. They’re mostly season ticket holders, older guys who lead well and don’t get too fresh. She tries to beg off after the tenth song but a particularly insistent man, another season ticket holder, pulls her in before she can escape.

She allows him to twirl her around some more and she sighs in resignation. She moves his hand back up every time it sneaks down her ass. Mr. Gropes-A-Lot isn’t too bad, he’s just drunk. He’s kind of funny and she laughs with him even as his eyes drop to her cleavage too much. When the song is done he kisses her hand and leads her over to the bar. She’s left with Mule, Danny, and Ozzie. They burst out laughing at her frustrated expression.

“I thought you were going to deck him.” Ozzie jabs with his right hand in pantomime.

“I thought about it. Mr. Gropes-a-lot isn’t all that large.” She gestures to the bartender for a beer and turns around to lean against the bar. “Didn’t seem like a good way to keep a season ticket holder, though.”

A voice snorts from behind Danny and she leans over to find a much drunker Helmer giving her the stink eye. “Pretty sure you’d just have to spread your legs to make up for it. Isn’t that how you made up with Burrows a few weeks ago, after you laid him out? You know he’s got a girlfriend, right?”

Anger floods her system; indignation forces her to straighten and take a step towards him. She’s got her arm up when Mule grabs her by the waist. Helmer looks like he’s made a fine point when Danny’s fist crashes into his jaw. Helmer crumples to the ground. Twenty people around them stop and stare as Danny grabs Helmer up by his shirt front, lifting his top half off the floor.

“You are an idiot Helmer. You spend an entire evening finally making nice only to fuck it by getting wasted and mouthy. If you can’t see how wrong you are about her by now then you are truly useless.” He drops Helmer back to the floor and turns to go. Lids and Homer have appeared by now, Kronner not too far behind. Danny meets Lids’ gaze and shrugs as he says, “Helmer had too much to drink and tripped. We might want to send him home.”

Lids’ looks over the scene. He’s not stupid. He’s probably been expecting her and Helmer to finally duke it out for months. Helmer is rubbing his jaw, still on the floor. Montana’s hackles are raised and Mule still has an arm around her waist. Ozzie looks like he’s about to follow up Danny’s punch with a kick to the ribs.

“Helmer, go home. You’re drunk. For fuck’s sake Chris, give him a hand up. Come on; is one night of good behavior too much to ask for?” He’s not smiling but he’s not scowling. Montana won’t say anything about this to anyone ever but she knows Ozzie will spill as soon as he’s alone with Lids’. Helmer might actually get shit for this one. Maybe.

Serves him right, she thinks, for being such an ass.

*.*.*

January1, 2012

Her twenty fourth birthday starts with a phone call from Kris. She doesn’t hear the first three rings, still asleep, and when she finally flips her phone open she’s missed him. She waits. He calls back only a minute later and she answers with an irritated groan.

“I woke you.” She humms under her breath in response and stretches. “I’m sorry. Bon anniversaire, Mignonne.”

“Merci, Kris. Quelle heure-?” She cannot form actual sentences right now.

“Pas tout à fait neuf .“

She groans again, rolling over to check the time on her bedside clock. 8:54. “Too early for French, then. How’s Cristine? How was your New Year’s?”

“She is just fine and last night was all right. I got an interesting call around eleven but other than that . . . It’s hard to drink too much without Max. It’s especially hard when I have a drunk girlfriend to take home.” A voice in the background calls out an offended curse which Kris laughs at.

Montana pushes herself up as Kris talks and wanders into her ensuite. She needs to brush her teeth. “Who called you?”

She almost chokes herself with her toothbrush when he says, “Your center. The one that tried to take off my face last spring.” She spits toothpaste all over the mirror and drops the phone. In the rush to pick it back up she can hear Kris cackling over the line.

“Helmer called you?”

“Ouais. He said he was sorry for blaming me for what happened in Raleigh.”

“Fuck. What an ass; I’m really sorry Kris. He was a total dick at the Christmas party; Cleary tagged him on the jaw and everything. I didn’t think he’d keep up the pretense of self-righteous indignation though.”

Kris is still laughing, impossibly. “Non, attends. He told me what happened on your birthday last year.” She’d already told Kris about it. That had been the last part of her apology in February, old news. She stares at herself in the mirror, face covered in frothy white, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “He said it was his fault.”

Well now, that is new, she thinks. Helmer actually taking responsibility for her worst birthday ever. “Huh.” And she has nothing witty to say. It was ballsy of him to call Kris. Kris deserves the apology, which she herself gives as many times as she can. But to just cold turkey it over the phone . . . not like Helmer at all.

“Were you with him last night, Mignonne? Did something happen?”

She shakes her head before remembering he can’t see her. “No, no I was with my family last night. I don’t know where the guys ended up; we just got back from California so no team party.”

When Kris sighs, she can imagine his handsome face, small creases on his brow and his mouth twisted to one side. He’ll be running his hand through his hair, keeping it out of his line of sight. “Do not be surprised if he shows up today. He was rueful last night; he may try to apologize to you too.”

“Oh joy. A rueful Canadian. Haven’t I dealt with enough of those?” That’s a jab at Talbot, not Kris, and it makes him laugh. She waits for him to finish before she says, in all seriousness, “I won’t let him.” She swallows hard. “I won’t let him apologize.” He’s destroyed her at every turn over the last year. She just can’t do it.

“Mignonne, don’t say that. Just- hear him out. Promise me.” He talks over her grumbles and whining. “Beth, promets-moi, s’il te plait.” He is completely serious with her and she looks at the face in the mirror, still hung over but one year older than the last time Helmer was at her house.

“D’accord. I promise.”

Helmer shows up around noon. She’s spent the morning working off her hang over in her gym and is still gross when she hears the doorbell ring. Howie’s offered his new giant house for the Classic party this year and everyone except for her should be there. Everyone except for her and Helmer, apparently.

He shifts from foot to foot when she opens her front door. He’s bundled against the cold and she can just see a sliver of face between the hat and the scarf but she sees his eyes. Sees them look her over once. Not fair Helmer, she thinks. Not fair at all. “What?”

“Can I come in?” He glances up and down the hallway as though anyone would care that he’s here; as if anyone is interested enough to stop watching football to look out their door. She makes him wait a few more seconds but finally gives in because she’s in sweaty workout clothes and it’s frigid in the hall.

New Year’s Day in Michigan. Her birthday. Cold as fuck.

He follows her back to the kitchen, taking off his boots and outer wear in the entry way. Montana is a great host and she’s making a cup of tea for him when he comes and sits down at her island. She can feel him watching her work, his gaze sending pinpricks of awareness up and down her back. He mutters his thanks when she sets the cup in front of him then frowns when she snatches away her hand as quickly as possible. She waits for him to talk; his words don’t seem to be coming easily.

She’s spent 11 months dealing with a vindictive, hateful Helmer. He was all dark frowns and judgmental looks with a side of wildly insulting conversation pieces. He’s not here right now. This Helmer seems broken down, somehow; outside of the realm of reality. Her heart jolts with fondness but she slams a door shut on it. He doesn’t get to walk in here and be treated like nothing has happened between them.

“I’m having lunch in Port Huron today. For my birthday. I’m sure you remember the last one. So if you could hurry this up I’d like to get showered; wanna look my best, you know. I just never know when I might run into someone with a number on their back I might want to fuck.” He is visibly flinching at every sentence. Fucking right he flinches. She’s snarling.

“I deserve that.” She gives him a ‘no-shit-Sherlock’ nod. “I’m really sorry about the party. I had too much to drink and that guy, he was all over you and you just laughed and smiled at him. It made me so angry.” He keeps his eyes plastered on his cup.

She figured that out. She knows why he does 90% of the things he does after the fact. She just wishes she could predict them before hand and save everyone a load of grief. She could have just ignored this all and never played hockey.

“I- fuck. This is hard.” He struggles and she still says nothing. “I’m sorry about your birthday too. Last year. Things got out of hand really quickly and I didn’t understand- “ He stops again and clenches his fists. “I think I was just jealous.” He looks up at her.

She steps back, right into her counter. Okay so maybe she really understood only 80% of Helmer’s actions. “Jealous? Why would jealousy make you say such wildly inaccurate and fucked up things?”

His laugh is bitter but he keeps looking at her. “Because I loved you, Montana. Because I loved you and you turned me down, after picking up guys left and right who play. I couldn’t get why I wasn’t good enough, not when I thought we had something special.”

“What?” Her voice is faint, disbelieving. No, this isn’t supposed to happen. He’s not allowed to do this to her. Not allowed to drop these bombs on her. “You can’t-“

Helmer nods miserably. “Yeah. I could. I really really loved you. And it hurt so bad when you told me no. Then I met Anna a few weeks later and she was willing. I didn’t even mean for her to happen. By the time I had realized my mistake, that I should have just been trying to figure out how to apologize to you, you went and slept with Letang.”

He could absolutely not love her. She’d had a thing for him for years. That was that. He couldn’t have returned her feelings, not the way he’d acted.

“It’s not fair to blame me for Kris, except for how I treated him. And it’s not fair to come barging into my apartment, claiming that you were in love with me!” She crosses to the island and slams her hands down in front of him. “You never said anything, did anything. No!”

His hands are quick and he catches both of hers before she can react. “I’m not angry at you for the All-Star game anymore. Or Letang. He got caught in the crossfire. It doesn’t matter; it probably never did.” She stares down at where he’s holding onto her tight. “You never said anything to me, either, you know.”

She denies it, instinctively. “I never loved you.” This whole situation is out of her control and she tries grasping for anything to pull it back to her, keep her safe. She’s not fooling anyone, though.

Helmer pulls her, hard, across the island and slams their lips together. She gasps and his tongue dips into her mouth. Her mind races, simultaneously cataloguing his every move and the resulting amazing feelings. Finally, she thinks. Finally something breaks but what is released is the memory of every shitty thing he’s said to her over the last year. From his accusations last January 1st, to the shit fit after she’d gotten into a fist fight with fucking Max Talbot, all the way up to the threats about being sent down to the 4th line and the insulation that she’s spreading her legs for fans. Helmer has been a fucking prick.

She jerks back, gets her right hand free, and hits him as hard as she can.

He lets go of her immediately, rocking back from the blow. She’s seething with anger. He’s wincing, one hand coming up to cup his chin. When he finally looks at her she’s given a full-on Helmer grin. Two-parts mischief, one-part earnest, three-parts friendship. “I totally deserved that.” And he starts to laugh.

Montana doesn’t join him but her chest isn’t so tight, her head not quite so heavy. Something shifts between them at this moment and she’s seen enough to recognize it. She can take this opening and fix things. She can run with it. Or, she can fuck it up like she’s been doing for her entire career.

“Nick talked to me after the party last week, after I sobered up. He told me he’d send you back to the Griffins if he ever caught you with someone on the team. Something about incest.”

Montana sighs heavily and crosses her arms over her chest. “Something like that. I didn’t know about the Griffins part though; just thought I’d get kicked to the curb.” Bless Nick and his ridiculous ability to tell people what they need to hear.

“I am really so, so sorry Montana. And I miss you. You were one of my best friends.”

Her voice is a whisper when she replies, “I miss you too.” Quiet, sad.

When he rounds the island and pulls her into his arms she doesn’t resist. She holds on to him tight and buries her face in his neck. “I understand there’s too much now, too much has happened to both of us, that we could ever-“ He swallows hard and takes a deep breath, continuing, “be more. But, I want to be friends again. I need you back, Pretty.”

She just nods and doesn’t think about how much she hates playing hockey; what she could have had if she was only on another team.

*.*.*

March 12, 2012

“Helmer!” Her pass clears the forwards and Helmer catches it easily. She would be smiling if she wasn’t pushing so hard. Helmer circles the net and passes to Abby. Abby is surrounded though, the Ducks’ power play unit going crazy. She taps her stick once. The pass hits and her wrister finds the back of the net. Top shelf, blocker side. Same as always.

She pumps her fist three times, screaming her head off. That’s the seventh shorty for the season.

She’s expecting Helmer, Abby, and Kronner to pile into her, hugs all around. The force that hits her from the side is too much though and too fast.

She registers the check and then her right leg gives out with a sickening pop. She is swallowed by pain, crashing to the ice. Her knee throbs in a frighteningly familiar hurt. “Ohhhh fuck.” She rolls to her back, trying not to cry. She doesn’t cry on the ice. Not ever. Sergei kneels next to her, helped over by Lids. Both men look concerned. She answers what questions she can and Lids picks her up under her arms.

She can’t put any weight on her right leg. “Lids. It hurts.”

He’s a strong presence right behind her and he bumps the back of her helmet with his. “I know, Pretty. Almost there.” The ice is a battle ground, pairs fighting everywhere. She thinks Jimmy might be throwing down with Hiller. Lids steers her clear of Kronner beating the shit out of Brookbank and into the bench. Her guys clear the way.

Sergei gets her back to the trainer room with the help of his assistant. It takes forever for them to strip her down to her under armor with each movement or pull sending more agony up her leg. She bites her lip hard and draws blood when they finally get her pants off.

Sergei gives her a pair of shorts to put on and she leans back when he starts moving her leg around. She doesn’t cry and she doesn’t scream. Helmer and Abby both burst through the door and she looks over at them as they approach.

They’re both beat the hell up.

“Fucking Parros, that fucking shit stick. Fuck, are you okay Pretty?” Helmer’s eye is mostly swollen shut and Abby’s got a split lip. Twice. They look panicked.

Montana opens her mouth to respond but Sergei picks that exact moment to pull her lower leg away from her body and something pops again in her knee. She screams this time, good and loud. They can probably hear her on ice. The pressure in her knee lightens up almost immediately though and she’s able to take deep, clearing breaths.

Helmer squeezes her hand. She doesn’t even know when he’d grabbed it but just having him here makes everything okay. She looks directly in his eyes and smiles up at him. His cheeks are both red, darkening to bruises already. She squeezes back.

*.*.*

March 16, 2012

Doctor Sadami is suitably displeased when she finally gets down to Toledo to see him. He took care of her first knee surgery and she hopes he’ll do as fine a job this time around. She knows what she’s going into at least, having seen the MRI scans from Mercy General herself.

“I would say that a complete blow-out of your replacement ACL is surprising but I’ve kept up with your career, Montana. I’m actually more surprised that you made it this long without reinjury.”



She gives him a smile. She likes him. “Thanks, doc. I don’t know what that says about your faith in your own work but I’ve been trying to keep it strong. There’s an obscene amount of training involved in professional sports, believe it or not.”

He knows that; of course he does. He jokes with her anyway up until the point that he puts the MRI up on the backlight and tries to explain the mess that is her right knee.

“You can see the ACL is completely shredded. These parts here, that look like broom bristles, are what’s left of it. There are a few tears along your lateral meniscus too.” She nods along, actually expecting that part. It was either the reason her knee had locked up on the ice or was the result of Sergei putting it back in place. “The part that worries me the most is your MCL. The muscles holding it in place have torn and it’s in the wrong spot.”

That . . . that she wasn’t expecting. “You can fix it though, right? You can fix anything.”

Doctor Sadami sighs and leans against the counter. “I’d like to go in and clean everything up, figure out what we’re working with. Of course I can replace the ACL but you should know that the likelihood of failure, after the first replacement, jumps from five to fifty percent.” Her brain short-wires over that one. Fifty percent? Like, she’s almost guaranteed to reinjure herself?

She must look panicked because he holds up a hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. With the shape you’re in, if maintained, you will probably be fine. I’ve known people who play hockey and have had multiple surgeries on the same knee; they’re okay for the most part. I just want you to know what you’re getting into.”

Montana takes a deep, steadying breath. She should have taken Marcus’s offer on joining her so she’d have someone’s hand to hold. This sounds awful. Her few months of being laid up is now looking like the possible end of her career. Only one full season in the NHL and she’s out. She has so much hate for Parros in this moment. Fuck that guy, seriously.

“When can you schedule me?” She has to get this fixed, period. There’s no not having an ACL, she thinks. Even if she can’t play-

She needs to stop thinking about that one. Doctor Sadami puts her on the schedule in a few days, giving her the usual spiel about behaving herself in the meantime. Yeah, she thinks. What the fuck could she get up to with a bum knee?

*.*.*

March 19, 2012

Helmer injures himself too just five days after her which accounts for him being available to accompany her to her ACL surgery. She’s got Brandon coming to pick her up when it’s over to ensure she makes it back to her house but for now, she just needs Helmer.

They both hobble into her pre-surgery on crutches and he patiently waits while they get her set up with the IVs. She’s relieved he’d offered to come; glad she could tell him yes. It’s terrifying enough to be going under the knife again. It would have been so much worse without someone else here.

He gives her a reassuring grin right after they pump her full of morphine. “I’ll catch you on the flip side, Pretty.”

She’s humming under her breath, floating on the cloud of drugs. What she hears is I’ll always be here for you. What she says in return is, “I’ve always loved you.” She doesn’t catch a response. Between the beeping of the machines around her and the nurses wheeling her bed off, time expands and slows. She doesn’t even remember them putting her on the operating table except all of a sudden the guy with the sleeping drugs tells her to count back from one hundred. She sings ‘Stairway to Heaven’ instead, thinking about how much she likes it when Helmer smiles.

She swears she dreams the whole time she’s under. She can’t remember anything, though, when she’s finally roused from the anesthesia enough to eat some crackers followed with some Coke. She hates Coke. She asks for water instead and Helmer brings it to her. She smiles groggily at him and doesn’t even really notice that he’s not smiling. She tries to keep a conversation going with him about how he needs to have knee surgery too so they can have matching scars but she keeps falling back asleep.

Eventually she’s out so long that Brandon is there and Helmer has gone home. The drugs are mostly out of her system so she dresses, really really awkwardly, and lets her oldest brother drive her home. The cycle of drugs that follow leaves her useless for days. By the time she realizes that she’d told Helmer she’s always loved him she’s a week post-op.

There’s no text that could make this situation less uncomfortable so she does nothing instead. Helmer is unfailingly polite and sweet when she starts rehab at the Joe. He almost falls all over himself, as best as he can with his own fucked up knee. More than once Sergei or one of the physical therapists catch them in the middle of a laughing fest. She hates that they’re both injured but loves this time. Just the two of them, again.

Suddenly the playoffs are upon them and Helmer is back on the ice and then just as suddenly he’s out again; severed tendons in a nasty freak accident. She sits with him in the ER. He’s in a lot of pain and he’s scared out of his mind. She brushes the hair back from his sweaty forehead and goes for comforting. “Everything will be fine.”

The mass of gauze around his forearm is already starting to soak through with blood. He looks like he really wants to believe her. Finally they give him something for the pain. Right as they’re about to prep him for surgery she kisses his forehead, because she’s a glutton for punishment, ya know. “I swear. When you wake up. Everything will be fine.” Her promises fall on deaf ears.

He looks right up at her, pale and drugged, and says, “I never stopped loving you.”

The air in her lungs leaves the room with Helmer and she stares as he’s wheeled off.

*.*.*

April 20, 2012

The reporters in Nashville make a beeline for her first in the dressing room after the Wings drop the last game and get knocked out of the playoffs. In the first fucking round. She’s still got the crutches, for now, because she’s being so fucking careful with herself. She gets swarmed and has to take a seat on the bench next to Val to keep from falling over. Val glares at every single one of those mother fuckers as he’s undressing and she loves him a bit for it.

“Montana, how do you think this series would have gone if you and Helm had played?” They still don’t pull any punches.

“Insinuating that the outcome would have been different is to suggest that this team didn’t play their hearts out already. I’m incredibly proud of them even with the loss.” It’s not what they were expecting and she really doesn’t think anyone in the room was expecting the response but it’s true. Her boys were on target, just not the right one, she thinks.

“How are you recovering? Will you be full strength for next season?”

“Of course. I should be off the crutches next week and back on the ice by July.”

“What about the rumors that Lidstrom might be retiring? Any comment?” The whole team goes dead silent, glancing between her and Lids, who has reinvented the death glare. Lids had discussed the possibility with them just two days ago, after the third loss. She knows it’s coming but she’s not about to tell these fuckers that.

“This isn’t really the place or time for those sorts of questions. I really just want to be with my team right now.”

PR is going to go ballistic; she’s done so well playing nice the last year but, really. Fuck these guys and fuck Nashville. She doesn’t owe any of them a god damned thing.

*.*.*

May 6th, 2012

Montana is getting around well enough. She’s been off her crutches for almost a whole week and it’s easier to maneuver her new place. She’s upstairs when she hears her cell phone ring, though, and it takes her forever to get back down to the kitchen. It rings once more and it starts buzzing again when her hand picks it up.

Jonny.

“What’s up JToes?” She’d already had the ‘out-in-the-first-round’ talk with him five days ago. She’s not sure why he would be calling now.

“Has Kaner called you at all the last few days?”

“Nope. He’s been flying under my radar. Why, what’s up?”

“You should look at Deadspin.” She knows that whatever Kaner’s gotten himself into now is bad. Just the thought of Deadspin, which she’s been on plenty too, makes her want to punch something.

“Give me a second.” Her laptop boots slow and the internet even more slowly. The pictures filter in at such a soul-crushingly awful pace that she’s forced to stare at one photo of Kaner, passed out face-first in a bar. In Madison. Wisconsin.

“What the actual fuck, Jonny? Is this recent?”

“Yesterday. I think. Seems he’s having a bit of a Cinco de Mayo binge.” Her head hits her kitchen table. “I’m flying up there to get him. I wanted to see if you knew anything before I went. Anyone who he might be with? I don’t know anyone who might be in school at Madison.”

Montana racks her brain, trying to remember if anyone from the midgets ended up in Wisconsin. It seemed like maybe a few had. Were still probably there. Two of the younger guys. “Brian Haddock and East. Jeff East. I think. I might have contact info for them somewhere.” Jonny breathes out an audible sigh of relief.

She goes through Facebook. All her hockey friends have a pretty comprehensive network built up that’s carefully hidden and she finds Haddy’s number relatively easily. “Jonny, I’m going to try to figure out where he’s at. I’m going to be in Madison as quickly as possible. I’ll email you my flight info.” She can hear him about to complain about the plan but she cuts him off. “Jonny. Meet me at the airport. I will see you in a few hours.”

She thinks about all the times Kaner had promised he wasn’t drinking heavily anymore. She remembers finding him really drunk the first time, blacked out at a house party when they were teenagers. She bites back a sob as she dials Haddy and she prays as it rings. Please.

“Haddy? It’s Montana Cunning. Yeah. Long time. Hey, I hate to be short but I really need to know if you have Kaner with you. Yeah? Can you text me your address? Hady. Come on. Please, just- just help me out here. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to see me.” She’s really trying to hold herself together here and the argumentative man on the other end of the line isn’t helping.

“Yeah, no I promise I’m not angry at you. I just need to see him.” She promises him more things. Hockey tickets. Perks during the season. Anything to get the address. She’s pulling up flight info when he drops his house number on her out of nowhere and she scrambles for a pen to write it down.

“I’m gonna have Toews with me. It might be best if you’re not around.” She feels like Jonny will kick the ever loving shit out of anyone he finds in his way to Kaner.

She touches down in Madison very early the next morning. Like, two AM early but Jonny’s waiting for her with two cups of coffee and a grim expression on his face. She smiles sadly at the sight of him. She’s talked to him but hasn’t seen him in almost a month. “Everything is gonna be okay, Jonny.” He nods against her hair, both arms wrapped around her and she thinks, how can Kaner keep doing this to them?

Kaner looks like he’s dead when Jonny and Montana burst through the door at the random frat house. He’s passed out a few blocks off campus and there’s puke everywhere. It’s in his hair, all over his face, all over the floor. He’s in the fetal position and there’s no discernible movement of breathing. Montana shakes as she presses two fingers to the clammy skin of his neck; he’s still alive. Jonny barges through the house, yelling at everyone and anything. She sits on the floor next to Kaner. She can’t really kneel with her huge leg brace on and her knee is already aching.

“Pat. Open your eyes; come on.” She taps his cheeks. Her fingers slide through the upchuck on his face. The smell makes her want to vomit too. She pushes past the feeing, calling out his name.

“Pat. You have to wake up. You need to open your eyes for me.” His skin is pale and waxy. He’s soaked with sweat. This isn’t the first time she’s seen him like this but it still hurts, every time. “Please. Wake up.”

“Please.” Her voice is a whisper. She can hear Jonny upstairs. It sounds like he found someone. His shouts are fierce and protective; she does not feel bad at all for the person on the receiving end. Kaner still isn’t responding so she switches tactics. “Pat. Open your eyes.”

She uses her assistant captain tone, the one she hasn’t had occasion to use for years. Kaner’s eyes slide open, unfocussed. She sobs with relief and holds his face still. “Can you hear me, Kaner?”

“Whasit? Whermi?” She is so, so thankful. She gets him sitting up against the couch. He’s wobbly but he stays awake and he doesn’t puke. Jonny appears at the bottom of the stairs. He sags with relief when he sees Kaner is at least mostly awake but he’s crossing the room to help them both up immediately.

“We’ve gotta go, Montana. I think the fuckwit upstairs called the police.” Jonny gets an arm under Kaner’s shoulders and mostly drags him to their waiting car, alarms blaring in the distance.