July 1, 2012

Montana doesn’t expect much out of Free Agency day. She’s actually more excited about the fact that it’s Canada Day and a handful of the guys still in Detroit have promised to show her how her Northern Neighbors party.

It’s not even nine AM though when her agent calls her. “Montana. You got three offers this morning.” She actually laughs at him, because really, she’s not leaving Detroit.

“We talked about this. I’m resigning with the Wings.”

Her agent is quiet for a few moments and Montana is instantly worried. “Was their offer bad? I mean, I don’t really care about the money. More would be nice, but really I’m fine-“

“Montana.” Haney’s voice cuts her off short. “The Wings didn’t offer. Holland didn’t offer you another contract.”

The world drops away from under her feet. “No, that’s wrong. No.” It’s still early in the day. She’s just gotta wait. They’ve got tons of deals going on and they’re on the hunt for someone to replace Lids. It’ll just take time-

“Holland told me himself he needs all the sway he can get to sign Suter and Parise.” That’s not a good thing. Suter really hates her; they’d gotten into a legit fight last season.

“Is Holland dropping me so he can pick up those two? Because Suter is a shit head?” Haney’s silence is answer enough. She curses under her breath and sits down heavily at her kitchen table. “Well. Fuck. Who are the offers from?” The Yotes, the Caps, and the Hawks. None of the contracts are great. Two are for a couple of years but DC is for one season.

She waits. For two whole days she waits to see what’s going to happen with Suter and Parise. She calls Holland, ensures that it’s just those two signing that’s preventing her own contract extension; it is and she’s furious. He tries to play it off as the best thing for the team. She still stews. And she’s just disappointed. Helmer calls and she blows him off. Z calls and she blows him off. Even White, her D-partner for the last season, tries to crack her solitude but it doesn’t work.

On the third day she hears a knock at her door while she’s trying to read a book. She glares at her door but answers it because if it’s her family she has to answer. She is really really not expecting Greenie to be standing on her front porch. She leans against the door jam, arms crossed. It’s fucking hot for the middle of July. “Greenie. Nice to see you.”

He opens his arms wide. “I’m here to recruit you.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “You were Washington’s best choice to recruit me?” If she sounds a little sarcastic it’s because she is. Most of their camaraderie disappeared the last time they’d played and his slap shot had almost knocked her out. Then when she’d come back late in the third had he steamrolled her behind his own net.

“I’m here to remind you how unstoppable we were at the All-Star Game. I think.” He cocks his head and contemplates for a moment. “I’ve been in Calgary for, like, four weeks. This heat is killing me. Can I come in?”

She chuckles but steps aside and lets him into her house. “So, is this some sort of Jeff Carter type intervention? Send a player to come save the shut-in?”

Greenie wanders her living room, stopping to pick up her book and read the back. “Nah. This is more like reminding you that you’re awesome and other teams really want you.” He turns, crooked smile on his face. “I want you to play in DC. You know we make a good pairing; we could be the best in the league.”

“You know I’m going to get bumped up to 1st line with Kronwall, right?”

He has the audacity to actually look a little sad for her. “Only if they don’t sign someone better.”

She scoffs and turns away before he can read the truth on her face. Fuck him for always being so inconsiderate of her mental trials and tribulations.

“Look. DC is awesome. It’s a lot of fun and the guys are great. You get along well with Ovie which is usually the hardest part of joining the team.” She nods along with all of his points but doesn’t agree. The Caps are not the Wings. “It’s just one year. We could win, Pretty. We could really win the Cup. I dunno about you, but that sounds fucking great.” She smiles at his accent and turns to look him over.

He’s essentially a nice guy, they were almost really good friends after Raleigh. Who knows what would have happened if they hadn’t fallen out of touch. And they did mesh really well at the All Star game. What if the Wings do sign the two wild cards? Is she just gonna give up? Greenie watches her and she thinks, no. She will not give up.

“We’re gonna win the Cup. Right? I’ve never lived outside of Michigan in my entire life. If I’m moving it’s gotta be good.”

Greenie grins at her. “Yeah. We’re gonna win.”

Haney is really surprised she hadn’t considered the Hawks or Phoenix. She’s not moving to Arizona and she’s not talking to Kaner ever again. If the Wings are gonna jerk her around then she’s getting out while she can. She asks for a bump in pay, just to see if Washington’ll do it. She signs a one-year, one-way contract for a million and a half dollars, double her current pay grade with the Wings, with a bonus for a Cup win.

Her life explodes with calls and texts when the news breaks in the media. She turns her phone off and ignores everyone except for her family. Two days after she signs with DC, Marcus drives down to tell her Suter and Parise signed with the Wild.

*.*.*

July 16, 2012

The banging on her front door rouses Montana out of an alcohol fueled sleep. She’s unsteady as she pulls on a pair of track pants and a t-shirt and the banging comes again. “Hold your fucking horses. I’m coming!” Her voice echoes down the stairs and she follows the sound with shuffling footsteps. She really had way too much to drink last night with Marcus and Brandon. Fucking brothers.

She pushes her hair out of her eyes and looks through the peep hole. The disheveled and irate head of one Patrick Kane fills her vision. She turns and leans back against the door, trying to collect herself. He’d been pestering her since Wisconsin, his level of irritation skyrocketing when she’d signed with the Caps. Yesterday he’d called seventeen times. Which is why she’d invited her brothers down for a visit and shut her cell off.

“I know you’re there, Montana. Open the damn door. Your neighbors are staring at me.” He sounds weary. And broken. She takes a deep breath and tells herself she’s not going to let him puppy dog his way back into her heart again. She’s done with this shit.

She pulls the door open as he’s about to bang again. “Whaddya want Kane?”

He glares at her. “Let me in, jerk face.”

She backs up and sweeps her arm aside for him. He charges straight to her kitchen and pulls a bottle of Gatorade out of her fridge. It gets emptied in moments. She watches him from the door way as he paces and she frowns. He is really messed up.

Messed up like post-Cup messed up, after he’d confessed his unrequited love for Jonny. She drops her arms and walks over to him, pulling him into her arms just to stop the pacing. “Oh, Pat.”

She only calls him by his first name when she’s worried.

“You guys abandoned me. I hate you. I hate you both.” He buries his words in her neck and she feels them as hot breath on her skin.

Montana runs a hand through his cropped hair. He relaxes into the touch. “We can’t do this anymore, Pat. We told you. You’re self-destructing and you’re going to take down anyone who is willing to try and give you a hand. You’re like an atom bomb.”

Pat cries a lot. He always has. She’s never seen it as a weakness, just a gauge of his emotional state. He’s not crying now, though, when she reiterates everything she and Jonny had discussed with him after they’d rescued him from Wisconsin. He just stays tense, arms still gripping her tightly.

“I don’t want to be. I don’t want to blow up anyone.”

His self-defeat is hard to listen to. “So don’t.”

Pat sags against her and now she can hear his breathing catch. “It’s hard, Pretty. It’s so fucking hard. No one wants me anymore, anyway, so why even try?” She scoffs mentally and thinks at least his team still wants him.

She lifts her head, forcing him to look her in the eyes, and says, “You’re the most selfish person I know. You’ve done everything for yourself your whole life, Patrick Kane. You cannot tell me that you’re unable to do this one thing, now, when it’s most important for you.” The tears sparkle in his gaze. She thinks back to finding him in that house, still as death. That thought still scares the shit out of her. “I can’t keep watching you go through this, Pat. It hurts too much.”

He has the world’s saddest smile. “I love you.” He presses his forehead to hers.

She lets herself have this moment of completely still Kaner and kisses him on the lips. Just a peck. Just enough to let him know she means it when she says, “I love you too but I can’t help you anymore.”

He drops his arms and backs away. “Thanks for talking to me. I’ve been calling Jonny too and he’s not answering either.”

She grabs his hand before he can leave and she should probably keep her mouth shut. She can’t though. She can’t and still be able to call herself anyone’s friend. “Jonny loves you too. You scared the shit out of both of us, Pat. The difference is that you and I haven’t been sleeping together for a year. Jonny has way more invested in this, in you, than I do. He has way more to lose.”

He gives her a curt nod and drops her hand. At the front door he gives her one more wistful look. “I need him. Tell him. For me?” She nods too and smiles, supportively. He’s gone before she can even tell him to take care of himself.

*.*.*

September 19, 2012

“Lockout?! What do you mean lockout? That’s unpossible!” Montana is in her house, fresh off of her exercise bike. She’s due at training camp in a week and she’ll be damned if DC shows her up. Helmer laughs at her over the phone.

“True story, Pretty. We’re pretty much guaranteed to lose games, already.”

Dell groans and buries her head in her arms. “I am never, ever going to get to play another full season, am I?”

She hears Helmer give a short and sarcastic laugh. “There’s a meeting coming up in Toronto for negotiations. Are you going?”

“I don’t know. Are you?” The other end of the line is quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. She wipes her face off with a towel and downs an entire bottle of Gatorade. As the silence drags on Montana realizes why he’s not responding. “Sorry, stupid question. You don’t want to leave Ally. This is probably a god-send. I know last season was rough, not being able to see her a lot.”

This is like picking a scab for the both of them. She doesn’t know why she keeps talking when it hurts so much. She can hear the whisper of remorse in Helmer’s voice when he says, “Yeah. It’ll be good to be around a little more. Can’t have my kid grow up without knowing her dad, ya know.”

The way he trips over the word kid makes her heart skip a beat.

“At least I can stick around in Detroit for practice, at least for a little while.”


“You think we’ll still practice?”

She laughs; it feels good and breaks some of the ice. “Of course we’ll practice, dumb ass. I’ve got an entire conference that I haven’t smoked enough. Don’t worry, homeslice. This lockout is gonna blow over soon enough.”

Within a week Pasha is gone. Ovie is gone. Malkin too and all of them to Russia. Kris calls her about a possible offer for himself with Magnitogorsk. Montana doesn’t cry when Z leaves. She cancels every appointment to look at property in DC; the more this drags on the more she doubts she’ll need to.

She doesn’t cry until the Champs for Charity game is over and she’s hugging Kaner one last time before he bails too. He’s crying in return and she knows that she was always going to forgive him for being an ass. Waiting until he’s literally on his way out of the country is a dick move.

Her world devolves into an endless cycle of practices and family time, both of which she’s okay with but still thinks isn’t enough.

*.*.*

November 3, 2012

Her only NHLPA meeting is an occasion with what seems like great pomp and circumstance. She hadn’t wanted to fly to New York but Jonny had suggested she check it out, have her voice heard. She countered that her voice was a drop in the ocean of players, inconsequential. He’d laughed at her and told her to wait until she had to go through the media circus.

It starts as soon as she lands and grabs her bags, a line of reporters outside the terminal at LaGuardia. What she doesn’t initially realize is that her flight lands fifteen minutes before the one from Pittsburgh carrying Sidney Crosby. She gets corralled by a trio from the Times; they ask questions that she really doesn’t know the answer to. When Crosby walks out of the terminal behind her, she’s ignored so quick it makes her laugh.

It’s actually really funny, she thinks, how eager they all are and Crosby appears to be patient enough. She’s always admired his willingness to stand in the spotlight while she hates it with a passion but she’s just never spent enough time with the guy away from hockey stuff to form an opinion of him. She’s never even faced him on the ice because of injuries on both sides. With her playing for the Caps, if the season comes back, she’s going to be seeing him a lot more. Montana looks forward to the challenge.

She’s about to escape into the back of a taxi when Crosby materializes next to her. “Please, take me with you.” She laughs in his face, realizes that he’s not joking and her laugh was really rude. A glance behind him reveals that the media is only a few steps away and they’re still circling like sharks around a school of fish. Montana jerks her head to the other side of the cab and he slides in gratefully.

It turns out they’re sharing more than a cab; they’re both booked at The Plaza in Manhattan.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d actually come to one of these meetings.” His words come out of nowhere as they cross one of many bridges Montana would never learn the name of, coming into New York proper.

She shrugs and glances over at him. His eyes are glued to the skyline; it’s early but dusk is falling fast. The city lights are just starting to twinkle into existence. “Didn’t see much point. I make very little in comparison to guys like you. My contract is still yearly, too. I don’t know that anything that happens will really influence me, ya know?”

He looks at her; his expression is almost indiscernible. Mild annoyance, maybe. “You’re an NHL player. Everything will influence you. Think about the guys on you’ve played with, what they could lose. Or what they could gain.” That wasn’t a topic she’d really discussed with her friends still in Detroit or with the boys in Chicago. They’d mostly talked about how much it sucked not to be playing at all.

“That’s fair, I guess. I still dunno why I came all the way out here. The press doesn’t like me and the league tolerates me. I’m pretty sure they’ve almost kicked me out several times in the last year and a half. I’m like the crazy black sheep of the NHL.” She sighs, just thinking about it, but it’s the truth. She doesn’t exactly have an exemplary record with the league, what with her fighting, and her hard-hitting tactics, and the fact that she’s a woman.

Now Crosby’s face flashes with surprise. “You’re one of the crown jewels in their campaign for American popularity. They talk you up like you’re royalty. Like you’ve won every award.” She doesn’t want to say that there’s a hint of exasperation, maybe even jealousy, in Crosby’s voice. He does sound like he can’t believe she’s so daft.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really play their game. The last thing they asked me to do was some crazy break down of the female body in sports that sounded more like a Playboy centerfold shoot.” That gets a laugh out of him but she’s not really smiling. She’d been mortified when her agent had pitched the idea.

“I like you. And Tanger says you’re all right. If you’re really so frustrating to the league I think we’re going to make a splash this week.”

She doesn’t want to make a splash. She wants to play hockey. That’s the only reason she’s here, really. To get back to hockey before she can break her knee again. She thinks it’d be pretty cool to have a Stanley Cup ring.

At their hotel, Crosby holds the cab door open for her and even brushes her past whatever media has managed to find out where they’re staying. His hand stays on her lower back until they’ve checked in. They separate at the elevator with good-byes. They’ll see each other tomorrow. They’ll work hard.

She spends her days in New York outside of meetings with Jonny mostly, making him see a show the first night and forcing him to find the best sushi joint in town with her the next. It’s not the same with just the two of them and no Kaner being obnoxious. They don’t talk about his absence, they don’t talk about how Jonny keeps staring off into space and how she keeps starting sentences she knows Kaner would finish for her in a heartbeat. He’s only been gone six days but it’s already too much and if Jonny spends long minutes typing out texts on his phone she knows he’s sending to Switzerland, she doesn’t bring it up.

When she gets back to Michigan four days later and much more frustrated with grade school drama bullshit, she finds out that she’s now in a torrid love affair with Crosby; the crown prince and the troublesome princess of the NHL. They’re apparently planning their wedding already. She never grabbed Crosby’s number so she texts Kris when she remembers and asks him to let Crosby know she’s fond of the color blue and she doesn’t mind getting married in Canada so long as she gets dual citizenship out of the deal. It’ll really help speed up international travel.

*.*.*

December 8, 2012

Rockout the Lockout is a resounding success and Montana has so much fun that she forgets she’s supposed to be pissed off there isn’t hockey at all. The on-ice antics are almost as fun as the shit on the benches and she’s pretty sure at one point she got crowd surfed by the other players.

She hasn’t seen some of these guys in six months and it’s like the first day back at school, back when she was still just practicing with the boys. After the game is over (go White team!), and after the speeches are made she heads to the after party. It’s in Detroit at one of the few really classy clubs the city sports. She relaxes into the trip home, letting Helmer and Cory chat in the front seats of Cory’s car.

Helmer’s recovered well from his broken jaw and she takes a rare opportunity to watch him in the dark of night. His face came through intact, his blond hair is longer than she’s ever seen it, and when he smiles back at her she thinks, this is it, now.

She knows he broke up with his girlfriend at the end of October, a weird a time as any. When he’d told all of them at practice the next day he’d said something about Anna wanting other things. Stability. As if the girl didn’t understand that dating an NHL player is a roller coaster.

She feels bad for feeling happy about it all, but she is. She’d had a little happy dance party back at her house that night.

The club is loud and noisy and dark when they get there, hustled through the VIP line into a secluded back area. They’ve got a full view of the dance floor but the platform they’re on is just high enough that no one can see in. This is the place she goes with the younger guys after a particularly good win and she knows all the bar staff that serves them.

The goal for tonight is not to get wasted. The goal for tonight is to have a few for good luck then to corner Helmer, forcing him to admit that both of them should keep their declarations of love for times when they’re not all fucked up on morphine, like tonight. The fact that she’s thinking about dutch courage to smooth the way does not get lost on her. Tipsy she can deal with though. Tipsy is familiar and she’s still got full control of the stupid things that might slip out of her mouth.

Her plans are derailed within minutes of starting her first drink when Danny brings over some friends from the charity organization. The group of men are all enthralled with her and she’s trapped in a conversation with a really tall guy, Scott maybe? She looks around for an out and that’s when she spots them: two girls pressed up against Helmer at the bar like he holds the secrets of the universe if they can just get closer. He’s smiling and laughing and has an arm around each of them. It makes her stomach clench and her conversation even more awkward.

Bert save her after another five minutes of torture, telling Scott that Danny is looking for him downstairs. Bert hands her a beer and she thanks him, grateful for the drink and the rescue. She really tries to make a habit out of not punching guys in the face but Scott was really pushing it. Bert follows her scowl, down to Helmer and those girls, and laughs his fucking head off.

“What?!” She’s indignant. He’s laughing at her. This is hard for her, dammit, and she’ll not be laughed at-

“The two of you are the most oblivious soul mates ever.”

Montana blushes bright red and she hides her face in her cup, willing her skin to cool before replying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just wondering which one was going to suck and which one was going to fuck.”

Bert looks really unimpressed with her excuse. He even tilts his head to one side and folds his arms. “He won’t take them home. He never does. He lets them flirt for a bit, gets them to buy a few drinks and then ditches.”

“I wouldn’t care if he did take them home.” She shrugs a slender shoulder. She’s wearing a tank top and even though it’s really hot in the club she shivers. She feels like her usual dysfunctional self and it’s really not cool.

“Pretty, you look out for that kid more than I do and he’s considered one of the family in my house. And I know, for a fact, that you mean more to him than anyone except for his daughter. He totally loves that you’re so good with her, by the way.” Bert is watching Helmer. A smile peeks around the edges of his lips when Helmer extricates himself from their clutches and starts to weave back up to the VIP section. Bert bumps her shoulder and adds, “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

She looks at him sadly and shrugs again. “There’s nothing I can do. Lids always told me no teammates, not ever. And I don’t care if he’s gone; I won’t disrespect him like that. He’ll always be my captain.” She thinks back to the day Lids told her no incest and she’d called him Captain Forever.

Bert’s voice goes soft and he leans over to whisper in her ear. “He’s not your teammate anymore, Pretty. The lockout is gonna end and you’ll be off on the east coast, stealing all of Ovi’s thunder. You should take the chance while we have time; you won’t get an opportunity this good again.” He leans back suddenly, a wide grin cracking his face. As Helmer joins them, Bert claps him on the shoulder. “Pretty is trying to make me dance with her. You know how it is though; I’m too old for her.” He grabs Helmer’s drink and then hers. When he’s got both bottles safely sitting on a table he turns them by their shoulders, makes them face each other. “Dance with her, kid. Do your old man a favor.”

When Bert grins, gap-toothed and proud, it’s hard to say no to him. Helmer smiles at her softly and hold out a hand. She looks down at it and then back to Bert. He just wiggles his eyebrows, still grinning like a mad man.

Choice made.

The time is now.

Her fingers twine with his and she lets Helmer lead them down to the dance floor.

They get swept up into some new remix of Oppa Gangang Style and Montana would whine about it except the dance floor is packed, requiring her to practically be on top of Helmer the whole time. He’s not sure what to do with his hands at first and she solves his dilemma by wrapping one arm around his neck, the other grabbing a bicep. He follows her lead naturally with a hand on her hip and one around her back.

She thinks she might explode from the nearness of him; his smiling face once he really gets into it, the way his eyes close for long periods of time like he’s just soaking it in. Hell, even the smell of him is making her head spin. She pulls him closer and they bounce together in a strange imitation of riding a horse. He is everywhere around her all at once and yet she still wants more. He leaves trails of goose bumps on her bare skin, a thumb brushing against her right hip under her shirt.

The music changes and slows a little; she’s got a fond smile when the opening chords of ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ blast out of the speakers. The unofficial Wings song. Helmer doesn’t loosen his grip and they belt out the lyrics into each other’s faces, laughing and giggling. It’s good, she thinks. It’s better than good. It’s the most perfect moment of her entire life and it’s all because she and Helmer have finally fixed their shit. They might tip toe around whatever unresolved sexual tension they’ve got but they’re friends again.

She catches Bert’s eyes, watching them from the balcony, and he mouths something at her that could be ‘DO IT!’ or ‘MOVE IT!’. Most of the rest of the Wings are watching them closely as well; she’s getting a thumbs up from at least six. She has to bury her face in Helmer’s shoulder to hide the blush and he bends his lips to her ear. “What’s up?” He brushes the skin, his words coming out as warm air that gives her even more goose bumps.

When she leans back up to look at him they are impossibly close for not kissing. He’s still amused and wearing his soft smile. An electric current zings through her body and she finally realizes, finally admits, that he still loves her. He has always loved her.

So, even though she’s really only had one drink and cannot in any way be considered tipsy, she winds her fingers into the soft hair at the base of his neck and pulls his lips to her. She’s never really been one to follow plans anyway.

There’s a moment where he’s still swaying but not kissing, so shocked that he’s still stuck on the dance loop. She does stop moving though, her grip tightening around him. This could backfire, after all, and she doesn’t want him to bolt.

It doesn’t back fire. She has three seconds of a fairly dry and perfunctory kiss, albeit a bit gropey, before he absolutely crushes her to his chest and opens his mouth. It pulls a groan from her chest and he picks her up with the intensity of his embrace. He’s kissing her with reckless desire now, mouth and tongue and teeth. Nipping, sucking. She groans even louder and he swallows the sound before offering his own.

A mighty cheer erupts from the VIP area and she doesn’t give a fuck.

They separate, both with wide eyes. Wonder stares each of them in the face and then she grins. He kisses her again, quick but deep, and then pulls her off the dance floor.

All of her stuff is in VIP. She has no coat, no keys, no wallet. She follows him anyway, their hands clutched tightly as they go out into the chilly December night and she thinks, finally.

Finally.

*.*.*

December 11, 2012

She spends almost two full days in bed with Helmer until he’s gotta take care of family stuff and she can’t ignore Kaner’s whiny texts asking her where she’s hiding anymore. She’s still smiling her stupid, love-sick grin when she gets off the plane at Midway.

Jonny and Kaner have very similar expressions on their faces when she finds them curbside. They take one look at her and immediately start cheering. She never told them that she’d finally managed to seal the deal and really, she doesn’t have to.

They drag her out to eat and force her to spill everything, Kaner practically vibrating with excitement and Jonny offering his sly attempts at risqué humor. She missed this, she decides. She missed the fuck out of Kaner and forces him to recount every time Seguin had been a slut, and how awesome the fans are in Europe, and how he likes getting beat by Z even when they’re not in America.

They go back to Jonny’s because Kaner’s apartment hasn’t been lived in for over a month. The guys curl up on one end of the couch with her at the other and Kaner votes for Firefly on the TV. Montana wouldn’t complain but it becomes glaringly obvious ten minutes into the first episode that Jonny’s never seen it. And my how that sets off a series of remarkably snarky insults.

Jonny sits through what he describes as ‘the strangest combination of poor Chinese and tacky cowboy clichés’ with about as much panache as he can with Kaner quoting most of the lines from his lap and Montana punctuating the particularly exciting action scenes with wildly inaccurate hand motions. By the end of the second episode, though, he’s pretty sold on the plotline and Kaner gives her a victory high five. Which she flubs and smacks him square in the nose.

They haven’t had a drop of alcohol and they’re as giddy as school girls.

Montana can feel the world righting itself, fully. First Darren (she really needs to remember not to call him Helmer anymore to his face) and now Kaner back with the band. She’s even managed to play a legit hockey game, of sorts, in the last five days. Everything is right and just, once more.

When it gets late enough that she can’t hide her yawns, Jonny tells her to go to bed. Kaner, still wrapped around Jonny and very nearly crossing into nude-in-polite-company territory, leers at her and says that is, unless she’d like to join them. She laughs so hard she goes into a coughing fit that takes her a full five minutes to recover from. Kaner pouts the whole time. He mutters something about her not laughing the first time and she can tell by the look on Jonny’s face that he probably doesn’t know about that first, first time. She certainly won’t be the one to explain.

Montana bids them both good night. She texts Darren and he replies so quickly that it leaves a smile on her face until she drifts off. Yeah. Everything is pretty fucking cunning.

*.*.*

January 19, 2013

The first time Montana wears a Caps jersey on the ice for a game they’re in Tampa and the crowd roars. She’s not stupid enough to think that they’re cheering for her; she’s always gotten a luke warm reception at both Florida arenas. The lock out is over; the fans scream in joy.

Oh, happy day.

Training camp had been short and the work had been long to get here but she flies across the ice. She’s paired with Alzner. They click, sort of. Their passes are connecting and they keep the shots on goal to a minimum for the first two periods. In the third, the Lightning gets called for tripping.

Oates sends her out on the ice and she stares at him stupidly for a moment before climbing over the boards. She never took power plays in Detroit. There’s not enough desperation for her, not enough desire to tell another team to go suck it while she gets a shorty.

Greenie is there though, tapping her shin guards and giving her a bright smile. He’s still on the first line. She’s on the second. She hopes their chemistry from the short training camp keeps up.

It totally does.

She nets one top shelf off his assist. Just the two of them. It’s the only goal of the game and she learns that it’s okay to let off some steam after a good win. Three shots of vodka into the night, Greenie slings an arm around her shoulder. The Caps have taken her in easily. She can’t imagine doing this with another team other than maybe the Hawks.

Darren calls her to congratulate her on the win. She can tell he’s pleased for her. This isn’t what she’d hoped for, when the last season had ended, but it’s okay. She sort of likes her new guys and she’s got Darren now. And they’re not even on the same team.

He doesn’t even question her too much when she says she’s moving into Greenie’s place, his loft having the room and she not having the motivation to drive in DC traffic. He doesn’t question when she won’t take the time to fly into Columbus to watch the Wings play. They won’t actually meet in the regular season, with the play limited to conference only. Darren gets to see her more on Sportscenter than in person, highlight reels almost every night with the point streak she’s got herself and Greenie on. She learns how to shoot through traffic so well that she gets a new nickname.

They start calling her Sneaky. Sneaky and Greenie, raining down goals upon their enemies, destroying the save percentage of every goalie in the Eastern Conference.

By the end of February they have an astounding 63 goals between the two of them. Over 100 points on one D-line in just twenty games. The Caps have only lost one game in OT, a grinder against the Pens. All the jokes about those perfect seasons only make her push harder. After her 50th goal of the season Greenie actually picks her up and skates her around the ice. She’s unceremoniously dropped in front of Neuvy and is buried underneath her teammates.

The call that night from Darren is tense. The Wings have had shit luck and are poised to miss the playoffs for the first time in twenty plus years. He says that the guys are sort of blaming her for jumping ship, blame her for their bad luck. She doesn’t pay attention to the Michigan press anymore but apparently the Free Press is calling her the Great Defector.

She can hear it in Darren’s voice; that anger and disappointment. Montana doesn’t call him back for days. She’s deep in the season. She can’t deal with this distraction. The Caps cinch the playoffs a full three weeks before any other teams.

*.*.*

April 14, 2013

The shortened season is hectic. They play two, three, sometimes four times a week until they’ve squeezed an unthinkable forty eight games under their belts. Mikey buys her a scooter of her own when they finish the last regular season game, the Caps leading their Division, the Conference, hell the League.

She’s leading the team for assists, closely trailing Ovie for goals. The big Russian is acting a little weird about it all but the DC media loves her. And loves her bromance with Mikey. The rumor of an actual romance explodes into a full frenzy after she lets him drag her to a tattoo parlor. He ends up with her number buried in his forearm and she gets a ‘52’ permanently affixed to her own, surrounded by flowers. It’s a small thing, an insignificant thing, just to celebrate their success.

Darren breaks up with her because of it. She sits with her head buried in her hand on the couch, crying and listening to him rant about her sleeping around again. He takes his time and all the old hurt they’d moved past is nothing compared to these new wounds. Mikey holds her when the call is over. His girlfriend shows up and the two of them nurse her through one of the worst nights of her life with cheesy Sci-Fi and some ice cream.

Two days later the door slams shut on the Wings, putting them out of the playoffs even as the Caps are going in full force.

Montana gets almost a full week back in Michigan before the playoffs start and she stays in Port Huron with her family. Marcus and Brandon don’t let her out of their sights and it takes a few days until she’s out in public.

The reception isn’t all that great. Montana gets yelled at several times for ditching the Wings and one girl even comes over to cuss her out for abandoning her state when they needed her the most. The girl is wearing a Helm jersey. Apparently she burned her Cunning jersey a month ago.

Burned it.

She comes back to DC with something to prove.

*.*.*

June 20, 2013

They say the Stanley Cup weighs 30 pounds but when you lift it, it’s weightless.

Mikey almost bowls her over when he’s handing it to her, fifth in the long line of teammates, and she almost drops the damned thing. She’s shaking with excitement when she raises it high. The glint on the silver finish makes it shine, makes it almost worth everything.

She watches it as she spins, looks at the names, and feels the weight of the history she’s holding. Thinks of the history she’s blowing apart, just by being the first woman to win this piece of metal as a player. Her mom would be crying and cheering and Jack would be right there with her. She knows, somewhere in this throng, Marcus and Brandon and her dad are all yelling their heads off.

Washington roars when she circles the rink and she’s so fucking happy they dropped Game 2 against Anaheim. So fucking happy that she gets to do this at her home ice. She hands the Cup over to Brooksie, her hands still shaking. Mikey grabs her again and spins her around. They come to a stop, grinning and laughing and beyond fucking exhilarated.

She’s got about two seconds of warning, when his smile shifts into one that means trouble of the most ridiculous kind. He scoops her in, bends her back, and plants one right on her lips. The crowd goes insane.

When he lets her up, she’s laughing because this isn’t what it looks like. Don’t get her wrong. Mikey is fucking fabulous. He is a better friend than she’s ever had. Ever. But the buck stops there, as it were.

He slaps her on the shoulder because he knows this too.

*.*.*

September 13, 2013

“Come on, Pretty. You know you wanna! I’ll introduce you to Whedon; he’s filming Avengers 2 downtown right now.” Montana has her hands covered in flour and she’s really not looking to do anything except bake. She’s making pasties, dammit. She needs to get them in the oven, too, before she can really finish packing for her return to DC or her family is gonna be pissed they missed out.

But, fuck, Patrick Kane knows exactly what to say to her. She’s such a fucking pushover. Montana doesn’t even know how Kaner would know where to find Joss Whedon but . . . fuck! She hears Jonny in the background, telling him to back off but she knows and Jonny knows that she’ll be in Chicago in less than a day because Patrick Kane has told her to jump.

When she lands in Midway she’s greeted by Jonny and Kaner’s grinning faces at curbside.

They stand arm in arm and pull her into a tight hug. The Three Caballeros, back in action again. Jonny drives while Kaner constantly twists around in his seat to ask her questions about the family that she’s already answered over the phone. She tells him about AJ’s first attempts at ice skating though, laughing when she describes the panic and the fear when she’d let him go for the first time. Her nephew had been so fucking frightened.

Jonny pulls up to a restaurant downtown and she remembers this place. They have great margaritas. She’s smiling at something Kaner says when they walk in and she pulls up short at the sight that greets her. There’s already a dozen Hawks sitting down and almost all of them jump up.

“Pretty! Good job with the Ducks!” Seabrook pulls her into a headlock while Keith ruffles her hair. She giggles and wiggles out of the embrace. Sharpy gives her a wedgie. Brouwer is hanging around too, still, and high fives her when she’s got her underwear resituated. She makes a pass along the entire line of guys, high fives for all.

One figure remains seated and when they all wander back to the table, Montana pulls up short and stares at the bowed, blond head.

She heard about Helmer’s trade to Chicago. Kaner had texted her before the news even knew. Mikey had sent her three texts about it. Her brothers had called, begging her to consider resigning with Detroit. So she heard about the trade and she’s still with DC and she really wasn’t expecting to find him here, already hanging out with his new team.

She glares at Kaner who puts up his hands like he’s absolved of responsibility and points at Jonny instead. She grabs Jonny’s arm and pulls him back outside. “What the fuck, dude?”

Jonny doesn’t look smug or anything but he looks pleased. As pleased as he can without actually smiling at any rate. “Trying to bond with the new center. What’s so wrong with that?”

“You know how everything went down, you asshole. I didn’t fly across Lake Michigan so I could relive bad memories. You know how bad it was for me. You know, Jonny. Why?”

“Because training camp starts next week and we’re his team now. If there’s one thing he should understand it’s that you’re a friend, no matter what.” Montana actually rolls her eyes at that one. It’s completely uncaptainly for Jonny to be doing this, to Helmer and to her.

She folds her arm and looks up the avenue. It’s slow for a Thursday afternoon. “This isn’t fair, Jonny. We dated for four months. He knows how close I am with you guys.” Her sigh is heavy. “I’m gonna catch a cab back to your place. I’ve got a few days before I need to really pack it all in and get back to DC.” Montana gives him a blinding smile. “Got my own place and everything this year. Lots to do. But tell Kaner you guys get me for a few days.”

She doesn’t give him the chance to protest before she’s climbing into the death trap that is a Chicago cab and on her way.

*.*.*

December 24, 2013

She wasn’t expecting to be home for Christmas this year but fucking knee injuries are tricky. She’s on a one week forced vacation, back in Michigan and miserable. Her family is driving her off the wall. Not even AJ’s excited shouts about his new set of hockey gear can really lift her spirits.

She’s about to call it a night, head back to her new house right on Lake St. Clair, when she gets a call from Bert of all people. She hasn’t really talked to him at all in the last six months but she’s happy to hear a familiar voice.

“You keeping out of trouble? No more attacks on your character?”

She laughs. “Nah. I’ve been staying close to home. I should be back on the ice by the time you guys come and play us next month.”

“How much does it suck knowing you won’t be in the Classic?” She hasn’t thought much about the game at the Big House in a few days. She’s attending but she left that dream behind years ago it feels like.

“I’ll be in the stands, cheering you on.”

“No Yzerman jersey, though, right?”

She laughs again. “Nope. Just little old me. How’s Tampa, by the way? Warm as fuck?”

He confirms her suspicions before getting to his point. “I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, Pretty.” There’s a suspiciously pregnant pause that follows and she knows. She knows this is about Helmer. “And to ask you when you’re going to call him.”

The him is implied. “I didn’t break up with him, Bert. He left me. His choice. He can call. What are you even getting on about, anyway? It’s been almost a year.”

“You are the most oblivious soul mates, ever. You know Darren, Pretty. He needs a two-by-four over the head to get his ass in motion sometimes.”

Yeah, Montana knows Helmer. Yeah, she does, but really, this isn’t her fight. Not anymore. She’s trying to move on. New team, new life. Why can’t anyone get that?

When she sees Lids, back for a limited time, seven days later at the Classic, he hugs her and then grills her about Helmer. She can only roll her eyes and curse the Swedish gossip network. Of all the people to be giving her grief about this, Lids is the least expected and when she points that out he actually laughs in her face. “Pretty, we went through a bit, all of us. I can see you’re miserable without him and I’ve heard he’s pretty shitty without you.”

Why does anyone have a say in this? Why does anyone have the right? The presumption? They don’t. He frowns at her, even as he’s hugging her good bye. Fucking nosey hockey players.