Our History Will Be What We Make Of It
The All-Star Game
January 27, 2011
Day One of the All-Star Game
She unpacks her bags in record time and showers in under ten minutes. She changes into a sensible pants suit with her favorite blue pin stripe shirt. Her flight had been canceled the night before out of DTW and she’s running behind. Way behind. The Draft starts in an hour and a half and she was supposed to be at the theater ten minutes ago.
Her phone rings as she’s putting on the last of her make-up. It’s Lids. “I know, I know. I’m late. Flight was canceled, had to catch a later one. I’m at the hotel, but I’m out the door-“
His warm laughter fills the other end. “You’ll make an entrance, for sure. Do me a favor and be sure you bring your A-game. The doors are crawling with press and we’ve got our marching orders.” He’s talking about playing nice with the press. She’s given half a dozen borderline interviews over the last few months and the front office is mighty displeased with her. She reassures him. “Pretty, there’s something else. I-“ Lids gets cut off by someone and he hangs up on her. She rolls her eyes and dashes from the room.
She suffers through three short interviews on the way in. Yes, she’s excited to be here. Yes, it’s a great honor. Yes, she imagines she’ll be picked for Team Lidstrom. The Swede has her back. That gets some chuckles. She’s charming and polite and when she’s finally ushered into the green room she is actually smiling when Lids’ eyes meet her own. He gives her a tight smile and goes back to talking to Eric Stall. She thinks it’s odd. He didn’t seem particularly pleased about something.
A pair of arms grab her from behind and she’s twirled around while Kaner sings out, “Preeeetty. You made it!” When he releases her, she turns and gives him a proper hug. Like Lids he’s wearing his jersey already, primped for the camera and ready to go. Jonny isn’t around but she spots him in a far corner. She gives him a wink when he sees her. “You look fucking hot too. Your hair is crazy long now. You are going to have so much fun this weekend. Come and meet some of the other guys.” Keyed up like a puppy, as always.
She lets Kaner drag her around the room for a good twenty minutes. She’s played thirty games in the NHL by now and almost everyone in the room is at least familiar. She hasn’t fucked anyone here, yet, and after that run-in with Helmer on her birthday she’s not sure she wants to. It might be more trouble than it’s worth.
Kaner introduces her to Mike Green and Ovechkin, the only Capital players, last. They haven’t played yet and she’s nervous about meeting Ovie. The guy is some kind of character of ridiculousness in the NHL.
He lives up to all the hype. When Kaner brings her over the Russian sweeps her into a big hug and spins her around. For the second time she’s jostled and tossed. Next to him, Green laughs and introduces himself, asking her to call him Greenie. She says he can call her Pretty and he makes some ridiculous joke about her being more than just pretty. She’s long since learned not to blush from that one. Greenie also wears an Alternate jersey and she’s about to comment on how awesome his mohawk is when everyone is called to attention.
And just like that she’s sitting in the rank and file of the best NHL players as the host of the show talks about how great this new format is going to be. She likes the All-Star game. She’s liked watching them for years. Lids and Eric Stall stand on the stage and announce their alternates. She gives Kaner and Kesler both huge grins. Beside her, Jonny smiles too. They both feel like they’re going to go early.
She starts really trying to figure out when Lids is going to call her name. She watches Ovie’s antics climbing the stage, is shocked when the Sedins are split up, and is not at all surprised that Marc Stall gets picked by his brother. Kaner making Jonny sweat it out is absolutely hilarious, as is the continually dropping facial expressions Jonny is making. When he finally gets called up to the stage, Montana hears him mutter, “What an ass,” under his ass and she busts up laughing.
The tension in her stomach starts to feel a lot like acid though, when it gets down to the final two d-men still on the chopping block. New rules means they’ve gotta go this round or the next. She watches Brent Burns get picked by Lids and something breaks inside of her. The theater is absolutely silent as Burns stands, gives her a sad look, and walks to the stage.
Lids doesn’t look at her; his team is full up on defense now. He’s filled his blue line in and it doesn’t include her. She can’t quite school her features, tell her face to relax and to ignore this most obvious of snubs. The cameras are sure to catch her looking down at her lap, trying to push disappointment out of the way. She has to, quick, because the next round starts and she knows Ryan is going to call her name. Team Stall needs one more on defense and she’s the only one left.
Montana climbs to shaky feet and grins when Ryan calls her up to the tune of, “The prettiest d-man to grace the sport.” She grins and bears it. She doesn’t look at Lids, doesn’t look at Kaner. She can’t. Greenie’s eyes are soft when she gets to the stage. Ryan gives her a huge hug. Stall’s hand is warm in hers and she’s pulling on a jersey before she really realizes what’s going on.
The interview is the worst because she thinks the entire world can see how much this hurts, how painful it is that Lids has blown her off like this. The announcer, of course, asks about it and she promises him, and the whole room, that she’s excited about her team. She’ll do her best. First woman in the all-star game and all. He dismisses her and the entire first row of her new team gives her fist bumps. She has to climb all the way to the top, sitting down next to Giroux. Letang, next to him, gives her a fist bump too and mutters, “We will be amazing, yes?”
That actually gets a smile. When the announcer finally brings the whole thing to a close Montana sighs in relief. There’s a long procedure of taking photos and congratulating the other team. Lids tries to say something to her, but she just grabs his hand, shakes it, and moves on. Fuck him. Kaner and Jonny both try to say something too but she’s suddenly surrounded by Greenie, Letang, and Chara of all people. All three of them start talking shop at her, blocking out any forwards that might interrupt their discussion. She smiles at them in relief.
When they leave, Letang bumps her shoulder and gives her a grin. “Don’t be too upset, femme. This game, it really doesn’t really mean anything.” She appreciates the effort.
“Threw me for a loop, is all. Thanks for the backup though.” She’s liked his style for ages. She also likes his hair and his smile and his accent. Ovie bumps up next to Greenie, jostling all of them, and she stops ruminating about how hot Kris Letang is.
“Is sad you not get last pick. Perhaps we just buy you car anyway, make sure you know we want you here.” Despite the fact that she wouldn’t have ever gotten the car, being a d-man, she’s touched by Ovie’s implied camaraderie. She thinks, yeah. She can do this too.
*.*.*
January 28, 2011
Day Two of the All-Star Game, early morning
She wakes up very naked next to Kris Letang, also very naked. This is disturbing as she’s not exactly sure how she got there. At least not initially. She lifts her head from his bicep where she’s been sleeping and she looks around.
The hotel room is a mess: like, lamps on the floor, clothes all over the place, bedding hanging off the bed; a total disaster. She doesn’t actually know whose room it is. It looks like her’s but she vaguely recollects Letang saying something about being on the same floor between drinks last night. Drinks. Oh fuck, she sort of remembers now.
She’d forced her new teammates to show her a good party, wanting to forget the Draft. The Red Wings are probably the most boring after-game crowd in the entire league and she wanted to know what it was like to be a young superstar hockey player. She wanted the attention and the validation and apparently something extra.
Letang stirs next to her and she’s panicked when he opens her eyes. He smiles slow, dead sexy. “Bon matin, Mignonne. Bien dormi?” His words are so fucking smooth she’d swear he hadn’t just woken up. And in French. Who speaks French at who-knows-o’clock? Letang draws a hand up to her cheek then through her hair at the back of her neck. He looks blissfully happy and her stomach twists.
Her head feels funny where he strokes. Not hang-over funny but more like there’s something that really different about it and she doesn’t like it. Her hand rises to her hair and she almost screams because she has none.
Okay, that’s a lie. She has hair. But the sides of her head have really short hair while it’s longer on the top. She must look beyond freaked out because Letang sounds really concerned when he says, “Mignonne? Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?” He pushes up onto his elbows and she almost falls out of bed in her mad dash to get up and away. She practically runs to the bathroom.
Oh, fuck.
Her hair . . . when she’d woken up yesterday morning it had been mid-back and blond. Straight and serviceable. Now though: now she’s got a mohawk. And it’s really fucking hot, despite the bedhead. It’s the same mohawk, in fact, that she’d admired on Rooney Mara in The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. She’s also dyed her hair a deep brown that’s almost black. Her eyes are wide as she surveys the damage.
Holy fucking shit fuck. What the actual-
Letang walks into the bathroom behind her. He’s put on boxer briefs and he is unmistakably beautiful as he snakes his arms around her waist. She breathes in sharply at the solid shape behind her. His chin sits on her shoulder and his right hand plays with the tattoo at her hip. He kisses her skin before saying, “I wondered if you would remember the trip to the barber shop last night.” His looks a little grumpy that he’s speaking English; she wonders how drunk she’d have to be to show off her fluency in French.
He takes in her wide eyes and his lips still on her skin. His eyes meet hers and he sees the unmistakable doubt that reflects back at him. “Tu as oublié tout ce la nuit dernière?”
She doesn’t, in fact, remember much of the night before and her nervous laugh makes him back away from her with hurt in his eyes. She turns immediately, not even bothering to pretend she isn’t naked. She lifts her arms up in appeal instead. “It’s a little cloudy.”
He plants himself against the far wall; his arms fold over his chest protectively and he asks in a very calculated voice, “Cloudy? You remember nothing.”
She thinks about last night. It hurts. She brings up her palms and rubs her eyes, hoping to clear the fog from her memory. She is never this hung over and she certainly doesn’t have blackouts. Think, Montana. Insanely hot, naked French-Canadian man demands it. There was drinking. And dancing. Lots of dancing. She gets flashes of Lady Gaga; Letang had whispered something in her ear in French and she’d understood enough to know it was filthy. She’d dragged him off the dance floor and-
“We made out at the second, no third club. Right?” That’s exciting! She remembers something. “Lady Gaga. I said I have a soft spot for French accents and you described a particularly interesting trick you have mastered with your . . . tongue!” She shouts that triumphantly and immediately regrets her little jump. Her tits are hanging out and it hurts her head.
He doesn’t look particularly impressed with her revelation, anyway, and Montana settles herself before giving him a good, long look. “I’m really embarrassed. I’m sorry.” He’s going to hate her and she doesn’t even remember what the sex was like. She contemplates his rippling pectorals. It had to have been earth-shattering, the way he’d looked at her upon waking. Amazing. Hands down. Best sex ever. She doesn’t remember. “I’m an ass.” She finally grabs a towel and wraps it around herself. Tanger relaxes, visibly.
“We should not have let you drink so much. You were very upset in the beginning.”
“It was a shit night for a while. I remember that part.” She scowls when she thinks about Lids. What a dick. “I have no real excuse, though.” She wonders what the etiquette for a walk of shame after a forgotten night of passion is. She hasn’t slept over since she dated Travis and certainly never with hockey players.
She doesn’t see any of her toiletries so that means she’s going to have to figure out where the fuck her stuff is and get out of here before she does something stupid. Well, more stupid. Letang catches her shoulders as she tries to pass and dips his face down level with hers.
“C’est d’accord. It’s okay. I think I can understand wanting to forget about the bad. I just hope you’re not so mortified by this morning that we couldn’t at least be friends. J’aime tu style.” He looks hopeful. Only Kris Letang could deal with a situation like this by being friendly and hopeful.
Montana can only give him a confused look. “Mortified? More like pissed-off that I can’t remember. You are hot as fuck, Letang.” Her laughter is bitter.
His expression shifts, concerned. “Wait, you are not upset about spending the night with me?”
“Hell no! If you offered I’d jump your bones right now.” She usually gets good reactions to her straight-forward approach to sexual offers. This isn’t really an exception. Letang slips his hands down her back and pulls her tight. When he kisses her, her mind blanks out again and the only thing she’s concerned about are all the places she’s pressed against his muscular body. She gets a hand free and buries it in hair. She’s dreamed about that for ages.
“You touched my hair last night, too. It feels good.” He sort of purrs against her mouth.
She pulls away laughing and then buries her face in his neck, the spell of the kiss broken by silliness. He smells like sex. She mutters something about hair envy and his chest vibrates with laughter in response. “Can we start again, cherie? We don’t have a team meeting for hours.” His hands roam over her back, one settling on her ass and the other on that same hip. “First things first. You shall call me Kris, again, oui? And I shall call you Montana, like you asked me to last night.” If she were wearing panties they would be melting right now. Men call her Montana. Hockey players do not. At some point in the evening, her perception of Kris Letang shifted past their jobs. She contemplates him for a long moment.
He presses a kiss to the side of her head. “There were several interesting positions I would be very willing to help you remember.”
Montana holds very still under his touch and thinks back over the day before. Being late and getting picked by Stall. The comfort of alcohol the Caps had offered so freely. The hurt of being ignored still lingers.
There must have been something, last night, something that had made her break down for Letang- for Kris. It scares her that she let him in so quickly but there’s nothing to be done about that now. She may as well roll with it.
*.*.*
January 28, 2011
Day Two of the All-Star Game, afternoon
Kris drags her down to their early afternoon meeting, giggling like teenagers. The whole team looks not at all surprised they walk in together. Staller actually takes a good five minutes to laugh while Ovie looks sort of proud of both of them. Over breakfast Kris had told her that she’s known as a bit of an ice queen and there are easily a hundred guys who have been trying to have sex with her league wide.
Montana doesn’t have the heart to tell her how many players she’s actually visited during away games or invited back to her place after a game at the Joe. There haven’t been an excess, she doesn’t think, but enough that he’d be perturbed. At least a little bit. Because that’s the sort of guy Kris is: honest and shy and so sweet her heart melts when he puts a hand on her back and leads her to the table. Kris deserves the sort of girl who revolves around him, making him the center of her universe. That’s not her, not for, like, ever. But she can let him in for now; there’s no harm in fun, right?
Kris pulls out one of two empty chairs for her and she plunks down next to someone without looking. The Swedish accent, although faint, makes her stomach flip, thinking initially that Lids somehow got into their team lunch. She’s no more relieved when she realizes it’s Lundqvist, however, as she has had a crush on him forever. He gives her a million-dollar grin like he knows it and she groans.
“Stop being so perfect and Swedish, dammit. You’re giving me a complex.”
She’s loud enough that those whole table roars with laughter and Lundqvist leans in. “At least you don’t have to try to score against me this weekend.” She thinks she’d score with him anytime, anywhere. Kris puts an arm around the back of her chair and she’s struck with guilt, instantly. Fun or not, it’s just rude to be thinking things like that when she’s got a perfectly good French-Canadian.
“Ain’t that the truth. One of these day’s I’m going to replace your blocker with one that’s smaller. Or put Vaseline on it. Something.” More chuckles. By now Staller has calmed himself and called the group to order.
“Friends. We have a great task ahead of us. We must decide . . . who is going to try to outshoot Kaner during the accuracy challenge. Any takers?”
Montana ends up in the breakaway challenge, the accuracy challenge, and the relay. She’d hoped for at least the accuracy. She’s been working her wrist shot like crazy. The skills don’t start for a few hours and she tags along for an informal dinner. Kesler steals her right out from underneath Kris’s nose and drags her into an alcove at the hotel’s restaurant.
“How are you feeling today?”
She’s still hurt over Lids’ snub and she knows it’s on her face. She doesn’t even bother trying to hide that from Ryan; they’ve known each other since she was just a baby almost. She pushes past the pain with humor, though, like she usually does with him. “I’ll be okay. Just, ah, kind of a wake-up call I guess. I think I’ve been taking the ‘family’ vibe from the Wings way too seriously. I suppose I could play anywhere, right? I could play with you!”
She tries for a hopeful smile. Ryan rolls his eyes. “Right. Because having you and Lappy on the same team wouldn’t start every fight ever in the history of the NHL.” She hadn’t thought about what it’d be like to combine her and Lapierre’s chirping abilities. The league would fold under the combined weight of their shit talking, if they ever managed to get out of bed. “Besides, you’re heart belongs to Michigan.”
“Your’s would too if you’d only see the light. You could practice with me again without it being the summer.”
Ryan actually pulls her into a hug and kisses her forehead. “You looked wrecked when Lidstrom didn’t pick you. I had an idea it was coming but I didn’t know for sure. I’m really sorry, Montana.”
She laughs and leans against him. They’re out of the way and she really doesn’t think anyone can see. “You’re the second person who has called me Montana today. Totally weird.”
“I guess things went real well between you and Letang.” She doesn’t blush. Ryan doesn’t need her to in order to see that she’s had a very fine morning indeed. “Just be careful, huh? He’s actually a really nice guy. And, the press is everywhere this weekend. I don’t want you to get into some shit that you won’t be able to shake. You’re the most photographed player in the NHL next to Crosby.”
She nods into his chest and gives him one last squeeze. “I’ll be careful.”
“You better. You could do a lot of damage with the wrong people thinking the right things.” This isn’t the first time Ryan’s made back-handed comments about her after-game activities. He’d called her to bitch two days after Lapierre but she brushes off his comment this time like she always has, by sticking out her tongue and then tickling him.
Ryan ties to jump away but she persists, getting him good for the jab. His laughter echoes in the restaurant and when she finally gets to their table, Kris looks ill. She squeezes his hand once, reassuringly, before turning to her menu. Of all the guys in the NHL, Ryan is about the most harmless when it comes to her, except for maybe Jonny and Kaner, and she likes it that way.
*.*.*
January 28, 2011
Day Two of All-Star Game, evening
She rocks Kaner’s world in the accuracy challenge. She’s got fist bumps for all on Team Stall after she hits every target and Kaner is pouting when she gives him a consolation hug. “Next time Pkane. Next time.” He gives her a good natured shove but sobers before letting her skate away.
“Letang?” He raises an eyebrow and shoots the Pen a dark look.
Montana bristles immediately. First Ryan and now Kaner. Why is this such a big deal? “Maybe. For now. What’s it to you?”
“It’s totally irresponsible. Letang is, like, the biggest softie in the whole league. You’re going to chew him up and spit him right back out. And what about you and your center? Helm? Last time we talked about you not keeping anything in your pants you were convinced that you’d make pretty babies with him.”
She growls now and grabs the collar of his jersey. Every eye in this arena is probably on them and they do not appear to be having a friendly exchange. “We’re not talking about that and we are especially not talking about that in public.” She wants to say more but Jonny comes over and slings an arm around both of them.
“You guys look like you’re in the middle of a lover’s spat. Letang is about to knock you the fuck out Kaner.” Sure enough Kris looks livid. She turns an accusing eye at Kaner but Jonny shakes her a bit too. “Lidstrom also looks like he wants to take you across his knee, Montana. Just cool your jets. Anything you need to discuss can be handled later. Got it?”
Montana grumbles but nods, pulling away from the two Hawks, heading back to her team. She stops next to Kris and bumps his hip with hers. “Kaner is kind of a pissy bitch sometimes.” They can both laugh off the mess.
She gets another moment of heated exchange later, during the relay. She’s milling around while waiting for the match to start, drawing lazy circles, when Lids stops next to her. “Pretty-“
“I don’t want to talk right now, Captain. I’ve got a race to win.” She doesn’t look at him. She’s aware that she’s acting a bit like a petulant child but she just doesn’t care. The whole situation is fucked and she really doesn’t know how to fix it.
When he pulls her short and turns her to face him she notes that he’s got his press smile on. She really doesn’t like that smile right now. “I’m sorry I didn’t put you on my team, if that’s what you’re upset about. Stall had a shortage on defense and we made the best rosters we could. It wasn’t a popularity contest.”
She wants to scream at him. She breathes through her nose to calm down instead. “Yes. Yes it was. Everyone picked from hometowns or teams. The only one who didn’t end up on one or the other was me. I thought you’d trained me well enough, Captain. I thought I would make you, make the family, proud.”
Her voice betrays the deeper hurt she’s just now realizing is coming. She’s away before Lids can make his response and she turns her anger into fuel. She smokes Lids in passing and gives her team a crucial head start that takes the competition. If she celebrates a little harder than necessary she hopes no one notices.
That night, when they hit the clubs, she doesn’t heed anyone’s warnings about drinking too much and goes shot for shot with Ovie for hours. She keeps her sea legs well enough that when Kris practically carries her back to her room, she still manages to ride him into oblivion.
*.*.*
January 29, 2011
Day Three of the All-Star Game, morning
It’s become habit to start her day with yoga, ever since Jenna Osgood gave her some pointers months ago. She’s been neglect in her duties, though, because she’s been otherwise occupied. Today, though, Montana feels like she needs to work out some of the frustration that’s still coursing through her veins.
She slips out of bed, putting a pillow in her place when Kris rolls over to find her, and digs through her suitcase for work out gear.
She’s very likely to run into a billion players if she goes down to the gym in the hotel. She does the next best thing, though, and goes to the pool. The sun is just coming up and it gives her an instant head ache as soon as she steps outside. She’s hung over. This is gonna blow.
It takes almost a half hour for her to center her thoughts and start getting focused. Jenna railed at her for overthinking everything during their sessions and Montana has had to admit that the breathing exercises, the extended stretching, does more to get rid of the anger she’s been carrying for a day and a half than any amount of sex or alcohol.
She moves into a cat stretch, groaning at the stretch in her lower back, when a mat drops down next to her head. Greenie calls out, “Pretty nice ass ya got there Pretty.” She glares up at him, not because of his comment but because he’s standing in her light. He gives her a cocky grin then joins her.
“Yoga? Really Greenie?” She laughs at him, still in her pose, while he unrolls his own mat and stretches out.
“Keeps me limber. It’s hard looking this good.”
She just shakes her head at him and moves to a kneeling position. Greenie is a lot of fun. Their practice yesterday had consisted of a hilarious game of keep away between the two of them and Chara. The tall Slovakian had been flustered. She and Greenie had laughed maniacally. She can’t remember a time she’d had so much fun just dicking around on the ice.
“Nice job with the braiding. I didn’t think you’d actually do it, when I dared you.” She raises an eyebrow and a hand to her hair. She’s recollected most everything that had happened her first night in Raleigh. Trading shots with Greenie and then waxing poetic about his hair had been a high light.
As had the look on his face when she’d forced him to find a barber shop open that late and the resulting haircut. She’s got her old hair, longer than she was used to, in a plastic bag somewhere in her room. She’ll donate it.
“I don’t back down, Greenie. You’ll find out soon enough. When do we actually play each other? February?”
He moves into a complex pose that makes her laugh with how ridiculous he looks but he nods at her through it. “I think so. I haven’t got the schedule memorized; I just go out to kick ass every night.”
That draws another giggle from her. “I know exactly how you feel.” She’s almost done with her own workout but she finds herself falling in sync with the other defense man. She spends an extra thirty minutes outside, getting nice and pink from the exposure. She hasn’t seen the sun in more than passing in almost four months now.
As they pack it up to go, he bumps her shoulder. “You should think about the Eastern Conference.”
“Oh, I think about it plenty and how much I love kicking its ass.” It’s not what he meant and she knows that but even as mad as she is about Lids she loves her team. She loves her home state. She will never leave. Montana sees Greenie smirk. She shoves him hard and goes back to her own room.
*.*.*
January 29, 2011
Day Three of the All-Star Game, evening
“You have to talk to me, Pretty. I know you’re upset but you can’t avoid this. You can’t avoid me.”
Her heart clenches painfully in her chest. She’s sitting on her bench, stripping down after the pre-skate for tonight’s game. She doesn’t even want to admit that Lids is standing in front of her. She knows his arms are crossed and he probably looks mildly annoyed. The Perfect Human never does much more than that when he’s angry.
“Pretty-“
“You’re a jerk.” That stops him and she glares up at him from under her new bangs. This mohawk thing works pretty well to make her seem like she’s completely under control of herself. “You could have told me. We’ve been talking for weeks about how amazing it was going to be, playing on the same line. Well,” she thinks back. “I guess it was just me talking about that, but you knew how much this meant to me.”
The room is quieting down, every ear tuned into this argument. It’s totally irresponsible and Lids won’t let it continue for long. Sure enough he’s dragging her up by her arm. She’s still wearing her leg gear and it’s weird, tromping around in a sports bra with her shorts and socks still on. He stops in a deserted hallway of the RBC and leans against the wall on the other side of her.
“You know I would never intentionally hurt you, Pretty. And I would have told you, if your flight had landed on time. I even broke radio silence, which Stall suggested against, to try and warn you.” She thinks his voice sounded tight over the phone three days earlier. “He walked in before I could tell you, though.”
Her shoulders slump; she thinks about him on the phone at her hotel. He’s started to say something but had hung up. And then the apologetic look when she’d finally gotten to the draft- it all blends together into the truth. She should have known that Lids would never willing hang her out to dry like that. She’s resigned and uncrosses her arms to let them hang at her side. “Pretty- Montana, I’m sorry.”
She’s known a lot of sides to Lids. She’s still watching him, learning from him. And this moment teaches her something new: sometimes he does fuck up. This is what he looks like when he’s full of remorse. She hates this look most of all and she hugs him tight. It’s a lot of weird angles and bending on account of all the gear but it feels good. It feels right, like yesterday and the day before never happened. It feels like a weight lifting off her shoulders.
He wraps one arm around her waist and another up into her hair and he chuckles. He cards the shorter strands at the back of her head through his fingers. “I like your mohawk. Lizbeth Salander?”
She nods into his chest. “One of these days I’m going to make you teach me Swedish so I can truly appreciate the originals.”
“Helst lillasyster. Jag älskar dig.”
That phrase she does know. ”I love you too, big brother. Now get the fuck out of here. I’ve got a game to win tonight.”
Team Stall is waiting for her when she comes back. Staller even looks a little hurt and Ovie is pouting. ”You not like us?” The big Russian might actually be upset.
She punches him in the shoulder and goes back to taking off her gear. ”You know that’s not what I meant earlier.”
Greenie pipes up, ”Well, we know you really like at least one of us.”
Kris goes beet red, Montana not too much less red. She manages to shoot back, ”He makes up for your weak slap shot.” Greenie roars.
”And your shit wrister, but at least we all suck together.” A few more interesting remarks are made about sucking but the team forgives her for her complaints to the opposition. She’s been inseperable from most of them for three days now. They all understand. Understand her and why this sucks so bad. Both Stall brothers break any remaining tension by getting into a heated argument that devolves into a wrestling match because neither of them have their first initials on any of their gear.
Greenie rubs her head, fucking up her hair, and gives her a grin. ”We got this shit, Pretty. Blue Line Powers, activate!” He’s insane. She’s insane too and they fist bump, bringing the rest of defense in on the pow wow.
Her team doesn’t win that night and she doesn’t do too well. She’s been on special teams too much for her to be really effective against 5-on-5 friendly play. She doesn’t even get to check anyone. At the party after the game she sticks by Lids and reconnects. Its been a tense weekend and she hates the stress that’s built up. The release of it, the time with her Captain, balances her again.
Kris tries to pull her away, lead her back to one of their rooms. She hugs him and tells him she’s sorry, but she can’t. Their time is over, this weekend is done as far as she’s concerned. She kisses his cheek and leaves him staring at her back. Lids gives her a curious look when she appears at his side once more and she smiles reassuringly.
Day One of the All-Star Game
She unpacks her bags in record time and showers in under ten minutes. She changes into a sensible pants suit with her favorite blue pin stripe shirt. Her flight had been canceled the night before out of DTW and she’s running behind. Way behind. The Draft starts in an hour and a half and she was supposed to be at the theater ten minutes ago.
Her phone rings as she’s putting on the last of her make-up. It’s Lids. “I know, I know. I’m late. Flight was canceled, had to catch a later one. I’m at the hotel, but I’m out the door-“
His warm laughter fills the other end. “You’ll make an entrance, for sure. Do me a favor and be sure you bring your A-game. The doors are crawling with press and we’ve got our marching orders.” He’s talking about playing nice with the press. She’s given half a dozen borderline interviews over the last few months and the front office is mighty displeased with her. She reassures him. “Pretty, there’s something else. I-“ Lids gets cut off by someone and he hangs up on her. She rolls her eyes and dashes from the room.
She suffers through three short interviews on the way in. Yes, she’s excited to be here. Yes, it’s a great honor. Yes, she imagines she’ll be picked for Team Lidstrom. The Swede has her back. That gets some chuckles. She’s charming and polite and when she’s finally ushered into the green room she is actually smiling when Lids’ eyes meet her own. He gives her a tight smile and goes back to talking to Eric Stall. She thinks it’s odd. He didn’t seem particularly pleased about something.
A pair of arms grab her from behind and she’s twirled around while Kaner sings out, “Preeeetty. You made it!” When he releases her, she turns and gives him a proper hug. Like Lids he’s wearing his jersey already, primped for the camera and ready to go. Jonny isn’t around but she spots him in a far corner. She gives him a wink when he sees her. “You look fucking hot too. Your hair is crazy long now. You are going to have so much fun this weekend. Come and meet some of the other guys.” Keyed up like a puppy, as always.
She lets Kaner drag her around the room for a good twenty minutes. She’s played thirty games in the NHL by now and almost everyone in the room is at least familiar. She hasn’t fucked anyone here, yet, and after that run-in with Helmer on her birthday she’s not sure she wants to. It might be more trouble than it’s worth.
Kaner introduces her to Mike Green and Ovechkin, the only Capital players, last. They haven’t played yet and she’s nervous about meeting Ovie. The guy is some kind of character of ridiculousness in the NHL.
He lives up to all the hype. When Kaner brings her over the Russian sweeps her into a big hug and spins her around. For the second time she’s jostled and tossed. Next to him, Green laughs and introduces himself, asking her to call him Greenie. She says he can call her Pretty and he makes some ridiculous joke about her being more than just pretty. She’s long since learned not to blush from that one. Greenie also wears an Alternate jersey and she’s about to comment on how awesome his mohawk is when everyone is called to attention.
And just like that she’s sitting in the rank and file of the best NHL players as the host of the show talks about how great this new format is going to be. She likes the All-Star game. She’s liked watching them for years. Lids and Eric Stall stand on the stage and announce their alternates. She gives Kaner and Kesler both huge grins. Beside her, Jonny smiles too. They both feel like they’re going to go early.
She starts really trying to figure out when Lids is going to call her name. She watches Ovie’s antics climbing the stage, is shocked when the Sedins are split up, and is not at all surprised that Marc Stall gets picked by his brother. Kaner making Jonny sweat it out is absolutely hilarious, as is the continually dropping facial expressions Jonny is making. When he finally gets called up to the stage, Montana hears him mutter, “What an ass,” under his ass and she busts up laughing.
The tension in her stomach starts to feel a lot like acid though, when it gets down to the final two d-men still on the chopping block. New rules means they’ve gotta go this round or the next. She watches Brent Burns get picked by Lids and something breaks inside of her. The theater is absolutely silent as Burns stands, gives her a sad look, and walks to the stage.
Lids doesn’t look at her; his team is full up on defense now. He’s filled his blue line in and it doesn’t include her. She can’t quite school her features, tell her face to relax and to ignore this most obvious of snubs. The cameras are sure to catch her looking down at her lap, trying to push disappointment out of the way. She has to, quick, because the next round starts and she knows Ryan is going to call her name. Team Stall needs one more on defense and she’s the only one left.
Montana climbs to shaky feet and grins when Ryan calls her up to the tune of, “The prettiest d-man to grace the sport.” She grins and bears it. She doesn’t look at Lids, doesn’t look at Kaner. She can’t. Greenie’s eyes are soft when she gets to the stage. Ryan gives her a huge hug. Stall’s hand is warm in hers and she’s pulling on a jersey before she really realizes what’s going on.
The interview is the worst because she thinks the entire world can see how much this hurts, how painful it is that Lids has blown her off like this. The announcer, of course, asks about it and she promises him, and the whole room, that she’s excited about her team. She’ll do her best. First woman in the all-star game and all. He dismisses her and the entire first row of her new team gives her fist bumps. She has to climb all the way to the top, sitting down next to Giroux. Letang, next to him, gives her a fist bump too and mutters, “We will be amazing, yes?”
That actually gets a smile. When the announcer finally brings the whole thing to a close Montana sighs in relief. There’s a long procedure of taking photos and congratulating the other team. Lids tries to say something to her, but she just grabs his hand, shakes it, and moves on. Fuck him. Kaner and Jonny both try to say something too but she’s suddenly surrounded by Greenie, Letang, and Chara of all people. All three of them start talking shop at her, blocking out any forwards that might interrupt their discussion. She smiles at them in relief.
When they leave, Letang bumps her shoulder and gives her a grin. “Don’t be too upset, femme. This game, it really doesn’t really mean anything.” She appreciates the effort.
“Threw me for a loop, is all. Thanks for the backup though.” She’s liked his style for ages. She also likes his hair and his smile and his accent. Ovie bumps up next to Greenie, jostling all of them, and she stops ruminating about how hot Kris Letang is.
“Is sad you not get last pick. Perhaps we just buy you car anyway, make sure you know we want you here.” Despite the fact that she wouldn’t have ever gotten the car, being a d-man, she’s touched by Ovie’s implied camaraderie. She thinks, yeah. She can do this too.
*.*.*
January 28, 2011
Day Two of the All-Star Game, early morning
She wakes up very naked next to Kris Letang, also very naked. This is disturbing as she’s not exactly sure how she got there. At least not initially. She lifts her head from his bicep where she’s been sleeping and she looks around.
The hotel room is a mess: like, lamps on the floor, clothes all over the place, bedding hanging off the bed; a total disaster. She doesn’t actually know whose room it is. It looks like her’s but she vaguely recollects Letang saying something about being on the same floor between drinks last night. Drinks. Oh fuck, she sort of remembers now.
She’d forced her new teammates to show her a good party, wanting to forget the Draft. The Red Wings are probably the most boring after-game crowd in the entire league and she wanted to know what it was like to be a young superstar hockey player. She wanted the attention and the validation and apparently something extra.
Letang stirs next to her and she’s panicked when he opens her eyes. He smiles slow, dead sexy. “Bon matin, Mignonne. Bien dormi?” His words are so fucking smooth she’d swear he hadn’t just woken up. And in French. Who speaks French at who-knows-o’clock? Letang draws a hand up to her cheek then through her hair at the back of her neck. He looks blissfully happy and her stomach twists.
Her head feels funny where he strokes. Not hang-over funny but more like there’s something that really different about it and she doesn’t like it. Her hand rises to her hair and she almost screams because she has none.
Okay, that’s a lie. She has hair. But the sides of her head have really short hair while it’s longer on the top. She must look beyond freaked out because Letang sounds really concerned when he says, “Mignonne? Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?” He pushes up onto his elbows and she almost falls out of bed in her mad dash to get up and away. She practically runs to the bathroom.
Oh, fuck.
Her hair . . . when she’d woken up yesterday morning it had been mid-back and blond. Straight and serviceable. Now though: now she’s got a mohawk. And it’s really fucking hot, despite the bedhead. It’s the same mohawk, in fact, that she’d admired on Rooney Mara in The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. She’s also dyed her hair a deep brown that’s almost black. Her eyes are wide as she surveys the damage.
Holy fucking shit fuck. What the actual-
Letang walks into the bathroom behind her. He’s put on boxer briefs and he is unmistakably beautiful as he snakes his arms around her waist. She breathes in sharply at the solid shape behind her. His chin sits on her shoulder and his right hand plays with the tattoo at her hip. He kisses her skin before saying, “I wondered if you would remember the trip to the barber shop last night.” His looks a little grumpy that he’s speaking English; she wonders how drunk she’d have to be to show off her fluency in French.
He takes in her wide eyes and his lips still on her skin. His eyes meet hers and he sees the unmistakable doubt that reflects back at him. “Tu as oublié tout ce la nuit dernière?”
She doesn’t, in fact, remember much of the night before and her nervous laugh makes him back away from her with hurt in his eyes. She turns immediately, not even bothering to pretend she isn’t naked. She lifts her arms up in appeal instead. “It’s a little cloudy.”
He plants himself against the far wall; his arms fold over his chest protectively and he asks in a very calculated voice, “Cloudy? You remember nothing.”
She thinks about last night. It hurts. She brings up her palms and rubs her eyes, hoping to clear the fog from her memory. She is never this hung over and she certainly doesn’t have blackouts. Think, Montana. Insanely hot, naked French-Canadian man demands it. There was drinking. And dancing. Lots of dancing. She gets flashes of Lady Gaga; Letang had whispered something in her ear in French and she’d understood enough to know it was filthy. She’d dragged him off the dance floor and-
“We made out at the second, no third club. Right?” That’s exciting! She remembers something. “Lady Gaga. I said I have a soft spot for French accents and you described a particularly interesting trick you have mastered with your . . . tongue!” She shouts that triumphantly and immediately regrets her little jump. Her tits are hanging out and it hurts her head.
He doesn’t look particularly impressed with her revelation, anyway, and Montana settles herself before giving him a good, long look. “I’m really embarrassed. I’m sorry.” He’s going to hate her and she doesn’t even remember what the sex was like. She contemplates his rippling pectorals. It had to have been earth-shattering, the way he’d looked at her upon waking. Amazing. Hands down. Best sex ever. She doesn’t remember. “I’m an ass.” She finally grabs a towel and wraps it around herself. Tanger relaxes, visibly.
“We should not have let you drink so much. You were very upset in the beginning.”
“It was a shit night for a while. I remember that part.” She scowls when she thinks about Lids. What a dick. “I have no real excuse, though.” She wonders what the etiquette for a walk of shame after a forgotten night of passion is. She hasn’t slept over since she dated Travis and certainly never with hockey players.
She doesn’t see any of her toiletries so that means she’s going to have to figure out where the fuck her stuff is and get out of here before she does something stupid. Well, more stupid. Letang catches her shoulders as she tries to pass and dips his face down level with hers.
“C’est d’accord. It’s okay. I think I can understand wanting to forget about the bad. I just hope you’re not so mortified by this morning that we couldn’t at least be friends. J’aime tu style.” He looks hopeful. Only Kris Letang could deal with a situation like this by being friendly and hopeful.
Montana can only give him a confused look. “Mortified? More like pissed-off that I can’t remember. You are hot as fuck, Letang.” Her laughter is bitter.
His expression shifts, concerned. “Wait, you are not upset about spending the night with me?”
“Hell no! If you offered I’d jump your bones right now.” She usually gets good reactions to her straight-forward approach to sexual offers. This isn’t really an exception. Letang slips his hands down her back and pulls her tight. When he kisses her, her mind blanks out again and the only thing she’s concerned about are all the places she’s pressed against his muscular body. She gets a hand free and buries it in hair. She’s dreamed about that for ages.
“You touched my hair last night, too. It feels good.” He sort of purrs against her mouth.
She pulls away laughing and then buries her face in his neck, the spell of the kiss broken by silliness. He smells like sex. She mutters something about hair envy and his chest vibrates with laughter in response. “Can we start again, cherie? We don’t have a team meeting for hours.” His hands roam over her back, one settling on her ass and the other on that same hip. “First things first. You shall call me Kris, again, oui? And I shall call you Montana, like you asked me to last night.” If she were wearing panties they would be melting right now. Men call her Montana. Hockey players do not. At some point in the evening, her perception of Kris Letang shifted past their jobs. She contemplates him for a long moment.
He presses a kiss to the side of her head. “There were several interesting positions I would be very willing to help you remember.”
Montana holds very still under his touch and thinks back over the day before. Being late and getting picked by Stall. The comfort of alcohol the Caps had offered so freely. The hurt of being ignored still lingers.
There must have been something, last night, something that had made her break down for Letang- for Kris. It scares her that she let him in so quickly but there’s nothing to be done about that now. She may as well roll with it.
*.*.*
January 28, 2011
Day Two of the All-Star Game, afternoon
Kris drags her down to their early afternoon meeting, giggling like teenagers. The whole team looks not at all surprised they walk in together. Staller actually takes a good five minutes to laugh while Ovie looks sort of proud of both of them. Over breakfast Kris had told her that she’s known as a bit of an ice queen and there are easily a hundred guys who have been trying to have sex with her league wide.
Montana doesn’t have the heart to tell her how many players she’s actually visited during away games or invited back to her place after a game at the Joe. There haven’t been an excess, she doesn’t think, but enough that he’d be perturbed. At least a little bit. Because that’s the sort of guy Kris is: honest and shy and so sweet her heart melts when he puts a hand on her back and leads her to the table. Kris deserves the sort of girl who revolves around him, making him the center of her universe. That’s not her, not for, like, ever. But she can let him in for now; there’s no harm in fun, right?
Kris pulls out one of two empty chairs for her and she plunks down next to someone without looking. The Swedish accent, although faint, makes her stomach flip, thinking initially that Lids somehow got into their team lunch. She’s no more relieved when she realizes it’s Lundqvist, however, as she has had a crush on him forever. He gives her a million-dollar grin like he knows it and she groans.
“Stop being so perfect and Swedish, dammit. You’re giving me a complex.”
She’s loud enough that those whole table roars with laughter and Lundqvist leans in. “At least you don’t have to try to score against me this weekend.” She thinks she’d score with him anytime, anywhere. Kris puts an arm around the back of her chair and she’s struck with guilt, instantly. Fun or not, it’s just rude to be thinking things like that when she’s got a perfectly good French-Canadian.
“Ain’t that the truth. One of these day’s I’m going to replace your blocker with one that’s smaller. Or put Vaseline on it. Something.” More chuckles. By now Staller has calmed himself and called the group to order.
“Friends. We have a great task ahead of us. We must decide . . . who is going to try to outshoot Kaner during the accuracy challenge. Any takers?”
Montana ends up in the breakaway challenge, the accuracy challenge, and the relay. She’d hoped for at least the accuracy. She’s been working her wrist shot like crazy. The skills don’t start for a few hours and she tags along for an informal dinner. Kesler steals her right out from underneath Kris’s nose and drags her into an alcove at the hotel’s restaurant.
“How are you feeling today?”
She’s still hurt over Lids’ snub and she knows it’s on her face. She doesn’t even bother trying to hide that from Ryan; they’ve known each other since she was just a baby almost. She pushes past the pain with humor, though, like she usually does with him. “I’ll be okay. Just, ah, kind of a wake-up call I guess. I think I’ve been taking the ‘family’ vibe from the Wings way too seriously. I suppose I could play anywhere, right? I could play with you!”
She tries for a hopeful smile. Ryan rolls his eyes. “Right. Because having you and Lappy on the same team wouldn’t start every fight ever in the history of the NHL.” She hadn’t thought about what it’d be like to combine her and Lapierre’s chirping abilities. The league would fold under the combined weight of their shit talking, if they ever managed to get out of bed. “Besides, you’re heart belongs to Michigan.”
“Your’s would too if you’d only see the light. You could practice with me again without it being the summer.”
Ryan actually pulls her into a hug and kisses her forehead. “You looked wrecked when Lidstrom didn’t pick you. I had an idea it was coming but I didn’t know for sure. I’m really sorry, Montana.”
She laughs and leans against him. They’re out of the way and she really doesn’t think anyone can see. “You’re the second person who has called me Montana today. Totally weird.”
“I guess things went real well between you and Letang.” She doesn’t blush. Ryan doesn’t need her to in order to see that she’s had a very fine morning indeed. “Just be careful, huh? He’s actually a really nice guy. And, the press is everywhere this weekend. I don’t want you to get into some shit that you won’t be able to shake. You’re the most photographed player in the NHL next to Crosby.”
She nods into his chest and gives him one last squeeze. “I’ll be careful.”
“You better. You could do a lot of damage with the wrong people thinking the right things.” This isn’t the first time Ryan’s made back-handed comments about her after-game activities. He’d called her to bitch two days after Lapierre but she brushes off his comment this time like she always has, by sticking out her tongue and then tickling him.
Ryan ties to jump away but she persists, getting him good for the jab. His laughter echoes in the restaurant and when she finally gets to their table, Kris looks ill. She squeezes his hand once, reassuringly, before turning to her menu. Of all the guys in the NHL, Ryan is about the most harmless when it comes to her, except for maybe Jonny and Kaner, and she likes it that way.
*.*.*
January 28, 2011
Day Two of All-Star Game, evening
She rocks Kaner’s world in the accuracy challenge. She’s got fist bumps for all on Team Stall after she hits every target and Kaner is pouting when she gives him a consolation hug. “Next time Pkane. Next time.” He gives her a good natured shove but sobers before letting her skate away.
“Letang?” He raises an eyebrow and shoots the Pen a dark look.
Montana bristles immediately. First Ryan and now Kaner. Why is this such a big deal? “Maybe. For now. What’s it to you?”
“It’s totally irresponsible. Letang is, like, the biggest softie in the whole league. You’re going to chew him up and spit him right back out. And what about you and your center? Helm? Last time we talked about you not keeping anything in your pants you were convinced that you’d make pretty babies with him.”
She growls now and grabs the collar of his jersey. Every eye in this arena is probably on them and they do not appear to be having a friendly exchange. “We’re not talking about that and we are especially not talking about that in public.” She wants to say more but Jonny comes over and slings an arm around both of them.
“You guys look like you’re in the middle of a lover’s spat. Letang is about to knock you the fuck out Kaner.” Sure enough Kris looks livid. She turns an accusing eye at Kaner but Jonny shakes her a bit too. “Lidstrom also looks like he wants to take you across his knee, Montana. Just cool your jets. Anything you need to discuss can be handled later. Got it?”
Montana grumbles but nods, pulling away from the two Hawks, heading back to her team. She stops next to Kris and bumps his hip with hers. “Kaner is kind of a pissy bitch sometimes.” They can both laugh off the mess.
She gets another moment of heated exchange later, during the relay. She’s milling around while waiting for the match to start, drawing lazy circles, when Lids stops next to her. “Pretty-“
“I don’t want to talk right now, Captain. I’ve got a race to win.” She doesn’t look at him. She’s aware that she’s acting a bit like a petulant child but she just doesn’t care. The whole situation is fucked and she really doesn’t know how to fix it.
When he pulls her short and turns her to face him she notes that he’s got his press smile on. She really doesn’t like that smile right now. “I’m sorry I didn’t put you on my team, if that’s what you’re upset about. Stall had a shortage on defense and we made the best rosters we could. It wasn’t a popularity contest.”
She wants to scream at him. She breathes through her nose to calm down instead. “Yes. Yes it was. Everyone picked from hometowns or teams. The only one who didn’t end up on one or the other was me. I thought you’d trained me well enough, Captain. I thought I would make you, make the family, proud.”
Her voice betrays the deeper hurt she’s just now realizing is coming. She’s away before Lids can make his response and she turns her anger into fuel. She smokes Lids in passing and gives her team a crucial head start that takes the competition. If she celebrates a little harder than necessary she hopes no one notices.
That night, when they hit the clubs, she doesn’t heed anyone’s warnings about drinking too much and goes shot for shot with Ovie for hours. She keeps her sea legs well enough that when Kris practically carries her back to her room, she still manages to ride him into oblivion.
*.*.*
January 29, 2011
Day Three of the All-Star Game, morning
It’s become habit to start her day with yoga, ever since Jenna Osgood gave her some pointers months ago. She’s been neglect in her duties, though, because she’s been otherwise occupied. Today, though, Montana feels like she needs to work out some of the frustration that’s still coursing through her veins.
She slips out of bed, putting a pillow in her place when Kris rolls over to find her, and digs through her suitcase for work out gear.
She’s very likely to run into a billion players if she goes down to the gym in the hotel. She does the next best thing, though, and goes to the pool. The sun is just coming up and it gives her an instant head ache as soon as she steps outside. She’s hung over. This is gonna blow.
It takes almost a half hour for her to center her thoughts and start getting focused. Jenna railed at her for overthinking everything during their sessions and Montana has had to admit that the breathing exercises, the extended stretching, does more to get rid of the anger she’s been carrying for a day and a half than any amount of sex or alcohol.
She moves into a cat stretch, groaning at the stretch in her lower back, when a mat drops down next to her head. Greenie calls out, “Pretty nice ass ya got there Pretty.” She glares up at him, not because of his comment but because he’s standing in her light. He gives her a cocky grin then joins her.
“Yoga? Really Greenie?” She laughs at him, still in her pose, while he unrolls his own mat and stretches out.
“Keeps me limber. It’s hard looking this good.”
She just shakes her head at him and moves to a kneeling position. Greenie is a lot of fun. Their practice yesterday had consisted of a hilarious game of keep away between the two of them and Chara. The tall Slovakian had been flustered. She and Greenie had laughed maniacally. She can’t remember a time she’d had so much fun just dicking around on the ice.
“Nice job with the braiding. I didn’t think you’d actually do it, when I dared you.” She raises an eyebrow and a hand to her hair. She’s recollected most everything that had happened her first night in Raleigh. Trading shots with Greenie and then waxing poetic about his hair had been a high light.
As had the look on his face when she’d forced him to find a barber shop open that late and the resulting haircut. She’s got her old hair, longer than she was used to, in a plastic bag somewhere in her room. She’ll donate it.
“I don’t back down, Greenie. You’ll find out soon enough. When do we actually play each other? February?”
He moves into a complex pose that makes her laugh with how ridiculous he looks but he nods at her through it. “I think so. I haven’t got the schedule memorized; I just go out to kick ass every night.”
That draws another giggle from her. “I know exactly how you feel.” She’s almost done with her own workout but she finds herself falling in sync with the other defense man. She spends an extra thirty minutes outside, getting nice and pink from the exposure. She hasn’t seen the sun in more than passing in almost four months now.
As they pack it up to go, he bumps her shoulder. “You should think about the Eastern Conference.”
“Oh, I think about it plenty and how much I love kicking its ass.” It’s not what he meant and she knows that but even as mad as she is about Lids she loves her team. She loves her home state. She will never leave. Montana sees Greenie smirk. She shoves him hard and goes back to her own room.
*.*.*
January 29, 2011
Day Three of the All-Star Game, evening
“You have to talk to me, Pretty. I know you’re upset but you can’t avoid this. You can’t avoid me.”
Her heart clenches painfully in her chest. She’s sitting on her bench, stripping down after the pre-skate for tonight’s game. She doesn’t even want to admit that Lids is standing in front of her. She knows his arms are crossed and he probably looks mildly annoyed. The Perfect Human never does much more than that when he’s angry.
“Pretty-“
“You’re a jerk.” That stops him and she glares up at him from under her new bangs. This mohawk thing works pretty well to make her seem like she’s completely under control of herself. “You could have told me. We’ve been talking for weeks about how amazing it was going to be, playing on the same line. Well,” she thinks back. “I guess it was just me talking about that, but you knew how much this meant to me.”
The room is quieting down, every ear tuned into this argument. It’s totally irresponsible and Lids won’t let it continue for long. Sure enough he’s dragging her up by her arm. She’s still wearing her leg gear and it’s weird, tromping around in a sports bra with her shorts and socks still on. He stops in a deserted hallway of the RBC and leans against the wall on the other side of her.
“You know I would never intentionally hurt you, Pretty. And I would have told you, if your flight had landed on time. I even broke radio silence, which Stall suggested against, to try and warn you.” She thinks his voice sounded tight over the phone three days earlier. “He walked in before I could tell you, though.”
Her shoulders slump; she thinks about him on the phone at her hotel. He’s started to say something but had hung up. And then the apologetic look when she’d finally gotten to the draft- it all blends together into the truth. She should have known that Lids would never willing hang her out to dry like that. She’s resigned and uncrosses her arms to let them hang at her side. “Pretty- Montana, I’m sorry.”
She’s known a lot of sides to Lids. She’s still watching him, learning from him. And this moment teaches her something new: sometimes he does fuck up. This is what he looks like when he’s full of remorse. She hates this look most of all and she hugs him tight. It’s a lot of weird angles and bending on account of all the gear but it feels good. It feels right, like yesterday and the day before never happened. It feels like a weight lifting off her shoulders.
He wraps one arm around her waist and another up into her hair and he chuckles. He cards the shorter strands at the back of her head through his fingers. “I like your mohawk. Lizbeth Salander?”
She nods into his chest. “One of these days I’m going to make you teach me Swedish so I can truly appreciate the originals.”
“Helst lillasyster. Jag älskar dig.”
That phrase she does know. ”I love you too, big brother. Now get the fuck out of here. I’ve got a game to win tonight.”
Team Stall is waiting for her when she comes back. Staller even looks a little hurt and Ovie is pouting. ”You not like us?” The big Russian might actually be upset.
She punches him in the shoulder and goes back to taking off her gear. ”You know that’s not what I meant earlier.”
Greenie pipes up, ”Well, we know you really like at least one of us.”
Kris goes beet red, Montana not too much less red. She manages to shoot back, ”He makes up for your weak slap shot.” Greenie roars.
”And your shit wrister, but at least we all suck together.” A few more interesting remarks are made about sucking but the team forgives her for her complaints to the opposition. She’s been inseperable from most of them for three days now. They all understand. Understand her and why this sucks so bad. Both Stall brothers break any remaining tension by getting into a heated argument that devolves into a wrestling match because neither of them have their first initials on any of their gear.
Greenie rubs her head, fucking up her hair, and gives her a grin. ”We got this shit, Pretty. Blue Line Powers, activate!” He’s insane. She’s insane too and they fist bump, bringing the rest of defense in on the pow wow.
Her team doesn’t win that night and she doesn’t do too well. She’s been on special teams too much for her to be really effective against 5-on-5 friendly play. She doesn’t even get to check anyone. At the party after the game she sticks by Lids and reconnects. Its been a tense weekend and she hates the stress that’s built up. The release of it, the time with her Captain, balances her again.
Kris tries to pull her away, lead her back to one of their rooms. She hugs him and tells him she’s sorry, but she can’t. Their time is over, this weekend is done as far as she’s concerned. She kisses his cheek and leaves him staring at her back. Lids gives her a curious look when she appears at his side once more and she smiles reassuringly.
2/9/13