July 1, 2014

“Chloe get the fuck up!” I hear as 170 pounds of hockey player collapses on my back.
“Go away.” I mumble into my pillow.
“No way!” My best friend laughs, snaking his arms around my stomach and flipping us over. His body is now spooned up behind mine. “It’s Canada Day! The only day out of the year that it’s acceptable to get shit faced by noon and make terrible life decisions!”

I groan, but reluctantly open my eyes. My clock says it’s nine in the morning, which is actually later than I thought he would let me sleep.

“Why did I give you a key to my place?” I ask, more to myself than him.
“Because you love me. Now get your ass up and put on that one red bikini that’s super sexy. We’re meeting everyone at the pier in half an hour.” He responds, tapping my outer thigh a little with his hand.

He hops out of bed, pulling my sheets with him and leaving me exposed to the morning air. I silently curse that very first day of grade one when I met Claude Giroux. But, as I always have, I sigh and roll out of bed, going along with what he wants.

I put on the requested red bikini that shows off my generous curves and the two of us make our way to the local pier where we meet up with our high school friends. We take two boats out to our usual spot on the lake and anchor them together, set for an afternoon of fun. True to form and Claude’s declaration, our whole group is drunk by noon. Claude is- as always- a little more handsy now that he’s got alcohol in his system, wrapping me into a bear-hug every chance he gets. And by the time we’re pulling into the dock again in time to get ready for dinner, we’re all completely wasted.

Claude grabs the now-empty cooler we brought with us and the two of us start walking the four blocks back to my apartment. Neither of us are steady on our feet, so we stumble into each other every couple of feet, giggling like school girls as a result.

“We’re still going to dinner, right?” He asks when we reach my door.
“Yeah.” I confirm, unlocking it and swinging the door open.
“Good.” He drops the cooler in my kitchen for me and returns back to the front door where I’m working on taking off my sundress. I drop it on the floor next to my flip flops, leaving me in just the bikini. “Jesus.” He mutters under his breath.
“What?” I ask, noticing the change in his demeanor.
“It’s like you’re specifically trying to kill me.” He shakes his head, ginger curls whipping back and forth.
“I don’t understand.” I admit, confused by his statement.

Before I have time to process what’s happening, Claude’s lips are on mine and he’s pressing me up against the hall closet door. His tongue slips past my lips, exploring my mouth. He tastes like Molson and spearmint gum. Hard planes of muscle bracket my body, instantly sobering me up. This is-- this is Claude! My best friend since we were kids! The superstar NHL captain who is way too good for anyone from our little hometown of Hearst. He pulls back, looking me in the eyes.

“I have always had a thing for you, Chloe.” He mutters, hand squeezing my hip. “Merde. You’re so sexy it kills me...” He shakes his head and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Did you know that you’re the only person in the world outside of my family who treats me like that little kid you met day one, and not like the captain of an NHL team? You’re the only person who I trust enough to talk to about the day-to-day shit during the season. Anyone else wouldn’t understand. They’d tell me to suck it up because I’m lucky to be where I am. You know when to knock me down and you know when to build me up. I-- you’re the one thing that makes me the happiest in life. You’re-- you’re the Yoko Ono to my John Lennon.”
“Yoko Ono?” I giggle at his comparison.
“Shut up!” He blushes. “I’m trying to profess my love to you.”

His response makes my breath catch in my throat. Claude Giroux loves me. More than just the “best friends since grade one” love that we’ve always shared.

“I-- I love you too, Claude.”

The words spill from my mouth before I have a chance to realize what I’m saying. But the truth is-- well, I do love him. I always have.

He kisses me again, this time with more passion and less dire aggression. His lips are chapped on the top layer from the day out on the boat, but soft underneath. I run a hand through his curls, tugging a little, and he moans into my mouth.

He curses a little in French and pulls away, closing his eyes and dropping his head backwards. We’re both breathing as though we’re teenagers, making out for the very first time. And in a way, it seems as though this is my first time. Kissing Claude feels like it could be a fairytale, fireworks and the promise of a happily ever after and everything.

“I need to stop.” He says.
“Why?” I beg.
“Because I want to do this right.” His eyes have opened now, and he’s staring at me. “I don’t just want to hook up with you. I want to date you. I want you to move to Philly and live with me year-round. I want to take you to all the Flyers events and show you off as my girlfriend. Tell everyone that I am the lucky guy who gets to wake up in bed next to you every morning. I-- I want to do this the right way. Let me make dinner tonight a real date.”

“Okay.” I whisper, leaning in to rest my cheek on his chest. My head is spinning, though I’m not sure if it’s a result of the dubious amount of alcohol I consumed this morning or from kissing Claude. He leans down to kiss my lips, a quick peck that feels so natural.
“I’ll pick you up at six?” He asks.
“I thought we were going to meet there?”
“That was before this was a date.” He smiles, showing off the gap in his teeth.

I smile and nod, opening the door for him.

“Don’t be late, loser.” I chirp with a grin.
“I’ll see you soon.” He smiles and turns to leave. I watch him all the way until he gets to the stairwell.

As soon as he’s gone, I slam the door to my apartment shut and let out a scream. It feels surreal. I have a date with Claude in-- shit, I only have two hours to get ready.

I quickly peel off the rest of my bathing suit and get in the shower, washing away the sunscreen and salt and sweat from spending hours out on the boat. When I’m done, I wrap myself in my large fuzzy towel and text my sister.

‘Hypothetically speaking, what do you wear on a date with the captain of an NHL team?’

As soon as it says she’s read my message, my phone is ringing.

“What the fuck?” She asks before I even have the chance to answer.
“It’s just a question.” I answer, failing to keep the smile from my lips and the giddiness from my voice.
“I can’t believe you finally grew the balls to tell him how you feel!”
“I didn’t? He’s the one that told me-- he asked me out.” I stutter.
“Oh.” She sounds surprised. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Just... do you still have that white dress you wore to Aunt Amy’s wedding?”
“Yeah but Claude went as my date to that. I can’t wear it again!” I groan.

I begin fixing my hair and makeup, going for a slightly more put-together look than I usually sport when we go out to dinner together. My sister and I bicker back and forth for a while, shooting down ideas as quickly as they come to us. Everything I have is either too casual or makes me look like I’m trying too hard.

“Honestly, Chlo, I don’t think it really matters too much what you wear.” She finally says. “We all know Claude will think you’re beautiful anyway. So just go with your little black dress. Spice it up with the red wedges and you’ll be perfect.”

I take her advice, slipping first into a sexy set of matching lacy black underwear before zipping up the dress. I thank her for helping me out, promising to give her all the details later, and hang up. I’m surprised by the time- I only have about twenty more minutes until Claude shows up. I put the finishing touches to my makeup, hair and outfit and head out to my living room.

I have to calm the nerves that are building in my stomach somehow, so I turn on the tv to something that I don’t really care about. I zone out at the show for a little bit, and when I come back into my own brain I realize that Claude is ten minutes late already. I figure he must have gotten held up or something, so I shoot him a text.

‘Are you on your way?’

He doesn’t reply, but the message also doesn’t say he saw it. So I decide to call instead. We have to make our reservation on time, and unless he’s really close it will be better for me to just meet him there. The call rings and rings until it eventually goes to voicemail. I tell him to call me back, thinking maybe he didn’t hear it or something.

Another fifteen minutes pass without a response, so I decide to head to the restaurant by myself. We have to keep our reservation, and Claude will have to just meet me there at this point. I text and call him again while I make the quick ten minute walk to the restaurant. I’m annoyed at him. Lateness isn’t something Claude is a fan of, and I thought he would have at least called or texted by now.

I make it to the restaurant and ask the host if he has seated ‘Mr Rouge’ yet, our code-name for when we go out. He says that he hasn’t, but that our table is ready and if we don’t claim it in the next ten minutes he will have to give it to someone else. I head outside to the street to call Claude again, getting his voicemail for a third time.

I think about how uncharacteristic this is for Claude, and it makes me a little worried. He’s never late, and if he knows he is going to be late, he always calls. I tell the host to cancel our reservation and head towards his condo instead.

Half way into the short walk, I decide to give up on looking nice for him and end up taking my heels off, choosing to walk the streets of Ottawa barefoot. I make it to his place and ask the doorman, Anton, if he’s still here. Anton tells me that he left with one of our friends more than an hour ago and my heart sinks. I thank him and decide to wave down a cab instead of walking back to my apartment.

I’m so angry at Claude. If he was so willing to bail on dinner with me in favor of going out with his buddies, clearly everything he told me just two hours ago was a lie. I feel the hot sting of tears behind my eyes as we pull up to my building and I am quick to hand over the fare to the driver. I practically run up the two flights to my place and break apart as soon as the door is closed behind me.

------

I wake up the next morning still upset about the events of last night. After leaving multiple voicemail messages and a ton of texts on his phone, Claude still never had the balls to call me back. I decide to go for a run to clear my head, and by the time I get home I’m less angry. I’m still upset, of course. He stood me up. But at least I know where he really stands now. I know that he wasn’t serious about the things he said to me. I hop in the shower and decide to take my time, since I don’t have anywhere I need to rush to.

My shower is cut short by my music being interrupted by my ringtone. I turn the water off and grab my towel, just barely making it to my phone in time to pick it up.

“Hello?” I answer.
“Hey Chloe. It’s me.” He says. I can hear a lot of chatter in the background. All that anger that I had let go of during my run comes flying back in, crushing me.
“What do you want?” I ask, fury in my voice.
“So um.... I have a favor to ask.” He sounds like he’s in pain.
“What?” I’m annoyed by his request. How dare he ask me for a favor after standing me up last night? He sighs heavily.
“I kinda need you to come bail me out of jail?” It all comes out in a rush and for a second I’m not even sure he said what I thought he did.
“What?” I ask again, this time with more confusion than anger, knowing I sound like a broken record.
“I swear I didn’t mean to miss our date last night.” He rushes out. “But Josh stopped by after I got to my place and we had a couple more beers while I was getting ready. Then I was walking to come get you and I got stopped by a cop who thought I was too drunk and I-” He pauses, and the next part is whispered so quickly that I have to strain to understand what he’s saying. “-I got arrested for grabbing the cop’s ass.”

There’s a beat of silence between us where I’m pretty sure he’s pulling some sort of disgusting prank on me. But then I hear someone tell him his time on the phone is almost up and I realize he’s telling me the truth.

“They’re willing to release me as long as there’s someone to come pick me up. I really don’t want to have to call my sister and there’s no one else I trust enough to ask. Please?” He begs.

I sigh, knowing that once again I can’t refuse Claude Giroux. No matter how angry I am at him.

“I’ll be there soon.” I answer, hanging up before he has a chance to respond.

I have to show my ID at the police station in order to pick Claude up, though I’m sure that’s just procedure and not because he’s a professional athlete. But when I get there, they tell me all the paperwork is completed already, and after I sign for him his release is quick.

“You’re an idiot, Giroux.” I state with fire as soon as the police officer leads him into the room.
“I know.” He looks down at his feet, a blush spreading across his face as the officer removes the handcuffs from his wrists.
“Grabbing a police officer’s butt? Seriously?” I push.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbles.

“Do you have any idea what something like this could do to your career?” I ask, waving my hands around. By now, I’ve gotten the attention of the two officers at the front desk as well. “You’re so lucky he decided not to press charges. I mean God, Claude! There are so many people out there who already hate you. Who already talk shit about you simply because of the team you play for. This is public news already, by the way. There’s a big fat headline on Deadspin. Did you know there are people who are now questioning your leadership abilities? Saying you should have the C stripped from your jersey?”

“I know.” His voice is small and I realize that I’ve never seen Claude so deflated than in this moment. Like Pavlov’s dog, it physically hurts me, seeing him like this.

“They’re all morons.” I soften my tone. “I know you’re an incredible captain. And your team knows that too.” He looks up at me, hopefulness in his eyes. “But Roo, you can’t afford to do stuff like this. That’s why I’m disappointed. You have so much more to offer and no one is going to give you a chance if this happens again. Team Canada sure as hell isn’t going to give you a shot and dammit I want to go to the 2018 Olympics.”

“You’d have to convince Crosby to let me go first.” He shrugs, grabbing his wallet, keys and phone from the basket offered to him.
“Fuck Crosby.” I deadpan.

Claude and the police officers all chuckle.

“You’re probably the only Canadian that’s ever said that.” Claude gives me a little smirk.
“He’s the second best captain in Pennsylvania.” I declare, causing him to smile outright.
“You’re the best.”
“C’mon, Giroux.” I shrug. “You’re buying me Timmy’s as payment for picking up your arrested ass.”
“And then you’ll forgive me?” He asks hopefully.
“Hell no. I said that’s payment for picking you up. You still missed dinner with me last night and you’re gonna have to work your ass off to make up for that.”

The two of us walk out of the police station side-by-side, and I know that I have already forgiven him. He knows what happened was wrong, and he’s going to face a lot of criticism from the rest of the world. He doesn’t need to also worry about making it up to me.

Notes

AND THE CHICAGO BLACKHAWKS ARE THE 2015 STANLEY CUP CHAMPIONS!!!!!!!

Wow. What a season. What a series. What a game. What a celebration.

Who else bawled their eyes out like a baby when Jonny Toews screamed at Kimmo to come get the Cup? I'm tearing up right now just thinking about it. It might have taken 17 years, but baby he finally got there!

I'm still so emotional.

Congratulations also to the Tampa Bay Lightning for an amazing run, as well. I'm sorry that things didn't work out in your favor. But you have one hell of a team, and this is not the end for you.

There are now 10 days until the draft and 97 days until the first preseason Flyers game. October 7th is right around the corner, people!