Never Again

** PATRICK'S POV **

I woke up the next morning feeling more refreshed than I've ever felt in my entire career. The smell of lavender still lingered in my room and my bed was toasty warm from the heated blanket Lacey got me. This truly is a morning of firsts because I actually remembered her name. We didn't even have sex, but I feel much better than I normally do the morning after a loss. Thanks to a beautiful girl named Lacey.

Looking back, I have no idea what happened last night and for once that's not from the alcohol. I might be able to physically remember every single detail of the night, but it was all so out of the ordinary for me. I came home from the UC last night with every intention of nailing the hot chick from behind the penalty box, but boy, that didn't happen. To my surprise, here I am, lying by myself in bed with a smile on my face. This girl was different for all the right reasons. She's naturally beautiful, she has such a loving, caring personality and she has the magic ability to make you relax in her presence. Not to mention her intelligence. She's studying to become a lawyer. I mean.. Damn. A smart, beautiful girl. She's unlike any girl I've ever met, and for the first time in my life.. I want to see her again.

What the hell, man? I want to see the same girl again? What's up with that? I've been living the good life, nailing hot chicks in every place I go. I even have my sacred black book with the phone numbers of the girls who were fantastic in the sack. Those one night stands have been among the highlights of my life, but suddenly the idea of sleeping around isn't so appealing anymore. This must be what Sharpie calls the 'thrill of the chase'. I want Lacey so bad, and once I get her, I'll be able to move on to the next one without a problem.

The problem is, I don't want to just 'get her'. The idea of sleeping with Lacey left my mind around 10 minutes after she walked in my front door. I mean sure, she's really attractive. Sexy, even. I can't try to deny that I'm very attracted to her. When I think about her though, I don't just want to sleep with her. I want the whole experience, and I don't even know what the whole experience is. Sure, I've been on the occasional date, but never with any serious intentions. Some girls just had a theory that if I didn't buy them dinner first, then I was not worthy of sleeping with them. With my salary, this was no problem. It was a slight annoyance and occasionally awkward dinner conversation was involved, but it was always well worth it in the end.

Fuck, I'm a mess. In one night my lifetime habit of one night stands no longer seems appealing to me. The only girl consuming my thoughts this morning is Lacey. Holy shit! Lacey! I didn't even make sure she got home okay. I made a mental note to text her when I get my phone out of my pants pocket later.

Shit, shit, shit. I don't even have her number! There she was, the best and most intriguing woman I have ever met, and I didn't even ask her for her number. Idiot of the day goes to number 88, Patrick Kane. How am I supposed to contact this girl? I could always ask Stan who owns those seats behind the box, and then contact them. The only problem with that is that I'll come off as a stalker and the last thing I want to do is scare her away. Last night was arguably the best and most relaxing night of my life, and I sincerely hope I'll be able to see her again. If she's afraid of me, then the odds of that happening are slim.

Speaking of afraid, I couldn't help but notice how scared she looked last night. When she first showed up at my door, she looked absolutely terrified. As the night went on she appeared to get a little more comfortable, but that look of terror overtook her face again right before she left. I wonder what her story is, and why she's so scared. If it's a guy that scarred her like that, then I'll kick his ass, I swear I will. Man, I'm such an asshole. I didn't even ask if she was okay, and I let her walk into the night all by herself looking like that. Fuck, I hope she's okay. I'll never forgive myself if she isn't.

I looked at the clock beside my bed, and I saw that it was already past 8. "Shit", I mumbled to myself. Jon was going to be here in half an hour to pick me up for our morning skate. Ugh, morning skate. Knowing Coach Q, he won't be going easy on us today after the disaster that was our game last night. I can already feel a 98% puck-free practice coming on, and there is not a single player in the league who looks forward to those. With one last groan, I rolled out of bed and quickly slipped a pair of sweats over my boxers and a Blackhawks hoodie over my bare chest. Ah, the perks of being a guy. Take away the sleepy factor, and mornings are easy. No hair to tame and no makeup to do.
Walking into the kitchen, I grabbed a banana and a protein shake. I don't really have any food in my house, and I usually just grab something at the rink. The Ice House has a room stocked with food, and I usually guilt one of the guys with kids to make me an omelette or something. Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, Abby Sharp comes to morning skates and she cooks all the single guys a big breakfast. I really hope today is one of those days, because I can go for a complete meal right about now. As if reconfirming my thoughts, my stomach grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah. I hear you stomach; I'm working on it."

After finishing my banana I walked over to the couch where I spent the majority of my night. I turned on the tv and flipped the channel to ESPN, forcing myself to re-live all of the horrible turnovers and bad plays from last night. Yep, Q is definitely making us skate today. Wonderful.

Twenty-five minutes later I had had enough of the announcer's critiques and comments so I figured I would go brush my teeth and get ready to leave. I was putting on my shoes when I saw a white envelope slide under my apartment door, followed by three faint knocks.

Wait a minute, three faint knocks.

I know those knocks.

I ran to the door to open it before it was too late, but Lacey must be quick because when I opened it I was faced with a very confused Jon.

"Well it looks like someone's excited to see me today, eh?"

"Fuck off, Tazer. I'm not in the mood."

Right as I went to bend down to pick up the envelope, Jon shoved his hand down faster and stole it from me.

"What's this, buddy?" Jon asked while dramatically raising an eyebrow at me.

"What's it look like Jon? It's a letter. Now give it. I want to read it." I tried grabbing it out of his hands, but I couldn't get it.

"Not with that attitude, bud. Can't have one of the top scorers distracted and being a negative example for the rookies at a morning skate. If I like what I see this morning, I'll give it to you."

"You're a dick, Jon, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

I groaned in defeat. "Fine, but promise me you won't read it."

"Pat, as intrigued as I am by the mysterious envelope that was slipped under your door, I don't want to read it. It probably has herpes or something, knowing the girls you bring home."

♦ ♦ ♦

I was right in thinking that Quenneville was going to make us skate this morning; we've been doing suicides for 20 consecutive minutes. Goal line, blue line. Goal line, red line. Goal line, far blue line. Goal line, far goal line. Repeat. Die. Run out of breath. Fall to the ground. Threaten retirement. Get yelled at. Get up, do it again.

The only up side to doing suicides is watching Crawford do them. The poor guy can barely keep up with his huge pads. Coach uses that to his advantage though. The guys know that if Crow is still going, then we have no excuse. The kicker is that Crow never stops going, because he takes losses harder than the rest of us. It's not an uncommon sight to see him throwing up after losses because of how hard he works himself. We all feel bad for him, but it's part of the NHL lifestyle. We know that he needs his space after a tough loss.

I was pushing myself extra hard during these suicides though; I had all the motivation I needed. Jon held the letter that might let me get in contact with Lacey, and I was starting to think that I needed that letter more than I needed to replenish the oxygen that was quickly leaving my lungs. Not only was this practice rough, but this morning just being in the dressing room was rough too. Usually, during morning skates, the guys like to poke fun at the hickeys on my neck and the nail marks on my back, and I would laugh along with them and remember proudly the moments that caused them. This morning, the guys were poking fun at my lack of hickeys and nail marks.

♦ ♦ ♦

"Where are the love bites, Kaner?"

"What? No nail marks? What was she, a declawed kitten?"

"I can't imagine it was very good if you have nothing to show for it. Better luck next time, buddy."

It was Versteeg's comment that pushed me over the edge, though. "What a bitch, wouldn't even match what I'm sure was a 'rough' night for you. She ain't worth it, Kaner. Sorry your night was a disappointment."

"Fuck off, guys. She's completely worth it. Have you guys ever considered that maybe I didn't get laid last night? That maybe I just had a nice, relaxing night in with a friend?"

There was a moment of brief silence until a chorus of laughter filled the dressing room.

Keith's voice rang above the laughter of the team, "Yeah, right! What's your friend's name, Kaner?"

"Lacey," I said with a smirk.

Suddenly you could hear a pin drop in the dressing room. No one expected me to ever remember the names of the girls I slept with. Even the ones who made it into my black book only had a physical description next to their phone numbers. Not a single Hawk dare say a word except for Sharpie, who whispered "Kaner's got a girlfriend."

If only Sharpie, if only.
♦ ♦ ♦

After the practice, I practically begged Jon for that letter. Actually, screw practically. I was literally on my knees in front of him, pleading for mercy.

"Please, Jon. I beg of you, give me that letter."

Jon turned to the rest of the guys on the team. "What do you think, boys? Should I give Kaner here the letter that was slipped under his door this morning?"

Some guys said yes, and others said no. Again, it was Versteeg who spoke the words that would make me humiliate myself even more.

"Give it to him after he washes all of our stuff!"

Apparently most of the guys thought this was a good idea, and Jon went to go dismiss Rick for the day while everyone else tossed their jerseys at me. Let me tell you, Steeger was going to get it from me. The guy's definitely not on my good side today and he's going to pay for it. Eventually. Right now, my only concern was getting all of this equipment washed so I could get that letter.

♦ ♦ ♦

Four grueling hours later, I had cleaned every single piece of equipment that the team used and I placed their bags under their respective lockers. When I finally made my way towards my locker, I dug through my duffle bag to find my cell phone when an envelope sitting at the bottom of the bag caught my eye.

"FUCK YOU, TAZER!" I screamed to the empty arena, when I realized what he had done.

The bastard put the envelope in my bag before he left, and it's been there all along. Fucking Christ. I wish I would have seen that coming, so that the guys could play tomorrow in their smelly-ass equipment. It would serve them right.

I didn't let myself sulk in my anger for very long though, before I realized what I held in my hands. As quickly as I could, I ripped the envelope open.

Patrick,

I laughed at her use of my full name, despite me telling her to call me Pat.

I'm really sorry that I left in such a rude manner last night. I didn't mean to, I really didn't. I just lost track of time and I needed to get to bed so I wouldn't be exhausted for work. Working on a Sunday is always rough, and I figured I would need all the sleep I could get.

I hope you had a good night's sleep and that the bath, lavender and heated blanket helped you relax and feel a little better. Don't worry about returning the blanket-- it's yours to keep; I know you'll probably use it again.

I really hope that you had a good time last night, too. You need to smile more often, because I swear your smile can light up a room.

Good luck for the rest of your season, and if you ever need a friend to talk to, you can always talk to me.

Lacey
770-243-8008

My arm reached into the side pouch on my duffel bag and I pulled out my black book of girls. I flipped to the next open page, and was about to write the number down when I reconsidered.
I put the black book back in my bag, and put her number directly in my phone before sending her a text.

Me: Hey Lacey, it's Pat. Dinner tomorrow?

Notes