You and I

I’m a wreck all morning. From the moment I wake up all I can think about is tonight. To pass the time I talk to my parents, Brianna and even Claude, though he’s not really in the mood to talk. And I’m so anxious that I end up cleaning my place from top to bottom. Finally by the time five o’clock rolls around I’ve exhausted my to-do list. I sit in front of my television not paying attention to the screen. I’m dressed for the game and I still have an hour to wait until the car comes to pick me up. Convinced I’m going to go insane I stand and pace. Pacing doesn’t work so I grab some chips from secret stash in the kitchen. Sue me, I’m a nervous eater. And then at 5:30 my phone rings. “Hello?”

“Hey babe, how’s your day going?” I’m shocked. Sidney is on the phone and I check my watch, yep the game starts in two hours. “Brooklyn?”

“What are you doing?” My mind runs through his game-day procedures. “You’re supposed to be making a peanut butter sandwich right about now.”

He laughs. “Stalking me now?”

“You know what I mean. You have superstitions. Sidney, you love your superstitions and traditions.”

“Maybe it’s time for a new one.” I can’t believe how blasé he sounds. “Talking to you last night was calming. If possible I want to call you before my games. Is that okay?”

“I mean I love to talk to you Sid, don’t get me wrong. But do you really think that you should change this right before Game Seven?” I try to stop my voice from pitching too high.

“If it’s going to be a permanent thing, why wait until next fall?”

Again, Sidney is discussing our future, a future that he definitely sees as being long-lasting, hell even permanent. I try to calm myself as thoughts rush into my mind, weddings, kids, all things that I originally gave up on. For some reason Sidney and I now have a second chance at all that stuff. Unfortunately, I can’t process our future and tonight at the same time; it’s just too much. “Brooklyn, you there?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m here.”

“So, what did you do today?”

His mundane question throws me and I let out a small snort. “Sidney, this can’t be real. I can’t pretend that today is just another day.”

“But for you and me it is, remember? Me and you in this together regardless of what happens tonight.”

Sid has a point so I compose myself. “Well, I talked to my family, everyone says good luck, besides Claude. He says to fall flat on your ass.” Sidney laughs on the other line and I smile settling into the couch. “And then I read scripts, I cooked. Sidney, I even cleaned.”

“Wow, you must be really nervous then.”

“Hey now, I clean,” I try to defend myself and then Sidney laughs and I realize how absurd it is. “Okay, sometimes I dust.”

“Sometimes is a very subjective word.”

“Stop picking on me!” I’m fully reclined on the couch now and the most relaxed I’ve been all day. “And your day?”

“Same old, same old. Skating, napping, talking to the most beautiful woman in the world, you know the usual.”

“Smooth Crosby, real smooth.”

“I try.”

Knowing that Sidney probably has things to do I check my watch. It’s ten till six; the game starts in an hour and a half. My stomach clenches. “You ready for tonight?”

“More than ready.” We are silent again for a second. “I have a good feeling about this.”

“Me too,” I smile. “I’ll see you later, good luck babe.”

“Thanks, love you,” And he hangs up. I stand and check my outfit one last time. Tonight I pulled out all the stops, the game worn jersey he gave me when we first met, a tight pair of skinny jeans and sky high heels. Before I can think anymore I hear a car honk and I grab my purse. A few minutes later I’m stuck in traffic at Consol. People are everywhere and I hope we don’t end up being late. Sure enough we pull up with plenty of time and I walk the familiar walk to the private suite. Stopping quickly by the WAG suite I say hello and then I move on to Sidney’s suite.

Of course, the small room is bursting with energy and I notice that I don’t recognize most of the people in the suite. And then Trina notices me, “Brooklyn dear, come on in! You look gorgeous. There are so many people you need to meet.”

For the next ten minutes I think I’m introduced to every important person in Sidney’s life from cousins to grandparents, aunts and uncles, old coaches, and even some players are here. I smile, hug and even take some pictures before I settle down in a seat next to Taylor. She is on her phone and I just take a second to absorb everything. The arena is packed and loud. And just like that I’m nervous again. “You okay?”

I turn and try to smile at Taylor. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a little nervous.”

“You look like you’re going to be sick.” She leaves me for a second and then returns with a glass. “Here, take this.”

I sip it and enjoy the warm numbing sensation of the rum and coke. “I needed this, thanks.”

“No problem.”

We still have about thirty minutes before the game starts so I try to mingle and make conversation. I’m amazed that everyone else is so at ease. I’m practically shaking. It’s about ten minutes before the game starts when an usher comes into the suite. I recognize my will-call lady as she approaches me, “Ms Donahue?”

I stand and smile, remembering our last encounter. “Yes?”

“You forgot to pick up your tickets. I figured I would find you up here.”

“Tickets?”

She hands me the packet, “Your usual, from Mr. Crosby.”

Slowly I check the tickets and realize that they are my ‘usual’. The tickets that he always got me and my nerves subside again. It really is just me and him sometimes. “Thank you, but I should probably stay here…”

I trail off when Taylor looks over my shoulder. “Holy shit!” Trina scolds. “Sorry mom, but Brooklyn has to sit there. Two seats on the glass empty all game will look horrible on television, not to mention Sidney will know if you’re not there.”

Looking around the suite I try to decide what I should do. “Do you want to come Tay?”

“Of course!”

My will call lady shares a small smile as we gather our things and start to leave the suite. In minutes we have an escort leading us through the concourse and I’m bombarded with jerseys and chants of ‘let’s go pens!’ Down here the energy is multiplied and goosebumps break out over my skin. My arm is entwined with Taylor’s. “I’m going to need another drink.”

I can’t hear her response because we are in the lower bowl now walking farther and farther down, attracting more and more attention. And when a cheer sounds I can’t help but look up and see that Taylor and I are on the jumbotron, I guess the fans like me again. Finally we reach our seats and before she goes, I stop the usher and pull her into a hug. She’s startled, but hugs me back in a moment. “Thank you.”

“I look forward to many more games doing this, Ms. Donahue.”

“Brooklyn, please.”

“Brooklyn, enjoy the game.” And she leaves.

I settle into my seat as best as I can. My legs are bouncing and I’m cracking my knuckles while looking at the empty ice. And then the teams come out and my ears ring from the noise. I join in the cheering of course and scream especially loud for a certain number 87.
The first five minutes of the game we all remain standing and then we settle into the flow. My nerves calm slightly as I focus on the mechanics of the game, or at least I try to. And then we have a faceoff across from us. My eyes track Sidney and I’m hit with a sudden sense of déjà vu. Just then he looks up and we lock eyes. I can’t help but smile and I know everyone notices when he smiles back. Losing all sense of propriety I even blow him a kiss and watch as Geno bursts out laughing. With a little shake of his head I see Sidney get his head back in the game. His face hardens and even from here I can see his eyes go dark with determination. He wants this and I fear for anyone who is going to stand in his way. And thirty seconds later he assists on a goal and the arena bursts into cheers. Even Taylor and I slam on the boards obnoxiously.

It’s the third period and I’m tense again. The game has been close, hard fought with hard hits. Midway through the period the game is still tied two to two and I can feel the desperation seeping into the arena. I glance down to check my phone, that’s been blowing up all game and I feel a shift in the energy. They scored, and not the good guys. I watch wordlessly as the Blackhawks celebrate. No one around us knows what to do. And then I reassure myself that ten minutes is a long time, a very long time.

But it’s not that long. And as the game closes into the last two minutes I feel every part of my body grow taught. Next to me I can feel Taylor bouncing. “Are you okay?”

She doesn’t answer and I take that as answer enough. AS I watch the clock continue to tick down every fear that I had is coming back to me in a rush. I can’t imagine how Sidney is going to feel if they lose this, or how the thousands of fans are going to feel. Watching as the clock gets down to 50 seconds then thirty my stomach drops and I search for Sidney on the ice. He’s coordinating something and I’m sure everyone can see the desperation in his eyes. Sid looks up at the clock and I can’t define the look on his face, but he lets out a long, deep sigh.

******


June 2015--Paris

I’m in Paris and I should be asleep, resting for the premiere tomorrow, but I can’t get to sleep, well more like I refuse to. It’s the final game of the Stanley Cup tournament and I’ve learned that apparently I have no self-control. It’s been a year and I still care too much about Sidney. I want desperately for him to win this game, but at this moment it doesn’t look to great. There’s about five minutes left. The camera pans in on Sidney and I can see the defeat on his face. Clearly, the poor man is exhausted. In that moment I know it’s lost. I wonder if he knows it too, but a second later his face is tight with determination. This man isn’t going to give up, he never gives up. Myself on the other hand, I pause to pour some wine, I’m the quitter.

They push until the last second. As the final buzzer sounds their bodies visibly deflate. Sid claps Flower on the shoulder as they share a private conversation. Suddenly I need more wine. When I return they’re interviewing Sidney and I have to turn it off. He was upset of course, anyone could see that, but like in every interview he’s distant, removed, a stranger and I can’t look. It makes me miss him more than ever. I miss that intimacy with him, being one of the few who knew who he actually was.

The next day I wrestle with whether or not to contact Sidney. Logically, I know I have no business talking to him, but that damn emotional part hates to know that he’s hurting. After the red carpet that night I excuse myself and sneak away from the crowds. I end up in an empty powder room. My fingers dial the familiar number as I sink down onto the couch. It rings and rings until finally someone answers. “Hello?”

It’s an unfamiliar voice and a woman’s at that. “Hello?” I hang up.

Immediately I try to rationalize what I just heard. Maybe it’s a cousin, or an aunt, or maybe Taylor has a cold. Deep down though I know that this mystery woman isn’t a relative. No, she’s close to Sidney, close enough that he lets her be with him when he’s at his most vulnerable. Sidney is comfortable enough with her that she answers his phone. He’s gone, it’s official. Sidney has moved on and I sit there trying to hold back tears.
Eventually, Emma finds me. I’m probably a mess. “What’s wrong?”

Her question is short, but I can’t find the words to answer. It takes a few moment but finally I can speak. “I finally got what I wanted. He’s moved on.”

June 2015—Pittsburgh

I’m still in bed when I hear my doorbell the next morning. Rolling over I ignore it desperate to go back to my unconscious oblivion. At least I try until my phone rings. With a groan I finally get out of bed. My head protests the movement. Downstairs I see that Grace is waiting for me outside. I’m not surprised. She wanted to come over last night, but I wanted to be alone. Last night…we were so fucking close. I pound my fist into the counter. A concerned voice floats through the door. “Sidney?”

God, she’s clingy, but I open the door anyways. “Hey Grace.”

She coos and pulls me into a tight hug. “Oh, Sid. How are you doing?”

“Fine, really.” I extricate myself and walk to the living room, naturally Grace follows. She’s gorgeous of course. Different then….well just different. We sit on the couch, but I can’t focus on the television. “I need some water. Need anything from the kitchen?”

“I’m fine.”

In the kitchen I grab some water and Advil. My phone rings from the living room and I yell. “I’ll get it later, Grace. Don’t answer it!” When I get back into the living room I hold out my hand. “Who was it?”

She shrugs. “They hung up.”

We sit in silence and I revel in it. This is what Grace is great at. As long as she’s here I’m not alone and that’s all I need.

It doesn’t take long for me to start reliving last night. The game was close, sure, but we never found our footing. I hadn’t been that close to the cup in a while and the outcome fucking sucks. Watching the hope and drive drain from the rookies face as they lose their first cup is like a sucker punch to the gut. When the other captain raises the cup it’s like a knee to the groin.

But the worst feeling of all is those last thirty seconds or so as you watch 80-plus games of hard work slip away. A year worth of sweat and blood come to nothing in front of your eyes. Logically, in those last seconds you know it’s over, barring the intervention of the hockey gods or dumb luck. Somewhere in your head you know that you’ve lost. Your body won’t let you stop though, deep down in your heart there’s still that little boy on a backyard rink who wants nothing more than to lift the cup. And it’s that little boy who pushes you to work until the final buzzer sounds, regardless of the futility in the action. Once it sounds though a little part of him and a little part of you by extension dies. That’s the absolute fucking worst feeling in the world.

*******


I shake my head to dispel the flashback. We are in a huddle and coach is outlining a play, our final hope of getting our hands on the Cup this year. We break and I skate to the face-off circle. There’s only thirty seconds left in the game and one look confirms that Chicago already thinks they have it won.

Across from me Toews smugly smiles and I barely resist the urge to punch him in the face. Strangely, the arena is quiet. Then ever so slowly, a ‘let’s go Pens’ chant begins behind me. And somehow I know or maybe I can just hear her voice. Regardless it’s Brooklyn that started the chant and suddenly I feel like we might be able to pull this one out.

The puck drops and controlled chaos ensues. We keep possession and start driving to the net. My heart lurches with each shot and rebound. Finally it lands on my stick and I see an opening. With a quick flick of my wrist I send it to Geno who shoots. A buzzer sounds and in the confusion I can’t tell which one it is. I look up and a let out a cheer. There’s five seconds left in the game. I rush over to Geno but I can’t hear anything over the roar of the crowd.

We fend off the Blackhawks for the next five seconds and head to the locker room.

Inside it’s one of those strange moments when we don’t have to say anything to each other. All of us know what we need to do. Finally coach comes in and says one thing. “Boys, we can do this.”

I nod slowly. “Fucking right.”

And then we go back out to the ice. It’s live or die, sink or swim.

The first five minutes are choppy and scrambled. A few times I swear we lose it, but Flower’s a brick wall. We’re waiting to come back from a t.v. timeout when Kunitz and I share a look. Wordlessly he takes my spot in the face-off circle. Seconds later the puck is on my stick and I see topshelf open. I put everything I have behind my backhand and once it connects I know it’s over.

I don’t see the puck go in, but I feel bodies crashing into me. And yelling. It’s sensory overload and I love it. Lastly, Flower joins the pile and I pull him into a huge hug. We’ve been together through it all and it’s all finally worth it. “We did it! We fucking did it!”

He just smiles and all of us slowly disentangle ourselves for the handshake line. I’m on cloud nine and it takes everything I have to be gracious at this point. Once I shake the last coach’s hand I rejoin my teammates through the sea of discarded gloves and helmets. We gather at center ice and lift our sticks up for the fans; the response is deafening. I can’t seem to stop smiling as they roll out the red carpet. All of us are fidgeting like little kids as they bring out the Cup.
Someone shoves me forward. The commissioner and I shake hands. He says something, which I couldn’t repeat to you no matter how hard I tried. And then, and then he hands me the Stanley Cup. While the arena is quiet I take a second to savor the feeling of it in my hands, again. There’s always this fear that once you hold it that first time, you might never hold it again. And I feel so calm at this moment. It’s heavy, like I remember, but it feels different, like it’s changed or maybe I have. Regardless I take a second to enjoy the overwhelming sense of success and then I lift it. And I feel like a warrior. The arena explodes in noise as I take a slow skate around the perimeter of the rink before handing it off to a teammate.

As my team take turns holding the Cup, I put on my hat and do some interviews before we take the big picture. After the picture I scan the ice for a familiar face or two. I’m not disappointed. My parents are off to the side and I rush over to them. We all hug and I can see the tears on my mom’s face. “Don’t cry mom, please.”

She holds my face in her hands. “I’m just so happy for you!”

“Thanks.” Even my dad is a little choked up as we hug. “Where’s Brooklyn and Taylor?”

“They were having troubles getting over here,” My mom gestures to their seats and I can see them trying to get through the throng. “Go do your interview. They’ll be here soon.”

I want to see her, hold her, kiss her, but I nod. Honestly, I don’t focus during the interview. One eye is on my sister and girlfriend the whole time. Finally they start to move, but they start walking down the rows toward the benches instead of trying to go up the stairs. I’m confused until I see some fans boost first my sister up and over the low barrier that leads to the locker room. An usher helps her down and then she motions towards Brooklyn. At this point I’ve stopped pretending to pay attention and I watch as my beautiful girlfriend climbs up and over like a band groupie. She looks ridiculous. I’m not sure if I’ve ever loved her more. The fans appreciate it too and she takes a selfie with the group. With one last wave she sits on the bench with some of the other WAGs. They are all laughing and jumping up and down. Really, she looks like she belongs.

Now that she’s within reach I just skate away from the interview, mid question. Seconds later I’m in front of her. And I’m not sure what to do. Brooklyn makes the first move though as she flings her arms around my neck with a squeal. "Congratulations Sid!" I laugh and pull her over the boards. Twirling her around her laughter is distinct and melodious before I silence her with a kiss. And it’s like the world stops. It really is just the two of us at this moment. It’s not about the Cup or the fans or my team. It really is just us and it’s perfect.

Then I feel something hit my face. We break apart and I gently put Brooklyn down. “Be careful.” She smiles and leans into me a bit unsteadily. “Who threw that?”
Pascal raises his hand. “Get a damn room!”

I laugh loudly, refusing to be embarrassed. “If you insist,” With that I lift my girlfriend into my arms and away from all of the prying eyes.
Before we go to the locker room I set her down gently. Then I kiss her again. It’s deep and hot and would have been totally indecent for out on the ice. When I lean back her eyes are hooded, dark when they meet mine. “Hey babe.”

“You're fucking incredible, Crosby” And she hugs me again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, babe. Ready to party tonight?”

“Of course,” We separate and start walking to the rest of the families. Brooklyn stops me though and grabs my face in her hands. I take a moment to admire her and I lose focus. “Let’s get one thing straight though, don’t you ever make it that close again!”

“Oh, were you nervous?” She lets me go and we walk hand in hand.

“Maybe just a little.” Brooklyn sends me a wink and then we descend into the chaos that’s the locker room.

Notes