Even The Score (on hold)

The three c's - crowds, cameras, and close ups. I had forgotten how much a post-game locker room resembled the publicity of my hectic, everyday life.

It was all stupid questions and claustrophobia since I'd made my way from the stands; I traveled through the heavily guarded hallways and through the doubled doors that led to the home team's dressing room. Half naked men stood scattered about, freshly showered and working to dress themselves as a crowd of men and women shoved mic's into their faces. Comments were made and questions were asked. I spent most of the minutes that followed trying to simmer the rage that bubbled in the deepest parts within me.

"What would you have done differently in the third period to change the outcome of the game?"

Stupid. It was so stupid. But somehow Seguin found the courage to respond gracefully and politely.

"There's a lot of things I would've changed," he started. "We had a lot of opportunities offensively but we couldn't put the puck in the net, that's all it comes down to. We weren't doing enough defensively and there were some pretty bad turnovers there at the end, we'll work on that for the game."

Next question.

"Do you think maybe you should've been the one to step it up on offense? People look to you, you're supposed to be this team's leading goal scorer."

His expression was hard and it remained unchanged. Anyone would tell you that he was just tired after double shifting the entire third period, running a hand across his face to catch a deep breath. But I knew better than that. And with the victory green hat so close to my reach I just couldn't help myself.

"Sorry, that's all the time we have." I urged, using my arm to lightly shove the group of reporters out of the way.

Eyes met mine and unfamiliar faces twisted in confusion. Time limit? There was no post game coverage time limit, and if there was we certainly hasn't passed it yet. Though I was stern and forceful, and my hat had my newly acquired position written across the top. Reluctantly and disinclined, they obliged at the nod of a nearby Lindy Ruff.

Camera's shut off and the people cleared out. The air filled the room in place of the crowd that exited one by one. There was a certain comfortable silence as the aura in the room shifted. Somewhere in between sadness and relief.

"Stars management?" asked a confused, shirtless Tyler Seguin.
Water droplets glided across his bare chest and the aroma of axe body wash exuded from his body. The sweet smell swirled my thoughtful mind into a frenzy until a tap on my baseball cap pulled me down from the clouds.
"Bet you they're confused as to why our newest PR manager is a Sports Illustrated model."

His grin was hidden behind a button down shirt that he had neglected to unbutton, and instead pulled over his head. Strong, defined shoulders worked to pull down the white material that slid down his chiseled body with ease, blocking my view from the undeniable sight to see in front of me.

"Victoria's Secret, actually."

"Same thing," he rolled his eyes. I almost thought they'd get stuck that way.
"Thank you..." he trailed off. "You know, for throwing out those shitty reporters."
A tattooed arm found its way around my shoulder, pulling me sideways into his hard torso.

"Don't thank me, just introduce me to some of your hot teammates. " My arm reciprocated, reaching upwards and hanging off of his shoulder. He grinned and slid his hand downwards toward my waist. The grip tightened and he pulled me away from the secluded corner and towards the crowded section of the locker room.

Passing by a handful of cubbies my wandering eyes noisily scoped out the surroundings. Some were gaudy with family decorations; pictures of one, two, three, some with four little angels that were their spitting image, and in some cases an actual picture drawing courtesy of the colored Crayola wax that was scribbled onto the page. It was sweet, enough to melt even the most frozen of hearts. But somewhere along the way, perhaps with decreasing age, the ornaments became less and less family oriented and more and more like the photoshoot I'd taken just over a week ago in the bitter air of a nearby Dallas beach.

A reflection of light caught my eye, bringing my attention from a calendar I had likely modeled for, to a familiar magnetic mirror that stuck to the wall. I chuckled, touching the medical tape that stuck to the skin near my eyebrow. A reminder of the passing time and the urgency in which I would have to undo my medical sewing.

Tyler's long, hurried steps left him inches in front of me. Two or three long strides would have me caught up to his side, but instead I found myself plopped on the bench, staring into the cubby of number ninety one himself.

"You've got to stop that, Addie." The bench dipped to one side and then evened out as the seat next to me became occupied.

My fingers halted their actions. The medical tape found its way into the nearby garbage and I settled my gaze towards the intruder. Chuckling dryly, I responded with a simple "Maybe." I took his silence as an okay to continue.
"I'm surprised you even remembered my name."

I brought my fingers back to the wound. The stringy material came apart with ease, a sign that I had waited just long enough. It joined the tape somewhere in the trash bin and I stood up at the sound of Jamie's voice.

"What?" he shot up in surprise. His eyebrows were scrunched together, his eyes squinted.. the whole nine yards. "Why wouldn't I remember your name? In my personal opinion we had a pretty memorable night."

Pretty memorable night - I couldn't fight the flashback that came along with his choice of words. So I relaxed, took a deep breath, and let it overcome me.

Five o'clock in the morning; no earlier, no later. I opened my eyes to the darkness that still draped a shadow across the sky.

Long blonde strands of hair glued themselves to skin around my forehead. A thin layer of sweat swept itself across my body and left me feeling damp. I peeled the white duvet from my sticky skin, startled by the collection of red marks the travelled from my hip bones, up the side of my body, and back down again. A involuntary gasp sounded from behind my bruised lips.

"What happened? Are you okay?" My shirtless boyfriend stood in a panic, leaning his athletic body against the door frame. A toothbrush was wrapped between his long fingers as he searched my face with concern.

"I'm fine." His tense shoulders visibly relaxed. "Just a little surprised is all," I gestured towards my heavily marked, naked torso.
Derick's grin was as wide as his face would allow. His eyebrows wiggled before he turned around, exposing his bare back to me. My gasp was quick to come back.
"Oh my god! I should be the one asking you if you're okay!"

Dried blood clung to his back and shoulders where it had oozed from broken skin. My eyes shifted between the scratch marks and my nails, a horrified expression finally settling across my face.

"I'm fine," was all he said. A grin still danced across his lips. "We had a pretty memorable night, that's all."

My trance was broken from the shout of my name off in the distance.

"And this is my newest model friend, Addison Swanepoel," I used Tyler's introduction as an excuse to leave behind a confused looking Jamie Benn.

My feet followed Tyler's earlier strides, placing me beside him and in the direct path of the twenty some professional hockey players that stood before me.

Though the broad shouldered, dark haired man who constantly pestered me about performing surgical operations on myself never did leave my mind.

Not even when I agreed to go out and "celebrate the loss" with the team.

Tell me again.. why did I agree to do that?

Notes

I'M CLEARED TO WRITE AGAIN! NO MORE CONCUSSION!! :D :D :D :D
That means you can expect regular, (hopefully) once a week updates!

I also promised my roommate that I would write her a Derek Stepan one shot and after his game 7 overtime goal I couldn't possibly say no. If anyone else would like a specific one shot let me know and i'll get to work on it!

Let's go Rangers!!

(..and yes, i did change my username haha)