He could feel her eyes on him as he sat on the bench. It damn near drove him to distraction, making it hard to pay attention to the game he was currently playing. She’d been on his mind non-stop for the past two weeks and tonight was no different. In fact, it was worse after he’d laid himself on the line last night and had it fail spectacularly.

Ovie pushed him over and down the bench. Brooks acquiesced and made room, his forearms resting on his knees as he bent over and tried to clear his head. It wasn’t working.

She had been cute and funny at first. Her reaction to a rival team’s player changing her tire was endearing. And then she walked off and left him in the grocery store. Most single women who knew who he was tried to score themselves a date. When he was younger, he obliged them, but now that he had hit thirty all those dates seemed pretty empty. It didn’t help when reporters always wanted to know if you were dating someone.

Though he remembered those first two meetings with her, they were really nothing much to write home about. More like a funny story to tell his teammates before they played the Penguins. Except that all twisted around on him when he saw her on the other side of the glass. She seemed full of life, yet somehow so delicate. It was intriguing, so he’d sent her the note. He assumed she’d call him right away and when she didn’t, he was confused but not upset.

In hindsight, he was thankful her brother had called in her stead and clued Brooks in on where they would be. He didn’t go because he thought she was a romantic interest; he went because she was cute and sweet and he was so tired of predatory women who were working an angle. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friend who happened to be a girl. Maybe she could give him some advice.

Except, the more he talked to her, the more he liked her. She had become part of his daily life through texts and the occasional phone call. Brooks wished she would reach out to him more, but she always answered when he called so he just assumed she thought he was busy. He wasn’t. He’d answer every single one of her calls. She treated him like a person, not a prize. And she listened to music with him. Lying in their separate beds and hearing the same chords, the same melodies. He’d never done that before and it felt special.

“Brooksy!"

He jerked his head up and felt a hand on his back. Fuck, he was up. As Backstrom skated over to the bench, Brooks vaulted over the boards and blanked out. He had to or he’d fuck this game up. Except his brain didn’t stay blank very long. Whispers of, “I wonder if she’s watching? I hope she’s watching. Does she care about me?” ran on a loop in his head.

He hit someone against the boards. He didn’t know who. His mind wasn’t in the game, but the puck did find its way to his stick. Chimera was tearing down the center of the ice with a defenseman on his heels. He’d make it, Brooks thought. He darted to the left and passed the puck out in front of the crease. Chimera met up with it and knocked it into the goal without missing a stride. Elation took over as as he saw the puck whip back out of the net from the force of impact. The goal gave them the advantage in the game.

He smashed into Chimera and then they both skated over to the bench. Brooks couldn’t stop himself from looking up to the glass. She was standing there in his jersey, clapping wildly and smiling.

Goddammit. He wanted her. It hadn’t been like that at the start. There had been no sexual tension, just easy-going friendship. But now there was tension, at least from his end. She was like some elusive, precious creature that he couldn’t hold. That no one could hold.

When did this start? It was new. It was Ellen, he thought. Ellen was what changed things. He’d been lonely lately and Ellen seemed like everything he needed. Gorgeous, a social butterfly, active in the community. When he met her at the charity dinner she was dressed in an elegant gown with her hair piled up on her head. That’s what I need, he had thought. But it was the old bait and switch. When they went out for dinner a few days later she was just like every other puck bunny--hooker heels, tight dress, and nothing left up to the imagination. And then she’d spent the entire night building up his pedestal and obsessing over his salary.

To say the entire night left a bad taste in his mouth was an understatement. Ellen had been surprised and upset when he’d dropped her off at her condo and wished her a good night. No kiss. No hug. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d felt like shit so he picked up some beer on his way home. Normally, he didn’t do things like that, but it was a special occasion.

He’d called his mom. A grown man and he’d called his mom and told her that he didn’t think he’d ever find the right woman. She listened to him like she always did, letting him spill his guts over the phone line, over thousands of miles.

“You’ll find her,” she’d said once he’d quieted. “Just keep your eyes open because she might not be flashy and she might not be trying to get your attention.”

And Marie had come to mind immediately. Marie from Pittsburgh. Marie who always answered his texts, always listened to his stories, always wanted to know about his life and his interests. Marie who had spent hours of her life listening to albums with him with hundreds of miles between them. He probably wouldn’t have called her if he hadn’t been drinking. But he had been and she always answered. And she’d said all the right things without even knowing what she was doing.

The next day had been difficult. Hell, the next few days had been difficult. They’d had a a handful of days off and all he had done was think about her and how fucking scary it was that he she’d been there all along and he just hadn’t realized it. But the scariest thing was that she hadn’t ever given him any indication that she was interested in him. She was a nice person, genuine and caring. Those hours she spent talking to him could just be chalked up to friendship. Only friendship.

When he finally got up the balls to call her again, she had told him about the date. About the man who was trying to steal her, who had offered to get her naked and make her feel so good. And the way she’d talked, it had been a while since she’d felt good. He’d been furious. So furious it was surprising. Even Mike had noticed something was wrong the next day. Brooks shrugged it off.

“Is it that girl? Marie?” Greenie had asked.

The question had hit Brooks directly in the chest. He didn’t know what to say. Was he that transparent? He hadn’t answered Greenie, but he had a feeling that his lack of an answer was an answer in and of itself.

Brooks sat down hard on the bench. She was directly behind him. He didn’t need to see; he could feel her. A glance over his shoulder showed that she’d been looking at his back. He forced a smile and stuck the tip of his tongue out at her. She grinned and responded in kind by sticking hers out too. His heart banged against his ribcage with such force that he felt like his entire body was rattling.

Her spur-of-the-moment visit to D.C. was supposed to be his chance. He was going to make his move. She’d given him no reason to believe that she was interested in him, but he knew she’d been tempted to sleep with the slime who’d propositioned her. He’d use the sex as an in. If he could get her in bed and make her feel like she should always feel, then she’d come around. She’s wear his jersey every single day and move to D.C. to be with him. Or at least that was the fantasy he’d dreamt up over the past week.

The way he had went about it was heavy-handed. In his head, he was going to be smooth and subtle, making her realize that he could make her see stars if she’d come back to his house and crawl into his bed. They could listen to an album and make out and melt those icy walls of hers before he took her, finally held his elusive little penguin. And then he could call his mom and tell her she was right and the best things in life weren’t always obvious until you took a step back and looked at the forest and not just the trees.

But he’d fucked it up. He’d propositioned her in the worst possible way and she’d shut him down. She’d even looked hurt, calling it a pity fuck. She had no idea. And he had no clue how to tell her how he felt. He’d just fuck up more and destroy this precious friendship they had cultivated together over the past few months.

And now she was in his jersey, but not in his bed. And in a day she’d be driving two hundred fifty miles away to her own bed.

A hand on his back told him he was up. He launched over the boards again and hunted down the puck. Tampa Bay had it and they were passing it back and forth, waiting for their lines to change. He pushed off the ice with everything he had and pressed their defenseman down the side boards. Hedman spun around, protecting the puck, but wasn’t fast enough. Brooks grabbed it with the toe of his blade and looked around for someone to pass it off to. Just as he released it to Chimera again, St. Louis slammed Brooks against the boards. His already tight shoulder popped, followed by a sharp pain. It leaked out into his collarbone and upper arm before he hit the ice.

Chimera had dumped the puck back behind the Bolt’s goal, but he need reinforcements. The hit on Brooks had been clean so the play was still going. It had only been a couple seconds. He struggled to his feet and skated over to the bench as quickly has he could. Ovie jumped out onto the ice in his place. The head of the medical staff met him at the door. Brooks knew his face was screwed up in pain. The man was talking in his ear, asking him questions, but all Brooks could do was look at Marie’s stricken face. She was standing with her hands pressed against the glass, her eyes wide and riveted to him.

She cared. Maybe there was hope for him still.

******************************************
They wouldn’t let him go back to the game for the rest of the third period. Nothing was broken, but the tendon he’s damaged a couple days before had been well and truly torn now. He still needed to see the team’s head doctor, but they estimated he would be out of commission for at least three weeks. Which was pretty much the rest of the regular season. Brooks was in a foul mood when he left the arena in a sling to hold his arm up.

He was sitting in his car trying to figure out how to shift gears without his right hand when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and pulled up the text.

Marie: Are you okay?

His heart ached. She would be leaving tomorrow. He wished she would stay and take care of him, fix him breakfast every morning, even if that just meant dumping half a box of cereal in a bowl.

Brooks: Messed up my shoulder.

Marie: Are you in pain?”

He’d been given pain meds before leaving the arena, but they were still in his pocket. The dull ache in his shoulder was on par with the dull ache in his chest.

Brooks: A little.

He knew he was fishing, trying to get her to offer to help.

Marie: Can I get you anything?

He smiled. Yes.

Brooks: My right arm is useless. Can you help with dinner?”

Marie: Text me your address and I’ll be over.

He sent her the street address and hurried home. He needed to throw all his dirty clothes into the closet just in case she ended up in his bedroom. The shoulder was a problem because he’d really like to use both hands on her, but he’d make do with just one if that’s all he had to work with.

She was there in less than an hour with so many bags she could barely carry them. Brooks tried to help her, but she refused and made him go sit on a stool at the island in the kitchen while she laid out the food from Boston Market--grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, steamed veggies, biscuits, everything they had to offer. He directed her to where the plates were kept and she gave him a little bit of everything on a huge plate. All Brooks could do was watch her efficient movements and the way she kept her eyes down, never looking at him fully. God, this was hard.

She fixed herself a smaller plate and scooted up onto the stool beside him. “How long are you out for?” she asked.

He swallowed the food in his mouth. “Three to six weeks. The rest of the regular season and maybe some of playoffs.” Saying it out loud made him feel like shit.

She placed her hand on his back and rubbed soothing circles. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

Brooks shrugged and then winced when a stab of pain shot through the injured shoulder.

“Be careful,” she said softly, turning back to her food.

“I’m going to miss you when you go back to Pittsburgh.” He had to stay it. Had to put it out there, regardless of how Marie took it.

“I’ll miss you too, twenty-one. But you can always call. I do have a Batphone.” She pointed at her cell that was sitting on the countertop.

He wanted to tell her it wasn’t the same, but kept his mouth shut. That might be too much. “Thanks for taking care of me,” he said instead.

“No sweat. I’ve got your back.” Her reply sounded flippant and he wasn’t sure if she understood how much this meant to him. How much she had come to mean to him.

Brooks drained his glass of water right after he finished his plate of food. “And I’ve got your back. Will you stay here tonight? I want that music raincheck.”

She wouldn’t look at him. It was killing Brooks. “I... I don’t know. I have to be at work tomorrow morning at eight. It’s almost midnight.”

“You can sleep in my guest room. I’ll let you borrow a toothbrush and I’ll make sure you're back at the hotel by seven.”

Her eyes glanced up to meet his briefly. “Okay. Sold. What are we going to listen to?”

“Let me get you some clothes to sleep in and find something good.”

He grabbed an old pair of shorts and a white t-shirt out of his drawer. Good enough. She’d be wearing his clothes. His cock reacted immediately, but he tamped down the desire that coursed through his body. Not now. Not appropriate.

While she was changing in the bathroom, Brooks decided on Frank Ocean. It was relatively new and would make for good mood music--nothing too dramatic or loud. Plus, it was a solid album of progressive R&B music. She’d said she liked that ages ago when he still thought of her as just a friend.

He stood in his bedroom trying to figure out how to change himself with the sling on his arm. By the time he got the shirt unbuttoned, he saw her shadow wandering down the hall. “I’m in here,” he said, stepping out in the hallway.

She turned around, startled.

“You can have the guest room over there.” The doorway was right across the hall from him. She walked back his way and went in to arrange her pile of clothes, including his jersey that she’d just taken off, on the chair by the bed. His shorts came down to below her knees and the white t-shirt was billowy on her. But not billowy enough that he couldn’t tell she was without a bra, even in the dim light of the guest room. His cock jumped.

“How are you going to get changed with that sling on?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I have no idea.”

Her cheeks were glowing. She was embarrassed, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “Here,” she finally said, stepping up to him and helping him slide his good arm out of the dress shirt. With care, she held his injured arm and slipped the sling off so that his shirt could fall away. He was naked from the waist up and her eyes were on his chest. Do you like what you see, he wanted to ask her.

Marie put the sling back in place and made sure his arm was restrained in it. “Looks like you’re sans shirt tonight,” she said.

“Looks like,” he said, staring down at her blonde hair. Finally, he turned away and tried to undo the clasp and zipper on his slacks, but his left hand was clumsy and fumbling.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trying to get out of these damn pants and into some shorts.”

Marie walked around and saw him struggling. Oh God, Brooks thought, please do it. Please. Please. Please.

“Move your hand,” she said, playfully swatting at his fingertips.

He jerked the hand away and watched her pale fingers reach out and undo his pants. There was no skin-to-skin contact, but he almost exploded at the sight of her helping him out of his pants. There was a slight tremble to her hand as she lowered the zipper. Slowly, she pulled back and looked up at his face.

“Thank you, penguin,” he said softly. And then he fled the room and shut himself in the master bathroom. His heart was pounding and his pants were riding low on his hips, barely held up now that she’d undone them. It took him two minutes to compose himself and put on a pair of athletic shorts. He detoured to the living room and queued up the album, adjusting the sound system to play it from the speakers on the second floor only.

When he came back into the guest room she was sitting at the foot of the bed, a curious look on her face. “How did you do that?”

“The entire house is wired with speakers. Main controls are downstairs. I just tell it which speakers I want to use.”

“Are we listening in here?”

He nodded and she scooted back into the king bed, making sure she was on her half only. He laid down on his good side and watched as she turned onto her side to face him.

The first track was short with ambient noise--voices and the sound of a door. “Frank Ocean?” she asked as the strings of the second track started.

“You like?” he asked.

She nodded and smiled at him, her beautiful face resting on the white pillow.

Part of him hoped she listened closely to the lyrics and understood them to be relevant..

*My eyes don’t shed tears, but boy they pour when I’m thinkin’ ‘bout you. I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you. I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you. Do you think about me still? Or do you not think so far ahead? ‘Cause I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout forever.*

Her eyes were closed. He felt shut off, shut out. He wanted to reach out and pull her closer, but he didn’t dare. He knew she didn’t think she was as pretty as she should be. But she was actually gorgeous. Brooks wished he could show her.

“I love this song,” she said, opening her eyes. They were glistening, like tears were gathering.

“Me too,” he replied. They stared at each other for a long moment as the song played out and ended.

The next short song broke the mood and she turned onto her back as finger-snaps came out of the speakers. Brooks struggled to breathe. He felt like he was falling down the rabbit hole from Alice in Wonderland. Was this what love felt like?

Notes

If you'd like to hear the Frank Ocean song mentioned in this chapter, you can do so here:
Thinkin Bout You