Captive

If I wanted to be true to myself, Sidney has been the only thing that felt right in my life. He was the oasis in my desert, despite being nothing short of a mirage of deception in the past few weeks.

But when I was in his arms and his lips were on mine, he was my island and stormy sea, my healer and assassin.

I missed him. How deluded I was for thinking I could go on without him.

He inched away, his hands still holding my face. I saw a small tear in his eyes. He brought my head to his chest and crushed me to him. I found my favourite nook and inhaled deeply.

“Don’t you ever leave me again,” he whispered.

“Why did it take you three weeks?” I mumbled against his shirt.

“I was in a very bad place, trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing,” he spoke softly. He held me at arm’s length and continued. “When I realized how much I must have hurt you, I decided that giving you some space was the least I could do, knowing that you surely did not want to see my face. But in the past few days, I was starting to lose my mind. I missed you too much to stay away.”

“It was when you decided to send me that two-letter text?”

I heard the groan in his chest. “I wrote and erased that text more than 10 times. In the end, I was like, maybe she doesn’t want my sorry-ass apology in a text message.”

“So you just wrote, ‘hi’?” I said, gazing up at him.

He chuckled and pinched my cheek.

“I don’t use emojis. I warned you about that before.”

I looked down and fiddled with my fingers, a sad realization nagging me. “You probably missed me because you’re so used to being with me 24/7,” I mumbled.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he challenged.

“Who said I missed you in the first place,” I retorted.

“Mia,” he whispered and I could hear the smile in his voice. His head tilted and his eyes danced with impish glee.

“I want to see you every day. I want to share everything with you. I want now what we had then. If that’s addiction, then so be it; I’m an addict.” He stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers.

“A cheeseball is what you are.”

He hugged me back, his embrace tighter than before.

“What now?” I asked. I could hear the anguish in my voice.

“You’re shivering. You need to change,” he said while passing his hands over my thin windbreaker.

“You too. I can find you something in Jamie’s closet.”

I started walking away but he pulled me back. “I should probably go.”

My stomach dropped. “Why?” I asked, failing to hide my disappointment.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble with your family.”

“No one is home. My mom and Olivia are still at the far, Jamie is at work, and my dad went hunting with Ryan.”

He still looked hesitant. “Let’s go to my place,” he suggested.

It was probably safer. We needed to sort things out, preferably in private. I needed answers and I was getting them today, one way or another.

“We need to check with Peter first,” I said while inspecting our intertwined fingers. “You must have been driving like a maniac to catch up to us,” I added quietly.

“Well, you kept running away!” he complained half-joking.

I smiled briefly, “let me go change, then we can go.”

“I’ll clean up here meanwhile.”

*****

“Paul is here,” Crosby said when I made it back to the cold garage.

“You must be freezing. Let me get you some dry clothes.”

“It’s not worth it. My place is a 15-minute drive.”

From the stories he had told me, I realized that Sidney Crosby had spent most of his life crafting a public persona that rivalled the laughter of a child and the power of the Hulk – strong, reserved but endearing.

Now, anyone with an Internet connection could see him at his weakest. Anyone with a smartphone could hear the shakiness in his voice and watch the fear in his eyes. Anyone with a keyboard could write the tales of his loyalty or disloyalty to his country, his love or hate for me – the range was wide.

The Nosy Bunch were an elite group with Internet, phones, cameras and the ears of a large audience. They were relentless; I give them that. It was pouring and yet there they were, lining the narrow streets leading up to Crosby’s private estate.

The car windows were tinted, but I felt exposed nonetheless. The activity on my front yard has decreased dramatically in the past weeks. From the looks of it, it was not the case for Crosby. He remained tensely quiet until we entered the safety of his monumental gates. My hand itched to reach for his, but we were not alone.

Peter spoke to Paul then peeked at me through the window.

“Captain Shaw, I will wait here. Give me a signal when you would like to leave.”

“So Paul and Peter,” I said once we were in the safety of the mudroom. “It’s funny.”

“I bet your devoted Catholic nana would not find it as funny,” Crosby commented.

“Probably not. Hey, your lips are purple. Go change,” I said as we made it to the lobby of his massive house.

“Before giving you a tour?”

“Yes! I can find your living room. I’ll be fine. Go now.”

“Okay, I’ll shower and change. 5 minutes.”

“We both know you’ll be more than 5 minutes,” I said with an eye roll.

He grinned at me, “fair enough. We could both use a hot bath, actually.”

“I…, don’t think…” I stuttered.

“I didn’t mean it in that way. I just meant that you were also quite wet earlier,” he said while scratching his neck nervously. “I’ll blast the heat. Um, Okay. I’ll be back fast, I promise.”

I nodded flustered and watched him disappear up an endless set of stairs.

On my quest to find the living room, the smell of freshly cut wood and lemons filled my senses. I tried hard to tune out the sound of Crosby’s footsteps on the second floor, convincing my wild imagination that he was not walking around all naked.

His living room was floor to ceiling glass all around, showing off a breathtaking panoramic view of the lake and its surrounding wild forests. It was an unreal view, one I’ve only seen in Olivia’s collection of design magazines. And somehow, I got the feeling that this was not the main living room in the Crosby palace. Nothing was humble about his Nova Scotia home. The classy beige of the furniture, the gold of the décor, and the high roman columns screamed stardom.

As far as I could see from where I sat on the edge of his leather couch, photo frames were the only regular-people items in his home. Well, maybe they were made of 24-karat gold and bohemian crystals for all I know. How did he survive in that hole for 3 months?

I knew he was rich. I just had no idea how much. Maybe because he acted all humble. “Down to earth guy” has been said about him in almost every conversation and article.

I stared at my red converse, feeling nothing more than a speck in the monstrosity of his life. Reality hit me hard, reminding me of who he truly was. All of a sudden, I was praying for him to come back before my thoughts crippled me.

“Nice shoes.”

“Jesus!” I clutched my shirt and was on my feet in a split of a second.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, placing his hands on my shoulders.

He had a grey t-shirt and a pair of black shorts. His hair was styled, his cheeks red, and his lips as kissable as ever. At a glance, he looked like a regular guy. Only nothing was regular about him.

He tilted his head, “what’s wrong?” he asked with a frown.

“What do you want from me, Sidney?”

“I told you what I want,” he said, his frown deepening. “You’re having trouble trusting me,” he sighed and I nodded weakly, averting my eyes.

“I get it.” He sighed. He sat on the couch and gestured for me to sit beside him.

“You want me to reassure you that my feelings for you are not simply the result of a habit. I also get that. But Mia, you’ve seen me at my worst and I’ve seen you at your worst. And after all that’s been said and done, there is nobody, and I mean nobody, I’d rather be with.”

I wanted to believe him so badly. I wanted to believe that our feelings are strong enough to overcome all the newfound hurdles that my brain has been mapping for the past few minutes. He moved closer, our shoulders almost bumping. He turned me to him gently.

“I’d rather be with you, even at your worst.”

Gulping, I nodded weakly and tried to formulate a response.

“Don’t overthink this,” he pleaded while clutching my hands.

“Even a blind person would see that I don’t belong in your world, Sidney.”

“Where is this coming from, Mia?”

“You are who you are and I’m an officer in the armed forces. I just… I don’t know. Things were different when we were prisoners. We were like equals. But here, we are worlds apart. Everything is different.”

“Different? How so?”

He was being patient with me. Normally, he would have snapped right about now. I was trying to spare my heart the pain that any hope he has given in the past hour has left me with.

“There are more pressing issues now. Like the RCMP briefing next week.”

“Mia, don’t do that.”

He squeezed my hands, forcing me to look at him. “Do you want me around?”

“What are you asking?”

“It’s a simple question. Don’t overthink it. Do you want to see me, spend time with me?”

“I do, but…”

“Let’s do just that then. No overthinking.”

“You mean we spend more time together until you’re cleared to travel back to Pittsburgh?” I asked with a lump in my throat.

“I don’t think this will be happening anytime soon.”

“You don’t know that. And regardless, we both know that it will happen eventually.”

“If there is anything I’ve learned from you, it was to take life one day at a time, that there is no use in mapping our whole future when we can only control the present.”

“I’m wiser under pressure,” I chuckled and wiped my eyes.

My emotions were on a rollercoaster. I needed a break.

“Can I have some water please?”

“Sure thing, ma’am.”

I followed him to his kitchen that was near the dining room. He opened a fridge that seemed mostly dedicated to alcoholic beverages.

“Wow, that’s a lot of beer there, Crosby.”

He sighed and switched the two red ales for water bottles upon my comment.

“A party?” I asked nodding to the fridge.

“Yeah, a party of one,” he said as he took a seat at the breakfast counter.

I raised my eyebrows with surprise.

“It’s been a rough few weeks, Mia.”

*****

“In four weeks: five book offers, 35 channels wanting interviews, not counting magazines and newspapers. A press release is never going to cut it.”

We were lounging on the couch and doing some serious catching up.

“What does your publicist think?” I asked.

“Our message is clear. Leave me alone; I need to recover from the shit I went through. But he’s convinced me to do that press conference, claiming that I had to give the media something to chew on meanwhile. Said to do it for the fans, mostly to rule out that I’m a zombie who is thinking of hanging his skates.”

“How is your training?”

“Would you drop it! You sound like a reporter!” he said, a decibel away from yelling.

"Well, your rehearsed answers are making me feel like one!" I snapped back.

“I’m sorry… let’s just go outside a little. I’m suffocating in here,” he said stretching his arm to me.

We walked through the muddy yard towards the dock in silence. The motion sensor lights lit our dark path. I reached for his hand and slipped my fingers between his.

Looking ahead, he stopped and confessed just above a whisper, “I haven’t skated yet.”

I stood in front of him, “It’s okay. You will when you’re ready.”

“I am. I’m physically fine. I just can’t…” he took a shaky breath. “What if I can’t skate at the same level?”

“This is not funny,” he said when I couldn’t stifle my laugh.

“It is. You’re just not hearing yourself. You’re Sidney Patrick Crosby.”

“It’s weird when you say my full name,” he mumbled.

“Alright, you, insecure hockey god. Weren’t you sidelined with injuries for longer than four months in your career?”

“What’s your point?”

“You know exactly what my point is, you idiot!”

“It’s not that simple, Mia.”

“What’s complicated about it?”

“I don’t want to skate.”

My face fell.

“Now you get it,” he said, walking past me down a set of stairs.

I knew depression all too well. I was staring right at it kicking virtual rocks.

“I’m here, Sidney. I’m not going anywhere.” I said from behind him, keeping my distance.

Turning around, he opened his arms for me. I didn’t need to be asked twice before throwing myself in his warmth.

He kissed my hair as we stood in the night. The sky had cleared. Unlike my internal turmoil, the rainstorm had passed. Though, that voice inside my head kept telling me that Crosby was using me once again, taking advantage of my feelings for him and my inability to stand by when he’s hurt.

Notes

Thanks for reading, peeps! Would love to hear your thoughts!

Charlie