Need You Tonight - Three

It's an awkward time of night, around 10 PM, when the last of the TV shows are starting and most of the guys watch from bed before turning in.  It's the time you would call home, if you had someone waiting.

Instead Nicky and I watch Law and Order – he is fascinated by the US legal system.  I barely understand it myself.  I hear the distinctive music but my mind wanders.  It was just one night.  All we did was sleep.  But the memory feels heavy in my heart.

I did something wrong, I know that now.  The night of the party I should have asked Sophie out.  If I'd shown interest then, I would have the high ground now.  Instead I showed her only my neediness and greed.

Of course if I'd asked her out I never could have shown up there last night.  You might let a friend crawl into your bed, comfort and console them.  But a date that hasn't even happened yet?  Never.  And there's the very real chance that she might have said turned me down.

Yet I know that I will see her again.  I have to.  Just please let it not be tomorrow.

____

This is okay, I think.  The puck has dropped on game three and we have spring in our step.  Soon the ice will be bad, losing the battle against the heat outside, and it'll be a water polo match.  If we can get the lead and hold on like dogs, maybe we can win one.

It's barely 6:45PM; the early start had something to do with making sure the ice can be redone before tomorrow night's game four.  It feels weird.  I hope Sophie's home from work already.

I swipe at the puck, attempting a clear from inside my blue line to keep that bastard Lecavalier off an odd-man rush.  It rolls off my blade, butterflying, and veers toward the bench.  Brooksy skates right into it.  He hits the ice – my heart stops, but Carlson's feet don't and he's on the ice for this whistle: too man men.  Brooks gets up bleeding from the chin and I feel myself start to sink.

Shortly after the power play, the Lightning score.  They always fucking score.
We are getting beaten left and right, no shortage of them my fault.  We're at the bottom of the well and shots rain down like wishes.  Some nights you have it… and then there's tonight. The buzzer ends the first.  It could sound like a foghorn: danger in the distance, correct your course, there's still time.  But if the Titanic had an alarm, this is the sound it made.

Don't, I tell myself.  But I ditch my skates and soaked sweater, grab my phone and rush to the bathroom.

She picks up and I can't say anything.  It's just before 8PM.  There's noise in the background, something loud and tinny.  Maybe she's in a bar with friends, telling them how I ran to her like a kicked puppy.  How I didn't even make a move as we lay together all night, partially undressed and tangles.  I'm capping off my pathetic performance with a desperate phone call in the middle of a game.  The sound behind her blares again.

"I'm at the airport," Sophie says.  "My flight's in forty minutes."

So it's that bad.  Not just my feelings: guilt, pressure, fear.  We are not keeping any secrets and everyone watching knows we're in serious trouble.  This should make me more scared but instead I let go of the breath I've been holding.

"You'll miss the game."

"If I land and you've won, I'll go right home."

"Like hell you will," I say emphatically though I know she wouldn't.  "I'll get you a room."

Us a room.  I'll get us a room.

"Check me in, text me the number," she agrees.

I want her here now.  I want to win this game and surprise us both and scoop her up the second she's in the door with the first kiss I never gave her.  It's like a little movie in my mind.

"Thank you, Soph," I say quietly.

"Knock `em dead, Mike."
___

If only wanting something so badly were enough.  As the second opens we get an instant goal.  I can taste victory.  Knuble gets one off the bat, then Carlson, and we're up 2-1.  We dominate.  Lecavalier scores, but it feels like a fly nagging a horse: hardly worth the bother. With three minutes left, Ovi nails one home to make it 3-2.

I wonder where Sophie is now.  I chug a Gatorade between periods while she must be over… North Carolina?  South?  She might get to the hotel first, so I plan to get ready here.  Maybe three showers tonight.  I'm thinking about what room service to order us for dinner.
___

The first goal of the third period is a rude awakening.  Fucking Stamkos. Tampa Bay gets even and just like that, the ground opens beneath us.  We're skating uphill.  You can't stop what you can't see and we've all got hysterical blindness.  As quickly as we had this game back, it's gone. Twenty four seconds later, they score the go-ahead goal.

With eleven minutes left, Downie catches me turning and checks one leg out from under me.  I go down splayed like a wishbone and feel the pinch as if stabbed with a knife.  Hip flexor.  Shit.  I have to get off: a penalty now and I might as well braid my own noose.  Scrambling up, my leg buckles beneath body weight and I drag myself to the bench.

"Greener!  How bad," Coach shouts over those goddamned thundersticks.  

"Bad enough," I say.

He just shakes his head.  I stay at the end of the bench for the next half a frame and watch the Lightning roar back to beat us 4-3.

By the time it's over, my muscle has spasmed itself out.  Locked up like rigor mortis, I peg leg into the locker room.  Coach is so disgusted he actually says nothing.  First time ever.  I know he sees his career in danger in every face along the line.  He just grunts and waddles away.

The trainer helps me out of my kit and loads me onto a table.  At least I won't have to do interviews.  He digs into my hip and I almost scream.

"Jesus, Mike."

Don't I fucking know it.

I breathe slowly through my nose as he tries to free the fist-sized know that's contracted up under my bone.  The beat-up clock ticks loudly: 10:15PM.  Sophie lands in a few minutes.  He does his best and send me to shower.  The room is silent.  I was twice, balancing on one leg and am the last person on the bus.

"Get us the fuck out of here," Coach growls.
___

I limp to my room like normal.  Our communications manager got the extra room for me – he's been asked for some crazy shit over the years and this doesn't even register.  There are some families on the trip, but after tonight it's best not to surprise management with my non-girlfriend.  So it's her name on the room, along with his.  He knocks on our door and hands me a key.

Nicky's face is priceless.  I can barely walk and he thinks I've got a call girl in.  Tonight was just as tough on him – he hasn't scored in about 20 years.  I have to risk it.

"Room 563," I tell the hotel operator.

"Hi," Sophie says quietly, sensing the awkward situation.

"Can you take the stairs to 804?  Come right in."

I duck into the bathroom, take off my tie and roll up my sleeves.  Poor Nicky thinks I've left him out there to greet my hooker – it's the only thing I've smiled about all day.  In the mirror it quickly fades and I look as bad as I feel, which is even worse than the other night.  Once I sit down I might not get back up.  My heart squeezes in my chest.  I'm nervous.  And a little nauseous.

The door opens, I hear her voice.  Nicky is loud in surprise then quickly quiet.  With a deep breath, I open the door.  His face is buried in her hair and his eyes are closed.  Sophie wears denim shorts and a flowing white top – she looks like an angel standing there holding him.  Nicky's slumped so far you'd think he was five feet tall.  They stay that way for a long time, till I ache to be that close to her.

Sophie pulls back from Nicky but not without slowing to look right into his face with a tiny, hopeful smile on her lips.  He'll sleep better tonight for nothing more than that.

Then she turns.  Her hair is tied back but brushed, not the bed-head I've seen.  I want to shake it loose and mess it up, making it that private thing between us again.  One step toward her and my hip doesn't cooperate.  She sees my limp and her face crumples.

"No."

I want to tell her right now that I love her.  That I don't even know her last name but I'll give her mine if she'll do exactly that every time something bad happens to me.  Because the bad things keep coming - every year, every season.  How I ever survived them before is a mystery.

Sophie closes the distance instead and hugs me like she knows exactly how much I weigh is exactly how much she'll have to carry.  Her arms go right up around my neck and her hair hides the first honest face I've made all night.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Oh Mike."

Nicky sits on the bed, obviously relieved he doesn't have to talk me out of something dangerous.  But he is confused and surprised.  Sophie peels herself away from me and goes back over.  His shoulders still slump and I wish there were another Sophie to stay with him, my gentle and emotional best friend so far from his home.  But tonight I'm going to need all the help I can get.  Sophie runs her hand over his long blond hair and he looks down.  Then she kisses his cheek, takes my hand and we leave without a word.
____

I can't do the stairs.  In fact it's very slow going to the elevator, which is apparently on floor 9 3/4 for how long it takes to arrive.  When it finally does I am amazed we're not caught out.

Her room is three floors down and blissfully mid-hallway.  It's got one huge king sized bed that looks like a cloud.  Without a word we both start undressing.  I keep my t-shirt on again and I'm wearing clean boxer briefs - my favorite ones, which are very soft.  Sophie turns her back, pulls her top over her head and quickly replaces it with a tank top.  Then she artfully removes her bra without me seeing so much as the bare skin at the center of her back.  I watch her drop her shorts and pull another pair, cotton with dots, into their place.  

We climb into bed like a couple used to doing it.  My leg throbs angrily as I remove the weight and slide it beneath the covers.  Sophie kneels on the bed - her ass in the air, hair over one should and I can see right down her top.  It definitely looks more interesting than sleeping.  She props two pillows up behind me and flips back around to sitting.

"How bad?" she asks.

"Bad enough."  I don't tell her that I won't play tomorrow.  I know it's true but God forbid she thinks I'm giving up.  She curls in, laying on her side.  Her legs are smooth as they graze mine.  Her shoulder fits perfectly and I hug an arm around her back.  She reaches across my chest and pulls herself close.

I think part of me knew we would lose.  Or at least it does in hindsight, which is always a bitch.  But I definitely knew this would happen: me and Sophie alone and close again.  She slides her calf along mine and it feels like an electric pulse.

"How's Brooks' face?"

I groan.  "Ugly as ever."

She giggles.  "Chicks dig scars."

Exhaustion is quickly overwhelming me, amplified by the almost narcotic warmth and weight of Sophie in my bed.  Before she settles her head on my shoulder, a tiny stretch brings her lips to my cheek.  It tingles where she kisses me.

"Sorry Mike," she says softly.

You're the only thing keeping me going.  I should say this but I don't.  Instead I turn the light off and let go of everything in the world except the girl in my arms.
___

The phone rings.  I'm virtually comatose so it rings for a while before Sophie jiggles my side.  Even half-asleep she knows not to pick up the phone.

"Breakfast in thirty minutes," Nicky says.

We never take more than five minutes to get ready for team breakfast.  But one deep breath and Sophie's flowery shampoo clouds my brain like I'm slipping back into dreams.

Nicklas Backstrom, my hero.

Like a kitten, she burrows into me.  We've barely moved all night and my arm will be stiff.  I try to reciprocate only to send a hot bolt of pain down my leg.  I hiss shortly.

"No go today,"  she tells me.  It's not a question.

"Nope.  No good to anyone like this."

I'm pissed.  Even though I expected it last night there's always that chance of a miracle coming with the daylight.  The same miracle that could win us a game, put us back in this series, save us from humiliation.  I should have learned long ago not to count on that miracle but hope is a cruel mistress.

"Good enough for me."  Sophie reaches as far as she can around me and squeezes.

I can't stop myself as my lips move to her forehead.  There's no time for anything more and even so, I couldn't finish if I started.  I'll be hobbling all day and watching from the box.  But she'll be there.

"We can watch the game together," I whisper against her soft skin.

"I'm glad you won't be alone."

We have twenty seven minutes until I'm due downstairs.  Could I explain to  her in twenty how much she's done for me?  How she came through when I needed it most though she owes me nothing?  I need twenty minutes just to learn the basics about her - where she works, how she takes her coffee, if she's ever visited Calgary.  When she imagines her wedding, is there already someone standing next to her?  Does she mind if I'm completely unstable and insane?

Getting out of bed is like pulling a band-aid off slowly.  First I have to give up Sophie, feel the icy tendrils of cold slide into her place.  Then actually moving is painful.  I work my way to the edge where Sophie stands, ready to help me up.  One of her tank top straps is down and her hair has achieved that perfectly disheveled vision of memory.  Tiny shorts reveal plenty of skin and I know exactly how smooth it is.

Someday I will get this chance again.  I mean it as a wish.

She pulls me up and I pull her in, hugging her properly with as much force as she can take.  I gently kiss just in front of her ear.

"Meet me by the pool," she says.
____

The meeting is equal parts excruciating and inspiring.  I am devastated I can't play.  Yes there's a huge likelihood I would fuck up and be the goat, since I usually am.  But if that were going to deter me I'd have quit hockey a long time ago.  By the time we finish I am more angry at my injury than our poor performance so far.

"Greener," Coach says.  "Tough shit you're hurt.  But I need guys who can drop and block."

"I know, Coach."

"Still.  Fucking sucks," he offers.

Amen.
____

I hear laughter before I see them.  It was slow going to the room for shorts but worth it to soak up a few hours of sun before pre-game nap.  Sophie and my buddy Paul from home have discovered that the restaurant delivers right to the deck chairs - they're each holding something red and frozen.

"Hey gimp," Paul says.  Sophie smacks his arm.  I can't say anything.

She's sitting up in the chair with her knees bent and a book in her lap.  All I see is skin.  Everywhere.  Her bathing suit is yellow gingham with white edging.  The top is like a sexy bra and she's filling it out completely.  The bottom is low around her hips and I think I might black out.  This is what Sophie looks like in her underwear.

"Here, we got you a seat."  She shakes a towel out over the one next to her, pulls it in behind my legs so I'll be right by her side.  Looking over her back, Paul looks at her ass and gives me a huge pervert smile.  I give him the finger.  Sophie drops back into her seat just as Alzner and Carlson make their way onto the pool deck.

"Am I allowed to be here?" she asks.

"Just tell them you're with me," Paul says.  I open my mouth to tell him off but she just laughs and that's much more effective.

The guys pull up seats opposite us, making a little section.  They wave down a waitress.  Brooks and Nicky Join us too, everyone happy to see Sophie but not very talkative.  She lowers the back of her chair and lays flat.  I do the same, so I'm lined up with her and we can talk.

"How's your leg?"

I just shrug.  "They said I can swim.  Takes the weight off.  But I'm out tonight."  All she does is put her hand on my arm and leave it there, almost like we're holding hands.  She closes her eyes and I let myself look over her.  The brilliant sunlight makes her glow - she's very pale from the DC winter.  We all are.  Her toenails are painted bright red and I can't believe I missed that before.  No one else is missing it - every one of the guys sneaks a long look at her body.

"Let's swim," I whisper.  They are not invited.

She goes slowly with me to the stairs.  I've still got my t-shirt on - I don't think Sophie's seen me shirtless.  Not that she'll fall over and swoon; in fact, it's the opposite.  I'm fit now but there's always that little voice in my head, the chubby kid I was a few years ago.  I convinced myself I was confident and got some tattoos, but I still feel nervous around some girls.

We stand on the top stair.  The water feels icy in the hot sun, but refreshing.  There's nothing to be done for it so I toss my shirt onto the nearest chair.  Sophie doesn't even turn around.  Instead she does a little dive off the bottom step, showing me her perfect ass for a second before it disappears with the rest of her beneath the surface.  Ten feet on, she comes up like a mermaid.

"It's cold!"

I follow her in up to my chest and lean against the wall.  She darts around like a seal then takes a spot next to me.  The cool tile presses against my back.  If I close my eyes and block out the sound of Carlson chewing somewhere in the background, I can almost pretend we're on vacation.  Summer vacation, where what's done is done and there's nothing to worry about for months.  I'm not wishing for it.  We fight off summer for as long as we can.  But since I can't play tonight there's no harm in letting myself daydream for a second.

Sophie's there, of course.  And maybe even some of the guys.  There is sunshine and a pool, or a beach, or both.  There are beers and umbrella drinks and definitely that bikini she's wearing.  At night you can see every star and the temperature never drops.  Somewhere there's a club spilling music and laughter into the night and Sophie dances close to me, her arms around my neck.  I know the taste of her lip gloss, and the real taste beneath that belongs only to her, all the time.  Because that's when I've been kissing her.

Under the water, Sophie slides her hand into mine.  I pause... and am surprised to discover that's really happening.  The daydream evaporates and where I'm actually standing has its advantages.

"Tell me five things I don't know."

She smiles.  "Only five?  I know way more than that about you."

"Just to start."

"I'm 28.  I work as a travel marketing consultant.  I'm a nervous flyer.  I grind my teeth when I sleep.  And you're getting a sunburn."  She steps around in front of me and puts both hands on my shoulders.  I flinch against the cool water.  She's right, my skin is hot to the touch.

"You need two more," I say.  She lifts an eyebrow.  

"I know I'm getting burned, and I already know you grind your teeth in your sleep."  Our faces are so close I could easily kiss her.  Just reminding her that I know how she sleeps makes my stomach clench.

Sophie tilts her head like she's deciding what to share.  "My birthday is July 27."

"That's one."

The tiny smile that curls her lips almost ends this all; I catch myself a heartbeat before pressing my mouth to hers.  By now her hands are dry but still on my shoulders, burning hotter than the sunshine.  I stop so hard I jolt then go wide-eyed as she leans into me.

"The Capitals aren't my favorite team."

There are so many things right now I can't change.  We face an almost surely insurmountable task against a team we can't solve.  Another season full of promise circles the bowl as it waits to be flushed away.  I was out 25 games and powerless to help myself recover.  When I finally did, the team almost didn't need me.  Now when they do I am out again.  There are stages of loss - denial, anger, frustration, acceptance.  Being beaten is different from losing, but the emotions are the same.  They don't mention feeling powerless.

I take Sophie's waist in my hands.  The small span of her body is ironic - she's half my size and protecting me.  And she's doing a damned good job.  So I put my mouth to hers, another uninvited intrusion, and kiss her with as much confidence as I can muster.

There's a moment of resistance.  I don't want to know if she was deciding or just surprised.  Because she moves her arms around my neck and draws in close.  The lace trim on her bikini top is raised against my bare chest, her skin like a cold compress.  She parts her lips and kisses me back.

I'll never taste watermelon again and not think of her.

Thirty seconds later my head is ringing like that time a shot knocked the screws from my helmet.  She smiles, her mouth still against mine.   I can also feel her heartbeat.

I open my eyes and ask, "How about now?"
____