22. Crosby
Chapter 22
Crosby
V iolet walks away with Bones, her arm linked through his, hips swaying in an unconscious tease. I nearly swallowed my tongue when I spotted her talking with Nicky and Natalia behind the Christmas tree. She looks like she was nearly poured into it; the material hitting and accentuating all of her curves just so, and a color that highlights the creamy undertones of her silky skin. God, the things I want to do to her in that dress. Instead, I take a long inhale, willing my dick to control itself for a few hours and listen back to what Tex is saying.
“I think even if I somehow manage one, I’ve considered declining this year,” Tex says. I struggle to find the thread of conversation he’s having with Hutchinson, our left wing on the third line.
“Decline what?” I ask, finally pulling my eyes off Violet. She’s just settled on a bar stool, Bones’ hand hovering at her back to make sure she stays balanced.
“An All-Star invitation,” Tex answers, following my eyes and looking back at me with an understanding smile. Allison is across the room with a smaller group of significant others and lifts her wine glass at him. Tex and Allison are the definition of couple goals, a compliment not easily given in our profession.
“Why would you want to decline? You’ve always said how much you enjoy the All-Star Weekend.” I recall the stories Tex has told over the last few years when he’s returned from the skills competition and friendly 3-on-3 tournament. He sounded just like we all do when talking about the privilege of being professional hockey players. The time with the fans, friends, and former teammates we rarely get to see, and the pure fun of being on the ice. I’m shocked to hear he doesn’t want to go back if given the opportunity.
“I’ve loved it every time I’ve been lucky enough to go. When I first started, it felt like validation. Now it feels a little like nostalgia.” Tex takes a sip of an amber liquid, thinning his lips a little at my confused face. He turns to Hutchinson, asking him to excuse us, and walks me over toward an empty table, away from the rest of the team.
“I think this is going to be my last season. Nothing official, of course, not yet. But it feels like it.” Tex’s hand on my shoulder doesn’t weigh as heavy as the words he just spoke.
I’m not sure I can picture The Midnight without him. I don’t think I can picture hockey without him. Henri Texier is one of the greatest role models—one of the greatest players—I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. He’s never stopped believing in me, even when I’ve had a difficult time believing in myself.
My first season in New Haven, he stayed behind every practice to “get some extra laps in,” but ended up standing in goal while I worked on my wrist shot and gave me pointers on perfecting my Michigan play. I knew after a few weeks he wasn’t really staying late to get in more cardio, but he never gave any other reason when the ice would clear, and I was standing at the blue line with a pile of pucks. He didn’t need one, he was just being a good captain.
When I started for Bridger in the playoffs last year, I was so nervous my skates almost wore a hole in the mats of the tunnel before the game. No one would talk to me, not because they didn’t care, but because I didn’t want to listen. Even Gus opted for standing at the back of the tunnel in silence to keep me from going too far in my pacing. Then, Tex stepped in front of me.
“Your skate’s untied.” He kneeled swiftly, blocking my line of sight before I could see if he was telling the truth. After a moment he stood and cocked his head at me. “It’s just a game, Crosby. Play the game, not the situation, and you’ll do fine.”
Every ounce of nervousness left me. It was the exact same thing my dad had told me my whole life: play the game, not the situation. Before I could say anything back, Tex had turned around to work his way down the line toward the head of the tunnel.
When I started at U of M, it was a saying my coaches and therapist had me repeat constantly. As I worked through my grief, I had to keep my feelings out of the game. I couldn’t let the days I experienced overwhelming anger strip away the success I was gutting it out to achieve on the ice. With the exception of my behavior in the Portland game, I have lived by that saying. If what Tex has said comes to fruition, I’ll still have a game to play.
“You’re retiring?” I stutter just a little around the question. Saying the word isn’t giving me more reassurance, it’s like ripping open an old wound. One I didn’t realize Tex had healed.
“Can’t play forever.” Tex releases me and sets his drink on the table. “This is good for me, Crosby. I’m not getting any younger.”
“You’re thirty-four. You’re not dead,” I push back. I try to keep the petulance from my voice, but there’s this tremendous cascade of emotions threatening to fall in my next breath if I’m not careful.
“And most days I wake up feeling like I’m sixty-four.” Tex’s eyes are warm, the same softness in the corners I’ve come to expect from him over the years when we’ve had these private talks. “I wasn’t like you. I didn’t take care of my body from the start. Played injured. Played dumb. And those were just the things on the ice. Off the ice, I was just as stupid. I was so in love and so lost in what to do with it. Those first few seasons, I was never really able to give Allison all of me, you know?” I nod, letting myself steal a glance at Violet. Gus and Obie have joined her and Bones, all my closest friends surrounding her. Making her one of us. Another piece of my heart is stolen at the sight. “You have this more figured out than I ever did. In more ways than one.”
Tex pulls me in for a firm hug. No back slapping, performative male bullshit. It’s the kind of hug I got after I threw up in my helmet my second season when I thought I could get away with playing with food poisoning. It’s full of the love I have for my teammate, my friend, and the man who stepped in with the fatherly guidance I was missing without ever making me see it was what he did.
When we pull apart, my throat feels a little tight, and my nose stings. Tex squeezes my shoulder and steers me toward the patio doors. He knows I need a minute.
“Why don’t you catch your breath? Dinner is probably going to start soon.”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” My voice sounds like gravel as I try to clear the emotion from it. The tip of the wave is threatening to crest, so I break for the door.
Thankfully, it’s deserted outside. There’s only soft lighting and the quiet instrumental Christmas music piped through the speakers that couldn’t be heard in the main room. The space is winterized, large windows have been popped into place to keep the weather out. Portable heaters have been added at regular intervals to make the climate comfortable. I walk to the edge along the railing, staring out at the little garden, barren and brown at this time of year. I lean my arms against the wooden rail, cradling my head for a moment as I try to fight back the tears. It doesn’t really work. I end up sniffling so much my nostrils hurt, and I’m squeezing my eyes closed so tightly there are little red starbursts behind my eyelids, but salty tracks begin to stain my cheeks anyway. I feel their little trails, my skin tightening in their wake.
A pair of arms wrap around me.
They’re too light and too low to belong to anyone other than Violet. I grip her hands when they settle against my middle, grateful for the anchor she’s providing. I take a couple of deep breaths before I turn around in her hold, looking down at her as I weave my own hold around her. She’s unbearably beautiful. Her blue eyes are concerned as she silently observes me. She kept her hair down tonight in voluminous curls, the ends brushing my hands at the small of her back. She doesn’t protest when I bend down to take a kiss of reassurance, her lips soft and pliable under my own. Her small hand climbs up my torso to where her fingers can just touch my cheek tenderly.
“Do you want to tell me?” she asks when I pull back, noting she doesn’t immediately check her face despite me leaving behind the evidence of my tears. I swipe at it, careful not to smudge any of the makeup I know she applied for tonight. I love that she doesn’t push, and that alone makes any hesitation to confess what I’m feeling disappear.
“Tex is thinking of retiring at the end of the season.”
Violet doesn’t speak, just angles my head to the crook of her neck, using her smaller frame to hug me tight. I breathe her in, marveling that this amazing woman took a chance on me. That she’s here. If I play my cards right, she might be here for a very long time.
“Does it surprise you that he’s considering it?” I lift my head, breaking our embrace at her question.
“No. It makes sense.” I lean back against the rail, pulling her with me until she’s resting against me, rubbing her bare arms. I enjoy the feeling of her against me for a moment, letting the silence settle comfortably around us. I toy with the ends of her hair as she leans into me, getting as comfortable as she can. “It made me think about my dad.”
She gives me a slow nod. I see the questions burning in her eyes, the silver flecks jumping with curiosity. I can’t give a good reason why I’ve put off talking about him all this time. We’re not exactly where I’d like to have this conversation now, but Violet deserves to hear why I’ve turned into a little bit of a mess. Preparing for the conversation, I take my jacket off and drape it around her shoulders. Despite the somber feeling in the air, she flashes a warm smile of thanks. I kiss her forehead and help her thread her arms through the velvet blazer.
“When I was a senior in high school, my dad and I had a stupid argument. He was pushing me to defer my draft placement. He thought I could use a little more development and time to grow up. I told him he was trying to keep me closer because he was afraid of being alone. It had been only the two of us for as long as I could remember; mom left before I could walk. I went even further, accusing him of wanting me to defer because he didn’t believe I was good enough. I was such a self-righteous asshole.” Violet straightens, moving to rest on the railing next to me, angling so she can listen. “I left the house without trying to make it right because the state championship was that night. We were playing our biggest rival for the title, and it was going to be my first time playing in a real arena.”
I twist to mirror her position. The usual phantom guilt creeps into my gut, my previously still emotional waters have ripples, churned up by an innocent announcement.
“I didn’t say goodbye when I left. Just picked up my gear bag, grabbed my keys, and hit the road. I ignored the calls from him as I drove and shut my phone off as soon as I hit the locker room. I was so angry.” Violet reaches out her hand, lacing her fingers through mine in support, instinctually knowing I need it. “After the game, my coach was waiting in the parking lot with a pair of State Troopers. They notified me that Dad had been in an accident. Someone ran a red light. The impact pushed my dad’s car off the road, pinning it against a tree. He died on the scene.”
“Crosby—” Her voice is a reflection of her shocked face. Her hand squeezes mine, but I don’t move to hold her.
“I was eighteen.” I shrug off the feelings the memory brings up. Scared. Devastated. Alone. They’re mostly phantoms now, creeping from the shadows but not threatening the way they were then. “I buried my dad, finished high school, and deferred my draft by a year. You know how I came up through the league after that, how I ended up on The Midnight. And Tex—well, Tex, he….”
“He became more than your captain,” Violet finishes for me, a sad smile of understanding on her lips. “Oh, Crosby. I’m so sorry. Thank you for telling me.”
I can’t bring myself to say more, I just pull her close again. She soothes me with gentle kisses and strokes of her hands up and down my back. She pulls back to keep them consoling instead of heated but still heals the ache in me with her lips.
“Do you want to leave?” she finally asks. As soon as the question leaves her lips, it’s like my hearing returns, cluing in to the sounds from the dining room: plates and cutlery, glasses clinking together, the constant hum of excited conversation. My team is just beyond the doors. I can see them through the windows: my friends. The men and women I have embraced as my family.
I look at Violet, the newest person to own my heart.
“No,” I tell her confidently. I smile, turning us to rejoin the group. “Let’s go enjoy being with our family.”
“I like that idea.” Violet blushes a light pink. I kiss her until the color in her cheeks reflects her dress, laughing when she swats at my chest.