I'd Lie

I smiled slightly as I walked of the TD Garden with my friend, Patrice Bergeron, after their recent shootout win over the New Jersey Devils. The cold winter wind cut through my Bergeron jersey but it didn't really bother me as much as it should have, I was with Patrice and that was all I really cared about. For the last couple of months, I barely saw him since he was more occupied with his girlfriend Chelsea than he was with me. When they broke up, it completely crushed him and I was the one that had to pick up the pieces like he had numerous times for me. He told me he thought that she might be the one and when she suddenly ended things, it hit him hard. As much as I wanted to say 'I told you so', I refrained from doing so and instead spent numerous late nights reassuring Patrice that he didn't do anything wrong in the relationship. I loved being able to spend more time with Patrice now that Chelsea was out of the picture but it felt weird, two months later and something still bothered him. Every time I tried to ask him what was wrong, he'd abruptly change the subject and I learned not to bring it up.

Patrice pulled me in the direction of the players parking lot, stopping to sign things and take pictures with fans whenever he ran into them or got asked. Most of the time I'd just stand off to the side or take pictures for people, smiling at how appreciative he was of his fans. There were more than enough athletes that would just blow by their fans no caring how cold it was or how long their fans were out there, but Patrice wasn't one of them. He grew up well and he appreciated all the fan support he got, earning a lot of respect from a large number of Bruins fans. During preseason, he was usually one of the last guys in and out of the locker room, always signing things for fans before and after practice. The wind picked up again and I shivered, which didn't go unnoticed by Patrice.

"You're cold aren't you?" he asked me starting to take off his jacket. I held up my hand and shook my head.

"I'm fine, it's my fault I didn't bring a jacket. I don't want you to catch a cold, you've got games to play. I'm not really that cold anyway," I told him. My body told him otherwise because the wind blew again and my body shook in attempt to keep warm. Patrice looked and me and shook his head, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and drawing me close to his warm body.

Eventually, we made our way to his black Ford F-150 and he walked me around to the passenger's side. Patrice opened the passenger's door for me and I gratefully climbed in. The car wasn't exactly warm but I was thankful that I was shielded from the cold wind. Usually when Patrice offered me a ride with him after the game, I was stuck in the backseat squished in with three other people because he'd offer to drive Chelsea and a couple of his teammates home. Tonight for the first time in weeks it was just me and him and I wouldn't want it any other way. A few seconds after I got in the car, Patrice threw his stuff in the back seat and took off his jacket handing it to me. I opened my mouth to argue but he stopped me.

"I'll turn the heat on, but I'll be fine until it starts working. You're freezing and don't even try to lie about it," he told me. I nodded and took his jacket, slipping it on and breathing his soothing scent.

After he was sure that I pulled his jacket on over his jersey, he started up the car and headed down the main road, back towards my apartment that was just on the outskirts of Boston. I complimented Patrice on a well played game and he started telling me about game details and how well he thought the team played despite injuries and minor setbacks. Even though it was dark I could tell just by the was he was talking that his chocolate eyes were lighting up with excitement like they always did when he gave me his recap and analysis of the game. When we finally pulled up to my apartment, he walked me up to front door and I invited in him for coffee, half surprised that he accepted. We ended up sitting on my couch talking and catching up just like the good old times.

"How are things with you and Welker?" he asks. When I look over at him, I could have sworn his face darkened at the mention of Wes Welker's name.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened with Chelsea?" I asked, changing the subject and noting that he was acting weird again.

"What else is there to share? Things didn't work out, we broke up," Patrice said, moving away from me slightly.

"I know it hurts to talk about this but talking it is the first step in getting over it," I reminded him, taking his hand in my much smaller one. His gaze softened and he sighed. "That's what you always told me when I had the same problem,"

"I know. It's just, I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. I thought I loved her but moving on isn't as hard as it should be,"

"You'll find someone soon enough," I reassure him.

"Nah, I'm starting to think there might not be someone out there that's willing to put up with me. The one person I think I've found probably doesn't even know how I feel about her. I'm sure you know that feeling, sometimes it just kills you. I'll just never fall in love, problem solved," he told me, running his fingers through his hair. I laugh and he shoots me a confused look.

"Everyone's got somebody out there for them, some just find that person slower than others. I've been down the same road you're going down more times than I care to remember, it's not fun but sometimes you've just really got to step up and make the first move. I hope you're wrong about not falling in love. One day you're going to meet someone that you completely adore and you two are going to be extremely happy together. When that day comes, you better tell me because if you're happy I'm happy," I told him, echoing many of the words he used to tell me when I went through a tough breakup. He sighs and rests his head on my shoulder. As I'm combing my fingers through his hair, I wonder if it's ever once crossed his mind that I could be in love with him.