2nd Intermissions

I scrambled for my phone, grabbing it before any one else could see it.
They didn't reply with a name, but instead I received a picture message of a male body.
Slowly, the texts and picture messages started pouring in and I noticed one thing was the same between all of them. They all seemed muscular. My suspicions of athletes were confirmed when my phone beeped for the thousandth time and a picture of Sean Avery and his shirtless body appeared.

"That BASTARD." I pieced the puzzle together. Avery had given my number out to his team, with instructions to spam.
My face flushed and I wondered why the Rangers hated me so much.
I replied to Avery and asked.

Before the reply came, Hjalmarsson walked into the office, holding his upper arm.
"Is there something wrong?" I looked at his bicep from my seat behind my desk while I tucked my phone away.
---

The guys that were now known as Blackhawks TV were at the practice, hauling a large camera and a script. They were doing the "13 days of Blackhawks".
I heard the bad singing a room away and laughed when I heard them approach Adam.
Wondering what he would sing, I snuck out into the hallway to watch from behind the camera.

"6 months of rehab." He sang, looking cheerful for the camera, then his face slowly bled out of the cheerful mask and into his usual disheartened look when discussing his injury. I sighed quietly, hoping that they would cut that out of the final take and returned to the office.

During the remainder of the practice, I never found the right time to tell Adam about the texts, until the ride home.

Adam's knuckles were turning white on the handle of the door.
We were driving home from the rink and I had told him what happened.
"Don't be mad, please. You need to understand that I didn't give him my number." I said, glancing over again, unable to focus on traffic.

He looked at my profile, and I struggled to keep my eyes on the slick Chicago road. "I know." he managed to squeeze out, still sounding irate.
"Why are you so mad?" I looked over at him when I asked him this.
He slammed his hand on the dash saying, "My girlfriend is frolicking across the country with a bunch of men, and I'm stuck at home, unable to play. You get harassed by the fuck who injured me and put me on the operation table and the IR. Most of the New York Rangers send you pictures of themselves....half-naked! What is there not to be mad about?" He finished.

I focused on the road, barely keeping the tears at bay. "It wasn't my fault! Don't you understand I have a job to do? I have to travel with the guys. It's my job!" I said, struggling with my tears. I was angry when I heard my voice crack and give away that I was being emotional.

"Samantha. No, no. I'm not mad at you. I'm angry at life right now. I know it wasn't your fault! I'm still angry about it though. I know it's your job- if it wasn't, we wouldn't have met." He took his hand and wrapped it around my smaller one that was holding the gear shift. He rubbed the pads of his calloused fingers against the back of mine and I let a woeful smile meet my face.
"I'm sorry you thought I was mad at you." Adam said quietly as I pulled into his driveway.
I parked and he asked, "Want to have some coffee?"
Shaking my head, I replied that I needed to go Christmas shopping.
He nodded and waved as he made his way into his house. I only pulled out once I saw him safely inside, and instead of going shopping, I drove back to my apartment.

I didn't feel bad when I lied to Adam and told him I had things to do.
That night when I fell asleep, curled up in my bed with an old movie projecting from my television, I thought about the holidays and getting to visit my family. Is it time for Adam to meet them? When will I meet his parents? Were the questions that plagued me as I fell into a deep sleep.