A Game of Love

I don’t know why I did it.

Well no, that’s not entirely true.

I knew why I transferred. After two years at my university I realized it was definitely not what I wanted. The campus was too small and everyone knew everyone. If someone you disliked went there, there was a huge chance that you would see them way more often then you would desire.

On top of that, my professors seemed almost bored with their jobs and could clearly care less about the students. They were never available by e-mail and rarely in their office.

That was not what I wanted my school to be like.

However, I didn’t really know what I transferred to a university in Pittsburgh.

I won’t lie and say I wasn’t following Jordan Staal’s career. For some reason I found myself watching pretty much every single one of his games for the Penguins. But then again, I watched pretty much all of Marc’s and Eric’s games as well.

At first it was almost painful to watch him play, seeing him bringing back old memories, but I knew how much I loved the game and I just could not stay away.

I loved Pittsburgh; I loved my university; I loved the people, the weather, everything about this place. It didn’t take long for me to feel right at home here.

My roommate, Libby, was one of the best friends I had ever had. Our mutual love for hockey gave us something to bond over. Living in Pittsburgh all her life, she had been a Penguins fan since she could talk, her family even having season tickets.

When Libby discovered that I too followed the Penguins, she wasted little time asking me to go to a Penguins game with her, but as much fun as that sounded, however, I had politely declined to go. Watching Jordan Staal on television was one thing; being in the same arena with him was a completely different story.

I wondered what he was up to, what his life was like outside of hockey. Did he have a girlfriend? Did he keep up with his brothers much? Did he keep up with mine?

Over the years I had somewhat managed to keep up with the rest of the Staal brothers. I was, perhaps, closest to Eric, but whenever him, Marc, or Jared were in town we would catch up, but I had always managed to keep my distance from Jordan.

It was weird even just knowing I was in the same city has Jordan, but it was a large one and the chances of us running into each other were certainly slim.

Right?

--

“So you don’t want to go to the game tonight?” my roommate questioned, looking up from her textbook as she laid on her extra-long twin bed, complete with a Pittsburgh Penguins comforter.

I shook my head ‘no’, not shifting my gaze from my chemistry homework. I was determined to get through the dreadful subject as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

“But they are playing the Carolina Hurricanes! Didn’t you say before that you liked the Canes, too?” she reasoned, her words making my snap my head in her direction.

“The Hurricanes are in town?” I repeated. I had not seen Eric Staal since the beginning of the summer and I certainly missed him. He had always been like an extra older brother to me and was still very good friends with my eldest brother, Nathan. I was quite confident that none of Jordan’s brothers knew we had slept together when we were dating, but Eric seemed to understand the best what I was going through with Jordan after that day.

Libby’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you like Carolina more than the Pens. I’m pretty sure we can’t be friends anymore if that’s true!”

I rolled my eyes at her threat, but muttered a “no” anyways.

“Good!” Libby exclaimed, clapping her hands together once. “So will you please come to the game tonight then? You know you are going to have fun,” she tried to persuade me.

I thought about the chances of possibly seeing Eric tonight and I nodded my head in agreement. “I’ll go,” I promised her, causing her to let out a little squeal.

Pulling out my phone, I searched for Eric’s phone number in my contacts.

I’m going to your game tonight. Hope to see you there, I wrote him.

A few minutes later my phone buzzed.

Good. Come down to our locker room after the game so we can catch up, Eric replied back.

--

“Oh HELL no,” Libby called out, shaking her head in disgust as she looked at my outfit. “There is no way you are wearing THAT to the game tonight.”

I glanced down at the white, Carolina Hurricanes jersey that I was wearing, the number 12 on the sleeves and on the back, with the name STAAL is bold letters on the upper back.

This jersey and the New York Rangers Marc Staal jersey were the only hockey sweaters I owned. Despite the fact I followed the Penguins and Jordan, I had never had the desire to buy his jersey.

“You said you liked the Pens better than the Canes,” she reminded me, still lightly glaring at the Carolina logo.

I hesitated briefly, not really wanting to tell her about my history with the Staal brothers. “I guess I like the Penguins better,” I confirmed, “But I like Eric Staal.” I shrugged my shoulders.

Libby looked skeptical. “Really? Eric over Jordan?” she pressed, clearly not realizing she was hitting a touchy subject.

Again I shrugged my shoulders lightly, wishing she would just drop the subject already. “I guess I just like,” I paused for a nanosecond, not quite sure what to say, “older… married guys,” I finally managed to spit out.

She gazed at me a second longer, before muttering a little “whatever” and gathering up her necessities—keys, cash, phone, camera—throwing them in her purse. “Ready to go?” she questioned, already over our previous conversation.

I nodded my head, the two of us then heading out the door.

It was odd being at a hockey arena, especially knowing how close of proximity I was to Jordan. It had been a while since I had been in one and it was colder than I remembered. Libby led the way to our seats, situated a couple rows up and across from the teams’ benches.

Both teams were already warming up when we got there and my eyes searched for a certain blond-haired boy.

I could practically feel Libby smiling beside me, the excitement clearly radiating off her body. “I love this sport,” she whispered over to me, her eyes focused on Marc-Andre Fleury as he made a save on a shot by Sidney Crosby as the two warmed-up.

I nodded my head in agreement, though I doubt she noticed, my eyes finally landing on Jordan. I could tell by his facial expression how nervous yet excited he was to face his brother.

Eric on the other hand, was a different story. I knew for a fact that he hated playing against any of his brothers. My eyes shifted over to Eric, finding him quickly as he conversed with his teammate, Ray Whitney. Eric was facing my direction, his eyes looking around though it was obvious he was listening to every word Ray was saying.

It did not take long for Eric’s gaze to land on me. His face broke out in a big smile as he nodded his head towards me in recognition.

“Oh. My. God.” Libby squealed, grabbing on to my thin arm tightly. “Eric Staal TOTALLY just smiled at you! I cannot believe it!”

I nodded at her reaction, my gaze still focused on Eric. I stuck out my tongue at him, a childish reaction, but nonetheless an action that brought both of us back to our childhood. He shook his head at me, laughing lightly. I gestured to my jersey, showing him that I had on his number, to which he gave me a thumbs up and another smile, before getting back to work.

“What was that?” Libby happily questioned, her eyes watching the whole exchange between Eric and I.

I debated momentarily whether I should answer her question, but I knew it would be best if I did. She would, after all, probably learn about it after the game when I headed down to the locker room anyways.

“Er, well,” I tried to form the right words. “I sort of know Eric,” I explained, keeping my voice down so those around me wouldn’t hear. “We grew up together back in Thunder Bay; we were next door neighbors.”

“WHAT!” she called out, entirely too loud.

“Shh!” I hush her, placing my finger over my lips in the quiet signal. “Yeah, we were good friends,” I continued, “Which is pretty much the only reason I follow the Canes.”

She was smiling brightly. “That is so cool! But then, you must have known Jordan too, right?”

I nodded my head, my eyes shifting from her to the ice where the players were getting ready for the national anthem. “Jordan and mine’s relationship was a bit more complicated then that,” I explained. “I was definitely better friends with Eric,” I told her, truthfully.

She started to say something, but the national anthem began to play and she remained silent, a wave of relief washing over me.

--

The Carolina Hurricanes ended up winning 3-2, Eric Staal walking away with two assists. I could tell the fans all around me were disappointed, but I could not help but smile.

“Traitor,” Libby mumbled beside me as we made our way out of our seats.

My phone buzzed in the back pocket of my dark blue jeans and I pulled it out, reading the text from Eric:

Don’t forget to come down to our locker room, he reminded me.

“Eric wanted me to come down and see him,” I informed Libby, “Want to come?”

“Do I want to come down to the enemy’s locker room filled with hot, sweaty hockey players? What kind of question is that—yes!” she replied, leading the way to the stairs that went to the bottom floor.

When Eric had invited me down, I had not even thought about the large, angry looking guard that might stop me from entering the Visitor’s locker room. Quickly I sent a text to Eric, informing him of my problem.

Less than a minute later, a mostly clothed Eric Staal opened the large double doors.

“Eric!” I called out, running over to hug him.

He laughed, throwing his muscular arms around me and then ruffling up my hair. “Hey kiddo, I’ve missed you.”

He nodded to Libby, who again squealed in delight, as he led us into the locker room.

I scanned the room. “Where is he?” I mumbled to myself.

Eric raised his eyebrow at me. “Who you looking for, Pey?”

“Ahaha!” Finding who I was looking for, I immediately headed over to his stall, stopping directly in front of him. “Hello, Tuomo,” I greeted, a large smile on my face.

Behind me Eric and Libby headed over to where I was standing, partially confused. I knew Eric was rolling his eyes at me as he realized what I was doing.

“Hello,” Tuomo Rutuu greeted back, unsurely.

“May I just say, that I have a huge huge crush on you,” I stressed, smiling up at the Finn. “Oh, and great game tonight!”

His face broke out in a smile, laughing a little at my words. “Thank you,” he politely replied back still smiling.

“I thought you had a crush on Jord--” Eric started to speak, before catching himself, realizing his mistake.

Quickly I turned around, gazing at him. His words replayed over and over again in my head as I fought the tears that threatened to spill.

At this point, I didn’t know my feelings for Jordan. I wanted to hate him, I wanted to walk up to him and start hitting him over and over again in frustration, for hurting me so badly so long ago. I wanted to yell at him, scream at him, something, any thing that would make me feel better.

“Pey, I’m sorry,” Eric apologized, not meaning to bring it up. He reached forward, pulling me into a hug. “I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

I could sense the awkwardness that Tuomo felt and I saw him over Eric’s shoulder move away, giving us privacy, though Libby remained, unsure of what to do or say.

“What ever happened between the two of you?” Eric whispered quietly to me, brushing away my tears.

“He left me,” I replied simply, holding tightly to Eric.

“I know, Pey, but he had to leave. It was his dream to play in the NHL,” Eric reasoned with me.

I shook my head into his shoulder. “No. He left me that morning after he slept with me. And then he ignored my completely until he left for good,” I explained in a soft whisper.

“What?!?!?” Eric hollered, pulling away from me, and causing several of his teammates around us to look over and stare.

From the distance I heard a voice I had not heard in five years call out, “Where’s that brother of mine?”

I froze, looking up with fear and panic at Eric.

He was here??

Eric stared down at me, unsure of what to do. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“Hey Big Brother, how’s it g—“ his voice happily spoke, before coming to a complete stop.

I could feel Eric tense in front of me as I stood with my back to Jordan.

“Pey?” he spoke, unsure of himself. “Peyton?” I tried again when I gave him no response.

In an instance I had to decide so much. I had to chose which card I played; was I angry at him still for what he did; was I over it—cool and collected; did I ignore it all together, play it off like we were still good neighbors who got along?

I took a deep breath, prolonging the decision-making. Finally, I turned, putting on a brave face as my eyes met his.

“Peyton—how are y---what are you doing here?” he spoke, strugging for the right words.

“I go to school here,” I spoke, picking the calm-and-collected card.

He frowned. “Here? In Pittsburgh?”

I nodded my head.

“You never told me?”

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. “We weren’t exactly speaking, Jordan,” I reminded him, my foot tapping against the wooden floor of the dressing room.

He slowly nodded his head, showing he understood. “But we were so close, so near for all this time?”

I adjusted my arms. “I transferred a few months ago,” I corrected him. “It hasn’t been that long.” I tried to remain calm, but it was hard; I wanted to scream, to hit him so bad.

“Still, we could have talked, met up,” he tried, taking a step towards me.

“Why would I have? After everything that’s happened between us? Jordan, why would I have even wanted to talk to you,” my voice raised as my eyes narrowed.

“Then why did you come to Pittsburgh? Out of all the schools in this country and Canada in all the cities, why did you come here, where I was?” he questioned, boldly.

Why Pittsburgh? Why? Why did I ever come here?

Because I knew Jordan was here.

“I liked the school,” I spoke simply, trying to climb out of the hole I was in.

He shook his head, almost angrily, and I knew he hated that I was lying to him. “Bullshit.”

My arms fell down by my side. “What do you want me to say?” my voice rose, clearly earning the attention of everyone in the locker room who was not already listening in to the conversation.

He stared down at me, calculating me, reading me. “I want you to admit it. Admit why you picked Pittsburgh when you knew I played for the Penguins!”

I tore my gaze from his piercing blue eyes. I hated how he was turning this, making me the one at fault here when he was the one who walked out on me. “Because I missed you; because it was nice to know I was near you,” I whispered so quietly that I knew he was the only one in the large room who heard me.

I could see him start to smile, but I only glared harder up at him. “You are the one who left me that morning,” I accused, pointing my finger up at him. “You are the one that fucked me and left me and then never talked to me again. Don’t you dare yell at me for not telling you I was here when you are the one who left me,” I spoke much boldly and braver than I felt.

His head dropped down. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“You’re sorry? You left me there crying, confused, with a broken heart,” I cried out, fighting the few tears dripping down my cheek. “How could you do that to me? I loved you. And I thought you loved me, too.”

“I did. I do.”

He what?

“You do?” I repeated, unsure where all of this was going and hating how public it was, but no one else in the room seemed to matter. Just the two of us.

“I do. God damn it Pey, of course I never stopped loving you,” he took another step closer to me. “I’m sorry what I did five years ago, I swear I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I was just so confused, so lost. I loved you so much, but I knew I was going to be leaving. I never planned on that happening that night, cause I wanted to avoid exactly what did happen, but I just…things just got carried away,” he paused noticing my facial reaction. “NO, no, I swear, I don’t regret it at all, god, I was a kid then, but I knew I loved you…. I still love you….”

I tried not to laugh at his rambling, I was, after all, still extremely pissed off at him.

“It’s been five years, Jor, you can honestly say you still love me? I’m sure we’ve both changed so much….” I spoke, shaking my head slightly.

“No, love doesn’t change. Not how I felt about you, nobody how much time as passed,” he assured me. “I still know you. I know you love playing in the snow and playing hockey; I know you think little kids are so unbelievably adorable and you want eight of your own when you grow up… I know you’ve even picked out all of their names--- Charlotte, Meghan, Sarah, Samantha, Levi, Brady, James, and Oliver—I know you want to travel the world and go to all seven continents; I know you love to change people to arm wrestling competitions, especially because you love beating the boys; I know that you love acting tough, but deep down you don’t even realize how strong you are,” he stepped up right in front of me, brushing the hair away from my face. “I know you would pick sweats any day over dressing up and that you rarely even wear make-up and you are still gorgeous. I know you want to get a dog and name him Stanley, after the Stanley cup. I know you hate how protective your big brothers are over you, but you love them so much anyways”

He paused, taking a breath.

“I know you are extremely ticklish, especially your sides and when I kiss your neck. I know you can never sleep past ten in the morning, no matter how late you stay up. I know you are still mad at me for being a complete douchebag when we were younger. I know you want to punch, kick, slap me for what I did to you, and I know I deserve it. But most of all, Peyton, I know you still love me just as much as I love you.”

I could feel the tears dripping steadily down my face as I stood frozen, completely unsure of what to do. I hated how Jordan could possibly have this affect on me, especially after all this time, but I knew how every single word he spoke of was the truth.

“I swear to God, Jordan, if you ever hurt me again you are not having those eight kids with me, or any other woman,” I warned him, trying desperately to wipe away all my tears, a smile brightly coming through on my face.

He might have made many, many mistakes, but I knew I loved Jordan Staal and I knew nothing was going to change that.

His face broke out in a grin, his arms flying to my waist as he picked me up, spinning me around as his lips desperately found my own. “I love you so much, Peyton.”

I could hear a chorus of “aww” around the room, some brave souls even clapping as Jordan’s lips worked their magic.

At that moment, I might have thought I was a complete idiot for forgiving him, but we all make mistakes in the game of love, and that is why you have got to come ready to play three periods of hockey, not just one.