Tied Up In Knots

Patrick's POV
 
I guess I've always been a decent hockey player, better than your average Canadian guy out on the pond, which is how I managed to find a home in the NHL. I'm no Sidney Crosby, and I'm Ok with that as long as I can contribute to my team and make a living playing the game I love. I'm not searching for worldwide recognition or praise. Starting around age seven I've used my hockey skills to make a difference wherever I could for my team. I always loved the feeling of scoring a goal, and of skating off of the ice a winner. At about the age of seven I also started liking girls, kinda young I guess, but girls and later women had always fascinated me. Women are amazing creatures from the smooth roundness of their bodies to their personalities that could change on a dime, figuring them out had been my life's mission. I hadn't quite figured them out, and with age I realized I never really would, but I did learn how to manipulate them for what I wanted.  Girls like hockey players as a general rule, score one for me. I was blessed with my mother's personality, happy-go-lucky, and some would say charming, score two for me. And, not to sound like a conceited fuck, I know I'm not bad to look at, the way I'd catch women taking second looks, was the biggest clue. Well, that makes the score 3 for Patrick Sharp, the hockey player from Thunder Bay, and I was joining the game with a bit of an unfair advantage. Typically women didn't know what hit them, and I'd never really NOT gotten what I really wanted.
 
Women…women…women, I never could get enough, and by the time I established myself in the NHL and got comfortable in Chicago, I had a fuck buddy in 7 of the  15 Western Conference cities. I wasn't stupid like some of the other Hawks players. My parties stayed private, with women I developed understandings with. All of them were beautiful women, but some were shorter than others, some were thinner, some were brunettes while others were blond, and I can't forget my token red-head. I loved women all shapes, sizes and ethnic backgrounds. I loved everything about them, but mostly I loved how good each and every one made me feel. I never advertised these relationships, only my roommate and best friends knew how I'd trade a cold hotel bed for a warm spot in the bed and arms of a beautiful women.  Adam always had his shot with their friends, so he wasn't going to say a damn thing. Call me whatever you want, but I enjoyed women, and sex, that’s just how it was.
 
And then there was Lydia. My mother, who is the smartest woman I know, excluding Lydia of course, always told me it would happen, that I'd meet my match, that one woman would come into my life and everything would change. Like any son, I completely ignored her, after all, I knew better. Lydie caught me completely off guard, like someone had pulled the rug out from under me. In one afternoon with her, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that what my mother said was true. I found the woman that would change me, that would change my life forever.
 
Imagine my surprise when she refused coffee or dinner, and wouldn't even consider swapping numbers. It was like she could see right through me, like she knew all about the women I had stashed away, the way she declined my offers looking at me through suspicious eyes. I walked away from her a complete failure, and tried to resume my everyday life. Key word, tried. She was everywhere, well it felt that way, in reality she'd taken up permanent residence in my mind, and as I'd soon find out, my heart. I knew Lydia was different, because it wasn't the obvious things that kept me pre-occupied, I mean she was beautiful and had an amazing body, but that wasn't what I found myself obsessing over. She had this cute little bobbed haircut that she perpetually tucked behind her ear when she was nervous. The way her perfect nose would wiggle just a little bit when she laughed, was a sure sign that she was sincere in her reaction to my humor. She blushed when I complemented her, on both her beautiful eyes, and the success of the event she had put together. She had the darkest eyes with the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen and they seemed to be the key to everything she thought and everything she felt. It wasn't her breasts, or the curve of her ass, it wasn't the things that attracted me to every other woman I'd been with. Lydia was different.
 
I pulled out every stop, everything in my repertoire, first to get her contact number and then to get her to agree to go out with me.  She turned me down seven times before she agreed, and even when it did happen, it was her boss and best friend Claire that accepted on her behalf. I wasn't taking any chances and when she agreed to lunch I knew I had to make it count or it would end as abruptly as it started. Every passing minute we spent together that day, she let her guard down a little more. Every moment that passed, I stopped trying to be Sharpie "the ladies man," and let her see Patrick Sharp the man. It wasn't a conscious effort on either of our parts, it's just what we did to each other. It was our souls, the real us finding each other and rejoicing that they'd found the one. “Soul mates” sounds like something invented by hallmark for Valentine’s Day, but I believe beyond the shadow of a doubt that Lydia is my soul mate.
 
We kissed and I swear to God I saw fireworks. That's all I asked her for sexually. I wanted nothing more than to treat Lydia with respect, she wasn’t one of my other women. I didn't want to take a chance that I'd fuck it up by pushing her. The night ended or at least I thought it did as I walked down the hallway to the elevator. I was happy, fucking ecstatic, that it had gone so well and felt fairly confident she'd accept my next offer for coffee, or dinner that I planned to make the next day. Even that end seemed like it warranted a fucking party, but then she called back to me. She was biting her lip and tucking her hair behind her ear, she was nervous, and I could see in her eyes, she wanted me to stay. Sex, making love, experiencing each other that way was the most inmate I'd ever been with a woman. That was it, she ruined me for all other females, no one could compare to her. From that moment on, I never wanted another woman and until that night in Vancouver, I hadn't even looked at another woman. I loved Lydia with every part of me. I still love her. I'll always love her.
 
“I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing right now Burs. Two days. Two fucking days, and I lose her for good. 48 hours till the divorce is final.” I was hoping the ride to the UC and the company of my always witty best friend could help me get my head on straight, before I had to face the rest of my teammates for a pre-hawks convention debrief. Before I had to face Duncan Keith, the biggest back stabbing son of a bitch I’ve ever met in my life. He’s a quiet mother fucker that’s probably been trying to figure out a way to fuck my wife from the beginning. The thought of Lydia in his bed and that bastard putting his hands on her made me grip the steering wheel tighter, tight enough to make my knuckles turn white.
 
“I’m going to go out on a limb here with you Sharpie. I’m gonna risk my masculinity for you because you’re my best friend and because I know you’re hurting. You and Lydie are meant to be. You just are. I’ve never seen two people more in love, you’re like fucking soul mates or some shit.” For just a second I had a speck of hope, knowing he felt that way about our relationship. He was closest to me and Lyd; he would have known more than anyone how good we were together, how perfect we were. I had a speck of hope and then he continued. “I don’t know though man. She’s really hurt. I don’t need to tell you how bad you fucked up. If you had up and married some puck slut, you could get away with that shit, but not Lydia. I just don’t get why you did it.”
 
I raked my hand through my hair, since I couldn’t have even been bothered to put a hat on that morning. I was lucky I even made it out of bed on time. I probably wouldn’t have if Burs didn’t call me ten minutes before I was supposed to pick him up. I’d never told Adam what happened between me and Rachel, the woman I threw my whole life away for. I guess it’s a guy thing, don’t ask don’t tell. He never asked, and I never told. It kept him innocent in the whole thing, at least where Lydie was concerned. “I know. You don’t think I relive every single second of that night and see how many ways I went wrong. Why didn’t I just go back to the hotel with you? Why did I stay there?”
 
“Well it might have had something to do with that Rachel chick all dreamy eyes at you. Talking about how great you were playing, asking you if you were working out more. Stroking your ego so she could stroke your dick.”
 
“Fucking Christ! I know. I know!” I banged my hand on the steering wheel.  “But I stayed, I fucking stayed, when I should have left. ”
 
“Look you don’t have to tell me what happened, and for fuck’s sake I don’t want details, but why? What were you thinking?” I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was pissed off. He’d hidden it so well until now, trying to be a good best friend and comfort me instead of laying into me, like I’m sure he wanted to. I’d screwed things up for him too. We were the three musketeers, Larry, Moe & Curly, The good, the bad and the ugly, Lydia, Patrick & Adam. I wasn’t just losing my wife; he was losing his best friend and probably the only woman friend he’d ever had. Burs and Lydie talked like girlfriends, giggled like school girls. I know there were things he told her that he could never have told me and she confided in him about things she wouldn’t tell her husband. I never got jealous over it, It was just the way we were. I fucked up the perfect relationship for both of us. Had any other man done that to Lydia he would have killed him, straight up killed him.
 
“You’d always been faithful to her. You never even looked at other pussy, it was all Lydie. I mean I know that chick was your old booty call or whatever, but what happened?”
 
I took a deep breath before telling him the details I probably should have told him six months before. “We stayed so late at the bar and we drank so much. I tried to get a cab back to the hotel, but after like 20 minutes, there wasn’t a cab in sight. Rachel called her cousin to come and get her, and she offered me a ride. I was drunk off my ass, tired as hell, and cold as a mother fucker, and I just wanted to get back to the hotel. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I swear to God I had no plans to fuck her. I didn’t intend to cheat on Lydie.”
 
“So what did she do hit you over the head with a fucking club and jump on your God damn dick?”
 
“I passed out in the back of the car. I woke up the next morning at in Rachel’s bed buck naked with my arm snaked around her. I actually called her Lydie. My head hurt so God damn bad that I thought it was Lyd.”
 
“So you don’t remember fucking her? You lost your wife over a fuck, and can’t even remember it. Maybe you didn’t do it. I mean she took pictures of you and sent them to your wife. Maybe it was all a scam, some major set up to get you to herself. I don’t see what’s so great about you but apparently women find you attractive.”
 
“God I wish that was true. I wish, but I do remember moments, little things about the sex. I’m pretty sure it happened. Besides, even if it didn't, do you really think I could explain it that way to Lyd? Think it would make a difference? Did it make a difference that it only happened once? That I adore her, that I never even look at other women? None of it matters. I was naked in bed with someone other than her. She’s not going to forgive that, not even if I didn’t seal the deal. Even if I don’t remember it. It’s infidelity. I was unfaithful, and I’m not that big of an asshole that I’d try to explain it away like that. I have too much respect for her.”
 
“You know, you are so fucking lucky Sharp.”
 
"Lucky? Seriously? Tell me why the hell you think I’m lucky. What about this makes you say that?”
 
“Well this Rachel chick was psycho enough to get you naked in her bed and have, probably this cousin of hers take pictures of the two of you. Then she sent them to your wife before you even got home from the road trip. She didn’t even give you a chance to tell Lydie yourself. If she capable of that, she could have said you knocked her up. She could have put pictures of the two of you doing the nasty on the web. A psycho is a psycho Sharpie and it could have been worse.”
 
I ponder that for a moment. It could have been worse? There is nothing worse than losing my Lydie. Nothing.
 
****
 
The Chicago Blackhawks all huddled into the locker room sharing stories about our summer, getting reacquainted with each other and the room we left feeling heartbroken months earlier. The hustle and bustle continued, and we waited for the PR rep to come in and give us the skinny on the happenings of the Hawks Convention, where we needed to be and when, what was expected of us as we mingled with fans, answered questions and signed autographs. I was so not in the right frame of mind to be mingling and making small talk with fans. I wondered what exactly it would take to get me out of the event all together. I tucked myself behind Burs and tried to look busy so no one would approach me. The last thing I needed was a hundred and one questions about my summer, Lydia, and how things were working out.
 
It wasn’t long before Duncan entered the room. He didn’t look around for me like I might have expected.  Just threw some stuff into his locker and sat down quietly to wait. Quietly, he was always quiet, partaking in our little jokes and carrying on only if he was prodded by his best friend and D-partner Brent Seabrook. I expected him to look different somehow, guilty maybe, but he didn’t. He just sat there maintaining cordial conversation with the guys, but not overtly friendly. Duncan Keith was never overly friendly. I wanted to see something there, I wanted to see that he recognized what a fucked up thing he’d done, moving in on my wife, fucking her all summer long behind my  back. I wanted to see some form of apology, maybe in his eyes or his expression, even if he wasn’t man enough to say those words to my face. There was nothing there though. I was slunk in a corner, overwhelmed by grief and loss while he was the man with the prize, no guilt just normal everyday quiet Duncan. It pissed me off. He hadn’t done or said anything to me, but I was furious.
 
Kaner, and his chipper little self, sat down next to Duncan and asked him about his summer. "Did you go back to Winnipeg?" It was an innocent question and if asked of any other guy in the room, it would have been answered easily and forgotten. Asking it of Duncan however, started a domino effect. I tried like hell to block out all the other banter so I could hear his response. “No I stayed around here this summer.” Sure he did, so he could fuck my wife. I let out a little “pft” and I know he heard it. I wanted him to hear it. “Got something you want to say Sharpie?” Duncan asked.
 
My blood had started boiling the moment I saw him and his invitation to say something, was not something I could pass up. “Yeah you son of a bitch. I do have something to say.” A silence filled the room as all eyes turned toward me. I had raised my voice to a tone, just short of a yell.  Kaner’s eyes widened and I almost had to laugh at his reaction to my loud outburst. What a great joke this would have been to play on him, staging a fight between Duncs and I, I wish I had thought of it before it became a reality. “Why don’t you tell Kaner here what you did all summer?”
 
“I think I did,” he replied matter-of-factly, standing up from his spot at his locker. “I stayed here in Chicago.”
 
“So that’s where you were but what did you do? Maybe I should rephrase that,” I said stepping closer to him, “Who did you do?...All Summer Long?...Why don’t you tell everyone?” I held my hand out for extra effect.
 
“Don’t disrespect her Sharpie,” Duncan replied in a low tone.
 
“Ha! That’s good, that’s real good coming from the man who took advantage of her when she was vulnerable.” Now I was yelling, gritting my teeth and clenching my fists.
 
“Time to back off man. You don’t want to get into this. It’s not the time or the place,” Duncan replied acting all noble and righteous.
 
I felt Burs grab my wrist and pull me backward, “Not now.” He said in a stern whisper.

I yanked my arm free from his grip, more enraged than ever. “When then? When would be a good time for you Duncs? Maybe I should come over for dinner tonight… for some dinner with you and my wife! Maybe for dessert I can watch while you fuck her on the sofa.” The next thing I remember was sitting on the ground my eye and the side of my face throbbing in pain. Ben Eager was holding Burs back, who must have stepped in for me out of pure instinct and Seabrook and Tazer were holding on to Duncan. He was shouting at me. “You fucked up. You fucked her over. Have some respect you little shit!”
 
“You moved in on his wife! You’re his fucking teammate for Christ’s sake and that makes you a backstabbing mother fucker.” Adam yelled back at him, helping me feel justified in my outburst.
 
“This doesn’t have anything to do with you Burs. It’s between Duncan and Sharpie. Back off!” Brent Seabrook added his two cents.
 
I wasn’t the only one that didn’t notice, in fact, I’d say that no one did, but at some point during our little ruckus Coach Q and the PR rep came into the room. There were a couple of gasps, an “oh fuck,” and a “Jesus Christ,” before the room silenced again.
 
“Is there something I need to know coach?” The woman from PR asked. “I’d rather know now then do damage control later.”
 
Coach’s face was red, like it always was when he was mad. “Seabrook, Keith,  Sharp, Burish,” He snapped. “My office NOW!”