The Man Who Can't Be Moved

It’s a quarter to ten at night by the time we find ourselves heading back to Autumn’s modest, well kept home in Cherry Hill. My high beams reflect of the enormous puddles taking up residence on the slick roadways; steady, light rain patters against my Range Rover and the rhythmic swishing of the windshield wipers has effectively lulled seven year old Ryan to sleep in the backseat. It hasn’t snowed in over a week; days of seemingly endless precipitation and remarkably mild temperatures have not only thrust Pittsburgh into an early spring, but has rendered the sidewalks and roads slippery, slushy and often treacherous messes and turned a half an hour drive into one twice as long.

I’m anxious to get back to Autumn’s place; I’m physically and emotionally exhausted and all I want to do is both crawl under the mounds of blankets and bury myself under the numerous pillows that are always strewn across the bed. I want to wrap my arms around her and hold that soft, welcoming body as tight as humanely possible and lose myself in not only the warmth that radiates from every one of her pores, but the feminine and intoxicating scent of shampoo that lingers in her hair. I want to be comforted by the sensation of her fingertips caressing my forearm and be lulled to sleep by her steady, rhythmic breathing and the sound of her heart beating within her chest.

Since we’d gotten together -first in a purely sexual sense almost two months ago and now in a strictly committed and serious relationship- I’ve barely spent any of my nights at Mario’s. I’ve been holing myself up at Autumn’s -even during the day when she’s at work and I have nothing else to do but ‘veg out’ and I make use of the key she’d given me- and enjoying the sense of family that she and Ryan and her cousin Phoebe provide me with. It’s Autumn’s that I always escape to after a game or practice and it’s where I head the second I arrive home from a road trip or when I find some spare time on my hands. While the three bedroom home is modest and stuck somewhere between middle and lower class and a far cry from the Lemieux mansion I’ve been calling home since I’d entered the league, it’s the only place in the world I want to be. The simple, humble surroundings and the people give me back some of the normalcy I so desperately crave; I enjoy the domesticity of taking out the garbage, shovelling the sidewalk and driveway and helping with the dishes.

Most of all, I love the companionship; I love being with Autumn as much as I possibly can and there’s nothing more amazing than falling asleep every night and waking up every morning beside the same person. It’s nice to have someone to come home to; someone that doesn’t expect me to be a hot shot hockey player that’s been programmed to be politically correct and who can help me escape from the overwhelming spotlight just talking about their own day at work. And Ryan’s a lot of fun to be around; he’s desperate for a father figure and always eager to please me -whether it be through getting good marks in school to trying out for sports teams- and I try my best to fill that void in his life without ever making Autumn feel as if I’m trying to replace what she’d lost. She rarely talks about her deceased husband in the same way I avoid talking about Emma-Leigh; we’ve both had our fair share of hurt and disappointment. And while her husband had died tragically and I’d only suffered through a break up, we have both loved and lost in painful ways.

I like to think that we’re healing each other; I hope that I’m filling that empty hole in her heart and in her life in the same what she is mine. Since the phone call to Em almost three weeks ago, I’d forced myself to focus solely on Autumn; I’ve made a conscience effort to leave the past exactly where it belongs and I’ve concentrated on the things that make Autumn and I so great together instead of dwelling on the reasons why Em and I hadn’t worked. I don’t care that she’s older and far more ‘experienced’ when it comes to life than I am; she’s insanely beautiful and phenomenally intelligent and extremely driven and tenacious. Most importantly, she makes me feel ‘normal’. She doesn’t’ care how many goals I score or assists I notch or how many big name companies want me to endorse their products; she doesn’t just see dollar signs and an easy way to a better life when she looks at me. I can just be me. I can just be sheepish and socially awkward and I can tell off colour, stupid jokes or swear like a sailor without someone judging me for it.

I love her. There’s no doubt about that. And I love her in a way I hadn’t loved Emma-Leigh. I can’t put my finger on exactly what makes it so unique and I can’t find the words to describe it. I just know that it feels different.

I feel different.

Yet the bitterness and the hurt towards Em and Max -especially Max- still remains. Up until her announcement that she was pregnant, those feelings had been buried deep and barely simmering. The second she’d told me that she was expecting it had been as if someone had ripped my heart -or whatever remained of it- clear out of my chest. It had been the last thing I’d expecting when she’d asked me to come over to talk; I’d walked through the front door with all the intents and purposes of listening to whatever she had to say and completely burying the hatchet with her. I’d been more than ready to finally accept what she’d done to me; I’d been more than willing to hear her apologies and I’d been more than prepared to offer up my own for the ways -in her opinion- that I’d wronged her and forced her into the arms of another man. She’d been completely right during our late night phone call; I did need to let her go and I did need to go on with my life in the same way she’d had. And I’d been totally prepared to do that.

Or at least I thought I had.

It’s not so much the fact that I’m still in love with her that prevents me from letting go completely. There will always be a part of me that feels something for Em; we’d come so close to getting engaged and we had gone through both the initial terror of an unexpected pregnancy and the loss of a baby that we had already fallen in love with and had wanted so badly. We hadn’t grieved properly together; we’d never had the chance to sit down and cry about what had happened to us and we’d both been so caught up in our feelings and our own sorrow that we’d never considered how the other was feeling. And it’s the failure to deal with the death of our baby that prevents me from letting her go; I can’t go on with my life because my child, a life that we’d created together, had never gotten a chance to live their own. And now she’s pregnant; she’s getting a second chance while I’m left with nothing but lingering grief and guilt and a million and one questions to why it had to happen to us. I don’t love her in the way that I had; her choice to sleep with Max and then to run off and marry him had seen to it that I’d never love her or respect her in the way I’d once had. I simply love the thought of what could have been; I can’t let go of all the what if’s and the maybes.

And I realize now, as Autumn dozes next to me -boots kicked off, legs curled underneath her and her feet resting under my thigh and my jacket draped over her- that she’s the one person in this world that can help me help me let go once and for all. I trust her wholly and completely with my heart and I know that she can save me from the lingering grief and anger that won’t let me out of its clutches.

I just have to let her.

*******

“Did he go back to sleep okay?” Autumn asks nearly forty five minutes later as I join her in the kitchen. She stands barefoot at the butcher block counter top next to the stove, clad in a pair of lime green and pink polka dot satin pyjama pants and one of my t-shirts, her dark hair pulled back from her face and secured in a high, tight ponytail as she makes Ryan’s lunch -in his own words his ‘absolute favourite’ of honey and banana sandwiches- for the next school day.

Our drive home had taken nearly an hour and I’d had to carry the groggy, whiny seven year old from the car all the way up to his room and then get him undressed, into his night clothes and tucked into bed when he refused to let his mother do it. “It’s dude stuff,” he’d reasoned when she’d teasingly called him a traitor for choosing me over her. “I don’t want you seeing my goods, mom.”

“He fought it pretty good,” I reply, and journeying over to where she’s slicing a banana and placing the pieces on top of honey smeared bread, wrap both arms around her from behind and press a kiss to her temple before resting my chin on her shoulder.

This feels so…perfect…to me. The simplicity of the house and its furnishings and the daily routine -most likely incredibly mundane to the rest of the population- that takes place within these walls. It reminds me of growing up in Cole Harbour; takes me back to a time when I wasn’t a household name and I wasn’t constantly under the blinding glare of the public spotlight and I was still a little kid shooting pucks into the dryer and indulging in lofty dreams of one day being able to play hockey for a living. I don’t think I’d eve once said I wanted to be a superstar. It had always been about the love of the game and being able to get up day in and day out and devote myself to the sport. I’d never wanted to be famous and even now the trappings of celebrity hold absolutely no interest to me. And if I could, despite my millions I’d happily live like this forever with Autumn. A modest, unassuming life that is all about love and nothing at all do with social status and material possessions.

“How many times did he make you tell him about Alex Ovechkin crying like a baby when you beat him in the World Juniors?” she inquires, as she runs a finger along the knife in her hand and licks and sucks at the butter and honey left behind on her skin. “Because he has a major hate for that guy.”

“Wonder where he gets that from,” I grin, and releasing one arm from around her waist, reach up to push her ponytail away from the nape of her neck and then softly brush my lips against the sensitive area.

I’ve already discovered every single one of her ‘sweet spots’ and have committed them to memory. The sex is off the charts; every time we sleep together is mind blowing and intense whether it be slow, tender and meaningful or raw, desperate and totally uninhibited. I’m not ashamed to admit that she’d schooled me; still continues to, actually. And it’s exciting and a little overwhelming at times to be with a woman that knows exactly what she wants and needs and who isn’t afraid to ask for or demand it.

“I think it’s safe to say that we’re not a household of Washington Capitals fans,” she says. “I think we prefer to rock the black and gold instead of the red. And besides, I like men that have their own teeth and look like they’ve bathed some time this century.”

“Harsh,” I laugh, and place a kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry about tonight; all the people at the bowling alley hounding me constantly for autographs and pictures. I knew it was going to be a circus, but I didn’t except it to be that bad.”

“Ryan and I have come to expect it,” Autumn shrugs. “It’s no big deal, Sidney. It’s a bit of a pain in the ass and it certainly takes a way from our whole idea of ‘quality time’ but it’s part of your life. It’s all part of who you are. Trust me, I wouldn’t be with you and I wouldn’t be subjecting my son to all of that if I didn’t expect things to be this way. I think you worry more about it than I do.”

“I just know how out of hand things can get sometimes. I know how demanding people can get. I just don’t want it to scare you away. I don’t want you to think that I’m intentionally ignoring you or Ryan just because I…”

“You’re a hockey star. It’s what you are. Not who you are. People just want a piece of you. They just want to have their moment with you and their autographs and their pictures to take home with him. It’s a shame that there’s psychos out there and people that take advantage of you, but I’m sure the bulk of your fans are legitimately decent and well intentioned. Not that I appreciate having my garbage picked through or the staff at Ryan’s school harassed by the press…”

“I’ll talk to the PR department again,” I promise. “I’ll see what they can do about getting the trolls to leave you alone. I’ll see if I can…”

“It’s no big deal,” she insists. “I’m a big girl, Sidney. I know how to take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time now. I don’t need you ruining to my aid or trying to make life easier on me. It’s all good, okay? I wouldn’t be with you if it bothered me that much. Do you really think I’d stick around if I was that pissed off and irritated by it? I’ve prepared myself for all of this. I’ve expected it. And I know it’s going to continue for a good while. Please stop worrying about it so much. Please stop worrying that it’s going to push me out of your life. I’m not some insecure, self conscious little girl that gives a shit or worries herself sick over what a bunch of jealous bitches -who know nothing about me and who will never, ever stand a chance of being with you- say about me.”

“It’s just a lot for me to deal with sometime,” I say. “And if it gets to me than I can’t imagine what it’ll do to you and Ryan. I just want you to…”

“Would you please listen to me?” she drops the knife onto the counter with a clatter and then turns to face me and wraps her arms around my neck. “I’m fine. Ryan’s fine. We’re all fine. You’re a huge deal in the hockey world and people are just curious when it comes to your personal life. I’m not stressing out about this in the same way I wasn’t pissed off that you were signing autographs while we were out. It’s all part of your life, right? I think it’s safe to say that alone time is never going to be completely alone. I mean, you’re Sidney fucking Crosby for god sakes…” she tugs playfully at the curls that nape of my neck. “…nothing you do is ever going to be totally private ever again.”

“But you shouldn’t have to live like that. And Ryan shouldn’t have to either. I know how intense it can, Autumn. I know what the public can be like. Especially the haters. And you’re going to read and hear stuff about you that’s pretty nasty. Not everyone can deal with that. Not everyone can…”

“Sidney Patrick…” she sighs in exasperation and taking my face in her hands, presses a kiss to my lips. “…I am not some weak, fragile little girl that’s never had to defend herself or the people she loves. I don’t give a rat’s ass what a bunch of pathetic fan girls say about me. I don’t care what kind of nastiness their jealousy is going to spew. I know who I am and I know who you are. That’s all the matters. What did you say yesterday? Something about it being us against the world?”

“Pretty much,” I concur.

“All I need is you to get me through even the darkest days of puck bunny bullshit. So please…” she kisses me again. “…stop worrying yourself sick over all of this. Other peoples’ opinions of you aren’t going to change what I think of you or how I feel about you. Let’s just drop this, okay? You’re freaking yourself out for no reason. Just…chill…out…” she says the last three words between soft, gentle pecks to my lips. “You remember when I said that I have a surprise for you? When I told you this morning on the phone that I had something for you?”

“Does it involve lace or satin? Does it have a tag from Victoria Secret or Fredrick’s of Hollywood on it?” I inquire hopefully.

“Sorry…” she pouts dramatically. “…no such luck. And besides, aren’t you normally a ‘no frills’ kind of guy? You’re always more interested in what’s under the packaging.”

“Nudity is also a nice surprise too,” I grin, and hooking a finger in the neck of the t-shirt, pull the fabric towards me and steal a peek down at her bare chest.

“That can come after my surprise,” she says, and slaps my hand away. “This is something serious. Involving all three of us. Me, you and Ryan. Remember when you asked me a few days ago if I’d move in with you if you got your own place? And I sort of went into my ‘mega bitch, miss independent, feminist spiel’?”

“Sort of?” I chide. “If that wasn’t full out ‘mega bitch’ mode, I don’t know if I ever want to witness what is.”

“Well I’ve been thinking about it over the last couple of days. And I want to make a couple of things perfectly clear before I tell you what I’ve decided. I need you to listen to me and hear what I’m saying, okay?”

“I’m all ears,” I promise.

“I will not let you or any of your people turn me into some kind of Stepford wife; I won’t let them transform me into some meek and mild thing that does little more than escort you to public events and plaster a smile on her face and nod at everything anyone else says. I’m not the type of woman that walks two feet behind and I won’t become subservient or have whatever I wear and whatever I say dictated by your father or Pat. I won’t…”

“I’d never let them…” I begin, only to have her place a hand over my mouth.

“I won’t be a stay at home wife even if I don’t legally have that title in your life; I won’t even put one toe into any business that has anything to do with your career. You’re a hockey star, I’m a mother and social worker and I don’t feel the need or have the desire to be an agent or a personal assistant or to get mixed up in anything to do with PR. I won’t quit my job. The kids at the hospital and the people I work with are important to me and I love it at UPMC. Just because I’m Sidney Crosby’s girlfriend doesn’t mean I don’t have a life and an identity of my own. I’m not giving up being Autumn Winters. Not even for you. No matter how much I love you.”

“You love me?” a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “You realize that it’s the first time you’ve ever said the L word to my face? You’ve said it on the phone before but you’ve never…”

“You are so damn difficult,” she huffs and rolls her eyes. “Yes…I love you. Did you honestly doubt that? Did you honestly think that I wasn’t feeling the same way about you that you are me? You’re a huge part of my life, Sidney. And Ryan’s life. I can’t imagine you not being in it. I can’t even imagine how we ever managed to get along before you.”

It’s my turn to kiss her. Long, slow and tender and filled with so much hope and promise for the future. Our future.

“We’ll move in with you,” she says. “As long as you heard everything I just said. Those are my stipulations. And if you can’t handle them…”

“I can handle them,” I assure her. “I can handle you.”

“Well that still remains to be seen,” she grins. “You still have a lot to learn when it comes to handling me, superstar.”

“I’m always up for tutoring sessions,” I chide. “In fact, I’m in the mood to be tutored right now.”

“You’re just going to have to keep your Johnson in your pants for a bit. I’ve got a lot of things left to do and…”

“Right now,” I forcibly repeat, and wrapping both arms around her, effortlessly hoist her off her feet and sling her over my shoulder.

“You certainly don’t take no for an answer,” she laughs, as I carry her out of the kitchen.

“Not in my vocabulary when it comes to you,” I retort.

Looks like telling her about Emma-Leigh is going to have to wait. I’ve got more important things to tend to.