The Man Who Can't Be Moved

Three weeks later

“Congratulations daddy,” Peyton manages through a flood of tears as we embrace tightly by the door of my wife’s hospital room.

My own emotions have been getting the better of me for a little over twelve hours now and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve cried -unabashedly and unashamed- a number f times already. I’d been unable to rein in the tears when I’d heard my boys crying for the first time or when the nurses had brought them over to us in the operating room while Em was being ‘put back together’ and stitched up and we’d gotten to finally meet our two little miracles face to face. There’s no words that can accurately or adequately describe how it had felt to see my sons; to hold them and cuddle them to my chest and place kisses on their noses and cheeks after so many months of near incessant stress and profound worry. All of the fear and the constant anxiety that I’d gone through had immediately vanished the moment my boys had been placed into my arms and I’d been able to thoroughly inspect every inch of them from top to tail -every tiny finger and toe, every wrinkle in their palms and the soles of their feet, their vibrant blue eyes and the abundance of light brown hair they’ve both been blessed with- and I’d seen for myself that they were beyond perfect.

The love I feel for them is all consuming; every fibre of my being is connected to them and my heart both constricts with the most intense swell of pride and the purest form of adoration and awe that I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I’m a dad now; two lives depend on me to love them and provide for them and to set good examples for them to follow. What I’d once doubted and even wished away during my most selfish and bitter of moments I now worship. And despite my initial reservations surrounding becoming a father and all the concerns I’d been saddled with, I actually can’t remember what my life had been life before them.

“They’re so beautiful,” my wife’s best friend gushes as she gives me an affectionate squeeze and presses kiss to both of my prickly, unshaven cheeks before drawing away. “You must be so proud of them,” she sniffles, frantically wiping at her tears with the backs of her hands and then glancing across the room to where Emma-Leigh sits propped up in her hospital bed and chats amicably with our visitors and sifts through a mountain of cards and gifts that have been brought by or delivered within the last hour alone. She’s in surprisingly cheerful spirits thanks to the Demerol drip keeping her post-op pain at bay and the after effects of the epidural that have left her -temporarily- unable to feel anything below the waist.

“I think I love you,” she’d gushed to the anaesthesiologist after he’d delivered much needed relief after two hours of intense agony. “I think I’ll leave my husband for you.”

The twins arrived a week ahead of schedule, eight days shy of their scheduled due date via c-section. Em’s water had broken -and the stitches holding her cervix together had ruptured- during a two in the morning trip to the bathroom and we’d made the frantic dash to UPMC and had discovered that her contractions were already less than ten minutes apart and that she’d probably been having them while she’d been asleep until the point they’d become so powerful that they’d woken her up. At first the OB had held off on sending her to the OR; she’d been willing to take her chances with a vaginal delivery and we’d been somewhat relieved and excited at the prospect -Em had been terrified at the thought of undergoing major surgery from the moment she’d first found out months ago that she’d need it- until an exam had shown that one of the twins was breach.

“I am proud of them,” I confirm, as I watch the way Geno -with baby Max laying along his broad, strong forearms with his head cradled gently in the Russian’s huge, powerful hands- stands at the foot of Em’s bed and softly sings a lullaby in his native tongue while swaying back and forth and smiling down -the most tender smile I’d ever seen on the big man- at the infant in his possession.

It’s a surreal moment; brilliant early July sunshine streaming through the windows and bathing the room in warmth as we find ourselves surrounded by some of the people that have come to the mean the most in our lives. Tanger -with his own son sleeping soundly at his feet in a carry seat-, Duper and Flower (minus his triplets who are still residing down the hall in the NICU and from what doctors say, only a mere couple of weeks away from heading home) laughing and chatting in French as they lounge with my parents in the sitting area of the private room, and Carol-Lyne, Vero and Kelsey perched on the edges of Em’s bed listening as she reads aloud from one of the cards and TK stands alongside of her with Mathieu tucked securely into the crook of his arm.

“I’m proud of all three of them,” I add, and both Peyton and I grin when Emma-Leigh tosses her head back and laughs hysterically at something humorous that Duper has written in the card from him and his family. It’s been a steady trickle of visitors for the past couple of hours; every available inch of the room has long ago been taken up by flower and balloon arrangements and the sentiments from family, friends and even fans just keep pouring in.

“It’s been a hell of a month for you,” Peyton’s eyes sparkle playfully as she rubs the space between my shoulders. “Not only did you become a Pittsburgh sports legend and win a Stanley Cup all in one night, now you’ve jumped head first into the wild and crazy world of parenthood. How does it feel? To be a father?”

“Better than anything I could have ever imagined,” I answer without hesitation. “Better than scoring those two goals and winning the Cup.”

Three weeks ago I’d thought nothing could ever top the moment the clock ran out on the Detroit Red Wings and me and my boys swarmed the ice as Stanley Cup Champions. All of the adversity we’d face throughout the seasons and all of the behind the scenes drama -from the departure of that fucker Marian Hossa to the poor leadership of Michel Therrien and his eventual firing and the promotion of Disco Dan from the farm team to even the personal issues that had formed very distinct battle lines within the dressing room- had finally come to an end and we were able to finally pat ourselves on the backs for surviving everything we’d been through relatively unscathed. I’d thought for sure that nothing could ever come close to the jubilations and relief that had surged through me the second I’d lifted that Lord Stanley’s mug over my head and realized for the first time that it was all real; I’d achieved my ultimate boyhood dream and nothing else could ever come close. I had even told a reporter that it was the happiest day of my life. And up until my sons had entered the world, it had been.

Now nothing can come even remotely close to matching how it feels to be a daddy. To see my boys safe and sound after worrying about them for so long and to be humbled by not only the experience of witnessing their births, but at seeing just how brave and strong and resilient my wife truly is.

“You know, I didn’t really want any of this at first,” I shamefully admit. Peyton’s probably the only person in the world -aside from my wife knows every one of my deepest, darkest secrets and my most painful of regrets- that I’d ever confess something like that to. We’ve shared a lot of heart to hearts in the past nine months; I’ve poured out my entire soul about everything from sending Em away to Montreal to get the help she so desperately needed for her illness to missing her so much it physically ached to wanting to marry her and spend the rest of my life with her. “Being a dad so soon,” I clarify. “I hadn’t wanted it to happen this early. I’d wanted to take things slow; I’d wanted her to go to school and get back into hockey and to rediscover all the things that used to make her happy and that she used to love to do. And honestly? I just wanted her all to myself for a while.”

“I know,” Peyton gives an understanding, sympathetic smile and squeezes my shoulder. “A lot of people have the same kind of reservations, Max. Do you really think Kris wanted it to happen so soon? Do you really think that he wasn’t freaked out and spooked and that he didn’t have his own meltdown after I told him? He wasn’t ready for daddy hood either. Nowhere near it, actually. But now look at him…” she nods in Tanger’s direction as he carefully and gently unbuckles a now awake and slightly fussy Luc from his carry seat and then settles his infant son against his chest as he leans back against the rear of the couch. “…now it’s like he never doubted himself or what we were getting ourselves into at all. Luc is exactly like your boys; completely unexpected yet totally loved and wanted. None of them are mistakes. One day you’ll be like Kris, you know. One day you won’t let all the things you said or thought in the past bother you so much. You were freaked out, Max. You’re human. No one faults you for that. Stop beating yourself up, okay? Stop thinking about something you said months ago when you were angry. We all say stupid ass shit when we’re upset. Do you think Em even thinks about that fight anymore? Do you think she holds the things you said against you the same way you hold them against yourself?”

“Probably not,” I admit.

“Then quit wallowing and just learn to keep your trap shut from hear on out,” she cuffs me lightly upside the head. “Think before you open your mouth. I know it’s hard for you because you’re a man and men are incapable of keeping their yaps shut. But could you at least try? For me?”

“Just for you,” I promise. “It’s going to be hard, but…”

My words trails off and my sentence comes to an abrupt, unfinished end as the door clicks open behind us and we both turn to greet the new arrival.

******

I haven’t seen or heard from Sid since we’d parted ways with a brief handshake and a ‘good luck with the babies’ on his part and an ‘enjoy your summer’ on mine the day we’d all cleaned out our lockers and prepared to start our all too short off season. I’d heard that he’d gone back to Nova Scotia the same afternoon and that he’d spent the last couple of weeks travelling back and forth between Los Angeles (where Pat Brisson’s main office is located), various parts of Ontario for charity events and Pittsburgh because of work responsibilities that kept Autumn in the city. He’s definitely the last person I expected to show up; not because he wouldn’t have been welcome but because I’d assumed it would be too hard for him to be around us considering everything that had gone down. Losing his girlfriend to a buddy may have been bad enough but it had been losing his baby right before that had done the most damage to him.

“Good to see you,” Peyton greets Sid with a brilliant smile and a warm hug and a kiss to both cheeks, and then pats me almost reassuringly on the back. “I am going to go and spend some time with my nephews,” she announces, and then bids a graceful farewell before leaving Sid and I immersed in an awkward silence in the small alcove by the door.

“I didn’t think you were in the Burgh,” I eventually break the silence.

“I came back a few days ago because Autumn had a charity event I volunteered to be part of,” he explains. “After today she’s off for the rest of the summer; we’re heading to Disney World tomorrow with Ryan. Three weeks there before we head to Nova Scotia for my whole birthday, Cup celebration thing.”

“Disney World, huh? Most popular tourist destination in the world yet the most fiercely private guy in practically the entire universe is offering himself up to it like a sacrificial lamb.”

“Autumn thinks it’s probably the only way I’ll ever get out of being so socially awkward. That it’ll be better if I just throw myself to the wolves. Like pulling a band-aid off quickly instead of doing it slowly. It’ll hurt less and I won’t have time to second guess it or talk myself out of it. She won’t live in a bubble and I won’t live without her so…” he shrugs. “…guess it’s just something I need to do.”

“What about wedding plans?” I curiously inquire; he’d gotten popped the question sometime the morning of the Cup parade -no one knows exactly how he’d done and he’s not exactly the type of guy to share details regarding his personal life- and when Autumn had showed up to ride in the back of the pick up with him and Vero and Flower (and Big Troy and the Stanley Cup) she’d been sporting a massive diamond ring. And just like that, fan girls’ hearts everywhere shattered as Sid quietly and effortlessly made his segue from kid to man.

“We’ve been talking about it a bit,” he replies. “But we’re not getting married until next summer so we have lots of time. Although something tells me we’ll be hiring someone to do all the hard work; my parents are expecting a massive thing and they won’t take no for an answer. If it wouldn’t be too weird for you guys, I don’t mind putting your names on the invite list.”

“I don’t think that would too weird at all,” I say. “You want to come in and…”

“I don’t think I should,” he gives an unapologetic smile. “Some things I’m just not ready for, you know? I mean, I’m happy for you guys and I’m glad that things went okay and that Em and the babies are healthy, I just…some things still hurt a little too much.”

I nod in understanding.

“But I wanted to come by and give you a couple of things,” he holds a loft a gift bag emblazoned with a picture of various baby animals aboard Noah’s Ark and then rummages through the mounds of tissue paper sticking out the top. “Mario wanted me to give you these…” he says, as his hand finally resurfaces and he presents me with the pucks from game seven; still bearing the pieces of medical tape that one of the trainers had stuck on them and scribbled all of the scoring information and time and date down on. “He thought you might like to have them. One for each of the babies.”

“Thanks,” I genuinely appreciate the sentiment; I’d been somewhat disappointed when I’d been told that the pucks would be displayed somewhere in Mellon Arena when I’d had my heart set on putting them in the boys’ nursery. “We’ve got this whole wall of hockey stuff in their room,” I say as I accept the pucks. “Autographed pictures and sticks and jerseys from all kinds of people around the league. Not to mention my dad’s created a Habs shrine for them at my place in Montreal.”

“I just figured that those pucks would mean more to you guys sitting the babies’ rooms then they would collecting dust in some trophy case in the arena,” he reasons. “And this is from me and Autumn. And Ryan. He’d kill me if I didn’t include his name in everything. It’s just a few outfits and a couple of blankets and some little toys and stuff. Nothing major.”

“You didn’t have to get them anything,” I tell him, as he passes over the gift bag. “Especially after you gave them those silver rattles at Em’s birthday party. You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” he cheerfully interjects. “Legit wanted to. It was even my idea to do it. Babies are always a blessing, Max. Doesn’t matter what went down between me, you and Em. Those babies never played a part in that. They’re totally innocent. Why punish them for stupid shit we all did? Everything’s good with them? They’re healthy?”

“They’re perfect,” I smile. “Perfect and impossible to tell apart. They have their hospital bracelets on right now so that’s how we know who’s who. But we’re going to have to always put them in different coloured socks at home so we don’t mix them up. Are you sure you don’t want to come and see them? I know it’s hard, but it’s not like anyone’s going to judge you for still feeling that way. Are you sure you don’t want to…”

“I’m sure. I just wanted to stop by and see how everyone is. Say congrats. So…” he offers a hand. “…congrats.”

I shake his hand and then pull him into a one armed hug. “I’m sorry, Sid,” I lower my voice so no one outside of us hears what I’m saying. “I’m sorry about the baby. I’m sorry about a lot of things. I never meant for any of it to happen the way it did. I don’t regret falling in love with her, but I wish things could have been different between us. I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” he says, and then embraces me loosely and pats me on the back. “I better go…” he clears his throat noisily and pulls away. “…I told Autumn I’d pick her up and she’s off in about ten minutes.”

“Have a good summer,” I swallow noisily to clear away the lump of emotion sitting square in my throat. “Don’t be a stranger, okay? At least call and let us know how you guys are getting along.”

“I will,” he promises and then turns towards the door. “Send some pictures of the babies, would you? Autumn won’t come here in person but she’d love to see them. And hey…” he gives a cheeky grin over his shoulder before he steps out into the hall. “…maybe when I’m at Disney World I’ll buy the boys some of those tacky mouse ears with their names on them.”

“Not if you want to live to see the beginning hockey season,” I tease, and then linger in the doorway as he journeys down the corridor. “See ya in September, Sid!” I call, before he hangs a left at the main nurses’ station.

He pauses briefly, gives a smile and a wave and then disappears down the hall.

For the first time since the drama had began between him, myself and Emma-Leigh, it finally feels as if he’s out of our lives for good. As if he’s gone on with his own and the olive branch has been extended and accepted and that he’s making a legitimate attempt to move on.

Life finally seems perfect.

And only time will tell if the feeling is legit or if it’s actually too good to be true.