Between Two Lungs

At six thirty that Saturday, Marc came knocking on Mae's door to take her to the hockey game. She slipped on her pull-over hoodie and a pair of jeans covered in dry paint and ink along with her beaten up Chuck Taylors before heading to Marc's car.

"Are you excited for the game?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Yeah," she responded. "I should really be asking you that question. I mean, how often do you really get to play your little brother? Should be intense."

Marc laughed. "Yeah...I can just see my mom's expression, clutching the life out of one of her hand-made pillows until the last buzzer sounds. My dad should have a good time watching it, though. But it's all in good fun, just competing for bragging rights until the next game."

The rest of the ride was silent, aside from the radio that blared America's Top 40 from the speakers. Mae couldn't keep her leg from bouncing up and down. Marc wrote it off as excitement, but in reality, she was trying to control her cravings. Not for anything in particular, just something to subside the feeling of emptiness that she had whenever she wasn't high.

Mae had a pack of Menthols in her coat pocket, but Marc always objected to her smoking in his car. So she knew she was going to have to wait.

He pulled up to the arena and parked the car. Adjusting his tie, he got out and ran over to open Mae's door as well. She thanked him and stepped outside, pulling her coat closer to her body as a cool breeze passed through the November air.

"Here's your pass to the owner's box. You should get a pretty decent view from there."

Grinning, she took the ticket and pecked Marc on the cheek. "You're the best. Have a great game."

Marc disappeared to go get ready for the big showdown while Mae stood outside for a second and fished the cigarettes from her pocket.

"Fuck, I don't have my goddamn lighter," she cursed, her eyes darting about so she could find someone to ask. She caught a glimpse of a man walking towards her in a suit with scruffy blond hair and piercing blue eyes. "Excuse me, do you have a light?"

"I don't smoke," he said flatly, with what Mae noticed was a very Canadian sounding accent. "It's kind of not good if you play hockey."

"You're a hockey player?" she questioned. He gave her a nod, motioning to the equipment bag he was carrying. "Penguins?"

He nodded again. "That would be correct." He motioned to the door. "You coming inside to root for my team?"

"Hardly," she chuckled. "I came here with Marc Staal."

He smirked to himself, looking at her up and down. "Maybe I'll see you after the game or something then."

"Maybe you will," she agreed, giving him a crooked smile. "But only after I find someone with a lighter."

He waved to her and walked off. Mae walked over to a middle aged man who already had a cigarette lit and asked for the use of his lighter. She stuck the Menthol between her lips and took in a long, much needed drag.

"Mm, minty," she smiled to herself as she exhaled the smoke from her lungs. "I wonder what that guy's name was," she mumbled. Finishing up her smoke and stomping out the cigarette butt with the toe of her shoe, she shrugged. "Guess I'll find out later."

* * * * *

The game had ended with a final score of 3-2 in favour of the Pittsburgh Penguins. Mae had never fully been interested in hockey, but she knew how important it was to Marc and so she didn't complain whenever he brought her to games.

Mae made her way down to the Rangers' locker room where Marc was changing into fresh clothes. "Hey!" he called to her, clearly not too upset by the loss. "Give me five minutes, okay? I want to go over and meet my brother at his team's locker room."

"Sure," she agreed, stepping outside. She heard a few cat calls coming from the younger players and just rolled her eyes. "As if anyone would want someone as fucked up as me."

Ten minutes later (Mae was timing him and grew irate every minute he had lied about), Marc emerged from the locker room looking somewhat presentable, but still wet from his very quick shower. He greeted her with a small side hug. When he pulled away, she saw him frown. "You smell like smoke."

Rolling her eyes, she shrugged. "It's not a big deal, Marc."

"You promised me you'd try to quit," he stated. "You told me last week that you were doing fine with the nicotine patches."

"Those nicotine patches are nothing but a waste of money that I could have been using to buy more printing inks," Mae muttered. "Can we not talk about this now? Let's just meet up with Jason or whatever so we can fucking go."

"Jordan," he corrected. "And watch your language. You're such a little potty mouth."

Mae pretended to zip her lips shut as she walked alongside Marc to the Penguins' locker room. In a matter of minutes, they stood in front of the locker room door and Marc rapped his knuckles against it as he waited for someone to respond.

The wooden door flew open, revealing the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins, Sidney Crosby. "Oh, hey Marc," he greeted with what Mae liked to refer to as a 'bro-hug'. "Here to see Jordan?"

"You got it," he nodded. "And I brought a visitor along with me."

"Hi," Sid greeted. "I'm Sidney."

"Hey," she replied politely. "I'm Mae." After exchanging pleasantries with Sidney, she followed Marc further into the locker room. She looked around at the bare white walls and the plain unfinished stalls where the players stored their equipment. It was practically torture. Everything was so...plain.

"Hey, there he is!" she heard Marc say enthusiastically, snapping her back to the real world. Marc slapped the shoulder of someone who had his back turned to him with a black baseball hat on. When he turned around, Mae came face to face with a very familiar set of shockingly blue eyes.

"Hey," he said, half to Marc and half to her.

"Mae, this is my brother Jordan," Marc introduced. "Jordan, this is my best friend Mae."

A small blush crept up on Mae's face. She felt stupid for not noticing the resemblance before, as mild as it was. "Nice to meet you, Jordan," she said, extending her hand for him to shake.

He grinned down at her, his imperfect teeth giving him an adorable, rakish look. Taking her hand in his, he replied, "Likewise, I'm sure."