Melting On Ice

“Em, you have to get out into the world.” I made a face at the TV as I shoveled another scoop of ice cream into my mouth. “Find a new man, get out and have fun.”

“I can't,” I said to Miranda, my voice cracking slightly. “Cause I don't want 'a new man'.”

“Sweetie,” she consoled me through the phone. “Get over him. It's been almost three weeks.”

I pouted before shoving more ice cream down my throat. “I can't. You expect me to get over him in only three weeks? Would you get over Jon in three weeks?”

“You deserve better then him.” She said, completely ignoring my question. She sighed over my protest. “Fine, why don't you take up a new hobby to distract you then?”

“Like what?” I asked skeptically as I made my way to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

“How about...” I could almost imagine her tapping her chin as she thought about it. “Tennis.”

“Tennis?” I started scrubbing the dishes a little harder then necessary. “I have never played tennis in my entire life.”

“Exactly,” she said as if this was obvious reasoning. “Hence the term, 'new hobby'.” I heard Jon's deep voice whisper something to her and she giggled slightly before continuing our conversation. “Em, you know I love you, but I have to go now.” She said the last part distantly, and I knew there was no chance that she was going to say anything more.

“But Miranda-,” The only response to my plea was the dial tone as she hung up on me. I sighed, aggravated as I placed the phone back on the hook. Tennis? Could I really play tennis? I figured that there was nothing else that I would be doing today, so I looked up a tennis instructor online and scheduled our first lesson for this afternoon. Until then, I found myself moping around the house, throwing out everything that reminded me of him. Since I basically spent every waking hour with him, that was most of the apartment. Miranda was in for a big surprise when she got back from Winnipeg. I slowly started to unpack my bag from Buffalo, reluctantly placing each article of clothing back into my drawer.

“What is this?” I muttered to myself as I pulled out an oversized hoodie. Patrick's hoodie. I stared at it for a moment before slipping it over my head. Sick, I know. I swallowed hard and I tucked myself further inside it, breathing in his scent one more time before taking it off and throwing it in the trash can. “I guess I need a racquet now,” I mumbled to myself as I dragged my way out of the door. I hailed a taxi and asked them to drive me to the nearest sporting goods store.

“It is a beautiful 88 degree day today in Chicago.” The radio DJ in the taxi informed me. I shivered slightly as I glanced out the window to try and take my mind off of Pa- well you know who. “Traffic is building up in along Kaneville road due to a major accident in Kane County earlier this morning.” The taxi driver gave me a weird look when I plugged my ears to block out the DJ's voice.

“Sorry, I just have this awful fear of car accidents,” I explained to him, which was partially true, but obviously not the real reason that I was plugging my ears. He nodded before leaning over and changing the station. I leaned back and relaxed in my seat when he landed on some heavy medal station. That is until the song Rock You Like a Hurricane by the Scorpions came blasting through the speakers. That was Patrick's old goal song. I was seriously beginning to think that the universe was mocking me. “Would it be alright if you just dropped me off here?” I asked, already opening the door even though we were in the middle of the street. I thew money on the front seat when he slowed to a stop.

I shook my head quickly, as if that would help me clear my mind. Miranda was right. I did need to get over him. I just didn't realize how hard it was going to be.

Here's a tip: If you ever want to get over your super-star hockey boyfriend, the best way to do that is not to walk into a sporting goods store right after they win the Stanley Cup. I learned this lesson a little too late when I opened the door and saw giant posters of the Blackhawks hung everywhere. Including a flag hanging that said, “Patrick Kane, OT game winning goal.” Complete with a picture of him skating with his mouth guard hanging out, looking as cute as ever - stop it Emma. He's over you, get over him.

I swallowed hard and held my head up as I walked over to the cashier. “Excuse me.” I smiled sweetly at the young man working the register turned his attention towards me. “Would you mind telling me where the tennis racquets are?”

He stared at me for a minute before nodding eagerly. “Right this way.” He led me around to where about a hundred tennis racquets lined the walls. “I really think that this model is good.” He said as he took one off the shelve and twirled it in his hands. 

I quickly glanced down at the price tag when he handed it to me to look at. $88.88. “What an interesting price.” I commented. He nodded hesitantly. “Cause I mean, 88 is such an awful number.” I laughed bitterly to myself. “It's like, the worst number of them all. It's dirty and cheating and will only break your heart you know.” I tightly gripped my hands around the base of the racquet.

“Um...” The guy hesitantly took the racquet from my hands as he gave me a strange look. “Maybe this model isn't for you.” He hung it back up before scanning the walls. “Are you experienced or more of a beginner?”

“Beginner,” I said as I looked along the walls, pretending to know what I was looking at.

He licked his lips as his eyes searched the walls. “Okay, then you could probably settle for a cheaper model.” He narrowed his eyes as he leaned over and grabbed a different racquet from the wall. “How does this one feel?”

“Good,” I said as I twirled it in my hands. I guess it felt like a tennis racquet was supposed to feel....

“Okay good,” he smiled as he took it from me and headed to the cash register. “You don't have a problem with $19.99 do you?” He smiled as he teased me.

I shook my head. “Nope. I doubt that number nineteen would ever cheat on his girlfriend. Right Jonny?” I patted the poster of Tazer when we passed it.

The cashier gave me another strange look before handing me my new racquet. “Have a nice day.”

* * *

“Do you have any tennis experience?” My new tennis instructor asked, his french accent thick and he bounced slightly when he spoke.

“Um, some.” I lied as I twirled the racquet around in my hands. I quickly reached down to pick it up when I twirled it out of my grasp.

“How much?” He asked me skeptically as he rolled his eyes.

“Well,” I bit my bottom lip slightly as I avoided his eyes. “I have held a tennis racquet before.”
He sighed as he placed his head in his hands. “Hey, don't be complaining.” I pointed my finger at him as I spoke. “I'm paying you through the nose with my ex-boyfriends money for this lesson.” A total lie, but I felt good saying it.

“Alright,” he clapped his hands together as he led me around the court. “So let's start with hitting the ball against the wall.” He took a tennis ball out of his bag and easily bounced the ball at the wall and did this a couple of times before catching the ball in his hands. He threw it to me and of course my twelve years of softball decided to fail me right then, causing me to miss the catch and have to chase the bouncing ball around the court. I came back, panting to his skeptic features. He sighed loudly before gesturing for me to do as he had done. I took a deep breath before hitting it against the wall. It went wild so I ran to get it and hit it so hard that it flew over the wall and out of the court. He stared into space to where it had went and bit his lip before saying, “why don't we just start with volleying?”

I nodded eagerly as he led me over to the court. I started bouncing slightly, holding the racquet with both of my hands. He stared at me a moment before serving it. I hit the ball back way over his head. We both looked at each other for a minute before I let my eyes travel to where the ball was bouncing on the other end of the court. “Maybe a tennis grunt would help me.”

“A tennis grunt?” He asked before running over and grabbing another ball from his bag.

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “You know, like how they do on TV?” I swung the racquet and gave him an example. He rolled his eyes at me. “Is that all you french can do?” I asked and elaborated when he looked at me questioningly. “Roll your eyes.”

He sighed and I saw him physically struggle to not roll his eyes. “Women are not allowed to grunt.”

“Your kidding me.” I walked up to the net so that I could talk to him easier. “Not allowed? Are they gonna tape my mouth shut?”

“No, but I might,” He snapped and I stuck my tongue out at him. “Now get back there. We have a lot of work to do.” I shot him a look as I made my way back to the edge of the court. I ran up to the ball when he hit it and watched when I swung and it bounced past me. He hit another one to me and the same thing happened again. Then again. Then again. “Go to where you think the ball is going to go before I hit it.”

“How I am supposed to know where it is going to go?” I asked him skeptically, placing my hands on my hips. "I'm not a physic."

“Just do it.” He pulled his racquet back and I hesitated before going after the ball. This time I hit it, but into the net. “Better,” he said hesitantly. “Just hit it a little harder.” The next one also flew right into the net. I sighed in aggravation. “You need to hit it harder.”

“Really?” I asked sarcastically. “I didn't realize.”

“Don't get snappy with me.” He pointed his finger at me. “Just think of something that makes you angry and shout it when you hit the ball.”

I rolled my eyes but nodded. “My french tennis teacher.” I said and the ball sailed to his side of the net.

He shot me a look but swiftly returned the ball. “Good.”

“Lauren,” I hit the ball a little harder that time. “88 degree days,” he gave me a strange look but returned the ball back to me. “Expensive tennis racquets.” I was starting to enjoy the whooshing sound the racquet made when the racquet flew past my ear. “Everything that reminds me,” Tears started to sting in my eyes as I hit the racquet even harder. “Of,” My breathing started to get heavy as I ran right up to the net to smash the return. “Patrick Kane.” I used all of my might on this hit and it went crashing down at full speed. Right into my instructor's face. I slapped my hand over my open mouth. “Oh god, are you okay?” I ran around to his side of the court where his hand was covering his bloody nose.

“We're done.” He mumbled as he walked over to his bag to grab a tissue. “I think I've earned more then my hundred dollars for this lesson.” I closed my eyes guiltily as I followed him to help.

“Not to mention the hundred thousand your gonna get when I send this into AFV.” I spun around to see the familiar voice that spoke to us.

“Andrew!” I ran over and wrapped my arms around Andrew Ladd's body. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey Emmy,” he smiled down at me when I pulled back. “I'm here packing.”

“Packing?” I crinkled my eyebrows together in confusion. “For what?”

“I'm moving.” He continued when I shot him a questioning look. “Didn't you hear? I've been traded.”

“No,” I wrapped my arms around him again. “No, you can't be!”

“Sorry kid.” He lightly placed his hand on my back. “I thought Kaner would have told you.”

“I've haven't been talking to 'Kaner' recently.” I crossed my arms when I pulled back from him.
He looked at me a minute, but didn't push the issue. “Dude, I can't believe you're leaving!” I shook my head sadly. “Who else?”

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Sopel, Fraser, Eager, Buff, Versteeg, and Burish.” I felt my mouth fall open wider at each of the names.

“No,” I whispered quietly and shook my head again.

“Yep.” He placed a hand on my arm. “But you should be happy, you have an excuse to watch even more hockey.” He smiled slightly down at me. “Man, are you okay?” He called out to my instructor. I watched as he nodded hesitantly. “Are you sure? That was a pretty hard hit.” He smirk down at me as he ruffled my hair. “I didn't realize you had that much anger in you.”

I laughed as he led me back to his car. "How did you find me here?" 

"Miranda called me." My hand froze on his door. He closed the door and stared out the window for a moment, waiting for me to get settled. “We're alone now.” I nodded hesitantly at his obvious observation. “So spill. What is up with you and Kaner?”

“Nothing is up.” I crossed my arms as I stared out the window. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Oh really?” He asked sarcastically. “So nothing made you hit the ball so hard when you yelled his name that you almost broke that guys nose?” I could hear the smile in his voice as he teased me, but I refused to look at him.

“He didn't pick me,” I whispered as I angrily wiped away a tear as it rolled down my cheek. “He didn't pick me.”

Andrew sighed before pulling out of the parking lot and turning into the Chicago traffic. “Just give him time, Em.” He glanced over at me when we were stopped at a red light. “He loves you.”

“He doesn't,” I said, sinking back into my seat. “If he did, I would be with him in Buffalo. Not Lauren.” He nodded sympathetically even though he had no idea what I was talking about.

“When's the last time that you talked to him?”

I shrugged. “Since I left.” I paused before adding. “So three weeks, two days, and fourteen hours.” He laughed slightly under his breath. “And he calls everyday.” I saw Ladd shake his head slowly out of the corner of my eye. I played nervously with my fingers as he pulled into my apartment parking lot. The phone rang when I opened the front door, but I decided to let the answering machine get it.

“Hey, Emma.” I felt Andrew watching me when I froze as Patrick's voice filled the room. “I really miss you. I know that you are there and ignoring me, so I just want you to know that.” I slowly ran my fingers through my hair before throwing my bag on the couch. “I am hardly making it through everyday without you here because I love you. Please, please call me back.” I swallowed hard as I walked over to the kitchen. “I know that you are getting tired of these messages,” he sighed. “So I'll just cut to the chase.” I froze, waiting for him to continue. “I need you to come back. I'm at the hospital so I need you to-”

I bolted over to the receiver and picked up the phone. “Patrick? Patrick are you okay?”

“Emma.” I could tell his voice was strained as he let out a sigh of relief. “Emma, you don't know how happy I am to hear your voice.”

“Patrick,” my voice caught in my throat as I said his name. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “No it's not. Your not here.”

I paused for a minute, thinking of a way to respond. “Are you okay? Why are you at the hospital?”

“Yeah I'm fine.” He paused before adding. “Physically. Em, I've been trying to call your cell phone-”

“You mean the one at the bottom of your pool?” I snapped. I sighed as I tried to control myself. “Patrick, why are you at the hospital?”

“My grandfather.” I held the phone to my ear as I walked to my room to pack an overnight bag. Ladd followed me and helped me pulled some clothes out of my drawer. I smiled gratefully at him. “He's not doing so well. I need you here, with me.”

I licked my lips as I zipped up my bag and started to head out the door. “Alright, I'm on my way.”