Reunited

“What’s up with you, Staalsy?”

Jordan turned his head to the left and looked up at the woman standing next to him. “What do you mean?” he asked, returning to the tying of his skates.

“Come on Staalsy. We both know your game has been suffering the slightest since she left,” the woman commented, sitting in the stall next to him. “Did you really think no one would notice?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jordan denied as he pulled his practice jersey over his head. He got up from his cubby and headed toward the runway to the ice.

“Where are you going? You don’t have practice for another hour.”

“I need to think,” he muttered walking away. He could sense her following him as he stepped onto the fresh ice. Pushing away from the boards, he listened as his skates cut into the ice as he made a sharp turn. He stole a glance at the bench and smirked as he watched the woman study something in her lap before writing something down. “You know you have an office for that.”

“And you know you have practice for that,” she replied, shaking her head. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest,” Jordan said, skating over to the bench. “Like you said, there is an hour until practice, but I didn’t know you had skates here.”

“I keep them hidden from you fellows, otherwise I would be on the ice all of the time.”

Jordan laughed, grabbed some pucks and skated out to centre ice as the girl went to fetch her skates. He frowned as his thoughts turned to the certain red head that used to live across the hall from him. Without thinking, he took a slap shot from where he was standing. The round rubber didn’t stay in the air for long. As it fell to the ice, it continued its movement toward the net. There was a ting of metal as the puck hit the post.

“I thought you had a better shot than that,” a voice came from behind him.

He sent her a scowl and rang a second shot off the post. “Damn it!”

“You do realize that you are shooting from centre ice,” she commented, skating up to him. She pulled the stick from his hands and took a wrist shot.

The pair watched as the puck flew through the air, landing short of the blue line, and sliding toward the net. Jordan laughed when the puck stopped within a foot of the net. “At least I made it to the net.”

“Your stick is obviously too big for me,” she defended, rolling her eyes at him. She attempted a second shot, which had similar results.

“Get a shorter stick, Brett.”

“And whose would you suggest I use, Martin St Louis’?”

Jordan felt his expression form a frown. “Why would you get his?”

“Seriously? Staalsy, have you noticed how short I am? There is no one in the league that is my size.”

“How come you don’t have your own stick? I mean, you have your own skates.”

“I don’t play hockey every day, so I leave my sticks at home. Russell likes to play with them for some reason.”

“Get your son his own hockey stick,” Jordan said, pushing the pucks closer to the net with his skates. “And can I have mine back?”

Brett chuckled and handed him the fibre glass object. “He has his own sticks. Kris even got him another one for Christmas.”

“How do you know? Christmas is still a month away.” Jordan took a shot at the net and smirked when it hit the inside netting.

“I know what everyone gets Russell,” Brett told him. She watched as he took shot after shot at the net. “Most people tell me. That way they know whether it was a good idea or not.”

“Well, I’m going to get him something super cool,” Jordan told her as he retrieved his pucks. “And I’m not going to tell you what it is.”

“Suit yourself, Staalsy, but, let me remind you, he is almost two. So don’t go all out trying to impress my boy.”

“Hey, Staalsy, what are you doing here so early?”

Brett and Jordan turned to look at the owner of the voice.

“And Brett, I didn’t know you skated.”

Brett shook her head and skated over to the bench. “What’s up, TK?”

“Not much,” Tyler smiled. “I came early to see if you or Chris would be able to check something for me.”

“Is Chris not here yet?” Brett asked. She felt Jordan stop next to her.

“Not that I could see,” Tyler said. “But I didn’t look too hard. You two were talking pretty loud. I heard you from the locker room.”

“It must have been Staalsy, I’m a quiet person.”

“Oh, yea, real quiet you are. She joined Max and me the other night to watch one of the games. Philly was playing the Caps. Let’s just say my neighbours, upstairs and down, did not appreciate the amount of noise pollution coming from my apartment.”

“That was Max, obviously.”

“Max sounds like a girl now?” Tyler asked with a smirk.

“Have you heard the man scream?” Brett asked, rhetorically. “I hardly said a word that entire night.”

“Oh, of course,” Jordan rolled his eyes. “It must have been Max who was yelling at the television. And Max must have been telling Matt Hendricks and Mike Green to crush those fucking-”

“Watch your language,” Brett gasped, hitting the man in the chest. “It doesn’t matter anyway; I’m not loud enough to attract TK’s selective hearing.”

Tyler chuckled and looked at Jordan in a suspicious manner. “What’s up with you anyway? Your loud mouth has been awfully quiet in the locker room this week. It’s like you’re worried or something.”

“When did you become an observationist?” Jordan asked, rolling his eyes at Tyler’s comments.

“Observationist isn’t a word, Staalsy,” Brett informed the tall blonde.

He gave her a look telling her to back off and turned his attention back to Tyler as the dark haired man started to speak once more.

“All of the guys have noticed, but no one wants to say anything. You seem really quiet, like you’re thinking or something. I hate to tell you, but I’ve noticed your game slip ever so slightly too. I’m sure coach has noticed. I don’t think many of the guys have, maybe Sid and Tanger.”

“Am I really that bad?”

“I wouldn’t say you’re bad,” Brett offered. “Just distracted.”

“Distracted doesn’t explain the half of it,” Jordan mumbled. He shifted his weight from one skate to the other, effortlessly. “What are you thinking Brett?”

“For our next day off, my friend and I had a day out planned,” Brett explained, looking up into his bright blue eyes with a smile. “She bailed on me. And no it’s not Theresa who decided not to join me. She’s looking after Russell for the day, but that’s beside the point. I’m still going and if you want, you can join me.” She watched Jordan’s face scrunch into a look of disgust as Tyler laughed at the offer. “It’s not like I’m going to a spa. Look at me, do I look like the type of girl to go to the spa and get my nails done?”

“What do you have planned?” Jordan asked, curiously.

“Just things like massage, yoga, and a run. Relaxing things,” Brett told him. “I think I might have to have a chiropractic appointment. The offer is open, so if you decide you need a day to relax, let me know.” Jordan nodded. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go check out whatever it is TK is having difficulties with.”

Jordan watched as the pair walked to the locker room. He stood there for a few extra minutes before skating to the pucks that were laying a few metres from the net. He stick handled one of the rubber discs and sent a wrist shot at the net. He cringed as he heard a ringing from the red metal. “What is going on with me?” he mumbled, shaking his head.

He spread out the pucks into a circle and weaving in and out of the pucks as he stick handled an extra one. He noticed that even his puck handling skills were off. His hands seemed sloppy as he moved from the left to the right. Jordan groaned as the puck he was in control of hit another puck.

“You need a break,” a man said from the bench.

Jordan turned to look for the voice. He shook his head when he noticed his teammate leaning against the boards. “What can I help you with?”

“Not stick handling or accuracy, obviously,” the man chuckled. He ran a hand through his long hair and stepped onto the ice. He skated over to the blonde man. “I think you need a break. You know, something to get your mind off her.”

“Get my mind off whom?” Jordan asked.

“Simone.”

“Right,” Jordan muttered. He took a sloppy shot that finally hit the netting. “How do you expect me to do that?”

The man skated out to Jordan and took a puck with his own stick. “Come over tonight.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow at him. “For what?”

“Just come over. Theresa and Sid are coming and Brett is bringing Russ.”

“But what are you doing?”

“We don’t know yet,” the man shrugged, slapping the puck at the net. “Probably watch a movie or something. Brett’s cooking supper, if you want to come over a little bit earlier.”

“You’re not going to give me much of a choice, are you.”

The man smirked and shook his head.

“What time?” Jordan sighed.

“Let’s say, six thirty,” he suggested. “Is that alright? Or are you busy?”

“I’ll be there. Thanks, Tanger.”