Heart of Man

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll take care of things on my end.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m sure we’ll have time before the first game. I’ll drop by when we get back to Tampa. Sound good?”

“It shouldn’t be like this, and if it’s in my power to fix what’s wrong, when I don’t mind. She sounds fantastic, and I’d love to meet her some time.”

“No, I don’t mind. That might actually work out. I was planning on driving up to North Carolina during the break, and I can bring her with me. Give you two time to sort things out.”

“Fantastic. We still on for lunch this week?”

“Great. Just so you know, I don’t feel good about doing this to him. I don’t know how much longer I can play the part.”

“I know..”

I jumped off the bed when a knocking sound bellowed throughout the hotel room that I was sharing with Matt. We had just woken up, and Vincent asked to talk to Matt privately as soon as the clock it 7 AM. I snatched my phone off of the ground, smiling at the laughter that came through the other end.

“Hardly funny. I have to go, someone’s at the door. I’ll keep in touch.” I ended the call, throwing the phone on my pillow, and tip-toed to the door. I was pretty sure several of our teammates didn’t run on Vinny’s schedule.

I gripped the cold door knob, turning it and opening the door, to come face to face with a very red Matt Smaby. “Forgot my card.” I backed away to let him, as he stomped through the door frame, kicking the bathroom door open that rested on his left side.

He continued parading past the door, as I pushed the hotel door closed, turning to my furious teammate. He ripped his suitcase off the ground, snatching the few articles of clothing that were scattered up, yanking them into the opening. I sat on the edge of his bed, allowing him room to breathe and calm down. It wasn’t a time for words, apparently.

He reached for the zipper, after folding the top of the case over and tried pulling it shut, only to have it catch on a pair of his shorts. “Fuck!” He growled, gritting his teeth before pulling it free, and sealing the case closed. He stomped over his equipment bag, and threw it on the bed next to me.

“Matt?” I looked up at my friend who was clearly upset. “Matt, what’s wrong? What did Vincent want?”
“They’re sending me to fucking Norfolk on the next flight out.”

~

I ripped off my sweat-soaked pads off and threw them into my stall, my grey line 2 practice jersey fluttering to the ground next to me, as I stripped out of my uniform. I had been pulled from my line with Matt, and would play full forward tonight. I was put with Simon and Marty. What Coach Guy was thinking, I have no idea. Something about throwing the Bruins off, I think. I hadn’t played Center since my early days with Avangard. And not to mention where our usual “Don’t get into stupid fights” talk normally took place, he mentioned nothing on the topic. I really missed my navy jersey, indicating my line with Vinny and Marty. I had just begun to understand the importance of different practice jerseys, and today during stretches, it mentally clicked. Took long enough, to be honest.

“Anna.” I turned to Simon, whose stall was next to mine. He was still in his grey jersey as well.

“Gagne.” Steven raised his brow, halfway in the process of taking his white jersey off.

“Still on a last name basis, I see. Well, if you don’t mind, would you join me on the ice, and then for lunch?” He teased, before nodding towards the door. I stepped past him, still clad only in my lower uniform and under armour, knocking him into his stall playfully.

“Lead the way, baby face.”

~

I re-taped my stick, as Marty continued to ramble about how we needed to keep playing hard, so we stay in the running for the playoffs. “Anna, are you paying attention?”

“Paying attention, I am.”

“Thanks for sarcasm, Yoda.”

“Much to learn, you have.” Simon punched my shoulder softly, shaking his head while smiling. The man had helped me greatly during our lunch. Yes, I had to for-go my nap time, and about every other pre-game ritual I had, but speeding down the highway at about ninety miles an hour, to make it on time, seemed like a ritual to pick up on.

During lunch, we talked about Matt, and my problem with Vincent. I told him what I had planned, and even though he was skeptical about Eric, he supported me. “Still need to get you a car, though. Especially now that Matt’s in Norfolk, you can’t borrow his all the time.” We then just happened to find a movie theatre that was showing all six Star Wars films, much to our delight. Something that was common ground for us both, and that I was actually familiar with and could discuss.

“Let’s go. It’s time for warm-ups,” Coach Guy shouted from the hallway, holding the door open for us to exit. “Mike, you are starting tonight. Anna, Simon, and Ryan, you guys are starting. Victor, Brett, same for you guys. Don’t let them into your head. I don’t care if punches are thrown around tonight; don’t let them shove you around. I’d rather lose tonight, and show them that we are a force to be reckoned with, than win for nothing, furthering our shame of playing like asses. Watch their penalty kills, and please, for the love of God, if you fight, kick their ass. These guys are going to be confidence, and on a roll. Shut them down.”

Apparently, those were the words Guy Boucher was looking for this morning.

~

I clicked the green icon on my phone that kept flashing. “What? We’re getting ready to go! Warm-ups are kind of important, Matt!” I growled into the blackberry, waiting for my former teammate to spit it out.

“Simon called me. If you play like shit tonight because you are pissed that I’m not there, I will kill you, and never speak to you again. I will beg to be traded to Edmonton, and never see you again.” I sighed, shifting my weight to my other leg.

“Couldn’t they have given you at least a little bit of a head’s up?” I rubbed my forehead for a moment, wishing the end of the season was here already.

“I wish they would have, but before you know it, it’ll be pre-season, and I’ll see you again. It’s not the end of the world. Besides, I can be recalled at any time. The Admirals just need help right now, and you guys can afford to spare me. Now go out there, and re-arrange some faces.”

~

“Tonight, the starting goaltenders are brought to you by Taco Bell. Mike Smith allowed 5 goals on 18 shots in this building on the second of December. He hasn’t played in the NHL since December eighteenth. Tuukka Rask, this season against Tampa Bay, a 2.00 GAA, .944 SP. Rask, He is 10 and 3 in his last thirteen decisions. Clearly the best goalie in hockey this winter.”

I squeezed the water into my mouth, as the tiny radio played the broadcast near our bench. The TD Gardens was ablaze with black and gold, contrasting heavily to our white jerseys. I tossed the water bottle to Steven, before skating back to the center ice line, and dropping to the ice to stretch.

“Anna?” I glanced to my left, to see David Krejci sitting next to me, on the Bruins’ side of the ice, stretching his hips as well. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” I grinned, unable to hold back my excitement.

“Sorry to disappoint.” He returned the gesture, as we focused back on our exercises. “Zdeno know?”

He shook his head in response, while we both watched the Bruins’ captain poke fun of a red-head that I had become all too familiar with, thanks to my trusty television and NHL.com. “Roxanne McGregor. Fantastic, just what I didn’t need today.”

“Just keep it quiet. You starting?” I nodded in affirmation. Vinny was out with a mid-body injury, something he had sustained in New Jersey, and was still out. Nothing good came out of it, except for a lovely little ‘A’ patched onto Steven’s chest.

~

The first period had barely hit the halfway make, before I got my third shift of the game. Apparently Chara did know, and he let the side of my body know as well. I was pretty fucking sure it was beyond a boarding call, but they didn’t even give him that. Biased refs, that’s what they were. Cross-checking, and two minutes, it didn’t even constitute!

They even called Adam for hooking! His stick broke moments before, and he wasn’t even near McGregor. Thankfully, however, no one scored, though Mike had several good saves. Tuukka, however, mirrored his success. Yet, the more I watched my old friends, if even that, the more the guilt panged in my chest. I was such a selfish bitch. Maybe I should just go back home, and quiet altogether. Everywhere I go, there seemed to be conflict.

~

I skated back onto the ice for the face-off into the second period, up against Kelly. Chara and Boychuk were putting up a hell of a battle against us during the first period. The only shot I got past them, hit Tuukka in the shoulder. “Anna?” I ignored him, returning to the bench for another line change.

While Brownie’s line was duking it out with the Bruins, Marty kept shaking me every time they got close to having a good shot on net. I mean every time.

“Anna! They’ve got it! Dammit.. Come on! Shoot for God’s sake!” I squirted another burst of water into my mouth, as we hit the four minute mark, and got ready for another shift. The game wasn’t going anywhere, and shoot-outs freaking sucked. I watched Downie pass the puck over to Eric Brewer, whose slap shot lodged itself in Tuukka’s five hole.

We erupted into cheers on our bench, high-fiving each other, and then the players on the ice when they skated by.

~

I swore heavily when Boston scored, tying up the game, but it was even worse when Brownie took a go at Thornton only moments later. The man had slid into the net, and he just went over there and started shoving him around. Coach was furious, and proceeded to make an example out of the left winger.

“What did I say about pointless fights? This is bullshit, and I will not stand for it. If you are here to fuck around out there, go to the locker room, get undressed, and I’m shipping your asses to Montreal, where you can play around with these fuckers all year long!” He seethed, slamming his clip board against the glass behind us.

I smirked, nudging Simon beside me. “Carey Price all year long? Sign me up.” He snickered with me, as we conversed quietly as to not disturb our coach.

“Yeah, I don’t think Vinny will go for that.” I looked at him seriously for a moment.

“He made a wrong decision, and I’m only doing it to help him out. It’s not like we’ve fucked or anything. He closest thing we’ve done is hug.”

“He spent the night.”

“He overreacted when I was with Sergei. As soon as he was asleep, I slept on the couch.” Simon sighed, taking a sip of his water. Our captain was in a complicated predicament, something that I didn’t foresee ending well unless it was resolved quickly. As in after regular season games and before playoff games.

We switched again, as the face-off began in neutral ice. “Ready?” I nodded to the ref, as we waited for Tyler Seguin. I glanced to the two Boston wingers, wincing slightly as my eyes narrowly avoided the red-head’s own.

“Trovato.” I glanced to my left, to see Milan Lucic standing there, a not-so-happy look on his face.

“What do you want?” Seguin was waiting on his replacement skates, one of the blades having snapped.

“Control Downie, or I will. I don’t give a damn if your Captain is here or not, he shouldn’t be acting like that.” Excuse me? Just who the fuck do you think you are, Milan Lucic?

I snapped my gaze to meet his, skating up to him. I was a good few inches shorter than him, but it honestly didn’t matter. “You need to temper your tongue.” I turned my back to him, waiting for Seguin to now make his way to center ice.

“That’s all you can say? Wow, I thought you might actually have a shot and being decent, but you’re just some slut who ‘wiggled’ her way to the top.” I furrowed my brow, ignoring Simon’s silent pleas, before exhaling deeply.

“Fuck off.” The referee set the puck up, before dropping it quickly. I grabbed it, sending it back to Victor, before pulling up some, favouring the bench side. He circled the net, before losing the puck to the girl, McGregor. She crossed it over to Seguin, who easily dodged Victor, sliding the puck over to Lucic.

I pressed forward, hip checking Lucic into the boards, sticking my stick around him to knock the puck loose. “Victor, get the damn thing!” I felt an elbow into my shoulder, despite the padding, and could feel the pain resonating from the impact point.

Pushing away from the winger, I was met with Tyler Seguin, whose skate knocked mine, sending me tumbling into Lucic. He dropped his stick, his hands gripping my jersey, and slammed me into the glass to his side, nearly missing the metal that held the plexi-glass together.

I threw my stick asunder, my gloves following, as he did the same at a much faster pace. His fist collided with my cheek, snapping my visor and knocking my helmet to the ground. Mid-punch, I snatched the collar of his jersey, pulling him forward into the boards beside me, hoping to slam him as hard as he did me.

I backed up, as the cheers supporting Lucic grew louder, more than likely surging his confidence. “Is that all you have, Trovato?” I could hear several of our teammates sharing choice words with the other team, two of the linesmen going to, more than likely, separate what was going on behind us.

Lucic gripped the side of my jersey, right to my padding, before landing another punch to the side of my face. I recoiled a little bit, feeling slightly dizzy, before spitting the accumulating blood out onto the ice. I balled my fist, sending it right back at him beyond the arm that was holding me back, sending his helmet tumbling to the ice.

My sleeve had small blood splatters from both my cut on my face, my bloody hand, and now, Lucic’s jaw bone that was starting to turn purple around a cut that I had caused. “That’s enough!” One of the refs’ arms slid between us, pulling Lucic away from me, as they escorted him to the Bruins’ penalty box first.

“That was uncalled for! You had no right to do that!” I sighed, turning to face McGregor, who was possibly fuming. I skated up to her, shoving my arm into her, which ended up making her skate backwards some.

“You tell him to mind his manners about his opponents. He has no right to condescend my team, when his own is at just as much fault as we are.” She didn’t look happy, before confronting me again. She returned the shove with more force than I had used. With Milan Lucic, it was just another fight. This one seemed more than just that.

“Don’t tell me about something I know about! That was bullshit, and you know it!” I resisted the urge to punch her in the face, and just leave the game completely. I decided to go through with my plan, as her eyes widened, no doubt ready to start the fight, before my fist was enclosed in another, and I was being held back.

McGregor was in a similar predicament, only Tuukka Rask was holding her back, and whispering calming, sweet nothings into her ear. I left my hand fall, to see it being covered my an unfamiliar hand, and the arm around my body clothed by a black jersey.

Shooting my gaze up to McGregor, she followed suit, myself smirking at Tuukka, however. “I should have known that he would choose his girlfriend over a friend he’s known longer than her. Makes sense, I suppose. They always choose the ones they can manipulate and leave the easiest.” She began to get riled up again, forcing Tuukka to grip her harder.

“Rask doesn’t know you!”

“Anna, stop. It’s alright.” I had opened my mouth to retaliate, before the arm around me tightened, and I somewhat relaxed into David Krejci’s grasp, allowing him to lead me to the Bolts’ penalty box. I would no doubt get some kind of call for something, and would, no doubt, be in here for a while.

~

I had spent 5 minutes in the box for fighting, and Coach had pulled me into the locker room to check for injuries and such. After our med team checked me out, I had returned with ten minutes left in the third period. This wasn’t going to be good. The game was still tied 1-1.

Four minutes before the end of the third period, after only having one shift, shooting four times on Tuukka, Lucic scored, and was assisted by McGregor.

Needless to say, by the time we walked onto the ice to greet our defeated teammates, TD Gardens was so loud, we retired to the locker room somberly.

~

I wrapped the gauze on my hand, wincing from the pain that shot through my arm as the fabric made contact with the broken skin. “Anna, could we have a moment?” Glancing to the white-board, I saw that the number 57 was written boldly under the other numbers allowed to interview. Fuck me..

Nodding slowly, I finished the wrapping, and sat up a tad bit straighter as a few other reporters drifted away from Brownie. “Of course.” It wasn’t even moments later when I had several recorders shoved in front of me, questions being tossed around openly.

“Anna, what provoked you to attack Lucic?” My brow rose, as I started to pay more attention to the interview, and the man nearly shanking me with the iPhone.

“I did not attack Lucic. I told him to watch his team, because I’d be damned if we got another incorrect penalty put on our team, since Mattias received the roughing call. I didn’t think it was right, but that’s not my call to make. I was frustrated, and did nothing wrong. He threw the first punch, and I’d be glad to find a copy of the play for you to watch and see what happened.” One woman stuck her nose up, scoffing, and stormed away to Marty, obviously not happy with what I said. Why is it that everyone has to be doing something wrong to please another?

“Miss Trovato,” began another man, who was somewhat older and had a pleasant smile on his face, as he awaited my acknowledgement. “Has there been any talk of next year’s plans?”

I visibly relaxed, anxious to get this over with. “Yes. Four days ago, I met with our general manager, Steve, and I signed a two-year contract with the Tampa Bay Lightning Club.” My words were met with mumbles and short words being said amoungst a few others in front of me.

“Were you offered any other contracts this early?” The camera man got closer, making me freak out slightly. Required? No, not really.

I paused, before answering the question. “The Rangers offered me one, though they were the only ones to offer before the RFA period, but I already made up my mind. Maybe in the future.”

“Can you tell us what your contract consists of?” Jesus Christ, want to tie me to a chair and interrogate me?

“Excuse me?”

“Is there a trade clause?”

“Oh!” I laughed, feeling my cheeks heat up. Vinny mentioned this might be a big point in the interviews, but I didn’t expect it this soon. “I have a no-movement clause written in.”

“Did you ask for the clause?”

“It was offered to me by both Boucher and Yzerman. I was excited to hear the news, needless to say.” I rubbed my shoulders, as another reporter nodded and began walking away, allowing for even more breathing room.

“Your English has improved. How has America been for you?”

“My English has always been fine. It was hard in the beginning, since I was still adjusting to speaking the language 100% of the time. America’s been great; I’ve had the chance to catch up with old friends, and make new ones that I hope will be apart of my life for a long time.”

“Erika Harper and Roxanne McGregor seem to be on friendly terms after a short while of adversity between the two. Do you think you will join the duo in their friendship?”

I scowled, my good mood spiraling downward as I thought about the red-head that I had gone up against tonight. “I have no wish to associate with people who put their sex lives out in the public, ruining their team. I have no desire to associate myself with people who.. No thank you, I have no intentions of getting into their female bromance. I came to play hockey, not screw my teammates, plus who knows what else.”