Heart of Man

“You need to give a damn about your game! I want to see your faces out there, showing that you want to win. I’m tired of seeing you children out there, laughing it up. That’s all it is with you guys. You’re either not in the game, not caring, and your emotions are everywhere, or you are so into the game, you forget to think, you barely show any passion for it, regardless of your skill. Steven, you’re a great player, but you do have your off nights because of that. Anna, same for you on the latter part. I see you out there, and your face is blank the entire time. What the hell is running through your head?”

I rubbed my shoulder hesitantly, as Vinny paced back and forth in the locker room. We were getting ready to play Montreal, but not before we got an earful from our captain, who spent the entire flight and the majority of yesterday being bitched at by Boucher. “Uh..”

“Are you going to answer me or not? Do you want to play tonight or not?”

“Hockey.”

“I want to see your god damn emotions on that ice. I want to know, just by looking at you, that you want it. I want to see your heart on the ice. I swear to god, if this team does not pull it together, I’ll find a way for us to not go to playoffs. You all want that? Our division rivals, in case you didn’t know, are neck and neck with Philadelphia right now, and the Capitals aren’t backing down. This is a race, in case you couldn’t tell, so pull your asses together.” We stood nodding to him, before making our way down the Visitors’ tunnel. “Anna, hold on a moment.”

I stopped mid-step, before turning back to Vincent. I couldn’t even formulate a sentence. “What?”

He nodded towards the exit, to follow our team, as he continued to talk. “Keep in mind this is the NHL, not KHL. There, you probably weren’t pressured to put your emotions in your game, but here, where everyone does it, Russian players stick out because of it.”

I felt my head pound at his statement, in anger. “I’m not Russian.”

“I’m just saying, maybe it might help you. We’re going to miss you the next two games, but maybe think about it? Maybe even try it out when we host Carolina?” I kept silent, as he pushed into the open, and onto the ice. I quickly followed, keeping my words under my breath.

~

I fidgeted on the bench, Marty to my left, and Simon to my right. Ryan had been scratched, saying his hand was fractured, and he’d probably be back time for play-offs, but the way Boucher was letting Vinny run the show, we wouldn’t survive until playoffs.

I thought, maybe after my goal, with both Marty and Simon assisting, and the two of us assisting on Simon’s goal would somewhat please Lecavalier, but it only seemed to intensify his mood. The fact that he got a pretty bad penalty didn’t help, or the fact we were tied 2-2, scoreless in overtime.

Both of our goals were on the power play, so he shouldn’t have any room to complain. Our numbers had been low recently.

The buzzer rang off in Bell Centre, indicating the beginning of the shoot-out that would determine the game. I felt a tap on my back, and turned to see Carey standing next to me, his stick the culprit of the attack. “What’s wrong with Captain?”

Grumbling and shaking off the depressing mood that lingered around the Lightning bench. “He’s mad because we aren’t playing ‘like we want it’.” He only shook his head, smiling softly as we watched Vinny speaking harshly to Simon quietly, who looked like he’d rather die. “Good luck.”

I slowly skated away, after he gave me an awkward side hug, due to all of the padding. It hadn’t been like the past 24 hours, where he took me to get completely smashed, and then some, with P.K. Subban. Not my favourite guy in the world, but he was tolerable. “You too. It was great to see you and stuff. Come back and visit me!”

I laughed lightly, before finally reaching the door and dumping my tired and overworked body next to Gagne’s. “You’re going after me.” I groaned, leaning on the older man. “Vincent wants Steven to go, then Marty, and then us. I’m pretty sure he’s about ready to blow a gasket, especially if we lose.”

Shaking my head, I up straight, as Steven began his turn, after Montreal’s Dawes scored on Roli. However, before he had even gotten close, he shot wide, and I’m pretty sure Boucher wouldn’t even touch Vincent at that point, he was so angry. Fuming, practically.

Gionta and Marty’s shots both were saved by Price and Roloson, along with Desharnais, whom I couldn’t remember playing last time we played Montreal. He missed in which Vincent began pacing back and worth, mumbling words of what should happen, what could happen, and what would happen. He wasn’t the most optimistic Teletubbie in the world at the moment.

Simon slid off the boards, and onto the ice. I observed my linemate, as he retrieved the puck, and lodged it barely an inch below Carey’s leg pad. I grinned hysterically, as he came back onto the bench, a smile on his face. I wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, and probably suffocating him. “Yeah, Gagne! So proud of you! My little Teletubbie is all grown up!”

He roared with laughter, with Marty, before I slid off. “What are you showing her in the hotel room, man? Barney?” More laughter was heard, as Cammalleri lined up to take his shot.

“Nah, she hadn’t seen the Teletubbies kid show in forever, and we watched it around 3 am this morning, when we couldn’t sleep.” He grinned, nudged my face with his glove. Only getting in around one, he thought it was pretty funny to make fun of my wasted state. We ended up passing out shortly after watching the tv and reenacting the child program, waking up at 9, and having to rush to practice at 9:30. God, I loved rooming with that man on the road.

“Bunch of nerds, that’s what they are.” Steven mocked, before I tapped his head with my stick. “Hey! Valuable property here!”

“Oh, shove it, Stamkos.” I chuckled, as Simon patted me on the back as Bell Centre erupted around us, indicating Cammalleri’s goal going past Roloson. I sighed, before standing up over the boards and sliding over, pushing myself off to center ice to grab the puck.

I inhaled, before exhaling, and repeating, trying to calm the nerves that were rattling inside my body, and sending an adrenaline rush into my fingers. I flexed them momentarily, waiting for the ok to go. I breathed deeply again, clearing my mind from all the troubles and problems I had to deal with. Looking up to Carey, he smirked from behind his mask, winking ever so slightly, as I snatched the puck with my stick.

Taking it forward, I pushed and favoured my left side, hoping for a right shot under his left leg pad, but it was easily stopped, as I came to an earth-shattering halt. We had lost, and it was entirely my fault.

~

“Take care, and be safe. If you need anything, I want you to call me.” I rolled my eyes as Simon continued his death grip around my waist. I let my arms hang around his neck lifelessly, semi-returning the affectionate hug. “Karine and I are both proud of how far you’ve come, so don’t take Vinny’s words to heart.”

I felt a shiver go down my spine as he whispered the words into my ear so our teammates couldn’t hear. Karine was the first family member of my team I had ever met, and I couldn’t say that I wasn’t jealous of her. She had everything I wanted. She had a family to call her own, a beautiful son, a talented husband, and parents who actually gave a damn about her. She was still the sweetest thing on the planet, and to say her and Simon didn’t deserve each other would have been a bold-faced lie. “Give my love to her, alright?”

“Will do, Anna Banana.” I cringed at the usage of Val’s nickname for me. Just something else that I need to take care of soon. “See you on the 23rd. We’ll go car-searching as soon as I pick you up from the airport, alright?”

I nodded, and no sooner than what felt like a moment, was I left alone in Montreal’s airport, waiting for my flight for Buffalo to begin loading. It would be my first flight by myself since I can over in February. Probably wasn’t ready for this, to be completely honest.

~

Why I didn’t get a direct flight to Philadelphia, was beyond me. The thunderstorms keeping us trapped in the Buffalo airport, unable to depart or arrive for any flight, was severely pissing me off. Some of the kids who had come up to me, had made it bearable, to an extent.

But when the father of a little boy came up to me, asking for a picture with his son, that was the final straw. It was all I could do, not to cry pathetically in front of the child who looked absolutely smitten with me. “I want to grow up and play hockey with you, Miss Anna!”

It wasn’t long before I found myself heaving over the airport restroom, flushing out the remains of last night’s Gatorade, this morning’s peanut butter sandwich, and the quick run to Subway before my plane departed this morning. I felt completely sick to my stomach, and the thought of what awaited for me in Philadelphia made it even more worse.

“Anna?” I snapped my head up, feeling light-headed, before smacking my head on the toilet paper dispenser, sliding to the floor. I ignored the voice that called out my name, resting against the tiled wall that mirrored every other public restroom in the Buffalo-Niagara International Airport. I heard the door close, and heavy footsteps make their way to the far stall that I occupied.

Wiping my lips with my sleeve, I leaned up to unlock the door, before freezing. What if it was the media? They’d think something was wrong with me. They’d call my father, and he’d assume the worst, and I’d be out of the United States, faster than I could plead ‘Not Guilty.’

“Who is it?” I didn’t realize how weak my voice sounded, until it registered in my brain, the pathetic syllables reaching my ears. I hoped it was just some random person who watched me run into the bathroom, and happened to be named Anna.

“It’s Paul.” I wracked my brain, looking for someone I knew by the name of Paul. “After I saw you run in here, I saw your equipment bag and suitcase. I , uh, checked the tag,” He stuttered momentarily, even though he struck me an a very confident man. “It confirmed it was you, and I wanted to make sure you were alright, and all.”

Leaning up and foregoing all thoughts about bag image to the back of my head, I snapped the lock open, to reveal none other than Buffalo Sabres center Paul Gaustad. “Gaustad.”

My attempt to speak, was drowned out by the familiar bubbling up my throat, before I found myself regurgitating into the porcelain basin, Gaustad pulling my hair into his hands, getting it out of the way. I was extremely thankful for the gesture, especially since the only time we had spoken hadn’t been on necessarily good terms. “Jesus Christ, you look like shit.”

I coughed, knowing my pallor was probably sheet white. When the residue subsided, he handed me several sheets of toilet paper, and I took it gratefully, wiping my mouth off again. His free hand pulled at my left one, softy tugging the white hair band off. I flushed the basic clean again, before I felt him pull my hair up, getting it out of my face, in case of the worst again. Tossing the dirty sheets in, in time to catch the flow, I collapsed against the wall again, watching him scoot farther into the stall, and lock it behind him. He merely sat criss-cross across from me, watching my slightest moves. I rubbed my eyes with my shirt sleeve, only just realizing that warm tears were slowly streaking down my face. “I’m sorry.”

The words still came out weak, but steadier than they had, as my stomach began to settle down. His shoulders shook with laughter, as he pulled his shoes off, tossing them next to my slip-ons that sat next to the door. “You’re going to apologize for being sick?” His brown eyes met mine, his brow raised as he waited for an explanation.

~

“Filppula needs to pull his head out of his ass. You did it for a reason. Even I can see that. I mean, I understand why he should be kind of peeved, but jeez, he’s taking it kind of far.” I only shrugged to Paul’s comment, moving the straw around in the sprite I had ordered.

After Paul had dragged me out of the bathroom, we ended up going to a small diner a few minutes away from the airport. He had been there, dropping off his parents at their terminal, before he had seen me.

“I mean, I know I should have kept in contact, but I just didn’t know how he’d take it. Heidi had a pregnancy scare shortly after the Olympics, and I didn’t want to complicate things, especially since Val didn’t know what I knew.” He only nodded, draining his root beer, and trying to flag down the waitress for another.

“Cuppy-cake, you had the right intentions, you just didn’t make the right decisions when acting on them.” I snorted into my drink, trying not to laugh to the point of where I threw up again. We had to stop twice on the way to the dinner, just so I could empty what was left of my stomach’s contents.

“Are you hungry or something, Cuppy-cake?” I questioned, mocking him before stealing one of his French fries. He smacked my hand lightly, when it went back for seconds.

“Duh, I haven’t eaten since before practice this morning. I’m just so huuuunnnggrrrryyyyyy!”He moaned, pretending to hug his ‘growling’ abdomen. I smirked, quickly grabbing his plate and stealing a bite of his hamburger. “Woman, don’t eat my food! You’re just gonna get sick again!”

“But I’m just so hungry!” He stuck his tongue out at me, before taking the cup from the waiter who just walked by, bringing him another root beer. I rubbed my stomach subconsciously, the pain starting to return.

Eventually we calmed down, again, when Paul brought up what was really on his mind. “Anna, are you pregnant?”