Heart of Man

Clicking off the television from the fourth game, I let my head fall back against the couch backboard, before slumping off onto the pillow. 5-3 Washington, but the play had been pathetic. Shut down, come back, rinse, and repeat. The phone on the coffee table vibrated, and my hand grabbed it and answered. “What do you want?”

“Anna? Is this a bad time?” Corin’s Swedish accent crept through the earpiece, earning a groan in frustration. We had been ignoring the problem for forever, and both he and I knew that the closer it got to the deadline, the thinner line we were treading. “I got a call from Ruslan, and he said that you both spoke already? Look, I know you don’t want to have to make this decision right now, but there’s barely a month left before the free agency period opens up. People keep calling me, but I have absolutely nothing to tell them.”

“Then stop answering your phone.” Blinking, my head began pounding, before the phone beeped. Looking at the screen, there was another call waiting. “Corin, I have to go. I’ll call you back later. I just don’t know right now, alright?”

Opening the other call, the other person began to speak sluggishly. “Anna? We’re getting ready to leave Boston. I thought I’d call and give you a heads up, so you aren’t there waiting for hours for us. You don’t have to get out, since we’re playing incognito and hiding from Sasha, but we’re taking off and I need sleep.”

He hung up, and I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off. He probably thought it was a voicemail, but who cared at that point. The flight would be short, barely over an hour, which would give me time to get to Dulles from Alexandria. Especially with the GPS he left behind. Grabbing the keys off of the counter, I reached for the Lightning hoodie that rested next to the keys, and pulled it over. Hopefully the ‘57’ on the shoulder wouldn’t be THAT recognizable.

Locking the door, my face broke out into a grin as I unlocked the first car that was actually mine, since coming to the United States. It was the little Lotus Evora, laser blue, black and red inside, and made me cry to the point of where I wished I had lost my virginity inside of it. Starting her up, we began the long trek to the airport.

~

Peeking out of the back of the car, players began pouring out of the plane and drifted towards their respective cars. I had yet to see Mike leave the plane, but I was also halfheartedly looking while keeping a stake-out to make sure a certain Russian didn’t know I was there. Maybe that ‘Laser Blue’ was a bad idea.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of what felt like eternity, Mike’s dyed hair exited the plane just chatting away with none other than Alexander Semin himself. Spinning around in the seat, I moved the overhead mirror around to where I could see them, before looking around for Alex’s car. To my left, one empty space between us, sat the white Porsche he favoured driving. Starting the car and raising the darkened windows, I popped the trunk and prayed to whatever hockey god was making fun of me at the time to make him not notice.

The actions got their attention, but the duo quickly separated, and within seconds Mike was sitting next to me in the car. “Jesus Christ, you’re sweating. What the hell happened?”

Ignoring his comment, I rolled back in reverse, probably almost hitting Semin’s car, and sped out of there like a bat out of hell. That was too close. 5 feet too close. Almost touching my car before separating too close. If he had of looked over..

~

“You’re so full of shit. Even took all of the pillows and blankets. At least you didn’t dirty the house. Hey! All my laundry is done!” Green went from one extreme to the other, before scooping me into a hug. “No wonder Alex likes you. I should keep you around more often.”

Huffing at his sleepy stupidity, I shoved him off and towards his room, only for him to come right back in the kitchen and plop on the countertop. Eyeing his butt that was dirtying up the surface that was previously clean, I threw his empty beer bottle away. “How was Alex?”

“I knew you cared.”

“Fuck off, Green. It’s a simply question.” Storming into the living room, I sat on the coffee table and started watching the NHL Network analyze the Capitals’ game that evening. My housemate crossed the room lightly, collapsing on the couch behind me, and propped his feet up on the table, drawing circles into my lower back with his toes.

“Just a tiny bit, but especially during the down time,” Muting the tv, he dropped the remote on the couch, the man in question coming up on the screen with one of the many shots he had on goal that night. “He was lonely.”