Spinning

The sound of silence is what seems to wake me up.

I turn over in the bed, immediately gasping as I lean on my sore collarbone. Sitting up slowly now, I look at the clock beside me and then at the empty side of the bed.

"Pat?" I say, just loud enough for him to hear if he were in the bathroom. No response.

I force myself out from under the covers and open the closed bedroom door. In the hallway, I can hear a faint conversation and I follow the voices to the kitchen where Jon and Patrick are sitting facing opposite of me, drinking coffee and eating.

"...and she woke up. And I swear to God I would have cried my eyes out if she wasn't
watching me so carefully. I was a mess. Well, I still am a mess."

"Yeah, you are."

I hear Patrick laugh softly and then I turn around, not wanting him to know I heard.

"You know," he continues, and I close my eyes, leaning back against the wall, "I think the worst part about all of it was realizing how close it came to losing her."

"Yeah?"

Someone places a coffee cup down on the table, "yeah. I mean, you don't think about it that seriously until it's a possibility. I was trying to consider how I'd handle my life without her in it, and I just...I just couldn't."

Jon's quiet. Pat clears his throat.

"You really love her, man. I know you do."

A tear slips down my cheek, surprising me as I whisk it away before taking a few steps back in the hallway and then swallowing hard, "Pat?" I say with false curiousity.

"Yeah, I'm right here baby," he answers immediately, hurrying over to where I rub my eyes and pull my silk shawl over my shoulders, "how are you?"

"I'm good," I whisper, faking some post-waking up symptoms as he kisses my lips and puts a gentle arm around me, "and you?"

"Fine. How's the arm? And the ribs?"

I smile, finding his lips once more, "they're fine. Is someone here?"

He nods, "c'mon."

I follow him into the kitchen where Jon's looking at me with those familiar brown eyes, "hey," he says, getting down from the bar stool and walking over to me, "how are you?"

I laugh and let him hug me softly, like Patrick. He burrows his head in my good shoulder and

I feel him breathe in, taking this moment in for all it's worth, "I've been better."

He lets me go and then helps me sit down at the kitchen table where Pat brings me some water and some much needed painkillers.

"When did you get here?" I ask him softly, taking the pills and then finding Patrick's hand.

"Just this morning."

Patrick takes a seat beside me, rubbing my hand with his and kissing my cheek with eyes that droop as they watch me. He looks stressed, but somehow he looks like he's doing better. I kiss him and his grip on my hand seems to relax in the slightest.

"Are you going to be okay?" Jon asks me and I look up at him, nodding my head and motioning for him to take a seat at the table.

"I'll be fine. It really could have been so much worse..." my voice trails off when Pat grips me again and I look at him once more, "what, baby?"

"Nothing."

I frown and focus my eyes back on Jon, "how's the team?"

"Good. How are you?"

"Good," I say with a sly smile and he laughs lightly before standing up and checking his watch.

"We've got morning skate," he says with a failed attempt at sounding enthusiatic, "playing against the Lightning tonight."

"You'll be great. Both of you," I say, leaning back and kissing Pat softly before whispering, "I'll see you when you get back, right baby?"

"Yeah."

I stand up and watch as Jon pulls on his coat before Patrick does the same. With one last kiss from my boy and a friendly wave from Jonathan, I watch them head out to the rink as I sit back down on the chair and rest my chin in my palm.

How can everything seem so fine when just days ago, it was all falling apart?

Jon and Pat and I all messed up, fighting for each other's affections as well as for answers to questions none of us understood. How can it be okay now? How can we all look one another in the eyes and act like none of it ever happened, like tears weren't shed and throats weren't sore from all the screaming they endured? How can we pretend everything is okay when it's never been worse?

I love them both.

I won't live without one, or the other. But I've made a decision to spend my life with Patrick and I'm okay with that.

I swear I am.

March.

There's a faint scar on my forehead accompanied by the occasional headaches from the concussion but besides that, you'd never know I was hurt.

The boys meanwhile have been very busy. With playoffs just over a month away, the stress as well as anticipation have been taking a toll.

And Jonathan got himself a girlfriend.

I met her last Tuesday, at a home game. Breanne introduced us, and I smiled, hugged her, and kept everything that every happened between her boyfriend and I hidden beneath a warm expression.

"I'm Carly," I had said and she smiled.

"I'm Jessica. It's nice to meet you. Jon's told me so much about you!"

Let it be a sudden realization, or perhaps simply time, but somehow the three of us grew. There weren't any more fights, and trust filled our lives so much that my heart never felt sore. Sometimes, the past still hurts and the memories of what might have been are overwhelming to recall. I can still catch Jon's eyes on mine during dinner, or some function, and that strange fear boils up in my stomach. Though, with a soft kiss from Patrick, everything seems okay again.

"Carly?"

I shake myself from my thoughts, looking up and pressing my mobile phone to my ear, "sorry, what did you say?"

"I said turn around."

My heart does a sort of flutter and I spin on my heels, turning around in the apartment and watching as this smiling curly-haired man holds a bouquet of flowers in his arms with a suitcase in the other, "hi, baby."

I place my phone on the couch and run to him, "Pat. I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

I kiss those familiar lips, feeling the soft dent where that scar lays. Then I run my hands through his soft hair, breathing in that common scent and closing my eyes as I lean against his strong chest.

"These are for you," he tells me, holding out a dozen red roses which I take in my arms before kissing him once more.

"Thank you."

He seems a little nervous the way he hands me the gift before running a hand through his hair. It's early, though, so perhaps he's just tired. Hell, I've only just woken up a few minutes ago.

"You look beautiful, Carly," he says softly as I place the roses on the side of the sink, coming back over to him and placing my hands on his cheeks.

"You do, too. Was your flight good?" Gosh, I've missed him. Everything about him.

"Yeah," he says, taking my hands and leading me over to the balcony, "babe, look, the sun's rising."

I follow him, curing into his arms as he opens the glass doors and we step out, looking at this huge city as the sunlight streams over us, making me smile and breathe out in the comfort of his protective hold.

"Carly..."

I turn to look up at him as he chews his lip, stepping back from me in the slightest as both of his hands holds my arms. Suddenly, my stomach tightens and worry fills my chest.

"Carly, I've been killing myself with this for a while now."

I watch as his eyes focus hard onto mine, making my heart pound in my chest, "with what, Patrick?"

He lets go of my arms, placing his hands on my face now, "Carly Hughes, you are the best thing that's ever happened in my life. You make every day worth living. You make me laugh, cry, dream and understand the things I can't," he pauses, steading his voice, "you make me a better person with everything you do. You keep me sane, and you make me happy. And, Car, I want to spend--I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you."

I can't breathe as his hands fall from my face and reach into his back pocket, pulling out a small black box as he drops to one knee.

"Carly Hughes, will you marry me?"

I feel paralyzed. I can't breathe. I can't think. But I can cry and I can say yes over and over again until his arms are around me and I'm bawling into his shoulder with my legs wrapped around his waist.

"I love you so much," I find myself saying, kissing him with tears on our lips and smiles on
our faces, "I love you so, so much, Patrick."

"I love you too. I love you."

"Patrick!"

He laughs a thick tear coated laugh and squeezes me tighter.

"Patrick, I--I--"

He just kisses me and we sway there, laughing and crying and just taking it all in for longer than I remember. There's nothing I can think of saying that my tears and strong hold around him won't say for me. Sometimes, words don't do feelings justice. This is most definitely one of those times.

I love you/

The ring makes my hand feel like it's floating. I can't help but stare at it when I'm doing my make-up, or changing the channel, or simply lifting my left hand. My heart, I could swear, is still beating a hundred million an hour.

"Do you feel any different?"

He grins at my question, taking me in his arms and holding me tight against his frame, "yeah, actually. It feels like you're mine now. Like if someone sees that ring, they know you're taken."

I kiss him, closing my eyes and breathing out softly, "I can't believe this is real."

"Are you going to show all the boys tomorrow morning?"

I kiss him again, "of course. And the ladies, too. This is so...so..."

"Cool?"

I grin, "for the lack of a better word, yes. It's very cool."

By noon the next day, after a quick practice for the players, my eyes are brimmed with constant tears and a smile has been plastered across my face seemingly permantely. With Patrick by my side, I face the group with a happiness that feels radiant.

"No he didn't."

I nod quickly, biting my lower lip as Patrick Sharp comes over to me, grinning and opening
his arms in a huge embrace.

"Congratulations! It's about time, isn't it? Let me see."

I hold up my left hand as his eyes move over the large stone which surely was not inexpensive.

"Congratulations, Carly. I couldn't think of anyone else that is more perfect for him."

I smile and thank him in a soft voice just as I hear several others enter the dressing room.

"WHERE IS SHE?! CARLY HUGHES---FUTURE MRS. CARLY KANE---I JUST HEARD YOU ARE NOW ENGAGED TO OUR LITTLE PATRICK!"

I know I'm blushing as big Duncan Keith swoops me into a hearty hug.

"Congrats, Car," says the defenceman, "he finally got up the courage to do it, hey?"

I just keep smiling as, it seems, everyone on the team needs a chance to congratulate me individually. Everyone except the captain.

Patrick lets me go at this point, and the boys talk to him with proud smiles on their faces. I'll never understand the true brotherhood they have, no matter the age or background. They're one huge family, and suddenly I'm a big part of it.

I close the dressing room doors behind me, heading down the hall where I know Jonathan is sitting.

He hasn't changed a bit.

I watch as he dead lifts a very intimidating amount of weight. The look on his face frightens me slightly; pure grit and determination. And entirely covered by a thick layer of anger.

"Jon."

He drops the weights down, turning his head to face me with a heavy grunt. The sound of metal hitting the base echoes in the empty weight room and for a moment, all that is audible is the sound of his heavy breathing as sweat slides down his rugged face, "what are you...doing here?"

I step forwards, walking over to him as he sits up on the bench and wipes his brow, "I thought you might have heard."

He's quiet, staring at me with a focused expression as his chest starts to move up and down more slowly, "no."

I swallow hard and a bead of sweat falls from his hairline. His hands are pressed onto his thighs and I note that his knuckles are white from the pressure. I extend my arm onto his hand, and hold it tightly with my own, trying to calm him down. Slowly, his gaze drifts downwards and I can see the way he deflates before me. His chest softens, his arms fall. And his hands, those strong hands, become flaccid in my gentle hold. His eyes lack the previous anger and focused precision. Now, they are full of exhaustion and void of...hope.

"Patrick asked me to marry him."

Jon's throat contracts and he closes those dark eyes, inhaling deeply and chewing hard on the inside of his lower lip. I think he tries to speak, but nothing comes out. My grip on his hand tightens and the warmth radiating from his overworked body is making me feel like the room is suddenly much smaller than it really is. Finally, those dark eyes meet mine and a soft smile crosses his face, "congratulations, Carly."

There is such pain on his face that I nearly turn from him, wanting to escape it all. Instead, like my heart tells me to do, I take my hand from his and instead wrap my arms around his heavy shoulders.

And then, like a good woman, I fake ignorance to the small spot of tears that slowly dry on the collarbone of my dark sweater.

Nothing has changed, has it?