Last Kiss

When I woke up the next morning, Kris was gone. Confused, I padded out to the kitchen, where I found a note explaining that he forgot that he had to go to practice that morning. It added that we would meet up soon for lunch to talk and apologized profusely…in French, of course. With a smile, and feeling better than I had in a long time, I packed up my few belongings and headed back to my apartment to study some more
.
But…lunch never happened. I had finals to focus on, and Kris was preparing for the playoffs. Between both of our insane schedules, we literally had no time to meet up. I felt as though Kris and I were being pulled apart, and there was nothing that either of us could do to stop it.

Even when I was done with testing and my schedule cleared up, it seemed that Kris was busier than ever. He was intent on winning the cup, even if he had to do it singlehandedly. He spent hours reviewing footage of himself and other teams. His phone was constantly connected to the coaches, trying to analyze different formations and strategies. The rest of his free time was spent on the rink or in the gym, where he worked furiously to get himself into tip-top shape and to hone his on-ice skills.

I’m not going to lie. I was feeling…neglected. It takes a lot for me to admit that, and I even knew going in to our relationship that Kris would be spending a lot of time on hockey. But I literally hadn’t seen him for the entire run of playoffs. The Penguins would be going into game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals that night, and even though I had been to every home game, I hadn’t actually talked face-to-face with Kris in weeks.

It hurt. I knew it wasn’t his fault—he had to focus on his career. And truly, he did make an effort to call me at least every other night. But our conversations were filled with meaningless drabble about what clips Kris had watched or what the coaches had said. Anytime I tried to tell Kris about something, I could practically feel him tune me out, and knew he was secretly opening a book or loading up yet another video to watch.

“Why are you working so hard?” I had asked him on the phone one night. “I know you want to win, but babe… One guy doesn’t make that much of a difference does he?”

“Of course he does,” Kris snapped, exhaustion evident in his tone. “I’m going to win the cup this year. There’s nothing anybody can do to stop me.”

“Except the other teams,” I murmured under my breath. Kris, distracted by a video of the Bruins that was playing on his television in the background, didn’t hear. So, with fake enthusiasm, I managed to add, “You’re going to win the cup. I can feel it.”

Kris had been temporarily placated with my reassurance, but it didn’t last long. It started the very next day, with him asking me if I thought they would win. I obviously answered yes, wanting to make him happy. As time progressed, however, he started demanding my reassurance. “ Tell me I’m going to win,” he would say.

At first, I tried joking around, assuming he was just playing. But that merely drew a long sigh from him, as though I was a naive five year old who didn’t understand the mechanisms of the world. “Audrey,” he would say, exasperation saturating his tone, “please. Be serious. ”

So, of course I told him that he was going to win, and that would tide him over until the next phone call where he would demand the exact same thing.

I almost wanted the Penguins to lose that night, just so I could get the Kris I knew back—the Kris who had tucked me into his bed, and who had thrown snowballs with me on one cold February day. But I knew the loss would kill Kris, and a win would make his eventually come back, too…after the interviews, pictures, and day with the cup. With hesitation, I reluctantly padded back to the bedroom of my apartment to get ready to go to the game.

Ordinarily, I would don my new Letang jersey and a pair of blue jeans, not really caring about my appearance. Tonight however, the winner of the cup would be determined, for better or for worse. And the winner’s family and significant other would be welcomed to the ice for interviews immediately after the presentation of the sacred trophy.

If the Chicago Blackhawks lost, and the Pittsburgh Penguins won, Kris had asked me if I would go on the ice and meet him. At first, I had said no. I didn’t want to be near Max, and I was a little intimidated by all of the cameras, anyway.

Besides that, I wanted the moment to belong to Kris and his family; I didn’t want to intrude, especially since he wanted to win the cup for his mom. That’s when he admitted to me that his family hadn’t made the trip down. When I asked him why not, he muttered something about luck and quickly changed the subject.

So instead of my Letang jersey, I slipped on a sparkling gold dress that Violet had insisted I buy, forced my feet into a pair of matching shoes, and curled my hair. I didn’t want to admit it, but I think I was trying to impress Kris a little, as he hadn’t seen me in much more than boots, jeans, and a t-shirt since that night we had first met. So I put on a little more makeup than I was used to, flattened the hem of my dress, and headed to Consol.

As I pulled into the lot, I was startled to find Kris standing there waiting for me, a single white rose in his outstretched hand. “Kris!” I laughed, gently shutting my door and running into his arms. He instantly wrapped them around me, his warmth and strength instantly eliminating any misgivings I had about coming to the game.

Pulling away slightly, he connected our lips for what must have been ages, but was still entirely too short of a period for my liking. I whined pathetically, wanting more, and he chuckled in response. “You look beautiful tonight, Audrey,” he murmured softly. “Though…you look beautiful all of the time.”

I couldn’t help the cheesy grin from overtaking my face as I replied, “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr Letang.”

Kris tugged me back in to steal another kiss before sighing. “I was supposed to be in the locker room ten minutes ago,” he admitted, glancing down at his watch. “I just…I really wanted to see you. I miss you, and there’s only so much phone calls can do to help that.” Kris ran one hand through his luxurious hair, his eyes meeting mine with complete seriousness.

I nodded my agreement, secretly disappointed that he was leaving so soon. Still, I thought, seeing him for five minutes is better than not seeing him at all. “Go out there and win the cup, okay?” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. “You deserve it.”

Kris’s eyes lit up for a second, and he nodded. “I will. And I’ll see you after, right?”

“Of course,” I chuckled, shooing him off in the direction of the arena. With a laugh, he jogged into the building, glancing back once to flash me a genuine smile. Feeling better than I had in weeks, I made my way into Consol and climbed up to my seat.

I screamed through the entire game, practically losing my voice in the process. I cheered when the boys made goals, and booed when Kane made a nasty hit on Staal. I yelled obscenities at the refs, and I chewed my nails when Tazer got a penalty shot. I chanted Fleury’s name as he easily knocked it aside, too.

I hoped the Penguins would win. I knew it was important to the city, but I knew it was even more important to Kris.

But…they didn’t.

I didn’t stick around to see the Blackhawks lift the cup. I didn’t join in the crowd as they angrily booed what had really been a close game. I didn’t even hesitate. The first thing on my mind was to get to Kris, and that was exactly what I intended on doing.

Violet had given me a media pass to get down to the locker rooms in case the Penguins lost, and I gratefully whipped it out of my purse. I didn’t let anything stop me, pushing through the angry mob of Pittsburgh fans as I made my way to the bowels of the building. The only time I even paused in my determined march was to flash my pass to the burly-looking security guards manning the entrance.

The only thing I could think of was getting to him. This game meant everything to him, absolutely everything. And I knew he would be devastated.

I had never been in the bottom of Consol before, and the flurry of activity didn’t give me any hint as to where the Penguins locker room might be. I tried following some reporters, assuming they would be going to interview the boys, but they led me to the ice where the Blackhawks were in the process of lifting the cup. With a disgruntled sigh, I turned around and continued my search.

Eventually, a good 20 minutes later, I finally found him. He had already changed, and was sitting on a bench, drinking a bottle of water. He didn’t look up as I approached, presumably too upset to even notice someone was in his presence.

“Hey,” I said gently, easing myself on to the bench next to him.

Kris looked up, and I instantly knew something was wrong. His face was flushed and his eyes couldn’t seem to focus on me. He squinted at me for a few seconds before I saw a flash of recognition shoot through them. He jumped to his feet, immediately losing his balance and staggering a step or two to keep from falling.

My heart stopped. Something was drastically wrong with him. I was just about to open my mouth and suggest he immediately see a doctor when the smell hit me.

That wasn’t water in his bottle. And Kris wasn’t sick—he was plastered.

“You!” he slurred. “How DARE you come down here!”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I stuttered, completely caught off guard.

“WE LOST!” he roared angrily. “How DARE you come down here after we LOST! You…” Kris trailed off, turning around. I could hear him mumbling under his breath, and even though he was speaking in French, I caught words like “fault” and “mother”.

“You blaming me for the loss?” I choked out. “Kris, you can’t really think—“

“Dammnit, I’m not blaming you for the loss, Auds! I’m blaming you for…getting my hopes up!” Kris threw the bottle of vodka across the room, where it slammed against the wall with a sickening crack. I couldn’t help but flinch in what I later recognized as fear.

“I’m blaming you for making me feel like I actually had a shot of winning the cup—of making ma maman proud of me again! But NO! I didn’t—I couldn’t.” Kris shook his head angrily, his inebriated thoughts clearly tumbling around inside of his head. “You make me too happy. You make me feel too secure. Audrey, just leave. I can’t deal with this right now. Right now, I have to call her and tell her we lost.”

I knew he was drunk. I knew he had just had his dream torn away from him. I knew he probably didn’t mean half of the things he said. But in that moment, I felt his words pierce me deeply, and I literally recoiled in the sudden pang of pain. “Fine, I’ll leave,” I spat out bitterly, “But don’t expect me to come back.”

When you’re hurt and in shock, your memory likes to make holes. I didn’t remember walking out of Consol. I didn’t remember finding my car in the lot, the tears clouding my vision so much that the task seemed impossible. I didn’t remember catching my stupid dress in the door as I frantically climbed inside. I didn’t remember it tearing, either.

I didn’t remember pulling out on to the road, passing the fans waiting patiently for autographs. I didn’t remember their exclamations of glee, then disappointment as I passed them by. I also didn’t stop to question why they would freak out over a blonde girl they didn’t recognize.

What I did remember is the voice coming from the back seat in the car, only speaking once we had traveled several blocks from the arena.

“Hello, Audrey,” he said, sending chills down my spine. How I hadn’t noticed that he was there before seems incredible; his entire being seemed to radiate darkness, and he didn’t seem to be taking any measures to conceal himself. Looking back, I guess my feelings about Kris had blocked everything else out, and I definitely hadn’t been concerned about checking my rearview mirror once I had left.

What I did remember was realizing that I hadn’t locked my doors earlier, so excited to see Kris and be in his arms that I had forgotten to press the button. Anybody could have easily gotten into my car while it was unattended, and a hockey player who had just lost the cup wouldn’t have any other obligations to attend to. Especially one who had been lurking…waiting…watching…

What I did remember was Max’s hand suddenly covering my mouth as I pulled off the road, silencing the scream I fully intended on unleashing—the only thing that might have kept me safe. I tried to scream anyway, the muffled sound barely able to be heard. It was a bad decision, as Max simply shoved his fingers down my throat, causing me to gag and cutting off the sound.

“This is going to be fun,” he whispered, a sardonic smirk playing across his lips as those haunting blue eyes twinkled darkly in the shadows of my car.