Bringing the Devil Out of Me

"Seriously? Six weeks?!" he roared. I cringed as his voice filled the hallway. He stormed out of the doctor's office and immediately hugged me as tightly as he could without hurting me. He buried his face in my hair and let out a frustrated, yet quiet, scream.

"Sid, calm down," I said, holding his face in between my hands. He stared at me, his eyes a mingled mess of anger and sadness.

"I can't believe this. Its always something new. Last season it was the concussion, and now it's a concussion AND a broken arm? Does God hate me?" he sighed, hanging his head. I lifted his chin.

"No, God doesn't hate you. Hockey is a dangerous sport and everyone gets injured every once in a while. You'll be back in no time, and other than your arm, you can stay in shape so it won't be too bad," I said. He sighed again before wrapping his good arm around my waist.

"I guess you're right. Maybe we can hang out more now that I won't have practice," he said.

"I still have work!" I laughed.

"Boo, work sucks," he chuckled.

At work, my articles were becoming more and more popular. Readers constantly sent me letters asking for new pieces on the Penguins. Mr. Whitacre was incredibly pleased, especially because our ratings had gone up significantly. I was dubbed the official "hockey corespondent" of the paper, and my article on Sidney's injury made the front page.

"It's nice to have such personal articles. I mean, we really get to see the people behind the players," Mr. Whitacre said a few days later.

"Trust me, they're a lot more interesting than my interviews show." I chuckled.

"I bet. So how is Sidney coping with the injury?" he asked. I sipped my coffee and picked up the papers out of my mailbox.

"Oh, he's living. He's miserable, but he's living," I said with a slight laugh.

"I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for him to be all cooped up," Mr. Whitacre smiled sympathetically.

"Yeah. He's driving everyone nuts when they're around," I smirked.

"Let's go somewhere exciting this weekend!" Sidney said after dinner. I raised my eyebrows.

"Where are we going to go?" I asked.

"I dunno...how about where you grew up? I haven't gotten to meet your parents yet, and I really want to see Jersey. It'll be a short trip. You can take off Friday, and we can come home Sunday afternoon!" he said. For the first time that week I saw something more genuine than boredom and misery on his face.

"I...I guess. I'll have to call my parents and see if we can stay with them though, and I'll have to make sure Mr. Whitacre is okay with me taking off," I said.

"Sweet!" Sidney said before kissing me on the cheek. I hope he's ready to meet some hard core Flyers fans....