Bringing the Devil Out of Me

Mr. Whitacre understood when I explained to him what the situation was, and he sent another reporter to cover the game that night.

“I don’t want you to worry about work when you have Sidney to worry about," he smiled. That night I paced around the box. Evgeni scored within the first 5 minutes of the first period, but one of the Habs (I was too nervous to know who it was) rallied back with a goal of his own. The second period dragged on, goalless, and by the time the third period was underway, Sidney was looking restless. He kept glancing at the scoreboard, and with 10 minutes left to go the Canadiens scored again. Sidney frowned, and when he got on the ice he immediately stuffed the puck in the net. The game was tied 2-2, and I was starting to get even more anxious. Mario and some of the others in the box tried to get me to calm down, but we all knew that Sidney would score again if the game demanded it. Overtime. There were a few close calls, but nobody scored. Price was good…too good. When the shootout rolled around, I clenched the railing of the box so tightly my knuckles were paper white. The first two shooters for the Penguins scored, and the first of the Canadiens scored as well. Sidney was up third, and if he scored the game would be clinched. If he didn’t score then he gave the Habs a chance to win it. He looked up at the box as he took to the ice. I knew he was looking for me. He gathered some speed, picked up the puck, and raced towards the net. I knew he was going to score.

“Sid, no!” I screamed, but I was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the red light lit up and the goal horn blared. Mario cursed, and I felt my knees turn to jello. Everyone in the crowd was celebrating, but the team left Sidney standing in front of the goal alone.

“Where are you going?” he cried, but he knew full well where I was going.

The locker room was quiet when I stormed in. The press had been told in advance that no players would be taking interviews tonight. Sidney turned as I slammed open the door and ran over to give me a hug, a smile spreading across his face. I wound up my arm and slapped him as hard as I could. He gaped at me as an angry red mark spread across his cheek.

“Are you fucking insane?!” I cried.

“What-?!” he started.

“Don’t you what me! You have a death threat on you and you still scored? Not only is that the stupidest thing you could do, but it shows that you don’t trust your teammates either!” I screamed. I was so terrified for him that I was getting hysterical. He paled, except for where I had slapped him. One of the guys let out a low whistle, and another coughed awkwardly.

“Alice…I’ll meet you outside,” Sidney said coldly. I stormed from the locker room without another sound and as I got to the car my phone began to ring. I glanced backward and saw Sidney walking behind me.

“What?” I snarled, picking up the phone.

“I told you not to let him score again," the man said before hanging up.

“Sid look out!” I screamed. The crack of a gun filled the parking lot and Sidney immediately collapsed to the ground. I ran over to him, and he was groaning and clutching his shoulder.

“Shit! What the hell?!” he said through clenched teeth. Blood pooled out, staining his white shirt red and dripping between his fingers. My heart raced and I looked around for who had shot him. I saw the shadow of a person running away, but I didn’t care. I immediately shoved my hand in his back pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. I checked to make sure it was clean and put it on his shoulder. He grunted as I pushed it into the wound.

“I told you, did I? You’re lucky he was a bad shot!” I said.

“Ow! Why are you doing that?” he asked weakly.

“You always apply direct pressure to a wound. Stop moving and relax,” I said quietly.

“Alice, what happened?!” Evgeni cried, running out of the building.

“Sid got shot. Call an ambulance!” I said. Evgeni let out a stream of Russian curses and whipped out his cell phone.

At the hospital Sidney was taken care of quickly. They cleaned the wound, stitched him up, and sent him on his way.

“I’m surprised that was that easy,” Sidney said in the car. I clenched the steering wheel tightly and sighed.

“You are the biggest idiot in the world,” I said.

“Where are we going?” Sidney asked.

“Your house,” I said.

“We’re not staying at your apartment?” he asked. Oh he is so drugged up right now.

“We’re not. I am,” I said.

“You’re gonna leave me by myself when I’m like this?” he asked, motioning towards the arm that was in a sling. The bullet had avoided bone, but it was just a precaution. I sighed.

“I guess not," I muttered.

“Good," he smiled before looking out the window. When we got to his house he flounced to the front door and patted his pockets.

“I can’t find my keys," he frowned.

“I have them,” I sighed, pulling them out of my purse. I sent him to go change his blood stained shirt, but he called me up a few seconds later.

“I can’t do it with the sling on," he said. I felt my irritation surge, but when I saw his helpless face I smiled slightly. Yup, definitely drugged up. I unbuttoned his shirt, careful to avoid bumping the large wad of gauze over the bullet wound. He stared at me for a minute before pulling me into him with his good arm.

“It’s still Valentines Day," he said.

“Yeah I know,” I said.

“So…I’m gonna make out with you now," he smirked before kissing me. I rolled my eyes and kissed him back.

Even after just being shot, Sidney was an amazing kisser. I placed my hand on his chest and his left hand wound through my hair. It wasn't the first time we'd made out by far, but it was probably at the top of my list. I blame the drugs. After a while Sidney broke away and stared at me lovingly.

"I love you," he muttered before yawning.

"I love you too...but you really should go to bed," I said.

"Only if you'll sleep in here with me," he smirked. I rolled my eyes again and turned to his dresser. After taking a pair of basketball shorts and a teeshirt out, I slipped into the bathroom and got changed. When I walked back into the bedroom, Sidney was struggling with his pajama pants.

"Oh my God you're helpless," I laughed, fixing his pants for him.

"I just got shot, and I'm probably as high as a kite right now, don't make fun of me!" he pouted.

"Shut up and get in that bed," I chuckled, pointing to the large bed.