Carry You Home

“I hate it,” Sloan grumbles, and hoists Max Junior further up onto her hip. Jerking her head from side to side as chubby, determined hands immediately grab for the simple, silver dollar sized white and yellow gold hoops that dangle from her earlobes.

He's seventeen months and the quintessential 'boy's boy'; rough and tumble, a twenty two pound ball of energy filled to its limits with insatiable curiosity. He's both fearless and tireless; he runs us both ragged on most days and has certainly pushed the limits of our patience -and scared the shit out of us on a number of occasions- since he'd learned how to walk and climb. Insanely smart and tenacious like his mommy and unbelievably stubborn like his daddy, my mother loves to stay. Although I like to think that his pigheadedness has been passed down through both the Talbot and Gervais genes. God knows my wife, as much as I love her and could never live without her, can be a regular pain in the ass.

“I hate all of it,” she stresses, and looks around the enormous, Tuscan villa inspired kitchen with the utmost disdain on her face.

I don't understand what there is to hate about the place. It's everything we've ever wanted and talked about since we gotten married and started planning a family. All the discussions and the wish lists that we'd made when it came to where we wanted to raise our kids and grow old and grey alongside of each other have turned out better than we'd ever expected. In the form of a four bedroom, three bathroom colonial style home with a gigantic finished basement and an in law apartment above the garage and in ground pool and hot tub that does little to take away from the impressive size of the meticulously landscaped backyard. Inside and out it's a beautiful piece of real estate; worthy of being featured in any of the most popular interior design magazines. Yet she's wandering from room to room with pure disgust written all over her face. As if it's nothing more than a one room shack with holes in the floors and ceiling and an outhouse in the back instead of indoor plumbing. I suppose I'd expected this type of reaction. We weren't supposed to be buying a house like this outside of Pittsburgh. Or even Montreal. We had always thought I'd be playing with the Penguins for majority of my career and we'd spent a lot of time looking at places in Fox Chapel and Shady Side. And when free agency began looming and the chances of remaining in the city we both loved began to look increasingly slim and the offers for my services had begun to roll in, Montreal had been our first and foremost destination of choice. I'd been born in Le Belle Province and had been raised in little cities around Montreal and we already owned a house in St Bruno de Montarville. Our summers were spent there. Long, content days spent surrounded by family and friends.

And it was where we'd decided we'd go. After thoughtful consideration and tearful discussions revolving around leaving Pittsburgh and all the amazing friends we'd made along the way, Montreal had won out in our hearts. The Penguins had made it perfectly clear that they weren't that interested in keeping me around. They'd offered me a rather abysmal contract (my wife's words, not mine) and then had told me that all negotiations were off the table and that the door was closed the minute I'd turned it down. I have no ill feelings towards them. This is a business, after all. And a guy like me just didn't fit in with their long term plans. Sure, it had hurt like a sonofabitch; being slapped in the face with the cold, hard reality that the team you loved...the one you'd won a Cup with...didn't want me anymore. But what was I suppose to do? Get on my hands and knees and beg? Montreal had offered me a generous, long term deal and I would have been an idiot to have refused it. As much as it stung to have to say goodbye to Pittsburgh, knowing that we were going to head to a place where we had family and friends at our immediate disposal had softened our hurt.

Then along came Philly.

It had been last minute. A frantic, 'free agent frenzy day' deal that had been brought to me before I'd managed to give Montreal my word -or my signature- that I was definitely coming to their franchise. It hadn't been a decision that I'd made lightly. The Flyers had always been the enemy...our greatest rivals...and it wasn't too long ago that I was talking some pretty serious smack about their fans and having my ass handed to me by Daniel Carcillo yet successfully shutting up the entire crowd. I knew that it wouldn't be easy for them to accept me. I'm sure the vast majority of the fans and players (hell, even the management group) hated me at one point and time and still hold animosity because of that infamous 'shhh' moment and some of the things I'd said for months afterwards. And I knew that the people in Pittsburgh wouldn't take the news very well either. I would be going from fan favourite to public enemy number one in the blink of an eye. Most wouldn't understand...or take the time to understand...that it had been made clear to me that I didn't have future in their city anymore. Their organization had made that clear. I couldn't sit in limbo for the rest of my career. Or make choices that pleased the masses. I have a family to think about. I need to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies and clothes on their backs. And while our hearts were broken that we had no choice but to leave Pittsburgh, a decision had to be made.

Only I'd done it without talking to Sloan first. I'd gone into that closed door meeting with my agent with the sole intention of becoming a Montreal Canadien and I'd walked out as a Flyer. By the time I'd gotten home -to that 'ugly orange house' on the south side of the city- she'd already heard about it on the internet. I'd gone behind her back and made a decision that not only affected myself, but her and the baby as well. And she'd been absolutely livid, immediately launching us into one of the most brutal, 'knock 'em down, drag 'em out' fights that we'd ever experienced in the past two years of marriage. We've always had a pretty volatile relationship. Even when we were just dating and in the midst of our warped and twisted 'friends with benefits' stage, we'd waged our fair share of battles. Verbal Armageddon that had torn us both apart emotionally. But this...this epic showdown...had been way beyond anything we'd ever gone through. A lot of shit had been said that day. Angry, hurtful words that couldn't be taken back and had done both of us a lot of damage. Mistakes we'd both made had been dredged up and brought to the surface and thrown in each others faces. Things that we'd sworn we'd gotten over and would never hold against one another. Rocky and treacherous paths that we'd dared to tread but had somehow managed to navigate. And a month and a half later, things still aren't the same. She hasn't forgiven me for what she feels is 'just another act of betrayal'. No matter how many times I apologize...no matter how hard I try to make things right...she doesn't look at me in the same way anymore.

Honestly, I'm worried she never will. Out of all the people in this world, Sloan's the one that matters the most. Her opinion of me has changed drastically. Our relationship has gone down the toilet. Some days I wonder if she's only sticking with me because of the baby. If she's relegated herself to the fact that keeping our family together for Max Junior's sake is the only choice that she really has. She knows what it's like to live in a broken home. Her folks are still together, but only physically. They'd grown emotionally distant decades ago. Staying together for the sake of the kids. And now they hate each other. A distinct, burning hatred that anyone who spends even thirty seconds in their company can see and feel.

Fuck, I don't want that. I don't want her to be with me because of some sense of obligation. I want her with me because she loves me. Because I love her.

And right now...all there is is a profound sense of sadness. It feels like she's slowly slipping away and I don't know how to get her back. I've done this. I'm the one responsible for this drastic change in her. I only have myself to blame for that disappointment that crosses her face every time she looks at me.

******

“Just give it a chance,” I implore, and lay a hand on the nape of her neck. She immediately tenses up and shuffles away from me and while the distance may only be half a foot, it feels like a thousand miles.

The ache in my heart returns. That dull, throbbing sensation that's been plaguing me ever since the night of our massive fight and I'd woken up in the morning to find her fast asleep on the couch. It's the first time that one of our battles had done that; forced her out of our bed. And the knowledge that she hated me that much had killed me inside. Now I feel like she merely tolerates me. We sleep in the same bed yet we're not together. If that makes any sense. She's there physically, but emotionally she's in another stratosphere.

“Sloan...please...” my voice is barely above a whisper. Raised tones only upset the baby. The doctor said that he can sense the stress and the tension between us and that all the screaming and yelling and the slamming of doors is only going to hinder him developmentally. That being in that kind of environment may damage him emotionally. Turn him into a skittish, little boy scared of his own shadow, terrified of any one that so happens to raise their voice. And I don't want that for him. I want him just the way he is now. Smiling and giggling and exploring and loving the world around him. “...please just give this a chance. Give me a chance.”

“What the hell does it matter anyway?” she snaps. “It's not like I even want to be here. In Haddonfield, New Jersey. And I won't even be living here. So what does it matter if I like it or not?”

“You'll be living here eventually,” I point out. I still can't believe I'd agreed to her stupid fucking plan on staying behind in Pittsburgh with the baby. Raising him five goddamn hours away. It shouldn't be like this. We shouldn't have all those miles separating us. We're supposed to be a family and suddenly it seems like we're strangers. She no longer recognizes me. I'm not the same person I was six years ago when we'd first hooked up. Fuck, to her I'm not even the same person I was six months ago. That Max...the old Max...never would have agreed to this. He would have put his foot down and dragged her to Haddonfield kicking and screaming. But I'm so tired...I'm so tired of fighting all the time. All I want to do is make things right. I want my wife back. I want things to be like they were. And if that means giving her the space to figure shit out... “This is the place you picked,” I add. “This was the one you said you liked. You said...”

“It was the less of three evils,” she interjects. “I don't want to be here. In this house. In Haddonfield, New Jersey. And I shouldn't even be here. I should be in Montreal. Like we planned. Like we agreed on. And it obviously didn't matter to you what I wanted then, so what does it matter now? As long as you like it here, right Max? As long as you're happy with the way things are.”

I shake my head slowly. I don't know what to say. I don't know what she wants to hear from me. What she needs to hear. I love her. To the ends of the earth and beyond. But words will only get me so far. And to be honest, I just don't know what to say anymore. “I'm not happy with the way things are. I'm not happy with this. With us. With me being here and you staying in Pittsburgh. With our son. My son.”

“Max will be perfectly fine without you,” she says, and that invisible fist closes around my heart. The grip so tight and relentless that it's physically painful.

I know that she didn't mean it the way it sounded. That she didn't intentionally try and wound me by using my boy against me. Sloan isn't like that. She doesn't hurt people. She knows what it's like to be hurt and she always goes out of her way to make sure that she doesn't inflict that kind of damage on someone. I'm sure that it was a harmless statement. That what she really meant is that he'll be okay without me being under the same roof. That he's in good hands with her (and he is...she's an amazing mother and I admire and respect her more than words could possibly explain) even though I'm in a different city. God knows they're both used to me being away a lot. Prolonged absences come hand in hand with being married to a professional athlete. And I want to tell her that I won't be fine without him. Or without her. That it should never have come to this. That we're a family and family always sticks together.

“We're used to you being away,” she adds, as if reading my mind. And for the first time since July 1st, a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “You're gone a lot, Max. It's nothing new to us.”

“But this is different,” I gently argue. “This isn't about road trips. This is about you guys being in an entirely different city. Five hours away, Sloan. You're my wife and he's my son and...” emotion tugs at me, makes it nearly impossible to breathe let along speak. “...you're my family. My heart. It shouldn't be this way.”

“You made it this way,” she says. “This was your doing, Max. You caused this. Whatever the hell is happening between us. It's all your doing. And don't act like there hasn't been stuff eating away at us for a while now.”

“Shit's never been perfect,” I readily admit. “We've never been perfect. But we never expected each other to be, either. I fucked up. I made a mistake. I...”

“A five foot ten, one hundred and fifteen pound, bleach blond, fake boobed mistake,” she grumbles.

I thought we were past that. It was one night. One fucking screw up. And I hadn't waited for the shit to hit the fan and for some asshole to come back and tell my wife about what had happened. I'd done the deed and I'd confessed. The very next morning. I'd been out with the boys and I'd been drunk...insanely drunk...and I'd done some things with a stripper that I'm not proud of. In fact, they disgust me even now when I think about them.

“It was over a year ago,” I remind her. “I thought we got past that.”

“How do I just get past something like that?” she asks, and switches the baby from one hip to the other. “How do I do that Max? You slept with another woman. A goddamn stripper. Someone that gets paid to take her clothes off. You really think you're the first customer she's ever messed with? Did you even stop to think about me? About your son? About what you might be bringing back? God...” she grimaces and shakes her head in disgust. “...you could have given me something!”

“I used a condom,” it sounds lame even to my own ears. There's no excuse for what I'd done. Nothing that can erase it.

“You should have just kept it in your pants,” she hisses.

Should have, would have, could have. My life is made up of all of them these days. “I'm sorry. I don't know how many times I have to say it. About that night, about picking Philly over Montreal, about messing up your life like this. I'm sorry, Sloan. What more is there for me to say? What more do you want from me? Tell me. Whatever it is...whatever you need...tell me. Because I hate the way things are. I hate myself. And I just want this shit to be over and done with. I want us to be the way we were. Don't you miss that? I miss it. You. I miss you.”

Tears sparkle in her eyes. I've hit a nerve. Finally. After trying for the past few weeks to get through to her, I'm finally making head way.

“I love you,” I say, and reach out to tuck a piece of wayward hair behind her ear; my fingertip trailing across her cheek and along her jaw. “I know you think I'm a fucking asshole and that you hate me right now. But...”

“I don't hate you, Max,” she interjects. “I could never hate you. Ever. You're my husband. The father of my son. My entire world. But right now...” she sighs heavily. “...right now I don't like you very much. I don't like what you've done. To yourself, to me, to the baby. But hate you? Don't ever think I hate you.”

It should alleviate the pain a little bit. Bring me some kind of solace. Some kind of hope that one day thing are going to be back to normal. But it doesn't. I would have rather she just said 'I love you'. Never underestimate the power of those three little words.

“I just can't be here,” she continues. “In Haddonfield. In Philly, I just...”

She doesn't get the chance to finish. My parents return from their tour of the backyard, their smiles immediately vanishing the second they step into the kitchen and the tension greets them like a glass of cold water to the face. They've been good about everything. For the most part my family has accepted my decision with grace and ease. They loved Pittsburgh and I know their hearts are breaking over the end of of my career with the Penguins. There's so many memories there. Some painful and some that I'd rather forget, but the vast majority are wonderful snippets of life that I'll carry with me wherever I happen to go. For the rest of my days.

“Is everything okay?” my mom inquires, as her concerned eyes flicker between my wife and I.

“Everything's fine,” Sloan replies, and abruptly turns on her heel and leaves the room.

Sure. Fine. Things are fine, Everything's just fucking peachy.

My life is falling apart. And I'm struggling to hold it together.