The Light That Wraps You

December thirty-first arrived in a flurry of snow, and it was a day that changed my life forever.

I wasn’t sure if it was because I was coming down with a cold, or if it had something to do with all of the hype surrounding the next two days, but I was incredibly emotional. Your heart felt tender, bruised, like it had grown tired of beating for me. I knew that wasn’t true; I had been taking pills for a very long time to ensure it didn’t reject me, and I was mostly in the safe zone. No, I felt as if you were just very tired of all my emotional roller-coaster rides, and as if your heart had grown impatient with me and my indecisions.

I had never been this way before coming to Pittsburgh. Yes, every now and again I had felt lonely, but I would go ice-skating and feel better. If it was summer, I would sit in a pair of shorts, my bare feet stretched out on my balcony after making myself some tea, and eagerly engross myself in a novel where the characters became my friends and lovers. If my eyes were too sore from long days and/or nights at the hospital, I watched movies. When I needed to laugh, fellow Canadian Jim Carrey was there for me. When I needed to cry, it was Rent or Sliding Doors, or my personal favorite, Finding Neverland.

I had friends at the hospital in Peter and some of the nurses, friends on the Bruins like Milan Lucic and Patrice Bergeron, acquaintances in my apartment building that I waved to in the mornings and occasionally saw at the gym. There were always people to fill the void, small that it was.

Since coming to Pittsburgh the void had expanded, and suddenly, I found myself confused and unsure what to do. I had never needed someone so badly before, and it put me in a very difficult position.

Especially at work.

My hands shook as I unscrewed the bottle of prescription medications. I was in a much earlier than usual, as I had a meeting with Jordan Staal to discuss his hand and whether or not he would be playing the next day. He’d been steadily practicing by himself the last couple of days, but no one was sure if he was completely ready. After my initial once-over and the morning practice, we would talk to Dan and Ray Shero about his status in the Winter Classic.

I let out a weighty sigh, prying open the container with my teeth. I shook a few of them into my hand, popping them and taking a swig of water. They were the reason that I had a headache and a stuffy nose, but I had to keep taking them for a very long time. Otherwise, I might lose you.

“What are those?”

I jumped and the bottle fell from my hand. The pills scattered across the tile floor, and just looking down at them made my eyes well with tears.

“Jordan, you’re early,” I said, keeping my back turned to him so he wouldn’t see my face. I quickly wiped my eyes.

“I couldn’t wait any longer.” He took two strides across the room and knelt down next to me, helping me pick up the pills and drop them carefully back into the bottle. “Sorry if I scared you. What are these?”

“They’re immunosuppressors.”

“Immuno-what now?”

“They’re pills that lower my immune system.”

He frowned, dropping a massive handful of them into the container. “Wait. On purpose?”

“Yes. It’s a specific treatment for…several things.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Damn you, Jordan Staal. “It’s all a bit technical. I don’t mean to sound superior, Staalsy, since I’m sure you could comprehend it easily.” He flashed me a goofy smile at that, and I had to smile back, even if I felt as if I were about to burst into tears at any second. “I just don’t want to bore you with medical jargon. We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?”

He practically wriggled like an excited puppy. I thanked him for his help retrieving all my pills, before capping the bottle once more and stowing it in my purse. Had we been back at Consol, I would have left them in a desk drawer where no one dared to pry, but we were guests at Heinz Field, and I felt strange enough being in a foreign exam room already. I gestured for him to sit down in one of the chairs, which he did in a flash. I took my place beside him, and gently began to probe his hand, being extra careful around the bones.

It didn’t take long. With each minute that passed and I remained silent, his smile grew, and it became more difficult for me to get him to sit still.

“All right,” I said, smiling at him. “We’re through.”

“I’m done?”

“Yes. You’re healed. Tell Dan I said you can practice, but it’s up to him whether or not he puts you in the game. Just try not to break anything else for a while, all right? I’m sick of seeing you,” I teased him.

He jumped up with a yell and lifted me with him. He spun me around the room, hugging me tightly. “Thank you so much, Lux! You have no idea how much this means!” He set me back down so suddenly that I was jarred all the way up to my teeth. The room spun slowly, and I tried my best to focus back on his face. “This is my first game in eight months.”

“That’s if Dan and Ray say you can play.”

“Eight months.”

“Oui, I know. I am very excited for you, too--”

He pressed a fast, friendly kiss to my lips. “You are wonderful, do you know that?”

“I--you--Jordan!” I reprimanded. I wiggled my way out of his arms, frowning at him. “That was too much.”

“I know,” He said, with a shrug. He hadn’t stopped grinning for a moment. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time, and you’re French anyway. Isn’t that what you do?”

“Not really,” A voice said from somewhere behind Jordan’s broad shoulders. I froze at the sound. That was the voice I had been dreading since the game against the Islanders.

“Tanger!” Jordan shouted, spinning around. He flopped his hand in front of Kris’ face, his grin a mile wide. “I’m healed! I’m fuckin’ back, man!”

“You still have to talk to Dan and Ray, you know!” I reminded him, cleaning up the exam room to distract myself from looking at Kris.

“Yeah, but I bet they’ll say yes, knowing that you’ve proclaimed me fit. They love you. We all do.” He tried to grab me again, to hug me or kiss me--I wasn’t sure--but I danced effortlessly out of his impossibly long reach.

“I am sick,” I pointed out, glaring at him. “And now you might have ruined your playing chances with your nonsense. If you get sick, do not blame me, because it was your fault.” I didn’t ask you to kiss me. I never asked for anyone to kiss me.

Jordan’s smile vanished. “Oh. You’re right. Shit! Do you have any vitamins?”

“Of course I do.” I went to one of my equipment bags and rifled around inside. When my hands closed around a bottle, I pulled it out and tossed it to him. “Here. Take two of these, and make sure to drink or eat anything high in Vitamin C. Don’t overdo it, though, okay? It is possible to overdose.”

“No problem! I’m going to go find Dan!” Whooping and laughing like a little boy, he ran from the room. I could hear the clattering of his footsteps for a long time afterward, as if his enormous footfalls echoed around the whole of Heinz Field.

I wanted to avoid Kris’ gaze like it was the plague, but my eyes were drawn irrevocably to him. They were about to practice, and he was wearing most of his hockey gear, minus the actual jersey. I forced myself to move, going to the corner of the large desk at the back of the room and sitting on it. I was once again on the brink of crying just being in the same room as Kris, and I quickly began shuffling through my purse as something to do with my pathetic, wanting hands. I wanted to touch him more than anything, and the desire was burning me from the inside out. I hated that he had seen Jordan kiss me, but I hated that he might think there was anything going on between us even more.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually.” My head snapped up when he shut the door behind him. He strode slowly across the room, stopping in front of the desk that I was perched on. “I need you to look at something for me.”

Oh, no.

This was a moment I had been dreading. “What is it?” I dropped my purse, jumping off the desk and coming around to join him. “Muscle tension, sprain? Please tell me it didn’t happen the other night. We need you tomorrow, Kris.”

“We?” His eyes were molten, wrapping me in a heady haze of desire. Whether it was the way he was looking at me or the cold medication I had taken, I suddenly found it difficult to think.

“They. The guys. They need you. The Winter Classic is a big deal, and you’re a major part of the team.”

“And they’ll have me.” He pointed to his chest. “It’s here.”

Suddenly, I knew exactly where he was going with this. “Kris--”

“Don’t you want to at least look at it? It could be very serious.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Imagine if I played in the game tonight with an injury, with you knowing that I wasn’t one hundred percent. What would Dan say? Or Shero?” His eyes became hard, but I was still so sensitized to his gaze that if he even tried to touch me, I would melt. “They wouldn’t be happy, Lux. And since you need this job so much…”

“Fine,” I snapped, my emotions wavering too close to the surface. They were threatening to spill over at the slightest wobble, and I knew it wouldn’t take long. “Take your shirt off.”

His eyes widened, as if he hadn’t realized his sensual threats would work. Remorse suddenly flashed in his eyes, and I knew he didn’t mean any of this. He was only doing it because he didn’t know what else to do with me. He was only acting this way because it was the only way to get some sort of reaction from me, even if it was a negative one. I’ve pushed him too far, I thought. I need to bring him back.

Kris reached for the hem of his under armor shirt, and pulled it up and over his head. Strands of his hair fell back into place, messy from the stirring of his shirt, and I saw stars. My brain turned to liquid, the child prodigy reputation I had earned going to complete and utter waste. I could no longer tell the difference between the ulna and the tibia; I was struck dumb at the thought of piano keys and calculus formulas. Everything I had known turned to ash on my tongue.

He was perfect. Every muscle (all of which I had been able to name before I had seen him) was sculpted, smooth and hard, edges visible and begging me to touch them. Much like a woodworker takes the time to lovingly carve his creations, Kris had taken the time and made the effort to build himself into something beautiful, something powerful, training his body to change and adapt with both precision and care. I was stunned into momentary silence, the way that one is when they have just seen something breathtaking, life-changing, eternal.

Somehow, I came back down from the heights I had soared to, and cleared my throat. “Where is the pain?”

“Here.” His fingers lightly traced the skin of his chest. Pectoralis major, I reminded myself, to ensure my brain was once again working at its normal capacity.

“What happened?”

“I met someone,” He said, his voice hoarse and so full of sadness that I had to choke back tears yet again. “I met this beautiful, wonderful girl, and she is killing me.”

Oh. My brain stuttered, my train of thought going off track and crashing completely in a cloud of smoke. He was talking about me. “Kris…”

“Lux.” He shook his head, correcting himself. “Lucinda.” It was the first time he had used my full name, and I unwillingly started to cry, big fat tears that rolled down my cheeks in quick succession. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Let me hold you. Just once.”

I wanted to tell him it had better be more than once but we both knew it couldn’t be, not right now. So instead, I just nodded, sobbing, and he swept me into his arms. He was warm to the touch, and with each shaking, shivering breath, I inhaled more of him. Laundry detergent. Fresh, clean deodorant. Some spicy cologne that made my senses tingle. And underneath all of it, something sweet, something tender and quivering, something that made my knees buckle and my hands shake. Something like love.

I had never meant for any of this to happen. Suddenly, your heart was not yours and it was no longer mine. Every single piece of it, emotionally and physically, belonged to Kris. He had scooped it out of my chest and was cupping it in the palm of his hand, promising to love it, to cherish it, when he didn’t even realize that it was not mine. Was this how you had felt, looking down on me from Heaven or wherever you resided to find some strange girl had stolen your heart? Did you feel this sad, this confused, this here, there, everywhere? And now, it was someone else’s. That had to hurt you even more than it hurt me. How many times could a heart be given away before it became nothing more than a memory? How many deals, how many trades, could it go through before fading from legend?

His arms were strong around my back so that I couldn’t have moved even if I had wanted to. One of his hands was stroking my hair, working its way through the strands even though it had been up in a bun, and he was kissing my head and whispering in French. I could barely hear him over the sound of my crying and the frightened thumping of my heart, but I did catch the phrase, “Je suis à toi” a few times.

I'm yours.

He echoed everything I was feeling, with his touch, his words, his thoughts. I let my arms go around him, dropping to his waist. I wanted to drown in him. I wanted to crawl beneath his skin and breathe him in for as long as he would let me.

We stood that way for a long time, with Kris rocking me. My sobs eventually faded to silent tears, and after a time, even those ceased. I let myself relax in his grip, let my eyes close and my breaths fall into an even, deep pattern, mimicking that of sleep. I never wanted this to end.

But even I knew we couldn’t stay that way forever. I wanted to, to just live in the fortress of his arms and stay safe, but reality interrupted, as it always did. He was late for practice, and I knew someone would come searching. Jordan, being the blabbermouth that he was, would surely alert any and all who were listening to where he had seen Kris last.

“Kris?” His chest was wet with my tears, and I suddenly felt terrible.

“Oui?”

“I need you to put your shirt back on.”

He almost smiled. My arms were wrapped around his waist, and I forced my fingers to unlock, like a stubborn keyhole that one had to maneuver carefully. He wiped his chest off with his t-shirt, looking at me. He didn’t put it back on.

“Where does this leave us, Lux?”

“I…don’t know. Where do you want this to leave us?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

My stomach was writhing. I knew what he was saying; you didn’t have to be a prodigy to read between those lines. I hadn’t known Kris long, but I knew just how deep his emotions went. Everything he did had a purpose. Every single thing he did or said was sincere. Otherwise, he wouldn’t speak or act. That was why so many people said he was quiet, that he was shy but would a shy man stroll into my exam room and remove his shirt? No. Truthfully, it was that he just weighed his words more carefully, deciding when and where to throw them around. I knew that if he was going to make a life with someone and go all in for love, it was going to be the only time he did it. I pictured him standing on the side of the road, holding a cardboard sign and sticking out his thumb. Forever or bust. If it wasn’t me he’d been talking about, I might have laughed at the thought.

“And now you’re leaving the future in my hands.” That is too much power for one person, especially me.

“I am.”

I sighed. I was tired. I was starting to get sick, and I felt emotionally drained. There was too much happening. If this was love, it was exhausting. No wonder your heart felt so used up; you were trying to tell me to take it slow.

“It’s 2010,” I said suddenly.

He nodded, frowning. “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know anything right now, Kris. I want to get through tonight, and I want to see you win tomorrow. That is all I can think of right now. So I will decide next year.”

“Next year?” His eyes widened dramatically, and I laughed.

“Yes, Kris, next year.”

He suddenly understood, and he smiled. “I see. In the new year, we will know.”

Maybe after they had won the game, I would be able to give him a semi-solid answer. I already knew what I felt for him, crazy though it was, and I already knew what I would tell him. I just didn’t know where that would leave us. So I loved him. So he loved me. But this was my first dive into the twisting waters of love, and he wanted something that I wasn’t sure if I was ready to give. In just over a month, I would be returning to Boston. Would that be the end of us? Or would we try to make it work?

I didn’t know. All I knew was that, come 2011, I was going to tell a man I loved him for the first time in my life. My stomach was a mess of excitement and anxiety bound together in a ball.

I glanced at the watch on my wrist. It was nearly eight, and I had a feeling that Kris and I were tempting fate. Any minute, Jordan could arrive with the official entourage, and as much as I hated to tell him so, I had to reiterate my previous statement.

“Kris? Shirt. Back on. Please.”

His smile only widened. “Pour vous.” As he was stretching his arms over his head, I caught a glance of shadow, of dark ink spreading down his left forearm.

I suddenly grabbed his arm, forcing him to pause. I leaned close, staring at the tattoo that I had never known he’d had. It was all black and grey. There was a dark guitar on the back of his forearm, and I slowly turned his arm so I could see everything else. There were angels and a banner where his forearm met his shoulder, dedicated to his grandmother. I recalled how fondly he had spoken of her during Christmas.

“What’s wrong?” Kris asked.

“Nothing. I never knew you had a tattoo. It’s lovely.” I moved so I could see the rest of it. When I saw the large rock inked into his skin and read what was written on it, I froze. Every single part of me locked up, unable to move, as the words echoed in my brain, growing louder and louder.

Février 1987
Mai 2008
Luc Bourdon

“You…knew Luc Bourdon?” My words were a whisper.

Kris’ face lost all of its warmth and mirth in one single second. I watched as he retreated back away from me, a subtle shield going up around the heart I had apparently injured. “Yes. He was my best friend.”

Best. Friend. What was left of the crash that he had left in my head exploded in a great mushroom cloud of gas and flame. Bodies perished, their screams climbing inside of me. I realized now, suddenly, in a cataclysmic shattering of worlds that you had indeed brought me to Pittsburgh. Everything that had transpired had been your doing.

I couldn’t explain it. All I knew was that in the span of several seconds, I caught a divine glimpse of my life. As if I was dying all over again, the story of my life played in front of my eyes like I was fast-forwarding it on a movie screen. Me as a toddler wandering around on unsteady legs; a young child being home-schooled and playing the piano, pink ribbons in my hair; an awkward, gangly teen in a hospital room, a nurse taking my blood; my first day of med school, my lab coat much too big and my speech timid and shaking; kissing my first boy on the docks during a summer vacation spent in Nova Scotia; attending my surprise twenty-first birthday party at an Irish pub in Boston; lying in a hospital bed, wan and sickly, waiting to die.

Every single thing I had done in my life, every single choice, had been leading up to this moment. Unconsciously, I had been destined for all of this. I was an anomaly, a miracle who wasn’t even supposed to be born but against all odds, I was here, I was alive, and suddenly I felt as if my entire existence had purpose. I knew it in every fiber of my being that it was true, like the undeniable faith that some people found in God. Like their unshakable belief that he exists and that he has an ultimate plan, I was resolute in my way of thinking that every single speck of my life had been building towards this, the day that I would realize exactly who Kris was, the day that you would confront me without doing anything at all.

The realization was like stone and heavy as the world settling across my shoulders. You had been waiting for me my entire life. From the moment you’d been born, past the moment of your death, your heart had been mine.

They say that spirits will linger when they have had their lives cut tragically short. They say that they will remain trapped in this world, never able to find peace until they solve some riddle of their past and right their wrongs. I never believed in ghosts, but now, much like the realization that you had known me without physically knowing me all your life, I knew they were real. They existed, and sometimes they clung to us in the most unlikely ways. You were still here, in the room with Kris and I, living inside the walls of my chest. You had unfinished business in the form of your grieving best friend, and that was why you had organized all of this.

I’m merely your instrument. But what if I can’t help you?

“Lux?”

I looked up, blinking. How many seconds or minutes had gone by since I’d been struck with my revelation? I couldn’t say. All I knew was that he was staring at me like I’d been gone for months.

I let go of him, my hands shaking. I quickly clenched my fists so he wouldn’t see.

“He was your best friend.”

“Yes. Why? Did you know him?”

I shook my head fervently, more of my hair falling from its neat bun. What a metaphor for that entire day, for my entire life. “No. I never knew him. I have only ever heard of him.” It was true. We had never met while you were alive.

Kris smiled sadly, and the stained glass story of my life shattered. “You would have loved him. He--”

I do love him! I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear my shirt open and show him the scar that stretched down from my collarbone to my sternum. I wanted to spill everything that I knew, starting with the day I had been born, my heart too weak to provide for me. But I didn’t.

Because at that moment, there were footsteps in the corridor outside. Kris hurriedly pulled his under-armor on, and I grabbed his arm, pressing intently at his shoulder. I tried to make it seem as though I was tending to him, but my thoughts were years away. My heart--your heart, Kris’ heart, our heart--was beating much too fast and my face felt hot. Any minute now, I would start to cry again. It was too much. It was all too much.

The door burst open and Max came inside, dressed in his full hockey garb and wielding his stick like a weapon. “Tanger!” He shouted. “What are you doing? There are twenty thousand people out there!”

“Sorry,” Kris said gruffly. “I was having Lux look at my shoulder.”

Max took me in for the first time, his gaze lingering on my messy hair and how close we were standing. He grinned like the Cheshire Cat, his expression turning from one of annoyance to one of amusement. “Ah, I see. Perhaps I should go, no?”

“Shut up, Max,” Kris growled, stepping away from me.

Max kept his eyes on me, his smile never faltering. “We have practice now. Will you come?”

I shook my head. “No. Twenty thousand feels crowded.” I smiled apologetically, but it felt more like a grimace.

“That’s okay,” Max replied brightly, nudging Kris towards the door. “You can join us for the family skate!”

I looked at Kris. “Family skate?”

He nodded. “Everyone will be there.”

So then why didn’t you invite me? Luckily, Max swooped in. “You’ll be there for that, right? I’ve been wanting to get you on the ice for months.” Kris elbowed him, hard. Max turned to him, shrugging. "What? Get your mind out of the gutter." When Kris' only response was to glare at him, Max let out a small sigh, and edited his statement. "Fine. See you on the ice, I meant."

“Is that all right?" My gaze swung between the two of them. "Am I allowed?”

“Of course! And if anyone tries to say no, I’ll drop my gloves. You’re one of us now, Lux, whether you like it or not. Now, we have to go,” He gestured between the two of them. “But we will see you after.”

“Is Jordan practicing?”

“He is!” Max’s eyes lit up. “He is so happy.”

“Good. That’s good.” I was so distracted that I didn’t see Kris’ wave.

Max started to shut the door, before he turned and glanced at me. He waited a beat, until Kris was out of earshot. “Belle, are you all right?” He had abandoned his joking demeanor and his expression was surprisingly serious. I loved him for his concern; he had been such a good friend to me in the last month.

“No,” I admitted. My vision was wobbly with unshed tears. “But I will be, Max. I will be.” I think.

“Promesse?”

“Always. Of course.” I pointed at the door with a shaky hand. “Now you had better go. I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Max sang as he strolled away. “I think you would be worth it!”

I pressed a hand to my mouth as he journeyed down the corridor, catching up to Kris. Quickly, I crossed the room and shut the door. Spinning around, I pressed my back against it and slid all the way down, dissolving into sobs.

I had only ever thought to myself once before in my life that “this can’t be happening”, and that was when I had been told I was dying. I had known it forever, truth be told, somewhere back in the recesses of my mind. As a child, I had known that I would be lucky to make it to thirty without an incident, but I had been so hopeful, so assured that my belief in God and science and love would save me. And, of course, in the Freudian sense, we were all dying one moment at a time, but to be told that this time was for real, I panicked briefly, alone in my bathroom, my arms wrapped around my knobby knees, my head pillowed on tile.

This was the second time I would think that to myself. The last few moments felt like a dream, a cruel nightmare that my subconscious had made up to torment me. This was your doing, I thought fiercely, suddenly mad at you. All this time you had known. Was that why each time I looked at Kris, the heart we shared fluttered like nervous birds taking flight? Had you been trying to tell me that entire time? And if you had… did that mean what I felt was you, or me?

I reached up, pulling my hair from its messy confine and running my hands through it. My head hurt. I no longer knew where I ended and you began, and suddenly things were so much more complicated. All this time… It was still so unfathomable. Of all the talks I had shared with Kris, I had thought I knew him well, knew his childhood. He had talked of his junior days in Val d’Or, and even though I knew that was where you had played together, I had never connected the dots myself. I had stopped thinking of you for once, and instead let my thoughts be consumed by him.

I dropped my head against my knees. Max was wrong. I wasn’t worth it. Through no fault of my own I had taken your life; I was a murderer. The reason that ink was on Kris’ arm was because of me. It was all because of me.

The great roots of night grow suddenly from your soul, and the things that hide in you come out again.