Worth It

When Jeff's phone rang in the early afternoon on an October day, he thought that maybe it was one of his family members, maybe a sibling calling to ask him how training camp had gone. He hadn't expected the girlish shriek that almost made his eyes water.

“You made it through training camp!” Molly shouted on the other end of the phone. She hadn't even waited for him to say hello.

Jeff laughed, repeating in agreement, “I made it through training camp.” He shut the refrigerator in Eric Staal's kitchen, leaning against the counter. Just because he had made it through training camp didn't mean he was out of the woods yet, but he liked that Molly was so excited for him. “How did you get this number?”

“Um, Jeff? My dad is Paul Maurice. I went through his phone. You’re officially Justin Bieber in my contacts.”

Jeff slapped a palm over his face, groaning. Molly had started calling him that during training camp, before the preseason. “You’re just like him,” she pointed out during a practice. “You look like you’re twelve, but girls still wanna fu--” She hadn’t been able to finish her sentence; Eric had clapped a gloved hand over her mouth and shoved her out of the dressing room.

Chad LaRose laughed, saying it was true, that half the girls who showed up in the stands wearing tank tops and shorts were showing off their assets for Jeff Skinner. “You’re hot shit, kid,” he said, as the rest of the guys snickered and cat-called. “Biebs it is.”

The nickname stuck, and here they were.

“What?” Molly was laughing. “You don’t like it?”

He decided not to answer. “Your voice sounds really weird. It’s like, echoing or something.”

“That’s because I’m in the bathroom at school.”

"Why aren't you in class?"

"Because I would much rather call my friend Justin Bieber than study trigonometry. Is that such a crime?"

She called him her friend. He was blushing all alone in the kitchen, placing a palm flat against the countertop as he balanced the phone against his ear. You've got it bad.

She was still talking. "...and nobody likes to listen to a teacher like that anyway, so here we are!" A rustling sound and a sudden, small gasp followed her words.

"Molly?"

Her voice suddenly dropped to a crackling whisper. “Someone just came in. I think it’s a hall monitor. Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll see you when I see you!”

“Uh, yeah, see you."

“Bye, Biebs,” was all she said before the line went dead.

He held onto his phone, standing there and grinning like a fool. Oh, come on, he tried to tell himself. She has a boyfriend.

A tiny part of him whispered back, So?

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There was nothing like the rush of getting a goal. Jeff loved it. People were screaming, teammates cheering his name, their arms folding around him as they collided into him, their bodies blacking out the bright lights of the rink as they congratulated him. He had always loved it back in Kitchener, but being in North Carolina was something different altogether. It was the big leagues in every sense of the phrase, and when it happened for the first time, he was completely unprepared for the explosion of feelings when he officially lit the lamp.

Everyone was on their feet; the noise was deafening. He could hardly believe it had happened, everything had occurred so suddenly. One second, Cole had passed the puck to Babchuk, and then the next thing Jeff knew, it was bouncing off his own stick and past Bernier into the net. He did the only thing the adrenaline would let him do: he threw his arms up in the air and yelled, voicing his exuberance as Cole crashed into him, wrapping him up in a tight hug.

His blood was racing through his veins, his heart threatening to explode, and as he got fist-bumps from the rest of the team, he had one, single overpowering thought:

I hope Molly saw that.

The second period ended five minutes later, and they were all on their way back to the dressing room, everybody cat-calling and yelling to him about a job well done. He was blushing now, but it was a good one, one that all the other guys could understand. He was even willing to bet they had the puck waiting for him already; he would give it to his parents after the game...

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, but before he could react, a figure clad in a green sweater appeared out of nowhere and slammed into him. Thin arms entwined around his neck, and he dropped his stick, almost falling. Harrison, who had been behind him, laughed and ducked out of the way, past him and into the dressing room.

“You got your first goal!” Molly was screaming in his ear.

The sweater brought out the green of her eyes, and with it she wore dark, tight jeans that showed her off in all the most perfect places. His vision swam.

"I am so happy for you." Her breath was warm against his neck.

Instinct kicked in. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing his sweaty face to her hair, inhaling the scent of her citrus shampoo. He couldn’t help himself.

One second, he was leaning back and looking into her eyes, watching her as she licked her lips. Then her gaze dropped ever so slightly and he was gone, spirited away.

Suddenly she was kissing him, or was he kissing her? It didn’t matter because his lips were pressed to hers, and she was soft, so soft, and she tasted of vanilla chapstick and he was sweaty and probably smelled but she didn’t care, she never cared. Her arms tightened around him or his tightened around her or both or either and she was drawing him down, he was pulling her in, and those perfect lush lips were opening for him and she trembled out a breath, and his tongue was in her mouth and she tasted like that goal and the summer afternoon when they had met, water still sparkling in the strands of her golden hair; she tasted like popsicles melting in the sun and country music on starry nights and holding hands at a high school dance, where your steps are awkward and your smiles shy but it doesn’t even matter because you’re just so happy to be there.

“Ahem.”

The tightrope they’d been dancing on snapped, the world collapsing from beneath them. Molly broke away first, strands of her hair clinging to his fingers like spider-webs. Her face was flushed.

Eric was standing there in the hall, his arms folded over his chest. “You gonna join us, Biebs, or should I mention to the big man that you’re out here macking on his little girl?”

Molly cocked an eyebrow. “Macking? Oh, please. Get back in there, Captain Staal-ing. I’ll be done with him in a sec.”

A shiver of delight passed through Jeff, making his toes tingle. He liked the way that sounded. Eric rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath, ducking back into the dressing room. An awkward silence descended on the corridor, as Jeff tried to think of a follow-up, something to say in the wake of that kiss.

“So, um…”

“We’re not going to do this, are we? Talk about it.” She smiled up at him. “Because I don’t want to. Let’s just… let it be.”

But he didn’t want to. He wanted to grab her and kiss her again, more, until he couldn’t breathe and his lips were numb. He wanted that feeling to come back, the heady invincibility of holding her in his arms, that feeling that he could do anything, that everything in his life--the loneliness, the fear of moving to a new city and meeting new people--was worth every single second that he was on the ice, every single second he was with her.

Jeff let out a breath, wiping some sweat off his face with the sleeve of his jersey. “That was…”

“Biebs. Seriously. I mean it.”

“But--”

She stood on her tiptoes, cupped his face, and kissed him again. It wasn’t long, but it was enough that his thoughts faded to whispers in the background. He couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say, when she finally pecked him one last time on the lips and released him. He blinked several times to try and clear his head, but it didn’t work. He was high on her and he didn't even know it yet.

“Go on, then. My dad’s waiting for you.”

He tried not to cringe. It didn’t work, and she laughed out loud.

“Don’t look so horrified. It’s not like I’m taking you home to meet him. God, that would be awkward.” She patted his arm. “Anyway, you’d better get in there. I’ll see you after the game.”

He nodded, dazed. He stooped to grab his stick, raising his head as she turned and walked away in the other direction. She was running a hand through her hair; whether she was trying to recreate the feeling of him touching it, or smoothing down the mess he’d made, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that she looked good doing it.

“Hey, Mol!”

She turned around to face him, but kept walking backwards. “What?”

“What about your boyfriend?”

She grinned. “Boyfriend? What boyfriend?”

His mouth dropped open in a gape. He couldn’t tell if she was joking, or if she had just been fooling him the entire time. Maybe that was the point with a girl like Molly. She didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, she turned, running away with a laugh that echoed in his ears long after he’d retired to the dressing room to listen to his team’s congratulations.

This is it, he told himself as they clapped him on the back and handed him the puck that he’d scored the goal with. He held it tight in his hands, seeing her smile in his mind’s eye. This is what it feels like, to be a part of something bigger than me.

And it was all because of her.