Who Wouldn't Want To Be Me

Two weeks later found me back at practices finally, and Jordan and I couldn’t even be in a room for two seconds without it being too awkward and one of us leaving. A few of the guys had been wondering but were too afraid to ask, and TK even asked me quietly if Jordan and Becka had hooked up and I was mad at him because of it. I’d immediately told him no, and that as long as they were gonna treat her right it wouldn’t bother me if one of the guys on the team went out with her. I saw Sid smile a little bit to himself as he’d tied up his skates, and did an internal fist-pump; Becka so totally owed me for this.

“All right; our house for dinner, and you’re gonna tell me what’s wrong,” Steve said as he walked past me in the players lounge. I nodded, needing to finally get this off of my chest and talk to someone about it.

“Sounds good Steve; want me to bring anything?”

“If you don’t mind; Shelly absolutely loved that casserole you made last week for her, so anything will be good,” I smiled to myself; Steve had been gone and all of the kids activities had seemed to pile into one day, so I offered to make dinner for her to help make her life easier.

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll bring something for dessert maybe?” I asked, and he nodded.

“Damn you’re spoiling us,” he joked, both of us laughing. Pascal raised an eyebrow as he and Brooks walked past.

“This kid can cook like nobody’s business,” Steve informed them, and they both looked surprised.

“Really?” Pascal asked, and I shrugged while Steve nodded.

“Yeah – ask my wife,”

“Well, anytime you wanna come over and help when it’s my turn to cook...” Pascal smirked, making all of us laugh.

“Hahaha, we’ll see,” I allowed, and a few minutes later the two of them continued on their way out, and Steve gave me that look again.

“You’ll have to tell them eventually,” he reminded me, and I nodded, letting out a long breath. I needed to tell them eventually, but something was still nagging at me. Growing up and spending all of those years needing to prove myself as good enough to play with the boys probably had something to do with it.

“I know, I know,” I agreed quietly, looking down the hallway after them. After a long moment he patted my shoulder before continuing down the hallway. I waited outside the locker room for a minute, and when I didn’t hear anything went inside. I quickly took a shower and then left the building, trying to figure out what I was going to do. Becka was meeting a bunch of her friends from school to study, so once again I was on my own. We hadn’t spent a lot of time together the past few weeks; I’d been busy with hockey and then at Sullivan’s a lot, and her workload had been steadily increasing. It was weird how we knew little to nothing of how each others’ lives were going even though we lived in the same apartment. We’d always been so close, it was hard to see that our friendship was so distant.

Halfway to my apartment I decided that I needed to talk to Jordan. I had to tell him, and as much as I knew he was going to hate me I had to get it off my shoulders. Then he’d understand why I’d said what I did, then it would all make sense. I called him, but unsurprisingly didn’t get an answer. So instead I drove to his apartment, but when I knocked found that he wasn’t home. I probably wouldn’t manage the courage to do this again, I knew, so I’d really hoped he’d be here. Instead I drove back to my apartment, and did a work-out video. Becka had a whole bunch of them, and I’d started doing them this past week just to try and get some of my cardiovascular strength back up so Dan would finally put me back in for games. Steve still thought I was rushing back into this and pushing myself too hard, but I had to get back into the swing of things; being out of sync with hockey was like being out of sync with my world, it just didn’t feel good.

I tried to take my frustrations out on the video, and to some extent it worked; well enough that I could bake a pan-version of Death by Chocolate to take over to Steve and Shelly’s place.

At five thirty I changed into some nicer clothes – a polo shirt and a pair of nice jeans – before writing a note for Becka and driving to Sullivan’s. As soon as I walked in the door I heard a chorus of ‘Cam’s here!’ before all of the kids were rushing towards the porch to give me a hug, or in Britt’s case, climb onto my shoulders so I could piggy-back her around.

“Britt! Cam’s not a jungle-gym! Get down from there young lady,” Steve scolded her.

“Nah, it’s okay Steve; it’s not like she’s heavy,” I pointed out, but he shook his head, reaching out for his daughter who unhappily let her dad hold her.

“Come on in; dinner’s almost ready,” he said, and when I went to do so found that the boys had each wrapped themselves around a leg, so I had to carry them on my feet as I walked.

“Boys,” Shelly’s voice was laced with warning and complaining they let go and stood up, content to just walk with me and ask me all about practice and when I’d be playing again. They were two of the cutest kids I’d ever seen, and they’d swooned over the dessert I’d brought. Shelly did the same as she put the pan onto the counter.

“God, I wish I could bake like that,” she sighed, and I shrugged. My mom had taught me some baking and cooking so that I could do it when she went to work, and to be honest I enjoyed baking.

“Sometime we’ll have to get together and spend a day messing around with recipes,” I agreed, helping her to set the table and finish some last-minute things for supper. Steve ushered the kids into the bathroom to wash their hands, and then to the kitchen to eat.

I spent a couple hours hanging out with everybody; until the kids were all asleep, as disappointed as they were that they had to go to bed while I was there. But it was a school night after all, so by about twenty after nine the kids were all in bed, and Steve, Shelly and myself sat down in the living room with our drinks to talk.