‹ Prequel: She Makes Me Wanna
Sequel: Bring Me To Life ›
We Found Love
Chapter Nine-Tears
Jordan’s Point of View
Emily was solemn the entire rest of the day, hardly talking on the bus ride to and from practice, opting instead to stare out the window. She took her usual seat next to Jack on the plane, but popped her earbuds in and fell asleep instead of playing PSP and chatting like usual. She didn’t even break into her usually goofy wide grin and victory screech when the pilot announced that we had landed at Newark International Airport. Instead, she gathered her things quickly and was off the plane in a flash. It wasn’t unusual for Emily to be the first one off the plane when we went to New Jersey, she was always excited to be home, but I knew that she was still upset about what I had said to her. Sidney must have known that something had been said between Emily and me too, because he kept glaring at me the entire day.
When we finally got to the Prudential Center, Emily wasn’t her usual bubbly self yet. Instead of darting over to the Devils’ locker room to chat animatedly with Martin Brodeur, whom she had apparently become acquainted with over the summer, she ducked into our locker room and changed quickly. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and she even messed up her traditional handshake with the equipment managers as she headed out onto the ice.
During the game however, she was on fire. She rocketed around the New Jersey ice as if she owned it, and in a lot of ways she did. She had quickly become the player with the most hits in the game, and had rifled off 12 shots on goal in the first half of the first period alone. There was a fire in her eyes not unlike the fire I had seen when fans called her a slut and I almost toppled off of the bench when that thought came to mind; I was the reason for Emily’s wrath tonight. In a way, I had said the same thing that many opposing fans had said. In my jealousy and half assed fear of destroying team chemistry, I had awoken the beast and I knew that I was truly and utterly fucked.
Sidney’s Point of View
I cringed as Emily slammed Zach Parise into the boards and stole the puck from him quickly. I didn’t have time to feel bad for the guy though, because the puck was on the end of my stick and I had the center lane open. Of course, the Devils had returned to their damn two-one-two trap style of play and the open lane quickly closed, so I pushed the puck over to Jack and prayed that we would be able to score soon. We were dominating the New Jersey team in every aspect of the game, and yet the score was still tied. I knew that it would make it even harder to win this game if the Devils scored first; they weren’t a team to lose easily at home. However, my prayer was quickly answered by a Kris Letang one timer, and was reinforced by Emily dumping a nice wrist shot over the shoulder of Martin Brodeur a few seconds later. I celebrated with the rest of the team, but a nagging worry was beginning to build in the back of my mind. Emily was always a fantastic hockey player, but she became overly aggressive when she was pissed off, and I knew that something had happened when she had spoken to Jordan in the morning. I wasn’t able to dwell on it though, because I still had two and a half periods of hockey left to play.
After the game the team returned to the hotel, exhausted after a 4-3 victory in overtime. The Devils had put up a good fight, and I was drained. By the time I got to the room, Emily was already in the shower, so I changed quickly and flopped into my bed, determined to corner her and find out exactly what had happened between her and Jordan. When she finally came out of the bathroom she was wearing long lounge pants and a teeshirt, and rolled into her bed without so much as looking at me. I bit my lip before standing up, walking over, and placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey…what happened?” I asked quietly.
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, not turning to look at me.
“I am worried though,” I said.
“It doesn’t affect the game, so keep out of it,” she snapped, and for once I flinched. It was unusual that Emily’s biting anger was directed at me. I ran a hand through my thick hair and bit my lip.
“Please Emily…” I finally said, and she sighed before rolling over to look at me. Her eyes were puffy and pink, and I knew that she had been crying.
“I really am a slut, aren’t I?” she whimpered before tears spilled down her face. I dropped to my knees next to the bed, feeling an unbearable sadness forming in my chest.
“W-what? You are not a slut!” I said quietly, wiping the tears away with my thumbs. Emily just whimpered though, and the tears continued to fall.
“Why are you a slut? You slept with one guy on the team…so what? Honestly, I really, really care about you…and that doesn’t make you a slut,” I whispered as I continued to wipe the tears as they fell, kissing her forehead gently every once in a while. Eventually I gave up on trying to stop her crying and I turned out the light before climbing into her bed, hugging her to my chest tightly, and holding her until she fell asleep, her tears rolling down my chest.
Emily was solemn the entire rest of the day, hardly talking on the bus ride to and from practice, opting instead to stare out the window. She took her usual seat next to Jack on the plane, but popped her earbuds in and fell asleep instead of playing PSP and chatting like usual. She didn’t even break into her usually goofy wide grin and victory screech when the pilot announced that we had landed at Newark International Airport. Instead, she gathered her things quickly and was off the plane in a flash. It wasn’t unusual for Emily to be the first one off the plane when we went to New Jersey, she was always excited to be home, but I knew that she was still upset about what I had said to her. Sidney must have known that something had been said between Emily and me too, because he kept glaring at me the entire day.
When we finally got to the Prudential Center, Emily wasn’t her usual bubbly self yet. Instead of darting over to the Devils’ locker room to chat animatedly with Martin Brodeur, whom she had apparently become acquainted with over the summer, she ducked into our locker room and changed quickly. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and she even messed up her traditional handshake with the equipment managers as she headed out onto the ice.
During the game however, she was on fire. She rocketed around the New Jersey ice as if she owned it, and in a lot of ways she did. She had quickly become the player with the most hits in the game, and had rifled off 12 shots on goal in the first half of the first period alone. There was a fire in her eyes not unlike the fire I had seen when fans called her a slut and I almost toppled off of the bench when that thought came to mind; I was the reason for Emily’s wrath tonight. In a way, I had said the same thing that many opposing fans had said. In my jealousy and half assed fear of destroying team chemistry, I had awoken the beast and I knew that I was truly and utterly fucked.
Sidney’s Point of View
I cringed as Emily slammed Zach Parise into the boards and stole the puck from him quickly. I didn’t have time to feel bad for the guy though, because the puck was on the end of my stick and I had the center lane open. Of course, the Devils had returned to their damn two-one-two trap style of play and the open lane quickly closed, so I pushed the puck over to Jack and prayed that we would be able to score soon. We were dominating the New Jersey team in every aspect of the game, and yet the score was still tied. I knew that it would make it even harder to win this game if the Devils scored first; they weren’t a team to lose easily at home. However, my prayer was quickly answered by a Kris Letang one timer, and was reinforced by Emily dumping a nice wrist shot over the shoulder of Martin Brodeur a few seconds later. I celebrated with the rest of the team, but a nagging worry was beginning to build in the back of my mind. Emily was always a fantastic hockey player, but she became overly aggressive when she was pissed off, and I knew that something had happened when she had spoken to Jordan in the morning. I wasn’t able to dwell on it though, because I still had two and a half periods of hockey left to play.
After the game the team returned to the hotel, exhausted after a 4-3 victory in overtime. The Devils had put up a good fight, and I was drained. By the time I got to the room, Emily was already in the shower, so I changed quickly and flopped into my bed, determined to corner her and find out exactly what had happened between her and Jordan. When she finally came out of the bathroom she was wearing long lounge pants and a teeshirt, and rolled into her bed without so much as looking at me. I bit my lip before standing up, walking over, and placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey…what happened?” I asked quietly.
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, not turning to look at me.
“I am worried though,” I said.
“It doesn’t affect the game, so keep out of it,” she snapped, and for once I flinched. It was unusual that Emily’s biting anger was directed at me. I ran a hand through my thick hair and bit my lip.
“Please Emily…” I finally said, and she sighed before rolling over to look at me. Her eyes were puffy and pink, and I knew that she had been crying.
“I really am a slut, aren’t I?” she whimpered before tears spilled down her face. I dropped to my knees next to the bed, feeling an unbearable sadness forming in my chest.
“W-what? You are not a slut!” I said quietly, wiping the tears away with my thumbs. Emily just whimpered though, and the tears continued to fall.
“Why are you a slut? You slept with one guy on the team…so what? Honestly, I really, really care about you…and that doesn’t make you a slut,” I whispered as I continued to wipe the tears as they fell, kissing her forehead gently every once in a while. Eventually I gave up on trying to stop her crying and I turned out the light before climbing into her bed, hugging her to my chest tightly, and holding her until she fell asleep, her tears rolling down my chest.