Shut Your Eyes

Max’s apology didn’t do much to calm the ball of nerves developing in my stomach. I could feel their eyes on me – all five pairs of them. Turning back to Marc, I threw on a soft smile and took the bag from his hands.

“If Max had told me you guys would be coming over I would have made him clean up a little before he left.” I said with a wink thrown in Max’s direction. Surprisingly enough, I wasn’t mad at him. I had a feeling that Flower was behind this visit.

“Max wasn’t allowed to tell you we were coming over. Oh! That reminds me, here’s your phone back, Max.” Marc tossed Max’s black iphone at him.

Max rolled his eyes as he caught it and shoved it into his back pocket.

Kris Letang leaned his head forward, staring at Max with a smug grin on his face. “Aren’t you going to invite us in, Talbo?”

“No.” Max retorted childishly from his spot in the archway that lead into the living room.

I opened the door completely, and smiled at the boys. “Don’t listen to him. Come inside and make yourselves at home. Marc, would you put the food in the kitchen for me?”

Marc smiled and stepped inside, taking the bag from my hands. “Of course, mon cher.” (my dear) The rest of the boys filed in after him and stood congregated in the foyer, looking at Max expectantly. Max rolled his eyes and walked over.

“Well Margaux, I guess I should introduce you to the motley crew.” Max really didn’t need to ‘introduce’ any of his teammates, I knew exactly who they were. But I humored him, and allowed him to lead me through the roster. “The snarky one up front is Kris Letang, but you can call him Tanger.” A man stepped forward, your typical ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ type, with shaggy brown hair and coffee colored eyes.

I offered my hand for a handshake but he grasped it and brought it to his lips instead, placing a quick kiss on the knuckles. “Enchanté, Margaux.” (I’m delighted to meet you, Margaux) He was obviously French. And a charmer. I could feel a blush work its way to my cheeks and a smile break out on my face. Nevertheless, I managed to form words and reply to him. “Le plaisir est le mien, et s'il vous plaît appelez-moi Maggie.” (The pleasure is mine, and please call me Maggie.)

He released my hand once Max started swatting at it, telling him to keep his hands to himself. Max moved on to his next teammate, a tall man with blonde hair and baby-blue eyes. “This is Jordan Staal, you can ca–,”

“You can call me whatever you want.” He interrupted Max, taking my hand in his and kissing it, following Kris’ example. Max let out an exasperated huff, but I laughed and smiled at the blonde Canadian who towered above me.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Jordan.” I admitted with a laugh.

“Staalsy.” Max warned, and Jordan let go of my hand, a satisfied grin still gracing his face. Max shook his head and pointed to the next man, this one slightly shorter than Jordan, but a lot darker with brown hair and dark brown, almost black, eyes. “This is Evgeni, he doesn’t speak very good English so you might have to repeat yourself sometimes.”

Geno stepped forward with a smile and pulled me into a hug that lifted me off of the floor. It hurt, but I managed to bite back the hiss that threatened to escape from my mouth. He put me down, and I plastered on a wide smile, hiding the shooting pain in my ribs. “Call me Geno.” He requested lightly, his accent thick as molasses. “Only if you call me Maggie.” I countered, and he agreed with a head nod and a huge smile.

Max pointed to the man standing closest to the door, and he stepped forward slightly. I would have been lying if I said he wasn’t attractive. There was a reason almost every female in Pittsburgh sported jerseys with the number 87 on the back. Seeing him in person though, as opposed to on a television screen, made all the difference. He was breathtaking.

“And last but not least, Captain Canada himself. This is Sidney Crosby.” Sidney took my hand with a gentle smile, and pressed a soft kiss to the back of my knuckles. His eyes flickered up at mine as he bent over my hand, making my breath catch in my throat. They were the strangest shade of brown I had ever seen. Not quite hazel, but not dark like Kris’ or Geno’s. His eyes were an amber color, and specks of gold shone out as the light coming in from the windows reflected off of them.

“You can call me Sid.” He suggested softly, not as outgoing as the others. It wasn’t as if he was uncomfortable, or even nervous. He was clearly confident in himself, but he carried it with a quiet air of humility that was quite unexpected from someone who lived in the limelight.

“Maggie.” I replied just as softly, and I felt my cheeks color up when he sent a dazzling smile up at me. Max gently pried my hand from Sidney’s grasp. “Ok, ok, that’s enough of that. Marc’s probably wondering what we’re still doing out here.”

Max led the way to the kitchen where Marc was digging through cabinets trying to find plates and utensils.

“I swear, Max, the second I learned where all the shit was in your last place, you moved again.”

I smiled, and made my way over to help him. “I can get it, Marc. Why don’t you start pulling the food out of the bag and opening the containers and stuff.” He smiled, thankful for a job he could accomplish and gave me a small salute. “Oui m'dame.” (Yes ma’am)

Max busied himself with getting everyone a beer, as the rest of the boys chatted about how their season was going so far, and their upcoming game against the Rangers. I brought the plates over to where Marc was and helped him with the food. We worked together in silence for a moment before he began speaking to me in quiet French.

“Max est heureux que vous soyez de retour.” (Max is glad you’re back.)

I smiled and cut my eyes in Max’s direction. He and the boys were congregated in the living room, watching some sports channel. He looked happy. “Comment pouvez vous dire?” (How can you tell?)

Marc shrugged and watched Max with me. “Je ne peux. C'est presque comme si il est soulagé que vous êtes de retour.” (I just can. It’s almost as if he’s relieved you’re back.)

I looked down at white take-out containers. That made sense.

“Il a raté beaucoup vous, c'est tout.” (He’s missed you a lot, that’s all.) Marc rationalized, turning his attention back to the food.

“Je lui ai manqué aussi. J'ai manqué de Pittsburgh plus que je pensais je le ferais.” (I missed him too. I missed Pittsburgh more than I thought I would.)

Alors, pourquoi avez-vous quitté?” (Then why did you leave?) Marc looked slightly confused, like a small child asking why bad things happen or why the sky is blue.

“Je ne sais pas.” (I don’t know.) I admitted quietly, more to myself than to him. Before Marc could question me, Max and the boys let out a collective holler at something that had happened on the TV. It snapped me out of my thoughts, and I moved back from the plates.

“Come get some food boys, it’s all set out.”

They rushed over, the television long forgotten, and we all fixed our plates. I decided to stick with the spring rolls and a few stolen pieces of Marc’s sesame chicken, while the boys piled their plates high with anything and everything. I had forgotten how much hockey players eat.

Padding back into the living room, I sat Indian-style on the floor in front of the coffee table and used it as a tray for my plate and my beer. I had never cared for eating informal meals in the dining room, and neither had Max. If there were too many people for the bar seating, it was moved to the breakfast table. Large groups usually either stood around in the kitchen, leaning against counters and whatnot, but I preferred to eat in the living room. The only times food was put on the dining room table were holidays and if family was over.

Marc followed me in there, unfazed by my choice of seating. On the Christmas road trip he joined Max and I on, Marc learned to ignore my many idiosyncrasies, and had gotten used to them by the end of the week. Seeing me forgo regular seating to sit on the floor was normal, he might have been more confused if he had seen me sitting on one of the couches.

He shot me a teasing smile. “Comfy, Maggie?”

“You know I am.” Laughing, he balanced his plate on his knee and set his beer on the coffee table. The rest of the boys began trickling into the living room, strange looks on their faces when they saw Marc and I’s seating arrangement. Max scooted past them, an indifferent expression on his face as he claimed a spot in his favorite chair.

The boys all exchanged glances, deciding whether or not to say anything. After a moment or two of awkward silence, Geno rolled his doe brown eyes at the holdup and moved ahead of them, placing his food on the coffee table and sitting down beside me.

Sidney, Jordan, and Kris shrugged and made themselves comfortable in the chairs and couches around the living room. Max turned the TV off, a rule from our childhood that he still adhered to. I knew that at some point, the questions would start. Awkward small talk was a necessary part of any first meeting, wanted or not. The only thing I wasn’t sure of was who would begin the inquisition.

Kris didn’t keep me waiting long. “So Maggie, how long are you in Pittsburgh for?”

My mind went blank. I didn’t really have an answer for that question. I knew what Max’s answer would be, but I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about anything yet.

“Um, I’m not sure. It kind of depends on how some things work out.” Vague as it was, Kris seemed to accept it as an answer.

“Fuck Philadelphia, you should just move back here.” Marc threw in from the couch. Everyone laughed, including me, but I threw a glance in Max’s direction. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was staring intently at me, trying to get his point across with his glare. I knew what he wanted, I wasn’t stupid, but moving back to Pittsburgh would require a lot more than a head nod and a U-Haul. Max didn’t understand that.

“What do you do, Maggie?” The question came from Sidney. I smiled at him, grateful for a question I could answer directly.

“I’m a photographer, mostly commercial stuff like weddings and parties but I do some freelance work as well.”

The boys seemed genuinely impressed, and began showering me with more questions. They didn’t ask any super personal questions, and Max had managed to help me dodge the awkward ‘Are you seeing anyone?’ question. Granted, he had to spill his beer to do so, but it was avoided either way. They asked about everything from hobbies and pet peeves, to what Max was like growing up.

It could have been the beer, or maybe even the higher temperature on the thermostat, but as the afternoon progressed I found myself warming up to the boys. Their personalities were infectious, and I thought my cheeks were going to split from smiling so much. Just being around them made me feel better. I got to forget about Gavin and the canvas of bruises under my clothes for just a little bit.

When everyone was done eating, Max helped me with the plates, and Marc brought the little bowl that I’d filled with the fortune cookies over to the rest of the group. The bowl eventually made its way over to me, and I cautiously picked a crinkly wrapper out after hesitating slightly. Max always made fun of me for taking my fortune cookies too seriously, but I always had to think for a moment before deciding on one. No need to rush fate.

I could see Sidney watching my actions from the corner of his eye. Ignoring him, I carefully opened the cookie, breaking it in half and eating the pieces before even glancing at the tiny slip of white paper in my hands. Once I finished the cookie, I held the fortune out and read it silently to myself.

“The sun always shines after a downpour”

I smiled to myself and looked up, only to see a pair of amber eyes staring back at me. Blushing, I looked back down at my fortune. My bangs fell over my eyes, hiding them when I looked back up at Sidney. He was laughing with Jordan about whatever fortune had been in his cookie.

Glancing around at my brother and all of his friends, I smiled. I had picked the right cookie.