I Won't Give Up

“Jordan! Jordan!” I called excitedly as I ran into the house, leaving the front door open so my dad wouldn’t have difficulty getting in while carrying the large amount of Chinese food we picked up on the way home for dinner. Jordan and Marc were sitting on the couch in the living room and only glanced up from their video game for a millisecond to see what I was so animated about.

“Yeah, Joey?” Jordan responded. A smirk appeared on his face as he took the lead in the racing game the pair was playing. I chuckled slightly as I slid into the spot next to Jordan and Marc shoved Jordan’s shoulder causing a domino effect so Jordan bumped into me too.

“I got you a date for homecoming,” I answered triumphantly and joined my brothers’ concentrated stare at the television. None of us reacted when our mother called from the kitchen that dinner was here. Jordan turned his face towards me but his eyes were still glued to the TV screen. This small gesture let me know that I had at least a portion of his attention.

“Darcy Basker.”

Both of my brothers’ attention snapped in my direction and their mouths gaped open. Jordan’s controller even fell from his hands and crashed to the floor. Of course they were shocked. Darcy was a junior and Jordan was a mere freshman. Plus, Darcy was one of the prettiest girls in not only our school, but our whole town. She was Marc’s age and he had been practically falling at her feet for years; saying he was jealous that Jordan now had a date with her was an understatement.

“How the fuck did you manage that?!” Marc yelled, his words echoing through the house.

“Marcus! Watch your language!” our mother yelled back. I was the only one who flinched at her bellowing voice. Marc and Jordan’s eyes never left mine and they still looked rather shell shocked.

“We’re in the fall play together and we got to talking during practice after school. Or did you not even notice that you didn’t have to drive me home today?”

Marc rolled his eyes at the sass I was giving him before continuing to interrogate me. “And you didn’t think to hook me up?” he questioned, putting emphasis on himself as if he deserved it more.

“Sorry, bro. I want her to like me, not run from me because I set her up with a freak like you,” I retorted and smiled to myself. I rose to my feet to join my parents and little brother, Jared, in the kitchen for dinner. Marc quickly stood as well and grabbed my arm tightly before I could get away.

“Yeah, that’s right; you need some kind of gimmick to get Darcy to like you. Because you are too annoying for people to like you for you,” Marc basically growled at me. A stone expression appeared on my face so Marc wouldn’t get the satisfaction of knowing that his words actually hurt me. I tried to squirm my arm out of his grip but it just caused him to hold on tighter; his hate filled eyes never disconnecting from mine.

“Put away the cat claws, asshole,” I snarled back at him just as ferociously as he had been.

“That’s enough, you two!” our mother shouted from the kitchen. “Get out here and eat you dinner in peace or you’re both grounded for a week!” Marc released his death grip on my arm and stormed out of the living room, ramming his shoulder into mine as he passed. I followed after him, forgetting that I was leaving Jordan, sitting on the couch, still completely dumbfounded.


“Sid!” Jordan exclaimed as he stumbled over to where his captain, Sidney Crosby, and I were seated at the bar of the night club we were at. It was the beginning of November, a month into the 2012-13 season, and the Pittsburgh Penguins had just lost their first of many games against their in-state rivals, the Philadelphia Flyers. So here we were, partying the night away and drinking until we forgot about the embarrassing 4-0 loss. By ‘we’, I mean my brother and a good portion of his teammates. Unfortunately, I drew the short straw tonight and was assigned to be the designated driver. Fortunately, Sidney was never big on getting incoherently drunk so he was my sober buddy tonight. “Joey can find a girl in here for you if you want. Best wingman in the world,” Jordan continued and flung an arm around my shoulders, leaning his entire body weight on me. He was only slightly squishing me. “She does it for me all the time.”

“You find him girls to sleep with?” Sid questioned in disbelief. “Isn’t that weird? You guys live together and ya know…you’re twins.”

“No no no no no no no,” Jordan repeated, sounding completely caught off guard by Sid’s accusations. “She doesn’t let me have sex for the sake of sex.” He then held the hand that wasn't draped around my shoulders up to the side of his mouth so I couldn’t see what he was saying. But his mock whisper when he continued was loud enough for me to hear clear as day, so his attempt to hide it was futile. “I just do that when she’s out of town.” Too much information, bro. I playfully shoved him away, disgusted by his words. My light shove was a little too much for Jordan’s drunken state to handle so he dramatically stumbled right into another one of his teammates, Kris Letang. He simply laughed, helped stabilize my brother on his own two feet, and continued to the dance floor. “Anyway, Joey finds real girls. Ones you can have a good relationship with.”

“Not tonight, Jordy. None of these girls are good enough,” I told him while patting him on the shoulder comfortingly.

“You can say that again,” Jordan’s teammate, James Neal, added and wrapped his arm around my waist. The smell of alcohol was lingering in his breath and was a little too close to my face. James always tried to make a move on me when he was drunk but I never let anything happen, even if I was drunk myself. “None of them are you, sweetheart,” he told me in his attempt at sweet talking me. I simply swatted him away after he placed a couple of light kisses on the side of my face, directly below my ear, and then untucked my milk chocolate colored hair from behind my ear to cover up the spot he his lips just touched in an attempt to prevent it from happening again.

“Alright, I think that’s enough. I’m going home,” I announced and pushed myself off of the bar stool I was perched on. James had joined a couple of his teammates – Evgeni Malkin, Tyler Kennedy, and Matt Cooke – a little further down the bar, probably telling them that I was all over him and he was the one that turned me away; anything to make his ego return to its regular, inflated size. Luckily, even in their drunken state, Geno, Tyler and Matt knew me better than to believe what James was saying about me.

“Don’t be like that, Joey. Nealer is just being an ass. You’ve put up with much worse from him before,” Jordan argued and grabbed my arm so I couldn’t continue my exit. When I rolled my eyes at his words, he decided to pull out the puppy dog eyes. This was his go to move and it stopped having an effect on me after 24 years.

“You can’t leave without taking half these guys with you,” Sidney contributed to the conversation, referring to my designated driver duties. “I can’t take them all home; they won’t fit in my car. And I’m not sure how happy they would be to leaving now. It’s only 11:30.” Jordan continued to look at me with those puppy dog eyes and nodded his head in agreement with Sid. I furrowed my eyebrows, refusing to give into the solid points the boys were making. I had a tendency to be stubborn and I knew it; I just liked getting my way when I wanted it.

“I would like to get to sleep at a normal hour, guys. Eric has a game in the earlier afternoon tomorrow that I would like to be awake enough to watch,” I replied and made my way to the VIP area where my jacket was. Jordan stumbled behind me with a sad expression adorning his face; slumped shoulders added to enhance the effect he thought he was having on me. “I’m gonna go get the car, JJ,” I told him using the nickname we used for each other. “Gather up some of the guys and meet me outside. If they aren’t there in five minutes, they are walking home at the end of the night.” Was I being a little harsh? Yes, but that’s what you have to do when dealing with drunk, hard-headed hockey players.

To my surprise, when I pulled up to the front of the club, Jordan was standing there with James, Kris and Marc-Andre Fleury. They all looked different levels of drunk or simply buzzed, but none of them looked particularly mad or upset to be leaving. Jordan sat up front with me and played with the radio the instant he sat down while the remaining three piled into the back. I tuned out their conversation, not needing any distractions while driving. I’ve always been the responsible one of my four brothers and I. But I do like to let loose and party from time to time. Tonight would have been one of those times if I hadn’t drawn the damn short straw.

The backseat discussion caught my attention when I heard my oldest brother’s name. They were talking about tomorrow afternoon’s game and wondering who the Carolina Hurricane’s – the team Eric played for – were going to play.

“Boston,” I inputted and swatted at Jordan’s hand that had been basically glue to the radio since we go in the car. The constant station changing was starting to drive me insane, not to mention giving me a headache.

“Oh, I think someone’s more excited to see Tyler Seguin play than Eric,” Marc-Andre joked. Over the years, he had become an older brother type figure to me, so of course he was going to pick on me every chance he got.

“I think she’s got a little more sense than that,” Kris commented. I glanced back at him through the rearview mirror and he was smiling up at me. This one’s always got my back, so I laughed to myself and smiled back at him.

“Yeah, Flower, she’s more of a Marchand girl,” my brother added. I physically cringed.

“Gross, JJ! You know I hate that monster nose of his,” I exclaimed when I pulled up to the curb out front of Marc-Andre’s apartment building. I looked over at Jordan with a smirk on my lips and he had a look that was an almost convincing mock offended expression. He, and everyone else in the car, knew that I was also taking a jab at him because he had a rather oversized nose as well. Laughter had erupted from the back seat and I couldn’t help but giggle myself. “Alright, Flower, get out. I have to get enough sleep so I can watch Krejci play tomorrow.”

“KRECJI?!” all four boys yelled at me and I fell into a fit of laughter. A chorus of ‘you can’t be serious’ and ‘please tell me you’re joking’ was all that could be heard. I only stopped laughing long enough to yell at Marc-Andre to get out of the car.

“We definitely have to talk about this later, young lady,” he told me and finally shut the car door so I could drive away. I simply grinned and waved at him through my window and pulled away from the curb.

*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, I woke up around ten. Deciding to let Jordan sleep a little more because Eric’s game didn’t start until one, I made breakfast for myself and opened the book I had been reading. Being generally lazy seemed like a good option for this morning; what else is there to do on a Saturday morning?

Of course, I only got about fifteen minutes of good reading in before I got disrupted. My cell phone vibrated to let me know that I had a new text message.

Text Message from Jamesy N:
I may have been drunk last night, but don’t think I’d forget about your Krecji love confession.

Text Message to Jamesy N:
I think someone’s just jealous ;P

Text Message from Jamesy N:
Of course I fucking am! A gorgeous girl, such as yourself, should be chasing a guy like me, not Krecji.

Believe it or not, this was a 100% normal conversation between James and I. Actually, I’m pretty sure we had this exact conversation two or three weeks ago. Just replace David Krecji with Mike Richards. Even though the two of us are almost always flirting, we never take anything seriously.

Text Message to Jamesy N:
Maybe in your dreams, Mr. Smooth.

With that, I tossed my phone onto the other couch in the living room and continued to read my book, getting lost in the pages. Before I knew it, it was time for the puck to drop for the beginning of Eric’s game.

“Jordan, I sure as hell hope you aren’t dead,” I yelled from my spot on the couch. I hadn’t seen or even heard from my brother all morning, not that I was complaining. There was something about having peace and quiet time that was just so quiet and peaceful. I’ve learned to enjoy the time I got away from my brother’s annoyingly bellowing voice.

After putting down my book and picking up the TV remote, I sprawled out on the couch so I was comfortably lying down, and turned the game on just in time to see the first faceoff. I mentally congratulated myself on my impeccable timing.

“Eric’s game is starting! Get your fat ass out of bed,” I called to Jordan again. It started to annoy me that he wasn’t even responding to me. I didn’t need full words; an aggravated grumble to show that I was being annoying would have sufficed. “I made you breakfast!” I hadn’t. But I knew the promise of food might have been the only thing to get the loaf up and moving. He didn’t know it was a lie.

I turned my attention back to the TV when the announcers started to talk excitedly. It was a little over five minutes into the game and the Hurricanes were on a breakaway. Jeff Skinner raced into the offensive zone at top speed and rocketed a sniper from the top of the circle, knowing very well that he wasn’t going to get around Zdeno Chara. The puck went high over Tuukka Rask’s glove-side crossbar and Eric chased it into the corner.

I saw it coming from a mile away and was yelling at the TV for Eric to get his god damn head up. Johnny Boychuk, the second largest defenseman on the Boston Bruins’ roster, came barreling towards Eric. But he was completely unaware. The check looked too painful for words. Who on earth throws that rough of a hit this early in the game? I couldn’t really think straight when I saw him lying there on the ice motionless. His head went into the boards at this downright awful angle; I wouldn’t want to move after taking a hit like that either.

The sight of Eric being led off the ice by a couple of his teammates was too much for me to handle. I grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned the TV off. I knew there was no way in hell that Eric was going to come back to the game after a hit like that and as of right that second, a had better places to be than at home on my couch.

Jordan complained at me as soon as I stormed into his room. I began flashing the lights on and off quickly like a madman to get his attention.

“What do you want, Joella?” he yelled at me with a furious look in his eyes when he finally sat up in bed. I couldn’t care less that he was mad at me for waking him up, at nearly 1:30 in the afternoon, when he was hung over.

“Get me a ticket on the next flight to Raleigh,” I demanded, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.

“What? Why?” he questioned, his angry tone of voice being replace with confusion, but the annoyed look on his face still remained.

“Just do it!” I cried out and let a few tears slip from my eyes before storming out of my brother’s room, slamming the door behind me.