Ours Now....

Ours Now…

Letter 7
Sid,
Do you ever get the feeling that someone’s watching you? That’s how I feel now. Fans and more media are slowly beginning to trickle in to the arena. I feel dozens of sets of eyes on me. Everyone seems to know who I am, although it might be my jersey. It’s yours, from when you played for Rimouski. It’s massive and oversized and I love it.

One of the first home games of the season was against the Caps. Neither you nor I were excited about it. Me because I just flat-out hated them, and you because Alexander Ovechkin always manages to get under your skin.

The game had ended in your favor, although I knew you wouldn’t be too happy with the way you specifically had played.

As I waited outside the locker room for you after the game, I became aware of a pair of eyes on me. Turning around, I saw Ovi staring at me intently. Locking eyes with him, I saw a smirk spread across his face. I glanced around the hall, hoping someone would appear to occupy either myself or him. No one did.

“You very pretty,” he breathed out. I jumped; he had suddenly appeared behind me.

“And very, very married,” I scowled turning to face the Russian.

“That change,” he shrugged before cornering me against the wall. “You like Russian superstar?”

“No, actually, she hates him,” a voice growled. It was you. “I’d appreciate it if you stepped away from my wife.”

“Oh? Sidney Crosby married?” Ovi laughed. “Won’t last. Not when she could have Russian superstar.”

I could see Geno behind you, clenching and unclenching his fists. He not only hated Ovi, but was also protective of me.

I don’t know what it was, but something took hold of me, making me do something rash. I clenched my own right fist and swung, delivering a swift blow to Ovi’s jaw.

“The only Russian superstar I see is Geno,” I said staring him in the eye. “And no offence, G, but I don’t have feelings for him.”

“I would suggest you get lost,” you growled to the tall Russian that was now clutching his face.

Later on the night while we were driving home in silence, you suddenly pulled over.

“Babe?” I asked as you took my hand. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head and refused to look at me.

I furrowed my brow, not sure of what to do next. You were usually the one to ask me what was wrong, not the other way around. What was I supposed to do?

“Sid,” I breathed out. “What is it?”

“Why didn’t you yell?” you asked. “Back there, in the hallway?”

“God, I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Maybe because I didn’t think it would be a good idea for the press to find Alexander Ovechkin pressed against the wife of his rival after a game?”

“Stop being a smart-ass,” you smirked. “But I’m being realistic here.”

“And so am I. Did you want me to yell?” I asked looking you in the eye.

“Yes, I did. I would have preferred it, actually. And why the hell did you feel you needed to punch him before I could get my hands on him?” your face remained serious.

“Because he was on me!” I exclaimed. “And you would get your chance at him on the ice next time you guys played. I don’t expect him to show up at a swim meet anytime soon; much less would I be able to start a fight with him on the blocks.”

“I won’t play him for another month. Why couldn’t you let me handle it?” you huffed. Shit, I had wounded your pride.

I was a little hurt too. “Because I’m not a wimp! I took care of myself for a long time, Sidney.”

I saw a look of distress cross your face. I had called you by your full name. You pursed your lips to say something, but then thought better of it. You put the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot. This conversation was far from over. Although, I wasn’t sure who was going to initiate it again. We’re both so prideful, Golden Boy; it’s near impossible to own up to our screw ups.

All My Love,
Rory