Ours Forever....

Thought #4
Sid,
I’ve only just sat down for the first time all day. I had to take Pat for a doctor’s appointment, then I had a meeting with the board for the varsity swim team I coach (thank God you were able to watch him for those two hours- you have no idea how many f-bombs were dropped), then I had a work-out of my own with Janine, AND then I had to be home so that you could leave for the rink. It’s the last game of the regular season tonight and, of course, it’s against the Flyers. It’ll be a tough night, for sure.

That night almost two years ago was tough too.

Walking into Sam’s, I had no idea what to expect. The owner, Sam (go figure), saw me looking around. He waved me over to a small corner of the bar where I could see a dark figure sitting. It was you.

“Sidney,” I breathed out quietly. “What’s going on?” I placed my hands on your forearms as I took a seat next to you.

You shrugged and I huffed. I knew I wasn’t going to get much out of you here. I could practically smell the alcohol on your breath. It was time to get you home.

You paid Sam and left with me willingly. The whole being-distant thing had to be getting old for you. I mean, you can barely keep your hands off me, let alone act like you don’t care.

Getting home, I put you to bed, hoping that you’d wake up sober enough to converse with me in a few hours. You didn’t. You slept for almost 12 hours, something that is almost unheard of in the Crosby-Lux home.

The next day, when you finally managed to make it downstairs, you seemed ready to talk. I was standing at the sink washing a pan from the breakfast I had made earlier when I felt your lips on my neck. I couldn’t help but smile. And hope. I couldn’t help but hope that you were getting back to your old self and get the bipolar Golden Boy gone.

“You want to talk to me now?” I asked without turning around.

“Can I eat first?” you asked.

Under normal circumstances, I would have said no. But you probably had a terrible hangover, so I agreed.

“There’s food in the microwave. Just heat it up,” I instructed.

You did and we stood in silence for several minutes with the whirring of the microwave as the only background noise.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted.

I gaped at you for a minute. You were… apologizing. I mean, you usually did. But it almost always took a little prodding.

“You should be,” I agreed. “Having your head in your ass for the last few weeks.”

I sighed. “I know. And I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know if I can do this?”

“What? Apologize? You’ve done it before, babe,” I said cocking my head to the side.

“No,” you shook your head. Coming to stand in front of me, you put your hands on either side of my slightly bulging belly. “This. Be a father. I don’t know if I can.”

“What are you so scared of?” I asked. It was a stupid question. I had my own fears of motherhood. After all, we were so young.

“What if I’m not good enough? What if I screw up? What if… what if I’m not a good father?” your voice was quiet.

I looked up at you. Cupping your face in my hands, I kissed your lips lightly. “We’re going to screw up, Sid. Parents always do. And you not being good enough as a father? You’re Sidney-fucking-Crosby. Of course you’re going to be a good dad.”

“How do you know?” you asked with big eyes.

“Because I know my Golden Boy. You’re going to make a great father. Just no more of this stupid keeping- it all- bottled- up- inside crap. It’s not worth it,” I said sternly.

You chuckled lightly before kissing me. “I love you, Rory.” You bent down and kissed my stomach. “And I love you, Little Crosby.”

Love You Always,
Rory