Right Path, Wrong Turn

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Matt’s voice booms, causing Sophie’s heart to leap into her chest.

She and Deryk turn to watch him walk through the door, letting it slam shut behind him. His brown eyes are dark and hard, blazing with protectiveness and anger. Sophie swallows dryly, not yet knowing whether it is directed at her or Deryk, who makes no move to step away from her.

“I mean it,” Matt presses, pushing up his sleeves and folding them over as if Deryk’s defiance is the hockey equivalent to dropping his gloves on the ice.

In order to prevent this getting any messier Sophie steps away from Deryk, but moves aside, not thinking it safe enough to stand by Matt yet.

“It’s cool,” Deryk abides arrogantly, his hands rising to the air innocently. “I’m done here anyway. Unless Sophie has something more to say about it.”

His grin is smug and Sophie wants to punch him. She wants to just stride up and throw her fist into the side of his hard face, release some deep frustration. She’s both infuriated as to how he could do this to her, wait two months for her and Matt to be sorted and then drag her out and make an offer like that, at a team function of all places. But she is even more disturbed with herself, the way that he almost had her there for a moment and what that might mean.

Her eyes squeeze shut for a moment, needing to calm herself, but when she opens them both men have their eyes set on her intensely.

“Go….go back inside Deryk,” she says, fighting against the insecurities in her tone. “Go back to your wife.”

His smile is comfortable, like that’s the exact response he expected and he laughs. “Well, you’ve got my number. Take some time to think about it.”

And then he turns and leaves, leaves Sophie standing there awkwardly, watching Matt as his fists clench and unclench around the thin air like a vice.

“Think about what?” he finally asks.

“Matt….”

“THINK ABOUT WHAT SOPHIE?” he repeats in a hard tone, more vicious than Sophie has yet heard from him.

She runs quick answers in her mind, wonders whether to tell the truth or to only tell a version of it, try to play down the terrible reality of it all.

But Matt gets impatient and just snorts to himself. “I can fucking guess. He told you he’ll leave Lindsay for you right?”

Sophie can do no more than nod meekly.

An infuriated roar comes from Matt’s mouth, followed by a string of curse words, before he calms enough to finally look her in the eyes.

Truth be told, he had figured that there was a chance of something like this happening tonight. Deryk Engelland didn’t get denied often, and it’s clear he feels that Sophie was his to begin with. Matt knew he might react like this at seeing someone else with her, come out with these crazy promises and dramatic statements. He had just hoped that for Lindsay’s sake and that out of respect for him as team-mates, that Deryk would be able to control himself.

Matt knows that he and Sophie have sidestepped mentioning Deryk’s name or speaking of him, and he’s done a lot of secret work behind the scenes to come up with reasons he and Sophie are unable to take Lindsay offer of a double date or such activities. At the time he thought it was the best thing, with Sophie he is happier than he’s ever been and he didn’t want the past mistakes with Deryk to ruin things. But now he sees the hard truth, being that in ignoring something, doesn’t make it go away. And that’s obviously the case for Sophie, explaining how she was just standing there, letting Deryk put his hands on her like that and get inside her head.

Chills run up Matt’s spine and he tries to keep himself in check. His mind is going berserk with judgements of what could mean what, but he is clever enough to know that it doesn’t mean anything until Sophie says it herself.

“Tell me that you were just about to tell him where to shove it before I came out,” he tells her, pleading inside.

It’s an order, not a question, just a full instruction. But it’s one that Sophie can’t follow. She moves to him quickly, placing a hand on his chest, tucking herself at his side. “Matt,” she begins, “He was…..it’s not as simple…..so confused….I didn’t know what-”

“Damn it Sophie,” he curses angrily. “Do you really not get it?”

His eyes are big glowing at her, passing guilt on to her.

“I care about you Sophie, god, I bloody…” he cuts himself off this time, searching for the right words before he goes again. “I’ve tried to show you that for these last few months and I thought I was making it pretty clear.”

He’s talking about the time they’ve spent together, the kisses they’ve shared, the afternoons playing around at the park with Anna and Jul, the late night talks on the rare occasion that she’s stayed at his house that they’ve spent swapping secrets.

Sophie remembers it all just as fondly as he does. “I know Matty, I know. And I care about you too, you know that.”

He doesn’t quite think he does anymore.

“I’m not gonna be second choice Sophie,” he outlines clearly. “I’m not going to be the one you’re with because you can’t be with him. Even as much as I care about you, I can’t do that.”

Sophie nods, seeing the fairness in that.

“You need to choose,” he decides, “You need to think about it and if it’s him then fine, but if it’s me, it’s me one hundred percent. You can’t talk to him anymore, can’t see him. If it’s me, then we do this Sophie – all in.”

Her nod is more hurried this time, the overwhelming events of the night finally catching up with her and filling her eyes with emotion. “Okay. Okay.”

His logic seems legit, and she is really in no position to make any decisions tonight, not with how this has all completely toppled her, and especially not with the out burst she’d had with Deryk, one that she hadn’t at all seen coming.
‘Well you can’t have been too concerned because you never came around to see me’ her earlier phrase floats in her mind like toxic waste, unsettling her stomach again.

Matt copies her nod, still looking right in her eyes and slips his hand down hers to link their fingers. “Okay. I’ll take you home now. Go get in the car and I will go think of something to tell Coach.”

“No, Matt, this is your night. Your team. I don’t want you to have to leave because of me. I’ll find another way home.”

Matt tells her that’s not an option. “You’re my date Sophie; I will take you home safely. Besides, I’ve lost my appetite, and, I promised your father.”

Sophie follows instructions and Matt does as promised and delivers her home, in silence, fare welling her with a tender kiss on the cheek over the console of the vehicle. She walks up to the front door feeling like crawling under her bed covers and never coming back out, but inside Anna is bubbly and excited to see her Aunt.

“Aunt Sophia!” she beams, “How was your night? Where is Mr Matt?”

“Sophia, you are home early,” her father adds.

She bends to her knees to kiss Anna goodnight, and pauses to tuck a lock of Anna’s hair behind her ear. “You know what happens with Cinderella, silly,” she coos, “I had to be home by midnight or else what would happen?”

“Your car would turn to a pun-kin and your dress would change,” Annabelle answers proudly.

“Exactly,” Sophie answers, rewarding her with a big kiss on her forehead. “Now, you’d better go to bed because I have the day off tomorrow and I’m going to take you and Jul to the movies.”

That sends Anna in to an absolute frenzy and within a few seconds, which is a new record, Anna has kissed Sophie and Samuel goodnight and run off to bed.

Reading her, Samuel watches her dubiously. “As much as I loved sharing that tale with you when you were little, I refuse to believe that you actually accept the midnight rule as true,” he comments.

Sophie is all out of explanations. She just shrugs uninterestedly.

“Did something go wrong tonight?” her father asks.

For a moment she watches him, wondering how differently she might go about things if her mother was still around. Would they curl up on the couch together and have a heart to heart? Would Sophie cry softly with her head tucked on her mother’s chest and then receive some helpful advice? Or would Marie reprimand her for getting involved with a man like Deryk, a married one, to begin with?

She decides it doesn’t matter. Marie isn’t here and there’s nothing she can do to change that. “I don’t really want to talk about it Dad, I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, sweetie. Have a good rest. But remember, if you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Sophie really does briefly consider it, but then rules against it. It’s unlikely that confessing she was sleeping with a married man, who is now offering to leave his wife for her, wouldn’t go down well with her father, a man who was left by his wife for another.

“I’m fine Dad, but thanks.”

***
A week goes by without Sophie hearing a word from Deryk or Matt, them wanting to give her space. Likewise, she doesn’t see them either, finding it inappropriate to attend one of their games. So they don’t call and she doesn’t see them, well, not in real life anyhow and not in anyway that she’d care to remember. Deryk had made an appearance in one of her dreams, one she desperately wanted to forget. One that started with Deryk’s fingers gliding up the inside of her thighs, working off her underwear and placing kisses on her soft skin, which to be honest, was nothing that hadn’t happened before in real life. But it was the afterwards, after he’d brought her to her undoing, the words that left Dream Deryk’s mouth that frightened her.

“I love making you come like that baby,” he had soothed, kissing her forehead as her chest still heaved to replace the air her orgasm had stolen from her. “I love you.”

And that was precisely when Sophie’s eyes had opened and she had sat up instantly, thankfully finding herself in her own bed, alone. A cold sweat had broken out across her forehead, a direct result from the extensive and extremely vivid dream.

Or was it a nightmare?

Even after debating over it with herself for the past three days, she still is undecided.

It’s not the sex in the dream that had worried her, or eaten at her guiltily; as she’s lived and breathed that before.

It’s the last three words that the Deryk in the dream utters, that strikes fear into her heart.

Sometimes, it’s easiest for Sophie to just simply tell herself it is a nightmare, those words being the pinnacle. Her deepest fear being Deryk loving her, being in love with her.

However it’s undeniable that the sword could just as easily fall the other way, making the dream a fantasy, the words being her deepest wish.

***

Another week goes by, and the Lightening come to town, handing the Pens a 4-0 loss, and some disciplinary action.

Much later after the game, Deryk leaves the arena and heads home, his game suit still on.

Every bone in his body hurts, his legs aching especially. Each step from his vehicle to his front door is a huge effort, equivalent to what feels like running a marathon. Tonight has sucked, every minute of it thoroughly horrible. Not only because of Tampa Bay handing them a beating but Deryk had, in desperation and despair, made a thoughtless play that was surely going to see him forced to sit out for a few games, ala Shanahan himself. He’s been expecting the call since the game finished.

To make things worse, after his shower post-game Lindsay had headed straight home without saying goodbye, feeling it best to let him calm down. And Matty, fucking Matty, he’d sat in his stall and just eyed Deryk cockily, as if to share his gratitude at Deryk making his own mistakes, even though it would cost the team and burden his weight load for as long as the suspension runs.

The only thing that’d stopped Deryk from bounding across the locker room to smack the grin off his face was that he hadn’t seen Sophie, during the game or afterwards. And if she wasn’t going him with him, at least she wasn’t going home with Matt either.
And besides, Deryk tried to hold on to the thought that Lindsay was home, waiting for him. Ready to tend to his wounds and let him drown his sorrows in a few drinks because fuck, it’s not like he’s going to have to play tomorrow is it.

He fantasises about what awaits him his whole way home, figuring his day couldn’t possibly get any worse. Only, to be proven wrong.

The lights are all off, the house dark, which means that Lindsay is already upstairs, hopefully not asleep. He drops his gear bag on the floor carelessly, thankful to rid his tired shoulders of the weight. He kicks his shoes off to and then makes his way to the kitchen, practically salivating at the thought of a few nice beers.

He gets to the fridge but has to search for the door handle in the dark, the handle that he already hates anyway because of its shape. It’s some sort of fancy bullshit, made to look ‘sleek’ and ‘innovative’ or at least those were the words Lindsay had used when she’d showed it to him, back when they first furnished the house. She’d fussed over the features, the screen on the front with the temperature control and ice maker, the digital adjustments and stylish stainless steel finish. Deryk truly hadn’t seen the point in spending such an obscene amount of money on something with such lavish features that weren’t necessities, and had wanted just a basic fridge from down the other end of the store, but he hadn’t seen a point in arguing with his wife over it either. He knows what toll his life style has on her given his job, here one day and gone the next.

He had ended up signing the check for it, figuring that she was going to be home more often to use than he was anyway, it may as well be one she picked. But then things had gotten a little out of control, as he used the same philosophy with a lot of the other furnishings in the house as well.

Even now, practically in the dark, he snarls at the stupid ‘press-to-touch’ cupboards and overly fancy set of knives that they never use. Whether he just feels this way due to his mood or not, doesn’t matter. He feels his blood boil, suddenly furious at the lie he’s living in.

Sure he’s a defenseman on not just any team, but the Pittsburgh Penguins, earning a great deal. But he still feels like the house projects a lavish taste he’s never acquired, a style he can’t afford, and a happy marriage that is anything but, and maybe that is the real problem here.

He shakes the thought with a growl, finding it all too much on top of the night he’s had. He’s ready to drink, ready to switch off and forget about it all. Except inside, it seems that Lindsay has done some cleaning. On the bottom shelf where his beer usually sits, is instead five bottles of vitamin water. Even after searching through the rest of the fridge, he can’t find them.

All the ugly, chilled monstrosity offers him is vitamin water and weird fruits and vegetables, wheatgrass and other stuff he has no taste for.

“Lindsay?” he calls as he bounds up the stairs. He gets no response, until he steps inside their shared master bedroom.

“Hey,” she greets him from the floor, sitting perched on her yoga mat in what seems to be a meditation position.

“What the fuck is this?” he asks, holding up one of the vitamin water bottles.

“Its vitamin water honey, berry flavour -your favourite.”

“I know what it is,” he grunts. “I want to know why the hell it’s in the fridge where my beer used to be.”

Sensing that he’s up tight about it, and having known he would be, Lindsay unfolds herself and stands up to greet her husband.

“I went and talked to our fertility doctor again today while you were at morning skate,” she confesses, settling her hand on his chest in hope to calm him. “He told me that there was new research out that suggests a few different things couples can do to that are thought to help increase fertility. So when I got home I jumped online and found this great website.”

There is no change in tension on his face so she leaves him for a moment, bounding over to the nightstand on her side of the bed and rambling through the top draw to retrieve some printed information. “It has this little list of recommended changes and I figured that we would ease into them just to see if there’s any difference. It can’t hurt right?”

Deryk glances at the paper she has in her hand, glaring at the title. ’25 Helpful Ways to Increase Fertility in Your Man’ and it’s not even the title that sets him off, he’s accepted the fact that their difficulty is his fault, it’s the way that this article is the story of his life.
On the ice he is big, tough, hard-hitting Deryk Engelland, and yet at home he is this caged, constricted failure of a man, his life revolving around the one thing he can’t achieve.

“What the fuck is this Lindsay?” he grumbles rolling his eyes.

“It’s just a few ideas Deryk. The website says that small dietary alternatives can help, so I did some grocery shopping after I left the game and I had to throw your beer out because if you see on page seven, it says that in some cases, beer has been found to be harmful to-”

“Fuck this,” he snaps before she can finish. He drops the vitamin water to the ground and snatches the paper from her, balling it up and then throwing it at the wall. “Fuck this,” he repeats dejectedly. “I can’t even fucking do this anymore.”

“What? Deryk, what are you saying?”

“I can’t do this Lindsay,” he annunciates, clearing it up for her. “I have changed everything to try and make this work for you but I’m not doing this. This is too far. I did the diet changes, the exercise, the medical tests, but if I can’t even have one fucking beer after a tough game then I’m done.”

“Make this work for me?” she snaps, her face collapsing. “For me Deryk? How about for us?!”

“No, it’s for you Lindsay. Ever since we got married everything has revolved around a baby. Where we holiday because of sun exposure, what we eat and what work outs we do because of what bullshit you find on the internet that is ‘recommended’. Don’t you see that none of this shit is working? None of it has ever worked.”

“Don’t say that Deryk,” she pleads, her eyes begging like a child holding on to the magic of Santa Claus. “We can do this. It will happen when it’s meant to, don’t give up. We can do this.”

His face is incredulous, wondering how he is the only one sane enough to see reality. “Lindsay, we have been trying for years. YEARS. Don’t you think if it was going to happen by now that it would have?” he doesn’t want to completely crush her but drowning under this fault hope and expectation is suffocating him. “It’s just not gonna happen for us. I can’t make it happen for us.”

He looks back at her face, watching her wrestle internally with herself. He expects her to go, to pack her bags and say what he’s been secretly feeling, that without a baby from him, she doesn’t want him anymore. That’s he’s not good enough for her on his own.

And she does, well; she packs her bags at least, but for a different reason.

“Listen, you’ve had a bad game, it happens,” she tells him. “It’s been a big day, a stressful time of year, I get it. I think, I think it’ll be really good for the both of us if we got some space to clear our heads. I’ll go stay with Jason, Claire and the boys for a few days, and when you’re ready, I’ll come back and we’ll talk.”

Deryk stays quiet as she packs her things, grabbing a few pieces of clothing from her draws and their shared wardrobe, seeing the sense in her plan. A break sounds like just what he needs.

When she’s finished, her suit case packed and her cell phone, car keys and wallet gathered, she makes her way over to him, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I love you Deryk,” she tells him tearfully. “I love you and we will get through this. We will make everything work.”

Again feeling the need to stop pretending and start being honest, Deryk reaches a hand out to hold her cheek softly. “I love you too Lindsay, but I think that you need this break more than I do. When we got married, it was because we wanted to be with each other, we wanted each other. Now your wants have changed and you need to try and get your head around the fact that because I can’t give you a child, I might not be what you want anymore.”

She sucks in a tight breath and goes to shake her head, but Deryk continues. “I’m not mad Linds, sometimes that’s just what happens. I love you enough to want you to be happy and look at us, we aren’t happy. We haven’t been happy in a long time. Don’t you want to be happy again?”

She shrugs, blinking back tears.

“You don’t have to stay miserable like this Linds,” he whispers, “You can leave me. We can sign papers and I can give you money, the house, the cars, whatever you want and you can find someone else, someone who will be able to what you really want.”

Lindsay says no more, just lets the tears stream down her face for a while, and Deryk wipes them all away with the pad of his thumb.

*

A few hours later, Sophie turns her phone on, just returning home from a late night shift at work. She sits in her car in the half empty parking lot, listening as her voicemail lists her options. ‘To listen to your new message, Press one. To delete the message, Press two.’

The screen had already told her when she first turned the phone on that three of her four missed calls were from Deryk’s number, and even though her finger hovers on the second button, she guilty presses the first.

‘Soph,’ his voice croons through the speaker of the phone. ‘Soph, I need you to come over and see me. I…I know your fucking with Nisky but I….fuck it…..I need to see you. I need….someone right now.’

Sophie feels a dagger twist in her stomach, first at the sound of his voice, then at the painful hitch in it. It sounds like he’s been drinking, maybe even crying if you listen closely enough to the weird sound in his throat. Her hands clench around the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, transferring all her nervous apprehension.

‘Please Sophie,’ his voice continues, sounding more and more sloppy and needy as the message rolls on. ‘Lindsay’s not here. She….she’s left. I need to see you Soph. Please.’

The message ends and she drops her phone to the car floor, leaning her head down onto the steering wheel. Her mind races and her stomach screams as she lets her head rest on the cold object, dragging in deep breaths. His words swim in her head, nipping at her ears.

He sounds drunk, she tries to rationalise, he could be just saying anything. But then again, he’d sounded so needy; he might actually feel as broken and alone as he’d sounded.
As she sits there and takes in her breaths, she tries to will the almighty universe to give her a sign to help her make the decision.

To go, or not to go?

She can’t quite answer the question.