Edge of the Water
Prologue
The pressure was building. Everything depended on this moment, on him not messing up, on him just getting that puck in the net. His teammates were counting on him, his fans were counting on him, his family was counting on him, even he was counting on him. As captain of the Chicago Blackhawks, Jonathan Toews was expected to give them the game tying goal so that they could win in overtime. Being put out on the ice, he had all the pressure on his shoulders, all of the exhaustion in his bones, but none of the defeat on his mind.
He had the puck with five seconds left, skating down the ice, past the blue line, closer to the opponent's net, closer to victory. Two seconds. He faked a left, then shot at the right. He held his breath as the puck went flying through the air and right into the goalie's glove. He didn't do it. He missed. They were out of the Stanley Cup Playoffs and it was all his fault.
“Jon, we're here,” Patrick Kane, Jon's best friend, shook his shoulder. Their Coach, Joel Quenneville, had let them sulk, let them golf, let them be pissed off, and then after three days, he packed them all up and brought them to, of all places, a cruise ship. He made them all pay their own way, of course. Not that they couldn't afford it. And he told them not to expect it to be nice and relaxing. They had lost in the playoffs, after all. He was going to push them. And push them hard.
There were families boarding the boat, looking happy and excited; kids laughing, couples fornicating, even old people getting to know other old people. This wasn't where Jon wanted to be, but as Captain of the team, he had to put on his big boy pants, stop punching himself in the gut, and encourage his teammates to make the best of the situation. Yeah, they lost. Yeah, it sucked more than a full time prostitute, but they'd had three days to mope. Now they needed to gear up for next season. There wasn't anything they could do.
All he really wanted to do was find some random chick, screw her brains out, and then maybe he'd feel better. Maybe.
“Dude, cheer up, there's always next year,” Patrick said from beside him. “Lets set our bags down in our rooms, then go get a drink. Don't have to be anywhere until tomorrow anyways.”
“This fucking sucks,” Jon grumbled, grabbing his bag up. “Lets go boys!” he called out. His teammates looked at him, at the fake smile on his face, and forced some of their own. “Maybe there's some single ladies at the bar.” The group let out some chuckles, then went off to find their rooms and their wallets. After all, maybe there were single ladies at the bar.
***
From: Zoey
@ the bar! Do I spy professional athletes?
Belle rolled her eyes from her spot at her desk. She was writing out an entire meal plan for that stupid group of professional athletes. More than one of them had allergies, more than one of them would get jealous if their meals differed. She had spoken with their coach, Joel Quenneville, over the phone for over an hour a few nights prior, writing down frantic notes and insisting that she'd get their meal plan out and ready by the day they showed up. She was just going over the last of it when Zoey texted her.
Standing up, she straightened her dress, slipped her heels on, and slid the original copy into a filing cabinet. She then shoved both copies into their individual folders and went on her way to find the chef of the cruise ship and the Chicago Blackhawks' head coach.
The chattering group at the back of the bar seemed in their own world; nothing could distract them. They weren't even talking about the game on the television—they didn't want to; that team was still in the playoffs—or the drinks they had, but what was going on in their lives, where they planned to go after the cruise and what exactly Joel had in store for the next three weeks. They weren't the only ones with drinks in their hand and weren't even getting much attention besides from the blonde waitress who came around to ask if they needed anything else every few minutes.
Nothing was catching their attention, and they weren't catching anyone else's attention. That was why it was curious when one lone head covered in brown hair snapped up at the sound of the bar's door opening. Patrick glanced over at his friend. Jon had been pretty silent since the night they had lost—lost in his own world of shame and guilt. He'd been trying to act the way a team captain should, but they all could tell he just didn't have it in him. However, with his sudden interest peaked, so was everyone else's. Several heads followed the first at the sound of heels clicking against the floor. The young woman's steps were hurried as she practically bounced up to the bar, grinning the entire time before she practically fell into a giggling blonde drinking a martini. She wore a navy blue sundress with a peter pan bow at the top, barely noticeable with her long, curly hair falling over it. She swept it aside impatiently, showing off several streaks of pink, blue and turquoise, and turned to look at the mass of people in the bar.
Jon watched as the girls giggled together, laughing, and a wine glass was planted before the woman. Clear liquid sitting in it looking more like water than any sort of alcohol. She was beautiful, lean and graceful. Unaware of the team's defeat over in the corner.
“Who's the babe?” Patrick asked loudly from beside him. The group snickered, still staring at the duo sitting at the bar. “Tazer's got his eye on her.” Patrick elbowed him, causing the other boys to look at him as he chuckled, and rubbed his neck awkwardly. He wasn't sure he had game tonight, of all nights, to pick up someone like her.
The boys in the corner couldn't hear the girls' conversation, but they watched as she shifted to glance at the door, then over at them. She smiled openly at them, appearing to not notice that she was being admired, and turned back to her friend, sipping at the clear liquid in the wine glass.
“She's hot,” Jon finally blurted out.
Beside him, Patrick chuckled, “go get her, tiger.”
Jon raised an eyebrow. “Not tonight,” he said.
“C'mon, man,” Patrick chuckled at him. “You could use a good lay. Get you out of this depression you've got yourself in.”
They all watched as she stood up from the stool, staring at her watch. She squeezed her friend's shoulder before hurrying from the room.
Jon watched her leave, hoping she was indeed going to be the thing that got him out of that depression.
He had the puck with five seconds left, skating down the ice, past the blue line, closer to the opponent's net, closer to victory. Two seconds. He faked a left, then shot at the right. He held his breath as the puck went flying through the air and right into the goalie's glove. He didn't do it. He missed. They were out of the Stanley Cup Playoffs and it was all his fault.
“Jon, we're here,” Patrick Kane, Jon's best friend, shook his shoulder. Their Coach, Joel Quenneville, had let them sulk, let them golf, let them be pissed off, and then after three days, he packed them all up and brought them to, of all places, a cruise ship. He made them all pay their own way, of course. Not that they couldn't afford it. And he told them not to expect it to be nice and relaxing. They had lost in the playoffs, after all. He was going to push them. And push them hard.
There were families boarding the boat, looking happy and excited; kids laughing, couples fornicating, even old people getting to know other old people. This wasn't where Jon wanted to be, but as Captain of the team, he had to put on his big boy pants, stop punching himself in the gut, and encourage his teammates to make the best of the situation. Yeah, they lost. Yeah, it sucked more than a full time prostitute, but they'd had three days to mope. Now they needed to gear up for next season. There wasn't anything they could do.
All he really wanted to do was find some random chick, screw her brains out, and then maybe he'd feel better. Maybe.
“Dude, cheer up, there's always next year,” Patrick said from beside him. “Lets set our bags down in our rooms, then go get a drink. Don't have to be anywhere until tomorrow anyways.”
“This fucking sucks,” Jon grumbled, grabbing his bag up. “Lets go boys!” he called out. His teammates looked at him, at the fake smile on his face, and forced some of their own. “Maybe there's some single ladies at the bar.” The group let out some chuckles, then went off to find their rooms and their wallets. After all, maybe there were single ladies at the bar.
***
From: Zoey
@ the bar! Do I spy professional athletes?
Belle rolled her eyes from her spot at her desk. She was writing out an entire meal plan for that stupid group of professional athletes. More than one of them had allergies, more than one of them would get jealous if their meals differed. She had spoken with their coach, Joel Quenneville, over the phone for over an hour a few nights prior, writing down frantic notes and insisting that she'd get their meal plan out and ready by the day they showed up. She was just going over the last of it when Zoey texted her.
Standing up, she straightened her dress, slipped her heels on, and slid the original copy into a filing cabinet. She then shoved both copies into their individual folders and went on her way to find the chef of the cruise ship and the Chicago Blackhawks' head coach.
The chattering group at the back of the bar seemed in their own world; nothing could distract them. They weren't even talking about the game on the television—they didn't want to; that team was still in the playoffs—or the drinks they had, but what was going on in their lives, where they planned to go after the cruise and what exactly Joel had in store for the next three weeks. They weren't the only ones with drinks in their hand and weren't even getting much attention besides from the blonde waitress who came around to ask if they needed anything else every few minutes.
Nothing was catching their attention, and they weren't catching anyone else's attention. That was why it was curious when one lone head covered in brown hair snapped up at the sound of the bar's door opening. Patrick glanced over at his friend. Jon had been pretty silent since the night they had lost—lost in his own world of shame and guilt. He'd been trying to act the way a team captain should, but they all could tell he just didn't have it in him. However, with his sudden interest peaked, so was everyone else's. Several heads followed the first at the sound of heels clicking against the floor. The young woman's steps were hurried as she practically bounced up to the bar, grinning the entire time before she practically fell into a giggling blonde drinking a martini. She wore a navy blue sundress with a peter pan bow at the top, barely noticeable with her long, curly hair falling over it. She swept it aside impatiently, showing off several streaks of pink, blue and turquoise, and turned to look at the mass of people in the bar.
Jon watched as the girls giggled together, laughing, and a wine glass was planted before the woman. Clear liquid sitting in it looking more like water than any sort of alcohol. She was beautiful, lean and graceful. Unaware of the team's defeat over in the corner.
“Who's the babe?” Patrick asked loudly from beside him. The group snickered, still staring at the duo sitting at the bar. “Tazer's got his eye on her.” Patrick elbowed him, causing the other boys to look at him as he chuckled, and rubbed his neck awkwardly. He wasn't sure he had game tonight, of all nights, to pick up someone like her.
The boys in the corner couldn't hear the girls' conversation, but they watched as she shifted to glance at the door, then over at them. She smiled openly at them, appearing to not notice that she was being admired, and turned back to her friend, sipping at the clear liquid in the wine glass.
“She's hot,” Jon finally blurted out.
Beside him, Patrick chuckled, “go get her, tiger.”
Jon raised an eyebrow. “Not tonight,” he said.
“C'mon, man,” Patrick chuckled at him. “You could use a good lay. Get you out of this depression you've got yourself in.”
They all watched as she stood up from the stool, staring at her watch. She squeezed her friend's shoulder before hurrying from the room.
Jon watched her leave, hoping she was indeed going to be the thing that got him out of that depression.