Perfect Symmetry

On Monday after work, I found my answer machine blinking at me, indicating that I had a couple voicemails. I pressed the button and put my bags down and took off my shoes as I listened.

Hey Jazz, it’s Viktor. I meant to call you yesterday but I woke up at like 2:30 in the afternoon and then Niklas and I played video games all day. I realize now that that’s a pretty pathetic excuse, but it’s all I’ve got. Anyway, I had a really great time on Saturday, and I wanted to get together with you for lunch or dinner or whatever soon. I like seeing you. Was that a weird thing to say? Well, call me back, okay?

I smiled at that, and went to pick up the phone to call him back when the second message started and I jumped out of my skin when I heard the deep voice of Jonathan Toews.

Hey Jazz, are you there? If you’re there, can you please pick up? Please? Ok I’m assuming you’re not there, Jazz. If you are...you suck. But I want to talk to you. Can you call me? Or better yet, meet me?

That really surprised me. Jon and I were technically on speaking terms, but I felt like a lot of the foundation we had built up had been crushed by his stubbornness and my stupidity.

I decided to call Viktor back first. He answered on the first ring.

“Jazz?” he answered expectantly.

“Hey,” I greeted cheerfully. “How are you?”

“I’m great. Still a bit tired from this weekend, but good,” he replied with a chuckle.

I folded my legs criss cross applesauce style and smiled into the phone.

“No practice today?” I asked casually.

“None until Wednesday,” Viktor replied with glee. “Do you want to grab some dinner?’

I glanced at my watch. “That actually sounds really good. Where shall I meet you?”

He laughed. “Nowhere. I’m picking you up. Shall I give you an hour? I’d rather have an early dinner and not make you tired for work.”

“So considerate,” I teased. “Yeah, okay, make it forty-five minutes. I’ll just get dressed.”
~
third person limited: Jon

Jon made his way out of the bar he had been hanging out in for the past couple hours. It was only about ten o’clock, but he was already a bit drunk. He decided to call a cab and have Kaner pick up his car later.

It was dark on the streets of Chicago, and Jon wished he had brought his coat. It was strange not going to practice every day, even just over Thanksgiving break. It felt like his mind was constantly on hockey – whether it’s about how to make his game better, or how to get the guys to stop joking around at practice, or even trying to get Kaner to stop fucking all of the girls in Chicago. The last one was a little hypocritical though, since he certainly had his own fair share of girls.

Lately, however, the one nightstand didn’t taste as sweet as it used to. These days, he woke up near some strange girl with a bitter taste in his mouth. He had a feeling he knew where this sudden change came from, since it had all started after meeting...No. It was too easy for Jon to blame everything on Jazz when most of the time he was just acting like an idiot.

He still couldn’t understand the feeling he got when he saw her and Stalberg dancing so close to each other. He just didn’t like it. He tried to talk to Kaner about it, but his friend had just laughed him off and called him a lovesick puppy. That couldn’t be further from the truth. These days, Jon seemed to be questioning that.

He crossed the street and walked past an Italian restaurant that he had taken a date to a couple months ago. Jon remembered the food being good, and frowned. Why hadn’t he ever gone back there? He heard the sound of a very familiar laugh from his left side, and he whirled around to find the source of the noise.

When Jon caught sight of Jazz, he almost smiled. He could recognize her laugh anywhere. The smile died before it even hit his lips, however, when he saw that she wasn’t alone. She looked nice, wearing tight black pants and a gold, sequined shirt. Stalberg had his hands on her hips and was leaning in to kiss her. Jon waited for her to squirm away, but she didn’t. Jon’s hands curled into fists as he watched. Why was he even watching? It was pissing him off. But somehow he couldn’t look away. The way her body arched to meet Stalberg made Jon sweat with tension and even a bit of arousal. He imagined his body tangled around hers and his eyes clouded over with desire.

After a few more seconds of watching them from the shadows, Jon retreated and tried to wipe the image of the two of them from his mind. It was a good thing he was drunk, because otherwise he probably would have probably punched Stalberg. As it was, he would probably go home and punch some walls or something.
~
Jazz

Dinner was really nice with Viktor. I ate pasta while we played footsie under the table. It was like a scene from some dopey romance movie. Then we made out in the parking lot and he drove me home. I think he was hoping for an invitation upstairs, but I played it coyly and left him with another kiss.

I replayed the message from Jon from my answering machine and contemplated calling him before deciding it was too late. I would just call him tomorrow instead.
~
I didn’t end up calling Jon on Tuesday, since I was stuck at the office until ten, even having dinner at the office with a few of my colleagues. By the time Wednesday night came around, I hadn’t talked to Jon or any other Blackhawk, and I knew practices started today. They had a road trip coming up to Boston this weekend, and they wanted to be ready to beat the Bruins.
~
third person limited

It was practice time, and Jon was totally focused...on Stalberg. The way he was laughing with Sharp and Burish, or the way he annoyingly stole the puck off of Jon during the drill and turned to score.

Jon’s veins were coursing with pent up anger by the time the scrimmage came. He checked Stalberg hard into the boards.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Tazer?” it wasn’t Stalberg yelling; it was Kane.

Jon shrugged. “Sorry.”

Coach Q yelled at Jon to get the hell of the ice.

“We play as a team, Tazer, not against each other,” he snapped before sending Toews off to the showers.

Back on the ice, Kane looked at Stalberg with an incredulous look on his face. He skated over to his teammate and shook his head.

“What the hell did you do to him, Stally? Does he think you egged his precious car?” Kaner laughed.

Stalberg frowned. “I don’t think so.”

Kaner shoved Sharpie with a grin. “Good, because that was us.”
~
Jazz

I called Jon back on Thursday, but there was no answer. I left him a message instead.

Hi Jon, it’s Jazz. I wanted to call you on Tuesday but I didn’t get a chance, and I know you had practice on Wednesday so...anyway, I’m free for coffee tomorrow after work if that’s good for you. I know you have a road trip coming up so if you can’t come I understand. Call me later.

I wondered how I ended up apologizing and hoping he’ll “understand” when really he’s the one who wanted to get together with me, not the other way around. Wow, the powers of Jonathan Toews.

He never called me back, but on Friday at lunch I checked my phone to see a brief text from him saying that he couldn’t make it to coffee today, and he would be heading off to Boston on Saturday morning. I slumped in my chair. If the team was on a road trip, my social life collapsed around me. I tried to get Hailey to come out with me on Friday, but she wasn’t feeling up to it. I called Christy too, but there was no answer.

I spent a quiet evening at home Friday night, and on Saturday I slept in until 11 before dragging myself out of bed and into some decent clothes. By decent I mean sweatpants and a San Jose Sharks t-shirt. At two the phone rang in the middle of my fourth episode of Downton Abbey so I let Hailey answer it.

“It’s for you, dummy,” she handed the receiver to me.

I mouthed, “who is it?” to her but she refused to tell me, so I took the phone and shoved her in irritation.

“Hello?” I tried to keep my voice neutral and not annoyed at the fact that they had interrupted my episode.

“Jazz,” the voice was familiar, but it was all stuffed up and congested, like they had a terrible cold.

I wrinkled my nose. “Who is this?”

The voice laughed and then coughed heavily. “Damn, that hurts Jazz. I thought we were friends.”

I knew who it was then. “Pat, how are you? You sound like shit.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I feel kind of shitty. The team left for Boston this morning and I am bored as fuck. Wanna come over?”

I groaned audibly. “But then I’d have to get up. And I’m really comfortable right now.”

“Shut up, I’m sick! You can’t deny me when I’m sick!” he whined.

I sighed. “If you get me sick I will hurt you.”

He held back a laugh and coughed again. “Deal. Shall we watch some movies?”

“I feel like you won’t have the right movies. I’ll bring some,” I decided.

Patrick made an irritated sound. “I have great movies. Don’t be bringing any of your damn chick flicks.”

I sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pat. I’ll see you in half an hour.”
~
I had several films in mind as I raided my own collection. I immediately grabbed The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and then decided to just make it a full-on John Hughes marathon and plucked Pretty in Pink off of my shelf and into my bag of supplies before leaving.

This time the doorman recognized me in my usual sweats and t-shirt. I smiled at him and headed straight for the elevators. When Patrick opened the door I could immediately tell that he was sick. He moved to hug me but I held up a finger to stop him.

“Are you contagious?” I demanded.

He shrugged. “How the hell would I know?”

I rolled my eyes and shoved past him to get to his TV. His apartment was messier this time, with tissues and old coffee mugs scattered everywhere.

“Well I’m not risking getting sick, Kaner,” I said emphatically.

He sighed. “What’s in the bag?”

I grinned and headed over to his kitchen to inspect his fridge. As I expected, it was barren, like any athletic bachelor’s fridge would be.

“I brought you some sickness supplies. This is what I use when I’m sick and it works like a charm,” I replied cheerfully, unloading my bag.

I had the movies, several types of herbal tea, and a spicy Indian tomato soup called rasum. It was usually much spicier, but I had toned down my mother’s recipe for Pat.

“Sweet, I’m hungry, and all I have are leftover Twinkies,” Patrick called from the couch.

I rolled my eyes. “Do you want red herbal tea or green?”

“Green!” was the reply.

So, I boiled the water and poured him a cup of green tea and myself a cup of red. I picked up the movies and handed him the drink.

“Really, Jazz? The eighties movies?” he scowled. “I’ve seen all of these.”

“Even Pretty in Pink?” I asked doubtfully.

Kaner groaned. “Okay maybe not that one.”

“Well, we’ll start with that one then,” I declared with a smile.

Patrick begged to watch Ferris Bueller instead, which was a battle that I was quite happy to let him win. I let him put in the disc while I warmed up the rasam for him to eat. It was steaming in the bowl as the first scene opened.

“Damn, that smells spicy,” Kaner wrinkled his nose.

I laughed. “The spices help with the congestion. It releases the built up in your nose and throat.”

That seemed to convince Pat well enough, since he dove right in after blowing on a spoonful. Soon after the fragrant soup his tongue, his face turned red and knowing the signs, I raced to get him a glass of water, which he sipped tentatively.

“Jesus! I’m from Buffalo, Jazzy, there’s only so much spice I can take. Couldn’t you have made some sort of mild version? ” he fanned his tongue jokingly.

I cracked up. “That is the mild version, you loser.”

Patrick turned to look at me in disbelief. He whined, but he did admit that the heat did help clear up the congestion. By the time we had finished the movie, the bowl was licked clean and Patrick was even asking for more. He ate all of my batch and then sipped his tea slowly as I put in Pretty in Pink.

I was nodding off towards the end, but Pat kept poking me to get me to stay awake.

“When do the boys play Boston?” I asked curiously.

“Sunday evening,” replied Pat. “I really wish I could be there.”

I patted his shoulder. “You’re sick; you have a legitimate excuse.”

“Still,” was all he said.

As we got to the end of the movie, I found myself feeling the way I usually did at the end. I wanted Andie to just kiss Duckie and make everybody happy, and I was really irritated when she ran out and made out with Blane. I told Pat this and he laughed.

“Jazz, everybody wants to date the Blane. He’s so much hotter,” he explained with a cheeky grin.

I huffed in frustration. “Well, Duckie was way nicer and much sweeter. And Blane is just an idiot who falls to social pressures, and he’s also kind of a douche bag.”

“Maybe, but Duckie was just too nice. Don’t you girls love a little bad boy?” he winked devilishly.

I shoved him away from me. “I would have picked Duckie.”

Kaner frowned. “I think if you were really Andie, you would have picked Blane. I think in your own life you’re going to pick a Blane.”

Why did I feel like we were no longer talking about the movie? I fixed Patrick with a withering stare until he caved.

“Jon told me he saw you out with Stalberg a few nights ago,” he admitted.

I nodded. “Okay.”

“He saw you guys...kissing and stuff,” Patrick continued.

I blushed, but I kept my head level. “Okay,” I repeated.

“So he knows. And he seemed a little pissed off. He checked Stalberg into the boards really hard on Wednesday. Coach was pissed,” Pat detailed.

“I should have told him,” I shrugged, “but that’s all there is to it. He’s just being a bit dramatic.”

Pat snorted. “Okay. Well, when he gets back, you need to talk to him. I think the two of you have some unresolved shit.”

I rolled my eyes. “No we don’t. So he saw me kissing Viktor. So what? I’m allowed to date whomever I want.”

“Not when it’s a teammate. Not when Jonathan’s involved,” Kaner corrected.

“What?” I asked stupidly. “Why?”

Patrick leaned forward. “He’s captain. And he’s very competitive. He’ll fight for what he wants.”