State of Grace

SIDNEY:
There’s been no word of the matter from his team mates in the locker room, out on the ice, or during a round of drinks at a local bar that Geno drags them all to after going down to the Blackhawks in front of a packed-out CEC, crowing on about how Sid needs to cheer up. It’s not really a matter of the fact that Sid is Captain, or that he’s never been overly forthcoming when it comes to his personal life, it’s more the awkwardness of the situation.

They had all been invited of course, the entire team. The currently-injured Jack Johnson was given the duty of Best Man, but the rest of them were all invited and expected to attend, of course they were. Some of them still have the invite pinned to their calendars or refrigerators at home, unsure as to whether it’s just been postponed or cancelled indefinitely, while others have filed the card out of sight, not hopeful of the former.

None of them really have the balls to come right out and ask, though Sid can tell by their faces, ever since they got the email that went round –and the series of phone calls on his Mother’s behalf, god bless her, even if she was a little perplexed at his late change of heart- they’ve wanted to know. Was it another girl on Sid’s behalf? Or cold feet? They don’t know, but they want to.

What they do know is that it has to have been Sid who cancelled it, because they all know how crazy Sierra was about him. Sure, they didn’t LOVE how she crowed on and on about him or the way she acted, but that doesn’t mean the way she adored him wasn’t obvious. She’d sit in his lap near the end of the team get-togethers, pushing her fingers through his hair and grinning at him like he was the greatest thing on earth. She might have not gotten along with the other team mates wives or girlfriends, but she loved Sid and no one ever had to question that.

And ‘No one’ included Sid. But he had come to realise there happens to be quite a difference between being sure that someone loves you for being you, and loving that person enough in return to facilitate promising the rest of your life to them.

One round in, Tanger finally breaks. He downs the last of his beer and places his glass back down on the table they sit around with a clink, then turns to Sid, biting the bullet and saying, “So, what happened with this wedding we were supposed to have?”

Sid chokes a little on his beer, not having expected anything close to that topic till at least the third round of drinks, and certainly not put that bluntly.

Geno claps Sid on the back in solidarity, and eyes Tanger warningly. “Sid –he realise it better to be single. Hey Sid?” he says cheerfully in his broken English, and Sid has never been more appreciative of him.

Tanger shrugs it off, resigned to the fact that he’s not going to get much more out of him then that, and that even if he tries, Geno the-big-Russian-protector is going to shut it down. He moves away to the bar to get a refill, taking Nisky and Engelland with him.

It leaves Craig, Duper and Benny Lovejoy around the table with Sid and Geno, the other team members having opted out of the late night after the game.

“I think you made the right decision,” Benny adds, looking up at Sid over the rim of his glass as he goes to take a sip. “Having a wedding during the season –even a small one- is madness. Postponing it to get it right is a good choice,” he finishes, obviously one of the guys with the invite still on the fridge.

He’s got a point, Sid knows he does. Hockey weddings during the season seem bizarre, and maybe that was just one of the many contributing factors to its eventual demise, but the idea was to have it and keep it small and quick so that it didn’t become a big fan-fare circus and get strewn across the tabloids and internet. He didn’t even have a Stag party. He’s not Kim Kardashian, he doesn’t need the money, nor does he want the attention, especially now.

So he just mumbles, “It’s not postponed,” in Benny’s direction, before sculling the last of his beer.
It’s strangely quiet after that, all other guys besides Geno all already married and happy. Sid thinks, two more days, two more days, as he spins his glass around on the table, keeping his eyes low so he doesn’t have to see anybody’s expression. Two. More. Days.

Day off tomorrow, then the Rangers are in town the next day. Then it’s the break Peter hinted at, the break that –at this stage- looks like it will be spent at home where he can hide all by himself and try to just wait this thing out. It’s been nearly a week and there’s been little buzz about it, which he suspects his down to the ‘postponement’ theory. That and the fact that the media were only speculating on the date, since they didn’t actually receive invites or confirmation. And since it’s taken the guys –the ones he plays with, trains and travels with and basically spends all of his days with- this long to say anything about it, Sid figures he’s in the clear. Or at least close to it, until someone decides to break the ‘No questions about his personal life’ request that Peter has made expressly clear to all media personal.

But he’s more than keen to cross that bridge when he gets to it.

In the mean time, the beer quickly cuts through him and he’s ready to head to the bar’s bathroom, not only to use the toilet but also to get out of the weird mood at the table.

He announces it somewhat as he stands up, and he can hear a normal conversation resume between them all as he leaves, passing Nisky, Tanger and Engo all on their way back with more beers in hand.

Halfway to the men’s room, with the door literally insight, the thick letters branding it as such across the front of it, Sid spots Celia Greene, Sierra’s closet friend. They’ve never been much acquainted –he’d only met her a few times in the eleven months he and Sierra dated before the engagement party, and that handle of times includes the engagement party. Sierra devoted most of her time to him and to being around when he was, and he remembers nights she had sat up on the phone in bed beside him talking to Celica, planning girl time for the two of them on days when he was playing out of town. Suffice to say, Celia hadn’t been particularly thrilled to hear her best friend was going to marry the man who already took up so much of her time.

And now, in the bar, Celia Greene certainly does not look any happier to see him.

She’s standing a few metres away, but her eyes are on him and the look of utter anger and disgust mixed together on her face indicates she’s clearly seen him. Sid, the man who battles for the puck, takes hits and even gets in the occasional fight, stays frozen to the spot like a deer in headlights, unable to move.

Capitalising, Celia hands her drink to the guy beside her and marches right over, stopping only an inch before Sid’s face, but making sure her wagging finger gets closer as she rips into him.

“I told her,” she says, seething. “I told her that you were bad news. Canada’s Golden Boy, my ass. Nobody is that perfect. I told her this was a big mistake!”

It takes a moment, but Sid gets with the programme and swallows a whole mouthful of words. He’s not sure, but he can give a good guess that now is not the best time to try and explain his reasoning with her. “H-how is she?” he asks instead, because he’s not totally heartless, no where near it in fact, and he really does care.

Celia looks incredulous at first, like he’s just told her he’s an alien, but her expression quickly transforms into one that makes it seem like she wants to spit on him.

“You DO NOT get to ask how SHE is! If you really cared you wouldn’t have been the biggest jerk face on this whole entire planet and embarrassed her like this,” she stipulates, aggravation level heightened. “I mean, seriously, do you actually give a flying fuck about anybody but yourself, Crosby?!”

Sid takes in a breath and tries to get some pride back in his chest, stand a little straighter. Luckily enough, the confrontation isn’t drawing much attention.

“Of course I do. I care about Sier-” is all he is allowed to say it seems, or all that Celia will allow him to before cutting him off, yelling straight over top of him.

She lays into him about all the hours Sierra spent being devoted to him and his life, to the wedding plans and house they shared. The house which Sid let her keep her key to, and when he went away to play a couple days later he got back to find all her stuff gone. And though it hurt, though he sat down on the bed and let himself feel the burning in his chest at the loss of all the pieces of her and her life that had fit with his for what felt like so long, it was better than a confrontation.

Celia eventually stops ranting long enough to calm her voice down to a reasonable tone, one that gets more and more menacing the closer her head gets to Sid’s, and with every word she says. “You’re not getting away with this, Crosby. I swear to god that you won’t. I’m not letting anyone break my best friend’s heart like this and then act like nothing ever fucking happened. You’re despicable, you know that?”

Sid feels like he’s starting to comprehend that point rather well.

She stabs a finger into his chest, eyes narrowed and devil-like. “I’m going to make sure that everyone knows what a total fucking asshole you really are. Sierra might not be ready to talk about it right now, but she will be. I’ll make sure of it. And when she does, there are going to be countless amounts of people interested in hearing about the real Sidney Crosby.”

Tossing her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder, she gives him one last snarl before she turns on her heel and strides away.

With a lot more strength and togetherness than he thought he’d have in the face of potential crisis like this, Sid somehow gets inside the bathroom before he sucks in a breath and then bangs an angry hand against the wall.

“FUCK,” he shouts, glad he’s the only one in there. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck.”

He has no idea how he’s going to fix this, or whether there is even anything he can do to fix it. He is calmer than he imagined himself being, but he puts that down to the fact that this isn’t exactly from left field. He was maybe even expecting a threat like that. For as much as Sierra loved him, she loved seeing her name in the paper and in different articles just as much. Loved people knowing she was Sid’s and he was hers. Now he’s not and he can imagine her wanting to speak publicly and out him, throw him right under the metaphorical bus. Maybe he can chalk that up on the list of ‘Why I didn’t go through with it’.

He uses the bathroom, washes his hands and studies his face in the mirror briefly to make sure it hasn’t lost any colour, before heading straight back out to the bar for another beer.

Two more days. Two more days. The more he drinks, maybe the fast it’ll come round.

GRACE:
Not long before they need to start heading to the arena for the game, Grace and her mother are standing in Grace’s room of the hotel looking down at the shopping mall store amount of shirts and jersey’s covering the plush hotel sheets.

Grace is asking her Mom to help her decide which one to wear when Sarah gets a call from her husband, Logan –Grace’s father. She retreats to where the black iphone sits atop Grace’s dresser and mouths “It’s Dad” loudly before slipping out in to the lounge area of their suite, which is fine, because though Grace has enough shirts and jerseys to play eenie-miney-mo for a while to pick one, she’s already pretty sure of which one she’s going to wear.

With a grin on her face she reaches out and sweeps up the home jersey with LOVEJOY in big letters on the back.

Benny is her favourite player, though it’s super difficult for her to distinguish favourites among her boys. She’d like to think that she appreciates all their talents, personalities and ways they contribute to the team equally, and for the most part she really does, but everyone’s got that one player they have a soft spot for favouritism-wise, even if the person is only above the others in inches.

Benny is that player for Grace, keeping her proud with his play, laughing and shaking her head from reading his tweets and completely ecstatic with the constant effort he puts forth for the team. When he broke his wrist and suffered a number of weeks sitting out it had broken Grace’s heart and her family had had to listen to her whine about her team’s unfair injuries and how there was “no justice in the world” at the pain being inflicted on various members of her team, consequentially alternating the line up what felt almost daily. When she had watched the Inside the Room specials her parents had heard non-stop laughter from her after watching Ben worry about his conditioning and whether he was getting fat during his time on IR.

She slips the jersey on over her singlet and wriggles in the comfortable feel of it. In the long length mirror on the wall she sees the giant beaming smirk she has on her face and laughs. She’s so excited that she can’t help but smile like a crazed idiot. All this time spent working is finally paying off, allowing her to stay in such a nice hotel, relax with her mother and sight-see around the wonderful Steel City for the following days of their trip. But first it is taking her to the arena –to her team’s arena- the one she has only been able to see in photos and videos. To watch a. Real. LIVE. GAME.

Buzzing with so much excitement and anticipation that she’s almost vibrating, she takes a moment to close her eyes and picture –for the hundredth time- the feeling of being in the middle of hundreds of excited, yelling and passionate fans to watch the game –to watch her beloved team battle with the division rival Rangers and come away with a win.

Out in the lounge Sarah is laughing into the phone as her husband asks whether Grace has burst through her skin or fainted yet.

“No,” she answers amongst her chuckles, “but I have the distinct feeling that she is very close to either of those things. I never seen her quite so excited for anything, Logan. These grown men all putting on similar jerseys and skating around on ice seem to make her insanely happy.”

“If I didn’t feel the same way about my spectacular Otago Highlanders then I would let that fact worry me,” Logan replies, referring to the rugby team he pledged his allegiance to years ago.

He and Grace are alike in the way that they chose to spend their hard earn money on indulging themselves on their favourite teams. He’s flown across the country to watch his team in matches more times than he can count, all made possible by Grace being able to hold down the fort on the farm front without him.

“She’s been looking forward to this for a long time. I hope they get a win while she’s there,” he says.

“Even if they don’t, I have no doubt that that obscenely large grin she’s wearing will still be taking up half her face,” Sarah smiles.

“Whose shirt is she going to wear?” Logan enquires and Sarah peeks in to Grace’s room to see the name she has written across the back of her jersey. It starts a back-and-forth game of Logan naming players by the bits and pieces he’s heard about them from his daughter, and Sarah answering Yes or No in return.

“The large Russian guy who gets confused between microwaves and microphones?”

“No, not him.”

“Oh, how about the Captain?”

“No, not his either.”

Logan rubs his chin and tries to remember snippets of conversation. “Uh, the boy with the long flowing hair?” he asks, referring to Kris Letang.

“Nope. Come on, honey. You’ve got two more guesses or I’ll have to tell you.”

Logan laughs and gets up from the empty kitchen table he sits at and heads down the hall to Grace’s room. He scans over the poster briefly, trying to pick out the one she talks about only slightly more than the others via way of traits.

“The funny Frenchy goalie?”

“Uh-uh,” Sarah warns, “One more shot.”

Sharpening his eyes, Logan peers closer to the poster and reads through the list of names. A few of them are faintly familiar, but when he gets to Ben’s he finally makes the connection. “Oh, Lovejoy! The one that broke his wrist and got the puffy face!”

The puffy face is what he remembers most about Ben after watching –and having to re-watch numerous times- episodes of the 24/7 Series before their Winter Classic match against the Washington Capitals. In one episode in particular Ben had taken a puck to the face needing stitches for the nasty gash and it had ballooned with the pressure as they took a flight on the team plane.

“That’s the one,” Sarah confirms. She doesn’t know much about the game of hockey, as much as Grace has tried to explain it to her since she agreed to join her daughter on the trip, but she does know her daughter’s favourite player –even if she only knows his name and remembers him as ‘the puffy face guy’.

Logan fills her in on how things are going back at home with the farm for a few more minutes as Grace gets the last of her stuff together, like her wallet, tickets, camera and phone. Her phone is in the bathroom where she’d set it after doing her hair and instead of grabbing it and making a dash, she pauses to take a photo of herself in her jersey with tickets in hand and her big grin, posting it to her Twitter page (@GraceOfState – Thousands of miles, hundreds of dollars and hours of flying but I’m FINALLY HERE. See ya at the @PENGUINS game!!).

“Gracie honey, are you ready to go?” her Mom calls out as she uploads the tweet.

“Yeah,” she shouts back. And she feels like she finally truly is. Feels the anticipation pulsing through her body. She’s waited years for this, for this night, this game and this trip. She is ready to soak up every bit of it and watch her team kick Ranger butts all the way back to NY. “I was born ready, Mom.”