State of Grace

SIDNEY:
Sid is called to Peter’s office after a voluntary practice on his behalf the next day, and as he heads there after getting changed, he’s resigned to one, singular fact. Today is going to be the day. He’s going to have to sit through a third lecture from the patronizing douche bag and it’s literally going to be the death of him this time. He’s already decided on the plan of thumping his head into the wall repeatedly until he achieves unconsciousness. And if the wall doesn’t work, it’ll be the strong, wood desk as Plan B. Anything to save him from the torment.

He pauses at the door before he steps through, savouring a nice much-needed breath of air.

Astonishingly, Peter glances up from his ipad as Sid knocks on the door, and when he indicates for Sid to take a seat on the leather chair across the desk from him, he’s grinning. Grinning an actual and legitimate pleased grin, as if the naughty teenager Sid previously felt like has brought home a very pleasing report card.

“Sid,” Peter smiles broadly, “Take a seat.”

Proceeding with uneasy caution, Sid eases down in to the chair and makes an effort to sit up straight and presentably, wanting to send a stronger message of his presence. No more Peter domination.

It doesn’t even come to a lecture though, because Peter really is pleased with him, proud of him even.

He hands over a copy of the newspaper across the desk to Sid and Sid studies it, seeing a picture of Grace, her mother and himself smiling and laughing that he remembers being taken at Heinz Field. The story is about a half a page including the photo, but he just skim reads the text and from that alone he can see why Peter is so delighted.

The journalist who was hanging around when they first met obviously interviewed Grace some time after she and Sid parted ways following the lunch he promised yesterday, because there are quotes from her about the ‘generous amount of time he donated to them to make sure they saw the wonders of Pittsburgh’ along with a brief outlay of the pit stops they made. Grace has painted him with a glistening golden Halo and the article reflects that, reinforcing the exact message Peter had been angling for with the final line being, “Sidney is obviously one star who appreciates all of his fans and doesn’t hesitate on showing his gratitude for their support”.

“It would seem, given that stellar article,” Peter begins, still smiling, “that I owe you an apology maybe. You really went over and beyond what I specified but I am so fucking glad that you did. A private tour of the city with access to things that only you can get? That’s a genius move, Sid. Absolutely genius. Well done.”

Sid keeps his eyes staring at the photo, looking at the mega-watt smile on Grace’s face, looking at her hair blown back from her face due to the gust of wind that came as the photo was taken, and how blue her eyes look when you can see them as clearly as this. They remind him of pools of water, sparkling under sunlight.

He doesn’t tell Peter that the tour wasn’t simply in aid of getting a better story or about the publicity at all. He doesn't say that he didn't ask Grace to talk to a reporter regarding the half day they spent together. He doesn't say it because he doesn't need to. Peter can think what he likes –Sid has skipped a lecture, maybe even earned some respect, and he had a great time hanging out with Grace and her Mom.

What he does do is ask Peter when the reporter talked to Grace.

A line in Peter’s forehead crinkles a little, though the smile stays fixed on his face. “I was told that she and the reporter exchanged numbers for any other facts or things that he’d need after first meeting her. He had a story typed up a about the chat you both had after the game, but she called yesterday and asked for him to write a new story including the developments of your time together.” He grins wolfishly. “So, once again, job well done Sid. Extremely well done.”

The phone on the desk rings and Peter motions for Sid to leave after he’s answered it, like its top secret business. Sid is more than happy to go and doesn’t waste any time mulling around. The copy of the paper stays in his hands, though.

--

He drives straight home and once there he starts up his laptop. Remembering Grace’s twitter handle, he types it in and finds her quickly, the page loading and filling the screen before him. Her profile photo is still of her and the boy –who he now knows to be her twin brother, Jacob- and the giant soda bottle –which he now knows to be a bottle of a New Zealand brand of fizzy called L&P and practically a New Zealand landmark- all learnt from Grace yesterday. A new photo fills the space behind her profile though, one he took of her doing her weird Grass Angel thing on the field.

He laughs all over again to himself as he sees it, and then scrolls down to scan over her tweets. There are several flattering ones in reference to him, but they’re not really what he’s looking for. When he finds what it is he is in fact looking for, thanks to a photo of her taken in front of the sign, he pulls up Goggle in another browser to search for the number.

He doesn’t stop to let himself think about what he’s doing or how much he seems to be craving Grace’s company lately, or what that means. Instead he focuses on logic, plain and simple logic that is concrete and not abstract or feelings related.

When someone does something for you, you thank them. That’s how it works. That’s the reason for what he’s doing, and it’s the only reason.

Except for how it’s not.

GRACE:
Grace is pretty admittedly veged out on the couch in her hotel room when the hotel phone rings. She is strewn lazily across one couch and her Mom is the same across the other, with shopping bags sitting at their swollen, tired feet. The phone sings out loudly and they both groan, too tired to make a move to answer it.

“You get it,” Grace says.

“No, you get it,” Sarah replies, showing no sign of moving anytime soon. “I’m suffering from a shopping coma and if it’s your father calling then he’ll ask how much money I spent today and I’m not ready to tell him yet.”

Grace grins at that and takes one for the team, hauling herself up and across the room to the phone.

“Hello, this is Grace Jackson speaking.”

“Hi Grace, its Sid.”

Immediately, Grace stands straighter and the tiredness evaporates from her body, replaced with a tingle of excitement.

“Hey,” she says, “How was practise? Who’s the moustache boy?”

Sid fills her in on the hilarious antics had during the practice and reveals that Benny is in fact the Moustache Boy after losing to Paul Martin who was in the bottom two with him.

“Aw, poor Benny,” Grace sighs, still chuckling. “Good thing he’d probably still look good with a Moustache, or at least find a way to make it an amusing accessory for the month.”

Sid feels his stomach tighten. “Uh, Grace? I read the article that was published today. I guess our theme is you doing stuff and me thanking you, but you keep out doing yourself. So. How about I cook dinner for you and your Mom tonight at my place?”

Grace’s head screams yes, very emphatically, but she doesn’t really think she needs thanking for it. She had read the article this morning while eating breakfast with her Mom at a café before The Great Shopping Bonanza they had begun. Every word quoted in that story had been hers, verbatim. And she’d meant every single one of them.

Yesterday at lunch, after the field, Sid had loosened up a bit and really seemed relaxed and comfortable, but after taking out so much of his own personal time to take Grace and her Mom out, Grace had figured the least she could do was make sure that he got the deserved recognition for it. If not to remove the guilt and worry of a more damning story possibly being the works, then to benefit the team giving him a clear head and conscience for when they play next –and no, it totally was for him and him alone. She can’t deny that.

She politely sidesteps around dinner, saying, “Jeez, Sid, all this effort to thank me all the time is going to break your bank one day.”

His laugh echoes through the speaker. “Then you’re going to have to stop doing me favours,” he says. “Right after you do this one last favour of coming to dinner.”

Since Grace doesn’t need her arm twisted to go to dinner at Sidney Crosby’s house -because really, who on earth doesn’t want that- she agrees and then covers the receiver to invite her Mom.

Sarah respectfully declines, mumbling something about needing to spend her night soaking in a hot bubble bath until she can feel her bones again, so Grace tells Sid it’ll just be her and he gives her a time to arrive before they hang up.

--

“Do you think it’s weird to think you have a connection with someone after a short amount of time?” Sid asks as they lie on the rug on the floor of his living room later, after dinner.

Neither he nor Grace really know how lying here talking really started, Grace thinks it might be how Sid tried to do a ‘carpet angel’ to mock her ‘grass angel’ but it could be how she said she was really tired and full from dinner –turns out the boy can really cook- and wanted to lay down then starfished out on the floor too. It’s not really important though.

Grace thinks he’s talking about Sierra with his question, and figuring she has offered more than enough out-of-place advice on that topic for a life time, she answers with a question of her own.

“Do you think it’s weird to confess your most embarrassing secret with someone you’ve only known for, like, five minutes?”

Sid laughs, his chest vibrating as he stays lying down on his back, both of them looking up at the ceiling. “That thing about the guy with the stupid name is your most embarrassing secret?”

Grace turns her head to him and shoots a half-hearted warning look.

“The fact that the boy I thought I loved broke up with me by scrawling a pathetic excuse on a napkin and handing it to me on what was meant to be the best night of my life, after I told him I loved him, and then went back inside and hooked up with my deputy?” she recaps. “Yeah. That’s the most embarrassing.”

Sid laughs again, even louder this time, and Grace reaches out to swat at his arm.

“Are you a sadist or something, Crosby?” she teases. “That’s not embarrassing enough for you?”

“No- no,” he splutters out in the midst of his last laugh. He rolls up on to his side to see Grace’s face better. She remains lying down and he’s glad for that because her eyes twinkle up at him under the lights like this. “I just mean, if that’s your most embarrassing secret then you’re doing pretty well. That whole thing wasn’t even your idea or fault. Some of us have far worse, much more awkward and embarrassing skeletons in our closets.”

“Oh yeah?” Grace perks up, her eyes sparking. “Like what?”

“Two words,” Sid answers. “Marilyn Munroe. And no, I definitely do not want to ever, ever discuss or relive it, even for the greater good of making someone feel better about their moment.”

As expected, Grace pouts comically at that and he caves, having her almost rolling around in stitches as he recounts the most embarrassing moment of his entire life.

She is still laughing and clutching her sides like they’re going to split open when he sits up, leaning his weight back on his palms, flat against the carpet.

“Hey, Grace?”

The laughter stops and she gets herself together, also making the move to sit up but folds her legs in front of her and sitting up straight rather than resting back, able to read that same there-is-something-I-need-to-say tone in his voice that he’d had at the field. “Yeah, Sid?”

He cocks his head at her, his big melted-chocolate brown eyes sweeping over her face. “You know –I mean, you know that there is nothing wrong with being a ‘farm girl’ right?”

Grace heart starts thumping a hell of a lot faster in her chest, his words –in reference to Rusty’s pathetic break up note- like a shot gun firing sound to her ears. The friendship haze that has been hanging around her and Sid fades away and she can feel the mood change.

“Sid,” she says, weighted and vigilant. “You don’t….you don’t even know me.”

One of his hands leaves the ground and sneaks up to her shoulder, curling a lock of her slightly disheveled hair and he leans his face closer. “I feel like I do.”

Grace can’t even believe this is happening, can’t even move, which is good, because she finds herself really, really not wanting to. Sid’s face is so close that his lips are barely centimetres from her ear, his breath tickling her face, igniting Goosebumps down her spine and all over her body.

She knows its stupid to feel like you know someone after a couple of deep and meaningful chats, two dinners, a lunch and a few hours spent together, but when she hears Sid say the words again, they feel right and that’s the only way she can describe the indescribable. The only reason she can attribute to why she replies, “I feel like I know you too,” and then tilts her face for him as they come together to share a kiss.

His hand is heavy on her neck and hers are trailing through his hair and they are kissing slowly, tasting and figuring out each others mouths like they’ve got the rest of their lives.

Unfortunately they don’t, and they are so caught in the moment, in each other, that they don’t hear a key fit into the front door and turn the lock, or hear the rhythmic click-click of high heels coming down the hall.

They don’t see Sierra until she drops her keys and they clatter as they connect with the ground. The moment they hear that sound they pull apart and jump away from each other, looking guilty.

“Well,” Sierra says sourly, clicking her heel. Her eyes narrow on Grace and burn through her, making the connection and placing her face. “Guess I know why she was signing your praises like the sun shines out of your ass in that article this morning.”

Grace bows her head, embarrassed, not of how they were caught, but the fact that they were caught. It doesn’t quite make sense, just like Sierra showing up and using her key to let herself in. Grace had gotten the distinct impression that Sid and Sierra were completely finished and she had trusted it, or else she would have never kissed him back.

Her eyes travel to Sid’s face, unable to un-see or ignore the look that washes over his face as he looks up at Sierra. And it hurts, more than it should, way more than it should, cutting through Grace like a hot knife through butter. She jumps to her feet and mumbles an apology before finding where she’d put down her wallet and slipped out of her coat. Once she feels both in her hands she tears down the hall, making a break for the front door.

Sid calls her name but can’t think of anything beyond getting out of there and subtracting herself from the situation. He catches her shoulder as she opens the door and she’s forced to turn and listen to him.

“I need to go,” she says pointedly through gritted teeth.

“Grace,” he pleads, for what, she doesn’t know. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was going to-”

“You both have things you need to talk about, clearly,” she points out to him. “I really don’t see a need for me to be here during that.”

Sid’s fingers tighten on her shoulder. He keeps his head low and looks up at her from under his lashes –an action that is completely unfair and classified as hypnosis in any situation- like he’s about to ask for something he knows he shouldn’t. “Can I call you later?”

Grace swallows, a bitter taste sliding down her throat. Her shoulders shrug but it’s not in her usual causal-and-easygoing Grace way that Sid has come to know. They shrug with dejection and uncertainty.

“Why, Sid? I-I leave in a couple more days. I go home, and this has been nice,” she says, staring down at her hands, at her jacket, at the floor, at anything that’s not those fucking big puppy eyes of his. “Really, really nice -but what’s the point?”

Sid ducks a kiss to her cheek, pressing his lips to the soft skin, and moves his hand across her shoulder to cup her face.

“I don’t know,” he answers when she brings her eyes up to meet his. “But I really want to find out.”