Je t'aime, tu sais?

Jamie had never seen her boyfriend so at ease before.
He shared the recliner love seat with her as the family sat in the living room after an extremely satisfying dinner and chatted, nestling hot mugs of coffee or tea. He sat with one of his knees folded and propped up on the worn down arm of the recliner, his foot nestled under his other knee as it bobbed up and down every so often as he waited for a response from his father. Every once in a while she'd watch him flex his toes under his knee, his black sock wiggling and his toes underneath cracking as he did so.
His bad hand rested on Jamie's thigh as she sat next to him, cross legged, sometimes listening to Patrice talk with his father, sometimes talking independently with Sylvie, who sat next to her in an old rocking chair. Guill sat on the other, longer recliner couch with his father, mostly talking about the Bruins with his father and his brother, and sometimes bending forward, his elbows resting on his knees to listen in on the girls' conversation.
Jamie had already stumbled through explaining her thesis to the Bergeron-Cleary household, something she truly hated doing. There was just no way to explain the philosophy of numerical sets to someone who didn't know the jargon or understand the philosophy of mathematics. And, because she was so bad at explaining it, people automatically assumed it was above their heads and she was some laudable math goddess, too smart for them. She hated praise like that. Her math was something very calculated and practiced. Any other kid who took their math classes seriously from a young age could be in her place right now; she didn't find herself to be anything special. She literally was just an over-dedicated book worm, really.
She turned her head to gaze at her boyfriend sitting next to her, using his hand animatedly to describe new plays he, Brad and Tyler were implementing over the Panthers in their next game. His mug of tea sat nestled between his thighs, probably keeping him warm alongside the crackling fire glowing under the mantel.
She loved saying it.
Her boyfriend.
Patrice.
It made her smile, even when no one else in the room knew what she was smiling about. And the best part was, she didn't care.
"Patrice," she whispered, as he concluded a new face off option.
"Mh?" He asked, raising his cup of coffee to his lips and shifting his eyes in her direction.
"You mum wants to know how we met; should we tell her the story of the time you almost ran me over?"
Guill burst into laughter as Patrice blushed and shook his head, rubbing his forehead with his palm.
"Oh, this ought be good," Gerard laughed, nudging Guill. "He was always so gifted with women," he joked, sarcastically.
"Oh; what? Come on," Patrice groaned, laughing.
"I have stories for you, Jamie," Guill said, gesturing to her with his coffee mug and winking.
"Stories I do not want to hear!" Sylvie chipped in, laughing.
"Ooh," Patrice scoffed, waving Guill off. "What stories?!"
"Joanie Lafayette?" He suggested smugly.
"Oh my god she liked stalked me, ok?" Patrice laughed, covering his face with his hand.
"What the poor neighbor girl?" Gerard asked, curiously.
"The "poor" neighbor girl, dad? She was crazy!" Patrice justified.
"She showed up to one of my parties, naively thinking Patrice would be there-"
"Nope! Your mother is in the room!" Sylvie said loudly, throwing a pillow at Guillame, who chuckled and leaned back, having successfully completed embarrassing his baby brother.
"I was never around when Guill threw parties when our parents were out. I always slept over a friend's--I was the good child," Patrice joked, whispering into Jamie's ear and thumping a thumb into his chest. She laughed, blushing as his hot breath swept the side of her face. She couldn't imagine stories about younger Patrice and girls involving anything much more than his prudence, but at the same time, she couldn't help but admit she was curious about this Joanie neighbor.
"No, but yes," he said, addressing the rest of his family, emphasizing the word "yes." "The first time Jamie and I actually met it was because I almost ran her over with my car," he admitted, shaking his head in defeat as they laughed at him.
"It was snowing though," Jamie offered, trying to help as his family howled with laughter at him.
"Thanks, babe," Patrice laughed defeatedly in jest, patting her thigh.

Sylvie and Gerard had long gone to bed when Guill, Patrice and Jamie found themselves yawning and ready to turn in, too. The fire was still crackling, but less often and with less zest; neither Patrice or Guill could be bothered to leave their seats to stoke it.
Guill had intended on traveling back to the city, but instead let Patrice borrow the truck for the next couple days for he and Jamie's journey to the spa up north. He insisted, saying he'd get a ride back into the city tomorrow from their father.
They had spoken at great length and great detail of his soon-proposal to Gretta. Jamie could tell he was excited but also gravely nervous. For over an hour they dreamt up perfect scenarios and ways in which he could be the utmost romantic, or the most suave lover in his proposal, but more and more he got nervous, and when Jamie asked him why, she found he could never quite put it into words, and more obnoxiously enough, Patrice was always quick to change the subject.
He and his brother had swerved away from Guill's nerves again and began discussing his recent trip to Alaska. As they spoke, Jamie took her time to gaze around the living room again, surrendering to the fact that perhaps Guill just wasn't comfortable enough with her yet to divulge his discrepancies with her. Fair enough, she thought.
She sat behind Patrice, still on the love seat, her legs dangling down and to the sides of his shoulders as he sat on the carpet in front of her, his legs outstretched. Everyone once in a while she would wiggle her toes into the carpet below her pink, sock, clad feet, and he would playfully bat at them with his fingers.
At times when she was involved in conversation, she would lean forward and lace her fingers in his hair, but at times like this, when they were discussing something that allowed for her attention to drift, she'd lean back and Patrice would wrap one of his arms around her calf and stroke her sea-green corduroy clad shin.
She noticed the two center pieces of the room, hung above the mantel, each about the same in size. One, of course, was a number 37 Bruins jersey with BERGERON spelt across its back. The other was a picture of the Aurora Borealis over a snow plain; simply stunning.
She had to admit it seemed a little odd to her that something of Guill's wouldn't be displayed next to his brother's jersey; after all, the Bergeron-Clearys had two boys to be proud of... but she tried not to think too much on the matter.
She continued to look around, at all of the framed pictures of the two boys as infants, toddlers, young children, teenagers in terrible phases of bleached hair and pooka shell necklaces, and adults, as they were now. Most pictures had both of the boys in it, with either Gerard's or Sylvie's arms wrapped around them. A particular favorite of hers was the young boys in full hockey gear, their heads tilted back and their tiny little baby teeth exposed in a broad smile beneath the cage of their hockey helmets, eyes wide with excitement. Another favorite was of Patrice sitting on the bench with his helmet under one arm and a tooth pinched hard between his thumb and middle finger on his other hand, a smile with missing teeth plastered on his face.
"Y'know?" Guill asked, shrugging from where he reclined on the couch adjacent to him. He looked tired and older, his beard fuller than Patrice's who shaved just last night. He yawned and stretched, his hand free of a coffee mug rising above his head. She noticed the mug; it had the National Geographic logo on it.
Then she understood.
"Guill; you're a photographer!" She said, amazedly.
"There she is! My smart amoreaux," Patrice laughed, shaking her leg jokingly and kissing her knee.
"Hm?" She asked, bending forward and looking down at him.
"We were just talking about Guill's trip to Alaska; he takes pictures for National Geographic."
"Is that yours, then?" She asked, gesturing to the stunning photo of the Northern Lights next to Patrice's jersey above the fireplace.
"It is," Guill smiled, tipping the rest of his tea into his mouth and setting his mug on the table. "I took that on my trip to Alaska three years ago. Nat Geo never printed it though; but I must admit, it's one of my favorites."
"Mine too," Patrice nodded, looking up above the fireplace as it crackled, mainly just hot ashes anymore.
"I mostly prefer to be behind the camera than in front of it, like this bozo," Guill jested, nodding to a picture of Patrice winning an award in a Providence Bruins jersey, the most awkward smile on his face. They shared a laugh as Patrice buried his face into the side of Jamie's leg, blushing again.

There was the slightest knock on Patrice's old bedroom door behind her as she quickly pulled her pajama pants up and turned around to watch it open.
"Hm?" She answered, her voice just above a whisper.
"Hi," Patrice smiled, slipping inside his boyhood room.
"Hey," she smiled, taking him in; his dark blue plaid flannel pajama pants, his black socks still keeping his feet warm, his dark grey waffle long sleeved shirt with "BAUER" printed across the chest. He flashed her a tired, truly happy smile as he backed up to the wall and flipped off the lights, whispering, "here" as he moved about the dark room. She heard his bed creak and then he turned on a small lamp resting on his shelving headboard.
The light was dim and the lamp was an old wooden one, its stem carved into the shape of a hockey stick.
Patrice pulled down his quilt and the assortment of blankets Sylvie had made up his bed in for her, and reached his bad hand out to hold hers and guide her into the soft flannel sheets.
She smiled up at him as he tucked her in and finally pulled his Nordiques quilt up to her chin.
"Mon amour, don't sleep on the couch," Jamie begged in soft French.
"Don't worry," he whispered, bending forward and softly pushing her hair out of her face. "I'll spend most of the night here," he smiled as he watched her eyes grow with excitement.
She immediately wormed her way away from the edge of the bed so her back was close to the wall to make room for him. The bed moaned as he got comfortable, and she helped pull all of the blankets up around his back and shoulders as he gently laughed and wiggled around, trying to heat up the space under the covers.
After she had adjusted the blankets around him she left her arms looped around his neck and they scrunched up their noses and rubbed their faces together and into the pillows, giggling and getting warm. His big hands rubbed their way up and down her slim back and eventually she pulled her arms in from around him and let them explore his chest, rubbing hard but relaxing circles into his neck, shoulders, collar bone, and the top of his pecks.
He sighed contently, secretly wanting to moan but was worried about the noise.
As she gently kneaded at him, she noticed his hands had stopped moving and his eyes had closed. She smiled, happy she could relax him, but knowing that he was already relaxed enough as it was, finally having a day off at home. She hoped she could continue to bring him this sense of ease throughout the rest of his season.
"Jamie," he breathed, mouth slightly ajar, eyes lightly shut.
"Hm?" She asked, bumping noses with him.
He smiled and slowly opened his eyes. "I'm so happy you're here," he whispered, letting them shut again. His hands started moving again and he pulled her close to him for a hug, her face pressed into his hard chest as she happily breathed in his musk.
"Mm," she breathed, kissing his waffle shirt. "I'm happy I'm here too."
"I'm so crazy about you," he groaned, hugging her even more close, his hands wrapped around the entirety of her back. She felt his fingertips on his good hand graze her breast. "Are you not wearing a bra?" He asked, completely dead-panned. He released her from his hug.
"Wh-no. Why?" She asked defensively. "You're not supposed to sleep in the-"
"Jay-mieeee" he moaned, his big hands engulfing either side of her waist as he pulled her close to him. "That's so sexy," he rumbled in a low voice, rubbing his cheek along the side of her face.
Jamie couldn't help but laugh, running a hand through his hair on the back of his head and kneading where his head met his neck. She received some more moaning, along with the stretching of his legs, in protest that they were currently not nestled in between her spread ones.
"What's the matter?" She laughed, cuddling his face as he pushed it into the crook of her neck.
"Stooop," he laughed, hitting her chest playfully with his nose. She laughed, pushing herself down so that her face was level with his and their heads were below their pillows.
"I can't believe you're mine," he laughed, cupping the side of her face with his velcroed hand and kissing her, gently.
She agreed into the kiss, and as they parted, she licked her lips. "You're preaching to the choir."
They continued to kiss, their bodies on their sides, pressed together, his hand sliding up and down the length from her hip to her neck and shoulders, sometimes pushing her hair out of their way and sometimes sinking below her waist to gently round the gentle turn of her bum, his fingers feeling fuzzy as they skimmed across her pajama pants.
He knew she wasn't wearing any underwear, either, as his hands could never find the panty line.
Her hands played with the hair on his head or cupped his cheeks. The arm she was turned on was awkwardly stuck between them, but he didn't seem to mind as it stroked his exposed, taught belly, his waffle shirt hitched up due to his position.
Both cautious and hyperaware of the full house surrounding them, their kissing wasn't urgent, but still full of love and meaning. They would pull apart and giggle, look into each other's eyes, lazily let them fall shut again and reconnect. A few times they escalated to using tongues, but even so, it was a gentle easing open of the other's mouth and the sweetest battle between tongues.
When would would linger, fighting off sleep, the other would patiently wait, all the while leaving sweet, gentle kisses on their partner's face and smoothing their hair away from their face.
They were both startled awake as they heard footsteps in the hall. Over Patrice's silhouette, Jamie could see a light turning on and hear a door being shut.
"Guill," Patrice breathed, stroking her cheek. "Bathroom's across the hall."
She made a noise that indicated she understood, and propped her head up on her bent arm, her elbow in the pillows. He looked up at her, the half moon whites of his eyes sparkling in the dark. She smiled down at him, cupping his cheek and running a thumb across his tight jaw line. He closed his eyes again.
They heard the toilet flush and heard the door shut and the steps fade back down the hall.
"Hey Patrice?" she whispered, thinking of his older brother.
"Hm," he breathed, eyes still closed. One hand lay outstretched between them, resting on her chest, the other lay tucked under the pillow beneath his head.
"Why is Guill so nervous about asking Gretta to marry him?" She didn't know if she was overstepping her boundaries; maybe she had been right to think Guill just didn't feel like confiding in her yet--how could she know?
When he didn't respond at first, she felt as if she must've hit the nail on the head...
"Hm?" He breathed, his brow furrowing.
He was fighting sleep something awful.
She smiled, running her hand over the crown of his head, watching his hair flip back into place, as if untouched.
She repeated her question and was met with silence again.
He yawned, rubbing his face into the pillow and without opening his eyes, sighed. "It's complicated," he answered.
Jamie gave a small laugh. "It seems secretive," she suggested.
"No," he responded, shaking his head slowly, probably more for the satisfaction of rubbing his face into the pillows some more rather than for effect. "It's just dark," he divulged.
She turned to lay on her back, her head propped up by the shelf headboard behind her. He gladly wormed his way over to her, molding into her side and letting the side of his face rest on her stomach.
"How do you mean?" She asked, trying to be casual. She continued to gently draw patterns in his straight hair.
He yawned again, bringing his hurt hand up her legs and across her waist, resting it on her stomach.
"Uhm," he began, yawning yet another time and pushing her shirt up her body, letting his hand rest on her bare skin.
She loved his warmth.
"Well... Guill has anger management... problems..." he said, flexing his fingers over her belly, gently tracing her taught skin with his callused fingertips. Jamie immediately remembered their awkward moment in his room earlier today, when Patrice was telling her about how he and his brother used to get their own copies of the NHL yearbook. "Guill got REALLY mad," he had said.
"A lot of it comes from being insecure," he breathed, eyes still closed, fingers still flexing, gliding across her belly as he stretched them, broken and battered, and let them relax; stretched them, and relaxed them.
"A lot of what? The anger?"
"Yeah," he whispered. He stopped working his fingers, and after a few minutes of silence, he looked up at her. He mimicked her position from earlier, turned on his side and propping his own head up with a folded elbow. "Proposing to Gretta is worrisome for my brother for two reasons," he said, his voice still hushed with privacy and tiredness. "He's insecure about their relationship--which to us seems silly because they've been happily together for six years--but which he can't always make himself understand; and two, he's worried that if she says no--which she won't--he'll have a breakdown."
Jamie felt her chest swell with worry. She couldn't imagine living with the fear of insecurity, or the fear of being angry on account of insecurities you knew you had. I mean, she didn't think the world of herself, but she could rationalize with herself, and it was a very powerful tool. From what Patrice was saying, it seemed as if Guill wasn't able to rationalize; would she have doubts if Patrice and her had happily been together for six years?
Hell, she didn't even have doubts now.
And... to be frank, she thought, the fact that she could feel that way now should be a little shocking.
But she didn't care.
She was head over heels for him.
"I don't really like to talk about it," he breathed, snuggling back into her side, pushing her shirt further up her belly and kissing the skin above her ribs gently. She wanted to tell him that they didn't have to talk about it, that he didn't have to divulge his family's secrets, his brother's struggles; but she had a feeling he wasn't done yet.
And he wasn't:
"But, Guill's part of the reason my nose is so messed up," he said, kind of laughing, his hot breath spreading across her abdomen and pouring into her belly button. "He was the first one to break it; we fought in Grade, I dunno, 9, when we both made the Bantam team; he broke my nose."
"What?" I asked, horrified.
"He didn't mean it," Patrice said, trying to justify his older brother. He pushed off of Jamie and assumed his position again, his elbow in the pillows, his head propped up in his hand. Jamie slid back beneath the covers, pulling them up and under her chin, looking up at him for the rest of the story.
"We had both tried out for this tournament team, and, I had been getting pretty good, starting to put on muscle like he had the past summer. And, I guess he didn't think I'd make it, because I was almost too young and this coach was known for taking older kids--in Bantam league you can't be younger than 15 and older than 18, and he was 17 and I was 15--and we both knew the coach wanted the bigger boys because you start to play a real physical game come Bantams, but I made it, I made the team and Guill wasn't too happy about it. Five minutes into our first practice he popped me and had my helmet off within seconds."
Jamie looked up at him with big eyes, trying not to show him how horrified she was. She could tell Patrice wasn't enjoying telling her the story, that he didn't want her to think any differently of his older brother, but, it was a pretty difficult story to understand.
"He's not like that anymore, though, really," Patrice said, smoothing back her hair. "He controls it now, when he was a teenager it was bad. Not so much anymore," he reiterated.
"I believe you," was all she could think to whisper. She caught his hand on her cheek and looked up at him, giving him a smile. He smiled too, and shrugged himself down under the covers with her.
They shared a kiss and she turned away from him, allowing him to pull her close against his chest and stomach, and to nestle his hand between her pajama shirt and the bare skin of her belly as his breathing got heavier and slower, and soon, she didn't even have to turn around to look at him to know he slept with his nose nuzzled in her hair, and his mouth slightly ajar.