Je t'aime, tu sais?

Patrice smiled, rubbed the back of his neck bashfully and tossed his phone behind him. He slid forward on the bench of his stall and doubled over, untying his skates.
Jamie was on her way, and he felt like a kid on Christmas morning.
And he couldn't knock off that stupid smile thing she kept making him do; it had been a month now and he couldn't shake it!
He thought excitedly about introducing her to some of the guys. He couldn't quell his anticipation for her to encounter another huge aspect of his life face to face, for her to see the room in which he spent so many hours for so many years. He stretched on the carpeted floor ritually, he trudged to and fro in his skates, in his heavy, wet gear, he had flip flopped to the showers an insane number of times, he had even thrown up into the trashcan that sometimes stood in the center. He couldn't count the number of times he'd given a pep talk, or Ferry had given a pep talk, or Savvy, or Recchi, or Z, or Coach. The number of swears this room had heard. The heart to hearts its walls have recorded. The blood, sweat, and tears he'd willingly and unwillingly given between these cement bricks. He and Tuukka had organized games of floor hockey and knee hockey on the carpet colored to look like a rink; he had had Marchand's younger sister walk on his back once in this room, trying to crack a kink out of it, only to have Babs walk by and flip out.
This was his locker room.
This was his home.
"Hey," Marchy said, scuffling across the room, his skates half undone, his hockey pants hanging loose and his shiny chest exposed, belly out, breathing deep, still recovering from the workout. He sat down as Patrice nodded to him and went back to untying his skates.
"What's up, bud," he said to his friend as Marchy sat. He mimicked the alternate captain, digging his fingers into his own laces.
"Nothin' really," the liney said, shrugging. Patrice had a feeling Marchy was taking his time with his skates, waiting for most of the guys to hit the showers. Some already had and had made their way to see Babs or get a rub down, others were off to watch film or meet their respective agents for lunch or what not. In due time the traffic in the locker room died down some, the bantering from the crew headed toward the showers still loud but further away, echoing off of the tiled walls of the bathroom next door. Patrice did a sweep to see who was left in the room, and caught Marchy doing the same.
Soupy was intently staring at his phone, his elbows on his knees, one hand holding his phone out before him, the other held to his face, his teeth biting the tip of his thumb. His hand moved from his mouth to his forehead, holding his head up. Quaider sat on the carpeted floor with a foam roller working on a knot in his glut, still covered completely in his spandex from the morning skate, and Johnny Boychuk and Ferry were still slowly but surely getting dressed from their earlier showers, talking adamantly about something and laughing. Johnny had just run a towel through his wet hair and it stuck up maniacally in all directions; per usual, Ferry was referencing something on his iPhone.
"So, I, uh," Marchy began, but before he could go anywhere dramatic, Soupy stole his thunder.
With a vile swear, the perpetually soft spoken Merlot liner hurled his phone into the carpeted floor as he stood, his face covered in a look none of the men had ever seen off the ice before.
Soupy made eye contact with no one as his four team mates looked at him with shocked expressions. Without acknowledging them, he fastened a towel around his waist, not even bothering to pull off his compression shorts, stamped his feet into his flip flops, threw his baseball hat with a loud clap into his stall, and stomped off toward the bathroom to shower.
"Throw that fucking shit away. I never want to see it again in my life." He spat as he walked away, his words dripping in a vehemence unrecognizable, violently gesturing to his phone with a pointed finger, not bothering to even look back.
"Hey Soups!" Patrice called after him, standing, alarmed.
"Fuck off!" They heard him yell, his already high voice strained and painful, ricochetting through the tiled halls of the bathroom.
"What the fuck," Ferry stated, in shock. Marchy and Johnny made quick eye contact and both immediately dove for the phone, shattered in pieces in front of Soupy's stall.
"Aw, guys... seriously?" Quaider asked, slightly disgusted but still laughing just a little at their immature desire to snoop in their friend's business.
"What?" Marchy defended as he and Johnny played with the phone, bending down on their knees, trying to collect the pieces.
"Yeah, what if we need to kick someone's ass for Soups or something," Johnny said, hardly paying any mind to Quaider, toggling the on and off switch of the broken device. Both men gasped.
"It works!" Marchy squealed, quickly standing up next to Johnny and attempting to look over his shoulder. Even on skates, Marchy was shorter than the blueliner. The men gasped again and Marchy kicked off his skates and ran down the hall, looking into the bathroom. He immediately came back after confirming Soupy was out of earshot in the shower, and clumsily stepped out of his hockey pants that had made their way down his waist. Johnny whirled around to face Patrice, Quaider, and Ferry.
"Meghan's out," he said in shock.
"What? What do you mean she's 'out'? What does that even mean?" Ferry asked impatiently, showing his palms, confused.
Johnny read from the shattered phone. " 'Hey Gregory,' she wrote. 'I've been thinking about this a lot and I think you're right, we should go our separate ways. As we had been talking about last night, I just don't love you like I used to. I'm sorry, Greg. If you could give me until the end of the week to move out, I'd really appreciate it. I do not wish to be contacted. I'll leave my key under the mat.' "
"WHAT," Quaider and Patrice yelled.
"Oh shit," Ferry moaned.
"How the fuck long did they date?!" Quaider asked, stupefied, looking worried himself, as if no one would ever love again. He sat on the carpet with a foam roller under his leg, hopelessly. "Didn't she move here with him?"
"She did," Ferry nodded, still devastated.
Patrice's body goose pimpled all over, and his eyes whirred out of focus.
He couldn't fathom.
He couldn't...
fathom...
They heard a bunch of showers turn off and deep laughter bound throughout the halls and Johnny scrambled to toss the phone in the trash inconspicuously, as Torey, Seggy, Thorty, Looch, and Z made their ways out of the shower.
"Wuh oh," Torey laughed as he walked into the locker room, looking at all the men either zoned out or trying to mind their own business. "Smells like trouble to me."
No one laughed.
"Oh-kay," the rookie sang, awkwardly making his way back to his stall.
"Tough crowd, kid," Thorty chuckled, making his way to his.
Patrice sat with his head in his hands, his heart beating anxiously, as if he himself were going to be broken up with; Marchand sat gloomily, slumped back in his stall, probably recalling dark thoughts he himself had been having; Ferry stood, shaking his head and looking at the ground.
"Boys?" Z asked, pulling a shirt over his chest at his stall.
They heard the last shower grind to a stop and the noise of a towel sliding off of its rack.
No one answered the captain, except Patrice. He made eye contact with Z and mouthed "Soups," and nodded toward the shower.
A few seconds later, Soupy made his way into the locker room.
Everyone was quiet.
Johnny sat in his stall, watching his feet tap his toes to no song in particular, making eye contact with anyone else in the room but Soupy; Quaider had straightened up, his ass on the carpet and the foam roll behind him between his back and the wooden seat of the stall. He still looked hopeless.
"In case anyone's wondering," he said, his voice strained, as if speaking was a lot of work, as opposed to something like crying. "Meghan and I broke up," he finished, clenching the towel around his waist and pulling his day clothes out of his gym bag with his other hand. He made no eye contact. "She's headed back to Toronto by the end of the week."
Z looked at Quaider, Ferry, Johnny, Marchy, and Patrice as if he were disappointed they didn't fill him in. But then, Soupy said something pretty unexpected.
"I'm not mad," the man said, dropping his towel and stepping into a pair of dark wash jeans. He jiggled his knees as he zipped them up. "Really," he nodded, turning around and pulling on his shirt. A few of the men nodded, awkwardly.
No one spoke.
"Hey man," Marchy finally said. "If you need a place to stay..." he extended his hand quiet literally, palm up. He offered Soupy a shrug.
"Yeah man, I'd appreciate that," Soups nodded, shrugging on a jean shirt and working on the buttons. "I gotta give her some time to clear her shit out. I'd also like to pick up my dog."
"No problem, I love Zoro. He can have the spare bed and we'll put a little mat for you on the ground," Marchy joked, getting up and grabbing his towel as the men chuckled and went back to their daily activities. Patrice watched Marchy approach Soupy and invite him out for a beer, said he got his ass dumped too. That he shouldn't rent a hotel, Marchy had two perfect beds and there was solidarity in numbers. They could spend the next couple days together, Zoro too.
Patrice was torn out of his eavesdropping by the obnoxious rumbling of his phone from inside his gym bag. Fuck, he remembered.
Jamie was supposed to be coming in today.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be right out," Patrice whispered.
"Uhm, okay?" Jamie said, stopping mid-stride inside the lobby of the Garden.
"Just... uh, yeah; I'll be right out." He hung up.
"What the...?" Jamie asked herself, a bit annoyed. Wasn't she supposed to be coming IN? She walked around the lobby of the Garden. A few people sat reading the paper, waiting for their trains, and every once and a while someone in business attire would stride from the Executive Office door for a coffee stop at the Dunkin Donuts.
Jamie examined the tall pillars, each plastered with a larger than life poster of one of the Bruins. Naturally, she found herself smiling in front of her Bruin, dressed from head to toe in Reebok gear with a stern look on his face. Her temporary annoyance with him quickly faded as she gazed at his face, his strong features making her stomach knot up in a kind of sexual anticipation. A shiver went up her spine as she remembered his treat this morning. His hot, wet lips and smooth tongue...
She shook her head, and waltzed around, forcing herself to move to another pillar. As she stood in front of Brad Marchand's decal, she pushed her hands into her coat pocket. She wore light pink corduroys and a dark cranberry colored thin long sleeved shirt, topped off with a big thick knitted oatmeal colored scarf that poured over top of her black peacoat with gold buttons. Her crazy hair was tied in a messy bun with random ringlets trickling down the back of her neck and descending from the nest on top of her head. She thought about Patrice's question from the night before.
"What's something you've always wanted?" He had asked. She had avoided answering not because she didn't know, but rather, because she had never told anyone before. Ever.
She looked at Brad's jersey and how it folded and creased around his pads. She looked at his padded gloves and the big BAUER script printed over the tops of them.
She wondered what he had always wanted, but never got...
"Oh well lookie here!" A voice behind her boomed. She whirled around, beaming in embarrassment at what she knew she was going to be accused of, her hands clutched around her arms.
"Uh oh, Bergy," Andy continued to joke with her. "Looks like Mr. Marchand here has a new fan!"
The men made their way over to her laughing, Patrice being roughed by a playful jab from Andy's elbow. There was a third man with them that she didn't recognize, but as she tried to place him amongst the pillars, every time she made eye contact with him, he bashfully looked away. He seemed young, no older than Emily, but certainly less... "socially inclined," she'd call it.
"Hi," Patrice breathed in a laugh. He pushed his gym bag behind him and brought her into a quick hug, kissing the side of her face.
"Hi," she replied, taking hold of his elbows.
"Sorry," he said, diving right into their phone conversation. "One of the guys in the locker room was broken up with no more than fifteen minutes before you called. I didn't want to like, I dunno, tote our happy selves around the locker room in front of him, y'know?" He said diplomatically, turning around with her to face Andy and the other man.
"Oh," Jamie said, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, of course. No worries. Maybe some other time?"
"Definitely," Patrice smiled, taking her hand in his. "This is Adam," he said, gesturing to the tallest man among the three. His hair was dark and long enough to slick back with gel. He was pretty handsome, she reasoned, even with that shy demure.
"Hi," Jamie smiled, extending her hand.
"Hi," Adam nodded, taking it and sharing a shake with her.
"He's a defensemen," Andy said. "He is also the occasional babysitter," he continued, matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said, quietly, quickly making eye contact with Jamie and looking away again, a smile playing on his lips to something funny only he knew.
"My girls love him. They call him Darth Quaider. Makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches in the world, apparently."
"That's excellent!" Jamie laughed. "A good grilled cheese cannot be beaten. What are you up to?"
"Krista's running a half marathon and I volunteered to help run the November Project booth so, kinda too swamped for kids this afternoon," Andy reasoned as he shrugged.
"Fair enough," Jamie nodded in agreement.
"We're outta here though; don't wanna be late," Andy said, checking his watch. He moved his gym bag over to his other shoulder and clapped Adam on the back.
"Nice to meet you!" Jamie called after them. Adam looked over his shoulder and gave a wave, only to have Andy give him a hard time about being anti-social in jest.
Patrice snaked his arm around Jamie's shoulders and guided her out through toward the garage. He held the heavy door open for her into the private section and as they squeezed through the door together he was sure to wrap her tightly, bringing her close to him so he could plant a good, long kiss on her temple. She giggled, attaching one of her hands to his chest as they walked in unison to his car.
His Audi chirped to life as he opened the trunk and tossed his gym bag in there and Jamie made her way to the passenger's seat.
"Hey, see you later, Soups!" He called over the roof of the car, waving. Jamie stood up tall again, halting her descent into the vehicle. She looked in the direction Patrice was facing and saw Brad and another man named Gregory--if she could remember correctly. He was at the Ference's New Years Eve party.
He gave a feeble nod as he slumped into the passenger's side of Brad's car. Jamie watched the two line mates make eye contact and given one another an assuring nod. Then, Patrice lowered himself into the driver's seat.

"I just don't get Soups," Patrice said, leaning back in his booth seat and shrugging. "He had a little meltdown and trashed his phone and then came out and tried to say everything was fine."
"Well he obviously doesn't want to appear hurt in front of you guys, right?" Jamie tried, sucking on her straw.
"I dunno, I mean, I believe him when he says he's not mad... I think maybe it was a long time coming..." Patrice hypothesized, watching Jamie swirl the red straw with her finger. Everything she did made his stomach warm. As he smiled at her the warmth spread throughout his entire body and his skin prickled with the pleasure he knew she could elicit from him. He sighed again, thinking of his heartbroken teammates and what it would feel like to be alone, especially after being with someone like Jamie. "There's just so much shit going on in the locker room," he sighed.
"Yeah?" she asked inquisitively.
"It's--uh... it's... there'a lot going on," he nodded, bringing a straw full of cold water to his lips and sucking down half the glass.
"Like what?" Jamie asked, curiously, setting her chin in her hand, her elbow propped up on the table. She gazed at him from across the small booth. They sat at a pizza shop in the North End, a place Ferry had recommended to him long ago that he now frequented. They waited for their sausage, pepper, and onion pizza they were going to split. And by split, they meant quarter, with Jamie claiming one fourth, and Patrice claiming the other three fourths.
"Well... I dunno. Marchy's apparently had this girlfriend for like, four years--"
"Really?"
"I know, right? No one really knew about it, but, she lives in Rhode Island and that's where he spends all his summer and vacation time, so, it makes sense..." he shrugged, thinking. "But, anyways, she broke up with him a month ago and he's been completely sidelined. He hasn't scored a point in at least the last 8 games and he's just been a completely different person both on and off the ice--thank you," he said, as the waiter brought him another glass of water and a chicken caesar salad. He pulled his utensils out of the napkin and set it on his lap, digging into the mixed greens hungrily.
"That explains why he was kind of short with Alex that game we went to," Jamie thought aloud, sipping on her Diet Coke.
"Well get this," Patrice said, pointing his fork at her. He finished a crouton and stabbed another piece of chicken, ready for the next bite. He swallowed, almost looking as if he had bit off more than he could manage. "Alex looks exactly like Marchy's girl, except Alex is a brunette and Katrina is a blonde."
"No way," Jamie said, furrowing her brow.
"Dead on," Patrice confirmed, pinching a crouton between his thumb and forefinger and popping it in his mouth. "And, she's got a kid."
"Marchy--"
"Not his," Patrice clarified, pinching another crouton and offering it to Jamie across the table. She smiled, taking it from his big fingers and placing it delicately into her mouth. "You're doing it wrong," he joked, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "You're supposed to let me feed you," he instructed, offering her another one. She laughed and obeyed, leaning forward as he popped the hardened bread into her mouth. They shared a smile.
"Anyways, he's four or five I think? I think his name is Owen. But Marchy supports him; Katrina doesn't work. She lives with her parents and when she comes to see Marchy in Boston Owen lives with them. He's got his own bed at Marchy's place."
"No way," Jamie said, incredulous. "He seems so... so young for that kind of... that kind of commitment..." she wondered aloud.
"Well, that's where they got into the fight, he said some things about how much pressure he feels to grow up so fast with Owen around--he loves him, don't get me wrong--wants him back, but, it cuts into his time being a kid himself, y'know? I get it, totally," Patrice said, nodding severely in agreement and using his last slice of grilled chicken to mop up any remaining Caesar dressing with his fork and then sucking a drop off of his thumb.
Jamie's stomach flipped.
"He's a mess though. Poor kid," he sighed, shaking his head. "He's taking Soupy in this week, his girlfriend said she needed till Sunday to move her stuff out," he said, changing subjects from one broken hearted forward to the other. "I dunno how he'll get Zoro out of the apartment though, especially without a phone to contact her."
"Zoro?"
"His bulldog. Soups loves his dog more than air," Patrice laughed, and then gasped as the pizza was delivered, whispering an excited "yes!" and making a celebratory gesture with his hand, smiling at Jamie, his mouth just the slightest bit open, elated.
Jamie laughed, loving his adorableness. "Or more than you love pizza!" She joked.
"No one loves anything more than I love food," Patrice said between his teeth, holding the doughy prize delicately between his canines. He pulled his face away from the pizza, successfully severing himself a bite to chew.
"Eshpeshilly pissa."

Jamie leaned on the granite countertop in Patrice's kitchen, a warm glass of red wine just within her reach as she gazed at the television across the living room showing reruns of Friends. Her elbows were propped up on the granite, holding her head up by her chin, and her butt stuck out as she leaned forward to hold her position.
She was draped in Patrice's massive navy blue cable knit sweater, the same one he had worn during their trip to Quebec, and her underwear. Her hair was tied up in a knotted but on top of her head, her typical messy ringlets all around her face.
She played with her lips with a fingertip, tracing their plush outline, smiling as she remembered the last 24 hours with Patrice.
After pizza they had walked arm and arm around the North End, ambling their way into Mike's Pastry, where they bought two canolis for dessert. They walked around the North End of town some more, his arm around her shoulders, her arm around his waist, with the little white box tied with blue string dangling from one of his hooked fingers the entire time, waiting to be enjoyed later.
They returned to his apartment full and tired, placed the canolis in the refrigerator and crawled into his silky bed, drawing the blinds for an afternoon nap. Their cuddling was sweet and innocent for a little while, Patrice's nose in her hair and her hands cradling one of his into her chest, tucked beneath her chin, as the other gently made its way up and down her side, tracing the slope of her hips and the dips in her collar bone. The cuddling didn't last, though, and soon escalated into the release of passions both had done their best to keep buried beneath themselves all day.
Jamie presently pulled the glass of wine toward her and took a sip, swallowing as she bit her lip and took a deep breath. She enjoyed being in Patrice's apartment alone, swimming in his heavy sweater and feeling sexy in nothing else but her underwear. She was always so professional in every aspect of her life, she was definitely enjoying pretending to be the sexy housewife for a little.
She remembered taking him in her lips and the almost inhuman noise that fell from his mouth as he pushed his head back into the mattress, sucking in his stomach as he arched his back and knotted the sheets with his fingers. He had panted and cussed and curled his toes the entire time she returned his morning favor, his dirty mouth only making her enjoy the activity even more.
His abs rippled as he panted and pawed at her as if begging her to come up to him and then she did that thing with her tongue and he moaned so loud, tearing the fitted sheet off of its corner as he clenched the silk with white knuckles.
Although her jaw ached she was reeling with the power she had over him, her lips between his legs.
She loved the pleasure she could incite in him.
"Oh, mon amour," he groaned, leaning forward and gliding his fingers into her hair. She looked up at him without stoping. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth hung open, his heavy brow furrowed. She did that thing with her tongue again and she watched a ripple of pleasure rock his body, starting with a buck in his hips. "Oh fuck me Jamie," he begged like an addict, sliding his hand underneath her chin, guiding her face up to his and kissing her full on on the lips. He whispered his command again, pulling her over him as he lay back on his back and she obeyed.
After that they napped.
For a long while.
Jamie took another sip of her wine and then made her way over to the kitchen sink to clean a few dishes. She started with the pan that Patrice used to cook their salmon the night before.
After their nap, they had woken to dinner hunger. They slipped on their pajamas and Patrice threw some pink salmon and some string beans into a skillet as Jamie sat on the granite counter top next to him in the same outfit she had on now. He cooked their dinner and ran his hands along her bare thighs, kissing her whenever there was a spare minute on the burner. After cooking, he tossed the pan in the sink where it lay now and they climbed back into bed to share a plate of salmon and beans.
Since then, they hadn't left the bed until two hours ago, around six pm, when Patrice finally rose to get dressed for a guys' night dinner at Abe and Louie's.
Jamie remembered watching from his bed bed, laying on her stomach and holding her chin up with her arm folded at the elbow. As she watched him towel dry off and slip into his boxer briefs, his white dress shirt, and his dark grey sports suit, they discussed Emily's plans to drive down to Boston the next day and stay with Jamie while they looked for a bigger apartment. Although Patrice futilely offered and offered his guest room to Emily, neither she nor Jamie would allow it. Both girls insisted that Emily pay rent and learn to live on her own, even if it meant Jamie moving into a place with the younger sister.
"Yeah?" Patrice has asked her, turning to face Jamie from his full length mirror. He held the tie up to his outfit and then removed it, asking her opinion. She pulled herself up and draped her lean legs over the end of his bed. She motioned for him to come closer. As he obeyed she looped the tie around his neck solely for the purpose of pulling him down on top of her onto the soft mattress below, kissing him playfully and giggling.
She washed the pan they used to cook salmon and set it in his drying rack, moving onto the cups they drank orange juice out of this morning. She remembered his promise that when he got back from Abe and Louie's with the guys that they would get in bed and share a canoli and sleep wonderfully until the next morning, where she had to go to work and he had to go to morning skate. He promised he would kiss her until she fell asleep just because.
She found herself uncontrollably smiling as she washed the glasses.
She knew he was just downstairs, probably sitting with his plate empty of any remaining steak and potato and talking with the guys. She knew they were getting together to cheer Gregory up. Brad and Tyler were going to be there, Milan and a few others she hadn't really met yet; guys named Johnny, Piesy, and Thorty. She imagined him there, leaning back in his padded chair with his sleeves rolled up and his jacket hanging nearby on a rack with his teammates. She imaged him laughing at something Milan said, his teeth bared, his eyes crinkling in crow's feet.
He was so beautiful.
Her phone buzzed alive with a text. She grabbed the device on the way to the couch and fell back on its soft surface with a light "poof" and opened the message.
"Alex is here," the text from Patrice read in French.
She began to respond, but before she could press send, she received another, this time from her friend.
"Your boy is at Abe and Louie's looking dapper; where the fuck are you?" Alex asked. Jamie smiled able to hear the sass in her friend's text.
"Actually just upstairs, haha. Patrice's apartment is conveniently located on the sixth floor. It's guys' night though, so I'm just relaxing."
"Good, that means I can run away to you when (not if) this date fails. 0.o" Alex wrote back a few seconds later.
"Expensive date to be testing the waters, Alex! He must really like you ;)" Jamie replied, stirring the shit pot.
"I sure do pick winners..." Alex responded, her message laden with sarcasm.
Jamie chuckled and switched back to her text to Patrice. "How's March?"
"Noticeably quieter :/" He texted back. "I'll be back soon. I miss you."
"Don't rush, mon amour. Your teammates need you."
"So do you!" He responded. She laughed aloud as she read his message.
"Don't be cheeky!" She typed back, hitting send and closing the phone. She pulled his long sleeves down over the tips of her fingers and rolled to her side, watching Phoebe and Chandler arguing on TV, tucking them under a pillow and loving every minute of being the sexy housewife waiting for her beau.