Changes

He spun around quickly, almost knocking himself into the water in the process before using the nearby post and carefully pulling himself to his feet, “Allie?”

“It’s me.”

“What’re you doing out here?” he slurred slightly, making me notice the bottle in his hand for the first time. I could barely make out the Jack Daniel’s label in the darkness and cringed when I noticed the state of the bottle—almost empty.

I shrugged and gave him a cold glare, “I could be asking you the same thing. Aren’t you supposed to be waiting for me in the shed?”

He plopped back down onto the end of the dock and swung his legs back and forth carelessly, “Turns out that they use that shed to store the alcohol for the bar. Can someone say jackpot?”

I turned my back towards him and started off the dock, but his voice held me back. “I started drinking because I got nervous about rejection from you. And then I realized that I drank too much, so I left. I didn’t want you to see me like this.” He punctuated his last statement by taking a large swig of the bottle, barely wincing at the burning sensation. I cringed for him.

I made my way back towards him and took a seat next to him, “Well, I’m here now, so why don’t you just tell me whatever it was?”

Up close, I could finally see him clearly. His eyes were glazed over slightly, though they were obviously tired, as dark circles lined the bottom of them. His blonde curls were longer than when I saw him last and lay in a disheveled pile on his forehead. The neatly pressed suit that he was clad in earlier in the night had dwindled down to a simple button-up and a pair of khakis. The top buttons of his shirts were left open, exposing the top of his chiseled chest and the thin gold chain that hung around his neck.

He took another large gulp from the bottle, “Well, Erica had me plan out exactly what I was going to say, but uh…that’s all out the window!” I nodded simply, so he continued, “I mean, first off, I’ll just say I’m sorry. So…I’m sorry, Al. I was a jackass for no reason and nothing that I said was true. You aren’t a whore. Not at all. And don’t let anyone make you think otherwise, even me. The girls that I get involved with are whores, but you are nothing like them. Like at all.

The only reason I said anything was because, to be honest with you, I was drunk. And you know how I get when I’m drunk. Hell, I’m drunk right now! And I get emotional as shit, like I’m a fucking girl or something… But anyway, I felt abandoned by you. We always spend the summer together and it just didn’t seem right coming back without you. I blew up when I realized that you wanted to stay rather than come with me. But I’m not saying that it was your fault. I blew up because I was upset.”

I stared at him for a moment, digesting his apology, “Pat…”

He stopped me before I could fully respond, “I know what I did was bad. Trust me, Erica’s told me everyday for the past two weeks, practically every goddamn second. But I really just need you to give me a pass. Please, Al?”

“Alright,” I agreed in barely a whisper.

His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened slightly, “Really?”

“Really.”

He smiled broadly and straightened up considerably before placing a hand on my knee, “I really am sorry, Al. You have no idea.”

I scooted closer to him and sighed when I felt his arms wrap around my tiny frame, “It’s fine, Pat. It really is. I know you didn’t mean anything you said; I just overreacted a bit.”

He stuffed his face into the crook of my neck and nodded lightly. Letting out a large sigh of relief, he retrieved his face from my skin and glanced towards the lit-up tent at the top of the hill. “I think I’ve had enough to drink tonight, so what do you say about getting outta here?”

I nodded quickly in response and snatched the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from his hand, tossing back a large swig of it. My nose scrunched up as the burning liquid hit the back of my throat. I pulled my phone out of my bra and sent a quick text to Grant to let him know that I wouldn’t be returning to the party and that he was free to return home whenever he wanted. Though I felt bad for basically ditching my own boyfriend and the party, it would feel better to walk along the shore with Pat.

“Let’s roll, pretty lady,” Pat stood up from his seat and offered me one of his large hands, which I took immediately and squeezed, sending him a large grin from my seat on the dock. It felt great to have my best friend at my side again.

We made our way off the dock and onto the shore, immediately starting our trek towards Pat’s lakeside house. Within a few minutes, our shoes were kicked off and dangling from our hands, and Pat’s dress pants were rolled at the bottom slightly. We talked aimlessly as we left the glowing party behind and made our way into the darkness of the shore. Though Pat’s house was pretty close to the reception, our slow pace stalled us greatly and we finally arrived at his back porch an hour later.

“Finally!” my hands shot up in triumph, dumping the last of the Jack Daniel’s down my throat and carelessly tossing the empty bottle into the sand. I practically sprinted towards his porch and launched myself onto his outdoor couch. Pat, following my lead, also launched himself towards the couch, evidently finding it okay to land on top of me.

“Pat!” I squealed, trying to catch my breath under his heavy weight, “Get off!”

“No,” he groaned into the back of my neck, before wrapping his arms around my waist and flipping us over in one fluid motion. As soon as we settled, with my back pressed flush against his chest, he moved his hands to the front of my stomach, clasping them together. For a few moments, we stayed silent, peering up at the dark night sky. Though we were near the large city of Buffalo, the sky still triumphed that of Chicago. Countless stars were sprinkled across the dark backdrop, differing in brightness and size. If you looked closely, small satellites could be seen, traveling slowly across the dark expanse and doing who-knows-what. The large moon peered slightly above the tops of the trees, casting a mystical glow across the waters of the nearby lake.

It reminded me of the countless nights that Pat and I spent together during our summers. The porch became our sanctuary from the craziness of our everyday lives, which we crammed with activities to make the most of our short time together. After nights in the city or with our friends, Pat and I would retreat to his house and always find our way to the porch—even in our drunken states. And more often than not, I would awake with a stiff neck and sprawled out across his outdoor couch.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” Pat mumbled from underneath me, his breath tickling the skin of my neck, “But I really could go for some vodka.” I giggled at his blatant need for alcohol and pushed myself up from the couch.

“Stay here; I’ll get it,” I smiled, pushing one of the large sliding doors open and stepping into his kitchen. I returned moments later with two bottles of alcohol—a large handle of Grey Goose for Pat and another bottle of Jack Daniel’s for me. Pat had scooted towards the arm of the couch, sitting up slightly against the pillows and patting the space between his legs. I handed him his bottle and plopped down between his thighs, opening the new bottle of whiskey and allowing a large gulp to slide down my throat.

“Let’s catch up, Al,” he took a swig of the vodka, “What’s new with you?”

I paused for a moment, thinking about the past two weeks I spent in Chicago without Pat. Not much had happened. My relationship with Grant had progressed greatly. I mean, we had said the ‘L’ word and everything. But I didn’t feel like sharing that with Pat just yet.

“Nothing really,” I shrugged a shoulder, pressing the rim of the bottle to my lips, “How’s the love life of Stanley Cup Champion Patrick Kane going? How are the lovely puck bunnies treating you?”

He shrugged underneath me and sighed. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been with a puck bunny since…” he thought for a moment, “Since I don’t even know.”’

I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond to his confession. Pat almost always had stories about ridiculous puck bunnies and their antics—though due to my pleading, he always left out some of the more dirty details. Straying away from the puck bunnies was so unlike Pat, especially in the summertime when he had more free time to hit up his usual clubbing spots.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed and I could almost picture his eye-roll, “Surprising, huh?”

I simply nodded, “You alright, Pat?” I swiveled in my position and faced him, sitting criss-cross between his legs.

He nodded and took a large swig of his vodka bottle, “Just peachy.”

“Pat…”

We sat in silence for a moment, as I awaited his real answer. It was obvious that Pat was exactly feeling up to par; and though I wouldn’t force it out of him, I was really worried about him.

However, he simply turned his attention to the label on his bottle and inspected it carefully, peeling back the corners slightly and then sticking them back on. He refused to make eye contact with me, even as I nudged his knees annoyingly.

“Alright,” I sighed defeated, “We don’t have to talk about it now, but I’m here whenever you’re ready. You know that.” I scooted in closer and wrapped my arms around his large torso. He returned my embrace lightly and nuzzled his face into the skin of my neck.

“I missed you so much,” his breath tickled me skin slightly before he pulled back and placed a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

I nodded and retrieved my hands from his muscular back, “I miss you, too, Patty.”

He laughed at his childhood nickname and shook his head disapprovingly, taking a large gulp of his vodka. As a response, I took a large swig of my own bottle, forcing myself not to grimace as the liquid burned my throat.

“Let’s play a game,” a mischievous smirk found its way onto his face before he shouted excitedly, “Never have I ever!”

I laughed at his excitement, “What? Are we still in middle school or something?”

He pouted childishly and used one of his large hands to push my shoulder playfully, “Don’t burst my bubble, Al.”

Shaking my head, a large grin spread across my lips, “Never have I ever streaked through Buffalo…”

He threw his hands up, “Oh! Come on! It was one time!”

I waved my hand at his excuse, “Drink up, Kane.”

“Never have I ever been drugged by my friends.”

I scowled at him and retorted quickly, “Never have I ever drugged my friends!” After a moment of sending each other cold glares, we both took large shots from our bottles.

“Good times, right?” Pat smiled cheekily at me, causing me to dole out a harmless punch.

“Asshole.”

After about twenty minutes of playing the childish game, we decided to call it quits. Pat’s bottle was nearly empty, but mine remained half full. It was the perfect representation of our relationship. Though sometimes I found myself being the drunk, it was constantly Pat who had to be taken care of and I was deemed the babysitter. Our partying nights almost always consisted of black-mail-worthy material. I just happened to have more dirt on him, which helped extremely when I wanted Pat to do me a favor. All I had to do was reach into my back pocket and scroll through my pictures. If any were posted online, his fan girls would probably consider it Christmas.

“Why do you always win?” Pat groaned—and slurred greatly—from his sprawled out position on the porch floor.

“I dunno; I’m just a better person.”

Pat stuck out his bottom lip, “But it’s not fair!”

“Yeah; well, life’s not fair, buddy,” I shrugged, placing my bottle on the table next to me. “Come up here, Pat.” He nodded slowly, pushing himself up from the ground and flinging himself onto the couch behind me. As soon as his body hit the cushions, he wrapped a heavy arm around me and pulled me into his torso.

He closed his eyes and mutter sloppily, “I really did miss you.”

I nodded and pushed myself further into his chest, “Same here, P.”

“My life’s been a mess without you recently,” he slurred into my ear. I didn’t respond and quietly urged him to continue. “Like I just won the fucking Stanley Cup, but I still feel sort of unsatisfied. Everyone thinks that I’ve grown up; but in reality, I really haven’t. I still go out and party. I still fuck puck bunnies on the daily.

“I feel like I need change in my life. Like maybe I really should just grow up. But I dunno, Al. It’s fucking complicated and thinking about it makes my head spin—or maybe that’s just the alcohol. I dunno. But I need you, Al. I really, really do.”

I paused. Those words seemed all too familiar, like I had heard them recently, and suddenly I got the sense of déjà vu.

I was wrapped up in Pat’s large arms, my own flung around his neck and my cheek pressed onto his bare chest. My fluffy comforter surrounded us and reminded me that we had made it home to my apartment. I had just finished a rant to Pat about him helping me—or something along those lines.

He smiled down at me cheekily, “I’m glad I could help.” He followed the statement with a slow kiss to my forehead, causing me to open up my heavy eyelids and stare into his ice-blue orbs. A few seconds passed and he pressed another kiss to the tip of my nose, causing a small blush to paint its way onto my cheeks.

“I need you, too,” he stated simply, moving his lips to my cheek. “I really, really do.”

Another kiss to the side of my lips, barely touching the corner of them. His touches were the only thing that I registered in my drunken state, but I suddenly became aware of how close we really were. Our bodies were tangled together and his lips were hovering over every part of my lips.

Before I could stop myself, words tumbled out of my mouth drunkenly, “Come here.”

My mind raced as I replayed the newly recovered memory. I choked on my words, “I’m right here.”