Master of Timing

”No no no, Brent!"

She was spinning. Fast. Too fast for her mind to keep up with. And she could see every spin that Claire was pouring more margarita mix into her glass and she had no idea how much she'd had to drink and God, they had barely eaten any food and this was all too much. 

Water.

She needed water.

H2o would fix everything. If only Brent would let her put her feet back on the floor.

"Lyndsey. Why don't you just-ever dance, we can dance!" He slurred, reaching an arm out to pull Claire into the now would-be hug, swaying all three of them back and forth to the sounds of Justin Timberlake's Cry Me a River. Lyndsey's face was pressed up against his chest, his 6 foot two frame towering over her.

"I need water," She complained, trying to push herself back, ignoring Claire's gasp. Who had taken it upon herself to grab tight to Lyndsey's shirt. "Lemme goooo."

"How dare-" Claire hiccupped, pealing off into a fit of laughter, "How dare you ruin tequila with water. What is wrong with you?"


"I'm drunk!" She protested, managing to wiggle herself free from the both of them without falling over, tunnelling her vision on the kitchen - and more importantly, the faucet. Screw glasses. Who needs manners when you're drunk.

The water was cool and refreshing, both in her mouth and what she had splashed on her face. She only ever got this hammered when she was at either home, or Claire's, because there was no way she was embarrassing herself in public after what was possibly the 4th blender that the trio were on. The ingredients for the tacos were still on the coffee table.

"Ooooooh, Lyndsey!"

She groaned, shaking her head, sliding down the kitchen cupboards under the sink and resting on the tiles. Here was good. Mmmh, cold floor. Her cheeks were on fire.

"Oh, no you don't missy!" The voice was suddenly right above her, shaking her shoulder.

"Just let me die in peace, woman!"

She felt something hard smack into her hand, frowning before blearily peeking one eye open. Claire was next to her, equally as drunk, waving her phone in her face. Sidney was staring back at her - oh! He was calling.

Jeez, it's late in New York. Which is where he was.

"Yeah, so answer it, dummy."

Oh. Speaking out loud.

"Hi," She sighed into the phone, after spending the few dying seconds of the ring tone trying to swipe her phone open with wet fingers. "Hi, hello. Hello!"

“Uh... Lynds?” He sounded confused. That's weird.

"Yep, that's me. Lyndsey. Lyndsey Loo Whoo." She broke off into giggles with Claire, slumping on each other after her best friend had joined her on the floor. Where was Brent?

Sidney was quiet. Had he hung - “…Wow. How drunk are you?" He sounded happy. Tired, but happy. Happy like when she was there.

"Only about a little bit. More than the time with..." She trailed off, distracted as Brent came rolling into the room, eyes closed as he listened to the music - which had changed to some kind of latin, maybe Enrique. Mmmm, Enrique.

"Trust me, it's not her worst!" Claire said loudly, directed at Lyndsey's hand. She pushed her away, struggling to stand up.

"Don't listen to Claire. She knows the least of the things."

“You're fun to talk to when you're drunk."

“I’m fun to talk to always," Lyndsey protested, brushing past Brent who was holding onto the fridge with one hand, still dancing with his eyes closed.

“Not going to argue with you there. But I guess I'll let you get back to it,” He resigned and Lyndsey couldn't think of anything worse. Why was he going to hang up?! She was nearly at another couch. In private. Away from sneaky ears. “They like to eavesdrop, huh?”

Oops. More word vomit.

"They are the worst. You're not. How in- is New York?" Why weren't her lips moving the way she wanted them to? Why couldn't she feel them, more importantly.

“New York is the same as it always is. Why don't I call you tomorrow after morning skate before I nap? You sound like you're having a good time, I don't want to interrupt your time with your friends." His voice was so soft spoken and sincere, and if she were an over the top emotional drunk, she'd be crying. But his voice sounded so nice, and the couch she had found to lie down on was comfy and it was about as close as she could get to actually being with him that she didn't want to hang up the phone just yet.

But. He was probably tired. And just calling her because they hadn't really had a chance to speak that day. She should let him go to sleep.

"I miss you," She murmured, eyes closing as she curled up in a tight ball. There was a throw rug on the back of the sofa that she dragged down over her legs. There. Perfect.

“I miss you too, babe. Get back to your friends. And maybe drink some water.” She could hear him smiling at her.

Ugh. His smile.

"Okay." Wow. This couch was not going to let her get up. It was too comfy. "Have a good game tomorrow."

There was his laughter again. “I’ll speak to you before then, you can tell me that later.”

"Mm'kay. G'nig-" A massive yawn caught her off guard.

“Night, beautiful."



Sidney grinned at his phone, shaking his head as he locked the screen and pocketing it back into his pants. The hallway was empty as he stepped out of the elevator, making a right towards his room.

“What’s got you so happy?”

Marc-Andre stepped out next to him, carrying two bottles of water in a bucket of ice. His appearance took the Captain by surprise, who took a second to calm down after his goalie appeared out of no where.

“Thanks for the warning,” He joked, shoving his shoulder lightly into the wall.

“Eh,” Flower shrugged, “Someone has to keep you on your toes,” He reasoned, catching Sidney’s eyebrow raising.

“Oh trust me, you don’t have to worry about that.” Flower looked at him all knowing, so he wasn’t sure if it was his tone or his face that gave him away. He stopped at his door, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine,” He answered in french. “Go ice your wrist, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Marc-Andre saluted him with his ever present grin, Sidney waiting until his reached his own door two down from his own and managed to get in one handed, before swiping his own card to his room.

It looked the same as all the others they stayed in. Narrow hallway, bathroom to one side, big TV/fridge/closet opposite the too-big bed, generic room decor offering no real taste whatsoever. You’d think after all the years he’d been playing that he’d be used to how being in a nameless hotel made him feel, but he wasn’t. Like he was a sheep in the herd.

The lights came on automatically when he slid the key into the switch, giving him a way to see his way to the bed without tripping over his suitcase he’d had two seconds to dump in his room before going out with some of the boys for dinner. The rookies were getting a little restless; they were nearly halfway through March, looking comfortable for the playoffs, and for some of them it was their first real taste of post season hockey. He knew how they all felt, so he decided to take them out and get their minds off the game, get them out of their heads.

Ironic, really. Considering how one track minded he was during the season.

His phone pinged as he sat on the bed to untie his shoes, leaning back on one elbow so he could pull it back out of his pocket. It was Taylor, texting to see if he was still awake and to call her to chat if he was. But he was dead tired, needing a shower after a day of morning practice, a flight, plus dinner where he had to be more reassuring than normal.

So he let her know to call in ten minutes, because he loved his sister but he needed a shower more.

He groaned quietly when the hot water hit his back, working the tension out that he’d been holding in his neck and shoulders all day. He never understood why, but he never enjoyed playing the New York teams; he loved the city, and catching up with the guys he’d played with while representing Canada - but it always set him on edge.

Sidney sighed and reached out for his shampoo, taking him time to get rid of the gel he’d put in before heading out to dinner. His mind wandered to his phone call with Lyndsey, a grin on his face as he pictured her drunk - but happy - relaxing with her friends. He knew for a fact that she never got the chance to do it enough and from what she had told him, she didn’t get to see Brent as much as she wanted to. When Lyndsey told him about her two best friends, he got confused for a second - his head was so spaced out when he was in the hospital, that he’d thought he’d already met Brent, only to find that it was in fact Sam who had helped treat him initially. And who was the doctor he got irrationally jealous of that one time she’d gone to dinner with him for a charity event.

He took his time rinsing his hair, wishing more than anything that he was back at home, or even in Edmonton - when Lyndsey had stayed, he’d dragged her into the shower one morning, using way too much hot water to wash the both of them clean. Well, a little dirty and then clean again. And it had clearly been too long between visits, because when he came back to himself and to the bathroom in New York City, all thoughts had rushed south. He groaned.

Hoping that it would help him relax, so he could get to sleep quicker and actually knock himself out, he wrapped a hand around his cock, squeezing tightly before relaxing all together, a gentle slide up and down with one hand, the other reaching out to push up against the tiles.

“Fuck,” He cursed to himself, closing his eyes against the light of the bathroom, the steam billowing from the heat of the water, letting his head tip back a little so the water ran down his face briefly. He licked the hot liquid away from his lips before tightening his hand again. It wasn’t something he always did - he was too old to need to jerk off every day - but God, it felt good. He wished more than anything that it was Lyndsey’s hand on him, her face filling his mind, the images all filtering through at a rapid pace.

Her smile, like the one she was wearing when he’d picked her up from the airport. The way she’d bite her lip and tip her head back when he had tightened his hands around her hips, helping her move back and forth the last morning they’d had together. He saw her hair, the dark brown with hints of auburn, that he’d only managed to see when they had walked down by the waterfront, the sun bringing out a flush in her cheeks.

“God damn it,” He panted, opening his eyes to watch his hand tighten, moving slicker and faster, his harsh breaths filling the room. Even with his eyes open, he could still see her; filling up her mug in the morning for another cup of tea, when she’d turned around and spotted him that first morning after - wearing nothing but his shirt - “Yeah,” the whimper came out involuntarily, Sidney’s eyes slamming shut. The heat was pooling in his belly, flowing out up through his chest and down to his legs. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

He could hear her laugh. The giggle she’d let out when he’d tickled her on the couch, trying to distract them both before he had to drive her to the airport. Fuck. They barely knew each other at all, but he hadn’t felt this way about someone in so long. He never knew distance would ever be this hard.

He came with a groan, leaning into his forearm, biting at his skin - he couldn’t remember who was in the room next to him, but they didn’t need to hear what he was doing. He gulped in oxygen, blearily opening his eyes to watch the last of his orgasm wash away into the water at his feet, his hand stroking softly just to keep the feeling lasting as long as possible. With one last tug, he squeezed his head gently, biting back a groan, turning around to put his face under the spray of the showered, his hands both pressing up against the shower wall, so he could gather his bearings.

It took longer than it normally would for his heart to stop pounding in his chest, and he eventually reached out to turn the water off, running his hands over his face and hair to try and wake himself up. It had been a while - intermittent dream about Lyndsey aside - that he’d actually got himself off with the image of someone real. He didn’t know why, but jerking it to the image of someone he knew or was in a relationship with always felt kind of weird, in the beginning. Like he wasn’t allowed to. Like it was taboo.

Or, at least, that’s what it had felt like with Stephanie. For a long time. Probably longer than it should’ve. Funny how only long after someone’s out of your life you realise that some of the things that people you know and love were saying were true.

He stepped out of the shower, reaching for the towel hanging from the rack and tying it around his waist. He took care of the usual bedtime stuff; teeth, moisturiser, lip balm - before he stepped back into the room, catching a glance at the clock.

“Shit,” He muttered, reaching for his phone, sliding across the message that had showed he’d missed Taylor’s call. He pressed the phone to his ear, reaching down to take off the towel so he could dry off what was left of his arms as the dial tone rang out through his ear.

“Hey brother.”

“Sorry,” He apologised, holding his arm out that was holding his phone to quickly wipe away water on his tricep. “I was in the shower.”

“It’s all good,” He heard Taylor reply through a yawn. Jeez, what was it with the women in his life falling asleep on the phone with him? Was he that boring? Or just bad at time management. “How are you?”

They got through the general pleasantries - if there was one thing he was excited for, it was to play Boston so that he’d have a chance to catch up with her before the playoffs. Since Taylor was still in school, she didn’t really get the chance to go out to Pittsburgh as much as she’d like to watch him play (part of her thought it wasn’t always worth it, considering she’d had to time it so she’d fly in by the time he’d already be at the rink on a game day, since her brother was suspicious as all hell and refused to see her before puck drop), so whenever he was in Boston and their schedules lined up, he’d take her out to dinner or do whatever they had time for. He liked it. He imagined it’s what they would’ve done had he been around when she was growing up.

“You know you’re going to have to spill the beans.”

“What beans?” He asked, ditching the damp towel back towards the bathroom, pulling back the sheets to slide into bed. He had sleep pants on the pillow next to him, but like most guys preferred to sleep in nothing.

“About Lyndsey,” Taylor pressed, and Sidney rolled his eyes as he flicked off the lights.

“Tayls…” He warned, but he didn’t have anything to follow it up with. He hadn’t actually talked to her about Lyndsey since Christmas. And a hell of a lot has happened since then. Not that she needed to know all the details, but he figured if they were all going to be in town come April, maybe it’d help if Taylor was caught up, so save the both of them from the Spanish Inquisition that was Trina Crosby.

“Oh, pssh. Don’t even start. The fact that you’re not ranting and raving about her tells me something.”

“Tells you what?” She hmmed on the other line, leaving him hanging for a few seconds in silence. “Tells you what, Taylor?” He repeated.

“I think you like her more than you’ve let on.” He could hear the teasing in her voice, knew for a fact that she’d be smirking at him through the phone. And, whatever. So she might’ve had a point. There was no way he was telling her that over the phone.

“I have to sleep.”

“Wow.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re such a boy, sometimes.”

“Uh, that’s kind of the point.” She laughed at him, and he rolled his eyes - it wasn’t his best chirp. It was as lame as it could’ve gotten, probably. Not that he cared. “Goodnight, you devil.”

“You’re telling me all about her!”

“Yeah, yeah. Get some sleep. Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?”

He had no idea of her class schedule. But he was hoping she had an 8AM so he could get her off his back. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Night, Romeo.”

“Ugh.” He hung up on her laughter, shaking his head as he felt around the bedside table for the phone cord he’d plugged in early during the day. His phone chimed with the alert that it was connected to power, and showed he’d gotten a text from Lyndsey between his shower and then. He punched in his code, the message opening straight away to a picture he couldn’t help but laugh at - someone, he suspected Claire, had taken a photo of her asleep on the couch, mouth open slightly, hair falling around her face. The ’mwahahaha she’s gonna kill me’ caption proved his point right, but he sent back at ’still beautiful to me’ anyway.

He’d figure out of Lyndsey would regret it in the morning.



If there was such a thing as hell, Lyndsey was pretty sure that she was in it. Not that she had opened her eyes to check to see if the walls were on the fire and that the floor was made of lava, some red skinned horned beast sitting on some throne waving his trident around. The pounding in her head was going off like a jack hammer. Her mouth was dryer than the Sahara desert. Why was it that every single time she drank tequila with Claire and Brent she ended up clinically half dead the next morning? And she had made sure to drink water as well.

“Fuck.”

Her voice sounded like she’d been screaming herself hoarse all night. Blearily peeking one eye open, she groaned when a beam of sunlight hit her straight in the face, blinding her momentarily when she jerked her head to the side to make it stop. Except, she moved a little too far, throwing her body off of what was the very edge of the couch, onto the floor below.

She let out an ‘ooof’, but didn’t make any further attempts at moving, listening to sounds around her for any signs of life. The carpet was soft below her cheek, doing its’ absolute best to lure her back to sleep. She almost could’ve too- by now the sun was shining on her back, making her warm and toasty - but her bladder didn’t want to play the game, and there was something pressing uncomfortably against her ribs.

Tangled up in the blankets, she took about five minutes longer than she normally would have to eventually realise she was lying on her phone, panting a little in the struggle to get herself untangled, laying on her back, staring at the ceiling. There was still no sign of Brent or Claire, though she had a vague idea where the latter one would’ve ended up.

Pushing herself up so she was sitting, Lyndsey rubbed her eyes with one hand, feeling around with the other for her glasses she hoped she hadn’t landed on when she fell. They were half hidden under the couch, and she whimpered in sympathy for herself once they were on and she could stand up. The ground wasn’t staying still like it should have and it took every ounce of will power she had to make herself not throw up all over the floor. She hadn’t not made it to the bathroom for a alcohol vomit related incident in years.

Shuffling slowly across the carpet, she made her way back through the sitting room she’d made her bed for the night and back into the kitchen. The cool water from the faucet gave her mouth sweet relief as she gulped it down, splashing it on her face once she was done, leaning on her crossed forearms for a minute just to get herself together. She glanced at the clock - 10:47AM - and wondered just how late she and her friends had been up for her to sleep til nearly eleven the next morning. Normally, regardless of a hangover or not, she was awake after only a couple of hours of sleep.

She passed the door to the living room, glancing inside to see Brent sprawled across the floor on his back, a pillow useless held in one hand, a photo frame in the other. “Brent,” She croaked, wiping another bit of sleep out of her eye, but he didn’t move. She sighed with a smile and walked down to the bathroom, practically moaning in sweet relief once she sat down to pee.

It wasn’t until she had stood up to flush that she saw the foot poking out from the end of the bath, not covered by the shower curtain. Washing her hands, she turned around once turning off the tap and flung the curtain open, flicking the left over water on her skin onto her best friends face, which scrunched up in protest.

“Wake up, shit head.”

Claire groaned, waving a hand in Lyndsey’s general direction, turning away from the noise and towards the wall. “Leave me to die.”

Lyndsey scoffed, half tempted to turn the shower on so that she wasn’t the only one awake and suffering. But she also knew that if she did that then the revenge would be long and painful, and she couldn’t even concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other without using the wall for support, she wasn’t in the mood to hear Claire scream her head off.

"Hash browns."

Halfway through the bathroom door, Lyndsey turned to stare blankly at the bathtub.

"What?"

Claire tilted her head around the shower curtain, makeup smudged around her half lidded eyes. She looked like death.

"You're the first one up. Go get hash browns."

"What?" she whined, pressing her shoulder to the doorframe. She could barely stand up for more than five minutes without needing to lay down. The last thing she wanted to do was get in her car and deal with other assholes on the road. Not to mention eat. "Claire--"

"You're the first one up. It's the rule." Jabbing her finger in the air, Claire made her point by once more saying "hash browns" before disappearing behind the shower curtain.

Torn between growling and stomping her foot like a child, Lyndsey turned for the bedroom to change her clothes. Maybe she'd feel more human.

Not likely.

"Fuck my life."

Since Claire was using the guest bath as a bedroom, Lyndsey felt no shame in using her ensuite to shower, barely doing anything more than just standing under the hot spray, keeping her head back so that her hair didn’t get wet from where it was messily tied up in a bun. She knew that it was beyond disgusting, but she’d shower and wash it before she had to go to work that night, wanting nothing more than to just get fed then go back home and to sleep.

By the time she had finished trying to make herself look less like a zombie, it was closer to midday than the breakfast time. Not that it mattered - she said a silent prayer of thanks to the McDonalds gods for doing all day breakfast - before wandering back through the house, looking for her wallet, keys and phone.

“Front room,” She muttered to herself, making a mental note to pick up her phone that she was sure was still on the carpet. Her wallet and keys would have probably been in the kitchen, since that was the first place she went to after picking up the groceries for dinner. She found them, hiding underneath a empty bag from the grocery store, taking one last look at Brent to check he was actually alive before going to get food. She was happy to see that he’d rolled over, into the recovery position no less, so she waved off her concern and stopped by the front room to pick up her phone before slipping on her shoes at the front door.

She frowned when she saw how low her battery percentage was, and was even more concerned to see the number of texts on her screen waiting for her from Sidney’s number.

“Oh, Jesus,” She muttered, opening the front door and swiping right on her phone, their conversation from the previous night there for her to see. She didn’t bother locking the apartment door behind her, she’d never been able to get back in with her hands full anyway, and cringed when she saw the photo that either Claire or Brent had taken of her, fully passed out on the couch.

Not even him calling her beautiful could make her want to not throw up. She looked exactly how she’d felt when she was on the phone - blissed out and happy.

Only, mouth breathing. Rather unattractively.

’Let me know if you survived x
Hey, call me if you get this before I go to skate - I’m three hours ahead.
AT lunch, call you after my nap? xx’

By the time she’d gotten past the anger of having missed the opportunity to speak to him all morning, she was at her car, reaching for the sunglasses in the console before doing anything to actually start the machine. The darker tint was sweet relief, and turned up the heat after starting the ignition, plugging her phone into the charger before pressing the icon to call Sidney.

She cursed everyones existence as she turned out of Claire’s apartment block parking and onto the main road, taking care to be extra vigilant on the road since the temperature had dropped overnight with some light rainfall, making the roads a little icy. The sun was doing its best to warm up the bitumen, but she still didn’t trust anyone else on the road.

She was just about to press the ‘end’ button on her steering wheel when the call connected, a sleepy ‘Hey’ coming through the speakers.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” She whined, smacking her forehead as she made a turn towards where she knew the closest fast food restaurants were. “I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“No, no. Well, yeah you did- but its okay.” His voice, heavy with sleep, filled her car, making her wish more than anything she could hear it face to face. Even though he’d probably be laughing at her current state of affairs.

Or maybe not at all, since she would never get as drunk as she had the night before around him.

“I’m sorry,” She repeated, pulling up to a stop sign, hitting her indicator to turn left onto Yellowhead Trail. She was glad that Claire only lived a few streets away from any sort of fast food.

“No, seriously it’s fine. How was last night?”

The fact that she could hear a hint of laughter in his voice told her everything she needed to know - he knew exactly how the night had gone, not that she could remember it, but she’d clearly called him and made a fool of herself. Thank God he couldn’t see her blush.

“I’m hanging up.”

She turned onto Hudson Road slowly, seeing small patches of ice under the wheels of other cars, not wanting to catch a particularly bad spot and swerve. Her nerves were not up to handling that amount of adrenaline. She heard him moving around in the bed, still feeling bad for having woken him up. The clock on her dashboard was broken and she wasn’t wearing her watch so she couldn’t see what time it was there, or try and guesstimate how long he’d been asleep for. But she didn’t want to ask, because she knew he’d just make it sound like she was’t being a complete nuisance.

“Aww, c’mon. You’re the one that woke me up.”

“Only because your texts made me feel like you thought I might actually be dead!” She retorted, groaning when she saw the lights ahead of her turn to yellow, pressing on the brake to slow down. Damn it. Now an even longer wait for delicious hash browns. When he’d asked what was wrong, she explained how the universe was against her; stopping her from getting nutrients, which meant prolonging her from getting back into bed after that.

The lanes to the right of her got the green light, and Lyndsey knew she would be stuck there for a minute more, since they had the main road on 178th Avenue. She leant back in her seat, resting her head.

He chuckled, muttering his apologies through laughter. “Well, I guess you can now I know you’re not comatose anymore.”

“You’re such an asshole,” She laughed, stretching her arms around past the wheel. She was so ready for bacon.

“Only sometimes.” The fact that he sounded serious made her want to roll her eyes. As if Sidney Crosby had a mean bone in his body - one that existed anywhere other than on the ice. She smiled at him fondly, even if he couldn’t see it. “What’re you up to now?”

“Going to get breakfast - lunch. Whatever the fuck time it is. Food,” She finished with, sitting up a little straighter once she saw that all the other lanes of traffic had been through the lights. She watched the ones in front of her, waiting for the red arrow to turn green. “Nothing that would be approved by your trainers,” She teased, knowing how much he wished some days he could just say ‘screw it’ and eat as much as garbage as he wanted.

His answering groan made her snicker. “Now who’s the asshole?”

She gasped, taking her foot off the brake once the light turned green. “How rude. Shouldn’t you be-”

Even though it was a split second, it all seemed to happen in slow motion: the lurch of the car as it was sent off its original path and sideways, the crunch of metal on metal meeting, the image of her steering wheel getting closer and closer before she hit it with her head, the burn of the seat belt as it dug into her skin around her collarbone harshly before it snapped her back roughly.

The stupid thing is, she had looked the right to check her blind spot - she’d been told by her Mom when she was getting her license that just before the traffic lights said it was red, didn’t mean that people were going to actually stop. And it had been clear - even though she squinted against a quick flash from the sun off a car across the other lanes.

Clearly her prescription glasses weren’t enough for her to see the silver Tahoe come barrelling through the lights.

The airbags deployed, her hands coming up a second too late as a reflex to stop it from hitting her right in the face, where she was still slumped forward slightly from the seatbelt. She could feel something warm on her face and heard the sound of wheels screeching across the road before she was jerked roughly to the side once more, crying out when she felt her head hit the window. She heard her phone and wallet slide off the seat and smack into the door at one point too, belatedly trying to reach out to pick them up in a daze, the pain in her head and down her neck through her right shoulder making her yell out in pain.

Lyndsey tried to do a mental check - nothing felt broken, but she knew that there would be no way to tell absolutely without an X-Ray - before she reached up to her head, pulling her hand away and seeing the red blood staining her fingers, some of her hair going with her hand until it broke away and fell back against her face.

There were more sounds of tires screeching, and she thought should could hear voices coming from outside, but they all sounded like they were underwater. Confusing her even more was the distorted “Lynds? Babe, you there?” she swore she could hear before everything went fuzzy and then faded to black.