51. Sacrilège

As a couple of you asked for this... thoughts please.

Angus and Julia Stone - Big Jet Plane


ELLA'S POV


Y’know this was such a good idea coming here,” I said to Noah as we sat outside on the terrace enjoying our drinks. Noah had suggested running off to Quebec City for the weekend and we had arrived at Sacrilege on rue St. Jean just under an hour ago. The terrace was crammed with tourists and locals alike as the stressed waitresses darted through the tables, trying to serve everybody.

“I know, I’m always full of good ideas,” Noah said. “To us,” he said raising his glass and clinking Félix’s. I raised mine too and downed the final part of my Tia Maria and coke – my new drink of choice.

“So what else are we going to do whilst we’re here?” Félix said. I wasn’t sure; I had just come to get away from the hustle and bustle of Montréal for a while. Félix had offered to drive the two and a half hour trip and we had arrived last night, staying with a friend of the family who lived in Sillery.

“Dinner at the Frontenac!” Noah shouted. Félix and I looked at each other. Every time we come to Quebec City with mother she always makes us go and eat there – whether it’s a Sunday morning brunch or just dinner, we have come to associate the chateau with mother.

“Or not,” Noah said shrugging his shoulders. “I was feeling extravagant.”

“We could bike out to les Chutes Montmorency?” Félix suggested. I nodded, I haven’t been out there for a long time and it’s so pretty, not to mention a tourist hot spot, but we don’t often come to Quebec City too often.

“Hmm… I didn’t bring my spandex with me,” Noah said. “I’m not sure I could do that to the world.”

“Noah, I’m not sure the world would want to see you in spandex,” Félix bit back as he tried to smother a laugh. Noah shrugged in the only way he could that spelled camp with a capital C.

“Well, what should we do tonight? How about we go out?” I asked. We had come here on a whim, just wanting to break out of the scorching hot city for the weekend. “Chez Maurice, Dagobert, O-Zone…” I trailed off. I had packed my party shoes and wanted to go out.


“Look who it is,” Félix said, pinching my arm as I heard a familiar chuckle emanating from the alley way that led from the street upto the terrace at the back of Sacrilege. From our table which was perched a little higher at the back of the terrace in the trees under the corner, we had a good view over the rest of the small yet busy terrace. I turned around, so I had a better view of the terrace.

“Max?” I said, looking at the alley way. Félix nodded. He stood out in his loud plaid shirt as he made his way onto the terrace with a cap drawn low over his face. Despite his attempt at a disguise, he was easy for me to pick out. It had been ten days since I had spoken to him, and he was looking remarkably chipper.

“Get him over here,” Félix whispered as he nudged me to stand up. I haven’t seen Max since the funeral and I wanted to know how he was doing. He looked happier, his laugh sounded easier and not forced. He looked brighter than the shadow of a man I had seen at Gina’s funeral where he had been sombre and quiet.

“ELLA!” he exclaimed, causing people around us to turn and stare, running up the steps and embracing me in a tight hug. “Ça va?”

“Ouais, ben, toi?” I replied as I withdrew from his hug. I checked his eyes to see if the familiar sparkle was there. It was faint and it was clear that he was still hurting, even through this front he was putting on, but he was doing his best to convince me that he was OK.

“You don’t need to pretend,” I whispered in his ear, “It’s OK to show it.”
Max squeezed me into a tighter hug and kissed the top of my head. “Sshhh… Who’s the new guy?” he asked.

“Noah,” I replied grinning. Max would soon find out he’s not my guy in a minute or two. “Think he might be better dressed than you!” I hit his arm jokingly and gestured for him and his brother to pull up some chairs. “Never,” Max playfully bit back.

“Noah, this is Max. Max, Noah. Max was going out with Gina, he’s one of Jordan’s teammates,” I explained as Noah gave him the once over and gave me a nod of approval.

My phone vibrated noisily on the table. "Think he might be hotter than your ex blondie," Noah had sent me. I laughed as I discreetly passed my phone to Félix who just shook his head as he laughed at Noah.

"What brings you to Quebec?" Max asked us as the waitress brought him a beer.

"Change of scenery," Félix explained as Max just nodded. I was so pleased to see that he had made it back to Quebec after being holed up in Pittsburgh for so long.

"How long you here for?" Max asked as the waitress came out with more rounds of drinks.

"Just until tomorrow, I have to go back for my internship," I said. "Anyway it's good to see you again," I grinned at Max. He looked good - there was still a sad glint in his eye but his mood had improved remarkably.

"Had to drag him out of his house," Max's brother Will said. "Can't have him not throwing his annual party," he added.

"Yeah, you guys should come," Max said. "Next weekend in Montréal, Saturday night, party at mine. I'll text you the address."

"Cool, we'll be there," Félix said, agreeing before I even had a chance to think about it.

"And Noah?" I asked Max wanting to see if he was invited.

"Bring your new man along," Max said after he had downed his beer. That was rather presumptuous of Max to assume Noah was my new man - after all he could have been Félix's man, or my cousin or another brother we keep in the cupboard...

"Oh no, I'm not her new man," Noah said in his campest voice causing Max's eyes to open wide as he looked at me. I tried not to laugh as I looked between the two of them.
"Ooops, well, bring him anyway, and if you've got a new man, bring him too," Max said as his eyes twinkled.

"But Vinnie's gone back," Noah whispered to me. Vinnie is not my man, I thought, and never will be. He's gone back to Florida for the rest of the summer. Sometimes, like right now, I regret telling Noah things, particularly when this happens...

"Vinnie! As in Lecavalier?" Max said frowning as he glanced between Noah and me. I nodded feeling I had to explain this before anyone gets the wrong idea.

"A friend, we met in Montréal. Noah likes to bring him up a lot, like now," I glared at Noah.

"And Jordan?" Max said. "You know, if Jordan finds out, all hell would break lose on the ice next time we play them. He would have to shit all over the ice and on Vinnie." I didn't know, but Jordan wasn't going to find out, ever. And there's nothing for me to hide. We had met as friends and he had cheered me up. There was nothing that I should feel embarrassed about.

"Well, nothing happened," I said shaking my head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And you're not going to tell Jordan because it's about as insignificant as that ant in the crack on the ground over there."

"Good, because Lecavalier has a fiancée back in Tampa Bay," Max went on. "So nothing should be happening."

I nodded. "Nothing did so it's chill," I repeated now wishing that a strike of lightning would take Noah out for mentioning this.

"Anyway, party next Saturday, n'oubliez pas," he said.

As the sun began to set, the patio emptied out and I could hear my stomach rumbling noisily. "I need food," I said to no one in particular. Noah nodded as he rubbed his stomach. He apologised for dropping me in any Vinnie shit with Max.

We made our way out of Sacrilege, leaving Max and his brother after promising we would see them next weekend, wondering where we were going to eat for dinner. Eating on St. Jean is always pricey - it screams tourist hot spot to me. "Shall we head down into Basse-Ville?" I asked the guys as we deliberated where to go.

"Yeah. Ells, you really have to introduce me to more hockey players if they all look like blondie, Vinnie and that!" Noah said as we headed down the hill. I chuckled - Noah could be so superficial sometimes. "He's just so rugged and sexual."

"Think someone's got a little man crush?" I asked as we crossed Jean-Charest not knowing where we were headed.

"Just a little. I'm so looking forward to his party," Noah said as Félix directed us into some Italian place. That makes one of us, I thought. Partying with Max was always fun in Pittsburgh, so why was I having reservations about his house party next week?

50. Guilt

Little bit behind schedule so 51 will be up tonight...


Mumford and Sons - The Cave


ELLA'S POV


Seeing Jordan at the funeral had been really hard - I had felt this pang of guilt and almost regret for what I did. He looked gorgeous in his suit but today wasn't the occasion for admiring him. I hadn’t expected to see him there, it was a total shock to the system, and part of me didn’t think it was appropriate for him to be there as he didn’t really count as close friends or family, but as he had said, he was there for Max. And Max really needed support right now, he had looked so lost lost at the funeral that Gina’s mother had asked me afterwards to make sure Max was alright.

When I found out that Max had been planning on proposing to Gina, my heart broke for him. It had been a whirlwind romance, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind about their commitment for each other. And there was no doubt in my mind that Gina would have said yes.

After the funeral Félix and I had flown straight back to Montréal. It wasn’t that we didn’t want to stay any longer in Pittsburgh, it was the fact that KPMG had only given me the day off and med school for Félix was pretty tough on taking time away. So we had had to say our swift goodbyes before leaving for the airport.

“Where was Sophie?” Félix remarked as he drove us back home through the rush hour traffic. Sophie? I haven’t seen or heard from Sophie since she went into rehab despite contacting her once or twice. I was certain that she would have been there at the very least – she was one of Gina’s closest friends, she owed it to her to be there.

“I don’t know, it’s a little bizarre,” I replied staring at the back of the car in front of us. Sophie had spent six weeks in Utah trying to get rid of her coke and partying addiction. By now, if she had stuck it out, she would be clean. I didn’t know if part of her being ‘clean’ was starting her life again. She only lived in Harrisburg, which isn’t that far away from Pittsburgh – she should have been there.

“Almost disrespectful,” I said thinking out loud. After everything that Gina had done for Sophie, she could have at least showed her presence there today. Maybe she had already acknowledged Gina’s death, maybe she couldn’t be there today, I didn’t know.

“You should call Max,” Félix said as we stopped at yet another red light. It was one of those days where all of the lights are against you and it’s going to take a while to get anywhere. “He looked so lost today, and he needs someone to talk to. It’s good that he has Jordan but I don’t know how much good Jordan is doing. Even if all you do is talk with him about the good times with Gina,” Felix continued. “He needs more oomph.”

“Did you just say oomph!?” I asked looking at Félix.

“OOOMPPHH yeah! Yeah I did,” Félix grinned as we finally turned off the road into our neighbourhood.

“So I’ll call him,” I said as we got out of the car, wondering when would be the best time to do this. Maybe not today; today was hard enough on all of us. I didn’t want to leave it too long, but maybe a day or two.





Two days later I picked up the phone and decided to call Max’s cell. It rang several times before he answered with a rather gruff voice.

“Allo Max, c’est Ella,” I said, thinking that the conversation might be easier for us if we spoke in French. I know Max’s English is impeccable but sometimes it can be easier to express your feelings in your first language.

“Oui, allo,” Max responded before he switched to English. “I always forget you’re from Montréal. How are you doing?”

“Not too bad,” I thought as Max had quickly pinpointed the reason as to why I’m calling and deflected the question back at me. “And you?”

“OK, OK. Still alive, still in Pittsburgh.”

“Why don’t you come back to Montréal, see your family?”

There was a loud sigh as I waited for Max to draft up some excuse as to why he wanted to stay in Pittsburgh. “Ella,” he began. “You knew Gina better than anyone. I haven’t even told Staalsy this. If I go home, it means she’s gone. Forever.”

“Max…” I began understanding that he was still struggling to come to terms with it even after the funeral.

“No, I’m thinking about asking for a trade. Somewhere, anywhere, just out of this city. Here there are too many memories of Gina, and it’s my fault.”

“A trade? But Max, you’ve got everyone here, you’ve got a support system. And if you move, you won’t get to play with Captain Marvellous,” I justified, trying to imagine the team without Max’s goofy smile. “It’s not your fault she’s gone, it’s the fault of that stupid person driving that car.”

“But you didn’t see her. She didn’t even scream, she was thrown fifteen metres but she looked so lifeless, like a rag doll. I couldn’t help her. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for this,” Max continued. “And the driver’s still out there.”

“I know, Max, but they’re looking for whoever did this. It was a nasty accident and it’s not fair. But come back to Montréal, the city misses you.

“The city misses me? Good one. I’ll be back at some point,” he replied. “But I don’t know how much longer I can stay in Pittsburgh for, it’s crushing me.”

Max was driving himself round in circles: he wanted to get out of Pittsburgh because he was haunted by memories of happier times with Gina; yet he didn’t want to come home to Montréal. I thought he would be stupid to leave the Penguins – he’s so loved in this city and I know Jordan and the rest of the guys would be devastated if Max left.

“Well come back to Montréal you goon,” I said. “Come and stay with me and we’ll eat ice cream and bike round the city and drink on Crescent and hang out on the plateau and maybe go to La Ronde, if you’re lucky.”

“I don’t know Ell, those places don’t sound superstar enough for me,” Max sighed. I knew I’d managed to get a peek at the old Max, even if he was forcing it right now.

“Those places not cool enough for you?” I chided pushing him to get a response.

“Nope, I’m going to have to show you when I’m back in the city. Ella, I don’t know if you’re cool enough to hang out with me if you’re still going to La Ronde.”

“And you’re going to turn down the parc d’attractions?” I pushed.

“Mmm yeah?” Max said. I giggled. Just for a moment I felt like I had succeeded in getting Max back to his usual, jovial self even if I still had 95% to go.

“Well it’s a date then,” I said. “See you around, and call me if you ever want someone to reminisce with about Gina. You’re not alone,” I said hoping Max would swallow his pride and pick up the phone at some point. “You should call the guys too,” I pushed, knowing that as soon as Max spoke to TK, Geno, Jordan or Sid he wouldn’t want to move.

“Thanks Ella, speak soon,” Max said as I hoped he actually meant it. As I hung up I thought the conversation had gone better than I could have hoped – well apart from Max talking about a trade. Hopefully the Penguins organisation would call his bluff and have the sense not to trade him – he’s too popular in the ‘burgh to be traded.
Félix handed me a huge cup of tea as I relaxed back into the sofa. “So how did it go?” he asked, setting the cup in front of me on the glass table.

“As well as it could have done. We’ll see. He’s still hurting and he doesn’t want to leave Pittsburgh. He’s wallowing.”

“Hopefully he’ll stop that. Slowly his pain will slip away and he’ll be left with honour and remembrance for her,” Félix said, biting into an apple.

I turned to look up at Félix. “Since when did you get so wise?”

49. Funeral

Sorry for the shock! I've started a new story too which will start sometime over the summer - it's called Jordan Junior - a story about Jordan being in the OHL. It will be a lot shorter than this one, perhaps fifteen to twenty updates at most.

Coldplay - Fix You


JORDAN'S POV


Max had asked me to accompany him to the funeral. At first I had had my doubts: it’s not my place as I was never very close to Gina and as Max had stated, it was only going to be close friends and family. That meant that Ella would be there – something I wasn’t entirely sure would be appropriate and I’m not sure how I would react in that kind of situation.

But Max had persuaded me, saying it was appropriate and Gina had helped me, in her own little way – it would be my way of saying goodbye to her. I couldn’t turn Max down; he had been a shadow of himself, locking himself away in his pad in Pittsburgh, barely speaking to anyone, not even his family.

From what his mother had told me when she called me, Max blamed himself for Gina’s death. She had told me exactly what Max had told her, that they had been messing about after drinking at a bar near the bymarket and he had run across the road, pretending to flout the Ontario law – it didn’t matter, he was a Quebeçois and didn’t understand English if they asked. Gina had waited on the side as Max had teased her from the other side, when he had seen the car coming but she hadn’t. And he had watched her die, unable to save her.

As I arrived at Max’s apartment, I noticed the pile of empty dishes in the sink, the trash that needed emptying and the plants that needed watering. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Max’s house when it has been filthy – Max is house proud to the extent that when he used to come and visit me and TK, he would make fun of us at our undomesticated bliss and our bachelor lifestyles. I filled a glass of water and tipped it over the huge plant in the corner before I started watering the little ones on the window sill.

“Leave them,” Max croaked. I turned around, frowning. Why did he want me to leave them? “Everything dies eventually.”

“Not if you don’t let it,” I said, immediately regretting my choice of words. He hadn’t let Gina die, he has survivor’s guilt as Lucy had told me, he blames himself because he survived and Gina died.

“Come ‘ere,” I said gesturing with my head. Max had dressed himself this morning but he needed to fix his tie or do something about it. He didn’t look like the immaculate Max Talbot, or the self-styled Mr. Superstar, man about town, that I was used to seeing. I started again with his tie as Max’s eyes focused on my fingers, watching me fiddle around with the material until it resembled something vaguely presentable.

“Thanks,” Max muttered. I nodded, it was the least I could do.

“Have you got everything?” I asked, not entirely sure what we would need for the funeral but I didn’t know what the order of events were.

“It couldn’t even be fucking sunny for her day,” Max said as he picked up a black umbrella near the door. I looked out of the window at the angry rain which bounced off the sidewalks and cars outside. It seemed almost fitting somehow that it wasn’t sunny – the sunshine wouldn’t suit the sombre mood of the day.

As we pulled up in front of the church we were among the first ones there. Max had said it was going to be a low-key event, just close family and friends, but I hadn’t quite realised how low-key. As more people arrived in a sea of black umbrellas, I realised we must have been around fifty to sixty maximum for the service. I looked through the crowd, looking for the familiar blonde head I had missed so much over the last two months. She was here.

Ella looked elegantly stunning I thought as I felt the breath constrict in my throat. She was wearing this beautiful black dress with a simple pearl necklace and a black wrap around her shoulders and heels. She looked so beautiful even with the pained expression on her face, her hooded eyes betraying the same emotion as Max’s. Her arm was linked through Félix’s as they talked to Gina’s mother and father.
Félix led her over towards Max and me. I watched as Ella immediately reached up and pulled Max into a tight embrace and gave him a kiss on the cheek as she squeezed his hands. She spoke softly to him, I didn’t catch the words of reassurance, but I saw Max’s face as he forced a smile.

“Jordan,” Ella said, looking up at me. I couldn’t read her face but her tone was rather short and she seemed somewhat surprised to see me. I held her gaze for a few seconds longer than was appropriate right now. “What are you doing here?” she hissed as Max drifted off to talk to Gina’s parents.

“I’m here for Max, he needs support,” I said. “He was about to propose and he looks and feels like he’s just lost his entire world,” I said back, trying not to argue as tempting as it was. Ella looked shocked as her eyes widened and her mouth opened as her hand flew up to her open mouth. Like everyone else, she hadn’t realised that Max was on the verge of asking Gina to marry him.

“Oh Christ, poor Max,” she said looking at his back as he stood next to Gina’s father.

“I’ve missed you,” I blurted out. I knew now wasn’t the time for this and it was a cheap shot. We were here for Gina, I shouldn’t be doing this here – but I didn’t know if and when I would ever have another shot. Ella’s huge eyes fixed on me, her face impassive as her eyes tried to read my face. I wanted to cup her face and kiss the tears that were threatening to fall away. She looked so vulnerable and fragile and I wanted to protect her and look after and never leave her. Félix frowned, “Now isn’t the time, you can talk later. We’re here to say goodbye to Gina,” he said as he lead Ella away into the church without a backward look.

The service was beautiful, there were flowers and songs and two prayers that were so moving. Max gently sobbed throughout, his head down on his knuckles as he tried to keep it together throughout the service. There were a couple of readings before Ella and Félix stepped forward to do their reading.

If I should die and leave you here awhile,
Be not like others, sore undone, who keep
Long vigils by the silent dust, and weep.
For my sake turn again to life and smile,
Nerving thy heart and trembling hands to do
Something to comfort weaker hearts than thine.
Complete those dear unfinished tasks of mine
And I perchance may therein comfort you.

It was beautiful and so moving yet very fitting for Gina’s funeral. Ella’s shoulders shook as she read the final few words as Félix put his arm around her and dried her tears. Even from here I could see the red rims of her eyes, but she still looked beautiful and angelic as she stood in front of the coffin.

As the service finished Max noisily blew his nose. “I’ll be back in a second, there’s something I have to do.” Confused I remained in the pew, watching the quiet French Canadian get to his feet and walk slowly towards the coffin. Kneeling down he opened his jacket pocket and removed the small box. I watched him take out the ornate ring and slip it onto Gina’s hand before he gently kissed her hand. Ella squeezed his shoulder as he stood up, she wiped the tears away with her fingers before hugging Max.

Ella led Max slowly back to the pew where we had been seated before as the music started and the pall bearers lifted the coffin. We rose as the coffin passed us, Max hugging me and not letting me go. I felt the tears streaming down my face.

"Thanks for coming," Ella said to me, squeezing my hand as she passed. I wanted to reach out and pull her back, to stop her from walking away from me. I didn't want to lose her again. Max shook his head and lowered my arm. "Not now, not now," he barely whispered. I nodded as I watched Ella and Félix's retreating backs as they walked away from the church.

The silence grew around us as the rain continued to pour down, the only noise coming from the beating of the raindrops against the umbrellas as we stood outside the church. Max stepped out from under his umbrella, tilting his head up to the sky and letting the water fall over his face, drenching his hair, his shoulders and his suit.

If I've learnt one thing today from Gina and Max's relationship - it's that you don't know what you've got until it's gone.

48. Accident

Two things:
1. Patois - country accent /dialect. Here it is meant in a derogatory way.
2. Uncle JP = JP Parise - Zach's dad.


Gary Jules - Mad World


ELLA'S POV


I returned from shopping with Marie-Pier just before lunchtime to hear Félix and Rosalie arguing in French.

“But it could have been important!” Félix yelled as I heard something breaking upstairs. I sat in the kitchen and nursed a ginger beer as I heard more thumping and then Rosalie’s patois* reply.

“He’s just checking up!” Rosalie shouted back.

“Well, did you keep the number?” returned Félix's muffled voice.

“No, why?” Rosalie screamed and then something else breaking.

There was a lot more muffled talking, a few raised words, “What? You just don’t think! And you know how important it was to her!" followed by some more of Rosalie screaming, something that sounded like someone hitting the wall and then Félix's voice again. "I don’t want to see you ever again!” Someone should really make the walls thicker in this house, even if that was kind of entertaining.

What the hell had Rosalie done to piss Félix off like that? Most of the time Félix is a pacifist – he never shouts, argues or confronts people so whatever Rosalie had done must have been pretty freaking bad. And apparently it was something to do with me? The only time I’ve been around Rosalie is when she has been with Félix so god only knows what this could be about.

A couple of minutes later I heard thumping down the stairs and then the front door opening and slamming shut. Moments later I heard a familiar sigh from Félix walking into the kitchen holding what looked like the arm to his skeleton that hung in his bedroom. I raised my eyebrows at him, not sure exactly what to say. Sometimes words aren't always necessary. It wasn’t my business to pry, the argument had piqued my curiosity but I knew Félix would always tell me in his own time.

“She broke Arthur,” he said, holding up the skeleton’s arm. Stupid girl, I thought as I remembered back to our eleventh Christmas when Félix had received the skeleton from Uncle JP. Félix had always been interested in being a doctor ever since we were little and then one Christmas he received a life size skeleton, like the ones you see in doctors’ offices and he was beyond delighted. I had named him Arthur, not sure why, but I had liked the name which had just stuck ever since.

“Oh no, is he fixable?” I said looking at the arm that Félix was holding.

“I don’t know; Arthur is the least of my worries right now. I’m kind of glad she’s gone. I needed an excuse to be rid of her, she was like a leech. I felt like I had a permanent shadow. This was just the final straw." Félix saw that I looked puzzled and explained. "Basically Jordan called and she answered, didn’t tell me and deleted the number so I wouldn't know he called and had no way to call him back - selfish bitch. I only know, because I heard the end as I was getting out of the shower.”

I didn’t know what to say. Jordan called? Why would he? It’s over, he made that pretty clear by not returning any of my calls or messages and now hearing that he had called Félix and not me? I didn't understand. This was one huge mess involving, Jordan, me, Félix and now Rosalie. I needed to speak to Gina and I needed answers. I know she's seen Jordan recently - I need to know what she's told him - there is no way Gina is innocent in all of this. I didn’t even have his number to call him back since I had deleted it in frustration that day. I would call Gina later this evening when I had had some time to think things through.

“Why?” I asked. It was the first thing that popped into my head.

“No idea, but Rosalie was being a bitch about the whole thing and she lied and I just wanted her out.” I picked up Arthur’s arm and used his hand to pat Félix’s shoulder which brought a little grin to his face.

“So I gotta thank you, or rather Jordan for giving me that excuse. How was shopping?” he asked, opening the fridge and pulling out eggs and milk to make his usual Sunday morning scrambled eggs.

“Good. I took that dress back that I wasn’t sure that I wanted and I got a couple of new outfits for work. Marie-Pier bored me with why Etienne and I make a good couple. She’s kind of forcing it now, it’s lame that she thinks I want him. Nice guy but no. He's got that geek-chic thing that I just don't get, plaid shirts and Where's Waldo glasses.” Come to think of it, Etienne was right up Noah's street - it was just the look that Noah loved.

“Still?” Félix asked in surprise. By now I would have thought that Marie-Pier would have given up on this whole Etienne thing – she could tell I wasn’t interested but was insistent on this whole cozy foursome: Marie-Pier and Xavier and Etienne and me.

I shook my head, closing my eyes. This week had been mentally exhausting with the completion of our project (extra hours at work and not much sleep), drinks to celebrate, then spending all day yesterday with Noah and then shopping today. I haven’t stopped mentally or physically and I feel like I needed twenty four hours to myself just to relax, zone out from everything and sleep.

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Félix eating his eggs and me playing with Arthur's arm before the shrill ringing of the telephone cut through the air.

“I’ll get it,” I said, hitting Félix with Arthur’s arm as I made my way across the kitchen to answer it. He was in no position to answer the phone with a mouthful of eggs.

“Oui, allo?” I said not looking at the caller id before I picked up.

“Hi Mrs. Anderson,” I said into the phone as I mouthed ‘Gina’s mom’ to Félix.

“Everything OK?”

“No, not really. Are you sitting down sweetie, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news to tell you.” I frowned, I barely ever spoke to Gina’s mother but sometimes she called the apartment when we were in Pittsburgh. Gina’s mom is like a grown up version of Gina – she’s everything my mom isn’t. She’s the type who remembers your birthday, brings cake whenever she visits and remembers the name of your pets. I took a seat on the sofa in the kitchen, perching myself on the edge.

“So how’s life in the Anderson household?” I asked trying to put off the bad news.

“Goodish. Actually sweetie, I’m calling about Gina. There’s no easy way to say this." Say what? I thought as I pressed the phone closer to my ear. "She and Max were in Ottawa last night on their way to Montreal and they were on the way back to their hotel after going out. And it happened.” I heard her pause and take a sharp intake of break before she carried on.
“They were crossing the road, Max ran halfway across leaving Gina on the other side. Gina decided to wait as Max said she told him she didn’t want to jaywalk. There was a car coming. The car was out of control and swerving all over the place. Gina wasn’t looking, she was looking straight ahead at Max when the car hit her.”

I could hear Mrs. Anderson sobbing down the phone. I felt numb. Gina was hit? A hundred thoughts flashed through my head, questions without answers, Gina's face and her smile. In my head I could see the flashing lights of the ambulance, a lifeless Gina lying on the pavement circled by a small crowd of people passing by as Max held her hand as the paramedics fought to save her...

“Is she OK? Can I go visit her in hospital?” I asked.

“She was killed outright, the paramedic said she didn’t feel any pain when she was hit. Max didn’t get the license plate of the guy who did this he was trying to revive her, and the driver sped off too quickly. Oh Ella,” she sobbed down the phone. I felt the tears fall quickly as the realisation struck me that she wasn’t coming back.

“Max hasn’t left the hospital, he’s in pieces,” Mrs. Anderson continued. "They've taken her away, but he doesn't know what to do with himself."

“Is there anything I can do?” I whispered as I thought about Max sitting by Gina’s bedside morning, noon and night. “Funeral arrangements, letting people know, anything at all,” I half pleaded, wanting to be involved. For my own selfishness, I wanted to help out, I wanted to .

“No if you can tell Félix, I know how close Gina was to both of you. I’m going through Gina’s friends one by one, you're the first one I thought to call,” My heart wrenched at the thought of Gina's mother calling our friends one by one to let them know. As a parent there can't be anything worse than losing your child.

“When’s the funeral?” I asked.

“We’re thinking next Friday, and it will be in Pittsburgh. I’ll send you the details later sweetie,” Mrs Anderson sniffed down the phone.

"OK, OK," I repeated, trying to take it all in. It was a lot to take in. I didn't know what to say. Nothing I could have said to Mrs. Andersoon would have been right in any consolable way to take the pain away.

Saying 'sorry for your loss' isn't enough - sorry wasn't enough to make up for Gina's life that had just been wiped away by some careless idiot who was too tight to take a taxi. It didn't feel real. None of this felt real. She couldn't be gone, she just couldn't. Good people don't die young, there's no justification in this world, Gina doesn't deserve this, she just doesn't. Life isn't fair.

Part of me was cross with Max - he couldn't save her, he didn't protect her. Where was he when she was hit? On the other side of the road because he didn't want to wait for her. He just couldn't wait for her. They could have taken a taxi or...

As I put the phone down silently on the table, Félix could tell something wasn't right.
"She, she's ....gone," I whispered, wishing anything that it wasn't true.

47. Rosalie

Broken Bells - October


JORDAN'S POV


After listening twice to Ella’s voicemail kick in I decided I needed a new approach. I had tried from the house phone and my new cell but she wasn’t accepting either numbers. I needed a new way to contact her. Gina suggested using Félix and calling him either first thing in the morning or last thing at night as his hours as a med student didn’t leave him much free time at home.

I thanked Gina and began to plan exactly how this was going to work. Eric had told me, judging from what I had told him, that if I wanted to win Ella back, I had to go about it slowly. That meant no big romantic gestures, no grand declarations of undying love and promises of eternity – that wasn’t going to cut it. Eric had told me to think back to the beginning to the time when I had been trying to persuade Ella to be with me. I knew that she liked me, but it felt that there was always something holding her back whilst I was the one pushing the relationship forward. Having said that, she said ‘I love you’ before I did, if you discount the time I said it in the middle of sex.

Eric had echoed Gina’s words about not rushing to Montreal and surprising her or sending her bazillions of flowers every day. Tanya told me that if she received hundreds of flowers a day from Eric and she was single and in a different city she would be more than a little freaked out. Eric said it might push her in the opposite direction, and that I had to win her trust back one step at a time. I didn’t know exactly how I was going to do that, seeing as how I was in Northern Ontario and she was in Montreal, hundreds of kilometres away.

Tanya and Eric had suggested the simple option of calling her. It may sound simple but what the hell was I supposed to say? “Er hey Ella, I was just wondering how your summer went? Can’t stop thinking about you” or “Ella, do you still love me?” I had plenty of questions I wanted to ask her but I didn’t know if it was possible to say any of them judging by the way she had left things.

For all I know there could be another man in her bedroom right now – a thought which made me feel sick to the stomach thinking of Ella with some greasy French man, who looked like a weird mix between Tanger and Max, feeding her strawberries dipped in chocolate and whispering dirty things in French in her ear. I shook my head, ridding my head of that horrible notion before walking downstairs to find Tanya or Eric. One of them had to be around somewhere.

“Jordy, everything OK?” Eric said as he sat at the kitchen table looking at the morning paper with a cup of coffee. My brother acts like he’s forty sometimes as well as being too domesticated. Marriage has whipped him into shape.

“Yeah, Gina just gave me Félix’s number to call. She said it was better than using her home phone and getting the crackpot mother.” Eric laughed at the thought. Somehow I didn’t find it that funny – I just wanted to know what to say.

“So you’re gonna call Félix?” Eric said, as I picked up the home phone and walked around the kitchen with it, staring at it in my hands.

“Well you gotta dial the number first lil bro,” Eric joked. I shot him a burning glare, partly at taking the piss out of me and secondly for calling me ‘lil bro’. Everyone knows I’m the tallest in the family so he can stop that shit.

“Anyway just call Félix and ask him if you can speak to Ella. It’s what, Sunday? Odds are she won’t be working, it’s half eight in the morning.”

I nodded, retreating from the kitchen through the dining room and into the hall wondering where I would have enough privacy to make this phone call. Mom had gone into town to visit the weekly farmers’ market and Dad was probably outside messing around with a tractor or something.

Taking a deep breath I picked up the phone, glancing at the slip of paper on which I had scrawled Félix’s number. Slowly I entered the number, five, one, four, making sure I had entered the exact number. I sunk onto the couch, barely breathing as I listened to the call connecting followed by the slow ringing. C’mon, I willed Félix to answer, crossing my fingers on my left hand as I listened to the phone ring again and again. Just as I was about to hang up, I heard someone pick up.

“Oui, allo?” Fuck! French, I thought as I listened to the voice on the other end of the line. It didn’t sound like Ella but I had only ever heard her speak French once or twice.

“Er, salut,” I said, thinking back to my two semesters of French at junior high which I had quickly dropped so I could do extra hockey. I tried to think of what the guys on the team said to one another as they talked in French in the locker room. I don’t know. I have no idea.

“Is er, Félix, there?” I said in English, praying that whoever it was would understand English. I briefly remembered Ella telling me that ninety percent of people who lived in Montreal were bilingual and I prayed that whoever was on Félix’s phone understood.

“Non, he is in the shower. Can I take a message?” the voice replied. Thank fuck she had understood. Did I want to leave a message, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t even know I was speaking to.

“Who is this?” I asked, wanting to clarify I wasn’t speaking to the crackpot mother or one of Félix’s friends who was having a joke at my expense.

“Rosalie,” she breathed down the phone. “And you?”

“Jordan,” I replied, now knowing that I was speaking to Félix’s stripper girlfriend. I don’t think I’ve ever actually spoken to a stripper before, so this was a first, and not in the scenario I would have thought I would be speaking to a stripper.

“Well I wanted to talk to him about Ella,” I went on, hoping her English was good enough to comprehend what I was saying.

“Ella is not here at the moment. She is out,” Rosalie said in a rather harsh voice.

“Oh, OK.” Well I had wanted to speak to Félix really, not Rosalie or Ella. “Can you tell me one thing, is Ella seeing anyone or is she still single?” I felt bad checking up on her like this in a way which was bound to get back to her. This was going about the phone call in the worst possible way, and not what I had hoped to get out of it.

“Yes, she was out with a guy yesterday evening and they didn’t come back till late,” she answered in a sickly sweet voice that reminded me of an evil Véro.

“Can you tell me what he looks like?” I asked, now verging on stalker territory. Maybe it was someone I might recognise, or know the description of. Maybe Rosalie had seen Ella with a friend.

“Dark hair, tall, tanned, well dressed, speaks French, so he’s from Montréal. La, c’est tout,” Rosalie said.

Fuck. I didn’t know what to say. Ella had moved on, she had replaced me, found a frog that was the opposite of me, tall, dark and speaks French. I didn’t know what to do.

“Thanks, tell Félix I called,” I said before hanging up. I didn’t wait to hear Rosalie’s response as I dropped the phone on the cushion beside me and leaned back, taking a big sigh. I’m too fucking late, just too fucking late, I thought as I played over the conversation with Rosalie in my head.

About five minutes later, Eric walked into the room, holding out a plate with some toast on it. I grinned looking at the peanut butter he had lavishly spread onto the warm toast. Eric might be whipped but I kind of liked the whipped, thoughtful Eric who brought his brother breakfast.

“Thanks dude,” I said as I took the plate.

“How did it go?” Eric asked, taking a seat on the couch opposite me and focusing on me. I took a bite of the toast before answering him.

“You want the bad news or the shit news?” I asked once I had swallowed a mouthful. Eric just shrugged as he weighed up the options.

“Rosalie, Félix’s girlfriend answered -”

“-The stripper?” Eric answered. I nodded, still not smiling.

“Yeah, and Félix was in the shower or something. Anyway Rosalie told me Ella was out last night with some guy, tall, tanned, Frenchie, so it sounds like she moved on. I felt like shit asking if she was seeing someone,” I said, looking at my plate as the toast became more and more unappetising.

“Shit Jordy, you OK?”

I nodded, knowing I wasn’t OK. It fucking hurt, it felt like someone had got a knife and wrenched it into my heart and pulled it out, pulling half of my heart with it. I didn’t want to show Eric that it hurt – it really fucking hurt. I just wanted to forget about the phone call, wishing I hadn’t been so fucking nosey as to as that.

“’Kay, well if you want to go fishing later, let me know, I’m thinking about going just to get a break from the farm.”
I nodded, I needed an escape and fishing sounded good.
Thank God for Eric.

46. B-Side

Miley Cyrus - When I Look At You


ELLA'S POV


“Are you going to answer that sweetie?” Noah asked as my blackberry vibrated on the table in front of us. I glanced at the screen before shaking my head and forwarding whoever to voicemail. It wasn't a Montréal number and it wasn't a number I recognised.

“I don’t answer numbers I don’t recognise,” I replied. Noah shook his head. I had always done it ever since I could remember. If someone was calling me and they weren’t in my contacts then I wouldn’t pick up.

“Crazy wench. It could be something super important,” Noah said. I raised my an eyebrow at him before taking another sip of my Tia Maria and coke.

“Well, whoever it is can ring back, I’m enjoying my Saturday afternoon,” I said looking around the roof terrace. Although it was only four o’clock, the terrace was packed with people enjoying the afternoon sunshine. I don’t often come as far over as boulevard St. Laurent but Noah had persuaded me seeing as it was “a special occasion” and “you don’t see me often enough”. We had been at B-Side for about half an hour, Noah was enjoying his cheeky ‘Saturday afternoon cigarette’ and a daiquiri. I swear my drink was manlier than his and that was not something to be proud of.

Noah had spent the last month travelling around Europe with a friend from Duquesne whilst I had been in Montréal and had enjoyed telling me about the tales (and the men) he had encountered.

“So we were in this bar, and I ordered a gin and tonic, apparently it’s not the done thing in Munich to drink gin and tonics, they like their beer there, and the barman looked an awful lot like your man friend, whats his face, the hockey player…”

“Jordan-”

“-Jordan, yes Jordan, how is he?” Noah stopped midrant to ask me about my relationship.

“I don’t know. We split up.”

“Oh honey, don’t be stupid, why? He thought the sun shone out of your vayjayjay, what happened?” Noah said crudely as the nearest girl behind Noah turned around to stare at him, her mouth ever so slightly open. He just shrugged in return and mouth ‘vayjayjay’ back at her.

“Noah!” He couldn’t do that to the poor girl – she was turning red now. I carried on, wanting to get this particular part of the conversation over and done with.

“Because he never replied to any of my calls or messages for weeks. I had to end it – I didn’t know what was going on, it was like he effectively dumped me by severing all points of communication when I left Pittsburgh.”

“Holy mother fucker! Well it’s a good job you ended it then sweetie. Anyone else since then?” Noah said taking a noisy slurp of his daiquiri.

“Nope, and I’m quite happy for it to stay that way. KPMG is a lot of work right now and I want to do my best there and see what they say in six weeks time. They’re going to hire one out of the five summer interns and I want it to be me.”

“Bonne chance,” Noah said raising his glass. “To you. May you nail the last six weeks and get that job.” I clinked my glass with his before taking another sip and gazing around the roof terrace.

“So no chance of being reunited with Monsieur Staal?”

“Not a chance. He’s in Thunder Bay, I’m here and I’ll be in Montréal until the end of August and then Dad wants us to go to the Hamptons for a week for Labour Day weekend so that will probably happen. Going there is weird – it’s so false and full of garden parties and brunches and being seen in certain places. Actually, if you’re free, you should come with us, it’ll be hilarious, always is. Félix is taking Rosalie…”

“Oh yah, what’s she like?” Noah said checking out our hot waiter and sending him a not so discreet wink.

“Nice enough, stripper, think you know that part already. She seems a little shallow, out for what she can get with Félix who is head over heels for her and she knows it. It does feel like she’s using him for something. We went out for lunch yesterday on the plateau and she expects him to pay for her – he’s a med student and she’s a stripper. She makes more money than he does.” I felt a little exasperated after my rant on Rosalie but I had needed to say it. Rosalie treated Félix like he was her meal ticket up out of god knows where for a better life. And she’s still working away in that hole.”

“Well she knows that neither you nor Félix is exactly poor. C’mon Ella, it’s written in everything you do. You wear fabulous clothes, Rosalie can see that, she saw your designer purses, your house in Westmount, your car and she knew all of this before you started at KPMG. Félix is the same, nice clothes, car, good manners, disposable income from your allowance from Papa…” Noah trailed off. “So you’re going to try and get rid of her?”

I shook my head. As much as I could see through Rosalie, she made Félix happy and he loved her. Maybe he would see through her when we went to the Hamptons or he might finally realise what she was after. Either way, it’s not my place to intervene and Félix would kill me if I did.

“Out of interest what would you do if Jordan walked in here right about now?” Noah asked.

“What?!” I said looking around expecting to see a tall blonde head amongst the crowd.

“Gotcha. What would you do? Clearly you want to see him.”

“Noah…” I warned. He shrugged and threw his arms up in the air in the way that only the French can do. I shook my head in amusement.

“It’s not as simple as that. I did what I had to do because it felt right, I needed to know what was going on but I didn’t get anything. It was like someone had flicked the ‘off’ button in our relationship and I didn’t know what was going on. If he walked in right now, I would probably say hi, I’m not going to be rude about it. I met this guy who believed that I still loved Jordan, and told me to call him, so I was still on his mind.”

“Aha! Knew there was someone else. He sounds like a smart man. Name?”

“Vinnie, he plays hockey too but he doesn’t know the guy is Jordan.”

“Lecavalier? Oh emm gee sweetie, he’s seriously wow. Why did you kick him out of bed? Introduce me next time yah?” I shook my head not believing Noah’s reaction. Vinnie is hot but nothing happened, was happening or indeed even going to happen and he hadn’t tried anything or done anything to lead me to believe he was interested in the slightest. “OK, let’s play a game,” Noah said. I rolled my eyes but I was still going to play along.

“Cappuccino or latte?” Noah shot.

“Cappuccino,” I replied quickly. That was easy.

“Montréal or New York?”

“Montréal.” Pfft, Montréal is home, always has been, always will be.

“Blonde or brunette.”

“Blonde.” I’m blonde and I like blonde haired guys – end of.

“Black or white, like colour wise, not race,” Noah added hastily, speeding up the rate of his questions.

“White,” I said. The colour black is too dark and depressing.

“Summer or winter?”

“Summer.”

“Raspberry or Strawberry?”

“Strawberry.”

“Sushi or pasta?”

“Sushi.”

“Jordan – love or hate?”

“Love.”

Noah’s mouth opened and closed rapidly like some sort of puffer fish which was quickly stopped by him exclaiming: “I knew it! I knew it! You still love him!” I blushed as the people at the next table turned around to look at him. I apologised for Noah hissing for him to sit down and stop pointing at me. Noah might as well stand up and do a little victory dance on the table. And the choice was love or hate? I didn’t hate him; I don’t think I ever would, I had just needed to end it. I had a lot of great memories with Jordan from first meeting him at lunch in Acapulco to me leaving Pittsburgh – some things I would never forget and never wanted to forget.

“Love or hate?” I asked. “Well I don’t hate him. That’s stupid, Noah.”

“Oh sweetie what are we going to do with you? I should have said like or love, that would have been better,” Noah said lighting up a new cigarette. Even if he had said like or love, I still knew the answer I would have given.

Love.


“C’mon let’s get out of here and then you can tell me all about Monsieur Vinnie,” Noah said grabbing my hand and pulling me out of my seat towards the black metal stairs towards street level. Sometimes he could be so insistent about things and I’m not sure how much there is to tell Noah about ‘monsieur Vinnie’.

45. Junk Trunk

I owe you a massive apology for not updating sooner, it's been nearly a week which is absolutely terrible - I've been ridiculously busy with summer plans, new boyfriend and a weekend in Quebec City that I haven't been anywhere near my laptop. So I've had to wait until today to bosh out this one, but more to come soon. Anyway this is inspired from this clip. I didn't know if it was possible to write a story about Jordan (or indeed any of the other Staals) that didn't include that snippet.


System of a Down - Chop Suey


JORDAN'S POV


Eric looked at me as I lay crashed out on the sofa watching some shitty reruns on TV. He cocked his head to one side and gave me that look – the look which kind of asks why I’m being a lazy bones when it’s such a nice day outside. On a day like today I should probably be out helping Dad not watching CSI or the Sopranos. Right now, this is exactly what I needed. I can’t bear to be stuck inside all day but Marc’s constant sniping at my new found singledom was really getting on my nerves so I’d escaped the scorching sun and headed inside for some mindnumbing TV. I didn’t say anything to him; I just closed my eyes and sighed, willing him to go away. I had told Mom, who had not so discreetly told the rest of the family, that I was now single so by now, the rest of Thunder Bay would probably already now know - Mom should have had a career in broadcast journalism or something, not here in sod central.

“You wanna shoot some pucks at crap?”

“Have we got any?” I asked referring to our annual summer tradition.

Eric nodded as a grin slowly spread over my face.


Every summer since I was about sixteen, Mom has her annual clear out of the house going from top to bottom. She hates clutter and forces Dad – who’s a hoarder – to liberally chuck everything away that we no longer use or need. Mom used to put all of the items in the barn for Dad to load them onto a trailer and take them to the rubbish dump in town. One year, Eric and I set all the items up in the barn and shot pucks at them. Since then it’s become an annual tradition which has turned into a friendly competition between the four of us – always Eric and me against Marc and Jared. The items in our affectionately named ‘Junk Trunk’ which comes from the trunk in the attic full of old crap, usually consists of old faded plates; hideous china ornaments that Mom and Dad have received as presents at one point or another, and anything that’s breakable that lies around the house. If we’re really stuck we go through the recycling for wine and beer bottles but usually Mom gets enough junk for us to smash us.

Dad used to be worried that we might hit holes in the barn wall, but none of us have a hard enough shot to punch a puck through wood and corrugated metal even if we tried.

"What time do you make it?” I asked as I went upstairs to find a stick in my kit bag.
“Four, I’ll go get the carrots,” Eric said referring to Marc and Jared.

Together we noisily made our way out to the barn to see the assortment of accumulated junk Mom had put together for us this summer. There were a few beer bottles lined up on top of the shelf as well as some plate that I’d never seen before. Mom always put these things away for a rainy day, or just a day in the summer as she’s dejunking the house.

“Dude, Mom got two of these!” Jared said holding up an evil looking Santa who used to light up. The other one had been destroyed a couple of summers ago so I’m guessing either someone knows we destroyed the first and kindly gave her another one, not knowing it would come to the same fate as the first – or Mom deliberately held back Santa number 2 back so Santa bashing could recommence this year. He carefully put him back on his perch and started looking at the other items.
After deciding on the same teams as always, Marc went to the chalk board and rubbed off last year’s score.

“He buried it, dude!” I shouted as the can fell noisily to the ground.

“You surprised or something?” Eric said turning to me. What can I say? Yeah? Normally he takes a few misses before he hits something, but he’s better than Marc. And he got a can too, but they fall pretty easily. The best thing about the junk trunk has got to be the thrilling sound of glass or china smashing.

“Yeah, a little surprised,” I said.

We all stood around laughing as Marc took two pucks and missed with both. He’s got bad aim – which is why we used to make him play defence – he hasn’t got the hands for anything else. When we go play golf he takes a few swipes before he even manages to tee off – always way behind us in scoring. Out of all of us he sucks the most at this game.

As Jared stepped forward we watched as he swung like a maniac and sent the puck whistling through the air – not what he aimed for but he’s got a destructive streak and he’s one up on Marc so Eric and I will let it go.

Feeling the pressure from Eric not to let our team down – I took my first shot which ricocheted off the back wall with a resounding thud. Picking out another target, I buried the plate as it smashed to smithereens on the barn floor. I wanted to keep going and Eric said I could have his go. What the hell was that? I squinted trying to make out the item in the dim light of the barn. I didn’t want to pick one of the wine bottles as they were too small and high up for me to be accurate. I needed a safe pick, something low down and big.

“I’m going to go for Santa,” I said feeling triumphant that I could wipe the smug grin off his painted face. I drew the puck back and forth, taking aim before I was ready to go. Santa was going down.

“That old thing,” Marc said as I tried to focus on the target and nothing else. I can’t have the gingers distracting me – they never win Junk Trunk and I’m damned if they’re going to put me off. Shooting quickly I knocked his head off, as his chirpy Christmas face was blasted to the floor.

“He knocked his head right off!” Eric said. I took one look at the headless Santa before looking at Marc, daring him and Jared to beat me.

The rules of the junk trunk state that if you hit something you or your team mate get another go. As I’d just decapitated Santa, it was now Eric’s turn. He went for the lightbulb. That’s so typical of Eric to choose something tiny – always setting himself the hardest challenge possible. With the grittiest look of determination possible on his face, he launched the puck towards the pile, bouncing off the back wall and hitting a pole with what looked like an old lantern on it.

Eric went for the plate but only chipped off the top half so we moved the plate down for Marc to make it easier for him. The guy’s got no aim, he needs all the help he can get. Eric and I watched, willing Marc to miss, which he did, no surprises there, hitting the back wall and knocking into the back of the cupboard.

I always hope Jared has more luck – he gets so much stick from us for not making it into the NHL earlier like us and he tells me and Eric there’s so much pressure to live up to that he worries he’s not good enough. I have no idea why he worries so much – he’s hands down better than Marc; Jared could be blindfolded and be better than Marc.

Jared picked his big target of some blue vase Aunt Meredith had given her one Christmas and missed, smashing two other items behind. However he got it on the second, exchanging high fives with Marc.

“The door,” Eric said referring to an old wooden door leaning against the back wall that used to be the old side entrance into the house. The peeling blue paint was clear enough for me to see from here. The top half of the door was divided into nine small panes of clear glass, each separated by a thin strip of wood. I looked back at Eric. He had just said the door, nothing more specific, and I wasn’t going to specify which pane I was going for.

“Deal,” I said, flicking a puck towards me as I lined up. I stood side on, focusing on the old door in front of me.

“Not going to do it.”

“You suck.”

“Fail, fail, fail.” I heard Jared and Marc trash talking me as I prepared to take the shot. Blocking them out of my mind like I did against Carcillo, when we played the Flyers, I closed my eyes and lifted my stick.


“No fucking way!” Jared said as if Marc had just told him Jesus was a Mexican. I opened my eyes at the noise of glass shattering to see where my puck had gone, looking at the door in disbelief. I couldn’t believe it – but I had done it – the middle pane of glass shattered as the door gently shook from the impact. I felt Eric pat me on the back as I raised my stick in the air. This felt almost as good as beating the fucking Flyers.

“I know, I know, I’m too good,” I said as I threw my stick in the air to being hit by Marc and Jared who I’m pretty sure were going to do their best to bring me down.


After Eric and I had safely sealed our victory, by 7-4, we went for a free for all seeing as there weren’t many remaining unbroken things.

“You outta your slump now?” Eric said as he began clearing the pieces up as the carrots slumped back to the house in defeat. You can tell he’s the oldest, he’s the most responsible as he always clears up and rounds the rest of us up.

“Yeah, think so,” I replied. Smashing things up had been a good mood lifter.

“You wanna tell me about it?” Eric said as he lifted part of Santa’s head out of the straw.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I replied, “I have a phone call to make now.”