You've Never Let Me Down
Title: You've Never Let Me Down
Rating: R
Pairing: Brendan Morrison/Markus Naslund
Disclaimer: Not true as far as I know
Summary: A little ficlette. Letting go is hard.
AN: Making a brief appearance to post after semi-LJ retirement. Dedicated to
lastdriveby. I am so glad I finally met her. She is truly awesome. And I hope she doesn't mind me stealing her boys for just a short time :)
I stretch my wrist -- still stiff in the morning when I wake. I had wanted to avoid surgery, asked for just a month off to let it heal, but the team would have none of it. It was play through it or get surgery. Hockey players didn’t “rest” injuries.
The accusation that I was some kind of pansy cut me to the bone. I had been a completely dedicated player, the Canucks iron man. I had given my heart and soul to the organization, only to have my loyalty questioned.
Mike Gillis of all people should have known. A player back in the day when injuries were often career ending and players were paid crap. Maybe that was the problem.
But he kept a tight reign on the players and after my injury I seemed to fall out of favor with team management. And since my contract was coming up, I guess I should have seen the writing on the wall.
Nazzy was on the chopping block as well. The team was moving in a different direction and they weren’t interested in keeping someone who hadn’t performed to his potential since that concussion way back when. Forget the intangibles. His leadership clearly didn’t matter anymore.
And that’s the real issue. Because as I much as I want to stay in Vancouver, I don’t want to be here without him. Ever since July 1 hit, I’ve been waiting … praying that somehow, someway, he stays because if not, it’s the beginning of the end.
I knew it would happen one day. I would retire here in Vancouver with my family and he would take his back to Sweden. But I had been avoiding even thinking about free-agency, naively optimistic that we could both renegotiate our contracts long before they ran out.
“Vancouver might be interested, depending on what you’d take,” my agent had told me. Yet I wasn’t about to make a decision until I heard from Markus.
The phone rings and with dread I look at the number. It’s him. I pause before I answer, wanting to stop time and realize the final moments where it’s not over … where we still have a chance to be in Vancouver together. After all, it is still a slight possibility, right?
But time doesn’t stop and I answer just before my phone put him into voice mail.
“Hey Mo, how are you?” His soft, Swedish lilt tugging at my heart.
“Where?” I barely manage to choke out.
It doesn’t really matter where. It could be Miami or Calgary. Distance has no bearing. It we had been two single men, with no obligations or commitments it might make a difference. Having the freedom to travel short distances, hooking up a few times a year …
But we aren’t. We both have families; wives and kids. Such encounters would not only be impractical, but impossible. A couple of hours together while one of us is on the road would only be tortuous.
“New York,” he answered, emotion absent from his voice.
“Oh.” New York. I guess that was as good a place as any for him.
“Did you get a good deal?”
“Yeah, two years. Should be good … “
I stop listening as I throw the concept around in my head. Two years. It’s not that long. But by then, he’ll probably be ready to retire and will head back to Sweden.
And it finally hit me. No more sneaking goodnight kisses in the shadows of the parking lot before we part after a game. No more waking up on the road in his room, naked, with legs intertwined, Nazzy gently stroking my head as I rest it on his chest. No more quick fucks in the back seat of his SUV after a close win or a dismal loss, Nazzy calling my name with his eyes closed tight at the height of passion.
I can’t hold back any longer. I had managed to keep my emotions at bay, told myself it was just business and that I should just be thankful for the time we had together. Suck it up. Be a man.
But it’s too overwhelming and without warning the tears begin to fall from the corners of my eyes. I guess I really am a pussy after all.
“Mo?”
I take a deep breath and try to compose myself before answering.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll miss you.”
His voice is quivering and I completely lose it, covering the mouthpiece of my phone so he can’t hear. But he knows me too well.
“Bren, it’ll be ok. We’ll be ok.”
“I know,” I sniff, but I don’t believe it. How can we be ok?
“I’ll be back in a couple of weeks to tie up a few things. I’m keeping my house. You never know.”
“Yeah … “ I trail off, unable to come up with anything meaningful.
“Let’s head up to the cabin for a while. Just the two of us.”
I smile to myself, despite my heavy heart.
“I’d like that.”
“Take care, Bren. Do what’s right for you right now. Things will work themselves out in the end.”
I don’t see how, but I have put all my love and trust in him. I have to believe it.
Rating: R
Pairing: Brendan Morrison/Markus Naslund
Disclaimer: Not true as far as I know
Summary: A little ficlette. Letting go is hard.
AN: Making a brief appearance to post after semi-LJ retirement. Dedicated to
lastdriveby. I am so glad I finally met her. She is truly awesome. And I hope she doesn't mind me stealing her boys for just a short time :)
I stretch my wrist -- still stiff in the morning when I wake. I had wanted to avoid surgery, asked for just a month off to let it heal, but the team would have none of it. It was play through it or get surgery. Hockey players didn’t “rest” injuries.
The accusation that I was some kind of pansy cut me to the bone. I had been a completely dedicated player, the Canucks iron man. I had given my heart and soul to the organization, only to have my loyalty questioned.
Mike Gillis of all people should have known. A player back in the day when injuries were often career ending and players were paid crap. Maybe that was the problem.
But he kept a tight reign on the players and after my injury I seemed to fall out of favor with team management. And since my contract was coming up, I guess I should have seen the writing on the wall.
Nazzy was on the chopping block as well. The team was moving in a different direction and they weren’t interested in keeping someone who hadn’t performed to his potential since that concussion way back when. Forget the intangibles. His leadership clearly didn’t matter anymore.
And that’s the real issue. Because as I much as I want to stay in Vancouver, I don’t want to be here without him. Ever since July 1 hit, I’ve been waiting … praying that somehow, someway, he stays because if not, it’s the beginning of the end.
I knew it would happen one day. I would retire here in Vancouver with my family and he would take his back to Sweden. But I had been avoiding even thinking about free-agency, naively optimistic that we could both renegotiate our contracts long before they ran out.
“Vancouver might be interested, depending on what you’d take,” my agent had told me. Yet I wasn’t about to make a decision until I heard from Markus.
The phone rings and with dread I look at the number. It’s him. I pause before I answer, wanting to stop time and realize the final moments where it’s not over … where we still have a chance to be in Vancouver together. After all, it is still a slight possibility, right?
But time doesn’t stop and I answer just before my phone put him into voice mail.
“Hey Mo, how are you?” His soft, Swedish lilt tugging at my heart.
“Where?” I barely manage to choke out.
It doesn’t really matter where. It could be Miami or Calgary. Distance has no bearing. It we had been two single men, with no obligations or commitments it might make a difference. Having the freedom to travel short distances, hooking up a few times a year …
But we aren’t. We both have families; wives and kids. Such encounters would not only be impractical, but impossible. A couple of hours together while one of us is on the road would only be tortuous.
“New York,” he answered, emotion absent from his voice.
“Oh.” New York. I guess that was as good a place as any for him.
“Did you get a good deal?”
“Yeah, two years. Should be good … “
I stop listening as I throw the concept around in my head. Two years. It’s not that long. But by then, he’ll probably be ready to retire and will head back to Sweden.
And it finally hit me. No more sneaking goodnight kisses in the shadows of the parking lot before we part after a game. No more waking up on the road in his room, naked, with legs intertwined, Nazzy gently stroking my head as I rest it on his chest. No more quick fucks in the back seat of his SUV after a close win or a dismal loss, Nazzy calling my name with his eyes closed tight at the height of passion.
I can’t hold back any longer. I had managed to keep my emotions at bay, told myself it was just business and that I should just be thankful for the time we had together. Suck it up. Be a man.
But it’s too overwhelming and without warning the tears begin to fall from the corners of my eyes. I guess I really am a pussy after all.
“Mo?”
I take a deep breath and try to compose myself before answering.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll miss you.”
His voice is quivering and I completely lose it, covering the mouthpiece of my phone so he can’t hear. But he knows me too well.
“Bren, it’ll be ok. We’ll be ok.”
“I know,” I sniff, but I don’t believe it. How can we be ok?
“I’ll be back in a couple of weeks to tie up a few things. I’m keeping my house. You never know.”
“Yeah … “ I trail off, unable to come up with anything meaningful.
“Let’s head up to the cabin for a while. Just the two of us.”
I smile to myself, despite my heavy heart.
“I’d like that.”
“Take care, Bren. Do what’s right for you right now. Things will work themselves out in the end.”
I don’t see how, but I have put all my love and trust in him. I have to believe it.