Keep Me Close- Chapter IV
Team: San Jose Sharks
Pairing: Joe Thornton/Evgeni Nabokov
Rating: PG-13 for language and racism for now (NC-17 later)
Note: (Hopefully) all of the spelling mistakes are intentional, and are there to show accents and to differentiate the characters. And marriages and girlfriends are non-existent for the main characters.
Summary: Not all in San Jose is sunny as the path to the Stanley Cup proves to be as difficult as ever, falling in love might be the simplest task on this year’s agenda.
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Disclaimer: Completely fictional story for non-fictional people
I also mention a part of the last Sharks/Stars game, but you should watch this video first to make sense of what I'm trying to put across:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFMPIC5nbFg*
Chapter IV-
Observing the man holding their hands to him as a lifeline, The Russian hesitated for only a second. He knew that he was unable to deny his request, for making Joe upset over him was not Evgeni’s intention. Sucking in a breath, he managed to mutter out a quick “fine” before squeezing Joe’s hand with his own.
Memories emerged to the surface of Evgeni’s mind after a summer of trying to suppress them. The same thick air entered his lungs and clung to his skin. Fine hairs prickled on the nape of Evgeni’s neck and a tremor shot through his body.
“Evgeni, what happened last night?” Joe asked again.
His furious memories faltered with Joe’s question. “Lahst n-night?” He choked on his words, confused. The other man nodded slowly, his imploring, wide eyes innocent; too innocent.
They are brown eyes, plain and simple. Nothing fancy, no flecks of gold or copper, they are not even a pretty hazel. Just muddy brown, too brown; and they are piercing straight into Evgeni’s soul.
He felt exposed, naked even, staring into Joe’s eyes like that. Suddenly, McLellan’s harsh words cut fresh wounds as the echoed in Evgeni’s subconscious. The happenings after the playoffs were blatantly ignored once again; which was to be expected, in his life, it is always only about hockey, even when he became smothered and overwhelmed by it.
‘You could’ve won that last game. I know this and you know this.’
“Oh yeah… lahst night.” He paused, the last shadows of that was buried and hidden away. “Whell, ’e talked about our lhast game against the S-Stars.” Evgeni began, and Joe grimaced at the still touchy subject, completely oblivious to the stutter.
‘Sure, you had that save, everyone saw it.’
“We stood on thee ice after yur practice, and ’e circled me. ’E talked about my fihrst overtime save.”
Joe’s face brightened. “That was one hell of a save…” He trailed off, smiling.
‘But Marty had saves too… more actually.’
Evgeni tensed all over, but he continued with a strain in his voice after swallowing his bile. “But ’e said that… that it whas stupid everyone whas impressed by iyt.”
“What?” Joe was confused, and it showed clearly on his face. “Why? I mean, wh-I-ah-wh-what?”
‘He saved the ones that counted. You missed the shot that meant the most.’
“Juhst get this dumb padding off’a me.” Evgeni grumbled as he deflated into himself, pushing his head deeper into the pillow. Joe fumbled for a moment before taking motionless hands that are still intertwined in his and hooking them onto the headboard.
“ ’E said that when iyt came down to iyt, the save didn’t matter because we lhost.” He clenched at the headboard with stiff fingers.
“But the game lasted almost another four periods. That counts for something, right?” Joe asked. His eyebrows creased together, and his nose scrunched when his upper lip tugged with a sneer.
“Iya thought iyt did too.”
‘You ended the Sharks season. You ended it for everyone just so you could play for your precious Russians.’
The center loosened the four straps on each of the goaltender’s arms with care, at the same time watching Evgeni’s face closely with his damned big brown eyes.
Evgeni gripped the board above his head tight enough to turn his knuckles a stark white. Then he swallowed his pride and opened his mouth. “Is iyt whrong to love my home country of Roussia?”
Joe looked thoughtful for a minute while he finished with the last of the straps. His lips quirked and he glanced down. “Course not!” He stated a-matter-of-factly. “How can having pride fur your country be bad?” He shrugged. “I mean sure, Canada gets a lot of shit from Americans, but I would never not want to be from there, ya know?”
Frustrated, the goalie shook his head “No! Iya don’t mean it that whay. Iya mean…” He drifted off, afraid of what he might tell Joe, when he refused to believe it himself.
“What if, Iya, ah, whell-” His voice cracked uncharacteristically. “McLellan, he brought up the World Cup and, ah…” He took a shuddering breath. “Do you theenk that Iya could’ve not played my bhest just so Iya could play for Roussia?” Evgeni asked hesitantly, before adding, “And noht even knowing iyt?… What if Iya had a reason to noht whant to win?”
Fiddling with the thick material at Evgeni’s elbow, Joe pursed his lips. “Well did you?” He asked with a passive face, Evgeni sure that he was furious with him.
“I-I-Iya, uh-” Evgeni licked his lips nervously and broke eye contact by turning his head away in shame. “Iya don’t know; maybe.” He added in a small voice.
Joe sighed heavily and smoothed the padding beneath his fingers. “Evgeni, listen to me carefully. That was some of the best netminding I’ve ever seen-” He coughed into a balled fist trying to cover the pink tint on his cheeks. “And it was an honor to represent the Sharks with you, as your teammate. What I wouldn’t give to play with the passion you did that night. It was… inspiring, I think.”
Now Joe looked away. “So, no, you didn’t give up on us so that ya could play fur your country. We gave up on you.”
Evgeni stared at Joe in disbelief, wanting to tell the man how he was touched by those few words. Some of the guilt of failing his team lifted off his shoulders, and even though a different ominous presence of that night lingered in the back of his mind, Evgeni managed to divert his full attention to Joe. How can he even begin to express how grateful he is?
“W-whut?” He stuttered, blinking owlishly.
Joe blushed deeper. “Come on man, I’m not gonna say that again,” he mumbled as he reached for Evgeni’s shoulder, pushing him forward.
The Russian let go of the headboard obediently and let Joe curl his spine so that his face was planted between his own knees, Joe cleverly avoiding eye contact. There was silence besides the rustling of Joe removing the straps on the back of Evgeni’s chest padding. Joe leaned over Evgeni’s hunched form, a palm planted on the small of his back and other grabbing a hold on the padding. The mattress dipped with the added weight, causing the men to bump together, and he yanked the padding up over the goaltender’s head without a word.
Unsurprisingly, Evgeni found the padding to be more constricting when it wrapped over his head rather than having it case to his torso. Wearing it properly did not often engulf the goalie in utter darkness or fill his nose with the most malodorous scent to have ever existed. His breath steamed up the small space with an inviting warmth that made his tired eyes droop before his comforting bubble was ripped away.
Joe muttered something along the lines of “You’re not going to get the satisfaction of hearing me say that” as he rolled of the bed and lumbered towards the window with the padding in hand. He dumped it on top of Evgeni’s skates without care, gaining a wince from the unfortunate owner of both items.
At a loss of what to say, Evgeni mutely stared into the broad back of the other man, who shuffled towards the bathroom. It was conveniently placed on the wall facing the goaltender, meaning that Joe could keep his back to the bed. Flicking on the light when he reached the room, he shut the door behind him. Evgeni watched with his hands splayed, boneless, at his side.
Running water was heard after Joe stepped lightly across the tiles, his shadow dancing through the crack of light under the closed door. The tap squeaked and the water stopped forty-one seconds later, although Evgeni refused that he was in fact counting, rather, he is merely talented at timing things.
Silence, and then:
“Thank you,” Evgeni spoke clearly, “It’s nhice to hear that.” He worried his lip between his teeth when the man in the bathroom did not respond right away.
There was a shuffle of clothing and Joe’s muffled voice was finally heard through the door. “Good. I don’t like seeing you so sad, or upset, or… however you’ve been looking lately,” He paused, and after a moment’s thinking, he added, “But don’t go tellin’ any of the guys I said that! Either of those things that I said… which I meant… but… they don’t need to know!” He ended up sounding confused as he fumbled for what to say.
Smiling slightly, the goalkeeper kept his mouth shut until the door swung open, and Joe Thornton stood across the room. His tall, muscular silhouette blocked the harsh yellow light emanating from behind him, for which Evgeni was grateful. He squinted, Joe’s face unreadable with the backlight, but he swiveled and flicked off the light, casting everything into shadow.
He sauntered over, his face and expression becoming visible as he stepped into the moonlit room. When Joe was by Evgeni’s side, his knees gave way and he flopped onto the bed, the springs whining under the stress. He made a forced smile and unconsciously stretched his arms out to scratch behind his ear, letting out a nervous chuckle.
“So, um, you’re not going to tell anyone right?”
Scrunching his nose, the Russian feigned to contemplate Joe’s request, enjoying the look of horror that flashed over his face as time ticked by. “Naw, noht a word.”
Joe visibly slumped in relief. “This is just gonna be between you ’n me, yeah?”
“What?” Evgeni cocked his head slightly. “Didn’t Iya jhust say Iya agree to that?”
Joe fingered the hem of the black Reebok undershirt with a devious glint in his eyes. “ ’M just double-checking, never know who you can trust these days, with evil coaches lurking around ’n all.”
The goaltender coughed out a laugh that caught in his throat, struggling out a “y-yeah” before coughing again. Joe watched in amusement as Evgeni calmed himself by evening his breaths.
“Are you done yet?” Joe joked with his nose pointed in the air, looking down at the flustered man lying next to him.
“Sorry, I’ll jhust try to die ohver here quietly for yur conveneyence.” He wheezed back, rolling his eyes.
“Tempting offer, but… I think I want ya to stick around a little bit longer.”
“Hmm, so khind of you.”
Joe winked, then took Evgeni’s shirt in his hands and pulled it up over his chest. “Aren’t I though? Now, arms please.”
Evgeni winced and lifted his tired limbs off the bed momentarily, and Joe pulled the shirt up over his head and slipped it off his arms. Without looking, he threw the bundled shirt over his shoulder, and it landed right on top of the leg pads that remained there. He turned back and Evgeni glanced away warily when a sly smile passed over Joe’s lips.
He wriggled himself around to fit his crossed legs on the bed, still smirking pointedly at the Russian. A teasing spark entered his brown eyes and he brought his left hand around to lightly tap Evgeni’s bare stomach. “Looks like someone’s been on a diet.”
Evgeni failed to stop the oncoming blush from spreading to his ears and neck at his teammate’s words. “Iya d-don’t know what yur talking about.” He squeaked out, a stammer in his voice.
Giving the abdominals a smack with an open palm, at which Evgeni managed to conceal a wince, Joe barely raised his shoulder and clicked his tongue with indifference. “Oh? But I think ya do. Ya see, this right here-” He waved his hand over the lightly toned stomach that had a bright pink hand print on it. “-was not here last season. Well actually, it was here, but so was a little extra.”
Evgeni’s mouth formed a small “o” as he gaped at the man besides him. Then he remembered his still stinging skin, and his loss for words became a scolding tone. “Maybe, but Iya don’t theenk you should slhap people when they cahn’t move.”
Joe raised his hands in mock surrender. “Oh, you caught me, darn it!” His innocent smile became cheeky again and he poked Evgeni one more time. “But really! I’m just sayin’ that you lost some extra baggage, ya know what I mean?”
“Yhes Iya know what you mean!” Evgeni shot back, his eyes set in a glare. Licking his lips, Evgeni’s playful argue became serious. “But last year, Iya noticed how tired Iya got. And with our, ah, phlayoff games, Iya figured to, you know-”
“Bulk up?” Joe offered, while tilting his head to the side.
A wave of exhaustion wafted over Evgeni, and he let his eyelids flicker shut for a second. He jolt himself awake, rolling his eyes and focusing back on Joe’s blurry form. He opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it shut. Nodding lazily, Evgeni gave a tired, genuine smile before parting his lips again.
“Need ta look my bhest when we whin thee Stanley Cup thees year.”
Evgeni vaguely saw Joe smile back, but only his soft brown eyes remained clear in the Russian’s foggy mind. Fingertips ghosted over his cheek and Evgeni’s muscles tensed before his relaxed into Joe’s gentle hand. Black crept into the edge of his vision until Joe’s face was framed in the darkness. He remained an unmovable figure while everything else faded away into the shadows.
“Go… sleep… kay?… get… equip… off… my…lf.”
The jumbled words meant little to Evgeni as he was finally seduced by the promise of sleep.
-----
Frigid air suspended in the atmosphere: stale, unmoving. The absolute nothingness surrounds and engulfs Evgeni’s body. His limbs are heavy and his movements are sluggish, the act of breathing almost becoming too strenuous to continue.
The silence is broken by drawn out scratches; they were faint at first, but they became closer and faster in tempo. Evgeni scrunches his nose, trying to place the familiar sound. The sharpening of a butcher knife, perhaps? Although he can not remember the last time he heard that and he definitely has not heard it enough to be able to recognize the noise.
At the base of his skull, small prickles began to form. Lifting his heavy arm through the frozen air, Evgeni rubbed at his nape. Instead of fingers, his blocker grazes over his tingling skin, which causes a flare of pain to erupt throughout his body and he jolts his eyes open for the first time.
Black streaks on a blinding white backdrop accompanied the scratches, succeeding in giving Evgeni a headache in his temples. The shadows zoomed around him, circling and closing in. There was a hard slap, and suddenly Brad Richards of the Dallas Stars manifested from the closest dark shape, staring straight into the eyes of the goaltender. *
Air catching in his throat, Evgeni knew he had milliseconds to act. Twisting his body to the left, his shoulder burned and his obloquies strained as he tried to intercept that damned puck with his catcher. The sting returned with vengeance, distracting Evgeni enough to make him blink and shake his head in frustration. ‘Not now!’
His eyes opened and he shifted his catcher so that he could peer at the puck that should be nestled between his thumb and forefinger; but all he saw was white. Confused, he jerks his head up in question at the Stars center, but finds that he is gone. In fact, all players from before Evgeni closed his eyes are different.
Like moving underwater, sounds were indistinguishable and movements were torpid. Brendon Morrow is surrounded by his teammates, tears stagnant on their faces. The Sharks are on the ice as well, looking behind the goaltender with crumpled faces, slumped shoulders and dark, angry eyes. The tingling intensified as he turned around at normal speed.
‘Shit… no. No!’
The seemingly insignificant black puck was resting in the back of the net, again. Only this time, the horn of the goal and the roar of the crowd was completely deafening, and Evgeni cannot hear a thing. Eyes moist, he hangs his head, waiting for the blood pounding in his ears to stop so that he could actually hear the cheers and jeers that would overwhelm him and fill the void of other thinking.
His heart rate slows, but the stadium has yet to emit any noise that Evgeni could process. The goaltender glanced up through wet lashes, finding that the audience was gone, and the seats were bare. His eyes darts down, and he chokes back a flow of tears at the sight of the lone puck in his net that ended everything for his team.
A flicker of white catches Evgeni’s eye and he raises his heavy head to find a lone person sitting in the stands, clapping slowly. It takes a second for Evgeni to recognize who it is, but when the features became clear, he only becomes more confused.
“Joe?” Evgeni asks; his scratchy voice echoed until it was only a soft hum in the rafters.
The center merely smiled sadly. “I know ya tried Nabs.” His voice is crystal clear, not even echoing once. Instead, McLellan’s words reverberate off the walls.
“Why did you lose for your team?” One questions.
A chill runs through Evgeni’s body at the condescending tone. The prickle on his skull spread throughout his body and spiked with pain.
“To play for your Communist bastards?” Another accuses.
Unable to breathe, Evgeni hugs his body through the thick padding, but the bulk of sweaty material feels clammy against his skin and his chest tightens.
“Overrated.”
“Failure.”
“You missed the most important shot, the winning one. And your team lost.because.of.you.”
Breath escaping as shaky gasps, Evgeni locked eyes with Joe after darting them around the petrified American Airlines Center. Kind brown eyes bore into his blue, and the harsh words faded while the pain soothed to a tickle. The two stared in serine silence before Joe opened his mouth to speak first.
His kind eyes turned sharp and alert. “Watch out.”
Bewildered, the goaltender whips his head around and knocks into something solid. Evgeni rubbed at his head, now only confused, and looked ahead in a daze. He jerks back at the close proximity of something that he was nose to nose with.
Standing back, he caught the eye of someone who he knew held no regards for personal space, and at the moment was standing extremely close. Evgeni crouched like an animal ready to flee, but his muscles locked up in terror. A scream was barely concealed and in turn, a pathetic whimper made it pass his parted lips.
“Well hello there,” Marty Turco exclaimed; his narrowed eyes gleaming, a smile like that of a snake plastered on his face.
Pain flooding through his body, he was frozen on the spot, horrified. ‘No… not again.’
Gasping for breath, Evgeni was enveloped in darkness, his heart hammering in his chest. He choked back a sob and smothered his face with clammy hands, shoulders shaking.
There was swift padding on soft floor, a dip to the left and strong arms wrapping around his shuddering frame, keeping a desperate hold on the last pieces of Evgeni’s sanity.
Pairing: Joe Thornton/Evgeni Nabokov
Rating: PG-13 for language and racism for now (NC-17 later)
Note: (Hopefully) all of the spelling mistakes are intentional, and are there to show accents and to differentiate the characters. And marriages and girlfriends are non-existent for the main characters.
Summary: Not all in San Jose is sunny as the path to the Stanley Cup proves to be as difficult as ever, falling in love might be the simplest task on this year’s agenda.
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Disclaimer: Completely fictional story for non-fictional people
I also mention a part of the last Sharks/Stars game, but you should watch this video first to make sense of what I'm trying to put across:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFMPIC5nbFg*
Chapter IV-
Observing the man holding their hands to him as a lifeline, The Russian hesitated for only a second. He knew that he was unable to deny his request, for making Joe upset over him was not Evgeni’s intention. Sucking in a breath, he managed to mutter out a quick “fine” before squeezing Joe’s hand with his own.
Memories emerged to the surface of Evgeni’s mind after a summer of trying to suppress them. The same thick air entered his lungs and clung to his skin. Fine hairs prickled on the nape of Evgeni’s neck and a tremor shot through his body.
“Evgeni, what happened last night?” Joe asked again.
His furious memories faltered with Joe’s question. “Lahst n-night?” He choked on his words, confused. The other man nodded slowly, his imploring, wide eyes innocent; too innocent.
They are brown eyes, plain and simple. Nothing fancy, no flecks of gold or copper, they are not even a pretty hazel. Just muddy brown, too brown; and they are piercing straight into Evgeni’s soul.
He felt exposed, naked even, staring into Joe’s eyes like that. Suddenly, McLellan’s harsh words cut fresh wounds as the echoed in Evgeni’s subconscious. The happenings after the playoffs were blatantly ignored once again; which was to be expected, in his life, it is always only about hockey, even when he became smothered and overwhelmed by it.
‘You could’ve won that last game. I know this and you know this.’
“Oh yeah… lahst night.” He paused, the last shadows of that was buried and hidden away. “Whell, ’e talked about our lhast game against the S-Stars.” Evgeni began, and Joe grimaced at the still touchy subject, completely oblivious to the stutter.
‘Sure, you had that save, everyone saw it.’
“We stood on thee ice after yur practice, and ’e circled me. ’E talked about my fihrst overtime save.”
Joe’s face brightened. “That was one hell of a save…” He trailed off, smiling.
‘But Marty had saves too… more actually.’
Evgeni tensed all over, but he continued with a strain in his voice after swallowing his bile. “But ’e said that… that it whas stupid everyone whas impressed by iyt.”
“What?” Joe was confused, and it showed clearly on his face. “Why? I mean, wh-I-ah-wh-what?”
‘He saved the ones that counted. You missed the shot that meant the most.’
“Juhst get this dumb padding off’a me.” Evgeni grumbled as he deflated into himself, pushing his head deeper into the pillow. Joe fumbled for a moment before taking motionless hands that are still intertwined in his and hooking them onto the headboard.
“ ’E said that when iyt came down to iyt, the save didn’t matter because we lhost.” He clenched at the headboard with stiff fingers.
“But the game lasted almost another four periods. That counts for something, right?” Joe asked. His eyebrows creased together, and his nose scrunched when his upper lip tugged with a sneer.
“Iya thought iyt did too.”
‘You ended the Sharks season. You ended it for everyone just so you could play for your precious Russians.’
The center loosened the four straps on each of the goaltender’s arms with care, at the same time watching Evgeni’s face closely with his damned big brown eyes.
Evgeni gripped the board above his head tight enough to turn his knuckles a stark white. Then he swallowed his pride and opened his mouth. “Is iyt whrong to love my home country of Roussia?”
Joe looked thoughtful for a minute while he finished with the last of the straps. His lips quirked and he glanced down. “Course not!” He stated a-matter-of-factly. “How can having pride fur your country be bad?” He shrugged. “I mean sure, Canada gets a lot of shit from Americans, but I would never not want to be from there, ya know?”
Frustrated, the goalie shook his head “No! Iya don’t mean it that whay. Iya mean…” He drifted off, afraid of what he might tell Joe, when he refused to believe it himself.
“What if, Iya, ah, whell-” His voice cracked uncharacteristically. “McLellan, he brought up the World Cup and, ah…” He took a shuddering breath. “Do you theenk that Iya could’ve not played my bhest just so Iya could play for Roussia?” Evgeni asked hesitantly, before adding, “And noht even knowing iyt?… What if Iya had a reason to noht whant to win?”
Fiddling with the thick material at Evgeni’s elbow, Joe pursed his lips. “Well did you?” He asked with a passive face, Evgeni sure that he was furious with him.
“I-I-Iya, uh-” Evgeni licked his lips nervously and broke eye contact by turning his head away in shame. “Iya don’t know; maybe.” He added in a small voice.
Joe sighed heavily and smoothed the padding beneath his fingers. “Evgeni, listen to me carefully. That was some of the best netminding I’ve ever seen-” He coughed into a balled fist trying to cover the pink tint on his cheeks. “And it was an honor to represent the Sharks with you, as your teammate. What I wouldn’t give to play with the passion you did that night. It was… inspiring, I think.”
Now Joe looked away. “So, no, you didn’t give up on us so that ya could play fur your country. We gave up on you.”
Evgeni stared at Joe in disbelief, wanting to tell the man how he was touched by those few words. Some of the guilt of failing his team lifted off his shoulders, and even though a different ominous presence of that night lingered in the back of his mind, Evgeni managed to divert his full attention to Joe. How can he even begin to express how grateful he is?
“W-whut?” He stuttered, blinking owlishly.
Joe blushed deeper. “Come on man, I’m not gonna say that again,” he mumbled as he reached for Evgeni’s shoulder, pushing him forward.
The Russian let go of the headboard obediently and let Joe curl his spine so that his face was planted between his own knees, Joe cleverly avoiding eye contact. There was silence besides the rustling of Joe removing the straps on the back of Evgeni’s chest padding. Joe leaned over Evgeni’s hunched form, a palm planted on the small of his back and other grabbing a hold on the padding. The mattress dipped with the added weight, causing the men to bump together, and he yanked the padding up over the goaltender’s head without a word.
Unsurprisingly, Evgeni found the padding to be more constricting when it wrapped over his head rather than having it case to his torso. Wearing it properly did not often engulf the goalie in utter darkness or fill his nose with the most malodorous scent to have ever existed. His breath steamed up the small space with an inviting warmth that made his tired eyes droop before his comforting bubble was ripped away.
Joe muttered something along the lines of “You’re not going to get the satisfaction of hearing me say that” as he rolled of the bed and lumbered towards the window with the padding in hand. He dumped it on top of Evgeni’s skates without care, gaining a wince from the unfortunate owner of both items.
At a loss of what to say, Evgeni mutely stared into the broad back of the other man, who shuffled towards the bathroom. It was conveniently placed on the wall facing the goaltender, meaning that Joe could keep his back to the bed. Flicking on the light when he reached the room, he shut the door behind him. Evgeni watched with his hands splayed, boneless, at his side.
Running water was heard after Joe stepped lightly across the tiles, his shadow dancing through the crack of light under the closed door. The tap squeaked and the water stopped forty-one seconds later, although Evgeni refused that he was in fact counting, rather, he is merely talented at timing things.
Silence, and then:
“Thank you,” Evgeni spoke clearly, “It’s nhice to hear that.” He worried his lip between his teeth when the man in the bathroom did not respond right away.
There was a shuffle of clothing and Joe’s muffled voice was finally heard through the door. “Good. I don’t like seeing you so sad, or upset, or… however you’ve been looking lately,” He paused, and after a moment’s thinking, he added, “But don’t go tellin’ any of the guys I said that! Either of those things that I said… which I meant… but… they don’t need to know!” He ended up sounding confused as he fumbled for what to say.
Smiling slightly, the goalkeeper kept his mouth shut until the door swung open, and Joe Thornton stood across the room. His tall, muscular silhouette blocked the harsh yellow light emanating from behind him, for which Evgeni was grateful. He squinted, Joe’s face unreadable with the backlight, but he swiveled and flicked off the light, casting everything into shadow.
He sauntered over, his face and expression becoming visible as he stepped into the moonlit room. When Joe was by Evgeni’s side, his knees gave way and he flopped onto the bed, the springs whining under the stress. He made a forced smile and unconsciously stretched his arms out to scratch behind his ear, letting out a nervous chuckle.
“So, um, you’re not going to tell anyone right?”
Scrunching his nose, the Russian feigned to contemplate Joe’s request, enjoying the look of horror that flashed over his face as time ticked by. “Naw, noht a word.”
Joe visibly slumped in relief. “This is just gonna be between you ’n me, yeah?”
“What?” Evgeni cocked his head slightly. “Didn’t Iya jhust say Iya agree to that?”
Joe fingered the hem of the black Reebok undershirt with a devious glint in his eyes. “ ’M just double-checking, never know who you can trust these days, with evil coaches lurking around ’n all.”
The goaltender coughed out a laugh that caught in his throat, struggling out a “y-yeah” before coughing again. Joe watched in amusement as Evgeni calmed himself by evening his breaths.
“Are you done yet?” Joe joked with his nose pointed in the air, looking down at the flustered man lying next to him.
“Sorry, I’ll jhust try to die ohver here quietly for yur conveneyence.” He wheezed back, rolling his eyes.
“Tempting offer, but… I think I want ya to stick around a little bit longer.”
“Hmm, so khind of you.”
Joe winked, then took Evgeni’s shirt in his hands and pulled it up over his chest. “Aren’t I though? Now, arms please.”
Evgeni winced and lifted his tired limbs off the bed momentarily, and Joe pulled the shirt up over his head and slipped it off his arms. Without looking, he threw the bundled shirt over his shoulder, and it landed right on top of the leg pads that remained there. He turned back and Evgeni glanced away warily when a sly smile passed over Joe’s lips.
He wriggled himself around to fit his crossed legs on the bed, still smirking pointedly at the Russian. A teasing spark entered his brown eyes and he brought his left hand around to lightly tap Evgeni’s bare stomach. “Looks like someone’s been on a diet.”
Evgeni failed to stop the oncoming blush from spreading to his ears and neck at his teammate’s words. “Iya d-don’t know what yur talking about.” He squeaked out, a stammer in his voice.
Giving the abdominals a smack with an open palm, at which Evgeni managed to conceal a wince, Joe barely raised his shoulder and clicked his tongue with indifference. “Oh? But I think ya do. Ya see, this right here-” He waved his hand over the lightly toned stomach that had a bright pink hand print on it. “-was not here last season. Well actually, it was here, but so was a little extra.”
Evgeni’s mouth formed a small “o” as he gaped at the man besides him. Then he remembered his still stinging skin, and his loss for words became a scolding tone. “Maybe, but Iya don’t theenk you should slhap people when they cahn’t move.”
Joe raised his hands in mock surrender. “Oh, you caught me, darn it!” His innocent smile became cheeky again and he poked Evgeni one more time. “But really! I’m just sayin’ that you lost some extra baggage, ya know what I mean?”
“Yhes Iya know what you mean!” Evgeni shot back, his eyes set in a glare. Licking his lips, Evgeni’s playful argue became serious. “But last year, Iya noticed how tired Iya got. And with our, ah, phlayoff games, Iya figured to, you know-”
“Bulk up?” Joe offered, while tilting his head to the side.
A wave of exhaustion wafted over Evgeni, and he let his eyelids flicker shut for a second. He jolt himself awake, rolling his eyes and focusing back on Joe’s blurry form. He opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it shut. Nodding lazily, Evgeni gave a tired, genuine smile before parting his lips again.
“Need ta look my bhest when we whin thee Stanley Cup thees year.”
Evgeni vaguely saw Joe smile back, but only his soft brown eyes remained clear in the Russian’s foggy mind. Fingertips ghosted over his cheek and Evgeni’s muscles tensed before his relaxed into Joe’s gentle hand. Black crept into the edge of his vision until Joe’s face was framed in the darkness. He remained an unmovable figure while everything else faded away into the shadows.
“Go… sleep… kay?… get… equip… off… my…lf.”
The jumbled words meant little to Evgeni as he was finally seduced by the promise of sleep.
-----
Frigid air suspended in the atmosphere: stale, unmoving. The absolute nothingness surrounds and engulfs Evgeni’s body. His limbs are heavy and his movements are sluggish, the act of breathing almost becoming too strenuous to continue.
The silence is broken by drawn out scratches; they were faint at first, but they became closer and faster in tempo. Evgeni scrunches his nose, trying to place the familiar sound. The sharpening of a butcher knife, perhaps? Although he can not remember the last time he heard that and he definitely has not heard it enough to be able to recognize the noise.
At the base of his skull, small prickles began to form. Lifting his heavy arm through the frozen air, Evgeni rubbed at his nape. Instead of fingers, his blocker grazes over his tingling skin, which causes a flare of pain to erupt throughout his body and he jolts his eyes open for the first time.
Black streaks on a blinding white backdrop accompanied the scratches, succeeding in giving Evgeni a headache in his temples. The shadows zoomed around him, circling and closing in. There was a hard slap, and suddenly Brad Richards of the Dallas Stars manifested from the closest dark shape, staring straight into the eyes of the goaltender. *
Air catching in his throat, Evgeni knew he had milliseconds to act. Twisting his body to the left, his shoulder burned and his obloquies strained as he tried to intercept that damned puck with his catcher. The sting returned with vengeance, distracting Evgeni enough to make him blink and shake his head in frustration. ‘Not now!’
His eyes opened and he shifted his catcher so that he could peer at the puck that should be nestled between his thumb and forefinger; but all he saw was white. Confused, he jerks his head up in question at the Stars center, but finds that he is gone. In fact, all players from before Evgeni closed his eyes are different.
Like moving underwater, sounds were indistinguishable and movements were torpid. Brendon Morrow is surrounded by his teammates, tears stagnant on their faces. The Sharks are on the ice as well, looking behind the goaltender with crumpled faces, slumped shoulders and dark, angry eyes. The tingling intensified as he turned around at normal speed.
‘Shit… no. No!’
The seemingly insignificant black puck was resting in the back of the net, again. Only this time, the horn of the goal and the roar of the crowd was completely deafening, and Evgeni cannot hear a thing. Eyes moist, he hangs his head, waiting for the blood pounding in his ears to stop so that he could actually hear the cheers and jeers that would overwhelm him and fill the void of other thinking.
His heart rate slows, but the stadium has yet to emit any noise that Evgeni could process. The goaltender glanced up through wet lashes, finding that the audience was gone, and the seats were bare. His eyes darts down, and he chokes back a flow of tears at the sight of the lone puck in his net that ended everything for his team.
A flicker of white catches Evgeni’s eye and he raises his heavy head to find a lone person sitting in the stands, clapping slowly. It takes a second for Evgeni to recognize who it is, but when the features became clear, he only becomes more confused.
“Joe?” Evgeni asks; his scratchy voice echoed until it was only a soft hum in the rafters.
The center merely smiled sadly. “I know ya tried Nabs.” His voice is crystal clear, not even echoing once. Instead, McLellan’s words reverberate off the walls.
“Why did you lose for your team?” One questions.
A chill runs through Evgeni’s body at the condescending tone. The prickle on his skull spread throughout his body and spiked with pain.
“To play for your Communist bastards?” Another accuses.
Unable to breathe, Evgeni hugs his body through the thick padding, but the bulk of sweaty material feels clammy against his skin and his chest tightens.
“Overrated.”
“Failure.”
“You missed the most important shot, the winning one. And your team lost.because.of.you.”
Breath escaping as shaky gasps, Evgeni locked eyes with Joe after darting them around the petrified American Airlines Center. Kind brown eyes bore into his blue, and the harsh words faded while the pain soothed to a tickle. The two stared in serine silence before Joe opened his mouth to speak first.
His kind eyes turned sharp and alert. “Watch out.”
Bewildered, the goaltender whips his head around and knocks into something solid. Evgeni rubbed at his head, now only confused, and looked ahead in a daze. He jerks back at the close proximity of something that he was nose to nose with.
Standing back, he caught the eye of someone who he knew held no regards for personal space, and at the moment was standing extremely close. Evgeni crouched like an animal ready to flee, but his muscles locked up in terror. A scream was barely concealed and in turn, a pathetic whimper made it pass his parted lips.
“Well hello there,” Marty Turco exclaimed; his narrowed eyes gleaming, a smile like that of a snake plastered on his face.
Pain flooding through his body, he was frozen on the spot, horrified. ‘No… not again.’
Gasping for breath, Evgeni was enveloped in darkness, his heart hammering in his chest. He choked back a sob and smothered his face with clammy hands, shoulders shaking.
There was swift padding on soft floor, a dip to the left and strong arms wrapping around his shuddering frame, keeping a desperate hold on the last pieces of Evgeni’s sanity.